Lorenzo's Revolutionary Quest (7 page)

A sweet voice answered, “I'll be down in a moment.”

Soledad entered wearing a multicolored skirt and matching blouse, shawl, and leather sandals. She smiled brightly at Red. Her hand went to her hair and smoothed a strand.

“Hello.” Red blushed. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

She nodded, covered her head with the shawl, and hooked her arm around his elbow. They strolled out the front door.

Lorenzo and Miguel trailed along as chaperons, according to Spanish custom, staying five paces back—too far away to overhear their conversation.

“There is something I want to talk to you about, Captain,” Miguel said. “Why has Colonel De Gálvez sent American rebels to Texas?”

“I showed you his letter. It explained that I'm buying cattle for Colonel De Gálvez.”

“Is that so? My connections in Spain tell me we have decided to remain neutral in King George's squabble with his rebellious colonists. Why would the colonel send Americans here?”

“It is not a lieutenant's place to question a colonel's actions,” Lorenzo replied.

At the riverbank, Red turned toward Soledad, took her hands and brought them to his lips.

Lorenzo glanced at Miguel.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “If he lays a glove on my sister. . .”

“Sergeant O'Shaughnessy is being a gentleman.”

Soledad plucked a wild flower, stood on tiptoe, and wove it around Red's hat brim.

“
Válgame Dios
, Lieutenant,” Lorenzo said in a tone of mock surprise. “From this angle, it looks like she just laid a glove on him.”

Miguel scowled.

Lorenzo had seen happier faces on people about to be hanged. “Everything is going well here. If you will excuse me, Lieutenant.” Lorenzo tipped his hat and headed across the river to his father's grave.

Lorenzo stood in the mission cemetery and sobbed. Time heals all wounds, people said. Seeing his father's grave had just ripped Lorenzo's wound open. He knew returning to San Antonio would be difficult, but the full impact of the situation now hit him.

How he missed Papá. A whole year without him. It didn't seem possible.

Falling to one knee, Lorenzo held a lantern close to the wooden marker and traced his father's name and date of death. Who had put it there? And who had left a vase of fresh flowers? Obviously, some generous soul was taking care of his father's grave. Was it Doña María? Or the monks? It could be any number of people.

Without speaking a word, Lorenzo told Papá all that had happened in the last year: the secret flatboat flotilla taking supplies to George Washington, meeting Eugenie, joining the Continental Army, and especially keeping his promise to deliver a letter from his father to his grandfather, Judge Bannister.

After reading it, Judge Bannister had refused to recognize Lorenzo as his grandson. It still hurt to think that his grandfather hadn't wanted him.

Lorenzo told his father how he had learned from Cincinnatus, an elderly slave on Judge Bannister's plantation in Virginia, that he was a quadroon, a quarter black, legally his grandfather's slave. Lorenzo explained how he left Virginia because English law did not allow
him to buy his freedom and went south to New Orleans. There, using a provision in Spanish law, he bought freedom papers. Those documents were now hidden in Colonel De Gálvez's study in New Orleans. With the colonel's help, Lorenzo also filed legal documents to force his grandfather to recognize him as his rightful heir. When Lorenzo inherited the plantation, he would free the slaves.

Before returning to New Orleans for his next assignment, Lorenzo had bought Cincinnatus's freedom and even joined the Pennsylvania Abolitionist Society.

After he explained everything, Lorenzo felt at peace, satisfied that his father was pleased with him. He took one final look at the vase full of trumpet-shaped blossoms and wished he could thank the person responsible.

Dunstan blew smoke rings at the ship's ceiling and watched Thomas polish boots to a high gloss. The boy didn't look happy about being turned into his bootblack, but Dunstan knew a dose of humility was good for a growing boy.

Dunstan unsheathed his sword to sharpen it.

“Why did thou bring that?” Thomas asked, his disgust obvious.

“This sword never leaves my side. I pity the man who tries to take it from me.”

The morning after his arrival, Lorenzo visited Mission San Antonio de Valero and talked to the head monk who agreed to sell five hundred head of cattle. Next stop, the Governor's Palace. Along the way, Lorenzo learned to his dismay that the new governor had not yet arrived to assume his duties. Lieutenant José Menchaca, commander of the fort, was acting in his stead.

This was a complication Lorenzo and Colonel De Gálvez hadn't foreseen when planning the cattle drive.

Lorenzo rapped on the door to the Governor's Palace. It swung open. A servant girl stood barely visible in the dim interior. Even so, Lorenzo could see she was Lipan Apache.

“Good morning, señorita,” he said, tipping his hat. “Lorenzo Bannister to see Lieutenant Menchaca.”

She showed him to the governor's office, a sparsely furnished room.

Lieutenant Menchaca sat behind a sturdy desk cluttered with papers. After several minutes he glanced up from his writing and pursed his lips. “I'm a busy man, Lorenzo. What do you want?”

Lorenzo showed the colonel's letter to Menchaca. “This is Colonel De Gálvez's authorization to purchase five hundred head of mission cattle.”

Menchaca shook his head and refused to take the paper. “Not going to happen.”

“Last time I checked, a colonel outranks a lieutenant.”

“I don't care if that's from the devil himself. You are not going to make off with my cattle.”

“They belong to the mission.”

“As acting governor, they are mine.” Menchaca's chin jutted out in defiance.

“The colonel expects me to buy cattle. I am not going back empty-handed.”

Menchaca smirked. “That's your problem. Not mine.”

“Look, Lieutenant,” Lorenzo said, trying to keep his anger under control. “All I need is your signature.”

“I'm not going to sign.”

“The colonel—”

“Should know that trade between the Province of Texas and the Louisiana Territory is forbidden by royal decree.”

Lorenzo simmered. That was true. And it had led to a thriving smuggling business.

The time had come to change tactics. Lorenzo looked Menchaca straight in the eye. “When Colonel De Gálvez learns you have been less than cooperative, he'll be quite upset. I would imagine his uncle José will be as well.”

Menchaca winced. José De Gálvez was minister of the Indies, the most important man in Spain after the king. Menchaca filled a pipe, lit it, and took several puffs. Smoke wreathed him. He stared off into space.

Lorenzo imagined that visions of being recalled to Spain to explain his lack of cooperation were flashing through Menchaca's head.

After a nerve-fraying silence, Menchaca grabbed a blank piece of paper and a quill pen. He dipped it in ink and wrote at length. “A messenger will go at once to Mexico City to clear up the matter.”

“It could take weeks for him to ride to Mexico City, get authorization, and return.”

Menchaca offered him an infuriating little smile. “That's not my problem.”

September 2 was the latest Lorenzo could wait and still meet the flatboats on time. “I'll give the messenger until the end of the month,” Lorenzo said. “If he isn't back by then, I'm taking the cattle whether you like it or not.”

“Do so at your own peril. We hang cattle rustlers.”

Seven dawns after losing the cattle, Chien d'Or rode bareback on the outskirts of a buffalo stampede. Today he would strike and take control of the tribe.

Dust billowed around buffalo dashing toward their own destruction. Chien d'Or and his companions drove them toward a cliff where they would plunge to their deaths. This was his favorite way to hunt buffalo. Letting them break their own necks was far easier than shooting them with arrows.

Chien d'Or smiled to think this would be Chief Iron Bear's last hunt.

He had to act quickly before the buffalo reached the bluff. He pulled alongside Chief Iron Bear and glanced around to make sure no one was watching.

The chief, concentrating on the fast-moving herd, leaned over his horse's neck.

Clutching the reins in his right hand, Chien d'Or reached over and shoved the chief hard.

Iron Bear lost balance and half fell off. He gripped his horse's mane, pulled himself up, and managed to hang on.

Bellowing in frustration, Chien d'Or grabbed the chief's foot with both hands and pushed hard.

The chief would not be unseated and held on tight. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in rage, he twisted toward Chien d'Or and screamed.

The wind and hoof beats stole his words. Still, Chien
d'Or knew what he had said. His insides turned to water. He had failed and knew he would be severely punished.

Molly opened the top to the flour barrel and reached deep inside. Her scoop scraped against the bottom. “We're just about out of flour,” she informed General Washington's new cook. The last one had been an agent for the British and had been hanged for poisoning the general's peas.

He let out a long sigh. “Go buy some . . .”

”Do I have to?” Molly whined. It was a duty she hated.

The cook avoided her eyes while he fished money from his pocket.

Molly looked briefly at the Continental dollars he handed her. The British paid farmers in gold, and all she had were pieces of paper. They read: “This Bill entitles the Bearer to receive Six Spanish Milled Dollars or the value thereof in Gold and Silver according to a Resolution of Congress, published at Philadelphia Nov. 2, 1776.”

She had overheard a conversation between General Washington and the quartermaster. Lorenzo Bannister and his soldiers were bringing food from the Spanish. She sure hoped they hurried. If food was scarce now, what would winter be like?