The Scout's Bride. Kate Kingsley

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СКАЧАТЬ much,” Amy gushed, answering for everyone. “Won’t the dance be fun? Did you see Mama’s clever idea?”

      Rebecca buried a giggle against Phoebe’s curls when Flora exclaimed with wide-eyed innocence, “The gazebo? Why, it’s as clever as anything I’ve ever seen in the East.”

      “Thank you, dear Mrs. Mackey,” Mrs. Little practically purred.

      “But wouldn’t you know it?” Amy lamented. “The first cotillion in weeks and the colonel says we must end it before midnight.”

      “Dawn will come early for the companies who must ride out tomorrow, Miss Amy,” Francis explained.

      “Why can’t they go the next day?” she protested with a winsome pout. “Can’t our boys wait one more day to fight Indians?”

      “We hope not to fight this time, unless we have to,” Brian answered. “A large, well-armed patrol along the Smoky Hill River will serve to tell us if the Sioux are honest about their hopes for a truce.”

      “And it will be their last chance to talk peace before they are completely outnumbered by superior forces,” George added. “Our reinforcements will arrive any day now.”

      “Oh dear, the noon gun already,” Flora interjected with a brittle smile. “Rebecca, will you help me set out our lunch?”

      Rebecca complied at once, returning Phoebe to her mother. She knew Flora’s vivacious manner and constant chatter masked dread every time her husband rode out with his men. Company C, his command, would leave in the morning.

      “Try not to worry,” she soothed quietly as they spread a quilt on the ground and unpacked the basket. “Brian will be careful. He’s been on plenty of campaigns.”

      “I know, but it gets harder every time he goes.” Flora smiled feebly. “You’d think after a lifetime in the army, I would have known better than to marry a soldier….”

      “But you love him,” Rebecca completed the thought. They had had this conversation often in the past months.

      “Look at this feast,” Brian pronounced, joining the women, oblivious to his wife’s concern. Plopping down on the quilt, he surveyed the picnic lunch with pleasure. “Pass the pickles, please.”

      A dozen muted conversations went on as the families and friends of the officers dined. All discussion ceased abruptly, however, when a raucous clamor reached their ears.

      “Look out, boys, here we come!” A dray, overflowing with garishly dressed females, rounded the curve from town in a cloud of dust. Squealing and laughing, the women clung to the sides of the wagon as it bounced behind a galloping team.

      “Oh,” Flora breathed in awe, her face turned toward the spectacle, “a whole covey of soiled doves.”

      “Flora!” Francis sputtered disapprovingly.

      Brian chided mildly, “An officer’s lady is not supposed to know about those women.”

      “But we do.” Flora grinned without a hint of remorse. “Don’t we, Rebecca?”

      “They are rather hard to miss,” the widow agreed wryly.

      “This is no subject…or sight…for ladies,” Francis cut in, stroking his moustache in vexation. “What are they doing here?”

      “The colonel did invite the whole town,” Rebecca reminded him, her eyes on the wagon circling the parade ground. Its occupants leaned out, blowing kisses to the men in the crowd.

      “Sorry we’re late,” a buxom redhead blared from the front seat, “but Nell couldn’t find her petticoat.”

      “This is intolerable.” The adjutant shot a dark look toward his commanding officer, who watched the new arrivals impassively.

      “There’s no reason for the Old Man to expel them unless they misbehave, Francis,” Brian argued sensibly. “If they observe post regulations, they can stay, regardless of who or what they are.”

      “And the enlisted men will have someone to dance with tonight besides the washerwomen,” Flora teased him.

      “Not that there’s a good deal of difference—” Francis’s retort was cut off by the blaring voice.

      “Look, it’s Injun Jack! Howdy, Jack, save me a dance tonight.”

      Against her will, Rebecca glanced toward the cottonwood tree. In its shade, the scout waved his hat at the red-haired woman.

      “More cake, Francis?” she asked, turning her back on the scene.

      Brian drowsed after lunch, his head in Flora’s lap, as Rebecca and Francis watched a group of men grease an unused flagpole near the guardhouse. Nearby, others marked the field for the afternoon’s events. From its starting point at the flagstaff, the racecourse ran straight past the tamarack and onto the brown, limitless prairie.

      “Though I’ll officiate most of the afternoon, I plan to compete in the horse race,” Francis announced. “It’s the biggest event of the day.”

      “You’ll be up against some stiff competition,” Brian murmured lazily, “Graham from the Tenth and Smith from my company.”

      “I’m not worried.” Leaning to peer over Rebecca’s shoulder, Francis put his head so near hers that his moustache tickled her cheek. Squinting into the distance, he pointed. “See those stakes out there? We’ll ride straight out to the first one, loop around past the second and third, then come back.”

      “What is the prize?” she asked, listing away from his closeness.

      He sat back with a rueful smile. “A smoked ham and the thrill of winning. People will talk about this race for months to come. Betting is already quite heavy…unofficially, of course.”

      “It’ll get heavier if Injun Jack races,” Brian contributed. “His Ol’ Jo is fast.”

      “Not any faster than Clipper, my gray,” Francis argued.

      “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention!” Sergeant-Major Flynn bellowed from the racecourse, “Colonel Quiller orders the commencement of Fort Chamberlain’s third annual Independence Day Games. The sack race begins in five minutes. Officials to your posts, please. Contestants to the starting line.”

      “Duty calls,” Francis sighed. Getting up, he nudged Brian with his toe. “Take care of Becky while I’m gone.”

      “She couldn’t be safer,” the captain answered without opening his eyes.

      After a moment, he roused himself to walk the women to the sidelines where they watched an uproarious military tug-of-war between infantry and cavalry. When it ended, the victors, flushed with exertion and pride, assembled at the flagstaff where Amy Little stood.

      Gesturing to a crock on the table beside her, the girl intoned in her best finishing school voice, “It is my great pleasure to present this prize, a gallon of maple syrup all the way from Vermont, to the Infantry Team.”

      “Dios.” СКАЧАТЬ