Paxton and the Lone Star (56 page)

Elizabeth moaned. Her stomach heaved, then contracted violently when she heard the sound of vomiting.

Mackenzie was leaning out of the buckboard. “Pa. Pa!” he sobbed.

Why Elizabeth followed Scott she didn't know, but her feet and legs moved automatically. A third mound, what had been a little girl of four or five years, was lying next to the fence. Her skull had been crushed against a post. She had not been mutilated, but left crumpled and lifeless by the gate.

“Dear God!” Joan gasped, pulling Ruthie and Dianne to her and holding them so they couldn't see. “Why? Why?”

“Comanches,” Scott said to everyone and no one in particular. “They picked the right time, with everything else going on. Let's get out of here.”

“No.”

They all turned to see Mila standing over the bodies in front of the door. As they watched, she took off her cloak and draped it over the corpses. “It's plain to see we'll be safe for a while. We won't leave until we bury them.” Her face was bloodless and tears streamed from her eyes, but her shoulders were straight and rigidly set. “Mackenzie. Stop blubbering. There's a shed back there. See if you can find a shovel. We'll put them—” She pointed to a small knoll. “—there.”

Joseph, Scott, and Mackenzie were too embarrassed not to do her bidding. The women sat in the cover of the wagon while the men took turns digging. The job took over an hour, but at last was done, including a cross hacked out of the burned wood from the house.

“All of us in our lives have lost someone,” Mila said when they had assembled around the muddy mounds of earth that held the unknown family. She closed her eyes and saw Buckland, hale and strong, standing in the sunlight. The image was so strong she wanted to run to him, but knew she couldn't. Her voice caught but she went on. “We don't know who they were, God. We don't know if they believed in You, what they thought, or anything really, except that they were here and they died and … and …” Her throat was swollen and burned.
Oh, Buckland, Buckland. Did you die this way too? Was it painful? Dear God, watch over him for me, please. I loved him so.…

Scott left Joan's side, wrapped his arms around Mila and pulled her to him. Deep sobs wracked her body, and her cries were muffled against his chest. He looked around the small group, down at the fresh earth, up to the weeping sky. “We're going now, God. And if it's true that You look over every sparrow that falls, we know You'll look over these poor folks, and—” One great hand patted Mila's back, and he let his cheek rest for a moment on the top of her head. “—others … who have been taken too. Amen.”

The charred cross was out of sight before they left the yard. Fighting back tears, Elizabeth stood and slashed the whip across the rumps of the mules. The wagon lunged forward. Joseph rode ahead to scout. Scott rode far to the rear for the same reason. Mackenzie followed in the buckboard.

Mud caught at the wheels, sloshed and spattered and smeared the canvas. The mules' feet sucked out of the mire with small plops almost lost in the creak of the wagon and the patter of rain on canvas. Rain lashed at her cheeks, stung her flesh like darting wasps. Rain drove away the images, washed her clean, drove her past and through the fever. A shape materialized on the trail ahead. Elizabeth sawed the reins, felt the wagon slide and lurch to one side as it stopped.

“All clear ahead as far as I can see,” Joseph said. He got off his horse, tied the animal to the rear of the wagon, and climbed onto the driver's seat next to Elizabeth. “Let me have the reins. You go back in and dry off.”

Elizabeth nodded, but instead of getting in back, climbed down from the wagon and stumbled toward the her horse. “Elizabeth?” Joseph called.

“I need to be alone for a minute,” she answered, mounting.

“That trail is dangerous, damn it. You'd best …” He watched her ride past him, laid the reins to the mules. “Well, shit! Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth whipped the mare, put a gap between her and the Conestoga, then let the little bay slow to a walk. How much more, she asked herself, her brain buzzing. God was blind, God was deaf. God watched humankind and took no notice of its entreaties. Incensed, the dead lay in muddy graves with no one to cry out against the atrocities inflicted on them. Bewildered, the living begged for answers even as they stumbled through the maze laid down for them, turned the corners, encountered blank walls, turned and turned and turned until they were dizzy with confusion.

Lost. That's what we are. Moving around blind corners and in circles while death nips at our heels and pulls us down one by one. How much more before the price is paid? Another death? And another?

She sneezed, shivered so violently she almost fell off the horse. How could she be cold when her face burned so? Time passed unreckoned. The wagons behind her were forgotten, family and friends too. She was the sacrifice, and sacrifices could not afford attachments.

Lost, and the price of deliverance another death. One death more? Take me then. Will that be enough for a little while? One more death so the others can go free. Lottie has a child. The child is all that is left. I have none to leave behind. No one. So I will give her life. My life for hers. My life for hers.

Lightning was a mere flicker, barely perceived. Thunder in the clouds. Thunder speaks, is God's own angry utterance.

“Mine for hers!” Elizabeth shouted.

Bethann would be next, then all of them. Bethann, her skull shattered, pieces dripping from a fence post. It had to be stopped. Had to be.

“Mine for hers!” Her head was tilted to the lowering heavens. Her body swayed precariously in the saddle. Words pushed themselves up from her aching chest through her ravaged throat. “Mine for hers!”

“Who goes there?”

Elizabeth pulled on the reins. The mare danced skittishly before stopping.

“It's a woman,” a second voice said.

Two men in homespun clothes and ragged slickers stepped warily from the safety of the trees. “You're 'sposed to ask for a password, idjet,” the tall one said.

“Hell with the password, Lem. She ain't no goddamn Mex soldier.”

“Looks crazed. What was she a'sayin'? Watch yerself, Harry.”

The man named Harry gingerly approached the bay mare with the woman rider. His voice soothed the horse even as he caught her. bridle. “Easy, now, girl. Easy, now. Whoa, whoa.”

Elizabeth tried to think, tried to react. She shivered again, blinking her eyes. If only the hammering in her head would stop. Who was she looking for? Her husband, of course. “True?” she croaked. “Is that you?”

“What the hell, Lem?”

“Colonel Travis … he knows,” she mumbled. “Take me to Colonel Travis.”

Harry shot Lem a glance, signaled for him to take the far side of the mare. “Travis, ma'am?” he asked. “We're sentries, ma'am. Guardin' the camp over yonder.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Army of the by God independent Ree-public of Texas, Gen'ral Sam Houston commandin'. I'll take you over if you want.”

Elizabeth shook her head doggedly. “Travis,” she gasped. “My husband is with him. My husband, True …”

“Lord!” Lem said, his eyes widening. “She don't know.”

“Shut up, Lem,” Harry said. His narrow, scruffily bearded face glistened in the rain. “And help her down. This lady's sick.”

“Know what?” Elizabeth asked, the world reeling. “Know what!?”

“Sure don't, ma'am. Now you let us help you down.… What the hell?” He peered back up the trail. “Christ, but it's more of 'em. A whole wagonload, I'll bet. What the hell we gonna do with more refugees?”

“Travis … True …”

“Travis is dead, ma'am,” Harry said, his voice gently sympathetic. “More'n a week ago. Santa Anna stormed the Alamo. I'm sorry, ma'am, but there weren't no survivors. They died to a man. Now why don't you jest let us help you down.…”

He kept talking but Elizabeth only stared uncomprehendingly at him.
Dead? True? The others? All dead?

“No,” she moaned, protesting weakly. “No.…” Her hands were numb. She could feel them slipping from the saddlehorn but couldn't make them hold on. “No,” she breathed. “No,” and felt herself falling.

Rough hands caught her, cradled her with tender strength.

Elizabeth heard the storm, heard a voice hail the approaching wagon. Her head fell back and the world turned upside down. A raindrop hit her nose and she saw her father's eyes staring up at her.

And then she heard and felt nothing.

Chapter XL

She saw Joseph and Lottie.

Her chest ached terribly, and then felt as if someone had driven a nail into it.

She saw the Campbells.

Her eyes burned and she could barely swallow the warm broth they made her drink.

She saw Mila.

The buzzing sound in her head wouldn't go away. Her arms felt like lead.

She knew she was dreaming because she saw True, too.

Dreaming? Dying.

Death was the only reason. Fear for a moment, then calm and expectancy. True was waiting for her. He had come to stand at her side and wait for her. She would join him in a little while.

Soon, my beloved. Soon …

The cave was cold. The walls were wet with seepage and stone white, like skull fragments. She was on something soft, and covered heavily with blankets. There was a strange glow on the white walls. It looked like firelight reflected from water, and she concluded that she was surrounded by a pool at the base of a limestone column. A face peered at her from the shadows. It was her angel of death, it was her husband.

Soon, beloved
…

The cave dissolved. Or did the pool expand? The shimmering surface lapped beneath her, lulled her insistently, until only the pool existed. Like the cave, the waters of the pool were cold. She could feel them where she lay. So cold.

Never been so cold.

The cave was gone but the waters remained. A blurred face skimmed across her vision. Next to it, a flower. A rose as yellow as the sun. Then it became a candle. Then the face again. True! Closer than ever before. She felt his hands under the covers, his fingers fumbling with her gown and stripping it from her. The burning in her eyes wasn't important. She opened them in time to see the blanket pulled back. True was naked! Deep inside herself, she shivered as he lay down next to her and pulled the covers over them both. His flesh was warm against hers. His arms felt like hot bands around her.

Death was warm!

That was a surprise, to find warmth in death. Not the stygian iciness of silent sleep, but warmth! His arms were warm. His kisses were warm. His chest, his belly, his legs, all were warm. She could feel the heat passing from him to her, entering her body, seeking the cold and thwarting it.

Hold close sweet death angel. Hold me while I sleep.

And now heat! Heat! Was she awake? Awake, asleep … it didn't matter. She was hot. Hot! Burning! Wildly, she kicked at the covers, tried to throw them off but his hands restrained her, calmed her. His lips touched hers. Cool, now, they comforted her. His hands were cool too now, draining the maddening heat from her neck, her breasts, her stomach. She was drenched. Her eyes burned again, salt burn from sweat. A weight pressed against her chest. She was in a giant vise that pinched her with poker-hot steel fingers.

And now he was gone! Her angel of death was gone! In terror she fought the blankets, fought the cool hands and towels pressed to her body. Someone lifted her, placed her on coolness which quickly became as hot as her body. Voices murmured worriedly. Faces appeared and disappeared with a rapidity she didn't understand. She wanted her angel of death. Why had he left her? If the others would only go away and leave her alone, perhaps he would come back to lie with her with his warm hands and his cool hands and his gentle kisses. She tried to tell them this but they wouldn't listen. Suddenly, she was weeping bitterly, bitterly. It was too much. The strength drained from her and an enervating lassitude stole through her. She felt herself slipping, slipping into sleep. Sleep so deep …

Metal rang on metal, the unmistakable rhythm of a hammer on a horseshoe. Slowly, Elizabeth woke and found herself staring at row upon row of branches laced with vines. She was lying in a lean-to. Flames danced in a fire pit to her left. A blanket covered the broad opening. A plate of beans and cornbread sat on a board placed next to her pallet. A cup of coffee, still steaming, was at its side. Slowly, she took stock of herself. Her eyes no longer burned. She was dry, not too hot, not too cold. She wore a gown, her own from the look of the sleeve, though she didn't remember putting it on. She felt weak, and but for a dull ache in her chest, well enough.

She was alive. Strangely detached, mildly curious. Where was she? What had happened? How long had …? The dream. Frowning slightly, she worked to recall the dream. As she did, a great sadness swept through her. True had been there at her side. She had asked him to wait for her, told him she would be along in a little while. He had been so near, but then to survive and wake …

Light flooded the lean-to. Elizabeth let her head fall to the side in time to see a man, his face obscured in shadow, duck under the blanket and enter. Scott? Joseph? She closed her eyes again. It didn't matter. It wasn't her angel, the one and only one she wanted.

“Your eyes were open. Are you awake?”

It isn't! It can't be!

Her joints felt as if they had turned to molasses. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. She didn't dare look … was terrified … couldn't help looking.…

He was kneeling by the pallet and staring at her. Except for a new white scar on his forehead, he looked much the same. Leaner, perhaps. A little older, maybe.

“True?…” She felt the tears filling her eyes. Felt the weight of the blanket against her body. The smoke from the fire was sharp in her nose, the beans and coffee smelled like ambrosia. She could sense the air filling her lungs, the blood pounding in her veins. She blinked to clear her vision, but everything was blurred. She blinked again, and when she opened her eyes his face was closer, coming closer, blotting out everything else, filling the world with love. “Oh, True,” she whispered. “Oh, True …”