The soldiers all got down off their horses, and the sergeant motioned to one of them to see if the baby was alive. The soldier lifted the child in his arms and called, "He's breathing, Sarge, but he seems awful weak."
The sergeant stared at Julie, who continued smiling at him vacantly. One fine-looking woman, he thought, despite her haggard appearance. Too bad she was so... wretched. Something was very wrong. He had seen it happen before, out there. He turned to the other one. "I'm Sergeant Lasker, A Company, Fort Bowie. Are you from the wagon train that left El Paso a few weeks ago?"
"Yes, yes," Elisa sobbed. "We're all that's left." Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks, which the soldiers mistook as grief for her lost companions. "The Apache attacked back there. Four days ago. Five. I've lost track."
"Apache Pass," the sergeant said, sighing. "Damn, I wish we'd gotten word sooner. Maybe we could have gotten here in time."
Elisa blinked. "Word? You heard about the attack?"
"Not about the attack, ma'am," he explained, motioning her toward his horse. "We just heard there was a wagon train on the way. We were on alert for it. We'd better start back now. The baby needs tending to. We can talk on the way." He looked worriedly at Julie. "What's the matter with her? She don't seem hurt, but—"
"She's tetched," Elisa said, dismissing Julie. "I'm Mrs. Elisa Thatcher, Sergeant. My husband—"
"Hot damn!" The sergeant released her suddenly, jerked off his hat, and threw it to the ground to stomp on it. "Did you hear that? We got her! Only three survivors, and the captain's wife is one of 'em. Boy!"
Elisa stared. "I don't understand," she said slowly. There had to be a mistake. "My husband is Lieutenant Adam Thatcher, and he's stationed on the Gila River, almost on the California border."
"No, ma'am!" The sergeant informed her importantly. "Your husband is now a captain, stationed at Fort Bowie. He received a telegram from Fort Bliss saying you had passed through there a while back, and we been riding patrols looking for you. He wanted to make sure he intercepted you before you went on out west with the others." He looked at the soldier holding the baby, and smiled. "So that's the captain's baby! Well, he hoped your time wouldn't come till you got here, but seems like everything's okay, huh? There's a doctor back at the fort, and he'll take good care of you. Gee, you've sure had a rough time of it, ma'am." Elisa looked down at the ground modestly.
As they rode back to the fort, Elisa's mind worked frantically. Julie might never come out of her stupor. And if she didn't, what would happen to the baby? An orphan's home. No need for that, not when she could pass him off as her own. Who would know differently, or care? Everyone else was dead. Myles surely was. He would be no trouble, and the only reason Adam had agreed to take her back as his wife was the baby—which was dead. She had not wanted Adam to know she had lost their baby and hadn't allowed Derek to send Adam word when she gave birth. By letting everyone think Darrell was hers, her marriage was secure for as long as she wanted it to be. Later, if someone better came along, well, who could say what might happen one day? For the moment she was safe.
She reminded herself that had it not been for her holding herself together they would probably all be dead. That baby owed his life to her, by God.
Chapter 20
Julie stared pensively through the narrow window. The sweet-faced woman who had helped her with a hot, delicious bath the night before and brought her a clean pale-blue wool dress had also explained where she was, but it meant nothing to Julie.
She watched as six cavalry companies filed out of the stables toward the parade ground, the officers' harks crisp in the still air: "Column right! Left line! Company, halt!" Horsemen paced briskly, raising dust from the hard ground. Each of the six companies marched into regimental front lines, mounted on horses of matching colors, the guidon of each waving colorfully from a pole fixed into the stirrup socket of the guidon corporal's stirrup. The men sat in disciplined form, double ranks of mostly mustached and sunburned faces, all stern. They faced the company commander and the adjutant, who took his report. Then the adjutant turned his horse and trotted him about fifty feet forward, halting before a man who sat regally atop his mount, apart from the others.
Lieutenant Colonel Wendell Manes answered the adjutant's salute with one of his own. Words were exchanged, and then the band exploded into quick, spirited march. The band marched down the front of the regiment, wheeling and returning. Finally, the buglers lifted their trumpets to the sky and sounded retreat.
"It's a lovely ceremony, isn't it, dear?"
Julie whirled around to see that Mrs. Flora Manes had entered her tiny cubicle. A small fluff of a woman, she was all kindness. Apparently, she saw only the good in things. She reminded Julie of someone—but who? "Yes," Julie responded finally. "It's quite lovely." She heard how hollow her voice sounded.
Mrs. Manes rushed forward to give her a hug. "How terrible it must be not to remember anything, my dear, but it will all come back to you one day. Doctor Mangone says you're suffering from shock, and no wonder. We must give thanks to God that you and Mrs. Thatcher and her baby were spared. One day it will all be behind you. We must think of the future now."
The future. Julie turned back toward the window. How could she think of the future when she couldn't remember the past and didn't understand the present?
"Come now," Mrs. Manes was saying. "My wonderful Mexican cook has prepared a delicious meal for you."
Julie did not want to eat, did not want to do anything but sit in her sparsely furnished room and try to sort out her thoughts. That dreadful roaring in her head had subsided, leaving a void in its place. Something told her that, if she were given enough time for thinking, she would figure out who she was and where she was and why things were the way they were.
But she obediently followed Mrs. Manes down a short corridor and into a larger room. The walls were of thick, splintery planks; the floor covered by smooth stones, dirt packed between to hold them in place. A large flag adorned one wall, and beside it was a large portrait of President Abraham Lincoln. Julie stopped. "Why is the portrait draped in black crepe?"
Mrs. Manes turned around and saw what she was looking at. "Oh, my dear child, our president is dead. Assassinated. Such a terrible thing. He was a great man."
Julie continued to stare at the portrait. Bits and pieces were coming back. There had been a war. Between North and South. She was a Southerner. "The war," she felt a sudden, driving need to ask. "Is it over?"
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Manes said. "At least Mr. Lincoln lived long enough to see the war end. General Lee surrendered to General Grant on April ninth, just five days before Mr. Lincoln died."
Julie blinked. "But what day is this? What month? What year?" She felt tears spring to her eyes, and she didn't know why.
"It's 1865, dear." Mrs. Manes took a step backward, suddenly a bit apprehensive. "And it's April twenty-seventh."
"Correct." Lieutenant Colonel Wendell Manes's voice boomed as he walked to the end of the long trestle table. Thick wooden benches ran down each side of the dining table. "And I have just received two wonderful items of news. The Confederate Army in North Carolina surrendered yesterday, and the President's assassin has been shot and killed."
Flora Manes led Julie to her place on the bench and gently scolded her husband. "You know I don't like to discuss anything distressing at the table, Wendell, dear."
"Yes, Flora, yes." He gave a mock sigh. "I know your feelings about dinner table conversation. I'll wait until brandy and cigars with my officers." Smiling at Julie, he asked pleasantly, "And how are you feeling, Miss Marshall? I must say you look much better today."
Julie was glad they talked so much. She wasn't up to talking at all.
The outer door leading to the parade ground opened, and Captain Adam Thatcher and Elisa entered the dining room. The captain gave a sharp salute, which was returned by his commanding officer. Adam Thatcher made a fine show in his dress uniform. His broad chest displayed a tight, brass-buttoned coat with
a white wing collar and black cravat. His long legs stretched the straight sweep of dark blue trousers with broad yellow stripes. Adam's face was lean, angular, with an olive complexion. He wasn't as deeply tanned as the other soldiers. A neatly trimmed mustache rimmed straight, firm lips. His eyes were dark and narrowed, as though constantly brooding. He was a military man through and through, rigid posture, a no-nonsense set even to his jaw. And though his skin had not darkened to a leathery hue from constant sun, his hair was bleached to a cotton white. It curled in a mischievous little-boy style about his ears and collar, the only hint of spontaneity in Adam Thatcher's austere manner.
He was handsome and he knew it, but was not preoccupied by it. He merely acknowledged it. As he looked at Julie Marshall, he was appreciative of her gifts—full, voluptuous breasts rising from the bodice of a dress made for a smaller woman, limpid green eyes peering up at him curiously from beneath thick, dusty lashes. Her hair, so black it shone with sparkles of blue, hung loose and soft around her delicate face. She had rare beauty, indeed, but the quality that struck him the hardest was her all-encompassing look of gentleness. She would be soft, warm, loving, nothing like the shrewish woman beside him.
Wendell Manes made the introductions between Julie and Adam Thatcher, and Julie was all too aware of the way his eyes caressed her, the clasp of his hand. "I am so pleased you're safe and well, Miss Marshall." His voice was as rich and satisfying as fresh-brewed coffee on a cold winter morning, and his smile was concerned, even probing. She felt it all the way to her heart.
"Thank you," she murmured, pulling her hand away firmly. She hadn't missed the way Elisa narrowed her eyes coldly. Julie did not like that woman and was eager to remember if there was a reason.
They took their seats, and Flora Manes lifted a tiny silver bell to ring for the Mexican servants. They brought in platters of chicken and dumplings cooked in a rich, red sauce, boiled potatoes with bits of onions, deep-fried corn balls seasoned with paprika.
"How is the baby, dear?" Flora asked of Elisa as she helped herself to a large portion of chicken. "Is he stronger now?"
Elisa shrugged. "Yes, I think so. I'm afraid I'm not very good with children. Adam found a young Mexican girl to look after him, and I haven't heard him crying much. He's all right."
Adam's eyes shaded. "You are his mother," he said crisply. "You must learn to care for him yourself."
Elisa laughed nervously. So far it had been quite easy to pass the baby off as hers, and she was going to have to continue the ruse for quite some time. She needed time to decide what she wanted to do with her life, and the only thing she was certain of was that she didn't want to be on that dismal little post in the middle of nowhere. "Now, Adam," she cajoled, "I told you I didn't have milk to nurse him. There was nothing for me to do but allow one of the mothers on the wagon train who was nursing her own to take over his care. I really haven't had much time with the baby."
"Well, that's going to change," he said gruffly. "I never believed in the ridiculous Southern custom of women handing over their children to someone else to care for."
"Oh, I agree," Flora interjected. "Wendell can tell you—we had the money to afford nursemaids, but I just wouldn't allow it, would I, dear?" She waited for her husband's obligatory nod before continuing. "And I'm so glad I didn't. Now that our sons are grown, I give thanks to God for every precious moment I had with them when they were growing up. You'll feel the same way, Elisa. And it will give you something to do out here, too. I'm afraid there's not much social life on this post."
Elisa looked near to tears. "I thought all military posts had balls and teas." She looked about the table. "Don't you?"
Wendell Manes attempted to explain. "This fort is in the middle of Apache territory, and as more and more settlers come west, our importance here will increase. We really haven't time for—"
"Never a social function, sir?" Elisa asked incredulously, feeling the sharp nudge of her husband's boot beneath the table. "Why, I should think a gala ball would be in order, so I might meet the other officers' wives."
"There aren't many officers here, Elisa," Adam snapped, "and not many of the enlisted men are married."
Flora Manes looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps," she offered gently, casting a pleading look at her husband, "we could have a little something. It would be a nice change, and it might be good for poor Julie."
Suddenly Wendell Manes grinned broadly. "Well, maybe you're right, dear. We'll have a welcoming party for Mrs. Thatcher—and a going away party for us."
Flora stared at her husband openmouthed. The others fell silent.
"I was going to tell you later," Wendell said to his wife, and then looked at Adam, "and I was going to make a formal announcement to my officers when we meet later. But I may as well tell all of you now that I have received orders to report to Washington."
"Oh!" Flora gasped, hand flying to her throat. She laughed, ecstatic. "Wendell, darling! My prayers have been answered. Washington! Oh! We'll leave this dreadful place, at last!" She turned to Elisa, oblivious to the younger woman's envy. "I have wanted Wendell to be sent there for so long. Washington!"
"Congratulations, sir," Adam said quickly, raising his wine goblet to his commanding officer. "I know you'll do well there."
Wendell gave him a wry smile. "Just as you would have, Adam, if you'd accepted the transfer offered you last month."
"You had a chance to go to Washington?" Elisa exploded. She had lifted her own glass to join in the toast, but now she set it down so quickly the contents sloshed over onto the table. "You turned it down?"
"I had to wait for you, didn't I?" Adam mumbled.
"Well, I'm here now," she snapped. "Just send word to Washington that you'll gladly take the next transfer. I don't want to stay here in the middle of nowhere any more than Mrs. Manes does. Why, nothing to do, and those savage Indians all around us...."
Wendell interrupted cautiously. "I'm afraid there's no chance for your husband to be transferred now, Mrs. Thatcher, unless he wants to give up the chance for a promotion. You see, I requested that he be placed in charge here. It's a wonderful opportunity for him, very important to his career."
Elisa got to her feet, cheeks flaming. "I don't give a damn about his career, sir. I've been through hell these past months, and I'm sick of this blasted wilderness, sick of death, Indians, hard times—all of it. I want civilization. It's easy for you to talk about how wonderful it is for him to be in charge of this ratty little fort, because you're leaving. I'm the one left behind with nothing to do but turn into a leathery old sun-wrinkled hag like every other woman I've seen out here."
While Wendell stared, stunned by her outburst, Flora touched her fingertips to her cheeks and whispered, "Why, my dear, are you referring to me? I've tried to stay out of the sun, and I had no idea...."
"Allow me to apologize for my wife." Adam Thatcher rose stiffly, furious. "She's not herself, which is to be expected after her ordeal. I'm sure when she's rested, she'll be as happy as I am over a promotion that means so much to my career."
"Oh, no, I won't," Elisa blazed, backing away as he held out his hand to her, meaning to lead her from the room. "I'm not going to stay here, I promise you that."
Adam apologized again quickly and, as his gaze swept over Julie, he saw the deep sympathy on her gentle face. Then he turned and clasped Elisa's shoulders and pushed her toward the door.
Wendell Manes rose. "Adam, I'm sorry," he called. "This was obviously not an appropriate time for me to say anything."
"Don't worry about it, sir." Adam made his voice pleasant as he pushed Elisa through the door. "I'm very pleased for your good fortune and my opportunity to command this fort. I'll meet you for brandy later." He closed the door after them, but Elisa continued her tirade, the angry sounds fading as Adam moved her along the corridor.
"I'm shocked," Flora Manes murmured as soon as they were alone. "I'm not at all sure that woman was meant to be a military wife. The very idea of such an outburst in fr
ont of her husband's commanding officer!"
"Most unfortunate." Wendell sat down and resumed eating. "Adam Thatcher is a fine officer, and he could have a fine military career, but not with that millstone around his neck."
Flora nodded.
They finished the meal, and Flora suggested Julie retire. "I have some sewing to do, and Wendell always sits up with his officers. They'll have a lot to talk about tonight!" She looked at her husband, her face shining. "How long before we go? Do I have time to get letters off to the boys telling them we're coming?"
"Well, I think we'll just surprise them, dear, because we leave on the next stagecoach east."
"I've so much to do!" Flora cried, jumping up. "Come along, Julie. I'll walk you back to your room."
* * *
Julie waited until Flora had bustled away, then found her way outside her room to the quiet parade ground. It was a nice night, a half-moon illuminating the purple-black sky. Drinking in the sweet, clean desert air revived her spirits.
The fort was a shabby collection of sad buildings, all of cottonwood. It was surrounded by a pointed stockade made of logs set upright in the ground, topped at each corner by bastions where sentries could see the countryside day and night. The ground had been worn smooth, and there was no vegetation within the fort. What a drab place it was!
"Miss Marshall."
She turned and saw Adam Thatcher approaching from the shadows. Standing a couple of feet to her left, he began by apologizing for Elisa's behavior. "What she said was inexcusable. If the lieutenant colonel were not so understanding, I'm sure my promotion would be in jeopardy."
"Don't worry, Captain. I'm sure Elisa just hasn't gotten over our ordeal. When I remember everything, I'll probably be the same way."
"Oh, I doubt that," he said quickly.
His lips turned upward, and an appealing dimple appeared in his face. She was reminded of how handsome he was.
"I think," he said, so softly that it seemed he was touching her, "you would be quite understanding, Miss Marshall. I can't imagine your ever causing your husband such unhappiness."
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