Allegiance Page 11

  "You should be seeing the sights, a lively young woman like you—attending balls and musicals, having a good time. I hate to think of you in seclusion, worrying yourself sick over things you can't do anything about."

  She lifted her chin. “And what makes you think I'm in seclusion? What makes you think I'm missing out on the balls, the musicals, the opera?"

  "Oh, I—You aren't? That's good. Very good. I'll stop worrying about you."

  "Please do. Good day, Major O'Donnell.” She turned and escaped into the shadowed carriageway, blinking back tears.

  After making certain he'd gone, she stomped upstairs, found a chipped teacup and brought it down to the patio where she threw it with all her strength against the far wall. It exploded into many small pieces.

  Chapter 10

  Amy paused under the arched entry beside Tyler, momentarily confounded by the number of people who had come to pay their respects to General Sam Houston. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it wasn't this giant of a man who dwarfed everyone in the room. He received his guests in the parlor, reclining on a couch with an added paillasse to add length and to cushion him from the hard angles. Dressed in a buckskin coat and trousers, with a bright red Indian blanket draped about his shoulders, he lay with his bandaged leg on a bolster. A wide-brimmed hat with a martial feather rested on his knee. Altogether, he looked as much out of place as a bear on a satin pillow.

  As the Negro groom announced Amy, heads swiveled and calculating eyes made their assessment. Perhaps two dozen people occupied the large room, most of whom suspended their tête-à-têtes and nibbling on sweets long enough to indulge their curiosity over her arrival.

  Though everyone wore finery, Amy didn't feel out of place in the new velvet gown Madame Arceneaux had finally completed. It was the color of a midsummer sky; the dark blue ribbon trim matched Tyler's full-dress uniform. She hoped the off-the-shoulder tiers of lace covered enough of her bosom for propriety.

  To be included among those invited to the Christy mansion represented a distinct honor, but she'd come in vain if she hoped to speak with General Houston in private about her ambitious idea. Though it would hurt her pride to do so, she might have to go through Tyler after all.

  "Anna, my love!” The wounded hero spotted her from across the room and extended his arm. His eyes glowed with an unnatural brightness.

  Tyler guided her to the couch. “This isn't Anna, sir. It's Amy Victoria Baker. Remember I told you about her?"

  "Oh, yes. Of course.” The general blinked at her in obvious confusion. His injury had taken its toll, but he seemed well put together in spite of his gaunt condition. The nut-brown weathering of his skin failed to mask the flush on his cheeks and the bluish pallor about his eyes. He had dark chestnut hair, brindled on the sides, and a deep cleft in his chin. His great paw seemed to engulf her hand. “A pleasure, my dear."

  "The pleasure is mine, General Houston. I'm so sorry about your wounded leg.” She spotted the edge of a bandage peeking from his open collar. “Oh, you have two wounds!"

  "Merely a ploy to get away with truancy.” As Houston drew her closer, the pungent smell of opium reminded her of a hospital ward. Perhaps that accounted for his bewilderment and the way he had forgotten to let go of her hand. “Your beautiful blue eyes remind me of someone I know in Texas ... Anna Raguet.” He squeezed her fingers.

  "How fortunate she is to be remembered. I wish to congratulate you on your victory against Mexico. You must be relieved it's all over."

  "The Lone Star flag soars over the Republic of Texas, and so shall it fly from this day on.” His strong voice belied his condition. “But, no, my dear. The war is not over. I wish that it were."

  "But I heard Santa Anna surrendered?"

  "That little snake!” Houston's bitter laugh seemed to diminish his infirmity. “The Cherokees would say he speaks with a forked tongue. He's a beaten man only so long as he's under guard. But they'll turn him loose, mark my words, and when they do, he'll bamboozle everyone with oratory and come at us again—Little Napoleon of the West. A crushing defeat is what he calls a victory. Just as robbing his country's treasury of its last copper coins for his personal use is called ‘leading Mexico to world power'. He has the sly cunning of a weasel. May God have mercy on Mexico if she can't find a better man to follow.” His head fell back against his pillows as though his tirade had exhausted him.

  She extricated her damp hand from his grasp. “I think you've shown the world a different kind of leadership.” She studied his face. Was he too ill, too dazed by opium to make sense of her plan—providing, of course, that she had an opportunity to present it?

  He sighed. “No, we haven't heard the last of him. He has the power to incite Mexicans to any battle, anywhere, anytime."

  Standing beside her, Tyler shifted restlessly, his eyes in constant motion, his gaze flicking around the room as though counting heads. She remembered that he was in charge of protecting the general and felt certain that a more stately officer had never stood between a hero and his enemies.

  "We have such a long way to go.” The general rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I pray my troops aren't scattering to the four winds while I languish here. Poor boys. Perpetually on the verge of mutiny, always charging off to follow their own bugles. Buck Travis, Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie—all dead. Johnson's and Grant's companies massacred; Fannin's men captured and executed in cold blood...” General Houston's eyelids began to droop. “I hope the good ones aren't all gone. Texas has too many Sunday soldiers and fair-weather patriots. Thank God for the American volunteers—they know how to fight.” He fell asleep suddenly, without finishing his last thought.

  Bill Christy rushed over, inspected the invalid, and turned back to face the room. “He's swooned! I'm afraid I'll have to ask everyone to leave, now. The general must not be over-taxed. Thank you for coming. It means so much to him to have your good wishes. Good-bye, good-bye."

  As the senator ushered the last visitors toward the door, Tyler escorted Amy out to the verandah. There, she halted, immobilized by the noise and the sea of faces along the street. Masses of people lined the fence, reaching over, querying, demanding. Beyond them, the street fluttered with flags, and the air throbbed with the beat of marching drummers in a parade. Amy's heart swelled, realizing how much everyone admired the Texan hero.

  Tyler touched her arm, sending a jolt of awareness through her body. “Why don't you stay and have dinner with us here? You'd be welcome as my guest."

  She hesitated. “Sadie's waiting for me with her gig.” What she really ought to do was set aside her reservations and broach her plan to Tyler. In spite of his scoffing at the idea of her taking the freight wagons to Santa Fe, he might change his mind and decide to accept her help. She could persuade him, she thought, if he kept his hands off her, and if she could keep her mind straight.

  "Tell her to go ahead. I'll drive you home later.” His long fingers gently squeezed her upper arm. “We need to talk."

  Startled, she glanced up at him. His gray eyes radiated the warmth of a summer day. His smile quirked higher on one side, giving him a sardonic look. It lacked arrogance, though, and Amy sensed the amusement directed at himself.

  She returned his smile, deciding he might have a side she could really like if he would develop it more. “I suppose that could be arranged."

  "Major!” Bill appeared on the verandah. “General Houston asked if you could detain Miss Baker for a few minutes. He wishes to speak to her."

  * * * *

  Seated in a chair drawn up next to General Houston's couch, Amy waited self-consciously, a cup and saucer in one hand and a plate with a slice of cake in the other. Even after his recovery from the fainting spell or whatever it was, the general stared at the ceiling in long silences. Curiosity about why he had asked to speak to her almost made her forget the reason she had come. Curiosity and frustration, both. How could she converse with a man who was nearly insensible to his surroundings?

  The fragrance of cha
momile enticed her to take a sip of the tea, though she set her untouched pastry aside. To bring up business under the circumstances might be a mistake, but when would she get another chance? She and the general had the room to themselves—Tyler had been called out to the corridor by one of the guards, and Senator Christy had disappeared somewhere. The private moment she'd prayed for had arrived, but Houston scarcely knew she existed.

  She took another sip of tea. “So, General, what are your plans for Texas?"

  He gave a little jerk and rolled his head toward her. “Ah, Miss Baker. Forgive me...” He rubbed his face, then studied her for a moment. “Texas? My dreams for her would test the power of democracy—free elections and a constitution to prevent tyranny.” His expression brightened perceptibly. “But I wished to speak to you of something quite different. There is something you could do for Houston, if you would."

  Speechless, she stared at him with open mouth.

  "Major O'Donnell tells me you have a freight company somewhere—was it Arkansas?"

  "No, no.” She leaned forward eagerly. “St. Louis, Missouri. I have three wagons."

  "What would you charge to rent them to me?"

  "Rent them?” Amy's brief surge of hope spiraled downward.

  "I need to transport goods to New Mexico."

  "I'm sorry, but I need to use them myself. They are the only source of a livelihood for me. However, I'm planning to haul trade goods to Santa Fe this summer, and I may have room for your freight as well."

  He plucked at his woolen blanket, frowning.

  Sensing his disappointment, she probed gently. “Is it muskets you want to transport?"

  His head snapped around. “Who told you that?"

  "Tyler—Major O'Donnell. He said you need muskets to arm troops in Mexico."

  Scowling, he took a deep breath and bellowed, “Major!"

  "Yes, sir?” Tyler entered briskly and approached the couch.

  "You tell this girl about our project?"

  Tyler straightened as though called to attention. “I might have done so, sir."

  She held up her hands, palms out. “Wait! General, you can trust me. I understood you couldn't find enough firearms here in New Orleans."

  Houston glared at Tyler. “Apparently, we can't."

  "Well, I can.” She casually took a sip of her tea, trying to appear calmer and more confident than she felt.

  The general shifted his scowl to her. “You can what?"

  "I can find—I have found two hundred muskets you can buy."

  Both men gawked at her.

  "Where?” the general demanded.

  "What kind of muskets?” Tyler stared at her with an expression of mixed skepticism and amazement. “We can't use old ones that will fall apart in the middle of battle."

  She shook her head. “These are new ones, still in the crates—never been fired. They're carbines, actually—Hall model carbines with .69 caliber smoothbore barrels. Breechloaders with percussion ignition."

  Tyler blinked at her, apparently dumbfounded. He had probably thought she didn't know one end of a musket from the other, and he was almost right. She had nearly exhausted her knowledge of firearms by repeating what Henri had told her.

  Houston's face lit up. “Perfect! My men like those little carbines."

  Tyler frowned, turning to him. “Don't you want the long-barreled muskets?"

  "Not necessarily. A breechloading carbine has its advantages.” Houston counted off on his fingers: “Great on horseback—you don't have to wrestle with a long barrel; quick and easy to load in the saddle. No fouling because the cartridge fits tight in the barrel. You don't need a ramrod—but you've got one just in case, which doubles as a bayonet. The best part is the percussion feature—no frizzen, no pan. Great little musket."

  The general's grasp of the situation impressed Amy. Either the opium had worn off, or he hadn't been as dazed as she'd thought. She cocked her head. “You're familiar with them?"

  "Oh, yes. You can take the barrel off to make a snubbed pistol, right?"

  "I'm not sure...” She searched her memory.

  "I believe you can.” The general looked pleased. “Well, Major, what do you think?"

  Tyler hesitated. “What do they have, a two-foot barrel? Are they accurate?"

  "Who cares? On the battlefield, you just point it at the charging Mexicans and pull the trigger. You're bound to hit one of them."

  Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. “A percussion cap is slower to use than a flintlock because you've got cold and nervous fingers groping around in the bag—"

  "Yes, but beginners become a good shot right away because it fires quicker—you don't have to lead a moving target so far.” Houston grinned. “Now, wouldn't you know that if you were a fighting man instead of an engineer?"

  "I've seen my share of battle, sir."

  "Gentlemen.” Amy cleared her throat. “Gentlemen, where are you going to find anything else on short notice?"

  The men looked at one another, then at her.

  "How much will they cost us?” the general asked.

  "Ten thousand dollars."

  Tyler gave a long whistle. “At that price, we don't have enough for two hundred carbines. We still have to buy ammunition and supplies."

  Houston dismissed his objection with the wave of a hand. “Don't haggle with her, Major. It's not a bad price. We'll just have to come up with a deal that makes everybody happy.” He studied Amy speculatively. “You say you're going to Santa Fe this summer? Ever thought about settling down there? Start a ranch, raise some cattle or sheep?

  "Well, no. What are you—"

  "How would you like to trade those muskets for a good-sized land grant in New Mexico? You can stake it out wherever you want, so long as someone else isn't settled on it already. Make it this side of the Rio del Norte—West Texas for all practical purposes."

  "West Texas? A land grant?” She pictured the farm she'd always wanted—rich black soil, pigs and chickens, rows of corn. “I like the idea for myself, but I have a partner that would need cash, I think."

  "All right. Say half cash and half in trade—ten thousand acres in New Mexico. You haul the muskets to Santa Fe as part of the bargain."

  She couldn't keep a poker face any longer; she chuckled aloud. “General Houston, you've got a deal!"

  Tyler didn't look happy. “Wait a minute, sir. I think this is ill-advised—"

  "What's your objection now, Major?"

  "She's just a girl—Now hold on, Amy, let me finish. We're talking about dangerous business. The Mexicans aren't going to let her roll in there with three wagons full of munitions. In fact, U.S. law forbids arming hostile Indians along the western frontier, so she probably wouldn't get out of St. Louis with them. She'd have to get a license, and that would raise questions."

  "So? Let her smuggle them.” Houston winked at her.

  "Do you realize what you're suggesting?” The sharp tone of Tyler's voice wasn't what she'd have thought appropriate to use with a general. “I'm talking about the risk to a defenseless inexperienced woman."

  Houston knuckled his eyes. “Maybe you're right. I wasn't thinking—I'm kind of light-headed."

  She threw her hands up in exasperation. “For heaven's sake! I'm taking the muskets to Santa Fe one way or the other. I've already contracted for them. It's no more dangerous for me to haul them than someone else. Less, probably, because people won't suspect me like they would a man. In fact, as a defenseless girl, I'd probably lend an innocent air to the enterprise."

  Houston raised his eyebrows at Tyler. “She's got a point, son. We should make her a part of the mission if she's willing."

  Tyler didn't answer, but clamped his mouth shut; the muscle along his jaw jumped. He walked to the window and stood with his back to the room. Why was he being so difficult? Amy swallowed her disappointed at his lack of support and failure to appreciate all she'd accomplished. Her instinct to go around him to Houston had been right.

  She leaned forwa
rd in her chair. “I'm certainly willing to help you with your project, General, but I need to know more about it. For instance, why are you sending muskets there? I thought the war was in Texas."

  The general hesitated. “All right. You already know the critical part. Miss Baker, as you are aware, the citizens of Texas rebelled to form a new republic—just as the American colonies rebelled against Great Britain sixty years ago. The Rio Grande del Norte makes up the western and southern boundaries of Texas, and Santa Fe lies on this side, so it's a part of our republic. The Mexicans just don't realize it yet. I've driven Santa Anna's troops out, but I'm afraid they'll be back. I need armed men to protect our claim. I don't want any nation in the world to question it. Do you understand?"

  "Of course."

  "Unfortunately, America must not be implicated in the support of the Liberales because of its treaty with Mexico, so if you're discovered smuggling muskets, I'm afraid you're on your own.” He reached for her hand, looking deep into her eyes. His intense gaze was aflame with passion. “But I believe you have what it takes."

  "Thank you. You don't know what it means to me—"

  "It is not often that a nation singles out a citizen to champion its cause."

  She caught her breath. His eyes were sword points, pressing an image into her mind. At first she thought he was speaking of himself, of his great sacrifice for Texas, but his eyes held a message of greater significance—one that included her. Unspoken communication flowed through the urgent fingers, pressing her hand, willing her to understand.

  "Yes, I know what you mean. I really do.” A momentous thrill moved the hairs on the back of her neck and rippled down her spine. “I want to help in any way I can. I believe in your cause, General. You can rely on me."

  His confident smile and the warm pressure of his fingers accepted her as one of his own. She knew suddenly that he trusted her completely, and she vowed in that moment never to betray that trust.

  His grip relaxed. “President Jackson will announce America's recognition of Texas as an independent republic. This is important, because it will give us a stronger, more justifiable reason to defend our borders. We need international acceptance. I admit our army isn't the size it ought to be; it's hard to be everywhere at once. But it would be strategic to have armed troops on the western border. This is where you and the muskets come in."