Woman of Three Worlds

by Jeanne Williams

  The road crossed several dry washes, or streambeds, then skirted a clear sparkling spring that flowed down the rocky course it had worn among trees grown large from its presence.

  “Apache Spring,” explained Zach Tyrell. “Dependable water in the desert means life, but this spring has meant death to a lot of people.”

  The wagon ascended a slope that revealed a basin nestled among the mountains. There were some adobe buildings near the spring, but the post was concentrated around a big rectangle where a flag flew. The flat-roofed buildings were adobe and so were the horse and cattle corrals to the northeast.

  In spite of her exhaustion and all that had happened, Brittany’s heart beat faster as she scanned this place where she would live. A small world cut off from the outside by miles of desert and mountains, a community existing to stop the kind of slaughter she had just witnessed.

  Life at this frontier post was bound to be as different from that at Tristesse as this harsh country was from the lush bayous. She had loved her home, would never willingly have left it, but as she’d grown up, she’d sometimes been lonely and restless. Now that she was here, she’d do her best to get along with her cousin. The sudden deaths of her fellow passengers had made her vividly aware of life’s value.

  “Where shall I take you, Major?” asked Tyrell over his shoulder.

  “I’d better report to the adjutant.”

  “And your lady?”

  Amazingly, Erskine colored to the roots of his silver hair. “You’ve made an erroneous assumption, sir. This young woman is not my wife.”

  He spoke the truth, but his chill manner irritated Brittany. “I’ve come to stay with my cousin,” she said haughtily. “She’s married to Lieutenant Edward Graves.”

  Did the driver’s broad shoulders tense at her words? He stopped the wagon beside the largest adobe on the post, which sat slightly behind the buildings fronting on the main rectangle.

  “Adjutant’s the first building on your right,” he told the major. “Would you care to wait at the post trader’s, ma’am, while I find your cousin?” His angular, lean-jawed face turned almost handsome when he smiled, chin deeply cleft beneath a long mouth. He pulled off a battered gray hat, revealing dark brown hair glinting with rich auburn. “I’d like to know your name.”

  Perturbed at the tumult that ran through her at the warm glow in his eyes, she gave her name. “I wish, Mr. Tyrell, that there were some way to thank you.”

  He laughed softly. “Why, ma’am, that’s easy done!”

  Before she could guess his intention, strong hands brought her forward. His hard mouth claimed her astonished one. Blood hummed in her ears. She melted for a dizzying moment before the major’s shocked voice brought her to her senses.

  “Tyrell! I must protest this treatment of a female dependent of a brother officer!”

  She broke away, furious with a humiliation that increased past bearing when she saw the scandalized faces of two women who had paused outside the trader’s. She had been powerfully attracted to this man, hoped he wasn’t married, but now he had willfully shamed her in a way that would spread like wildfire through this small universe.

  Drawing back her hand, she slapped him as hard as she could across his smiling mouth before blindly scrambling from the wagon, dragging her valise with her. He sprang down, looming above her. The white prints of her fingers showed on his tanned cheek.

  “It’s nice to know how grateful you are.” His eyes blazed with scorn as he dragged the valise from her. “Lord forbid you ever want to thank me again!”

  “I can locate my cousin!” she hissed. “Give back my bag, Mr. Tyrell, and don’t create more gossip than you already have!”

  He glanced at the watching women, who hastily averted their faces. “Your cousin happens to be standing right there. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  IV

  Brittany couldn’t have imagined more wretched circumstances under which to meet her unknown relative. If there’d been any choice, she’d have fled, or at least delayed the encounter, but Zach Tyrell had her bag, and she suspected he’d haul her along if she tried to hang back.

  Anyway, Regina had seen. Might as well get through what had to be an excruciatingly awkward meeting.

  Tyrell swept off His hat to a prim, graying woman who, even in this heat, was buttoned to her chin, and to the slender one with masses of golden ringlets escaping from beneath a rakishly plumed hat. Her muslin dress was a paler, gentler green than her eyes, which regarded Brittany with dawning horror even before Tyrell spoke.

  “Good morning, ladies. Mrs. Graves, your cousin’s stage was attacked by Apaches.” Did that respectful tone hold just an edge of mockery? “I’m sure you’ll appreciate that relief in escaping disposed her to a somewhat unusual expression of gratitude.”

  Regina’s cold gaze examined Brittany. “I fail to see—” she began, when the older woman interrupted.

  “The stage, Mr. Tyrell! Was anyone hurt?”

  “The driver, the guard, and one passenger were killed.”

  “Only a week after Clum marched the Chiricahuas off to San Carlos—and we thought our troubles were over!” Regina’s tone trilled with distress.

  Tyrell shook his head. “Clum escorted three hundred and twenty-five who were willing to listen to Taza and Naiche, Cochise’s sons, who’ve tried to keep their father’s peace. I think at least that many are still hiding out in the mountains, here or in Mexico.”

  “So we’re in for more trouble,” sighed the older woman. She added to Brittany, “You were fortunate that Mr. Tyrell came along.”

  “Yes,” said Brittany in grudging justice. “The other four of us would have been killed or captured if Mr. Tyrell and his friends hadn’t saved us.”

  The prim look on the gray-haired woman’s face had softened, and her hazel eyes warmed with sympathy. “You poor child!” she said, touching Brittany’s cheek. “Come, Regina, your cousin must be ready to drop! The stage ride itself’s enough to make a person demented.” She added in what Brittany thought a strangely emphatic way, “I’m sure you’ll need a few days to rest, my dear, but then we must have a little party to welcome you to the post.”

  Gratification eased the tightness of Regina’s well-shaped but thin lips. “Very gracious of you, ma’am. May I present my cousin, Brittany Laird? Brittany, this is Mrs. Shaw, wife of our post commander.”

  Mrs. Shaw clasped Brittany’s hand. “We’ll try to erase your horrifying introduction to Arizona, Miss Laird.” She turned to Tyrell. “You’ll report the attack to Colonel Shaw? I hope you were able to bring the dead in for decent burial.”

  “The bodies are at the station.” He nodded toward where Erskine was disappearing around the side of a building. “I’m sure the major will give the adjutant all the details.”

  “Oh, our new officer,” murmured Mrs. Shaw. “This is a day of arrivals.” She smiled kindly at Brittany. “Please call on me when you’re rested. And now I must find the chaplain and tell him he has three more men to bury.”

  She moved off briskly. Regina glared in the direction of the vanished major. “So he’s here!” she said bitterly. “Come to rank us out of quarters just as I’ve finally made ours habitable! I declare it’s enough to make a person—”

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Graves,” cut in Tyrell. “I’ll carry your cousin’s valise to your quarters before going to see if there’s anything I can do for the stationmaster.”

  For an instant, green eyes contended with blue. “I seem to recall, sir, that you seldom used to be in such a hurry.” Turning abruptly, Regina moved off with grace unmarred by her annoyance.

  Brittany’s heart sank at the prospect of living with this woman, who had so clearly taken a dislike to her, but there was no immediate help for it. She kept pace with Regina and managed not once to look back at Zach Tyrell, though her lips still burned when she remembered his kiss.

  The walls of the Graveses’ home looked freshly whitewashed, and the parlor was comfortably furnished wi
th several chairs and small tables, a settee and desk. A dried flower arrangement and several books brightened the mantel and there were lace curtains at the windows. Next to this was a dining room with plain table and chairs and shelves that held the remains of what was an obviously cherished set of china. The little kitchen had a black iron cookstove, which Regina eyed with sourness. “The number of stoves or fireplaces depends on rank as well as the amount of firewood,” she complained. “As if I don’t get as cold as the colonel’s wife! And now that that odious major’s come he’ll outrank everyone but the colonel and can take his pick of quarters, so we’re bound to get shunted into the Tattersalls’.”

  Brittany frowned. “Where will the Tattersalls go?”

  “He’s being reassigned.” Regina’s face clouded even more at another grievance. “That’ll leave Edward the lowest-ranking again! I’m sick to death of it!”

  “I suppose someone has to be junior,” said Brittany in attempt to console.

  Regina shot her a withering glance. “He should have been promoted years ago. Unfortunately, during the war officers got promoted so quickly that there’s no room for others to advance. It’s just beastly!”

  She flounced across a narrow hall and indicated a closed door. “That’s our bedroom. Ned’s at the end and we’ll have to put another cot in Angela’s room for you.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to crowd her out,” Brittany protested.

  “There’s not much choice,” said Regina. “Besides, we’ll have to move in the next few days. And,” she lamented in a rising voice, “how we’ll manage in the Tattersalls’, I simply can’t guess! They’ve got only two bedrooms.”

  Brittany weaved suddenly with the light-headedness of exhaustion, leaned against the wall to keep from falling. “I’m sorry to be a trouble,” she said faintly. “But if I could just lie down—”

  “I hope you’re not going to be sickly.” Regina eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Something you might give the children?”

  Brittany choked with hysterical laughter. “Not unless they’ve been on a stage for twelve days, the last eight without stopping nights to rest.”

  “I suppose you would be tired,” allowed Regina. “Very well, you may rest on Angela’s bed, but take off those dusty things first and wash yourself.” Brilliant green eyes narrowed. “Weariness and the shock of the Apache attack are some excuse for your unbelievable display with Zach Tyrell, but let’s have it understood from the beginning that you won’t disgrace Edward and me with giddy conduct.”

  “I—I didn’t know what Mr. Tyrell intended till he’d done it!”

  Regina sniffed. “Scores of other featherheads have doubtless said the same thing. He has an outrageous reputation. I forbid you to encourage him.”

  Forbid? Spent as she was, anger stirred in Brittany. “Is he married?”

  Regina’s arched brows shot up. “The woman doesn’t live who can get that one to the altar!”

  “Well, so long as he hasn’t been, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t encourage him, if I feel like it.”

  Actually, of course, Brittany was still furious with Tyrell for exposing her to gossip the moment she’d arrived at the post. She was willing to accept some guidance from her cousin, because she herself knew nothing of army ways and little about society, but she sensed she’d wind up as a timorous unpaid servant.

  “Are you defying me?” Regina demanded.

  “No. I’m just saying you can’t control my life. I’ll be governess to the children and help in any other way I can, but my private life is none of your concern.”

  “You silly little fool! On an army post anyone’s private life is everyone’s business!” Regina took a step forward. “You’re too impudent by half, my girl! What if I turn you out?”

  This horrible threat was supposed to inspire contrition, but Brittany was already thinking she might not wait to be sent off. She considered for a moment, getting her temper under control, and looked her cousin straight in the eye.

  “I’d go to Mrs. Shaw, explain that you and I cannot live together, and ask for the loan of passage money to someplace where I might find employment, or offer to work for her till I could save enough to leave.”

  “You—you wouldn’t disgrace us like that!”

  Brittany shrugged. “It makes no difference to me whether I work for you or someone else.”

  “It makes a great deal of difference to me!” Regina choked. “Everyone will blame Edward and me if you go whimpering to Mrs. Shaw! It would be unspeakably demeaning to have my cousin acting as a domestic!”

  Again, Brittany swayed against the wall as Regina’s face whirled before her. “You asked what I’d do and I’ve told you. I—I must lie down. Shall I do it here or go to Mrs. Shaw’s?”

  “Stay here!” Regina stalked to the door before she swung about. “But don’t think that because I have a sense of family obligation and you’re a sly minx that you can get away with flouting me!”

  She slammed out. Brittany fumbled out of her dress and shoes, washed in the rose-sprigged basin, drank deeply of the tepid water in the ewer, and folded back the chintz coverlet of Angela’s bed before she lay down.

  As she came foggily awake, even before she realized where she was, she felt a presence. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked into a hostile green stare. For a moment, drugged with sleep, she thought Regina’s face had shrunk, but she blinked and sat up.

  “You must be Angela,” she smiled.

  The girl, who looked to be eight or nine, had Regina’s spun-gold ringlets and fair skin. Also, it would seem, her disposition. “I don’t want you here,” she said flatly. “I don’t like for you to be on my bed.”

  Brittany got up and began to dress. “I’m beginning to think I don’t want to be here either.”

  “You have to be. Mama says Ned and I are too sensitive to be taught by Sergeant Meadows. He yells at officers’ children same as he does at enlisted men’s.” Dismissing education, Angela leaned forward excitedly. “Did the men bleed a lot when the Apaches killed them?”

  “Enough.”

  “Weren’t you scared?”

  “Yes.” Brittany thought she could probably engratiate herself with the child by giving a full and harrowing account of the attack, but it was all too horridly vivid in her mind, and she was chilled at Angela’s eagerness for gore.

  After a moment’s pout, Angela jumped up and said, “Mama sent me to call you for supper. She gets cross if anyone’s late.” The girl skipped out in a flurry of pale blue skirts, leaving Brittany to hastily tidy herself and follow.

  Edward Graves had light brown eyes that darted nervously from Brittany to his wife, sandy hair, and a brushlike moustache. Of average height and weight, he gave an impression of pudginess.

  Shaking Brittany’s hand, he said with a nervous smile, “Glad you escaped that terrible business, cousin. We’d have pursued those savages as soon as Major Erskine made his report, but most of the men were off on a scout to the south.” His chest puffed out a bit. “We’ll go after the Apaches at dawning.”

  “You’ll never catch them,” Regina said cuttingly.

  “Tyrell’s agreed to scout for us,” Graves said.

  Regina shrugged. “I don’t know what good that’ll do when you can’t keep up with him.”

  The lieutenant gave his wife an unhappy look before he turned again to Brittany. “At least you’re safe, my dear. I hope you’ll be content at our little outpost.”

  Brittany felt undilutedly sorry for him. “It’s kind of you to have me,” she murmured and smiled down at a small boy, perhaps six years old, who was a miniature of his father except for the moustache.

  He thrust out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Cousin Brittany.”

  Amused and hopeful that she might be able to like at least one of her young relations, Brittany shook his hand and said she was delighted to meet him.

  “Soup’s getting cold, mum,” came a bellow from the kitchen.

  �
�Bring it in, Stallings,” Regina called.

  Her husband seated her and Brittany before taking his place at the head of the table. A huge bull-necked man with a fringe of dark hair and black eyes embedded in folds of sunburned flesh emerged from the kitchen with a tureen, which he placed before Regina.

  “Thank you, Stallings,” she said, ladling out bowls of thin soup and handing them around. “This is my cousin, Miss Laird, who’ll be staying with us.”

  He ducked his gleaming head. “Sorry you got such a welcome to Camp Bowie, miss,” he began. Regina cut in.

  “Please have a care for the gravy, Stallings. You scorched it last night.”

  “Wasn’t enough grease, ma’am. I told you there ain’t enough fat on a rabbit to—”

  “Never mind, Stallings! Is that the roast burning?”

  He grumbled off, wiping his large hairy hands on his uniform pants. At Brittany’s puzzled expression, Regina explained. “On Edward’s pay, we can’t afford a real cook or servant but enlisted men who want to earn extra money work as strikers in their off-duty hours. Some are excellent.” She lowered her voice so it wouldn’t carry beyond the table. “Stallings, unfortunately, is not.”

  “I like Stallings,” Ned defended. “He’s teaching me how to shoot, and he helped whip the Johnny Rebs at Shiloh.”

  Brittany flinched. Her father had died at Shiloh. But no one noticed her reaction, for Regina had gone pale. Edward Graves miserably cleared his throat. “Son, you mustn’t speak that way of the—the Confederates. You know it distresses your mother.”

  She said in a trembling voice, “Let it go, Edward. The boy will never know his kinsmen who perished defending their homeland.” She sighed and glanced at Brittany. “Perhaps, cousin, you can teach him a modicum of respect.”

  Brittany doubted that she could counterbalance Stallings’s gusty reminiscences but was saved from the admission by a giggle from Angela. “Hattie Fenwick says Grandpa didn’t die in a battle, Mama, and that he wasn’t an aide to General Lee. Her father got someone to look it up and they said Grandpa was only a second lieutenant who got dysentery and died just about as soon as he joined the army.”