The Long-Knives 5

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Hester smirked. “It was your idea to take everything out of the chest and look at it. So it’s only fair for you to put it back. And don’t you dare break any of my things! Maybe I should call Ethel to do it.”

  “No!” Penelope pleaded. “We’ll be careful, Hester.”

  “It’s fun!” Fionna exclaimed in her fourteen-year-old enthusiasm. “Just think! You won’t be taking these things out until you’re far away in Texas.”

  “With your true love,” Penelope added.

  “Ooh! I’m going to marry an army officer too,” Fionna said. She sighed. “And in the West Point chapel like you did, Hester.”

  “That shouldn’t be a big surprise,” Penelope said. “You fell in love with every cadet you saw.”

  “So did you,” Fionna said.

  “Well—maybe,” Penelope said. The three girls laughed. “Actually,” she said as an afterthought, “unless you really know and recognize one of them, they all look alike.”

  “That’s what’s fun,” Hester said. “Knowing one of them.”

  “I think the best part of the whole wedding was when you left the church,” Fionna said. “It looked so elegant with those officers making an arch of their swords while you and Wildon walked under them. You were like a prince and princess.”

  “That’s how I felt,” Hester said. “I was with my handsome prince.”

  “Wildon is handsome, isn’t he?” Fionna said.

  “He’s certainly skinny though,” Penelope remarked.

  “But he is still handsome!” Hester said almost angrily. “Or I wouldn’t have married him. He looks grand sitting a horse too.”

  Penelope looked at Fionna. “That’s why she married him. He likes to ride.”

  “Yes,” Fionna agreed.

  “Common interests make a strong marriage,” Hester preached. “Besides, you must admit he was the most dashing cadet at West Point.”

  Penelope took a neatly folded stack of petticoats and carefully placed them in the trunk. “What’s the place you’re going to like?”

  “It must be marvelous,” Hester said. “Wildon described it to me in a letter. He said it was very rustic, not at all like West Point. He said they actually had buildings made of squares of dirt.”

  “Dirt?” Fionna asked. “Real dirt?”

  “Yes. They’re called ‘soddies’ by everyone out there,” Hester said. “And they have canvas for roofs.”

  “Oooh!” Penelope said with a wince. “Is that how you’re going to live, Hester?”

  “Oh, of course not! That’s just Wildon’s little joke,” Hester said. “I’ve already seen how officers and their ladies live at West Point.” She smiled. “But I played along with his silly jest. I wrote and told him I thought it would be a great adventure to live in a dirt house.”

  “Wildon will have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool you, Hester,” her sister said. “So what sort of home will you have?”

  “Well, I know it won’t be as nice as the older officer’s houses,” Hester admitted. “I imagine we’ll be in a cottage or something.”

  “With vines all around it?” Fionna asked. “And flowers?”

  “Roses,” Hester decided. ‘There shall be roses, but not as nice as Father’s, of course.”

  “They wouldn’t dare be,” Penelope said. “Not even in the army.”

  The trio laughed again.

  “Did Wildon tell you about the wild Indians?” Fionna asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Hester answered. “He said there were thousands of them and that they attack the fort every day at three o’clock sharp.”

  “Hester!” the two other girls called out.

  She smiled. “He said there were only a few. The bad ones are far away from Fort MacNeil. He said the fighting had all but ended in that area.”

  “I suppose he was disappointed,” Penelope said. “Oh, yes. In fact, he said there really isn’t much for the soldiers to do.”

  “Thank goodness,” Penelope said. “At least we won’t have to worry about you.”

  Hester looked around the room. “I’m going to miss this place.”

  “You’d better take a good look around while you have the chance,” Penelope warned her.

  “Yes! You’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Fionna emphasized. “And you probably won’t be back for years and years.”

  The conversation was abruptly interrupted by the appearance of Hester’s mother in the doorway of the room. She came in, moving gracefully for a woman who could kindly be described as full-figured. “Girls! What in the world are you doing? You’ve taken everything out of the hope chest.”

  “They’re putting it back, Mother,” Hester said. “Don’t worry.”

  “I think it best that Ethel take care of that,” Mrs. Bristol said.

  “Mother!” Fionna exclaimed. “We’re perfectly capable of handling this.”

  “Just do it with care—a lot of care,” Mrs. Bristol said. She slipped a pudgy arm around Hester. “I must talk to you a moment, dear. I know this is an awkward time, but everything is so hectic right now.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Out on the balcony.” Mrs. Bristol looked over at Fionna and Penelope. “Excuse us for a few moments, dears.”

  The two stepped through the double doors. The view before them was a beautiful combination of rose garden, lawn, and the shore of Lake Champlain. The quiet added to the charm of the vista. Hester suddenly felt very sentimental. “This is a beautiful home,” she said. '

  The mother embraced the daughter. “I hate to think of you leaving it.”

  “In a way I do too,” Hester admitted. “But what is it you wanted to tell me?”

  “You know, of course, that Albert and Ethel are going along to see you safely to that place in Texas.” She referred to the married couple that had been employed by the family for more than twenty years.

  “Yes, Mother. We discussed that ages ago,” Hester said, complaining good-naturedly. “Now what do you really want to talk about? You never come right out and speak up.”

  “I want you to remember that you’re a Bristol and always will be in spite of your married name,” Mrs. Bristol said. “Your conduct will reflect greatly on the family.”

  “Do you think I’ll do something to disgrace us?” Hester asked mischievously. “Now, please, Mother! Say whatever it is you wish to say.”

  “Hester, you’re such a tomboy!” her mother exclaimed. “I don’t want you to forget to always ride sidesaddle. Those army ladies are a snobbish bunch for some unfathomable reason. They’ll be watching you closely.”

  “Mother—”

  “Hush! You have a tendency to get over exuberant at times,” Mrs. Bristol continued. “You must control those feelings and be more demure. I am fully aware that you have ridden with an English saddle and raced around with your limbs exposed,” she chided her. “We can’t have any more of that.”

  Hester rolled her eyes.

  “Now let’s consider your hiring of a domestic,” Mrs. Bristol said. “We’ll be’ sending you money, of course.”

  “Of course,” Hester said. “Wildon gets some sort of trust fund thing from his family too. He says we could never live properly on an army officer’s pay.”

  “Why, of why, did that boy decide to go into the army?” Mrs. Bristol wondered aloud. “He could get a nice position in his father’s business or in ours if he wished.”

  “Everybody knows that Wildon has always been addle-brained about soldiers,” Hester said. “It’s quite all right with me.”

  “Never mind, dear. Will you need Albert or Ethel’s help in engaging a maid? Remember they are quite proficient in that.”

  “I shall take care of the matter myself,” Hester said.

  Mrs. Bristol displayed an expression of concern. “Are you happy, dear?”

  “Yes, Mother. I love Wildon with all my heart.”

  “I know,” Mrs. Bristol said. She hugged her daughter. “Fine. Now let’s go back inside.” She led her daught
er through the doors to rejoin Fionna and Penelope. After taking time to warn them once again to take care of the repacking, the woman left the girls alone.

  Fionna smiled. “Was Mother her old self?”

  “Of course,” Hester said with a sigh. “I was told to be ladylike and was given some advice.” She walked to the room’s largest window, and gazed fondly out over what had been her home her entire life. The Bristol estate was located among the choicest acreage along Lake Champlain’s shores. Her grandfather had made the family fortune with Bristol Soap, a fragrant ladies’ brand that was advertised daily on the front page of every major metropolitan newspaper in the East:

  As Delicate as the Lady Who Uses it—Bristol Soap for Madame and Mademoiselle.

  Penelope interrupted Hester’s reverie. “How long will Albert and Ethel stay with you?”

  “Until the next transportation back East,” Hester said. “Wildon said he has arranged temporary quarters for them at Fort MacNeil, but the accommodations cannot be held for more than a week or two. It doesn’t matter. I shall hire a maid as quickly as possible.”

  “Why not have Wildon do it?” Fionna asked. “That way you will already have one when you arrive.”

  “Mother says men are simply awful when it comes to a household staff,” Hester said.

  “And she’s right,” Penelope said with the experience of seventeen years of servant-filled living behind her.

  “Once, awhile back, she even made a list of things I should look for,” Hester said, laughing. “With two of the things to take into consideration being clean fingernails and a wholesome, pale complexion.”

  “That’s not much help if you hire a colored lady,” Penelope said.

  “Or an Indian squaw,” Fionna suggested. “That would be fun.”

  Penelope laughed aloud. “Squaws don’t work as maids, silly!”

  “They might out west,” Fionna countered.

  “Oh, let’§ talk about other things,” Penelope insisted.

  “Yes,” Fionna agreed. “Will there be many military balls, Hester?”

  “There most certainly will,” Hester answered.

  “That means that Wildon will be dashing in his fancy uniform and I shall wear the latest fashions and cause all the other officers to fall madly in love with me.”

  “Oh, dear!” Fionna cried. “You won’t be a flirt, will you, Hester?”

  “Of course,” Hester said. “And an outrageous one at that.”

  “You had better be careful,” Penelope warned her. She packed away several sheets, the last of the contents of the hope chest.

  Hester felt uncertain. “Perhaps I should have Ethel come and repack everything.”

  “Hester!” Penelope exclaimed in girlish exasperation. “We can do this job quite well, thank you.” She paused thoughtfully. “As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if we began putting things in your trunk and valise now. To save time later on.”

  “Yes,” Hester agreed. “Perhaps we should.” Fionna, who had gone over to the closet, called out to her sister. “How many of these ball gowns are you taking, Hester? Remember Father is going to have most of your things shipped in a month or so.”

  “Just put in one,” Hester said.

  Fionna took one and brought it out. She held the dress up. “What about—” She hesitated. “Hester.” Suddenly the younger girl burst into tears. “Oh, Hester! I shall miss you terribly!”

  Hester walked over and embraced her. “And I you, Fionna.”

  “What about me?” Penelope asked, joining them. The trio had been avoiding the reality of the situation. Hester was going to go a long distance away, and there was every possibility that it would be years before they saw each other again.

  All three stood tightly entwined, sobbing softly.

  Three

  The fifty men of Troop L were seated tall in their saddles, ready to go through a mounted inspection. Because this was no full-dress affair, they sported their second-best military finery.

  Used to the pomp and strict protocol of West Point, Second Lieutenant Wildon Boothe felt a stab of disapproval as he turned to catch a quick glimpse of the enlisted troopers behind him. Although all were in regulation garrison uniform of kepi, blouse, trousers, boots, and leather accouterments that Quartermaster Sergeant Mulvaney had issued, they were still not dressed in a completely similar manner. Several of the horse soldiers were attired in yellow-trimmed, short jackets of the type used during the Civil War that had ended eighteen years previously. A few more of the troopers were clad in the longer sackcloth coat model of 1872, and others had the later style which were of the same cut, but were piped with yellow cord around the collar and edge of the cuffs.

  Wildon consoled himself with the thought that at least these were real professional soldiers of the Regular Army. Perhaps if a tight-fisted Congress loosened up some military purse strings, not only could the men of the regiment be clothed alike, but their worn field gear could be replaced by new haversacks, cartridge belts, and canteens.

  The troop commander, Captain Fred Armbrewster, drew his saber. “Prepare for inspection! March, front!” He was a paunchy officer in his late forties. Although not a dashing figure, he performed the rituals of both mounted and dismounted drill perfectly. Even Wildon, after four years of parade ground ceremonies at West Point, could find no fault in the other officer’s execution of military marching.

  The guidon bearer and bugler moved smartly into proper position. Since this was a mounted inspection, the carbines were not going to be looked at. Only pistols and sabers. The captain turned his horse with Wildon, the troop’s only other officer, following him. As they passed each man, the trooper displayed his saber and pistol in the prescribed manner. The captain and lieutenant rode around the troop, then back to the front.

  “First Sergeant!” the captain barked.

  Sergeant James Garrity, a veteran line noncommissioned officer who was acting as the troop first sergeant, urged his horse a few hoof-clomping steps forward. He saluted sharply.

  “Dismiss the troop,” Armbrewster commanded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wildon and Captain Armbrewster rode off toward the regimental stables. When they reached the building, the two officers dismounted and handed their horses over to a waiting orderly. Armbrewster was in a good mood. “Well, you’ll be a regular married man like the rest of us in another couple of days or so, hey, Mr. Boothe?”

  “Yes, sir,” Wildon answered.

  The two strolled out of the stable area in casual conversation. But, despite the informality, they still observed military custom. Wildon, as the junior ranking man, walked to Armbrewster’s left. Both held their sheathed sabers in the correct manner next to the left leg. This left the right hand free to return the salutes they might receive from any passing enlisted men.

  “You haven’t forgotten the dinner party at Major Darnell’s tonight, have you?” Armbrewster asked.

  “No, sir,” Wildon answered.

  “We’ll let Sergeant Garrity handle the retreat formation,” Armbrewster said. “We wouldn’t want to be late for our squadron commander’s soiree, would we?”

  “I shall be there, standing tall as a good subaltern.”

  “Uh, yes, Boothe,” Armbrewster said a bit uneasily. “I really must talk to you about something.”

  “About what, sir?”

  “That white mess jacket of yours,” Armbrewster said. “It has created quite a stir.”

  “I had it especially made just before my graduation from the academy, sir,” Wildon said. “Actually, it was a gift from my uncle. He is a brigadier general in the New York State Militia.”

  “Yes, of course, but you see, young man, it is the only such item of uniform on this post,” Armbrewster said. “None of the other officers have one. That, unfortunately, includes our own squadron and regimental commanders.”

  Wildon wasn’t sure what Armbrewster was getting at. "Yes, sir?”

  “Actually, it wouldn’t be a v
ery good idea for you to wear it at any future functions, Mr. Boothe,” Armbrewster said. “I have been specifically instructed to tell you that.”

  “I’m certainly sorry if I offended—”

  “Oh, pshaw, young man!” Armbrewster said with a smile. “There has been no offense taken. And you must take into consideration that it isn’t regulation.”

  “Of course, sir,” Wildon said. “Thank you.”

  “I knew you would understand.” They had reached Armbrewster’s quarters. “Then I shall see you at Major Darnell’s at seven-thirty.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wildon saluted. He walked on down officers’ row, feeling a bit embarrassed. He realized he had what was termed in the army as “money on the outside,” but he hadn’t really given it much thought. Naturally, any officer eking by on only his military pay could never afford a white mess jacket complete with gold lacing on the sleeves. His uncle had spent more on that one piece of apparel than most officers spent on their entire army wardrobe.

  Wildon walked down to his own quarters, the last in the row, as was appropriate for the regiment’s most subordinate lieutenant, and let himself in. As usual, when he entered the small sod house, he felt a stab of regret.

  Hester would never stand for living in such a place.

  He hung up his kepi on a hat rack picked up at the sutler’s store. After removing his sword belt, he placed the saber there too. Wildon took another look, then walked over to one of the wooden chairs and slumped down in it.

  He loved the army. Even after the unhappy introduction to reality at Fort MacNeil, his enthusiasm for military life had not been dampened a whit. Wildon knew he’d wear army blue until he either retired or was laid low by some Indian warrior’s bullet. But the stinging knowledge that his wife Hester was going to detest it hung heavy in his heart, taking away what enjoyment he should be experiencing in moving into the regimental environment. When his mind dwelt on the inevitable conflict awaiting him and his wife, his thoughts turned the darkest and most pessimistic. The notes of Retreat sounded by one of the regimental band’s trumpeters, snapped him out of his disagreeable lethargy.