Land of the Free

by Jeffry Hepple

  “It means that Louisiana is now a state in the Union of the United States of America,” Yank answered. “The parade is part of the celebration.”

  “You’re supposed to be watching the children,” Marina barked loudly. “Get back downstairs.” She pointed to the door.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Dejectedly, Jack turned and went back into the house.

  Yank waited until Jack was out of earshot. “You’re too rough on that boy.”

  “He’s always lurking.”

  “He’s a child that wants attention from his parents. Especially from his mother.”

  She leaned on the rail. “I’m sick of being a mother.”

  “And of being a wife.”

  “Yes. And of being unnoticed, unappreciated and unimportant.”

  “You’re noticed and import to this family. But to be appreciated you’ll have to make an effort.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “I have no life of my own anymore,” she said stridently. “You and your children are using me up.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “That’s ridiculous, Marina. Would you really like to go back to the life you had before?”

  “At least I was admired then.”

  “Admired?”

  “Yes. Admired.”

  “Well if that’s the kind of admiration you want,” Yank gestured toward the parade, “why wait until next Easter? Join the parade now. Bare your admirable breasts to the unwashed masses.”

  “I might.”

  “Please do.”

  “And I might not come back.”

  “No one here would miss you, Marina. You’re beastly to our children and they’re afraid of you.”

  “And you, John?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t honestly care what you do.”

  Marina walked into the house, down the stairs and out through the courtyard to the street.

  May 3, 1812

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  The Gray Lady Tavern fell dead silent when Colonel Yank Van Buskirk, wearing a dress uniform with a sword on his belt, stepped through the front door.

  “You ain’t welcome here,” Joseph said from behind the bar.

  Yank locked Joseph in an icy stare and walked to the bar. “The amount of pain that I bring will be inversely proportional to the amount of information I receive.” He looked over the crowded tables. “In other words: tell me what I want to know and no one will get hurt.” He looked back at Joseph who was reaching for something under the bar. “You’re a gambler, aren’t you? Well I’ll wager that I can draw my sword and hack your hand off at the wrist before you can pull that trigger.”

  Slowly Joseph put his hands on the bar. “She said she was goin’ home to Mexico.”

  Yank shrugged. “I don’t care about that. I came to find out where she pawned my mother’s ring. My daughter is the rightful owner.”

  Joseph opened his cash drawer, took out the ring and put it on the bar. “I give her a hundred dollars for it.”

  Yank picked up the ring, took a gold coin from his pocket and put it where the ring had been. “You gave her too much.” With a nod to the still silent patrons, he walked out.

  May 13, 1812

  Saline Creek Settlement, Indian Territory

  Brigitte Saucier Chouteau watched the passengers who were debarking from the keelboat. “Will you look at that?”

  Her husband, Jean Pierre Chouteau, shaded his eyes. “At what?”

  “Marina Van Buskirk from New Orleans.” She pointed. “I wonder what she could be doing here.”

  “I am quite sure she will tell you.” He turned back to his task of counting pelts.

  Balancing on the planks to avoid the mud, Brigitte made her way toward the crowded wooden dock. As she drew nearer the river, Brigitte raised her hand to get Marina’s attention.

  Marina waved then waited until Brigitte gained the dock before pressing her cheek against Brigitte’s and kissing the air in French fashion. “I thought you were in New Orleans and had not expected to see you here.”

  “We built a small house above the trading post.” She pointed at a mansion on the hill. “Let me get someone to fetch your baggage and we will go up.”

  “I have none.”

  “No baggage?”

  “No.”

  “What are you doing, Marina?”

  “I am going home.”

  “To New York?”

  “To New Mexico.”

  “What?”

  “I intend to join a party on the Osage Trace that is traveling to Santa Fe,” Marina explained.

  “The Osage Trace is no place for a white woman alone.”

  “I am not a white woman, Brigitte. That is exactly why I am going home.”

  “I should have said a woman alone. Come up to the house and we will discuss it.”

  “You will not talk me out of it.”

  “I was not planning to try. Come along.”

  The two women stepped carefully onto the plank walkway and headed toward the big, three-story house.

  In 1796, Brigitte’s husband, Jean Pierre Chouteau of St. Louis, Missouri, established this trading post at the junction of the Grand Neosho River and Saline Creek to trade with the Osage Indians. By 1804 he was the richest man in the region and founded the St. Louis Missouri Fur Company. With homes in St. Louis, New Orleans and now at Saline Creek Settlement, Jean Pierre, Brigitte, and the rest of the Chouteau family were a powerful political force in the West.

  As the two women reached the house, they were met by a small man wearing a cutaway suit.

  “Please tell Consuelo to draw a hot bath for Mrs. Van Buskirk.”

  “Right away, Madam,” he replied.

  “And when she has finished, tell her to find something of mine that will fit Mrs. Van Buskirk. Something appropriate for dinner. We will consider the rest of her wardrobe later.”

  “Yes, Madam.” He held the door for the women then crossed the foyer toward the rear of the house.

  “You have indoor plumbing?” Marina asked in surprise. “With a bathtub?”

  “And a water heater,” Brigitte said proudly. “You will stay with us tonight, of course, and then if you are still set in your plans, Jean Pierre will arrange for a man to escort you tomorrow.”

  “That is very kind, Brigitte, but I will not hear of it.”

  “Well, let me show you to your room and after you have bathed and dressed we will have tea.”

  ~

  “The trip to Santa Fe is long and difficult,” Brigitte said as the maid served them tea.

  “I thought you were not going to try to talk me out of it.”

  “I just want to be sure you know what you are in for.”

  “I have made the journey twice.”

  “Not along the Osage Trace.”

  “I am going, Brigitte, and nothing you can say will deter me.”

  “Very well. I do not suppose it would be polite of me to ask why you have made this startling decision.”

  Marina waited until the maid had left the room then leaned closer to Brigitte. “I had an affair. John found out and has made my life a living hell.”

  “The beast. He has no room to stand in judgment.”

  “Why? Has he been unfaithful to me?”

  “Oh, I would not know about that. I was speaking of his mother. She and Betsey Loring scandalized Philadelphia and New York while John’s father was at war. If his father could forgive her, surely he can forgive you one little misstep.”

  Marina considered correcting Brigitte about Anna but decided against it.

  “Ah, I see,” Brigitte said, after a moment. “The man is in New Mexico and you are going to him.”

  “No.” Marina shook her head. “The man is in Rhode Island and engaged to be married. In fact he may well be married already.”

  Brigitte sipped her tea. “Are you still in love with him?”

  “I never loved him. But he raised such a heat in me
that…” She waved her hands. “A woman like you would never understand.”

  Brigitte laughed. “A woman like me? Now that is a subject that I do not wish to discuss. Not now in any event.” She poured tea into Marina’s cup. “What do you hope to find in New Mexico?”

  “Myself. I have become a wife and a mother and have lost me.”

  Brigitte waited for Marina to continue.

  “I find a new gray hair every day. I have little wrinkles around my eyes. My breasts are beginning to sag.”

  “If going to New Mexico will cure those things I will go with you.”

  Marina chuckled. “I know I sound silly and don’t expect you to understand.”

  “I can understand you wanting to see your parents again or going to pursue your lover but, to be honest, leaving your husband and children makes absolutely no sense to me.”

  Marina shrugged. “My husband hardly notices me and my children hate me so I am going home for a fresh start.”

  “A fresh start?”

  “Yes. I want to be admired again as I once was.” She smiled. “I miss the days when I could stop conversation by walking into a room. Do you know what I mean?”

  Brigitte shook her head. “I have never had that kind of power.”

  Marina sighed. “I may never have it again but I am going home and nothing can stop me.”

  June 29, 1812

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Governor William Charles Cole Claiborne shook hands with Yank. “I wanted to tell you before the news became public that the United States has declared war on Great Britain.” He gestured toward a chair.

  “I can’t pretend to be surprised,” Yank said, accepting the chair.

  Claiborne sat down beside Yank. “Conventional opinion is that the battles will be fought in the Northwest and on the Great Lakes and there will be no threat to Louisiana.”

  “That might be correct if we defeat them there,” Yank replied. “But I don’t see that happening. At least not fast enough to keep them from trying to control the Mississippi.”

  “That’s what I figure too.” Claiborne folded his hands. “Would you consider resigning your U. S. commission to take command of the State Militia, Yank?”

  “No, sir. If the country is going to war I need to take my children home and go where the battles are.”

  “Then you may be back sooner than you think.”

  “I’ll be here if I’m needed here, Governor.”

  “What’re you going to do about Marina?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Brigitte Chouteau saw her at Saline Creek Settlement in the Indian Territory. Brigitte told me that Marina arrived there on a whiskey boat with no luggage and no money and that she left the next day with a guide that Jean Pierre hired, bound for Santa Fe.”

  “When Marina left I couldn’t leave my children here alone and abandon my duties as an army officer to chase her down. Now, with the country at war…” He shrugged. “I’ll see Jean Pierre, thank him and repay whatever he spent.”

  “If you’ll reconsider and take command of the State Militia, Clarissa and I will look after your children while you go fetch Marina.”

  Yank shook his head. “Marina made her decisions without consulting me. She’s on her own.”

  July 24, 1812

  Las Cocinitas, Nuevo México

  Not quite half way between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, on El Camino Real, the village of Las Cocinitas was a string of high-walled haciendas that stretched along the banks of the Rio Grande. At the center of eight pueblos, the town was a trading hub between the Spanish and Indians after the conquest and remained so through the Pueblo and Mexican revolutions.

  Marina pulled the rope at the gate and heard the bell ring in the courtyard. The gate was much smaller than she remembered but the cotton-wood trees were bigger.

  “Who is it?” a male voice asked from behind the big wooden gate.

  “My name is Marina Elena Cortés López de Van Buskirk. I once, long ago, lived here with my family.”

  The lock on the inside of the gate rattled, then the gate opened to reveal an old man with a long, drooping, white mustache who was gaping at her wide-eyed. “Little Marina? Is it really you?”

  She saw something vaguely familiar in the face. “Papá?”

  “No, no. I am Juan the gardener. Do you not remember me?”

  She shook her head.

  “No matter. Come, come.” He backed up and beckoned to her, then closed and locked the gate.

  “Does my family still live here?” she asked, examining the wide hacienda.

  “Yes, yes. Your mother and father still do. Your sisters and brothers have their own homes. Everyone has thought that you were dead, these many years.”

  “Are they here? My mother and father?”

  “Yes, yes. But they are still asleep.”

  Marina glanced toward the sun. “It is nearly noon.”

  He shrugged. “They like to sleep late in the morning and stay awake late into the night. Come to the kitchen and we will send a maid to wake them.” He started toward the house, beckoning to her encouragingly as he walked. “Lupe is still the cook. You remember Lupe, no?”

  “Of course,” she lied.

  “Lupe wept for days when the Apache took you. As we all did.”

  “I wept for years.” She was looking at the house and grounds, trying to reconcile what she saw with her vague memories.

  “Nothing has changed, no?” Juan asked.

  “I can hardly remember.”

  “It will come back,” he said. “Come, come. Lupe will be so glad to see you. Come.” He held the kitchen door open and beckoned her in.

  Lupe, who proved to be a shapeless Pueblo squaw of indeterminate age, went into mild hysterics when Juan told her who Marina was. She created such a fuss that, until her mother touched her arm, Marina failed to notice her parents when they came into the kitchen dressed in their night clothes.

  When her mother put her arms around her and began to weep, Marina patted the woman’s back uncomfortably and looked at her father’s stern face, trying to read his expression.

  “Come into the salón,” he said, then left the room.

  “Is Papá angry that I have come home, Mamá?” Marina asked in a bewildered tone.

  Her mother released Marina and looked into the house. “He does not speak of you.”

  “Why?”

  Her mother hesitated. “He knows something of your life in New Orleans.”

  “Does he?” Marina replied sharply. “He knows but did nothing to rescue me?”

  “He has old world ideas, Marina.”

  “Then he can keep them. Goodbye, Mamá.” She started for the kitchen door.

  “Wait, please,” her mother wailed.

  “No, Mamá. I will not. If your husband went to all the effort that must have been necessary to find me and then he left me in bondage, he is no longer my father.”

  “Delores lives in the next hacienda.” Her mother pointed. “Go there and I will come to you as soon as I can dress.”

  ~

  Delores Cortés López de Aragón was a beauty to rival Marina. Six years Marina’s junior she had no memory of the sister who had been taken by the Apaches and seemed disinterested in Marina’s return. Her husband, Enrique, however, who had been twelve when Marina was taken, remembered her well and was keenly interested. As they waited for Mrs. Cortés to appear, Enrique sat too close to Marina on the couch while Delores sat across the room, knitting.

  “I would prefer not to discuss it, Enrique,” Marina said, trying to back away.

  “Just tell me one thing,” he replied in a low tone of voice, checking to be sure that his wife could not overhear. “Did the Indians ravish you?”

  Marina gave him a look of disgust. “I have been raped as many times as there are stars in the skies,” she said loudly. “Do you find that entertaining?”

  “You must be cautious of my husband, Sister,” Delores said. “He is a slavering dog and wil
l have his filthy paws all over you soon.”

  Marina stood up. “I will wait for our mother on the patio. Please keep your dog in the hacienda.”

  ~

  “This was a mistake, Mamá,” Marina said over her mother’s sobs. “I am going to Santa Fe to find work. When I am settled I will send you a message and you can visit me.”

  July 24, 1812

  Washington, District of Columbia

  “I have promoted you to full colonel,” President Madison said. “I should have done it much sooner, but to be perfectly frank, it never occurred to me that I have been your commanding officer all this time and thus responsible for those kinds of decisions. You probably would be a general by now had I not sidetracked you.”

  Yank smiled at him. “I’m very grateful, Mr. President. Until now, every promotion I’ve received was because I was my father’s son.”

  “I sincerely doubt that.” Madison said, searching his desk for something. “I think you know Colonel William Hull, the governor of the Michigan Territory?”

  “Yes, sir. That is, I have met him. He knew my father and was in several of the same battles as was my father.”

  “Secretary Eustis has appointed him a Brigadier General in command of the new Army of the Northwest.”

  “I thought that command was to go to Colonel Kingsbury, sir.”

  “It was, but Kingsbury fell ill.”

  “I see.”

  “You must have spoken to Governor Harrison to have known of Kingsbury.”

  Yank nodded. “He sent me a letter stating that he’d raised twelve hundred men for a new militia and that Kingsbury would take command of them and the Fourth Infantry Regiment from Vincennes to form the core of his army.”

  “The troop assignment has not changed, only the commander.” Madison handed him a report. “General Hull took command on May 25th. In that report he states that the militia raised by Governor Harrison was ill-equipped and lacks military discipline. He says that he has been required to use the infantry regiment to quell several instances of insubordination.”