Woman of Three Worlds

by Jeanne Williams

  Brittany said to Jody, “Tell her something in Apache.”

  A flash of understanding showed in his dark eyes and he laughed as he playfully said several sentences in which Brittany caught a few words.

  Laurie gaped. “What’d he say?” she asked somewhat indignantly.

  Brittany smiled. “I don’t know all the words, dear, but he said you were a pretty girl with hair like the sun.”

  “He did? Apaches can say things like that?” Laurie beamed at him. “Then I’ll learn some of his words while he learns mine.” She bore him off for cookies and lemonade as Erskine appeared and invited Brittany inside.

  “Well?” he inquired. His rare smile made him look less gaunt and weary. Brittany made a helpless gesture.

  “I don’t think Jody’s going to have a chance to say no.”

  “Good.” Laurie’s father’s decisiveness made it plain from where she’d inherited her habit of command. “My striker can go right over and bring your things.”

  And so, less than twenty-four hours after Erskine had offered the position, Brittany and Jody were installed in their new home.

  “I don’t think you ought to be at Major Erskine’s,” grumbled Michael O’Shea. “He’s devilish attractive and has that melancholy hungry look you women can’t resist!”

  “I’m tutoring his daughter,” Brittany said. “I don’t think he knows there’s another female in the world.”

  Michael snorted. “He knows, all right! Clever of him, easing you into getting fond of that little blond sweetheart. I can see it coming,” he proclaimed tragically. “You’ll decide they both need you and when he starts his blandishments—”

  “Michael, what blarney!”

  They were taking a stroll in the grateful cool of twilight. He caught her hand and said coaxingly, “I’m off in the morning on perilous duty. If I’m killed, I hope you’ll put some flowers on my grave. But I’d a whole lot rather you kissed me good-bye—and promised you wouldn’t marry Erskine while I’m gone.”

  “I can promise I won’t marry anyone,” she said with a bitter thought of Zach. “But I happen to know you’re escorting a big wagon train to Tucson and there’s practically no chance of ambush.”

  “Drat Erskine!” Michael groaned. “I suppose now you’ll always know what I’m doing!”

  “Probably.” Brittany smiled serenely. They were back in front of the major’s quarters and she raised on tiptoe to give him the brush of a kiss on his cheek. “But good luck and come home safe!”

  Eluding his hopeful grasp, she laughed over her shoulder and ran to the house. As she opened the door, she thought she caught a glimpse of Erskine standing by the window.

  Almost from the start, life was pleasant at the major’s. Far from resenting her, Mrs. Harmon confided that she’d been praying for the day that “Major Hugh would take an interest in some nice lady,” and when Brittany emphasized that she was only Laurie’s teacher, Mrs. Harmon’s faded blue eyes had a roguish twinkle behind her steel-rimmed spectacles as she shook her head.

  “That’s all very well, dear, but I know the major. I’m bound he has you in mind for better things than a governess.” She glanced toward the children, who were sitting on a rug, looking at some of Laurie’s many books. “I’ll confess I thought the major was daft when he said the boy would be living here, but he’s really a fine little tyke. Does my heart good to watch him eat my cooking.”

  Though they were about the same age, Laurie treated Jody in almost laughably maternal fashion, and he allowed it, dazzled by her exquisite gold loveliness.

  She gave him her best ball, a flip-flop monkey, and a string of blue beads he’d admired, but the giving wasn’t all on her side. He made grass into necklaces and bracelets for her and a lance of sotol stalk, which he taught her to hurl at a grass target. They often played with Laurie’s dolls, but Jody taught her outside games too, such as digging two holes and, standing by one, pitching small rocks into the other.

  Jody never called anyone by name and this irritated Laurie till her father explained that he’d heard this was a polite Apache custom. When she learned that what Jody did call her was “my sister,” she was delighted. Mrs. Harmon was “missus”; Erskine, “the major”; Harris, the striker, was “the corporal”; and Brittany, “my teacher.”

  Since it was now oppressively hot well before noon, Brittany let the children play outside in the morning, watch guard mount at about eight-thirty and then come in for lessons till noon.

  To make sums more interesting, she had them make up problems, using sticks or small rocks. Jody took four sticks, counted them, and announced, “Four men go find horses, mules.” He moved forward rocks that he selected with care as to color and size. “One black horse, one bay, two buckskins, one sorrel. Three gray mules. That make eight.” He nodded happily. “Eight out of cavalry corral.”

  “Jody!” Laurie scolded. “That’s stealing! Bad!”

  He scratched his head. “Horse, mule not from cavalry corral,” he offered hopefully. “From Mexico.”

  “Let’s try it this way,” Brittany suggested, demonstrating with big and little rocks. “This mare had a foal. So did the buckskins and the sorrel. How many does that make?”

  “Eight,” the children chorused.

  “Then the foals grew up and two were mares who had foals of their own while the first mares each had another foal.” Brittany arranged more rocks by the “mares.” “How many are there now?”

  Jody and Laurie counted to ten. “Ten and four,” Laurie said.

  “Lot from four mare,” pondered Jody. “Eat mare, no baby.”

  “That’s right,” smiled Brittany, and then showed them how to count from ten to twenty.

  After the noon meal, which was usually taken with the major, Brittany sat with the children beside her on the parlor sofa, curtains drawn against the glaring heat, and read to them for an hour or so. After that, they were free to play wherever they decided it was coolest.

  Jody usually went over to the saddlery for a while and Laurie would labor at sewing for her dolls while Brittany mended or sewed. Laurie was a chatterbox but intelligent, and Brittany found her beguiling company.

  One day after Brittany had read the fairy tale of the twelve swans whose sister brought them back to human form by weaving magic shirts for them, Laurie asked in troubled fear, “The prince who didn’t have one sleeve finished and kept a wing instead of an arm—how did he manage with that? A wing wouldn’t be much good to a human. Could he fly with it?”

  “I doubt it,” said Brittany after a moment’s thought. “But I’m sure his sister got more nettles and finished up the shirt.”

  “You really think so?”

  Brittany sent a silent mental blast toward Hans Christian Andersen but gave Laurie a hug and said positively, “Yes, honey, I’m absolutely sure!”

  Erskine wanted Laurie to ride, so while O’Shea was gone, either he or Corporal Harris rode with Brittany and the children late each afternoon. Then she’d see that her charges washed and tidied up before supper. After the meal Erskine read to the children, performed on his mouth organ, or played chess with one of them while Brittany engaged the other in checkers. Promptly at eight-fifteen he retired to his desk.

  Feeling awkward about intruding on his privacy, after the youngsters were settled on the first night, Brittany had gone into the kitchen to read. After a few minutes, she heard Erskine’s step and looked up to find him frowning from the door.

  “You’re not a scullery maid,” he snapped. “Why don’t you come and sit comfortably in the parlor?”

  “I—thought I might disturb you.”

  “Nonsense! If I can concentrate at headquarters, you certainly won’t put me off. The parlor is a common room, Miss Brittany. Come enjoy your footstool and comfortable chair.”

  He worked away at his papers, never glancing in her direction. At first it seemed strange to sit reading twenty paces from this intimidating man, but after a time, Brittany lost herself in Moby Dick, one of
the books from the major’s shelves, which he had invited her to use, and it was only when he rose to retire that she saw how late it was and sprang up in dismay.

  “I didn’t know a woman could sit quiet for upwards of three hours,” he said, a faint smile taking the edge off his chiseled features. “I’m a bit jealous of Mr. Melville.” He seemed on the point of saying something more, then turned to blow out the lamp. “Good night, Miss Brittany.”

  So that shared time alone in the evening had become part of the routine, one that was pleasant enough, though it lacked the boisterous camaraderie of Soapsuds Row. Truthfully, Brittany found it much more natural and pleasant to teach the children and be part of Erskine’s household than to wrestle mounds of laundry, but she went to see Bridget every few days and often took Laurie and Jody with her.

  O’Shea came and went. Between his absences he rode with Brittany and the children. To her relief he said no more of marriage but was his rollicking, high-spirited self. Zach Tyrell, though, might have vanished from the earth.

  If Apaches could waylay stages and travelers, it stood to reason that they could attack an isolated ranch. Brittany couldn’t keep from worrying and one afternoon ventured to question Michael. “If—if Apaches raided a ranch, how long would it be before someone found out about it?”

  “If all the people at the ranch were killed, it might be a good long while. Just depends on how soon someone passed that way or word filtered back from folks the Apaches had bragged to.” The lieutenant gave her a keen glance. “If it’s Zach Tyrell on your mind, rest easy. I saw him in Tucson.”

  Something in O’Shea’s voice made Brittany ask, in spite of her better judgment, “Where?”

  O’Shea turned crimson to the roots of his shining hair. “Oh—just around. Anyhow, you needn’t fret much about him. He was a good friend to Cochise and the chief’s son Taza. Apaches would kill him in a fight, of course, but they aren’t likely to bother his ranch.” Michael laughed and reached over to touch her cheek. “What’s the matter, Brittany? Glad that Tyrell’s all right but miffed that he doesn’t come courting?”

  She glared, but it was such an accurate summation that she had to give a reluctant chuckle, though she felt far from amused. Angry as she’d been at Zach’s careless proposal, she hadn’t wanted him to forget her. It hurt to think he apparently had.

  Brittany had written Lawyer Hackett and Jem Morrison shortly after arriving at the post. By coincidence, the mail stage brought letters from both on the same day.

  Jem was glad she’d safely reached her cousin, though shocked at the Apache attack on her coach. “Be very careful, my dear,” he wrote. “I’d never forgive myself if you came to harm there after I urged you to go.”

  The news from Hackett was disappointing. Brittany had hoped sale of the furniture at Tristesse might bring her a little money, but Bradley Eustis had claimed it as his and only by ferocious argument had the lawyer managed to bring away Fulkston’s library, the china, and a few other family heirlooms. These were stored safely and would be sent when Brittany requested them.

  So Eustis had stolen her furniture as well as her home! It took Brittany a while to master her indignation, but she told herself she was lucky Lawyer Hackett had been able to save the books and things that would add a touch of beloved Tristesse to the home she might someday have.

  She wrote gratefully to both her friends and, after a humorous account of her time as a laundress, told them of her present enviable position.

  Two months late, the paymaster from Fort Lowell in Tucson finally reached Camp Bowie. Brittany saw the line of men filing past headquarters and then making a rush for the post trader’s.

  “It’s a shame they don’t have something to do with their pay besides drink and gamble,” she remarked to Mrs. Harmon.

  The older woman sniffed and settled her spectacles higher on her nose. “That’s all they want to do except chase women! At least Mr. DeLong serves honest drinks and they don’t get robbed.” She sniffed again. “By midnight most of them’ll be skunk-drunk and flat broke. But the laundresses’ money’s deducted at the pay table and so’s a dollar for the company fund, so I guess what they do with the other nine dollars is between them and God, Mr. DeLong, or their wives.”

  Some of that pay went for a totally unexpected cause. When Jody returned from his daily visit with Patrick, Brittany thought for a startled instant that one of the darker soldiers had dwindled to dwarf size.

  A perfect miniature of a cavalry sergeant, Jody was resplendent from black campaign hat with tasseled gold cords to shining knee-high boots. Light blue trousers bore yellow stripes on the legs and the yellow-piped dark blue blouse had three chevrons on the sleeves.

  “Land alive!” gasped Mrs. Harmon.

  Laurie ran forward to enviously touch the chevrons. “You look wonderful,” she sighed. “Where did you get all these things?”

  “My friend sergeant,” said Jody, using his name for Patrick. “Other soldiers, they give dollars too.” He pointed toward the tailor shop, much frequented by men of all ranks because the government-issued clothes seldom fit. “That man, he make.” Jody revolved slowly. “Good? Nice?”

  “Nice,” said Brittany, but she felt a stab of compunction as the small copper-brown face dimpled up at her. This had been generous of Patrick and his friends, but was it right for an Apache child to wear the uniform of a government bent on conquering his people?

  The same doubt must have occurred to Erskine. He complimented Jody but frowned as he turned away. Michael, though, thought it was perfectly all right. “Face it,” he admonished the first time they went riding with Jody in his new regalia. “The best life for the boy would be as a scout. Not much future on the reservation.”

  “Couldn’t he ranch there?”

  “Sure, I suppose he could. But Apaches aren’t used to that kind of life. It’s more exciting to steal horses and cattle than to raise them.”

  Jody tugged at the lieutenant’s arm. “Four mare have four foal,” he explained sagaciously. “Foal grow up, have more. Big herd. Good. Eat mare right off, she no have foal. No herd. Not good.”

  O’Shea cast Brittany a startled look. “Holy smoke! We ought to hire you as an Indian agent!”

  “No, but maybe Jody can spread the idea. When he goes back to his people, what he’s learned of white ways can help them deal with us.”

  “Whose side are you on?” grinned O’Shea.

  “On Jody’s. You know the Chiricahuas will be brought in sooner or later, Michael.”

  “Later, probably, with leaders like Juh and Geronimo.”

  “Maybe. But when they have to give up, don’t you want them to have a chance at a decent life?”

  O’Shea said dryly, “I’ll think about that when they’re caught.” He changed the subject, laughing. “Patrick went on a toot payday and sort of mopped up the bar with some teamsters. Do you know what his defense was when I called him in?”

  “I can’t guess, but I imagine it was a good one.”

  The lieutenant nodded. “He said the water’s getting so bad that it’s dangerous to drink and that if it doesn’t rain and raise the level of the spring, he’d respectfully suggest that the army issue beer rations to keep everyone healthy.”

  It did rain next day. Thunderclouds started banking in the afternoon, loosed their torrents while the sun still shone on the San Simon valley, and by morning every structure at the post had leaks. The storms retreated long enough for troopers to be detailed to pitch dirt over the leaks, but the sodden roofs continued to ooze muddy dribbles. Brittany, Mrs. Harmon, and Corporal Harris emptied filled pans and Corporal Harris emptied filled pans and buckets and put out more. The sag of the logs holding up the roof was alarmingly evident.

  “Someday, Major Hugh, this roof is going to fall in under all that mud,” Mrs. Harmon warned Erskine that evening. “Army’s got no business expecting people to live like this.”

  “The army’s planned to close the post several times,” said Erskine. �
��Then there’ll be more Apache trouble to keep it going, but the army doesn’t want to spend money on improvements. Just be thankful we have floors now. The buildings that don’t are real bogs inside.” He added jokingly, “At least this raised the spring and we can have baths again.”

  “Lot of good that does when we’re wading in mud,” Mrs. Harmon grumbled.

  It poured again that night. The barracks were so deluged that the men moved out in tents on the parade ground and the Graveses’ home was in such a state that they had to do the same. It rained off and on for three more days. Everyone looked muddy, damp, and bedraggled, and when the blazing summer sun ruled a cloudless sky again, it was heartily welcomed, at least till it had dried up mud on roofs, dirt floors, and the parade ground.

  Erskine heaved a grateful sigh the first evening he came home to find a floor mopped and clean, free of buckets, tubs, and basins. “Let’s celebrate!” he suggested. “The Shaws kindly had me to dine a number of times before Mrs. Harmon arrived and so did Mr. DeLong. Do you suppose, ladies, that we could manage a nice meal for them?”

  “Now, Major Hugh,” said Mrs. Harmon reproachfully, “haven’t I always set a good table when you’ve wanted to invite your friends?”

  “We’ll do our best,” said Brittany.

  “I’m sure that’ll be excellent.” The major gave Brittany a probing look. “Would you care to invite Lieutenant O’Shea?”

  She managed to respond with dignity, though she felt color rise to her face. “Thank you, sir, I’m sure he’d be glad of a change from his striker’s cooking.”

  When she relayed the invitation, O’Shea regretfully shook his head. “I’m going on scout tomorrow. But it was good of Erskine to ask me, especially when he has an eye for you himself.”

  “Your Irish imagination!” Brittany laughed.

  “Be careful while I’m away,” Michael urged. “A miner was killed a few days ago about ten miles from the post and some troopers on wood detail over in Pinery Canyon twenty miles from here were ambushed and had to fight their way clear.”