RIDE FOR JUSTICE

Chapter 1 (Abbreviated To Fit Space Limitations) Texas, 1861 Tom Calvert and his thirteen-year-old son, Jack, glad the heat of the late summer day had passed, walked onto the front porch of their home near San Antonio. Tom pulled a thin cigar from his pocket, struck a match, and allowed the flame to do its work. He was watching the smoke curl toward the horizon as a solitary rain cloud sailed over the pasture, leaving a thin layer of moisture in its wake. As the sunset reached its peak, his wife joined them and Tom leaned forward, his hands on the porch rail. “We’ve watched sunsets here for ten years,” Tom said as he tapped the cigar. “That’s the first time those hills have turned blood red. I’ll guarantee you that your father would have called it an omen. What do you think?” Mary took a second look at the cascade of crimson caused as the sun’s dying rays hit the wet surfaces of the distant boulders and frowned. “My father was a full-blooded Cherokee chief,” she said. “He understood nature and its signs much better than I do.” Tom’s brow furrowed. “I’d still like to know what you think it means. Go on, give it a try.” Reluctantly, Mary walked down the steps and continued until she had freed herself from the dying shadow of the house. Mary leaned forward, chanting softly as her long black hair fell over her face. In the fading light of the setting sun with the hills in the background, the features she had inherited from her father could not be ignored, even though most people never saw past her mother’s Irish nose and patrician chin. A few recognized her lineage without help, but not many. Mary straightened up, spoke in the Cherokee tongue, tossed a handful of sand into the air, and watched as the soft wind disbursed the granules. Once they had all fallen to the ground, she closed her eyes and stood stone still again with her arms outstretched and her head leaning back. Finally, she sighed and turned back toward the house. “Jack’s name is on the wind tonight,” she said, looking with sharp eyes at Tom, who understood immediately that he should not ask for more with Jack standing next to him. The boy was nevertheless wide eyed with fear. Tom moved closer to him as he tried to ignore his own sense of danger. “Don’t be afraid, Jack. Your mother’s worried about the possibility of war,” Tom said, his cigar between his teeth, “but don’t worry; it’s not my fight and Texas is a long way from South Carolina. We’ll be fine.” “Someone’s coming!” Jack exclaimed, preventing Mary from responding to Tom’s declaration. Tom looked hard. The hills had changed from dark red to soft yellow. The lush grassy plain had become a black floor from the far side of the nearest corral all the way to the last fence at the bottom of the closest hill. It took considerable effort and a sharp eye to spot the rider. “Well done, Jack,” Tom said, touching Jack’s shoulder as the boy’s chest swelled with pride. As they watched the rider round the fences, Tom checked over his shoulder to be sure that the rifle was within reach. “It’s okay,” Tom said, even though the rider still had a distance to cover, “I’d know that tall drink of Virginia water anywhere. No one sits a horse better or looks more like an English squire than Will.” Mary frowned. “You told me not to expect him for three more days.” “I know,” Tom said, pulling off his hat and smoothing his brown hair. “He must have ridden with that wind you were trying to read.” Tom slid his hat back onto his head and tried to smile, hoping it would quell Mary’s angst “I’m going to add something to the stew. I don’t want your friend to leave my table hungry on his first night here,” Mary said as she hurried into the house. Tom wiped his brow and out of the corner of his eye caught his son smiling at his discomfort. When Tom looked up, the rider had passed the last corral and was approaching the house. “It’s good to see you,” Tom said as he dropped the last of the cigar into a bucket near the steps and reached up to grip his friend’s hand. “We weren’t expecting you for several days.” “I pushed as hard as I could. I’m here on serious business that can’t wait,” Will said. “Not now,” Tom said, cutting his eyes toward the boy and withdrawing his hand. “We’ll talk after supper.” Tom turned toward the boy. “Jack, I want you to meet my friend. Will, this is Jack. Jack, this is Will Hastings.” Jack came over and reached up. Will had to lean well out of the saddle to reach the boy’s hand. “Fine handshake,” Will said as he slid from the saddle to the ground. “I’ll take your horse,” Jack said, reaching for the reins. “Walk him around here until he cools down,” Tom said as he examined the horse and tried to contain his displeasure. “Jesus, Will, I’m surprised. This fellow looks as if he’s been ridden through the streets of hell.” Will held his hand up. “Tom, I know how you feel about horses, and I’m of the same mind; but what I’ve come to talk to you about is important, damn it. I didn’t have time to take care of him.” Tom silenced his friend by putting an arm on his shoulder and pointing him toward the house. “Mary’s waiting for us.” “It’s not what I had planned to serve on your first night,” she said, as they took their seats, “but I guess this will have to do.” “Don’t worry,” Will said as he spooned some of the stew onto his plate. “I haven’t eaten anything but cold jerky for days.” “I’ve got to get back to Virginia as soon as possible, but I hope I won’t be traveling alone,” Will said, looking directly into Tom’s eyes. “We’ll get to that soon enough,” Tom said When the last piece of pie had been eaten, Tom pushed his chair back and stood up. “Will, let’s go into the front room while Mary and Jack clear the table.” The two men walked into the front room, Tom with his arm on Will’s shoulder. They separated when they passed the stone fireplace. Tom leaned on the mantle with his left arm while Will paced the floor in front of him. “For the love of heaven, Tom,” Will said, making no effort to hide the depth of his feelings, “I don’t want to dance around this all night. The war has started and the South needs us. Your father expects you to come back with me.” Tom put his hands up and shook his head. “My father can go to hell, and he can take the whole state of Virginia with him,” he bellowed. “When I needed him to stand up for Mary, he didn’t say a word in her defense. You were the only one to speak up for her. All he did was give me the money he said was to be my inheritance and send me on my way. Now he wants me to lay my life on the line for him and his way of life.” Tom moved to within a few feet of Will. “So if that’s the best argument you’ve got,” he said, his face turning a dark red, “then you’ve traveled a long way for nothing.” “They were wrong to treat Mary as they did,” Will said, putting both hands on his friend’s shoulders, “but you’ve got to understand—in your father’s world, a man marries within his class. Marrying a girl considered by society to be…anything else… isn’t acceptable.” “Mary was fine for them when they thought she was a poor white girl whose family had been taken by the Cherokee,” Tom growled as he stepped away. “I guess it’s okay to be raised by an Indian chief so long as he isn’t a blood relative.” “But the Indian chief was her father. She’s an Indian and always will be as far as your father and his friends are concerned.” “It shouldn’t have been that way,” Tom said.