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They walked in silence, stopping in front of her tiny duplex quarters. Like all the housing at Fort Chamberlain, it was shoddily built and unpainted. Dust sifted through the chinks in the summer, and snow in the winter. The wooden structure’s most appealing features were the communal porches affixed to its front and rear.
“Have you decided yet what you are going to do?” Doc asked in a hushed voice, careful not to wake her neighbors.
“I want to stay,” she sighed. “Paul and I were going to make a new life in Kansas. I know it will be hard, but I want that new life, even without him.”
“You’ve explained that to Colonel Quiller?” he asked gravely.
“Yes, but what I wish and what the army wishes are very different things. I fear the army will have the last word.”
“You don’t think he can be persuaded?”
“He insists the frontier is no place for a woman. For me to stay would be imprudent as well as improper.” Her voice was bleak as she recalled her last meeting with the commander. “He says I must return to the East as soon as it is safe to travel.”
“I wish there was something I could do,” the man said glumly. “Edgar Quiller is the stubbornest man I’ve ever met.”
“You’re a good friend, Doc. You needn’t do anything—except quit calling me by that ridiculous nickname,” she teased quietly as she mounted the steps.
“But it fits, Rebecca-Perfecta.” He grinned. “Good night.”
“Good night.” With a chuckle, she closed the door.
Reveille sounded as Rebecca went into her tiny kitchen. Drinking a dipperful of tepid water from the bucket by the back door, she wistfully eyed the coal scuttle beside the cold stove. She was too tired to haul water for a bath and her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her that she had missed dinner last night.
Locating a day-old biscuit, she smeared it with apple butter and stepped onto the back porch to gaze out at the prairie beyond the dreary yard.
She was glad Fort Chamberlain was an open post. Wellguarded and armed with moveable howitzers, its only earthworks were trenches; the only ramparts, the positions of the sentries.
But she never felt a threat here, only an exhilarating sense of freedom as she viewed the plains spreading out before her, undulating and as vast as an ocean. Its mood, its color changed with every hour, with every day. During her short stay in Kansas, Rebecca had come to love the vivid blue mornings sparkling with dew, the lavender haze of the evenings and the bright wildflowers that dotted the dun-colored landscape, so different from the green hills of Pennsylvania.
“Good morning, Messmate,” she called softly when a lean, gray-striped cat emerged from under the steps and stretched sleepily. Plopping down to sit on his haunches, he meowed and blinked at her expectantly.
“Sorry about dinner,” she whispered, presenting the last of her biscuit, “but I should have known you’d be here for breakfast.”
The cat climbed the steps to sniff her offering dubiously. Taking it from her fingers, he chewed without enthusiasm, then looked to her for more.
Through the thin walls of the duplex behind her, Rebecca heard her neighbors rising. Inside, pots clanged, Captain March whistled a jaunty tune and his wife called her family to breakfast.
The cheerful, homey sounds made her feel even more alone. Tears burned her eyes as the familiar sense of loss flooded over her. Drawing a ragged breath, she forced herself to remember that she had lost her husband, but not her entire future.
She would go on with her life, she vowed, trudging into the house. She would find a way to stay in the West.
Opening her eyes, Rebecca looked dully around the stifling bedroom. She lay on her narrow bed, fully clothed, except.for her cage crinoline. Collapsed and misshapen, it rested on the floor where she had shed it. By the light filtering through the curtains, she guessed it was well into the morning. When the knocking that had awakened her resumed, she stumbled to the parlor and opened the door. An immaculate soldier stood on the other side.
“Private Ballard at your service, Mrs. Captain Emerson,” he greeted her with a polite bow. Having won the honor of serving as orderly of the day by being the best turned out man at Guard Mount, he took his duty very seriously. “Colonel Quiller sends his compliments and requests your presence in his office.”
“Now?” She blinked sleepily.
“As soon as possible, ma’am.”
“Please tell him I’ll come as soon as I make myself presentable, Private. I will be there within half an hour.”
“I’ll wait, if you please, ma’am.” He sat down on the shady bench outside the front door.
Rumpled and out of sorts, she returned to the bedroom to inspect her black dress in the washstand mirror. How stupid to have fallen asleep in her only mourning gown. With no time to press and freshen it, she would have to find another dress.
Within ten minutes, she had returned her crinoline roughly to the shape it had been before her encounter with Injun Jack and improvised a suitable mourning costume by affixing a black collar and cuffs to a purple dress. Her face was scrubbed, her hair neatly arranged, and her bonnet tied under her chin when she emerged to rescue the orderly from her neighbor boy, Billy March.
Grateful for deliverance from the five-year-old tyrant who had challenged his right to sit on the porch, Private Ballard escorted the widow across the parade ground. He chatted amiably, glad for the rare opportunity to talk with a woman.
Rebecca responded, but her mind was on the upcoming meeting. Why had the colonel sent for her? Had he heard of Injun Jack’s drunken kiss and decided to bar her from the hospital? Was wagon traffic rolling again? Or had he changed his mind about allowing her to stay? Whatever the reason, this audience would give her a chance to present her case again, she told herself optimistically. She would hear what he had to say… then he would hear her.
“It will be nice, don’t you think?” the orderly was asking.
“I’m sorry.” She smiled in apology. “What will be nice?”
“The gazebo for the dance.” He indicated an unfinished building near the main gate. Within its skeletal frame, a fatigue detail of Negro soldiers clambered up and down ladders, fastening festive paper lanterns to the exposed rafters. “Mrs. Major Little decided the new blockhouse would be just the place to hold the Fourth of July dance. She convinced the Old Man that it would look like a grand gazebo… as good as any they have back East.”
“Indeed.” Rebecca fought a grin as she envisioned Mrs. Little descending on the commander. Since Colonel Quiller was a widower, the wife of the next ranking officer had stepped into the coveted role of hostess. Critical and overbearing, Mrs. Major Little was the enforcer of army tradition and the undisputed social leader at Fort Chamberlain. She enjoyed the deference of the handful of officers’ wives at the post and strove tirelessly to bring the frontier up to eastern standards.
“I don’t imagine you’ve met Mr. Derward Anderson?” He gestured toward a dapper fellow who had set up an easel under the tamarack near the hospital. “He arrived last night.”
“I have not had the pleasure.” She watched the man fight to keep his sketchbook from being borne away on the Kansas wind.
“He came all the way from New York City to tour the untamed West and report on it for the Illustrated News.”
“How exciting,” Rebecca replied appropriately. For soldiers faced with years of monotonous duty on the frontier, a visitor was a welcome diversion.
“He has already gotten a taste of the barbarous frontier,” the young man related with relish. “A band of Sioux attacked the freight wagon bringing him from the railhead and chased it almost all the way here.
“Though you’re not to worry, ma’am,” he added hastily. “You’re safe at Fort Chamberlain. Our lads are as brave as any on the plains.”
“Of that I am certain, Private Ballard.”
His chest swelling with pride, the orderly showed Rebecca into the colonel’s spartan office. “Mrs. Captain Emerson, sir.”
“Very good, Private.” Dismissing him with a nod, Colonel Quiller invited, “Do come in, Mrs. Emerson, and sit down.”
“Thank you.” Rebecca looked around, glad to see Lieutenant Porter, the ever-present adjutant, was absent. She could speak to the commander in relative privacy, though his staff worked on the other side of the high partition covered with maps and rosters. She longed to leap to her appeal, but she forced herself to sit and ask serenely, “You wished to see me, sir?”
Reluctant to begin, the colonel observed his visitor across the desk. Not a hair was out of place despite the infernal wind, and she looked cool, even in the heat. But, as usual, he found her to be a study in contradictions. Though she was not wearing the obligatory black of mourning, her appearance was thoroughly decorous. He preferred her purple dress to her widow’s weeds, he decided. Their stiffness always seemed out of place with her lively hazel eyes. Those eyes had been sad in recent days and he found he missed her laughter and dimpled smile.
But when she turned that smile upon him now, he mentally girded himself for battle. That she was a worthy adversary had come as a surprise at first, but he was beginning to recognize signs of her mettle. Though she looked soft and demure, he knew from experience her proper demeanor masked considerable intellect and a will of pure steel, a formidable combination.
He liked her, he admired the fact that she never resorted to tears, he even enjoyed their skirmishes. But their eventual outcome was never in doubt. She had to go. Women were the worst thing that could happen to an army post. Just look at the folderol involved in a simple Fourth of July celebration. Picnics, cotillions, gazebos…
Brusquely he turned his attention to the matter at hand. “Mrs. Emerson, I regret that it has been impossible to arrange for your return to the East since your husband’s death. After the massacre at Lookout Station, overland travel has all but halted.
“That unhappy circumstance is about to change, however. Three companies will leave Texas within the week, bound for Fort Chamberlain. When our joint forces have sought out the Sioux and the Cheyenne and placed them on reservations, you may proceed safely homeward.
“Unfortunately—” he charged ahead to deter her protest “—I must ask you to vacate your quarters in preparation for our reinforcements’ arrival. You are being ‘ranked out,’ as we say in the army. My apologies for the inconvenience, but I fear you must stay with friends until your departure.”
She sat forward on her chair. “Colonel Quiller, couldn’t I-”
“There can be no debate this time, madam.” He silenced her with a gesture. “I do not understand your reluctance to return to the safety and comfort of the East, but it changes nothing. To put it plainly, you are a civilian with no rights, no place here.”
“Even if I found employment?” She surveyed him challengingly.
“At Fort Chamberlain?”
“I could work at the hospital.”
“What kind of rubbish has Noah Trotter been filling your head with?” the colonel asked exasperatedly. “Be assured, Mrs. Emerson, we all appreciate your help, but a military hospital is no place for a young lady.”
“Perhaps I could work off my debt at the trading post.”
“Absolutely not. Mr. Peeples is quite willing to accept payment in installments.”
“I can cook,” she offered desperately.
“Enough!” he cut her off. “Your late husband would be shamed to hear you suggest such a thing.”
“He would be more ashamed to think I cannot live on what he left me.” She kept her voice quiet, hoping it would not carry into the other office as she offered her final gambit, “I will seek a position in Chamberlain, if I must.”
“You will not. An army wife has no business in a railroad town.”
“But I am a civilian, as you pointed out,” she argued.
“You are also an officer’s widow,” he exploded, not caring who heard. “As commander of this post, I try to do what is best for my men and their dependents. I have made my decision regarding your presence here and I expect you to concede gracefully.”
“Gracefully?” she repeated, rising from her chair. “I have conceded gracefully all my life. I’ve done as I was told. But this time, sir, both grace and docility are in short supply. I intend to stay in Kansas.”
The commander also stood. He leaned across the desk, his face dark with wrath. “Madam, I’ll load you onto the wagon myself, if I must. Indians run rampant along the Arkansas. My command could burn to the ground if even a spark gets out of hand in this wind. I cannot and will not be responsible for an unmarried, unattached woman.”
“Then I will take care of myself.” She swept from the office without a backward look. “Good day, Colonel.”
On the steps outside the office, Malachi Middlefield regarded his companion with concern. “What’s ailin’ you, boy? Your face is as white as a fish’s belly.”
“Took an arrow in the arm yesterday,” Injun Jack growled reluctantly. “I must’ve lost more blood than I thought.”
“Dad-blame it, Jack.” Dragging him into the shade, Malachi glared at him. “How come you didn’t mention that when you told me ‘bout Teddy meetin’ up with that Cheyenne?”
The brawny scout glared back, embarrassed by his weakness. “Because I’ve felt worse after poker games at Elvira’s.”
“Reckon that’s so.” The mule skinner grinned, momentarily distracted. “Cards, whiskey, a pretty gal—” Realizing he had been diverted, he broke off. “You might not hurt so much if you hadn’t throwed that nurse feller through the infirmary winda.”
“He was interfering with my bath.” Injun Jack straightened and drew a steadying breath. “I needed privacy.”
“You don’t git it, hollerin’ out the winda, wearin’ nothin’ but a bear’s teeth necklace and a towel. You dang near gave the major’s wife apoplexy.”
Malachi’s mirth was cut short when the door to the colonel’s office was thrown open and a petite female figure sailed out.
“Son of a—” The scout winced, catching the woman in his arms. “I mean, careful, ma’am.” The collision threw her against him, tilted her hoopskirt askew and knocked her bonnet lopsided.
“I’m terribly sorry.” Steadying herself with one hand against his chest, the woman straightened her bonnet with the other and stepped back.
“Well, well, the Yankee angel.”
Rebecca nearly groaned aloud. Shaken by her confrontation with the colonel, she did not know if she could face Injun Jack after what had happened between them at the hospital.
“Good morning, Mr. Bellamy,” she said stiffly, hazarding a look at him. Clean, shaved and wearing a clean shirt, he scarcely resembled the rugged man she had met yesterday.
One thing had not changed, however. His hands had found their way to her waist again and lingered there. Realizing her own hand rested on the front of his snowy shirt, she yanked it back and retreated.
“Mr. Middlefield, what an unexpected pleasure.” She beamed when she saw Malachi. “I didn’t know you had returned to Fort Chamberlain.”
Ducking his balding head, the teamster mumbled into his beard, “Got in last night. How are you, Mrs. Emerson?”
Jack frowned, taking note of her wedding band. He hadn’t seen it yesterday. And he hadn’t been looking for it just now when she had felt so nice in his arms. Mrs. Emerson, eh? Well, damn.
“Sorry to hear of your husband’s passin’, ma’am.” Malachi struggled with the formal words. “I ain’t had time for a proper call, but I aim to visit you soon as I can to pay my respects.”
“That’s very kind, Mr. Middlefield. I’ll look forward to it.” Rebecca favored him with another smile before turning to Jack. “How is your arm this morning, Mr. Bellamy?” she asked coolly.
“Better,” he answered, his tone just as aloof.
“And how is Private Greeley?”
“Sleeping, but Doc says his leg looks as well as can be expected.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Thank you for your kindness to Teddy… and to me.”
She glanced up at him, alert for any sign of insinuation or mockery in his blue eyes, but he stared off across the parade ground and went on uncomfortably, “I suspect I wasn’t the easiest patient you ever had, though the closer I got to the bottom of my flask, the hazier things became.”
He didn’t remember what had happened, Rebecca realized, almost limp with relief. Then, irrationally, she felt a stab of disappointment. That kiss had shaken her to the soles of her boots and he didn’t even remember.
“I woke up this morning, almost as good as new,” the scout concluded, smiling and far too handsome and clear-eyed for her liking.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me—” she nodded briskly in farewell”—I must get home.”
“I’ll walk you,” Injun Jack informed her, offering his arm.
She balked. “No, thank you.” It was one thing to chat with him on the headquarters porch and quite another to be alone with him. What if he remembered, after all?
“Pardon me, Injun Jack.” Private Ballard appeared beside them. “Colonel Quiller wants to see you and he has ordered me to take Mrs. Emerson home. At once.”
The big scout’s jaw set belligerently. “Tell him I’ll—”
“Mr. Bellamy, you really should go to the colonel,” Rebecca blurted, grateful for the interruption. “After my conversation with him, I doubt he’s in the mood to be kept waiting.”
“He is pretty riled, sir.” The orderly stepped between them, nervous but insistent. “I’ll see her home.”
