San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance) (2 page)

Dr. R.N.Gray. No one knows more about Indians in Texas
than you do. I could listen to you for hours. Thank you for
sharing your knowledge with me, and for setting me straight
on Chief Bowels, the red-headed Cherokee chief.

Thanks to my uncle, Henry Hoyle, for introducing me to
Dr. R.N.Gray.

Whenever delving into history it is inevitable that
there will be many conflicting reports on any given
subject. This is true of Texas's fight for independence.
The one true fact that is consistent throughout is that
there were heroes on both the Texas and Mexican
side-honorable men who were willing to die for what
they believed. My main source of information came
from an eyewitness journal meticulously kept by one
of Santa Anna's own officers, Jose Enrique De La
Pena. I found his account to be invaluable.

There are several different opinions on Sam
Houston's height, ranging from six feet four inches to
six feet six inches. I have chosen to believe he was six
feet four inches which would have still allowed him to
cast a tall shadow. Sam Houston was named Co-Ionneh by his adopted Cherokee father, who was head
chief of the western Cherokee tribe-in English the
translation means "The Raven."

There are numerous writings, rumors and legends
concerning an unknown woman who kept Santa Anna
occupied at San Jacinto, allowing Houston time to
launch a surprise attack that ended in the dictator's
defeat. Some accounts called her the Yellow Rose. My
account names her Emerada de la Rosa-the San
Antonio Rose.

Lastly, I chose to deal indirectly with the Battle of
the Alamo since the true accounts speak for themselves
and need no help from me. However, all the world
needs a hero, and I have mine in the man who gave
America one of its finest heroic letters. For those
Americans who have never read the letter, I would like
to share it with you:

The Alamo-Feb. 24, 1836

To the people of Texas and all Americans in the
world-fellow citizens and compatriots-I am
besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans
under Santa Anna-I have sustained a continual
bombardment and cannonade for twenty-four hours
and have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a
surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison are to
be put to the sword if the fort is taken-I have
answered the demand with cannon shot, and our flag
still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never
surrender or retreat. I call on you in the name of
liberty, of patriotism and everything dear to the
American character to come to our aid with all
dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily
and will no doubt increase to three or four thousand
in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am
determined to sustain myself as long as possible and
die like a soldier who never forgot what is due his
own honor and that of his country-victory or death!

WILLIAM BARRET TRAVIS
LT. COL. COMDT.

Lay the proud usurper low,
Tyrants falling every foe,
Liberty's in every blow,
Let us do or die!

-Robert Burns

Nacogdoches, Province of Tejas-1835

The woman emerged from the mist like a
ghostly figure. She was dressed all in black,
and she rode an equally black horse. She was
so well covered that only her eyes were visible,
and she hoped they reflected none of the apprehension she was feeling.

Emerada de la Rosa knew that she was
treading on dangerous ground, and every instinct she had cried out for her to turn around
and ride away.

But she had made up her mind; there was no
turning back now.

She squinted her eyes to see through the
thick fog that shrouded the land like a spider web. The air was so thick and humid that it
was difficult for her to take a deep breath.

She slowed her horse to ford a narrow
stream, then rode up the banks to top a small
hill. The thick grass muted the sound of her
horses hooves, but the jingle of the bridle interrupted the silence as she guided her mount
down the hill to the bivouac camp that lay almost hidden by scrub bushes and dense tree
growth.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a guard
stepped in front of her, his rifle pointed at her
heart. "Identify yourself," he demanded.

She raised her chin defiandy and matched
the young sentry stare for stare. "My name is
not important," she said with a slight Spanish
accent. "It is enough for you to know that Sam
Houston is expecting me. Take me to him at
once."

Although her voice was soft, the words were
a command.

The guard nodded and lowered his gun. "Be
you the San Antonio Rose?"

"Si" she said, "I am."

"I was told to expect you. Follow me." He led
her to a log cabin that was set apart from a row
of tents. The guard paused, rapped on the door,
then pushed it open, calling to someone inside.

"She's here, General."

Emerada dismounted and briskly stepped inside the cabin. The guard closed the door behind her.

She inspected the man that the Indians
called Co-lon-neh, a name he'd been given by
his adopted father, a chief of the Western
Cherokees. Most people, his friends and enemies alike, used the English translation, which
meant "the Raven." The legendary tales of the
man's exploits were no less amazing than
Houston himself. He was an imposing figure,
casting a long shadow at six-foot-four. His eyes
were soft blue and his expression was meant to
put her at ease. But she wondered what turmoil went on behind those disarming eyes.

"You are taller than I thought, Senor Houston," Emerada said, lowering the shawl that
had hidden her face from him.

He noted that her gaze swept over him without the apprehension that most people experienced on meeting him for the first time. He had
always appreciated a beautiful woman, and she
certainly was a beauty, with her ebony hair and
dark brown eyes fringed by long lashes. She
came only to his shoulder, and he guessed that
because she was a dancer she would have a
trim body beneath the layers of clothing she
wore.

He was suspicious of this young Mexican
woman who had sent a message that she
wanted to meet with him on a matter of importance, but he hid his distrust behind a finely
honed diplomatic manner.

"The San Antonio Rose. I must say that I was
intrigued when I received your letter. You im plied that you had something to discuss that
would be beneficial to us both."

"N, I do. I hope you will think so, too."

His fierce gaze fastened on her face. "What
can the San Antonio Rose have to say to me?
Surely you have enough admirers that you
don't need to add the heart of an old warhorse
like myself?"

Trying to keep her anger under control,
Emerada glanced around the cabin to make
certain that they were alone. The door leading
to what must be his bedroom was closed, so
she lowered her voice. If someone was in that
other room, she didn't want to be overheard.

When Houston indicated that she should be
seated, she dropped down on a wooden stool
and fixed him with a disapproving glower. "I
did not come all this way to pry compliments
from you, senor."

His face was expressionless as he asked,
"Why did you come?"

"Your feeble army faces dangers that you do
not yet comprehend. You need all the help you
can get if you are to defeat Santa Anna. He not
only outnumbers you, but his men are seasoned and well trained-yours are not."

Houston drew in a less than tolerant breath.
"Why should the San Antonio Rose wish to
help me?"

"My reasons for helping you shall remain my
own... for now."

"I know nothing about your personal life, and, on making inquiries, I found no one else
seems to know much about you either. Should
I trust my life, and those of my men, to a
woman with no known identity?"

"I am here to offer my assistance to your
cause, but that does not mean I am willing to
share my life story with you. Just because you
do not know my true identity does not make
me less able to help you."

"Tell me then why I should trust you."

She matched his intense stare. "Is it your
wish that you and I should bicker like two old
women in the marketplace?"

After a long moment of silent confrontation,
the stark planes of Houston's face eased into a
grin. "I will listen to what you have to say and
then judge whether or not you can help me."

"If you want to know about Santa Anna's
movements, you will need to rely on someone
who can get in and out of his camp without
suspicion-is that not right?"

Houston's voice had an edge to it when he
asked, "And that would be you?"

She nodded. "I put myself at great risk to
come here today. What would I have to gain by
misleading you?"

"What would you gain by betraying Santa
Anna? He is your president, is he not?" Houston asked. "Why should I believe that you're
willing to champion my cause?"

"Let it be clear from the beginning that I feel
nothing for your cause, Senor Houston," Emerada said heatedly. "As I told you, my reasons for helping you will remain my own."

Sam Houston walked the length of the cabin
and back, stopping before her. He saw many
conflicting emotions reflected in the fiery
depths of her eyes: pain, disillusionment, obstinance, and pride. In some ways she reminded
him of his wife, who was a revered Cherokee
princess.

"If it's money you want, senorita, I can assure you that our treasury is all but depleted,"
Houston said guardedly, his eyes probing
deeper into hers with the intent to intimidate
her, to discover her flaws.

She merely returned his probing glance with
one of unrelenting pride. "To suggest that I
would do this for money is an affront to me,
senor. I did not come here to be insulted, and I
do not want your money!"

His hand went to his chin and he rubbed it
over a day's growth of beard thoughtfully. Despite her profession, she was obviously highborn. She spoke English well, but with a slight
Spanish accent that puzzled him, because
some of her words were tinged with a French
pronunciation. She bore herself in a haughty
manner, and he deduced that she was one hell
of a woman. He could also tell that she was accustomed to getting her own way.

What did she really want from him? he wondered. "Suppose I decide to believe you. What
can one woman do to help our cause?"

"You know I am a dancer?"

He nodded. "Your fame has preceded you,
but we do not need dancers in my army."

Emerada proudly tossed her head and glared at him before continuing. "Sometimes a
woman can be a far more effective weapon
than a gun."

Houston realized that he had allowed her
beauty to disarm him, and that gave him even
more reason to mistrust her. He was locking
horns with a woman of superior intelligence,
and he had to be wary. "Why is that, senorita?"

"I do not know why they do it, but men always seem to tell me their deepest secrets-you
Americans, as well as my people. For instance,
I know that your ragtag army numbers in the
hundreds, rather than the thousands. I know
that it is comprised totally of volunteers, who
could desert you in battle if they so choose, and
they probably will. I also know that you need a
miracle to keep Santa Anna away until you can
muster a larger force to stand against him."

Houston's mouth twisted cynically. "Hell,
senorita, everyone knows that. Are you asking
me to believe that you can perform a miracle
that will keep Santa Anna away until I can
meet him as an equal?"

"No. I am not a miracle worker. It will take
more than a woman to keep the dictator from
running up your tail, Senor Houston, but I can
give you information."

His glance traced the delicate lines of her face, and he was tantalized by her beauty. "The
question that comes to mind is, if you help me,
what will you want in return?"

She lowered her eyes and her chin quivered
with raw emotion. "I will tell you what I want
when the time is right. For now, I ask only that
whatever passes between us be kept secret. I
must have your word that no one, and I do
mean no one, will learn about our arrangement-that is, should we come to an understanding today."