“What happened?”
“His sergeant reported the platoon had taken fire near Reynosa and that no one could find Anderson.”
“He ran away?” Ethan asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
Sergeant Howell shrugged. “Nobody knows for sure. When you’re taking fire, life can be a bit chaotic. A fellow has to find cover and figure out how to return fire, and he’s got to do all that in about two seconds. Unless there’s some officer barking orders in his ear, he just does the best he can.”
Ethan emptied his cup and set it on the table. “When did Anderson show up?”
“Five days after he left. Came back with about half of his platoon and a map of the artillery locations.”
“How did he explain what happened?”
“As far as I know, nobody asked. It’s not uncommon for troops to get separated during battle. His superiors probably figured that’s what happened.”
“Don’t tell me he was a hero.”
“Oh, there were some suspicions, especially among the enlisted, but…” Sergeant Howell shrugged his shoulders again.
It wasn’t evidence of malfeasance and it didn’t answer the question that worried Ethan the most. “Has he ever been in trouble for hurting civilians?”
Sergeant Howell moved his gaze from the parade ground to Ethan. “Not that I’ve ever heard of. Do you know something I don’t?”
Ethan tilted his head. “Maybe. But I’m not free to talk about it.”
“Speaking of which,” Sergeant Howell replied, “I’m depending on you to keep this conversation private. If one of the officers finds out I’ve been talking to you about Army business…”
“Don’t worry.” Ethan offered his hand to shake on the agreement. “Now, are you going to pay me for those cattle or do I have to squeeze it out of you?”
Sergeant Howell shook Ethan’s hand and smiled. “I’d like to see a scrawny civilian like you try. Come on. I’ve got your money sitting in my strongbox.”
* * *
Naomi threaded her embroidery needle and smiled at the rag doll’s blank face. Two eyes, a nose, and a smile would transform the plain muslin into a child’s favorite toy. Perhaps she’d add eyebrows and a few freckles—something to set this doll apart from the others.
Veronica Wright, a young woman near Naomi’s age, sat down next to her. “I see you’ve decided to give that doll brown eyes.”
Naomi smiled at her new friend. “That’s right. The blue thread was almost gone.”
“I love this part of Christmas,” Veronica said. “Seeing the children’s faces when they receive the gifts…it’s really beautiful.”
Christmas in Naomi’s house had always been a subdued occasion, especially since her mother’s death. Sharing the holy day with an entire congregation would surely be a move in the right direction. “How are the toys distributed?”
Veronica smiled broadly, displaying two deep dimples in each cheek. “We have a Christmas party for the children. The girls get a doll or a stuffed animal and the boys usually choose building blocks or carved animal figures.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Oh, it is.”
Naomi returned her attention to the doll’s face and let her mind wander. Whosoever shall receive one such little child in my name, receiveth Me. By making small gifts, she and the others were demonstrating kindness and love toward the children of the church. Did the verse mean they were also showing kindness and love toward their Lord?
“You certainly are deep in thought.”
Startled by her grandmother’s voice, Naomi jerked her shoulders and stabbed her finger with the needle.
“Oh, no!” her grandmother cooed. “Give me your hand.”
Naomi lifted her injured finger toward her grandmother who quickly wrapped it in a handkerchief.
“Sorry to cause you to hurt yourself,” her grandmother said with a kind smile. “I see you’ve met Veronica.”
Naomi and Veronica exchanged a smile. “Yes. She was just telling me how much the children love the presents.”
“When you see their eyes light up, you’ll forget all about pricking your finger.”
Naomi pulled her hand free and unwrapped her finger. “It’s nothing. See? It’s already stopped bleeding.”
Her grandmother patted Naomi’s shoulder and walked toward a group of women. When her grandmother had seated herself among her friends, Veronica scooted her chair closer to Naomi. “I overheard your grandmother telling my mother that Lieutenant Bret Anderson called on you.”
Naomi bit back a smile. News certainly traveled fast in Loma Verde. “Do you know him?”
“Not really,” Veronica answered. “I see him in town sometimes, but we’re not acquainted. Life in Loma Verde certainly has improved since Fort Croghan opened. Those soldiers make fine dancing partners.”
“Do you think they’ll come to the Harvest Dance?”
“They came last year. Do you know Michael Benson?”
Naomi shook her head.
Veronica’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks turned primrose pink. “He’s taken a shine to me. He’s not quite as tall as Lieutenant Anderson and he’s not as handsome, but he suits me just fine.”
“He’s courting you?”
“Not exactly, but he’s called on me a few times. He asked my father if he could take me for a buggy ride next Sunday after church.”
“Sounds like courting to me.”
Veronica shifted her gaze to a nearby group of ladies, as if to confirm that no one could overhear their conversation. “Well, he has to get my father’s approval before we move forward. Right now, we’re just testing the waters.”
Finished with the doll’s eyes, Naomi chose a light pink thread for the lips. “Have you always lived in Loma Verde?”
“Born and raised. My father owns the mercantile.”
“Oh, of course. My grandmother and I have been there many times. In fact, Grandmother told me we have to stop there to pick up some books she ordered.”
“Mrs. Fairchild is always buying books. Papa says she must be planning to start a library.”
“I don’t know about that, but she does have quite a few. I’ve enjoyed reading them since I arrived. Do you know Ethan Garrett?”
Veronica nodded. “Of course I do. Everybody knows everybody in Loma Verde. Why do you ask?”
“Grandmother told me we’re going by his house to deliver some of the books to him.”
Veronica leaned back in her chair and laid her sewing on her lap. “I wish I could go with you. Not only is Ethan Garrett a good-looking man, he’s got his own place.”
Naomi ducked her head to hide her smile. Veronica was obviously the fickle type. Was she smitten with a Fort Croghan soldier or enamored with Ethan Garrett? “You and Ethan must have grown up together.”
“He’s a few years older than I am, but we were in school together for a while.”
“Who was the teacher?”
“Miss Fortner. That’s her right over there. She’s Mrs. O’Brien now.”
Naomi looked at the group of women Veronica had indicated. The former teacher sat in a wooden rocking chair, listening to her friends. She’d covered her braided white hair with a cap and her face bore many deep lines.
Veronica picked up her sewing. “Ethan isn’t like most of the cowboys around here.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When Ethan and I were in school, we had a classmate named Otto. He was the biggest boy I’d ever seen. Taller than my daddy and twice as round. The other boys used to tease him something awful. He walked to school, even in the worst weather, and they’d ask if he’d killed his horse by sitting on it.”
A pang of sympathy for the boy passed through Naomi’s heart. “That’s awful.”
“Every day, there’d be some new joke the boys would play on him. They hid his books, glued his slate to the table…they even rubbed a hot chile pepper on his pen.”
“A pepper? What did that do?”
“When Otto rubbed his eye he started howling and tearing up. The rowdies laughed and accused him of crying like a big baby.”
A stronger pain coiled in Naomi’s chest. “I can’t believe the teacher let this go on.”
“Miss Fortner tried to stop it, but you know how boys can be. Otto was about ready to break a few noses when Ethan Garrett put a stop to it.”
“How did he do that?”
“Became Otto’s friend. We were having lunch outside one day when Otto went to the outhouse. Right away, the boys put their heads together, planning another diabolical trick. But when Otto came back, Ethan put his arm around Otto’s shoulder and steered him away from the troublemakers. After that, Ethan and Otto were best buddies.”
“That’s all it took to stop the teasing?”
“You don’t understand,” Veronica said with a soft laugh. “Every boy wanted to be like Ethan Garrett. Ethan could outride and outshoot anybody. Every year, after roundup, the men get together by the livery to compete against each other. Even as a boy, Ethan could beat grown men.”
Naomi had heard of such competitions among cowhands. “The vaqueros do that in San Antonio. They call it a charreada.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
“Women aren’t allowed to attend, but I’ve heard men talk about it. It sounds quite exciting.”
“Well, I’ve never been to a charreada, but anybody who doesn’t mind the dust can watch the show at the livery.”
“Does Ethan Garrett still compete?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Does Otto still live in Loma Verde?”
“Heavens, no. His family moved a long time ago.”
Naomi wanted to ask her new friend more questions but her grandmother was walking toward her. “Is it time to leave?”
“Yes, it is. Most everyone needs to get home in order to start dinner.” Ruth leaned over to examine Naomi’s handiwork. “I didn’t know you were such an artist with a needle and thread. I hope the girl who receives this doll knows how special it is.”
Naomi’s heart swelled under her grandmother’s praise. “If we can get more thread at the mercantile, I can continue to work on the dolls at home.”
“That’s the spirit,” her grandmother exclaimed. “Let’s get our things and walk over there now. Veronica, would you like to accompany us?”
The young woman flashed her dimples again. “Thanks for the invitation, Mrs. Fairchild, but I promised Mother I’d help her clean the sanctuary today.”
It was a short walk from the church hall to the mercantile. In the bright November sunshine, the buildings that made up Loma Verde reflected the autumn sunlight like small moons. Although it was a far cry from the bustling city of San Antonio, it was a pleasant town where hard-working families strove to create a secure future. It was the kind of place Naomi could build her own life, free from the expectations of her father.
Augustus Wright, the proprietor of the mercantile, hailed Naomi’s grandmother as they entered. “Morning, Mrs. Fairchild. What can I do for you this beautiful morning?”
“We’ve just come from the Ladies’ Circle and we need some embroidery floss. Plus the books I ordered.”
Mr. Wright straightened and focused his attention on the ladies. “Did you see my Veronica there?”
Naomi heard a note of concern in the shopkeeper’s voice. “She and I had a lovely visit,” Naomi answered. “She told me wonderful stories about life in Loma Verde.”
Mr. Wright’s eyebrows drew together. “Not gossiping, I hope.”
“Oh, no,” Naomi hastened to clarify. “Just a bit of history.”
Veronica’s father appeared to be appeased by her answer. “The threads are right over here, miss.” He stepped behind a counter and withdrew a tray of sewing notions. “Pick out the colors you’d like. Mrs. Fairchild, I’ll be right back with your books.”
Her grandmother joined her at the counter. “What was that all about?” Naomi whispered.
“Just an anxious father keeping an eye on his daughter,” her grandmother answered in a low voice. “Veronica has been known to disobey her parents whenever a handsome man pays attention.”
Mr. Wright reentered the store. “Here you are, Mrs. Fairchild. Three new books for your collection.”
Her grandmother took the thread they’d selected and joined the storekeeper at the opposite counter. While she completed the transaction, Naomi stepped outside to wait. Veronica Wright hadn’t seemed the type to flaunt the dictates of the church and society, but she had talked excitedly about Ethan Garrett and the soldier from Fort Croghan. Maybe Veronica was like most girls, anxious to fall in love and marry.
Naomi wasn’t so different. She’d enjoyed Lucas Simpson’s attentions while they’d lasted, and Lieutenant Anderson was more handsome and more dashing than Lucas could ever be. If Bret asked her grandmother to court her, Naomi’s heart would take wing.
Her grandmother joined her on the boardwalk outside the store. “Will you please hold these?” she asked, passing three books to Naomi.
Naomi examined the books as she followed her grandmother to their buggy. The Count of Monte Cristo, The Deerslayer, Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson. “I’ve never known a cowboy who liked literature.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t put Ethan in the same corral as other cowboys,” her grandmother said with a chuckle. “He’s his own man.”
“You’ve known him a long time?”
“Since he was a pup. He’s been a good friend to me, especially since your grandfather died. Life would have been a lot harder if I hadn’t been able to rely on Ethan.”
Loma Verde fell behind them as Ruth drove the buggy west. There wasn’t much to the town—one church, one school, one blacksmith with a livery, one stagecoach station, one mercantile, a smattering of small, wood-frame houses, and the saloon. No matter how small the town, there was always a place for men to get drunk and cause trouble. Fort Croghan was nearby, but she wasn’t sure of its exact location.
A smile came to her lips as Lieutenant Anderson resurfaced in her mind. What was he doing at this time of day? Drilling his men? Writing correspondence to Washington? Perhaps he was on patrol, routing out nests of highwaymen before they could prey on innocent travelers. Whatever it was, Naomi was sure he cut quite a dashing figure. No doubt, he rode at the head of his troops, leading them with confidence and bravery, earning the respect of officers and enlisted men alike.
To be the wife of an army officer must be exciting. The wives served their country every bit as much as their husbands. They cared for their soldier, followed him loyally from post to post, and courageously watched him march into danger. Such a romantic life, such passion and pathos all rolled into one.
Naomi let her mind drift as she rode in silence beside her grandmother. Being in Loma Verde certainly had lifted her spirits. She was no longer at her stepmother’s beck and call, no longer expected to care for children and run the household. At her grandmother’s small house, she had privacy and freedom, two privileges she had once taken for granted.
The sun was at its zenith when her grandmother finally turned off the main road. “Here we are,” she said. “I’ve always thought the Garrett place had one of the best situated ranch houses in the county.”
Naomi gazed at the stone-and-timber house atop a low hill. Large oaks shaded most of the house and a rocky stream flowed nearby, a convenient source of water for the house and livestock. It was much larger than her grandmother’s house and featured wide porches roofed with intertwined branches. Several horses dozed in a corral attached to a large stone barn.
“Every time I come here,” Ruth said, “I feel like the house is saying, ‘Come sit on the porch and visit a while. I’ll keep you dry in the rain and cool in the summer.’”
Naomi laughed at her grandmother’s statement. “Doesn’t your house do the same?”
“Your grandfather built our house to meet the needs of the moment. We never added on or improved it much. The Garretts, however, had bi
gger dreams.”
“What do you mean?”
“After your mother was born, I knew I wouldn’t have more children. But Ethan’s mother gave birth to four children, so their house was built for a large family.”
“Where are Ethan’s brothers and sisters now?”
“They didn’t make it past childhood. Only Ethan was strong enough to fight off every fever and illness that slithered through Loma Verde.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s a sad but ever-present fact of life. If we didn’t have the Lord’s promise of eternal life, I don’t know how anyone would survive such a loss.”
Her grandmother stopped the buggy beside the house, tied the reins to the brake handle, and climbed down. Naomi followed her onto the porch, the books tucked into the crook of her arm. Much to her surprise, Ruth entered the house without knocking. She must have seen the shock on Naomi’s face because she laughed. “Don’t worry, Ethan’s not home. This time of day, he’s off working somewhere. The only time you’ll find Ethan at home is before dawn or after dusk.”
The interior of the house was as elegant as anything in the finer houses of San Antonio. Upholstered furniture filled a small parlor to the left and a formal dining room was situated to her right. Sunlight streamed through uncovered windows, illuminating a coat of dust on every surface.
Her grandmother shook her head. “All of Susanna’s beautiful things and no one to appreciate them. We used to meet here every week for our sewing circle, and look at it now. I feel like I’m in a graveyard.”
“Ethan doesn’t use these rooms?”
“Heavens, no. He’s a man, and all he needs is a kitchen and a bedroom. Follow me to the back of the house. We’ll leave the books on the kitchen table.”
The darkened kitchen fireplace told of decades of cooking, but there was also a small cast iron stove suitable for baking. “This looks a lot like your kitchen,” Naomi said.
“Yes, I suppose it does. Susanna was a wonderful cook. I can still picture her working here, singing a hymn as she prepared a meal.”
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