Lone Star Trail

by Darlene Franklin

  “Thanks.” He wiped his hands dry on his trousers and rubbed in some of the ointment. “It does help.” He nodded at Bert. “He might need some too. Tell him I said so.”

  “I will do that.”

  Jud was no farmer, but even with his limited experience, some of the things Meino did seemed strange. Whenever he had a question, he consulted his Verein guidebook and talked with the others. Jud didn’t say a word. Along this part of the field, the Fleischers had torn down the old rail fence and begun a low-lying stone wall. Jud decided a short break wouldn’t hurt, and he sat on it, his fingers running along the fitted rocks. What a lot of work. He wondered if they meant to extend it around the entire field.

  Meino spotted him and came over. “I hope we are not making you work too hard.”

  “Nothing like that.” Jud gestured at the wall. “This is built to last.”

  “Of course.” Meino’s shoulders straightened.

  “So you intend to stay in Victoria? You won’t go up to the land grant you own from the Verein?”

  “I do not think so. Georg may want to go with Ertha. We have discussed this possibility. But my wife and I do not wish to move again.” He faced Jud. “And what of you, Herr Morgan? Alvie tells stories about your family. That you started in Vermont and went to Kentucky and then here. Do you plan to move as your parents did?”

  “I don’t think so. Not if I find the right woman to stay by my side and share my dream of having the best horse ranch in all of Texas.” His eyes drifted to Wande.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  In bed that night, Wande’s thoughts kept returning to Jud and Papa’s conversation as they sat on the wall. They looked so cozy, like two old men discussing the day’s work and ruminating about life. At one point both looked up from their work and stared at her with sheepish smiles. When Papa returned to the field, he winked at Wande and nodded at Jud. She could not figure out what that meant. She wanted to beg Papa to tell her, but was not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  Alvie lay curled next to Wande, a hand held over her doll, the one that used to belong to Billie Morgan. At times like this, Alvie still looked like a child. Wande brushed her hair back from her cheek. Alvie stirred and turned over.

  Mittens jumped up beside Wande, crowding the side of the bed. She meowed softly, asking for attention. She was taking a break from her new litter of kittens, safe in a box in the corner of their bedroom. “You’ve had a hard few days, haven’t you?” Wande murmured, running her hand down her back and scratching her under her chin. Mittens purred and bumped her head against Wande’s hand. Wande stroked her a few times, and her eyes drifted shut.

  Mittens climbed onto Wande’s chest, giving full voice to her complaint.

  “Go take care of your kittens and let me sleep.” Wande brushed her hand at Mittens, but her fingers met a claw.

  “Meow,” she repeated, louder.

  “What’s wrong, Mittens? Did we forget to feed you?”

  Alvie sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Is there something wrong with the kittens?” The cat paraded on the bed, continuing her complaint.

  “I might as well see what is troubling her.” As Wande stood, Mittens ran for the door. In the new silence, Wande heard other sounds. The chickens were cackling, and even the rooster was crowing as if daybreak had come. Elsie’s lowing could be heard in brief seconds of silence, and the calf hurled herself against the pasture fence hard enough to break it. “Alvie, go wake Mama and Papa. Something is wrong.”

  As soon as Alvie opened the door, Mittens ran out. Wande grabbed her dressing gown and headed downstairs.

  Georg raced behind her. “What is happening?”

  “I do not know. But all the animals are making noise. There might be an intruder.”

  Georg headed for the parlor, where a rifle hung over the mantle. “I hoped I would never have to use this.”

  Wande held her breath. They had never faced such danger in Germany. They had never owned a gun until the Verein guidebook said a gun was necessary for life in Texas.

  Papa and Mama came down the stairs, followed by Alvie. As if satisfied she had done her duty, Mittens reappeared with a black-and-orange kitten in her mouth. She demanded that Papa open the door. Papa glanced at Georg, who pointed his rifle at the arch, and Papa opened the door. The cat streaked into the darkness. With the door open, the cacophony of the yard tripled.

  “Meino!” Mama called from the kitchen, terror in her voice. Georg pointed the rifle toward the kitchen door, but Papa waved him back and plunged into the kitchen, a pistol ready in his hand.

  Georg glanced at Wande, and she nodded. They headed for the kitchen—and stopped as soon as they crossed the threshold. Alvie squeezed between them.

  “Gutte Gott im Himmel, what do we do?” Papa voiced the prayer that was on all their hearts.

  No shadowy intruder had captured Mama. She had seen something more sinister, more implacable—fire. Seeing it in the distance beyond the farmyard through the kitchen window, Wande recognized the scent that had troubled her earlier.

  They remained frozen in place for what felt like an eternity. Then Papa began calling out orders. “Wande, move the cows. Georg, start hauling water from the well. Alvie, collect all the buckets you can find in the house.”

  “I will look after the chickens.” Mama darted out the door, the others following.

  The cows. Wande focused on the task Papa had given her. She headed for the pen, grateful the fence held in spite of Karlina’s knocking. She could see a fire roaring to the southeast, in the direction of open pastures on the Morgan Ranch, with only dry grassland standing between the flames and their house. Close, too close. The road might stop the fire if they could not put it out before it reached their buildings. It was the best she could think of. She led the oxen out first. Next she tied Karlina to her mother. Elsie planted her feet and refused to move. “Do not worry. I am taking you to a place of safety.” Elsie didn’t budge.

  She thought back to the commands she gave the oxen “Hu. Go, Elsie. Take Karlina to safety.” The cow retreated a few steps.

  In the coop, the chickens squawked even louder as Mama started grabbing one hen, then another. One in each hand, she looked to grab another, only to have the first hen scramble out of her arms.

  Alvie dashed across the yard to the well, carrying three buckets. Only three buckets to pass water all the way to the end of the field. It would never work. They would also need to soak blankets to beat at the flames.

  “God in heaven, help us,” Wande said. “Let this cow come with me like the animals boarded the ark for Noah.” The secret to controlling an animal, Jud had said in her one riding lesson, was to exercise authority without frightening the animal.

  Wande could do nothing about the fright. The cows were terrified. So was she, but she could think and pray and trust. Poor Elsie had only the instincts God had given her—that fire was the enemy.

  But Wande could command authority. For Elsie’s sake, for the sake of her family, she must. “Come.” She used her sternest, do-not-tell-me-no voice. “Hu.” She tugged Elsie’s lead, and the cow followed her, step by halting step. “Gutte kuh.”

  Only the first miracle of many needed.

  The barking awakened Jud. Then he heard the horses’ frightened neighing. He grabbed his rifle and dashed into the yard, then moved more calmly toward the corral. The horses rolled wild eyes, tossing their necks and kicking against the fence. “Come out, wherever you’re hiding. You won’t get away with it this time.” Jud held his rifle to his shoulder, his finger itching to pull the trigger.

  “Jud, put that thing down.” Ma appeared beside him. “If you’d use your nose and your eyes, you’d know what the problem is. Look toward the Fleischers’.” She pointed north. A red glow sparked where there should be only darkness. Fire.

  Marion stumbled into the yard before Jud could collect his thoughts. Bert wasn’t here. He had decided to spend his night off in town. One less person to fight the fire. Jud wet his fin
ger and held it in the air. The wind was blowing north—blowing the fire away from the ranch … toward the Fleischer farm. His heart jumped into his throat and urged him to act.

  “Marion. Go into town for help. Send them to the Fleischers’ unless the wind changes direction. Get dressed, grab JM, and ride like the wind.”

  She nodded and disappeared inside the house.

  He turned to Ma. “We’re not in any immediate danger, so I’m going to leave the animals where they are. Let’s saddle up and head to the Fleischers’.”

  Jud helped Ma into the saddle, then mounted up on Adara. Ma was the least accomplished rider of all the Morgans. They had to take the road; the route across the pasture would lead them into the heart of the fire. Every delay made Jud’s nerves scream. He wanted JM beneath him and a clear path for him to fly. Every second’s delay could spell disaster for the Fleischers.

  Even without much moonlight, he could see the road almost as clear as day. Shapes danced and shifted as the flames pressed forward. He hoped, he prayed, that they could get through to the Fleischer farm. That the fire would not bar their way. That the buildings were still standing—at least that the family was safe. He scanned the horizon, checking for signs of the fire spreading in a new direction.

  “Do you see that?” Ma pointed ahead, to a lone figure on horseback on the road to town. “That’s one of our horses, isn’t it? But it can’t be. It’s not Marion. It’s a man. Could it be Bert?”

  Jud slowed Adara and looked. If he stopped, the rider would know he was being watched. It was a Morgan horse all right, but it wasn’t Bert. Not heavy enough to be his ranch hand.

  The man turned his face—only for a second, but long enough for the fire to illuminate his pale skin. His identity seemed of a piece with the night.

  “It’s Tom. Tom Cotton.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Wande sent up a prayer that the cows wouldn’t wander too far and that they wouldn’t trample the chickens. She ran back to the well, expecting their bucket brigade to have started. Instead, Georg knotted a rope to the bar over the well and tied it to a bucket. “Someone cut the rope.”

  Wande gasped. She had hauled water only hours ago, before supper. Someone had come onto their property and cut the rope.

  Someone started the fire.

  “Do we have the bucket?”

  Georg shook his head. “Only the three Alvie found. I do not know if we can stop the fire, but we have to try.” Determination lined his face. “Alvie is our fastest runner, but she cannot carry full buckets.”

  “I will do it. You go down the way.”

  They turned and watched in horror as the fire licked the pasturage to the west of the fenced-in cultivation. “Go. Hurry.”

  They formed a team that worked without stop, without speaking. Alvie stayed at the well, drawing bucket after bucket. Mama toted quilts out of the house, drenching each spread and carrying them to Papa to beat at the approaching line of fire. Slowly the fire pushed him back, ever nearer to the house. Wande ran with full buckets to Georg and returned at a faster trot to the well. Near the fire, she could see Papa, his figure black against the flames.

  The crackling drowned out all other sound. Wande did not know anyone had arrived until Marion tapped her on the shoulder. A dozen men from town joined the fire line, the one nearest the well laden with enough buckets to water the cavalry. Others beat at the flames with drenched blankets. Most of the men she recognized from church, including Pastor Bader. “How did you know of our plight?”

  “Miss Morgan rode into town and woke me up with such sharp knocks, I came fully awake. I sounded the alarm bell, and men gathered within minutes. But did we get here in time?” A burning tree crashed, and flames raced in the direction of the barn.

  “Your animals.” Marion took a step toward the barn.

  “Safe.” Wande nodded across the road. As one flame flickered in the advancing line, another rushed to take its place. Sparks and smoke turned and came at them. The line of men fighting the blaze moved closer to the house, prepared to use every drop of water in the well to protect it. They began throwing water on the wood-shingled roof. But Wande did not think they would succeed. The fire was too massive, their resources too few.

  Wande joined her mother with the men in the fire line.

  Marion scanned the fire crew, but saw no sign of Jud or Ma. They should have arrived first. Go to the Fleischers’ first unless the wind changes direction. She hadn’t checked for that. Panicked, she wet her finger and held it to the sky. The wind had shifted, to a southwesterly blow that could send the fire toward her ranch, her family.

  Before she could act, Alvie ran up to her. “Have you seen Mittens?”

  “Mittens, the cat? No. But I’m sure she’s safe.” She ran to the end of the line, anchored by Pastor Bader, who was hauling water as fast as he could pull the rope. His fair hair flopped over his forehead, and sweat glistened on his face. “Pastor, have you seen my brother?”

  “Nein.” He didn’t stop pouring the water into waiting buckets and dropping the pail back into the well. “Is there a problem?”

  “The fire is also threatening our ranch. I’m afraid something has happened.”

  Pastor Bader hesitated a fraction of a second. “Herr Decker.” His pulpit voice carried above the roar of the fire.

  A middle-aged man ran from his place in line, and the others adjusted to cover the gap. “Ja.”

  “Take over here at the well. I must help Fraulein Morgan’s family.” The pastor hurried with Marion to the waiting horses. He boosted her onto JM’s back and swung into the saddle of his own mount.

  “Should I call on some of the men to come with us?”

  “I don’t know,” Marion said. “They’re needed here.”

  “But they might be needed at your home as well. If we meet anyone else coming from town, we will ask them to come with us.” He clicked his tongue, and his horse moved quickly. JM kept pace.

  “There he is.” Marion pointed to the crossroads, where their farm road joined the main road from Carlshafen to Victoria.

  Tom must have recognized Jud at the same time Jud spotted him. Tom turned his horse and galloped down the road toward Carlshafen. Jud’s mount snorted, ready to take up the chase, but Jud reined him in.

  “Don’t waste your energy chasing him,” Ma shouted. “You can go after him later.”

  Jud wasn’t so sure. Texas was full of crannies for someone who wanted to hide. But Ma was right. He envisioned Wande silhouetted against the fire, and he urged Adara forward.

  Wind brushed under his shirt, coming from the side. His horse carried him several yards before the significance registered. The wind had changed direction. He reined in Adara and tested the wind. It was blowing west-southwest, toward to the ranch. He brought his horse parallel with Ma’s. “The wind’s changed direction. We need to go back and check on the ranch.”

  Ma’s lips compressed, but she nodded. They reversed direction and galloped back to the ranch.

  Jud sniffed the air, but the smoke didn’t smell any stronger. He trotted into the yard. The line of flames still stretched across the horizon, but no closer to the ranch than before. He could stay in case the fire attacked his land—or he could go help the Fleischers. There was no question of what he needed to do.

  Again they headed down the road. Jud prayed it wasn’t too late. When they reached the crossroads, he saw Marion and the German pastor headed their direction.

  “Is the fire threatening the ranch?” Marion’s cheeks were smudged with soot.

  “We rode back to check, but it doesn’t seem to be.” He nodded to Pastor Bader. “I see you got help. Let’s not lose any more time.” He would tell Marion about Tom later.

  Jud’s horse pulled back when he turned toward the Fleischer household. The fire must be close for the horse to refuse an order. Jud patted his neck and soothed him, and he responded to the reins. They arrived at the farmhouse minutes later.

  Two lines of firefi
ghters scrabbled between the well and the house, and also the barn. Two dozen men—Germans, Americans, even Dr. Treviño—stood shoulder to shoulder fighting the fire. But they had already lost the battle. As Jud jumped down from his horse, flames licked the back of the house.

  Jud looked for Wande, but the only woman he spotted was Mrs. Fleischer. Then he saw a slim figure dash into the house. Wande.

  “Herr Morgan. You are here.” Mrs. Fleischer clutched his sleeve. “You must help. Wande has gone inside to find Alvie.”

  Jud stared at the wooden structure, fire racing up its side. A black-and-white cat plunged out the door, a kitten in her mouth. But Alvie and Wande did not appear. Mrs. Fleischer thrust a wet towel into his hands, and he raced toward the building.