by DiAnn Mills
Marianne’s gaze traced back down the hallway to her room where Angelina labored for every breath. She prayed the young woman’s papa loved and cared for her. Marianne understood the turmoil of needing a father’s love and not receiving it. She didn’t wish those feelings on anyone.
Chapter 22
Toward sunset, Angelina’s father, General Enrique Guerra, arrived at the Phillips Hacienda. Alone. No soldiers. Marianne heard Papa step outside to meet him. She waited with Angelina, hoping neither the general nor Papa would taunt the other into an argument. Moments later, he and Papa entered the house. The sound of their boots trudging down the hallway echoed like an army brigade. She hated that sound. She’d go to her grave detesting it.
“What do you mean my daughter has been injured?” the general asked, as though barking orders to his men.
“Right this way,” Papa said. “She’s in the back bedroom.”
Staring into the troubled, sleeping face of Angelina, Marianne hoped the Spanish officer had pity on his daughter. She exchanged a quick glance with Carmita and her mother before the three women stood in respect for the Spanish officer.
“How badly is mi hija hurt?” the general asked. He and Papa neared Marianne’s bedroom. “What happened? Where is her husband?”
Angelina’s father, a tall, thin man dressed impeccably in his soldier’s blue and red uniform, gasped at the sight of his daughter. Stunned, he clasped the polished brass handle of his sword. A moment later he kneeled at her side. He reached out to stroke her hair, then drew back. A mournful wail from deep inside him surfaced. Grief, like none Marianne had ever witnessed, poured from the man’s soul. General Enrique Guerra’s tears fell unashamedly onto his daughter’s face.
“Angelina,” he said after several moments of struggling for control, “can you tell me who did this to you?”
At the sound of the general’s voice, the young woman stirred. “Papa,” she whispered. “You came.”
He bent closer to her swollen and slashed mouth and lifted his weather-beaten hand as if to touch her, but clenched his fist instead. “Nothing could keep me from you, my little one. Your mother will be here tomorrow. Your tio is bringing her.”
“I’m sorry.” Angelina licked her blood-stained lips. “You…you were right about Clay.”
General Guerra arched his back. “He did this, this wicked thing?”
“Si, Papa.” Her voice was barely audible. “He despises me and our bebé. He wishes us dead.”
The general’s huge hand lightly patted the top of Angelina’s head where dried blood still caked her dark tresses. “Hush now and rest. I’ll not leave your side. Your mother and I will stay with you until you are strong enough to journey home.”
“Oh, Papa,” Angelina whispered. She took a breath and then another. “You and Mother will take care of me?”
The man’s sobs reverberated around the room. “I love you, Angelina.” And he kissed her bruised cheek.
When she closed her eyes, General Guerra stood from the bed and with a heavy sigh turned to Mama. “I owe you my life for what you have done for my Angelina.” He swallowed hard. Emotion seared his words. “Without you to care for her, mi hija would have surely died.”
Carmita softly translated, and Mama responded in English. “We’re so sorry for Angelina and her intense suffering. Our daughter,” and she pointed to Marianne, “found her. However, Carmita has nursed her.”
Carmita translated Mama’s words, and the general thanked the brown-skinned woman. His attention reverted to Papa. “I want Clay Wharton.” His hand once more clutched his sword. “We need to talk away from the women.”
Papa nodded and the two men left the room. In the hallway, Angelina’s father voiced his anguish and sorrow. “Tell me, Señor Phillips, what would you do if that were your hija near death?”
“I would tear the man apart with my bare hands.”
Her father’s words sent chills through Marianne’s body. For an instant, she allowed herself the joy of believing Papa loved her. Then she remembered her abduction at La Flor. Papa’s words were for General Guerra’s benefit.
Angelina slept through the night with her father seated beside her. Exhausted, Marianne spent the wee hours of the morning in her mother’s room, but Carmita made a pallet on the floor so she could administer the herbal tea and help the general nurse his daughter. The injured young woman still lay in grave danger. Mama and Marianne prayed relentlessly, and General Guerra appeared to be in a constant state of turmoil.
Marianne viewed the man with awe and curiosity. She heard him pace the floor, sob in unfathomable distress, and curse Clay Wharton with an oath of retribution for what he had done to his beloved daughter.
Surprisingly enough, the next morning, when General Guerra offered Papa’s vaqueros a substantial sum for the return of Clay Wharton, Papa doubled the amount. The vaqueros disliked Clay and clamored for the reward. Papa helped them comb the land in search, but Clay had vanished.
Marianne wondered if her father’s generosity and willingness to help stemmed from his fear of the general’s relationship to the governor, or if he truly abhorred what Clay had done. No sooner had the suspicions about Papa entered her mind than she immediately asked for forgiveness. Her father did have commendable traits despite his harsh mannerisms, and she knew he must be upset with what Clay had done to Angelina. Mama loved him…and she did too.
General Guerra’s wife arrived near sundown, and the two kept a constant vigil at their daughter’s bedside. They slept little, both refusing to leave the room except for brief moments. On the fourth day, Angelina showed a marked improvement. She talked and sipped a bit of broth, but begged not to be left alone, often becoming hysterical.
“We’ll take Angelina home in five days,” the general said, “providing she’s strong enough to travel. She’s safe at our hacienda, and that animal, Wharton, will never harm her again.”
Marianne spoke to Angelina on the eve of the family’s departure. She gathered up Angelina’s hand and lightly touched her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” she said in Spanish. “I pray Dios will guard your heart and continue to heal your body.”
Angelina smiled and took a quick breath. “It hurts to speak, but I must talk to you. If…if you hadn’t found me, I would have died. Gracias, señorita. I’ll never forget what you, Carmita, and your family have done for me.”
“Carmita, with the help of Dios guiding her hands, brought you back to the living,” Marianne said. “He is the One we must thank.”
“You’re right.” Angelina grimaced and bit her lip with the pain that tormented her body.
“Please, don’t talk. I can’t bear to see you in distress.”
Angelina shook her head. “I know everything will be fine, and I will recover. Mi bebé may not have a father, but my child will have loving grandparents and a devoted mother.” She tilted her head slightly on the pillow. “Oh, how I regret not listening to my parents when they tried to warn me about Clay. I thought I knew better and believed his lies. He said I was beautiful, and he loved me. Instead, I had to learn a most difficult lesson.”
Marianne remembered the horror in finding Angelina near death. The result of a foolish decision. The swelling had begun to fade on her face, and some of the bruises were changing to a green color; the first signs of healing. She had one scar on her forehead, which her hair would hide, and perhaps another on her lower lip. But Marianne worried about the wounds inflicted upon her heart and mind. The ones only God could heal.
“I hope we can visit each other after I’m married to Don Lorenzo.” Marianne forced cheerfulness into her voice. “I believe his hacienda is not far from your casa.”
“Por favor, do come to see me. I want us to be amigas.” The young woman’s eyes moistened. “May I talk to you? My mind is so burdened with the sadness that I’ve given mi madre and mi padre.”
“Of course, Angelina, you can tell me anything. I will tell no one.”
The young wo
man looked beyond Marianne to make sure they were alone. She relaxed slightly. “I do need to tell someone this. Perhaps then I will feel better.” She closed her eyes as though garnering strength. “Several months ago, I first saw Clay when I accompanied my parents to San Antonio de Bejar. He introduced himself to my family, and I found him handsome and charming. His smile thrilled me like no man ever had before. Sometime later, he asked permission to call on me, but my father refused. He felt I should seek the company of a man of Spanish descent. I was so upset. I cried and begged, but it did no good. Then Clay contacted me through one of the servants, and we began to meet secretly.”
She paused and took several deep breaths. Marianne thought Angelina might weep again.
“He swore he loved me. He said he would do anything for me. His kisses were sweet, and I desired to prove my love for him.” She paused, and whisked away the dampness beneath her eyes.
“When I discovered I carried his child, he became angry and said I should have been more careful. He told me he never wanted to see me again, that the baby could not possibly be his. His accusations broke my heart. So out of desperation, I told my father, who went to Governor Juan Bautistade Elguezábel. The governor ordered Clay to marry me. I believed I could change him, make him remember his love for me and want our baby. But he never forgave me for going to mi padre. I never saw Clay happy again, unless he’d been drinking. When he drank heavily, he became mean…and cruel. He beat me many times in the short while we were married. I couldn’t seem to please him no matter what I did.”
Marianne peered down at Angelina’s tear-stained cheeks. “During the last beating he said he wanted to kill me and our child. He’d come home drunk, more drunk than usual, and soon became angry because I didn’t feel well. I went outside with the sickness, and when I returned he accused me of being with one of the vaqueros. The more I denied his charges, the more he hit me. I pleaded with Clay to stop and covered my stomach, but he kept hitting me until I could not say anything for the pain.” Angelina lifted her head and rose slightly on her elbows. “How I grieve for hurting my parents. Telling them I’m sorry doesn’t remove how horrible I feel.”
Marianne listened to every word, wanting just one opportunity to tell Clay what an evil man he was. “Your parents love you. They will take good care of you.”
Angelina shrugged and eased back onto the pillow. “They say all is forgiven and forgotten. But why do I feel so soiled? I want to bathe and scrub myself until I have no skin left. Maybe it is like Clay said. I am no good, and the only reason he said he loved me was because he felt sorry for my lack of beauty.” She began to sob and brought her bruised hand to her mouth to stifle the sounds.
Sympathy welled in Marianne. She remembered her kidnapping and how the peace of God sustained her, and she longed for the distraught young woman to know the same assurance. “No, Angelina, Clay lied to you. You are beautiful, and he’s the one who is ugly and wicked. Dios can remove your bad feelings. He will forgive you if you ask.”
Angelina turned away from Marianne. “I don’t deserve anything from Dios.”
“But Dios loves you and wants you to come to Him. That is why He sent Jesús to die for our sins, so we can all be His children.”
The young woman continued to sob. Finally she gained control. “I want to confess, but where do I begin? I’m too ashamed to speak with a padre. I don’t want anyone to know my horrible sin.”
Marianne prayed Angelina would understand that true peace came from her relationship with Jesus Christ. “Let me help you return to Dios.” When Angelina hesitantly nodded in affirmation, Marianne breathed a quick prayer. “I know you will want to confess to a padre, but you can pray now for forgiveness.” She took Angelina’s hand. “Right now, you can thank our Dios Santo for sending Jesús to save you from your sins. Without the gift of life from His Son, we all would perish. Ask Him to live in your heart forever and to rule your every thought and word. This is the only way to peace and forgiveness.”
A few moments later, Angelina smiled. “Madre Santa,” she said. “My heart is at rest. Dios has filled my soul with His forgiveness and love.”
Marianne bent and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I will pray for you every day. We shall be like sisters, you and I. Tomorrow will not be good-bye; only a short time will pass until we see each other again.”
“I would like that.”
“We will laugh and have a most splendid time.”
Both young women blinked back their tears and managed to laugh at their show of emotion. Marianne thanked God for using her to help Angelina. Now her new friend could start over by trusting in her Heavenly Father. And Marianne desperately needed a friend who trusted in God, for now she feared her new life with the don. What if he changed and became like Papa or Clay?
That evening, while waiting for sleep to overcome her, Marianne once more pondered Angelina’s horrible ordeal with Clay. Admittedly so, the young woman regretted not listening to her parents about him. She realized they were right and wanted the best for her. Mama wished too that she had been obedient to her father’s wishes and stopped seeing Papa. Both women had been blinded by love and chose their hearts over submission to those who loved them. Marianne considered the comparison of Angelina’s life and Mama’s to her own. God must want Marianne to learn from those two marriages so she would not consider doing something foolish with Armando.
But Armando didn’t have the traits of Clay Wharton or Papa. Did he? Had Mama and Angelina felt the same pull on their hearts, believing in the men they loved as good and kind?
Why am I torturing myself with thoughts of Armando? I will marry Don Lorenzo as Mama and Papa have planned. Nothing can change. Even Armando realized my place is with the don.
Trust Me, a voice whispered. Trust not your heart, neither the advice of others, nor the workings of your thoughts.
What do you mean, Lord? She startled in her bed. Have You not instructed us to seek wise counsel from those who love You?
Seek ye the Kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.
Heavenly Father, am I not following You with my whole heart? Marianne peered into the darkness. Confusion rested heavily upon her. Twice she had viewed the consequences of women marrying men their parents objected to. Loving God meant that she abided by Mama and Papa’s instructions, just as the commandment stated. God’s Word assured her of blessings for adhering to His commands. Why then did she feel such unrest with her future?
Chapter 23
Armando waved to his friends as they circled around a rocky hill and rode toward him. While he waited in a clearing, they splashed across a creek lined with white-faced rock.
From a nearby hilltop, he had spotted a herd of longhorns days ago, and now they planned to drive the cattle back to their own herds. For some time now, the men from La Flor had rounded up the wild longhorns to increase their own stock. The villagers risked their lives each time they ventured farther from the valley in search of cattle or mustangs. Raiding Comanches roamed the desolate land and left mutilated corpses of their victims behind—a warning to those who strayed far from safety. Armando and his men took their chances with the marauding Indians. Their people needed the cattle and horses, and his spirit cried out for adventure.
Armando regretted compensating Weston Phillips for the stolen cattle, but he felt a sense of satisfaction in hand-selecting the best from their small herd. His pride had a great deal to do with the decision. He wanted the governor to know Armando Garcia as a man of honor, and he needed Marianne to remember him as a man of his word.
“The longhorns are grazing near that winding stream, over there.” Armando pointed. Just beyond a deep arroyo and a sprinkling of mesquite and brush, the cattle fed and drank freely. Emilio, Pepe, and Felipe followed his gesture. “I counted about fifty head.”
“Any sign of Comanches?” Emilio’s worried gaze searched the sparsely dotted land around them.
“I saw pony tracks yesterday, but not today.” Armando
sensed the danger of the remote area, but he refused to comment on it.
“They could be here and waiting.” Pepe glanced about. “Let’s round up the cattle and drive them back now.”
“Si, we don’t need the remains of our bodies laid out for wild animals to devour,” Armando said in an attempt to make light.
Felipe said nothing. He appeared to be scrutinizing the cloudless blue sky to the west of them. “Vultures,” he said, and they viewed the hovering birds.
“We’re like women,” Armando said. “Do we get the cattle or not?”
Felipe jerked his horse toward the longhorns. “I haven’t ridden all this way for nothing. Already I have a hungry belly, and being called a woman from the likes of you makes me mad.”
Armando understood Felipe’s impatience in the heat as well as Emilio and Pepe’s natural fear of Comanches. “I’ll see what the vultures are feeding on while you get behind the cattle,” he said. A dead animal would set their worries at rest.
His path took him down a gully and around a rocky ridge, his senses acute to everything around him. Apprehension settled like a dust cloud. He saw nothing, but victims of Comanches seldom saw their aggressors before they struck. Armando’s instincts usually swayed him in the right direction. Perhaps he should turn back. He pulled his gelding to a halt and stopped to peer around him and then on to where the vultures feasted.
Armando spotted a body. Sprawled out on the rocky earth, a man or the remains of a man lay prey to nature’s method of eliminating the dead. He rode closer, his rifle ready. Armando choked back the stench filling his nostrils and covered his mouth and nose with his bandanna. After a moment’s hesitation, he dismounted and walked toward the body, wondering who could have met up with the Comanches and hoping it wasn’t anyone he knew. He used his weapon to turn over the tortured body. Although a spider scurried about his eyes and nose, he still could recognize Clay Wharton. The Indians had used him as an example of their hatred for those invading their land. For a moment, he stared at the body before turning to mount his horse and head toward the others.
