“Their petition was denied,” the Major shouted.
“Yup, and they know that too. That’s how-come they’re movin’ across the river.”
“They had better not try it.”
“They’re halfway across already, haulin’ all their worldly possessions. They’s even takin’ the bones of their ancestors from the graveyard so as they can rest in Mexico.”
“Then get out there and stop them.”
“Guess you wasn’t listenin’ when I said we ain’t got a legal right to do that.”
“You’ll either stop them from crossing the river, or I’ll have your badge.”
“You got it.” Whipple tossed the orders on the Major’s desk then added his badge and credentials. “This here pistol’s mine. Walker his-self give it to me.”
The Major’s confidence was ebbing. “Without that badge you have no legal means of bringing Lucky Billy Van to justice for murdering your partner.”
“Well now, that there’s a horse of a different color, Major. For the killin’ of Charlie Lagrange, I want revenge. I ain’t interested in no justice.”
“Kill Billy Van and you’ll be an outlaw too.”
“Billy Van’s in Mexico. I’ll do my best to kill the bastard over there, but if I miss and he comes back to U.S. territory, I’ll get me a Federal Marshal’s badge and kill him here.” He started for the door.
“Now you hold it right there.” The Major unsnapped the cover on his holster but before he could draw his pistol, he was looking into bore of Whipple’s Walker Colt.
“Make up yer mind, Major. Live or die.”
The Major put his hands on his desk.
“Good decision.” Whipple stalked out, holstered his pistol, slammed the door, mounted his horse and turned south toward Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, in pursuit of William Van Buskirk. Neither the Major nor any Texas Rangers tried to impede him or the citizens of Laredo in exodus.
June 6, 1848
Two Alone Ranch, Texas
Marina Van Buskirk was riding on the front seat of a wagon beside her son, Thomas. Behind them, a train of animals, mounted men and horse-drawn conveyances stretched across the plain to the horizon, raising a towering cloud of dust. “That looks like a town over there by Comanche Peak.” Marina pointed ahead.
“It is,” Thomas replied. “Buildings and tents have been springing up around the trading post like weeds around a waterhole.”
“Isn’t that your land?”
Thomas shrugged. “It was. The State of Texas says that all this is Comanche land now.”
“What? You have a grant from Stephen Austin, don’t you?”
“Yes. But the State says it’s not legal.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Wait and see what happens.”
“That’s awful. After all the blood, sweat and tears you’ve put into this place.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. No matter what the State decides about the land, they have to pay us market value for the improvements, and we still have our cattle.”
“Where will you go if they take the land?”
“Josiah Whipple sold me six hundred and forty acres by the old Waco Indian camp.”
“Is that enough land for your herds?”
“No, but Josiah’s land straddles the only decent ford across the Brazos and there are two free-flowing artesian wells, so it’s a perfect place for a town.”
“So you’ll sell your cattle to become a businessman?”
He smiled. “I came to Texas to be a surveyor. The cattle business just happened.”
“When will you know?”
“About this land? Jesse Chisholm’s been hired to bring all the tribes together for a council at Comanche Peak next May. That won’t be the last of it, but we should know for sure what the State’s position is gonna be after that.”
“Who is Jesse Chisholm?”
“A friend of Sam Houston’s. He owns a string of trading posts between San Antonio and the Missouri River.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Now I remember. Another of Sam’s wild-eyed schemes. The mythical Chisholm Trail.”
“It may not be a myth for much longer,” Tom said. “The price of cattle in St. Louis is three times the price in Texas. Now, with the war over, the price here is gonna drop like a rock and every rancher in Texas will be headed for Missouri to sell their beeves.”
“My advice is not to invest any money in Sam’s Chisholm Trail.”
“Yes, Mother.” He grinned.
Marina made a face. “Does your wife know about your father?”
Thomas turned to look at her. “Yes. I told you that I sent a message to Jane from Mexico City. She knows you’re coming, and I’ll bet she even remembers your name.”
“Don’t start in on me again, Thomas. I’m not going senile. I just have trouble with names sometimes.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if your memory’s really failing and you don’t realize it? What’ll happen to you if you’re all alone in Mexico and you suddenly forget who you are and where you’re from?”
“I’ll have my name and a map to your ranch tattooed across my chest. How’s that?”
“I’m serious, Mother.”
“So am I, Thomas. I’m a grown woman and if I decide to jump off a cliff it’s nobody’s business but my own.”
He shook his head, then stood up and shaded his eyes. “I can see the stockade. Almost home. Thank God.” He whooped.
~
The Two Alone Ranch headquarters was a twenty-six acre collection of houses, barns, corrals, a church, a school and numerous tents surrounded by a ten-foot tall, octagon shaped stockade. Towers at each point and at each inset of the stockade fence could provide cover fire along the nearly ten mile length of wall. Unlike a rectangular fort, there were no dead-spots. Over the years, the stockade had proven to be impervious to numerous attacks from Comanches, Kiowa and Lipan Apaches.
In the living room of the main ranch house, Jane Van Buskirk paced nervously. “She’s never said an unkind word to me, but there’s no warmth in the woman. She’s cold as ice.”
Jane’s father, Paul Van Winkler, lowered the book he was reading to look at her. “Marina’s had a difficult life.”
“I know, I know. But when Tom and I got married, I thought... Never mind.”
“You thought you’d regain a mother,” Paul finished for her.
“No.” Jane glared at him for a moment, then dropped her eyes. “Yes. Maybe I hoped… I don’t know.”
Paul put his book aside, got up and walked to look out of the big window toward the distant silhouette of Comanche Peak. “I know how lonely it is for you since Anna left you here with only prostitutes and saloon girls for female company. With a little effort on your part, maybe Jack’s new wife could become a friend to replace Anna.”
“Clementine is just another whore,” Jane shot back. “I cannot believe that my straight-laced brother would marry a woman like that.”
“You’re not being fair, Jane. Clementine came to Texas when she a child and went to work as a saloon girl to survive,” Paul replied.
“There are other jobs for girls.”
“You shouldn’t be so judgmental. This is a hard land. You’ve had it easy, compared to what she went through.”
“I know,” Jane protested. “I’m no snob, Dad. It’s just… I don’t know. So different, I suppose.”
“You mean that it’s not New York.” He turned to face her. “If the State of Texas annexes this ranch it might be a better idea for you and Tom to go home rather than trying to start a new town.”
“Tom already bought a section of land on the Brazos from Josiah – without consulting me,” she replied peevishly.
“He failed to consult you only because he thought that he knew your feelings. You need to tell him. He can’t read your mind.”
She ran her hands through her hair. “Complaining to him just seems selfish. Everyone else loves it here.”
“Anna didn’t.
That’s why she went home when Charlie was killed.” He turned back toward the window. “Your sons don’t really love it here either, Jane.”
“Of course they do.”
He shook his head. “How could they love it when they have nothing to compare it to?”
She considered his words for a few moments, then nodded. “I was thinking that I might make the trip with Pea when he starts West Point. Maybe I’ll take Johnny along. He’d be happy to see Quincy.”
Paul nodded. “And you could spend some time in New Jersey with Anna. Johnny’s never seen a real autumn with trees in color.”
“Or a real ocean,” Jane added. “I wonder if Tom’s sailboat is still seaworthy.”
“I’m sure Abraham takes good care of it, just as he does everything else.” Paul pointed out the window. “Here come your boys, riding hard.”
Jane hurried to join him and squinted into the sun. “Oh dear. What now?”
“Don’t worry.” Paul put his hand on her shoulder, then removed it after a brief pat. “I can tell by the way they’re riding that they have good news, not bad.”
Relieved, Jane let out the breath she had been holding. “Of course. They must be racing to tell us that they’ve spotted the wagon train.”
“Yes.” Paul pointed toward the brown dust cloud above the horizon. “It looks like Thomas might be bringing his whole regiment and their families.”
“Oh dear.” Jane put her hand to her throat. “I’m not prepared.”
“They’ve been living in the field for months. They’ll have everything they need to set up a camp inside the stockade.”
“I hope so,” Jane said distractedly, watching her two sons race through the open stockade gate toward the house. Both were shirtless, riding bareback. “Look at them.” She shook her head. “They’re like young Comanches.”
“They’re just a little wild,” Paul said with a slow smile. “They’ll tame down to be fine young gentlemen when the time is right. Like their horses, they’re mostly thoroughbred with just a touch of Texas mustang.”
“I hope you’re right.” Jane walked to the couch and sat down.
“I won,” Johnny shouted as the front door burst open.
“Did not.” Pea shoved him aside and sprinted for the living room. “The wagon train’s topping over the ridge, Ma.”
“We saw the dust,” Jane said. “And don’t call me Ma.”
“I saw ‘em first,” Johnny argued.
“Did not.” Pea flopped onto the couch next to Jane.
“Get off my furniture with your dirty clothes.” Jane slapped at him without actually touching him. “You smell like horse sweat.”
“Come with me, you two,” their grandfather ordered. “From the size of the dust cloud it looks like your father has invited half of Texas. We need to get ready.” He gestured toward the door, then followed the boys as they trudged out. “The people in the wagon train are all going to be hot, dusty and looking forward to a nice cool shower. The first thing we have to do is make sure that the water tanks are full.”
“I get the ladies’ side,” Pea shouted.
~
Clementine Rodgers Van Buskirk walked out onto the porch of her log house and waved to Paul and the two boys. The dust cloud on the horizon meant that her husband would soon be home. Husband. The word seemed alien to her. She had met Jack Van Buskirk a little over a year ago in Port Isabel, Texas when he was recovering from Yellow Fever and being evacuated from Mexico. On the trip to Thomas and Jane’s ranch, Clementine and Jack had fallen in love and married. Soon after their arrival at the ranch, word reached them that Marina was a prisoner of war and Jack had set out again for Mexico with his brother Thomas. Now Clementine was waiting for the stranger that she had married.
~
Thomas handed the reins to Marina and stood up to wave toward the ranch. “Almost home, Brother,” he shouted at Jack, who was riding horseback on their right flank.
Jack grinned and waved, then pulled his mount aside to ride back along the column. Home, Thomas had said. The Two Alone Ranch was indeed home for Thomas, Jane and their two boys, but it wasn’t Jack’s home. Jack had no home. Or did he, now that he had a new wife? The death of Jack’s first wife and children in the Asiatic cholera epidemic of 1832 had turned him into a sullen, bitter man. The only thing that had kept him going for all the years since then was his love of the Army.
Then he met and married Clementine Rodgers, a woman – a girl, really, that he hardly knew.
~
As the picket riders came through the gate, Jane walked onto the porch. Her sister-in-law, Clementine, waved to Jane from her own porch and Jane waved back. Jane noticed immediately that Clementine was wearing a blouse that showed her bare shoulders and a skirt that showed her calves, ankles and bare feet. To appear in public dressed like that would be scandalous in New York, but in Texas, there was no such thing as decorum.
Texas. Jane had come to loathe the place. Unlike the verdant ranch at Montauk Point, Long Island where Jane grew up, the trees here were dwarfs, the grass was sparse and the miserable excuse for an ocean was hundreds of miles away. Jane felt that she would never fit in here. Her Montauk heritage made her an outsider to the white settlers who saw her as just another Indian, and yet her Mexican and Indian neighbors viewed her as a white woman.
~
Marina was in a fog. She and John “Yank” Van Buskirk had spent few of their forty-four married years together, but until now, he had always been somewhere, loving her unflinchingly. Now he was gone, truly gone. Marina would never again see his face or hear his laughter or feel his love and his strength. She missed him so badly that she could hardly think. The excitement of her sons’ homecoming was just a dull background roar that barely penetrated her consciousness. She smiled at the boisterous greetings of her grandchildren, exchanged hugs with her daughters-in-law and behaved somewhat normally on pure reflex while she carefully hid her grief and her physical pain.
~
“Your mother hates me, Tom,” Jane whispered. “Trying to have a conversation with her is like talking to the wall.”
Thomas was watching his mother who, in spite of the fact that it was much too dark to see anything, was staring out the window. “It’s not you, Jane,” he replied softly. “She hasn’t been right since she was rescued.”
~
Robert was also watching Marina and he crossed the crowded room to join her. “Are you okay, Mother?”
“What?” She turned to look at him.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “But I’m very tired. Do you suppose that feelings would be hurt if I went to bed?”
“Not at all,” Robert said. “Let me find Jane and ask her where she’s put you.”
“Pea knows,” Marina replied. “He took my satchel upstairs.”
“He’s outside somewhere with Johnny and the young people from the wagon train. Wait just a minute, I’ll find out.” Robert crossed the room to where Jane and Thomas were talking. “Excuse me, Jane. My mother’s tired. Can you tell me where she’s to sleep so I can take her up?”
“I’ll take her,” Jane said, and she hurried over to Marina. “Robert says that you’re tired. Let me show you to your room.
“Thank you.” Marina followed her to the stairs and gripped the banister to pull herself up, step by step.
Jane noticed her difficulty and stopped. “Do you need help, Marina?”
“No.” Marina continued her slow ascent.
“Very well.” Jane climbed to the top of the stairs, waited for Marina, then led her down the hall to an open door and stepped back. “Do you need some help getting ready for bed?”
“No, thank you.” Marina crossed the room a bit unsteadily and sat down heavily on the bed with a groan.
Jane went in, knelt at the bedside and started to unbutton Marina’s shoe.
Marina pulled her foot away. “Don’t do that. I told you that I didn’t need any help.”
Jan
e drew back in surprise, then stood up. “I’m sorry.”
Marina saw the expression on Jane’s face and shook her head slowly. “No, Jane, I’m sorry. Please. I mean, thank you. I can manage. I’m just – I’m very, very tired.”
“Of course. Good night, Marina.” Jane backed out of the door, closed it and burst into tears.
Marina sighed deeply, then filled the basin on the commode with water. After painfully removing her shoes, she began the agonizing task of soaking off her blood-encrusted stockings.
Anticipating an American attack on Chapultepec Castle in Mexico, Marina had escaped captivity by hiding in the water tower on the roof of the castle. The long exposure to the water while she waited for rescue had resulted in a severe case of immersion foot. In spite of the salve she’d been applying, the infection had worsened during the trek north and Marina now suspected that necrosis was setting in. In a few days, without further treatment, she would be dead. Too bad that her children would have to watch her die. She’d tried her best to save them from it, but they were too stubborn. Maybe she could steal a horse. “Damn. I’ve made another mess of things, John,” she muttered to her husband’s ghost.
June 7, 1848
Two Alone Ranch, Texas
With a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, Thomas walked out onto the front porch. “Good morning, Mother. Did you sleep out here last night?”
Marina was sitting in a rocking chair, watching a rabbit that was nibbling dandelions in the patch of grass that served as a lawn. “I don’t sleep more than two or three hours anymore.”
Thomas sat down beside her. “Josiah Whipple said that you saw William in Mexico.”
She turned her attention from the rabbit to look at her son. “Yes. I had a brief conversation with your brother. Josiah thought that I should have turned him in to the authorities. I suppose he told you that too.”
Thomas nodded. “Charlie Lagrange was Anna’s husband – your son-in-law, and William murdered him, Mother. There’s no doubt about it.”
“William’s my son. There’s no doubt about that either.”
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