by Drew McGunn
Now, Juan Seguin stood where Will had six years previous, with his wife, Maria beside him. His hand lay on an open Bible as the Chief Justice of the Republic’s Supreme Court, John Birdsall stood on the other side of the holy book. “Mr. President, repeat after me,” he said, “I, Juan Seguin, President of the Republic of Texas, do solemnly and sincerely swear, that I will faithfully execute the duties of my office, and to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the Republic of Texas, so help me God."
Will felt a heavy burden lifting as he listened to his oldest friend repeat the words transitioning the responsibilities and duties onto his shoulders. Of all the eighteen years since the transference, Will felt the last six had been the hardest.
Looking back, a year and a half after the end of the war, he could see that without the aid of the Southern states, the rebellion in Texas would have collapsed within a few months. He found it ironic that the Southern army had retreated into the South’s heartland, having failed to advance more than a hundred miles into the Republic, and yet the Republic’s capital had come so close to falling because of a rogue general with a personal vendetta.
Will’s attention was drawn to the newly minted President Seguin, who stepped up to the edge of the steps. There was a clear view down Congress Avenue to the Colorado River. But today, despite the crisp air, the terraced hillside was crowded with people who had turned out to see the inauguration.
Seguin chanced a look behind and flashed his irrepressible smile at Will and then turned to face the crowd, “I have been informed that Yankee newspaper editors, who obliterate the written word with the scalpel of their pens, having decided we are wasteful, have exiled the letter i from our very name. So, without further ado, my fellow Texans, I wish to thank you for your support. While I could never have won the race without the broad support of so many people, before I could even run, I first needed to win over my beloved Maria, for, without her consent, I would be relaxing in retirement on my ranch near San Antonio.”
Will admired Seguin’s words, although as the Tejano spoke, Will’s mind wandered. The memories from before the transference were still rattling around inside his head, but around their edges, they were fuzzy. Events once crystal clear now bled together. Sometimes he woke up trying to remember his parents’ features, even though his memories of his family remained the strongest from before. Those memories kept him grounded between two existences, reminding him everything before 1836 was more than just a dream. For the first time in several years, Will let his mind play through the cosmic mystery stranding his mind and soul in the nineteenth century. He’d considered some advanced science, but why had it only switched the essence of who he was with William Barret Travis? Why not just take him back in time? If this was even the same universe he’d come from.
Perhaps God had done this to him. As someone who had found his way back to the Methodist roots of his childhood this side of the transference, the idea that the creator of the universe, or was that universes? Had done this to him was easier to accept than the notion he inhabited Travis’ body as the result of a metaphysical accident.
A pounding from behind his eyes reminded him why he tried to not think about life before or what caused the transference. He winced and felt Becky’s hand grip his. It was a little thing, just a reminder she was by his side. She was the single most important reason he had stopped trying to reason out the transference. Other reasons were sitting on chairs below the Capitol steps. From his perch, he could see the back of his younger children’s heads. Liza seemed to be ignoring her younger brother, who sat beside her. She was thirteen, and he was eleven. For once, Davy seemed to be behaving himself.
Despite everything that happened to him over the past eighteen years, from defeating Santa Anna at the beginning, to forcing a peace treaty on the Comanche bands, to defending Texas against Mexico and overseeing the beginning of the end of legal slavery at the cost of a civil war, his wife and children were more important than everything else.
But for the first time since the transference, he was at a loss. What would he do next? He was only forty-five years old. The idea he was unemployed brought a smile to his face, and when he leaned over and whispered this to his wife, her eyes widened, and she gave him a scandalized look.
Leaning over, she whispered, “You’re going to take me and our children back to Trinity Park. Then you can go through the stack of ideas you’ve received from Sam Williams. If you don’t find something to do with him or Trinity College, rest assured, my love, I’ve got a list of things for you.”
Will glanced over at his wife and saw her lips twitching as she tried to repress a smile. Becky was right. On his desk were stacks of projects and proposals from the college and his business partner. With men like Sam Williams, Gail Borden, and Dick Gatling as partners, the world lay at Will’s feet. Before long, the oil trapped under Texas’ soil would be tapped, available to fuel the expanding industrial revolution Texas was only now joining in earnest. Borden’s factories were turning out products like condensed milk and canned foods in high demand throughout the world.
Will smiled at Becky. Yes, there were many things waiting on him when they returned home to Trinity Park. She nudged him and inclined her head to Juan Seguin, who was wrapping up his speech.
“And finally, my fellow countrymen, over my term of office, I will continue my predecessor’s policies that bring more and more freedom and opportunity to every Texan. God Bless Texas!”
Epilogue
Sharon Travers cut off the ignition as she stared at the seven-story building. Over the past few years, she’d lost track of the number of times she sat in her car in this very parking lot, often even in the same spot. She grabbed her purse and made sure she had her ID and book before getting out.
Brooke Army Medical Center stretched out before her, a sprawling campus treating thousands of military personnel, veterans, and their families in San Antonio. In the building, she showed her license and registered before getting onto the elevator. She knew the way by heart; she could have walked it blindfolded.
She slipped into the smallish room, leaving the corridor’s antiseptic smell, and made sure the door closed behind her before standing at the foot of the bed. Laying in the same comatose position she had left him in a couple of weeks before on her last visit was her son, Will.
Habit took over as she set her purse in the chair next to the bed and leaned over and kissed Will’s forehead. His face was as pallid as ever, the result of nearly four years with little sunlight. She stepped over to the window and pulled the heavy curtain aside and raised the shade, letting sunlight spill into the room.
Taking out her book, Sharon settled into the padded chair. Glancing at Will, she blinked back a tear. Really, she thought, it’s been four years, old girl. What would Ellis, let alone Will, think to see me tearing up?
Even though four years had passed since the accident in Iraq had left her son in a coma, she still made time to make the five-hundred-mile round-trip trip twice a month. Ellis joined her every couple of months, but her husband’s schedule wasn’t as predictable as her own. At least that’s what she told herself. Despite the doctors expressing hope Will would one day awaken, her husband’s faith in their opinions had faded with time, and Sharon understood her husband well enough to know that when he came he did so only to support her.
Reclining the chair, Sharon opened her book and found her place. As she read, her hand found Will’s and she gripped it without giving it much thought. It was simply part of her routine. The heart monitor beeped regularly in the background, something she’d learned to tune out a long time ago.
Sharon lost track of time as she turned page after page. Closing out the noise from the ticking wall clock, she lost herself in the romance of the Scottish Highlands. Something changed in the room, and Sharon glanced up and looked around.
The clock continued to tick as the second hand made its way around the dial. The heart monitor beeped. Sharon closed the b
ook. Something was different, but she couldn’t see anything out of place. She’d have noticed it. She knew this room almost as well as any in her house.
Then she noticed the difference. Will’s hand gripped hers. A thousand times, her hand had clasped his and never once had he responded. She came to her feet, still holding his hand and saw his eyelids, although closed, were twitching.
The hand she held flexed and Will’s eyes began to flicker. She saw his irises as Will blinked. He was waking up! After four years and what seemed like hundreds of visits, her son was coming to. As quickly as the thought came into her head to go fetch a nurse, she dismissed it. This was her moment.
Will’s eyes fluttered open and stayed open. Sharon realized she was holding her breath as for the first time in four years Will stared back at her.
“Sweet Lord above!” she gasped, “Will, can you hear me?”
Will nodded as his eyes closed, his mouth twisting in pain. He croaked, “Where am I?”
Hearing her son’s voice brought tears to Sharon’s eyes. “You’re at Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio. Oh, Will, you’ve been unconscious since you were injured.”
He licked his dry lips, “Ma’am, I’m grateful to you for being here, but who are you?”
A tear slid down her cheek. The doctors had told her many times, they had no idea if he had sustained any brain damage. His words had been one of her many fears. What had happened that he didn’t remember her?
Her voice trembled and she began to worry something was terribly wrong, “Will Travers, I’m your mother. Your father would have been here, but he had to work.”
Will’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry Mrs. Travers. My name is William Barret Travis.”
Notes
The fame of the Texas Rangers is known the world over. At the time of the Lone Star Reloaded Series, the Rangers were still building their reputation, defending Texas’ western settlements. Obviously, the world of Will Travers is different than our own. In this world, the Texas Rangers patrol the treaty line between the Comancheria, the southern boundary of which runs along the Red River. Additionally, the Texas Rangers also provide double duty, providing presidential security and city policing.
Not to be confused with the vaunted law enforcement agency, back in To the Victors the Remains, I introduced a special Ranger command that was part of the army. Throughout the rest of the series, this command turned into an elite special operations command, rather like a 19th-century version of the army rangers. Within the story, I tried to keep the two organizations separate, often referring to the Texas Rangers as part of the Frontier Battalion or simply as Texas Rangers. The special operations Rangers, I referred to as special Rangers or even as Army Rangers.
I realize this duality of names may be confusing. It wasn’t my intention to obfuscate things. I hope this explanation helps to untangle the confusion.
About the Author
A sixth generation Texan, Drew McGunn enjoyed vacations to the Alamo as a kid. Stories rattled around in his head throughout school, but as with most folks, after college the nine-to-five grind intruded for many years.
His passionate interest in history drove him back to his roots and he decided to write about the founding of the Republic of Texas. There are many great books about early Texas, but few explored the what-ifs of the many possible ways things could have gone differently. With that in mind, he wrote his debut novel Forget the Alamo! as a reimagining of the first days of the Republic.
Drew’s muse is his supportive wife, who encourages his creative writing.
