Home of the Brave

by Jeffry Hepple

  He walked to the window and walked back. “You’re still a beautiful woman, Marina and I know full well that being admired has always been important to you. Enjoy yourself while I’m gone. All I ask is that you remember that being respected is important to me.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that.”

  “It was meant to give you as much freedom as I could manage. If I said it wrong, I’m sorry.”

  “This is the place where I should pledge you my fidelity and undying devotion, isn’t it?”

  “No. This is the place where you should shut up and show me your new gown.”

  “Gowns,” she said. “I bought five.”

  May 19, 1829

  The Brazos River, Coahuila, Mexican Province of Tejas

  Thomas and Jane were riding ahead of the herd while the vaqueros that they had hired ranged along both sides and behind the animals.

  “Why didn’t you tell me I’d need to speak Spanish,” Jane groused.

  Thomas shook his head. “I never thought about it.”

  “You could have taught me during the time that we were waiting to come here.”

  “Maybe my mother could have, but not me. I only understand about half of what these men say and they often stare at me with blank expressions so I’m never sure if they know what I said.”

  “The Indian languages around here have very few words in common with Montauk. It all sounds like gibberish.”

  “You’ll learn.”

  “I hope so.”

  Thomas pointed. “I think I’ll set up the instruments on that ridge and take a few readings to verify this bend in the river. Stay with the herd and I’ll catch you before you’re out of sight.”

  “Let me go with you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like the way some of these men look at me.”

  Thomas turned in his saddle. “I wish you’d mentioned that earlier.”

  “I thought I was being silly but… I don’t want to be left alone with them.”

  “You said some, not all.”

  “Yes. Three in particular.”

  “Which ones?”

  “I don’t know their names.”

  “Describe them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to confront them.”

  “No, Thomas.”

  “Yes, Jane. I know what I’m doing. I led men like these for four years all over the wilds of Illinois. You just have to show them who’s the boss.”

  “I won’t tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll kill you.”

  “No they won’t.”

  “Just take me with you.”

  He looked back at the herd and signaled that they were going to leave the trail. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  ~

  Jane refilled their coffee cups, then walked back carefully toward Thomas, trying not to spill any.

  One of the vaqueros at the fire was watching her buttocks and made an obscene gesture to the man beside him. Several of the others laughed.

  “You.” Thomas’s voice rang out like a shot as he got to his feet and drew both his pistols. He aimed the gun in his right hand at the vaquero who made the gesture and strode toward him.

  The man got up quickly and raised his hands.

  Thomas put the muzzle in the man’s face. “I do not like the disrespectful motion you made with your hands or the way you were looking at my wife,” he said in stilted Spanish.

  “Me Patron? I did nothing.”

  “Now you have called me a liar.” Thomas jabbed him in the chest with the pistol hard enough to knock him down then he fired a shot between the knees of the man beside him who had started to draw his pistol. “I will kill the next man that moves,” Thomas roared.

  The men all looked at him wide eyed, but no one moved.

  “We will have a vote,” Thomas announced. “Do we kill these two or send them away? All those who want me to kill them raise your hand.” He waited. “No one? Or is it that you just do not care? All those who want them sent away raise your hand.”

  All the men, including the two condemned men, raised their hands.

  “Jane?” Thomas shouted.

  “Yes,” she replied nervously.

  “Cock that rifle and if either of these two looks back, shoot him,” he said in English. “And look confident.”

  “Very well.” She cocked the rifle and brought it up to her shoulder.

  Thomas looked at the two men. “Get up, get your gear and get out. If I see you again, I will disembowel you both.”

  The two men scrambled to their feet and hurried to their horses.

  Thomas watched them as they saddled their horses, mounted and started out toward the setting sun. “I pay you very well to watch my cattle,” he said to the remaining men. “I am the only one who is permitted to watch my wife’s backside when she walks.”

  A shot rang out and Thomas turned quickly toward Jane who was holding the smoking rifle, and then he looked back toward the two riders. One man was riding hard toward the southwest with a riderless horse following close behind him. “What happened?” Thomas asked her.

  “He took out his rifle so I shot him,” she said in a quavering voice. “Like you told me to.”

  Thomas pointed at the closest vaquero. “Take two men with you and bury that bastard. You can have his money or whatever else he has of value except his pistol and his rifle. Those are mine.”

  “What if he is not dead, Patron?” the man asked.

  “Just take his weapons and whatever you want, then leave him for the wolves.”

  “Yes, Patron.” The man leaped to his feet, signaled two other men and the three ran toward the tool wagon for shovels.

  Thomas walked back to Jane. “Are you okay?”

  “No. I just killed a man.”

  He gave her a moment. “You shot a man that intended to shoot you or me.”

  She began reloading the rifle. “We have to report it to the Texas Rangers right away.”

  “Why?”

  “So that it can go on record while we still have witnesses. I don’t want to get arrested for murder when that man’s family reports him missing.”

  “This isn’t New York, Jane.” He looked at the vaqueros with the shovels who had reached the man that Jane had shot. None of the three was digging. “It looks like you didn’t kill him anyway.”

  She looked too. “Then we’ll have to take him with us to the Rangers.”

  “What?” He asked indignantly. “Oh hell, Jane. We don’t even know where to find any Rangers.”

  “There’s a fort up by the Hueco village. The Johnsons mentioned it and I found it on the map.”

  “That note on the map was written by a settler that passed through God knows when. And it said Waco not Hueco.”

  “We have to map the Brazos anyway.”

  “Yes but I was planning to bypass the Hueco Village to avoid any possible conflict.”

  “Mrs. Johnson said that they’re part of the same band that lived by them. They’re friendly.”

  “She said the Indians that lived near them were Wichitas.”

  “Wichita is the tribe, Hueco is the band.”

  “Well if these are the same Indians that Mrs. Johnson was talking about you might recall that she also said that they were driven off by ne’er-do-wells.”

  “Yes, I remember that.”

  He shrugged. “They may not be as friendly now.”

  “We’re not going to be able to avoid Indians forever.”

  “We can avoid these Huecos or Wacos right now very easily by cutting across to the northwest and picking up the river above their village.”

  “Maybe, at the village, we can find an interpreter that speaks some of the local languages. My Montauk is useless here.”

  “Damn, you’re hardheaded.”

  She waited.

  “Okay,” he sighed. “I’ll go get him and drag him back, but he’ll probably die on the way north. It’s a long
way.”

  “Thank you, Thomas.

  He shrugged resignedly then trotted off toward the three vaqueros with the shovels. He had almost reached them when one of them took out his pistol and shot the man on the ground. Thomas stopped and walked back to Jane. “Well, that problem’s solved.”

  “I still want to tell the Rangers,” she said after a moment.

  June 13, 1829

  Washington, District of Columbia

  The Austrian Embassy Ball was one of the most highly anticipated social events of the year, primarily because the dance program promised a card nearly filled with Viennese waltzes. The scandalous waltz, unlike the communal sequenced dancing of the past, was performed by couples who faced and actually touched one another. Lord Bryon, in the prelude to his poem, The Waltz, described it “like two cockchafers spitted on the same bodkin.”

  Marina Van Buskirk tipped her head down, smiled and batted her eyelashes at Senator James Carver, who was watching her from across the room.

  Peggy Eaton, the wife of the United States Secretary of War, John Eaton, looked over her bare shoulder toward Carver then back at Marina. “Did you just give Jim Carver a come hither glance?”

  “Yes.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “I think he’s very attractive.”

  “Oh balls. That isn’t going to work with me, Marina.”

  “What ever do you mean?” Marina asked, wide-eyed.

  “The rumors about Anna must be true.”

  “What rumors?”

  “About her being confined and carrying Carver’s child.”

  “I’ve never heard anything so outrageous.”

  “I’m not stupid, Marina,” Peggy giggled. “You’re going to try to seduce Carver and then somehow get revenge for what he’s done to your daughter.”

  Marina smiled, not quite warmly. “I suspect that you may be ever so much smarter than I gave you credit for, dear, dear Peggy.”

  “Don’t tell anyone your suspicions and I’ll keep your secret,” Peggy replied in a stage whisper.

  “What would you suggest I do to get my revenge?”

  “Do you want him dead, ruined or embarrassed?”

  Marina pursed her lips. “I think ruined would taste best but dead would be nearly as good.”

  “Driving them to suicide is my usual course of action,” Peggy replied. “But it might be difficult in view of Carver’s particularly selfish nature.”

  “I was thinking of having him discovered in bed with a lady of the evening.”

  “No good.” Peggy shook her head. “He’ll claim you set him up. Even if most people believe you and don’t believe him, it’ll still give him enough maneuvering room to avoid ruin.”

  “What do you suggest?” Marina asked.

  “Perhaps if he was caught in bed with a man?”

  “How would I arrange that?”

  “I don’t know offhand.”

  “Maybe I’ll just have him killed.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Marina sighed. “My come hither glance didn’t work and he’s gone thither.”

  Peggy stood on her toes trying to see over the heads of the crowd. “Well, wherever he is, he’s thinking about it and he’ll cave in soon.”

  “I think he, like you, may be smarter than I’d thought.”

  “He knows that you may be setting a trap but your good looks, and particularly your good breasts, will overcome his good sense. The man thinks with his groin. I know him.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “A bit better than Anna.”

  “You really are a hussy, Peggy.”

  “Quite true. That’s something else that I’m still hoping the world doesn’t find out about me.” She smiled at someone who had come up behind Marina. “Why there you are, Senator Carver. Marina and I were just talking about you.”

  Carver bowed to both women then took his eyes from Peggy’s ample cleavage to look into her eyes. “I was wondering, Mrs. Eaton, if I might have the next dance.”

  Peggy looked at her dance card. “I am so sorry, Senator, but the next dance is a waltz and my husband has forbidden me from waltzing.”

  “A pity,” he said, turning to Marina. “Have you any objections to the waltz, Mrs. Van Buskirk?”

  “None at all,” she replied. “I am always looking for new and exciting experiences.”

  “Then, may I have the honor of the next dance?” Carver asked, with his eyes fixed upon the hollow between her breasts.

  “I would be delighted,” she said, with a curtsy that gave him a better view down the front of her dress.

  “Your dear wife did not accompany you?” Peggy asked Carver to cover a giggle.

  “Alas,” he said, without looking away from Marina. “She suffers terribly in Washington’s heat.”

  The orchestra played a short fanfare and the next dance was announced amidst a twitter of conversation.

  “If you will excuse us, Mrs. Eaton.” Carver took Marina’s arm and led her onto the empty dance floor.

  Marina looked around. “It seems that we are the only couple with the courage to try this.”

  “The Europeans will be joining us shortly. They are waiting to see how we blue-nosed Americans react.”

  “I had thought that we Americans were quite liberated. Are we in fact blue-noses, do you think?”

  “Some of us more than others.” He looked away from her for a moment then looked back. “I somehow had failed to notice what an extraordinarily beautiful woman you are, Mrs. Van Buskirk.”

  “Why thank you, kind sir.” She gave him a smile and another curtsy that made his eyes pop. “I was hoping you would find me attractive, even though I am many years my daughter’s senior.”

  He looked uncomfortable for a moment but recovered quickly. “And how is Anna? I have not seen her in some time.”

  “I’m afraid that you ruined the poor girl.”

  Carver looked stricken.

  “After her breakup with you she became attached to another older man. She lives with him now in sin, as some might call it.”

  “Really?” He swallowed visibly.

  “Yes. She is with child. It may be yours or the other man’s. She will not say.”

  “I assure you, Madam…”

  Marina raised her hand. “If you are about to apologize, please spare yourself. I know that Anna suffers from the same hot, Mexican blood which courses through my own veins.” She looked around then stepped closer and in a conspiratorial tone said, “With my husband away, I must confess that my own Mexican blood is near boiling. I pray that my passion will not be aroused further by this dance.”

  Carver cleared his throat and squirmed. “I am told that the waltz can have such effects upon the ladies.”

  “Oh, that is a relief, in view of the fact that I am no lady,” she tittered.

  “Uh, Mrs. Van Buskirk, forgive me if I am too forward but…”

  “Please call me Marina. And I assure you that you cannot possibly be too forward.” She turned to look at the dance floor. “Ah. I see that there are some courageous couples among us. You must promise to hold me tightly if I swoon.”

  June 14, 1829

  Washington, District of Columbia

  “Coming,” Marina shouted, as she groped in the dark for her robe. She got one arm in the robe then shook it back off to light a candle as the insistent knock repeated. “I said I’m coming.” Carrying the candle from the bedroom through the parlor, she stopped at the front door. “Who is it?”

  “Peggy.”

  “Peggy?” Marina fumbled with the lock and finally managed to open the door. “What’s the matter?”

  Peggy pushed Marina aside and came in, closing the door behind her.

  “What’s the matter?” Marina repeated.

  Peggy shook her head.

  “Why are you crying? What’s happened?”

  “I’m not crying,” Peggy gasped. “I’m laughing.�
� She wiped tears from her cheeks.

  Marina turned away and began lighting lamps. “You’ve finally lost your mind.”

  Peggy plopped a newspaper on the coffee table. “Senator Carver was arrested last night for obscene and lascivious behavior.”

  “What time is it?” Marina sat on the couch and pulled her bare feet up under her nightgown.

  “Nearly seven.” Peggy sat down next to Marina and picked up the paper. “The police responded to a complaint about a woman screaming at the Foster Hotel. When they broke in, they found a naked girl tied to the bed and Senator James Carver with a whip in his hand standing over her. Except for a mask, he was equally naked.” She giggled.

  Marina yawned. “Seven is much too early. Why are you out and about at such an ungodly hour?”

  “I’m a politician’s wife. I read the papers every morning as soon as they’re delivered.” Peggy waved the newspaper. “You did this?”

  “I did what?”

  “Ruined Carver.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  Peggy tried to read her face. “Honestly?”

  “What do I know about whips and such things?”

  “So this is just a big coincidence?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m going back to bed. Make yourself at home.”

  August 9, 1829

  Hueco Village, Coahuila, Mexican Province of Tejas

  At the bend where the Brazos turned abruptly west, the terrain flattened and the river spread wider. The flood plain, heavily wooded with live oak and cedar, soon gave way to cliffs that once again captured the river in a narrower flow.

  The Hueco village, which consisted of about sixty very large thatched, conical huts and as many lean-to type buildings, was located on the plateau with a narrow ravine as its only apparent entrance.

  “Does anyone speak English here?” Thomas asked.

  The tattooed, hostile-looking men that were arrayed to block his entry to the village were silent.

  “Spanish? Does anyone speak Spanish?”

  This generated some discussion until one of the men trotted back toward the village.