by Ann Shorey
Ward shouldered past him. “What’ve you got in there?” He jerked the drawer open and flipped the pages. He held up his two missing maps. “This is my work.” He shuffled through the rest of the papers. “You’re writing a report based on stolen information.”
“I can explain.”
“I doubt it.”
Ward stalked out and slammed the door so hard it bounced open. He grabbed the handle and slammed the door again.
His boot heels thudded on the stone floor as he strode to Captain Block’s office. The post commander looked up when he entered. “What is it, Lieutenant?” He shoved a pile of forms to one side, a harassed expression on his face.
Ward stood at attention. “I’ve brought my report regarding a rail line from Independence to St. Joseph, sir.”
“Why are you in such an all-fired hurry?” Captain Block slammed his hand on the desktop. “Biddle and Grisson don’t expect to hear from us until April. In case you missed it, today’s March eighth.” His jaw set in an angry line. “Come back in a few weeks. Right now I’ve got to finish this confounded budget requisition.”
“Sir, I can’t wait. Something has come up with a fellow officer that threatens my work.”
Sighing, the captain ran his fingers through his bristling gray hair. “That’s a serious charge. At ease, Lieutenant. If it were anyone else coming in here with accusations, I’d be inclined to ignore them, but you’ve never given me reason to doubt your word.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ward opened his portfolio and laid the maps in front of the captain. “You can read the full report when you have more time. The gist of my recommendation is that the new rail line be routed through the communities between St. Joseph and Independence, rather than across open prairie.”
The captain blinked. “I don’t see the urgency here.” His gaze strayed to the requisition forms.
Ward’s heart hammered. Once he reported Lieutenant Campion, he couldn’t retract the words. One or the other of them would be disciplined, depending on the outcome. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Lieutenant Mark Campion has been copying my work for his own ends. He threatened me with blackmail last fall.”
“Blackmail! Why didn’t you report him at the time?” Captain Block studied him through narrowed eyes. “You’re not paying, are you?”
“No. I refused, believing that would be the end of it. But he’s planning to submit a report of his own regarding this rail line, accusing me of using false information.” Ward pointed out smudges around the maps. “Lieutenant Campion entered my quarters and took these maps. I discovered them in his room.”
The captain leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Any witnesses?”
Ward felt his courage drain away. “No, sir.”
Turning toward the window, the captain stared out onto the empty parade ground. A long silence stretched between them. Finally he swiveled around and met Ward’s eyes. “I need to think about this. Leave your report. We’ll talk again.”
“Yes, sir.” He saluted and left the room. Instead of returning directly to officers’ quarters, he walked past the ordnance depot and out the east gate to stand on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River. He’d taken an irrevocable step. After a moment he thought of Luellen’s letter. She’d said she had no one in whom to confide. Neither did he. Franklin was a close friend, but as a civilian he’d never understand Ward’s dilemma.
The next afternoon the door to Ward’s room banged open. An enlisted man in sergeant’s garb stood in the doorway. Surprised at the intrusion, Ward turned from the letter he was writing to Luellen.
“It’s customary to knock, Sergeant, before entering a superior officer’s quarters.”
“My apologies, sir.” He stood at rigid attention, his youthful face flushed. “Sergeant Grover, Second Cavalry, at your service. Lieutenant Campion has challenged you to a duel. He’s appointed me his second.”
“Is he mad?” Ward pushed his chair back and eyed the gangly soldier. “Dueling is forbidden, he knows that.”
“Sir. You have damaged his reputation, and he seeks satisfaction.”
“The lieutenant damaged his own reputation by his actions. Tell him I refuse.”
“He instructed me not to accept a refusal, sir. Name your second and your conditions.”
Ward rested his forehead on his palm. “Very well. My second will call on you tomorrow.”
Once Sergeant Grover left, Ward sagged in his chair. Perhaps he could reason with Campion. He picked up his pen and scribbled a hasty conclusion to his message to Luellen.
He’d post it on the way to Campion’s room.
Standing outside the man’s door, Ward clenched and unclenched his right hand several times before knocking. “Campion?”
“Talk to Sergeant Grover. I have nothing to say to you.”
Ward opened the door and stood on the threshold. “You have to cancel this absurd duel. We could both be dismissed from the Army if Captain Block hears about it.”
Campion’s eyes narrowed to slits in his pudgy face. “Are you going to run and tell him? You’re good at that.”
“You left me no choice. A duel with me won’t change anything now.”
“It’s your word against mine. If you’re not here to testify, no one will be able to prove a thing. I’ll say you challenged me.”
Ward clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. “I’m giving you the opportunity to withdraw. No one will find out.”
“You’ve blackened my name. Campions are proud people. We don’t back off from a fight.” He rose and pushed Ward into the hallway, banging the door behind him.
Ward stomped down the stairs and out into the chill Missouri dusk, praying he’d find Franklin in his quarters. He covered the distance to the enlisted men’s barracks in double time, clattering in the front door as the men were filing into the mess hall for supper. When he spotted Franklin, he mouthed, “I need to talk to you.”
As soon as Franklin joined him, Ward rested a hand on his shoulder and guided him outside. “I’m in serious trouble. Lieutenant Campion challenged me to a duel, and he won’t back down.”
Franklin stared at him, mouth agape. “That weaselly little petunia. He could get you both thrown out of the Army.” He cocked his head. “What brought that on?”
“I had to tell Captain Block about Campion stealing my reports. Campion thinks the only way out is to eliminate me—that way no one can testify against him.”
“I can. You’ve told me all along what he’s been up to.”
“That’s hearsay. Won’t stand up.”
“What do you want me to do?” Franklin pushed the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms. “I can make him forget the whole thing.”
Ward shook his head. “I want you to act as my second.”
“You’re going through with it?” Franklin took a backward step. “You’re as cracked as he is.”
“I can’t back down from a challenge. Campion’s a coward, through and through. I saw him get close to fistfights when we were at the Academy, but he always turned tail. You watch. He’ll fire into the air. That way his honor will be satisfied—in his own mind, anyway.”
“But if Captain Block learns about this—”
“Who’s going to tell him?”
Early Saturday, when all colors were shades of gray, Ward followed Franklin through the north gate toward a clearing behind the post. Frost crunched underfoot as they made their way through the half-light to the designated meeting place.
“You ready?” Franklin asked.
Ward rested his hand on the butt of his Colt revolver. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” His palms were clammy.
Two shapes emerged in the distance. “That you, Calder?” Sergeant Grover’s reedy voice piped.
“We’re here,” Franklin said. He put a hand on Ward’s chest. “Wait.” He strode over the uneven ground until he reached the sergeant. “Ten paces, then turn and fire. Agreed?”
Lieutenant Campion sp
oke from several feet behind them. “Agreed. Let’s get on with it.”
Franklin motioned Ward to come forward. Campion’s face looked bone white, but his jaw jutted forward in a grim line. “I’m looking forward to this,” he said in an undertone when Ward reached him.
The muscles in Ward’s arms twitched. Jesus’s words came to his mind. Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.
“. . . eight, nine, ten,” Franklin and Sergeant Glover chanted in unison. “Turn and fire.”
As he’d planned, Ward aimed at a clump of brush to the right of his opponent and squeezed the trigger.
A white-hot blaze of pain spun him sideways. He dropped to the ground.
18
Luellen heard Belle’s familiar tap at the door and closed her algebra textbook, thankful for the interruption. Since they’d returned to school, Belle no longer stepped inside without being invited. On the surface, Luellen behaved toward her friend as she always had, but her reluctance to trust the friendship enough to confide in Belle dug an ever-widening gulf between them. She longed to fling open the door, draw Belle into the room, and pour out her heart.
Instead, she draped a shawl over her green worsted dress and answered the knock. “Come in. If I spend another minute with this algebra assignment, I’ll go totally mad. Rational and irrational numbers? What good is any of it?”
Belle shook her head. “I can’t imagine. The only good I see is that once we pass the course, we’re one step closer to a teaching certificate.”
“That’s all that keeps me going some days.”
“A letter came for you.” Belle held out an envelope. “It’s from Lieutenant Calder.” She looked hopeful. “Maybe he has news about your brother. I haven’t heard from Franklin since before school started.”
Luellen would have felt satisfaction that Franklin hadn’t written Belle but for the fact he hadn’t written her either. She took the letter and slit open the envelope, eager to see Ward’s response to her plea for advice.
Belle stood waiting. “What does he say?”
She skimmed the lines, her lips turning up as she read. He wrote like he talked—each word chosen with careful deliberation.
In my opinion, you are safe trusting Mrs. Guthrie. It’s unlikely she’s trying to trap you by offering a listening ear. Please let me know what you’ve decided, and the outcome.
On the other hand, I wonder why Mr. Price is showing such an interest. I believe he has too much to lose by reporting your divorce to the registrar. You might be called to account for the earlier deception, but he would likely be dismissed if it came to light he obtained his information by eavesdropping. From what you’ve told me, Dr. Alexander doesn’t suffer fools gladly. I suggest you keep your distance.
Ward went on to describe the post in winter and how it compared to his memories of Pennsylvania. He stopped abruptly midway through a paragraph about an ice gorge on the Mississippi that sunk a steamboat.
When she read the next line, she lowered the letter and stared at Belle.
“What?” Belle touched Luellen’s shoulder. “You look like you’re going to faint.”
“He was challenged to a duel.”
Belle’s eyes widened. “And?”
“Ward planned to calm him down. He believes the man is all bluster.” Luellen’s voice trembled. “He scribbled those lines at the end of the letter.” She checked the written date. “He posted this two weeks ago.” She walked to the window and stared out as though she could see across the distance between Allenwood and Jefferson Barracks. “Surely we’d have heard if anything serious—”
“Oh, absolutely. Franklin would have telegraphed.”
Luellen’s stomach churned. How could she pray for a good outcome for something that had already happened?
Belle reached to hug her, but Luellen sidestepped and took her hand instead. “I feel so helpless.”
“Let’s both write letters demanding news.”
“It’ll still be weeks before we hear.”
Belle squeezed her hand. “In the meantime, we’ll pray. The Lord already knows.”
After her last class, Luellen hurried back to the Ladies Hall, planning to post a letter to Ward that evening. When she entered the building, Matron Bledsoe met her in the vestibule. “Mr. Price is waiting to see you in the parlor.”
Mr. Price again. Had Franklin telegraphed the school? Hopeful, she looked at the matron. “Did he say why?”
Mrs. Bledsoe splayed her fingers over her chest. “I’m sure I have no idea. You know I don’t pry.”
“Of course not.”
Mrs. Bledsoe missed the sarcasm. She patted Luellen’s arm. “If you’re ready, we’ll join him.”
Luellen had avoided Mr. Price since the evening he’d escorted her across the campus. Now he bobbed to his feet when the two women entered the room.
“Please sit, young man.” The matron took her usual chair near the window.
Luellen continued to stand, her heart fluttering. A special visit from the registrar’s assistant couldn’t be good. “You have information for me? Have you been contacted by my family?”
Mr. Price’s face reddened and he fumbled with papers clutched in his hand. “Nothing like that. The progress reports are in. I thought you’d be happy to know your grades are in the top 5 percent.”
Luellen collapsed in a chair, deflated. “You came over here to tell me about my grades? Why? Won’t they be posted?”
“Yes, certainly. Tomorrow.” He fidgeted. “I just—”
Mrs. Bledsoe folded her arms over her bosom. “Young man, you’re allowed to call on the ladies here with genuine messages from Dr. Alexander, not folderol about good news.” She pierced him with a glance. “Perhaps you should return to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He rose, dropped the papers, then scooped them up and dashed from the room.
Luellen looked at the matron, for once appreciating her interfering presence. “Thank you. I can’t imagine why he felt the need to deliver my grades in person.”
“Nor can I. I’ll have a word with Dr. Alexander. He needs to find more for that boy to do.”
On Monday morning, Belle stopped by Luellen’s room. “Did you write to Lieutenant Calder and Franklin?”
“I posted both letters last night.” The chapel bell tolled seven. Breakfast time. Luellen adjusted the sacque over her dress and lifted her portfolio from the table.
As they descended the stairs, Belle said, “I have an idea. Let’s go to the depot after you’re finished at the Model School and send a telegraph to Franklin. We’ll ask him to respond immediately.”
Luellen’s mind calculated the cost of an omnibus ride plus the fee for a telegram. Nearly a dollar. She gulped. It would be worth it if they didn’t have to wait weeks for news.
Aloud, she said, “Mrs. Bledsoe would collapse if we both left the campus without a chaperone. She’d probably chain us to our beds.”
Belle giggled. “I’m going to ask her permission. That way she can escort us if she wishes.”
That afternoon, Luellen left the Model School with her mind more on Mrs. Guthrie than on the telegram Belle wanted to send. She wondered how much longer she could postpone confiding in her instructor. Today she’d noticed Mrs. Guthrie eyeing her closely as she moved about the room. Luellen chewed her lower lip. Soon. She’d tell her soon.
When she approached the Ladies Hall, she saw Mr. Price waiting out front, Belle at his side. She hurried toward them, bewildered. Why was he here? She thought Matron Bledsoe had driven him off for good.
Belle stepped forward. “Mr. Price is going to be our escort to the telegraph office. Mrs. Bledsoe arranged it with Dr. Alexander.” She must have noticed Luellen’s surprise, because she took her arm. “I’ll go upstairs with you.”
“Please excuse us,” Luellen said to Mr. Price. “We’ll be right back.”
Once inside, she asked, “Why on earth did Matron pick him?” Their boot heels clacked on the stairs as they climbed to the seco
nd floor.
“She said he didn’t have enough to do, so she’d find a way to keep him busy.”
“I’d rather have Mrs. Bledsoe’s company.”
“You must be joking.”
“No. Mr. Price has been—” She bit off the rest of the sentence. To explain why she wanted to avoid the registrar’s assistant, she’d have to disclose her marriage to Brendan, and that was too great a risk.
Luellen opened the door to her room and tossed her portfolio on the bed. After retrieving her reticule from a drawer, she turned to leave.
“Aren’t you going to change out of that jacket? It’s unseasonably warm today.”
“I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”
Belle drew back at Luellen’s sharp tone, hurt in her eyes. “You don’t have to snap my head off.”
Luellen reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m letting my worries get the best of me.” She hoped Belle would assume she meant worry about Ward and Franklin.
Once at the telegraph office, Belle and Luellen debated what to write as they studied the blank form. “We can’t come out and say ‘duel,’ ” Luellen whispered, glancing behind her to be sure Mr. Price couldn’t overhear. “Most states have laws against the practice.”
Belle rolled a lock of her hair between her fingers. “How about, ‘Concerned Ward’s health Stop Please advise immediately Stop Luellen and Belle.’ ”
“You ladies going to stand there all afternoon? I’m going home in an hour.” The operator snickered. “I’d hate to close up with you in here.”
Luellen glared at him. His manners hadn’t improved since the day she’d telegraphed her father. She glanced at Mr. Price, expecting him to come to their defense. Instead, he stared out the window, pretending he hadn’t heard.
She nodded at Belle. “Go ahead and write the message. I think Franklin will understand our meaning.”
Once they’d filled out the form, the telegrapher read it over, his lips moving. “That’ll be sixty cents.” He took their coins and dropped them into a box. “I’ll send a messenger if there’s a reply.” Turning his back to them, he began tapping the key.
