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Deborah, Rafael had become a Texian rancher and built a new life for himself. Here he was known as Rafe Fleming, co-owner with Cherokee Joe De Villiers of Renacimiento, the largest ranch in northern Texas. He and Deborah had lavished their love and understanding on his octoroon mistress's cast-off daughter after the child's grandmother had been killed in an accident over three years ago.
           Secure in her place in the Fleming family and her life in Texas, Melanie's childhood scars were forgotten on this sunny day, so full of promise for them all. Texas was to become the twenty-eighth state in the Union and she was going to see Anson Jones, the last president of the Republic, hand over the reins of the government to the first governor of the state, J. Pinckney Henderson. Her mother's old friends Charlee and Jim Slade were going to be present, as well. She could hardly wait!
           At the time of its creation in 1839, the capital of Austin had housed a scant ninety souls on an outpost of the Comanche frontier. Now, after nearly seven years of rivalry between Houston and Austin, the capital was to be permanently situated on the banks of the Colorado River. The log huts with their dog-trot porches, so common across the Texas frontier, were giving way to neat saltbox cottages and temple-fronted dwellings. The population, by now grown to a permanent base of over six hundred, looked forward to conducting the business of government, leaving crass commercialism to its rival on Buffalo Bayou.
           “Shore is different 'n San Antonio,” Joe said as he and his young charges surveyed the wide, orderly grid of streets and the Yankee architecture.
           “So many people are here for the ceremonies, I hope we can find the Slades,” Melanie said, observing the milling crowds around the capitol grounds. Men in frock coats and tall stovepipe hats strolled between grinning teamsters in ragged breeches, while hard-looking, buckskin-clad mountain men leaned on their long rifles and watched the proceedings with shrewd eyes. Dogs and children ran everywhere as farmers sat around makeshift campsites, pitched beside their wagons. Everyone was here to see the end of one era and the beginning of another.
           “Let's stop at Miz Evans' boardin' house 'n' see if th' Slades been there yet,” Joe suggested. It was a familiar rendezvous place for respectable ranchers and their families.
           “Aw, I want ta watch the fiddlers. Look, Mellie, ” Adam said, pointing across the street to where a group of men with violins and banjos were tuning up for the celebrations. “I bet Ole Sam'll be coming down this very street!”
           “Mr. Houston's new title is United States Senator now, Adam, never 'Ole Sam’ to the likes of a nine-year-old boy,” Melanie scolded. She hoped secretly to catch a glimpse herself of the war hero who had twice served as the Republic's president. Deborah and Charlee both had met him and had told her tales of his wit and gallantry. He and Jim Slade were friends of long standing since Slade's service under him during the Battle of San Jacinto.
           “Yew wait here and rest yer backsides whilst I check fer th' Slades. Now mind, don't go wanderin' off like a couple o' jug headed mustangs,” Joe admonished. Melanie and Adam dismounted, waving Joe on while they watched the show. Living for most of the year in the wilds of north-central Texas, the two young Flemings were relishing this sampling of city life as an incredible break from the daily chores and lessons of the ranch.
           “Hey! Mellie, there's Billie Bledsoe. I knew his folks'd be here, I just knew it!” With that, Adam dashed into the street and vanished into the press of horses and pedestrians, with Melanie in hot pursuit.
           “Adam! Come back here! You heard Joe,” she shrieked, pulling up her skirts to run after the speeding imp who was already across the street, engaged in a