Home of the Brave (29 page)

“Well, sir, she insists that
she has an appointment with you.”

Jackson looked at his
calendar then at the staffer. “When did she make the appointment
and with who?”

“She says she made it with
you, Mr. President. In 1778.”

“1778? I was in…” Jackson
looked puzzled for another moment and then put down his steel nib
pen. “Show her in please.” He got up, walked around his desk and
waited until the door opened. “I was grieved to hear of your
husband’s passing, Mrs. Van Buskirk.” He kissed Nannette’s hand
gallantly. “Please have a seat and I’ll order tea.”

“No thank you, Andrew. I
have a ship to catch and need only a minute of your
time.”

He dismissed the aide with a
nod. “Well.” He looked at the clock. “You can sit for a few
minutes, can’t you?”

“A few, perhaps.” She
accepted the offered chair.

Jackson looked out the
window. “The promise I made to you in 1778 is going to be very
difficult for me to keep, under my current
circumstances.”

“I came here to release you
from it. When we took that oath neither of us could have imagined
that you would be so famous.”

“Perhaps I
could…”

“No.” She stopped him with a
raised hand. “Your presence at Tarleton’s funeral would attract
attention to him. He should be buried in obscurity and noted by
few.”

Jackson took the chair next
to her. “How will you do it?”

“Have you ever heard of a
potion called curare?”

He nodded. “The dart
poison.”

“It isn’t poison. It causes
paralysis. Life can be sustained indefinitely with artificial
respiration. He will feel pain and hear all that I have to say
before I let him go.”

“Where is he?”

“He lives in
Leintwardine.”

“Where’s that?”

“In Shropshire.”

“Wales?”

“I think it’s in England,
but I’m not sure. It hardly matters. I’ll find him wherever he
is.”

“He has a wife I believe?
The daughter of the Duke of Lancaster?”

“He hasn’t lived with her in
many years. At last report, he was living with Mary Robinson who
is, or was, an English actress of some note. He seduced her on a
bet in 1799.”

“She has no part in
this.”

“No. I’ll find a way to keep
her out of it. I’m in no particular hurry.”

“What will you do
after?”

“Return to
Paris.”

“Paris? You have a family
here.”

“They’re Thomas’s family. I
only borrowed them during my American adventure, and now that’s
over.”

March 12, 1833

San Antonio de Béxar,
Texas

They were seated in
cushioned chairs in the back of a large covered wagon. The wagon
was following a rough trail along the river heading north. A small
pack train followed it and fifteen armed and mounted men ranged in
front and on both sides.

“What’s that badge you’re
wearing, Thomas?” Marina asked.

“Oh it’s
nothing.”

“It looks like something,”
she insisted.

“We formed Committees of
Correspondence and Safety. I’m a member.”

“Where have I heard that
term before?” she asked.

“Before the Revolutionary
War,” Yank said. “The Committees of Correspondence and Safety
organized citizen resistance like the Boston Tea party.”

“Are you and your committees
contemplating a revolution, Thomas?” Marina asked.

“There are nearly forty
thousand people here in Texas, Mother,” Thomas said, “and less than
eight thousand of them are of Mexican descent. We should have the
right to self-rule.”

“Self rule?” Yank asked. “Or
secession from Mexico to join the United States?”

“We’ve declared ourselves as
a separate and independent Mexican state but there’s no serious
effort to join the United States.”

“The New York papers
mentioned some armed conflicts,” Yank said.

“They haven’t amounted to
anything,” Thomas replied. “Now with Santa Anna as president,
things should cool down.”

“You would be wise not to
depend on Santa Anna,” Yank said. “The man is a snake.”

“You know him?” Thomas
asked.

“I know of him and I know
that he has no honor.”

“Where are you getting your
information?” Thomas asked.

“Sam Houston. Do you know
him?”

“Yes. But I didn’t realize
that you did.”

“He was with Jackson at
Horseshoe Bend and we became friends.”

“All I want to know is if
we’ve walked into another damned war,” Marina said.

“No,” Thomas answered
forcefully. “All we want is to be recognized as separate and
independent from the state Coahuila y Tejas.”

“Good,” Marina said. “We
came here to get away from all that.”

“I have some other news,”
Thomas said. “Jane’s going to have a baby.”

“It’s about time,” Yank said
with a grin.

“Anna lost hers again.”
Thomas said. “I don’t know if you got that news.”

“No,” Marina said, shaking
her head sadly. “We hadn’t heard that. Poor Anna. How did she take
it?”

“She took it better than
Jane both times,” Thomas replied. “Jane cried for days and Anna
went back to building their new house with Charlie.”

“What’s he like?” Yank
asked.

“Charlie?” Thomas shrugged.
“I can’t really say. Marriage changed him more than anyone could
have imagined.”

“Is he good to Anna?” Marina
asked.

Thomas nodded. “He adores
her and Quincy.”

“And do they adore him?” she
asked.

“Yes.” Thomas smiled.
“Quincy calls him dad and follows him everywhere.”

“That’s good,” Yank said
with a broad smile. “Anna deserves something good in her life. Did
you hear about Senator Carver?”

“Quincy’s father?” Thomas
shook his head. “What about the bastard?”

“He’s dead,” Yank replied.
“Killed himself.”

Thomas looked at Marina.
“Really?”

Marina met his gaze blandly.
“Yes. He was caught in a sex scandal, his wife left him and he
killed himself.”

“It makes one believe in
God,” Yank added.

Thomas laughed. “Or
something all powerful.”

September 17,
1833

San Antonio de Béxar,
Texas

Yank was sitting in a wooden
chair watching a small herd of deer when one of the animals woofed.
A moment later, they were all gone.

Marina let the screen door
slam. “You can come in now. The screaming’s over.”

He got up and walked toward
her. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy. His name is
Paul.”

“Paul? Who in our family is
named Paul?”

“Jane’s father.”

“Oh,” he chuckled. “Of
course. Where is he, by the way?”

“He’s a bigger coward than
you. I think you’ll find him in the barn.”

Yank grinned. “I’ll go tell
him he’s a grandpa.”

“Take Anna with
you.”

He gave her a curious look.
“Why?”

“She may need to talk to
you.”

“Oh. Sure. Send her
out.”

Marina went into the house
and a short time later, Anna joined Yank on the porch.

“Who does he look like?”
Yank asked.

“Nobody we know.” Anna
smiled. “He looks like a little Indian. He has dark spiky hair and
eyes as black as coal.”

“I was going to tell Paul.
Do you want to come with me?”

“Sure.”

He put his arm around her
and walked slowly down the steps. “How are you, little girl of
mine?”

“I’m fine, Father. Everyone
thinks that Jane’s baby is going to make me sad but I’m
happy.”

“You’re a tough one. Just
like your mother.”

“I’m tough. Mother’s not.
She just doesn’t care about anybody.”

“She cares but she doesn’t
want to and goes to great lengths to prove that she
doesn’t.”

“Why?”

“Who can imagine what it was
like for her when she was a girl? The scars are deep.”

“I’m not sure how you’ve
tolerated her all these years.”

“I love her.”

Anna was silent for a few
paces before looking up at him. “What about Annabelle Priest? Do
you love her too?”

He nodded. “But she’s not my
wife.”

“I may never understand you,
Father.”

“Maybe not. But that hardly
matters now.”

September 30,
1834

San Felipe de Austin,
Texas

Thomas and Yank were just
leaving the saddle shop when a young ensign from the Texas militia
approached them. “Colonel Van Buskirk?” The militiaman
asked.

“Yes, Ensign,” Thomas
replied.

“Captain Martin sends his
respects, sir.”

“Albert Martin, from
Gonzales?” Thomas asked.

“Yes, sir. He asks that you
come and bring any men you have with you.”

“What’s the trouble?” Yank
asked.

“Last week a Mexican
corporal and five soldiers from the Alamo showed up in Gonzales
demanding that we give them our cannon. This was not agreed. And
then, day before yesterday, a hundred dragoons under command of
Colonel Francisco de Castañeda arrived. Captain Martin buried the
cannon and sent some of us off to gather reinforcements. He’s
stalling by telling Castañeda that Andrew Ponton, the alcalde, is
out of town. But that won’t work for very long.”

Thomas nodded then turned to
his father. “The Alamo, under command of Colonel Domingo de
Ugartechea, is the biggest fort around here.”

“I know.” Yank nodded. “Why
does the town of Gonzales even have the cannon in the first place?”
he asked the ensign.

“The cannon is really the
property of the DeWitt Colony, sir,” the ensign said. “That area on
the San Marcos and Guadalupe made the settlement a target for the
Karankawa, Tonkawa, and Comanches. They destroyed it in the summer
of ‘26. The next year Empresario DeWitt made peace with the
Karankawa and Tonkawa, but he couldn’t with the Comanche. He asked
the Alamo for troops but they couldn’t spare any and they sent us a
little 6-pounder instead.”

“Do you know why the
Mexicans suddenly want it back?” Yank asked.

“Yes, sir,” the ensign
replied. “On the 10
^th
of this month a Mexican soldier attacked a local
man over a card game. Everybody else in the game said that the
Mexican soldier was just angry because he lost and had no good
reason to do it. Some people went to the Alamo to complain to
Ugartechea and that’s when Ugartechea sent the detachment back to
take the cannon.” He looked at Thomas. “Will you come,
sir?”

Thomas shook his head. “A
6-pounder’s not worth starting a war over.”

“I disagree,” Yank said.
“The tipping point of the American Revolutionary War was when the
British tried to confiscate weapons and powder from the colonials.
The Battle of Bunker Hill was the result. My grandfather resigned
from the British army a few days later.”

“So you think I should take
my men to Gonzales and get into a fight over some little cannon
that’s only good for scaring away crows from the corn?” Thomas
asked in amazement.

“No, of course not, Son,”
Yank said. “You can do what you want. But I’m going with this man
to help the people of Gonzales keep their cannon.”

October 1, 1835

Gonzales, Texas

“Captain Martin,” Yank said
as he rode into the camp. “I’m John Van Buskirk. I met your ensign
in San Felipe and he said that you might need some help.” He
dismounted and stretched his aching back.

“Yes, sir, we might need a
lot of help. Is your son coming?”

“No. He only had a few men
with him.”

Martin looked as if he
wanted to say something but changed his mind. “Castañeda with about
a hundred to hundred and fifty dragoons are camped on that high
ground.” He pointed to a hill about three hundred yards on the
other side of the river. “They’ve been scouting along here looking
for a place where they can charge across.”

“Is there such a
place?”

“No, sir. This is the widest
ford. To cross here they’ll have to stay in a column of one or
two.”

“If your men are any good
you can stop them here.”

“My men are good enough to
shoot a deer or a wild cow for their supper but they’re not trained
to reload under fire like your son’s militia.”

“Where else might the
Mexicans cross?”