Santa Fe Woman

by Laura Stapleton

  Chapter Ten

  Patrick stared out over the collection of sod huts and dugouts. A swamp of liquid he didn’t want to know about lay to the south. What the wind blew over left him ill. “So, this is my new command.”

  Lambert shifted in his saddle, the leather creaking. “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  No trees. No railroad to bring supplies. Trade wagons passed through and a few rolled by just now. He sighed. A new fort meant, he supposed, too new to have been truly built yet. “Very well. Let’s continue on and see how much we need to accomplish.”

  Rows of the dug-in homes lined up along the Arkansas River’s north bank. What he’d mistaken for sewage had just been the slow-flowing river. They rode up, and he let Lambert do the talking while he assessed the situation. There was to be no transfer of power because the former commander had died in the last Indian attack. He interrupted to say, “I’d like to see where injured soldiers are kept.”

  “We don’t have a hospital yet. The wounded and ill stay in their bunks during treatment,” the active commander said.

  “Which is?” Patrick asked.

  “Whiskey most times, light surgery when we can manage.”

  “When you can manage?”

  “The surgeon died from pneumonia, we think. He coughed a lot.”

  Somehow, the news didn’t surprise him. He’d learned enough from Cahaba to know sanitation mattered. “Have you sent requisitions?”

  “Yeah. We’d ask and never get enough.”

  He nodded. Supplies had barely reached pre-war amounts. He visually inspected every soldier within eyesight. The men stationed here were dirty, and after he dismounted to peer inside Patrick realized why. Bunks were cut into the dirt of each dugout. A fire with a hole in the top for air and light to come in regulated the temperature.

  Several of the homes reeked of sickness as the soldiers lay there, too ill to move. His jaw soon ached from gritting his teeth. The dangerous conditions rivaled any he’d experienced at Cahaba.

  He looked around at the men gathered. They all waited for his assessment. “The installation is unacceptable. We need an infirmary, proper waste disposal, fortifications, an armory, and a hundred other things.” Patrick turned to the interim commander, a first lieutenant in a dirty uniform. “There are no officer quarters other than the dugouts?”

  “No, sir.”

  Patrick glanced at the man. He seemed terrified. “Very well. Are there any empty quarters at all?”

  “A couple. We’ll have to dig a couple more for all of your men.”

  “I’ll gather them up… Your name?”

  “Harper, sir.”

  “I’ll gather them up, Harper, so we’ll have more hands working.” He turned to his first officer. “You’ll see they get the word?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Let’s get started as soon as the livestock are cared for.” Patrick and Lambert went to the supply wagon for shovels. Harper followed, and he turned to the man. “Do you have a process for choosing where to build a house next?”

  “We just move to the right or left, depending on if there’s a high enough bank or not.”

  He exchanged a look with Lambert. “Fine. Let’s find at least four and start digging. We won’t be nearly done by tonight, but I’ll feel better with a head start.” He waited while his first officer let down their wagon’s tailgate before reaching in for a shovel. “Our men will dig while yours will offload supplies. I’d prefer the sickest among you do nothing more than direct where the goods will go.”

  Harper turned to a soldier. “You heard?” he asked, and the other man nodded. “Carry out his orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned to Patrick. “I’ll show you the next dugout we had marked for the commander.” The trio began walking. “We didn’t bother after his death because we had enough housing.”

  “Understandable.” They reached the place. A few shovelfuls had been excavated. He asked an approaching Douglas, “Is everyone on their assignments?”

  “They are.”

  “Let’s get started so we’ll have someplace to live while I fill out requisition orders.” He began digging, as did his first officer. After a few scoops, Harper wandered off, returned with a shovel, and joined in as well.

  Soon affected by the afternoon heat, he followed his first officer’s and fort’s interim commander’s example and unbuttoned his shirt. He lay the fabric out over the prairie grass like the other two men and continued digging. The gusts of wind, while warm, were dry and helped keep their bare skin cool.

  “Excuse me?”

  Patrick turned to see Rachel. “Yes, ma’am? Is something wrong?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Her voice, a little breathless, matched the heavy-lidded stare she gave him. Heat warmer than any boiler room filled him. Affection, attraction, and amusement had shown on her face before now, but Patrick had never seen desire in her eyes. With a slight grin, daring her to be honest, he asked, “What do you want, then?”

  “To know if you need any help. I do happen to have a shovel.”

  He heard a slight chuckle from Harper and frowned. Patrick wanted to clobber the guy for being disrespectful. “No. You may not help us dig under any circumstances,” he growled.

  The hunger in her eyes dimmed, and he scowled. She was an angel for wanting to help. Or, he wondered as she glanced up from the ground to his bare chest, maybe she was feeling a little devilish. Any sane man would welcome her attention. He wiped the sweat from his brow and wanted to see her smile. “Although, all of us would welcome you and your water jar.”

  She gave him a teasing grin and a tiny curtsy. “I’d be glad to bring you all a drink, Captain. I’ll be right back.”

  Patrick watched her leave for a few seconds before getting back to work. Rachel would be the right wife for a commanding officer. She thought of others and their needs. She had known hardship and didn’t mind rough conditions. Even better, she’d seen him dirty and sweaty yet still seemed to desire him. He sighed, blowing the hair up off of his forehead. The woman indeed was everything he’d ever dreamed of for a wife.

  “Do you think the Stewarts will be safer on the Cimarron route or the mountain route?” Patrick asked.

  “To Santa Fe?” Harper asked, and at Patrick’s nod he said, “Neither. Attacks have happened all over between here and there.” He stopped and planted the shovel in the ground. “They’re better off waiting for a larger group to blend in with. Even then, there’s no guarantee Indians won’t get them.” He nodded to their south as Rachel returned with their water. “I’d hate to see what they’d do to a pretty girl like her.”

  Patrick glared at him. “They’ll do nothing because they won’t dare.”

  “Right, sir. They won’t,” he said.

  She held up the jar to Patrick first. “Here you are. There’s plenty more, and I don’t mind refilling this for you all.”

  He watched as she left them again. Fury filled him as the secret fantasies he’d had about moving on to Fort Union with her now evaporated in the face of reality. She’d move on to Santa Fe, yet he couldn’t leave his or any other soldiers in this Godforsaken fort. Rachel disappeared behind a wagon, and his anger switched into sorrow. His throat hurt and nose stung. By the end of the week, he’d never see Rachel again.

  ***

  Rachel couldn’t get Patrick’s bare torso off her mind. She sucked the slight sting from the end of her finger. Sewing while distracted wasn’t her best idea. Once word spread how she was a seamstress, every man able to get around came over with mending. A smart woman would teach them all to sew. She shook her head. Everyone had too much work to stop and learn a new skill. Maybe once real buildings were up, she’d have time…

  She paused. They’d be in Santa Fe by the end of the month. No teaching and worse, no Patrick. Rachel refocused on her task. Her dream had been to live and work in New Mexico, not burrow into the dirt like prairie dogs. Not even if Patrick were here with her. H
er eyes ached with tears. Love didn’t happen so fast. She hardly knew him well enough to even like him.

  Isaac came over and sat on the tailgate beside her. “I don’t recognize that shirt.”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s one of the soldier’s. Captain Sinclair was kind enough to share their water during the Journada del Muerto. I thought I might do some mending for them.”

  “Hmm. It’s going to be difficult for you to leave him behind, isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes. A little.”

  “I thought you didn’t trust him.”

  She didn’t stop sewing and couldn’t look at her brother. “I wasn’t entirely honest. He’s honorable, trustworthy, and will make some woman a fine husband.”

  “Some, but not you?”

  “We’re going to Santa Fe, remember?” She straightened out the shirt and checked for any other mending needed. “Our dream is to live there on our new farm. Restart the life we should have had in Missouri.”

  “Funny thing about dreams is they can change.”

  “Not mine.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’ve dreamed of being a businesswoman from Santa Fe, and that’s what I’ll be.”

  “In that case, you’ll be one as soon as we’re on the road tomorrow morning.”

  She glanced up at him, her throat tight. “Tomorrow? Seems awfully soon, doesn’t it?”

  Isaac stared beyond her. “What do you think, Captain? Will we be able to leave first thing in the morning?”

  Rachel turned to find Patrick there, fully dressed. She had the urge to cling to him and beg him to let her stay no matter the cost. “Or should we wait for a while? Maybe help with the new homes, laundry, and other odd jobs?”

  He sat beside her. “You should go. The fort isn’t suitable for ladies. At least, I wouldn’t want you here with us. The conditions here are worse than I expected, and I’d prefer you didn’t have to endure them.”

  “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

  “You are, I’ll agree.” A breeze blew stray hairs into her eyes. He brushed them away with a caress. “Except there are hostiles between here and Santa Fe. I’d prefer you would be in a fort with adequate fortifications instead of holes in the ground.”

  “How long will it take to get this place as functional as Larned, or even Leavenworth?” Isaac asked.

  Patrick leaned forward to look at him. “My best guess is two years to be anywhere near Larned, and fifty for Leavenworth.”

  “Fifty?”

  “I might be exaggerating.”

  Isaac chuckled. “Although, looking around here, you might not.” He leaned back. “Have you heard word as to which is the better route—mountain or Cimarron?”

  “I have. One is as dangerous as the other is at the moment. There’s a regular supply train of wagons due here tomorrow morning, and it’d be best if you left with them no matter when they left.”

  Her heart squeezed, and she couldn’t breathe for a moment. He couldn’t really want her to go. She folded the shirt in her lap, focusing on the movements instead of the pain in her chest. The men talked around her, and she couldn’t listen to any more. How could he let her leave so easily?

  Patrick cleared his throat. “Harper mentioned Fort Union is older and more established. The buildings are adobe, but not dug into the ground like rats.”

  Rachel stared ahead. “Sounds a lot nicer than here.”

  “I agree. After I’m done here maybe Union will be my next assignment if there’s nothing else closer to Santa Fe.”

  Isaac chuckled. “Maybe when you’ve dug enough bunks for the men, you’ll ask to be sent back east where it’s civilized. Take a steamer ship from Leavenworth to New Orleans. Travel around and see the world while you’re a free man.”

  He smiled at Rachel before looking over at her brother. “You know the army has me now. I won’t know freedom until they let me go.”

  “Which is why I left,” Isaac said and shook his head. “I want to be my own person. See the world before I settle down.”

  Rachel turned to him. “What? What are you talking about? You want to live in New Mexico. On our farm. Make a new life for us.”

  “Sure, for a while.” He stared ahead. “I’ve been thinking about life and what I want. Tied down to a farm sounded good after the war, but now that I’ve seen something other than Missouri and battlefields? I’d like to visit everything else there is out there.”

  Before Rachel could argue, Patrick said, “I hear you. I’ve had enough of being cooped up, living day to day. After the Sultana disaster, I realized life is short. I wanted to go west while I could, without a wife and children.” He nodded toward the river bank where all the soldiers would sleep at night. “Be careful what you wish for, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Isaac said. “For every frying pan, there’s a fire to jump into.”

  Patrick laughed. “True, and now I have something to look forward to.”

  “And what is that?” Rachel asked.

  “Being anywhere but here, ma’am.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “I might visit New Mexico once in a while to see if there are any good-looking women there.”

  “Ha,” Isaac snorted. “If there aren’t, you’ll see me running back home. And speaking of home, did you know anyone who was on the Sultana?”

  “I knew several men on there, and was supposed to be with them.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t,” Rachel said. Lincoln’s assassination soon after the steamship’s explosion took over the newspapers. All she really remembered was there were over a thousand people lost.

  “Me too, ma’am.” He smiled at her. “Very much.” Patrick glanced away from her, toward the fort. “Looks like my first officer needs me.” He stood. “It’s been a pleasure, and I hope to see you both before you leave tomorrow.”

  Before she could reply, he walked toward the soldier. By this time tomorrow, she’d be a day’s travel away from him. Rachel’s eyes filled with tears and she hopped down from the tailgate to hide her crying from Isaac. She stacked the shirt with the others. The sun sank low in the west, making the sky too dim to sew by anyway.

  “Has he said anything to you about his experiences in the war?”

  “Not really.” She glanced over at Isaac. His face was pale under his suntanned skin. “Why do you ask?”

  “The only reason he’d be waiting for the Sultana is if he’d been in a Confederate prison. The disease and sleeping on the ground? This fort is his nightmare come to life.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Rachel’s eyelids fluttered open at the noise outside her wagon. Who would be lighting fireworks in a hailstorm first thing in the morning? She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. A bugle call she’d never heard before led her to sit up with a cry. The men outside were fighting. Dawn had broken enough for her to see an arrow stuck in their canvas top. Even worse, Isaac was gone.

  She quickly lay back down and hoped the thick wooden sides stopped bullets. Gunshots boomed startlingly close sometimes and other times farther away. A scream from someone hit occasionally rang out in the morning air. The smell of gunpowder filled her nose whenever she took a breath, choking her.

  Her throat burned while she lay there and tried to not hear the dying men all around her. The minutes crept past in a slow drip. The fighting went on until the shooting eased to a stop. Moans from the wounded rose in volume. Bile bubbled up in her throat, and she prayed no one lay outside gravely injured.

  A man jumped onto the wagon. She screamed, startled until seeing it was Patrick who held her. Rachel relaxed against him. “Oh, thank God you’re all right.”

  “Shh, it’s over.” He rocked her in his arms. “You’re safe.”

  “What happened out there? Where’s Isaac?” She pulled back and looked into his eyes, scared from the worry evident on his face. “Is he, you, everyone all right?”

  “Indian attack. Short, but lethal. Rachel, your brother’s been hurt, but he’ll be fine. One of our medically inclined men is removin
g the arrow from his arm.”

  Rachel shared the worry in his eyes. She took in a shuddering breath before saying, “I need to see him.”

  “Come on.” Patrick helped her down from the wagon. “I’ll warn you. There’ll be other wounded and some dead.”

  “I understand.” She tried to be strong but as soon as she saw his first officer’s body, she gasped. “Oh no!” She buried her face in Patrick’s chest. “He’s not—”

  “Yes,” he ground out. “One of the first.”

  She began sobbing. “I’m so sorry.”

  “So am I.” He wrapped his arms around her and gave a squeeze. “Come on, darling. Isaac will want to know for sure you’re safe or he’ll never stop complaining.”

  She nodded and clung to him as they walked. “You’re right. He does like to grumble about everything.” Rachel recognized a couple more of the men, one wearing a shirt she’d returned to him last night after dinner with a new button. She sobbed.

  He held her. “Do you want to stop for a moment to gather yourself?”

  “No. Isaac needs me.” She hugged him closer. “I’m glad you don’t.”

  “Need you?” he murmured. She nodded, and he pulled away to stare into her eyes. “Darling, I will always need you. Always.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, and tears filled her eyes. “I need you, too.”

  He hugged her closer, and when she looked up at him he kissed her. The world stopped around them. Her imagination couldn’t have ever conjured up how perfect his lips felt against hers. Strong, hungry, and all man, she wanted every bit of him for the rest of her life.

  Patrick began nuzzling his way across her cheek, stopping at her earlobe and saying, “Don’t go. Please stay with me forever.”

  “Yes, I will. Forever.” As soon as she said the words, every muscle of his tensed.

  “I’m sorry, but no. It’s not fair, and I shouldn’t have asked. You can’t promise me such a thing.” Patrick held her away from him. “You have dreams. I can’t ask you to give them all up for me.”

  “And yet I could ask you to give up yours?” She held his face in her hands. “My dreams are now yours. Living without you would be a nightmare, Patrick. I can’t leave.”