Michener, James A. (139 page)

When the general arrived, a big, fleshy man with European manners, he put the wives at ease: 'My wife and I were warned that you were closing down. That's why we hurried.' And from his wagon he produced hampers of food, enough for all the troops.

He was General Yancey Quimper, sixty-two years old, hero not only of San Jacinto but now of Monterrey as well, and as always, a soldier whose first thought was for the welfare of his men: 'Feed the troops, Captain Reed, and while they feast let me explain why we've come so far to pay you honor.'

He personally broke open the hampers of beef and duck, arranging a separate table for the four black cavalrymen left behind as guards, and while they toasted him in beer from the two barrels he provided, he told the Reeds and the Wetzels: This gracious lady who stands at my side is none other than the widow of Captain Sam Garner, for whom your fort was named. And those two fine men slicing the beef were Garner's sons. They're mine now, for I adopted them, and they bear the name of Quimper.' He said this grandiloquently, as if by taking away the honorable name of Garner and bestowing upon them the dubious one of Quimper, he had somehow conferred dignity.

'And that stalwart opening the beer keg is my birth-son James, who merits congratulations, for last week he became a father.'

Mrs. Quimper, a gracious lady who said little, leaving explanations to her voluble husband, did slip in a word: The general thought it would be proper for us to pay our respects to the fort before it was abandoned,' and her husband broke in: 'I'll wager you've seen a lot of action here.' His lively hands imitated the thrust and parry of cavalry actions.

He made a favorable impression on Wetzel, who said at the conclusion of Quimper's explanation of how his troops had managed the two mountains at Monterrey: 'General, you have a better understanding of uphill attack than anyone I've met in America,' to which Quimper replied: 'It comes from study . . . and experience.' He also explained how the Texas troops had managed to hold the lunette at Vicksburg, 'which was a very ugly show, I can tell you.'

Mrs. Reed, who followed military conversations closely, realized that Quimper never claimed that he had actually been at either Monterrey or Vicksburg, and she was about to query this point when the general delighted everyone by announcing that he had brought a surprise for 'the commanding officer of our Garner fort,'

and after a signal to one of his sons, a large package was brought in and delivered to Reed.

'Open it, sir!' Quimpcr cried. 'Open it so we can sec 1 ' And when Reed did, out came a pair of glistening military hoots, fawn-colored and decorated with embossed eagles, swords and the word texas in silver.

'They're genuine Quimpers,' Yancey said. 'Fightin' boots for fightin' men, and it's a privilege to deliver them to the commander of our fort.'

'But how did you get my size?'

'Ah-ha! Did you by chance miss a pair of your old army b<

Reed looked at his wife, who shrugged her shoulders 'Don't stare at her,' Yancey bellowed. 'It was him,' and he pointed at Wetzel, who confessed that five months ago he had purloined the boots in order to make this happy occasion possible.

On the next day Quimpcr disclosed his purpose in coining so far: he asked to see the girl Emma Larkin, and when she was produced he spoke directly: 'I should like to purchase the land which the courts have awarded you.'

'The courts awarded me nothing,' Emma said, staring at him. 'I've always owned it. My parents patented it in 1869.'

'Yes, but since you were a minor and an orphan, the courts . . .'

'They gave me nothing,' she repeated, and it was obvious that Quimpcr was not going to have an easy time with this young woman.

'You have six thousand acres, mas o menos as we say m Old Mexico, more or less.'

'Why would you wish to buy?'

'We have a saying: "If you acquire enough land in Texas, something good will surely happen." With the money I give you, you can live easily, in town somewhere.' He explained that he was prepared to offer ten cents an acre, slightly above the going rate: That would mean six hundred dollars, and you could do wonders with six hundred dollars.'

When she said no, he raised his bid to twelve cents, and when she still refused, he said: 'Because of the heroism of your family, twelve and a half cents. That's seven hundred fifty dollars, a princely sum for a young girl like you.' But as the evening closed. she was still refusing.

When she returned to the Wetzel quarters, the others argued with her, telling her that with $750 she could buy a good house-in Jacksborough and learn to sew or help in other ways. It never

occurred to them or her that she might one day marry, or even have children. She would always be a homeless waif, and they wished for her own good to see her settled: 'We'll be leaving in a few days, you know. You certainly can't live alone in a great empty fort like this, even if you do own it.' But she would not consent.

In the morning the Quimpers, the Wetzels and the Reeds combined to try to make her see the advisability of accepting the general's offer, but she rebuffed them: 'This is the land my father settled. My whole family paid a terrible price for it. I paid a terrible price. And I will not surrender it, not even if I have to live here with coyotes.'

Nothing could be said to dislodge her, and she was dismissed, as if she were seven instead of seventeen.

When she was gone, Reed asked Quimper if he would like to see the fort as it had functioned in its glory years, and when Yancey said with pomp: 'I would appreciate seeing how our fort operated,' off they went, taking the Quimper sons with them.

Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Wetzel were left to entertain Mrs. Quimper, and this was a pleasing arrangement, for it gave the fort women a chance to clarify certain obscurities. Louise Reed started the questions: 'I wasn't aware that your husband had been at Monterrey, your present husband, that is.'

Bertha Wetzel broke in: 'Of course we knew about your first husband, a great hero. We had a pamphlet to educate the troops about the man for whom their fort was named.'

Mrs. Quimper was eager to talk once more with military wives who understood the intricacies of a soldier's life: 'When General Quimper married me, and I was most gratified to find a man so gentle and so helpful. . . You've seen my first two sons. They were on their way to becoming little ruffians when he stepped in to make men of them. I'll be forever grateful.'

'You were saying that when you married . . .' Mrs. Reed rarely allowed a visitor to leave a thought unfinished.

'Looking back, I can now see that he was a big, formless man with no character. But when he married me he found himself with a ready-made character, my husband's. He began to dress like him, speak like him. He stood straighter, learned military talk. He took my sons and gave them his name. And soon he was talking incessantly about Sam Garner's exploits at Monterrey. But soon it was "our exploits," and before long, "my exploits." One night I heard him explain to a group of generals how he had charged the Bishop's Palace atop that Monterrey hill. He had also been very brave at Vicksburg. He adopted me, and my sons, and my dead

husband's military career.' She held her palms up and smile he is now both my first husband and my second '

'But he did this from a solid foundation/ Mrs Re< 'San Jacinto and all.'

Mrs. Quimper laughed: 'Right after the battle, m\ told me about Quimper and his capture of Santa Anna The Mexican was hiding in the bushes. His ragged clothing Yancey think he was a mere peon, but they took him in and onlv later learned who he was.'

'With such behavior,' Mrs. Wetzel asked, 'how did he become a general?'

'Very simple. One day he announced to the world: "I am a general," and Texas was so hungry for heroes, they allowed him to be a general.'

Mrs. Reed poured Mrs. Quimper a second cup of tea, thei very quietly: 'Have you heard about Lewis Renfro's heroic rescue of that young woman you just saw, the Larkin girl 7 '

'Everybody's heard. Texas papers were filled with little else.'

'The same.'

Mrs. Quimper looked first at Mrs. Reed, who was smiling, then at Mrs. Wetzel, who was laughing outright, and their humor was so infectious that she had to smile, even though she did not understand the reason. 'You mean'—she fumbled for a word that would not be too condemnatory of her husband—'that he was also a gentle fraud?'

Now Mrs. Wetzel could not contain herself: 'This wonderful colored soldier, no neck, could fight anyone. He rescued Emma Larkin from six Comanche.' She collapsed in laughter

'Yes,' Mrs. Reed said. 'Our very brave cavalry sergeant did just that.'

Mrs. Wetzel told the rest: 'So then our hero, Lewis Renfro, Commander in Chief of Desk Forces, he rides up, recognizes the girl, grabs her, and grabs the glory.'

The three women chuckled at the follies of the self-appointed heroes whose antics they had observed, and when Mrs. W'et/.el began to gasp for air, the other two broke into very unladvlike guffaws.

When the Quimpers departed, with Yancey pleased at having seen his fort but dismayed by his failure to acquire the land, Mrs. Reed resumed the task of closing down the post, and as she moved from building to building she saw many things to remind her of the good work she had done in transforming this lonely outpost into a haven of civilization. In this stone building she had organized the social teas for each new wife; in a corner of that building

she had arranged for everyone to place his extra books so that a library might be started; in this small garden, fertilized with manure from the stables, she had grown flowers for the hospital; and in the dead-house she had made the disfigured corpses acceptable before their friends or families saw them. In the chapel she had persuaded her husband to conduct prayers when there was no regular chaplain; and on Suds Row she had helped when babies had the croup.

Most important, she had been the guiding spirit in converting this mud outpost into a square-cornered fort of limestone. It had lasted, in its complete form, only three years, but she resolved that if her husband was now assigned to a newly established fort, probably some leagues to the west where the settlers were probing, she would encourage him to build of stone from the start: 'We live in any place only briefly, George. They may laugh and ask us as we depart: "Why did you take the trouble to build of stone?" If they don't understand that this was the home of two hundred soldiers, I'll not be able to explain.' She did not weep as they departed, but she did keep looking backward until Bear Creek disappeared, and the Brazos, and the tops of the buildings at the fort, and she kept doing so until only the vast plains and its endless blue-sky were visible.

These eventful days had been difficult for Earnshaw Rusk, for the army despised him as a dreamer who refused to look facts in the face, and his own Quakers deplored him as a traitor who in panic had called in the soldiers to settle a temporary difficulty that could have been handled by negotiation.

After his expulsion in disgrace from Camp Hope, he had tried living for a while at Jacksborough, but that robust settlement, where men resolved arguments with guns and fists, provided no place for a man like him. He had also tried the town that had grown up at the edges of Fort Griffin to the south, but that was a true hellhole whose shenanigans terrified him. Then he served as a night nurse in a field hospital at another fort, where his behavior at Camp Hope was not known, and now when he heard that Fort Garner was being disbanded, he came back to the scene of his humiliation.

He went, as he had long planned in his confused imagination, to the house once occupied by Captain Wetzel and his wife, and there he found Emma Larkin working alone as if she were living safely in the heart of some small town. She seemed adjusted to the problem of living without ears or nose, and when, after the first awkward greetings, he asked where she would make her home, she

replied in her soft whisper: 'Here at the fort I like it and it's nunc '

He accepted the tea she offered him in a cup left behind by the Wetzels, and she showed him how she had collected quite household items from the other departing officers 111 live.'

Sitting in the chair that was once Wetzel's favorite, he 1 his awkward speech: 'Emma, I've made a terrible mess of my life He did not say it, but she knew he intended to say And the< made a mess of thine. Or, other people made a mess tor thee Instead he plowed on: 'And I have been wondering .

He stopped. FVom that first day when he met this pitiful child he had speculated on what might happen to her. How could a human being so abused survive? How could she face the world 7 It was out of such wonderment that he had been impelled to carve the nose which she now wore. It had not been because of love, for he had no comprehension of that word and little understanding of the complex emotions it represented, but it was out of concern, and caring. And he was caring now.

Tve been wondering what thee would do . with thy protectors gone.' By this use of an inappropriate word—for this young woman required no protectors—he betrayed his line of reasoning: 'And I've thought . . .' He could not go on. Nothing in his lonely, bungling life had prepared him to speak the words that should he spoken now.

Emma Larkin, damaged and renewed as few humans would ever be, reached out, touched his hand, and used his first name for the first time: 'Earnshaw, I've been given this land, these buildh will need someone to help me.'

'Could I be thy helper?' he managed to stammer.

'Thee could, Earnshaw,' she whispered. 'Thee could ind<

. . . TASK FORCE

It was midsummer in Austin, and heat lav over the city like an oppressive blanket which intercepted oxygen and brought blazing discomfort. Day after day the temperature hovered close hundred degrees as a cloudless sky glared down like the inside of a superheated bronze bowl. Fish in the lovely lake kept toward the bottom where the sun's incessant beating was lessened if not [escaped, and in the countryside torpid cattle sought any vestige of

shade. It could be hot in Texas, and all who could afford it fled to New Mexico.