by Hebby Roman
Davie followed after Carlos, careful to keep his distance, realizing the Mexican would be watching his back. Carlos retraced his steps to the mess hall and entered a copse of trees, which looped behind the Dawes’ cabin.
Moving as quietly as possible among the dark trees, Davie circled behind the Dawes’ place and drew up short. Felix had cleared a space behind his cabin for a garden. He could see the back door of the cabin, and he spotted Carlos, too, leaning against the house with his arms crossed, puffing on a thin cheroot.
Davie hunkered down to wait. The fireworks were reaching a dazzling finish with one bottle rocket after another slashing across the dark sky, resounding with loud pops and bangs. The children cheered, and everyone clapped.
He glimpsed a crowd of people pouring back into the mess hall. Soon after, the orchestra struck up again. This time, they played the first waltz of the night. He wished he was dancing with Crissy. He’d dreamed of taking her in his arms and waltzing her across the floor, winning her over again.
But it wasn’t meant to be. She’d gone home early and here he was, crouched behind a tree, spying on de Los Santos to see what he was doing behind Dawes’ cabin.
After a few minutes spent swatting mosquitos, a bright shaft of light cleaved the darkness. The back door of the Dawes’ cabin opened, and Felix stood there, silhouetted against the light, standing on his right leg and leaning on a thick stick with his splinted left leg suspended in the sling.
It was awkward for him to move, but given the circumstances, Felix had no choice. And he hadn’t brought any of his fellow soldiers with him.
The back door closed, cutting off the light.
Davie inched as close as he could to the edge of the trees, but the Dawes’ garden was several yards long.
Carlos sauntered over to Felix, and they put their heads together.
Davie strained his ears, but he couldn’t hear a word of what they said. But seeing them together, talking in the dark, was more than enough.
As much as he despised Felix and his low-down ways, he would have never, in a blue moon, dreamed he was the man who’d been selling information to the Mexicans.
Carlos slipped away, going the opposite direction from the mess hall, keeping behind the row of cabins, and glancing over his shoulder. Dawes hobbled to his back door and opened it, going inside. For all anyone knew, he’d been in his backyard, answering a call of nature.
Seeing the two men meet in secret wasn’t proof positive because he’d not heard what they’d said, but it was enough to take to the commander. And the sooner, the better, especially after he’d broken Dawes’ leg.
Trouble was, would Commander Gregor believe him? Or would the Lieutenant Colonel think the coincidence was too convenient?
* * *
Davie knocked on the commander’s cabin door. The fireworks had ended about half an hour ago, and Crissy had gone home for the night. He was fairly certain the commander would be getting his daughter ready for bed.
He didn’t like bothering the bereaved man at his home, but Gregor had told him to come, any hour of the day or night, as soon as he had something.
Gregor opened the door and glanced at him. “Oh, it’s you. Come to take your punishment for your stupid stunt, Corporal Donovan?”
Davie winced. He’d been demoted again, but he’d been expecting it.
“I hope you found the time, Corporal, to follow my orders. Or did you drink the brandy and decide to light Dawes’ horse on fire.”
“I followed your orders, sir.” He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out the half-empty bottle. “I’ve this left and some news. It’s why I’m here.” He bobbed his head. “Sorry for disturbing you.”
Gregor took the bottle of brandy. “News, is it? This better be good.” He opened the door wider. “Come inside, Donovan, and have a seat in the kitchen. I don’t want my daughter to hear, and her bedroom is closest to the sitting room. I need to see if she’s tucked in.”
Davie found the kitchen to the left of the sitting room, but he didn’t sit down at the table. Instead, he remained standing, but at ease, with his arms crossed behind his back.
The commander came into the kitchen, mumbling under his breath about his daughter. He glanced at Davie and said, “You can stand if you want, but I need some coffee with maybe a tot of brandy. You can join me if you like or keep standing there.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Being a single man, you have no idea how trying children can be.
“Now Martha’s gone, poor child cries herself to sleep every night. And she’s afraid of the dark, too, since she lost her mother. I have to leave a lamp burning.” He grabbed the coffee pot and poured in a ladle of water. “I hope we don’t burn the damned house down one night.”
“I’m sorry about your daughter. I thought Crissy, er, Miss Shannon was of some comfort.”
The commander stoked the fire in the stove and set the coffee pot on it. He turned and gazed at him. “Crissy, is it?” He pointed at him. “She’s a good, kind girl. Pure, too.” He waved his hand. “Bugger her mother’s past. You’d best not lay a hand on her, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir. Uh, I mean, no, sir.” He bowed his head. “That is, my intentions are honorable, sir.”
“Honorable, you say? Are you thinking of marrying Miss Shannon?”
“If I can convince her.” He’d not wanted to drag Crissy into this, but now there seemed no help for it. “We’ve had a falling out, though, I plan on winning her back.”
The commander fetched two china cups and a saucer with sugar lumps. It was odd, seeing his commanding officer, puttering around the kitchen.
“You’ll get married, and I’ll lose my housekeeper.” Gregor shook his head. “I don’t know as you’ll have my blessing, if you manage to win her back.”
Davie couldn’t believe what he was hearing—the commander might stop his marriage? Then what would he do? His heart clenched, and he felt perspiration pour down his backbone.
“But sir, it doesn’t mean Crissy can’t be your housekeeper, if I’m not transferred.” It would be a blessing if the commander could use his influence to keep him at Fort Clark, especially given Crissy’s ailing mother. “Plenty of the officers’ wives work.”
“That’s true.” The commander poured two cups of coffee into the fragile china, sans saucers and added a shot of brandy to each. “Sit down, Corporal. I’ll not be craning my neck, looking up at you.”
Davie sat and cradled the fragile cup in his hands.
“You’d not keep Crissy from working if you married?”
How had they fallen into discussing his love life and possible marriage? He didn’t know if he could win her back, though, he’d walk through hell and back, trying.
“No, but if she had a baby, she’d need a few weeks to recover. After that, she could come back. Wouldn’t your daughter enjoy having a baby around?”
Gregor added two lumps of sugar to his coffee. He cocked his head, as if considering. “Yes, my Peggy loves babies. We had a situation at Fort Concho, rescued a young woman from the Comanche, and she had a baby. The young lady and her baby stayed with us for a time. Peggy and my wife…”
He hesitated and frowned, averting his face. “Yes.” He nodded, having gotten his features under control again. “A new baby might be the tonic my daughter needs.” He smiled and lifted his cup. “But I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You need to marry the girl first.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I need to know what you found out. Was it the Márquez clan or de Los Santos? I was surprised to learn his son came in his place.”
“Me, too, sir. And it’s the de Los Santos. I don’t have irrefutable truth, but—”
“What have you got?”
“A meeting during the firework display, in the dark, between Carlos de Los Santos and First Sergeant Dawes.”
Gregor slammed the fine china cup on the table.
Davie flinched, almost certain the cup m
ust have cracked.
“The hell you say, Corporal! Or should I bust you back to private? You’re expecting me to believe the same soldier who turned you in for gambling, and then you broke his leg by setting off firecrackers under his mount—he happens to be in cahoots with the Mexicans?”
Davie licked his lips and wished he had the brandy back and could chug it down. Under the circumstances, he thought it best to stay as calm as possible.
He met the commander’s gaze, head on, not flinching. “Sir, that’s what I thought when I saw them together. I wondered how it would seem to you?”
The commander wiped his face with his hand and muttered something under his breath. “All right, let’s say I believe you—they were meeting in the dark behind Dawes’ cabin. But the man is laid up with a broken leg, for Pete’s sake.”
“Yes, sir. He used a thick stick as a crutch and let himself out his back door. He didn’t have to go far. Carlos was there, waiting for him.”
“Did you hear what they said?”
“No, sir. Dawes has a long garden patch behind his cabin. I was in the trees. I got as close as I could, but I couldn’t hear anything.”
“Well, it’s damned convenient. Isn’t it?” The commander got up, poured himself another cup of coffee and added the last of the brandy.
“Drink up, Corporal. I’m considering what to do.”
“Yes, sir.” Davie raised his cup and drained it, welcoming the burn of the liquor.
The commander set down his cup and stared at him. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I know I’ve given the soldiers tomorrow off, but you need to find Sergeant Hayes and send him here. Tell him to keep it to himself.”
“But he’s with Company E, sir.”
“I know. We can’t use anyone in Company C, not now. We don’t know who is loyal to Dawes and who isn’t. Must be somebody outside your company. And Hayes can keep a secret.”
“You’re right. He’s very close-lipped.”
“I’m glad you approve, Corporal. You and Hayes will be working together, spelling each other, until you can bring me real evidence of what Dawes is up to.” The commander sipped his coffee. “Since holding up the stagecoach didn’t get them the money, de Los Santos might not have anything more to do with Dawes.”
“But the Mexicans might not know who to believe, sir. Since we killed their men and took charge of the burnt-out stagecoach.”
“Hmmm, you might have something there.” He stroked the fine china cup. “I hope you’re right because if Dawes is a traitor, I will court-martial him.” He stopped and considered. “Damn shame about his family, though. He has five children.” He shook his head. “Damn shame.”
“I think it might be why he did it, sir.”
“Oh, for the money?”
“Well, he’s always been ambitious and open about the fact he doesn’t make enough to properly support his family.”
“He has, has he?” The commander drummed his fingers on the table.
“Yes, sir,” Davie said and added, “Will we be watching Dawes after the Mexicans leave—to what purpose?”
“They might have another way of signaling each other. We can’t cross into México and watch de Los Santos. Must be Dawes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gregor looked up and snagged his gaze. “You know I have to bust you, Donovan. Otherwise…”
“It won’t look right.”
“Correct. And you’ll need to spend a day in the brig, too.”
“Please, sir, can it wait until after tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“I want to go to the consecration of the new Catholic Church. I know Crissy will be there.”
The commander stroked his chin. “All right. That’s better, anyway, since I’ve given the soldiers their leisure. I won’t need someone to guard you. Makes sense.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“MacTavish will carry out my orders at the call to colors, the day after tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. But what about spelling Hayes?”
“He can follow Dawes around during the day. You’ll take the night shift, after you get out of the guardhouse.” He held up one hand. “And no complaining.”
“No, sir. I’m ready to take my punishment.”
“You better be. Why on earth did you pull such a fool stunt, anyway?”
“Because Dawes snitched on me about playing cards for matchsticks, which to my way of thinking, isn’t gambling.”
“Maybe, but look what your revenge did. It got out of hand and you broke his leg. Now, everyone feels sorry for Sergeant Dawes.”
Davie swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth. Unfortunately, the commander was right—he was a pariah, and now another demotion.
When it had happened, he’d been shamed by what he’d unwittingly done. But when he’d seen Dawes conspiring with Carlos, he’d almost felt vindicated. That wasn’t the point. Two wrongs didn’t make a right—he’d been brought up better.
Maybe Crissy was right—he should learn to forget and forgive.
* * *
Crissy stood and gazed at the newly-completed Mary Magdalene Catholic Church. She had her arm through her mother’s.
The new medicine Dr. Irving had sent for had arrived a week ago, and it was helping. Her mother was coughing less and had more energy, which made Crissy hopeful.
They’d attended the consecration of the new church by Father Fernández. He’d blessed the church and held Mass on the day after the Fourth of July celebration. With most of the fort at their leisure and the church complete, it had seemed like the perfect time, though it was a Friday, and not a Sunday.
She’d noticed both Davie and Carlos in church, but she’d purposely avoided speaking to either one of them. If she had her way, she’d hurry back to their room, but her mother wanted to linger, feeling good to have attended Mass and being welcomed into the church.
As it was, both men stood on the street behind them, as if waiting for the noon stage, which was due from the west.
Father Fernández, with his arms folded into the loose sleeves of his cassock, came toward them, smiling. He stopped and joined them, gazing at the church. “She is beautiful, is she not?”
“Yes, such a lovely tall steeple,” Mary said.
“I liked the carving inside,” Crissy added, “especially on the altar rail and the pulpit.”
The Father’s smile faded. “Yes, but did you feel the lectern looked too… bare or plain. In comparison, of course.”
Crissy tried to remember what the lectern looked like but failed.
Her mother said, “Yes, I thought it was rather… stark.”
Father Fernández sighed. “I couldn’t come up with a good design.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But the wood carver has been paid by the San Antonio Archdiocese until the end of the month, and I want to do something...”
The priest shook his head. “But I don’t want anything too… elaborate. Something simple, natural, not necessarily religious. More of a lay nature to honor this beautiful country, as the lectern is dedicated to the lay members of the church.”
“I will have to think on it before the wood carver leaves for San Antonio.” He bowed to them and wandered off, his hands clasped behind his back, studying how the light struck the stained-glass windows.
Crissy smoothed her skirt, thinking about the area’s nature and the picture Davie had done. She glanced back at him. He was still there, loitering on Spring Street. He could do with something to keep him busy and a bit of penance, too, after last night.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Davie, could you come here for a few minutes.”
He started and pointed to himself, mouthing, “You want to see me?”
She almost giggled. Instead, she nodded and cocked her head.
Carlos narrowed his eyes, watching. She wondered what he was doing, hanging around. Most of the Mexicans had left for home this morning, but not the de
Los Santos’ bunch. It was odd.
Last night, before they’d parted at the firework display, Carlos had asked to escort her to the church’s consecration. She’d been surprised he knew about such a thing, but she’d demurred, saying she would be going with her mother.
Still, he’d come anyway, and he looked like he was waiting for something… or someone.
She glanced up to find Davie standing before them. He bowed and gazed at her, catching her eye.
She lifted her hand. “Mama, this is Sergeant David Donovan.”
“Soon to be Corporal Donovan,” he interjected.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “Tomorrow, when everyone is back on duty?”
“Yes, tomorrow.”
“Well, it was a stupid stunt.”
“Children, children, please.” Her mother lifted her hands and looked at Crissy. “Since my daughter has forgotten to introduce me.” She put out her hand. “I’m Mary Shannon, and I’m glad to meet you, Davie. Whether you’re a sergeant or a corporal doesn’t really matter. Does it?”
He took her hand and shook it. “No, ma’am, it doesn’t.” He bobbed his head. “Nice to meet you.”
Crissy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. “Sorry, Mama, I forgot myself.”
“It seems you did.” Her mother nodded. “And I doubt you invited Davie over to meet me. Seems you were thinking about the good Father’s dilemma with his lectern.”
“Yes, Mama, I was. Did you know Davie is an artist?”
“Hardly,” he demurred. “I sketch a bit.”
“But you like to draw natural things, like trees and wildflowers, like the picture you gave me,” Crissy said.
He blushed. “Yes, I like to draw the wild things around the fort.”
“Well, then, I suggest you go to the good Father and offer to come up with a ‘natural’ kind of design for his lectern.”
“Me?” He pointed at himself again.
For the third time, she squelched a giggle. “Yes, you, Davie Donovan. I know you can help Father Fernández.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go and talk to him. Tell him you like to draw pictures of the plants and wildlife around here.”
