He jerked the field glasses to his face with enough force to blacken his eyes. The two girls streaked toward him, their horses leaping over piles of cattle bones and avoiding the mangy dogs that scattered as they approached town. In front was the youngest, Daisy, who’d been playing Indian again. Her long braids whipped in the wind, the hawk feathers she’d woven in barely hanging on. Her feet were covered in high-lacing moccasins.
Caroline chased hot on Daisy’s heels. Even though the sixteen-year-old girl resembled a full-grown woman, she was far from emulating one in maturity. Arms pumping on the reins, heels digging into her horse, skirts flying, and hair a mess, Caroline was easily the most interesting thing the troopers had seen in months. And it wasn’t just the troopers who were stunned. Even the hunters had paused in their pursuit to watch.
This was just the sort of incident that had his mother-in-law insisting the girls come to Galveston to live with her.
Daniel recognized the familiar tension that often preceded a battle. He tossed the field glasses to Sergeant O’Hare, who was trying to disappear and leave him to handle his family alone.
He reached Daisy first. Gasping for breath, she looked over her shoulder. “Caroline is trying to take it away, but it’s for me, too.”
He would not raise his voice at his own daughters in public, but a raised voice was imminent. “We will discuss this in the agency office. Go.”
But then Caroline darted between them. “Give me the letter,” she commanded. Daisy attempted an escape, and Caroline caught her by a braid, nearly pulling her from the saddle.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Daisy cried. But her outstretched hand did not relinquish the prize.
It took a pointed glare from Daniel to snap his men’s attention back to their distribution.
“Inside Agent Dyer’s office! Now!” he ordered his daughters.
Still swinging at each other and bickering, the girls rode down the dusty street of Darlington and dismounted at the office. Finding the building empty, Daniel shut the door with a mighty crash.
“Do you have any idea what a spectacle you’ve created?”
But far from cowering, the girls continued to argue. “She took the letter Grandmother sent,” Caroline said. “She won’t let me read it.”
Daisy’s eyes darted from her father to the stove. Daniel’s life often depended on predicting his opponent’s next move. He had Daisy’s arm in a tight grip before she got two steps closer to her goal.
“You will not burn that letter,” he commanded.
“It’s made out to me, too,” Caroline said. “She has no right to destroy it.”
“It’s a stupid letter,” Daisy hollered. Her face was streaked with sweat and tears. “You don’t need to read it.”
How could Daniel expect to keep his troopers under control when his own daughters were insubordinate? Without further comment, he snatched the letter from Daisy’s hand.
“Sit.” He pointed at the nicely trimmed sofa. Thank goodness Agent Dyer was busy and not around to witness this. Daisy stomped over and threw herself down. “You too, Caroline,” he said.
Caroline rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. He would never allow a trooper to have such a poor attitude or posture in his presence. So why couldn’t he figure out how to teach his daughters?
For starters, he couldn’t use the same rules he used on cavalrymen. He couldn’t throw them in the guardhouse if they misbehaved or assign them to a lonely task. Ever since their mother died, he’d been too lenient with them. Sure, he’d taught them how to ride and shoot like nobody’s business, but now they were growing up, and there were new problems to face. Problems that even a courageous man couldn’t handle. They needed a woman to direct them, but ladies weren’t readily available in Indian Territory.
The girls needed their mother. He needed her, too.
Instead, he got to deal with his mother-in-law. He unfolded the letter. Daisy was telling the truth. It had been addressed to her and Caroline. Not to him.
For all the faith that the U.S. Army put in him, his former mother-in-law had none. Then again, the death of her daughter, although not his fault, could have colored her opinion.
“I don’t want to live with her.” Daisy beat the soft heels of her moccasins against the wood floor. “It would be so boring.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Caroline said. “Living here is boring. There’s no one to talk to. No girls our age at the fort. The only people are a few old washwomen and the troopers. And Father acts like the troopers carry an infectious plague. I can’t speak to any of them.”
Darn right, she couldn’t. He quickly scanned the letter and found more of what he’d come to expect from Edna Crawford. She presented the girls with the option of a rose-colored future in Galveston with her and their grandfather, the banker. Beautiful gowns, a musical society, life in a genteel city with all the advantages a young lady needed to be a woman of substance. They’d have everything they desired.
Everything except their father.
Of course, Edna didn’t think he was doing an adequate job raising her granddaughters. His eyes flicked over Daisy’s unconventional mishmash of calico and Arapaho. He took stock of Caroline’s dress, which had grown too short and too snug to be worn in a camp full of lonely men. Edna was right. He wasn’t adequate, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love his daughters. They were his chief delight out here on the prairie. They were all that kept his house—and his heart—from being empty. She couldn’t have them.
“Why did you take this from your sister?” he asked Daisy.
Her green eyes flashed. “It belongs in the fire.” She jumped from the sofa and threw her arms around his waist. “I don’t want to leave you, Pa.”
Daniel laid a hand on her head. Sweet, impulsive Daisy. So like her mother. Then there was stubborn, hardheaded Caroline with her blazing red hair, who was just like him.
With a sigh, he handed the letter to Caroline. She had a right to read it, even though it broke his heart that she wanted to move away.
“No more fighting,” he said. “And you cannot leave the fort without me ever again. I know I’m not able to teach you everything, but I have taught you that, haven’t I?”
Caroline only glared at her little sister. He was about to reprimand her when he happened to look down and saw that Daisy had her tongue out.
He was fighting a losing battle, but he would never tire of looking for ways to win. As always, he fell back on his training. When in trouble, call in reinforcements. He’d considered bringing in a teacher for months now but didn’t want to ask Edna for a recommendation. If only he knew whom to call.
Agent Dyer came through the door with a bounce in his step. He removed his bowler hat and brushed at his thinning hair. “Major Adams, I hope everything is alright.” He caught sight of the girls and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Ladies, from the way you were riding, I was afraid someone had been hurt.”
“Not yet.” Daniel narrowed his eyes at Caroline. She looked away. Well, too late. She and Daisy had brought their quarrel to a place of inspiration. Right in the shadow of the Arapaho school, where the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Mennonite missionaries were doing their best to assimilate the native people.
“Mr. Dyer, I need your help,” Daniel said. “I see what a fine job your missionary teachers are doing with the Arapaho children, and I think my own household would benefit from something similar.”
“Noooo.” Daisy fell back onto the sofa. “Not school.”
Caroline remained ramrod straight but turned her head away.
“Our teachers wouldn’t be able to travel to the fort regularly, and I doubt your girls would learn much in class, since many of the students speak Arapaho, but I could ask the Mennonite Society for a recommendation for a governess.”
Which was exactly what Daniel had in mind. “Not just any lady,” he said. “We require a mature older lady, one not given to frivolity or idleness. A strict disciplinarian is what I’m looking for,
and as you know my daughters, you understand the need. She must be capable of keeping them under control while I’m out performing my duties. Charm and personality are unnecessary.”
And frankly, undesired. Daniel was used to military interaction. You gave an order, and it was obeyed. Better to hire a woman who’d earned her place through discipline than one who beguiled her employers with feminine manipulations.
Dyer looked at the girls sympathetically. He’d always had a soft spot for them. “I think I understand you, sir. I will pass on your request.”
“This is the worst day of my life,” Daisy wailed into the sofa cushions.
“It’s your fault,” Caroline said. “If you’d just agree to go to Grandmother’s, then this wouldn’t happen.”
“At attention,” Daniel ordered. Daisy rolled off the sofa and stood with slumped shoulders. Caroline’s pride wouldn’t allow her to slack, but her eyes focused somewhere far over his shoulder. He’d seen troopers on heaven’s threshold jump to attention faster.
“I’ll be outside.” Mr. Dyer took his hat and left.
Daniel clasped his hands behind his back and paced before them. When had his darling children grown so unruly? Were these the same girls who used to wait for him to return with their noses pressed against the glass of his office window? The girls who, when older, insisted that they’d rather be with him than the nursery maid who had diapered them? He’d tried to be both mother and father to them and had failed. But it wasn’t too late. His resolve grew.
“Leaving the fort today was the last straw. You two know better than anyone the dangers of riding across Indian Territory alone.”
“It was only across the river,” Daisy said. “We knew you—” At his look, she went quiet.
“This misbehavior will be addressed. The older you’ve grown, the less propriety you’ve observed, and it’s up to me to reverse that tendency. You want more attention, and you’ll get it. Both from me and from a matron experienced in training young ladies. Just remember, you’ve brought this on yourselves.”
There was more he could say, but actions spoke louder. They would know he was serious on their first day of lessons with their new instructor. He didn’t like relying on others, but the unity of his family depended on the success of the missionary board’s referral.
It was a lot to leave in the hands of a total stranger, but Daniel was desperate.
Chapter Two
A week ago, Louisa had been sitting in the Cat-Eye Saloon with her feet kicked up on a chair, humming along as Charlie tinkered on the piano and Rawbone tried to best her at chess. Today she was bouncing along the endless, lonesome grasslands of some Indian nation, wondering if she’d ever see civilization again.
Not that the Cat-Eye represented all that was right and good about Western civilization. When someone with a voice as limited as Persephone’s could be considered a star attraction, you had to question the values of your society. But Louisa didn’t lay any claim to being society. Her days weren’t spent doing whatever it was that society ladies did.
Usually of an afternoon, during her chess matches, the only paying customers were perpetually tipsy Slappy, who relied heavily on the bar to resist gravity, and teams of Indian freighters grabbing their last hot meal before delivering their goods. Anyone new meant an unsuspecting victim to her skills, which made Louisa sorry she hadn’t bargained with Tim-Bob for a chessboard to claim for her own. She dared a glance at the plainsmen riding in the stagecoach with her, covered in dust and sweat. They’d be easy pickings.
So far they’d ignored her, and she’d ignored them. Would it be any different if she were a real lady? Her mother had always told her to stay away from the uptight women of Wichita. The snobby cows liked to trample anyone who wasn’t their own, she said. Louisa believed her, and yet . . .
She rested her forehead against the faded curtain hanging inside the coach. What lives they must live in their secure houses and their fenced gardens. To have a kitchen of your own, rooms that were private, relationships that lasted a lifetime? It was her dream, but it wouldn’t come true in a town that already knew Lovely Lola and who she was.
Louisa and Bradley had barely survived their mother’s abuse. When alcohol had brought an end to her mother’s miserable life, Louisa continued to make money the best way she knew how—with her voice. As long as she could perform, she’d be fine. Louisa loved music. She loved the rich costumes, the dramatic characters, and the stirring performances, but she’d always feared her time was limited. The clients of the Cat-Eye Saloon didn’t appreciate music enough to patron a mature singer, no matter how beautiful her voice. And when Persephone began sharing the limelight—not to mention a bed with Tim-Bob—Louisa felt the steady approach of destitution at her back. She just hadn’t expected it to catch her so quickly.
The man next to her bent to tighten up the laces on his boots. Louisa leaned his direction to look out his window and saw a large log building surrounded by some small soddies. Whatever this place was, they were going to stop.
She pulled her adorable chocolate lace-up boots off the seat across from her and did her best to brush off the trail dust that covered her. When the coach stopped rocking, she was more than ready.
“Welcome to Red Fork Ranch,” the driver announced. “Get on out of that hot box and stretch your limbs.”
The cheerful banter between the driver and their host could be heard over the creaking of the springs and the lowing of cattle in the pen to the west. Louisa allowed her two traveling companions to exit before her. Remembering his manners, the one with the leather braid around his hat turned to help her down from the coach.
As she emerged, all speaking ceased. Their host, a stout-bodied and weathered-faced man in his prime, rubbed his mouth as he stared. A young boy at his side didn’t hide his interest in her brightly colored gown or dramatically plumed hat. Dressed like a miniature version of the other ranch hands, the lad looked as amused by her clothes as she was by his.
If the men at the Red Fork Ranch were shocked by her arrival, what was the fearsome Major Adams going to say when she showed up uninvited, unannounced, and looking for a job at his fort? Well, she was who she was. Dressed in her gaudy outfit that clearly proclaimed her association with the fancy set, there was no use trying to hide it. She just hoped he’d accept a one-woman operatic troupe on the fort grounds.
“Welcome to Red Fork, ma’am. I’m Ralph Collins. You are traveling straight through?” Officially it was a question, but it was delivered in such a way that it would be hard to contradict.
She understood his concern. If she could have spared the time and the money, she would’ve bought herself some suitable clothing. As it was, she’d had to fight Tim-Bob tooth and nail to get the wardrobe pieces that she had, and she wasn’t about to leave this beautiful blue silk for Persephone to wear.
She’d picked the most conservative pieces she could find, but that didn’t keep her from looking like a soiled dove. She wished there were some way to let them understand the difference, but in most minds, if a woman performed on the stage, she was no different than one who performed in the bedchamber.
“I’m going straight through,” she said. “Going on to Fort Reno.”
Mr. Collins shifted his weight on steady legs. “Are you sure about that? The only hotel out there is the Cheyenne House. It’s run by the Darlington Agency, and they’re Mennonite folk. All the other land thereabouts belongs to the Indian nations. Unless you have an invitation by the Major . . .”
All nice ways of saying her kind wasn’t welcome here. Louisa’s stomach tightened into a familiar knot. “I bought a ticket for the stagecoach, just like everyone else. I’ll leave when it does.”
She didn’t like the pity she saw in his eyes, but he didn’t seem to be one who worried himself over other people’s foolishness. “Then grab yourself a bite to eat, and the stage will pull out in an hour.”
“Hey, Ralph.” The driver popped his head out from beneath the stage. “We got a
problem here. Take a look at this axle.”
“In a minute.”
Louisa left the coach to find the meal that had been offered. How could she explain her plan when she didn’t really have one? Had she been foolish to think that she could just waltz up to Fort Reno and ask for work? After two days of riding across the flat plains of the Indian lands, she’d realized that a woman appearing in this forsaken territory would incite concern. It wasn’t as if she could just blend in with the other ladies in town. There was no town. Only wives of government men or soldiers.
But then something caught her eye. In the shade of the porch stood a lady’s travel valise.
She looked at the young boy. His mother’s, perhaps?
“Come on inside,” Mr. Collins offered. “We always look forward to the stagecoach. It’s our source for news about the States.”
The States? Did they forget that they lived in the United States? Then Louisa remembered what the driver had said when they crossed the border south of Wichita. The Indian nations. They truly were in a foreign country, then.
Inside, the thick log building smelled like animal hides and unwashed bodies. In vain Louisa looked for any sign of a woman. Like as not, if there was one here, she’d want nothing to do with Louisa, but still, to have some feminine advice about what lay ahead would be handy.
They were offered the use of the washroom and some simple refreshments while the stable hand tended to the horses. Louisa had just about given up hope when the lad approached.
“You don’t dress like the other passengers I’ve seen. Especially Mrs. Townsend.” He bit his lip as his eyes ran greedily over her velvet-trimmed hat.
Slowly and gracefully, Louisa unpinned it and set it between them. “Do you want to touch the material?” she asked. “It really is soft.”
He grinned as he ran his hand lightly over it. “Feels like rabbits,” he said.
She waited while he practiced rubbing it backward, then smoothing it again. “Who is Mrs. Townsend?” she asked.
Holding the Fort Page 2
