Jubilee Trail (74 page)

Texas turned his head. Garnet had spoken shyly because she did not know whether or not he would welcome this. She did not know what his faith was, or even if he had any. But Texas smiled, murmuring, “You’re very sweet, Miss Garnet.” After a little silence he said, “You might read me the one about ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’”

She read it to him. At first her voice was unsteady, for she was not used to reading aloud, and she was not at all used to a time like this. But she was glad he had asked for a psalm that she knew almost by heart, for it was easier to read than a less familiar passage would have been. When she had finished she saw that his eyes were closed, but after a moment he opened them, saying, “That’s mighty pretty. Thank you.” He was silent again, but after a little while he asked her, “Miss Garnet, do you reckon the Lord will have me?”

“Yes, Texas,” she answered gently, “I’m sure He will.”

Texas smiled a little. “You know,” he said, “I think so too.” He fumbled across the blanket again, feeling for her hand, and she slipped it into his. Texas said, “I don’t mean I think I’ve been good or anything like that. I mean, I just think He’ll have me anyway.” He waited a moment to get his breath, and went on. “Before you got here, I had a sort of been talking to Him. I don’t mean praying exactly. I wouldn’t know how to make a real prayer. I mean I just
talked
to Him. And you know, I think it’s all right.”

She pressed his hand. “I think it’s all right too, Texas.”

Again there was a silence. Garnet wondered if there might not be something else he would like to have attended to on earth. When she had waited to let him rest, she asked if there was anybody he wanted her to write to. She thought Captain Brown would help her get a letter through. “Your mother, maybe?” she suggested.

“No ma’am, thank you. My mother died a long time ago.”

“And you’ve no wife, Texas?”

“No ma’am, I’ve never been married. And my father’s been gone since I was a little boy.” Texas was silent a minute, then he went on. “My father died of a wound he got at Fort Bowyer. That was in 1814. I don’t guess you were even born then.”

“No, I was born in ’26. I don’t believe I know about Fort Bowyer.”

“That was the fort guarding Mobile Bay,” said Texas. “General Andrew Jackson was in command there, and the British attacked under Admiral Percy. But they didn’t get inside Mobile. It was a good fight, and my father was a good soldier and he died like a hero.”

So long a speech had made Texas tired. He tried to draw a deep breath, and winced at the pain of it. But after he had rested awhile he went on talking.

“So don’t you bother about letters, Miss Garnet. I’ve got no family. Nor—friends either, I guess.”

“You’ve got me, Texas,” she said firmly.

“God bless your soul, Miss Garnet, I know it.”

“And I’m not the only one,” she told him with certainty. “Don’t you remember all the lives you’ve saved on the desert?”

“Oh, I guess I’ve done a good turn now and then. But—” Texas’ voice was very low. She had to bend her head to hear him. “But when a man thinks what he could have been. When I think what they expected of me. Stephen Austin himself putting his hand on my shoulder and saying, ‘You’ll be like your father, Ernest. It’s boys like you who’ll make Texas a great country.’ And then to be no good.”

He moved his head uneasily. But weak as he was, he wanted to talk.

“I never could let it alone,” he said huskily. “I don’t know why. The vows and the promises I made. And still I couldn’t let it alone.”

He went on, still talking in that low, husky voice. He said the men of his family had always been in the army. Ancestors of his had served in the colonial troops before the Revolution. Ever since he was born Texas had been meant for the army. When his father was killed at Fort Bowyer, Texas and his mother had gone to live with his uncle, his mother’s brother. Texas was his mother’s only child, and she had centered all her hopes in him. She was a venturesome soul, enthusiastic when her brother wanted to go pioneering with Stephen Austin. She wanted her son to be venturesome too, a hero like the rest of them.

It was a shame, said Texas, his being so no-count when he had so much to live up to. He was just not good enough.

They had given him every advantage. His mother had planned for him to go to West Point, but when he turned out to have such a turn for doctoring his uncle said West Point wasn’t the place for him. Let the boy do what God meant him to do. Let him study medicine and surgery. Then he could go into the army. What was wrong with that? Army doctors were mighty useful.

But he couldn’t let it alone. At first, they had called him a gay young blade. Then the older men began to warn him. He hadn’t done anything serious. But if he didn’t look out, one day it might get serious. And in the army, they warned him, it only needs to happen once.

And it happened, just as they had said it would. It happened when Texas was stationed at Fort Leavenworth.

He had been talking slowly, with long pauses between his lines. He stopped again here, and waited awhile to gather up his strength. But he wanted to finish his story. So at length he went on.

Well, one winter he was stationed at Fort Leavenworth. For months everything had been deadly dull. A small garrison, a remote outpost, a long hard winter. Life was a monotonous round: for the men, the same duties over and over; for the doctor, nothing but an occasional smashed finger or a cold in the head.

When you’re on duty like that, what can you do with yourself? Mighty few books to read, you’ve run out of conversation long ago, you can’t play cards all the time. And the weather is cold. If you take a few drinks to warm up, nobody thinks anything of it. Everybody has a drink now and then. If you take too many once in a while there’s no harm done. It gives you a heavy head in the morning, but you’ve got nothing to do anyway.

But one night there was a sudden alarm. Indians were attacking the fort. The hard winter had lowered their food supplies and they wanted the stores of the white men.

The men sprang up from sleep and grabbed their guns. They were heavily outnumbered by the attackers, and in spite of the law forbidding white men to sell guns to the savages, these Indians were well armed.

Three men were injured early in the fight. Their wounds were not serious and the doctor should have been able to attend to them quickly. But the doctor’s eyes were foggy and his hands fumbled. The doctor was drunk.

Texas told Garnet all about it.

The Indians had not taken the fort. But by sunrise, six men were dead and others were groaning in agony from wounds tended only by volunteers who had done the best they could in the doctor’s place. Fourteen wounded men died later. Of course, some of them would have died anyway. But no matter what might or might not have happened, it was still true that when they had needed him, the doctor was drunk.

There was court-martial after that, and dishonorable discharge from the army.

“Miss Garnet,” said Texas, “you’re going to think I’m out of my mind when I say this. But I swear to you, ma’am, when it happened it was a kind of relief.

“It was like a man finally giving up a fight he had known all along he couldn’t win. Nothing this bad could ever happen to me again.

“I had always known I wasn’t good enough. I’d always had a feeling something would happen some day to give me away. And now it had happened. Of course it hurt. It hurt worse than I ever knew anything could hurt. But at least I didn’t have to go on waiting for it. Things were easier on the trail. I felt kind of at home there. Nobody expected me to be any better than I was.”

Texas was silent for a while, remembering. His tired brown eyes began to close. When he spoke again he seemed to be talking to himself. “Funny. Mighty funny. Who’d have thought the army would come to California?” He rested and got his breath. “It sure gave me a strange feeling, seeing the boys march in.” Texas turned his head as though looking for her, and she bent nearer. He said, “Miss Garnet, you know something?”

“What, Texas?”

“There’s a couple of men here who were at Fort Leavenworth that winter,” Texas confided. “I don’t think they know me, though. One of ’em’s a friend of yours. Name of Roger Brown. Fine man. Trusty as daylight.”

Texas closed his eyes again. But though he looked so tired he looked peaceful too.

After a while Stephen woke up. As he was rested now and wanted to play, Garnet played with him, keeping him as quiet as she could. Texas opened his eyes and lay watching them, smiling tenderly. At length when Stephen was content to sit on the floor with his straw animals, Garnet came back to the wall-bench.

“That’s a fine little boy,” Texas said. “Miss Garnet, you don’t mind if I pretended he was part mine, do you?”

“I’m proud that you like him so much, Texas,” she said. “I’ll tell him when he’s old enough to understand.”

Stephen made his way to her and she held out her hand. He pulled himself up, and she put an arm around him. Leaning against her knee he prattled a lot of nonsense syllables, while Texas watched him lovingly.

Suddenly the door opened. There was so much noise outside that Garnet had not heard anybody come into the house. Her arm still around Stephen, she looked up, thinking this was Silky here to take her home and feeling some surprise that Silky, with all his fine manners, should have burst in without knocking. The door was near the foot of Texas’ bed, facing the bench, so that as she raised her head she looked straight at the man who stood in the doorway. The man was not Silky. He was Charles.

Charles was speaking over his shoulder to someone Garnet could not see. “I was right,” he was saying. “This is the room. He’s in here.”

“Looking for me?” Texas murmured.

Garnet had sprung to her feet, indignant that Charles should have come to annoy Texas now. She moved along the bedside to stand between them. “Texas is very ill, Charles,” she said urgently. “Please don’t disturb him.”

Stephen was peeking out from behind her skirts. Charles said nothing. He bent as though to pick up the baby, and Stephen started back with a little cry. Garnet stroked his head, saying,

“Don’t try to take him, Charles. He’s not used to being handled by strangers.” As she spoke Stephen held up his arms to her and she started to take him up herself. But as her hands touched the two sides of his body Charles snatched at him. Stephen cried out in fright. With an instinctive movement of defense Garnet grabbed him in both arms and stood holding him to her breast as tightly as her muscles would clamp on him, but as she took a step back from Charles she heard him say,

“It’s no use, Garnet. You may as well give him to me. I’ve given you every chance and now I have done with you.”

Garnet became aware of a lot of details at once—doors opening and feet scampering, and girls’ voices shrill with fright, and a man’s voice curtly ordering, “Stand back, sisters, and be quiet! This is serious.”

Charles was saying, “I had hopes of changing you. But when you were found to be in this house, it was obvious that you were no fit guardian for a child.”

Garnet gave a gasp of rage. Stephen was crying, half in fear and half in pain, for she was clutching him with such force that she was nearly breaking his bones. Behind her on the bed she heard Texas say, his voice full of fury in spite of his weakness, “You Goddamned yellow-livered scoundrel.”

Charles was cold and sure. Two points of light were reflected in his eyes. When he spoke again his voice was not loud but she heard him clearly, though Stephen was crying and Texas was swearing, his wrath made even more violent by his sense of helplessness, and in the hall Estelle’s voice was shouting in Spanish to the girls. Charles was saying,

“The brig Lydia Belle is sailing shortly for Boston. My wife and I will go to Boston to wind up the affairs of Mrs. Hale’s first husband. We are going to take my brother’s son with us—”

“Are you out of your mind?” Garnet cried. Her whole body had begun to tremble with anger. Charles went right on past her words.

“—and leave him there to be sent to school, so he will grow up under good moral influences instead of the environment you prefer.”

Garnet could hear Stephen and Texas and Estelle; from beyond the house she could hear the creak of carts and the lowing of oxen. But she heard Charles’ words as though he were speaking against a background of silence. Rage was sharpening her eyes and ears, and giving a sense of rare strength to her muscles. Charles went on without a pause.

“We have no power to change you. But we can and will take that boy away from you.”

“Oh no you will not,” said Garnet. She was so angry that she had no sense of being afraid. She wondered how he had known she was here, but at the moment it did not matter. She was clutching her baby to her and speaking through clenched teeth. “You won’t take him. Not if I have to tear your nasty little body to pieces. If you put your hands on my child—”

With a smile of contempt, Charles interrupted her. “Your temper is not pretty, Garnet. Nor will it do you any good. I am not acting on my own responsibility. I have an order from the colonel in command of Los Angeles, giving that child to me. Here it is. Do you see?”

He was holding out a paper. His eyes were fixed on her. They were like two hot needles boring into her forehead. She could almost feel the sizzling sensation. She could not move any farther back from him, for the backs of her legs were already pressing against the bed where Texas lay, and she could not get out of the room because Charles himself stood in the doorway. Behind her she heard Texas say something, she did not know what. A wave of heat started at the back of her neck and went up into her head and swept down through her body. In her arms Stephen was still crying. Scared and half smothered by the fierce grip she was giving him, he began to kick at her, trying to get free. Garnet pushed her hand down to hold his surprisingly strong little legs. Her fingers touched the holster at her belt, and she felt the handle of her Colt revolver.

Instantly she knew what she was going to do. It was as simple as walking down a straight road in the sunlight. She saw Charles: the paper in his hand, his smile of sneering triumph, his eyebrows like two caterpillars above his terrible piercing eyes. She saw him take a step toward her and put his hands on Stephen to pull him away from her; she felt her own arm tighten savagely to hold Stephen to herself, she heard Stephen yell with fright and she felt his hard angry little kicks, and then, it seemed quite without any deliberate effort of her own, the pistol fired twice in her hand. There was an acrid smell in her nostrils, and in front of her Charles was crumpling up, slowly, and crumpling up with him were all his dreams of greatness. She stood staring at what she had done, and all she could think of in that first instant was that she was sorry she had made such a mess.