Mallory

by Hebby Roman

  A tremor shook her. She lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears that came too readily. Hearing about someone losing their only child was devastating.

  She’d nursed Macon through what had seemed like countless childhood illnesses, only too aware the next fever could take him… forever. It was the scourge of parents, childhood ailments like measles, chicken pox, consumption, and scarlet fever, just to name a few.

  He reached his hand across the table, palm up. “I see you’ve a kind heart and are fond of children. I didn’t mean to upset you, but I thought I should explain. Though, his wife is young and they’re trying to have another child, it could take some time before…”

  She didn’t take his hand, though, she was unexpectedly drawn to him. But she couldn’t afford any gesture that might seem the least bit improper.

  He looked down and withdrew his hand, cradling his teacup instead. “Living with the Rodgers might give you some breathing space, until—”

  “I couldn’t live on their charity. I would have to pay them something, but I will need to put money aside, too, for my fare back.”

  “Yes, I understand. I think you could come to a reasonable accommodation with the Rodgers. His wife, Sally, is a nice lady, and I believe you would get along. As for saving money, I don’t know about a school because there are so few children at the fort. Only officers are allowed to have families. Enlisted men may marry, but they need to have their commanding officer’s consent.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know.”

  “As for the town, most of the children speak only Spanish.”

  “Peggy mentioned that when she showed me around.”

  “There are a couple of families, though, who might be happy to avail themselves of your services. If you took on a few students from the fort and town, along with what I can pay you, I believe you could make enough to save something back.”

  She raised her head again and forced her mouth into the semblance of a wan smile. Not since her father, had a man been so understanding and willing to help.

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” she asked.

  “Well, yes and no. I’d like to be of help, and I wish I could give my child a better education.”

  “I think you’re very, very kind, Commander.” This time, she wanted to reach out to him, but she didn’t dare to appear forward.

  It would be easy to allow her emotions to rule her, as they had when she was young and foolish. He was kind and considerate, kinder to her than any man had been, even her own father.

  He spread his hands on the table and gazed at her. “Thank you for the compliment, but I’ve a vested interest in keeping you around for a while.”

  “Oh, and what is that?”

  He had the finest blue-gray eyes, like the hazy horizon over the mountains. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Was he going to express a tenderness toward her? Did she want that? Perhaps. But perhaps, unknowingly, he was inciting her vulnerability, making her wish for more than he was willing to offer.

  She shook herself, feeling in uncharted territory. Since Hiram had wooed her, she’d been afraid to trust her instincts about men. That’s why she’d opted for an arranged marriage with an older gentleman. At least, she knew what to expect… or so she’d thought.

  He inclined his head toward his daughter’s room. “Peggy, she’s very taken with you. Haven’t seen her like this since Crissy…” He hesitated and poured himself another cup of tea. “I know you could be a big help with her studies. At least, until you had to go back home.”

  She nodded, both relieved and disappointed, a strange mixture of emotions. She stirred her tea and took a sip. “Have you thought of sending Peggy away to school?”

  “Yes, I’ve thought of it, but I can’t… I can’t bring myself to do it.” He caught her gaze and held it. “You see, I’m not such a paragon of virtue as you would believe.” He shook his head. “No, I’m selfish, thinking of myself, rather than her education and future.”

  “You mean you don’t want to be without her.”

  “Yes, exactly.” He stirred his tea. “Martha and I tried to have children, but Peggy is the only one who survived. A few years ago, we had a little boy, Luke, at Fort Concho, and we were hopeful.” He shook his head again. “He only lived a week. Then my wife took sick, and we lost her at Fort Clark.”

  She gasped, covering her mouth, and biting down on her fist. So many sad stories, so much death and loss. Even though the conception and birth of her son had ruined her, he’d been worth it. She’d give the world for Macon.

  “I’m sorry… so sorry,” she said. Such feeble words of comfort. “But I don’t think you’re selfish at all, Commander. I think you’ve done the right thing, keeping Peggy with you.”

  He looked up from his teacup and managed the ghost of a smile. “I’m happy to hear you say that.” He shrugged and looked sheepish. “Makes me feel a little bit better, not so selfish.”

  He lifted his teacup and held it out. Not understanding what he was doing but wanting to comfort him, she lifted her teacup and touched it to his.

  “To keeping you with us, Miss Reynolds, for a little while, at least.” He grinned. “We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll introduce you to Sally Rodgers, and we’ll see about rounding up some youngsters for you to teach. Will that suit you?”

  ***

  Gregor stretched and yawned. He pulled the full coffeepot off the pot belly stove and filled his cup, placing it on the corner of his desk. He glanced out the window, wondering where Hotchkiss was.

  It had felt good to sleep in his own bed again last night. He’d spent yesterday taking Miss Reynolds around the fort. First, he’d introduced her to Sally Rodgers and her husband. They’d agreed to let Miss Reynolds stay in their extra room for a fraction of what a room at the boardinghouse would have cost.

  And he’d prevailed upon his new governess to take her mid-day meal and supper with him and Peggy, on the pretext of refining his daughter’s manners, at the table and elsewhere.

  Then he and Sally Rodgers had taken her around to the other wives of the fort who had children. Unfortunately, all his captains, who could have afforded her services more readily, didn’t have children. French was a bachelor, Myerson’s children were grown, and the Rodgers were young but still trying…

  That had left several of the lieutenants who had children, and most of their wives had expressed interest, depending on the cost. Their fees for her teaching had been a touchy subject, as they could ill afford to pay what he was paying. But along with holding class in the morning for all the children, he’d managed to convince Miss Reynolds to “double-up” on Peggy’s lessons, instructing her in the afternoons, too, until she reached her grade level.

  Sally and Miss Reynolds had appeared to get along well enough, and they’d moved her things into the Rodgers’ cabin in the afternoon. Today, Sally would take the new school teacher to some likely families in town. And Miss Reynolds, armed with a chalkboard and a few school primers they’d found in the quartermaster’s storage, would set up a classroom in his parlor.

  He took a swallow of coffee and looked out the window again. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He sat down and picked up a pile of dispatch papers. Flipping through the official notifications from Fort Bliss, he put on his spectacles and concentrated.

  There was a knock on his door, and his orderly, Corporal Walsh, stuck his head in the door. Corporal Walsh looked like he hadn’t wiped his mouth after breakfast, but Gregor knew that wasn’t the case. The young man was trying to grow a mustache. So far, his sandy-colored facial hair wasn’t much better than a light dusting along his upper lip.

  “Yes, Corporal?”

  “Sergeant Hotchkiss, sir, to see you.”

  “Show him in. I’ve been waiting for him.”

  Walsh stood at attention and saluted. He opened the door wider and Sergeant Hotchkiss stepped inside with a roll of paper under his arm. The
corporal closed the door and returned to his post on the front porch.

  “Finally, Hotchkiss, I was beginning to wonder when you’d show up.”

  Hotchkiss stood at attention and saluted. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, sir, but I hadn’t reckoned on the relative scale of things.” He shifted the roll of paper to his other arm. “I had to redraw it several times to get the scale correct.”

  He returned Hotchkiss’ salute and rubbed his chin. “The scale. I hadn’t thought about making the map to scale, Sergeant. If you’ve managed to introduce the scale of things, along with the topography, I can’t wait to see your map.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hotchkiss unrolled the paper.

  Gregor cleared off his desk and rose, putting his coffee cup on the shelf next to the stove. He turned around to find Hotchkiss pinning down the four corners of the map with some agates Peggy had found around the fort. He used the multi-colored, concentric-banded stones as paperweights. And he especially prized the two that had broken open to reveal sparkling crystalline cores.

  He joined Hotchkiss behind his desk and gazed at the map. He could easily see the sergeant had spent long hours getting the details of the land around the fort correctly portrayed and as close to scale as the length of paper would allow. Looking over Hotchkiss’ work, he was reminded of Davie from Fort Clark, Crissy’s husband, and what a fine artist he was.

  He clapped the sergeant on the shoulder. “Well done, lad. Well done.” He traced his finger over the Davis mountain range, taking in canyons and trails, patches of forests and natural springs. All three of the forts’ outlying camps were depicted, along with other important landmarks.

  Skimming his fingers over the San Antonio-El Paso Road, he hesitated when he got to the rough outline of the Lazy M Ranch. Most ranches around the fort had yet to fence in their land. Cattle from neighboring ranches often wandered between other spreads, mingling with their neighbors’ cattle.

  Each year, all the cattle ranchers from the surrounding area organized a spring roundup. At the roundup, which had taken place a few weeks ago, the ranchers brought the herds of cattle together, sorted the older cattle by brand, branded the new-born calves, and divvied up any strays, based on the relative size of their herds. It was a good system, keeping the mountains open and fence free, neighbor relying upon neighbor, and trusting in each other’s honorable intentions.

  He gazed at Hotchkiss’ outline of the western side of the Murphy spread and then he drummed his fingers on the map, considering.

  Most years, the Apache turned up during the roundup, hoping to pick off stray cattle for their own use. Victorio was like a spider, sitting at the center of his web, ostensibly “civilized,” and living on the New Mexico reservation.

  But it was common knowledge, when the supplies didn’t come from the Indian agents or were lacking or late, Victorio sent out his war chiefs to raid and fill in the breach. Then there were those times when some ill-advised settler impugned an Apache’s honor. Victorio made certain his braves exacted their own kind of revenge, upon the first white men they could find.

  This year, there hadn’t been any Apache sightings during the roundup. He’d been mildly surprised, but he hadn’t given it much thought at the time, believing Victorio and his followers had received adequate supplies and were content on their reservation.

  But after the roundup was over, the Apache had come swarming back like fleas, attacking the smaller ranches in the vicinity, along with the stagecoach line and any wagon trains, despite his increased patrols.

  Thinking about Ben’s hostile attitude, along with E.P.’s untimely death, a half-baked idea formed in his mind.

  He lifted his head and raised his voice, calling out, “Corporal Walsh!”

  The corporal opened the door and entered, coming to attention and saluting. “Yes, sir?”

  “Fetch Captains Rodgers, Myerson, and French, on the double.”

  “Yes, sir.” He saluted again and exited.

  Gregor crossed to his cabinet and pulled out another sheaf of papers, handing them to the sergeant. “I need you to make me another map, starting from where this one leaves off, at the western perimeter of the Murphy Ranch. I want you to draw me a topographical map of the Lazy M, to scale, if possible.”

  Hotchkiss raised his eyebrows. “Yes, sir, I’ll do my best, but I don’t know how accurately I can render the features inside the ranch.” He waved his hand. “You see, sir, we don’t patrol the Lazy M as much as the smaller ranches.”

  He noted Hotchkiss’ tentativeness. It was true, what the sergeant said, and like his predecessor before him, he’d focused his attention on the smaller ranches in the area—those who didn’t have the men to hold off an Apache attack. E.P. had always kept fifty or more cowhands on his ranch, all of them capable with firearms, enough men to tend his large acreage, as well as intimidate the hostiles.

  “I understand, Hotchkiss. Do your best from what you remember with the important landmarks, and in particular, the best access points to the ranch, ones near water holes.” He glanced at the sergeant. “Can you give it a try?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do my best.” He gathered the blank papers under his arm and stood at attention.

  Gregor thought to dismiss him, but then he changed his mind. For Hotchkiss to do his best work, now that his attention had been drawn to the Lazy M, he wanted the sergeant to hear the discussion and understand the importance of accuracy.

  “At ease, Sergeant. Have a seat. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble, sir.”

  He fetched his tin cup from the shelf and another one for Hotchkiss. He filled the two cups, using the last of the coffee. If the captains wanted coffee, the corporal would need to make more.

  The door opened and Captain Myerson, followed by Captain Rodgers, entered his office. They stood at attention and saluted, chorusing, “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

  He returned their salute. “At ease, Captains. Come around to this side and see what the sergeant has drawn. Do you want coffee?”

  They shook their heads to his offer and joined him on the other side of his desk. He sipped his coffee, allowing them time to review the map.

  “Fine work,” Rodgers said.

  “Very detailed and to scale,” Myerson added.

  The door opened again and French entered. “Reporting, sir.” He saluted.

  “Come over here and take a look at what Hotchkiss has done,” Gregor offered. “Would you care for some coffee?”

  “Yes, sir, I’d be obliged. I missed mess hall this morning.”

  “Oh.” Gregor straightened and caught his eye. “Problems?”

  “Some of the temporary braces in one of the storehouses didn’t hold. They fell in overnight.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Gregor asked.

  “No, sir, but I needed to get them braced as soon as possible.”

  He inclined his head. “Get Corporal Walsh in here. He can make some more coffee.”

  French did as he asked, and the five men surveyed the map while Walsh puttered around, brewing another pot of coffee.

  Gregor pointed at the three outposts, his finger hop-scotching across the map. “French, you remember what I said at our last meeting? Deploy your infantry accordingly.” He glanced up at the other captains. “You’ll need to give him scouts who are good riders. Understood?”

  They both said, “Yes, sir,” in unison.

  Then he pointed to several more places, natural access points, with plenty of water and cover for a raiding band. “Here, too, French. You’ll need to bring in supplies, as well. Let me know what you need. I’ll make sure the quartermaster gets you the necessary rations—say for the next five or six months. At least through the summer and into September.”

  “Yes, sir,” French said.

  “All right. I’ve got some new information. But nothing is set in stone,” Gregor admitted. “Let’s say it’s a strong hunch.” He
paused, wanting to be discreet about Miss Reynolds’ situation, but needing to give his captains enough to understand his suspicions.

  The coffee pot sputtered and rattled. Walsh refilled his and Hotchkiss’ cup, along with another cup for French. Then he returned to his post outside.

  “I took Miss Reynolds to meet her intended husband, E.P. Murphy, and learned he’d died several days back.”

  All four of the men looked up and nodded.

  The fort grapevine was working well, Gregor noted. He cleared his throat and gave his direct reports an abbreviated version of how Ben Murphy had treated him, along with the threats and Murphy’s slip-up when he mentioned the Apaches.

  He ended with, “I don’t know why Ben Murphy would give succor to the Apache. I’m still trying to figure out what he’s after. But no raids during the roundup is coincidental, too, as if one of the ranchers is already supplying the Apache with cattle.

  “Hotchkiss is going to draw up a map of the Lazy M with the important landmarks and best access points.” He looked up and snagged French’s gaze. “When he’s done, Captain, we’ll decide the other places to deploy your infantrymen.” He turned to the other two captains. “And I’ll need scouts for those encampments, too.”

  French nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” He swiped his face with his hand, as if considering. Rodgers saluted but didn’t say anything.

  “Yes, sir, but…” Myerson started.

  “Speak your mind, Captain,” he said.

  “Well…” The captain rubbed his chin. “It’s an awful lot of coincidences, isn’t it? I mean, sir, I know Ben’s reputation, especially after all the times we’ve had to arrest him. But to murder his brother and aid the Apache…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, I agree, Myerson, it’s hard to understand. And I’m not certain of Ben’s motives, either.” Gregor waved his hand over the map. “You have your orders, Captains. Any questions, let me know. I’ll get back with you when Hotchkiss finishes his map of the Lazy M, and we’ll deploy more troops. Maybe we’ll know more by then, maybe not.”