скачать книгу бесплатно
“All in the service of distracting Captain Dunklin,” she said. “That’s not written anywhere in Hippocrates’s oath.”
Her concern touched him, she who had bigger problems than he did. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind a tease, since she seemed brave enough to voice her own.
“I’m certain Hippocrates intended it,” he told her. “The gist was perhaps lost in translation.”
To his pleasure, she smiled at his feeble wit. “Would it help if I feigned sleep this afternoon? That way, he won’t try to talk to me, and your headache will abate.”
She did precisely that as the ambulance bumped and rolled toward Fort Laramie, feigning sleep so expertly he wondered if she really did doze off. If she wasn’t actually asleep, then she knew precisely how to pretend.
He thought suddenly of his late wife, who had never feigned sleep because he never gave her reason to. He recalled Melissa’s pleasure at waiting up for him in the tent on that fatal march to Texas. Not for Melissa the hope that he would think she slept, and not trouble her with marital demands. She’d waited up for him, and showed him how quiet she could be as they made love in a tent. He couldn’t help smiling at a memory that used to sadden him.
They spent the last night out from Fort Laramie at James Hunton’s ranch, a more commodious place with actual rooms for travelers. Joe gratefully turned the entertainment of Captain Dunklin over to James, a gregarious fellow who had close ties to Fort Laramie. After dinner, neither man even noticed when Joe and Mrs. Hopkins quietly left.
“Is your headache gone?” she asked, speaking to him first, which made him hope she was beginning to trust him. It was a small thing, but Joe Randolph noticed small things.
“Yes, thank you.”
He only glanced at her, but it pleased him to see her smile. I can’t be certain—God knows she hasn’t said—but why would any man dare beat a woman like this? he asked himself. He could imagine no other way for her occipital bone to have a dimple in it. He knew it was not something he could ever bring up. He glanced again, and she looked as though she wanted to say something.
“Yes?”
“What is this spring campaign Major Walters mentioned?”
They had reached the edge of the ranch yard. Mrs. Hopkins turned around and he offered her his arm again. This time, she took it.
“I will give you a short course in the dubious business of treaty making, Mrs. Hopkins. If it is so boring that your eyes roll back in your head and you feel faint, let me know.”
“I am made of stern stuff,” she assured him.
“According to the Treaty of 1868, the Sioux and Cheyenne have been assigned reservations on the Missouri River, but also given a large tract of western land over which to roam, in search of buffalo.”
“That sounds fair enough.”
“Treaties always sound fair,” he said. “Included in that land, never actually surveyed, is the Black Hills. It’s sacred to the Sioux, and wouldn’t you know, someone has discovered gold there.”
“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “Prospectors want it, and the Indians are not happy.”
“They are not. President Grant offered to buy it, but Lo the Indian is not interested.”
She stopped. “Ah! I have heard that before. ‘Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind, sees God in clouds or hears him in the wind.’” She grinned at him. “Alexander Pope, who probably never saw an Indian. I ask you, shouldn’t poets write about what they know?”
“They should, but don’t. ‘Lo’ is our nickname for hostiles.” Joe stopped, certain that her feet must be cold, but unwilling to continue this conversation inside, where Captain Dunklin would interrupt. “The plan now is to insist that Lo, Mrs. Lo and the Lo kiddies who traipse about in the unceded area—we call them Northern Roamers—be forced onto the reservations. Then Uncle Sam will turn that land and the Black Hills into one large For Sale sign.”
“If they won’t?”
“They have until the end of January, but I ask you, how easy is it to move a village in this cold? Very few Roamers have come to the reservations.” He sighed. “That is precisely what General Sherman wants—he’s general of the army. By February, I am certain a campaign will begin, to round up the Northern Roamers. You will see troops on the move this summer. Sherman is hoping for a fight.”
“All I want to do is teach school,” she said. “That sounds so self-centered, but it is the truth.”
“You’re not asking much.”
“I never do,” she replied quietly.
“Maybe you should,” he said on impulse.
She just shook her head and started for the roadhouse. It was his turn to stop at the door, thinking of another day of talking to Captain Dunklin, and feeling appalled by the idea.
Mrs. Hopkins must have been a mind reader. “Captain Dunklin reminds me of a pompous hypochondriac who taught in a school where I once worked. To shut him up, I would look at him with great concern, tell him I was worried about, oh, whatever I could think of, and suggest he see a doctor.”
“But I am the doctor!” Joe declared in humorous protest. “How can that work?”
“Who better to tell him that he should really rest his throat, because you’re concerned about that raspy, irritating sound he makes when he wants to get someone’s attention? You know the one I mean! You’ll have to be more diplomatic, but you understand.”
“I believe I do. We are now official conspirators.”
Her smile this time was genuine and made her eyes light up. Even if their precariously cobbled plan didn’t work, the major knew he would cherish the look in her eyes, a combination of gratitude and mischief that stripped away years from whatever burden she bore, at least for the moment.
He considered it a fair trade.
Susanna slept no better than usual, coming awake with that instant of terror, wondering how lightly she would have to tiptoe that day, before her conscious, rational mind reminded her that she was nowhere near Frederick Hopkins.
She followed her morning ritual, thinking of Tom first, hopeful that Frederick’s housekeeper had gotten him off to school with a minimum of fuss. Tommy had become adept at calling no attention to himself, so he wouldn’t upset his father. It was no way to live, but that was his life now.
“Tommy, I miss you,” she whispered.
When she came into the kitchen, she witnessed Dr. Randolph’s creativity. Captain Dunklin was dressed and wearing his overcoat, even though the kitchen was warm. Around his neck the surgeon must have wound a gauze bandage. She smelled camphor.
Susanna almost didn’t have the courage to look Major Randolph in the eye, not from fear, but from the conviction that she would burst into laughter, if she did.
The doctor made it easy. With a frown, he motioned her into the room.
“Don’t worry. Captain Dunklin isn’t contagious.”
“What could be wrong?” she asked, knowing she could play-act as well as anyone.
“I mentioned to the captain that he has a raspy way of clearing his throat that concerns me.” The major touched Captain Dunklin’s shoulder. “I wrapped his throat.”
“Major, I …” Captain Dunklin began, but the major shook his head.
“Don’t trouble yourself. I’m happy to help. When we get back, I’ll give you a diet regimen that should solve the problem. I gave him a stiff dose of cough syrup.” He sighed. “He’ll probably doze, but at least he won’t strain his vocal cords.”
“Captain, you may have my place by the stove, so you can be warm.”
Captain Dunklin looked at her with so much gratitude that Susanna felt a twinge of guilt. It passed quickly. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“That’s enough, Captain,” Joe admonished. “I would be a poor doctor if I advised you to eat anything more than gruel for breakfast. Would you like me to help you?”
“I do feel weak,” the captain whispered.
Susanna turned away and stared at a calendar until she regained her composure. “Let me feed him,” she whispered, when she turned around. “Women’s work, you know.”
It amused her that the doctor couldn’t meet her gaze. She took over the task of feeding a patient who had nothing wrong with him besides pomposity. When Dunklin looked at her with gratitude and tried to speak, she only shook her head and put her finger to her lips.
Swaddled in another blanket and seated in her chair by the ambulance’s stove, Dunklin promptly fell asleep, thanks to that dose of cough syrup. Susanna took his former place next to Major Randolph, who said nothing until they were under way.
“How will you treat him at Fort Laramie?” she asked, still not trusting herself to look at her partner in medical crime.
“I’ll prescribe bed rest and a low diet for five days,” he whispered. “His much-put-upon lieutenant will thank me, if he dares.”
They continued the journey in peace and quiet. Afternoon shadows began to gather as the ambulance stopped, and Major Randolph opened the door to look out. He opened the door wider. “The bridge is almost done.”
As she looked out the door, interested, the major left the ambulance to speak with a corporal wearing a carpenter’s apron. The cold defeated her, so she closed the door, only to have the post surgeon open it and gesture to her. Captain Dunklin muttered something, but did not wake.
“We’ll walk, but the driver will take Captain Dunklin across.”
She looked down dubiously at the frozen water under the few planks that spanned the bridge.
“You’re looking at the only iron bridge between Chicago and San Francisco. It will be the only bridge across the Platte, so it opens up the Black Hills from Cheyenne. Say goodbye to the buffalo and Indians. Here comes the gold rush.”
She took his gloved hand and crossed the river. When they were safely across, the corporal waved to the driver and he crossed.
“Of course, I can also say goodbye to drownings from the ferry,” the post surgeon said. “I hate those. Up you get. Next stop is Fort Laramie and your cousin.”
“I wish I could see more,” she grumbled, as the ambulance trundled along.
“Nothing simpler,” the major said. “You pull on that cord and I’ll pull this one. Makes it frigid in here but maybe we ought to revive the captain.”
“We’re coming in behind the shops and warehouses,” the major said. He pointed to the hill. “There’s my hospital, still standing. A good sign, when you leave a contract surgeon in charge.”
They came over the brow of the hill and Fort Laramie sprawled below. In the light of late afternoon, more forgiving than the glare of midday, the fort was a shabby jumble of wooden, adobe and brick buildings.
“Why is everything painted red?” she asked.
“Apparently some earlier commander noted in a memo to Washington that the old girl was looking shabby. Next thing you know, there was a gigantic shipment of what we call quartermaster red. For reasons known to God alone, we also have a monstrous supply of raisins. Welcome to the U.S. Army.”
Chapter Four
“It’s so shabby,” Susanna said. “This is it?”
Joe laughed, which made Captain Dunklin flutter open his eyes. “As forts go, Fort Laramie is old. Forts out here are built for expediency, not permanence. When Lo is on reservations and the frontier shifts, this old dame will disappear.” He pointed to a row of houses. “We’ll let out Captain Dunklin first.”
The ambulance slowed, then stopped in front of an adobe double house. Captain Dunklin croaked out his thanks as the post surgeon helped him from the ambulance.
Susanna watched with interest as doors opened along Officers Row. On the other side of the largest building on the row, she thought she saw her cousin standing on a porch. She squinted, impatient with her bad eye.
The post surgeon shook his head when he rejoined her. “Captain Dunklin thinks he’s on his deathbed. Mrs. Dunklin is sobbing. Who knew he was so susceptible to diseases of the imagination?”
The ambulance continued down the row, passing the largest building.
“That is Old Bedlam, built almost thirty years ago.”
“Old Bedlam?”
“It’s been used as a headquarters, officers’ apartments, but most often as quarters for bachelor officers, hence the name.”
She wondered what the building with its elegant porch and balcony would look like, painted sensible white. To her Eastern eyes, Old Bedlam was grandiose and totally out of place, even painted red. “Do you live there?”
“No. Rank hath its privilege. I am two doors down from your cousin, in quarters with six rooms, as befits a major. I know. It hardly seems fair I should have so much space—two rooms more than Captain Reese—but I use one room as my clinic for women and children. Ah. There is Emily Reese.”
He helped Susanna from the ambulance. The Reeses lived in one half of a duplex, with what looked like a half floor above. Susanna stood beside him, gazing up at her cousin, whom she had not seen since Emily’s wedding five years ago.
Emily Reese was as pretty as Susanna remembered, with the family blond hair. Uncertain, Susanna stood where she was, expecting her cousin to come down the few steps to welcome her. As she waited, she felt dread settle around her.
Major Randolph seemed to sense her discomfort. He took her by the elbow and steered her toward the porch. Susanna saw the door on the other half of the duplex open and a lady with red hair step onto the porch, smiling more of a welcome than Emily. Susanna smiled at the other lady, who gave a small wave, then stepped back inside her own quarters, closing the door quietly. Someone is glad to see me, Susanna thought. Too bad it is not my cousin.
“Mrs. Reese, here is your cousin,” the major said. “You should invite her in.”
It was gently said, and seemed to rouse Emily to do more than stand there. She came no closer, but took Susanna’s hand when she and the major climbed the steps.
“So good to see you,” Emily murmured.
I wish you meant that, Susanna told herself. “It’s good to see you, Emily,” she said, wanting to shake off her well-honed feeling of dread, but not sure how. “I appreciate this opportunity you have given me.”
She wondered how long her cousin would have kept them on the porch, if Major Randolph hadn’t taken matters into his own hands and opened the door. “Emily, you’ll catch your death out here,” he chided, as though she needed reminding.
Once inside her own house, Emily Reese took charge. She indicated that the ambulance driver should take Susanna’s luggage upstairs.
The major took Susanna’s hand. “I’ll leave you two now. Good night.”
Susanna was left with her cousin. Take a deep breath and begin, she told herself, smiling her company smile at her cousin.
“It’s good to see you, Emily,” she said. “I hope …” Actually, I wish you would look me in the eye, she thought in alarm. What now? “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Five years,” her cousin said, making no move to take the overcoat that Susanna had removed.
Embarrassed, Susanna cleared her throat. “Emily, where should I hang this?”
Emily opened a narrow door under the stairs. “Next to the mop. I’m sorry we haven’t more pegs in the hallway, but the captain’s overcoat and hat take up room.”
Susanna nodded, amused to hear her cousin-in-law, Daniel Reese, referred to as “the captain.” She wondered if Emily was equal to a little tease about relegating relatives to the broom closet, and decided she was not.
When Emily just stood there, Susanna prodded a little more. “Where did you have the private take my belongings?”
“Upstairs. Let me show you where you’ll be staying.” Emily smiled her own company smile. “Come along. It isn’t much.”
Emily was right; it wasn’t much, just a space behind an army blanket at the end of the little hall. At least I have a place to stay, Susanna reminded herself as she and her cousin stood on the small landing. One bedroom door was open, and she looked in, charmed to see her little cousin, Stanley, stacking blocks, his back to the door.
She glanced at Emily, pleased to see some expression on her face now, as she admired her son.
