by Sharon Ihle
Then, their boot heels clicking with precision, with purpose, the Custer brothers marched out of the room.
Turning back to her niece, Libbie did what she'd done a thousand times before. She shut out the image of her beloved husband walking away from their home and into danger, and concentrated on something else. "Warm enough yet?" she inquired with a smile.
"Finally." Dominique squirmed beneath the thick blankets and uttered a delicious giggle. "I never thought I could feel this warm or this safe again. It's a good thing Papa doesn't know what's happened to me since I left home."
"And he's not going to know—at least not from me." Libbie's small mouth grew stern. "From your father's letters, I think he's grown enough gray hairs over you and your escapades. It would be prudent of us not to add to them."
"This one wasn't my fault. Surely the boatman could have—" The sentence died in her throat as she remembered the start of the journey on the river. "What happened to Hazel and the others?" she exclaimed, jerking upright.
"Calm yourself. Your chaperon is a little shaken, but doing just fine. Her biggest fears were about you and what your father would do when he found out you were lost."
"Was she rescued by Indians, too?"
"No, dear. She and the soldiers managed to hang on to the overturned ferry until it hit another patch of ice. The boat was actually quite close to the fort when it snagged on a fallen tree. She wasn't in the water long."
"Thank God for that." Dominique settled back into the chair, considering all that had happened. Then she remembered her reception at the Bismarck train station. "I have to say, I was a little surprised by the escort Uncle Armstrong sent for Hazel and me. Why, not one of those men wore a fancy uniform or blew a bugle in my honor.''
"My dear," Libbie said through a chuckle, "you have a lot to learn about military life. I'm afraid that soldiers, even officers, are considered less than socially acceptable in town. The men are very concerned with our reputations so they do not wear their uniforms when escorting us ladies to or from Bismarck."
Dominique was astounded. "But back home Uncle Armstrong is a hero. He wears his uniform everywhere."
"I'm aware of that, Nikki, but we're not in Michigan or New York, you know."
Dominique groaned, her hopes and dreams of an adventurous summer in serious jeopardy again. Libbie's next words pulled a sigh from her and scattered her dreams of excitement into the atmosphere along with her breath.
"Now, about my plans for you. If I'm going to finish you properly, I suppose we should get busy. I have a reputation as a stern taskmaster to uphold, you know, and I've only a couple of short months in which to do it." Libbie smiled, but her tiny mouth was pinched and businesslike as she cautioned, "I intend to turn you into a lady your papa will be proud of if it takes me all summer.''
Nearly two weeks later, George Custer strolled around the barracks of Company F as the troops put the finishing touches on their decorations for the evening's dance. All of the bunks had been removed from the enormous room and the normally pale gray walls were bright with colored flags and guidons.
Both ends of the long room glowed with cheer as huge logs burned brightly in the wide fireplaces, and arms were stacked against the adjacent walls. Above these weapons, long tables laden with refreshments and imitation laurel leaves beckoned revelers with their bountiful offerings. The theme of this impromptu ball was a celebration of Saint Patrick's Day, even though the date had already passed. In accordance, paper shamrocks and sprigs of green were attached to the walls and windows. Even the cracker-box boards had been cut into shamrock shapes for use as side brackets or candle holders.
Pausing in front of a makeshift table, Custer helped himself to a piece of hard candy from a cut-glass dish.
"General Custer, sir. If I may please have a word with you, sir?"
Turning to his left, Custer regarded the tall, gaunt soldier standing at attention. "At ease, Lieutenant."
Barney Woodhouse relaxed and smoothed his scant mustache. Even though he was a full inch taller than Custer's six feet, he weighed a good thirty pounds less. His face, long of forehead and chin, seemed to confine his dark features into small, narrow space, as if it had other plans for the bare expanses of flesh between his eyebrows and hairline, and between his mouth and Adam's apple. Even his mustache, sparse and thin, seemed pushed into an area too small to cultivate anything more than a few dark hairs.
Still stroking this pencil-thin adornment, Lieutenant Woodhouse stared openly at the thick rust-colored brush drooping down along the corners of his commander's mouth and said, "Do you have a moment?"
"For you? All night," he said, polishing the brass buttons on his dress uniform with his shirtsleeve. Studying the soldier, he commented, "I must say, you're looking a great deal better than you did yesterday morning when you stumbled into the garrison. It takes more than a few rabid Sioux to bring down one of my best men. What can I do for you?"
"I want you to meet that fellow I told you about—the one who saved my life." Gesturing over his shoulder at the man standing behind him, Barney explained, "He's so damn vengeful over what them redskins done to his partner that he joined up to fight 'em. I'd like you to meet Private Jacob Stoltz, sir. He enlisted this morning. Private, this is General Custer."
Jacob stepped forward and snapped off a salute, hoping the only greeting he'd learned was correct for a man as important as the general. "A pleasure, sir."
"The pleasure is mine if I'm to believe everything Barney's told me. A good Indian fighter is worth his weight in gold around here. Welcome aboard, Private."
Jacob accepted his handshake, struggling to keep the hatred in his soul from leaping out through his eyes as he stared into the face of the Long Hair. This was the moment he'd been preparing for, the beginning of the end for this foolish leader and all like him.
A spasm ricocheted up Jacob's spine as the reality, the enormity, of his mission overcame him. He pumped the general's hand, surprised at first to find the soldier shorter than he was and smaller of stature than Lakota warriors had assumed. But Jacob quickly realized that wiry frame hid a deceptive strength as Custer's grip tightened, cutting off his circulation. A test?
Equal to the task, Jacob increased the pressure of his own grasp and smiled broadly. He stared into the ice-blue eyes, made a note of the florid, splotchy complexion of a man whose skin was at war with the sun, and admired his thick, curly hair. That red-gold mane streaked with flaming strands and his bravado were the things that separated the general from all other soldiers. Jacob smiled into Custer's sharp features. When this was over, he would bring that colorful scalp back to his village as a gift for his father.
Custer stared into the private's eyes, gauging the man's intelligence. Pleasantly surprised by the soldier's tenacious hold on his hand, for most were too intimidated to respond to his challenge, Custer released his grip. As far as he could tell, the new enlistee was not lacking in any department. "Have you been thinking of joining the cavalry for some time?"
"No," Jacob answered easily. "I searched for gold until the Sioux murdered my partner and took me captive."
Custer stroked his mustache, appraising the man's talents, wondering where a strapping man like this would best serve the army. “If what Lieutenant Woodhouse tells me is true, you reduced a whole camp of Sioux warriors to whimpering women."
As he stifled the urge to snarl, Jacob's dark blue eyes glittered and he lifted one corner of his mouth. "I did little. We were lucky."
"You are too modest. Lieutenant Woodhouse tells me he was knocked cold shortly after you two sneaked out of your tipi. You dispatched the guard, then dragged your unconscious companion to the horses and made sure he was lashed down. I'd say that took a little more than luck. I'd say your actions were worthy, had you been in uniform, of a medal, sir."
Unsure how to respond to such accolades from the commanding officer, Jacob merely shrugged and averted his gaze.
Impressed by the soldier's modesty, Custer said,
"Nevertheless, sir, we are in your debt. I'd like to meet with you for a full report on your abduction at a more convenient time, Private. For now, I wonder if you can give me some clue as to why the Sioux kept you alive for so long. Barney's under the impression he was kept around as dog food, but I hardly think that is the case. What purpose could there be in keeping a soldier and a fortune-seeker locked up in a tipi for several days?"
Again Jacob shrugged. "Barney said the Sioux had escaped from a reservation in the Black Hills. Maybe they hoped white captives would keep them safe from attack."
"Humm, possible, I suppose. Yet still ..." Custer kept the rest of his thoughts to himself and turned his attention back to Barney. "Lieutenant, see that your new friend has his fill of refreshments. The ladies will be joining us soon. I'd best be at the door to greet them." With a nod, he made his exit. "Private, I still want to have that long talk, perhaps tomorrow. Lieutenant, enjoy yourself."
The men saluted their commanding officer as he retreated. Then Barney excused himself, leaving Jacob to wonder if Custer had believed his story. Was the Lakota plan too feeble to get past a shrewd soldier like the Long Hair? On edge, he pushed out a pent-up sigh, knowing there was little he could do but proceed as planned and hope his purpose was not discovered.
Jacob ran his hand through his short-cropped hair as he waited for Barney to return. He was scarcely used to the absence of his braids, and the trip to the post barbershop that morning had left him feeling completely stripped, naked somehow. He smoothed the sides of his hair, amazed to find several natural waves rippling through his fingers as the lieutenant returned with refreshments.
"Cup of coffee?"
"Ah, thank you." Jacob accepted the steaming liquid and waited until his new friend began sipping his own brew before he dared put his lips to the hot cup. Wrinkling his nose as the first taste of bitter coffee assaulted his tongue, Jacob withheld comment.
"The gals ought to be pouring in any minute now," Barney observed as he scanned the room. "How long's it been since you saw a woman, much less danced with one?"
The image of the crazy woman, damp and writhing beneath him came to Jacob's mind. He could almost feel her soft lush mouth opening to him, seeking his secrets as he probed hers, wanting him, even if her response was drug-induced. Angry with his wandering mind, concerned that he hadn't thought first of Spotted Feather, he grumbled, "It has been so long since I saw a woman, I cannot remember."
"Get ready, then. Your poor tired old eyeballs are about to get a feast fit for a king. We've got some of the prettiest gals on both sides of the Missouri right here. Only trouble is, they're all either married or about to be."
"That does not concern me."
"It doesn't?" Barney thought a minute, then laughed. "I get it. You're planning to sneak down to one of the hog ranches after the dance, aren't you?"
"No, I have not considered that either. I am content to observe this party."
"Well, I'm not. I'm going to grab any female who'll let me and dance till my boots fall off."
Jacob chuckled along with the excited officer, then followed his gaze until he abruptly clamped his mouth shut and stood at attention.
"Here they come," Barney whispered under his breath.
The double doors swung open, and several women poured into the room. Most of them were dressed in plain gowns of navy blue or pale green wool serge trimmed with black braid or lace. Several had gone to the trouble of curling their hair, leaving the back loose and flowing, but the majority had wound their tresses into tight buns at the nape of the neck. All of them carried some kind of offering—a small cake, a few sweet biscuits, or a bag of hard candy.
Observing the parade, Barney turned to Jacob. "These ladies are mostly from Suds Row, but if the river isn't too agitated, we get a few single gals coming in from Bismarck, too."
"Is this town, Suds Row, near Bismarck?"
"Sorry." He laughed. "I keep forgetting you're not familiar with army life. Suds Row is up near the infantry post. It's the quarters for the company laundresses. Their husbands and beaux are usually from the troops, enlisted fellows like you."
With a short nod, Jacob returned his gaze to the ladies. Most had removed their wraps, revealing several low-necked, short-sleeved dresses of gauzy material. Noticing the red arms and rounded figures, the unmistakable signs of strength and a hardy constitution, he remarked, "These laundresses are very sturdy. They will make strong wives for the soldiers."
Cocking an eyebrow that was thicker than his mustache could ever hope to be, Barney laughed. "I guess they're strong, all right, but it doesn't matter around here if they're weaker than the coffee a day before the supply wagon's due. Women are scarce, and every one's a princess. Wait till you see the officers' wives if you think these gals are a sight for sore eyes."
Making a brief survey of the women, Jacob decided he could wait, but he said, "So far, you brag with cause."
"I told you we had the prettiest girls." Barney slapped his leg, then rubbed his hands together as the first of the officers' wives appeared in the doorway.
Wrapped in a thick wool coat of navy blue, Elizabeth Custer stepped into the room and accepted her husband's outstretched elbow. Several enlisted men immediately approached them, removed the women's wraps, and whisked the garments off to the first sergeant's room.
"That's the general's wife," Barney informed his new friend as they observed the proceedings, "but I've never seen the beauty coming in behind her. Good gravy, would you look at that gal."
His instructions were hardly necessary. Jacob stood rigid, his accelerating pulse pounding hard enough to strain the buttons on the collar of his new uniform.
It was the crazy woman. Why was she still here? She should have been returned to Bismarck days ago. Jacob's jaw twitched as he ground his teeth in frustration. He'd been a fool to bring her here, a weak-hearted, dim-witted fool to have taken her to Fort Lincoln, of all places. He should have turned her over to the other warriors and never given her plight another thought. Now he might have to find a way to silence her in a roomful of soldiers.
Jacob took a couple of backward steps, ducking out of her view, but kept his gaze firmly trained on her profile. He struggled to consider his options, but his mind was preoccupied with the vision his eyes lavished upon him. When he'd plucked her from the icy waters, he knew he'd stumbled on a rare creature, a woman whose delicate features would be cherished by all, regardless of race or background.
But she'd been unconscious then, lacking any spark of life or intelligence. By the time the crazy one had awakened in his tipi, the sun had bedded down for the night, robbing him of the full impact of her beauty. Even from across the room Jacob could see the mischief, the twinkle in her dark brown eyes. Her magnificent golden-red hair, which had been wild and strongly curled by morning's light after he dropped her at the post, was now pulled high on her head and arranged in long spirals cascading down her back. She was alive with joy, robust, and full of good health.
She was stunning.
And more dangerous than any adversary he'd ever encountered.
Jacob could almost hear her gay laughter as she greeted the other guests, treating soldier and laundress with the same good-natured enthusiasm. General Custer, he noticed, stood very close by her, protective and solicitous. His hatred of the man growing along with his fear of discovery, Jacob continued to stare, transfixed, at the crazy woman.
Suddenly she turned and faced him.
Unable to tear his gaze away, he watched, horrified, as she whispered something to the Long Hair.
General Custer looked up at Jacob. Then the pair began walked toward him.
His eyes darting from side to side, desperately searching for an avenue of escape, Jacob backed against the refreshment table. Custer and the woman were directly between him and the only exit.
Feeling trapped, like a wild animal caught in a snare, Jacob clenched his teeth and reached for the scabbard at his hip. He hesitated, fingering the handle, then ma
de a decision as the pair continued to approach.
Jacob pulled the blade from its leather sheath.
Chapter Four
Dominique shivered.
She could feel those eyes, could almost reach out and touch a gaze so intense that doing so would most certainly have scalded her fingertips.
She slowly scanned the crowd. Her fresh good looks, coupled with the fact that she was General Custer's niece, had drawn many a long stare since her arrival at Fort Lincoln. Scores of otherwise intelligent and mannerly gentlemen were falling all over themselves in an effort to gain her attention. But this was different. And this was almost frightening.
Her search came to an abrupt end. Dominique's gaze was drawn into a pair of sapphire-blue eyes glittering at her from across the room. Caught, unable to turn away, she felt as controlled and completely helpless as she'd been while swirling down the raging Missouri. Again she shivered.
