The Red Ripper (20 page)
Authors: Kerry Newcomb
“I am the widow maker! El Destripedor Rojo! Come and reap the whirlwind!” William pounced upon them like some great hunting beast. Old Butch and Bonechucker were his fangs and claws. They tore through flesh, carved bone, until Wallace was crimson to the elbows. A man died from a slashed throat, another from a thrust to the heart. A soldier cursed and fired a shot that William dodged; then he ran the man through and left him dying on the hard earth.
The remaining defenders broke and ran. They had seen enough of the Ripper to last them a lifetime. Wallace in his blood rage would have followed the survivors had not Mama Gavia emerged from the ruined facade of her hotel and swatted the Texican across the backside with a long-handled broom.
“See what you have done! My beautiful Casa del Oro. You clumsy oaf! Be off with you. All of you!” The silver-haired
mamacita
batted one of the grenadiers who stumbled out of the wreckage and sent him reeling on his way. Then she turned her wrath once more upon William, who managed to parry a couple of irregular blows from the broom. He wiped the grit and powdered rock from his features and retreated out of harm's way.
mamacita
batted one of the grenadiers who stumbled out of the wreckage and sent him reeling on his way. Then she turned her wrath once more upon William, who managed to parry a couple of irregular blows from the broom. He wiped the grit and powdered rock from his features and retreated out of harm's way.
“Your pardon, señora. It was, sadly, necessary. But your sacrifice will not go unrewarded.”
“Ohhhh!” She charged him, broom raised like a club, her black dress catching on the rubble as she swatted and thrashed the air inches from his nose. Wallace leaped the remains of the redoubt and collided with Bowie and Chuy Montoya and the advancing rebels. More than one man stopped to clap Wallace on the shoulder. They owed him their lives. He forced his way clear and put some distance between himself and the irate proprietress. Mama Gavia continued to harangue anyone within broom's length.
“What are you running from, Big Foot?” Bowie grinned.
“Reinforcements,” Wallace replied, indicating the diminutive señora. “She's as feisty as a game hen, too.”
“Well done, my young friend!” Don Murillo Saldevar called out as he limped forward from the battleground that had been the market place. The remainder of the rebel column continued to roust the soldiers from the surrounding buildings. Most of the defenders had lost their stomach for the fight once the redoubt had been destroyed and were filing out of the buildings with their hands raised.
The
haciendado
read the concern in Wallace's eyes. “Just a little scratch.” He indicated the crude bandage about his thigh. “Nothing to worry about.”
haciendado
read the concern in Wallace's eyes. “Just a little scratch.” He indicated the crude bandage about his thigh. “Nothing to worry about.”
William nodded, relieved.
“Where to?” Bowie asked, unsheathing his own famous blade.
“Cos ordered me brought to the garrison gate,” Wallace said. “I'd hate to disappoint the general.”
And so began a most peculiar parade. Wallace led the way, but he did not walk alone. Don Murillo, Chuy Montoya, and Jim Bowie were with him, then the rest of the men from the
mercado,
and the ranks swelled. The column doubled in size as they proceeded down the Camino Real driving the remaining troops before them. Bill Travis, Ken Kania, and Roberto Zavala at the head of another column joined them at the banks of the San Antonio River. Kania no longer resembled a mild-mannered merchant. His shirt was torn, his cheeks powder-burned, and his knuckles raw and bleeding. He had endured his baptism of fire and looked every inch a warrior.
mercado,
and the ranks swelled. The column doubled in size as they proceeded down the Camino Real driving the remaining troops before them. Bill Travis, Ken Kania, and Roberto Zavala at the head of another column joined them at the banks of the San Antonio River. Kania no longer resembled a mild-mannered merchant. His shirt was torn, his cheeks powder-burned, and his knuckles raw and bleeding. He had endured his baptism of fire and looked every inch a warrior.
Travis brandished his cavalry saber. The blade was red-stained and nicked from use. Zavala hurried to stand alongside his friend. William acknowledged him with a
nod of the head, but the amenities would have to wait.
nod of the head, but the amenities would have to wait.
By the time the great column of Texicans forded the San Antonio River and arrayed themselves along the Calle de la Mission, the ranks had swelled yet again, doubling in size. People from town and the surrounding ranches sensed the beginning of the end and wanted to be present at the finish.
As William Wallace continued up the slight incline, his long-legged strides carried him ahead of the pack. Sunlight glittered off the knives he gripped in both hands. The wind set his red hair streaming like the flames of a wildfire.
Behind him, smoke trailed from scenes of battle and fire-gutted jacals set ablaze during the house-to-house struggle. Ahead, the crumbling walls of the Alamo, once the Mission San Antonio de Valera, beckoned like fate. His lumbering gait soon brought him to the main gate, where he stopped under the guns of the sentries on the walls. Brown faces shaded by short-brimmed red hats were inscrutable masks at this distance. He glanced up at the soldiers outlined against the cerulean sky. They watched him through their gunsights.
William knew the kind of target he made.
“Cos has issued orders for the raiders of Anahuac to be brought before him. Best one of you send someone to alert him.”
“And what shall I tell His Excellency?” a voice drifted down from above.
William smiled, his chest swelled, and he raised his arms, his long knife in one hand, the dirk in the other. “Tell the general William Wallace is here!”
A cheer rolled up like an onrushing tide, crashed against those fragile walls, swept over the battlements, and lost itself in the garrison beyond. And then a most peculiar thing happened. The bolt slid back on the barred gate, the wooden door creaked open, and John Bradburn
emerged from the shadow of the Alamo into the glare of the winter light. He shuffled forward with timid steps, a white flag of surrender dangling from a cane in his hand.
emerged from the shadow of the Alamo into the glare of the winter light. He shuffled forward with timid steps, a white flag of surrender dangling from a cane in his hand.
The roar of triumph that followed sprang from the throats of the victorious Texicans who had fought their way up from town to stand at Wallace's side. Their cry reverberated across the rolling landscape, where the wind in the buffalo grass whispered to the bristling yellow stalks, a warning that today went unheeded. In nature as in life, all things are fleeting.
WE DO HEREBY RESOLVE AND DECLARE THAT OUR POLITICAL CONNECTION WITH THE MEXICAN NATION HAS FOREVER ENDED AND THAT THE PEOPLE OF TEXAS DO NOW CONSTITUTE A FREE, SOVEREIGN, AND INDEPENDENT REPUBLIC.
“SEÃOR WALLACE IS IN LOVE WITH MY WIFE.”
Cos was gone. The general and his troops had been allowed to march out of town by way of the Camino Realâparoled with the understanding that they would never again set foot in Texas. By evening, a troubled peace had settled over San Antonio.
It took a few hours for the populace to realize something important had been accomplished this day. San Antonio once more belonged to the people of Texas. But in the aftermath of victory few had the energy to speculate what the future held. For now, the townsfolk were content to heave a collective sigh of relief and begin the task of clearing away the signs of battle.
Luminaries encircled the plazas; by night their flickering light transformed the scene of the day's fighting and cast the streets and alleys in a magical glow. The
mercado
was again inviting; it beckoned the milling congregation, the tide of restless men who had freed the town and driven out the corrupt officials and their military court. Stalls were hastily rebuilt to house the dried produce, salted and cured meats, bolts of hand-spun cloth, woven baskets, gallon tins of goat milk, colorful serapes and sombreros, stacks of firewood, wooden trays of medicinal herbs. Everything and anything was offered for sale. The familiar aroma of tortillas and beans flavored
with enough peppers to make a saint curse permeated the air.
mercado
was again inviting; it beckoned the milling congregation, the tide of restless men who had freed the town and driven out the corrupt officials and their military court. Stalls were hastily rebuilt to house the dried produce, salted and cured meats, bolts of hand-spun cloth, woven baskets, gallon tins of goat milk, colorful serapes and sombreros, stacks of firewood, wooden trays of medicinal herbs. Everything and anything was offered for sale. The familiar aroma of tortillas and beans flavored
with enough peppers to make a saint curse permeated the air.
Like weeds, life has a way of regenerating itself. Even the humblest peon will continue to reach for the stars from the rubble of his dreams. That day in San Antonio, men and women discovered strengths they never knew they had. Houses gutted by fire, their naked walls smeared with smoke, were reclaimed by their owners, determined to restore the pockmarked walls and wash away the bloodstains.
The Spanish governor's palace in the center of town, across from the Plaza de las Armas, had become an infirmary housing all of the men wounded during the street fighting. Within those walls, the wounded and suffering were tended by the local physician, an overwhelmed man by the name of Ned Dillingham. The doctor had help. Anyone with a smattering of medical knowledge was welcome at his side. It was there among the rows of injured Texicans that William Wallace discovered Esperanza and her sister-in-law, Dorotea.
William was preparing to leave the palace when he heard Esperanza's voice coming from another room. He followed the trail of her words down the long hall to a double doorway that had once opened onto a spacious dining room. The space was crowded with cots and a number of wounded townspeople as well as some soldiers who had been too injured to make the march to the coast.
William watched from the doorway as Esperanza re-bandaged the bloody shoulder of one of her husband's vaqueros. Dorotea applied a foul-smelling poultice to the injured man's wound, which Esperanza quickly covered with fresh linen strips. She bathed the man's forehead with a cool cloth and stroked his hand and cheek until he fell asleep. Only then did she look up and meet Wallace's gaze.
She smiled.
William retreated and continued toward the front door of the palace. He found a spot shrouded in evening shadows beneath the twisted branches of a madrona tree and waited, his breath a faint vaporous cloud upon the December air.
His patience was eventually rewarded when the two women emerged from the building. He left his perch and started forward only to see the women joined by Chuy Montoya and another man who were obviously there to escort the ladies through the night streets. Chuy noticed William and hailed him, stroking his goatee while he talked. Montoya's eyes, like Wallace's were deep-set and puffy-looking from lack of sleep. Chuy touched the brim of his sombrero in a salute to the man who had saved his life earlier in the day.
“You ladies have been angels of mercy this night,” William said.
“And now we are overdue at my brother's hacienda,” Dorotea replied in a no-nonsense voice.
“I had hoped I might escort you back to the Calle Dolorosa,” William said, glancing in Esperanza's direction.
“señor Montoya is perfectly able to protect us,” Dorotea snapped. She did not trust Wallace's intentions for a second.
“Indeed. No one could ask for better,” William replied. “I confess my motives are selfishness. I would enjoy the company of a friend.”
“And you shall have it,” Esperanza replied. “Chuy, take Dorotea on ahead. I shall follow along with señor Wallace. Tell Don Murillo I will not be long.”
“As you wish, Señora Saldevar,” Chuy said. He indicated the way for the widow.
Dorotea continued to protest. “It isn't proper behavior, for a married woman toâ”
“What? Have a friend?” Esperanza calmly told the woman, “Chuy has told me how señor Wallace saved my husbandâyour brother'sâlife today. I am grateful for such a friend. Perhaps you should be as well.”
The young woman's remarks caught her sister-in-law off guard. Before Dorotea could figure out another point to argue, Chuy and the other vaquero all but spirited the widow off across the plaza. Dorotea continued to harangue her escort until they were out of sight.
“I did not mean to cause you trouble,” William said, offering his arm.
Esperanza turned to the big man at her side. “Dorotea would find something else to complain aboutâif not this thing, then another.”
“It was good of you to come and care for the wounded.”
“I wish I were a man, so that I could shoulder a gun and take part in the struggle.”
William quietly appraised the señora. She was a pretty little thing, wrapped in her wine-colored shawl, with her full red lips and dark eyes, the rustle of her riding dress as she walked, the smell of soap and lilac water that clung to her despite her visit to the infirmary, the way her long black hair parted to reveal a glimpse of her slender neck. “I'm glad you're a woman.”
Esperanza blushed and averted her gaze.
“Now I will walk you home, señora,” William said.
“Take the long way,” Esperanza suggested. “Por favor.”
Â
Twenty minutes later, Chuy Montoya dismissed his companion and opened the wrought-iron gate for the widow to pass through into the dry, dessicated garden of Casa Saldevar. The flower beds were choked with weeds. The sandstone walkway was littered with the detritus
of other seasons, the leaves and gray twigs and the dirt that had run off during the rains.
of other seasons, the leaves and gray twigs and the dirt that had run off during the rains.
Dorotea hated to see the courtyard in such a terrible condition and had demanded the caretaker be fired on the spot the moment she arrived at the house. Don Murillo grudgingly acceded to his sister's dictate, relieving the caretaker of his duties. The old man departed, but not without grumbling about the wealthy and their lack of grace and the nature of an old woman for whom the milk of human kindness had soured long ago.
Winter gardens reminded Dorotea of her loss, of her late husband's passing. He had left her alone in the world save for her brother, with whom she shared a common grief. Dorotea had planned on their suffering together, striving to make a life as best they could, nurturing each other through the rough days. Esperanza had ruined everything. Dorotea never expected her husband to marry again. These days, Murillo was hardly in mourning. It was shameful.
The widow was convinced this flirtatious little house servant had bewitched Murillo. It galled Dorotea that she could not make him see the light. But maybe tonight â¦
Â
“Is that my wife?” asked Don Murillo, hearing the back door open and shut. The ranchero was enjoying a well-deserved pipe. He was seated in a handsomely appointed wing-backed chair in the sitting room of his house on the Calle Dolorosa. Flames danced in the fireplace, greedily consuming the pecan wood logs. He was alone in the house and therefore alerted by every sound.
The front room was much like the rest of the house, open and airy, sunlit during the day with long, wide windows to capture the summer breezes and thick whitewashed walls adorned with multicolored blankets and wood carvings depicting moments from the life of
Christ. A red oak staircase in the center of the house led to the bedrooms upstairs.
Christ. A red oak staircase in the center of the house led to the bedrooms upstairs.
A dining room took up the entire north wing of the hacienda. The front room and study had been built on the south side and caught a great deal of sunlight during the day. Pantries and cabinets lined the hall. A door at the rear opened onto the winter kitchen with its stone hearth, great oaken table, and shelves of clay roasters and cast-iron cook pots.
Dorotea Saldevar v Marquez had entered the house through the kitchen while Chuy dismissed his companion, following the woman into the kitchen. The
segundo
took a chair near a carving table, poured himself a glass of tequila, and filled a plate with tortillas, peppery rice, and beans that had been left warming by the fire.
segundo
took a chair near a carving table, poured himself a glass of tequila, and filled a plate with tortillas, peppery rice, and beans that had been left warming by the fire.
Dorotea gathered up a previously prepared tray of
pan dulce
and a pot of coffee to offset the sweetness -of the pastries. She carried them down the hall and into the sitting room, where Don Murillo waited.
pan dulce
and a pot of coffee to offset the sweetness -of the pastries. She carried them down the hall and into the sitting room, where Don Murillo waited.
“Did you hear? I called out.”
The widow marched to the nearest end table and set down the platter. The sweet breads were fresh from the oven, their golden crusts drizzled with a glaze made from honey, Madeira, and brown sugar.
“She is with Wallace,” Dorotea matter-of-factly said.
Outside the walls of the hacienda, from the Calle de Calabosa and the Plaza de las Islas at the center of town all the way to the banks of the river, a celebration was well under way. The sound of laughter and music from a band of wandering mariachis drifted in through the open window overlooking the Calle Dolorosa. A troupe of singing youngsters hurried past the narrow drive in the front of the hacienda and vanished down the street, searching for romance or mischief or a little of both.
“Good. A little gaiety will do her some good.”
“I came home to take care of you,” Dorotea said.
“You shouldn't have. Go on and enjoy yourself. Dance. If not for yourself, for me.” He indicated his bandaged leg. “I fear my dancing days are done. One of General Cos's grenadiers has seen to that.”
“Gracias. I will refrain from making a fool of myself,” Dorotea coldly replied. She took a chair by the fire, served her brother a cup of coffee and one of the honey-glazed bread rolls, then settled herself in the warmth of the firelight. “Now if only you would do the same.”
“You have a waspish tongue, dear sister.”
“I am only trying to protect you. Do you not understand? Esperanza is alone with William Wallace. And I have seen the way he looks at her.”
“Of course,” said Don Murillo. “So have I.” The old man sighed and settled back in his chair. “Señor Wallace is in love with my wife.” Don Murillo took a sip of his coffee, puffed on his pipe, listened to the sound of crackling embers in the fireplace. A fragrant trail of smoke. curled upward from the bowl. Coffee, tobacco, and a warm place by a fire were life's real pleasures. He cleared his throat and stared at the flames. There was an answer somewhere in this simplicity, but men were too busy to ever notice. “He loves her. That is why I know she is safe with him. William would do nothing to dishonor her. Or me.”
Â
They kissed in the shadows, out of the glare of the luminarias. One moment they were talking, and the next their lips met and they embraced. William held her close so as to feel the pressure of her round breasts pressing against his shirt; passion rose like a fever in the blood.
He burned. Burned. It consumed him. And she was all
â¦
too ⦠willing â¦
He burned. Burned. It consumed him. And she was all
â¦
too ⦠willing â¦
“William?”
Her voice shattered the fantasy. The big man blinked and brushed his red hair back from his features, his scalp
moist with sweat. How long had she been talking to him?
What a fool I am.
moist with sweat. How long had she been talking to him?
What a fool I am.
They were standing on the fringe of the Plaza de las Armas not far from the infirmary. Around them, merchants and customers were haggling over the price of trade goods. Strolling mariachis played cheerfully upon their guitars and trumpets; troubadours sang of love and brave deeds and the joys of life.
“What on earth were you thinking of?” Esperanza asked. She held up her hand. “No, don't tell me. I can just imagine.”
“I hope not,” Wallace stammered beneath his breath, but she didn't hear.
“If I know Big Foot Wallace you were picturing the trails that crisscross the border country to the south and convincing yourself that you alone should be the one to scout the Rio Grande in case General Cos chooses to break his word.”
His cheeks colored. William breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't about to tell her the truth. “You have guessed it.”
“I read you like a book,” Esperanza chuckled. “I don't even need the cards.” She had a fine laugh, a sweet laugh, like music, if a rippling creek is music, or wind in the buffalo grass, or cries of a mourning dove homeward bound against a gold dust sky. Her laugh was music. She was natural and good, and there was a sense of truth about her made all the more appealing by the fact that she seemed utterly oblivious to her own charm.
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