The Desires of Her Heart

by Lyn Cote

  Her stepfather’s face glowed bright red. “You are not some unlettered leatherstocking woman. You have been raised as a lady. Put that weapon down and return to the inn and your mother. At once.”

  More and more, her disrespect for the man was making it harder and harder for her to obey him. Or even appear to obey him. She respected this “leatherstocking” Quinn more than him.

  But the priest was watching her and all the other men, all whom her stepfather would hold in contempt. If she did not obey, he would retaliate for any slight under these circumstances.

  Dorritt glimpsed the old Mexican woman painfully getting to her feet. Across the distance the old woman’s eyes met hers. Dorritt was gripped by a sudden feeling of connection. The old Mexican woman bowed her head and then turned to walk away.

  “Are you ignoring me?” Mr. Kilbride demanded.

  “No, sir.” She couldn’t risk defiance. She wasn’t afraid of what he might do to her, here and now, but she couldn’t allow her own feelings to endanger her people, poor Amos, maybe Reva. Any more than they already were, that is. “Of course, Mr. Kilbride. I just thought—”

  “Women are not supposed to think. They are supposed to obey.”

  Outraged, Dorritt was forced to endure his cavalier dismissal of her whole gender in silence. If she hadn’t taken over the running of the plantation from his mother when she died, ruin would have come to them years earlier. If I’d been born a man, he wouldn’t treat me with such disrespect. She swallowed down the outraged words jammed together in her throat. “Yes, Mr. Kilbride.” She handed the musket to Mr. Quinn. She saw the understanding in his eyes and it nearly laid her low.

  Kilbride snapped at Amos and shoved him. Then her stepfather grabbed Dorritt’s arm and turned her toward town. He began a string of insults, spoken just loud enough for her ears.

  One of the mestizos called out. She didn’t understand the word, but she understood the intent. They were letting her know that she had stepped out of bounds that constrained her, a woman, and they would make her pay. Quinn looked shocked and angered, his face tightening. She had left Louisiana behind, but not the strictures upon her as a woman, as a “lady.”

  Then the tall Mexican, who had studied her but not insulted her, snapped angry words at the others and motioned them to come away with him.

  She longed to be free of Kilbride, who was now berating Amos just out of ill humor. Yet at the same time, women who lost their honor in the eyes of men would be deemed fair game for every kind of ill-treatment and scorn, even rape. Why did a woman always have to be in the care of a father, brother, or husband? Why couldn’t all men treat her the way Quinn and Ash did? Quinn didn’t think she was less because she was a woman. He treats me like a person. Then she imagined what Mr. Kilbride would say if he knew what she was thinking. And at that thought, she shuddered.

  Two days later, Ash rode along with Quinn, raising dust, driving their twenty head of bawling cattle to the south end of the plaza. Kilbride had refused to ride out as far as the ranch where Quinn and Ash had left their cattle. Quinn was surprised until Ash pointed out that Kilbride, a dishonest man, didn’t trust Quinn, an honest man, away from witnesses. A cheat always expected to be cheated. Ash knew Quinn had dreaded today and so did he. Having to hand over ten head of cattle, which they’d risked their lives to gain, to the man who Quinn believed had cheated him was bad enough. But having to do it in the plaza, where all would stare, made it even harder. Still, honor demanded Quinn live up to his wager.

  Kilbride rode up on his showy stallion. “I don’t want a lot of bulls. Just one bull and the rest cows.”

  “What do you plan on doing with these cattle?” Ash asked, delighted to begin goading the man.

  Kilbride ignored him and rode around the cattle, inspecting them.

  “What are you planning on doing with these cattle?” Quinn repeated Ash’s question. “Are you going to start a herd to sell for beef? Or what?”

  Kilbride responded with obvious sarcasm, “Who would I sell the beef to in the middle of the wilderness?”

  Ash wondered how any man could be this ignorant. Ash answered for Quinn, “Down at Matagorda sometimes you can sell beef. They slaughter some right there and then hang the sides of beef and ship it east to New Orleans by water. Most other southern Tejano ranchers drive herds overland through Natchitoches to New Orleans too.”

  Kilbride still ignored Ash and spoke to Quinn, “I didn’t know ships came into Matagorda. Do the traders pay cash money?”

  Quinn remaind silent, just working the cattle, keeping them calm.

  “They pay in silver. Go ahead and take mostly cows,” Ash said. “We don’t mind bull calves because we’re going to turn them into steers, fatten them, and sell them.” When a few more of the cattle tried to stray, Ash flicked the end of his lariat.

  “I’ll stick by my original intent.” Kilbride then began to point out the cattle he wanted.

  Ash knew this choosing was not part of this bargain. But after some discussion, he and Quinn had decided to let Kilbride make his choice of the cattle and mustangs. Then when Quinn took payment for guiding at the mouth of the Colorado River, he would make his choice of horse. And it would be the foal. If Kilbride objected, Quinn would merely remind Kilbride that he had been allowed to choose the cattle and mustangs he wanted. Quinn was soothing the cattle with soft words and coaxing sounds to keep them from stampeding in the plaza.

  Ash glanced around the plaza. This transaction had attracted the curious. The four Mexicans who had taunted Dorritt rode up to watch Kilbride. Ash couldn’t deny that one of the four vaqueros intrigued him. The one with the silver spurs looked as if he aspired to be more than a cowboy. He had a way of sitting in the saddle with extra pride. Of the four, he had the lightest skin, which meant he had more Spanish blood. And those of Spanish blood alone had ruled here.

  Still, this vaquero hadn’t joined in mocking Dorritt. He’d spent his time watching her and sizing her up. Of course, anyone with eyes could see she was quite the lady, a true lady. No wonder Quinn might be taken with her. But that wouldn’t end well. White ladies didn’t mix with half-breeds. To do so meant crossing a line that could never be reversed.

  As Kilbride finished picking out the cattle he wanted, Ash asked the question that Kilbride obviously hadn’t considered, “Who’s going to drive your cattle and mustangs?”

  Surprised, Kilbride faced Ash, forgetting that he was ignoring him. “Why my slaves, of course. I mean, my indentured servants,” he amended, glancing around as if to see if any had overheard his slip.

  “Do they have horses to work cattle with? Have they ever herded wild cattle and barely broken horses through wilderness?” Ash asked, amused.

  “No.” For once, Kilbride looked perplexed. Then he brightened. “Why, Quinn will.”

  Quinn shook his head. “No, I signed on as your guide, not your vaquero. Ash and I have our own cattle to herd.”

  Kilbride sputtered.

  Ash wondered how he’d stomach Kilbride day after day. Quinn rode away from the man and began herding the cattle out of town again. Ash turned the head of his horse to join Quinn.

  “Wait!” Kilbride called after them. “Where do I hire vaqueros?”

  Quinn stopped and turned his horse back. But before he could speak, one of the four Mexicans waved to Kilbride. “You want to hire vaqueros?”

  Ash turned to look at the man too. It wasn’t the one with the silver spurs. This vaquero had sun-darkened skin and a long deep scar that ran from the lower lid of one eye down the cheek to his chin. Ash had a feeling he was one who had taunted Dorritt yesterday. The Mexican spoke and moved like a braggart.

  “Yes, are you interested in employment?” Kilbride asked, looking eager. Then he changed his expression and made his tone brusque. “I can’t pay much.”

  The scarred Mexican considered this with his arms folded.

  The Mexican put Ash on his guard. The fact that he could speak English alone set him apart from the av
erage vaquero. And the way he weighed and measured Kilbride with his dark eyes gave Ash more reason for pause. Ash had to admit he plain didn’t like the man. He and his friends had insulted Miss Dorritt, and Ash liked the lady. Not to mention her pretty maid he’d seen around town.

  “We’re headed toward the mouth of the Colorado to join up with Stephen Austin’s new settlement,” Kilbride explained to the Mexican. “Would you be interested in driving the cattle that far?”

  “We were traveling in that direction,” this vaquero allowed. “How much would you pay?” Then he looked back at the Mexican with the silver spurs who sat frowning on his horse.

  “Five dollars American,” Kilbride bargained.

  Didn’t Kilbride know that offering such low pay was an insult? Ash was glad Quinn had struck a better bargain. The foal was growing day by day, and gaining the animal was worth putting up with Kilbride a little longer.

  “Ten dollars silver,” the scarred Mexican countered as his compañeros scowled. The one with the silver spurs watched intently.

  “Seven dollars silver and that’s my final offer,” Kilbride said with a stubborn look.

  “Sí.” The same Mexican gestured toward his three companions. “And the same for them? I cannot drive so many cattle all by myself.”

  Ash watched the four Mexicans size up Kilbride. None of them looked happy about the bargaining. The one with the silver spurs appeared especially tense.

  Kilbride looked nettled. “I’ll pay for two vaqueros. The other two can come along, but I’m not paying them.”

  The Mexican who’d struck the bargain considered this, looked to his friends. Unspoken communication took place. Then the one with the silver spurs nodded, and the others followed him. The scarred Mexican strode over to Kilbride and held up his tanned hand. “It’s a deal. I am Eduardo. This is Carlos.” Eduardo motioned toward the vaquero with the silver spurs.

  True to form, Kilbride hesitated, but then grasped Eduardo’s hand for a quick shake. “I’m Kilbride. We leave tomorrow. At dawn. Here.” Kilbride rode away.

  Ash and Quinn urged the cattle out of the plaza. Ash glanced over his shoulder at Carlos with the silver spurs. The man was looking toward the inn, and there was Miss Dorritt.

  Dorritt couldn’t believe how her luck went from bad to worse. Mr. Kilbride’s hiring those insolent men made her stomach burn. Exiting through the inn’s back door, she tried to walk off her annoyance, moving from shade tree to shade tree toward the public well, where the women were doing laundry. Reva was there, scrubbing Dorritt’s chemises and dresses. The same older Mexican woman, whom she’d seen before, sat in the shade and watched the other women working. Once again the woman bowed her head to Dorritt in greeting. Dorritt responded in kind, then approached Reva and murmured into her ear, “Mr. Kilbride hired those Mexicans I told you about, to herd the cattle he won from Mr. Quinn.”

  Reva looked up, her expression troubled.

  Dorritt pursed her lips and walked to a bench beside the large stone pool near the public well. Texas was full of complications. A revolution, disdainful vaqueros traveling with their party, the danger to her reputation because she’d tried to learn to shoot a gun…what next?

  And over all of this—even if her family ever reached the mouth of the Colorado, she would still be no closer to achieving her goal of freedom for her and Reva. The first step she’d attempted toward independence, learning to protect herself by acquiring a musket, had given her a taste of just what she’d face if she stepped too far from her reputation as a genteel maiden lady of good family. She rubbed her forehead.

  Unbidden, her mind brought up the day she and Reva had stood overlooking the marshland at Belle Vista and the snowy egret had taken flight. She’d felt so certain at that moment that God wanted her to step out in faith. Had she just been carried away in a stressful moment?

  Jewell appeared suddenly and approached Dorritt with the expression that signaled Jewell was going to see if she could slice off a few ounces Dorritt’s flesh. Just for the fun of it. Dorritt had been avoiding her. Now she braced herself.

  “So I see you have made a conquest of our half-breed guide,” Jewell said, firing the opening shot.

  Dorritt behaved as if she hadn’t heard her sister.

  “I wonder what the people in Stephen Austin’s party will think of a woman with your tarnished reputation. Or perhaps a woman’s honor doesn’t matter so much on the frontier.”

  Dorritt turned away.

  “What were you thinking about to be firing a musket? My father has decided once and for all, your wild ways must be curbed.”

  Dorritt faced Jewell.

  Jewell nodded with a false look of sympathy. “He’s going to marry you off to the first eligible male at the Austin settlement. White women, American women, will be in short supply, so someone, as long in the tooth as you, Dorritt, will be able to find a husband. Maybe a widower with children to raise.”

  Dorritt didn’t let the inner riot these words caused show. “If I’d wanted to marry, I’d have married in New Orleans.”

  “In New Orleans, you were given a choice. At the Brazos, you won’t.” Jewell flounced off, chuckling.

  Dorritt’s will became as stiff as wrought iron and she murmured, “I wonder, dear sister, how you will like having to manage everything when I leave.” As each day passed, Dorritt realized she would have to have more than desire to be free of her family. She needed to come up with a plan that would work.

  So they would travel with the angloamericanos to the Brazos, not so far from home. As the plump Anglo who’d hired them rode away, he made a joke about the foolish man, causing his cousin to chuckle, the cousin he’d hated since childhood. The chuckle sparked the flames of his own resentimiento. Behind his own broad smile, he writhed. If he had been his cousin’s heir, he would have already made him meet with death years ago. Yet how many more years could he take his cousin’s superior ways? He must find a way to seek revenge. He would wait upon events. He was like the cat that always landed on his feet. He would show his cousin who the smarter man was. But even sweeter would be to destroy his cousin’s reputación, his good name. And make him live in shame. If only he could find a way.

  Eight

  Just before dawn the next morning, the day they would set out on the Camino Real, the King’s Highway and the last leg of their journey, Dorritt sneaked out of the inn and hurried to the church in the cool gray light. She didn’t know when she would see another church of Christ. God was always with her, but throughout her life, church had been a true sanctuary to her. And she needed to feel that this morning. She could no longer turn to Mr. Quinn, and she felt totally alone, completely unprepared for what might lie ahead, might lie in wait.

  Once she left Nacogdoches, there would be little chance of turning back. In the back of her mind, she had cherished the fall-back plan that she would travel to the Colorado River and get her family settled there. And then she with Reva would return to New Orleans and perhaps she could become a governess. She saw now that was not possible. Too much danger, too many miles. And at every turn she saw her stepfather forcing them—ill prepared—down a dangerous path. Today, God felt a long ways away from Nacogdoches, Texas.

  The mission church was quiet and deserted, cool and dim. With a shawl over her head, she sank to her knees. And then at a loss for words, she let her soul cry out to God. Finally, she calmed enough to open her Common Book of Prayer and begin reading. Then she heard the creak of the old wood doors and the slow slide of leather sandals on the stone floor and looked up. The older woman, who had stared at her over the past few days, was limping up the aisle toward her.

  “Señora, buenos días.” Dorritt stood and curtsied to the woman so much her elder.

  “I’ve prayed you would come this morning, mi hija, my child. There is much that I have wanted to say to you.”

  Dorritt stared in shock. How did this woman who looked like an uneducated Mexican speak English, beautiful English?

  “Ah,
I have surprised you.” The older woman chuckled and wagged a finger. “I am Maria, just Maria. But when I was a young señorita, I lived in Mexico City.” The woman, lowered herself bit by bit to the pew beside Dorritt.

  Maria sighed and smiled. “And my lady, my sweet mistress, was an Englishwoman who had married a Spaniard. Because both their families were not happy with their marriage, they had left Spain. When they set up their house in Mexico City, I was very young. When I saw you in the plaza, you took me back to her. She was fair like you. And my lady taught me to speak English. She didn’t have anybody else to speak English with, you see?”

  Dorritt had wondered why this woman had been interested in her. Now she knew. With a smile, she said, “I am Dorritt. What may I do for you, ma’am?”

  “Nada.” Then Maria pointed from herself to Dorritt. “I come to give you something.”

  “What?” Dorritt peered into the woman’s pleasantly wrinkled face.

  “Courage. You are going into the wilderness.” She waved her hand as though directing Dorritt onward. “Valor is what you will need there, and that is what I bring.”

  Dorritt doubted Maria’s ability to give her courage. But the fact that this stranger understood she was afraid and of what overwhelmed her. Tears rushed into Dorritt’s eyes. “How can you give me courage, señora?” It’s not possible.

  “By telling you God is still with you.” Maria made the sign of the cross. Then she pushed back Dorritt’s shawl and stroked her hair, the woman’s rough skin catching the fine strands. “You are going where He wants you to go, mi hija.”

  Dorritt wanted to believe this, couldn’t believe this. “How do you know that?” she asked, fearing what the woman might say.

  “I have been watching you—” Maria said, and grinned, lifting all the deeply etched lines of her face. “—listening to you. You have seen me—I know. And I have heard others speak of you. Your negroes. When a lady’s servants speak well of her, that tells me everything I need to know about her. And that sister of yours, the one with the black hair—what they say, she is a spoiled child and has a nasty temper.”