Home of the Brave (5 page)

Anna got up and walked to
the window. “I’m sorry that my brother rejected you and that
Michael dumped you, Nancy. But that doesn’t have anything to do
with James and me. He loves me and I love him.”

“He’s a United States
senator, Anna. He’s not going to divorce his wife, leave his
children and abandon his career for you.”

Anna glared at her for a
moment then walked out the door and slammed it behind
her.

June 21, 1828

Montauk Point, Long Island,
New York

Thomas Van Buskirk lowered
the sails of the sharpie and as the Atlantic swell turned the small
boat’s bow into the tide, quickly dropped the anchor. When the
anchor bit into the seafloor, Thomas tested it and then went back
to the stern to pull the dinghy forward and climb in.

As the surf pushed him
toward the lighthouse, he pulled to the left until he grounded the
rowboat on a narrow beach and shipped the oars.

“That’s a foolish thing to
do,” a man shouted from the bank above.

“What is?”

“Anchoring out there on such
a short line.” He pointed to the sailboat. “A good roller will pull
your anchor free and your boat will be on the rocks before you know
it.”

“Are you the light
keeper?”

“I am.”

“I was hoping for directions
to the Deep Hollow Ranch.”

“The headquarters is at
Third House.” The man pointed. “About six miles. On the Bay side.
”

“Thank you.” Thomas climbed
out, turned the boat and pushed it into the breakers, leaping
nimbly over the transom to take up the oars. By the time he was
back aboard the sailboat he was winded and drenched with
perspiration and seawater. Anxious to be away, in case the light
keeper’s predictions proved correct, he raised the sails and
maneuvered the boat to dislodge the anchor and then hauled it in.
As he spun the craft on her keel and pointed her into the west
wind, the light-keeper waved and Thomas waved back.

The sharpie’s draft was so
shallow that Thomas was able to hug the coast enabling him to see
hundreds of cattle, sheep and horses grazing in the grassy meadows.
After several landings and shouted questions, Thomas arrived at
Third House, which was located just west of the Montauk village.
“Hello,” he called.

“Hello.” A young woman in
dungarees wearing a red kerchief on her head was on a ladder
replacing a slate tile on the front wall. “Can you hold this ladder
for me please?” she called back.

“Yes, of course.” Thomas
trotted forward and stood beneath the ladder to steady it. “Okay. I
have you.” He looked up at her and grinned.

She looked at him strangely.
“What did you say? O.K.?”

“Oh. Sorry. Okay’s a family
word. It means you’re safe. I have the ladder.”

She let go of the top rung
and nailed the tile in place then dropped the hammer onto the grass
and climbed down.

Thomas stepped from under
the ladder. “Is this the headquarters of Deep Hollow
Ranch?”

“Yes it is. You’re not
superstitious, I see.”

“What’s that?”

“You just walked under a
ladder.” She removed the kerchief from her hair and shook it
out.

“You have hair just like my
mother’s,” he observed.

“Is that good or
bad?”

“I’ve always liked my
mother’s hair.”

“Is she an
Indian?”

“Yes.” He wrinkled his brow.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” the woman
giggled.

He shrugged. “Sometimes she
says that she’s Indian and sometimes she says she’s
Mexican.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t
know what she meant by being Mexican.”

“I’m not sure that I do, now
that you mention it. There was no such place as Mexico until the
recent revolution so I don’t know how she could be
Mexican.”

“It isn’t that complicated.
The Indian people who lived in ancient Mexico City, before it was
conquered, were called Mexicans,” she said.

“Hmm.” Thomas was looking
her over a little more carefully and was discovering that there was
a very shapely woman hidden beneath the overalls.

“Who did you want to see?”
she asked, blushing under his scrutiny.

“I’m not sure.” He looked
into her eyes. “I own some land in Texas and I want to buy cattle
to start a ranch there. I’m Thomas Van Buskirk, by the
way.”

“Jane Hamilton.” She shook
his hand and then nodded toward the barn. “I guess you need to talk
to Mr. Van Winkler.”

“Is he the
rancher?”

“Well, that’s a bit
complicated. A lot of ranchers lease grazing land here from the
Montauk tribe. The leasing office is at East Hampton. This is the
headquarters that all the ranchers use. Mr. Van Winkler is the
range boss.”

“And what do you do
here?”

“Me? I work for Mr. Van
Winkler.”

“Are you
Montauk?”

She nodded.
“Half.”

“So you live here in the
village?”

“I came here to live with my
maternal grandmother when I was twelve. She died the next year and
I stayed.”

“All alone?”

“Come on and I’ll introduce
you to Mr. Van Winkler.” She set off toward the barn.

“What’s his Christian name?”
Thomas asked, as he walked beside her.

“Paul, or Paulus, I’m not
sure which. Why?”

“Although the name’s not
ringing any bells, he’s probably a relative. My family lives over
by Kill Van Kull and there are several Van Winkle and Van Winkler
headstones in the graveyard.”

“Oh, I know that place. It’s
beautiful. I’ve always been curious about it.”

“Stop by any time. I don’t
live there any more but my aunt and uncle would be very happy to
show you around.

As they reached the barn, a
tall, thin, dour looking man in overalls stopped feeding the milk
cows in their stalls and turned toward them.

“Mr. Van Winkler,” Jane
said. “This is Mr. Van Buskirk. He’s interested in buying
cattle.”

The man offered his hand to
Thomas, but no smile. “Which Van Buskirk are you?”

“Thomas, sir,” he shook Van
Winkler’s hand. “I’m John and Marina’s son.” Van Winkler didn’t
respond. “John and Anna’s grandson?”

“Ah. Yankee’s
boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought you’d gone for a
soldier, like the rest of your family.”

“I just resigned my
commission to start a ranch, sir.”

Van Winkle walked out into
the sunshine. “How many cattle were you wanting to buy?”

“
Well, sir, I was hoping
to get some advice about that. I have some land in Texas but I have
no idea how many head I’ll need.”

“How much land do you
have?”

“Four thousand, four-hundred
and twenty-eight acres.”

“I guess you know that’s not
the same as having that same amount of land here. The grass there
doesn’t measure up to here.”

“I’m told that the grazing
is good there, sir, but I’ve not seen it myself, yet.”

“Do you really want my
advice or were you just being polite?”

“I really want your advice,
sir.”

“Then don’t buy cattle here,
round them up for free in Texas.”

“Free?”

“Spanish settlers have
tried raising cattle in Texas many, many times with a number of
different breeds over the last two hundred years. The settlers all
died but some of the cattle didn’t. The survivors inter-bred and
now there are thousands of hybrids roaming the prairies. They’re
called
Texas longhorns
because they inherited the big horns of the original Spanish
cattle.”

“Wild cattle free for the
taking?”

“Free to anyone bold enough
to try. Texas longhorns are smart and tough. The bulls are the
meanest creatures that God ever created. But,” he gestured toward
the nearby pasture, “these animals wouldn’t last a year out there
in Texas.”

“Have you been there, sir?
Texas, I mean,” Thomas asked.

“No. But I’ve seen Texas
longhorns. Some Mexican vaqueros drove a herd all the way to St.
Louis hoping to get the same price as American beef. I happened to
be there buying cattle at the time.”

“What about the price,
sir?”

“Longhorns don’t produce
much tallow and won’t yield the price of eastern cattle but they
can go for days without water, graze on cactus and weeds, fight off
predators, swim rivers, and survive the hottest summers or the
coldest winters.”

Thomas looked uncertain.
“I’ve been told that all the other prospective ranchers are buying
cattle in Chicago, sir.”

“Let ‘em. And if you’re
raising longhorns, in two or three years you’ll be the only rancher
in Texas with any stock.”

Thomas nodded. “You’ve
convinced me. Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it. Give my
best to your family.”

“I will, sir. Good day.”
Thomas turned back toward the house. “Will you walk back with me,
Miss Hamilton?” He offered her his arm.

She smiled and took his arm.
“Of course.”

“Nice gentleman,” Thomas
said.

She looked back. “Yes. He’s
been very kind to me.” She hesitated and then pointed to the house.
“I live here, not in the village, but it isn’t what you
think.”

“What do I
think?”

“Everybody thinks I’m Mr.
Van Winkler’s mistress.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you so
sure?”

“Yes. If you were his
mistress you’d know his Christian name.”

She laughed. “In that case,
please let me answer your earlier questions again without all the
subterfuge.”

He nodded. “If it’s
important to you, please do.”

“My grandmother was Mr. Van
Winkler’s housekeeper. When Grandmother died, Mr. Van Winkler asked
me if I’d like to take her place. I had no idea how to find my
mother or if she’d even want me, so I said yes. In all those years
he has never once been anything but a very kind and polite
employer.”

“It must be difficult for
you living under that cloud of – what’s the word?”

“Shame?”

“No, no. That’s not what I
meant. Suspicion? No. I still can’t think of the word.”

“It isn’t so bad, really.
But I envy you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Going to Texas where
everything’s new and exciting.”

He nodded. “I must admit
that I’m very excited.”

“When will you be
leaving?”

“I don’t know, exactly.
Soon, I hope.” He turned around to see Van Winkler hurrying to
catch up with them so he stopped to wait and released Jane from his
arm.

“I was just going to suggest
that you hire Spanish vaqueros to help you gather your herd,” Van
Winkler said breathlessly. “And I wanted to invite you to stay for
supper.”

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas
said, “but I sailed over in my uncle’s sharpie and we have no light
on our point. I’m not a good enough starlight navigator to make it
back after dark.”

“Then spend the night,” Van
Winkler suggested. “Jane almost never has the opportunity to talk
to anyone her own age.”

“Mr. Van Buskirk’s family
will worry if he’s not home before dark,” she said.

“Actually they’re in New
York,” Thomas replied.

“Good, that’s settled.” Van
Winkler started again toward the house. “Although we weren’t
expecting guests, I’m certain that Jane can produce something
wonderful. She’s a marvelous cook.”

Thomas looked at her in
alarm. “I hope I’m not imposing.”

She smiled and waved her
hand in dismissal.

“As I was saying about the
vaqueros,” Van Winkler continued, “they know the country and those
long horned beasts. If you were to take any of these local cowboys
they’d quit you or die out there.” He looked at Thomas. “Assuming
you haven’t already made any commitments for your ranch hands, that
is.”

“I haven’t, sir. I thought
that the first order of business would be buying
cattle.”

Van Winkler mounted the
steps to the porch then opened the front door. “You and Jane go in.
I have to change my boots.”

“Thank you.” Thomas stood
back to let Jane go first then followed her inside. “What a
handsome old house.”

“It was built in 1660,” she
said leading him through the entry hall to a parlor with book lined
walls.

Thomas gawked. “He has more
books than most libraries.”

“This is just the overflow
from his real library,” she giggled and pointed deeper into the
house. “There are books in every room, excepting the kitchen and
hall.”

“He couldn’t possibly have
read all these books.”