Sin Killer

  She saw, though, that Jim was troubled in himself, and she did what she could to help. She brought him his food, sat with him, administered the trek, settling little quarrels and seeing that Emilio took good care of the horses. She saw it as a miracle that they were alive at all, and Jim, sad-eyed now and awkward, had made the miracle. Rosa meant to devote herself to him, to the extent that he would allow it.

  One night, to her surprise, Jim asked how old she was.

  “Old enough to have buried two babies and a husband,” Rosa said.

  Jim didn’t press her. He had merely wondered. Rosa’s silences were comfortable silences. She seemed to have no need to question him, as Tasmin did. When Tasmin went away after some discussion Jim usually felt relieved; but when Rosa went away, to attend to some chore, he felt anxious, and the anxious feeling only left him when Rosa came and settled herself by the fire. In settling herself she seemed to settle him. In a while he would stop feeling anxious. He found it to be a comfort of a sort he had not had in his life before. The thought that, once they were safe, Rosa might wish to go back to her home was unsettling. He began to wonder whether there might be a way to keep her. And yet he was a married man—he had a wife. Why was he thinking such things?

  58

  Was this ribbon becoming? Would this petticoat show?

  GOODNESS! A BALL? What are you thinking about, George?” Tasmin asked. Buffum, Vicky, and Mary were all likewise taken aback. A ball, when they had been in the safety of the settlements only a few days?

  “Mr. Austin absolutely insists that you come,” George Catlin informed them. “There is much war stir—Mr. Austin feels that a little entertainment would not be amiss. There will be music—even dancing, perhaps.”

  “All things we once took for granted but have since put behind us,” Tasmin said.

  “Not so behind us—we danced in Santa Fe, Tassie,” Buffum remarked.

  “I didn’t—I mourned—but never mind,” Tasmin said. “I wouldn’t mind consenting if I had a dress. What does Mr. Austin propose that we come to the ball in? We’ve all emerged from barbarism very nearly naked, it seems to me.”

  “Well, you aren’t naked but you are perhaps a little begrimed still,” George allowed. “Mr. Austin is sensitive to the problem of attire. Some nice Texas ladies are being dispatched to the rescue. They may desire to loan you frocks. Also, there’s a kind of haberdashery here in Washington-on-theBrazos. Not up to London standards, of course, but you might be able to obtain some cloth that would do to be sewn.”

  “I guess it’s not a very long step from barbarism to civilization, down here in Texas,” Mary remarked. “I would like to take one hundred baths before considering the matter of adornment.”

  “I suppose that means you’ll be wearing your tiara,” Tasmin said in jest—but at the mere mention of a ball their mutual spirits did rise.

  “I suppose, after all, it’s what we were bred to do—go to balls,” Tasmin remarked.

  “I hear it will be quite thick with heroes,” Father Geoff put in.

  “Oh, Davy Crockett’s here,” Lord Berrybender informed them. “I quite hit it off with him in Washington. The man likes to drink—so do I. He’s quite the hunter, too. A killer of bears, I believe.”

  “And then there’s Mr. Bowie, who’s invented quite a formidable knife,” George told them. “It’s the kind of weapon your husband, Jim, could put to good use.”

  “I shall want to bring Juan—I hope it will be no problem,” Buffum announced. It was now understood that she and Corporal Dominguin were betrothed.

  “Mr. Austin is a man of great sophistication—I’m sure your corporal will be welcome,” George said.

  A hasty trip was made to a tiny general store, where cloth of various kinds was purchased. Cook was soon sewing. When the local matrons showed up with frocks for loan, all were in the end rejected by the very particular Berrybenders.

  “When we go to balls around here we must manage to be queens of them,” Tasmin instructed; but then, as she was trying to pull a brush through her recalcitrant hair, she suddenly put down her brush and burst into tears.

  “But Tassie, what is it?” Kate asked. She found her sister’s tendency to tears something of a trial.

  “It’s too soon—much too soon,” Tasmin sobbed. “Two days ago—forty-eight hours—I hoped for nothing more than to keep my daughter alive. I had buried two sons. And now Mr. Austin gives a ball and I’m expected to care how my hair looks, and to observe that my frock is too tight in the bosom? I can’t do it! I can’t care about these fripperies. I’ve lived where it’s life-or-death too long.”

  dance—it’s a blow for life! Right, Geoff?”

  Mary considered that she herself looked rather elegant, her pregnancy just showing.

  Father Geoffrin, having seen the Berrybender women in all their states, had been permitted access to their boudoir so that he might advise about certain perplexities of fashion. Was this ribbon becoming? Would this petticoat show?

  “Mary’s right,” he said. Tasmin’s frock was too tight in the bosom, but then, she had a splendid bosom.

  “It’s a strike for life!” the priest agreed. “It may feel like disloyalty to the dead, but it isn’t.”

  Buffum was not quite able to resist her own looks, now that she had freshened up a little.

  “I wish Juan had better shoes,” she said.

  At the last minute, as they were all making final adjustments to their wardrobes, Cook, in a panic, announced that there had been an escapee from the nursery: Petal could not be found.

  For a moment Tasmin felt a wild flutter of panic—children were sometimes kidnapped even from the villages by clever Indians. But Petal?

  Fortunately the miscreant was at once plucked from her grandfather’s buggy. She was determined not to miss this exciting ball and negotiated a compromise: she would attend the ball for one hour and then be returned to the nursery. In fact Petal charmed so many of the officers that Cook waited long in an anteroom before the little minx was finally surrendered. Even the austere Mr. Austin was seen to be reciting Petal a rhyme.

  Tasmin danced a dance with Davy Crockett but did not warm to the man—his breath was so heavy with brandy that she felt she might be made drunk.

  The Berrybender women, though feeling themselves much reduced in vivacity by their recent ordeal, nonetheless swept the young men of Texas before them. Piet sat rather forlornly on the sidelines, watching Mary dance dance after dance with the lively young blades.

  Tasmin allowed a few of the young blades too, but then found herself being gracefully led round the floor by James Bowie—his look was melancholy but his dancing expert.

  “My goodness, Mr. Bowie,” she said, “I’d forgotten how pleasant it is to dance with a man who can dance. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the best dancer in Texas.”

  James Bowie smiled—a happier light came into his face for a moment.

  “My wife would not tolerate inept dancing,” he said.

  “Of course not—is she here?” “She’s dead—cholera—and my two daughters as well.”

  “Then we have tragedy in common,” Tasmin replied. “I lost a son to cholera—he’s buried in New Mexico. Lady Berrybender also lost a son, and my sister Elizabeth a husband.”

  “It’s a wearying thing to see loved ones go so quickly,” he said. “It’s because I couldn’t fight the cholera that I’m here to fight the Mexicans, I guess.”

  “And do you think the Texans will win?” she asked.

  “Oh yes, they’ll win—and it won’t take them long, either,” Bowie said. “If you stay around a few weeks you’ll be guests of the Republic of Texas.”

  “My husband’s behind me somewhere—I intend to wait for him,” Tasmin told him. “We lost a second boy—this one to slavers. My husband’s gone for his revenge.”

  Jim Bowie merely nodded. Though his dancing remained graceful, the melancholic look was back on his face.

  Buffum came hurrying over, in some
distress. “Tassie, you must talk to father—Mr. Crockett is trying to persuade him to go fight the Mexicans,” she said.

  “What nonsense! Papa’s a cripple—he’ll just be in the way,” Tasmin declared. “I consider old Crockett a bore, and he’s nowhere near as good a dancer as Mr. Bowie here.”

  “Davy’s feet are too big,” Bowie said, with a smile. “We used to call him Bucketfoot. No fun dancing with Bucketfoot.”

  By the time they reached Lord Berrybender, their persuasion was useless. Lord Berrybender’s blood was up—he was determined to go.

  “Father, that’s ridiculous,” Tasmin said. “You’re too old for the barricades.”

  “Not a bit of it—stirs my blood just to think of a good fight,” Lord B. told her. “Can’t wait to see action, in fact. The blare of bugles, the thud of cannon. Bowie and Crockett and I will go tomorrow—Crockett assures me it will just be a skirmish—be back in a day or two. The place is called San Antonio.”

  Tasmin went at once to Davy Crockett and attempted to persuade him to leave her father, but Davy Crockett showed more interest in her bosom than in her opinions.

  “Oh, we won’t have much of a scrap in San Antonio,” he assured her.

  “Why not?” “The big battle will be farther east,” he assured her. “Sam Houston’s over on the plain of San Jacinto, getting ready. He’ll show General Santa Anna what’s what—no question of that.”

  “Still, it seems foolish to take a crippled man into battle,” Tasmin persisted.

  “Nonsense—it’ll be a tonic for your father,” Crockett said. “He was just telling me about some of his adventures in Spain. Nothing like the smell of gunpowder to get an old warhorse stirred up.”

  “Getting Father stirred up has never been a problem, Mr. Crockett,” Tasmin told him. “I think you would have done better to leave well enough alone.”

  Davy Crockett was taken aback. Young women with fine bosoms seldom talked to him so brashly—and from the look in this one’s eye, worse might be to come. Though it was not his way, he strove to be diplomatic.

  “I assure you there’s no danger, madam—nothing serious is likely to happen at all,” he told her. “The fact is I like your father’s company. If he doesn’t come I’ll have to ride seventy miles with Jim Bowie, which is like riding seventy miles with a mute. Jim’s run out of conversation. With your father along we can get drunk and tell lies and we’ll be there in no time. There’s nobody there but Billy Travis and a hundred or so of his men—hardly enough for Santa Anna to bother with.”

  James Bowie was of the same opinion. “I’ve no great opinion of Billy Travis, which is why I felt Crockett and I ought to lend a hand.”

  “It all seems very casual, I must say,” Tasmin told him. “It seems that Mr. Crockett anticipates a picnic—or better yet, a carouse—rather than war. What if he’s wrong?”

  “You’ve hit it!” Bowie told her. “Davy’s whole life is a picnic or a carouse. He’ll fight well enough, though, if he can find a fight.”

  Later, Tasmin allowed George Catlin a dance, which was not a success.

  “Stop stepping on me, George—good Lord, why can’t you dance?”

  “I don’t know—it’s a puzzle,” he said. “I do keep trying, though. I’ve noticed that ladies seem to reserve their greatest contempt for men who won’t even try to dance. So I try.”

  “I don’t like Mr. Crockett,” Tasmin said. “It seemed to annoy him that I questioned his decision regarding my own father. Every time I ask a man a question I’m greeted with annoyance, if not worse. I don’t see why that should be.”

  “I can’t deal with these philosophical questions when I’m doing my best not to step on your feet,” George said.

  Later, dancing with a young soldier who didn’t step on her feet but who didn’t utter a word during the dance, either, Tasmin found herself thinking of Jim. She tried to imagine him dancing and couldn’t. The surroundings were hardly fancy, just a half formed army base near the Brazos River, and yet Tasmin could not picture her husband joining in even such a primitive soiree—much less some grander ball in Washington or London, or even Saint Louis. It was a perplexing dilemma. Jim had the skills that enabled him to pursue killers in a wilderness, and yet, she considered, how much easier it would be for her to be happy with him if he could just dance with her at a party—only something as normal as that.

  “If we ever get anywhere where there’s a dance instructor I mean to insist that you take dancing lessons, George,” she told her friend.

  “I could try, if you insist,” George said. “But it won’t do any good. The flaw is within.”

  The next day in midmorning Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, and Lord Albany Berrybender set off for San Antonio. Lord B. was in the best of spirits. It was decided that, once General Houston routed Santa Anna, the Berrybenders would proceed on toward Galveston and look into the possibility of getting a ship.

  “I’ll catch up with you, never fear,” Lord Berry-bender assured them. “I just want a whiff of battle one more time—takes me back to the great days of the duke.”

  “What do you think about this, Vicky?” Tasmin wanted to know.

  Vicky had received so much attention from young soldiers at the dance that she had become a little flustered, fearful that she might have exposed too much bosom.

  Nonetheless she was not happy to see Lord Berrybender drive away.

  “Impossible as he is to live with, I still wish he hadn’t gone,” Vicky said.

  “I feel the same,” Tasmin told her.

  59

  . . . signs of settlement began to appear . . .

  WHEN SIGNS OF SETTLEMENT began to appear—a farm here and there, some already abandoned—Jim reckoned that the worst of the danger was over. They were on the Brazos. One grizzled farmer met them with rifle in hand, offered no food, but did tell them where they needed to go.

  “You’re on the right river,” he said. “Another week and you’ll come to Mr. Austin’s colony. I expect your people are there—they came by a week ago.”

  Jim was heartened by that news. Tom Fitzpatrick had brought them through. He himself still felt his strange fatigue. He led the party, but Rosa did most of the work, making the campfires, cooking, keeping the captives in order. One wintry day she went off with Lord Berrybender’s rifle and came back with two wild turkeys.

  As they drew nearer and nearer to the settlements Jim realized he would soon have different problems to consider. He had rescued eleven people, including Rosa. They were all Mexican, their clothes were rags, they had not a cent, although Rosa had collected what money she could find on the slavers.

  What was he to do with them? More particularly, what was he to do with Rosa? He had become so needful of her that he couldn’t imagine being without her. Somehow her presence was comforting to him, easing, as no other woman’s had ever been. The best times of the day were at night when all the chores were done and they just sat by the campfire. They spoke scarcely at all in those times; and yet her presence was a deep comfort. He did not want to lose her; but she had been kidnapped: she might want to go home. The others, perhaps, could find employment of some sort in the Texas settlements. Even if they succeeded in getting back to their homes, the raiders might take them again.

  Jim found it hard to reconcile his need for Rosa with the fact that he had a wife and daughter not many days ahead. What could he do? What would Tasmin want? What would Rosa want?

  Rosa knew that Jem, as she called him, was troubled. He had told her that he had a wife and daughter. He had made no move to use her, as the slavers had used her. She herself felt sad—what could she do, when Jem returned to his family? Her home was far—even if she could find it, it was no place she wanted to be. Her husband’s wicked old mother blamed her for his death. His sisters hated her. Vaqueros she didn’t want were pressing her to go with them. She had to fight them, and some of them were strong. If she went home she would finally have to accept one of them, or she would starve.


  Rosa had come to be fond of Jem—but since he already had a wife he wouldn’t want to stay with her. Besides, she had been dishonored. How could she be a wife to a good man after the stains she bore? She even worried that Jim might have witnessed her shame. He had a spyglass. He might have seen her when Tay-ha led her out. She didn’t want to ask him.

  Jim, in his years with Tasmin, had rarely been able to figure out what she was feeling, except when she was angry. But now he had a sense that he did know what Rosa felt. When she sat by the campfire at night she wore a look of quiet sadness, as if she felt that her prospects were very bad. She did not want to look beyond the chores of the day. She would be happy to serve Jem, be a servant in his household, but probably his wife would not want such a thing.

  Jim knew he was not a good talker, when it came to explaining things; and yet he had become so dependent on Rosa’s company that he felt that he had better try. He didn’t like the sad looks he saw on Rosa’s face. Also, he didn’t believe he could ever be at ease with Tasmin, in the way that he was with Rosa.

  Besides, the Berrybenders were tending homeward. He didn’t want to go to England and he doubted Tasmin intended to stay in America. The two boys’ deaths had cut her too deeply. He didn’t know how it would all work out but he knew he did not want to lose Rosa. He wanted to keep Rosa. One night he looked up and told her so in the simplest words he could find.

  “I don’t want to send you home,” he told her. “I want you to stay with me and go where I go.”

  Rosa was shocked. What was Jem thinking? He had a wife. Was he asking her to stay with him as his whore? Her face showed her disappointment.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” Jim told her. “I guess my wife and I will be parting. She’s going to England and I can’t. She won’t be my wife always.”