Calico Brides

by Darlene Franklin

  They strolled—far from the lieutenant’s normal pace, which was so fast Annie felt like she was drilling with the army—down the street without exchanging a word. Annie’s senses expanded, taking in the smell of the new leaves forming on cedar trees, the beauty of sunflowers dancing in the breeze, the song of a sparrow, even the warming temperatures that defied comfort in either wool or cotton.

  At the Keller mansion, Jeremiah paused to look at the baskets of flowers cascading across the fresh wood of the porch. Annie knew that the difference Gladys had made in the Keller family went far beyond house repairs. Mr. Keller hadn’t missed church a Sunday since Easter, and he had even shown up at Aunt Kate’s diner on a regular basis. Such a positive outcome for Annie’s project remained unclear.

  Annie opened her mouth, but God’s still, small voice told her to hush.

  “The more I’ve worked with you, the more I’ve seen God at work. So I will accept your invitation to join your family.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if getting rid of a heavy weight.

  “It’s our pleasure.” It’s my pleasure. A warm feeling washed over Annie. The Bear was turning more and more into a cuddly cub every day, one who still mourned the loss of his fiancée. But she feared any mention of that would bring stony silence. She rushed to the next topic on her mind, to rid herself of the unexpected emotions flooding over her. “The first community event will be a box social, a week from Saturday. The money raised will go toward the charity the entire women’s missionary society supports.” She smiled at him. “The society has been very kind and supportive about our individual mission projects. It’s time we returned the favor.”

  The bemused expression on the lieutenant’s face suggested she should hurry. Mr. Keller came out to the porch and waved, reminding Annie how long they had lingered on the street. The lieutenant offered her his arm. “Shall we go back?”

  Strong fingers cupped her elbow. Annie didn’t know what to make of his touch, so she continued with the discussion of the box social. “We are hoping that the majority of soldiers at the fort can take part. Or we could bring the social to the fort—” She hurried on at the frown that crossed his face. “Or we could hold two box socials, so that everyone can attend one or the other.”

  Jeremiah blew out his breath. “Two separate days sounds like a good idea.”

  “And the basket goes to Mack Jackson.”

  Annie stepped forward, a warm smile beckoning Private Jackson forward.

  Jeremiah released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, fighting the feelings that swirled in him. When Mrs. Peate echoed Annie’s request for Jeremiah to attend both socials, he hadn’t anticipated this situation. Surely he couldn’t—it was impossible—jealousy?

  No. He pushed the thought away. In light of the speculation circulating about him and Annie, he should be happy that someone else had won her box. After he unknowingly bid on her box last week, he had made private arrangements with Pastor Fairfield to donate money this time instead of bidding.

  But of all the men in the company who could have won Annie’s basket, Jeremiah would have listed Jackson as the least desirable. He had spent time in the stockade more than once. He resisted even Chaswell’s attempts to get to know him.

  Jeremiah realized he was still scowling in Jackson’s direction and hoped no one had seen him. All manner of good-natured ribbing would follow if they had.

  Chaswell won the next box, and Jeremiah smiled as Ruth Fairfield stood. Haydn Keller had bid on Gladys’s contribution—that must have been prearranged. Mrs. Peate approached him. “This next box should prove interesting.” She smiled at the larger-than-usual box.

  Jeremiah raised his eyebrows. “Why is that?”

  “Kate, the lady from the diner, decided to contribute. She told me she had the right because she was unmarried, and some of the soldiers might prefer a more mature woman.”

  Jeremiah wondered how Mrs. Peate knew all this. He was amazed at the way women communicated—information reached the most remote home even faster than the Pony Express.

  Ned Finnegan, the storekeeper acting as auctioneer, peered inside the box. “Lots of good food in here. Ham sandwiches thicker than a man’s fist. Crispy fried chicken. Beans and potato salad, two pies, a wedge of watermelon…” He smiled. “I can’t tell you the name of the lady who fixed this box, but we can all make a guess.” He winked at the men remaining in the audience.

  An older gentleman stood, leaning on a cane. Even before Gladys appeared at his side, Jeremiah guessed he was Mr. Keller. His surprisingly strong voice called out, “Is the auction open only to our soldier boys, or can anyone in the community bid?”

  Finnegan glanced at Annie, whose eyes sought Jeremiah out, questioning him. He nodded his approval, and she whispered in Finnegan’s ear.

  Finnegan banged his gavel. “We have no objection. Let the bidding begin.”

  A couple of soldiers—one thinner than a stick no matter how much he ate and the other an older, stocky man with a hearty appetite and a body shape to prove it—combined their resources to bid on the box, but they couldn’t keep up. When the bid reached fifty dollars, they dropped out. The entire group broke out in applause when a blushing Miss Kate accepted Mr. Keller’s arm and retreated to a quiet spot on the church lawn. Jeremiah looked back at Annie. She was clapping, bouncing up and down, her skirt lifting enough to show an intriguing patch of stockinged leg. Jeremiah looked away. He was too old to be distracted by the glimpse of a lady’s limb.

  All around Jeremiah, couples separated from the group gathered in front of the auctioneer. Five soldiers remained, not counting himself or the captain, and five baskets remained for auction. Annie must have arranged that. Interesting to see that the fourth member of the younger women’s circle hadn’t sent a basket. At least he assumed she hadn’t; he hadn’t seen her at today’s festivities at all. For someone with her background, she showed great discretion. From what he had observed of Birdie’s involvement with Annie’s group, she was proving her new life in Christ over and over again; but how could he say anything to her without causing offense? Instead, he offered thanks to God and revised his long-held opinions.

  But one woman’s change didn’t mean every one would follow her example, any more than most prostitutes followed the example of Mary Magdalene in the Gospels, Jeremiah reminded himself. He was still right to warn the men under his care against the dangers of women, especially those who fell into sin.

  When Mrs. Peate learned that Jeremiah didn’t intend to bid on a box this week, she had insisted that he join her and the captain for the meal. As the auctioneer called “sold!” on the last basket—coupling a shy young lass with an equally shy soldier—he crossed the lawn to the spot near the front steps where the captain had spread their quilt. Jeremiah appreciated the central location, which allowed him to keep an eye on most of the young couples.

  He surveyed the groupings, probing for potential trouble spots. Mrs. Peate leaned over and poked him gently in the arm. “At ease, Lieutenant. This is a social event, and the captain has commanded that everyone have fun.”

  “Even you, Jeremiah.” The captain was one of the few people who called Jeremiah by his given name.

  “Especially you,” his wife added.

  Jeremiah listened with half an ear while he sought for the one couple he cared about the most. Annie spread a quilt under a tree even as Mack gestured toward a spot farther back. She shook her head and continued working. When she turned her back to unpack the box, Jackson withdrew a flask from his coat pocket and poured something into the jar of lemonade Annie had already set out on the quilt.

  Jeremiah sprang to his feet, Mrs. Peate looking up in alarm. “Come, now, you must relax and enjoy yourself today.”

  Jeremiah directed his response to the captain. “You may wish to join me.” He stalked across the grass, soldiers and townsfolk alike looking up in alarm as he strode past.

  Annie busied herself smoothing out the wrinkles in the quilt as best she could. Even aft
er Ruth informed her that the lieutenant wouldn’t bid today, she knew she must set an example and entertain one of the soldiers. Now she prayed for grace to endure the meal. So far, Private Mack Jackson had set her teeth on edge with his abrasive actions and his attempts to lead her farther and farther away from the main group.

  When she could avoid him no longer, she prayed for one last measure of grace and turned around with a smile on her face. He offered her a glass of lemonade. That was thoughtful of him. She told herself to give the young man a chance.

  As she reached to accept the glass, someone knocked it out of Jackson’s hand. Before she turned, she suspected who she would find. The Bear had returned.

  Chapter 8

  Jeremiah grabbed Private Jackson by his uniform collar, lifting him until his toes dragged the ground. They filled her view, two figures shadowed against the noon sun, locked in fight. If it could be called a fight—the private’s arms flailed wildly without reaching their target.

  Annie heard rather than saw people gathering around them. Mrs. Peate appeared silently and took Annie’s arm, edging her away from the two men. Slowly, she tuned out Jeremiah’s heavy breathing and the private’s indignant protests.

  Voices crowded in. She couldn’t identify the speakers.

  “Maybe he was getting fresh with her.”

  “I hear she’s the one who made us the mittens.”

  Others chimed in, all talking over each other, too many to make out more than a word here or there. Mrs. Peate eased her backward through a sea of blue uniforms, and they reached the ring of watching townsfolk. At the opposite side of the circle, Annie saw Ruth talking quietly with Pastor Fairfield. As he shouldered his way to the center of the circle, Annie sent up a prayer for a peaceful resolution. Had all their prayers and hopes led to this? Why had Jeremiah attacked Private Jackson?

  The pastor stood between Jeremiah and the private, arms extended to keep them apart. Other men from the town joined the circle, but Annie couldn’t distinguish their voices from those of the soldiers to know what they were saying. Captain Peate joined the preacher at the center, and Annie breathed a sigh of relief.

  Pastor Fairfield dropped the hand holding Jackson back. The private lunged forward, swinging a right hook at Jeremiah. His fist connected with the lieutenant’s nose with a bone-shattering thud.

  A lad young enough to still be in school landed a punch on a soldier’s arm. Three, four, five punches followed, as the ladies backed away in fright. Mrs. Peate tugged Annie in the direction of Ruth and her mother, who were part of a group of women who stood at a safe distance from the brawling men. “You are the pastor’s wife?”

  Mrs. Fairfield nodded.

  “I am Mrs. Peate, the captain’s wife. Let’s gather the women together and pray.” At Mrs. Fairfield’s agreement, they called to the others, gathered in a circle, and Mrs. Fairfield voiced a quiet prayer.

  In spite of the men’s shouts, Annie was aware when more women joined the circle. A hand clasped hers, and she opened her eyes briefly to catch sight of Aunt Kate standing next to her. Annie then reached on her other side for Ruth.

  As each woman added her prayers, the sounds of the fight intruded less and less. Gladys was pouring out her heart when the pastor’s voice broke into their prayer meeting. “It’s over, ladies.”

  Annie opened her eyes. At the spot where she had begun her lunch, Captain Peate had gathered the soldiers in rows. The men of the town circled the lawn, collecting baskets and quilts.

  A grim-faced lieutenant marched toward the women. He kept his eyes trained on Mrs. Peate and Annie as he addressed the group. “I apologize for the disturbance today. I have the captain’s word that everyone responsible for starting the fight will be sent to the stockade.” He paused, and Annie noticed the swelling forming around his nose and left eye. “Including me.” He looked at the ground then straightened his shoulders in determination. Thrusting his shoulders back, he looked determined to face the worst. “I saw the private adding liquor to Miss Bliss’s pitcher of lemonade. Several other men brought liquor with them, against the captain’s orders. They also will be punished.”

  Private Jackson had added liquor to her lemonade? Annie shivered at how close she had come to drinking alcohol. In that case, she was glad for the way the lieutenant had barged in and knocked it away. She nodded her understanding and appreciation.

  The women disbanded, joining their husbands to clean the lawn. At the captain’s command, the soldiers ran in formation around the perimeter of the lawn behind the church. Jeremiah nodded at the men running in rank. “He’ll keep them at it until they’re exhausted, and then he’ll make them march double time all the way to the fort.”

  “Does your nose hurt?” The question blurted out of Annie’s mouth instead the words of reproach she had imagined earlier or the words of thanksgiving he had earned.

  Touching the offending feature, he winced. “It’s not broken. I’ve suffered worse.” He dropped his hand back to his side, and he stared at the ground as if looking for encouragement. When at last he lifted his face, pain that had nothing to do with his nose showed in the lines wrinkling his forehead and tugging his mouth into a frown. “An apology can’t begin to express my regret about what happened here today. Miss Bliss—Annie— we have failed you. I have failed you.”

  The man I’ve called the Bear just apologized? It was time to return that nickname to the cave where it belonged.

  Jeremiah looked to the back, where the men began to slow their pace. He belonged back there, accepting the discipline he deserved for starting the fight, for not preventing trouble in the first place. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot, imprisoned by the kindness of the woman before him.

  A soft hand floated against his nose, tracing the path of the broken skin. “Look at me.”

  He lifted his face and looked into her bluebell-colored eyes, tears rimming the bottom of her irises. “It is I who must offer thanks to you. If you hadn’t knocked the glass down, I would have…” He followed the path of the swallow pushing down her throat. “I would have drunk it.”

  He opened his mouth to apologize again. If he had done his job, no one would have brought whiskey to the social.

  Her feathery fingers fell against his lips. “Don’t apologize. I am thankful that you protected me, as well as anyone else at risk.”

  Jeremiah didn’t agree. If he hadn’t agreed to the risky idea of the soldiers mingling with townsfolk, she wouldn’t have been in danger. But her faith, her passion, convinced him to try. Hadn’t his experience taught him anything at all? Six years ago he thought he could change a woman’s heart, and instead, she died in her sin. Perhaps he should be thanking the Lord that no one was seriously hurt today; but there was danger, and some promising young soldiers might lose heart for the military life. He took a step back, the spot where her fingers had touched his lips burning at the separation.

  He forced backbone into his words. “Given what happened today, I need to reconsider whether we should continue with the planned activities or not.” He turned on his heels before she could protest and crossed the grass to the ranks of soldiers at a pace as fast as their run.

  A week later, life at the fort had returned to normal. Jackson spent three nights in the stockade for his role in throwing the first punch; the other culprits spent a single night. The captain had questioned Jeremiah for his side of the events. When he explained about the whiskey flask, the captain relaxed.

  The captain called him back today. Jeremiah remained at rigid attention. Although Captain Peate had not sent him to the stockade, Jeremiah still felt responsible for every man who ended up there. Against all his vows to avoid entanglements, he had allowed Miss Bliss—Annie—through his defenses. And look what had happened. He kept his chin up and his back straight, ready to absorb whatever reprimand the captain threw his way.

  “At ease, Lieutenant—Jeremiah.” The captain sat down and motioned for Jeremiah to do the same. “You have my decision on the incident at th
e box social. I do not hold you responsible for the brawl. Sit down—I hate looking up at you.” Jeremiah accepted the invitation but kept his back straight, only touching the chair at his shoulders.

  “Now, concerning the continuing relationship with the community. That is a thornier issue.” He glanced at the sheet of paper in front of him, lifted it between thumb and forefinger, and gestured with it to Jeremiah. “Pastor Fairfield has written a letter to me. He suggests postponing the planned events to give both parties a couple of weeks to simmer down. The folks of his church have graciously agreed to give our men a second chance, and I have promised him that the men responsible for the problem will be restricted to the fort. Miss Fairfield and Miss Bliss will be here shortly to discuss the details.”

  Jeremiah headed for the stable to put his horse away. He rubbed the mare’s nose, trying to lasso his thoughts. Although he knew what he must do, he feared his best intentions would disappear the instant he caught a whiff of the smell of white jasmine in Annie’s hair.

  He was adding extra oats to his horse’s feedbag when he heard the stable door open. Mack Jackson stood in the doorway. “Chaplain?”

  Love your enemy… . This is hard, Lord. “Yes, Private?”

  “I know Miss Bliss is here from the church.”

  Jeremiah stiffened, not wanting to hear whatever he had to say. “You’d best not go near her.”

  “Oh no, sir. I only wanted you to tell her how sorry I am for the way I behaved. I don’t expect her to forgive me. I don’t deserve that. But…” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.

  Jeremiah narrowed his eyes and stared at the young man through slits. “I will convey your words to Miss Bliss.”

  Jackson didn’t move.

  “You are dismissed, soldier!”

  Jackson saluted and left.

  Jeremiah slowly followed. No use wishing the women wouldn’t come. One last look heavenward, and he walked with purpose to the captain’s quarters.