Allegiance Page 12

  "I understand. I deliver the muskets to your post on the Rio del Norte. That sounds simple enough."

  Houston sighed. “Except I don't have a post there, as such. Not yet."

  "No troops either.” Tyler turned from the window, his expression hard.

  Amy glanced from one to the other. “Now I don't understand. Who would I deliver the muskets to?

  Houston pursed his lips and gazed at the ceiling.

  "That is why the plan won't work.” Tyler's resolute stance, Amy thought—with hands on hips and chin jutted out—would make anyone think he was the general. “We think the Liberales there will support Texas, but we don't know who they are or how to reach them. General, I'm against sending Miss Baker to New Mexico unless we have an experienced man in place to make arrangements."

  General Houston smiled slowly. “You're absolutely right, Major. That's why I'm sending you along with her."

  Chapter 11

  Tyler rang the bell at Dubois’ townhouse and, hunching his shoulders against the chilly rain, waited for someone to open the gate. Through an after noon of steady drizzle, more than enough water had soaked through his coat to put him in a foul mood. That and the fact that nearly everything had gone awry.

  How could he have guessed that serving as liaison between the president and Sam Houston would put him in a crossfire? He might as well have brought a hornet's nest up about his ears as to get involved in their high level intrigue.

  Sadie opened the gate and invited him to follow her upstairs.

  In the drawing room, Amy sat beside Henri on a plush sofa drinking wine. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright, either from the spirits or, more likely, from Henri's friendly attentions. She looked up at Tyler and smiled.

  Sadie took his wet coat and hung it with his hat on a wrought-iron rack by the door. Henri rose and poured a glass of wine for him.

  Amy's smile faded as she studied his face. “Is something wrong?"

  "Is anything right?” How could Tyler explain that as a frustrated army engineer, he'd rather survey and explore new territory than instigate war among the citizens living there? Neither Van Buren nor Jackson had seen fit to tell him he'd be delivering sealed orders to Houston which effectively placed him under the man's command.

  He gulped some wine and sat in the chair Henri gestured to, pondering how much he should tell them. “The president is in a towering rage because some congressman from the North accused him of a sneaky plot to annex Texas and make it a slave state. And the senator from North Carolina is conspiring behind Jackson's back again. What's worse, someone—probably Senator Calhoun—sent spies down here from Washington—they're everywhere."

  Henri, opening another bottle of wine by the liquor cabinet, paused in his motions to give Tyler a sharp look.

  "But why?” Amy asked. “What do they want?"

  Tyler shrugged. “Jackson has enemies in Congress—that's nothing new. But if they get wind of this mission of ours, they'll use it as a weapon against him somehow. Put him in a bad light."

  "Hah!” Henri looked disgusted. “And we're caught in the middle—you, me and Amy."

  Fear for her safety chewed at Tyler, as it had all day. If he had his way, she wouldn't be planning to haul contraband muskets through dangerous enemy territory. Of course, the choice had been hers—they were her wagons and her muskets. Safeguarding the shipment and sending back coded reports made him little more than escort and errand boy.

  She frowned. “What can we do?"

  Tyler swallowed the rest of his wine and set the dainty glass on a table beside him. “We have to move fast, that's all. Henri, you still planning to go to St. Louis with us?"

  "Mai ouí. I got to collect Amy's furs."

  She smiled, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Shall I tell Tyler about our new arrangement?"

  Henri shrugged.

  She turned to Tyler. “Because General Houston is underwriting my trade expedition, Henri's letting me take his merchandise to Santa Fe, as well."

  Tyler stifled an unreasonable urge to discourage her. He shouldn't take his ire out on her when it was the whole stinking political mess that had driven him into a corner. Even under the worst conditions, an able military leader remembered to foster harmony among his troops to avoid mutiny. “Good. Glad to hear it."

  Amy rushed on. “He's also going to advise me on what other trade goods I should buy to fill out the cargo."

  "Great.” Tyler adopted an enthusiastic tone. “It'll be easier to disguise the muskets with the rest of the freight."

  She gave the Cajun a warm smile over her shoulder. “Henri, I am most grateful to you."

  Henri brought the bottle back and sat beside her—closer than necessary, Tyler thought. “I don't want to be like the hog, chèrie, good only when I'm dead."

  Tyler wondered how chummy they'd gotten. “You'd better plan on getting the trade goods you need in St. Louis. We're leaving here tonight."

  "Tonight?” Amy's eyes widened. “I thought—"

  "Weren't you listening? If Calhoun's spies get wind of this, there'll be hell to pay. Besides, I don't especially want to come down with cholera on top of everything else. That's about the only thing that hasn't happened to one of us so far."

  Her face turned to stone. “There's cholera here?"

  "That's what they're saying. I nearly ran over a man who was staggering in the street just now. I heard that visitors from outside the area catch it the quickest. You probably don't have to worry about it, do you, Henri?"

  The Cajun shook his head. “Cholera comes ‘round often, sometimes ever’ summer. It don't bother me."

  Amy's eyes grew huge in her pale face. “My mother died of cholera. One morning she woke up lively as usual and by the next morning, she was gone. Believe me, we want to get far away from it. Are we really leaving tonight? Henri's trade goods are already crated. It won't take me long to pack."

  He eyed Henri. “It depends on him, I guess. Did you get all the muskets?"

  "I got them.” A hint of mockery in Henri's tone showed he wasn't overly impressed with a certain presidential emissary.

  "I'll help you haul them to the docks and load them. I bought passage for us on the Missouri Belle."

  "What?” Amy's voice rose. “Why that steamboat?"

  "Because Captain Stott is a supporter of Jackson—a real patriot. Who else are we going trust, what with spies watching everything we do? Besides, those were my orders."

  "But what about Jackrabbit Jones? He hates me!"

  Tyler held up his hand. “Don't worry. I won't let him near you."

  Henri's lips twisted in scorn. “What for you think the captain will help you? You can't always count on patriotism when it comes to life and death."

  Tyler sighed and dug papers out of his pocket. “To ensure his cooperation, I bribed him generously. Now, here are your tickets. We leave at midnight tonight by special arrangements. Henri, after we reach St. Louis, you can pick up your furs and carry a message back here to Houston telling him we made it that far. After that, I'll continue to send my reports to you, and you can redirect them to the general. Your part in this is important. I can't send him messages directly from New Mexico without arousing suspicion."

  "I understand that. I said I would do it.” Henri turned to Amy. “More wine, ma petite?"

  "Yes, please. I need something to calm me.” She held out her glass, and Henri refilled it.

  He gestured with the bottle in Tyler's direction. “More wine?"

  "No, thanks. I have to get the supplies and ammunition to the dock. Did you remember to disguise the crates?"

  "Yes, yes! What do you think, I print on them: MUSKETS HERE?"

  Tyler rose and retrieved his coat from the rack. Frustration burned a hole in his stomach, and he wasn't in the mood to quibble. “Henri, you might as well get used to my checking everything twice, three times, if needed. It's my job.” He shoved his arms into the clammy sleeves of his coat. “I'll also deliver your personal luggage to t
he dock, if you want. I have a wagon outside."

  Amy walked to the door with Tyler. “I don't have to go aboard until later, do I? I still need to pack my things."

  "I'll come back for you."

  "I also thought ... maybe you'd take me over to the station house? I don't want to leave without seeing my brother."

  Her imploring expression twisted a shaft in his heart. “I don't blame you for wanting to say good-bye to him, but what makes you think they'll let you see him tonight? It's already getting dark."

  Henri joined them. “He's right, chère. Yesterday, we went there, remember? And they wouldn't allow it then."

  She looked from one to the other of them, tears forming in her blue eyes; her voice was almost a whisper. “I have to try once more."

  Houston was right: this girl's persuasive powers were unrivaled. It was beyond Tyler how any gendarme could resist her plea. “If I thought it would help, Amy, I'd personally thrash anyone who stood in your way. I know how sad it makes you, but you have to accept that he's not getting out as quickly as we'd hoped. You'll have to go on without Jeb for now. Senator Christy promised to continue investigating his case."

  She dropped her gaze and turned away, discouragement evident in the slope of her shoulders. But what else could he say? He'd done all he could, and his helplessness maddened him.

  He jerked opened the door viciously. “You ready to go, Henri?"

  * * * *

  Amy's head swam gently. She supposed the wine she'd drunk provided a sense of false courage. Nothing else could explain the audacious plan she'd come up with. She stopped in the doorway of the Sadie's room, preparing to beg if she had to. “You can have any amount of money I have if you'll drive me to the station house tonight."

  The Negro woman stared at her for a long moment.

  "I'll go alone if I can use the gig."

  "No.” Sadie lifted a woolen shawl off her rocking chair and pulled it around her shoulders. “Not alone."

  "Oh, you'll come with me? Thank you!” If the tall black woman hadn't had such an aloof demeanor, Amy would have kissed her.

  Sadie handed her a small object made of bone and decorated with feathers.

  The bristling amulet tingled Amy's palm. An unexplainable power radiated to her fingertips. “What is this?"

  "Gris-gris protect you."

  "Thank you.” With an uneasy feeling, Amy slipped it into her pocket.

  Sadie led the way to the ground floor.

  Amy helped to harness the mare and hitch her to the gig, then opened the double doors onto the street. She peered up at the sky. “It's stopped raining. Maybe our luck has changed."

  The narrow streets turned out to be sticky, but not impassable. Muddy water bubbled in the gutters of the narrow streets. Heavy smoke smudged the air, perhaps an accumulation from the fireplaces in all the kitchens. They passed a creaking wagon piled with large untidy bundles. Curious about what business could thrive on a dark night, Amy craned her neck trying to identify the load. She gasped in alarm. Dead people wrapped in sheets?

  Sadie glanced at her. “Death wagon. Cholera is back."

  Amy gagged as the foul smell of burning rubbish triggered an image of funeral pyres. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief and tried to concentrate on what she would do when she reached the station house. She suspected that if she hadn't drunk a half bottle of wine, she wouldn't consider sweet-talking the gendarme. She'd avoided bribery up to now, but her options had just run out. Her money should go for trade goods, she knew, but somehow she couldn't leave Jeb behind in New Orleans without one word of encouragement, comfort, or farewell.

  As she and Sadie neared their destination, the night brightened; reflections of red light flickered off the roofs and walls. The air became almost too thick with smoke to breathe. A couple of blocks ahead, tongues of flame licked the black sky. Distant shouts and gunfire reverberated through the alleyways.

  "Kaintocks burn the city again.” The whites of Sadie's eyes gleamed in the dark.

  "We'll be safe at the station house. It's not far now, is it?"

  In her agitation about forcing the issue with Jeb, Amy had almost managed to quell her panic about being out after dark—until a shadowy figure slunk out of an alleyway and barred the way.

  A man seized the mare's bridle, laughing like a lunatic. “What have we got here? Two women, as I live and breathe!” The voice rasped like a spoon scraping the bottom of a kettle. The wide brim of a hat screened the upper half of his face, a flowing beard covered the lower.

  Sadie leaped to her feet and flailed about with her whip. “You! Let go my mare!"

  Fear raised the hair on Amy's neck. A silent scream froze in her constricted throat.

  Another man swaggered out of the dark and grinned wickedly up at Amy. “Howdy, Sweet Thing. And where might you be going?"

  * * * *

  Tyler stopped pacing the levee to swear and check his watch again. Where was Amy? He'd gone back to Dubois’ house for her, but she'd left. Sadie was missing, too. What in the world had they been thinking of to go out without an escort?

  Henri climbed the path up the levee to join him. “The steamboat, she leaves in half an hour. You find Amy?"

  "Hell, no! She wasn't at your place. I thought everything that would go wrong had done so already, but I guess not. Where could she be?"

  Henri glanced up and down the levee. “She will come."

  "I sincerely hope she arrives in time. I'd hate to go without her.” Dread, solid and cold as a cannonball, settled in his gut. Perhaps she'd gotten lost and was even now driving madly in the wrong direction. Or what if she'd come to meet him at the dock and fallen in the river? If she had drowned, he'd never know.

  "We got time.” A scornful smile twisted Henri's lips as his gaze traveled over Tyler.

  Tyler glanced down. “What's the matter?” He remembered suddenly that Henri hadn't yet seen his disguise. He wore the linsey shirt and homespun pants Bill Christy had dug up for him and the low-crowned felt hat that looked as though a jackass had taken a bite out of the floppy brim. In the dark, he doubted anyone could distinguish him from a slave out after curfew. In daylight, he wouldn't look much different from Amy's brother, Jeb. “If I wore my good clothes, a spy would spot me for sure. We can't have them following us to St. Louis.” Irritation put a sharp edge to his voice. “Hadn't you better go keep an eye on the cargo?"

  Henri kept his smile as he headed down toward the steamboat.

  * * * *

  Amy had heard that by night the city beckoned the demented and the vile to the streets. And here they were: dreadful fiends creeping out of their cribs and scabrous haunts to roam, apparently bent on seeing how much destruction they could wreak before the dawn. How she wished she hadn't been forced to test those warnings.

  She tried not to scream. If they guessed how frightened she was, they would close on her like a pack of wolves. Just imagining what their intentions might be turned her blood to ice.

  Sadie jumped from the gig and attacked the man holding her mare, swinging her fists and kicking like a mule. Her figure towered head and shoulders over his. As a building went up in flames a block away, orange light reflected on Sadie's brow and high cheek bones. Her face, with its slanted eyes and fierce grimace, looked like an exotic ebony mask.

  Mindless terror overcame reason and set Amy's heart racing. “Help! Help us, somebody!"

  "Better try again—nobody heard you.” The brigand closest to her cackled and threw a leg over the side of the gig.

  Amy fought to regain her self-control, knowing that without her wits, she had little chance of escape. “Y-you're attacking the wrong people! I'm just going to see my brother in jail, and he's ... he's a Kaintock, like you. We're from St. Louis."

  "That right?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close.

  She went with him, pushing hard, then grabbed hold of the wooden frame to keep her balance as he lost his. He fell on his back in the street.

  The
mare broke free from the hooligan's grasp and bolted. Amy grabbed for the reins. “Whoa, girl! Easy, now.” Within half a block, the gig rolled to a stop.

  Amy looked back to see Sadie charging her assailant, arms swinging. She sent him rolling across the water-filled ruts like a bag of grain. This time, he didn't get up. She bent down to snatch his club from the ground, then charged after the man who pursued Amy. Her long legs covered the ground like a race horse. When she caught up to her quarry, the rap she gave him behind the ear sounded like knuckles on a wooden cask. He staggered and fell.

  Amy fought down the sickness that rose in her throat. If she lived through this night's work, she expected to carry the nightmare with her through the rest of her life.

  As Sadie climbed into the buggy, Amy handed her the reins. “Are you all right?” Wonder filled Amy as she pondered what the woman had accomplished single-handedly. “Did he hurt you?"

  "I walk and breathe. Now sit—we go."

  When Amy saw the station house emerge from the gloom, she breathed easier. Sadie, disregarding her usual precautions, accompanied Amy inside.

  Behind the counter, the gendarme's eyes widened. “You again?"

  "I must see my brother.” Amy exchanged glances with Sadie, gathering courage. “I'm leaving town and won't have another chance."

  "At this hour? Mademoiselle—"

  "I brought you a gift.” Amy dug in her reticule.

  The Creole's black eyes fairly sparkled as she withdrew a small wad of banknotes. He took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. His thin lips stretched into an insolent smile. “I will allow you to see your brother, since it means so much to you."

  "Thank you—"

  "You are welcome to spend the remainder of the night here."

  "I wish I could stay that long, but I have very little time."

  "No, I could not possibly allow you to leave before morning. It is not safe."