Cristabelle_The Christmas Bride

by Hebby Roman

  Cristabelle: The Christmas Bride

  By Hebby Roman

  Historical Western Romance

  ☆Estrella Publishing☆

  Table of Contents

  Author's Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  Author's Notes

  Fort Clark, Texas was established in June 1852, at Las Moras Springs by Companies C and E of the First Infantry, under the command of Major Joseph H. LaMotte. The name Las Moras means “the mulberries,” and it was given to the site by Spanish explorers. In 1849, Lieutenant W. H. C. Whiting recognized the site’s military potential and its prospect as a stop along a wagon route between San Antonio and El Paso.

  The fort was named for Major John B. Clark, a deceased officer, who had served bravely during the Mexican-American War. A twenty-year lease was signed with Samuel A. Maverick, a wealthy rancher who owned the land.

  Fort Clark was strategically located as an anchor to the cordon of army posts, which had been established along the southwest Texas-México border. Fort Clark’s purpose was to guard the border, to protect the road to El Paso, and to defend against Indian depredations arising from either side of the Rio Grande.

  With the establishment of Fort Clark, a neighboring settlement of Las Moras came into existence when Oscar Brackett established a supply village for the fort, and later, the town was named Brackettville for its founder. The stage from San Antonio to El Paso ran through the settlement, and for almost a century, the town and the fort remained closely identified.

  At the outbreak of the Civil War, Captain W. H. T. Brooks surrendered Fort Clark to a small company of the Provisional Army of Texas. After the war the fort was re-garrisoned in December 1866 by Troop C, Fourth United States Cavalry. Between 1873 and 1875 most of the dilapidated log fort was re-built with quarried limestone, using immigrant Italian masons. A twenty-acre post was developed with the construction of barracks, officers’ quarters, hospital, bakery, stables, and guardhouse. By 1875 the fort had quarters built of stone for more than 200 officers and men, along with four of the original log cabins to accommodate lower-ranked officers and their families. In 1884, the United States purchased the land from Mary A. Maverick.

  Especially significant during the Indian campaigns were the Black-Seminole scouts (nicknamed the “Buffalo Soldiers” by indigenous hostile tribes). After the Civil War, attempts by federal troops to curtail Indian raiders coming from México met with little success until Colonel Ranald S. Mackenzie and the Fourth United States Cavalry, along with a contingent of Black-Seminole scouts, led a raid into México on a punitive expedition against the Kickapoos and Lipan Apaches, destroying three villages, killing nineteen warriors, and capturing forty prisoners, including the aged Lipan chief, Costillitto.

  Despite México’s protests the United States was violating its sovereignty, other sorties by Mackenzie followed, and as a result, Indian forays from México to Texas declined dramatically. Mackenzie was succeeded by Lieutenant Colonel William Shafter in 1876. Shafter took five companies of cavalry, along with the Buffalo soldiers, and established a base camp near the mouth of the Pecos River to pursue the Lipan Apaches across the border, earning the Lt. Colonel the nickname of “Pecos Bill.”

  This book follows the general outline of the history of Fort Clark, but all the characters herein are fictional, except for the occasional mention of well-known historical persons.

  Chapter One

  Fort Clark, Texas—1875

  Cristabelle took the last wooden clothes pin from her mouth and fastened the sheet to the rope line. She bent and grabbed the straw basket, filled with dry clothes, and balanced it on her hip.

  Dawn was breaking in the east, painting patches of gold and crimson across the flat expanse of mesquite and sagebrush. With the coming of daylight, she needed to hurry back to the laundry room.

  The laundresses at Fort Clark were under strict orders to not mix with the soldiers. They stayed in the laundry area, affectionately known as “Sudsville,” venturing out before dawn and at mid-afternoon when the soldiers were occupied with the daily changing of the guard.

  Many of the laundresses were the wives of non-commissioned officers, but there were a few unmarried women, like herself, and the rules had been made for them. Last year, while the fort was under the command of Colonel Mackenzie, three of the unmarried women had gotten pregnant. Two of the offending soldiers had been found and forced marriages had taken place. The other girl had returned home, in shame, to give birth to her child.

  Lieutenant Colonel Gregor, an upright and Christian man, had set up new rules when he’d taken over command. He didn’t want any unsanctioned pregnancies on his watch.

  Knowing she was late and breaking one of the rules, Cristabelle picked up her pace, trotting with the unwieldy basket bumping her hip.

  Outside the Dawes’ log cabin, she spied a long, thin shape stretched across the path. At first, she thought it was a stick but when she got closer, she realized it was a rattlesnake. She almost stepped on the deadly rattler before skidding to a stop.

  Panic pummeled her, making her heart thunder in her chest. She screamed and dropped the basket. Picking up her skirts, she leapt over the snake and ran as fast as she could. A bush rattled to one side of the path, and a soldier stepped in front of her.

  She collided with his broad chest. He caught her and held her shoulders. “You’ve ruined my surprise,” he said, his voice low and gravely but with a lilting note to it.

  Frightened out of her wits, she half-turned and pointed at the snake. But the snake hadn’t moved. It lay still and in the same position.

  “It’s dead. Isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Dead and stuffed. Took me two days to get the look of it right.”

  “What… why?”

  He still held her by the shoulders, and she gazed into his turquoise-colored eyes, eyes alight with mischief. His strong hands on her shoulders burned through the light cotton of her blouse. He smelled good—of leather and the starch they used in the laundry. He was a handsome man with a head of dark, curly hair, a wide smile, and a dimple in his left cheek.

  She’d seen handsome men before, and most of them, were as low-down as that stuffed rattlesnake. Besides, the rule about laundresses staying out of sight was for a good reason. Most soldiers thought nothing of seducing young women.

  She should know.

  Her face was burning. She stepped back and shrugged him off. Not waiting for an answer, she fetched her abandoned basket and stuffed the spilled shirts and sheets into it. Most of them would need to be washed again.

  He joined her and said, “Let me help you.”

  “I need to get back to the laundry. You know the rules.”

  “Stupid rules. I hate them.”

  “Not as stupid as putting a stuffed snake across the path.”

  He grinned and grabbed the basket from her, holding it away.

  She huffed and planted her fists on her hips. “What are you doing?”

  “Walk with me and I’ll carry your basket.” He glanced at the snake and then at the sky. “Doubt it will fool anyone now. I’m surprised your scream didn’t bring Felix’s wife running.”

  “She’s sick with milk fever.” Cristabelle twisted away. “I don’t want to walk with you.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know Felix’s wife was sick.” He looked over his shoulder. “Guess I’ll h
ave to wait until later to get my own back.” He backed up a few steps, bent down and grabbed the snake, tossing it into the bushes.

  “Give me the basket.” She softened her tone and held out her hand, knowing men liked to be cajoled. She might have managed to avoid men most of her life, but she’d learned a thing or two, watching her mother.

  “Please.” She smiled and looked down, wanting to appear meek.

  “No, I want to walk with you.”

  “That’s not possible.” Her patience and play-acting were at an end. “I could be let go for breaking the rules, and I need this job.”

  He laughed. “What are rules for—if not breaking them?” He pulled her off the path, leading her among a copse of live oaks trailing down to Las Moras Springs.

  “My name is David Donovan, or Davie, to my friends.” He still held her basket but managed to bow. “And your name is?”

  “Cristabelle, er, Cristabelle Smith.” It wasn’t her real name, but he didn’t need to know that. It was the name she’d used to get her job.

  “Cristabelle, is it?” He tested her name on his tongue. “It’s quite a mouthful. Good thing your last name is simple.” He narrowed his eyes, as if considering.

  She turned up her nose at his suspicion. “My friends call me Crissy. Not that you’ve leave to do it. You’re a soldier, not a friend.” She made a grab for the basket.

  But he was quick, anticipating her, moving the basket away and holding it behind him.

  She puffed out her cheeks and sighed with frustration. Didn’t he understand?

  She needed her job, and there weren’t many respectable jobs for women on the frontier.

  The daylight had sharpened, and she heard officers issuing orders. She had to sneak back to the laundry, but she couldn’t leave the clothes behind. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

  “You asked me why I put the snake there,” he said.

  “I don’t really care. You’ve compromised me. I could lose my job. My mother is ailing. We’ve no one else to…”

  His smile crumpled. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of—”

  “Give me the basket and let me go.”

  Still he hesitated, keeping a firm grasp on it. “Give me a kiss, and I’ll show you a secret way back to the laundry. No one will know, except the other laundresses. Are you friends with them?”

  “Yes… no.” She didn’t know what to say.

  She’d never kissed a man before, and she wasn’t going to start with this handsome soldier. Given what her mother had been through, she wanted nothing to do with men… ever.

  “Please, please, don’t do this.” She folded her hands and considered getting on her knees.

  “You’re really something, Crissy Smith.” He shook his head. “I’ve never known a woman so afraid of a simple kiss.” He handed her the basket, and took her arm. “Let me show you the way. No one will know you’ve been out after daylight.”

  His touch stirred her, making her shivery all over and her knees weak. She was grateful for his help, even though, he’d caused the problem. She had to admit she liked him holding her arm and leading her. It was a strange, feel-good kind of sensation, being protected by someone stronger and more confident.

  He escorted her through the brush and around prickly pear cactus, following a trail she couldn’t see. Before too long, she glimpsed the white-washed, planked building, serving as the fort’s laundry. As usual, a large cauldron of boiling water was simmering outside with one of the other girls, Constance, stirring the contents.

  “There, you’re back, all safe and sound,” he said and handed her the basket. But he didn’t release her arm.

  “I put the snake out to scare Felix or one of his family. Felix got me in trouble with Commander Gregor over a piddling poker game.”

  “Soldiers are forbidden to gamble on the post.”

  “But we were using matchsticks, not real money.” He shook his head and glanced down at his sleeve. “Felix is a line Sergeant under me with Company C. He wants to get me into trouble, so he can get my stripe.”

  “He has a family to support. You’re a single man, aren’t you?”

  “Ah, now I’ve got your interest. You want to know if I’m available.” He winked at her.

  She clucked her tongue. “I could care less, Sergeant Donovan. I meant he needs the stripe and extra pay for his family.”

  “Well, you’ve a kind heart—I’ll give you that, thinking of his family. But the differential in pay is hardly worth undercutting a fellow soldier.”

  “Your prank was to pay him back for turning you in?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone? Turn the other cheek?”

  He gazed at her, his eyes boring into her, as if he could read her mind. “You’re religious. I should have known.” He grazed her cheek with his thumb. “You’ve the look of an angel about you.”

  She pushed his hand away. With a man, a simple touch always led to something else and then…

  He pulled her closer, and his lips brushed hers. “There, what do you think of that, my Angel?”

  She touched her lips. Now she was tainted like her mother. A flood of fear, mixed with anger at his effrontery, filled her. She’d vowed to never be kissed. And now, this smiling soldier with his beguiling dimple and sea-colored eyes had broken that vow—without her permission.

  She drew her hand back and slapped him.

  He cupped his red cheek.

  With her basket safely tucked under her arm, she ran for the shelter of the laundry.

  His laughter followed her, mocking her all the way.

  * * *

  Crissy opened the slatted door to the laundry, and found Isabel Garza waiting, fisted hands riding her hips. “Where have you been, young lady? Don’t you know it’s long past daylight? I was worried about you. I know how much this job means—”

  “I’m fine, Isabel. But thank you for your concern.”

  “What happened?”

  “A rattlesnake was on the path. I dodged him and went into the bushes, coming a roundabout way. It took longer than I thought.” It was half of the truth. Crissy didn’t like to lie, but she was still stunned by what had happened.

  “Well,” Isabel huffed. “I’m glad you avoided the snake, but in the future, you need to follow the rules. Lieutenant Colonel Gregor put those rules into place for a good reason. With a fort full of randy soldiers, none of us can be too careful.”

  Isabel might be her friend, but the older woman was also in charge of the laundry. “I know.” Crissy dumped the basket’s contents on the long table and began sorting out the soiled items.

  “Looks like you had quite an upset,” Isabel observed.

  “Yes, I dropped my basket when I saw the snake, and some of the clean clothes got dirty.”

  “Here, let me help you.” Isabel moved beside her, and they piled the items in two stacks.

  Crissy shook her head and brushed her lips with her fingers again. How was it possible she could feel the imprint of the sergeant’s mouth on hers? She’d never wanted to be kissed by a man. Had dreaded it and hoped it wouldn’t happen.

  But now, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way his lips had felt. And how he’d made her body tingle all over. Was it those kinds of feelings that had driven her mother to be… to do… what she’d done? Her mother had always claimed she’d done what she needed to survive.

  Now Crissy wasn’t so sure.

  Several of the other girls hovered nearby, dipping wet shirts into starch and arraying them for ironing. Ironing was the worst part of the laundry, to Crissy’s way of thinking.

  She didn’t mind tending the pot in the yard with the strong lye soap making her eyes water; it was easier than ironing sheets or especially, the soldiers’ shirts. Getting their collars ironed, without scorching them, was hard enough. Not to mention the cuffs and the crease along the sleeves. Ironing shirts was painstaking
work.

  She moved to the table with the soldiers’ uniforms. For their blue, woolen uniforms, they had a special process, which used a solvent to clean the material. It dampened the wool but didn’t soak it. They brushed out the half-damp uniforms and let them dry in the sun on racks out back.

  Betsy McDuff elbowed her to one side and stood over the pile of dirty uniforms, as if protecting them.

  With a flounce of her blonde curls, she said, “You know the rules. First one in, gets to choose, and then the next…” She shrugged. “You got here last today.”

  Crissy stared at the stack of shirts and mumbled a not-so-nice word under her breath.

  “What’s that, Miss?” Isabel demanded. “I thought you wanted to return to the Ursuline Convent. If true, you shouldn’t be—”

  “I know.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry, but I had to iron shirts yesterday. Today should be my turn—”

  “Not if you’re late,” Betsy piped up. “Last one in, gets what no one else wants.”

  Crissy crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Betsy could be a big pain when she wanted, prissy and self-assured. And she was always hanging around, too, hoping to attract the single officers, which to Crissy’s way of thinking, was a sure way of asking for trouble.

  “Miss McDuff is right,” Isabel confirmed. “You know the rule.”

  “But it wasn’t my fault. If I hadn’t seen the snake—”

  “No exceptions. No excuses, young lady.” Isabel hauled a flat-iron from the hearth fire and held it out. “Here, take this while it’s hot.”

  Crissy took the heated iron. She laid a shirt on one of the ironing boards. Then she put the tip of the flat-iron down, testing how hot it was on the shirttail.

  The hot iron hissed but it didn’t mark the shirt. It was still a bit too hot, but not hot enough to scorch. She waited, counting under her breath, realizing she faced a long day of back-breaking labor.

  And for the next hour and a half, she applied herself to ironing the pile of shirts, setting the lapels and cuffs, and the crease along the sleeves. She exchanged ten or more irons with Isabel, making certain each one was the right heat before she began, not wanting to scorch a shirt, knowing the cost would be deducted from her pay.