“Why, certainly, Major Dougherty, though it seems you’ve taken on the more dangerous chore.”
Juliet sat frozen as Noble tipped his hat to her and rode off with the other troopers.
Chore.
Is that how he envisioned her? As a chore to be endured in hope of a later reward—perhaps her father’s gratitude? Pride warred with pain, and because she was aware of how closely Miles watched her, she allowed pride to win out.
“Hateful man,” she muttered, then bestowed a grudging smile on the dour major. “But he does know how to sit a horse. Shall we go?”
As they fell in side by side, Miles looked relieved and ventured with some chagrin, “I should have known better than to worry about you.”
“Oh, Miles, good heavens, you know I can hold my own in the saddle.”
“But I wasn’t certain you could hold your own equally well with Banning.”
It took a moment for his complaint to hit home. “What does that mean?”
Not noticing how prickly her manner had become, Miles continued with his self-satisfied findings. “I should have known you were too sensible to fall prey to his slick Southern charm.” He cast a quick glance her way to test her reaction. Receiving none, he chuckled to himself. “A man like that is used to having women swooning at his feet. It must be quite a blow to his conceit to have you so immune.”
“Yes, I’m sure it would be.” Her tone chilled. “If the major was in the least bit interested.”
Miles reacted with surprise, then puffed-up pleasure, seeing the field of opportunity opening before him. “Then the man’s a bigger fool than I first thought him.”
Juliet didn’t argue. And the fact that she couldn’t gave her no joy.
Because although Major Noble Banning might be immune, she wasn’t.
Chapter 8
One of Juliet’s greatest pleasures came from coaxing things to grow in the stingy western “soil.”
Soil was a misnomer, for whatever good top dirt might be found was quickly blown away, leaving the hard-packed earth behind. Its poor quality and the lack of water created a challenge she could not resist. Each tender green sprout nudging its way through the granite-hard ground was a victory, not to mention a reward. Companies competed for the best garden, but Juliet’s had never been outdone. Fresh vegetables augmented bland army fare at her table, and the surplus she sold for a modest price to the fort kitchen. She used that small remuneration to order frivolous female trappings from the East, things she would have been embarrassed to ask her father for. A hat was her latest extravagance. When it would arrive was another mystery.
“Here now, Hortense, get away from those seeds.” She tossed a clump of dirt to send the hen flapping away.
“She’d best be careful or she’ll be finding herself in the stew with your vegetables.”
The cheerful Irish tones brought a smile of welcome to Juliet’s face. “Good morning, Colleen. How are you settling in? Is there anything you need?”
The redhead pursed her lips. “Nothing you can be givin’ me. A good swift boot in the missus’s behind would do me a world a good.” That last was muttered under her breath, so Juliet pretended not to hear. She covered her laugh with the soft clearing of her throat.
“So this is a visit, then?”
“Oh, no, miss. Herself wouldn’t cotton to me chatting with someone above me station. She sent me to invite you and your father to a party she be givin’ for the officers and their ladies.”
“I see.” Maisy wasted no time in dividing the post according to social status. But declining wasn’t an option. “You can tell Mrs. Bartholomew that my father and I will be happy to attend. And you, Colleen?”
“Me, miss?” She looked startled, then flushed deeply. “Oh, the missus would never allow the likes a me to be smiling at her guests.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “She’d be accusing me a trying to find meself a husband.”
Juliet hid her smile. Maisy’s fears were well justified. One of the hardest things on a frontier post was for a lady to keep a maid. Within a week of arrival, if the maid was at all agreeable, she’d entertain marriage proposals from at least half of the single enlisted men. The girl could do worse than work for Maisy, but if she bided her time she could make a good match. Juliet scrutinized her plump yet pleasing figure and assessed her easy charm.
“And would she be right, Colleen?”
The girl grinned. “If I was to find the right man, miss.”
“Well, there’s no shortage of men here.”
“If that be the case, miss, why is it that you’ve not found yourself one?” Noting Juliet’s alarm and quickly hidden blush, she added, “If you pardon me for my asking.”
“I’m still looking for the right one, too, Colleen.”
Colleen nodded then added sagely, “Twould be my guess that there’d be plenty willing to be the right one. Especially two right handsome fellows.”
Two? Juliet was about to ask her to clarify her words when another shadow crossed her newly spaded garden plot. She recognized the freckled-faced Southern captain. And she also recognized the way his presence flustered the sassy Irish girl.
“Good morning, Captain Allen. I believe you’ve met Colleen McDonnal.”
The space between the freckles filled in with a flush. “Yes, I have. Hello again, Miss McDonnal. Am I interrupting here?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, sir. I was just leaving. Miss Juliet, I’ll be tellin’ the missus that you and your father will be there.”
As the flustered girl turned away, Juliet called, “Colleen? When are we expected?”
A nervous giggle. “Oh! I guess you’ll be needin’ to know that. Tomorrow night at seven.” With another shy glance at George Allen, she skittered away, nearly tripping over the two chickens in her haste.
“A vivacious girl,” the captain remarked as he watched her retreat.
“She’s very sweet and courageous. She’ll do well out here.” Juliet peeled off her soiled gloves and stood. “Now, Captain, what is it I can do for you?”
“Noble—that is, Major Banning—mentioned that you had a fine selection of reading material.”
“Would you like to borrow something, Captain?”
“If you’d have no objections.”
“None at all.” She led the gawky officer inside and gestured to her wall of literature. It made her smile to see his jaw drop. “Not what you expected?”
“More than I’d hoped for. May I?”
“Help yourself.” Remembering her manners, she asked, “Can I get you some lemonade?”
“That would be lovely, ma’am.”
Lemonade was a sorry affair, made with citric acid crystals and water so poor that it had to sit until the mud settled to the bottom. But it was a social ritual and one Juliet clung to in memory of her mother, who loved to entertain graciously no matter the obstacles. George Allen was just as gracious in swallowing the bitter concoction without an obvious grimace.
“What have you found?” Curious, Juliet examined the weighty tome. “Saint Thomas More. You have philosophical tastes, Captain.”
“My plan is to continue my work with the church when I return home. I want to be worthy of the task. You look somewhat puzzled, Miss Crowley. You don’t think the army is the proper place for religion?”
“I’ve known quite a few chaplains, but I don’t really think religion and the military mix well.”
“There’s many a troubled soul carrying a carbine, ma’am.” His voice dropped off, his sudden melancholy outweighing his years.
“Like Major Banning?”
Allen blinked in surprise, then glanced away. “I cannot betray confidences, ma’am.”
“He’s confessed to me that he’s a sinner, but I have a hard time imagining what his sins might be. He seems to be an admirable leader and possessed of high moral fiber.”
Allen jumped upon her praises. “There’s the problem, Miss Crowley. Morality and military do make a poor combination sometimes
. The major’s had to make some difficult compromises over the past few years.” He fidgeted, uncomfortably aware that he may have said too much already but needing a vent for his own troubled spirit. Juliet was too happy to supply it.
The more she could learn about Noble Banning, the better prepared she would be.
“Like coming here in my father’s command? I can’t believe that was an easy or a popular choice. More lemonade?”
Gratified by her sympathetic manner, George unbent his resolve. “No, ma’am, it wasn’t. He struggles with it along with all the ghosts of the men he’s lost.” He sighed as if those souls were a nightly burden for him, as well.
“Through no fault of his own,” she prompted gently to get him to open up again. She hated to manipulate such a trusting individual, but was also aware of the adage of all being fair in this circumstance.
“No, ma’am. But a good leader always takes responsibility for those in his command. And Noble Banning shoulders the world. He’s had to all his life.”
“Please sit down, Captain. Did you grow up with the major?” She made her questions relaxed so that he wouldn’t be alarmed by her interest. And she was interested in the man and in his past. She told herself it was the smart thing to know as much as possible about the enemy.
“Not really. We grew up in neighboring counties. I knew of him and his family. Who didn’t know Judge Banning?”
“Judge? I thought Noble said his father wasn’t involved in the law.”
“It’s an honorary title, ma’am, having to do with Mr. Banning’s influence over folks’ lives and such.”
“Noble said he was in politics.”
“Ummm, yes, I suppose that’s true enough. He’s a man who likes control, Miss Crowley, and power. And if he can get that through politics, so be it. He’s not a man you’d want to cross and breathe of the deed to another soul.” He took a sudden breath, then looked ashamed for having spoken ill of another. “But he is Noble’s father.”
She trod more carefully, not wishing to scare him into silence when his words could prove so valuable. “It must be difficult for Noble to reconcile his pursuit of the law with his father’s determination to manipulate it.”
“To say the least, ma’am. He would never take an outward stand against his father for what he does. I think going into lawyering is his way of satisfying his conscience.”
“And is that why he’s after the man who turned his troops in to my father? As if righting that wrong would appease his guilt over his father’s misdeeds?”
Allen choked on his lemonade. His gaze flew up, wide and startled. Her font of information abruptly went dry.
After nervously wiping his mouth and pant leg, he said, “You would have to ask him about that, ma’am.” He set down the glass and stood. “Thank you for the drink and for the book. I’d best be going.”
Alone with her tart lemonade and bitter thoughts, Juliet asked herself, “What is it you’re trying to prove, Noble Banning? That you’re not the man your father is? Or are you following in his footsteps?”
Maisy Bartholomew’s party was a small, elite gathering in her new abode. Besides Juliet and her father, bachelors Noble, Miles, and George Allen appeared all polished and poised as well as Captain Tom Folley and his wife and Lieutenant Albert Howell. Juliet had never met the dashing mustached blond who’d captured the heart of Miles’s giddy sister, Jane, but she liked Albert immediately for his boisterous laugh and warm smile. As each arrived, the room saw a division between North and South with the Crowleys in the middle. While Maisy seemed unperturbed, it didn’t please the colonel. His one wish was for all his officers to mesh as a unit, not grind in separate parts. He tried to remedy the situation with a toast as soon as introductions were over.
“To the Fighting Seventeenth, gentlemen.”
Just as reluctant glasses began to be raised, Miles added, “To our courageous Union. Long may she stand.”
Only half the glasses tipped at that while the rest dangled in defiance. Juliet was quick to mend the gap for her father’s sake.
“To our gracious hostess for inviting us into her home this evening.”
That won a unanimous chorus of “Here, here” and goblets emptied to a one. Juliet nodded in receipt of her father’s smile of thanks.
Colleen had cleverly fashioned a stylish residence for her mistress out of the few luxuries available. Chair mats of a colorfully woven cloth were reminiscent of the gown Juliet remembered seeing the girl wear during their desert crossing. Curtains were made from the Irish maid’s shawl. They were lovely touches, but Juliet wondered sadly over the girl surrendering them for such unappreciated use in a home that was not her own.
The table gleamed with china and crystal that Maisy had apparently been able to rescue from her plantation home. While Juliet and Pauline wore sensible calico, their hostess glowed in fuchsia-colored silk that made them seem drab and sparrowlike in comparison. Never one for affectation, Juliet didn’t mind, but being so underdressed obviously embarrassed Pauline Folley, whose scant extra coins went toward keeping her children in shoes, not in personal extravagances.
Maisy had impressed a lowly corporal into presiding at the sideboard, where he stood at stiff attention when not keeping glasses filled and removing dishes at the regal wave of Maisy’s hand. Juliet could well imagine her as a queen bee in a bustling hive full of servants catering to her every whim. Perhaps there was some envy at the ease of Maisy’s life on her part, for she’d always managed on her own even when her father’s rank provided for privileges. She cooked her own meals and cleared her own table with an air of independent pride, because that’s how she was taught. Maisy, apparently, was groomed to lift no hand when another could do it for her. Maybe it was shallow to dislike her for such a pampered past, but Juliet couldn’t help it, especially as she watched the vain belle lording it over the humble Pauline throughout the evening meal.
Though Juliet was well schooled in the proper use of forks and glasses, she purposely abandoned those lessons in manners so that Pauline wouldn’t bear the brunt of Maisy’s patronizing tone alone.
Having dined with the Crowleys, Noble observed Juliet’s actions with interest. Having seen her impeccable graces, he realized that their absence was to make the less socially adept Pauline feel comfortable. And he admired her for it. In fact, there was little about Juliet that he didn’t admire, right down to her saber-sharp tongue and bold opinions. While such a woman wouldn’t do as a conservative Kentucky lawyer’s wife, she possessed all the qualities he’d dreamed of for an intimate companion. Imagine coming home at night to the fond study of her pleasing features across the table, to the revitalizing challenge of meeting her barbed quips as the day’s shadows grew long, to the afterhours luxuries hinted at by her lush lips and galvanizing stare. Imagine …
Growing uncomfortable with the way his thoughts provoked a crowding within his trousers, Noble changed his focus from the colonel’s daughter to the man himself. And he found the fellow’s steely gaze upon him with an all too keen perceptiveness. Did Crowley know he lusted after the quixotic Juliet? If he did, he probably wouldn’t smile indulgently and ask about the horses.
“You should have some fine mounts, Colonel. Definitely your three dollars’ worth.” They shared a smug moment that Miles couldn’t resist interrupting.
“So Major Banning, now that you’ve tamed the animals, is it your plan to teach us all to ride like raiding Confederates?”
While several breaths were inhaled, Noble took the question in stride with a coolly civil, “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m familiar with the exploits of your John Hunt Morgan, a man you obviously emulate. The colonel believes you can show us how to become the scourge of the plains so no heathen would dare defy us again.”
“I would be happy to show you, but I can’t guarantee that you can be taught.”
Miles bristled up at the smooth slur. “What exactly are you saying, sir?”
“I’m saying that the Unio
n’s idea of cavalry is ridiculous. I’ve seen your men so loaded down with sundries that I could never be sure if they were lifted into the saddle after it was lashed on or if the riders mounted first and had the useless equipment packed in around him like salt in a pork barrel. No wonder your horses are broken down.”
“And you have a better way of doing things, I suppose?” Miles challenged. “Better than the Poinsett Tactics used by the dragoon regiments?”
“More practical than what is taught by your drill regulations. I heard it said once of our Southern horsemen: No one ever sees a dead cavalryman.”
Miles’s glare narrowed. “But that’s not true in your case, is it, Major? I understand that you left quite a few of your men behind to be buried by our troops.”
Noble went still, a stillness born of dangerous tension and fierce repercussions should Miles be foolish enough to pursue the topic. A man of linear thinking, the career army major never saw the threat. But Crowley did.
“Gentlemen, if you’d give your thanks to our charming hostess for a fine meal, I think it’s time we adjourned to the porch for some of my cigars.”
All but the two majors were quick to comply, then they, too, rose up like taut combatants readying to move to a different area of confrontation.
When they were gone, Juliet released her breath. “Goodness, nothing is quite as tiresome as men when they get to talking about battles or politics.”
“I thought you enjoyed such discussions, Miss Crowley,” came Maisy’s arch observation.
“Not at the dinner table, where talk should be of a more refined and congenial nature.”
With a stabbing glance at Pauline, Maisy said, “Perhaps such boorish talk is all some of them understand.”
“Oh, I doubt that, Mrs. Bartholomew,” Juliet said. “War gives men an opportunity to behave badly when they should know better—if they can get away with it. We shouldn’t excuse or condone it. After all, if we three ladies don’t stick together, all civilizing influence is gone.”
Maisy gave her a hoity sniff. “I suppose you’re right about that.”
Leaping in at the first sign of possible companionship, Pauline said, “Juliet is right. It’s only the three of us, so we should get along. At other posts, we women have always stood together, visiting each day to compare notes on cooking, sewing, and the like.”
The Men of Pride County: The Rebel Page 9
