Land of the Free (36 page)

“The Osage Trace is no place
for a white woman alone.”

“I am not a white woman,
Brigitte. That is exactly why I am going home.”

“I should have said a woman
alone. Come up to the house and we will discuss it.”

“You will not talk me out of
it.”

“I was not planning to try.
Come along.”

The two women stepped
carefully onto the plank walkway and headed toward the big,
three-story house.

In 1796, Brigitte’s husband,
Jean Pierre Chouteau of St. Louis, Missouri, established this
trading post at the junction of the Grand Neosho River and Saline
Creek to trade with the Osage Indians. By 1804 he was the richest
man in the region and founded the St. Louis Missouri Fur Company.
With homes in St. Louis, New Orleans and now at Saline Creek
Settlement, Jean Pierre, Brigitte, and the rest of the Chouteau
family were a powerful political force in the West.

As the two women reached the
house, they were met by a small man wearing a cutaway
suit.

“Please tell Consuelo to
draw a hot bath for Mrs. Van Buskirk.”

“Right away, Madam,” he
replied.

“And when she has finished,
tell her to find something of mine that will fit Mrs. Van Buskirk.
Something appropriate for dinner. We will consider the rest of her
wardrobe later.”

“Yes, Madam.” He held the
door for the women then crossed the foyer toward the rear of the
house.

“You have indoor plumbing?”
Marina asked in surprise. “With a bathtub?”

“And a water heater,”
Brigitte said proudly. “You will stay with us tonight, of course,
and then if you are still set in your plans, Jean Pierre will
arrange for a man to escort you tomorrow.”

“That is very kind,
Brigitte, but I will not hear of it.”

“Well, let me show you to
your room and after you have bathed and dressed we will have
tea.”

~

“The trip to Santa Fe is
long and difficult,” Brigitte said as the maid served them
tea.

“I thought you were not
going to try to talk me out of it.”

“I just want to be sure you
know what you are in for.”

“I have made the journey
twice.”

“Not along the Osage
Trace.”

“I am going, Brigitte, and
nothing you can say will deter me.”

“Very well. I do not suppose
it would be polite of me to ask why you have made this startling
decision.”

Marina waited until the maid
had left the room then leaned closer to Brigitte. “I had an affair.
John found out and has made my life a living hell.”

“The beast. He has no room
to stand in judgment.”

“Why? Has he been unfaithful
to me?”

“Oh, I would not know about
that. I was speaking of his mother. She and Betsey Loring
scandalized Philadelphia and New York while John’s father was at
war. If his father could forgive her, surely he can forgive you one
little misstep.”

Marina considered correcting
Brigitte about Anna but decided against it.

“Ah, I see,” Brigitte said,
after a moment. “The man is in New Mexico and you are going to
him.”

“No.” Marina shook her head.
“The man is in Rhode Island and engaged to be married. In fact he
may well be married already.”

Brigitte sipped her tea.
“Are you still in love with him?”

“I never loved him. But he
raised such a heat in me that…” She waved her hands. “A woman like
you would never understand.”

Brigitte laughed. “A woman
like me? Now that is a subject that I do not wish to discuss. Not
now in any event.” She poured tea into Marina’s cup. “What do you
hope to find in New Mexico?”

“Myself. I have become a
wife and a mother and have lost me.”

Brigitte waited for Marina
to continue.

“I find a new gray hair
every day. I have little wrinkles around my eyes. My breasts are
beginning to sag.”

“If going to New Mexico will
cure those things I will go with you.”

Marina chuckled. “I know I
sound silly and don’t expect you to understand.”

“I can understand you
wanting to see your parents again or going to pursue your lover
but, to be honest, leaving your husband and children makes
absolutely no sense to me.”

Marina shrugged. “My husband
hardly notices me and my children hate me so I am going home for a
fresh start.”

“A fresh start?”

“Yes. I want to be admired
again as I once was.” She smiled. “I miss the days when I could
stop conversation by walking into a room. Do you know what I
mean?”

Brigitte shook her head. “I
have never had that kind of power.”

Marina sighed. “I may never
have it again but I am going home and nothing can stop
me.”

June 29, 1812

New Orleans,
Louisiana

Governor William Charles
Cole Claiborne shook hands with Yank. “I wanted to tell you before
the news became public that the United States has declared war on
Great Britain.” He gestured toward a chair.

“I can’t pretend to be
surprised,” Yank said, accepting the chair.

Claiborne sat down beside
Yank. “Conventional opinion is that the battles will be fought in
the Northwest and on the Great Lakes and there will be no threat to
Louisiana.”

“That might be correct if we
defeat them there,” Yank replied. “But I don’t see that happening.
At least not fast enough to keep them from trying to control the
Mississippi.”

“That’s what I figure too.”
Claiborne folded his hands. “Would you consider resigning your U.
S. commission to take command of the State Militia,
Yank?”

“No, sir. If the country is
going to war I need to take my children home and go where the
battles are.”

“Then you may be back sooner
than you think.”

“I’ll be here if I’m needed
here, Governor.”

“What’re you going to do
about Marina?”

“Nothing.”

“Brigitte Chouteau saw her
at Saline Creek Settlement in the Indian Territory. Brigitte told
me that Marina arrived there on a whiskey boat with no luggage and
no money and that she left the next day with a guide that Jean
Pierre hired, bound for Santa Fe.”

“When Marina left I couldn’t
leave my children here alone and abandon my duties as an army
officer to chase her down. Now, with the country at war…” He
shrugged. “I’ll see Jean Pierre, thank him and repay whatever he
spent.”

“If you’ll reconsider and
take command of the State Militia, Clarissa and I will look after
your children while you go fetch Marina.”

Yank shook his head. “Marina
made her decisions without consulting me. She’s on her
own.”

July 24, 1812

Las Cocinitas, Nuevo
México

Not quite half way between
Albuquerque and Santa Fe, on El Camino Real, the village of Las
Cocinitas was a string of high-walled haciendas that stretched
along the banks of the Rio Grande. At the center of eight pueblos,
the town was a trading hub between the Spanish and Indians after
the conquest and remained so through the Pueblo and Mexican
revolutions.

Marina pulled the rope at
the gate and heard the bell ring in the courtyard. The gate was
much smaller than she remembered but the cotton-wood trees were
bigger.

“Who is it?” a male voice
asked from behind the big wooden gate.

“My name is Marina Elena
Cortés López de Van Buskirk. I once, long ago, lived here with my
family.”

The lock on the inside of
the gate rattled, then the gate opened to reveal an old man with a
long, drooping, white mustache who was gaping at her wide-eyed.
“Little Marina? Is it really you?”

She saw something vaguely
familiar in the face. “Papá?”

“No, no. I am Juan the
gardener. Do you not remember me?”

She shook her
head.

“No matter. Come, come.” He
backed up and beckoned to her, then closed and locked the
gate.

“Does my family still live
here?” she asked, examining the wide hacienda.

“Yes, yes. Your mother and
father still do. Your sisters and brothers have their own homes.
Everyone has thought that you were dead, these many
years.”

“Are they here? My mother
and father?”

“Yes, yes. But they are
still asleep.”

Marina glanced toward the
sun. “It is nearly noon.”

He shrugged. “They like to
sleep late in the morning and stay awake late into the night. Come
to the kitchen and we will send a maid to wake them.” He started
toward the house, beckoning to her encouragingly as he walked.
“Lupe is still the cook. You remember Lupe, no?”

“Of course,” she
lied.

“Lupe wept for days when the
Apache took you. As we all did.”

“I wept for years.” She was
looking at the house and grounds, trying to reconcile what she saw
with her vague memories.

“Nothing has changed, no?”
Juan asked.

“I can hardly
remember.”

“It will come back,” he
said. “Come, come. Lupe will be so glad to see you. Come.” He held
the kitchen door open and beckoned her in.

Lupe, who proved to be a
shapeless Pueblo squaw of indeterminate age, went into mild
hysterics when Juan told her who Marina was. She created such a
fuss that, until her mother touched her arm, Marina failed to
notice her parents when they came into the kitchen dressed in their
night clothes.

When her mother put her arms
around her and began to weep, Marina patted the woman’s back
uncomfortably and looked at her father’s stern face, trying to read
his expression.

“Come into the salón,” he
said, then left the room.

“Is Papá angry that I have
come home, Mamá?” Marina asked in a bewildered tone.

Her mother released Marina
and looked into the house. “He does not speak of you.”

“Why?”

Her mother hesitated. “He
knows something of your life in New Orleans.”

“Does he?” Marina replied
sharply. “He knows but did nothing to rescue me?”

“He has old world ideas,
Marina.”

“Then he can keep them.
Goodbye, Mamá.” She started for the kitchen door.

“Wait, please,” her mother
wailed.

“No, Mamá. I will not. If
your husband went to all the effort that must have been necessary
to find me and then he left me in bondage, he is no longer my
father.”

“Delores lives in the next
hacienda.” Her mother pointed. “Go there and I will come to you as
soon as I can dress.”

~

Delores Cortés López de
Aragón was a beauty to rival Marina. Six years Marina’s junior she
had no memory of the sister who had been taken by the Apaches and
seemed disinterested in Marina’s return. Her husband, Enrique,
however, who had been twelve when Marina was taken, remembered her
well and was keenly interested. As they waited for Mrs. Cortés to
appear, Enrique sat too close to Marina on the couch while Delores
sat across the room, knitting.

“I would prefer not to
discuss it, Enrique,” Marina said, trying to back away.

“Just tell me one thing,” he
replied in a low tone of voice, checking to be sure that his wife
could not overhear. “Did the Indians ravish you?”

Marina gave him a look of
disgust. “I have been raped as many times as there are stars in the
skies,” she said loudly. “Do you find that
entertaining?”

“You must be cautious of my
husband, Sister,” Delores said. “He is a slavering dog and will
have his filthy paws all over you soon.”

Marina stood up. “I will
wait for our mother on the patio. Please keep your dog in the
hacienda.”

~

“This was a mistake, Mamá,”
Marina said over her mother’s sobs. “I am going to Santa Fe to find
work. When I am settled I will send you a message and you can visit
me.”

July 24, 1812

Washington, District of
Columbia

“I have promoted you to full
colonel,” President Madison said. “I should have done it much
sooner, but to be perfectly frank, it never occurred to me that I
have been your commanding officer all this time and thus
responsible for those kinds of decisions. You probably would be a
general by now had I not sidetracked you.”

Yank smiled at him. “I’m
very grateful, Mr. President. Until now, every promotion I’ve
received was because I was my father’s son.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”
Madison said, searching his desk for something. “I think you know
Colonel William Hull, the governor of the Michigan
Territory?”

“Yes, sir. That is, I have
met him. He knew my father and was in several of the same battles
as was my father.”