The Scout's Bride. Kate Kingsley

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ