“You’re my husband and you
were kicked by a mule,” the woman said.
“Oh, Annabelle,” Winslow
complained.
“Why not?” she asked.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, for a start, everyone
around here knows you’re my sister.”
“Yes, but they don’t know
that I’m a widow or that I came here to stay. For all they know I’m
here for a visit.” She gestured toward Yank. “My husband came to
fetch me and was kicked by a mule.”
“Better make it a horse,”
Winslow said. “I don’t have any mules.”
“A horse then,” she
replied.
“That was a joke,” he said.
“The idea is ridiculous and out of the question. I refuse to
discuss it further.”
Yank closed his eyes as a
wave of pain passed over him. “If they find me – even if they find
my uniform, they’ll hang you both.”
“You hush,” Annabelle said,
“I know what I’m doing.” She looked back at her brother. “Now I’m
no longer permitted to speak, Charles?”
“I don’t think the British
will come here,” he said lamely.
“If you’re wrong and they
do, then what? Do we give Colonel Van Buskirk to them?”
“No, of course
not.”
“If we hide him to protect
him and they find him, what will they do to us?”
“Oh Annabelle.”
“Answer me, Charles. What
will they do?”
“All right,” Winslow said
after a moment. “All right. But they won’t come.”
“What does your family call
you, Doctor Winslow?” Yank asked.
“Pardon me?”
“James, Jim, Jimmy? If I’m
to be your brother in law…”
“James,” he grumbled
unhappily.
“People call me
Yank.”
“Oh now there’s an even
worse idea,” Winslow replied.
“We’ll just call you John,”
Annabelle said decisively. “Now John. You must lie down again and
permit us to care for you.”
September 17,
1812
Santa Fe, Nuevo
México
“Go away,” Marina shouted.
She put the pillow over her head.
The pounding on her door
became louder and more insistent.
She uncovered her head, gave
the door a hostile look, then got out of bed and walked naked to
the door. “Who is it?”
“I am a colonel in the
Revolutionary Army of General José María Teclo Morelos y
Pavón.”
“I am not
interested.”
“You will open the door or I
will obtain a key from the landlady.”
She plucked her silk
dressing gown from the chair, shrugged it over her shoulders,
palmed her pepperbox and pulled back the bolt.
As a man dressed in an
elaborately gold braided uniform came in, Marina returned to sit on
the edge of her bed. “What do you want?”
“I, Colonel Juan Miguel
Ramirez Guerrero, have come on behalf of General José María Teclo
Morelos to accompany you to Chilpancingo,” he announced.
“I have never met the
general and have no desire to go to Chili-Pan-Cinco, wherever that
may be.”
“But you must.”
“Why must I?”
“You are Marina Elena
Cortés.”
“Yes, I know who I am but I
still do not know what you want and why you have interrupted my
sleep.”
“It was your forefather who
began this struggle.”
“What struggle?”
“The struggle for Mexican
independence.”
She rolled her eyes. “You
must mean Martín Cortés?”
“Of course. The son of
Hernán Cortés and La Malinche, who led the first revolution against
the Spanish Colonial Government.”
“He only did it because he
was jealous of his brother.”
“He did it to eliminate the
oppression of the conquistadors.”
“Well it hardly matters
since I have no interest in your Revolution and I will not be going
with you to Chili-Pan-Cinco.”
“Chilpancingo,” he
corrected.
“I will not be going there
either,” she said. “But please thank General Morelos for the
invitation. Good day.”
“It is not an invitation,
Madam. It is an order.”
“I do not take orders from
revolutionary generals who are one step ahead of the
hangman.”
The colonel’s eyes grew
cold. “I have been instructed to take you by force, if
necessary.”
Marina cocked the pistol and
aimed it at his groin. “Trying would be a very big
mistake.”
“I have an entire company of
soldiers waiting for me in the street, madam. I would rather not
call them, but go with me, you will.”
She put the muzzle of the
pistol to her temple. “Not alive.”
“You would not.”
“Would La
Malinche?”
His resolve was failing.
“You would be treated as royalty, madam.”
She lowered the pistol.
“Royalty? I thought the purpose of this revolution of yours was to
eliminate the Viceroy not steal his crown.”
“I did not mean that,” he
began in frustration.
“Get out.”
The colonel hesitated, then
turned and walked to the door. “I will be back.”
Marina got up, closed the
door and shot the bolt, then went to the window to look down at the
street where four mounted officers and perhaps sixty men were
formed into a column of two. As Colonel Guerrero walked haughtily
out of the cantina to mount his horse, another knock sounded on her
door. “Now what?” she mumbled in English. She walked toward the
door. “Who is it?”
“Rosa.”
Marina pulled the bolt and
stepped back.
The fat woman in a dirty
apron came in and closed the door. “I do not want this kind of
trouble.”
“I had already decided to
leave. Pay me what you owe me and I will be on my way.”
“I owe you
nothing.”
Marina shook her head sadly.
“It will take me an hour to pack. When I come down you will pay me
what you owe me or I will take it from you.”
“Those who have tried to
take money from me in the past have not lived to tell about
it.”
Marina suddenly remembered
the pistol in her hand and raised it. “Then perhaps I had better
take it before you can prepare yourself.”
The fat woman lunged for the
pistol and Marina pulled both triggers.
September 17,
1812
Michigan
Territory
“You’re tougher than an oak
tree,” Doctor Winslow pronounced. “I’ve never seen anyone recover
so fast.”
“I owe it all to you and
Annabelle,” Yank replied. A local dentist had made him a set of
false teeth carved from ivory. They were too white and fit badly
but he was able to speak without slurring the words.
Winslow probed Yank’s ribs.
“Does that hurt?”
“Not bad.”
Winslow looked at his sister
who was standing behind Yank. “You better wrap him up again,
Annabelle.”
“I thought you said I was
recovered,” Yank complained.
“You recovered from the
fever and seem to be completely recovered from the concussion,
which was by far the worst of your injuries, and your clavicle has
knitted cleanly. Another week or two and your ribs will be equally
recovered.”
“Let me try going without
the wrapping,” Yank suggested. “I’ll tell you if it hurts too
much.”
“Stop whining,” Annabelle
said.
Doctor Winslow laughed. “I’m
going to the Martins to check on the baby. You two can argue all
you like.”
“There’s no argument,” she
said. “He’ll have his ribs wrapped or he gets no supper.” She
picked up a bandage roll. “You know how this works, John. Put your
hands up.”
He laced his fingers and put
them on top of his head. “I seem destined to always be bullied by
women.”
“Bullying is our lot in
life,” she said. “Here, hold the end until I make the first
wrap.”
He put his finger on the
free end of the bandage. “How am I ever going to thank
you?”
“By getting well and
surviving this damned war.” She reached around him to pass the
bandage roll from one hand to the other.
Impulsively, Yank kissed her
on top of the head.
She looked up in surprise.
“You should warn a girl before you do that.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why
I did it.”
“Now don’t spoil it.” She
pulled the bandage tight. “Hands up.”
He returned both hands to
the top of his head. “My wife left me.”
“Have you divorced
her?”
“No.”
“Do you intend
to?”
“No one in my family has
ever been divorced.”
“Then don’t go telling me
that your wife left you.”
“I didn’t mean anything by
it.”
“Of course you did. You’re
attracted to me and you thought that if you said your wife left you
might be able to get me into bed.”
His face turned crimson.
“You may be too smart.”
“That’s what my husband
always said.”
“And too
outspoken.”
“He said that
too.”
“What happened to
him?”
“He was killed when the
British boarded his ship looking for deserters. I’d rather not talk
about it, if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry. I seem to be doing
everything wrong today.”
“No. This is just a strange
situation.”
“What is?”
“Us. Being thrown together
like this. It puts a strain on our – morality.”
“You too?”
“Of course. I’m young,
healthy, sexually experienced and deprived of an
outlet.”
Yank felt his face turn red
again.
She looked at him and
giggled. “What? Didn’t your wife ever admit to having carnal
desires?”
“Oh Lord.”
“I’m curious. Did
she?”
“Yes. But to be perfectly
honest I thought it was just her. I mean, she had an unusual
upbringing, to say the least.” He felt that his face was
burning.
“Somewhere back when this
country was new, it became correct among the Puritans for women to
pretend that they had no interest in physical love. That seems to
have been perpetuated to the status of a myth among certain
segments of New England society.” She pinned the end of his bandage
and stepped back. “How’s that? Tight enough? Too tight?”
“Fine. Thank you.” He got
off the examining table and took his shirt from the hook on the
wall.
“Have I offended you?” she
asked.
“No. But I find such
subjects difficult to discuss with a woman.”
“That’s too bad. Being able
to openly discuss physical love can add immeasurably to a
marriage.”
“Perhaps, but we’re not
really married.”
“Or to a love
affair.”
To hide his embarrassment he
looked out the window. “It seems a fine day. Might we take a
walk?”
“Are you sure you feel well
enough?”
“Other than a few minor
aches and pains, I feel perfect.”
“Then a walk in the woods
sounds perfect.”
“In the woods?”
She looked puzzled. “Yes.
Does that trouble you?”
“Well, yes. I have no
weapons to protect you. Do you think I might borrow a pistol from
your brother?”
“There are no weapons in
this house, John.”
He looked embarrassed. “Do
you think it’s safe?”
“Yes. Frankly I think we’re
safer without a weapon.”
“How so?”
“If we were to run into a
British patrol they might be less inclined to accept us as a
normal, peace-loving couple if you were armed to the
teeth.”
“I suppose,” he said,
uncertainly.
She took his hand. “I’ve
been walking alone in the woods here since I arrived and I have yet
to meet anyone, let alone a British patrol.”
They walked onto the porch,
then down the steps and turned toward a path that led into the
woods.
“Remember yesterday when you
left your journal on the porch?” Annabelle asked.
“Yes.”
“I snooped,” she
said.
“There are no military
secrets in there,” he said with a chuckle.
“Why do you keep
it?”
“Officers in the field are
required to file daily reports so writing down what happened at
every opportunity soon becomes a habit.”
“You draw very
well.”
“Probably not but that too
is part of being an officer.”
“What do you draw that has
military importance?”
“Fortifications, terrain
features, villages, faces of friends and enemies, poisonous and
edible plants. Anything that might be useful in the future.” He
smiled. “And sometimes I draw for the pleasure of it. I guess you
saw the picture I drew of you.”