by Lyn Cote
Sudden silence. An eerie one. Carson and McCulloch traded questioning looks. An American voice called out, “Truce! There is a truce! Stand down!”
A second voice—Mexican—shouted, “Tregua! Tregua!”
Carson peered around the side of the building. “There’s an American officer and a Mexican one. They are walking side by side down the street waving white flags and shouting truce.”
McCulloch edged around Carson to get a better look. “It looks legitimate.” McCulloch rose and shouted, “Rangers! Stand down!”
Carson rose, his knees rebelling. “Do you need me?”
“No, go check on Ramirez.”
Carson had already turned and was jogging west. All around him, soldiers of both armies were coming out of buildings, out from cover, looking confused, some dazed. The fountain in the plaza stopped him. He tried to use his hands as a cup and was repulsed by the blood that drained from his fingers. Gagging, he scrubbed his gory hands. Then he washed his blackened face. He was able to draw in breath freely. He cupped his clean hands and sucked in the teeth-chilling spring water.
Nothing had ever tasted so pure, so good. Then he filled his wooden canteen. And he was off again, racing over the cobblestone streets to the corn and sugarcane fields outside the city, hoping he’d recall where the jacal was. And that Emilio would be there, alive.
It took him over an hour to cover the distance. And then another hour to find the lane to the little hut in the midst of the vast golden fields. When he at last glimpsed it through the tall corn rows, he gasped. She was there. His heart stopped and started with a jolt. He began running. “Mariel! Mariel!”
Mariel turned toward him, astounded. “You didn’t die,” she whispered, unable to raise her voice. “You did not die.”
He came directly to her. He folded her into his arms and kissed her.
Mariel could do nothing but cling to Carson. The delicious kiss ended. He swung her up in his arms and whirled her around. No one had ever done this to her before. It rendered her speechless. Finally, Mariel was able to gasp, “Please, Carson, you must put me down.”
Still, Mariel’s heart surged toward Carson. Unable to speak more, she clutched him to her, and every part of her sang in welcome. His kisses continued to fall upon her like a blessed rainstorm. Finally, Carson took a deep breath and straightened, though he still held her in his arms. “Emilio? How is he?”
“Much better, amigo,” Emilio replied, looking weakened. With his leg splinted and a crutch under one arm, he was leaning against the doorjamb. Sugar also supported him, and he was smiling.
“Carson!” Sugar exclaimed. “The gunfire has stopped. Is it over?”
“A truce. I don’t know how long it will last, but for now, yes.”
Though Carson looked exhausted, he smiled at Mariel, and her senses sprang to life. She wished she could prepare a bath for him, give him clean clothing and provide a feather bed for him to sleep on, but she had nothing to offer.
“Do you think the fighting’s over, then?” Sugar asked.
“It’s over for me,” Carson said. He motioned toward Emilio. “As soon as my brother-in-law is able to travel, we’re going home.”
It was too much for Mariel to hope for. She looked up. “You can leave now? They will not make you stay?”
Carson’s mouth became a straight line. “The Comanche have been acting up. Word came to McCulloch before this battle. Texas needs us to come home. We must let the Comanche know that we’re back.” He softened his hard words by pulling her closer, under his arm.
Did that mean that when they reached home, he would have to leave again to fight Indians? Mariel didn’t ask. Ever since he had found her in the army encampment, matters between them had been strained, tense. She had tried to ignore it, because she’d known it had sprung from his desire to protect her. Now the truce had brought peace between Carson and her. And she would do nothing to upset this. She tried to hide her fear behind a smile. Would the dangers this good man was forced to face never end?
Later that day—just as if days of cannon and gunfire and bloodshed had not taken place all around his plot of land—the Mexican started harvesting his corn in the bright sunlight. Carson and Mariel joined him. Each one of them had slung a deep burlap bag over one shoulder to hold ears of dried corn. Mariel was happy to be given some way to thank the young Mexican couple for taking them in.
And Carson’s willingness to harvest corn like a peasant was just another example that she wasn’t in Germany anymore. Carson’s father held vast acres, but his son could do manual labor without a qualm about his rank. “His foolish cousin wouldn’t do this,” she murmured.
“What did you say?” Carson asked, stuffing another ear into his sack.
“Nichts. I mean nothing.” She looked down, twisting off another ear of corn. And hoping she had done nothing to disturb the peace of being together.
“You don’t have to be afraid to say what you’re thinking around me.” He paused and tightened his lips. “I need to apologize to you—”
Uncertainty gushed within her. “No—”
“I do. When I found you in camp with my sister, I wasn’t very welcoming.” His tone was grim.
She twisted another ear from a stalk. The husks were brown, and they crinkled when touched. As flimsy and delicate as she had felt at his lack of joy upon seeing her that first day. “You had a reason to be angry with me. I did not stay with your family. And I said that you were…that we were—”
“Promised? Yes, you did, and I’m glad you did. I wanted everyone to know that you belong to me. I didn’t want any man to think he could take liberties with you.”
She brushed away a buzzing fly and nodded. Ja. Carson always protected her. Once that had been enough. No more.
“No, I didn’t say that right. I didn’t mean that I only did it for your protection.”
She looked up, puzzled, hoping. “I do not understand.”
Carson glanced around. Picking much faster than they did, the Mexican had disappeared into the tall amber corn stalks ahead of them. Carson lowered his voice, saying, “Mariel, I was just surprised, unhappy that you were there in the midst of an army, a war. But you know how I feel about you.”
She paused, her heart jumping. She swallowed, moistening her dry mouth. Did she have the courage to ask? I must know the truth. “No, I do not know. How do you feel about me?” Her heart pounded as if she had just been attacked.
Carson looked into her eyes. “I want you to be my wife.”
Seven short words that could, would, change her life; she couldn’t breathe. Fear made her afraid to look at Carson; it took her voice away. She turned her face and went on gathering ears of corn, as if running away. It was too wonderful to contemplate, too wonderful for her.
“I thought you knew how I felt about you.” His voice sounded hurt.
This broke her hesitation. Striding forward, she brushed through the few thick stalks that separated them and laid a hand on his arm. “Do you want me for a wife? Truly?”
His broad, tanned hand covered hers. “Of course I do. That night I left with Ben McCulloch after Sugar’s wedding, I told you that I’d come back to you, didn’t I? Why would I say that if I weren’t coming back to marry you?”
She smiled through the mist in her eyes. Men.
“I just…” He looked over her head toward the city, surrounded by mountains. “I just didn’t want you to be here, see me in a war.” He looked down at his hands. “Before I came to you this day, I had to wash blood away. I had blood on my hands.” He looked down at his strong hands.
His crushed tone moved her. She threw her arms around his shoulders and held onto him, as though some force was dragging him away from her. “You are a good man. But the world is bad. You have done good, only good.”
He drew her closer. She didn’t demur but let him. When she pressed against him, a rush of pleasure evaporated all of her doubts. He brushed his thumb over the soft skin of her neck. And then pressed a
kiss there. “You feel so right in my arms.”
Her arms locked tighter around him. “Ja.”
He held her and she was drenched with joy, abundant, abounding. Joy—such a rarity in this angry world. Peace too. Truly, today she believed that the humble like her and Carson would be blessed and harvest abundant peace.
This war had done them a favor in this respect. It had broken down her barrier of reserve and let each of them show their feelings for the other.
The Mexican called to them, laughing.
Mariel pulled away from Carson, blushing.
“Our host asks are we going to pick corn or kiss?” Carson teased, brushing the sensitive underside of her chin with the back of his hand.
She couldn’t say a word. He kissed her nose. Then he pulled away and began picking corn and singing a song loudly in Spanish. She recognized it from Sugar’s wedding. Smiling, she went back to picking corn, her heart singing along with Carson’s lilting melody. I am loved by a good man. He wants me for his wife. And it was enough, more than enough, more than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Five days had passed since Carson had left the battle and found shelter at the little jacal. He didn’t even feel like the same man. Battle diminished a man; peace lifted him. This golden September morning, he was packing his saddlebags, preparing to leave Mexico. He and the Rangers weren’t needed here anymore. And frankly, he couldn’t wait to put Mexico behind him. He yanked the saddlebag flap down and cinched it tight. If it only was that simple.
General Ampudia, who’d been in charge of the Battle of Monterrey, had requested a truce. General Taylor had granted it. With Taylor’s permission, the Mexican Army under Ampudia had been permitted to keep their weapons. Carson shook his head as he remembered watching them march away to the south the day before. The deal had sounded untenable to Carson.
But he had already turned his mind back to Texas. Most of the Rangers had already left, heading north. In the Rangers’ absence, the Comanche and bandidos had become troublesome again. Texas still needed him. That meant leaving Mariel with his family again. He tried to swallow down being parted from her. And couldn’t. How could he—
Tunney rode into the small clearing around the jacal. He held the reins to Emilio’s, Sugar’s, and Mariel’s horses. “Didn’t have much trouble. Our soldiers had been collecting horses. I just picked out the three that belong to us.”
Carson nodded and finished checking the cinch on his saddle. His mount fidgeted, neighing to the other horses. Then from inside came Mariel, followed by Sugar and then Emilio, on crutches. He still couldn’t put much weight on his splinted right leg, but his calf was healing well even though the bone had been broken by the bullet. Still, it worried Carson to see how much weight Emilio had lost in such a short time.
Carson busied himself with attaching the travois behind Emilio’s horse. Sugar came and helped him. She whispered, “I remember bringing our father home like this from San Jacinto.”
Carson made himself smile, though the same disquieting memory had come to him. “And he’s fine and has been.”
She nodded, though she didn’t smile.
Carson didn’t blame her. They had many miles to cover, dangerous, rough miles. None of them would feel secure until they were home. Mariel was hanging a cloth bag of food the Mexican couple had given them onto her saddle horn. Carson had held himself back from speaking or touching her over the past few days. There was no privacy here.
Tunney and Carson helped Emilio onto the travois. As they turned, a familiar voice hailed them. “Carson! I thought Tunney would lead me to where you were!”
Resisting, Carson slowly turned. There was Niven, leading a donkey that was towing a crude two-wheeled cart. Niven approached and offered his hand.
Carson shook but didn’t take his eyes off the cart. “What are you up to, Niven?”
The man grimaced. “I’m afraid I must call upon the bond of blood in a very inconvenient way. Come.” He motioned for Carson to follow him. In the cart, Remy lay unconscious or asleep, looking feverish, pale and thin, covered by a thin brown wool blanket.
Carson cursed under his breath. No.
“Exactly so,” Niven agreed. “The very last person you wanted to see or to be saddled with.”
“What do you want us to do?” Carson growled.
“You have to take him with you. I’ve done my best for him, and the doctors have done their work. But he needs careful nursing. And I don’t know how. Nor do my duties permit me.”
“Where was he wounded?” Sugar asked, coming up beside Carson.
“In the shoulder, a ball broke his collarbone and his right foot sustained injury, perhaps a horse stepped on it when he fell. I’ve been with him whenever I could. I haven’t been able to rouse him very often or to bring down his fever.” For once, Niven looked grim.
Carson felt his face assume the same forbidding expression. The call of blood was strong, but he didn’t like it. He leaned close to Niven’s ear. “He looks bad. He shouldn’t travel in this weakened condition—”
“I know,” Niven interrupted, “but if he receives good care, he’ll have a better chance of surviving. Even traveling with you, he’ll be better watched over than at the camp hospital.”
“What if he dies along the way?” Carson whispered fiercely.
“Then at least he’ll be buried on U.S. soil with family to speak solemn prayers over his grave. Not in an unmarked communal pit with strangers in a foreign land,” Niven snapped back.
Sugar laid a hand on Carson’s shoulder. “He’s right. We have to take Remy with us. Mariel and I can nurse him as we go north. I have enough supplies with me.” Without waiting for Carson’s agreement, she touched Remy’s forehead, shook her head, and bustled away to get her nursing chest.
Carson and Niven faced each other. Carson inhaled deeply. He knew there was only one answer. “We’ll do our best for him.”
“I know you will. I have already sent a letter to my wife in San Felipe, telling her that I’ve sent Remy home with you to your ranch. It will either take weeks to reach her or will be lost. The times are uncertain in the extreme.” Niven stared into Carson’s eyes. “And you realize this war isn’t over by any measurement.”
Shrugging, Carson turned to watch Sugar and Mariel hug the young Mexican wife good-bye. Sugar hurried toward the cart with her nursing chest.
Carson raised his arm to the Mexican couple. “Vayan con Dios, mis amigos.” The couple wished them the same.
Being taken in by a Mexican couple in the midst of a battle had confused Carson when he’d had time to consider it. But as the Mexican had confided, What were the battles to him? He had no part or say in the government, so why should he care? He wouldn’t let a man die at his door just because the government in Mexico City said he should.
In farewell, Carson repeated his promise in Spanish to them. “If you ever need help of any kind, come to the Quinn Ranch or Rancho Sandoval southwest of San Antonio. We will not fail you.”
The couple nodded and waved. Carson helped Mariel mount her horse. Sugar settled herself in the cart beside Remy. Tunney led Sugar’s horse, as well as Emilio’s, with the travois attached. Carson swung his leg over his saddle and took the lead rope for the cart donkey. As the Mexican couple and Niven called farewell once more, he led the party through the narrow lane from the jacal to the Saltillo Road. With a final wave, Niven left them at the road, heading south while they turned north.
The addition of Remy to this difficult, slow journey galled Carson. But the call of blood ties could not be denied. And even though he knew that the journey home might prove perilous and exhausting, his spirit lightened. We’re going home. God grant us safe passage.
Three days north of Monterrey, Carson sat in the silence of deep night. He was keeping watch as the rest of their party slept. His cousin Remy had finally gained true consciousness today. Sugar had spent most of the past two evenings fomenting his foot wound by the campfire. On the first night, Mariel had ma
de broth, and then she’d spent most of two days walking beside the cart and spooning broth into Remy whenever he’d been lucid enough to swallow.
Tunney had also helped. From the rib bones and gut from a downed antelope, he had fashioned a splint to hold the collarbone still so it could knit together and wouldn’t pain Remy so much as the cart bumped over the open country.
Tonight, Carson sat outside the glow of the fire, looking away from the flames, wishing that they could move faster. The night was still balmy, summer warmth lingering. But with the travois and two-wheeled cart and the uneven ground, they could not hurry. It would probably take them a month or more to reach the ranch. Carson could imagine the pain that Remy must be feeling, even with the new splint, whenever the large wooden wheels went over a bump. He cringed.
“Please,” a thin voice quavered, “please.”
Carson crept over to Remy, who lay under a wool blanket in the unhitched cart. “What do you need?” Carson whispered and leaned close to hear the reply.
“I need…to relieve myself.”
Carson nodded. “That’s a good sign. Your body’s starting to work again. I’ll lift you and then hold you up.”
“Please.”
Carson set his rifle down and gently lifted Remy like a sack of grain over his shoulder. Remy sucked in air, no doubt holding in a cry of pain. On the far side of the cart, away from the low fire, Carson lowered Remy bit by bit and then held the man nearly upright. The simple act exhausted Remy, who, afterward, trembled in Carson’s arms. “I’ll get you laid down again, cousin.”
“The wagon bed is…hard,” Remy said.
“I know, but we don’t have anything to act as a cushion other than the corn husks in the sack we made for your bedding. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, Remy. I’m sorry.”
As Carson laid him gently back down in the wagon, Remy let out a strangled moan. “I never thought…I’d be wounded.”