Her Abundant Joy

by Lyn Cote

  Despair washed through him, turning his thoughts stark and morose. I will be the next to fall. What did Niven say about Remy when he brought him to us after Monterrey? Something about not being buried in a foreign land. “At least he’ll be buried on U.S. soil with family to speak solemn prayers over his grave. Not in an unmarked communal pit with strangers in a foreign land.” Would Niven come when the Rangers buried Carson tomorrow?

  The next day dawned misty as usual, but an unexpected sight greeted the Americans camped on high ground. The Mexican Army was retreating. A sound went along the lines, a single yell at first and then a murmuring, which became louder and louder until shouts went up, “Victory! Victory! The enemy has fled! The field is ours!”

  Carson stood listening. Cool, bracing currents of relief and gratitude sluiced through him. Just as He had for Carson’s father, God was providing a way out for him. The battle he’d thought he’d die in would not take place today. And I won’t be stubborn like Tunney. When the general hoopla finally quieted, he walked over to McCulloch. “I’m going home. I’m done. With this war. With Ranging.”

  McCulloch stared at him. Then he offered his large hand. “You can leave with a clear conscience. You’ve served Texas and the U.S. with honor. Go home to that pretty widow.”

  The last few words staked Carson’s heart. But he shook McCulloch’s hand and rode through the celebrating troops, heading due north. Mariel’s image flickered in his mind’s eye. He banished it. There was no honorable way for them to be together. His hope for a life with her had been ended by circumstances beyond their control.

  Still, he had family to return to. And he would try to find a way that didn’t include war. If he wanted to walk the path of peace, he must find the start of that trail and begin tracking it. I want to be a man of peace. God, you’ll have to show me the way. I will study war no more.

  By the time Carson finally rode up to the porch of his parents’ hacienda, chill March rains had come in full force. Rain poured from his hat brim and over his poncho. His horse stirred mud. The sun was low upon the horizon. Smoke floated upward from the many chimneys in the hacienda and jacales around the ranch. Numb from weariness and the loss of Tunney, he paused at the bottom of the steps to the front porch and waited. For some reason, he couldn’t just get down from his horse and walk inside. He wanted to be welcomed first.

  Finally a few people began coming out of the jacales to greet him, men tossing serapes around their shoulders, women within wool rebozos. It wasn’t a joyous welcome. Perhaps they read his somber mood from the way he sat on his horse. Perhaps it was the dismal scene that depressed everything, even welcome. At last, the front door opened. He looked up, expecting his mother or father or sisters. Mariel stepped out onto the porch with a shawl around her shoulders. She opened her arms and said his name.

  He slid from his horse, staring at her. Someone took his horse toward the barn. Carson stood, staring. Stunned. His very core blasted with heat, then cold. He couldn’t take it in. Why are you here?

  Without saying a word, she walked down the few steps and took his hand. “Come inside. It’s warm there.” He let her lead him up the steps and into the big room. Her small hand felt real. This wasn’t a dream, conjured by his longing for her.

  Inside, he paused to look around at the familiar room, the familiar faces. Erin ran and hugged his waist. Sugar came and helped him off with his wet poncho and hat. His mother and father embraced him. The housekeeper came out with food he loved, fragrant with chili peppers and coriander, and called for him to come and “Eat, eat!” Mariel led him to the table. There he began eating, each bite making him aware of how deeply hungry he was.

  “Did you win the war?” Erin asked.

  “The war isn’t over,” Carson said between bites, “just my part in it.”

  When Erin tried to ask another question, Quinn stopped her. He started talking about what had been going on at the ranch in Carson’s absence. Carson was grateful for each piece of news, which knit him back into the life here. And he was content to eat and gaze at Mariel. Forever.

  Finally, Emilio asked, “Are you home for good?”

  “Yes, I’ve given up being a Ranger.” He looked down, not wanting to see what the reaction to this would be.

  “Why?” Erin asked and was hushed by Dorritt, who said, “There is a time for every season under heaven. A time for war. A time for peace.”

  No one said anything. He glanced up. They just nodded, as if they had expected him to say that. His eyes found Mariel again, and he couldn’t drag his gaze from her. He wanted to ask, Why are you here? But everyone sat with them, and he couldn’t ask how this miracle had happened.

  His father rose. “We will leave you two alone for a while. Welcome home, son.” And even Erin, though taken by the hand and twisting back to see him, left the room so Mariel and he could be alone.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, the words flowing out. “I never expected to see you again.”

  “I will explain.” She took his hand and held it to her cheek. “I have been so worried, worried you wouldn’t, couldn’t, come back to me. And here you are. You came through the valley of the shadow of death, back to me.”

  He tilted his head and kissed her, just lightly, so he could stop, because he had to know, must know how she had been given back to him. Still, the temptation to draw her into his arms pulled at him. “Tell me.” Quickly.

  She looked down at the white tablecloth, pressing it and smoothing it with the tips of her fingers. “Dieter was arrested for his democratic politics. Many were. In prison, he shared a cell with a man name Karl Meissen. He had been arrested for stealing. They learned that to lessen the crowding of the prison, Dieter was to be released—if he promised to leave Germany. The Adelsverein was offering to take political dissenters to Texas. But Dieter died during the night.” She paused and looked up. “Dieter was never strong. He had a lung disease.”

  “I still don’t understand.” Her soft pink earlobes were enticing him now. He let his index finger brush the one nearest.

  She blushed her nice rosy pink, just as he remembered. “Karl and Dieter looked much alike, so Karl took a chance. He put on Dieter’s clothing and switched cots. When the guards came, he thought they must surely see that he wasn’t Dieter, but they did not. They took his word that Karl Meissen, not Dieter Wolffe, had died. They carried out the body.”

  “They didn’t recognize the difference?” Your husband is dead, then?

  Mariel shrugged, gazing down. “Karl said it was a very large, very old prison. Some of it was still dungeons under the castle. The guards never took much notice of anyone.”

  “I can’t believe it. But then why did they tell you your husband had died when they thought Karl was dead?” He lifted her chin with his finger, wanting to see her large eyes, so somber now. Yet he had seen them dance with mischief.

  “No one officially told me anything. His parents told me about it. I think someone must have told my in-laws he was dead because so many were executed or died in prison. You know how gossip is. Everyone wants to think the worst and stories start and no one can find out who started the talk.”

  Carson listened to her musical voice. Mariel, you’re here.

  “I never saw any letter,” she said. “Probably there was no letter. I was just told Dieter had died. I think his parents wished him dead. They made it clear he had disgraced their family. In any case, Karl as Dieter wasn’t released right away. Another sweep of democratic meetings and more arrests had crowded the prison. Three more men were jammed together in the tiny cell he shared with Dieter.”

  Carson couldn’t help it. He touched her pale hair, so smooth, so silken.

  She caught his hand and kissed his palm, staring into his eyes. Desire broke over him. But he stopped himself. He must know the truth. “Go on.” Finish it so we can stop talking. I need to kiss you.

  “Finally, Karl as Dieter was released and was met by the Adelsverein at the prison gate, along with many ot
hers. As soon as enough people were assembled, he left with them on the next voyage for Texas.”

  “Still acting as if he were your husband?” He was more interested in Mariel, but the strange story managed to keep him listening. He must hear it all, understand it all so there would be nothing to keep them apart. He traced her eyebrows one after the other, just wanting to touch her, feel that she was real.

  “No. He didn’t know Dieter had been a married man. I can’t blame him for switching places with Dieter. He says he wasn’t guilty of stealing from his employer—that the man’s wife was the guilty party, but he had no proof. After being in prison, he just wanted to get out of Germany before he was recognized and put back into prison.” She shrugged and laid her hand on his, soft skin on weathered.

  The lamplight gleamed on her pale blond hair. “When you arrived at New Braunfels, what happened? Didn’t he try to say that he was your husband?”

  “No, he didn’t keep lying. As soon as I said that he wasn’t Dieter, he told the truth. I think he must have been telling the truth about being wrongly arrested too. He struck me as an honest man, a desperate one to do what he had done. He said he was very sorry that I had been deceived. I believed him.” She gripped his hand in hers.

  “Why didn’t he just tell the truth when he got to Texas? Certainly they wouldn’t have sent him back.” Finally, anger sparked, flickered within Carson. The man’s lie had cost them both much pain, suffering.

  “He was afraid, and no one mentioned me till he got to New Braunfels. He thought he would wait and see how I reacted when I arrived and do what I thought was right. I forgive him. Being in prison like that.” Mariel shivered.

  Carson shook his head, then forgot everything but Mariel. His desire for this woman, his love for her, overwhelmed, drowned every other reaction. He reached for her and dragged her into his lap. He kissed her. She clung to him, giving him her lips, her neck freely.

  A throat cleared in the dimly lit room.

  Irritated, Carson lifted his head. In the doorway from the courtyard stood his parents, sisters, Emilio, and the housekeeper and Consuela. His father carried the worn, small black Book of Common Prayer. Emilio carried the large family Bible toward the fireplace. “Carson and Mariel,” Quinn said, “your mother and I have decided that we will marry you two here, tonight, in front of God and these witnesses. There is no reason that you shouldn’t be together now—as man and wife.”

  Carson understood what his parents meant. His father was right. He and Mariel had waited long enough. He didn’t trust himself to be alone with her after what they each had been through, and after weeks apart.

  He sent her a questioning glance. She nodded almost shyly. He let her slip from his lap. Carson led her to the fireplace, where his father had moved to stand with his mother and the rest of the witnesses. Carson led Mariel to face him and took her right hand.

  “How can they get married?” Erin complained. “Mariel isn’t wearing her wedding dress.”

  Dorritt answered for them. “We will have a party when the spring rains end. Then Mariel will wear her wedding dress and Carson his best suit. And we’ll have a fiesta with dancing and a piñata.”

  “Promise?” Erin reiterated.

  Their mother gave her a pointed look and Erin fell silent. His father began reading from the small book of prayer and Carson was relieved. The ceremony that joined the two of them till death seemed to pass in seconds yet last forever. Quinn’s firm, low voice, the fire crackling on the hearth, Carson’s own even heartbeat—everything was subdued, but as perfect as the feeling of Mariel’s small hand in his.

  At the end, he kissed Mariel, slid onto her ring finger the wedding ring Emilio had kept for him. And then his father recorded their names and the date in the family Bible. After subdued hugs, kisses, and many good wishes, Carson led Mariel through the dark courtyard to his room.

  The staff had prepared a bathtub before the fire. Carson closed the door. He knew the bath was for him, but the thought of bathing with Mariel in the room gave him pause.

  She smiled an understanding smile. “I’ll go and get some of my things from Erin’s room. I’ll be right back.” She left him alone.

  He noticed that a dressing screen had magically appeared, and he smiled. He quickly disrobed, setting his soiled clothing outside the door for the laundress to take away, and sank into the hot bath before the fire. His exhausted, battered body slowly relaxed as the hot water loosened the knots in his muscles and soothed the ache in his low back. He tried to think over all that had just happened. He felt as if he’d walked out of the nightmare of the past months and had entered seamlessly into a pleasing dream, pleasing beyond anything he had hoped for. This isn’t a dream. Mariel is my wife now and no one can take her from me.

  Mariel slipped into the room and shut the door. Carson was facing away from her, looking into the fire. She saw that the cold breeze that had come in with her had made him, her husband, shiver. Her joy rippled up from deep within and poured through her, silent, rapturous and liberating. My husband. Carson Quinn is my husband.

  How many times had she wanted to make this man more comfortable but had been prevented from doing so? Now he was her husband, and she could show him her love. She slipped off her shawl and went and knelt by the head of the high-backed tin tub. Picking up the bar of soft imported soap, she rubbed it onto her hands. Then she began to shampoo his hair.

  He stilled at her touch and then relaxed in the shadowy room, lit only by the fire and one candle on the bedside table. In the low light, she took her time massaging his scalp and working out the tangles in his long hair. He had let it grow since she’d met him in Galveston. It was shoulder-length now. It suited Carson, son of Quinn. He had been a Ranger.

  But no more; now he was hers.

  “Will you always wash my hair?” he asked, catching her hand in his and drawing it to his lips.

  “If you wish it.” She kissed his ear. Then it came, the joy so abundant and the peace she had doubted would ever be hers. She, the meek, the humble, would live in the land. With her man of peace.

  Epilogue

  Sipping her last cup of morning coffee and wearing her best violet blue dress, Dorritt stood on her front porch and watched the bevy of activity in the sunny yard beyond. People were setting up tables, hanging the piñata for the children, decorating the tables with wildflowers, the bluebonnets and daisies. The spring rains had ended and the fiesta celebrating the marriage of Carson and Mariel would take place today. Guests would start arriving any time now. Dorritt looked out over their land, the land that belonged to her and Quinn.

  God was good. When she had left New Orleans twenty-six years ago, she had hoped for only independence from her stepfather. God had given her more, much more than she had imagined. A loving husband, children, friends, and soon grandchildren.

  Sugar and Emilio would be parents near the end of this year, 1847. Sam Houston had written to say that Sugar’s father had been listed as one of those who had been killed in the massacre at Goliad. The family planned to honor Ernest McLaughlin during this year’s Day of the Dead celebration.

  The faraway war was grinding on. General Scott had captured the Gulf of Mexico port of Veracruz and, according to Carson, would march to capture Mexico City. Carson had decided to read law in San Antonio. He would protect his fellow Texians with the law, not his Walker Colt .45s. It would be hard to have Carson and Mariel settle a day’s ride away, but he could have fallen like Tunney at the Battle of Buena Vista.

  No, everything in Dorritt’s life had fallen into place. God had given her the desires of her heart indeed. The only smudge on the page of her life was her sister’s lack of love, combined with her vanity and her slaveholding. Texas had been admitted to the U.S. as a slave state. This grieved Dorritt, and she feared what this might cost Texas in the future.

  Quinn walked out and stepped behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her right shoulder. “I love you,” he murmured.
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  She lifted her palm and stroked his cheek. “And I love you.”

  Her mind roved over the past. A multitude of images flowed through her mind. Alandra’s brother, Don Carlos’s sincere expression the day he’d told her he had fallen in love with her, Sugar’s pinched face the day they had found her, Alandra’s smile when she had told Dorritt that she and Scully were expecting their first child. “We have so much to be thankful for,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  And no more words were needed.

  Historical Note

  So my Texas Star of Destiny Series ends here. What a wild ride of historical research this series has taken me on. I had never studied the history of Texas and am astounded by all that went on there in the years between 1821 and 1847. I also had never studied the Mexican-American War before and was amazed at Taylor’s strategy, his victory over a much greater force, and the achievements of President Polk. Polk never got the credit he deserved in his lifetime or in history. And, of course, he was right. Zachary Taylor, the Whig, did beat him in the next election. Of course, one more major war was coming in just a little over a decade, the Civil War, as Dorritt predicted.

  The scene I wrote in which Carson and Ben McCulloch ride through Santa Anna’s army actually happened and shows you the real Ben McCulloch’s grit. Also, I was happy to write about the large German immigration to Texas in this period. (The Adelsverein was created by many German noblemen to help the poor in Germany to immigrate to America, thousands of Germans settled in Texas in the 1840s.) John O. Meuserbach was modeled after a real man named Baron Von Meuserbach, though of course I embroidered a bit, not having met him in person. The German immigrants did strike a peace with the Comanche and lived as peaceful neighbors much longer than the Anglos or Tejanos. If you go to New Braunfels, Texas, in the Hill Country, you will find that the German heritage is still strong there today. Also, the Texas Rangers still protect the citizens of Texas—though now they are paid regularly. I want to thank librarians at the San Antonio Library for help researching this series. Thanks to all of you readers for joining me on this ride through Western history.