by Lyn Cote
Drawn against his will, he sat on the end of the bed, the sheer mosquito curtain like a veil separating them. Then he recalled Carson’s opinion that it might be better all around if the Texians won this war.
He knew, at least, that here he could protect Alandra with his fists and gun. His hands clenched and he glanced at his rifle propped against the door where he’d stowed it earlier. He thought about seeing Jim Bowie at the Alamo. That man Allen too. What did it matter if he didn’t like some of the Texians? What if the Alamo fell and Mexicans like these three took charge of things? Did they think that the court would side with them against Alandra simply because of who they were?
Her voice brought him back to the present. She was leaning toward the glow from the bedside candle, reading from an open Bible.
“Fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass.”
The sound of her voice was like music to him, and her slight Spanish accent charmed him.
She looked up at him. And smiled. Her beauty blazed in the candlelit shadows. He was captivated. And suddenly he realized that he was here not only out of duty, but because this woman was special—to him. “That sounds familiar.” He managed to squeeze out the words, shock at the sudden realization rippling through him.
She nodded, still smiling. “It is from Tía Dorritt’s favorite psalm, Thirty-seven. She believes its promises and she taught me that I could trust them too. Do you believe that?”
Sitting at the very foot of the bed on only a corner of the mattress, he leaned back against the bedpost. He savored looking at her in the candlelight. Her long dark hair had been braided for the night and the long tail fell forward over her shoulder. Her pale olive skin and her ruffled collar glowed against the dark wood headboard. Beauty—unadorned, natural, heady.
What had she asked him about? The psalm. “Mrs. Quinn’s an honest woman. I can believe anything she said.”
“Then we must not despair.” She looked down again: My ‘family’ has brought wicked devices to pass. But we are not to fret.”
“That’s hard.” Especially since I’m the one who must protect you. And this might be a fight I can’t win with a rifle or my fists. That goaded him. He took a deep breath, holding back his tinder-ready anger.
“Sí, it is hard not to worry. I wish I could banish these three from my land and set guards to keep them out. But this isn’t just about me. All of Texas is in turmoil. I do not know if this revolution is from God, and I do not know who will win it.”
She moved onto her knees and slid down toward him, the quilt bunching up between them. “But I know that God knows what the outcome will be. I also believe that He loves me and that He will keep the promises He has made in this psalm, just as he kept His promises to Tía Dorritt. He brought her safely from Louisiana and gave her the strength to defy her family and marry Quinn, a half-breed. Will God do less for me?”
Scully had stayed where he was. But his neck warmed as she moved forward. From this drawing nearer—what was she trying to show him? “It’s hard,” he repeated, turning over in his mind what she had just said she believed. Keeping his thoughts from straying where they didn’t belong, he cleared his thick throat. “I want to do more than let God take care of everything. I want to do my part.” Take care of you.
“Sí, we have work to do.”
He suddenly realized that this woman was as lovely in her heart as she was to his eye. Her bent head was only inches from him, veiled by the mosquito net. “Sí.”
She smiled at him in a way that made his heart jump. Still on her knees, she looked into his eyes. “Will we believe the Lord?”
“Yes, but we need to sleep now.” To have the strength to face what will come tomorrow. He left the bed and did not look at her, but heard her sliding back, rustling the bed linens, making him think of her little white feet.
Trying to forget that, he blew out the candle in the sconce and settled on the rug beside her bed with the blanket and pillow there. The room seemed to have shrunk in size. She was so close that he found himself listening to her draw breath.
He forced his mind back to the words she’d read. I will believe and I will do whatever it takes to protect you.
After breakfast the next morning, Alandra sat in her office off the courtyard. In the turmoil of the past week, she hadn’t had time to go over her accounts. And she needed to get ready for the planting season, which was upon them. She could not allow her three unwelcome guests to delay the early crop of corn.
Alandra studied a rough drawing of her acres and the plots that had grown corn last year. Dorritt had taught her about land management and how to rotate crops and which crops enriched the soil and which ones depleted it. She stared at the paper, but saw instead Scully’s face as she’d seen it by candlelight alone in her bedroom last night. His golden hair and white skin had glimmered in the low light.
There was a quiet knock at the office door. “Who is it?” she asked, sliding the papers out of sight. She didn’t want either Fernando or Benito sticking his nose into her business.
“It is I, Doña Isabella.”
Alandra, tasting sour acid, made a face, but said politely, “Please come in.” This woman’s intrusion reminded her that just this morning her housekeeper had informed her that while she had been at San Antonio, the housekeeper and Ramirez had taken the precaution of hiding all the easily carried off valuables in the house. The hidden wall safe had been emptied and Ramirez buried her store of gold in an agreed upon location. Her people were loyal. She would not let them down.
The black-garbed widow entered. “I would like to have a few words with you, Doña Alandra.”
Alandra nodded curtly at the chair across from her on the other side of the desk. The woman’s haughty manner triggered a marked reaction in her. She lifted her chin. She would let the woman say what she’d come to say and then usher her out. “How may I help you?”
The widow examined the chair for dust and then sat. “I do not think you will welcome what I have to say, but I feel compelled to speak. I am older and have seen more of the world than you.” The widow looked down her nose, her expression sour and her tone pompous.
“I do not welcome advice from you.” Alandra lifted her chin, higher and firmer. “You may say what you wish, but I know that I am the Sandoval. And I will keep my land.”
Isabella shook her head, sneering. “Land? What is land? It is merely a source of wealth. You have behaved foolishly in the extreme by marrying that Anglo—if you have indeed married that cowboy.”
Alandra rippled with outrage at the slur cast upon Scully, who had stood as her friend, more than her friend, in all this. “Scully is twice the man Fernando Sandoval is.”
“You speak as a girl without experience in the world,” the widow flared. “Fernando Sandoval commands respect wherever he goes in Mexico. Do you think your lands are all that important? He merely wanted to take possession of what is his. He has thousands of acres around Mexico City and he has silver mines too. To him, this rancho is just another source of wealth and power. And he graciously decided to marry you so that you would not be left destitute when your father’s land is transferred to him.”
“That was good of him.” But Alandra knew she was wasting her irony on this woman.
Scully had halted outside the door of Alandra’s office. About to knock, he had realized that she was not alone and froze. Now he pulled his hand down. The widow’s speech had started his insides buzzing like angry wasps. And Alandra’s tone was dangerous, alerting him of her anger. Should he stay or go?
The widow went on speaking in the tone a teacher might use to an ignorant student. “Offering you marriage was good of Fernando. Many prominent families in Mexico City have offered marriage contracts to Benito for his son. But Fernando realized that he must do his duty to his blood and marry you.”
Scully gritted his teeth. Didn’t the widow have any sense?
“It is so gracious of
him to overlook my Indian blood.” Alandra’s voice dripped with acid sarcasm.
“Sí, it is, and it tells you the kind of man—the proud man—you have spurned. And he will not forget it. If you have any sense at all, you would beg forgiveness, renounce your unfortunate and hasty marriage to a man far beneath—”
Scully laid a hand on the door.
“Mi esposo Scully is far above Fernando in my eyes. I do not weigh men by their possessions and position in society. I weigh a man by his character and his courage. I have seen little of Fernando’s and much of his disdain.”
She is defending me. It took him a moment to take in her words about him.
“Fernando has a fine character and great courage,” the Mexican lady insisted, sounding personally insulted.
“Then you should marry him,” his wife declared. “You will be able to console him over losing my land. Oh, and also losing me. My marriage may have wounded his pride, but I doubt it has nicked his heart.”
Scully heard a chair being pushed back, scraping the tile floor. He’d heard that sound in cantinas when men rose in anger.
“You are a foolish, heedless little girl.” The widow’s tone blazed and her words rushed one after another. “Marriage is not about love. You are your parents’ daughter. Your father gave up everything for that half-breed—”
Before his spitfire wife slapped the starched-up widow, Scully decided to halt this conversation. He knocked as he opened the door. “Alandra.” Looking across the small room, he did indeed see his wife poised and ready to spit fire. He couldn’t help himself. He beamed at her, with her eyes snapping and her dusky cheeks rosy.
He tried to straighten his face, but his smile widened. He swallowed a chuckle.
The red-faced widow swung around, pushed past him and left without a word or nod. Scully stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“What are you smiling at?” Alandra snapped, obviously irritated that he had scared away her prey before she’d been able to move in for the kill.
“You.” He loved how she looked now, fire still crackling in her eye. “You are quite a woman—”
“Señorita! Señorita!” Ramirez’s voice interrupted them.
Instant dread doused Scully’s high spirits. He turned and opened the door. “What is it?”
“They’re nearly here!”
Alandra moved forward to stand in front of Scully. “Who?”
“Mexican Army!” Ramirez stood, panting, forcing out the words. “They are within sight and heading this way.”
Seven
With eyes dry and gritty from lack of sleep, Alandra found herself walking through a waking nightmare. Ahead of her strutted General Santa Anna, dictator of Mexico. In full military uniform of dark blue and white with lavish gold trim, he was thin, sallow, and had piercing blue eyes. She didn’t like him. For so many reasons.
But most of all he filled her with a fear that froze her to her marrow. From what she had overheard—after Santa Anna, along with his army of six thousand, had crossed the Rio Grande in mid-February, they had been divided into columns of around two thousand. These columns had marched north one at a time ahead of him toward the Alamo.
Hanging back with the final column, Santa Anna had decided to spend time here with his friends, the Sandovals, until the bulk of his army reached San Antonio. Then he would decide the right moment to go to there himself. And retake the Alamo.
His blatant arrogance lodged in her throat. She despised him. She feared him.
In addition to suffering Santa Anna as a guest, she was being forced to endure having two thousand soldiers, camped around her rancho and hacienda, butchering her longhorns, hogs, and chickens, tearing down her fences for firewood, digging a latrine behind her barn. She was not personally afraid of the troops camping all around Rancho Sandoval, but the rest of the women on her ranch were hiding in either the hacienda or in their shuttered and bolted adobe houses. Soldiers were not to be trusted.
Her vaqueros lounged around the hacienda and other houses, their rifles looped over their backs, a warning to the soldiers to keep their distance. The fear that some soldier might be foolish or reckless enough to try to break into one of the houses kept Alandra’s stomach twisted and knotted. How could she keep her people safe?
Her dear cousin Fernando walked beside Santa Anna, preening. He was pointing out all the wonders of his new holding, Rancho Sandoval. “As you can see, we have many fine mixed breed horses.”
“Those are from Quinn, who ranches about ten miles west of here,” Scully said, his low voice conversational. “He breeds mustangs with thoroughbreds. Makes stronger stock.”
Her eyes widening, Alandra turned to look at him. So did Santa Anna and Fernando. Then they turned their backs to them and behaved as if they had heard nothing. She did not know how to react. Scully speaking without being asked a question? And to General Santa Anna, of all people? Please, Scully, no.
Then the general and her cousin proceeded toward the spring fountain at the far end of the paddock. Water trickled steadily over the brick fountain. “You see this rancho has many artesian springs and wells,” Fernando bragged.
“Alandra’s father and then her brother took the time to find them and corral the water so it wouldn’t be wasted,” Scully said without expression. “Quinn told me.”
Alandra’s lips parted. What was Scully doing? Did he not know how powerful and how cruel a man Santa Anna was? Her heart was beginning to hop and skip as if trying to warn Scully to tread lightly.
Fernando turned to Scully. “I do not know why you have come along, Anglo. You were not invited. Please go.”
“A man doesn’t have to be invited to his own rancho,” Scully said coolly. “What I want to know is why you’re acting like you own Rancho Sandoval when you don’t.”
Fear hissed through Alandra’s nerves.
Fernando made a derisive sound and said to Santa Anna, “Anglos think they own Texas.”
“They own parts of Texas,” Scully went on, ignoring the rebuff. “The parts they paid for with U.S. dollars and honest gold. But my wife isn’t an Anglo, and this is her rancho until proven otherwise in a court of law.”
Fernando swung toward Scully. “Leave us now or suffer the consequences.”
Scully chuckled. “You’re mighty cocky. I’ll give you that. If you want me to leave, why don’t you try and make me.”
Alandra watched her cousin turn brick red. She laid a restraining hand on Scully’s arm.
Fernando looked down his long nose at Scully. “Gentlemen do not lower themselves to fisticuffs.”
“All right, then. How about pistols or rifles or tomahawks?” Scully offered nonchalantly. “You pick.”
Alandra clutched Scully’s arm. He had just issued a challenge. No, Scully, not now. Not in front of the dictator of Mexico.
Fernando laughed with scorn. “You see the angloamericanos don’t know their place,” he said to the general. “They think land makes them gentlemen.”
“Oh, I know I’m not a gentleman,” Scully said in a cool, easy tone. “But what has that got to with this? I just said, pick your weapon. Or is ‘gentleman’ another word for coward?”
Alandra suppressed a moan, digging her fingernails into Scully’s arm.
Santa Anna laughed. “This is why I have come to Texas. Thank you, Anglo. You have reminded me of what I’ve come to put an end to. Riffraff that thinks to be in charge.”
Scully folded his arms. “Is that why you came? I been wondering for a while why the Mexican Army is here.”
Alandra clutched Scully’s arm as tightly as she could.
“Shall I have you shot for being a rebel?” Santa Anna asked, still grinning at Scully.
“Oh, I’m no rebel. If I were, I’d be at the Alamo or farther east with Sam Houston. But since I have the chance here and now, I got to ask you, why not just leave the Texians alone? What is it that has you going to all this trouble?”
The smile slid from the general’s fac
e. “I do not have to answer to you.”
“That’s true, you don’t. Just asking.” Scully patted her hand on his arm, looking as though they were discussing everyday matters.
Alandra found she was having trouble breathing. Fernando spoke up, “Angloamericanos think they can stand against Mexico. They must be taught that they answer to Mexico. They are not a state unto themselves.”
“Is that why?” Scully rubbed the side of his nose. “Everything has its price, though. If you teach the Texians this lesson, the ones who survive will probably leave Texas.”
“That would be no great loss,” Fernando said, sneering. And Santa Anna grinned.
“Well, if they leave, who’s going to grow the cotton? Who is going to plant the corn? Who’s going to pay taxes to Mexico City?”
“This is not about taxes,” Santa Anna insisted, his face tightening. “It is about who will govern Texas.”
“And Texas belongs to the Mexicans, and Mexico City governs Texas,” Fernando snapped. “This is a lesson that the angloamericanos must learn as well as my dear cousin.”
Scully shrugged. “Well, some lesson will be learned by this war. But why did Spain let the Americans into Texas in the first place? They did it because they couldn’t get anybody else to live up here with the Comanches and Karankawas and Apaches. Or that’s what Mrs. Quinn told me. So who’s going to live here when the Anglos are driven out?” he asked.
Santa Anna and Fernando stared at Scully as if they couldn’t believe their ears.
Alandra’s heart beat so strongly that her whole body pulsed with warning. She felt a bit faint. “Mi esposo, I am fatigued. Will you walk me inside for some coffee?”
Scully patted her hand on his arm again. “Well, since your cousin won’t let me challenge him, I guess so. Good day, gentlemen.” He turned and led her toward the hacienda.
