Under Wraps

by Patricia Green

  It wasn't entirely true and Alex knew it. Magdalena had had faults. She was forgetful; little details simply did not matter to her. Her cooking was very bad, having come from a wealthy Californio family where servants did everything. They had spent a week alone in a small cabin in the hills of the rancho for their honeymoon, and Alex remembered eating many things burned, other things half-cooked.

  But that had not been entirely her fault either, for he had been hot for her, enjoying the sweetness of her flesh so much that he did not care to have anything else. Which led him to remember the most disturbing of Magdalena's faults.

  She did not enjoy sharing her body with him as husbands and wives should. It was like a knife blade in his heart each time she had submissively opened herself to him, taking him into her body, finding a gasping, sobbing release almost in spite of herself. For afterward, she would beg him not to do that to her again. "Please, Alejandro, my darling, my love," she had pleaded. "Do not humiliate me anymore. I do not wish to feel as the whores at La Cantina Rojo feel."

  It had been Alex's secret nightmare. The beautiful, precious woman he loved wished nothing more than his continued friendship in their marriage. Although he'd known Magdalena Torres since early childhood, he could have never predicted her response to his lovemaking. Other women chased him, coaxed him, shamelessly flirted him into their beds. It had been so since Alex had been in his teens.

  But apparently it was not so for the one woman he had chosen to spend a lifetime with. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

  He watched Glee rummage through the chest of books, pulling out stacks to get to a volume near the bottom. One leather-bound folio fell open near him and he read the first handwritten words.

  June 4, 1850 --

  My Chamber in the Harem is much smaller but far more opulent than any I have ever had before. The walls are hung in painted silk, with scenes depicting the Market, a man training horses, and one which, to my dismay, appears to be of two Lovers copulating. At first I did not think it possible that someone would paint such a work, then I remembered the African sculptures Father collected while we were there. Apparently, people everywhere appreciate Erotica, though I feel it unseemly for it to be in a young woman's bedchamber.

  I must learn to think more like a Turk.

  The women of the Harem are late risers, not seeking the hamam (the bathing chamber) until nearly noon. So, today I went rather later and found the place bustling with activity. Women went about their bathing, swimming in the shallow pool, caring for their children, languidly enjoying fragrant massages from their personal Eunuchs, or simply gossiping over Sweetmeats - all practically stark naked. They seem to have no modesty among each other, wearing only jewelry and sheer silk head veils. Thinking to fit in better, I took...

  Alex glanced up at Glee who had settled back to her place beside Amina. If he was to continue reading what was so obviously her chronicle of harem life he would need to turn the pages. He watched her open a volume of Charles Dickens and read aloud as Amina stitched.

  He carefully picked up the journal and one other book—so that the color of her journal's binding would not be so apparent to a casual glance. Another quick look in her direction assured him that she was uninterested in his occupation so he turned the page and read on. He found himself drawn into the harem, given a view of a lifestyle that at once aroused and appalled him.

  He flipped to the back of the book. The last entry had been made only a few months ago. So, she had only recently come from the Ottoman Empire, Alex surmised. He turned back to the beginning, but a page caught his eye.

  ...I can only suppose the Women are desperate when they seek this alternative. Can a need for a carnal relationship be so strong that even the unnatural becomes natural?

  I inadvertently walked in on a noisy couple in the steam-room this morning. I must admit to a morbid fascination with the Seviciler practices. Though it was foggy, I had no trouble discerning their actions. Dare I Catalog them Herein? I feel I must for the sake of Truth, the truth being that many women here do this and it is not uncommon.

  Alex read the description of what Glee had witnessed, feeling himself grow more uncomfortable with each word. How could any young woman not be changed by such an experience? Was it even possible that she'd mistakenly decided that men were superfluous because of what she'd learned in the harem? He glanced at Glee, then read on.

  Later, Nilüfer and I met for our usual time together. My Lesson in Turkish was poor, however, and Nilüfer sensed my unease. When I explained what I had seen and apologized for my Voyeurism, she merely laughed. Then, she asked me a string of very personal questions which I feel are unnecessary to list here, but they were followed by an invitation to join her or any of her friends in the steam-room whenever I feel so inclined. I hope she found my response acceptable. Nilüfer is the one friend I have made here, and I do not wish to endanger that Relationship with Prudish and Backward notions based on a Morality which is inapplicable to these people and their Lives.

  "What are you reading, Mister Pacheco?"

  Alex looked up and smiled. He held up the second volume he had chosen, carefully keeping her journal hidden. "Byron, of course."

  She frowned, but nodded, going back to her reading aloud. It seemed prudent to put the journal aside then and consider the poetry instead. He hid her book behind, rather than in her trunk, determined to find out more about her two years in the harem. What he had read thus far left him with an uncomfortable fullness and ache in his groin. It had been a long, long time since he had felt so aroused by a woman who was not even aware of him as a man.

  He opened the book of poems but not a single word seeped into his brain. He considered her again and again: a woman dressed in dowd's weeds and wrapped in a silk kerchief. Could it be that she did not like men because she preferred women in her intimate relationships? He had heard of such, but had always thought that if a woman had a satisfying relationship with a man then she would seek no pleasures elsewhere. After all, men and women were made for each other. It was right, good.

  Still, wasn't it possible that someone had turned Glee Montrose against the male sex? Perhaps a lover had treated her so badly that she railed against all men. Wouldn't another lover, a gentle, firm, understanding lover, soothe her fears and bring her back to the natural pleasure her body was meant for? Of course. It was so simple, really.

  Chapter 10 – Fort Kearny, Nebraska

  T he rain continued, a torrent one minute, drizzle the next, through the two days during which they followed the Little Blue River northward. It even followed them west along the Platte and to the plain on which Fort Kearny stood sentinel.

  The afternoon seemed as gray as the morning had been as they neared the massive fort. Though only four years old, it looked as though it had been a part of the prairie landscape forever. Its fifteen-foot tall outer stockade walls were weathered and bleached, forming a rough rectangle around the structures inside. Glee glimpsed uniformed men walking along some sort of platform set at the top of the walls, their rifles ever ready in their hands.

  A small town, not much more than a saloon, trading post, and perhaps two other shops, had sprung up along the outside of the easternmost wall. But the travelers did not pause to inspect it, choosing to enter the fort and seek overnight lodging there.

  Hakki steered the oxen toward the center of the wide parade ground, and Fletcher made his way directly to the commanding officer's office which was clearly marked with a white-painted sign. Once the oxen were settled, Hakki helped Glee alight from the bench and she took a few moments to look around.

  About twenty-five feet separated the buildings from the outer walls, and the wooden structures spread along three sides of the encampment. Directly left of the tall gates, was the commanding officer's office, though other officers must have also held space there as it was a large two-story building. Next to it was a short row of whitewashed houses, very homey with curtained windows and flower beds. Along the rear wall stood a rambling tw
o-story log structure with two entry doors, one at either end. Men came and went through those doors, and a few stood at the windows idling away off-duty time. At the eastern wall were a blacksmithy, stables, and a few small buildings Glee couldn't give a purpose to. Also along that wall, but set off by itself, was a small, low, brick building, remarkable for its sturdy construction and iron-barred windows.

  Seeing the jail made Glee think of Alex Pacheco, and she slid and sloshed through the mud into the commanding officer's office. A young officer greeted her warmly, his freckled, smiling face and shock of dark hair making him instantly likable.

  He took her wet leather coat and hung it on a peg then returned to his desk and offered her the chair across from his. "Thank you, er..."

  "Lieutenant Stokes, ma'am."

  Glee nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant Stokes." She pulled off her sodden hat and held it in her lap, worrying the brim as she spoke. "I would like to see your commanding officer, please."

  The earnest young man frowned and nodded toward a door at her back. "He's in with someone right now, Miss-Missus...?"

  "My apologies. I am Miss Glee Elizabeth Montrose, late of Boston."

  His smile returned. "My pleasure, I'm sure," he said politely. "As I was sayin', the general's in with someone now, but if you'd-"

  At that moment, Fletcher walked out of the commander's office, grinning with tobacco blackened teeth from ear to ear. He turned back in before he closed the door. "I'm much obliged to ya, Gen'ral. Much obliged." As the door latched, he noticed Glee. "Watcha doin' here, Miss Montrose? I tol' ya I'd arrange for yer lodgin'."

  "I know, Mister Fletcher, but I have another matter to discuss with the general."

  Fletcher's little eyes narrowed. "Watcha got brewin' in that sneaky female mind o' yourn? Ain't got nothin' ta do with me, has it?"

  The lieutenant rose from his chair. "You've no call to insult this lady, Mister Fletcher." He gestured toward the outer door. "I'm sure you've had a hard, wet journey to get here. Why don't you go and get a drink, rest a bit?" He waited for Fletcher to leave and when he didn't, he said with remarkable firmness for such a young man, "Now."

  Fletcher shot him a glare, but said no more, leaving without a backward glance.

  "I apologize for any inconvenience, Lieutenant Stokes. Mister Fletcher is my trail guide, and I'm afraid he is, well, a bit imaginative."

  Stokes rounded his desk and reached down to pat her hand. "No need to apologize, Miss Montrose. I meet a lot of imaginative people in this job. I'll just tell the general that you're here."

  A few minutes later she was announced and ushered into another small office, this one littered with folders and opened books, rolled maps strewn about along with a few captured weapons of war. The general rose and offered his hand across his desk. He was a spare man, his face weathered, his hair short and rust colored. "General Edward Clement, at your service, Miss Montrose. Please take a seat."

  Glee smiled and sat down.

  "Now, Miss, what can I do for you?"

  "That man who was just here, Jake Fletcher?"

  He nodded.

  Glee cleared her throat. "Jake Fletcher is a bounty hunter, General Clement. A wretched, cruel man whom I only hired to lead me across the country because I had no other choice."

  Clement's rusty eyebrows met. "Has he done you some harm?"

  "No, no, he hasn't, General, but his prisoner has been gravely abused." She met the general's brown gaze with her own turquoise one. "I do not think the man will survive the remainder of the journey under such conditions."

  "I see." He steepled his fingers and stared at them. "Fletcher did mention that he has a prisoner."

  "That's not the whole of it." She watched his brows quirk up. "I have reason to believe that the man is not who Fletcher says he is. I think that he is an innocent victim of Jake Fletcher's greed and lunacy."

  "What makes you doubt Fletcher?"

  Glee flushed. She knew her reasons were feeble. "The prisoner told me that he isn't the wanted man. I believe him."

  A flash of irritation crossed the general's face, but was quickly replaced by a seamless blankness. "Fletcher said that you were traveling with a small retinue of servants, Miss Montrose. Have you no parents who might be concerned with your welfare?"

  Glee's heart sank. Now he would treat her like a foolish, lost, child. "No, sir, I do not. I am a woman of independence." She stood. "I can see that I have taken too much of your valuable time, General Clement. If you would just have someone show me to my lodging, I assure you I will be no further trouble."

  The older man left his chair and came to take her arm and lead her to the door. "Nonsense, Miss Montrose. You have been a bright spark in the gloom of this ugly weather. I wonder if you would join my wife and I for supper this evening? Perhaps a good hot meal is just what you need."

  ...To take your mind off this silly prisoner business, you brainless girl, she silently finished for him. Outwardly she looked serene. "Thank you. I would like that very much."

  "Very good," he enthused. "I'll send someone for you at seven o'clock." He led her to the outer office and left instructions with Lieutenant Stokes.

  When Glee made her way back to the wagon, escorted by a Private Mumford, she was surprised to find that Alejandro Pacheco was gone. Hakki explained that Fletcher and two army soldiers had taken the man to the fort's jail. He pointed to the low brick building Glee had glimpsed earlier.

  Glee's resolve to get to the bottom of the mystery was becoming more firm with each passing minute. She wondered if the jailer had any "Wanted" posters, and if any of them might hold Alejandro Pacheco's face.

  * * * *

  Glee stood absolutely still as Amina pinned the gold Buddha brooch to her white silk turban. The fat little figure had a ruby chip for a navel and two emerald chips for eyes. His eyes exactly matched the color of Glee's velvet gown. She wondered why she had suddenly seen fit to drag out one of the colorful gowns Aunt Ulalie had insisted on. Perhaps she was homesick, though that was improbable. More likely she was trying to make a better impression on General Clement so that he would reconsider her concern over Fletcher's prisoner. He would take her more seriously if she looked somewhat less eccentric; after all, she didn't have time to impress him with urbanity. They would only be at Fort Kearny for this one night.

  She reached up and smoothed the white tulle bertha that swept across her dress' low-cut bosom and off her pale shoulders, weighted at the upper arm by little gold tassels. Tiny puffs of green velvet sleeves left the long expanse of her slim arms bare, but she had elbow-length white gloves to cover them. It was a simple dress, very appropriate for a small soiree, but Glee felt frivolous and conspicuous.

  Would Mister Pacheco think her attractive? A hot shiver of apprehension flew down Glee's spine as she imagined his golden eyes sparkling with interest. Quickly, she shook herself mentally. He was a stranger. Why, she couldn't even be sure of his name! And who knew what "business" he might have been conducting in Boston—if that really was true. She'd just have to put him out of her mind.

  She took a few hesitant steps, the great dome of her skirts awkward in the little room she'd been given. One of the horizontal pleats of her white satin underskirt caught on the latch of her trunk and she cursed as Amina struggled to detach it.

  "Merde! Damn these ridiculous hoops anyway! Designed by some deli adam no doubt!"

  Amina ignored the three-language comments, used to hearing Glee's colorful curses. She stood, the dress untangled, and began to sign. "The same 'crazy man' who designed your clothes would have been hard-pressed to find a model more suited to the fashion than you, Glee."

  "Stuff!" Glee pulled on her gloves. "I'm too tall and you know it. And I hate this corset. I feel as though I can hardly breathe."

  Amina shook her head. "Next time, don't wear one. You don't need it anyway."

  Glee suppressed a grin. "And have my waist measure twenty inches instead of a fashionable eighteen? Oh, Amina! What a scandal!"
<
br />   They laughed for a moment, but stopped when a polite knock sounded at their door. After the two exchanged anticipatory glances, Amina amused, Glee defensive, Glee nodded and Amina went to the door and admitted a uniformed officer to the cramped chamber.

  He eyed Amina oddly, then smiled and swept his kepi off as he reached for Glee's outstretched hand. He was not as young as Lieutenant Stokes, closer to thirty than twenty, but he was a tall, solid fellow. Broad of shoulder, lean of waist, with properly pomaded wheat-colored hair that turned to red as it wound down the sides of his face in curly sideburns; he was not unattractive, Glee thought. As he rose from pressing his lips to the back of her glove he introduced himself. "Captain Nathaniel Havington, ma'am, at your service."

  Glee dipped slightly in a semblance of a curtsy. "Miss Glee Montrose, Captain. Shall we go?"