Deep in the Heart

by Gilbert, Morris

  The eyes of the man opened slowly, and Rhys saw that he was feverish from the look in his eyes. “You look to be in bad shape.”

  After a few seconds, the man whispered, “Yes, afraid so.”

  Rhys knelt down beside the man and said, “You’re in poor condition here. What happened?”

  “Had an accident.”

  The voice was faint, and Rhys shook his head. “Man, it’s a doctor you need.”

  “I need to get to Texas.”

  “To Texas, is it? Well, I’m going that way myself, but you’re in no condition to travel. I’ll get you in my wagon and take you to a doctor.”

  What’s your name?”

  “My name’s Rhys Morgan.”

  “Reese?”

  “ It’s really R-h-y-s, but people in this country can’t spell it. And your name is?”

  The man hesitated, but then he shrugged and said, “Zane Satterfield.

  I’m tryin’ to get to my folks in Texas.”

  “Well, you can’t ride a horse, but I’ve got a wagon. If I can get you into it, I’ll do my best for you, Satterfield.”

  “Get me there, Morgan. If I pass out, put me on your shoulder like a sack of meal and bring that horse. He’s a fine one.”

  Morgan helped him up and started back toward his wagon, with the horse trailing behind. They hadn’t gone ten paces before Zane Satterfield passed out, and Morgan had to load him over his shoulder like a sack of meal. He was a smaller man than Rhys, shorter at least, but Zane’s emaciated body was no trouble for him, for the Welshman was strong and able.

  When he got Satterfield into the wagon and had tied the horse on securely, Rhys looked down at the man and said, “Well, Lord, I think I need a little miracle here. And it comes to me, Lord, that it’s not just his body that needs savin’ but his soul. You know it better than I, Lord. You do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

  He climbed up into the wagon, sat down, and slapped the lines on the team of mules. “Come you, mules. We’ve got to get this man to Texas. . . .”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  Brodie watched with envy as Mateo gave some sort of invisible signal to his horse, leaned in the saddle, and as easy as breathing dropped the loop over the front legs of the moving longhorn. He stopped the mustang and the loop tightened, throwing the steer to the ground with a mighty thump!

  Brodie ran forward and grabbed the head of the steer, avoiding the horns and yelling, “Come on, Clinton, slap that brand on him!” He held on until Clinton ran forward from the blaze that made a fiery dot on the open prairie, touched the end of the branding iron to the bellowing steer, and backed off.

  “Let him go!” Clinton yelled as soon as he finished.

  Brodie released his hold on the steer and, dodging a sweep of the mighty horns, plucked the lariat off the steer’s legs and backed away. The steer jumped to his feet, gave him a malevolent look, then trotted off, bellowing his outrage.

  Mateo sat on his horse grinning as he recoiled the rope. “That’s about it for today, compadres.”

  “About time! That’s not fair, Mateo,” Brodie said. “You’ve got the easy part. You ought to have to get down in the dust and wrestle these critters.”

  Mateo, at seventeen, was slim but at the same time muscular. He shoved his hat back off his head, and his dark eyes gleamed as he laughed at Brodie. “When you learn how to drop a steer with your rope, I’ll change places with you. Come on. Let’s get to the house. I’m starving.”

  Brodie did not argue, but he and Mateo had to listen to Clinton’s complaining again. Mateo and Brodie both ignored him as they gathered the branding irons, let them cool, and then wrapped them in a piece of rawhide. Clinton was twelve now and broad as his father, Jake. He had mastered the art of bellyaching until he was an expert at it.

  Brodie and Clinton swung into their saddles, kicked their mustangs, and headed toward Mateo’s adobe home. As they rode across the open prairie, Mateo glanced at Brodie and thought, He’s growing like a weed. Up, anyway. If he ever fills out, he’ll be quite a man. He had a fondness for Brodie. For the past two years they had seen each other every day. Brodie had helped to build the house that Mateo, his sister, and his mother lived in. Clay had seen to it that the two boys lent a hand whenever it was necessary. When they approached the adobe house built near the elbow of the Guadalupe and shaded by cottonwoods, the three dismounted, tied their horses, and entered.

  Mateo’s mother looked up from the stove, where she was making fresh maize tortillas, smiled, and said, “I believe I have three hungry men here.”

  “Hungry!” Clinton said loudly. “I’m so hungry I almost ate up my saddle! Whatever you got, señora, I don’t care what it is. I hope there’s plenty of it.”

  “You boys go and wash up. It’s almost ready.”

  The three trooped out to the back, washed in the stream, and came back with faces glowing. When they returned, Brodie’s eyes went at once to Serena, who was putting the food on the table. “Hello, Serena,” he said. He was glad that his voice did not break, for at the age of sixteen, he was not too far into manhood to have forgotten how embarrassing that was.

  “How many cattle did you brand today, Brodie?” Serena asked as she set down a plate of fresh hot tortillas.

  She was now out of adolescence and becoming a pretty young woman. Her hair was black as coal, and her skin was so smooth. It was her eyes, however, that dominated her features—well-shaped, large, and a dark violet color that Brodie had never seen in anyone else.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I wasn’t counting.”

  “About a hundred, I think,” Clinton said loudly, plunking himself down in a chair. He picked up one of the tortillas, put it on his plate, and then reached out and began to dump the beans into it.

  “Help yourself, Clinton,” Lucita Lebonne said wryly. She loved these boys almost as much as her own. For the past two years, she had grown close to the entire Hardin family. “Everyone sit down and eat.”

  Mateo filled his plate with rice and beans, and listened as Clinton dominated the conversation. He smiled as he saw how Brodie never took his eyes off of Serena. He’s going to stick those beans in his ears, he thought. I never saw anyone so lovestruck in all my life.

  Lucita and Serena were both aware of Brodie’s infatuation, and when the meal was over, Mateo teased Brodie gently about it. “I think you enjoy looking at my sister more than you enjoy the food,” he said, winking at Serena.

  Brodie flushed and dropped his head in embarrassment. Lucita came over and put her hand on his head, smoothing the cowlick back from his forehead. “You leave him alone, Mateo.”

  It was too late, however, for Brodie quickly stood up and said, “Thanks for the food.” Without another word he left, motioning for Clinton to follow him.

  “You shouldn’t have teased him,” Lucita said to Mateo.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but he needs to learn that my sister will never marry an Anglo.”

  “I married one,” his mother said.

  “Things are different now,” Mateo said shortly. “My sister will marry a rich Spaniard, and she needs to stay away from that lawyer, William Travis. Everyone knows he’s got a wife in the States, and they know he’s a woman chaser.”

  Serena suddenly flared up. “All he did was speak to me, Mateo!”

  “You stay away from Anglos, you hear me?”

  Lucita suddenly reached out and grabbed Mateo by the hair and pulled his head upward. “You have a home here because of an Anglo. If Clay had not helped us, where would we be?”

  Mateo did not move but sat in his seat looking at his mother. For the last two years, he had watched her carefully and knew that she felt a special fondness for Clay.

  “Mother, don’t you ever think of marrying Clay Taliferro,” he said.

  Lucita stared at him, shocked that he had said such a thing. “Don’t be foolish! Now, get out of here.”

  When he left, she turned to Serena and said, “He’s wrong about
me and Clay, but he’s right about William Travis. That man is no good for young women, or older ones either, for that matter. Ten cuidado con ese.”

  “I will be careful, Mamá. I care nothing for him,” Serena said.

  “And try to be kinder to Brodie.”

  “It would not be kind to show affection.” Serena shrugged, then got up and began to clean the table. “I can’t help it if he’s in love with me. He’ll just have to get over it.”

  Moriah cupped the baby rabbit in her hands and made cooing noises over it. She was fourteen now, but still as foolish over animals as ever. She stroked the smooth fur and said, “Look at him, Clay. He knows me.”

  “That’s a good idea you got, honey, keepin’ a rabbit. I always said we ought to start keepin’ edible pets.”

  Moriah stared at Clay, her eyes open wide. “What do you mean, edible pets?”

  Clay kept a straight face and leaned back in his chair against the side of the house. “I mean, get pets when they’re little and cute, and then when they get big enough you can eat ’em. They serve two purposes, don’t you see?”

  “You’re not going to eat this rabbit! I’m gonna keep him forever.”

  Clay laughed. “Why, Moriah, I think you’d make a pet out of a rattlesnake!”

  Moriah gave him a baleful look and continued to pet the rabbit and shoot questions at Clay as fast as she could. It never ceased to amaze Clay how she could think of more questions than he could think of answers.

  Moriah stopped petting the rabbit and looked up at Clay. “You think Mama will ever divorce Pa and get married again?”

  As accustomed as Clay was to Moriah’s abrupt shifts of thought, this one caught him completely off-guard. “Whatever made you think of such a thing?”

  “Well, she ain’t got no husband anymore, and you ain’t got no wife.

  But she could divorce him, and then she could marry anybody. Why, she could even marry you, Clay.”

  Clay suddenly rose to his feet. “No, she won’t never get no divorce.”

  At that instant Julie and Jerusalem came out of the house. They were preceded by Mary Aidan, who, at the age of thirty months, had learned the art of walking, then running and getting into everything. She ran to Clay and threw herself at him. If he had not caught her, she would have fallen flat on her face. “Watch out there, honey, you’re gonna fall!”

  Mary Aidan laughed. She was a happy baby, with her mother’s red hair and green eyes, but with her Aunt Julie’s exuberance and foolishness.

  Julie watched the pair, then said impishly, “Husband, I’m going to town.” She delighted in calling Clay “husband.” When strangers were around, she would wrap her arms around him, pat his cheek, and kiss him.

  She loved to see how embarrassed he would get. When Clay did not answer but merely nodded, she said, “I may get drunk.”

  Jerusalem glanced quickly at Clay and saw that he was as angry at Julie’s behavior as she was. “That’s no way to talk, Julie, and it’s no way to act either.”

  “Clay ought to beat me as a good husband would do,” she said, smiling.

  Jerusalem’s face reddened. “I’ve had about enough of your foolishness, Julie. It’s one thing to shame yourself, but it’s another thing to shame Clay.”

  Julie stared straight at Clay and said, “He knows how to stop me.”

  Moriah had been taking all this in, and now she piped up. “You’d better stay away from William Travis. He’s been flirtin’ with Serena. Mateo says he’ll shoot him if he ever touches her.”

  Clay suddenly straightened up and stared at Julie. “He’ll have to get in line.”

  Clay and Julie remained staring at each other, their gazes locked. Finally, Julie said in a steely voice, “I’ll see Travis or anybody else that I want!”

  Jerusalem stared at the two, grieved. I knew this would never work. I never should have let them carry on this pretense of being married. But at that instant Moriah spoke up.

  “Looky, a wagon’s comin’. I don’t know that man in it. Who is it, Clay?”

  “I don’t reckon I know him either.” Clay had the best eyes on the ranch, and he stared at the approaching wagon. “He don’t look dangerous, though.”

  When the wagon pulled up, the man driving it lifted his hat. Jerusalem said, “How do you do?”

  “Hello, ma’am. My name is Rhys Morgan.”

  “Well, Mr. Morgan, won’t you get down? You must be thirsty.”

  “I’m looking for the Hardin home.”

  “Well, you found it,” Julie said. She moved away from Clay and studied the man. He was of middle height and appeared to be a strong man. He had a deep chest and a flat stomach, and he had dark hair and dark blue eyes. “What’s your business, Mr. Morgan?” she asked.

  “I’m a preacher.”

  Julie suddenly laughed. “Well, go no farther, Reverend! If you’re looking for sinners to convert, here’s a whole passel of sinners right at your fingertips.”

  “Pay her no mind, Reverend Morgan,” Jerusalem said quickly. “I’m Mrs. Hardin. What can we do for you?”

  Morgan jumped out of the wagon and came around, taking his hat off. “I have your brother here, Mrs. Hardin. He’s been hurt real bad.”

  For an instant Jerusalem stood absolutely stunned. “You mean Zane?” she whispered.

  “That’s the name he gave me.”

  Jerusalem ran to the wagon, and Julie was right beside her. They peered down at the pale face of the man lying flat on his back, and Julie let out a cry. “It is Zane!”

  Jerusalem said quickly, “What’s wrong with him, Reverend?”

  “He’s been shot, and I think the wound is going bad on him with infection. I tried to find a doctor, but there wasn’t one. Devil fly off! This is some country—no doctors!”

  “Why do you talk so funny?” Moriah piped up, coming to look up into Morgan’s face.

  “Because I come from a different place.”

  “What place?”

  “A place called Wales.”

  “Stop pestering the preacher, Moriah. Clay, you and Reverend Morgan bring Zane into the house. Julie, go get the bed ready.”

  Clay and Morgan were as careful as they could be, but Zane groaned several times as they carried him into the house. When they laid him down on the bed, Morgan stood back and shook his head. “I tried to get him to go to a town, but he wouldn’t. I don’t know why.”

  “I’ll go to San Felipe and get Doctor Heilmeyer,” Clay said instantly.

  As soon as he left the room, Jerusalem said, “You look worn out, Mr.

  Morgan. You’d better stay with us. Julie, why don’t you make him some food and fix him a bed in Clay’s room. I’ll take care of Zane.”

  Julie nodded. “This way, Reverend.” She took him into the dining room and pointed to a seat. “You sit right there. I’ll heat something up for you.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Julie Taliferro.” She hesitated over the last name. “That was my husband who went to get the doctor.”

  Ten minutes later Morgan was eating in a famished fashion. Julie sat across from him, and when he had finished, she began to question him. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

  “Well, Mrs. Taliferro, I was born in Wales. I worked in the coal mines, and then got tired of that and came to America. I was leading quite a sinful life, but one day God used a man to show me the error of my ways. I got converted that night. After that He called me to preach the same freedom He had given me.”

  “Weren’t there enough sinners in the rest of the country?”

  “That’s speakin’ straight out. I felt the call of God to come to Texas.”

  “You won’t be allowed to preach here. Everybody in these parts has to be Catholic.”

  “God will provide a way,” Morgan said plainly.

  Julie stared at the man and said, “You’re a good-looking man for a preacher. You got a wife?”

  “No, Mrs. Talif
erro.”

  Julie smiled at him. “Let me tell you all of our family’s secrets. My sister’s name is Jerusalem. Her husband is living on the next place with an Indian woman and his kids. I’m supposed to be married to Clay Taliferro, but I’m really not. We just say that so we could get the title to the land. And you won’t be here long before you find out that my sister is more than half in love with the man who’s supposed to be my husband.”

  Rhys Morgan stared at her for a moment, and then a light of humor touched his dark blue eyes. “There is confused! I would say there’s plenty of work for a minister in this part of the world.”

  “Like I say,” Julie said and gave him a wicked smile, “there’s no shortage of sinners in Texas.”

  For three days Zane was in a coma from the high fever. When he finally opened his eyes, he found his sister Jerusalem watching him. He reached out his hand and was shocked to find out how weak he was. “Well, sister, I made it.”

  “Reverend Morgan came hauling you in here three days ago. We all thought you were going to die. Reverend Morgan says God healed you. I think he may be right. How’d you get shot?”

  “It’s a sad story, Jerusalem. I’d rather not get into it right now,” Zane said, his voice weak.

  Jerusalem put her hand on his forehead. “Your fever has gone down.”

  “I haven’t heard from you since Ma died. I was surprised when I got your letter saying you were moving to Texas. Is everybody well?”

  “Do you remember seeing Julie?”

  “No.”

  “She’s been helpin’ to tend to you. She’s a wild girl, just as she always was. Josiah’s still alive.”

  “I thought he’d be gone long ago.”

  “He’s not himself, Zane. He’s harmless enough, but he just . . . he just seems to go to a different world with his thoughts from time to time and sits smiling at people, not saying a thing.”

  “Sorry to hear that. He was always a favorite with me.”

  “Jerusalem paused. I’ve got another baby now—Mary Aidan.”