Her Hesitant Heart

by Carla Kelly

  “To be proper, I should kiss the other cheek, too,” he whispered, and did just that. “Do you know, Jules Ecoffey—whose French is excellent, if not his good taste—loaned me a scurrilous book of naked women and French text. It looks like more fun than conjugating everlasting verbs. So glad I didn’t hand you the wrong book just now. ‘Night, Susanna.”

  Amazed, she stood in the open door, watching his jaunty walk as he crossed the parade ground. In another moment, he was whistling.

  After school the next day, Susanna worked up her nerve to visit Elizabeth Burt. It took all her courage to knock on the door, and to her relief, the infantry captain’s wife opened her door wide and welcomed her.

  “I was hoping you would visit me,” Mrs. Burt said. “Would you like some tea?”

  Susanna was so terrified she didn’t think she could swallow, but she nodded. In another moment, she was seated in the parlor, teacup in hand.

  “I wanted to thank you for the book,” she said, and took a sip. Peppermint. Just the way she liked it. “The men liked Little Women so well, and they are enjoying its companion now.”

  “I thought they might. My husband blew his nose a lot when we were reading Little Women!”

  She talked of inconsequentials then, and Susanna felt herself relaxing. By the time she left, she wondered why she had worried at all.

  Mrs. Burt showed her out, touching her hand. “Mrs. Hopkins, would you object to cards here some evening with a few of my friends?”

  Susanna felt her face drain of color. “I shouldn’t think …”

  Mrs. Burt looked at her in a kindly manner. “You need never fear, in my home.” She touched her again. “Think about it, all right?”

  March dragged, mainly because escort service between Fort Russell in Cheyenne and Fort Laramie was reduced to vital messages only, since so many mounted soldiers were in the Powder River country. The December and January newspapers had been around the fort twice, and were finally relegated to lining shelves and starting fires.

  When Colonel Bradley, commanding officer of the Ninth Infantry, arrived to relieve Major Townsend of duty, he brought mail with him, and a stack of newspapers. They followed the usual pecking order of rank, with dependents last, but Major Randolph brought Emily and Susanna one Pennsylvania paper on the sly.

  “Captain Dunklin snatched the Gettysburg paper, but he wasn’t quick enough to grab the Carlisle one, too,” Joe said as he presented the newspaper to Emily with a flourish. “What a dog in the manger. I’m glad I outrank him. Use it well and pass it on.” He pointed to Susanna. “And you have a roomful of patients waiting to hear about Professor Bhaer’s school for boys at Plumfield. Need an escort?”

  “Do you have time tonight for more French verbs?” she asked as they walked to the hospital. Susanna took a deep breath and regretted it. “My stars, what is that odor?”

  “That is the fragrance of spring at Fort Laramie. While you are reading to a roomful of eager listeners, I will be composing a stiffly worded memo to the effect that it is time for the garrison to turn out and police the grounds. Don’t let me offend you—”

  “You couldn’t possibly. I have heard it all,” she murmured.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. During this long, cold winter, everyone from private to major—I am the notable exception—has been tossing the contents of chamber pots out into the snow, knowing said contents will be covered by the next snowfall, and so on.”

  “I know this for a fact,” Susanna said. “Pardon your blushes now!”

  “It takes more than that to make me blush,” Joe retorted. “We are now at that moment of reckoning. Spring at Fort Laramie brings with it the bouquet of raw sewage. Welcome to my public health world. It’s even more fun than being a surgeon.”

  “I had no idea your position was so exalted,” she joked. “Very well, you may write your memo. But there will be French verbs in your near future.”

  Joe was still laboring over his memo when she finished reading, but there was Nick Martin to deposit her at the Reeses’ quarters, where Emily was still reading the Carlisle paper. Her eyes troubled, Emily gestured for her to come closer.

  “What is it?” Susanna asked.

  “Look.”

  Susanna looked where Emily pointed, read it, and read it again. “Do you believe me now?” she asked finally.

  Emily nodded. “I almost overlooked the article. It’s so small. ‘Frederick Hopkins of Hopkins Carriage Works has filed for bankruptcy,’” she read, taking the newspaper back. “There is such a list of creditors! But that is not the worst part.” She turned to another page and jabbed her finger. “Look at this letter from one of his creditors, blaming ‘the grain and the grape’ for his dereliction!”

  “I was not wrong,” Susanna said quietly, but there was no victory, not with her son facing ruin, too, and her so far away. She pulled on her coat and grabbed the newspaper from Emily, running up the hill to the hospital to arrive at Joe’s office, out of breath and her hair tugged out of its pins by the wind.

  Nick stopped sweeping. Startled, Joe looked up from his paperwork. He was out of his chair in a moment, his arm around her, as she calmed herself. She still couldn’t talk, but she handed him the Carlisle newspaper and pointed to the article. He read it, and then she turned to the editorial page with the condemning letter. They stared at each other over the paper.

  “Is there anything I can do, do you think, to get my son back?” she asked.

  “We need a lawyer.”

  She stared at him, still out of breath and wondering if she had heard him correctly. He set down the paper and put his hands gently on her face.

  “I know what I said. We need a lawyer.” He glanced at Nick, who stood there leaning on his broom, looking at the article. “Nick, could you see if there is any of my bad coffee left in the ward?”

  Joe sat her down and took the chair opposite her. He made no other move to touch her, but his expression seemed to reach out and caress her heart.

  “This … this isn’t your fight, Major Randolph,” she said tentatively and formally, so unsure of herself.

  “I rather believe it is,” he replied.

  She tried again; the man needed to be reasoned with. “Major Randolph, I’m the scapegoat and bad example of this entire garrison.”

  “Not lately,” he countered. “The people who matter know better. I happen to be one of them.”

  He looked up when Nick returned with coffee. “Thanks. You might as well retire now, my friend.”

  Nick shook his head. “She’s in trouble? I don’t like that.”

  “I don’t either, Nick,” Joe said, speaking carefully to the big man. “It’s her son who could be in trouble, back in Carlisle. Susanna is fine.”

  No, I’m not, she thought, almost as a reflex, then let the matter work on her brain as a great feeling of relief covered her. And there was Nick, her champion, looking so concerned. “I am fine,” she told him, meaning it with all her heart, because it was suddenly true. “My son is in a difficult position because his father is facing ruin.” She put out her hand to Nick. “The wheels of justice move slowly, my friend.”

  Nick nodded and left.

  “You’ll have to reassure him. He is my champion, isn’t he?”

  “I’m another one, Susanna,” Joe replied. “Casual travel between forts is so unsafe right now, but when things loosen up, we’ll go to Cheyenne for a lawyer. Coffee?”

  She took the cup from him, sipped and made a face. “You haven’t a clue what to do in your kitchen, or a hospital kitchen, or probably over a campfire.”

  There was a long silence that Susanna knew better than to interrupt. She saw before her a man whose heart was as hesitant as her own, who years before had watched, powerless, as the dearest person in his life died a terrible death. You need time, she thought, as she set down the cup and rose.

  “I’ll go back to Emily now. We’ll … we’ll worry about an attorney later.”

  The look in his eyes told her
he knew she wasn’t talking about attorneys. He nodded, then put his arms around her, holding her close until her arms went around him, too. They stood that way, her head against his chest, until he kissed the top of her untidy head and stepped away, professional again.

  She hadn’t even removed her coat, so she waited while he put his on and doused the lamp. She followed him into the hall and waited while he walked into the ward and spoke to his night steward. Then, arm in arm, the two of them walked slowly, silently, down the hill. She noticed that his steps slowed as he passed his own quarters, almost as if he wanted to take her inside.

  Not yet, Joe, not yet, she thought, relieved when his pace quickened again, because she did not want to tell him no.

  The light in the Reeses’ parlor was still burning, so she asked him in. Emily just sat in her chair, knitting in her lap. She looked at the newspaper in Joe’s hand.

  “Can we rectify a terrible wrong?” her cousin asked, surprising Susanna with her concern.

  Joe looked her in the eye and shook his head. “I’ll circle those articles and leave the paper on the Dunklins’ stoop. I know from long experience that some are unable to give up a prejudice. We can try, but some minds won’t change. Good night to both of you lovely ladies.”

  After the door closed, Emily and Susanna just looked at each other. Emily broke the silence first. “Cousin, my feet are cold every night and I know yours must be, too. What do you say we share my bed, like we used to when we were little?” Her voice faltered. “Until my darling returns.”

  After a good cry with her cousin, Susanna had the warmest night’s sleep in recent memory. Cuddled close to Emily, she thought of Major Randolph in his solitary quarters and wished herself beside him.

  Word of battle seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Garbled word filtered down, probably carried in some way known only to them, from Indian to Indian until it reached the Arikara scouts at Fort Laramie: big fight. Village burning. Horse herd captured. And that was all anyone knew.

  To Joe’s surprise, he who thought he knew human nature, it was Emily Reese who gathered women at the hospital to roll bandages and scrape lint, preparing for the troops’ return. “Thank you for keeping us busy,” she told him one afternoon.

  He wanted to visit Susanna, but she was busy all day with school, and then night school, and then reading twice a week to his patients. Organizing and policing the filthy grounds occupied him, and he chafed at his duties, where before he would have just accepted them.

  As the tense days passed, he examined his heart, trying to make scientific sense of his emotions, because that was how he worked. Probably since that awful night in the aid station when he had turned from a dying man to save a living one, and sealed his future, he had allowed a callus to grow around his heart. He knew that was scientifically impossible. In his yearnings to turn to Susanna Hopkins now for comfort, he understood what he had done to himself. The callus was gone now and he ached inside, because he wanted to love that lady. He was in pain, where he had been numb. Numbness was better, in some respects, but as a physician he knew pain might mean healing.

  She seemed to see him differently, too, in the few moments they had to look, talk and say nothing remotely close to what they wanted to say. He made his peace with that, because larger concerns loomed.

  One concern that embarrassed him was the disappearance of Nick Martin. Perhaps embarrassed was the wrong word, he told himself, the morning he found Nick gone from the military reservation, along with two hundred dollars, the entire contents of his special fund. Joe endured a scathing rebuke from Colonel Bradley for being so careless around an idiot, and knew that his pride was more wounded. It was an easy enough matter to assure Bradley he could make good the loss with his own money.

  Mostly he missed Nick’s help around the hospital, and his escort for Susanna and Maddie to the Rustic Hotel every afternoon. He discovered he missed Nick for a lot of reasons; maybe he missed his strange friendship.

  “Gone? You mean as in gone?” Susanna asked that afternoon as he walked her and the child to the Rustic Hotel.

  No wonder he loved her. She had the good sense to laugh at herself, which gave him permission to laugh, too, because it was the funniest thing he’d heard in days.

  “Yes, that gone,” he teased, which earned him a slap on the arm, which made Maddie laugh, too.

  “Any idea where?” Susanna asked.

  He could only shrug and suggest that Nick had followed the increasingly large number of miners now using the iron bridge that took them to the Black Hills and lots of gold, or so they hoped. Amazing that just the thought of gold seduced otherwise reasonable men to take a chance on Indians, accident, ailments and other calamities.

  For a change, Jules Ecoffey was there on time at the Rustic, worry etched all over his face. Susanna saw it, too, and distracted Maddie with another cookie purloined from the generous Maeve.

  “Is Claudine dead?” Joe whispered.

  “No, but hemorrhaging. Could you come? I brought an extra horse so you wouldn’t have to take the time to get one.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Susanna was so well in tune with him that he didn’t do more than wave his hand. She nodded, kissed Maddie and handed her up to Jules. Joe looked back once to see her still watching them.

  When they arrived at Three Mile, one of the women took Maddie with her, and he followed Jules to Claudine’s crib. He knew what he would see, but he was never prepared for it. No one should suffer as consumptives suffered. She had bled so much that she was impossibly white, her eyes large and terrified.

  Once the blood was cleaned up, he helped Fifi dress Claudine in a clean nightgown. He held her frail body as another woman changed the bed, then carefully settled her between tidy coverlets, with a well-wrapped iron pig at her feet. He knew the hospital wouldn’t miss it.

  There was nothing he could do, so he sat with her, telling her about Maddie’s progress at school, which lit up her tired eyes.

  “She’s a bright one, Claudine.”

  The prostitute nodded and struggled to speak. “Promise me …” was the best she could do.

  “I promise you she will have an excellent home and all the education she needs to make a real difference in the world.” Joe swallowed, amazed how his callus-free heart could ache so much for this prostitute he could not help. “Of course, she still has a fine mother. Claudine, you’ve done good things with Maddie.”

  The woman nodded, then slept, at peace in that strange way of patients who have reached the point of acceptance.

  He rode back to Fort Laramie long after dark, thinking he would just go to bed. He went instead to the Reeses’ quarters, knocking softly on the door when he saw there was still a light on.

  In nightgown and robe, Susanna let him in, her finger to her lips. “I couldn’t sleep until I knew,” she told him.

  He sat in the armchair he figured was Dan’s, wondering if he would have the energy to get up. “I’m not sure what she’s using for blood now, because she lost so much. Hanging on, Suzie.”

  He had never called her that before. For all he knew, it was a nickname her former husband had used. Her smile told Joe otherwise, which relieved him, because he had wanted to call her that for ages. “I just sat with her and made her all kinds of extravagant promises for a rosy future for her daughter. She believed me, and maybe I believed me, too.”

  “I’d be willing to sit with Claudine.”

  He shook his head. “No. I won’t have you risking infection. I’m not totally sure how consumption travels, but I take no chances with people I’m … fond of.”

  There. He wanted to say more, but he still had his doubts about himself, not Suzie. “If I’m speaking out of turn …”

  “You’re not, but that will do for now,” she said, her voice equally quiet. “I would suffer if the, um, good people of Fort Laramie ostracize you if you are … fond of me.”

  Ostracism? Child’s play. He tried out her nickname again, noticing how
her eyes lit up. “Suzie, I’ve been ostracized by masters, and I include my own family, may you never meet them. I’m always amazed how ostracism ends when someone in garrison needs a doctor and all they have is little ol’ Virginia me.”

  She started to say something, but there was Emily at the top of the stairs, alert, her voice full of panic.

  “Susanna! Please don’t tell me it’s bad news!”

  Joe got up quickly and went to the stairs. “No fears, Emily. It concerns Maddie Wilby’s mother, who is fighting a pretty good fight. Go back to sleep.”

  He sat down again with a sigh. “The commanding officer often gives me the ‘death walk,’ I call it. I get to deliver sad tidings. All we know so far is that there was a fight, but every cavalry wife on this post has dread in her eyes when she sees me.”

  Susanna put her hand over his. “These are difficult times. Perhaps we had better just remain fond.”

  He thought it was a stupid idea and nearly told her so. A moment’s consideration forced him to agree, because he knew she was right. Still, if everyone waited until the time was precisely right to marry, or even fool around, the earth would have ground to a stop eons ago. She looked so pretty in her flannel nightgown. If he made a move toward her, he wasn’t sure if she would resist or yield. Better not test the matter. She was right; it was late.

  “‘Night, Suzie. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  Joe was right about the tension, Susanna decided, as another day passed. She felt the whole garrison’s strain, and so did her little ones at school. One child, ordinarily so cheerful, burst into tears when the chalk broke against his slate. Another child glowered at her uncharacteristically when she said it was time to turn in her class work. Even Private Benedict had a sharp word for his best pupil, too distracted to diagram a compound sentence.

  Taking her cue from her students’ worry, Susanna abandoned her afternoon lessons and just read to them instead. Everyone eventually took a turn on her lap, and she dubbed them “page-turning monitors.” The afternoon stop at Maeve Rattigan’s quarters lengthened to include ample time for Maddie on Maeve’s lap, or the sergeant’s, if he happened to be home. Susanna noticed with a pang that Maddie’s pretty hair was less tidy. Joe had told her how busy the other sporting women were, taking care of Claudine.