Paxton and the Lone Star (29 page)

“You know we have no money,” Campbell muttered dully.

“There's nothing more we can do here,” True said. He took Elizabeth by the arm and led her away from the fireplace. “Let's go before someone does something stupid. There'll be another day.”

They didn't as much as say goodbye. Confused, heartbroken, angry, they left, following a servant who preceded them to the main entrance where their horses were waiting. “He can't do this,” Campbell said, slumping dejectedly in his saddle.

No one replied. It was too obvious that Luther O'Shannon had justice on his side. At least his form of justice.

Chapter XX

“Jones is leaving! The bastard is pulling out! Down at the stable.”

“Sonofabitch! I'll be right along,” Joseph said, grabbing for his boots. “You stay here,” he told Lottie, who still lay in bed. “I'm going with Kemper.”

They met the three Campbell men at the side door and hurried with them to the stables to find a small knot of people gathered at the front door. “What's going on?” Scott snapped, brushing past Nels Matlan.

Jones stood by his gray, behind which was tethered another riding horse and a pack horse. “It's true, then,” Joseph growled. He pushed between True and Elizabeth to confront the black man. “Where the hell do you think you're going?”

Jones's expression narrowed. He stared long and hard at Joseph. “I done what I was paid to do. Or at least half paid, seeing as Medina ain't around to hand me the rest. I'm going home.”

“But … but how can you leave? I mean, just … leave … like that?” Nels Matlan's voice trailed off.

“Eight days to Christmas,” Jones explained. “I got a family, and I want to see 'em. Might not make it by Christmas day, but I'll come close.”

“You brought us here,” Joseph said, defiant and angry. “You got us in this trouble. And now, damn your hide, you aren't going to run out on us.”

“Joseph, no!” True warned, reaching out and catching his brother's arm as Joseph took a menacing step toward Jones.

Jospeh swung around and shoved True back, spun back toward Jones, who suddenly had his rifle cocked and pointed at Joseph's belly. “End of discussion,” the black man said flatly. “You understand,” he added to Leakey.

The mountain man's gnarled face was free of accusation or blame. He nodded. “It ain't none of his business.”

“Well, it's mine,” Kemper snorted. “Hell, leaving us stranded like this …”

“Is your back broke?” Jones asked, a little angry now himself. “Your hands curled up with the arthuritis? What the hell? You're a man, aren't you? The good Lord give you a brain, didn't he? There ain't a one of you here don't have at least a couple hundred dollars in his poke. There's plenty of others who've had a hell of a lot less to start with.”

“That ain't the point—”

“The hell it ain't.” Jones looked scathingly at Kemper, then glared at each of them in turn. “So you lost your land. Well, so what? There's worse things, and if you can't get past that then you wouldn't've made it
with
the land. Now, it's true I brought you here, but I didn't have to haul you draggin' and kickin', 'cause you wanted to come. And if the goin' turns out to be rough, it ain't my fault.”

“Ah, let him go,” Mackenzie sneered. “We don't need no chicken-livered nigger to help us.”

Scott Campbell whirled and slapped his son hard enough to fatten his lip and draw blood. “I'll not have that talk from one of mine,” he snapped. “Mr. Jones—” Scott extended his hand to Jones. “—I apologize for my son. He spoke too hastily, and without thought. I for one thank you for everything you've done for us, and wish you a safe journey home.”

His face as red as his hair, Mackenzie stalked off. Jones watched him go. “I don't hold a younker's temper against him,” he said, shaking Scott's hand. “He'll get over it.”

“He might, but I won't,” Joseph snarled, “and if I learn you had a hand in misleading my wife and these other people, you'd better keep a sharp eye to the horizon, Jones. Or by heaven, you'll not see me coming for you. And I'll not give a warning.”

Hogjaw watched Joseph follow Mackenzie. “Them boys've got more grit than sense,” he said, shaking Jones's hand.

“You'll need men with grit in the days ahead. Nels?” Jones shook Matlan's hand. “Land ain't everything. There's plenty of settlements begging for teachers and schools. True, you take care. Mark my word. I seen that look in your eye. If I find where Medina took off to, I'll send word, but in the meantime, leave O'Shannon be. He has the law on his side in the first place, and in the second he's tough as a cedar stump. I'd say he could take the measure of any man here. Or—” He fixed his gaze on Elizabeth. “—woman.”

“We'll see,” True said, pumping the black man's hand.

“Well, I'm off, then.” Jones swung into his saddle. “I wish you folks all the luck. Sorry I couldn't do more to help.” He winced, and hitched his weather-plagued leg into a more comfortable position. “Keep an eye on 'em, Hogjaw. Dependin', I'll drift up this way come summer or fall. See if any of you are still here.”

“We will be,” Elizabeth replied.

“Miss Elizabeth, I have learned better than to take turns with you.” Thaddeus Jones tipped his hat to her. “If you say so, it won't by God surprise me if you are.” He waved one last time, kicked his gray in the ribs. “Old horse,” he said, “let's be goin'!”

Hogjaw never let goodbyes bother him. The rest, both those who felt betrayed and those who understood, found it harder to adjust. Thaddeus Jones, wagon train master, guide, protector, had been an integral part of their lives for more than ten weeks. He had led them through the wilderness. He had ordered their days and nights. He had laughed with them, eaten with them, worked with them, counseled them. More than anything else, he was at home in this strange land in which they found themselves. When he was with them they were not alone: in his absence, they were cast adrift, unsure of themselves and how to proceed.

The feeling wore off only gradually. The Christmas season was on them, and San Antonio was bustling with visitors. Scott Campbell was the first to find work when he was hired on as a farrier, shoeing horses at the stable. Nels Matlan was the next. Through his conversations with Padre Salva, he met a visitor from a settlement called Washington-on-the Brazos, where a man by the name of Travis was parceling out sections of a large grant for a tidy profit. Washington-on-the-Brazos had recently lost its sole teacher in a riding accident, and though the job paid little, Nels, Eustacia, and Tommy would be able to take over the dead teacher's house. The settler promised to discuss the matter with the rest of the parents, and to send word back to Nels sometime after the first of the year.

The others could find nothing so concrete. Reverend Kania proposed to begin riding circuit and serving the scattered Protestant settlements that were gradually growing up in the area. Kevin Thatche was busy worrying about Mildred, who still hadn't delivered after her initial scare. Jack Kemper made the rounds of San Antonio's merchants looking for one to help stake him in a trading post. Joseph and True, along with Lottie and Elizabeth, decided to wait for Andrew to return before making any further decisions.

Sunday, the twentieth, only five days before Christmas, was the first day that each and every one of them smiled. They were gathered at Mama Flores's
Casa del Rio
for the evening meal when the front door flew open and Kevin Thatche stumbled in. “My God!” Joan Campbell gasped, the first to see him.

“He's white as a sheet.”

Nels Matlan was at his side in two steps. “What is it, Kevin?” he demanded.

Kevin stared blankly at Nels, then at the faces turned toward him. “A boy,” he finally managed. “It's … a … boy!”

Joan Campbell cried in relief as the questions battered Kevin.

“How is he?”

“How's Mildred?”

“How big is he?”

“What you gonna call him, Kevin?”

“Here, now!” Hogjaw roared, cutting them all off and taking over. Swiftly, he walked to Kevin's side and took his arm. “First things first. The boy's gonna do fine and so'll his mama. You'll all see how big he is in a day or so, and what he's gonna go by don't matter. What does matter, what this younker needs,” he proclaimed, “is a belt of the best!”

Grinning like an idiot, Kevin accepted their cheers, their handshakes, the good-natured pummeling.

“Kemper?” Hogjaw went on. “We've had our words, but you've got the only decent whiskey I've seen this side of the Mississippi. Name your price and break out one of them jugs. We got us a brand new Texian and I'm by God the one buyin' to celebrate the fact!”

Here, at last, was something to celebrate, a reason for good cheer in the face of bleak prospects. Mama Flores and her multitudinous family joined in the party, as did some of her regular customers. Someone appeared with a violin, someone else with a trumpet. Chairs and tables were pushed back to make room for dancing. It was as if a canopy of gloom had burst and let the sun shine through, not solely because of the child, but also because the settlers were starved for laughter. By midnight, Mexican-American relations had been cemented, in spite of the language barrier, by two jugs of fine Pennsylvania corn whiskey. And when everyone tottered off to bed, all slept well for the first time in nights.

Monday morning dawned springlike. Remarkably, no one felt the worst for the carousing. The party had been a tonic of the best sort. Scott Campbell whistled on his way to the stables. Kemper actually greeted Hogjaw with a smile. Lottie and Elizabeth exchanged more than half a dozen words for the first time since the morning after Hester's death. Best of all, even though the weather was most un-Christmaslike for northerners used to snow and the sound of sleigh bells, everyone began to enter, however faintly at first, the spirit of the season.

The birth of Kevin Michael Thatche, Jr., as he had been named, proved to be a catalyst in more ways than one. Their obsession with O'Shannon broken for the time being, the settlers emerged from the dark mood into which they had fallen and began to look to the future. The men rented an empty lot to the north of town and took the wagons there to set up a semipermanent camp where everyone with the exception of the Thatches, who wanted to keep the baby inside for awhile, could live more cheaply than at Mama Flores's. All hands turned to the preparation for the christening. The women sewed, the men busied themselves making a crib, a cradle, and, though a year or two premature, a high chair. Mildred was beside herself with joy and spent those hours when she wasn't with her new son under the tutelage of Joan and Eustacia.

True, Nels, and the Campbell boys spent the last two days before Christmas roaming the city and inviting every American colonist they could find to a Christmas Eve service and, on Christmas day, Kevin, Jr.'s christening and christening party. Hogjaw waited until the day before Christmas to take Tommy Matlan into the hills and bring home a ten-foot-tall cedar. By the time Christmas Eve itself rolled around, the city was awash with celebration. Gunfire and the pop and whoosh of homemade fireworks filled the clear night air. At eleven, upwards of a hundred colonists watched respectfully as the procession carrying the baby Jesus to his creche in front of the cathedral wended its way through the streets. An hour later, at the same time Padre Salva was offering midnight mass for the predominately Catholic Mexican inhabitants of San Antonio, the settlers gathered in the circle of wagons for their own simple service of prayer and thanksgiving. Stars twinkled overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote sang a forlorn accompaniment to their spirited
Adeste Fidelis,
and then, as if hushed by the solemnity of the occasion, remained silent through Buckland Kania's reading of the traditional first nineteen verses of Luke.

“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.…”

Elizabeth stood next to True, her hand in his. She had heard for more years than she could remember the moving story of the birth of the baby Jesus, but this year it had taken on added significance. Not three paces in front of her, lying in his own cradle and cushioned by a straw-filled mattress, lay young Kevin. And as he suggested the Christ Child to her, he also awakened her own maternal instincts.

Suddenly, she knew she did not want to wait any longer. Her parents were dead. She had traveled some fifteen hundred miles, far from all that was familiar. She had neither quailed at the struggle nor begged for help. She had remained resolute in the face of calamity and loss, and had not allowed herself the luxury of collapse and dependency. She had been strong enough, had proved her own strength to herself. The promised land had turned out to be a chimera, but the man she had found was very real, and she loved him.

“But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart,” Reverend Kania said, finishing the text that Elizabeth had barely heard. “Let us pray. Oh, God, tonight we celebrate the birth of Thy Son, who Thou in Thy infinite wisdom and mercy and love sent to us that night so long ago.…”

Elizabeth bowed her head and folded her hands, but could not, try though she might, concentrate on Reverend Kania's prayer. True was too much on her mind. His presence, the barely discernible movement of his chest as he breathed, the feel of his hand linked with hers. Here was the miracle that had borne the human race down all its years of passion, turmoil, and strife.

The miracle was love.

Cash money was a scarce commodity, but a truly joyous Christmas had never depended on money. The children had decorated the tree during the hours before the service, with Hogjaw as their overseer. The women had cooked venison roasts and vegetables and baked pies and cakes. And before slipping away for the night, parents surreptitiously placed wrapped packages around the base of the tree, which stood in the center of the circled wagons.