by Hebby Roman
Isabel pushed past her and stopped, shifting the basket to her other arm. “Of course, you did. You had to give me notice to replace you…” She nodded. “Though a day’s notice was—”
“Isabel, I had no choice. Commander Gregor’s wife had died, and his daughter needed someone to take care of her. He wanted me as soon as possible. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you more notice.”
Isabel sighed. “Oh, Crissy, you’re right.” She reached out and touched Crissy’s arm. “Maybe, I’m a bit jealous.” She shook her head. “I’m surprised you haven’t been to Mass the last few Sundays. I’ve missed you, and I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yes, Mass.” Crissy bit her lip. “Sundays are a problem, and it’s something I need to bring up with the commander. I need Sundays off. He goes to chapel with his daughter, but he expects Sunday dinner to be ready when they return.”
She swallowed and licked her lips. “I hate to ask him, knowing how grief-stricken he and Peggy are. But as good and kind as he is, I’m surprised he hasn’t thought about my needing time off. He expects me seven days a week.” She tried to smile. “Not even in Sudsville, did we work seven days.”
Isabel touched her arm again. “It’s a delicate situation. I understand. But yes, I believe you need to bring him to his senses. He’s not thinking, that’s for certain. Typical man.” She clucked her tongue. “I think I can help you. Several of the unmarried Misses would love the extra money so you could have some time off.”
“Not Betsy, please.”
Isabel’s smile widened. “No, I won’t send her. She’d make trouble. She’s jealous of you.”
“Really?”
Isabel laughed. “Of course, silly.” She took Crissy’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Look at you! You’re a vision in your new gown.” She pulled Crissy closer and hugged her. “I’m proud of you. You’re beautiful, decent, and honest. What you did, confessing about your mother was…” She took a deep breath. “It was more than brave.”
Crissy flushed at the compliment and returned the woman’s embrace.
Isabel stepped back. “You did the right thing, Crissy.” She shook her finger at her but smiled at the same time. “But don’t go off and forget your old friends.”
“No, I promise not to forget my old friends, especially you, Isabel.”
“Good.” Isabel took her arm. “Let’s get these napkins to Mrs. Bullis, shall we?”
“Of course.”
They walked back to the mess hall. Isabel took the napkins to Mrs. Bullis, who thanked her.
Crissy took up her place behind the serving tables, wanting to help if she was needed. This time, she didn’t remove her apron.
The dance floor was crowded—the orchestra was playing a two-step and it looked like everyone was dancing, including the Mexicans.
But not all of the Mexicans were dancing, particularly the men, who outnumbered their women, two-to-one, like her fellow Americans. Crissy had often wondered, since there were fewer women on the frontier, why men didn’t treat their women better, cherishing and taking care of them?
Unfortunately, the frontier was a place, which attracted rogues and bad men who’d fled the States to escape their sketchy or criminal pasts.
Speaking of rogues, she glanced up and saw Davie moving among the Mexican men, taking them to one side and speaking with them. Davie was Irish, and most of the Mexicans only spoke Spanish.
What on earth was he doing?
She saw him pull out a stoppered bottle and offer it to one of the Mexicans. Why was he offering them liquor? It was a recipe for disaster, to her way of thinking.
She crossed her arms over her chest and backed up a few paces.
As if he’d materialized by magic, one of the fancy-dressed Mexicans stood in front of her, bowing from the waist.
“Me llamo es Carlos de Los Santos,” the man said. “Por favor, perdóneme, my English, she’s not so good.” He held out his arms. “I wish to dance with you.”
She hesitated. She really didn’t want to dance with anyone but Davie. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen, considering how he’d treated her and her determination to forget him.
“Of course,” she said, offering her hand and nodding. “My name is Miss Shannon.”
He bowed over her hand, murmuring something in Spanish. He gathered her into his arms and led her to the dance floor.
They joined the other couples, dancing the two-step. For the women, it meant two steps back and one step forward, a kind of dip and then repeat, moving around the dance floor in a box-like formation. She smiled at her partner and tried to relax, but it was hard.
Carlos’ hand strayed below her waist, resting on the top of her buttock, and she felt her face heat. She angled her body away, making him accommodate her. He moved his hand back to her waist.
Their gazes caught and held. He was a handsome man with licorice black eyes and long, dark brown hair. And his dancing was as flamboyant as his clothes, with lots of dips and turns. She didn’t know much about dancing. All she knew was to hang on and follow him as best she could.
After two dances, a corporal, whom she didn’t know, cut in.
Carlos murmured, “Hasta la vista,” and gazed into her eyes.
He surrendered her to the soldier. Next, she was assaulted by a number of privates and corporals, eager to dance. She’d never felt admired before or desired…
No, that wasn’t true. She’d felt all those things in Davie’s arms. But them being together was over.
She needed to take charge of her life. Davie was no longer a part of it. And she had new challenges, like getting time off from the commander. Though, to be fair, he had given her tomorrow off, knowing the new Catholic church was being consecrated.
Carlos came back, bowing low over her hand and asking her to dance again. She wanted to refuse him, looking around for another soldier, but they were all occupied, already dancing or standing on the sidelines, drinking from small metal flasks.
She sighed and nodded.
He took her hand and gripped her waist. This time, it was a fast polka, and he spun her around the floor. And this time, he was the perfect gentleman, keeping his hand on her waist.
He said, “Muy bueno, you dance very good, Señorita Shannon.”
She smiled back. “Thank you. Uh, gracias,” she remembered the simple Spanish word.
Then she saw Davie again, and his gaze followed her and Carlos around the room.
Chapter Seven
Davie watched Carlos de Los Santos swing Crissy around in a spirited polka. Of all the Mexicans, he wished de Los Santos hadn’t asked her to dance. He’d been suspicious of Carlos’ family in México.
He’d not expected Miguel, Carlos’ father, who had been ailing, to accept his invitation and send his son, instead. When he saw Carlos, with his retinue at their fort’s celebration, he’d been surprised. And he’d wondered why they’d come?
He was glad when a soldier cut in, taking Crissy away from de Los Santos, who, as far as he knew, was a snake.
But it didn’t keep him from approaching Carlos and chatting him up. After some small talk, Davie invited Carlos outside for a drink.
He smiled at Carlos and offered one of the brandy bottles. “Por favor, take a sip. I bet you’ll like it.”
Carlos took the bottle and tipped it up, gulping down several swallows of the strong liquor. “Gracias.” He wiped his mouth. “Excellent brandy, Señor.” He bowed. “I’m appreciative.”
The orchestra ended with a flourish, declaring an intermission, and they both looked up. Commander Gregor, in his dress uniform and with a black armband on his left arm, entered the mess hall.
A respectful hush fell over the crowd.
He climbed the dais and stood in front of the orchestra. Then he snapped to attention and saluted. All the soldiers, mostly in uniform, came to attention and returned his salute.
He cleared his throat. “I want t
o welcome everyone to our Fourth of July celebration tonight. I hope you enjoy the food.” He inclined his head toward the tables, where there was still plenty to eat. “And the music from our orchestra.” He turned around and clapped. The room joined him in clapping, and the orchestra members got to their feet and bowed.
“Later,” the commander turned around and continued, “I hope you will watch our firework display. It’s a Fourth of July tradition. The fireworks will be shot off over the parade ground, and my soldiers tell me it will be an excellent display.
“I want to thank everyone for coming to celebrate our country’s birthday, and especially our neighbors from south of the border.” He gazed at the Mexicans who had huddled together again. “I hope this is the beginning of a better understanding with our neighbors, along with working together in peace and harmony.”
He smiled and bowed. “Please enjoy yourselves.” He descended from the dais, shook a few of the Mexicans’ hands, and quit the mess hall.
“A most singular commander,” Carlos observed in Spanish. “He is the first of your Army, since the war between our countries, who wants to have peace between us.” Carlos cocked his head, as if considering. “And he’s lost his wife, too, I understand. How sad for him.”
“Yes, I believe Commander Gregor misses his wife very sorely. But, as you say, he’s always wanted to foster better relations, here along the border,” Davie replied.
“Despite the attack on the stagecoach line?” Carlos asked.
Davie was surprised the man knew the attack involved Mexicans. Away from the fort and across the border, they’d been careful to claim the stagecoach had been raided by Apaches, as the Mexicans had wanted them to believe.
“Who told you that?” Davie asked.
Carlos reached for the flask again. Davie put it in his hand, and the Mexican took it, tilting it back and taking several long draughts. “Is it not common knowledge? The ruse was uncovered. Was it not?”
Davie hadn’t been prepared for this. None of the other Mexicans had mentioned they knew the raiders hadn’t been Apaches—but Carlos knew.
Was this what he’d been looking for?
But he needed the other part of the equation, and he’d yet to see any meetings between the soldiers and the Mexicans, beyond cutting in on each other to dance. In fact, the two groups took pains to stay separate.
“You’re well informed, Señor. I’m impressed.”
“My father makes certain he’s knowledgeable about what happens on this side of the border. It is better to be prepared than surprised.” Carlos smiled at him from beneath his bristly mustache. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, much better to be prepared,” Davie said.
The orchestra started up again, playing another fast two-step.
Carlos bowed. “Hasta luego. I think I’ll join the dance again, amigo.” He clapped Davie’s shoulder. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you, Señor, and sharing your very fine brandy.”
He swaggered across the floor and got to Crissy before anyone else. Davie gritted his teeth. He couldn’t fault Carlos’ taste—Crissy was far and away the loveliest woman at the dance tonight.
The blue dress complimented her dark eyes and hair and showed off her figure to perfection. Should he cut in? He didn’t trust Carlos as far as he could throw him—and not just with his Crissy.
His Crissy.
There it was again. He couldn’t let her go. She was his and if it took a lifetime, he vowed to win her back.
He saw another one of the single young women who had been a laundress with Crissy. She was a blonde, and she caught his eye and winked at him.
As jealous as he was feeling, seeing Carlos with his hands all over Crissy, it was high time to return the favor. He tucked the half-empty bottle of brandy inside his coat pocket. He’d already gone through the first bottle and learned nothing. To his way of thinking, Carlos was the one who seemed suspect. And he’d be more than happy to tell the commander of his suspicions.
He crossed the floor and executed a bow. “May I have this dance, Miss…?”
She giggled and held out her hand. “Miss Betsy McDuff, but you can call me Betsy.”
He took her hand and put his arm around her waist, pulling her into the stream of fast-stepping dancers. He noticed, as he led Betsy around the dance floor, the celebration, fueled by lots of liquor, was getting louder and rowdier by the minute.
Betsy batted her eyelashes. “You’re the Sergeant who keeps getting demoted and promoted again. Aren’t you?”
Davie laughed. “You have the advantage.”
“Well, I’m just saying. Everyone knows you for something of a prankster around the fort.” She stuck out her lower lip and gazed into his eyes. “I like someone with a bit of mischief in them. Keeps things from getting boring and stuffy.”
“I’m glad I could provide some amusement.”
“The prank you pulled with Dawes was plain grand. He’s such an old fuss bucket.”
He’d never heard Dawes called a fuss bucket before. Silently, he had to agree. “I’m happy you enjoyed it, as I’ll probably be busted down to corporal again.” He exhaled. “I didn’t mean for him to break his leg. That dun sure can buck.”
She tittered and angled her body closer to his, brushing her very full bosom against his arm. He drew back but not before seeing Crissy watching them as she whirled by in Carlos’ arms.
He couldn’t help but notice Crissy scowling. Good. He hoped her baleful look meant she hadn’t stopped caring about him. Still, he didn’t dare to ask her to dance, dreading she would turn him down or worse, denounce him for hurting Dawes.
But he wanted to win her back and if he had to fight fire with fire, he’d do it.
The orchestra segued into another fast two-step, and Betsy seemed perfectly happy to remain his partner. Carlos and Crissy were still dancing together. A lot of the earlier dancers had retired to the sidelines to engage in some serious drinking. Two more polkas followed, and then the orchestra struck up another Virginia reel.
Davie watched as Carlos led Crissy to the edge of the dance floor, shaking his head. Obviously, the Mexican was unfamiliar with the steps of a reel.
But Betsy had no intention of letting Davie sit out the dance. She lined up with the other ladies, directly across from him, and they proceeded to swing and do-si-do through the intricate steps, crossing and re-crossing the lines to exchange partners.
When the reel ended with a flourish, the orchestra leader stepped forward, calling out in a booming voice, “Let’s all take a break, ladies and gents.” He pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it. “I believe it’s time for the fireworks to begin.”
Betsy gasped and giggled, pulling a paper fan from her skirts and fanning herself. Davie half-turned and watched Carlos escort Crissy through the front door of the mess hall. The Mexican had attached himself to Crissy like a leech. And now Davie was stuck with Betsy.
She grabbed both his hands and tugged. “Let’s go see the fireworks. I can’t wait.”
Davie held onto one of Betsy’s hands, but he didn’t take his eyes off Crissy and Carlos. The parade ground was full of people, waiting. Captain MacTavish’s wife had brought the children out to watch, and some of his fellow soldiers had carried Felix Dawes onto his porch in a chair.
Dawes sat with his leg splinted and held bent at the knee with a sling-looking contraption holding it in place. Seeing the First Sergeant, he winced.
They didn’t have long to wait. The fireworks started with a loud bang and huge blossoms of sparkling lights filling the sky.
The crowd ohhed and ahhed, exclaiming after each display. Betsy hung onto his arm, her face turned up. If he leaned forward but a few inches, he knew he could steal a kiss. Easy as pie.
But he didn’t want to kiss Betsy, though her invitation was this side of blatant. Before he’d met Crissy, he wouldn’t have hesitated.
Now, he kept his eye on Crissy and Carlos, and whe
n the Mexican put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, he flinched and fisted his hands. It took all of his willpower to not confront Carlos and punch him in the face.
To his delight, Crissy pulled away from the Mexican and bowed her head. They spoke for a few minutes, and without waiting to see the end of the fireworks, she walked toward the front gate, as if she was intent upon going home.
He wanted to go after her, but Betsy brushed up against his arm again, a gentle reminder.
She sighed and pulled back. “You’ve got it bad. Don’t you?”
Not understanding, he asked, “Pardon me?”
“For Miss Shannon. Anyone, even a one-eyed pirate, can see how you look at her.” She huffed. “I’d heard she threw you over.”
“You heard right.”
“Well, then, Davie Donovan, what good will it do to pine after Miss Shannon when we can have some fun. The commander has given y’all tomorrow off. Hasn’t he? We’ve plenty of time to slip away and…”
He turned to Betsy and squeezed her hand. “I thank you for the offer.” He shook his head. “But it wouldn’t be fair to you.”
He saw, from the corner of his eye, Carlos walk toward the Dawes cabin, disappearing into the bushes he’d hid himself in earlier. The Mexican seemed intent upon going around to the back of the house, from the way he was angling through the underbrush.
That was interesting.
“Betsy, duty calls, and I can’t explain.” He needed to go after Carlos but stay hidden.
“Duty? You’re going after her. Aren’t you?”
“Shhh.” He put his finger to his lips and glanced around to see if anyone had heard Betsy’s outburst between the fireworks. No was watching them, but you never knew. “I’m not going after her, Betsy, but I do need to leave.”
Feeling badly for how he’d encouraged her in the hope of making Crissy jealous, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Enjoy the rest of the fireworks.”
He glanced back over his shoulder to find Private O’Rourke sidling up next to Betsy. Not too surprising—considering the private’s reputation and Betsy’s willingness. They were meant for each other.
