Comes a Hero (Book 17 of Brides of the West Series)

by Rita Hestand

  "Oh, and why didn't you want to come?" He asked as he came closer.

  She looked down for a moment. "My father is a retired Senator from New York. Politics is something my family is very familiar with. Seldom has the truth come out of Washington. So, I didn't get my hopes up about this trip." She paused. "Excuse me, I do not wish to sound like an ex-patriot. I love my country, but sometimes the running of it escapes me."

  "How come you are so obliging?" He turned to look at her with interest.

  She shrugged. "I knew this trip wouldn't be easy. I knew the war might break out any minute too. There's been nothing but talk of war for some time now in the papers. I wouldn't have come if my father hadn't insisted on it. Had I had my way, I would leave my brother here, where he's buried with military honor. I feel in my heart as though that was what he would have wanted. I know how much he loved it here, and now that I've seen part of it, I understand. He loved it out here. He wrote letters about the beauty of the west and how he wished we could all see it. I have to admit it is…unusual. So much space and wild country. It gives you the feeling of what freedom is all about."

  "How old was your brother?'

  "Nineteen."

  "That's very young, to die." Quirt hung his head. "Weston, Johnny Weston?" He questioned he quirked a brow.

  "That's him," she looked anxiously at him. "Did you know him."

  He could tell she waited anxiously for his answer.

  "I fought with him a time or two. He was a good soldier for his age. And I remember he did love this land. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, he's got some pictures at his bunk of the landscapes. He drew them himself, and he wasn't bad at it either. I happen to catch him one evening drawing and I was fascinated as not many can do such a thing."

  "Oh, I'd love to see them. He was quite the artist."

  "I'll do my best to find them for you."

  She walked out on the boardwalk, not close to Quirt, but leaning against a post as she reminisced.

  "Johnny left home too early." Her voice took on a wistful sound. "But he came out here at seventeen, and my father was very upset with him for leaving home that young. He was supposed to go to college, he didn't want that. Johnny had a mind of his own at an early age. He always wanted to go west. I guess you could say we were both misfits in our family. We'd read of the wide-open spaces, and both of us felt like boxed rats in New York." Quirt gazed at her leisurely. "I'm so glad he did come, despite the protests, and I'm glad for him that he was happy here. If he only had a few years to live, I'm glad he had a little part of his dream. He was only here a couple of years, but it was like a lifetime for him. He would write such long and wonderful letters. I was almost jealous of him, for seeking what he wanted."

  "And you haven't sought your dreams?"

  "No, sad to say I was never as bold as Johnny. It's harder for a woman to leave family behind. There are obligations that must be met. I was the youngest girl. But coming here, has given me something I've sought for a long time."

  "And what is that?"

  "Independence. I've never had that you see, and I already feel freer than ever before." She said quietly. "Our father was a very demanding man. He saw things only one way and expected us to follow his lead. As a woman I was expected to take over the household when my mother took ill, so I couldn't leave. But this, afforded me the opportunity I always wanted."

  When Quirt remained quiet, she went on.

  "Johnny was quite the rebel, much to my father's chagrin."

  After a long silence Quirt added. "He may have only been nineteen, but he lived those last two years well, I'd say." Quirt told her. "He was one of the happier recruits."

  "Yes, I think you are right. So, when will you show us the graves…?" Her voice faded out, filled with an inner sadness that made her silent for a while.

  He turned to look at her, realizing that this woman had a quality about her that stood out from the others. Perhaps not as dainty, but surely more so on the inside. She had a quality of understanding. That was powerful, here and now, in their situation. "Tomorrow, tonight I want you all to make yourselves as comfortable as you can. We have a cook that's fixed a special meal for you and you can relax now. It is my hope that you can all make this your home for a while, because this is it." He spread his arm out as if to show her. "There is nowhere for you to go, where you will be safe, not for a while. And I'm afraid that I might require more than some are willing to give."

  "What do you mean?" she asked softly.

  "I mean, it might become necessary for you women to learn to shoot and protect yourselves as I only have a small number of recruits."

  She nodded slowly, holding his gaze. "I expected as much." She said that as though she knew all along his plans.

  "Can you shoot?"

  "Strange you should ask me, but yes, I can. Much to my father's dismay, my brother taught me."

  Quirt stared for a moment, then looked away, to assimilate what she had told him.

  She smirked, seeing the judgement in his facial expression. "I'm not a tea party lady. I was a tomboy as a child. A disgrace to my dear mother, and an embarrassment to my father. My older brother taught me to shoot and ride, I loved it. Does that surprise you?"

  He stared for a long moment, his gaze traveling the full length of her. "No ma'am, somehow it doesn't."

  "You are honest. I like that."

  "Knowing how to shoot doesn't make you less of a lady."

  "Doesn't it," she held her head up high now. "Tell it to my father."

  "He didn't approve?"

  "Hardly. He expected me to be a lady, and have teas, and court men. I did none of those things. He expected me to marry well, and have many children, I didn't do that either. Not that I was against it, but I always thought if I were to marry, the man would come along without my help."

  "It makes you no less a lady, ma'am. You have something that is seldom seen in a woman."

  "Oh, and what is that, sir?"

  "Heart, understanding, kindness, compassion. All rolled into one unusually beautiful woman."

  She blushed, and her mouth fell open.

  "I'm not beautiful. I've known that all along."

  "Yours is a different kind of beauty," he came closer, "For as they say, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, ma'am. And if I may say so, you have a rare kind of beauty that radiates from the inside out."

  Confused by his list of compliments, she changed the subject. "It may take some time, but we'll all settle down." She told him. "Do you look for this war to last? I've heard rumors that most think it will be over quickly."

  He studied her another moment, his eyes feasting on her as though hungry for the site of her. "I fear, it will last a short eternity." he said and started to walk off.

  "I hope you're wrong about that!" She called to him.

  He stopped, looked over his shoulder at her and his mouth twitched with a half-smile. "So, do I."

  Chapter Five

  That evening the women were very much impressed with the beef cooked outside on a spit half the day, baked beans, cornbread and a strange concoction called Koosla.

  Sylvia Morrow sat right beside Quirt at the table. Jennifer noticed but said nothing. She thought Quirt Noble and interesting man, well read, quite capable and very handsome.

  "What is this magnificent food?" Sylvia inquired, not taking her eyes from Quirt.

  "It's called Koosla. Corporal Van der Molen makes it on occasion when he can get the ingredients. Do you like it?"

  "Very much, never had this before." Sylvia batted her eyes at Quirt playfully. Still, even she noticed that Quirt wasn't that interested in her.

  For some reason, Quirt looked up and hunted for Jennifer, who was sitting mid-way down the table. When she glanced up from her plate, her gaze met his and he smiled.

  "A Dutchman, here in the wilds of the west?" Victoria's head reared from the table to cast her eyes about the place for the man they spoke of.

  "Yes, how did you know he was Dutch?" Qui
rt cast the lady a smile.

  "Only the Dutch find such good uses for cabbage I'm afraid." She chortled.

  "Hans has been in Texas for twenty years, but he's brought us a lot of different dishes to sample." Quirt smiled. "That's him by the fire there."

  Victoria glanced at the big man attending the meat. Hans smiled in return. His smile transformed him, and Victoria was quite taken when he aimed that smile at her. He had a mop of blonde hair that went this way and that, and blue eyes that sought her out. He was built solid and stout, but he had a very kind face, especially when he smiled. She smiled back at him.

  "Do you like it ma'am." Hans asked as he saw her looking.

  "Very much, Hans. Very much." Victoria smiled again waiting for him to acknowledge her smile.

  He winked and brought more meat to the long home-made table that stretched long enough to accommodate all the women and the men.

  "So, tell me, Quirt are you married?" Sylvia asked outright, changing the subject. Sylvia was not bashful, and obviously wanted everyone to know of her interest in Quirt.

  "No ma'am, haven't had the time nor the inclination in a while. Most of our men here are unmarried. We don't usually have many women out this way. Wagon trains going west, but they only stay a few days. Stagecoaches, they are always on the move. Not much chance of hooking up with a woman. Most of the women who have visited are married." Quirt answered. Quirt finished his meal and stood up, "Well I'm afraid I've got a lot to attend to. You must excuse me. We'll be visiting the graves tomorrow. If you would like a small memorial service for your husbands, let me know, I'll arrange it."

  It was a reminder to Sylvia that she was here to pay respects to her husband, not bat her eyelashes at him. He hoped she'd get the hint. He never minded a direct woman, but a flirty one sent him running.

  "But some of our husbands are not here?" Elizabeth Jordan sat down at the end of the table. She was a small, delicate lady with long light brown hair and piercing brown eyes. Her troubled face made Quirt look at her with compassion as she was one of the ladies who seemed quite contrite about her husband's death.

  Quirt studied on how to say what needed saying. "It doesn't matter where they are, ma'am, the service would be for all of them…. And for you." Quirt informed her. "In honor of them. I think it would be good to have a service for them all. Although, I can assure you that a service has been held in their honor, it would I think be of some comfort to have another." He didn't add, while they still could. But he thought it. He thought of the men that lost their lives fighting Indians with him and realized they had not had a service, so he would include their names.

  With stagecoaches, freight and wagon trains, a load of thirty women was just more for him to deal with. Still, it was his job, and he'd do it as well as possible. Some of these women seem genuinely contrite, and a word of comfort might make them feel a little better about being stuck here. They surely needed to know that someone cared.

  She nodded, "I appreciate you including others with the service and I think my Jake would have appreciated it too." She swallowed hard and bowed her head. "I know I would…" her voice drifted off.

  It seemed to remind the women of why they were here and all of them fell silent a moment.

  "Then I will see to it. Excuse me ladies but I have work to be done. Enjoy your meal." Quirt told them. He laid his napkin down, shot Jennifer a look, and walked off.

  Sylvia looked a bit put out at his leaving the table so soon, but she merely frowned and continued to talk to the soldiers who sat beside her. There was a handsome young soldier that sat on the other side of her and he relished the chance to talk with her.

  "Well, soldier," she batted her long lashes at the young man. "How long have you been out here in this god-forsaken land?"

  ~***~

  Later that evening several ladies gathered buckets of water, so they could bathe, from Limpia Creek nearby. Jennifer was among them and Quirt demanded to know what they were doing.

  "We want to wash sir, if that's alright," Jennifer informed him. "We noticed the tubs hanging on the walls and thought we'd get the dust from the trip off of us.

  He nodded slowly, "I can have my men bring you water, whenever you wish." He informed her. "I'd prefer for the time being you not coming out so late."

  "Oh, well, we can get it." Jennifer insisted.

  "I'd rather you wouldn't." He came up beside her.

  "Why?" She asked bluntly.

  "If the Indians see we have women here, you could be in more danger. We all could."

  "What do you mean, more danger?" She raised a brow. "Didn't you have women before us, that lived here with their husbands?"

  "Only two ma'am. Only two."

  "How are we in danger?"

  "Miss Weston, they take white women prisoners, and make slaves of them. Make them bear them children. Now do you understand. I can't risk you being kidnapped."

  Her expression changed quickly from curious to concerned, as she studied his face, and the lines around his eyes and mouth where tension created the crinkles in his skin. "I guess I do understand. Forgive me." She stared now. He'd been unreasonably blunt, and it startled her.

  "Then if they find out we have less men, it could mean an assault on the fort. Generally, they are after horses and supplies, but women are always counted as valuable. It's more dangerous when there are no men around and more than one woman. They've been known to snatch them and run off with them."

  Jennifer stopped a moment, "Why are there no walls here, no fences to keep the Indians out? I mean, it seems too easy for them to attack."

  He leaned against a fence post. "Believe it or not, we've never been attacked here." Quirt relaxed his stance and smiled, "This is an active fort, with no walls, a wagon train can pull right up to the barracks and seek shelter, a Butterfield Overland Mail route too. We can drill our soldiers so that the enemy can see that we are not lazy and work hard at being good shots. And we are all good shots. Texans take pride in that. Because of the mountains surrounding us, we can only be attacked from one angle. They don't attack the fort, they know we are here and as long as they can see action going on here, they will not attack our fort. They know we generally have more and better weapons than they do. I've an idea of how to keep them thinking we have more men than we do. I will discuss it with you when I've worked out the details."

  She stared at him, "You are quite serious about your job, aren't you Mr. Noble?"

  "I try to be. I must be." He stared down into her beautiful eyes. "We also constantly scout the area, keeps them under better control. They will, however, attack the stagecoaches and mail and freight wagons and cause havoc all over. Settlements are more in danger than we have been. Wagon trains are at risk too. But since this big war is about to break out, we can't say what they will do. Or what we might have to do. But now that most of the army has left, it's only a matter of time before they realize we have only a small company of men."

  "So, they know nothing about the big war between the states? Is that what you mean?" she asked curiously.

  "They don't know it yet, not for fact at least. The Colonel took his troops in the dead of night, without a marching band or any noise. I don't know if they are aware that there is talk of war, but if they are, they will be waiting for the chance to weaken our defense's. Still, we must be ready for them. All it would take would be a slip of the tongue from a rider, or wagon train."

  "It seems like the more open you are, the more dangerous it would be. I mean, there are no fences, no walls to break down. Wouldn't it be easier to take you?"

  "Not to their way of thinking. You see, they have no cover to rush us unexpectedly. We can see for a great distance this way. We will have to constantly be busy and in site to be safe. I'd prefer it if you women would stay inside most of the time, until I get my plan into action. You will find that Ft. Davis isn't like other parts of Texas, as it doesn't get extremely hot in the summer, nor deadly cold in the winter. Out temperatures range from the thirties in wint
er and up to eighties in the summer. We do get occasional snow in the winter, but it isn't unpleasant like other areas of Texas are. You could go for your walks in the evening, but not far, and I'd appreciate you going with a recruit."

  She nodded and moved toward the barracks. "Thanks, I'll pass that information along."

  "Look, I appreciate your cooperation," he smiled. "And I didn't mean to be rude, but my duty is to take care of you to the best of my ability. And I aim to do just that."

  She nodded, "Of course."

  ~***~

  The soldiers brought the women all the tubs they had, and the women enjoyed being able to bathe and talk to each other at the same time.

  Sylvia boasted that she had her eye on a man already.

  "Oh, that's no secret, you're after that Mr. Noble, aren't you?" Victoria chided.

  "Well why not, he's the best looking one of the bunch." Sylvia chuckled. "He's so clean shaven and handsome. Why wouldn't I?"

  "He's that," Victoria chortled.

  Several of the ladies laughed. "Your husband isn't cold in the ground and you are after another man?"

  "My husband has been dead nearly two years now, Marcella," She looked at the woman who blurted that out, "and I'm not wasting any more time. I don't like being alone." Sylvia defended herself. "I'll be married again before the year is out, you wait and see."

  Again, there was laughter.

  Jennifer listened to their prattle. She doubted Mr. Noble would be interested in romance, he had too many worries at the moment, but she didn’t say that aloud. She had to admit, Sylvia was right, he was very handsome.

  These ladies had no idea how much strain Mr. Noble was under though. There was no use telling them, they'd only think her jealous.

  Was she?