The Alamo Bride

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  And I do not want to be bitten again.

  Ellis gave the pirogue another tug, and it seemed to budge, though only slightly. Another tug and she realized the action was futile. Taking one last desperate action before the steamboat moved out of reach, she waded around to the other side of the pirogue.

  The water was deeper here, nearly halfway to her waist. It soaked her skirts, but from this angle she just might have a chance of getting the pirogue out in the open where the soldiers could see the injured man.

  If only she wasn’t terrified of the stupid snakes.

  A bell rang out on the steamboat, reminding her of her purpose. “I cannot do this, Lord, but You can,” Ellis said under her breath as she shoved and tugged to try to get the pirogue to move. A moment later, the soldier’s eyes fluttered but did not open. “It certainly would help if you would wake up and help,” she told him.

  But he did not wake up, nor could she get the pirogue to budge. Frustrated, she kicked it.

  It floated free.

  Ellis let out a most unladylike whoop and shoved the pirogue toward the center of the river where the steamboat was now passing by, all the while gesturing toward the man in the pirogue. Out of the corner of her eye she spied what she knew was a snake just floating in the sun.

  Imagining the vile thing dead and floating rather than merely sunning itself helped, but only slightly. Knowing this man’s life depended on her set her in motion, however.

  Waving frantically, she called out for the men to have the captain turn around. She pleaded. She jumped up and down and acted like a fool.

  The men on deck seemed to enjoy her performance. They certainly rewarded her with laughter, whistles, and shouting.

  Despite her efforts, the steamboat continued to churn the waters as it headed upriver at a brisk pace. As the vessel grew smaller, so did her hope that this man could be saved.

  She continued to wave toward the vessel even as it churned out of sight upriver. Finally she gave up. There would have to be another way to get this man help.

  Resting her head on the rough wood of the pirogue, Ellis refused to cry. Refused to be beaten at this.

  Then she felt the swish of something with scales slither past her leg. Something that felt far too much like a snake for her to remain where she was.

  With all her strength, she pushed the pirogue toward the riverbank and continued pushing until the crude wooden canoe slammed into the trunk of the massive pecan tree that shaded the trail and a good portion of the riverbank. Only then did she realize what she had done.

  Ellis sat back on her heels with her skirts soaked and every muscle in her body exhausted. And then she laughed. It made no sense, for she was still afraid for the life of this stranger. But she had done what she did not believe she could do, and she hadn’t been bitten by the snake.

  “Thank You, Lord,” she whispered as she swiped at the tears that gathered.

  Tears of joy mixed with frustration and anger and settled deep inside her. A bird screeched in the top limbs of the tree, jolting her back to the present.

  And to the man who needed her.

  With the pirogue on dry land and the tree shading them from the sun, Ellis set to work. Peeling back his grey jacket and shirt, she examined the shoulder where blood was still seeping. The wound appeared deep and did not extend through to the other side; thus whatever hit him would have to be removed.

  That was a job better suited to Mama and to a location other than lying under a pecan tree. For now she could only administer pressure to try to slow the bleeding.

  First she gave a cursory look at his abdomen where something had sliced across him, likely a bullet that might have killed him if it had been aimed only slightly better. Then she pulled the sleeve of his jacket down to reveal another wound, this one thankfully gone clean through.

  Much as she wanted to remove his hat to see what sort of damage had been done, no fresh blood flowed there, so she did not. There would be time to clean the wound later, if he survived, and the cap might actually be acting as a temporary bandage.

  Ellis spread her soggy skirts out around her in the dappled sunlight, then returned her attention to the soldier. Thick dark lashes dusted high cheekbones that were draining of color. Who was this man? Ellis studied his face as if that might bring the answer.

  It did not, of course, but she did know that this was someone’s son, someone’s brother. Perhaps someone’s husband. She sighed. He also might be a deserter or the thief who stole the neighbor’s pirogue.

  Or both.

  Ellis searched his pockets for some clue as to his identity. In his jacket pocket she found two things: the certificate he received when he took the oath of allegiance to Texas and a feather. Unfortunately, the ink on the certificate was smeared with blood and completely unreadable. She tucked both back into his pockets and continued her search, only to find nothing else that would help.

  The Grey was broad of shoulder and easily as tall as Papa and Thomas. His face had once been clean-shaven but now his jaw bore a dusting of dark stubble, and his dark hair curled just shy of his collar. His hands bore no calluses, which told he had not made his living in the field or at sea.

  Other than a knife, he carried no weapons. Odd for a soldier newly arrived. But then, it was odder still that he was here in this condition rather than on the steamboat headed upriver.

  “Such a mystery, you are,” she said to him. “Are you a thief? Hard to imagine since you’ve only just arrived and that pirogue, or one very much like it, was stolen well before yesterday. Is someone waiting back home for you?”

  Ellis let out a long breath and let her imagination wander. A man like this surely had a wife and family. Or perhaps it was the lack of those things that sent him down the path to becoming a Grey.

  She shrugged. Mama would say she was woolgathering again. Her imagination did tend to wander. But here under the pecan tree, as she waited for Mama and hoped this man stayed alive, the thoughts that escaped to fly free were the very thoughts that kept her calm.

  Then she heard noises, the crackling of brush and the sound of footsteps coming her way. Either help was coming or whoever shot this man had returned to finish the job.

  Ellis! Ellis!” Lucas’s little voice made her smile.

  “Right where you left me,” she called. “Or nearly so.”

  The little boy appeared on the trail with Mack following a step behind. A moment later, her mother was visible.

  Her heart soared. “Mama! Thank goodness.”

  Regal as always, her mother had covered her dark hair with a bonnet that matched her dress. Though she was often called upon to exercise her abilities as a healer, she rarely arrived with a hair out of place.

  Ellis rose to meet her. Mama looked tired. It must have been a difficult birth. “I’m so glad to see you. Are mother and baby faring well?”

  “The baby has not yet come,” she said as she knelt beside the soldier to begin her examination. “But Lucas had me concerned when he said you were with a dead man and he could not find Mr. Jim. I was afraid Mr. Jim was our corpse. I left Lyla in her husband’s care. I’m afraid if the baby does come, poor Jonah—as big and strong as he is—will faint dead away, so I cannot leave her for long.”

  “I cannot help in locating our farmhand,” Ellis said, “but the soldier is not yet dead.”

  “No,” Mama said, looking up from her work. “And he just may live, but he cannot remain out here under the tree.” She nodded toward Lucas and Mack. “Lucas, go fetch one of the mules. Mack, open the door to the small barn.”

  Once the boys were gone, her mother motioned for Ellis to join her beside the pirogue. “What can you tell me about this man?”

  She started by explaining where he was found and then offered her observations on his condition. Finally she told her mother what she found in his pockets and how she had been in Velasco to see for herself when he received the certificate that was now covered with the man’s blood.

  “He was i
n the river,” Mama said. “Did you check for snakebites?”

  “I only looked at his head and chest,” she said. “I was waiting for you.”

  Mama gave her an appraising look. “Propriety has its place, but not when a patient cannot tell you where his pains are. Go and see if the baby is near to arriving. If he is, then you’ll help with the delivery. Or you can stay here to finish the examination and I will go. I leave that choice to you.”

  “I will go,” she said as she saw the boys returning with the mule. “Why did you send them for the mule?”

  She smiled. “In the absence of strong men, we will use a strong mule to pull the pirogue. And since we know nothing about this man, he will stay in the small barn while he heals. You go along now. The boys and I will get him situated.”

  Ellis hurried off to take over for her mother. By the time the little one made his way into the world and she was certain the child’s mother was in good health, the day was gone and night had fallen. She stepped out into the fresh night air and breathed a sigh of relief. Often she assisted Mama in these situations, but rarely did she go alone.

  She arrived home to find the little boys already sleeping and a plate of cold fried chicken covered by a dishcloth awaiting her. Until that moment, Ellis hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Moving the plate to the table, she spied a light in the small barn.

  The soldier.

  In the excitement of assisting in the birth, she forgot all about him. Ellis returned her plate to the sideboard and covered it once more, then hurried outside. She found Mama sitting beside the pirogue, which was shored up with straw and situated in the corner of the barn where it was being used as the substitute for a proper bed. In place of the oar, blankets appeared to make the rough wood more comfortable, and a small pillow had been placed beneath his head.

  Her mother leaned against the wall beside her patient, her eyes closed. When the barn door slammed shut behind Ellis, her mother jolted awake.

  “The birth was successful?”

  “Yes,” Ellis said. “A big beautiful boy who cried as soon as he was born. When I left, he was nursing just fine.”

  “And his mama?”

  “I observed no complications, and she attested to feeling tired but otherwise fine. When I left, her sister had arrived and was caring for her. Jonah was sitting outside looking quite confused.”

  “Confused?” Mama said. “Whatever for?”

  “Something about having seen plenty of farm animals born but never a baby.” She shrugged. “He seemed quite pleased with his child, though.”

  “As I am with mine,” her mother said. “Your first birth and you handled it beautifully.”

  “I was terrified,” she admitted.

  “I’m still terrified every time,” Mama said. “But I do what I know to do and pray the Lord will handle the rest. He always does.”

  “I must have prayed too, but it all happened so fast I don’t recall the words I used. Only that He did what I could not.”

  As Mama chuckled, Ellis looked down at the soldier. His color had not improved, but it did appear Mama had managed to control the bleeding on his shoulder. The other wounds were covered in a poultice and bound with cotton strips. Another strip of cotton had been wound around his forehead.

  “I didn’t move him to look at the head wound,” she told Mama. “Though I would have if I hadn’t known you were on your way.”

  “It will pain him, and it did bleed, so I bound it, but I think the concern there will be what it does to his thinking when he awakens,” Mama said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is possible he may recollect nothing of how he came to be in that boat. That is common enough with any injury of this kind.” She paused to look down at the soldier and then back up at Ellis. “Sometimes it also means that the patient may be missing more than just the immediate past memory.”

  “So he could awaken to not know why he is here or possibly more than that?”

  “It is possible.”

  “Forever?”

  Mama shrugged. “In the cases I have seen, the patient rarely remembers the accident if he does not remember it immediately upon awakening after treatment. As to any other complication of memory, that is something that only the Lord knows. He could always forget, or he could eventually remember. As to this man, we are not done yet.”

  Ellis returned her attention to the patient. The fact that Mama had not yet bound the shoulder wound meant one thing: there was still a bullet to be removed.

  “Oh, I have bad news,” Mama said as she looked up sharply. “We will be without Mr. Jim for a few weeks.”

  “Why?” Ellis settled down beside Mama on the straw-covered floor.

  “He’s had an accident. He was on his way back from Columbia early this morning when he came upon two men on foot who were looking to take away his horse. They succeeded and left him bleeding and unconscious. Had he not been found by a Methodist circuit rider, I hate to think what might have happened.”

  “Oh no,” Ellis said. “Should I go and see to him?”

  “The circuit rider took him to Columbia where a doctor there has patched him up and is watching out for him. He sent word through a friend who was riding this way for us not to worry and that he would see that Mr. Jim gets back as soon as he’s fit to ride.”

  Ellis let out a long breath. What would they do without the old man’s help in keeping things running here? She shook off the thought with a roll of her shoulders and returned her attention to the soldier.

  “That shoulder wound?” she said. “It’s not bandaged.”

  “No. I waited for you,” she said. “It must be cleaned out first. We will do this together.”

  White-hot pain. Searing. Pain that made him scream.

  Must get away.

  Can’t move.

  Pain. Such pain.

  Darkness.

  Silence.

  Then green eyes watching over him. Something cool brushing across his face. Once, twice, three times.

  The soft sound of singing. A hymn perhaps. Soothing but with a power he could feel radiating around him. A power stronger than whatever had taken hold of him.

  Then the pain again.

  The darkness.

  And silence.

  Time floated around him but would not stick, nor did the words he wanted to say. He knew of plans made in secret involving important men and causes. He knew dates when appointments must be met and places where things of great value must be retrieved and exchanged.

  Thoughts formed, spoken in the language of the Acadians. People he knew but could not recall how. Yes. An old woman who loved him. An old man too.

  People with secrets. People who told tales in the old language so the secrets would be safe.

  He spoke to them now and then but only through the darkness. Through the pain and the cold and the heat. And through the visits of the green-eyed woman.

  She too wove through time and his thoughts, sometimes leaning over him, while other times he could only feel her presence nearby. There were others—children, an older woman, and at least one grey-haired man—but he only cared to see the woman.

  Willing his mind to produce a reason why they were there proved impossible, as did thinking about anything other than the few facts he could string together. A date and a time, a location, and an important reason to exchange treasure for …

  Yes, that is where reason and recall failed. The green-eyed woman told him it did not matter. She spoke soothing words and held his hand when fear attempted to rule him. She smiled and said that none of these things upon which he worried so much mattered at all.

  She read to him from a book and brought cool water. Today her words had struck him to the core. “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust.”

  He knew those words. The same words she knew. Thus he knew the woman spoke truth and that he was safe. If only he knew more than this.

  Like where those words had come from o
r how they both knew them.

  “You cannot stay another night out here,” Grandfather Valmont said, causing Ellis to jolt fully awake. “It isn’t seemly.”

  She had assumed her place beside the soldier’s bed—now a proper bed borrowed from the house rather than the pirogue—almost a week ago now and had rarely left except to help Mama with the chores. With Mr. Jim not yet returned from Columbia, the number of duties he had so easily performed was becoming staggeringly clear. Two women and two children were hopeless against the long list, but she and Mama did try.

  Ellis looked up at her grandfather with as gentle an expression as she could manage given the level of her exhaustion. The small barn was bathed in pale sunlight and the lamp had not yet been lit, but whether it was nearer to sunrise or sunset, she could not say.

  “For your information, the patient is fully dressed in one of Papa’s nightshirts under that quilt, and I do not do an examination without Mama present except in the case of an emergency—which has not yet been the case.” She paused. “Thus, unless Mama has informed you that she has revoked her permission for me to keep watch over the patient, then I am going to have to respectfully disagree as to whether this arrangement is proper or not.”

  Her grandfather looked away and then shook his head. “She has not. But I wonder if your spending time here isn’t making things harder on your mother now that she has no other help with the chores.”

  “I help,” Ellis protested.

  “That explains why you look so exhausted. Can you both help your mother and see to this man’s care?”

  “I can,” she said, though she would never admit that the attempt at doing both had her wondering where she was and what she was supposed to do next most of the time.

  He gave her another appraising look. “Perhaps you can, but given the fact this man could be a thief and deserter from the Greys, I fail to see why you are so devoted to him.”

  “Devoted?” She shook her head. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because I see it on your face when I challenge whether you ought to spend every free moment of your time at his side in this barn.”