On the other side of the privacy screen, Captain Nolan snored loudly. The two women looked at each other and broke into laughter.
In spite of Prudence's warning about the condition of her father's quarters, Indy was shocked and appalled. She had been prepared for dirt and disorder, typical of any man who didn't have a woman to take care of him, but she had not been prepared for this—this went beyond dirt and disorder.
The main room—the sitting room or parlor— was a perfect square, with a front window facing the parade ground, and a southern window looking out to the detached kitchen and a domed mountain that backed the camp. The inside adobe walls looked much the same as the outside walls, except lighter in color.
The furniture, what little there was, consisted of a scarred pine table, two camp chairs, and an iron bedstead like the one she'd just vacated. Several half-eaten meat pies, no doubt provided by some of the officers' wives, were so old they'd grown fuzz. Tin plates, encrusted with food, had been pushed to one end of the table and haphazardly stacked. A saddle, in need of mending, had been tossed in the corner beside the window, along with a sword belt, an old pair of riding boots, and an obscene boot jack, the iron cast in the likeness of a naked woman sitting down, her legs spread wide open.
Army regulations allotted a colonel four rooms with an added detached kitchen. Yet, it was obvious that her father used only this one room to eat, sleep, and live in. It seemed a great waste when there were probably several officers with families who could have made good use of the extra rooms.
Slowly she walked across the room to the hearth. There, on the mantel, above the stone fireplace, was evidence that this was indeed her father's quarters: several well-worn books by Scott and Irving, and Dennis Mahan's textbook, Course of Civil Engineering. Mahan was a renowned instructor at West Point where her father and U. S. Grant had learned the art of war.
Indy lifted the book off the mantel. The leather binding had recently been oiled. The book fell open at a page long held by a child's golden curl. She reverently touched the silky lock and recalled how she had teased her little brother for having such beautiful, golden, curly hair.
"Do you happen to know where my father might be now? I'd like to talk to him."
"I wouldn't expect to see him until tomorrow anyway. He took a patrol out right after I spoke to him this morning. They went hunting for Chie. It's a waste of time and energy as far as the men are concerned, but your father is the one in command."
Indy looked up from the book. "Why do you say that?" she queried in an even voice that belied her irritation. She resented people speaking badly of her father.
"The Apaches know every inch of this land— every mountain crevice, every arroyo, every canyon. If they don't want to be found, no soldier on earth can find them, especially the colonel."
Indy stared at the textbook in her hands. The author had taught his students warfare strategies based on those of Frederick the Great and Napoleon—civilized men—not desert nomads. What Pru had just said, combined with what Captain Nolan and Sergeant Moseley had said, made Indy realize just how serious the situation here at Bowie was. She took a deep breath. "Does everyone think my father incapable of dealing with the Apaches?" she asked, almost afraid to know the answer.
"I'm afraid so, Indy," Prudence said in earnest. "The problem is he's convinced that his way—by that book—is the right way. The only way. He just doesn't seem to realize that things need to be done differently here. He refuses to listen to the men with experience."
Indy bowed her head. "You don't like him, do you?"
"The colonel's a hard man. But I don't have to tell you that, do I? I was there when you came in last night. I saw your expression when he rebuked you. I saw how much he hurt you." Prudence looked suddenly weary. "I know I've spoken out of turn, and you can hate me if you want. I wouldn't blame you a bit, but you're going to be living here and you'll soon be meeting the women of Bowie—the wife of the soldier who was killed yesterday and others."
Indy felt suddenly sick inside. "No doubt they blame my father for their losses."
"They won't openly admit it, but yes."
Indy nodded, resigned. "I know Father is a hard man, but he wasn't always that way. You have to believe that. He used to be . . . different. He was kind, patient even loving."
"Come on now," said Prudence. "I've prepared a bath for you. The water was practically boiling when I left to get you. It should be just about right now. After your bath you need to get into bed before Doc sounds a charge. And while you're resting, I'll get working on this . . . mess."
"Oh, no, Pru. It's too much. I can't ask you to clean this up. I can't ask anyone to clean it up. I—"
"Oh, pshaw! There's nothing here I haven't seen before. No, I insist!"
Unlike the parlor, the diminutive sleeping room Prudence had prepared for her was neat and clean. There was a bed, a chip-sided washstand, and a chair with a rawhide seat. The fragrance of fresh straw from the bed sack beneath an invitingly thick goose-down mattress filled her nostrils and made her think of long-ago afternoons when she and Justice used to play in the stable behind their house.
"All right, if you insist." Indy gave in.
"I'll leave you now. Enjoy your bath, then get into bed!"
Indy swung around and took Prudence's hands into her own. "You've been awfully kind. Thank you."
Prudence smiled and squeezed Indy's hands. "We're all sisters out here. We need to help each other. And you're welcome." She turned and left, closing the front door gently behind her.
Indy stood staring at the door moments after Prudence had left. It had been so long since she'd had any female friends that she had almost forgotten what it was like. Friends laughed together, cried together, and shared secrets. It would be nice to have a friend again. "Sisters," Prudence had said. She smiled and gave a little laugh. Sisters would be even nicer.
Indy was about to return to her room when she looked out the window and saw the patrol ride two by two into the parade ground, her father in the lead.
"Prepare to dismount," Colonel Charles Taylor called out. "Dismount." He dismissed his men, tossed his reins to a waiting orderly, and started across the parade ground to his quarters.
Indy opened the door and waited for him, her fingers tightly gripped around the door handle. With a cheeriness she was far from feeling, she smiled. "Hello, Father. I was told you probably wouldn't be back until tomorrow. What a nice surprise."
He continued toward her, his gray eyes appearing as hard and cold as gunmetal. "You're the only surprise around here, miss, and it isn't one that pleases me."
The bath Prudence had prepared would have to wait.
Chapter 4
Indy backed into the parlor to allow her father to pass, then closed the door, leaned against it, and watched him survey the room. By rights, he should be embarrassed knowing that one of the laundresses had come in and cleaned up part of his deplorable mess. He should also be ashamed. But she knew he was neither.
Standing in front of the table, facing the window, he removed his hat and tossed it on the table. A cloud of dust rose up off the brim and crown. Then he stripped off his gauntlets and threw them on top of the hat. "Well, daughter, what do you have to say for yourself? You were told to stay home and take care of things there."
Indy drew a steadying breath and spoke to his back. "Yes, Father, I know, and I fully intended to do just that, but the servants do everything that needs doing around the house and there really wasn't anything for me to take care of once you were gone."
"In other words, you were bored and thought coming here would be a great adventure?"
"No. The fact of the matter is that I was worried about how you would manage without someone to see to your needs. I thought I might be of help." She could tell he was furious by the way he rolled his shoulders back and straightened his posture.
He turned around quickly and stood on the balls of his feet. "Well, miss, you thought wrong! If I had wanted help, I would
have hired a striker!"
His anger hit her like a hard slap making her suck in her breath. She felt herself weaken, then chided herself, telling herself that this was no more or no less than what she had been expecting. She likened his fury to that of a hurricane. At the moment he was all wind, but he'd eventually blow himself out. With that thought in mind, she resolved to weather the storm and not let him see how he upset her.
She forced a light laugh as she pushed away from the door and walked around him to the hearth. "I beg to differ with you, Father, but you are very much in need of help," she said with a calm that belied her jumpy nerves. "Why, I couldn't believe these were your quarters when I first saw them. I've never seen such filth. I'm surprised you weren't overrun with vermin!" She turned to face him. "And to think," she scolded, narrowing her eyes and lowering her voice, "of all those lectures you gave Justice and me about being neat and tidy."
"You blatantly disobeyed my orders, Independence. If a soldier disobeyed me the way you did, he'd be charged with insubordination and made to ride the cannon."
It was a fagged, used-up threat that she had heard him say a thousand times before with his subordinates. Hearing it now, directed at her, made her bold. "Oh, for heaven's sake. As long as I can remember you've wanted to punish someone by making them ride the cannon, but you haven't done it yet, and it's unlikely you ever will. Besides, I'm not a soldier, Father. I'm your daughter, therefore, I'm not subject to military punishment." She paused to catch her breath. "Now, what's done is done," she told him in a dismissive tone. "I know you would like to send me back, but you can't. It's too dangerous. So why don't we just make the best of it until you get your new orders? Then we'll both go home." She struck a match to light the kerosene lamp sitting on the mantel.
He stood behind her, glaring. "It seems you leave me no choice," he said in a tight voice, barely moving his lips. "But from now on, you'll do exactly as I say without question, and you will not under any circumstances interfere in my business or Army business. Do you understand?"
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I understand completely."
The dreaded confrontation was over and she would stay. Through weary eyes, she studied him. The harsh contours of his face gave him a cold, intimidating demeanor. His mouth curved down in a perpetual frown as his lips were unused to smiling. And his eyes, gray as chimney smoke, were deep-set and hooded beneath a sharp, jutting brow.
"He's a hard man," Prudence had said. Even harder now than before he'd left St. Louis, Indy decided, studying him covertly as he lit his cigar. She wondered if the change was the result of his assignment to Camp Bowie. He had put in for Washington. The President had hinted that there might be a position for him helping to create the new Indian policy. But when that time came, Grant called on a civilian friend instead. Her father had felt betrayed and considered his assignment to Camp Bowie a slap in the face.
The confrontation left her exhausted and brought back her headache. She was about to sit down when someone knocked at the door. "I'll get it," she offered before he could say anything. The diversion was just what she needed.
Three women greeted her with cheerful smiles. "We're the official welcoming committee," one said, taking a single step forward. The movement made Indy notice that she was pregnant—very pregnant. "I'm Ava Burroughs, Lieutenant Burroughs's wife, and this," she said, gesturing to her right, "is Aphra Sinnett and Opal Dillehay. We didn't think you'd be up to preparing meals yet, what with your injury and all, and we thought you might like some supper."
Indy had steepled her hands in front of her mouth. "Oh, yes, thank you." She could have cried she was so grateful. "Won't you please come in? You'll have to excuse the place. I'm afraid I haven't had time to do anything with my father's quarters yet." Stepping back into the parlor, the three women paraded past her with their fragrant offerings.
"Think nothing of it," Ava Burroughs said on her way to the table. "We've all been where you are now, some of us more times than we can count. Good evening, Colonel Taylor," Ava said, holding her ceramic stew pot in front of her enormous belly. "I know how much you like my beef stew, so I brought enough for you and your daughter." Turning to Indy she added, "The vegetables are from my garden behind our quarters and the beef is range beef, a little different tasting than the eastern beef I know you're used to, but I think you'll like it."
"I'm sure I will," Indy returned with a wide smile.
Aphra set her gingham-checked bundle down on the table and unwrapped it like a baby. It was a loaf of freshly baked bread with the most beautiful golden crust Indy had ever seen. She almost swooned at the aroma that wafted up from the table and filled her nostrils. The last, from Opal, was an apple pie, reminiscent of the apple pies her mother used to make.
"Everything looks absolutely wonderful. I can't tell you how grateful I am—and hungry. I haven't eaten a thing since breakfast. Thank you. All of you."
As if tied together by an invisible thread, Ava, Opal, and Aphra started for the door at the same time. Ava reached out and touched Indy's arm. "You're quite welcome. As soon as you're feeling yourself, you come by. All three of us live just up from you on Officers' Row."
Indy closed the door, then went in search of eating utensils. In a day or two, she promised herself, she would return the dishes and become acquainted with the women of Officers' Row.
The next morning, immediately after she heard her father leave, Indy set about moving his personal belongings from out of the parlor into the next largest bedroom. Among his things was the leather pouch in which he kept the letters Justice had written him from West Point. Her father prized those letters more than gold and reread them often, but had never shared them with her. Someday, when things improved between them, she would ask to read them.
Indy had just opened the front door to sweep the dust outside when the bugler blew the nine o'clock call. A moment later her father and a number of the troopers—all in full dress uniform—and a half-dozen women assembled on the parade ground in a semicircle around three wooden coffins. She leaned on her broom listening as the chaplain’s prayers. Then the coffins were lifted into the ambulance and the procession made its way down the hill to the cemetery while the trumpeter played the funeral march. They had been gone a quarter hour when Indy heard the honor guard fire off three volleys of shots.
The troopers were the first to return, marching at quick time back to their quarters. The women followed at a slow walk. Indy didn't have to be told which one was the new widow; she was the one walking between Opal and Ava. She was the one crying.
Indy's heart went out to her. She didn't envy the choices the young woman would have to make. If she didn't have family or money, none of them would be easy. And what with it being so dangerous to travel now…. The choices, Indy realized were even more limited than she had thought.
The very thought of packing up and leaving sent Indy into a panic. She clung to the broom handle and stared at the flagpole in the center of the parade ground. If not for Shatto coming to the detachment's rescue, where would she be now? The army reports had not censored the horrors the Apaches inflicted on their captives. Slavery. Repeated beatings. Starvation.
Thank God Shatto had come along when he had.
Shatto.
His name was becoming a habit in her mind— just thinking his name triggered an image of him—an image that would take her away from the present and put her right back in the ambulance, watching him bring the team to a stop, feeling his weight on top of her and his hands on her body.
Closing her eyes she imagined she could feel them now. Warm and strong. Demanding, but not hurting. They touched and explored, frightened her, and, she had to admit it, excited her.
Beginning in her shoulders, a tremor moved with excruciating slowness down her body, radiating into her breast, her stomach, then moving straight to her abdomen where it lingered and ignited a soft, sweet fire. A sensation like none she'd ever known took root deep inside her and blossomed like a summer rose. The
feeling stayed with her only a moment, then disappeared leaving her breathless and wanting.
Wanting what?
Her eyes flew open at the unexpected question and she began sweeping with a vengeance, taking her frustration out on the broom, as if it were to blame. It was just a daydream, she told herself. A silly daydream. There was no harm in it, and it didn't mean anything. So why did her face feel so hot, and why did she feel as if she'd done something naughty?
Thundering hoof beats put an end to her discomfiture. Picking up the broom she stepped outside. A horseman galloped through the center of the parade ground. Pulling a tight rein he slid his horse to a halt right in front of her.
"I need Colonel Taylor!" he shouted.
"He isn't here, Private. He's at the adjutant's office. What's the matter?"
The soldier wasted no time on polite chatter. "Apaches ridin' in," he shouted as he reined sharply to the left and spurred his horse into a gallop.
A cloud of dust engulfed her, filling her nose and mouth. She tried to wave it away but was forced to retreat coughing and choking back inside her quarters. What did he mean that Apaches were riding in? Were they attacking the camp? Biting down on her thumbnail, she perched herself on a chair in front of the window, hoping to get a glimpse of something or someone. As the dust began to settle, she saw the riders. There were six of them—naked but for their breechclouts, cartridge belts, and moccasins. They were walking their horses through the camp, and though they looked frighteningly dangerous and menacing.
Shatto rode in front of the small party, a head taller than the others. Slung facedown in front of him, over his horse's withers, was a body—an Apache. Even from where she sat she could see the blood covering the dead Indian's back. With an effort, she switched her gaze to the others and was horrified to see that each of the riders had an Apache prisoner that they were towing behind them.
The Peacemaker Page 5
