Chapter
Twenty

---

It was January 1836 when Jim Bowie rode to the Alamo with Houston’s orders to blow up the mission and retreat. Tom joined the other volunteers in vehemently objecting to those orders.

“That’s surrender, and we’ll never surrender,” men shouted.

“It’s not surrender. It’s the practical thing to do. Let Santa Anna get deeper into Texas; then Houston will strike,” Bowie told them.

“Santa Anna will never get deep into Texas. We’ll stop him right here!”

“You don’t have enough medical supplies, food and clothing, or even ammunition.”

“We don’t need much,” another volunteer shouted. “It won’t take us long to win this war. And Houston will see we get more when he realizes we’re stayin’ put. When Santa Anna comes, he’ll meet our musket barrels, not our backsides.”

The men laughed and cheered, raising their fists. They were here to fight, and that was what they would do.

That was fine with Tom. He just wished Santa Anna would hurry up and come. If he was lucky, he would be killed and this awful ache over Bess would be done with. He would be with her forever. Yet that would mean leaving this life and leaving his father, and losing another son would just about destroy Caleb Sax.

He noticed a man he’d seen come in with some new volunteers a few days earlier. The man looked familiar. Tom had kept mostly to himself since coming here, and he wondered if striking up a friendship would help this terrible new loneliness that had enveloped him since losing Bess and leaving home. He approached the big, bearded man just as the man was headed for the west wall to take his post there.

“Hey, mister,” he called out.

The man turned. He frowned at first, then put out his hand. “You’re a Sax. I’ve seen you in town.”

Tom nodded, shaking his hand. “Yes, sir. Tom Sax. I’ve been trying to place you.”

“Howard Cox. I was the blacksmith back at San Felipe.”

“That’s it.” Tom smiled. “You’re married to that woman my father knew years ago.”

Howard let go of his hand, masking his anger and sorrow over Emily. What did any of it have to do with this young man? “Yes. Emily.” Just saying the name brought back the remorse. He should have gone back first. He should have talked to her. She really did love him. Who was he to accuse her of anything without even talking it out first? After all, all that was before he’d ever known her. But it was too late now. He was here and he would stay until the fighting was over. “How have you been, Tom? How’s your family?”

Tom sobered. “Things haven’t gone so well. I lost my wife to cholera about a year and a half ago.”

“Jesus, that’s right. I remember hearing about that. I’m sorry, son. You lost a brother, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes. John. He was a half-brother, my father’s son by his Cherokee wife. John was only thirteen.”

Howard frowned and shook his head, showing genuine concern. “My God, that’s too bad, Tom. Your father has had his share of troubles, that’s sure.”

The pain moved through Tom again. “Yes. We all have.”

Howard thought again of Emily. He didn’t know anything about the troubles she’d had, why she’d been a prostitute. Why hadn’t he talked to her before leaving? He’d make it up to her. Somehow he’d make it up to her. He’d just been so shocked and hurt. She’d understand that. They’d fine a way to start all over.

“Well, now, we’ll have to kind of look out for each other, won’t we?” Howard said aloud.

Tom smiled. “I suppose so. My father is with Houston, as far as I know. I wonder who will see some action first?”

“Hard to say. But I expect it will be us. We’re closest to where Santa Anna has to come through.”

“Well, I’m ready. I just wish he’d hurry up. I’m tired of all this waiting.”

“Same here. You take care now, Tom. I’ve got to get to my post.”

Tom nodded. “Good to see a familiar face, Howard.”

Howard read the loneliness and sorrow in the young man’s eyes. “I’m real sorry about your wife, son. But you’re young. You’ll be all right, Tom. I know it’s hard to think that way now, but time takes care of a lot of things.”

Tom nodded and turned away, and the two men parted, each lost in his own particular sorrow.

* * *

Jim Bowie became ill with a bad cough, so ill that he was bedridden. William Travis, who had been competing with Bowie for leadership at the Alamo, became the undisputed man in charge of the mission. The nights were bitterly cold, and since Santa Anna was known to be a man who liked total comfort, no one believed he would consider attacking the Alamo in such inclement weather.

“He’ll wait till spring,” Howard told Tom one night over a campfire. “He’s got lots of men, which means lots of horses. He’ll need the spring grass for grazing. By then we’ll have lots of reinforcements.”

“I hope you’re right, but then I don’t like the idea of sitting here until spring either,” Tom replied. “It seems like no one is doing anything at all. We’re all just waiting, and nobody knows how anyone else is doing. I am worried about my father and the ranch.”

“I know what you mean, boy. Me and Emmy, we had kind of a problem when I left. I left angry, and it bothers me some. I’ve thought of writing to her, but I just don’t know what to say.”

“She will be all right. San Felipe is a big town now. She’s safe there. That’s where Mister Handel will take Sarah and the others if Mexican soldiers should get through that far and start attacking the ranchers.”

“This must be hard on your pa, too. He’ll be worrying about you and the rest of the family.”

“Yes. I sent a letter not long ago telling them I’m still here. I hope they got it so they know I am all right.”

“That’s good. I guess I should think about writing my Emmy, maybe patch things up some before I go home. Maybe then she won’t greet me with a fry pan and clobber me over the head with it for being such a fool.”

Tom laughed. “I don’t know what your problem was, but I don’t think she would do that.”

“Women can be mighty strange sometimes, son.”

Tom’s face saddened and he poked at the fire with a stick. “I guess I was never married long enough to find out.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

Tom shook his head. “They aren’t bad. They’re beautiful.” He picked up his musket. “I have to take my post. Good night.”

Howard nodded in reply, watching Tom leave and feeling sorry for him. He sat back to think about a letter to Emily. But he never got to write it. The next day scouts reported Santa Anna was on the march, headed straight for the Alamo. Travis began sending out calls for more help. His messengers managed to get away from the mission by following brush-lined irrigation ditches that hid them from Mexican soldiers who by then were entrenching themselves around the handful of Americans who held the Alamo.

On March 3 the siege began. While delegates at Washington-on-the-Brazos were declaring Texas a free and independent republic, the Alamo was under full attack, and no one had been sent to help the brave defenders of the little mission. Some thought the Alamo had been abandoned, as Houston had ordered; the volunteers at Goliad refused to leave, thinking their own post more important to defend than the Alamo; and general chaos and an unorganized defense all combined to prevent help from arriving for William Travis and his men.

Howard thought he wanted to fight, but this was more than he had expected. It was as though the whole world was exploding. Everywhere Mexican cannon fire broke through the walls of the outer court, the Mexican soldiers poured over the walls, pushing the American defenders back into the mission itself. After three days of fighting and no sleep, with ammunition nearly spent, it was evident this battle was not going to be won. Howard thought of Emily. If only he’d written the letter. If only he’d gone back to see her in the first place. Would she realize he loved her?

He searched frantically then for Tom Sax as Mexican soldiers managed to overrun the mission itself. But there was too much mass confusion, and he was too busy trying to stay alive to search for Tom. He could only pray that somehow the young man would escape this hell. He fired his musket directly into the chest of a Mexican soldier, then felt the pain in his back as a bayonet found its mark.

“Emmy,” the man groaned before collapsing over the bodies of comrades already fallen.

By the time the battle was over, 187 Texas volunteers had died, although the count would never be positively accurate, since so many volunteers came and went, and messengers had been sent out right up until the last heat of battle. The opportunity for Americans to take a truly accurate count would never come. Santa Anna ordered the bodies to be piled together and burned. The sickening smell of burning flesh filled the clear, cold air, the smoke wafting up into the bright blue Texas sky. Cannon and musket fire had stopped. The little mission sat silent and battered.

Santa Anna began his march northward, capturing militia volunteers at San Patricio, Agua Dulce and Refugio, promptly executing all prisoners. On March 20 Goliad was taken, and a week later 342 Texas volunteers, many of them already badly wounded, were led outside, blind-folded, made to lie facedown, and shot.

But already the news of the Alamo had reached those volunteers with Sam Houston, who had retreated from Gonzoles to the Colorado and then across the Brazos, where they had held up for two weeks, constantly drilling. It was Jess who brought the news to Caleb where he sat outside their tent cleaning his musket. For a moment Jess just stared at the man, wondering how he was going to find the words. But there was no way to get around it. It had to be said.

“I hope you’re coming to tell me we’re going to go fight someplace,” Caleb told him kiddingly. But his smile faded when he saw the grim look on Jess’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Scouts just came with the news, Caleb.” He sighed deeply, looking away. “Santa Anna took the Alamo—killed every last man there and then … piled the bodies together and burned them.”

There was a long silence, and Jess finally turned to meet Caleb’s eyes. “You all right? Do you understand what I’m telling you, Caleb?”

Caleb returned to cleaning his musket. “That’s bad news. Gives us all the more reason to go after that bastard Santa Anna, doesn’t it?”

“Caleb, Tom was at the Alamo,” Jess said carefully.

Blue eyes lit into him angrily. “No! He got out somehow.”

Jess frowned. The man wasn’t going to let himself believe it. “Caleb, you know he was there. They were all killed. They say everybody at Goliad was killed, too. Even if he left and went there, he’d still be dead.”

Caleb just kept rubbing the barrel of his gun. He shook his head. “I’ve lost too many sons, Jess. God wouldn’t take that one from me—not my Tom—not my firstborn.”

Jess wanted to be angry with him, because he didn’t want to face the truth. His own heart ached with the thought of it. Tom! What a good friend he had become, and how sad the last months of his lonely life had been. What would this do to poor Lynda? If only he could be with her when she found out. He stared at Caleb. How was he going to handle this thing? He couldn’t even share his grief with the man, because Caleb wouldn’t believe it.

It was simply going to take some time. Caleb Sax couldn’t face this one. This one was too much. Jess turned away, thinking of home and how easy it would be right now just to desert and run to Lynda. Others had run off. But how was Santa Anna going to be stopped if they all just gave up? They had to take a stand, and he wished Houston would do something. Now they had all the more reason to fight—the Alamo, and Goliad. There had been needless slaughter at both places.

He turned back to watch Caleb, who was lighting a pipe. “Sit down and relax, Jess,” the man told him. “There’s been some kind of mix-up. My Tom is out there somewhere, and when this thing is over with, we’ll find him. Maybe he’ll even be sitting home waiting for us when we get there.”

Jess sighed deeply, turning away and blinking back tears. “Sure. You’re probably right,” he answered. He walked away. If the man wasn’t going to face Tom’s death, then Jess wasn’t about to cry about it in front of him. Let Caleb face it in his own way, in his own time. He walked off to be alone. For the time being there was no one with whom to share this sorrow, and the sorrow was made greater by Caleb’s refusal to face it.

He knelt by a gnarled old tree and wept. All those men—dead. It seemed incredible. And Tom Sax was surely one of them.

Lynda stood outside Emily’s cabin. They had all come to San Felipe for safety—Lynda and Sarah and the babies, the Handels and what few men were left at the Handel ranch. By now it was possible both their ranches had been overrun by Santa Anna and his men, who were now camped outside the city. Everyone expected them to come through the next day, and now even San Felipe apparently was not safe. What few men there were in town would fight, but it would be useless.

Still, for the moment, there was no place else to go. At least with so many people in one place, Santa Anna’s men would be less inclined to abuse the women. It was better than being caught alone on a remote ranch. Fleeing settlers who had suffered at the hands of Santa Anna’s men had already filtered into town. More of his aids were marching through Texas at other points—men like Gaona, Urrea, Cós and Sesma. Rumor said that Houston was retreating from Santa Anna’s push.

Lynda wondered if Jess and Caleb were still with Houston. Their last letters had said so, but there had been no letters now for weeks. Everyone said Houston was retreating closer and closer to the Gulf, and no one understood why. When would the man stand and fight?

Emily Cox was certain her husband had been at the Alamo. Their first few days in town the woman had carried on about how Howard had found out about her past just before he left. At first she was weeping and remorseful. Now she was quiet, hard, bitter. There were no smiles anymore, and she had aged. Sarah had tried to comfort her, but there was no comfort for such a woman. Lynda wondered where their own comfort would be if something happened to Caleb or Tom … or Jess.

The thought of losing Jess, too, was overwhelming, and she clung to the porch post and broke into tears. Where were they? Were they even alive? And what about Tom? Their last word was that he’d gone to the Alamo, and they knew now that everyone there had been killed. Even if he had been among the volunteers who left there and went to Goliad, he would still be dead. All those at Goliad had been executed by Santa Anna.

Tom. Jess. And her beloved father. Not knowing what was happening brought literal pain.

“Lynda.”

She turned to see Sarah in the doorway. The woman knew all her thoughts, and shared them with equal concern. She’d thought once she’d lost Caleb Sax, lived without him for years. But this time … this time … if he didn’t come back … how could she face it a second time? Lynda came to her and they embraced, breaking into tears.

“We’ve got to be strong, Lynda,” Sarah finally said between tears. “All our men are alive. I just know it. Our job … is to keep ourselves alive and unharmed for them. We can’t do anything for them right now but look out for ourselves and the babies. The Mexicans will come through here, probably tomorrow.”

“Oh, Mother, it’s all so horrible. I just … want to go home.”

“We will, Lynda. We will go home again. I promise you that.”

They awoke to screams and gunshots, and the acrid smell of smoke. Sarah looked out to see much of San Felipe burning. Wagons, carts, horses, and people on foot—all came running past the Cox cabin. Then old Wil Handel rode up with a wagon. “We must go,” he shouted. “Hurry.”

Emily Cox seemed unconcerned as Lynda and Sarah quickly packed carpetbags, preparing to flee.

“Come, Sarah,” Wil shouted from the doorway. “Come with us. They’re burning it all down. I have your horse and travois.”

Emily looked at them with bloodshot eyes. Her face was gaunt and hard. She was making coffee, still in her robe. “All burning but the saloons, I’ll wager,” she said calmly.

They had hoped the Mexicans would drive through, leave a few men to occupy the city, and go on from there. There were no Texas volunteers here to massacre. There were mostly women and children and men too old or injured to fight. Taking San Felipe was only a sign of “conquering” the Texans and putting them in their place. It was only one more strike along Santa Anna’s march to the Gulf.

Sarah felt a desperate, sinking feeling. Was it wise to leave, or stay? If they fled, they would have to live out in the open. The nights were still cold, although it was now April. The rivers were swollen with spring rains and snow melts. It made her think of Blue Valley. That battle for water seemed a hundred years ago now. And what was it all for if they were all going to die and never go back home, leaving Texas in full control of Santa Anna’s dictatorship? Blue Valley. She would like to be in that peaceful place right now, with Caleb, resting in his arms.

Closer gunfire brought her out of her thoughts. She closed her carpetbag. “Hurry, Emily,” she told the woman. Lynda stood holding Cale and her own carpetbag. Outside their travois waited, pulled by the only horse they had left, carrying what few belongings they had salvaged before leaving home. They would tie the rest of their belongings to it and ride in the Handels’ wagon.

Emily looked at Sarah with an odd smile. “I’m staying. I can handle the whole damned Mexican army if I have to, you know. Or have you forgotten what Emily Stoner really is?”

Sarah frowned. “You’re Emily Cox, and you’re a fine widow woman.”

Emily laughed, almost like a crazy woman. She got up nonchalantly from her chair. “I’m Emily Stoner, destined to be a whore forever, and you damned well know it.”

“Mother, we’ve got to go,” Lynda said anxiously. She looked at Handel. “Go ahead, Mister Handel. We’re coming.”

“We cannot leave you here.”

“Come, Sarah,” Mrs. Handel shouted from the wagon.

Lynda looked at her mother again, but Sarah was staring with pity at Emily. “Emily, please. You must come with us.”

Emily tossed her blonde hair. It was thinner now, showing some gray. “Did your husband ever tell you why he fled Fort Dearborn?” she asked Sarah with a sneer. “It was because of me! I was already a whore, way back then,” she said, holding up her chin. “I’m the one who taught Caleb Sax all about women. They caught us together once and I screamed rape and almost got the poor boy hung. Did he ever tell you that?”

Sarah paled slightly. “Yes,” she answered, lying.

Emily let out an odd hiss. “I’ll bet,” she grumbled. She held Sarah’s eyes. “My wonderful preacher father caught us. I was scared to death of him. That’s why I did it. Caleb had no choice but to get out of there. He never saw the Saxes again.” She paused then, some of the crazy gleam leaving her eyes. “I always felt guilty about that.”

“Emily, that was years ago. We were all children. None of it matters anymore. What matters is to get out of this city. Please come with us.”

Emily shook her head, her chin stubbornly set. “No. You two get going. Stay with the others. You’ll be safer.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “Emily, don’t do this.”

Emily blinked back her own tears then. “I’m a survivor, Sarah. And so are you and Lynda. We’re all strong in our own way. I know what I have to do now, what I am. There is nothing those soldiers can do to me that a thousand other men haven’t done.”

“Stop it, Emily,” Sarah said sharply. “You can’t hurt me. You want us to hate you, but it won’t work. You want it because you hate yourself. But you shouldn’t. You were true to Howard. You were a good wife. And you had a right to try for happiness. He died for us. You can’t just stand there and—”

“Go on!” Emily screamed. “Get going! They’re coming!”

Sarah closed her eyes and turned away. This was the old, hard Emily—the one she had never really known. It hurt to think of Caleb being with her, but then he’d been just a boy, and Emily had been a mere child herself.

There were more gunshots, and she had no choice. She had to get out. She picked up James and hurried out the door, praying for the safety of her baby, grandson, and daughter. There was nothing more she could do about Emily Cox.

They were quickly drawn up in the swell of people who fled before the smoke. Mrs. Handel drove the wagon while Wil led Sarah’s horse. James started to cry, and there was no way to soothe him. They had to keep going, run while they could.

San Felipe was soon mostly in flames, except for a few saloons … and one small cabin at the end of town.

“Welcome to San Felipe,” Emily told the soldiers who were the first to arrive at the cabin. She stood outside facing them, wearing only a thin robe. “No sense going on after the women who have fled, gentlemen, when you can get all you need right here.”

They just stared at her as she smiled seductively, hoping to divert their attention from the last women who had fled. Sarah Sax and Lynda Whitestone were not something soldiers would easily pass up a chance at raping.

“Spare my house, and I’ll do what I can to relieve your needs before you move on. You had better hurry, though, if you want to catch Sam Houston. He’s headed for the Gulf.”

She turned and sauntered inside. Eight men sat on horses grinning at each other. One carrying a torch dropped it and they all dismounted, then moved to the door to have their pleasure with the wild white woman.

Houston moved on to Harrisburg. When they heard San Felipe had been burned, Caleb and Jess both went almost wild with worry. The women! They should be with the women! Were they still at the Handels’ or had they been in San Felipe, where many refugees from outer areas had fled? Their only comfort was that the women were certainly not alone. And the best way to end this was to stay together with the militia and make a move against Santa Anna, something Houston surely intended to do eventually. Caleb wanted his turn at the Mexican soldiers. All any of them could think of was the Alamo and Goliad; so many men slaughtered; prisoners shot down like pigs; bodies burned. If Texas was going to be saved from the pompous, cruel Santa Anna, they must take a stand soon.

“Word is Santa Anna has ordered all his men to meet him here in the south,” Jess came up and told Caleb then. “He’ll get them all together full force before they come for us. At least that means they’ll vacate San Felipe. The women should be safe. If we could defeat him now, we could go home.”

Caleb looked at him with tired eyes. “Home?” He sighed deeply. “I wonder if there is a home to go to.”

Jess nodded. “Sure there is. We have to believe there is, Caleb. You just remember Sarah and James—and your grandson—and Lynda. They’re all waiting for us to come back.”

Their eyes held. “And waiting for Tom, too.”

Jess saw him tremble. Was he beginning to realize the truth? He nodded. “For Tom, too.”

Their thoughts were interrupted when a messenger rode through camp and told them to make ready. They were marching to the Gulf. Santa Anna had arrived in New Washington. Warned by scouts, those citizens of New Washington who made up the central government of the new republic escaped by ship into Galveston Bay only hours before Santa Anna arrived. Now Houston was ordering his men to head in that very direction, toward the San Jacinto River, where Santa Anna was making camp.

Jess grinned, picking up his long gun. “This is it, friend. I knew Houston would come through. By God, we’re going to fight, and we’re going to win!”

Men were cheering, picking up their gear, making ready to break camp.

“Remember the Alamo,” they were shouting back and forth to each other.

The words pierced Caleb’s heart. The Alamo! Tom! He couldn’t have been there. It couldn’t be true. He would not believe it. He picked up his rifle. He was going to kill some Mexicans. Of all the men he’d killed, he knew he would enjoy this as he had never enjoyed killing before. He moved along with the rest of the men. Most were on foot. Horses and supplies had become scarce. It made him realize he’d have to round up some wild Texas mustangs all over again when he got home—start building his herd anew. He’d do it with the money the government owed him when all this was over. And Tom would help him. Tom was good at that. He doubted he could run the place without his son. Yes. He’d get this war over with and go home, and Tom would be there, waiting.

Caleb lay on his belly studying the camp through underbrush. The volunteers had chosen him to scout out the position of the Mexican troops because they knew his Indian skills at such things would be an asset.

He shivered from the cold. It was April 1836, but for several days it had been unusually cold and had rained constantly. They had marched through mud toward this place, sleeping little, exposed to the weather twenty-four hours a day so that Caleb felt weary and drenched to the bone.

But it was worth it. Before him, their backs against the San Jacinto River and Peggy Lake, were Mexican soldiers, perhaps fifteen hundred men. And there was no mistaking who occupied the fanciest tent, into which a giggling, pretty woman had gone. Only Santa Anna would live so high. He had completed his march through eastern Texas. Now he seemed ready to relax and enjoy the spoils of victory.

“Only you haven’t won yet, you son of a bitch,” Caleb hissed.

He headed back, moving through underbrush and swamp along Peggy Lake. When he made it back to Houston’s camp, his story was confirmed by other scouts coming in from other directions and from San Felipe. The uncomfortable weather had caused delays and confusion among Santa Anna’s three armies. They had become separated. Santa Anna himself was camped not far away, and they were in an open area, their backs to the water. It was an excellent advantage, even though the Texans were outnumbered two to one.

Houston had slept in that morning, his first full night’s rest in nearly six weeks. The time had come. Santa Anna didn’t even know Texas volunteers were near. If they could take the notorious Mexican leader, it would be the ultimate victory. To get Santa Anna’s surrender would be to win the war.

The men milled around impatiently, wondering why Houston still did not move. It was difficult to keep some of them in camp. Finally Houston formed his troops, after the sun was already going down behind them.

“Siesta time,” someone near Caleb said excitedly. “That’s it! He’s been waitin’ till siesta time. All Mexicans take an afternoon nap. It’s the perfect time to attack!”

Caleb smiled as the word was passed. Yes. They had every advantage. He thought again of Tom as the troops moved out then, marching through moss and oak behind Sam Houston, who rode a white horse, his sword raised. Drum and fife began to play, but the Mexicans slept so soundly they never suspected a thing.

Finally they were close enough for an all-out charge. Those on horses rode in at a gallop then, while the rest broke into a run.

“Remember the Alamo,” they all were shouting.

The words cut into Caleb as though a Mexican soldier had sliced him with a sword. Tom! No, not Tom! Not Tom! He could not face it, yet the shouted words seemed to bring it all into reality. Dead. All dead. No survivors at the Alamo. No survivors. Tom had been there.

“Remember the Alamo! Alamo! Alamo!” The words pounded in his ears as he ran now, pulling his knife, his heart beating so hard with a building sorrow that his chest ached fiercely.

“Remember the Alamo,” he shouted himself then. As soon as he got the words out the tears came, tears of horror, anger, grief. Not Tom! Not Tom!

Suddenly he was in the heat of the short but fierce fight, as confused, shocked Mexican soldiers came out of tents to meet the wild, brave Texans. Caleb felt his knife sink into someone wearing a red coat. Then came another, and another. He slashed and slashed like a madman, wanting to kill all of them. The Texans yipped and called like wild Indians, shooting, slashing with swords and knives.

After several minutes of fighting, Caleb began slashing wildly at one soldier over and over, until Jess pulled him off.

“It’s over, Caleb,” the man told him desperately. “The man’s dead and the battle is over.”

Caleb threw him off with a power that seemed almost superhuman, sending Jess flying. He whirled then, still holding the knife.

“Caleb, it’s me, Jess,” the young man yelled. “Goddamn it, the fighting is over. We’ve won.”

Caleb froze, staring at him strangely. All around them men began cheering, rounding up Mexican soldiers, their hands in the air in an act of surrender. Later the tally would show 630 Mexicans killed and 208 wounded, with 730 taken prisoner. The Texans, numbering nine hundred, had lost only nine men. Their victory had been quick and sure.

Sam Houston had been wounded in his right leg and his horse was killed. He was carried to rest under an oak tree. The prisoners were herded together, and as the Texans began frantically searching for Santa Anna, who had somehow slipped away, Caleb stood looking down at his bloody knife, not even aware of a wound in his own left side.

“Come on, Caleb. You’re bleeding,” Jess told him. He was battered himself but not badly hurt. His clothes carried the blood of those he had fought but not his own. He grabbed Caleb’s arm and made him sit down, leaning against a tree. He pulled Caleb’s buckskin shirt out of his leggings and examined a large gash in Caleb’s side, then called for the doctor.

“In a minute,” the busy man called back.

“Tom,” Caleb mumbled.

Jess looked back at him. “What?”

“We have to find him.”

Jess sighed, pulling off his own shirt in spite of the cold and holding it against Caleb’s side. His long underwear would have to do for now. He pressed the shirt tightly against Caleb’s wound

“We won’t find him, Caleb. Tom is dead,” he said gently. “They all died at the Alamo. We can’t bring him back.”

Caleb shook his head, another tear slipping out of one eye. “No. When we go home, we’ll ask around.”

“Damn it, Caleb, you’ve got to face facts. Sarah and Lynda will both need you to be a whole man when you get back. God only knows what they’ve been through. We’ll all need each other. Before we go home you’ve got to face the reality that Tom is dead.”

Caleb pressed his head back against the tree, his chest heaving. “No. We’ll … we’ll look for him. We’ll go to the mission, ask at all the cities where volunteers congregated. And if we don’t find him, I’ll bet he’ll be at home waiting for us when we get there.”

“He won’t, Caleb. He won’t be there.”

Their eyes met. “Remember the Alamo,” someone nearby shouted again, as Mexican soldiers were shoved around, some kicked at. “You bastards didn’t even leave us bodies to bury,” another shouted. “Why’d you have to burn them, you lilly-livers!”

More tears slipped out of Caleb’s eyes. Burned! They’d burned the bodies … all of them! That’s what the scouts said. What if Tom wasn’t even completely dead yet when they set fire to him? He looked down at the hard earth he sat on, grasping some of it in his fist. Texas. So many lives lost for Texas. And so many of them his own loved ones. Marie and her parents, their two sons David and John, Lee, and Bess. And now … no! Not Tom!

“Remember the Alamo,” he said gruffly to Jess.

Jess’s own eyes teared, and they reached out for each other and embraced. “Let’s go home, Caleb,” Jess said, his voice full of emotion. “Let’s go home to Lynda and Sarah.”

“Sarah,” Caleb whispered. “Yes. I have to be with Sarah. Sarah, my Sarah. God, let her be all right!”