by Lyn Cote
Carson was pleased that his cousin was looking much stronger in spite of the rigors of the journey.
“Don’t waken him, Blanche,” Dorritt murmured. “He needs his sleep. Though our son says he’s much better than he was in Mexico.”
For a moment, Blanche looked subdued. Her chin dipped and her step faltered. She halted at the end of the bed. Henri came up behind her and put an arm around her shoulders.
Carson watched from the doorway. He could see that Blanche wanted to waken her brother. For once, however, she followed someone’s advice. She turned away, putting her hands over her face. Dorritt motioned for them all to leave.
Henri led Blanche out. All of them followed, returning to the large room. The housekeeper had lit a warming fire in the large hearth and lit an oil lamp on the round dining table. She was laying out food and pouring new wine for the travelers. Carson dragged over more chairs, and the party sat down.
For a few minutes, the guests sat, nibbling the fresh cheese and flat bread and sipping the red wine. Then Blanche spoke up. “Tell me what’s been done for my brother.”
Carson answered, “After the battle at Monterrey, your husband brought him to us in pretty bad shape. He was feverish, weak, and nearly dead.”
Blanche moaned softly.
Just talking about Monterrey battered Carson from within. Taking a hitching breath, he looked away from the lamplight, hiding his marked reaction. He continued, “But my friend Tunney rigged up a splint for his broken collarbone. And both Sugar and Mariel nursed him along the way. Remy hasn’t had a fever for over a week now—not even at night.”
Blanche looked at Mariel and then turned to Dorritt with a questioning look.
“I’m sorry. I should have introduced Mariel. She is new to Texas. From Germany—”
“She’s my fiancée,” Carson interrupted, taking Mariel’s hands in both of his.
His mother and father beamed at him. Sugar stifled a happy squeal, and Emilio said, “Felicitaciones.” Carson lifted Mariel’s hand and kissed it.
Blanche stared at Mariel in a rude way. He steeled himself for the insult that would surely come. Blanche made a sound of exasperation and shook her head, turning back to Dorritt. “Mother was shocked that you allowed Sugar to marry—”
“There’s no need to repeat what your mother says,” Henri interrupted.
Both Emilio and Sugar had stiffened. Sugar glared at her cousin. Carson clenched his jaw, refusing to take the bait.
In the golden glow from the oil lamp, Dorritt stared into Blanche’s eyes. “We are quite pleased with their choices.”
Satisfaction warmed Carson. Leave it to his mother to be quick and undaunted. Neither Blanche nor her mother had ever been able to best Dorritt Quinn.
Blanche looked away, lifting her chin. “Has a doctor been summoned?”
Dorritt shook her head. “No, Remy’s obviously on the mend. It’s just going to take time to heal completely and regain his strength—”
“Father, don’t you think Remy needs a doctor?” Blanche interrupted, ignoring Dorritt. “I think that’s what my mother would want.”
“After the battle, he was seen by U.S. doctors,” Carson said.
Henri turned to Quinn. “Where’s the nearest doctor?”
Quinn looked to Dorritt and said, “There’s a few in San Antonio, but I don’t know if any would come all this way.”
“One will come if we offer him enough,” Blanche said, sitting up straighter, her tone more snappish. “Aunt Dorritt, the full moon makes night travel possible. I’m sure you can send one of your men to San Antonio tonight—”
“No, I won’t.” Dorritt stood, sighing. “Remy is in no imminent danger tonight. Tunney, another Ranger who traveled here with Carson from Monterrey, is heading north tomorrow. He can stop at the doctor’s office in San Antonio—if you still think that necessary in the morning.”
Blanche was being herself, her conceited and demanding self. Carson wished propriety would allow him to kiss Mariel here and now for being the sweet, sensible, gentle woman she was. He suddenly felt exhausted. “Blanche, I’ll take my gear out of my room so you can have it,” he said, rising. “I’ll bunk with the vaqueros.”
“Yes, Henri,” Dorritt said, “we’ll have to make a bed for you in Remy’s room. We’re quite filled up now.”
The housekeeper came back in and told Dorritt that the LaCroix servants had been taken to a jacal for the night and that bathwater was being heated for the guests. Dorritt nodded her thanks. “Blanche, a bath is being prepared for you and will be set up in Carson’s room soon.”
Henri murmured, “Before we turn in, we have news for you, too, Dorritt.”
Blanche looked suddenly shaken, losing some of her starched-up posture. “Aunt Dorritt, you must not have received my mother’s letter.”
“Letter?” Dorritt echoed, sounding suddenly fearful.
Blanche nodded, looking downward. “Grandmother died eight days before we received news of Remy.”
Dorritt moaned and wilted visibly. Quinn gripped her right shoulder. “We are very sad to hear this. Mrs. Kilbride was a good woman.”
Sugar got up, went to her mother, and stood behind her. Dorritt reached up a hand and took Sugar’s. Carson turned where he stood at the doorway. “This is sad news,” he said and then left.
Mariel woke with a single resolve in her heart and mind—that this foolish woman Blanche would not disturb or hurt Carson, the finest man she knew. Mariel had met her kind before. Women who only cared for themselves and worked to make sure that everyone else put them first also. This morning’s breakfast had been made miserable by Blanche’s cutting but veiled remarks about Sugar’s marrying beneath her. That alone had confirmed Mariel’s assessment of this vain woman.
Now, after the unpleasant breakfast, Dorritt and Mariel accompanied Blanche through the inner courtyard, which opened at the back of the great room of the hacienda. The chill morning air made Mariel tighten her wool shawl around her. The walkway around the edges of the courtyard had an overhang to protect from rain, but not wind. In single file, the three of them were going to the room where Remy lay.
“I’ve never seen a house built quite this way,” Blanche said. The words were not objectionable; the tone was.
“You have a very limited scope, having never traveled outside of Texas,” Mrs. Quinn responded tranquilly. “We adopted the Spanish style, since it suits the climate here. Keeping the bedrooms open on two sides lets a free flow of air in the summer. And the courtyard is a lovely oasis most of the year. I prefer this arrangement.”
“Yes, Mother has often commented about your…turning away from the ways in which you were raised.”
Blanche entered Remy’s room. Remy was sitting up in bed, feeding himself with a spoon. His movements were awkward because of his splint. At their entrance, he fumbled and spilled a little onto a large white napkin tied like a bib over the front of his striped nightshirt.
“Aunt Dorritt,” Blanche snapped, “why isn’t the girl feeding my brother?”
Consuela, standing by the bed, curtseyed. “Señorita—”
“I can feed myself,” Remy growled. “She offered to feed me and I told her no.”
“This is Consuela, a cousin of Emilio’s,” Mrs. Quinn said.
Blanche made a face, showing her disdain for everyone else in the room, save her brother. “We got here as soon as we could…” She let the sentence fade, saying without words that his care, before she had arrived, had been inadequate.
Mariel clamped her mouth shut to hold back hot words simmering on her tongue. If Blanche ventured to carry her insults any further, Mariel would speak.
Remy lifted another spoonful to his mouth, glaring at his sister. “Father came in early this morning and we talked. I’ve received the best care that Carson, his lady, and Sugar could give me so far from civilization.” Remy set the spoon down into the bowl on the tray over his lap and looked to Consuela. “I’m just so tired.”
H
is lady. The words filled Mariel’s cup to overflowing.
Consuela approached Remy. “You need to eat, señor.” She picked up the spoon. “Just eat a bit more, and then I’ll take the tray back to the kitchen.”
“You speak English?” Blanche stared at the girl, who merely nodded and began feeding Remy.
“Yes, all our house staff speaks both English and Spanish.” Dorritt moved to the opposite side of the bed and laid her wrist on Remy’s forehead. “No fever. Good.”
“I can tell you that spending a night”—Remy spoke between spoonfuls, grinning—“in a real bed felt wonderful, Aunt Dorritt.” Then he looked to Mariel. “You see, all your efforts have helped me.”
Mariel smiled in return. Evidently Remy had changed in his attitude toward the Quinns. Perhaps complete helplessness taught one humility.
After swallowing more food, he looked at Consuela and gave her a half smile. “Señorita, that is really all I can take in now.”
“I will come back in a few hours with more. Rest.” Consuela took off his bib, laid it over her shoulder, and carried out the tray.
Blanche sniffed and moved to the side of Remy’s bed. “You’ve been through a horrible ordeal. I can’t think why Anthony didn’t leave you in the care of the U.S. surgeons.”
“Maybe because he wanted me to live,” Remy said with an infuriated expression. “You, sister, have no idea what an army hospital tent is like after a battle. It’s a butcher shop.”
Remembered revulsion raised the gorge in Mariel’s throat.
“Remy, there’s no need to be vulgar,” Blanche said.
Her brother made a disparaging sound. “I’m tired, Blanche. Just eating is hard work.”
“Father is sending for a doctor to see you,” Blanche said.
Remy repeated the same disgusted sound. “I’m healing. What can a doctor do for me?”
“Well, he can tell them to take that ridiculous bone splint off you.” Blanche’s soothing I’m-a-caring-sister voice slipped, and her irritation at not being able to take control here gleamed unmistakably.
“The splint cannot be taken from him till he has healed,” Mariel spoke up quickly. “You do not know the pain—”
“Thank you very much,” Blanche said dismissively, “but this is my brother.”
Trying to lean forward, Remy insisted, “Don’t use that tone with her.” Remy’s face became flushed with the effort. “Miss Mariel took care of me as if I were her own blood, better than my own blood. Don’t you dare—”
Dorritt gently urged Remy to lie down and adjusted his pillows for him. “You must not waste your energy. Rest, and Consuela will bring you more food in a little while.”
Remy gave Blanche a scathing look, then closed his eyes. Dorritt turned. “I think we should let him rest. Consuela will check on him. She is a dependable nurse.”
Mariel admired how Dorritt ignored her niece’s annoying behavior.
Blanche hesitated, but Remy kept his eyes closed. Mariel didn’t blame him. Did this girl care at all about her brother? It was hard to tell. If one considered just her words without judging her tone or motives, one could not find fault.
But the whole conversation had really been more about Blanche than her brother. Blanche wanted everyone to know that her family, and especially she, ranked above the others here. That came through every “concerned” phrase. Maybe that was why Remy was so cross. He knew his sister didn’t really care about him.
Why had Carson ever been interested in such a woman? It made no sense. Mariel turned to leave the room and saw that Carson stood in the doorway. She blushed, as if he had read her mind.
He did not look pleased. “I came to get you ladies. Tunney is about to leave. I knew my mother and Mariel would want to bid him good-bye.”
“Yes, thank you, son.” Dorritt bustled past him.
Mariel heard her hurried footsteps on the flagstone path of the courtyard. Blanche pushed ahead of Mariel and halted beside Carson in the doorway. “So you’ve given your heart to this…immigrant?”
Carson looked down into Blanche’s face. “I don’t have time for your games. I doubt you want to bid Tunney farewell. So why don’t you go to your room? I’m sure you’re still fatigued from your trip.”
Blanche halted, glaring at him, then marched off, her angry heels clicking on the flagstones.
“Tell Tunney farewell for me, would you, Carson?” Remy asked, opening his eyes now that his sister was gone.
“Certainly. You rest now.” Carson offered Mariel his hand. She took it and smiled. Before she had taken more than a step, he paused and pulled her close. He kissed her.
She tried to object, but he ignored her, kissed her again, then drew her with him toward the front of the house. Mariel floated over the stone path and through the great room to the front door.
The late October sunshine was brittle and bright. Blanche had, of course, ignored Carson’s advice. She was standing beside her father and pointedly ignoring Carson. Tunney was by his horse, looking the better for a few hearty meals and a night in a bed. Shaven and wearing clean clothing, he smiled at Mariel. “Do you have any messages for anybody at New Braunfels?”
Mariel thought for only a second. A backsplash of shame washed through her and made her angry. I did nothing to be ashamed of. “No.” There was no one she wanted to be remembered to. No one there she ever wanted to see again. She gripped Carson’s hand and shook her head.
“Remy says thanks again for the splint,” Carson said to the big man.
With a wave, Tunney swung up into his saddle, calling farewells in English and Spanish. Soon he disappeared over the horizon to the north.
Blanche faced her father. “How long do you think it will take for the doctor to arrive?”
Mariel began to move away as the raw wind flared the ends of her shawl. Carson’s parents drew toward the front door.
Her father turned away from Blanche. “I didn’t ask Tunney to summon a doctor—”
“You what? Why not?” Blanche was instantly furious, red-faced and huffy.
“Because Remy doesn’t need a doctor.” Her father kept withdrawing. “He’s improving—”
Blanche interrupted, “How can you know that—”
Her father swung back and bent his strained face to hers. “Blanche, I have to take this kind of contention from your mother, but I won’t take it from you. Go to your room.” Her father stalked away from her.
As Carson’s parents turned away too, Blanche brushed past them and stalked back into the house. Carson grinned. He hadn’t expected his uncle to scold Blanche, but it was a welcome change. Carson drew Mariel with him. “Let’s take a walk around the herb garden.”
At the word “garden,” Mariel’s heart leaped. Walking in the garden had become her favorite pastime—if Carson was with her. She came with him willingly. Carson unlatched the garden gate and urged Mariel inside with a gentle nudge and a roguish grin. The gate had barely shut behind them when she found herself in his welcome arms. “Mariel,” he breathed into her ear, “you’re still going to marry me?”
She chuckled, thrilled at his teasing question. “I do not change my mind so much.”
“Good. I do not change my mind so much either. But I’m afraid that we will postpone our wedding till my beloved relatives return home.”
Mariel understood without any explanation. Who wanted Blanche spoiling the happiest day of Mariel’s life? “I agree,” Mariel said.
“Thank you. I expected you’d understand.” The look that accompanied these mild words ignited her joy. Overwhelming gratitude swept over her, pure and heartfelt. Gott, danke, danke. The three words flowed through her with every beat of her thankful heart.
The Day of the Dead, or All Hallows’ Eve, as Dorritt called it, dawned bright and clear, the sun warming them all. Mariel was fascinated by the festival, new to her, to honor the dead. Dorritt and Quinn did not permit the making of altars in the jacales to the spirits of the dead. But they had adopted the practice
of visiting the family cemeteries and respectfully adorning the crosses and tombstones with flowers and other tokens of love. It was a day free from work, and it would end in a fiesta in the largest barn, which had been swept clean and decorated for the occasion.
Now Mariel and Carson walked in the solemn procession to the cemetery on Quinn land. Once there, the families spread out, visiting the graves of their departed. The Quinns had decided to use the day as a time to mark the passing of Dorritt’s mother. Henri accompanied them, but of course, Blanche had blessedly declined. Quinn carried a small white cross with the name ELSPETH KILBRIDE, 1779–1846 notched into it. Now he pounded it into the earth as a memorial. Dorritt said a few words about her mother and then prayed, thanking God for her mother’s life.
Then Sugar cleared her throat. “In all the rush of company and taking care of Emilio and Remy, I haven’t said anything—to all of you—about my reading the letters Carson found.”
Mariel felt the quickening of interest all around her. Carson gripped her elbow tighter.
“I feared reading those letters, but when I read them, I found that they contained nothing more than one sister writing to another. There were no startling secrets. I think that it was my aunt Violet who was angry with me. I think my mother wasn’t with us when I was separated from my family. The woman in Montezuma said my mother had died. Maybe her sister Violet was left to take care of me.” Sugar looked down, as if gathering composure. “I talked with Mother about that time. I remember it only in bits and pieces. I think that the letters terrified me because that was a terrifying year in Texas.”
Dorritt murmured, “Yes, a dreadful year.”
“Mother and I talked about my fear, and the memory of feeling as if I was being crushed by a crowd of people—”