LAND OF STARS: The Texas Wyllie Brothers (Wilderness Dawning Series Book 2) Page 12

  She glanced up at the sound of her name. Demurely, she lowered her gaze to the book again. Then she set it aside and picked up another book. Her luscious dark hair hung in waves to her shoulders. He forced down a nearly irresistible urge to touch it.

  He stepped over to the long wooden table where she stood and picked up Irving’s novel. “Have you read this yet, Miss Tyler?” he asked her. What a dumb question, he thought, why would she be looking at it if she’d read it? He just wasn’t good at making conversation with women and that was that.

  “No. I’ve wanted to, but I’m afraid it will give me nightmares. Besides, I rather enjoy reading more romantic novels,” she said and gave him a shy smile.

  He grinned back at her, already smitten. “I’m Steve Wyllie.” He extended his hand. At least he’d remembered his name and his manners.

  “Rebecca Tyler,” she said gripping his outstretched hand.

  The feel of her soft hand did something strange to his insides, and he cleared his throat, trying to regain control of himself.

  “You’re new to town, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, we recently relocated from Pecan Point.”

  “Oh, dear. I heard that you lost your homes there.”

  “We did. The river flooded the home my father and I shared, my brother Samuel and his wife’s home, my brother Thomas and his wife’s home, and our good friends Baldy and Melly Grant’s home and clinic. Baldy, Dr. Grant, is a doctor.”

  “Oh, I do hope he will open a practice here. The town has no regular doctor. One travels through here occasionally, but many people have suffered or died because there was no doctor to care for them. Even my mother isn’t well and hasn’t been for some time. She seems to grow weaker by the day. I’m terribly worried about her.”

  “I’m sorry to learn she’s ill. I’ll tell Dr. Grant and bring him to you,” Steve said. He knew that the prevalence of poverty and disease caused tremendous difficulties for those on the frontier. But he could tell this young lady didn’t come from a poverty-stricken family.

  “Do you really think Dr. Grant could come to my home to see my mother? We would pay him for his trouble, of course.”

  “Yes, indeed. I’ll be sure he comes to see your mother. And I’ll bring his wife Melly too. She’s his nurse.”

  She told him where she lived and asked him, if possible, to bring the doctor sometime that afternoon. “I can’t wait to tell Mother and Father that there is a doctor in town. Meeting you has been so fortunate.”

  Heaven-sent, he thought. He put the book down. It wouldn’t be the headless horseman haunting his dreams. It would be Rebecca Tyler.

  She bid him goodbye and then left, leaving behind the scent of roses.

  And a smile on his lips.

  Chapter 13

  At the tavern, Steve’s father and brothers had learned that Alcalde Mariano Procela’s home and office sat on the eastern edge of Nacogdoches near the confluence of La Nana Bayou and Bonita Creek. One man whose lips were loosened by strong drink whispered to them that Procela would expect to be bribed.

  Steve hoped this wouldn’t take long. Since Mrs. Tyler was so ill, he was anxious to take Baldy and Melly to Miss Tyler’s home. And, truth be told, he was keen to spend more time with Rebecca as well. Never had a woman affected him as much as she did. Beauty. Sweetness. Charm. Those thoughts of her spun around in his head bringing a smile to his face as they made their way to the Alcalde’s residence.

  As they rode up, the sprawling structure of Spanish architecture was surrounded by fruit trees, pecan trees, and a well-tended large garden. A Mexican flag hung over the home. The tri-color flag had white, green, and red diagonal blocks. In each block was a gold star. The flag was referred to as La Bandera de los Tres Garantias, or the Flag of the Three Guarantees. It represented the three guarantees the Mexican army was meant to defend: religion, independence, and unity. Mexico intended to be a Catholic empire, independent from Spain, and united against its enemies.

  He hoped the Alcalde could guarantee one thing—good land with water.

  Procela’s servant opened the massive door and led them down a long hallway to the Alcalde’s office. His richly furnished office spoke of wealth with its mahogany desk, gold clock, and hand-carved chairs. Heavy drapes hung from his two windows and a thick carpet covered the floor. The office stank of cigar smoke.

  Procela glanced up from his desk as they entered but did not stand. The bronze-skinned man with slick black hair leaned backward against his chair exposing the bubble that was his middle. He wore fine quality clothing, including a cotton shirt with lace ruffles at the neck and sleeves, and a silk waistcoat. A navy frock coat hung on the chair behind him.

  “Yes?” he said. He did not offer them chairs.

  Father and Samuel stood in front of Procela’s desk, their hats in their hands. Thomas stood behind them, and Steve remained closer to the door to guard their backs.

  Their father introduced himself and each of his sons. “We have come to speak to you, Señor Procela, about the acquisition of land in this area under the Imperial Colonization Law. We recently lost our four homes and pasture land to the severe flooding along the Red River.”

  Procela’s face showed no sympathy. “That is the way of nature. Sometimes rain is a blessing and sometimes it is a curse. No?”

  “I have a large herd of cattle headed this way. About five-hundred head,” Samuel added. “I would like to reestablish my cattle company near Nacogdoches, perhaps north of the town, as soon as possible.”

  “And I plan to raise and train fine horses,” Steve said.

  “There are many applicants ahead of you, and it may be some time before I can consider your application.”

  “What about my cows? Where can they graze?” Samuel asked.

  “I have a friend who will buy your cows,” the man said with what seemed like a false grin. He took a drag off of his cigar.

  Samuel shook his head. “It took me many years to build a herd of that size. They are not for sale. I have contracts to sell beef to the westernmost forts in the United States. I sell my calves every spring, before the heat of summer and dried up grass puts a strain on my mother cows. I do the same in late fall, before winter freezes.”

  “I understand,” Procela said half-heartedly and blew out a mouthful of smoke.

  “What can we do for land now?” Samuel asked, his face grim.

  Steve heard both worry and impatience in his brother’s voice.

  “I have a friend who will let your cattle graze on his land for a price per head,” the Alcalde offered.

  Samuel glanced at Father and then turned back to Procela. They all knew that Procela’s suggestion was just a sophisticated robbery scheme.

  Steve also knew the hope Samuel brought to this meeting was rapidly melting away and pooling at his brother’s feet.

  Samuel’s jaw clenched. “I would rather wait for my own land.”

  “I’ll record your names in my ledger.” The Alcalde opened a thick record book. “And get to you at my earliest convenience.”

  Samuel gave him their names and then said, “I have a newborn son and I need to build a home for him and my wife as soon as I can. Is there anything we can do to speed up the application process? To make it more convenient?”

  “Maybeso,” Procela said as though it were one word. He raised one of his thick black brows, leaving unsaid what they all knew. He wanted a bribe.

  “What is the customary incentive to move applications through quickly?” Father asked.

  “As you say, my frien’. A little moves a little. A lot moves a lot.” He shrugged his shoulders. Clearly, the man considered absconding with the hard-earned money of settlers for what was supposed to be free land to be the natural course of affairs.

  “Let me confer with my sons and we will come back tomorrow,” Father told the man.

  Procela shook his head. “No, next week will be soon enough. I am very busy this week.”

  They heard the loud laug
hter of several women and men who were speaking Spanish coming from down the hallway. Evidently, Procela’s home was also a seat of hospitality for Mexicans of the area.

  Resigned to the inevitable, Samuel said, “I’ll pay him now.” His brother removed the pouch containing fifty gold pieces that Steve had seen him place in his waistcoat earlier that morning. Steve had expected Samuel to count out a few coins, but instead, his brother tossed the entire pouch onto Procela’s desk. “That’s fifty dollars. It’s for two land grants. One for me and one for my youngest brother, Steve.”

  Earlier that morning, Steve had let Samuel know that he wanted to apply for his own land grant too. It was time he allowed his own ambition to flourish. And once he’d decided that, his need for land became almost feverish. He’d given Samuel twenty-five dollars, half of his savings, to put in the coin pouch they planned to use as a bribe if it became necessary.

  Thomas had not contributed. He seemed content to continue working for Samuel. If he did anything else, he’d said, it would be to work in town.

  Steve knew that Samuel had hoped to use the money he’d put into the pouch to buy lumber and supplies for building a home. He guessed they would just have to build log cabins now. Well, they’d done it before and they could do it again.

  “Ideally, my land would be adjacent to my brother’s land,” Steve said. “Our other family members will live on our two places. But it must have flowing water or a spring.”

  Procela smiled humorously and said in a silky voice, “Go see José Antonio Navarro, the town’s abogado, or solicitor as you call him. He is in San Augustine today but returns tomorrow. Have him draw up your applications. He knows what to write.”

  “Thank you, Señor Procela,” their father said. “But where will my sons’ land be located? Keep in mind they’ve given you gold coins and as we all know, gold is hard to come by.”

  The only reason they possessed gold was that his brother insisted the forts he sold cattle to pay him in gold. The monetary system in the U.S. was very disorganized. Each state issued its own bills and coins through individual banks, which generated scores of legal currencies. With so many different kinds of bills in circulation, it was easy for people to counterfeit money, and estimates were that more than a third of the nation’s money was counterfeit. Most settlers wouldn’t have gold. And if they weren’t careful, the paper money they carried might be worthless.

  Procela felt the weight of the pouch and then peered inside to see if the coins were actually gold. After pouring them onto his desk, he cocked his head to the side. “Five-hundred head is many cattle. For that size herd, you will need a lot of grass.”

  “Indeed,” Samuel said.

  Steve could tell his brother was trying to remain deceptively calm. Samuel had a lot riding on the outcome of this man’s decisions. So did Steve. Would the unscrupulous man stall them? Or ask for another bribe? Or a bigger one?

  Procela leaned forward. “Five miles to the southeast, on the San Antonio Road, there is a stopping point between Nacogdoches and San Augustine. Only a few people live there now on the south side of the road. I will set aside two leagues of land on the north and west side of the stopping point.” He strode over to the map on his wall and pointed to a location. “Here and here. When your application is official, Navarro will send his surveyor out to mark your boundaries.”

  “What about water?” Samuel asked.

  “Sí. There is water.” The Alcalde poured himself a tall glass of water and then gestured for them to pour themselves a glass.

  Their father declined and Samuel poured a glass and glanced back at Thomas and Steve. They shook their heads. His brother drank the water with relish. A weight seemed to have been lifted off Samuel’s broad shoulders.

  Their father continued to eye the Alcalde with cool eyes and a clenched jaw. “We will employ solicitor Navarro as soon as he is available. Good day, Señor Procela.”

  The four of them turned to leave, anxious to escape the man’s disturbing presence.

  That afternoon, Steve, Baldy, and Melly dismounted and tied their horses in front of Rebecca’s surprisingly grand home on the eastern edge of the town. He’d seen a few nice homes in town, but this one had to be the grandest home for miles around. A deep veranda ran across the front and held several rockers.

  The home contrasted sharply to the dingy log cabins, sod houses, and old palisado dwellings in most of Nacogdoches. In some of those homes, entire families slept together in one small room. In warm months, due to the lack of space, much of the day-to-day living had to take place in their yards.

  “Did Miss Tyler tell you anything other than her mother was sick?” Baldy asked.

  “No. But she seemed exceedingly pleased to learn that I knew a doctor,” Steve said.

  “This is a beautiful home,” Melly said, looking up at the dormer windows.

  Baldy untied his medical bag and Melly untied the pouch she kept full of clean bandages and other nursing aids. She slipped the pouch’s strap over her shoulder.

  Before they could even open the gate to the front fence, Miss Tyler opened the front door and rushed out. “Thank God, you’ve come. Mother seems to have worsened today. She can’t even stand up. I would have come to get you, but I didn’t know where you were camped.” Clearly alarmed for her mother, fear glittered in her hazel eyes. “Please hurry!”

  Not bothering with introductions, the three of them followed Miss Tyler inside. They hurried down a wide hallway that must allow breezes to pass through and cool the house in the summer. Settlers often built their cabins and homes facing either north or south to catch the prevailing winds.

  Miss Tyler stopped at a set of double doors that led into a room. She knocked softly and after a moment, opened the door slowly while calling, “Mother, the doctor and his nurse are here to see you.”

  Baldy and Melly followed her into the room, but Steve decided to wait in the hallway. Through the open door, he could see a four-poster bed, a writing desk, and numerous pieces of valuable art and expensive looking furniture in the large room.

  From the back of the house, the door flew open, and an older, still handsome man that Steve assumed must be Mr. Tyler hurried up to him. Although dressed in work clothing, he was a dapper and attractive man for his age. Salt and pepper hair framed his kind, clean-shaven face.

  “I’m Charles Tyler. Are you the young man named Steve Wyllie that my daughter met today? Did you bring the doctor?” he asked as he extended his hand to shake Steve’s.

  “I am, Sir. And yes, I did. We just arrived a moment ago. Dr. Grant and his wife Melly are with your wife now.”

  “That’s good. That’s good.” The anxious look on Mr. Tyler’s face told him the man knew how ill his wife was.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?” he asked.

  Tyler shook his head. “Is Dr. Grant a good doctor?”

  “Indeed. He trained at a fine medical school in Virginia. He’s also a seminary graduate and an ordained preacher.”

  “That’s a comfort.”

  “His first assignment was to preach on the Kentucky frontier. That’s how my family met him. He became a traveling doctor and preacher. I should warn you that Baldy, as we call him, is a bit untraditional for a preacher. As we all are, he’s still being made holy.”

  Tyler nodded.

  “He’s fond of whiskey and playing cards and has been known to pray one minute and swear the next,” Steve said with a chuckle. “But you’ll never find a man who loves God or our family more. Or a better doctor.”

  “He sounds delightfully unconventional. All kinds of men and women can love God and his Son. Not just the ones who conform to certain traditions,” Tyler said.

  Steve nodded. “Baldy believes that teaching and preaching the gospel need not be boring or harsh. But since he is a protestant, he’s been careful not to draw the attention of the authorities since only Catholicism is permitted here.”

  “That’s wise,” Tyler agreed. “He won’t be able
to heal body or soul if he’s shot or hung.” The man’s face grew even more solemn.

  Miss Tyler stepped out and spoke softly as she said, “Dr. Grant says it’s Mother’s heart. He…” Her voice faltered and she reached for and hugged her father.

  “What is it dear? What did he say?” Mr. Tyler asked as he patted her back soothingly.

  Rebecca looked up with glistening eyes. “He said her heart is weak and that you should come in.”

  Mr. Tyler squeezed his eyes shut. “I feared as much.”

  “Don’t give up hope,” Steve said. “Baldy is known to have saved some that couldn’t be saved.”

  The three of them stepped just inside the spacious room.

  Even though Mrs. Tyler was ill and pale, Steve could tell that although she no longer had the slimness of youth, she was still a beautiful woman. Clearly, Rebecca inherited her beauty from her mother.

  Baldy glanced up when they entered, stood, and quickly strode over to them. Melly continued to hold Mrs. Tyler’s wrist, monitoring her pulse.

  “Mr. Tyler, I presume,” Baldy said and shook Tyler’s hand. “I’m Dr. Grant.”

  Tyler nodded but didn’t or couldn’t speak.

  “Your wife is suffering from a weak heart,” Baldy said in a low and calming voice. “I fear she will not last the day unless we do something. My adopted son, Adam, and I have developed an experimental medicine that could help her, but I will need your permission to administer it. It is a potent vasodilator—to dilate the heart’s blood vessels. In low doses, we think it will correct the imbalance between the flow of oxygen and blood to the heart. But it is so new and so unproven that it is a last resort.”

  “Why is it a last resort?” Mr. Tyler asked.

  “It may help, but it could also kill her,” Baldy answered honestly. “Your wife would be my first patient to receive it. Unfortunately, I cannot guarantee the outcome.”

  Steve glanced over at Rebecca who was fighting back tears. She looked as sad as a wilted rose. He moved closer to her and took hold of her hand. It was a bold gesture, but she seemed grateful since she squeezed his hand.