Wanting to think of more pleasant things, he stood up and walked over to the built-in cupboard used as a closet. Hanging there among the uniforms was his hunting outfit. He pulled out the buckskin outfit and looked at it. He smiled, thinking of how he would have his picture taken in it the first time a photographer made an appearance at Fort MacNeil. Seeing him dressed up like that would really create a stir back in New York.
Suddenly remembering the time, he went into the other room where the cook stove was located. After lighting the kindling and putting in some small scraps of wood for a small fire to heat the cauldron of water, he dragged the bathtub from its place in the corner to get ready for an evening at Major Darnell’s quarters.
After bathing, shaving, and slicking down his hair, Wildon picked out a uniform. He would really have preferred the mess jacket, but Captain Armbrewster had set him straight. Instead, he chose a normal garrison uniform with dark-blue blouse and light-blue trousers sporting the yellow stripe of the cavalry down each side. He slipped into it, hoping the fact that it was made of expensive material and especially tailored in New York City would not be noticed.
When he was properly prepared, he stepped out of his quarters and walked back up toward the field officers’ area. It was a peaceful time of the day. The men, at least those not on guard duty or sentenced as garrison prisoners to extra duty, were in their mess halls. After eating, they would have a few hours of free time. Since there had been a recent payday, most would be at the sutler’s getting drunk or playing at any of the numerous illegal card games that seemed to appear mysteriously in out-of-the-way places where it would be difficult for the officer of the day or sergeant of the guard to discover the pastime.
Wildon reached the Darnells’ door and knocked. The door was opened by the major’s wife, Sophie Darnell, a middle-aged woman who had been an officer’s lady for over thirty years. Wildon bowed properly. “My compliments, ma’am.”
Mrs. Darnell smiled and stepped back to allow him to enter. “Good evening, Mr. Boothe,” she said. “Please come in and join us.”
“Thank you very much,” Wildon said. He’d never noticed the difference between a major’s home and a lowly lieutenant’s quarters before. More spacious, with superior furniture, it was better constructed and had windows that slid up and down. There was also a fireplace with a mantel. Wildon knew that Hester was going to resent the hell out of that.
“There is punch on the sideboard in the kitchen,” Mrs.' Darnell informed him. “The gentlemen are out there if you would care to join them.”
“Very well,” Wildon said.
“You’ll be dropping your lady off with us at the next little get-together we have, won’t you?” Mrs. Darnell said. “We are all so looking forward to meeting her.”
“Yes,” Wildon said. He walked through the living room, pausing to politely greet the other wives there. As per protocol, he stopped for a longer pause with his troop commander’s wife, Elisa Armbrewster.
Mrs. Armbrewster, the same age as Sophie Darnell, also felt inclined to speak of Hester’s pending arrival. “Mr. Boothe, we are so anxious to meet your lady. Especially since she’s from the East.”
“Yes, Mrs. Armbrewster,” Wildon said. “New York State to be exact.”
“She’ll think we’re such frumps,” Mrs. Armbrewster said, feigning a frown. “We’re so out of date.”
“I’m sure she’ll find you as charming as I have,” Wildon said, not wanting to get into any prolonged conversation about Hester.
“At least she’ll brighten up our drab existence here,” Mrs. Armbrewster insisted.
Wildon was rescued by a call from the kitchen. “Mr. Boothe!” It was Major Darnell. “Come join the men. Don’t become a prisoner of war of the ladies.”
“It is a captivity I would not mind enduring,” Wildon said.
“Why, Mr. Boothe!” Mrs. Armbrewster declared. “That’s another nice thing you’ve said since you came in the door. First you say you found us charming, now you willingly surrender to us ladies.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wildon said. “Please excuse me.”
“Ah, yes!” Mrs. Armbrewster said in understanding. “The major summons you!”
Wildon joined the other officers. He liked the rough male camaraderie he experienced in the regiment. The others were off to one side of the room happily indulging in guzzling down the heavily spiked punch. Besides Major Darnell and Captain Armbrewster, there were two more troop commanders, and the regimental surgeon.
Darnell, a bit drunk, roared out in laughter. “Well, young Mr. Boothe, are you enjoying your final carefree days of bachelorhood?”
“Yes, sir,” Wildon answered with a broad grin. He got himself a cupful of the drink.
The surgeon, an alcoholic named Dempster, was already weaving slightly. “And how soon will I be delivering any little Boothes?”
“I can’t say, sir,” Wildon said. “I think I must concentrate on her introduction to army life before seriously thinking of raising a family.” He looked over to the other side of the room and saw two self-conscious mess cooks preparing the dinner. They kept their heads down in a mute pretense that they weren’t really observing the officers getting drunk. Wildon knew the soldiers were actually enjoying the experience and would spread tales in the barracks that same evening.
Armbrewster nudged the surgeon. “Go on with your story, old man.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Dempster said. “So this soldier came in on sick call complaining of a—” He glanced at the door to make sure none of the ladies was near, “—dripping member. So I examined him, and it didn’t take me long to figure out what was wrong. ‘Trooper,’ says I, you got—’” Another look at the door. “‘—you got the clap and I’m going to have to write you up on it.’ So he asked me what would happen to him, and I told him they’d put him in the guardhouse for three months.”
“What’d he say ’bout that?” Darnell asked in a slurred voice.
“He said, ‘Sir, not that! I can’t pull three months in the guardhouse,’” The surgeon chuckled again. “So I says to him, ‘Well, trooper pull what you can and push the rest’!”
Wildon liked the story. That really sounded Regular Army to him. He held onto his drink and joined his fellow officers as they dissolved into gales of drunken laughter.
Four
Wildon walked out the main gate and looked down the road into the distance. He stared through the dancing heat haze for long minutes before walking back into the shade provided by the post stables.
The young lieutenant was waiting for the arrival of the stagecoach on which his wife and her two servants were riding. Although there was no town near Fort MacNeil, it was located on the stage line between Red River Station and Dallas. The company that ran the transportation service was under contract to carry mail and passengers for the army.
The four soldiers who had been detailed to help with the luggage lounged nearby, glad for the opportunity to get away from the drill for the morning. Trooper Gus Dortmann and his friend Trooper John Jones watched bemused at the young officer’s impatience. “It must be wonderful to be in love,” Dortmann whispered with a wink to Jones.
Jones nodded. He’d served in another regiment under his real name a few years earlier. Kicked out of the army with a bad-conduct “bobtail” discharge, he had reenlisted under a new identity after nearly starving to death in the civilian world. When he’d made his fraudulent second entry in the army, he’d said his name was John Smith. The recruiting sergeant told him that the monthly quota of “John Smiths” had already been used up. Not being too imaginative, Jones then announced his name as John Jones.
Dortmann spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Wait’ll she starts nagging him about his drinking,” he said. “The lieutenant will be trying to get her to go back East.”
“Aw,” Jones said. “The kid don’t drink hardly at all. I know that for a fact.”
“Give him another coupla years out here,” Dortmann said. “He’ll be a John B
arleycorn officer for sure.” He pointed at Wildon going back for another look. “Yeah, he’s impatient all right. We’ve been waiting for two hours now.”
“So what?” Jones asked. “It sure beats hell out of drill call or stable call, don’t it?” He pointed over at the other two soldiers napping by the stable. “They sure ain’t complaining.”
“Dortmann!” Wildon’s voice interrupted the conversation.
“Yes, sir?”
“Here comes the stagecoach. Get the men out here.”
“Yes, sir!” Dortmann walked over and gave the sleeping troopers a couple of light kicks. “C’mon. It’s time to tote for the new officer’s lady.”
The two troopers, yawning and stretching, got to their feet. Both were young, in their late teens. “I didn’t join the army to carry folks’ luggage,” the one named Rampey said.
“Me either,” his companion Mauson added with an undisguised tone of resentment in his voice.
Dortmann sneered. “What the hell did you ’list up for? To fight Injuns?”
“Yeah!” Rampey said in youthful defiance.
“Well, you got in the wrong regiment, boys. There ain’t a riled-up redskin closer’n Fort Sill,” Jones said.
“And even if there was hostiles, you’d still be toting for the officers,” Dortmann said. “Now let’s go and be nice about it.”
The stage had been so far away when Wildon sighted it that the conveyance didn’t reach them for a half-hour. When it did, the attitude of the driver and guard showed they weren’t planning on tarrying. One tossed down valises from the top of the stage, while the other went around the back to unbuckle the straps on the rear boot. He was a feisty old man with a droopy gray mustache. He glanced over at the soldiers. “Let’s go, soljer boys. We ain’t got all day.”
Dortmann and Jones saw to it that the youngsters were the ones to handle the heavy stuff. Rampey and Mauson walked over and wrestled Hester’s heavy hope chest off the coach.
Meanwhile Wildon held the door and helped Hester down to the road. He had not seen her in months, having only a photograph to remind him of her beauty. She seemed to have grown even lovelier, but he could easily detect her fatigue and irritation despite the smile she gave him.
“Hester, dearest!” he said.
“Oh, Wildon, I’m here at last!” she said almost desperately.
She was followed by Albert and Ethel. Albert, an old family retainer, was scarecrow thin with a hawkish face that also showed the strain of the journey. Ethel, appearing to be on the verge of exhaustion and collapse, lowered herself down from the conveyance and reeled about, hanging onto Wildon for support.
“Master Wildon!” she gasped. “Oh, Master Wildon!”
Albert, stern and tired, merely executed a slight bow. “I shall see to the luggage, sir.”
“Thank you, Albert,” Wildon said. “I have brought four soldiers to help.”
Hester looked over at the men picking up their belongings. They certainly were not like the ones in the garrison detachment she’d seen at West Point. These fellows were unkempt and even a bit surly. The soldiers stationed in the garrison at the military academy had always been lively and eager to please.
Within a few moments, the group trooped through the main gate and across the parade ground toward officers’ row. Wildon braced himself for the inevitable when he reached his quarters. He paused and pushed the door open. “Here we are.”
Albert stepped back a pace. “Is this where Ethel and I are to stay?”
“No,” Wildon answered with a weak grin. “I’ve arranged for a tent to be pitched for you.” He motioned to the soldiers. “Take it all inside, men.” As the soldiers carted the stuff in, the others remained outside.
Hester smiled weakly. “I don’t understand, Wildon. What is this place?”
“It is our home, Hester dear.”
“Wildon, it is made of dirt.”
He nodded. “Yes. Remember my letter? I told you all about it. You said it would be a grand adventure.”
Hester waited for the soldiers to come back outside. Then she entered through the door.
Wildon turned to Dortmann. “Take Albert and Ethel to the tent behind the N.C.O. quarters. Then you can dismiss the men.”
“Yes, sir,” Dortmann said saluting. “C’mon, folks.”
Wildon went inside and found Hester standing in the middle of the room. “Do we live here, Wildon?”
“Yes,” Wildon said. “It’s not much, but we really haven’t had time to purchase the things we need. We have three rooms, Hester. This is the parlor and dining room.”
Hester looked at the table and three mismatched chairs. “All in one room?”
“Yes, dear. The next room is our bedroom.”
When they went into the sleeping quarters, Hester looked at the homemade bed. “Is this all the furniture in here? No bed stands?” She glanced around in a desperate fashion. “No closets! Wildon, there are no closets!”
He pointed to the cupboard covered by a curtain. “That serves as the closet, darling. I can arrange to have another constructed by one of the men. It would be ready in a couple of weeks. The kitchen is through here.” He wanted to keep the tour and led her into a room that was bare except for a cook stove.
“Wildon, the bedroom is between our kitchen and dining room,” Hester pointed out. “The maid will have to walk through our boudoir in order to serve us.”
“Uh, yes, Hester,” Wildon said. “I must tell you about that. There is no domestic help available at the moment.”
“Wildon!”
“There are no nearby towns, Hester,” Wildon explained. “And all of the married enlisted men’s wives are already engaged.”
“We must speak more of this,” Hester said. “Now, the back yard is right out here.”
Hester numbly followed him outside. She looked at the privy and said nothing.
Wildon pointed to the water barrel by the door. “A detail of soldiers comes around regularly and fills it up.” He grinned. “All you can drink.”
“Really, Wildon. I—” Her shriek was so loud it echoed several times off into the empty prairie.
The rattlesnake in the back yard, surprised and angry, coiled up and prepared to defend itself. Wildon pulled her back inside, then retrieved his saber from its sheath on the clothes rack. He went back into the yard. After a few moments, he returned. “They’re a diamondback variety,” he said. “Very similar to our timber rattlers in New York.”
“The snakes in New York do not come up to one’s back door, Wildon,” Hester said. “They wouldn’t dare!”
“Indeed not,” Wildon said. They went back to the living room portion of the small house. “You must realize that these quarters are for second lieutenants. After I am promoted, we shall be able to move into somewhat—” He wanted to use the right words. “—grander quarters, Hester dear.”
Hester sat down in one of the chairs. “How soon, Wildon, will you be advanced?”
“I should make first lieutenant in about ten years.”
“Ten years!”
“How was your trip, Hester?” he asked abruptly, wanting to close that area of conversation.
She gritted her teeth. “It was ghastly. There were ruffians all over the place. Most seemed to find singular delight in tormenting poor Albert.”
“He is a funny old bird,” Wildon pointed out not too wisely. He immediately changed the subject again when he saw her reaction. “I’ve purchased some plates and cups from the sutler’s store. Knives and forks too. They’re not very fancy, but they’ll do nicely until we can get some better things.”
Hester began to weep. Each sob took her deeper into despair until the tears flowed copiously. Wretched, tired, unhappy, and horribly disappointed, she let her trampled emotions pour out without restraint.
Wildon did his best to soothe her jangled feelings. Although awkward and inexperienced at such an undertaking, he succeeded more from Hester’s love for him than from any real comfort he was
able to give.
An hour later Albert and Ethel returned from their tent. Their mood had not improved in the slightest. It was easy to tell that it was only with a great effort that they had managed to make themselves available for service that evening. Wildon tried to make light of the situation.
“I’m sorry about the tent,” he said. “But there were absolutely no permanent buildings available as visitors’ quarters.”
Ethel looked around the sod house. “That’s quite all right, Master Wildon. We’ll make do.”
“It’s only for a few days,” Albert said. He closed his eyes as if praying. “Then we shall return to the East.”
“I shall see to dinner,” Ethel said. She glanced around. “The kitchen?”
“Through the bedroom,” Wildon said.
“The bedroom, sir?” Albert asked.
“Yes. But I’m afraid there’s nothing but salt pork and canned peaches. It was all the sutler has had for a while. I do have some coffee purchased from the quartermaster, however.”
It was not necessary for Albert, his nose wrinkling with distaste, to express his feelings. He motioned to Ethel. “Come, my dear.”
Less than a half-hour later, Wildon and Hester sat down to their first meal in the hew house. Served on plain, white platters, the food stood out starkly. Hester didn’t eat much, but Wildon’s appetite was in top form. He took a bite of salt pork and chewed thoughtfully. “You might be interested to know,” he said to Hester, “that we shall be able to buy vegetables from the company garden;”
“Really?” Hester asked in a weak voice.
“Oh, yes. We have one of the soldiers permanently detailed as a gardener,” Wildon said. “It’s very important work. Without it, there would be no greens to eat.”
Hester was in no mood for small talk. “Wildon, without domestic help, we shall have to see to all our needs ourselves, won’t we?”
“Yes, dear,” Wildon said with forced cheerfulness. “But I promise we shall engage a maid as quickly as it is possible to do so.”
“Wildon, I cannot cook,” Hester pointed out.
“Oh, I’m sure you can manage,” Wildon said.
The Long-Knives 5 Page 3
