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When they entered the store, enlisted men buying tobacco and assorted medicinal items made way for them. Several tipped their caps, a few ventured mumbled hellos and one insolent corporal winked leeringly. Jake Lavery, the proprietor, beamed as they approached. “Ladies, what can I do for you?
After placing their grocery order, Lily ushered her sister to a corner where yard goods and sewing notions were displayed. Thus removed from the prying eyes of men, the sisters studied some newly arrived bolts of cloth.
Rose stroked a brown calico covered with sprigs of tiny yellow flowers. “I rather fancy this for my summer dress.”
Each summer and winter, their father provided them with money to make one serviceable gown apiece. Lily always had difficulty making up her mind, and today was no exception. She draped a navy blue muslin across her shoulders.
Rose shook her head. “Too drab. Try the gingham. It reminds me of the ocean. That is, if I’d ever seen it.”
Lily unrolled a couple of yards and carrying the bolt to the small mirror on the wall, held the gingham to her face. The color did something magical for her eyes, tinting the usual blue with a hint of sea-green. She turned to Rose. “I like it.”
“That was easy. I do, too. Have we need of patterns?”
Lily shook her head. “I have some ideas about adapting ones we already have.”
“I trust you. You’re the expert seamstress.”
Mr. Lavery’s wife measured and cut the material, then wrapped it in brown paper and tied it with string. “Come show me when you’ve finished the gowns.” A wistful expression crossed her leathery face. Observing the woman’s worn gray dress, Lily ached for her. Frippery was hard to come by on the prairie where simplicity and practicality were both necessary and valued.
Lily tucked their purchases in the mesh bag they had brought with them. Their last stop was the mail counter. “Kellogg. Anything for us?” Rose inquired of the red-bearded postal agent, recently arrived at the fort.
“I know who you are,” the man said, as if offended that they would identify themselves to someone with such a brilliant memory. “You’re those girls the men are always talking about.”
Rose bristled. “I hardly think so.”
The man leaned on the counter and folded his gnarled hands, peering at them with beady eyes. “Bet on it, miss. It’s just as well your papa don’t hear some of what they say.”
Lily drew herself up to her full height. “Sir, our mail, if you please.”
He grinned wolfishly, then took his time moving to the mail slots.
“I declare,” Lily whispered to her sister. “The nerve.”
Rose took the letters from the man, uttered a huffy “thank you” and led Lily out of the place.
“That was demeaning,” Lily said when they were out of earshot.
“Yes, but, Lily, I imagine the men do talk of us...you. Think about it. They’re far from home, missing their wives and sweethearts. And some of them are so young. Bachelors.” She trudged on deep in thought, then added, “Don’t you see how they look at you?”
“Me?” Lily blushed.
“Oh, there’s some that might settle for me, but you’re the beauty.”
“Hush, Rose. Don’t you go tempting fate with that talk. ‘Pride goeth before a fall,’ and I don’t want to be prideful.”
“You can’t pretend you don’t notice their interest. For example, that new captain couldn’t keep his eyes off you at the Hurlburts’ dinner.” She stopped in her tracks and studied her sister. “You could do a lot worse,” she said gently.
“I’m not husband hunting.” Lily grinned coquettishly. “At least not until St. Louis, if that time ever comes.”
“St. Louis. A den of iniquity, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t.”
With a shrug, Rose held up the mail. “I suppose then that you’ll be wanting to look over the letter that came today from Aunt Lavinia.”
“Oh, do let’s hurry.” So eager was Lily to read the letter, she didn’t notice how Rose lagged behind. Nor did she see the concern in her sister’s eyes.
At home, scanning Aunt Lavinia’s letter before sharing it with Rose, Lily sighed in disappointment. There was no invitation for either of them. Just a description of Lavinia’s new Easter bonnet, the menu of a sumptuous dinner at the home of a local politician and a recipe for an elegant presentation of tenderloin of pork, as if they often had such a cut of meat available.
Bent over her crocheting, Rose looked up as Lily read the final paragraph.
“I shudder to think of you girls subjected to the cold winds and extreme weather of the prairie. Not to mention living in a forsaken army post, surrounded by who knows what sort of individuals. For the life of me, I cannot understand why Ezra took you to such a place. Would that your mother had persuaded him to abandon his army career. Well, water over the dam. I pray for your safety and hope conditions will permit us once again to meet. Perhaps after the miasma that is summer here along the Mississippi.
Your devoted aunt,
Lavinia”
Lily put the letter aside and sought composure by going to the sewing cabinet to locate the pattern for Rose’s new dress. Only now in light of Lavinia’s vague promise could she admit how much she had counted on deliverance from this wilderness outpost. She tried to take each day as it came, but the fierce, unpredictable spring winds tried her soul and increased her longing to escape. At times she wanted to scream from sheer frustration.
Rose had said something, but lost in her thoughts, Lily had to ask her to repeat it.
“Dear sister, patience.” Rose wasn’t trying to irritate her, and, yes, patience was needed, but right now the advice rankled.
“What’s the matter with me, Rose?”
Her sister set aside her crocheting. “You really do want to leave. It’s more than a dream, isn’t it?”
Lily sank back into her chair. “I’m so restless. Every day is like every other day. Rose, there’s a whole world out there, and I want to be part of it. If only I were a man, I could choose my lot and go wherever my fancy took me.”
“I would miss you.”
Chastened, Lily hung her head. “And I you.” She had thoughtlessly hurt her sister. The tug to home and to Rose and Papa was strong, but so was the pull of the exciting world beyond the prairie. Why couldn’t she lay aside these dreams that only grew more compelling with each passing day?
“Are you very disappointed? Had you thought Aunt Lavinia’s invitation would come this soon?”
Lily looked helplessly at her sister, unable to confess the degree to which she had counted on Aunt Lavinia to save her. “Mama wouldn’t like me to act like this. She would say everything happens in God’s time, not mine.”
Rose nodded as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Then leave it to God.” She began crocheting again. “Meanwhile, I so love having you here for company. And take heart. Aunt Lavinia didn’t rule out a visit later in the year.”
Lily unfolded the pattern, but, disappointed by the letter and consumed by guilt over how her departure would affect Rose, she couldn’t concentrate on dressmaking.
* * *
Several nights later, Caleb stretched out by the campfire, wearily resting his head on his saddle. This morning the cavalry had caught up with a band of Kiowas secluded in a small grove of trees. The soldiers had mounted a charge. Outmanned, the Indians had fired a few warning shots and then, to Caleb’s relief, had fled on horseback. Since the Washita, he had no stomach for engagement.
He understood there was no stopping the westward migration of his own people, but at the same time he grudgingly admired the Indians, both those who came in peace and those risking their lives for their tribal lands and honor. Perhaps the Indians weren’t that different from the emancipated slaves with whom he had fought in the war. Rarely had he been in battle with more dedicated or able fighters. Yet so many of his fellows treated these so-called “buffalo soldiers” as inferiors and made known their prejudice both with their abusive words and their fists.
Gazing up at the infinity of stars, Caleb wondered what God thought of the arrogant human beings He had created, so anxious to lord it over their fellow creatures whom they deemed ignorant or savage. Were the Indians and the former slaves that much different from himself? He suspected all any man wanted was dignity. Yet he knew firsthand that any one of them was capable of barbarity.
Tired of his gloomy thoughts, he withdrew a worn letter from his pocket. Slowly he unfolded it and squinted to make out the words, although he had already practically memorized them.
Dear brother,
Sister Sophie, Pa and I are continuing to purchase additional acreage near Cottonwood Falls for the Montgomery cattle operation. As I’ve told you, grazing land is lush and water is plentiful. The other settlers are welcoming and enthusiastic for the prospects in this sparsely populated part of southeastern Kansas.
Thank you for the monies you have sent us. Your share of the ranch will be waiting for you when you muster out. We are all thankful that time is fast approaching. We are adding to the herd, so with hard work, this fall when we go to market, pray God we will see the realization of our hopes.
We likewise pray for your safety as we await the day of our reunion.
Your affectionate brother,
Seth
Their ranch—a dream come true. Joining his father and brother in the exciting enterprise would finally anchor him in one place. His place. A place where money could be made. Where a family could grow and prosper. A peaceful place.
Once before he had thought to establish a home. To live in harmony with a woman he loved. To plan a future together. That dream, interrupted by the outbreak of war, had sustained him through long marches and frenzied battles. Until Rebecca’s letter, creased and soiled from its long journey, made its way to him in the winter of 1864. It was painful, even now, to recall her flowery words, made no less harsh by their embellishment.
It is with profound and heartfelt regret that I rue causing you any disappointment or loss of marital expectations. It has been my greatest endeavor to pass these uncertain days in the hope of your deliverance by a beneficent providence. But we are all, in the end, human beings—human beings with a need for love and companionship. So I beg your understanding and forgiveness for informing you that on Saturday last your friend Abner and I published the banns for our upcoming marriage.
Rebecca had, with a single blow, severed their relationship, one he had entered into wholeheartedly and purposefully. Beyond that, Abner’s betrayal of their boyhood friendship had cut deep. Caleb closed his eyes, the lullaby of coyotes baying on a distant hill doing little to induce sleep. The Garden of Eden. The tempted Eve. Caleb snorted under his breath. Rebecca had certainly succumbed to temptation and, in the process, taught him a bitter lesson concerning trust.
And what of Miss Lily Kellogg, the first woman since Rebecca to interest him? Was she made of sterner, truer stuff? Did he dare acknowledge how appealing he found her? Even for an intrepid cavalryman that was a daunting thought. One he should not entertain, not when his hands were tainted with the blood of innocents.
Chapter Three
Caleb joined his fellow officers Saturday night at the tavern just a short walk from the fort. It was a rough frontier establishment, crudely built and redolent of sweat and beer. Loud, harsh voices assaulted his ears. A bar covered one wall, and in the back were several tables of serious card players. Two women, no longer young, their faces caked in makeup, sashayed among the men. Caleb didn’t drink liquor, but neither did he want to appear standoffish. Through the years, he had learned a great deal about those under his command by observing their off-duty activities. Yet such places made him uncomfortable.
“Cap!” Maloney, a cavalryman who had been with him during several engagements, waved him over. Maloney was always good for a few stories. Caleb settled into a chair at the man’s table and didn’t have long to wait for the opening line. “Did you hear the one abut the general who saw a ghost?”
While the storyteller waxed eloquent, Caleb studied the crowd. Some gambled, some ogled the ladies, others, their eyes glazed over, threw back whiskey, undoubtedly searching for oblivion. He, too, sometimes longed for oblivion, but had long ago made the decision not to drink or gamble. He’d seen firsthand what such indulgences could cost a man—in some instances, not only his dignity but his soul.
When Maloney’s story came to its hilarious conclusion, Caleb rose and headed toward the door. Passing by a table of enlisted men, he overheard the tail end of a conversation and recognized Corporal Adams as the speaker.
“...and that one’s ripe for the pickin’ and I might just be the one to harvest her.”
“In a pig’s eye,” his fellow cackled. “She’s too good for the likes of you, Miss Lily is.”
“They’s all the same beneath that flouncin’ and finery. You just wait. I’ve got my eye on her. Some dark night—”
Caleb jerked the man to his feet. “You’ll do no such thing, Adams, or I’ll have you on report so fast it will seem like a cyclone hit you.” It took all of Caleb’s will to refrain from hitting the man in his obscene mouth.
Sniveling, Adams looked up at him through bleary eyes, his mouth stained with chewing tobacco. “’Twas just talk.”
“You make sure of that or you’ll deal with me.” Caleb thrust the man back in his seat and glared at him to be sure he understood.
“Mighty protective, aren’t you?” the corporal mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’.” Then he added, “Sir,” as if that would vindicate him.
“Change the subject, then,” Caleb said before striding out into the night, fists clenched at his side. This wasn’t the first man Caleb had heard talking about Lily, but most were respectful. Adams was a sneak, and Caleb hoped he was all talk, but based on his history with the corporal, he wasn’t so sure.
Walking back to his quarters, he wondered if he would have reacted so strongly had it been just any woman under discussion. He hoped so. But the mere suggestion of such a creature touching Lily Kellogg made his blood boil.
* * *
The much-anticipated spring band concert was a break from the monotony of life at the fort. This particular evening featured two fiddlers, a banjo player and a wizened harmonica player. Benches had been set up in the commissary, and the officers’ wives and daughters had prepared cookies and tea for a social following the musicale.
Major and Mrs. Hurlburt sat in the front row. Effie gestured to Ezra to bring Rose and Lily and join them. There was a stir of anticipation as the musicians took their places. The band performed old folk tunes as well as more recent camp songs. Early on, some of the enlisted men began clapping in time to the beat, and for an hour, all thoughts of danger and homesickness were suspended.
Lily was aware of the bachelor officers sitting in the row behind her, their buttons brightly polished, their gloved hands resting on their knees. Since the arrival of Aunt Lavinia’s letter a couple of weeks ago, Lily had been pondering her future. Was it unrealistic to consider another world—one of sophistication, intelligent discourse and high fashion? Rose had urged her to encourage Captain Montgomery, yet it would be hypocritical to lead him on. Attractive as he was, her favorable impressions of the man were surely skewed by the limited world of Fort Larned.
At the conclusion of the concert, the musicians bowed to enthusiastic applause and then asked the audience to join them in singing “Aura Lee.” Behind her, Lily heard a rich baritone voice and discovered when she stood to leave that the singer who had pierced her heart was Captain Montgomery.
Effie shoved her way between Rose and Lily and grabbed the captain by the arm. “Rose and I are helping serve the tea, but perhaps you could get some refreshments for this young lady.” She nodded at Lily.
“My pleasure,” the captain said, following the major’s wife to the food table to comply with her request. Before Rose moved off to join Effie, she poked Lily in the ribs and whispered, “It won’t hurt you to flirt a bit.” When Lily glared at her, Rose affected wide-eyed innocence and added, “Consider it a rehearsal for your assault on St. Louis beaux.”
Juggling two cups and a plate of cookies, Captain Montgomery returned to Lily. Most of the crowd had gone outside to eat, but he set the refreshments on a bench. “Shall we stay here?”
She looked around, flustered to see how few concert-goers remained. “This is fine,” she said, sinking onto the bench.
He handed her a cup, then made a toasting gesture with his own. “To you,” he said quietly.
“Whatever for?”
He smiled. “For gracing this place with beauty and gentleness. Most of us have lived with men for far too long. You are a breath of fresh air.”
The compliment both flattered and disturbed her. “Sir, I think you give me too much credit. I would suggest it is easy to say such things when, by your own admission, you have been long deprived of feminine companionship.”
“Do you think me so devoid of discernment that I am drawn to just any woman?”
Drawn? He was drawn? How to answer such a question? “Forgive me, Captain. Of course, you must know your own mind.”
“As I believe you must know yours. From what the men tell me, you are a fair, but demanding taskmistress—is there such a word?—among your patients.”
“A hospital is not the place for indecisiveness or the encouragement of malingerers.”
“Although one might not blame them for preferring your company to that of a drill sergeant.”
“I assure you there are times in that environment when I bear a closer resemblance to a drill sergeant than a docile maid.”
“From what I’ve seen of you, docile isn’t a word that comes readily to mind.”
She couldn’t help herself. She chuckled. “What word does come to mind?”
He leaned back as if to study her. “Perhaps curious. Or maybe determined.”
