Chasing the Texas Wind Page 8

  He may sometimes drink but I no longer believe he is a drunk. These outbursts of his, they are not intoxicated ravings. This filling of the house with papers which he guards with lion-like ferocity, it is not absent-minded unimportant litter but something he is desperately trying to understand, a puzzle, to use his own word, of great importance he must solve. And he cares for me. How he can I do not understand. That he does I cannot deny. And I dare not care for him, because I am defiled. I was before Chaco ever forced me. I am not worthy of that man, and so I try to push him away. I cannot think how to get him to stop his senseless concern for me.

  I must go to Nathaniel Grover and end this thing. It is one thing to die for a cause, but quite another to live with this knowledge, that I have done so little and sacrificed so much. Then I will have to think of how to give some peace to Mr. Jessup. He has had none in my house, and I have seen him decline by inches over the wrong I have done him. Somehow I must set this right. I wish I could pray for wisdom. I wish I even knew if God existed.

  April 22, 1846, later the same morning

  I have seen Grover, and he has convinced me that I must go back. I am once again resolved to consider the work and not personal concerns. He promised to have men standing by to protect me. I am not sure I care about my own safety anymore. My only thought is that Chaco will never let me leave again, and eventually may kill me, and then Hamilton will realize I will not return and will be free.

  Part Three

  September 1846

  Day One

  Vienta looked up at the sound of boots treading heavily toward the bar. She impatiently pushed aside the lock of jet black hair escaping from her combs and followed the long, muscular legs upward, past a narrow waist and a broad chest and broader shoulders. The man’s face was hardly that of a man at all, though he did have three days’ growth of beard. It was positively sweet, baby-like in its beauty and innocence. His hair was as black as Vienta’s own, but his eyes were dark blue like a clear Mexican sunset sky. He was a man, all right, powerful hands resting easily on the bar as he came to a halt, a new rifle slung over his shoulder on a polished black strap decorated with silver conchos, yet he was a little boy by the light in his captivating eyes.

  “Hola, Gringo,” she said, forcing her voice to remain bored and non-committal.

  “I don’t speak Spanish, ma’am,” the giant said bashfully. “I hope you speak English, ‘cause I heard this is the only cantina where you can get drinkable water for a hundred miles.”

  “You come to a cantina for water, Señor?” Vienta said with a low chuckle.

  “Well, milk would get me a bigger laugh, wouldn’t it?” he smiled. “And those are the only two things I ever drink—living water and milk and honey.”

  “Actually, I have a goat out back,” Vienta said, stiffening. There was no mistaking the man’s careful words. “If milk is what you thirst for, Señor, you can have it fresh, and with honeycomb, just as you desire.”

  “Please,” said the man.

  Vienta almost stumbled off the back step. Her hands shook as she grabbed the goat by the horns with one hand and the milk bucket with the other. In less than five minutes she stepped back up to the bar with a glass of fresh goat’s milk and a piece of honeycomb on a plate.

  “I just gathered the honey this morning,” she said casually.

  “I’m much obliged, ma’am,” the fellow said. “You take great pains to make a man feel welcome.”

  “It is the nature of my business,” Vienta smiled.

  The man looked at her with an expression that was suddenly sober and very, very grown-up. He looked around at the empty bar. “No other customers? Nobody else helps you here?”

  “Not at this time of the day, Señor,” Vienta replied. “It is a good time to come for a man who wants quiet.”

  “Also for a man who has a certain job to do,” the man replied, speaking so low she had to lean forward to catch his words.

  “They say General Ampudia has been retreating and Texas will soon be safe, Señor,” Vienta said. “I began to think such work was no longer being done. “

  “Sometimes we hear that, sometimes we hear he’s going to make a stand. We’ve tried to wait it out, especially since the last man doing this job never came back,” the man said, very softly, looking at Vienta with such intensity that she could not meet his gaze.

  “Yes, I know,” she whispered.

  “I suppose you know what happened to him, too?” the fellow asked.

  Vienta hardly dared to look up into those blue eyes, but she did. “Yes, I do,” she replied. “He was caught and killed.”

  “Caught how? How’d they know?”

  “That I do not know,” Vienta replied. “I know only that they discovered that he carried information they did not wish to cross the border.”

  “But they didn’t discover who gave it to him,” the man said pointedly.

  “No, Señor, they did not,” murmured Vienta.

  “And you couldn’t have warned him – helped keep him alive?”

  “I did not know until – until he was already dead. They came in here bragging about killing a gringo spy in the desert. They–” Vienta shuddered at the memory that would never go away “–They lined up all his fingers here on my bar – and – and -- one of them gave me a ring he wore.”

  The man seemed to go pale, too, but his voice remained very steady and determined. “Is that the ring?”

  She held out her right hand and the man picked it up, very gently, and studied the heavy bronze ring on her middle finger. He brushed his finger over the blue stone chips and a burnished eagle in flight partly covering the lapis. Some cotton yarn was wrapped around the inside of the ring to take up the slack and make it fit her small finger.

  “Chaco asks me sometimes if I want something from a man he kills,” Vienta said. “I must ask for something, to show him that I approve of what he does. I asked for that ring because I wanted to save it from Chaco, to preserve something of what your friend was, what he believed.”

  “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength,” Zachary said in a very low voice. “They shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run, and not be weary. They shall walk, and not faint.”

  “That is what he said to me,” Vienta breathed. “He said it was from la Santa Biblia. It is engraved inside the ring. All of it. So tiny.”

  “You read English, too, do you?” the man said. “You must be a real smart little woman. You live right here with them, and they don’t suspect a thing. They even share their trophies with you, do they?”

  “God forgive me, Señor, I do what I must,” Vienta blurted out. “I was told that the work is very, very important and it must go on ...”

  “Well, I guess it is still important,” the man said softly. “And I guess it must go on, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “The man who was killed … you knew him well?” Vienta asked hesitantly.

  “He was my commanding officer,” the man said. “He was a war hero, a fine, brave man, and he was my sister’s husband.”

  “Madre del Dios, Señor, I am so sorry,” Vienta said.

  “Now, I do know that much Spanish,” the fellow said, changing mood abruptly. “Follow the Catholic faith, do you?”

  “I try to pray to the blessed mother, but I cannot say I am faithful to the church, Señor,” Vienta replied. “Such a woman as I – I would not be welcome at the mass, and the priest has not enough time in a whole day to hear my confession.”

  “It’s just as well, for none of that will do you a bit of good, anyway,” the man said. “Didn’t the other fellow tell you as much?”

  “I understood him to be a protestant, Señor, and he was very eager that I should listen to him tell of his faith. But at the time I made light of it.”

  “At the time? Have you changed your mind?”

  “I wear this ring every day, Señor, and I remember the words inside it, and I remember what he who wore it said to me. He said there w
as peace with God through Jesuchristo no matter what a person had done. He said that to repent and to believe was to be forgiven. I think of those things every day. I think that he is in heaven, where he was so sure he would be, and I wonder how it is that anyone could be so sure of such a thing.”

  “It’s knowing the Word of God that makes you sure,” the man said. “I can tell you more verses from the Scriptures – God can persuade you Himself. Would you care to listen?”

  At that moment a man walked into the cantina and Vienta stiffened and drew in her breath. He was not a Tejano, but from farther south, wearing a dark blue shirt, red sash and white trousers with shining black boots. He was unmistakably an officer in Ampudia’s army. The stranger did not turn around as Chaco approached the bar.

  “Tequila, querida mia,” he purred to Vienta, then switched to English. “I heard there was a stranger in town, and that he was staying so long in your cantina he might be taking a siesta.” When Vienta brought Chaco his drink, he flicked out a hand, grabbed her chin, and pulled her face up to his, planting a deep, possessive kiss on her lips. Only then did he turn to look up at the tall American stranger.

  “I didn’t think there was a law against getting out of the heat in a nice, comfortable spot like this,” the fellow drawled, pulling himself up to his full height and looking down on Chaco – a good ways down.

  “We always wonder, when a gringo comes to our town, what his business might be,” Chaco said. “We are not on the usual trails for gringos to find us, and in a time of war it is dangerous for strangers to get off the usual trails.”

  The stranger didn’t reply. His eyes merely studied the long, heavy-bladed knife Chaco wore in his red sash. The initials D.C. were carved in the deer antler handle.

  “You like my knife?” Chaco demanded, pulling it out and dropping it on the table. “I got it from a poor man who couldn’t use it anymore. He lost all his fingers somehow. Every time I use it I think of him.”

  “It’s a fine knife,” the American said evenly. “There are a few like it where I come from. Don’t recollect it being a common type in these parts, though.”

  “We see more of them all the time,” Chaco said lightly. “So many strangers get off the trail these days.”

  “Well, maybe you think I’m off the trail, since you keep mentioning it,” the blue-eyed man said softly. “Let me assure you I’m not. Señorita, I thank you for your hospitality.” He dropped some coins on the bar, turned his back on Chaco and walked unhurriedly out of the cantina.

  “What was he talking to you about?” Chaco demanded in Spanish, grabbing Vienta by the shoulder and pulling her across the bar. She cried out in pain.

  “About God, Chaco,” Vienta blurted out. “He is some kind of a preacher, I think.”

  “A preacher who carries a Hawken rifle?” snorted Chaco. “Do not lie to me.”

  “I swear he did talk about God,” Vienta said desperately.

  “I have told you before to close the bar when no one is with you,” Chaco snapped. “You liked his looks. I can see it in your eyes. What have I told you about that?”

  “I do not look at anyone but you, Chaco,” Vienta said soothingly, stroking the man’s face and kissing him. “Why would I? You are Ampudia’s right hand man. You are the man of our village. It is an honor to be your woman. I do not need anything from a gringo who talks about El Dio.”

  Chaco looked long into her eyes, then finally kissed her roughly and shoved her away. “It is well that you feel that way,” he growled. “If the gringo moves on by nightfall, all will be well. If he comes in again, you will tell him that.”

  “I will not tell him anything,” Vienta said coldly. “I will be too busy to speak to him.”

  “That’s my chiquita,” Chaco said with a grin. “Soon you will see Ampudia victorious again. Tonight my men and I will meet.”

  “What do I care about your meetings?” sniffed Vienta. “I like to see you in your uniform, but that is all I think of soldiering.”

  “And you like to see me take it off,” Chaco growled.

  Vienta let a slow smile spread across her face. “Of course, Chaco,” she said. “Now get out of here. I have to get ready for the real customers.”

  She picked up the empty milk cup and the plate with the half-eaten honeycomb. As she did she realized that something was stuck to the bottom of the plate – a small piece of paper. She slipped her fingers all the way under the plate and hurried out to the kitchen as Chaco sauntered out the front door.

  “Corral south end 10,” the tiny scrap of paper said. Vienta paled. She grabbed a flour tin and hastily began preparing tortillas. While she worked she thought desperately. Chaco had not let anything slip for a long time. But perhaps the man had not come as a spy. Perhaps he had come to avenge the death of his friend, and that he meant to force her to help him somehow. It would be suicide to come as he bade her. It would only be a short jump for Chaco to figure out her involvement if she was actually seen with the stranger.

  “I will send him a message,” she told herself desperately. “I will tell him that I know nothing. Wait – I can tell him about Chaco’s meeting tonight, and that it has something to do with Ampudia. I will tell him where Chaco’s meeting place is. He can spy on the meeting, and then he will have to go away and report what he has heard.”

  “Hola, Vienta,” called Mia, the girl who helped out in the kitchen evenings. “Have you seen the handsome gringo who came to town? He asked Mamacita for a room.” Mia was a plump Mestizo girl of fifteen, who lived with her widowed mother almost across the street from the cantina.

  “Oh, he is not so much,” Vienta shrugged. “Is he going to stay, then?”

  “Vienta, how can you say such a thing?” Mia cried. “He is so tall, and so strong, and his eyes are so blue. He smiled at me when I came out our front door. Then he asked mama if he could let a room just for the night, because his horse was lame and he had to let it rest. Mama did not like to let him stay, but I made her do it. Imagine! He is right in our house!”

  “Oh, of course, I remember now, he told me about his horse,” Vienta said indifferently. “Listen, Mia, he told me he wanted to buy some Indian silver, and Chaco came in so I forgot to give him directions to that old man in the mountains who sells it. Here, take him this so he will know where to go.” Vienta hastily scrawled her message on the same scrap of paper he had left for her. She thrust it into a ball of dough and patted it out and stuck it on the griddle she cooked tortillas on.

  “What did you do that for?” Mia exclaimed. “You write that tiny little note and then bake it in a tortilla? For the gringo?’

  “Here, take these to your mother, and tell her to serve them to him at dinner,” Vienta said with a laugh, handing Mia a stack of tortillas. “Imagine his face when he bites into it and finds the message.”

  “Or maybe he will just eat it and never see the note,” argued Mia. “I can tell him how to get to the old Indian. I would love to get a chance to talk to him.”

  “Just make sure he gets the note, empty-head,” Vienta retorted. “You can’t tell how to get to the end of the street, and it’s the only street in town. Besides, he doesn’t speak any Spanish.”

  Mia flounced off with the batch of tortillas. Vienta felt no relief. She had no way of knowing if the gringo would be satisfied with what she had done. If he came back to the cantina – or forced her to go somewhere with him – Chaco would kill her as well as him.

  Zachary Duvall did not think there was anything immoral about being a spy. Not the way he and his comrades went about it, anyway. He had heard about the woman Vienta and what she did to get her information, and it had troubled him and the others in his group for a long time. Jude Morrow had been the first to contact her, and he had described her as a pretty hard case, ready enough to joke and flirt but never to listen to the truth of Christ. They had all been very surprised at her care for James Morrow, Jude’s son, her clever way of hiding his body, her contacting them and the way she had done
it. Jude had spoken uneasily about her relationship with Chaco. They had all agreed to try to persuade her to leave him, but she was adamant in believing that what she did was necessary to help the Tejanos and Texas. Zachary wondered why she felt so obligated.

  Obviously Dan had softened her heart some, for it was Daniel Costain, Jude Morrow’s nephew, who had been tortured and murdered, his ring given to Vienta, and her horror over his death seemed genuine. Perhaps she had not betrayed him. But she still didn’t seem ready to accept Christ. And Chaco’s interruption was most unwelcome. Zachary hadn’t been able to witness to Vienta properly, or get any information from her, except about Dan’s death. What she must have seen, playing mistress to that devil Chaco. Zachary shuddered as he sat on Señora Anita Mendez’s porch sipping some tea. Here was that girl Mia, coming back again after she had just said in broken English that she was leaving to work at the cantina. She carried something wrapped in a cloth, which she teasingly unwrapped for him and revealed to be tortillas.

  “Por tu, Señor,” Mia said. “Vienta make especial.”

  “Tell Señorita Vienta gracias for me,” Zachary replied. The girl was fishing for an excuse to linger but Zachary wasn’t interested in encouraging her. She flounced away. At the ripe old age of seventeen, two years ago, Zachary had vowed he wasn’t going to leave any widow like his brother-in-law had. There was time enough to think of marriage when there was no more war to be won. The Apostle Paul himself had preached the necessity of remaining single in difficult times. Though they hadn’t known for certain that Dan was dead, Zachary’s sister Jesse had said more than once that she felt a peace that Dan was with God over the months he had been missing.

  Seeing Dan’s ring on Vienta’s finger had been very hard. He had noticed it immediately, though he hadn’t said anything to her at first. It seemed unforgivably ghoulish if her to wear it, but Zachary knew a little about Chaco, and felt sure she lived in constant fear of his violence. His little display of dragging her up on the bar, which Zachary had watched from hiding, had showed he was not going to brook any disobedience from his woman. The ring was Chaco’s trophy, just as the woman was. Considering what she’d done for James Morrow, she probably had meant what she said about saving it from Chaco. Zachary stretched out in the hammock Mrs. Mendez had put out on the reed-shrouded porch for him to rest on. He had to rest, for he would likely be busy tonight.