Lone Star Trail

by Darlene Franklin

  “We should have made it with the closing in the front. Like yours.” Marion smiled at her friend. “You are beautiful yourself. The young men of Victoria—German, American, and Mexican—will line up to speak with you.” Wande’s face turned pink, which enhanced the soft mauve of her dress. “Let’s stop fussing with our dresses, and see if we can manage a few spaniel curls.” She removed the curling tongs from the brazier where they had been heating.

  “My hair does not take curl. Ulla used to try. She could make herself look an angel.” Wande’s voice held a wistful note. “But your hair, I think it will curl.”

  “It does. And I’m sure you won’t burn it, the way Billie did one time.” Marion settled in the chair in front of the mirror and pulled a couple of tendrils loose on each side. “I want these to curl down the side of my face.”

  Wande nodded. “Like a sausage.”

  Marion giggled. “I think I like the description of a spaniel better. That’s a kind of dog.”

  A few minutes later, brown curls dangled past her hazel eyes. Forehead a little too low, nose a little too round, ears that tended to stick out. She considered herself very ordinary, but Tom liked her appearance, and that’s what mattered. Someone knocked at the front door, and voices floated up the stairs. “Guests are arriving.” A wave passed through her stomach like a wind stirring grass.

  Marion resisted one last look at the mirror. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  “Wait a minute.” Wande threw her arms around Marion. “I wanted to say congratulations first.”

  Marion looked into her friend’s eyes, clear and bright as the sky on this late April day, and gratitude overwhelmed her. When Wande arrived in Texas, she expected to be married by spring, living in her own home on the land promised by the German society. Instead, she worked for the Morgans and waited and watched while Marion and Tom, then her own brother, Georg, announced their engagements.

  “You are a dear to say so.” Marion returned Wande’s hug. “And I’m sure your day will come.”

  Wande blinked. “If God so wills.” She took a step back. “Let us go downstairs before Tom comes to look for you.”

  When Marion and Tom set the date for the wedding, Ma started planning an engagement party, two weeks after Easter. The three women turned the house upside-down with a vigorous spring cleaning. Then they spent two days baking cakes, pies, and strudel, not to mention cooking as much beef as you could eat with cornbread and sweet potatoes. Everyone would be so full, they would not want to touch food on Sunday. Marion warned Tom against adding anything extra to the gallons of tea they prepared. Wande had never seen so much to drink, sitting in as many jars as the prophet’s widow brought to Elisha to fill with oil. If they did run out of tea, there was coffee to be made and water to pump.

  The house looked as good as it smelled. Mrs. Morgan insisted Wande make two more Easter trees to hang with eggshells dyed green, red, and yellow. Together with the wildflowers Wande helped Marion pick, the colors brought the house to life.

  Mrs. Morgan greeted the schoolteachers, Miss Potson and Miss Thurston, as well as Pastor Bader. Marion saw no sign of Jud, Tom, and Georg.

  “Do you want me to go to the bunkhouse?” Wande said.

  The front door opened again and she heard men’s voices. Jud and Tom came in first, followed by Jud’s friend Jimbo Rawlins, and Grenville the grocer with his son. “It’s true. I guarantee it,” young Grenville said. “President Polk asked Congress to declare war on Mexico this morning, on account of them Mexicans not knowing where the border is.”

  A man coughed, and Marion spotted Dr. Treviño. “Perhaps the Mexicans think the same thing about the Americans.”

  A silence fell across the group. No one wanted to offend the doctor.

  Marion rushed down the stairs. “What’s this about a war?”

  “It’s true, all right,” Jimbo said. “The president finally had enough.”

  “I’m joining up on Monday.” The younger Grenville pushed his shoulders back and stood straight. “Me and some buddies of mine.” He looked at the men around him, as if expecting them to volunteer.

  “I may go with you,” Jimbo said. “I was too young to fight back when Texas won her independence, but it sounds like we didn’t give Mexico a bad enough beatin’ and they’re back for more.”

  All the other men, except for Jud and Mr. Grenville, looked at the floor. The grocer put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m proud of Bill, here, but the rest of us are either too old or have important roles to fill right here in Victoria. I expect Jud will provide the cavalry with some of the finest mounts on either side of the Rio Grande.”

  Jud raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Tom squirmed, and Marion decided to interrupt before he committed himself to something rash.

  Ma moved at the same time. “That’s enough talk about a war. We’re here to celebrate a happy occasion.”

  Ma steered Tom to Marion’s side. His eyes widened. “That dress is near as pretty as you are.” He reached out and brushed the curl at her cheek, making Marion glad they had taken the time with the tongs. He brought her hand to his lips.

  Chuckles rippled through the crowd, and heat burned through part of Marion’s reserve.

  “It is indeed a happy day when God brings a man and a woman together.” Pastor Bader extended his hand. “A day I am still praying for God to make happen for me.” Chuckles deepened into laughter, as he must have intended, and he shook Tom’s hand. Marion decided she liked the German minister.

  “And Fraulein Fleischer. Hallo. You and Miss Morgan are the prettiest flowers in the garden.”

  So the preacher had a flair for the ladies, Marion noted. Perhaps he was interested in Wande. He held her hand a second longer than customary.

  Jud was no coward, but he had no desire to go to war. He was glad Mr. Grenville mentioned the cavalry’s need for good horses. He could do his part without running off to fight.

  Though Jud had few ties to keep him at home, he felt the need to stay. He would like to leave a little piece of himself behind when he died, something more than the ranch. A son or a daughter … a wife. He glanced at Wande as she greeted her family. She wore her new dress, made in the more American style like Marion’s, and her hair shone like spring sunshine.

  “Take her for a walk in the bluebonnets,” Marion whispered in his ear.

  “When did you creep up on me?” Jud said. “Give a fellow some warning.” Again he’d been caught studying Wande.

  “Quiet down.” Marion kept her voice low. “I noticed because I have love on my mind. And I can’t think of anyone else I would rather add to our family.” She nudged him. “Go. Invite her for a walk.”

  “You’re not going to leave me alone until I do, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think I will ask Wande if she wants some fresh air.”

  While Jud talked with Marion, Wande had disappeared. She had probably headed for the kitchen, drawn by her duty. No, that wasn’t entirely fair. She’d want to help even if she wasn’t paid, and Ma would shoo her away.

  He wormed his way through the crowd. Everyone was talking with at least one other person. The usual mix of languages reigned, and for once he didn’t mind. Georg and Ertha huddled in one corner, exchanging glances. They were counting the days until they could announce their wedding. Georg’s father insisted he wait until he reached his eighteenth birthday, later this summer. Seventeen and in love. Jud shook his head. Sixteen when his father died, he had hardly begun to notice girls before he took over as head of the family. In one corner, Alvie chattered with several girls her own age, and the two teachers watched them from a distance.

  Everyone had somebody to talk with … except him. And Wande. Perhaps that explained her escape. He moved a little faster and pushed into the kitchen.

  “Yud.” Her smile told him that any perceived loneliness was just his imagination.

  He had grown used to her substituting Y for J in his name. From Wande’s lips, Yud sounded c
harming.

  “I will pour you and Pastor Bader some tea and another pitcher to the table.” She poured a glass half full. “We just brought this in from the cold cellar.”

  “The weather is rather warm today.” The pastor’s words came out as a croak. Jud took a long drink.

  “I keep telling her to get outside and enjoy this beautiful day, but she insists on staying here to help me. You tell her, Jud.” Ma appeared from the cold cellar with another jug of tea—and noticed Pastor Bader so near to Wande.

  “I came to the kitchen to invite Wande to take a stroll,” the pastor said.

  “That’s a … wonderful idea.” Ma looked from Jud to the pastor. “Wande, go on, you and the pastor get out of here. I’ll take care of the tea.” Ma took the glass from Jud to refill it—a good thing, since his hand was trembling.

  Pastor Bader offered Wande his arm and led her toward the back door—a way outside that didn’t lead past the gauntlet of the front door. “Shall we go find some bluebonnets?”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “They are very pretty. And fresh air will be good.”

  Through the kitchen window, Jud could only watch them leave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  War, war. That was all anyone wanted to talk about when Wande went to town to sell vegetables in the market. A week ago she harvested the first squash, then she and Alvie spent the past two Saturday mornings at the market selling butter, cream, and fresh squash. They arrived early and took the prime location, next to the Grenville store. Drud stayed close by when he wasn’t busy talking with his friends. About the war.

  Wande tuned in to their conversation. Drud thought it would be heroic to join the army, though he was barely fifteen. That would break their parents’ hearts. The armies had gathered at a town called Palo Alto, right here in Texas. She wondered how close that was to Victoria.

  “Texas is a big place,” Alvie said. “Bigger even than Germany. We are miles and miles away from this Rio del Norte everybody keeps talking about.” She rearranged their squash. “I told Mama the same thing. She asks Papa, why did we come to America if they were going to start a war. She has been very upset.” She bent over. “I found a penny! Can I buy a lemon drop? Please, please, please?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Two Amerikaners approached the stall, and Wande completed the sale, even with the strange American coins, in English. They bought butter and cream.

  “You’re doing a brisk business.” Jud strolled up, his hat pulled low and a smile lighting his features.

  “Your cow gives rich milk. People like her cream.”

  “And your squash.”

  “The squash God’s rain and sunshine helped grow.” She smiled. Another woman came up, German this time, delighted to find fresh squash.

  “Will you have more vegetables? White potatoes?” Frau Decker asked in German. Her eyes gleamed.

  “I have planted sweet potatoes, corn, and tomatoes—and other things my Amerikaner friends tell me will grow well.”

  Frau Decker fixed her with her stare.

  “Ja, I have planted white potatoes, but I do not think they grow here.” Wande shrugged. “I will be here every week this summer with whatever I can harvest.”

  “I hope you succeed.” They bartered about the price, and when Frau Decker left, Wande felt she had gained a permanent customer.

  “What was that all about? She looked like she was mighty disappointed.” Jud’s gaze followed Frau Decker.

  “She wanted to know if I will have white potatoes. I told her I do not know if they will grow.” Wande sighed. “We miss white potatoes. And yeast bread.” Papa wanted to grow several varieties of wheat, but he couldn’t start until they had a farm of their own. Next year, she promised herself.

  Alvie danced back to the stall, her mouth working around a lemon drop. She held out a second one to Wande. “Mr. Grenville gave me two. He is nice.”

  Wande rubbed her sister’s head. “You keep it.”

  “Thank you.” Alvie stuck it in her mouth.

  Business slowed, and Wande passed the time chatting with Jud. She rearranged the remaining squash. The butter had already sold. Mama strolled down the far end of the market, bartering with Frau Schmidt for some beets. Wande’s mouth watered. Rübensuppe, beet soup, sounded wonderful.

  A tall, pencil-thin man sprinted down the street.

  Jud came to attention. “That’s Bernie Caruthers, with the newspaper they’re starting up. He must have news of the war.” He stiffened. “And he’s headed this way.”

  Caruthers ignored everyone’s questions. Jud called, “What news of the war?” But Caruthers bolted past him and up the steps into the store.

  “He brings bad news?” Wande said.

  Jud frowned. “I expect so.”

  “Mr. Grenville, Mrs. Grenville.” Wande moved toward the store, but Jud put out a hand to stop her.

  The street that only moments earlier buzzed with bartering silenced as Caruthers entered the store. A scream tore through the air. Children whimpered, women put their hands over their hearts, and men’s faces tightened. They waited as one—the fate of young Bill Grenville a portent for the fate of every mother’s boy. The vendors and shoppers formed a circle in front of the store.

  Mr. Caruthers came out and shook his head.

  Pastor Bader stepped forward. “What is the news, Herr Caruthers?”

  “A few of you ladies might want to go in to support Mrs. Grenville.”

  Wande reached the stairs first. Muffled sobs came from inside. Mr. Grenville held his wife, the same grief and unity Wande had seen between her parents when Ulla died—the look of parents who had lost a child.

  “I am so sorry,” Wande whispered. She wasn’t sure if they had heard her.

  Mrs. Walford, the Morgans’ neighbor, rushed in next. “Oh, it’s so awful.” The room filled with tearful women as the town mourned the loss of a son.

  Independence Day, Marion reasoned, came at a perfect time this year. The people of Victoria needed a reason to celebrate. Somber spirits prevailed as they prepared to celebrate their first Independence Day since Texas joined the Union. Instead of red, white, and blue, several families wore mourning black. Two more local men had fallen in the war with Mexico, and they’d heard rumors about a cholera outbreak.

  The mayor declared that Victoria would celebrate the holiday in American style. They would set off one firework for every state in the Union: twenty-eight in all. The day began with a parade, veterans of the War for Independence from Mexico marching alongside a few men who had fought in 1812. One rugged oldster who claimed to have been a drummer boy in the Continental Army led the way, his hands rapping a steady beat even as his steps faltered.

  “Oh, Wande, have you ever seen anything like it?” Marion stood on tiptoes, straining to see over the hat of the man in front of her.

  “What is so special about this Fourth of July?” Wande waved a fan at her glistening brow.

  The heat didn’t bother Marion much. Ma said your blood thinned after you lived in Texas awhile. Marion would probably freeze if she ever went to Germany.

  “It is the day the members of the Continental Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence from England.” Alvie waved a flag she had sewn. “Miss Potson says it is the birthday of the United States.”

  More and more, Alvie acted like she was born in Texas. She had suggested a picnic to enjoy the fireworks. Ma liked the idea, and Mrs. Fleischer carried a basket full of fascinating foods. Marion giggled.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” Tom tucked her arm through his.

  “Ma and Mrs. Fleischer are holding a contest to see who can provide the most food. How lucky we all are.”

  “You won’t catch me eating any of the bratwurst—or whatever they call it.” At least Tom smiled when he said it.

  “And here’s our own birthday boy.” Marion smiled as Georg and Ertha moved their way. “Maybe we’ll hear an official announcement today.” She beckoned to the couple to join
them along the parade route.

  Alvie wriggled her way to the front. The other Morgans and Fleischers stayed put. Marion’s thoughts turned to romance, as they often did these days, and she noticed the pairings. Tom never left her side. Georg laid a protective arm on Ertha’s shoulder. Mr. Fleischer leaned over his wife, pointing to the elderly “drummer boy” in the parade. Ma sat on a stool the Fleischers provided.

  That left Jud and Wande. They stood several inches apart, not looking at each other, showing none of the gestures Marion and Tom exchanged. But Marion saw little signs. Wande leaned forward, probably looking for Alvie. Jud’s eyes roamed the crowd, his head barely moving, and then he stopped. He said something only Wande could hear, and she relaxed.