by S. B. Moores
No, she wouldn’t wait. The only sure way of saving Justin was to find her father before he and Toby found Justin. What else could she do? They’d only been gone a day. She would go after them. She tumbled out of bed and scrambled for traveling clothes from her wardrobe. She looked at frilly dresses and threw them aside. She needed clothing suitable for riding, camping, and herding cattle, if she must. She looked for her leather and wool outfits and began to make a mental list of the provisions she’d need, at least until she caught up with her father. She wanted her pocket gun, powder, and ball. And food for perhaps a week. But what was she going to tell her mother?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Early February 1836
Her mother would be beside herself, anxious with fear, but Abigail was determined. She would not wait patiently to learn whether her father and Tobias had hanged Justin. The only thing that might dampen her mother’s panic and keep her from sending the sheriff after her was if she knew Abigail wasn’t alone, and the only person who might agree to go with her was Elly. She found the servant in the kitchen, eating breakfast.
“Elly, when you’re done, can you come up to my room? I’ve something I wish to discuss with you.”
Elly had just bitten into a biscuit, but she stopped chewing and looked at Abigail. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” She put a reassuring hand on Elly’s forearm. “It’s Justin. I want to talk to you about Justin.”
Elly started chewing again. “Isn’t that terrible, what he did with Mr. Whitfield’s cattle?”
“You don’t really believe he did that, do you?”
“No, I don’t. But Mr. Whitfield and Tobias Johnson, they’re mad as bees at a bear who’s stole their honey.”
“That’s right. And it’s that I want to talk to you about.”
Elly put down her biscuit and pointed to the door. “Let’s go.”
Once they were safely in Abigail’s room, she locked the door and told Elly to sit in the bay window, as far away from the door and any prying ears as one could get in her bedroom. Abigail sat next to her.
“It’s this,” she said. “My father is so mad, like you said, I’m afraid he’ll do something terrible to Justin.”
“That’d be awful,” Elly said. “But what can we do?”
“If we were there when Father finds Justin, I don’t think he’d do anything . . . too rash.”
“You mean he won’t string poor Justin up from a tree first thing?”
“Exactly. He’d be required to turn Justin over to the law for a proper trial.”
“That’s nice, but . . . wait a minute. Are you saying what I think you’re thinking?”
“Yes. I need you to go with me.”
“Lordy, Abby. Your father would skin me alive and make himself a pair of boots if I let you go after him.”
“I won’t let him do that. You know I won’t. This is too important.” She stood up and paced the room with her arms crossed. “Father’s only been gone a day or so. Three men can’t travel that fast, especially if they’re looking to follow Justin and they don’t know exactly where he is. We should be able to catch up with them pretty quickly if we leave right away.” She stopped pacing in front of Elly and dropped to her knees. “I need you, Elly. Justin needs you. When you think about it, my father needs you to keep him from doing something awful. Please say you’ll go with me.”
The look in Elly’s eyes shifted from concern to absolute wonder. She grinned. “Go with you? Lordy. I guess I could use vacation.”
“Thank you!” Abigail stood up. “Go pack a bag. Find your best boots. Get some bread and cheese from the kitchen. I’ll make ready a pair of horses and find my pistol.”
“A pistol! This is going to be some vacation. What are you going to tell your mother?”
Abigail paused. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to let her stop me. We’ll leave at first light, before Mother is awake and can send the farmhands after us.”
“You’d better leave her a note. She’s going to be sick with worry about you.”
“A note, of course.” She glanced at the armoire where she’d hidden the letter from Archie Browning. “I’ll leave her more than a note, and I’ll distract her with a bit of news. Now, get going.”
Elly leaped from the seat and sprinted to the door. Abigail ran after her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Not so quickly, Elly. We don’t want anyone to ask questions. And don’t tell anybody what we’re doing. Nobody at all. I need you to keep this our secret.”
“Cross my heart, Abby.” She passed her fingers over her chest in an “x”; then she composed herself and calmly reached for the door latch. “Until tomorrow morning then, Miss Abigail. Good day.” She curtsied slightly and left the room.
Abigail sat down at her desk and penned a note to her mother.
Dear Mother, it said. Elly and I have gone for a ride. My aim is to find Father and Tobias. I cannot in good conscience let Father harm Justin on the basis of mere allegations of thievery. You and I know Justin Sterling would never do such a thing. Please do not worry about me. As you have pointed out many times, I am a grown woman. We should find Father in one or two days and, if we do not, I will return immediately. When I find Father, I will send Elly back with word for you. Although I do not believe I will be in any serious danger, if something should happen to me, I wish you to have the letter which accompanies this note. It is from a man named Archibald Browning, who says he knows you well. I haven’t given it to you before this because I do not know the truth of what Mr. Browning says, and it may cause you some unease. I have no opinion about Browning’s story, and I pass judgment on no one, least of all you. Please know that I love you and Father dearly. Until I return, Abigail Louise Whitfield.
She felt compelled to sign the note with her full name, to emphasize that she still considered Henry to be her father, in spite of Browning’s claims. And because using her full name sounded more adult. She folded the note in half and placed it with the letter. She looked at the clock and mentally reviewed her preparations, to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
The more Justin saw of Texas, the more ideal it seemed for raising cattle. Large swaths of open range ran from horizon to horizon and needed little clearing. Endless tracts of the land were uninhabited. Water was much scarcer than in Tennessee, but lakes and streams were clearly marked by cottonwood trees and other vegetation. Most everywhere else was an endless sea of grass. On top of that, the weather was quite pleasant for so early in the year, and Justin was beginning to like the idea of being a Texican.
Every few days the small band of men stopped in a small village, where the low, single-story buildings were made from bricks of adobe mud, and the local food was simple but plentiful. Justin had been warned about Mexican spices, and he feared he might not grow accustomed to the unusual flavors. But a plate of beans was a plate of beans, and he enjoyed everything he ate, as long as he stayed clear of any small green peppers. The inhabitants of the territory were an equally exotic mix of people. Mexicans were greater in number than whites, but, in addition to other Americans, Justin met trappers from Scotland, ranchers from South America, and a number of freed black men, or runaway slaves.
As Henry Clay had said, there was little sign of Mexican rule over the territory, or any rule at all in many places, other than common courtesy. Most of the land appeared open for the taking by anyone determined enough to work it. Even so, Joseph Bayliss warned, there might be a fight if the Mexicans resisted the influx of settlers from the States.
With every odd new food Justin ate, and with every new vista over which his gaze lingered, he wondered what Abby would think of it all. Then he would chastise himself and redouble his effort to put any thought of her out of his mind. She could have been married to Toby by then, and already started her new life, and the sooner he forgot her, the better. Of course the harder he tried, the more his heart ached. His inability to banish Abby from his mind drove h
im on each day, more determined than ever to find some new adventure or some new purpose in life that would fill the gaping hole in his heart that had opened up in Abby’s absence.
Eventually, Bayliss led the group to a town called Villa de San Fernando de Béxar, which lay next to the San Antonio River. From the name, it sounded to Justin like Béxar must be a bustling city, at least as big as Lexington. But Bayliss assured him it was only slightly larger than the trifling settlements they’d already seen. If they couldn’t find lodging in Béxar itself, they surely could at a nearby mission, just outside the town.
Béxar was said to be a seat of the local Mexican government. Bayliss and his friends had no desire to pick a fight with the Mexicans. Nor did Justin, who remembered his father’s admonition that war wasn’t always the answer to a country’s problems. The men intended to consult with government officials in Béxar to see what requirements there were, if any, for newcomers who wished to settle in the territory. Justin belonged to no country now. He might as well be a Mexican as an American. The dark-eyed, almond-skinned Mexican women he’d encountered were an exotic and stark contrast to the fair-haired Abigail Whitfield. Eventually, perhaps, a Mexican beauty would help him forget the love he left behind.
When the men arrived in Béxar, they were told that Mexican officials had abandoned the town. The mission had been abandoned, too, except that a group of Americans had turned the compound into a makeshift fort. Because of this, the local residents expected trouble. There had already been one battle elsewhere in Texas between Mexican soldiers and American colonists in October of the year before, and there were rumors of another.
Local residents advised the Americans to move on, if they wanted to avoid the growing troubles. But the men had ridden too far, and they had no other destination in mind. To learn more about the conflict and what they should do, they rode out to the mission. It had indeed been converted into a fort, complete with a wooden stockade, which enclosed those portions of the compound that had previously been open. They were briefly challenged by an armed guard on top of a wall, then a gate was opened and they were greeted warmly by the men inside.
A man in military uniform stepped forward and introduced himself, shaking each man’s hand in turn as they dismounted.
“Welcome to Alamo Mission,” he said. “My name is Travis. Colonel William Travis. I’m in command here. Well, I’m in cocommand. The other commander is Mr. James Bowie, but he’s taken ill and is indisposed.”
“We’re late of Tennessee,” Bayliss said. “Come to Texas to try some farming. Maybe raise a few cattle.”
“Tennessee? We have others here from that great state.” He put a hand on the shoulder of the tall man standing next to him, dressed in leathers and wearing a soft fur hat that looked to be made from the skin of a raccoon. “This here’s David Crockett. You may have heard of him.”
“Congressman David Crockett?” Justin thought the man looked vaguely familiar. “From Tennessee?”
“The one and only.” Crockett stepped forward, shaking Justin’s hand first. “It’s always nice to meet a constituent.”
“Well if that don’t set all the pigs to dancing,” Bayliss said. “Imagine coming all the way to Texas to meet you.” He pushed his hat back on his head. “What’s my congressman doing way out here?”
“I’m an ex-congressman now, due to the fickle nature of Tennessee voters. And I’m here the same as you, I guess. To find a new life.”
Bayliss gestured at his men. “We’re looking to settle near some sweet grass and fresh water, if it’s possible.”
“You’re all welcome by us,” Travis said. “But the Mexicans will not be as pleased.”
“We heard in Béxar that fighting’s already started,” Justin said.
“It has. And it may come here soon.” Travis grimaced. “I’m surprised you got this far into Texas without coming across a Mexican army.”
“I guess we were lucky, at that,” Bayliss said.
“We’ll be ready for them if they get here,” Crockett said. “But we could use a few extra muskets, if you men are willing to stay with us.”
Bayliss looked at Justin and his friends. “We’ve got nowhere else to go at the moment, and we’d be in fine company if we stayed.”
The men nodded their agreement. Justin nodded, too, but he was indifferent. Travis and Crockett were impressive men, but Justin didn’t feel the same need to fight for Texican independence as they. Even so, a war with Mexico might be enough to take his mind off Abigail Whitfield, and, if trouble was coming, what better place to be than in a fort?
Travis’s slave, a black man named Joe, led the men and their horses to the stables as the gates of the Alamo Mission closed behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Somewhere in Arkansas, Mid-February 1836
Out of an abundance of caution, Abigail kept to the main road leading west. Bandits would consider two women riding alone easy prey, but she hoped any outlaws would do their business on less traveled highways. She also kept to the main road because she knew her father and Toby would follow it as far as they could, it being the quickest route west. That appeared to have been a good choice at first, since a few of the people they encountered remembered seeing her father and Toby. They seemed to be just ahead, almost within reach. That had been yesterday. Today no traveler they met said they’d seen two men fitting the description. If they had turned off the main road, Abigail wasn’t sure in which direction they’d have gone.
Abigail was tired, sore, and losing hope.
Now, as the sun dipped low over the tree-filled hills, she was beginning to question her judgment. When they came to a crossroads, she reined her mount to a stop to consider their options. Elly halted her horse next to her.
“Miss Abby, do you think we’re still goin’ in the right direction? Seems like we’ve been riding for days. Shouldn’t we have caught them by now?”
“I had hoped so,” she admitted. “I know they came this way, at least at first.”
“How much longer do we need to ride?”
Abigail wiped at the road dust on her forehead with a kerchief. “Do you mean today, or at all?”
“Either one. My hind end wants to know real bad.”
Abigail laughed. “I’m sorry I got you into this, Elly. It looks like it was all for nothing.”
“No, Miss Abby. It cain’t be for nothing if we’re doing this for Justin.”
“You’re right, Elly.” Abigail smiled. “You keep telling me that.”
“Are we going to camp in the tent again tonight? I could use a real bed and a warm bath. And we’re fearfully low on coffee.”
“We might be sleeping on the ground again unless there’s a farmhouse or ferry landing at the end of this side road. I think it goes down to a river.”
“Well, at least there’ll be water. Maybe we should take a look there before it gets dark.”
“I agree. We can decide what to do in the morning.” She reined her horse off the main road and walked it down the smaller side road. The overhang of maple trees blocked out more sunlight than on the main road, and the encroaching darkness made it more urgent that they find a place to camp. The road was narrow, but it looked well-traveled, and it started to wind back and forth in a series of switchbacks as it descended to the river. On one hairpin curve, Abigail thought she saw lights below them. On the next turn she was sure. There was a dwelling of some kind. At last they turned into the yard of a small roadhouse with peeling white paint and green trim. It was half grown over by vines that grew along the river.
A small ferry landing platform lay to the right side of the house, next to the river. No one moved about outside, but a handful of horses were tethered to a rail, and candle lanterns shone through the slats of two shuttered windows. A wisp of smoke rose from the chimney.
A weathered sign over the door said “Pendleton Crossing Inn.” A pretentious name for a modest business, Abigail thought.
“It doesn’t look like much,” she
said, “but it’ll do.”
“It looks like a king’s palace to me.” Elly stood up in her stirrups. “I think I smell a stew cooking.”
They dismounted, tied their horses to the rail, and went in through the front door. As she stood at the front of the public room with her eyes adjusting to the light, the first thing Abigail noticed was the cook pot hanging over a bright crackling fire in the hearth, and the smell of stewing meat made her mouth water. A counter bar ran the length of the back of the room and half a dozen men were seated around tables in front of it. All of them looked up at Abigail and Elly.
Among them were her father and Tobias.
“Great Caesar’s ghost!” her father stood up and roared. “Abigail! What are you doing here?”
Her father’s hand, Douglas, stood up but backed away from Henry. Toby stood up, too, but he seemed less excited to see her.
“I had to come,” she said.
Henry glared at Elly, then he pulled Abigail over to their table and lowered his voice, even though every man in the room could clearly hear him.
“This is unbelievable! This time your disobedience has gone too far.”
Abigail shook off his hand from her arm and lifted her chin in defiance. “You never forbade me coming, Father.”
“Well I forbid you to stay. You must go back immediately.”
“I will not. I will not go back without Justin.” She looked over at the proprietor, who stood behind the bar in an apron with his mouth agape at the scene. “Two bowls of whatever’s cooking on the fire, please, for my companion and me.” She gestured at Elly. “And some ale.”
Her father’s face turned as purple as a Tennessee iris.
“Unbelievable,” he said again.
“Unbelievable as it seems, they’re here now,” Tobias said. “Let us all sit down and discuss what this means.”
