Summer of Promise

by Amanda Cabot

  The women nodded, and Abigail took heart from the fact that neither of them interrupted her as she explained the plan. Mrs. Montgomery seemed almost as interested in the molasses cookies Charlotte had offered as in Abigail’s story.

  “Charlotte is skilled with a needle, but there’s nothing better than a warm knitted scarf or a handkerchief with a delicate tatted edging.” Charlotte had confided that Mrs. Montgomery fancied herself the resident expert at tatting.

  “Naturally we’d help you,” Mrs. Alcott said.

  Mrs. Montgomery nodded. “Just tell us what you need.” She took another cookie from the platter and bit into it, obviously savoring the sweet. “What I need is someone who can bake like Mrs. Channing. Mrs. Nelson makes delicious roasts, and her bread is light as air, but she can’t seem to master desserts.” Mrs. Montgomery broke off another piece of cookie. “I must admit that I enjoy a good dessert.” When she’d swallowed the bite, she wagged her index finger at Charlotte. “Be careful. I may steal your cook away from you.”

  Though she was certain the other women noticed nothing, Abigail heard her sister’s soft intake of breath and suspected that Charlotte’s thoughts had taken the same direction as hers. Was it possible they’d discovered a way to get Puddles back? A second later, Charlotte looked as poised as ever. “Perhaps we could arrange a trade,” she said casually, as if the thought wasn’t making her heart beat at twice its normal speed. But it was, for Abigail saw the telltale vein on her sister’s hand. “Mrs. Channing isn’t completely happy here, even though we sent Puddles away.”

  Mrs. Montgomery nodded. “I heard about the pickled beets.”

  Charlotte managed a little laugh. “I imagine everyone on the post heard about that. It took a lot of bleach to get the floor clean again.”

  “Well, I have no dogs, so that wouldn’t be a problem.” Mrs. Montgomery took another cookie, chewing it thoughtfully. “This is simply delectable,” she announced when she’d finished it. Turning toward Mrs. Alcott, she waited until the other woman gave a slight nod. “If you agree, Charlotte, I’ll speak to Mrs. Nelson today. She can be here tomorrow morning.”

  “I agree.” Charlotte gave her guest a radiant smile. The Puddles problem had been resolved.

  Ethan pulled out his watch and frowned for what seemed like the hundredth time. Class should have been over by now. Abigail had said she’d set a limit of an hour, not wanting to overwhelm the men and discourage them from returning, but it had been an hour and a quarter, and there was no sign of anyone leaving the schoolhouse. He snapped his watch closed. It was only fifteen minutes, no reason to be upset. The truth was, he felt like a schoolboy being forced to wait for a treat.

  It had been a difficult day, and he’d looked forward to spending time with Abigail. As if the continued concern about the robberies weren’t enough, his baseball team was becoming as blue as their name. Despite hours of practice and superior talent, they had yet to win a game. While Jeffrey crowed, the Laramie Blues grew increasingly despondent. Ethan knew of no way to encourage his men, especially when his own spirits had plummeted this afternoon when he’d received another letter from Mrs. Eberle. “Come home,” his grandfather’s housekeeper urged him. “He needs you.”

  Hah! Grandfather didn’t need him. If he really was dying, all he needed was a manager for the railroad. There were dozens of men far better qualified than Ethan. As for home, the brownstone where Ethan had spent his childhood was no longer home. Home was wherever the Army sent him. Right now it was a single room that had felt oddly empty ever since he’d taken Puddles back to Abigail and Charlotte.

  A round of applause rang through the night air, followed by the sound of men getting to their feet. Class was over. Ethan felt himself relax. Abigail would come out in a minute, and though he had no intention of telling her about Mrs. Eberle’s letter, just being with her would brighten the day. He took a step forward, then stopped, for when Abigail left the schoolroom, she was deep in conversation with Corporal Keller.

  “I received a letter from Marta today,” the corporal told Abigail. “She is unhappy with me. All her friends are married, and she feels—how do you say it?—left out.” The corporal frowned. “I do not know vat to tell her. It vill take me three more months to save enough money to bring her here.”

  He wasn’t eavesdropping, Ethan told himself. Anyone on this end of the parade ground could have overheard the conversation and Abigail’s response. “If she loves you, she’ll wait.” Was she thinking of Woodrow, he wondered? It seemed to Ethan that Abigail had done more than her share of waiting for the man to propose. Had Ethan been in Woodrow’s shoes, he would have made certain she was wearing his ring before she headed West, but of course he wasn’t Woodrow, and it was silly to even think of sliding a ring onto Abigail’s slender finger.

  Corporal Keller appeared unconvinced. “I must get the money sooner. That vould be better.” He nodded briskly. “I vill find a way.”

  Ethan felt like an insect whose antennae had suddenly begun to vibrate. How was Dietrich Keller going to raise more money? And how had he saved enough to send for his girl, anyway? It was no secret that enlisted men barely survived on their wages. Perhaps Keller was the soldier helping the outlaws.

  Ethan left the shadows of the commissary storehouse and headed toward Abigail. As the corporal saluted him, he nodded. He’d speak to Keller later. Right now, he wanted to see Abigail. Correction: he needed to see Abigail. He needed to be reminded that something was right in the world.

  “Your class went late tonight,” Ethan said when the corporal had left. The smile Abigail gave him left no doubt that the delay had been good, and Ethan found himself smiling in response. This was what he had needed: a few minutes of normalcy.

  “We were almost at the end of one of the readers, and they wanted to finish,” Abigail explained. “I wasn’t going to stop them, not when they seemed excited.”

  Ethan wrinkled his nose. “At least your students have a reason to be excited. The Laramie Blues certainly don’t. Everyone’s getting discouraged by our losing streak.”

  “That will end.” Abigail spoke with confidence. “Jeffrey would never admit it, but your team is stronger than his. It’s only been bad luck that you haven’t won.” Worry lines formed between Abigail’s eyes. “You’re not letting it bother you, are you? The scores have been so close that it’s only a matter of time before the Blues win.”

  Ethan felt himself relax. This was why he’d wanted to be with Abigail, to have her put everything in perspective. “That’s what I told the team, but thanks. It helps to have someone else confirm our strength.”

  As her forehead smoothed, Abigail nodded. “Any time. I told you once that I’m a good listener, and I mean it.”

  What would she say if he told her about the letter? Probably the same thing she had the last time—go home—and that was advice Ethan did not want.

  “I need to take Puddles for a walk,” Abigail said when they reached the Crowley residence. “Would you like to join us?”

  Ethan nodded. Even though he didn’t want to talk about Grandfather, he was far from ready to relinquish Abigail’s company. “Believe it or not, my quarters feel lonely without your dog.”

  “He’s not mine. He’s Charlotte’s,” Abigail corrected him, “but I understand. The house seemed empty when he wasn’t here.”

  It felt amazingly good to have Puddles greet him as if he were a long-lost friend. Perhaps this was what he needed. Perhaps he ought to adopt a dog of his own.

  As they circled the parade ground, hoping to tire Puddles enough that he would sleep all night, Ethan and Abigail spoke of trivial matters, everything from speculating on how large Puddles would be when fully grown to whether or not there would be another hailstorm. And, as frequently as they spoke, they were silent, but while silence could be oppressive, this was comfortable. For the first time all day, Ethan felt at peace. The worries were still there, but they’d become muted. Though nothing had changed except his outlook, his world
had shrunk to three inhabitants: a wonderful woman, a playful puppy, and himself, and so it was with reluctance that he bade Abigail good night.

  Once in his quarters, the weight of the day returned. Pushing thoughts of his grandfather aside, Ethan focused on the robbery. Was it possible that Dietrich Keller was involved? The man appeared honest, but Ethan knew that appearances could be deceptive. He would learn more tomorrow morning when he questioned the corporal and his friends. In the meantime, he would sleep.

  But sleep proved elusive, and Ethan found himself wandering aimlessly around his room. At least when Puddles had been here, he’d had someone to talk to. Ethan smiled, remembering how the puppy had strained at the leash when they’d approached the BOQ. It had taken all of Abigail’s strength to keep him from climbing the stairs.

  “See, he thinks he’s yours,” she had said with a laugh. “I won’t tell Charlotte.”

  “Or Jeffrey,” Ethan had added. “He’d probably welcome an excuse to give Puddles away permanently.”

  Ethan walked to the window, wondering if anyone other than the guards were out. Surely there were no runaway dogs. The night was calm, the parade ground empty. Ethan looked to the left, and as he did, he blinked in surprise. Why was Jeffrey returning from the stables? Tonight was one of his nights to play poker at the Officers’ Club, and the game was still going on. Curious, Ethan hurried outside.

  “You’re getting back late,” he said, deliberately infusing his words with a questioning tone as he matched his steps to Jeffrey’s.

  If his friend was surprised to see him, he gave no sign. Instead, Jeffrey said, “Charlotte’s so busy with her sister that I feel like a fifth wheel around the house. I went for a ride to clear my head.”

  Ethan understood that need. “I wish I could clear mine. I keep thinking about the robberies.” And Grandfather and Abigail, though he wouldn’t admit that.

  “The rifles or the stagecoach?”

  “Both. I’m trying to figure out who else is involved.”

  Jeffrey kept his eyes fixed on the distance as he nodded shortly. “I haven’t heard anything.”

  That was what Ethan had suspected. If Jeffrey had any clues, he’d tell him. But Jeffrey had not overheard Dietrich Keller’s conversation with Abigail. “How well do you know Corporal Keller?”

  This time Jeffrey’s response was a shrug. “As well as I know any of your men, I guess. Why?”

  “Would you say he was intelligent?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but yes, I would.”

  “Smart enough to lead men?”

  The question gave Jeffrey pause. “Probably,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “Why?”

  “I heard him talking about needing extra money. He claims he wants to bring his girl out here and marry her. Nothing wrong with that, but it sounded as if he has saved more than other men.”

  “And you think he might be getting that money illegally.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So, ask him.”

  “I am not a thief.” Dietrich Keller’s face flushed with anger as he glared at Ethan, seemingly forgetting that he was addressing an officer. The two men were standing in the small room next to the adjutant’s office. Though Corporal Keller had appeared slightly apprehensive when he’d received Ethan’s summons, the apprehension had turned to anger.

  “If you didn’t steal it, where did you get the extra money to bring your girl out here? And don’t deny that you have it. I overheard you speaking with Miss Harding.” Ethan kept his voice firm, knowing that men were more likely to break down and reveal the truth when pressured.

  “I vill not deny it, sir. It is the truth, and everyone knows it. I vorked for that money. Some men pay me to shine their boots and buckles. I clean rifles for others. I save every penny I can, but I never stole anything. Never. You must believe me.”

  “The fact remains that someone took weapons from the storeroom. Do you know who it was?”

  “Nein.”

  Unfortunately, Ethan believed him, and that meant he was where he’d been the day before: no closer to discovering who was responsible.

  Frances frowned when she realized that she’d turned right rather than left at the Y in the road. She never came this way, for the trail that was the Army’s excuse for a road led to the river, and she had no desire to see that. The hog ranch, which was where she was headed, lay in the other direction, and yet Frances could not dismiss the feeling that there was a reason she’d come this way. It wasn’t simply inattention. Something, some instinct, had led her toward the river. Intrigued, she flicked the reins and increased her pace. It might be nothing at all, a false alarm, but at least she’d know.

  When she crested the last rise and looked down at the Laramie River, Frances whistled softly. She’d been right. There was a reason she was here, and it was to learn what Leah did when she left the ranch.

  The fool! It was bad enough that Leah was with a woman from the fort, but of all the possible women, she had somehow gotten mixed up with Abigail Harding. That had to stop immediately, for Abigail was the one person who might be able to connect Mrs. Dunn with Peg. The lieutenant was a man and as unobservant as they came, but Abigail was different. Was that why she was with Leah?

  Frances’s frown deepened. Though Leah did not know what Frances was actually doing when she pretended to visit her fictitious ailing sister, she wasn’t dumb. And neither was Abigail. Frances couldn’t control Abigail, but she could ensure that Leah understood the consequences if she ever spoke to Miss Abigail Harding again.

  16

  Jeffrey won’t be happy.” Charlotte sighed as the runner reached home. The Laramie Blues were at bat, and tonight it seemed as if nothing could stop them. While Crowley’s Champs fumbled balls, dropped bats, and missed seemingly easy catches, the Blues were playing a virtually faultless game.

  Abigail shifted the basket of baked goods from one hand to the other. Normally, she would have placed it on the ground during the game, but Charlotte had insisted on bringing Puddles with them tonight. At a minimum, the dog would have tried to stick his nose under the napkin. More likely, he would have devoured at least a couple of the cinnamon rolls she’d spent the afternoon baking.

  When she’d returned from her morning ride without seeing Leah, Abigail had decided that kneading dough might ease some of the tension that had settled in her neck and shoulders. Today was the third consecutive day Leah had not come to the riverbank for her lesson, and that worried Abigail, making her fear that Leah was ill. There was only one thing to do. If Leah wasn’t at the cottonwood tomorrow, Abigail would visit her at Peg’s Place. In less than a month, Abigail would be on her way back to Vermont, and before she left, she wanted to see Leah finish another reader and begin lessons in basic arithmetic. Leah might still lack the confidence to leave the hog ranch and build a new life, but if she chose to go, those skills would help her find a position as a cook, even if she wasn’t ready to work in a shop.

  Abigail glanced at Charlotte, knowing her sister would not approve of a trip to the hog ranch. Nor would Ethan, but perhaps the trip wouldn’t be necessary. Perhaps Leah would come for her lesson tomorrow. Abigail would worry about it then. Tonight was for baseball.

  “It’s about time the Blues won,” she told her sister. “Ethan said they’ve been horribly discouraged.” Who wouldn’t be? No matter how hard they tried, Ethan’s team had lost every game so far.

  Another batter took his place, waiting patiently while the Champs’ pitcher stretched his arms, then swung them in wide circles. It was a ploy familiar to everyone who’d watched the games this summer, an attempt to make the batter so anxious that he’d swing at anything.

  “You always did champion the underdog.” Charlotte’s words were matter-of-fact.

  Abigail would not deny the accusation. It was, she suspected, part of the reason she felt such a strong need to help those who were less fortunate or in times of trouble. “I know what it’s like to be in second place. It wasn’
t easy being your sister. You had already mastered everything I tried.”

  As Puddles, apparently bored with being forced to remain stationary, began to dig a hole, Charlotte tugged on his leash before she looked at Abigail. “That was only because I was older. I knew how hard it was to do some things, so I tried to make them easier for you.”

  “And you did. I tried to do the same thing for Elizabeth.” Abigail frowned at the pitcher and his seemingly endless warm-up exercise. “But, no matter what I did, I was always the second daughter. Sometimes I wondered what it would have been like if I’d been an only child. Did you ever think about that?”

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “Well, I did. On bad days, I’d wish I didn’t have to share Mama and Papa’s attention with anyone. Now, though, I look at Ethan and I’m glad I wasn’t the only child. I can’t imagine life without you and Elizabeth.” Perhaps Ethan’s childhood would have been easier if he’d had a sibling. At least then he would not have been the sole recipient of his grandfather’s attention.

  Crack! The batter hit the first pitch, sending the ball into right field as he began to circle the bases. When he reached home, breathless but clearly exultant over his run, Charlotte sighed again. “The Champs will never recover from this.”

  They did not. The Blues won by ten runs, their elation palpable as the last inning ended. While the Blues celebrated, Jeffrey stalked to the center of the parade ground and shook Ethan’s hand. Abigail could not hear his words, but the firm line of his mouth told her that Charlotte had been right: he was not happy. Though it was only a game, the loss appeared to rankle more than it should have.

  As her husband turned to leave, Charlotte handed Puddles’s leash to Abigail. “I’d better go with Jeffrey.”

  With the basket in one hand, the dog’s leash in the other, Abigail made her way to the triumphant team.