Chasing the Texas Wind Read online

  Chasing the Texas Wind

  by

  Mary C. Findley

  copyright by Mary C. Findley 2010

  Published by Findley Family Video Publications

  Chasing the Texas Wind

  copyright by Mary C. Findley 2010 Published by Findley Family Video Publications

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version Bible, Public Domain.

  Images used herein were obtained from IMSI’s MasterClips/ MasterPhotos copyrighted Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. East, San Rafael, CA 94901-5506, USA.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. Exception is made for short excerpts used in reviews.

  Findley Family Video

  “Speaking the truth in love.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is coincidental, with the exception of the explanation that follows the Table of Contents.

  Author’s Note:

  The Goliad campaign, the battle of San Jacinto, and the Battle of Monterrey are actual historical events. Colonel James Fannin, General Ampudio and Santa Ana are historical persons. I do not know if there was an “angel of Goliad,” a “highborn Spanish lady” who rescued some of the men sentenced to death at Goliad. All other characters are fictional. Accounts vary on how many men survived the capture and executions.

  Also fictional is the analysis of what went wrong at Goliad and any other interpretations or analysis of intelligence or historical events not clearly a part of the record of history. I do not know what did or did not go wrong with Fannin’s command, and I do not know whether Ampudia had any specific plans for an “endgame scenario.” I have taken a few historical events, persons and facts and made them a part of a fictional account. It is only a story, intended to do honor to the memory of the real brave men (and perhaps women) who served Texas and the United States.

  Part One

  April 21, 1844

  The sound of a fife playing, “Will You Come to the Bower I Have Shaded for You?” still echoed in Hamilton Jessup’s mind from time to time. He had no power to stop it if he wished, even after eight years. This time when it came he was poring over a document marked “Urgent” but he set it aside and looked out the window of the small office and across the Texas plain. He couldn’t see as far as La Porte or San Jacinto, of course, except in his mind. There it was, as clear as if he still lay in a dry grass hollow with Dan’s huge body shielding his own, watching the charging Texans about to capture General Antonio Lopez de Santa Ana, listening to the shouts of “Remember the Alamo!” “Remember Goliad!” not caring about the bayonet gash in his right leg, shouting along with Dan and all the others. What a glorious day!

  Ham turned his eyes back to the “Urgent” matter on his desk. The remembrance had passed. It was easier now to dwell on the excitement, the victory, to remember Dan’s encouraging smile, easier to dismiss what he didn’t want to see or remember. Ham pulled a pad to him and scratched two pages of comment. He slid the document and his pages into an envelope, sealed it, wrote directions on the outside, and rose slowly, glancing around the room. The interoffice mail cart sat near the door across the room, past three other desks. Ham pulled his coat off the tree behind him and made for the door with a rolling, swaggering step punctuated by the landings of his ebony, silver ram’s-headed cane, which caused the two remaining co-workers to raise their heads as he passed.

  “‘Night, Ham,” they said in unison. “Say hello to Dan,” the man nearest the door grinned.

  “I will,” Ham nodded, dropped his envelope in the mail cart, and left the office.

  An hour later, Ham had shed his impeccably tailored but dull business suit in favor of the dandyish evening clothes he preferred. He touched a comb to his already perfect if slightly graying black hair, squinted his brown eyes, spoiling his almost perfect handsomeness for just a moment, and turned to survey his trim, average-height figure critically. He paced back and forth a few steps before the full-length mirror in his rooms at the Marlboro Club, shifted his balance a little and tried out another step as if he were learning a dance, then left the room and traversed the hall and into the club’s dining room. Boarding on the ground floor cost extra but it meant not having to negotiate the steep, narrow stairs to the other living quarters.

  Dan pushed a package across the table as Ham sat down. “Happy birthday,” his friend said. Ham looked at the homely giant suspiciously.

  “Open it,” Dan urged. Ham complied and found inside an elegant little black leather-bound book. Until he focused on the words Holy Bible embossed in gold on the cover Ham didn’t know what to make of the gift.

  “Oh. Thanks,” Ham grunted, slipping the book into his pocket. Dinner arrived; center cut pork chops, applesauce, all Ham’s favorites. “How can a thirty-fifth birthday possibly be anything but happy, spent with my best friend in the world, even if he can’t resist an opportunity to preach at me?”

  “No preaching tonight,” Dan replied. “If you want to read that later, I’d be happy to hear your thoughts about it, but tonight we’ll talk about whatever you want to.”

  “I want to tell you something and ask what you think of it,” Ham said. “I received an invitation to a ball. It appears to be “The Event of the Spring,” in fact. Maeve Collinswood, that singer who is such a celebrity just now, has asked me to an evening of dining and dancing at the Palacio Del Oro, her mansion.”

  “Dining and dancing?” Dan echoed. “Don’t trip over her feet, Ham.”

  “You disapprove,” Ham observed.

  “Very perceptive,” Dan growled. “These society things don’t interest me. I didn’t think they interested you.”

  “Normally they don’t, but why would she ask me to her house?” Ham puzzled. “I don’t know her. I’ve heard about her, that she sings very nicely, and she’s also a strong supporter of the annexation effort. She sounds like someone of your mind, Dan.”

  “I’m glad she’s working for the cause,” Dan shrugged. “I have no idea why she would invite you, unless she wants to ask you for a donation.”

  “Am I still talked about around town as having a vast inheritance and unlimited means?” Ham muttered. “It wasn’t all that vast.”

  “Do you need anything, Ham?” Dan asked anxiously. “Can we help you in any way?”

  “I have the lease for another three months,” Ham shrugged, “And then I’ll have to find someplace cheaper, that’s all. Civil servants with tiny salaries and modest pensions shouldn’t pretend they can afford to live at the Marlboro Club forever. I’ve been looking, but ground floor apartments aren’t easy to find.”

  “Let me know your new address when you get it,” Dan said. “And if you need help moving...”

  “Yes, my one suitcase will be devilishly heavy,” Ham sniffed. “Mostly everything is already sold off. All the bills are up to date at the moment. I’m fine, Dan.”

  “Are you?” Dan persisted. “You seem preoccupied about something. Work nice and dull, right? Nothing popping there?”

  “There’s some odd stuff coming through, actually. Rumors, maybe nothing more.” Ham sighed. “After all, Tyler signed the annexation treaty, but congress seems likely to reject it. Britain’s opposed, Mexico’s rattling sabers, but we don’t know much for sure. There’s something about that saber rattling I don’t like. It almost seems as if somebody’s planning an endgame scenario before there’s a war, but I can’t pin it down yet.”

  “Let me know if you hear anything definite,” Dan said, trying to sound casual.

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p; “You know I’m not supposed to do that,” Ham said, shocked. “Besides, you’re retired.”

  “Still, you know the subject interests me,” Dan grinned. “And you will let me know anyway.”

  “Of course I will,” Ham replied, grinning back. “We may keep secrets from everyone else in the world, but none between you and I, eh?”

  Hamilton Jessup strolled up to the bar. Heads turned as he passed, the rich and powerful of the Republic of Texas trying to identify this easygoing, elegant stranger in their midst. He was ridiculously handsome tonight and he knew it, even with his brown eyes a little unfocused. His clothes were perfectly dandified, one of his weaknesses. In spite of the steadying influence of the ebony stick he walked as if he had begun drinking some time before arriving at the most fashionable party of the season, Maeve Collinswood’s Spring Ball. “Whiskey sour,” he said to the bartender. The man nodded and mixed a drink, handing it across.

  “Tell me, old man, how do you keep your place?” Ham demanded, shoving the glass back after merely looking at it. “The glass isn’t sugared, there’s barely any whiskey, and what there is isn’t rye. And you forgot the egg white. Here, let me show you.” Ham slid behind the bar and wet the rim of a glass, which spurted out of his hand like a fish. The bartender gasped and grabbed for it. Ham half-turned and caught the glass in midair behind him. He dashed it mouth-first into a tin of coarse sugar, tossed the rye bottle into the air, caught it in tipped position and sloshed it into the glass without spilling a drop. Next he returned the bottle to its place, took up the knife on the bar, quartered a lemon while still holding the glass, and squeezed the juice into the whiskey. Almost faster than the eyes of the crowd that had gathered to watch could follow, he let the glass come to rest on the bar as if it had floated there, turned and snagged an egg out of a little icebox. He cracked it, slithered the white out and into the glass by juggling it through the two halves of the shell, which he then stacked and presented to the stunned bartender with the yolk still in them, and lifted his glass to the crowd as everyone burst into applause.

  Ham removed himself from behind the bar as he caught the eye of his hostess, watching coldly from the rear of the crowd and not applauding. Although Ham had never seen her in person it was hard to mistake who she was. Maeve Collinswood glittered like an ice sculpture. She had dressed entirely in ivory silk, delicate lace and diamonds. Everything about her was like an alabaster statue, pale, translucent. Ham approached with his perfect slightly intoxicated gentleman’s step. As he got closer Ham thought that only her jet-black hair and golden brown eyes flecked with tiny emeralds contrasted with the perfect paleness of her beauty. Those eyes seemed to promise that there could be warmth buried deep inside this woman somewhere.

  Madam my hostess,” Ham said, bowing and kissing the proffered silk glove. “Hamilton Jessup. If your invitation was a mistake now would be an excellent time to have me thrown out.”

  “There was no mistake, Mr. Jessup,” Maeve replied, smiling with perfect control. “It has been pointed out to me that you currently hold the position of Rio Grande City’s most eligible bachelor. I being currently the city’s most determined spinster, I thought it was time we met.”

  Ham forced his eyebrows back down. “Eligible, ma’am, implies – well – eligibility, and I’d hardly classify myself as on the block or in the market for marriage. People ... uh ... people actually have lists of these sorts of things, do they, and put nobodies like me on them?”

  “Of course they do, Mr. Jessup,” Maeve turned up the light in her eyes just a little brighter and Ham couldn’t help being dazzled. Miss Collinswood was a beautiful woman, and she was looking straight at Ham. “And from what I hear and what I’ve seen already tonight, you are hardly a nobody. Will you escort me on a turn about the terrace?”

  “I – escort – certainly,” Ham shut his mouth and raised his arm into the perfect position for the diminutive lady’s fingers to rest on his forearm. “But you’ll have to show me where the terrace is.”

  “Through the hallway there,” Maeve directed with a languid wave of her free hand. Ham mended his stride a little to allow for the dainty tread of his companion and they made their way through the ornate entranceway with its imposing staircase leading to the floor above. Ham looked up at it with trepidation, then gratefully turned away as Maeve steered him toward French doors leading outside. A maid appeared with a none-too-warm-looking but very stylish wrap and Ham assisted Maeve to arrange it over her white shoulders. They took a turn about the terrace and Ham privately thought it too chilly for an evening walk even in his wool suit. Maeve shivered.

  “Let me offer you a little more protection ma’am,” he said hastily, shedding his frock coat and helping Maeve slip into it, folding the useless wrap over his left arm.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” Maeve said and smiled at him again. “I understand you work for the government, Mr. Jessup. Some sort of clerk?”

  “Head clerk,” Ham said glibly. “And you, ma’am, are very actively engaged in the cause of Texas statehood, I understand?”

  “I try to do what I can,” Maeve replied. “But I am especially interested in aid to wounded soldiers. I understand you were wounded in the fighting at San Jacinto?” She looked up at Ham with something suspiciously like genuine feeling. Ham looked away.

  “No – no – I was – I was at San Jacinto,” Ham stammered. “But the – the fighting – no – I was – a supplier – of – of supplies. I was a supply officer at – at San Jacinto, not – not in the fighting. A stray bayonet, very far astray indeed.”

  Maeve looked at him uncertainly. Ham saw it out of the farthest corner of his eye and licked his lips. Maeve’s expression frosted over.

  “Ready for another Whiskey Sour, I suppose?” she asked coldly. “Perhaps you’d prefer replacing my bartender to continuing alone in my company, Mr. Jessup?”

  “Beg pardon, ma’am,” Ham said nervously. “Walking in the spring air does cause one to develop a thirst.”

  “We can go back then,” Maeve said. They returned to the entry hall and Maeve quickly shed Ham’s coat, forcing him to juggle the wrap and catch his property before it landed on the floor. The maid took the wrap and Ham shrugged back into his coat. Maeve crossed to a small group of men who stood in the doorway of what might have been a card room. Maeve distinctly heard her say, “He’ll do. He’s everything you described.”

  Ham didn’t know any of the men. They vanished back into the room. Maeve glanced back at him as he settled his coat, still standing by the French doors.

  “Am I to return to my party unescorted, Mr. Jessup?” she asked icily, extending her gloved hand.

  Ham practically lunged forward. “Certainly not, ma’am,” he said, and offered his arm.

  The evening wore on. Miss Collinswood dragged him with her from room to room, into conversations with female empty-heads talking nonsense, men discussing politics with warlike fervor, earnest people of both sexes intelligently analyzing history and current situations. These people Ham wanted to linger among and hear more from, but Maeve seemed determined to give equal time to all her guests and to compel Ham to be seen in her company among them.

  Many people probed with greater or lesser subtlety, trying to solve the mystery of Ham’s presence at Maeve’s side, to know who he was and what he was. He deflected most of the questions with a joke or by putting a drink to his lips and appearing to forget he had been asked something. Ham steadfastly refused to dance and hardly ate anything at dinner. Afterward Maeve sang for the assembled company, accompanying herself on a lever harp and filling Ham’s ears with something he could only imagine must be like what one would hear in heaven.

  “The harp that once through Tara’s halls the soul of music shed, now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, as if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, so glory’s thrill is o’er, and hearts that once beat high for praise, now feel that pulse no more.”

  Ham’s problem now was to find a way to become a faithf
ul attendee of her concerts when he doubted he would ever have the price of a single ticket. Otherwise the evening was scarcely endurable. He was lingering by the bar wondering how soon he could politely end a very uncomfortable and puzzling evening when Maeve approached him.

  “May we discuss our business now, Mr. Jessup?” Maeve asked.

  “Business, ma’am?” Ham echoed. “We have business?”

  “My reason for inviting you,” Maeve said impatiently.

  “Ah,” Ham drawled. “Because I’ve been wracking my brains to know why Maeve Collinswood might invite Hamilton Jessup to a fête at her home, and I simply couldn’t come up with a single reason. But if it’s business, ma’am, let me hasten to assure you you’ve got the wrong man, because unless you need a clerk I can’t imagine what business we might have.”

  “The business I wish to discuss with you, I feel certain you can handle for me,” Maeve stated. “If I could trouble you to follow me into my study.”

  It really was a woman’s study, Ham had to admit as soon as she had shown him into the room beautifully furnished in white ash, containing a desk, a credenza, a curved-backed little divan which could afford a comfortable seat to nobody on earth, and chairs set before and behind the desk.

  “Please be seated,” Maeve said, sweeping behind the desk and indicating the chair in front of it. Ham sat, a little unsteadily, but kept his eyes fixed on his hostess in pardonable curiosity. She unlocked a drawer in the desk. Ham’s eyes dropped to a sheaf of papers hitting the desk in front of him.

  “This is a contract,” Maeve explained, “drawn up by my legal advisors, proposing an arrangement whereby we would become husband and wife. You would be entitled to live here at my home, Palacio Del Oro, and be joint owner of everything I have. In my absence you would be master of the house. I will make certain you have plenty of money, for whatever you need money for, and you in turn will serve as host at any functions I hold and escort me to any functions I wish you to attend with me. There will be times when I will need to leave, perhaps with little or no notice, and be gone for an indefinite period. If I do not tell you where I am going you will not ask. If I do not say how long I will be gone, you will not concern yourself about it. Is all this clear to you, Mr. Jessup?”