A Promise Engraved

By Liz Tolsma

Can Promises Made in Times of Struggle Endure 200 Years?
 
Visit historic American landmarks through the Doors to the Past series. History and today collide in stories full of mystery, intrigue, faith, and romance.
 
Young, spirited Josie Wilkins life is about to take a turn when faced with political turmoil and secret love in San Antonio of 1836. John Gilbert has won her heart, despite being a Protestant preacher who is forbidden to practice his faith in Texas. If he discovers the secrets of her painful past, he will never have anything to do with her. But then comes the Battle of the Alamo. Will either of them survive an epic battle for liberty to create a legacy of love?
 
Nearly 200 years later, Kayleigh Hewland takes breaks from her demanding job as a refugee coordinator working with Mexican migrants to attend flea markets where she has found a uniquely engraved ring that helps her discover who killed her parents. Enlisting the help of appraiser Brandon Mullins, they piece together a love story long forgotten. But will dangers linked to the ring end her own hopes for leaving a legacy built on hope, faith, and love?

Don’t miss other great books in the Doors to the Past series:
The Lady in Residence by Allison Pittman
Hope Between the Pages by Pepper Basham
Bridge of Gold by Kimberley Woodhouse
Undercurrent of Secrets by Rachel Scott McDaniel
Behind Love's Wall by Carrie Fancett Pagels
High-Wire Heartbreak by Anna Schmidt
Love's Fortress by Jennifer Uhlarik
A Promise Engraved by Liz Tolsma
Laura's Shadow by Allison Pittman
Passages of Hope by Terri Haynes
In Spotlight and Shadow by Rachel Scott McDaniel
The Keys to Gramercy Park by Candice Sue Patterson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbour Publishing
• Release date: May 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781636092515

Liz Tolsma

Liz Tolsma has lived in Wisconsin most of her life. She and her husband have a son and two daughters, all adopted internationally. When not busy putting words to paper, Liz enjoys reading, walking, working in her large perennial garden, kayaking, and camping with her family. Visit her at www.liztolsma.com Twitter: @LizTolsma Facebook: liztolsma

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

September 28, 1835

Recent rains that had broken the long Texas summer heat had swollen the Guadalupe River so that it churned and foamed as it roared over the rocks along the bank. After a long day on her now-swollen feet, the water called to Josie Wilkins, sang its siren song, and beckoned her to slip off her shoes so the water might refresh her.

A song she disregarded. Instead, she inhaled the musty scent of decaying leaves filling her nostrils, awakening her. All too soon, she would have to return to the four-room dogtrot cabin and get supper started. Her father would arrive home from his blacksmith’s shop in a short while and would be hungry.

As it was, Charlotte would scold her for her skirt hem being muddy. Her stepmother was more ladylike than Josie, much more ladylike. And she didn’t hesitate to condemn Josie for her ruffian ways.

She may be only eighteen, but Josie was no longer a child. She’d been in the world, seen and experienced events that many adults hadn’t. Her heart would bear those scars forever.

As usual, she swallowed the tears and reinforced the wall around her heart. She fought to keep her head above water so she wouldn’t drown. If only she could sleep. Keep the dreams at bay and rest.

She shook the dark thoughts off like dust off a rug. Time flew onward, and home called. Already Father would chastise her for being away from Charlotte too long. If there was a problem with this pregnancy, as there had been before, Charlotte would have no help and no one to send a message to Father.

Before she could turn to head for town, a flash of blue across the river caught her eye. She dashed behind the rough trunk of a large oak tree and peeked around it. Some of the crashing filling her ears came not from the water churning over the river rocks but from men moving through the forest on the opposite side.

Glimpses of red and white mixed in with the blue.

Good thing she had chosen to wear her dark brown gown today. This way she blended in with the tree trunks surrounding her. The Mexican army hadn’t learned that lesson so well. Because that’s who came stomping through the trees. A horde of them, many on horseback, pulling up short when they reached the foaming water, all dressed in blue uniforms with white sashes and tall white hats with red and blue plumes. Peacocks strutting about the forest, announcing their arrival for all the world to see.

Josie knew that uniform well.

Was Manuel Garcia with them?

A chill swept through her, a hollow emptiness that left an ache in her stomach. She could only pray he wasn’t, that she would never have to look into his dark eyes again or endure his large, rough hands all over her, in places they never should be.

Her chest pulsed, her knees went weak, and she leaned against the nearest tree for support, digging her fingernails into the rough bark just to remain upright, reminding herself to breathe, to keep the darkness from consuming her.

Then she forced those memories deep inside, to the deepest part of her, where no one, including she, could find them. Sometimes, like now, they resurfaced and sought her out. But she never allowed them to linger for long.

Remaining behind the tree, she set her focus on the regiment across the swirling water. From the looks of it, the soldiers didn’t come on a peace mission. Most held rifles, while a few clasped swords. They were here for a reason. But what?

Tensions had been rising between the Mexicans under the direction of Santa Anna and the Texans, immigrants from America, for some time. Had it truly boiled over into armed conflict?

She blew out a breath. The river would act as a wall for Gonzales for a while, keeping these troops at bay, giving Josie time to discover why they were here, what their intentions were. Too bad she didn’t have her colorful embroidered shawl with her today. With her dark hair and eyes, people often mistook her for Tejano—those of Mexican descent born in Texas. The shawl would better help her play the part.

She melted deeper into the forest, its green canopy covering her. On soft, moccasin-clad feet, she crept farther down the river. Though the water was high in this spot, it didn’t run as fast, but the forest and undergrowth were too thick for an army to cross here.

She glanced around. The trees surrounding her whispered to her, but there were no other noises. No flashes of color among the green and brown.

Good. No one else was about. Not even an army scout.

Even though the rushing water now covered the rocks, Josie had crossed here often enough that she had memorized where every stone was. Lifting her skirts, she stepped onto the first one, the water swirling around her calves, daring her to remain on her feet.

She met the challenge, her steps sure and secure as she crossed the river. In no time, she was on the other side, slinking into the trees that again provided cover. There were many good things that came from having an Indian girl as a best friend. One was the ability to walk over the forest floor covered with twigs and dried leaves without making a sound.

Another advantage was buckskin. If only she had dressed in that instead of this cotton gown. The hide didn’t catch on twigs and thorns. Cotton did. Well, it couldn’t be helped. She yanked her skirt from the branch it was caught on and continued on her way, as silent as an owl in flight.

She didn’t have to go far before a flash of color caught her eye, the contingent of the Mexican Army that had come marching against their own citizens.

She slowed her pace, even more careful than before not to make a sound, concentrating on keeping her breathing deep and even, close enough now to make out the whites of the soldiers’ eyes standing out against their dark skin.

Eyes and skin so much like Manuel’s. Eyes she would never forget. Even sleep offered little respite from their haunting depths. Today the memories refused to stay buried. They demanded entrance to her consciousness no matter the force she applied to shoved them away.

Surely the soldiers must hear the pounding of her heart and her ragged breathing.

Several of the Mexicans’ horses snorted, their tack jangling as they pranced, eager to be in the fight as they were trained.

Picking her way around trees and scrub, she managed to inch closer to the front line. Here the men would know more about what was going on. Though they may not be able to answer the question that almost burned a hole through her soul, she might glean valuable information from them, like their intentions for marching to Josie’s small frontier town.

They want us to cross that river? The soldier’s voice cracked, as if it had changed not long ago. I don’t think so.

Thanks to Manuel and her time among the Mexicans, she had a pretty good grasp of Spanish.

We have to obey orders. The first one’s companion leaned forward on his horse.

I hope they don’t order us across. I am still not that skilled with my riding. Pedro will lose his footing and send me into the water for sure.

Greenhorns. That was who they had sent against Gonzales. Good to know it wasn’t a bunch of seasoned veterans, but that begged the question why they came at all.

She moved away from the river. It was risky to go around the back to the other flank, because she might run into stragglers, but these men had no idea why they were here, just that they were here. As swift as a rabbit, she scampered through the forest to the other side of the troops.

The water is too high. The deep lines on this man’s face said he was more experienced. A veteran, a higher ranking soldier. Here she would have better luck getting the information she needed.

The one beside him nodded. How are we going to get across and get that cannon? Seems to me we are going to be stuck here for a while.

Too bad we don’t have orders to shoot. How do they expect us to retrieve it if we can’t force them?

A handful of men? The scarred one scoffed. When they see us, they’ll tuck their tails between their legs and roll over. They’ll beg us to take that cannon off their hands. Besides, it has been spiked, rendering it useless. Only a showpiece to scare off the natives. Santa Anna wasn’t stupid enough to give them a weapon they could turn on him.

What they said about the cannon was true. A spike had been driven into the vent hole at the back of the weapon so that it couldn’t be used. Since it was almost impossible to reverse what Santa Anna had done to it, the cannon was of no use to the townspeople.

That was all the information she needed. The fact that the Mexicans had come for the cannon was something she had to warn the leaders about. Keeping low and silent, she retraced her steps through the thicket to the river’s ford. Her toes would be damp and wrinkled, but it was a small price to pay for the intelligence she would bring the men of Gonzales.

Once she was well away from the river, she hurried her steps into the collection of cabins and businesses they called a town. Most residents also had land allotments—sitios—scattered about the countryside, where they spent most of their time.

Before she had gone far, she spotted John Gilbert, hard to miss in his black coat and black hat. As always, the preacher carried a Bible in his hand, even when he was on some errand for his saddler’s shop. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Why would he have such an effect on her? Since he was a pastor, better for her to shake away such imaginings.

He was too pure for a woman as sullied as she.

She hurried to catch him. Pastor Gilbert.

He spun around, a half smile tilting his lips, his eyes a blue she had never seen before and likely never would again, the softness in those eyes such a contrast to Manuel’s. Ones that spoke of comfort and peace even as they sent her heart racing. Miss Wilkins. Always a pleasure to see you. Are you quite well? Your face is flushed.

She bobbed and touched her warm cheeks. No time to give thought as to why they may be so. I have important and urgent news. Round up every man you can find and have them assemble at our home within the half hour.

He nodded, his black hat slipping forward on his blond curls. It must be important for you to be in such a state.

Such a state? She studied her muddied skirts, and her face grew warm once more.

John stepped forward and pulled a twig from her hair, causing a tendril to escape the ribbon and brush her warm neck. Best thing to do was to let that comment pass and focus on what was necessary. Thank you. I’ll see you at our cabin in thirty minutes. She turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction.

When she did peek over her shoulder, John stood with his hat doffed and his mouth a little ajar. Nothing like leaving a man off balance.

She hustled down muddy Water Street, the extra dirt her hem picked up of little consequence to her. She dipped a curtsy to Mrs. Norris and another one to Mrs. Bradley. Both of them eyed her up and down, no doubt taking in her disheveled appearance.

In only a few blocks, Father’s blacksmith shop came into view. Before she reached it, the chime of hammer meeting metal rang out.

Heat from the furnace blasted her as she entered. No wonder Father’s face was always red, a permanent flush. She couldn’t interrupt his work until he finished fashioning the horseshoe.

Then again, this was vital information she was bringing him. It couldn’t wait. As soon as he plunged the horseshoe into the barrel of water, she stepped forward. Father.

He grasped his shirtfront with one hand. Goodness, child, you’re always sneaking up on me. A bad habit you picked up from Bright Star.

Quite the opposite. Bright Star had taught her many good, useful things she had employed numerous times.

Never mind that now. I bear news. The Mexican Army is camped just down the river a short distance. I saw them when I went for a walk. From what I overheard, they’re planning to demand the cannon Santa Anna gave us for protection.

Santa Anna. Father spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the dirt floor. That snake of a president-turned-dictator. But the river is high and swift. How did you ever hear them above the roar? Especially without them seeing you. He pulled a blue handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sheen of sweat from his balding head.

Well …

Never mind. I’m most sure I don’t want to know.

I met John, um, Pastor Gilbert on my way here and asked him to assemble the town’s men at our house in half an hour. By now, it’s likely been fifteen minutes or so.

Go and warn Charlotte they’re coming. I’ll be along as soon as possible.

I love you, Father. She kissed his cheek. Ever since Manuel had stolen so much from her, had ripped her heart from her chest, she never left Father without letting him know how she felt. She never knew when it might be the last time she would be able to do so.

She swept up the street and west two blocks until she arrived at their unassuming dogtrot cabin, the two rooms on one side separated by a breezeway from the two rooms on the other. A wide front porch flanked the entire structure.

When she entered the kitchen, it was cool and dark and empty. She peeked into the bedroom behind it, the one Charlotte shared with Father. Her stepmother sat up in bed with the Bible in her hands. She peered over the pages as Josie entered. You’re a muddy mess.

Don’t fret. I’ll clean up any dirt I leave behind. But we’re about to be inundated with men. I’ve called a meeting here in a few minutes.

Charlotte stuck an embroidered piece of cloth into the Bible to hold her page. With a sigh, she pushed back a stray hair, folded back the covers, and rose. Though she showed few visible signs of the coming child yet, the pregnancy had left her tired and sick.

She tottered, and Josie was by her side in a flash. I can take care of the men. You stay in here and rest.

I’ll be fine. We can’t let them come without refreshment.

They aren’t paying a social call.

Charlotte raised a single brown eyebrow. She had been brought up as a genteel southern lady, and that’s what she would remain, no matter that she now resided in a cabin on the Texas frontier. Help me stir the fire so I can make some coffee. I believe we have a few slices of cake left from yesterday. We can cut them smaller and make them go further.

Josie lent Charlotte a hand in the kitchen, setting out plates and forks and cups before men arrived, chatting with each other on the porch.

As soon as things were well under control in the kitchen, Josie wandered outside. There weren’t many in attendance, maybe a dozen and a half or so. Was this all they could assemble?

In the group, there was Mr. Cottle, Mr. Martin, and Mr. Almaron Dickinson, a longtime resident of the colony by way of Tennessee. He had the sweetest wife and young daughter. Angelina would make a great companion for Charlotte’s little one.

John, a head taller than every other man, blew a sharp whistle, and the group fell silent. Like a clap of thunder, his deep voice boomed over the gathering. Miss Wilkins has important news. Let us give her our full attention.

She cleared her throat and straightened her spine to give herself a little more authority. Gentlemen, we have a force of Mexican troops camped across the river from us.

A din rose from the congregation.

They’re here for our cannon. Santa Anna has decided he wants it back. From the intelligence I gathered, they mean to wrest it from our grasp without a fuss.

Well, we aren’t going to give it to them, worthless as it is. This is a power play on Santa Anna’s part. This from an older, paunchy gentleman, Mr. Bateman. Strange that he should be in town today. Usually he was on the sitio of land he owned, overseeing his goodly number of enslaved people.

A chorus of cheers arose from those assembled.

Mr. Bateman waved his fist. If they want it, they’re going to have to come and get it.

That might mean the Mexicans would be forced to fire their weapons. Such a prospect sent a wave of goose bumps over Josie’s arms.

The citizens of Gonzales were far outmanned.

CHAPTER TWO

September 29, 1835

The deepening shadows of the forest cloaked Josie and hid her from the Mexicans’ sight while John and Father approached the riverbank opposite their opponents’ encampment. Though it chafed her not to be in the open with the men, if she continued to spy, which she had every intention of doing, she couldn’t show her face to the Mexicans. In case of detection, she had to be able to play the part of a Tejano.

Only Manuel would recognize her. When he’d held her in captivity, he’d never allowed her to be seen by other men. She fingered her black shawl, the edge of it embroidered in bright red, blue, and green.

Still, she wasn’t about to sit and watch while the men marched to the water’s edge. She held to the oak’s large trunk, its bark rough against her cheek, but its solidness like a comforting old friend.

The Mexican soldiers mustered along the opposite shore, almost as if they were toys a child had set there in a perfect line, their white pants and white hats brilliant even in the dusky light. Hadn’t they learned anything from the American Revolution?

It was quite apparent they had not. They fought in the European manner. This was the Texas wilderness, however, and a place more suited to the guerrilla warfare the Americans had used, tactics that had won them the war not yet sixty years ago.

Most of the men on her side of the river had come from the United States and were familiar with those strategies.

As a chilly breeze rattled the still-green leaves overhead, Josie drew her shawl around herself. The daytime air remained warm and humid, but there was a definite fall flavor to the cooler evenings. Winter would blow in before they knew it.

A sweep of the Mexicans’ faces didn’t reveal the one that turned her bones to water. She forced herself to relax her shoulders. Perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t with them.

She touched the bulk of the folded material in her pocket. Mr. Bateman’s words had rung in her head long after he’d left and had prompted her to get out her sewing basket, her needle flying through the white muslin. When the time was right, she would slip through and hand it to one of the men up front.

John held his reins as he maneuvered his horse in front of the others, the animal’s hooves almost in the water. My, he was striking. If only …

But her past was one that would render her forever a spinster. No one, especially the town’s pastor, would take a second look at her.

One of the Mexicans, a man who was at least a head shorter than John, also positioned his horse at the edge of the muddy bank.

Who are you? John’s deep pulpit voice had no problem carrying above the roar of the rushing river.

Lieutenant Francisco de Casteñada. And your name?

The Reverend John Gilbert.

You are the leader of this ragtag handful of men? A round of chuckles broke out behind Lieutenant Casteñada.

Josie bit her lip. How dare they come and taunt their fellow countrymen? Each of them on either side of the river were citizens of Mexico, after all. They shouldn’t be fighting among themselves when fierce tribes of Indians and dreaded diseases threatened them both.

She slipped from behind the tree. Careful to keep low, she wove her way through the handful of horses the few men on this side possessed.

John continued his tête-a-tête with Lieutenant Casteñada. Our leader isn’t presently here. I’m standing in his stead. What is it you want from us? Although they already knew, confirmation from Lieutenant Casteñada’s lips would solidify her credibility as a spy.

The Mexican gripped his reins to steady his horse as it snorted and sidestepped. I will speak only to your leader.

Josie slipped between two horses, motioning for Almaron Dickinson not to give her away.

Then I am the leader. Tell us why you’ve come. Perhaps we can settle this peacefully.

At John’s declaration, a bubble of laughter expanded in Josie’s throat. Their pastor was a pretty good actor in his own right.

Lieutenant Casteñada glanced at each man beside him before returning his attention to John. We have come for your cannon. The one Santa Anna gave you back in ‘31.

Oh, that useless spiked weapon you provided us for defense against the Indians?

When the men around her tittered, Josie joined in with her own mirth.

John leaned forward in the saddle. We buried it in a peach orchard. If you want it, you will have to come and get it.

This was Josie’s cue. Careful to keep her head down and out of sight of the other side, she came alongside Father and handed the fabric to him. He smiled, and she faded into the back. Father unfurled the material and waved the flag. Onto the white background, Josie had sewn a black star, a cannon, and the words COME AND GET IT.

Even from this distance, Josie couldn’t miss the way Lieutenant Casteñada’s face reddened with the taunt. He didn’t like the bitter taste of those words, did he? John could speak such things because they were already aware their opponent didn’t have the authorization to fire on them.

At least for the time being.

If word got back to one of the commanders or to Santa Anna himself, those orders could change at any time.

We will get that cannon back. The lieutenant leaned forward over his chestnut horse’s withers, his face reddening. One way or another, we will get it back.

Father passed the flag to John, who held it in front of himself. This is our answer. If you want it so much, you’re going to have to come and get it. With that, John wheeled his horse around and led the small group of Texans away from the river and to the military plaza at the far western edge of the settlement, just a block from Josie’s home. She ran the short distance to catch up to them, pins loosening from her hair as she did so. Yet another reason for Charlotte to take her to task.

When John rode into the center of the plaza, the men quieted, just as if he had strode up the church aisle to the pulpit.

Hey, preacher. Charles Mason, lately arrived in the colony and one of the few men dressed as a soldier, called in a strong enough voice for the entire company to hear him and well beyond. There’s just one problem.

Say what you have to say, Mason. Father was never hurried, never ruffled. He was the calm amid the storm. He always had been.

The problem is that there are what—eighteen of us? And how many of them?

Hundreds, by Josie’s count. A slogan like COME AND GET IT was stirring, but that wouldn’t take them very far. As soon as the river receded, the Mexicans would cross it, and the few farmers, ranchers, and tradesmen of Gonzales wouldn’t stand a chance against the well-trained and battle-tested Mexican Army.

Another round of murmuring rippled through the men.

Reinforcements. John spoke the word in his firm, preacher-like manner. We don’t have to fight this alone. While Gonzales proper may not have many men, just think of those who live in the outlying areas. We can call them in.

But how long before Lieutenant Casteñada takes matters into his own hands and finds a way across the river? Or starts firing on us? Or sends troops around our flank? Mr. Bateman wiped beads of sweat from his bald head.

John remained unflustered, other than taking off his hat and stroking his curly golden hair before placing his hat back on his head. The river should hold them at bay for at least a few days. We’ll get Moore in here to lead us, but in the meantime it is imperative to get word to the settlements in the Austin colony. I can ride east. Who will go southward?

Josie’s heart raced faster than a mustang across the plains. There was no greater rush in the world than riding her mount as hard as possible. She had always relished the one book Father owned other than the Bible, a leather-bound volume filled with fantastical colored pictures and even more fantastical stories of knights and damsels in distress.

But she would be no fair lady in need of rescuing. The ground underneath her feet almost vibrated with the anticipation that a major event was about to occur, one she had to be part of. She came alongside John. I’ll go.

Before he could answer, Father did. That is out of the question.

She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. You have no better spy than me. Without the information I gleaned, you wouldn’t know they had no intention of firing their weapons.

And what if they catch you out there? Father’s voice quavered, so unusual for