Holding the Fort

by Regina Jennings

  Their shoulders lowered, but they didn’t carry on. No more laughter, no more horsing around. They just stood in awe until Louisa had passed.

  “Hey, Teddy, did you get your horse shod?” the lieutenant called to one of the men. Evidently Lieutenant Hennessey wasn’t nearly as scary as the major, something Louisa had sensed from their first meeting. The men chatted with him amicably as she and the major continued around the walk. Major Adams looked over his shoulder, and his steps slowed. Finally, he stopped walking and turned.

  “We’re going to outmaneuver our coverage,” he said. “Might as well wait on Jack. He’s my eyes and ears. These fellows will tell him things that they’d never want me to know.”

  And so had she. She studied the major as he watched his assistant. He stood straight and tall with his chest expanded as he surveyed his domain. What would it be like to be as respected as he was? Louisa couldn’t imagine.

  With a playful slap on the back, the lieutenant left the men, who acted as if they’d forgotten the commander. One fellow started dancing a jig while his friends clapped their hands. They would never act that way if they’d remembered that Major Adams was nearby.

  In the last three days, she had managed to avoid him almost entirely. Evening meals were the most dangerous, but she watched Major Adams closely and mimicked his manners so she wouldn’t be caught messing up. She should have noticed that he never put his feet on the furniture.

  And yet he’d stood on his saddle.

  Louisa darted a glance at him, hoping to see the daring man who’d undertaken trick riding once out of sight of his responsibilities. She knew that playful man lived somewhere beneath his stern uniform and guarded expressions. No wonder he’d ridden so far from camp before trying the stunt.

  A group of men sauntered toward them, lost in their own conversation, until they saw who was waiting on the walkway. They snapped to attention, too, and Louisa was surprised to see that they were all black men. Major Adams greeted them as he had the last group and let them pass.

  “Now Jack will have to talk to them, too. I apologize for bringing him. I forgot how he likes to chat.”

  “That’s alright,” she said. “I didn’t realize you had black troops stationed here.”

  “The Indians call them buffalo soldiers, because they say their hair is curly like the buffaloes’. They are fine troopers. They feel like they have a lot to prove.”

  Like Bradley did. If she ever got her hands on him . . .

  “Let’s go,” Major Adams said. “Jack can catch up.”

  They started forward again, into the path of half a dozen men. Louisa was beginning to understand why the major preferred to sit in his house of an evening instead of walking around. His presence disrupted everyone. Like when the sheriff showed up at the poker games after the music.

  How lonely he must be. That respect came at the price of companionship. He let Lieutenant Hennessey take the role of confidant while he remained aloof—ready to reprimand, ready to punish, ready to send these young men to their deaths if required. Who could he talk to? Who lent him an ear for his struggles?

  Daisy had mentioned her mother’s death, but it had been so long ago. Why hadn’t he remarried? Then, as if to answer her own question, Louisa looked around. Rolling prairie in every direction. The missionary woman back at Red Fork Ranch had been the only unmarried white woman she’d seen since getting on the stagecoach.

  The next group of troopers saluted, but with a casual wave, the major urged her past them, intent on getting her the fresh air he’d promised.

  “There’s no need to walk so—” Suddenly her voice failed her and her heart began to race. That was Bradley, passing her now. She had to stop him.

  With little time to act, she deliberately stumbled. Twisting her ankle was easy in the heeled boots she wore. She grabbed Bradley’s arm to keep herself from falling to the ground. Major Adams immediately took her other arm and suspended her between them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I turned my ankle. If you could help me to the bench over there.”

  She looked Bradley full in the face, but he was looking at his commander.

  “I can assist her, Willis.” Major Adams had pulled her closer to him. “Go your way.”

  If only Bradley would look at her. She dug her fingers into his arm. She felt him tense, and he stole a glance in her direction. He was already pulling away when his eyes widened. His mouth fell open as recognition dropped on him like a cask of whiskey.

  “What . . . what are you doing here?” he gasped.

  Before she could come up with an excuse, the major stepped between them.

  “What did you say, trooper?” Major Adams’s voice was cold and steady.

  Stunned, Bradley stumbled backward and stuttered a pathetic, “Nothing, sir.”

  “You will not address this lady unless she addresses you first. Do you understand?”

  Poor Bradley! He stood at attention, blinking rapidly as if he’d just been doused in water. Louisa felt tears in her eyes, but the last thing she wanted was for him to get into more trouble. She had to act. She had to distract the major.

  “Do you understand?” Major Adams repeated.

  “My ankle,” she cried. “I need help.” The major already had her arm, so she had to do something more drastic. “Please stop. I feel faint.”

  The major couldn’t threaten Bradley and tend to her at the same time. She waved Bradley away, frantic that he leave while he had the chance. His retreating back was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes and let her body go slack.

  To his credit, the major didn’t allow her to hit the ground. He gathered her in his arms and walked away from the troopers.

  “Should I get Doc?”

  Louisa opened one eye to peek. Lieutenant Hennessey jogged along beside them.

  “Let’s get her to the house first. It was that impudent Willis who upset her.”

  Louisa’s throat tightened. Bradley had nothing to do with it. Why did the major assume the worst of him?

  Major Adams carried her like she weighed nothing, but her heart was heavy. Hiding her frustration was a challenge, especially while being carried in his arms. Really she wanted nothing more than to be able to pinch him hard at that moment. Or leave another egg-sized knot on his noggin.

  They went up the steps of the major’s house, and Lieutenant Hennessey threw open the front door. Next thing she knew, she was lying on the sofa. How did one credibly recover from a faint? Probably by acting weak and groggy, not angry and ready for a fight. Thinking through her response, she began by fluttering her eyes and moaning.

  “Here’s some water,” Lieutenant Hennessey said.

  “You can go now.” Major Adams’s hand brushed her hair from her face with unaccountable tenderness. Where had that come from? She began to calm. Now wasn’t the time to confront him. She needed his favor. She needed to stay longer if she was going to turn his opinion of Bradley. She needed to stop enjoying the attention the major was paying her at that moment. Maybe she felt weak and groggy, after all.

  “Don’t you think that Doc—”

  “Jack, I can handle this.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Daniel.”

  Louisa opened her eyes and caught Jack’s knowing grin, but Daniel—Major Adams—was watching her.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  She nodded. Jack’s eyes darted between the two of them. Without another word from his commander, he left, humming a ditty in three-quarter time.

  Seated on the sofa next to her, Major Adams lifted a glass of water to her lips. She sat up and took it out of his hand. She was thirsty and eager to end the charade. Maybe too eager.

  “How’s your ankle?”

  She’d almost forgotten her injury. “It’s fine, really. The sharp pain made my head spin, but now it’s gone.”

  His face betrayed no emotion, only intense interest as he took in her words. She felt there was more to be said.

  “
I wasn’t offended by the trooper’s question,” she added. “There was no call for you to talk to him like that.”

  The major leaned away. He took the glass from her hand and set it on the hearth, out of her reach.

  “I apologize for not practicing better judgment,” he said at last.

  “Some people just let their temper get the better of them.”

  “I’m not talking about my temper,” he said. “My mistake was taking you out after dark. It won’t happen again.”

  Louisa pressed her fist against her chest to stifle a sharp hiccup. So far he’d treated her respectfully and expected his daughters to do the same. This was the first time he’d openly opposed her. She understood the warning, loud and clear.

  He stood, and although he didn’t speak, an order had been given just the same. Their night was over. She’d disappointed him, but she didn’t know how to avoid it. Despite her regret, Bradley’s career came first.

  Worried that she’d ruined everything, Louisa headed to the stairs, so distracted that she forgot to limp.

  Chapter Ten

  The morning sky had just begun to lighten in the east. A yellow cast on the horizon chased the stars to the west, where they’d stay cool and out of the blistering sun that could wreak havoc on any summer day.

  Daniel had dealt with sun sickness in his men before. He’d revived men who had fallen from exhaustion. He’d tended to injured troopers who had passed out from pain. He’d carried unconscious victims of Indian raids to safety. He’d recently been knocked out himself and was still suffering from a painful knot on his head.

  But Miss Bell had not been unconscious last night.

  Instead of heading toward the green, he turned just outside the gate. His footprints marred the wet grass until he left the lawn and hit the longer grasses of the field. He nodded to the dairyman driving the milk cans in from the barn, but he didn’t stop to talk. He had some thinking to do.

  For starters, one did not heartily declare their intention to faint, then direct someone else to leave before proceeding to drop. For whatever reason, Miss Bell had arranged for Private Willis to escape in the midst of her distress. Secondly, unconscious people did not hold their heads upright while being carried. They did not keep their hands clasped neatly together while being handled. He’d known the instant she was in his arms that she had no need for the service, but he’d carried her anyway.

  And he’d do it again.

  The post commander didn’t need to get his hands dirty. He could have ordered anyone, including a verified doctor from the fort’s hospital, to attend to Miss Bell, but he’d rejected the idea immediately. Instead, he’d played along with her ruse. But why? Maybe because she’d been so kind about his injury. Maybe because she hadn’t told anyone about finding him crumpled up on the prairie. Maybe because he enjoyed cradling her against his body . . .

  Daniel stopped and watched the sun rise over the horizon. What was happening to him? Not once since Margaret had died had he felt his loneliness so keenly. The cavalry had kept them separated for much of their marriage, and after her death, he used to pretend that she was still at her parents’ home in Galveston, waiting with the children for him to return. Over time, that fantasy could not be maintained, but by then his grief had been replaced by determination to plow ahead with his family and succeed in his career. When he was moved to officers’ quarters, the girls had joined him, and he applied himself to caring for them and the hundreds of troops who relied on him.

  He’d thought he could raise the girls on his own, and if Edna hadn’t meddled, he would still think that. But his former mother-in-law was right. Caroline and Daisy needed a woman in their life. And perhaps Daniel did, too.

  Miss Bell. Educated, poised, nurturing, and kind—she was a beautiful, fascinating woman. But something was amiss. Yes, she was comely, but attraction did not siphon away his intellect. It would take more than beauty to draw him off the scent, and something smelled rotten. What had she gained from her performance? And why did she want to keep Private Willis away from him? That might be at the root of the mystery. She’d asked the girls how she could meet a trooper. Was Private Willis her intended target?

  He started back toward the house, the center abode on Officers’ Row. It was Sunday and quiet on the fort. He was surprised Miss Bell hadn’t asked about their Sabbath observance at the fort chapel. He’d expect a governess sent by Mennonite missionaries would think ahead to worship. Perhaps she’d forgotten what day it was.

  Or perhaps Miss Bell had more on her mind than he had accounted for.

  He slipped inside the house. The girls should be coming downstairs soon. Breakfast would be sparse, as it was Private Gundy’s day off, so he might need to lend a hand to help Caroline get food on the table this morning.

  He walked past his office and caught sight of the chessboard. Where was his white bishop? He’d moved it to stop the rook’s attack on the queen, but he hadn’t expected the knight to take it out. Why hadn’t he seen that?

  And the even bigger question . . . had he moved it himself and forgotten? No one else had been in here.

  As far as Daniel could tell, his head was fine. The headache had faded, but would he know if he’d knocked himself cattywampus in the fall? And how could an accident improve his chess skills?

  He stuck his head out the office door and bellowed, “Come on down and get breakfast ready.”

  The sound of feet in the rooms above signaled progress, so he returned to the chessboard. His first inclination was to take out the knight, but was he walking into a trap? Or could he move his queen somewhere safer? This time he wouldn’t make a hasty decision. They might be late for church, but he wasn’t leaving the board without knowing that he’d played his best move.

  By the time the girls were in the kitchen, Daniel was confident of his play. It was subtle, it was sophisticated, and it was the correct response. Now if he could only station a guard in his office so he’d know if he himself was playing the opposing team. Actually, he could station a guard—one of the benefits of being the post commander—but he’d have a hard time explaining why he wanted his office guarded from himself.

  One last look at the board, then he reached up to move the arrowhead, but again it was already pointing to the black side. Head-injury Daniel might be a better chess player, but he kept forgetting to move the stone. Daniel smiled at the ridiculousness of the situation. It was Sunday, the sky was clear, and his household was running efficiently. He deserved a laugh—especially if it was at his own expense.

  Still musing, he walked around the corner and collided with Miss Bell.

  He caught her by her arms to keep her from falling backward. Her hands flew to his chest. He froze at the sight of her, his fingers registering the softest fabric. Her blue eyes opened wide, her lips parted, and her lively blond hair draped over her shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to release her. Then he became aware of their surroundings, of her surroundings, of her clothing in particular. The prudish schoolmarm dress had been replaced by a rose gown of satin. He felt her beauty all the way to his gut. And she was probably wondering why he still had a hold of her.

  “I’m doomed,” he breathed.

  “What?” she asked.

  What was he talking about? He released her like she was wrapped in barbed wire. Was he having another vision? He rubbed his eyes, but she hadn’t disappeared. And the gown she wore, narrow and clinging, didn’t magically change into an ugly mourning dress, either.

  “What are you wearing?” he finally managed. Maybe it wasn’t a polite question, but he desperately needed to know.

  “It’s a dressing gown.” Her forehead wrinkled in uncertainty. She shoved her hands into its fur-lined pockets. “Is something wrong?”

  “You can’t wear that to church.”

  At the word church, she lowered her eyes. “I’ve worn the same dress all week, so I thought I’d better wash it today. I didn’t think you had a church out here. As far as this old thing—” she lif
ted the pockets up, her hands still inside, then flopped them against her—“this is just an old dressing gown, but I have to wear something around the house, don’t I?”

  “Yes, you most certainly do,” he barked. What was he doing? He ran his hand through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. Something holy. That was what he needed to focus on. “I assumed you would be looking forward to Sunday services. The chaplain is quite good.”

  A black sash at her waist held the robe closed, and now she was twisting it around her wrist. “Maybe next week, then. But I don’t want to make you and your family late. I was just headed to the kitchen for some breakfast.”

  Which was where he had been headed, but not anymore. He took another look at the silky wrapper and wondered. Could she be so innocent that she didn’t understand the effect she had on him?

  “I was just going upstairs,” he said, “to get my Bible.”

  Not waiting for her to leave, he stepped around her and stomped up the stairs. He hadn’t told her what to expect on Sunday, but still, he was disappointed. He wanted her to set a good example for his daughters instead of lounging the day away in a silk robe. In his house. While he was away.

  If anyone needed church at that moment, it was him.

  Louisa used to enjoy Sundays, but yesterday had been the longest day of her life. With the family gone, the house had been as quiet as a tomb. Too afraid to look for Bradley in broad daylight, Louisa had wandered around the house in her dressing gown, feeling unaccepted, unclothed, and unwelcome.

  She couldn’t go where everyone else went. She couldn’t be who they were. And now, as she looked over Caroline’s botany essay, she wondered what it would have been like to grow up without the shame and dread that followed her every step. Maybe her dreams for the future were impossible. Would living in a respectable neighborhood really make her a lady, or would she feel as inadequate as she did here? Her mother had always claimed that Louisa was no better than she was. That Louisa shouldn’t judge her because sooner or later, she’d be earning a living selling her favors as well.