by Ann Shorey
The post hospital spent more time on doctoring immigrants than soldiers, Ward learned. The warmer weather brought a steady influx of gold seekers heading north to Denver City. They often arrived hungry, poorly clothed, and sick.
He hadn’t planned on operating a field station for treasure hunters. He’d expected to command troops according to West Point standards, but instead found himself dealing with soldiers whose sole reason for enlisting was a need for a job and food. Today would be no different. An hour of fatigue duties and an hour and a half of drills, then the troops would assemble for noon mess with more enthusiasm than they’d shown all morning. No wonder the previous commander asked for a transfer.
The door swung open and Dr. Marshall poked his head inside. “Have you got a few minutes?”
“Another requisition, Oliver?”
The goateed man raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Me? Certainly not.” He dropped into a chair facing Ward. “We’ve got a difficulty over at the hospital.”
“What is it now?”
“That immigrant wagon that came in yesterday—the fellow died.”
Ward gripped the arms of his chair, poised to jump to his feet. “Nothing that will spread around the post, is it?”
“No. Lung fever. I don’t know how he made it this far.”
“So, send a burial detail out. The ground has thawed enough.”
“Burial’s not the difficulty.” The doctor fingered his salt-and-pepper whiskers. “He had a daughter with him. What should we do with her?”
“Perhaps one of the officers’ families can take her in until we can find a way to send her back to her people. Do you know where they came from?”
“She’s been hysterical since her father died. I can’t get her to tell me anything.”
Ward stared at the ceiling for a moment. The father must have been her only parent. Surely no mother would allow a child to travel to the goldfields. He pushed his chair away from the desk.
“I’ll go see her. Maybe she’s settled down by now.”
A skeptical expression crossed Dr. Marshall’s face. “My assistant’s doing his best, but perhaps she’ll warm up to you.”
The two men skirted the edge of the parade ground where trainees performed weapons drills. They passed the laundresses’ quarters, where a dozen or so children played tag under lines of drying clothes. Ward glanced at the doctor. “Wasn’t your wife going to keep the youngsters inside for lessons during the week?”
“She tried. Some people are cut out for teaching—Millie’s not. She can hardly manage our twins.” He winked. “She’s a good cook, though.”
Ward looked over his shoulder at the children once more before entering the hospital. Something needed to be done.
Sergeant Brainerd, Dr. Marshall’s assistant, met them inside the door. “Got the girl calmed down,” he said. “She’s resting.” A flush covered his thin cheeks. “I was just going to the enlisted mess to fetch something for her to eat. I told her I’d be right back.”
The doctor nodded. “Go ahead. Captain Calder wants to talk to her for a moment.”
Inside the infirmary, Ward scanned the empty cots. “Where’s the child?”
A young woman of sixteen or seventeen rose from a chair at the back of the room and walked toward him, barefooted. She stood no taller than Ward’s shoulder. Her eyes were swollen. “If you mean Abel Lampy’s child, that’s me. I’m Rilla Lampy.” Coppery hair hung in limp strands around her haggard face. She studied Ward, fear in her gray eyes. “Guess the doc told you about my pa dying. That must be why you’re here.”
Ward tried to hide his surprise. “It is.” He clasped his hands at his waist. “My condolences.”
She nodded. “What’s going to happen to me now?”
Dr. Marshall stepped around Ward. “You’re welcome to stay with my family until you’re able to return home.”
Rilla frowned. “What if I don’t want to go back? Took us a month to get this far. We was leaving Arkansas behind, if you get my meaning. Denver City was a new start. Pa had everything figured out. He’d find gold and before long, we’d have a fine house. Now . . .” Her crooked teeth tugged at her lower lip. “I just need to think up something else.”
Ward entered his office and cast an apprehensive glance at his desk. A covered plate rested on top of the requisition forms he’d left when he went home the night before. He lifted the napkin. Molasses balls rolled in brown sugar. Still warm, their cinnamon-clove fragrance made his mouth water.
“I hope you like them.” Rilla’s voice pursued him across the room. “I made them special for you.”
She stood on the threshold. He’d be flattered if he didn’t know she’d spent the last two weeks bringing treats in rotation to all the unmarried officers. “Thank you. I’m sure Mrs. Marshall appreciates your skills in the kitchen.”
Rilla stepped into the room. Her green calico frock emphasized her shining curls. “My pa liked my cooking. He always said I’d make some man a fine wife.”
Ward moved so that the desk formed a barrier between them and looked pointedly at the door. “Corporal Robbins will be here soon. I’ll share these with him.”
“The corporal has a wife.” Her lower lip stuck out in a pout. “These are for you.”
On cue, Robbins’s boots clattered up the stairs. He took one step into the room and stopped, his eyes darting between Rilla and Ward. “Excuse me, sir. I didn’t know you were busy.” A leather dispatch bag hung from one hand.
“Miss Lampy was just leaving.”
“I’ll be back later for the empty plate.” She flounced toward the door, hips swaying. The black look she gave Corporal Robbins as she left didn’t escape Ward’s notice.
The corporal watched her leave. “That must be why Sergeant Brainerd was hanging about downstairs. I reckon the doc doesn’t know why his assistant is gone half the time.” He turned to Ward. “Think I should tell him?”
“Not as long as Brainerd’s doing his job. Miss Lampy won’t be here much longer. Next time wagons pass this way going east, she’ll go with them.”
“She don’t act like she plans to go east.”
“We don’t always get what we want.” Ward held out his hand. “Now, can I see what’s in that dispatch bag?”
Corporal Robbins stood while Ward dumped the contents of the bag over his desk. He separated a communication from Jefferson Barracks and flipped through the rest of the envelopes, stacking aside letters addressed to the troops. “Distribute the mail, please, Corporal. I imagine the men have been waiting ever since the courier rode in.”
“Yes, sir.” Robbins sat at a table and proceeded to arrange the envelopes in alphabetical order.
Ward smiled at his aide’s methodical habits. He suspected the man kept his life in the same order. Did he have his spouse listed by her first name, or under “w” for wife? Grinning, he reached for the official document and broke the seal.
“Sir? This one’s for you.”
“It is?” His heart thumped when he saw the handwriting on the envelope. Luellen. His reaction jolted him. After nearly three months with no word, he’d resigned himself to her going ahead with her plans to find a teaching position. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? Like he wanted to command an Army post. In Kansas. Alone.
With eager fingers, he spread her letter open on his desk.
I never thanked you for helping me with David at Christmas. I think he misses you now.
Little David, with his mother’s curls and liquid brown eyes. Ward missed him too. He read on through the news about Franklin and Belle. His eyes stopped near the end of the missive.
Commencement exercises are scheduled for the twentieth of May.
What if he surprised her by attending the graduation? Even if her future didn’t include him, Ward wanted to wish her well. If anyone deserved to achieve their goals, it was Luellen.
He could leave the post in Corporal Robbins’s hands. Nothing important ever happened here anyway. Smiling, he f
olded her letter and tucked it into his breast pocket. He’d put his plan in motion immediately.
His mind still on Luellen, he turned to the communication from Jefferson Barracks. Captain Block’s bold penmanship scrawled across the page:
General Kinner is due from Washington on a tour of the western outposts. He will likely arrive at Fort Hook the third week in May. Have all in readiness.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Miss Clark gushed to Luellen as they left the Model School together. “You’re always ready with your lesson plan, and you have that baby to care for too. It must be very difficult.”
Luellen shrugged. “I keep my eyes on my goals, not how hard it is to reach them. You’d be surprised at how much you can accomplish if you don’t stay your thoughts on what you can’t do.” She kept her tone neutral. Miss Clark was seeking gossip fodder for her companions in the Ladies Hall. She’d seen them whispering together in the weeks since their confrontation in the lecture room.
“But how do you do it? I get so distracted.” Miss Clark waved her hand at the separate columns of men and women moving toward classes on campus. “So many young men, and we aren’t allowed to mix with them.”
Luellen felt older than her twenty-four years. Had she ever been so giddy? They crossed the street, avoiding patches of ice. “I got distracted once. The results were disastrous, with the exception of the birth of my son. If you really want an education, you need to put on blinders and focus on your studies.”
“But two years here? I’ll be twenty before I’m finished, practically an old maid.”
Luellen grinned. “You’ll be twenty in two years whether you finish here or not.”
Miss Clark shot her an impatient glance. “It’s easy for you to talk. Your life is already over.” She spoke as one stating a fact. Excusing herself, she dashed toward a group of girls waiting near the chapel.
Stung by the barb of truth in her remarks, Luellen plodded toward Mrs. Garmon’s house. She’d seen a teaching certificate as a beginning. Instead, was it the end?
Mrs. Hawks scurried into the kitchen, where Luellen put finishing touches on the evening meal. “Do you have everything ready? We’re filled up tonight, and I don’t want to disappoint my new boarders.”
Luellen backhanded perspiration from her temples. “Beef pie, biscuits, cabbage slaw, and apple pudding. They won’t go away hungry.”
“Thank you.” The landlady wrapped a towel around her hand and took the pie from the oven. “I’ll carry this in. Would you bring the biscuits and slaw?”
“Certainly.” Luellen squatted in front of David, who sat on a blanket gnawing on a piece of dried bread. “You stay right here while Mama helps serve.” She kissed the top of his head. “That’s a good boy.”
The door to the dining room swung shut behind Mrs. Hawks. Luellen slid the biscuits into a napkin-lined bowl and followed her.
Eight men looked up when she entered. Luellen froze, her eyes locked on the one with chestnut curls seated nearest the door. The bowl of biscuits slipped from her nerveless fingers and crashed to the floor.
“Brendan.”
33
Brendan looked as stunned as Luellen felt. Red crept up his neck as the others in the room stared at him. He pasted an artificial-looking smile on his face. “I never expected to see you here. You’re looking well.”
Luellen ignored him and turned to Mrs. Hawks. “I’ll clean this up right away.” Her hands shook. Brendan O’Connell was one of the new boarders? Please, no.
Understanding filled the landlady’s eyes. “No need. Why don’t you work up more biscuits while I sweep the floor?”
After pushing broken shards of pottery aside with her foot, Luellen fled to the kitchen. David toddled over to her and grabbed her knees. Her first instinct was to run to Leah’s and keep him there until Brendan left. She drew a breath. No. With David’s dark hair and eyes, no one would ever suspect that the ruddy, blue-eyed man in the dining room was his father, least of all Brendan himself. David was hers, and hers he would stay.
Mrs. Hawks slipped into the room. “Is that him?” She nodded toward the closed door.
“Yes.” Perspiration prickled under her arms. “How long is he going to be here?”
“I don’t know—he’s part of the railroad crew.” She moved to the stove and took a waiting pan of biscuits from the warming oven. “You certainly baked these quickly,” she said with a wink.
“I made two pans full.” In spite of her jumping nerves, Luellen managed a smile. “As you well know.”
Late that evening, she sat at the kitchen table attempting to write a lesson plan for the next day. She’d advised Miss Clark to keep blinders on to avoid distractions. Now blinders weren’t helping her at all. What would she do if Brendan stayed at the boardinghouse for the weeks remaining until commencement? Could she really block him out of her thoughts? How could she keep him from learning about David?
She rested her forehead in her hands. Lord, please help me.
“Luellen?”
She swung around.
Brendan stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”
“You’re fine right there. What do you want?”
“I want to tell you I’m sorry for what happened.” Blue eyes shone from his smooth face. “The last thing I expected was to see you here, sure. But it’s providential, I’m thinking.” He took a step into the room.
He hadn’t lost any of his charm. The scene reminded her of the times he spent with her in the kitchen at Bryant House—before she knew he had a wife.
She stood, gripping the back of her chair. “And how is Mrs. O’Connell? Shouldn’t you be at her side in Chicago?”
Brendan ran his fingers through his thick curls. “That’s over and done with. Her father . . .” He cleared his throat. “It was a mistake from beginning to end.”
“You were the mistake, for both of us. Now go away and leave me alone.” Luellen kept one ear tuned to the bedroom, praying David wouldn’t wake at the sound of their voices.
“Can’t say I blame you.” Brendan’s eyes moistened. “Good night, then.”
The next day after classes, Luellen sat in Leah’s kitchen holding a cup of tea. “I really should go home and start supper, but I can’t think how to avoid him.”
“He’s your baby’s father. Maybe you should tell him. Railroads pay good—he could help so you don’t have to work so hard.”
“He lied to me in the worst way possible. I don’t want him in our lives.” She shuddered. “Just the thought of him makes me ill.”
“I’d give anything if Frannie’s father came here and said he was sorry.” Leah clutched her cup. “All I’m saying is give him a chance. People change.”
At suppertime, Luellen spooned mutton and rice into a tureen while she considered Leah’s advice. Had Brendan changed? After slicing a loaf of bread, she filled a dish with apple jelly and set it beside the hot food. Changed or not, she wasn’t ready to see him again.
“Looks tasty,” Mrs. Hawks said. “You stay out here, I’ll serve.”
“Thank you.”
The landlady patted Luellen’s shoulder. “Once upon a time, there was a Mr. Hawks. Lucky for him, he never came back.” She pushed the swinging door with her elbow and carried the tureen to the diners.
Once Mrs. Hawks had supper on the table, she hung her apron on a hook near the door. “Are you sure you don’t mind cleaning up? I promised Alma I’d be there as early as I could for Frederick’s birthday celebration.”
“Go and enjoy yourself. Once I hear the boarders leave, I’ll clear the dishes.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do without you after the term ends.”
“Maybe I’ll stay here.” Luellen smiled, but the remark reminded her she’d forgotten to ask about a permanent arrangement if she got the position at the Model School.
While the boarders ate, Luellen held David on her knee and fed him spoonfuls of mashed rice and carrots. The murmur of conversation from the next room rose a
nd fell and eventually she heard chairs scraping across the wooden floor. Heavy boots clumped up the stairs.
Luellen wiped David’s face and set him on his blanket. “Here’s your doggie.” She tickled his nose with a soft, rag-stuffed toy. He chuckled, grabbing at his favorite plaything.
“Well, who’s this?”
Luellen jumped. She hadn’t heard the door swing open.
Brendan stood looking at her, a quizzical expression on his face. Part of her mind noted his clean shirt and the comb lines drawn through his curls.
She stood, concealing David behind her skirt. “Boarders aren’t allowed in the kitchen.”
“We’re not to help ourselves to food, but I’m thinking we can talk to each other.” He turned his head toward her side. “That lad yours?”
The pounding of her heart threatened to choke her. Under her apron, she dug her nails into her palms. “Yes, he is.”
Brendan slid a chair out from the table. “Well, now. You’ve been busy since we parted.”
Luellen exhaled with a whoosh. “You might say that.” Let him think what he will.
“Where’s the mister?”
“I don’t have a husband.”
“I’ve got to give you credit for more gumption than I thought you had. Woman alone with a baby. Can’t be easy.” His Irish lilt polished his words.
“Life isn’t easy.”
“’Tis true.” Brendan leaned back. “Mind if I stay here, have a chat? A boardinghouse is a lonely place.”
The sound of his voice beguiled her, as it had in the beginning. “I need to clear the table and wash up.”
“I won’t be in your way.”
What harm could it do? “All right then.” She propped the swinging door open and carried plates into the kitchen.
Brendan’s voice followed her as she moved back and forth, telling her of his job with the railroad. “One of these days, I’d like to operate a lodging house like this one. Follow the rails west. If I’m lucky, I’ll find someone who can cook like you do. We’d be a team.”
