The Alamo Bride Page 11

  “Please, Lord,” she said aloud, “deliver him.” She paused and swiped at a tear. “Deliver us all.”

  The papers that were hidden inside the boot were a soggy mess, and the ink used to draw the map and complete the certificate was hopelessly smeared. The book of psalms had fared better, and she now held it in her lap.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to remember each detail of the map that had been ruined. First she drew the Brazos and then the tree that split. Not recalling the exact number of steps, she skipped that part and moved on. After a few more minutes, she had a fairly accurate depiction of the ruined map, at least as best as she could recall.

  She set the book aside. On nights like this when everything was quiet and she was home alone, Ellis loved to dig into the trunk beside Mama’s bed and pull out one of Maribel’s books. That would not happen tonight.

  Though she was exhausted, she knew sleep would not come easily. Too much had happened today.

  Still, she walked outside into the crisp night air and crossed over to the structure where her soft bed awaited. As she walked down the hall, she heard Clay call her name.

  “Yes,” she said. “It is me. Do you need something?”

  “To talk,” he said in Acadian French.

  Her fingers touched the cool metal of the carved silver doorknob Mama had brought over from New Orleans, but she did not turn the key. “Then talk,” she told him. “I can hear you just fine.”

  Silence fell between them, and Ellis felt certain Clay would not respond. After a moment, she turned away to go into her own bedchamber.

  “I have questions,” he said. “I don’t know how I got here. Have you already told me the story?”

  “In bits and pieces I suppose I have. I guess you do not recollect any of it?”

  “Not much.”

  His voice sounded far too close for him to be abed, but she had heard no footsteps. “You should not be out of bed, Clay.”

  “Bed is for sleeping. Either tell me about how I got here or tell me why you keep me a prisoner. Or are each of these things part of one story?”

  She let out a long breath. “The boys found you in a pirogue washed up into some reeds just off the edge of our property.”

  “In the river?” he asked as she heard the floorboards groan softly near the door.

  “Yes. What are you doing in there?”

  “Sitting down,” he told her. “Please continue.”

  “All right. We managed to get you onto the shore and up under the pecan tree where my mother could assess your wounds. There were three, but you’ve probably already discovered that. And one was worse than the others. She and I cleaned it out—actually Mama did and I watched mostly—and then we dressed the wound. The pirogue turned out to be one that was stolen from a neighbor’s home before you arrived in Velasco, so I know you are not the thief, although you may have purchased it from him.”

  “How do you know when I arrived in Velasco?”

  “I was in Velasco that day,” she told him. “I saw you get off the boat. The next morning is when the boys found you.”

  Silence fell between them. Then she heard him shift positions again. This time he stifled a groan.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I will be,” he said. “Why can’t I remember things?”

  “You had a head wound, likely from falling backward onto the wood when you were shot. Mama says those can cause memory loss.”

  “Is it temporary?”

  “It can be.” She thought of Mr. Jim. “There are other complications, but you’ve survived for more than a week, so it is doubtful there will be anything more.”

  “A week?” His voice, even through the door, held a tone of surprise. “I thought I’d been abed a day or perhaps two. There is somewhere else I should be, isn’t there?”

  She laughed. “Unless you had set out to end up on our property in our neighbor’s canoe, then yes, I would say so.”

  “November 18th.”

  Ellis froze. “What about it?” she said, noticing he had switched to English.

  “I am supposed to meet someone on that day. Do you know who that is?”

  “You told outlandish stories,” she said slowly. “They made no sense. So, with any assuredness that it is true, I would say I do not.”

  The truth, even though the story told in the back of her book certainly was an interesting one. Still, there was no proof other than his fevered ramblings and a now-ruined map.

  “Who are you?” he asked, surprising her.

  “What do you mean? Have you forgotten my name?”

  There was a moment of silence and then Clay said, “Are you the green-eyed woman?”

  What an odd question. “I am Ellis, and I do have green eyes.”

  “But are you the green-eyed woman?” His tone was more insistent. “The one who came to me in my sleep and told me things about myself. That green-eyed woman.”

  “How could I know things about you that you do not know about yourself?” she managed.

  Again the floor creaked. “Because all I know about myself is what I have been told by the green-eyed woman. Either you are she or she is a dream.”

  “I don’t know, Clay.” She sank down to the floor and leaned against the locked door. “You had fevers, and there were the medications given to you to help ease pain and cause sleep.”

  “What did I say to make you afraid of me?”

  She decided to tell the truth and see what he made of it. “You are working for someone important. Do you remember who that is?”

  “I am not sure,” he said.

  “And that is why I am afraid of you.”

  “Because I might harm you?”

  Her laughter held no humor. “No, Clay. You proved today that you would not harm me. But this person you work for, can you prove to me that he has not sent you on a mission to harm someone else?”

  When he said nothing, she rose and walked away.

  “Lightning strike, sir.”

  Clay faced the man, standing tall and trying not to sway. Through sheer will, he convinced the room to cease spinning so he could look Jean Paul Valmont in the eye.

  “So my granddaughter said.” He nodded to the two wooden chairs flanking the fireplace and indicated they should sit. “She is also convinced that while she is certain that she knows who you are, you do not. At least not completely.”

  “I have some recollections, although I am not certain which are authentic and which are not.”

  The well-dressed man gave Clay a sweeping glance and then shrugged. “You were quite ill. I saw this myself. Sophie and Ellis took good care of you, or you would not have lasted the first day.”

  So he had nearly died more than once this week. Sobering news, although given what happened yesterday during the fire, his life must still hold some purpose. If only he knew what that purpose might be.

  “You saved Ellis’s life.”

  The simple statement might have come from the man seated beside him, but perhaps that was the answer to his question of purpose. “I did what was necessary,” Clay said.

  Mr. Valmont seemed to consider the statement for a moment, and then he nodded. “Whatever else you know or do not know about yourself, you have the heart and mind of a hero. There is a concern here, though, regarding your allegiance. I don’t suppose you recall with any certainty just which side of our current conflict with Mexico you’re on?”

  Clay knew he could lie, but he would not. “With any certainty, no.”

  His companion leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “And therein lies the trouble.”

  “And the reason your granddaughter fears me.”

  “Yes.” Dark eyes narrowed. “So it appears we are at an impasse. You do not know what you do not know.” He paused. “Do you recognize Claiborne Gentry as the name you were given by your parents at birth?”

  “I do,” he said. “Though I did not at first. Now I have a recollection of signing that name to documents that were im
portant. Unfortunately, I have no idea what those documents were.”

  “So your memories are returning, then.”

  “Possibly, though I did first hear the name when your granddaughter informed me of it.” Clay paused to search for a way to adequately describe what happened. “The name didn’t seem to fit then. Now I know it is my name.”

  “Good. Well, that is progress. Perhaps the mind is healing as the body heals.” He sat back. “Would it surprise you to know that you’re a military man?”

  “Nothing surprises me right now,” Clay said.

  “A Grey newly arrived from New Orleans as of the day before you were found on my son’s property in his neighbor’s pirogue. I doubt you can explain anything of how you got from a cot at the fort to that pirogue, but that is apparently what happened. Ellis knows you to be a Grey because she watched you sign the roster and the certificate of Texas citizenship herself.”

  Clay turned over the statements in his mind and came up with a question. “What is a Grey?”

  “New Orleans Greys, son,” Mr. Valmont said. “First Company of Texian Volunteers from New Orleans. Here to fight for the side of the Texian army.”

  “And I am one of them?” Clay let this news settle in. “So my allegiance is to Texas.”

  Valmont nodded. “Based on what you signed at Velasco, it is.”

  “Then that is answer enough for me.” He shifted position and winced. “And you’re certain my wounds were not received in battle?”

  “Anything is possible in these uncertain times. But there was no battle on the day you were injured. An ambush, perhaps, but on the night you were shot, your comrades were back at the fort awaiting transport to Columbia the next day.”

  “I see.” He thought on this a moment. “Because I had no reason to be out, there are questions as to my reasons for leaving my post.”

  “There are.” He shrugged. “A mystery that I hope you’ll be able to solve very soon. Now, just one more thing. Do you speak English?”

  Clay frowned. “I thought I was.”

  Valmont shook his head. “Son, every word that’s come out of your mouth this morning has been in the Acadian language. I’ve just said that to you in Acadian French, but now I am speaking English. Can you tell the difference?”

  “No,” Clay managed.

  Valmont gave him an even look. “Ellis says you speak both. The man she fears, however, he speaks English.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” Clay said. “I just talk and …” He scrubbed at his face and then groaned at the jolt of pain the action caused. “I cannot account for any of this. However, you have my word that your granddaughter has nothing to fear from me.”

  “I don’t think she does either.”

  “Your family has been more than kind to me. Under the circumstances, I think it would be best if I went back to my company, but you have my word that I will send payment for whatever it has cost to care for me.”

  Valmont chuckled. “First off, I doubt you’ll catch them with that shoulder still needing care. And if you could catch them, they’d likely send you home as unfit for battle, don’t you think?” He paused as if to let that statement sink in. “And where exactly is home?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Exactly—so you do see the dilemma.”

  “I do. Perhaps I could work off my care, then? I am not the man I was before I was shot, but I am still strong and willing to work.”

  “I believe you’re willing to work, but your strength is something you’ll need to regain.” He let out a long breath. “However, my son left women, children, and an old man in charge of the chores when he and his eldest son went off to war. If they can find work they’re able to do here, then you can too.”

  “I would appreciate the chance to try,” Clay said.

  “Ellis won’t be happy with me for giving you the chance,” he said. “And I doubt Sophie will appreciate that the man who was abed for a week is suddenly up and around and being given chores.” Valmont gave him a sideways look. “Did she happen to give you any of her sleeping medication?”

  “I think that was mentioned,” he said. “Why?”

  “Because she keeps trying to ply it off on me to help me rest. I tried it once. Slept all night and half the next day. No wonder you’re having trouble recalling things.”

  Clay chuckled. “I do feel more alert than I have in a while.”

  “Well, just don’t let Ellis convince you to take any more of the vile concoction. It is excellent for keeping a man still when he is healing but terrible for allowing a man to get up and walk around or be of any use at all.”

  The perpetual fog that had surrounded him for all those days in the barn made sense now. “Duly noted. I am a soldier.” Clay paused. “I should also make plans for my return.”

  And for November 18. Whatever significance that date held, he felt strongly it was tied to his service as a Grey.

  “Word was sent when you were first found,” Valmont said. “These things take time to reach the proper authorities. I expect a response soon.”

  Clay nodded. “I may not remember much, but I do recall that I had a purpose in joining the Greys.”

  Valmont gave him a sharp look. “And what was that purpose?”

  Searching his mind, Clay finally shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Right.” He looked around the bedchamber and then back at Clay. “So the only question that remains is how fit are you, and when do you want to start working around here?”

  “I think the only way to know how fit I am is to give me a chore and see if I can master it. As to when, I think now is a good time.”

  “Very well.” Mr. Valmont rose, and Clay did the same. “I will speak to Ellis and let her know I am satisfied that she has no cause to fear you or your motives. Just one warning: at the first hint that I am wrong about you or that you are not a man whose intentions in this war are in agreement with mine, I will see that you are stopped, and that will be without regard to your life.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  “Good. Then we are in agreement.”

  Clay stuck out his hand, and Valmont shook it. “We are.”

  A moment later, Clay swayed. Valmont caught him. “Perhaps tomorrow is a better day to begin those chores.”

  He smiled. “Yes, perhaps.”

  “Stay here and make yourself at home,” he said. “There are books in the trunk if you find yourself bored. Just try and stay away from Ellis as best you can today.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Ellis stepped back from the door just in time to avoid being slammed by it. She held a dustrag in her hand, affecting the task of dusting the doorframe.

  “Come,” Grandfather Valmont told her. “You’ve heard all of it, so that will keep me from having to repeat.”

  “Not all,” she protested.

  He lifted one dark brow. “Dare I ask how much you missed?”

  She laughed. “How can I even answer that?”

  Her grandfather shook his head. “Well, child, the price of eavesdropping is that I will assume whatever you did not hear is something that was not meant for your ears in the first place. However, I will tell you that starting tomorrow, Mr. Gentry will be taking on some of the chores here.” She looked up sharply but said nothing. He had already heard all her protests on that subject.

  “You’re wondering why I would allow him this freedom with only women and children here?”

  “I was, actually.” Ellis paused to consider how best to air her doubts without disrespecting her grandfather. “I understand you’ve made your decision, but don’t you think Mama should have some say in the matter?” she finally asked.

  “Your mother is not here,” he said in that matter-of-fact manner he took when a decision was final. “I have forbidden her to return for the time being. She is exhausted and needs a rest. What? You look surprised.”

  “That she is exhausted? No. That is obvious. I’m just surprised she
actually obeyed your order.”

  “She saw the logic in my argument,” he told her. “As will you.”

  Ellis shook her head. “Me? What do you mean?”

  “Come with me.”

  Grandfather Valmont linked arms with Ellis and led her outside onto the porch between the buildings. The air was a bit cooler this morning, and the once-welcome breeze that drifted through in early August was less welcome in late October.

  Ellis shrugged into her rebozo, shivering as much from the chill of the air as from the scent of burned wood that it contained. The same scent that permeated her scarf and her best dress.

  Her grandfather moved toward the edge of the porch to the place where Papa liked to stand to survey his land. “Land is the only thing worth dying for”—that was what Papa used to say. “When a man owns land, especially a piece of this wild Texas land, then he owns something worth keeping.”

  Worth fighting for.

  Grandfather motioned for Ellis to join him. “It is good news about Mr. Jim, yes? Sophie said that bump on the head might have been fatal.”

  “It is very good news,” Ellis said. “I hope he is well enough to return to work soon. Is that selfish? I’ve missed him, and I know Mama has too.”

  When Grandfather did not immediately respond, Ellis looked up to see an expression on his face that gave her cause for concern. “What is it? Is there more to Mr. Jim’s injury than you’re telling me? He isn’t coming back, is he?”

  “Oh, he will come back,” Grandfather Valmont said. “Of this I am certain. In fact, I believe he has negotiated a pay increase and has convinced one of his grandsons to join him here for the winter.”

  “Well, that is good news.” Ellis relaxed her worries. “An extra set of hands will be most welcome.”

  “Speaking of that, I don’t think we finished our discussion on Mr. Gentry. I will be supervising any chores he is given. Trusting the man and allowing him to be alone with my granddaughter are two very different things. He will work as he can manage it here until he can return to the Greys. That is the offer I have made to him just now, and he is in agreement.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “But aren’t you needed at the shipyard?”