“Michael is not here. That is another reason I cannot go. I have to wait here for Michael.”

“Where is he gone?”

James thought for a moment he saw tears in Marie’s eyes, before she blinked them away. “I do not know. Somewhere to fight, I think. I could not go and not know what has become of him.”

Villaret put his arm back around her. “Perhaps. We will talk about it some more later. Now, let me love my grandchildren again.” They all began walking toward the cabin.

Annie started after them, but Shipman called her. “Annie, just a minute.” She stopped but did not turn. He had to walk around her to face her. “Annie, he’s serious. I’m serious. It’s dangerous for you-all to stay here with a war fixin’ to bust out around you. That’s why we came with the wagons, so we can haul you out of here.”

“You heard Marie. This is her home. She’s raised her family here, buried a child here.”

“You ain’t raised a family here.”

“And not likely to, either.” Her face creased. “It’s twice now you’ve ridden off and left me. Why didn’t you just stay gone?”

“Because I’m scared for you. Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“And why would you care?”

His face clouded with impatience. “Because, damn it, woman, I love you!”

Her face softened. “Say that again.”

“You heard me. What do you want me to do, get down on my knees?”

“No, I heard you. I just wanted to be sure you heard yourself.” She smiled and held out her hands. “I don’t know one good reason I should love you, Sly Shipman. I can think of a dozen good reasons why I shouldn’t.”

James saw that he was not needed. He walked away and left them standing there trying to crush the breath from one another.

TIME DID not change Marie’s mind about leaving. All her father’s efforts at persuasion went for nothing, though he kept trying for several days. He begged James and Andrew, Frank, Hope, and Annie to talk to her, but it was to no avail. Marie had as much stubborn determination as if she had been born a Lewis rather than married into the name.

They had considerable company during the days that Baptiste Villaret remained, enjoying his grandchildren, hoping their mother might yet change her mind. Horsemen rode by singly and in small groups, all moving toward San Antonio de Bexar.

A familiar face was among them, a portly, one-eyed minister named Fairweather. James remembered him from Velasco. Andrew knew him from much farther back. James asked him, “You fixin’ to go fight, preacher?”

Fairweather solemnly replied, “Big events are afoot, young gentlemen. I fear that there will shortly be much need for prayer. I carry the Lord’s word where it is needed the most.”

A chilling report had come from the town of Gonzales. First blood had been drawn. A force had marched out from the Bexar garrison to retrieve a cannon the government had lent some years earlier to the citizens of Gonzales for defense against Indian attack. The Texans had raised a homemade banner emblazoned with the words Come and Take It. Rifles had spoken an even bolder message. The cannon had been loaded with scrap iron and pieces of chain and fired in the direction of the soldiers. The Mexicans had retreated, trailing blood.