“You needed help. You were hurt.”
“But you could’ve called for help. I assume you weren’t out there alone.”
Because in Major Adams’s world, a lady never went around unchaperoned. Louisa pushed the handkerchief’s lace aside and looked at the stain again. “Where did you find this?”
“The washerwoman found it in my coat pocket, covered with my blood, no doubt.” He picked up a chess piece and rolled it between his fingers. “Going out by myself and risking my neck was foolish of me. I deserved your scorn, but you responded with kindness.”
“And now I know why you did it,” she said.
“A challenge. After seeing Private Willis’s skill, I had to know if I could do it. And then I was caught by my governess.”
Louisa raised her head. “I am your children’s governess, not yours.”
“True. You are not my governess.” His eyes traveled over her face. She felt her skin grow warm. “Yet my embarrassment is the same. Thank you for not telling anyone.”
He wanted the truth, right? Louisa ducked her head. “I told Lieutenant Hennessey.”
“Jack knows? What did you tell him?” Major Adams looked like nothing more than a little boy trying to get his story straight.
“That you were standing in the saddle, and you fell and hit your head.”
He groaned. He rested his elbows on his knees again and covered his eyes. “He’s known all along?”
“He promised he wouldn’t say anything,” Louisa said. “Especially about me holding you on my lap.”
The major pulled his hands down and peered at her over his fingers. He’d gone very still. “That’s the part I remember best.”
With the major awake and possessing his wits, discussing the incident was more intimate than the actual event. Their gazes remained locked as both relived the moment. Louisa’s memory had to be superior, since she wasn’t hurt, but from the way Major Adams looked, it had moved him, too. The girls could be heard murmuring quietly upstairs as they settled into their beds. Horses at the stables whinnied. What did he think of her, behaving like that?
Louisa started to rise.
He was on his feet immediately. “You can’t go. Not until I thank you for caring for me while I was incapacitated. That was very brave of you,” he continued.
“No need to mention it again.” She was finding it easier to breathe.
“What is your given name, Miss Bell?”
Her breathing got tight again. “Louisa.”
“May I call you Louisa, please? Not in front of the children, of course, but when it’s only us talking together as adults?”
She couldn’t deny that the memory of him in her arms was coming back with a strength that confounded her. And now it was bolstered by the knowledge of him, of his character and all that he’d accomplished. This handsome man had been only handsome before. Now he had her respect.
“You may.” She gulped and, forgetting all about the role she was playing, said what was honestly on her mind. “And your name is Daniel?”
His gaze deepened. “Be my guest.”
He watched her lips, as if waiting for her to repeat it, so she did.
“Daniel.”
Strange to call him that. She knew him as the commander, and she knew him as the girls’ father, but now, in possession of his name . . . he was a man to her. Just a simple man. It was better, she decided, that they’d had this conversation. Better for it to finally be out in the open.
“I’m glad we met that way,” he said. “It tells me something about your character. It tells me that you are tenderhearted toward people who should know better. It tells me that you have a lovely singing voice, although you hide it, and it makes me wonder what else you keep hidden.” He halted. “The blue dress,” he said. “You brought a satchel full of clothes. There was a crate of books, but there was also a bag of clothing. And yet you wore the same outfit all this time.”
“I’ve worn a few nicer skirts,” she said, “and the dressing gown. Don’t forget the dressing gown.”
His eyes warmed. “I could never forget the dressing gown, but where are the rest of your clothes?”
Louisa caught her reflection in the dark windowpane. How calm she looked. How ashamed she felt. “They’re not really appropriate for teaching children,” she said.
But then again, neither was she.
Chapter Sixteen
Indiscriminate grace. Was that the term for it? Obviously, Miss Bell suffered from some sort of fondness for miscreants, or else she never would have come to his aid. Daniel chewed on the end of his pen as he gazed out his office window the next week. He’d wondered what a beautiful, graceful, educated woman like Louisa was doing, taking a lowly governess position in Indian Territory. The truth appeared to be that she was too kindhearted for her own good. It would be un-Christian to consider that a flaw, but it was a characteristic that merited monitoring.
Unscrupulous men preyed on such women, eliciting their sympathy and taking advantage of them. Daniel’s job was to protect all the Cheyenne and Arapaho Reservation, the Darlington Agency, and Fort Reno. It was no stretch to include Miss Bell in that assignment.
“Major Adams, mail call.”
“Come in,” he called. Sergeant Byrd was a capable soldier who, although healthy, somehow evoked the sense of one who had survived a life-threatening injury. Another man Louisa would be inclined to save.
Daniel took the letters, dismissed the trooper, and started thinking how there were generous souls like Louisa who needed protecting, and then there were women like Edna Crawford.
The top envelope bore the familiar handwriting of his mother-in-law. He’d written Edna to assure her that he’d found a suitable governess, but evidently his report didn’t suffice. According to her letter, if she didn’t receive more specific information about Miss Bell’s qualifications, she would travel to Fort Reno and interview her herself. Daniel dropped the letter on his desk. He’d asked Agent Dyer to check into Louisa’s records, but he hadn’t heard anything yet. What was Daniel supposed to do? He didn’t have time to investigate a governess. He had a fort to run.
But the next letter wiped away his excuses. The agency stationery was still crisp and firm, having traveled just a few miles and never going into the leather mail pouch. Daniel eyed it warily. His letter opener sliced through the envelope, and a smaller, sealed envelope fell onto his desk as he pulled out Agent Dyer’s letter.
Major Adams,
As you requested, I wrote the Mennonite Missionary Society concerning Miss Bell. I am forwarding their response to you unopened. I hope the answer is satisfactory.
Your servant,
Agent Dyer
Daniel lowered himself into his chair. A letter with Miss Bell’s qualifications and references? That was just what Edna wanted. He could open that envelope and in a few moments have an answer that would put her in her place. He picked up the envelope from the missionary society and reached for his letter opener. The razor edge scratched against the paper, and he paused. What if the answer didn’t please Edna? What if, for instance, Louisa’s schooling wasn’t vigorous enough to suit his mother-in-law? What if Edna expected, like Daniel had, an older widow to teach her granddaughters?
The neat print on the envelope took on a sinister cast. What did he need to know about Louisa beyond what he already knew? Yes, she was unconventional, but hadn’t she proved herself already? There was the issue of her behavior with Private Willis, but now that Daniel had identified Louisa’s generosity as the problem, he didn’t doubt her character.
He dropped the letter opener and picked up his pen. He would write Agent Dyer, thanking him for getting the information. As for Edna, he didn’t need to answer to her. They were his daughters, and Miss Bell worked for him. She was his responsibility, so why was everyone acting like Louisa was any of their business?
His pen moved on the paper.
My Dearest . . .
The words startled him. He hadn’t meant to w
rite them—not to his mother-in-law and certainly not to Agent Dyer. So who was he addressing? The answer was only too obvious.
He sat with eyes closed and pen readied, but instead of reliving the moment he’d awakened to feel her cool hand on his brow, he had even better memories to cherish. Her sparkling eyes as she bested him at chess. The way she curled up on the sofa with Daisy pulled tight to her side as they read a book together. Showing Caroline how to arrange her hair. These memories meant more to him now.
His pen moved on the page again, and what he wrote had nothing to do with employment.
Every time I see you, I’m filled with the desire to know you more, but something is holding you back. Is it fear? Whatever you’re afraid of, I wish you’d trust me to take care of it, but with all the eyes watching our every move, I must be careful.
He paused. He wasn’t going to give her this letter. It was too personal. Almost a journal entry. He shouldn’t even put it on paper, but writing his thoughts clarified them.
I must be careful, not just because I want to protect your reputation, but because I need to protect my judgment. At times, I feel like I’m being unwise where you are concerned. And at times, I desperately want my heart to win at any cost.
How empty his house would feel without her. How off-balance the dinner table would be. How long his nights without her company in the parlor.
Boots on gravel. He glanced out the window and saw the top of Sergeant Nothem’s head. He was coming this way. Daniel slid his lonely musings into his portfolio as if the correspondence were top secret. A guilty conscience caused him to grasp the unopened envelope as well. He’d asked for this. He’d wanted answers. Did he still want answers? What if it didn’t contain the answers he was looking for?
That was ridiculous. Daniel took out a match and struck it against his desk. Hadn’t he discussed with Louisa how the truth could set one free? He held the flame to the envelope, then shook out the match. He knew the truth in his heart. Louisa was a good woman. He didn’t need a piece of paper from a stranger to tell him that. The flame warmed his fingers as it licked the paper brown, then black. He would trust her. That was his decision.
Sergeant Nothem knocked as the ashes started to crumble. Daniel tossed the burning letter into his cold fireplace, picked up his portfolio, and hurried to answer the door.
Louisa dipped her paintbrush into the canning jar and gave it a swirl. Caroline had continually grieved over the finer arts she was supposed to learn at her grandmother’s, supposing that Louisa was dead-set on book learning, but nothing could be further from the truth.
On the back porch of the house, the ladies could practice their painting uninterrupted. While the view of endless prairie didn’t offer much by way of inspiration, the porch did keep them out of the troopers’ curious view. And after last week’s visit with Daniel, Louisa could use a bit of breathing room.
“What are you painting?” Daisy sat on the porch step with a canvas propped against a washtub.
“It’s a surprise,” Caroline said. “We aren’t supposed to show it until we’re finished.”
That had been Louisa’s idea. While she had painted many a backdrop for the stage, she’d never taught painting and didn’t have a clue how to help improve theirs. Better to let them go their own way and compliment the painting when it was done.
Two thoughts warred in Louisa’s breast as she dabbed her brush into the blue and began to splash a vast sky on her canvas. First, her time in the Adams household was forming her dreams into solid, concrete possibilities. Before, she’d had vague ideas about the kind of work she could do once her performing days were over. Now she knew exactly what she wanted. Being responsible for the girls, being a mentor, exploring the world with them—she never thought the connection would mean so much to her.
Second, the more she grew to appreciate the respectable life, the more important it was that she continue doing something disreputable—mainly misleading Daniel about who she was and why she had come to the fort. She was in a quandary. Only through her dishonesty could she someday be a proper lady. She wasn’t hurting anyone, she told herself. And what other option was available?
“Do you want to see mine?” Daisy scrambled to her feet, carrying her picture, and Louisa saw a field of daisies spread over a gentle hill.
“Daisy, that’s beautiful,” Louisa said. She caught the canvas by the corner and held it up. The colors of the field faded, giving the painting a sense of depth that was impressive, considering the age of the artist. “You surprise me. This is really good.”
“Thank you. I just painted what I saw in my head.” Daisy’s eyes sparkled, and she bounced on her toes.
“There!” Caroline made a last jot and then stepped away from her canvas. “I’m done, too.” She picked up her canvas and proudly turned around to display it.
“Oh . . .” Louisa covered her mouth. Caroline had painted a similar landscape, but without the skill of her younger sister. On top of that, she’d ambitiously added a few cows to the pasture. Or were they horses? Louisa cocked her head and stepped back. Had she not known better, she would have thought the girls had traded canvases.
“Goodness, Caroline. I can’t believe you did that all by yourself,” Louisa finally said.
Caroline beamed. “It’s been years since I used these watercolors, but I guess you never forget how.” She smiled at Daisy. “And if you keep practicing, soon you’ll be as good as I am.”
Louisa drew in a quick breath. Could Caroline really not see what a mess her painting was? If not, Daisy would soon set her straight.
But Daisy responded with surprising grace. “I’ll keep practicing. But show us yours, Miss Bell.”
Louisa didn’t claim any special talents in painting. Usually her work was only viewed from a distance by moderately intoxicated men, but at least one could tell that the painting was of a party. A room full of gaily dressed gentlemen and ladies who, although simply drawn, had very colorful costumes.
“What is that woman wearing?” Caroline stuck her nose just inches from the surface. “And that one? Is that how they dress in the city?”
“It’s formal attire,” Louisa said, “for fancy parties.”
Daisy joined in. “I don’t think so. When we visited Grandmother in Galveston, no one wore anything that bright. And look how much skin is showing on top.”
“End of painting lesson,” Louisa said. “Let’s bring these inside so the wind doesn’t blow them over.”
“Or stick dirt and grass to the wet paint,” Daisy said as she held her masterpiece at arm’s length.
As soon as the girls went inside, Louisa grabbed her paintbrush and swirled it against the black paint. Then, biting her tongue, she covered each of her ladies with a cheerless, dark shawl. There! She stood back to look at the figures. Honestly, their dresses hadn’t been scandalous for evening wear, but out here she’d only seen simple cotton gowns that buttoned up to the neck. Didn’t these ladies have any imagination?
Louisa’s imagination, on the other hand, had been working overtime. Lately, she’d been imagining a future where her position as governess lasted for years. Where she belonged with a family like the Adamses.
The girls had run their paintings upstairs to their room. They were supposed to return with their books. On the excuse of looking for their slates, Louisa headed toward Daniel’s office and heard the crinkle of paper beneath her foot just outside the door. Pivoting the toe of her boot, she saw a sheet of stationery on the floor. The only crease in it was the one she’d just added. The girls in their hurry had run right past it.
Had someone left this for the major? She picked it up and carried it into his office. It didn’t feel as strange going in the room as it used to. The wood varnish of the desk smelled masculine. Ink, wool, leather—she closed her eyes and took a deep whiff of the now-familiar mixture. She’d know what room she was in without even looking. A noise from the open window reminded her that she didn’t want to be caught lingering. She just nee
ded to put the letter on the desk, and . . .
My Dearest,
Louisa’s jaw dropped. Her eyes jumped to the end, but there was no signature. She started at the beginning again.
Every time I see you, I’m filled with the desire to know you more . . .
She tried to digest what she was reading. Who would have the nerve to slide this beneath the door of their commander’s house and risk his fury? The naked yearning on the page made her blush. What would it be like to have a man think those things about her? She pressed the letter to her chest, trying to imagine a man declaring his love to her, and that man bore a shocking resemblance to Major Adams.
She chided herself. She should be content with him allowing her in his house. She didn’t dare ask for more.
But who was the letter for? There was only one explanation—Caroline. Louisa folded the letter and, after looking around to make sure no one was watching, hid it in her corset. It wasn’t like she was taking something from the major’s office. The letter had been at the door, probably slid beneath it in hopes of Caroline finding it. Louisa shuddered at the horribly reckless move. If this man knew what was good for him, he’d listen to his head. His heart was fixing to lead him into a world of trouble.
Her step faltered. Bradley wouldn’t dare, would he? But the handwriting wasn’t his. Whose, then? Lieutenant Jack’s? Surely not. Perhaps that soulful Sergeant Byrd? He’d caught Caroline’s eye when they walked across the green the day before. Perhaps he was going to tell her to look for the letter, but Louisa had interrupted him.
All her chess matches at the saloon had not taught her the strategy for supervising a young woman of courting age.
Chapter Seventeen
The punishing noon sun found Private Bradley Willis on the prairie, watching as Lieutenant Hennessey and the interpreter Ben Clark approached the band of Arapaho men. Bradley kept his pistol hand free from the reins. Tempers had been running high. Not too long ago, a prominent Cheyenne Dog Soldier by the name of Running Buffalo had been accused of trying to steal ponies from a Texas herd passing through the reservation. When the cowboys had tried to recover the ponies, guns were drawn, and Running Buffalo was shot down. Running Buffalo’s family had then cornered the Texans in a stone bakery, where they were surrounded until the cavalry could rescue them.
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