Gone to Texas (34 page)

"Piedras is no idiot," Travis told Christopher. "He was bound to suspect those fellows as having some connection with the wrecked ship. You and your family, on the other hand, will pass muster. As long as everyone gets their stories straight."

It was decided that, when asked, they would say they had come overland by wagon, and lost all of their belongings in a rough river crossing. An old man named Fulshear, one of Anahuac's founders, agreed to vouch for Nathaniel as his cousin. O'Connor would masquerade as Christopher's brother. Fulshear possessed a head-right, and according to the immigration law, was within his rights to bring family into Texas.

Christopher admired the courage and compassion shown by the Stroms and the other Texans. They were all putting themselves at risk for the sake of strangers. But such generosity and self-sacrifice seemed to be commonplace among these people. They accepted Christopher and the others into their homes with open arms, and freely shared what little they possessed.

Wild game harvested from the forests and the corn they grew themselves were the main components of the settlers' diet. The corn was boiled or fried or roasted. Christopher preferred corn buried, husk and all, in hot ashes. Ears were scraped on graters fashioned from old tinware, and the corn was then pounded into meal, mixed with water, and baked into a rich, sweet bread. Real flour cost ten dollars a barrel after the Mexicans had imposed their tariff, and few of the settlers possessed that kind of money. Pelts were the principal medium of exchange. Domestic animals were almost as
scarce as coin of the realm. Those who owned a few hogs or a milch cow were considered fortunate indeed. As a result, milk and butter were also in short supply. Christopher didn't mind. During those first few days in Anahuac he stuffed himself with venison and corn bread. Never had food tasted so good to him.

They were invited to stay in an empty two-room cabin at the edge of town, built by a colonist whose wife had died back in Alabama while waiting for her husband to send for her. The man had departed and never returned. These were fairly comfortable quarters, and they wanted for nothing thanks to the generosity of their neighbors.

Travis mustered all the persuasive powers of an accomplished lawyer in trying to convince Christopher that Anahuac was a good place for him and his family to put down roots. He had taken a liking to Christopher, and was doubly impressed when he learned, through O'Connor, that he had a pair of West Pointers on his hands.

"We'll need good men in the fight that's coming," he told Christopher. "You proved you could handle yourself back there on the coast."

"We're grateful to you and the other folks here for taking us in. But we're just not sure yet where we want to settle. This is a big country. My grandfather and I were talking about taking a trip upriver to have a look around."

"Go ahead. But you won't find a better place than Anahuac, or better people."

"Probably not," conceded Christopher.

"When we have our independence, there will be abundant opportunity for a young man with your background. For my part, I hope to play an active role in creating a republic we can all be proud of. Are you interested in politics?"

"I don't know. I might be."

"We'll have to keep an army," said Travis, warming to his theme. "After we whip the Mexicans we'll have
the Indians to deal with. As a graduate of the United States Military Academy I am certain you could have a commission."

"I didn't graduate."

"What? But I thought . . . "

"Evidently O'Connor didn't tell you the whole story." Christopher proceeded to do just that.

"I see," said Travis, and smiled. "I, too, came to Texas to escape an unhappy past."

In the privacy of his cramped one-room law office on the main street of town, as they shared a bottle of rum, Travis told his story, and Christopher came to realize that this man was typical of so many others who had come to Texas to seek a new beginning.

Born in South Carolina in 1809, Travis had moved to Alabama with the rest of his family at the age of nine. While studying the law he taught school to make ends meet. In 1828 he married one of his pupils, Rosanna Cato, the daughter of a prosperous farmer. Travis passed the bar and became the proud father of a strapping baby boy. Then his world was shattered. His young wife was unfaithful to him. They say he killed the other man. He would not confirm or deny this to Christopher. To Texas he had come, hanging his shingle in Anahuac, listing himself on the Mexican census as a widower. As far as he was concerned, Rosanna
was
dead. He resided at Peyton's boardinghouse, down by the docks. He drank a little, gambled a lot, and, as a handsome young bachelor, vigorously engaged in casual affairs, including one with the wife of a lieutenant posted at the Anahuac presidio.

"You like taking risks," said Christopher.

"It adds spice to an otherwise bland existence. I am sick unto death of writing wills and settling petty squabbles over property. Thus far my most spectacular case has been fighting the sale of a blind horse. My best fee has been a yoke of oxen."

He was a well-read man. Christopher discerned this
by his conversation, and confirmed it with a look at a shelf on the wall behind Travis' desk. The shelf was laden with the works of Steele and Shakespeare, Homer and Herodotus. He was also vain, temperamental, supercilious at times, and most assuredly ambitious to a fault. In the beginning of their acquaintance Christopher wondered if Travis wanted war with the Mexicans because he was genuinely committed to winning freedom and justice for all Texans, or if he merely wanted to create an environment in which he could wield power. In the months to come Christopher would meet other men—men who were destined to become leaders in the fight for Texas independence—whom he had no doubt were motivated by a lust for power. But he became convinced in time, and never swerved from that conviction, that Travis, a romantic at heart, wanted the fight for all the right reasons.

When Captain Piedras and his dusty, trail-sore lancers returned to Anahuac they did not enter the town, but rode directly to the presidio. That surprised Travis, who had expected the Mexicans to search every house for cannon or smugglers or both. Several days later, Piedras appeared at the town's meetinghouse, a one-room log structure furnished with split log pews. This building also served as the community's church and dance hall and court of law. The captain summoned Travis, whom he knew to be the town's spokeman. Travis appeared at the borrowed cabin a little while later. The lawyer looked positively grim as he told Christopher, Nathaniel, and Rebecca about his meeting with Piedras.

"I had expected him to turn this town upside down," said Travis. "But he's a clever fellow. Nothing quite so predictable. I expect he would make a worthy opponent in a game of chess."

"He suspects the truth?" asked Nathaniel.

"Of course. He is by nature a suspicious man. That is
not an issue, really. He can't prove anything unless he finds those cannon. Or your friend Klesko. Somehow, though, he knows about the three of you."

"How is that possible?" asked Christopher. "I haven't seen a single soldier."

"Perhaps one of our Mexican civilians. Or maybe more than one. The captain's eyes and ears."

Christopher nodded. He had seen a handful of Mexican women about town, and a number of Mexican men worked as common laborers on the busy docks.

"He wants to talk to you and your grandfather," Travis told Christopher. "And O'Connor, as well. Where is O'Connor, anyway?"

"On his way back to Louisiana. Borrowed a horse and left this morning."

"Louisiana? What for? Is he coming back?"

"I don't know. He's gone to find someone."

"Just as well. There's nothing to worry about. Just stick to the story we've devised. Only be careful what you say. Piedras is a sly fox."

"Why doesn't he want to question me?" asked Rebecca.

"The captain has a rather low opinion of women. He doesn't think they are worth interrogating, I suppose. He can't imagine that you would know anything of value."

Rebecca's eyes flashed with resentment. "If that's his attitude, it's lucky for him he
doesn't
want to talk to me."

Christopher volunteered to go first. Travis walked with him as far as the door to the meetinghouse. Captain Piedras' escort, four lancers, sat their horses in the hot sun, their lances couched, their dark eyes beneath the visors of their shakos regarding the pair of Anglos with nerve-wracking impassity. It seemed to Christopher that somehow they knew he had slain two of their comrades. Of course there was no way they
could
know, unless Travis or Tucker or one of the other Texans who had
been on the coast that day had talked. That was inconceivable.

"Keep your wits about you," said Travis, with a final word of advice. "Offer no information unless asked. Say as little as possible."

"Thanks, Counselor."

Travis smiled. "You've got some good nerves, Mr. Groves."

"If you only knew," said Christopher, and went inside.

Captain Piedras sat behind a table at the far end of the room. To one side of him stood a young, slender, scowling lieutenant. The captain rose from his chair as Christopher approached. He was short and stocky, with a square-jawed face and hair graying at the temples. His uniform was impeccable. Christopher sized him up as a stickler for rules and regulations, a man who expected the utmost from his men, a demanding taskmaster who never indulged in leniency. In the field he would be bold and aggressive, perhaps overly so.

Clicking the heels of his high-polished boots together, Piedras bent almost imperceptibly at the waist, a stiff and entirely minimal bow. A faint and meaningless smile touched one corner of his mouth, barely noticeable beneath the bold sweep of a cavalryman's mustache.

"Señor Christopher Groves, I presume."

"Yes." Christopher was surprised by the captain's excellent grasp of the English language.

"Let me welcome you to Anahuac, señor. I hope your voyage was a pleasant one."

"My voyage? I'm afraid I don't understand. I came overland, by wagon."

"Indeed?" Piedras cocked an eyebrow and glanced at the lieutenant, who was glowering at Christopher as though at a common criminal. "Then I am puzzled, señor. You see, my men found a trunk on the beach near the site of the wreck of the brigantine
Liberty
. Your initials were inscribed on that trunk."

A chill of apprehension seized Christopher. His mother had brought his belongings off the island, but under the circumstances it had not been possible to carry off the trunk itself. He had forgotten all about the initials he'd carved on the lid of the trunk on the day of their departure from Elm Tree.

"They may have been my initials," he said, "but that wasn't my trunk. I . . . "

"Yes?"

Offer no information unless asked
. "Must be a coincidence."

"Perhaps. Where are you from, Señor Groves?"

"Kentucky."

"What are you doing in the Republic of Mexico?"

"Looking to make a new start."

"Are you a farmer?"

"No."

"What is your occupation?"

"My mother and I raised horses in Kentucky."

"Thoroughbreds? I am told they raise the most excellent horses in Kentucky."

"We like to think so."

"But you brought none of these thoroughbreds with you?"

"No." On the verge of telling Piedras that Sterling Robertson was bringing the three Elm Tree thoroughbreds to Texas with him, Christopher caught himself just in the nick of time. The captain likely knew that there was a connection between Robertson and the
Liberty
.

"So what do you intend to do, señor?"

"I haven't made up my mind. I had heard there were many opportunities in Texas."

"I see. Not really. You are related to Samuel Fulshear?"

"That's right. A distant relative."

"We were not aware that Señor Fulshear had any distant relatives."

"He probably just forgot to mention it."

Piedras gave him a strange look. Christopher cursed himself for a fool. The captain hadn't asked a question, so why the blazes was he talking?

"Well," said Piedras, with a throw-away gesture. "Señor Fulshear is an old man, isn't he? Old men tend to be forgetful."

He glanced expectantly at Christopher, who said nothing.

"Are you aware, Señor Groves, that if you intend to stay you must renounce your United States citizenship and swear an oath of loyalty to the Republic of Mexico?"

"Yes, so I've heard."

"You are willing to do this thing?"

Christopher hesitated. He couldn't help himself. Having spent two years at West Point preparing for a life in the service of the United States of America, he was loath to even pretend to forsake his country. He had known all along that such an oath was required of American settlers in Texas, but he had not given it a moment's thought during the long trip from Kentucky. Or perhaps, he told himself, he simply hadn't wanted to think about it.

"You hesitate," observed Piedras.

"As a soldier you must realize how difficult it would be to turn your back on your country."

"I myself would not do it. Are you a soldier, Señor Groves?"

"No. No, I'm not."

"Perhaps you should return to your country if you love it so much."

"I think I'll stay."

"Ultimately it is I who will decide whether you stay or go. We are no longer encouraging immigration."

"I noticed," said Christopher, becoming exasperated by the captain's imperious tone.

"The problem is that so many of your countrymen have proved to be troublemakers. For instance, are you aware that several suspected smugglers were seen in this vicinity only a few days ago?"

"I wasn't aware of that."

"Of course not," said Piedras sardonically. It was manifestly clear that he thought Christopher was lying. "You are not aware of much at all, are you, señor? You aren't aware of two cannon which were smuggled ashore from the
Liberty
. And neither are you aware of the killing of several of my soldiers a few days ago."