Mallory

by Hebby Roman

  She’d sewn herself new dresses, more appropriate to the West Texas frontier. He approved and hoped she was becoming accustomed to life at the fort.

  These days, he found himself thinking about Miss Reynolds at the oddest times. He’d remember a gesture of hers, the way she drawled certain words, and even the way she walked. She charmed him without trying.

  He hadn’t stopped thinking about Martha, too. Small things reminded him of her, like her rose-painted china set or the way Peggy furrowed her brow. Even the faint floral scent that clung to Miss Reynolds reminded him of his Martha.

  He ducked his head, considering. He’d never expected to be attracted to another woman after he lost his wife. He still grieved for her, missing her sorely, especially at the day’s end when they would sit together, drink tea, and talk about the latest news.

  But as much as he’d believed his heart had petrified, he couldn’t deny the almost-painful pull of Miss Reynolds and her tinkling laugh.

  He wished he knew more about her, but she, unlike his Martha, was aloof and seldom spoke about herself. He needed to draw her out. But when their conversations turned to her home in Georgia, she’d always managed to bring the conversation back to Peggy, the fort, or the other children in her school.

  He rubbed his chin, considering.

  Hanging back from the doorway into the parlor, he didn’t want to attract attention. As usual, Miss Reynolds was going over Peggy’s lines. He shook his head, surprised by the amount of rehearsing that went into a play. He doubted the other students rehearsed so much. But his daughter loved doing it.

  He watched as Peggy crossed dramatically to the hearth, placing one hand over her heart and declaiming, “You villain, you!” She pointed her finger at an imaginary character. “I know you. You can’t fool me! You’re Sydney Snodgrass, the man who…”

  She glanced up. “Oh, Papa!” Peggy ran to him. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Hey, don’t mind me. You better get back to rehearsing. Martina should have supper soon. Let me watch you.”

  “But you make me nervous, Papa, and then I forget my lines.” His daughter gazed at Miss Reynolds with a beseeching look.

  “Peggy, you’re going to be performing in front of lots of people, not just your father. You need to get used to—”

  “I know, Miss, I know. I just want to memorize all my lines first.” She twisted her hands together.

  Martina came to stand behind him. “Señor Colonel, supper, she is ready.”

  Gregor turned to Martina and said, “Gracias, Martina, we’ll be right there.” He turned back and clapped his hands. “Time for supper.”

  “Maybe we can practice after supper,” Peggy said.

  “Nope, not tonight.” He decided to put his foot down. “You’ve been practicing every night all week. Tonight, is Saturday. Church tomorrow. I think you need to give Miss Reynolds some time off to see to her, uh, her…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sure she has some chores or sewing or—”

  “Thank you, Commander, for championing me.” She laughed. “Your daughter is quite the task master.”

  “Yes, she is, at least, about this play.” He glanced at Peggy, enjoying it when she smiled, her face lighting up. He turned to Miss Reynolds. “Have you decided when you’ll be putting on the play? How’s Campbell coming with the sets?”

  “Sergeant Campbell is an excellent carpenter. He’s so clever with making a few sheets of plywood come alive. Our sets will be beautiful.” She cocked her head to one side, as if considering. “As to when we’ll stage the play, I wanted your opinion. Sally and I have been discussing the upcoming Fourth of July celebration. As I understand it, the Fourth of July, as a holiday, is only second to Christmas.”

  “You’re right. Everyone enjoys the Fourth, especially the fireworks.”

  “Oh!” Miss Reynolds exclaimed and clapped her hands. “Are we going to have fireworks?”

  “That’s the usual big finale for the Fourth.” He remembered the final celebration at Fort Clark; it had been right after he’d lost Martha. “That’s if the fireworks arrive in time. According to the last dispatch, something got mixed up with our order, and they haven’t left San Antonio.” He shook his head. “It will be a somber holiday without the usual fireworks.”

  “Oh, Papa, you can’t let that happen. Couldn’t you shoot off some cannons or something?”

  He grinned. “Cannons might make a big boom, but they don’t light up the sky with sparkling colors.”

  “You’re right, Commander,” Miss Reynolds said. Then she went on tiptoe and peered around him, adding, “I think Martina is worried our supper will get cold.”

  “We can talk more over supper.” Something, maybe it was the twinkle in her green-flecked eyes, made him hold out his arm. “I’ll escort you in.”

  “Why, Commander,” she took his arm and said, “how gracious of you.”

  He smiled at her, liking the touch of her small hand on his arm. Maybe that was why he’d offered to escort her a few feet to the kitchen table. He held out her chair, and she seated herself.

  He took his own seat and said, “Let’s bow our heads in prayer.”

  After their prayer, supper passed in a round of animated conversation and laughter. They talked about the play, and he was brought up to date on their progress. Originally, Miss Reynolds had envisioned Becky Davidson, the six-year-old girl from town, as being included as a walk on. But since Peggy didn’t want to play the childish part, little Becky would need to play a pivotal role in the first act.

  At first, Miss Reynolds had been concerned such a young child would be hard-pressed to memorize her lines. Along with Becky’s mother, the two women had come up with a solution. Becky would deliver her part from the side of the stage with her mother repeating her lines from offstage.

  Several sergeants, along with Campbell, had been enlisted to help move the sets and open and close the homemade curtains, along with filling in for the male walk-on parts. Sally and Miss Reynolds had already begun to sew the necessary costumes for the actors. And they’d decided on using the raised dais in the mess hall to stage the play.

  Again, he was fascinated with all the preparations that went into it. But he had to admit the children’s play was a welcome relief from the everyday problems he faced.

  He relaxed, stretching his long legs beneath the table, happy his daughter was enthusiastic and lively. It had been too long since Peggy had acted like the child she was. He was fortunate Miss Reynolds had come west in more ways than one.

  When they’d finished dessert, demolishing the berry cobbler Martina had made, Miss Reynolds wiped her mouth, folded her napkin, and put it beside her plate.

  She rose and turned her gaze on him. “I think I’ll take care of my chores, as you mentioned, Commander.”

  “Aww, no bedtime story?” Peggy piped up.

  He turned to his daughter. “Not tonight, Peggy. Let’s give Miss Reynolds an early night. She’s been working awfully hard, putting this play together.” He lowered his voice to a soft growl, “And I think it’s time you got ready for bed, young lady. Don’t you?”

  “Fine.” Peggy got up and started to flounce out of the room. She stopped and turned. “But you could read me a bedtime story, Papa.”

  Both he and Miss Reynolds burst out laughing at the same time. They exchanged glances over the girl’s head.

  “Not tonight. I need to attend to some paperwork in my office.” It was a small white lie, and he didn’t like fibbing, but his daughter needed to rely on her own resources at times.

  Now that Miss Reynolds had given Peggy the attention and affection she’d been sorely missing, and his daughter had a new friend, he felt better about her. But he wanted her to learn self-reliance, too. The last thing he wanted was to spoil her because she’d lost her mother.

  “You can read yourself a story. How’s that?” he said. “Though, when I get back, your lamp better be out. Church tomorrow,” he re
peated.

  Peggy’s bottom lip poked out. “All right, Papa. I’ll read for a little while. You’ll check on me when you get back?”

  “Of course. I’ll make certain you’re tucked in and asleep. And Martina is still cleaning up. She can fetch me when she’s done. Good enough?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Well, you’re going back to headquarters,” Miss Reynolds remarked. “I’ll say ‘good night’ to both of you.”

  He rose and took her arm. “Let me see you out.”

  She glanced at him. “Certainly.”

  When they reached the porch steps, she pulled her arm free. “Well, good night again. I’ll see you at church.”

  Sunday was her day off. Usually, she spent it at church and then returned to the Rodgers’ cabin. Some Sundays she joined him and Peggy for Sunday dinner. Other times, she stayed away.

  Tonight, he had no intention of letting her leave quickly. For some reason, he wanted to spend time alone with her. And he wanted to get to know more about her, too.

  “Miss Reynolds.” He took her arm again. “My apologies, I told a white lie. I don’t have anything critical waiting at headquarters.” He ducked his head and swallowed. “I know I said you should have some time off… but tomorrow’s Sunday and—”

  “You wanted to speak with me?” He noticed the slight tremor in her voice.

  “If you can spare a few minutes?”

  “Of course.”

  He smiled and steered her to the other side of the porch, the farthest part away from Peggy’s room. They settled into the two rockers there.

  Gregor stared out at the starry night; a thousand pinpricks of light dotted the inky sky. It was a beautiful country but treacherous, too. And he was keeping her waiting, not knowing how to start.

  He cleared his throat. “We talked a lot about the play at supper, but didn’t you mention something about wondering when we should stage it?”

  It was as good a beginning as he could think of, though, they were back to talking about events at the fort. But he was nervous about blurting out what had been uppermost in his mind for weeks: ‘What’s a beautiful, educated, and cultured woman doing in a frontier backwater as a mail order bride?’

  “Oh, yes, I quite forgot.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Sally and I’ve been discussing the Fourth of July celebration. She said there’s usually plenty of food, dancing, and then the fireworks. But she mentioned last year’s dance as being sort of a…”

  “Dud?” he finished for her.

  She smiled. “Well, that’s not exactly the word Sally used, but close enough. Seems there aren’t many ladies who attend, and most of the men, without partners, just hang around the dance floor, drinking.”

  “Yes, what Sally says is true.” He shook his head. “Heaven knows, we don’t have many women at the fort or in town for that matter. At my other posts, the neighboring ranchers came to our celebration and brought their families, including wives and daughters, which helped make up for the lack.” He lowered his head and clasped his hands between his knees.

  “Problem is, most ranchers around here, like E.P., aren’t married. They have no families to bring, just their cowhands, which makes the disparity between the men and women even greater. There are a few of the ranchers who have families, but it takes a strong woman to live on a remote ranch, tucked into the mountains, seldom seeing anyone but her husband and their hands.”

  “That’s what Sally said, which gave me an idea, but I wanted to ask you first.” She turned her gaze on him. “What if the fort doesn’t hold a dance this year? Instead, after supper is served, we could put on our play and then top off the evening with the fireworks.” She reached across and touched his arm, smiling. “What do you think of that?”

  He shook his head slowly. The woman was a wonder! What a marvelous idea! Staging a play would be a treat for everyone. Better than a mismatched dance with the men grumbling and drinking too much, and then the inevitable squabbling over the too few women.

  Obviously, Sally hadn’t been specific about what had happened last year. His first Fourth of July celebration at Fort Davis had turned into a free-for-all. He’d had to break up a nasty brawl toward the end of the evening. Blackened eyes and loose teeth had put a damper on the fireworks finale.

  This way, the children would be the center of attention, staging their play. It might even lessen the amount of drinking and make the evening go smoother, especially if the fireworks didn’t arrive in time.

  He grabbed her hands and said, “That’s an excellent idea!”

  He could feel her soft hands trembling in his. She started to pull free, stopped herself, and licked her lips. He couldn’t help but notice her mouth. Her lips were wet and glistening.

  Then a thought struck him, as if someone had smacked him upside the head. Why hadn’t he asked her to marry him when they’d found E.P. had died? If she’d been willing to marry a stranger, why not him? He wasn’t a spring chicken, but then again, he was a few years younger than E. P. had been. He wasn’t a wealthy man, either. But most of E.P.’s wealth had been tied up in land and cattle.

  He couldn’t offer her riches, but he could afford a housekeeper and as the commander of the fort, he had the nicest home on the post. She and Peggy had grown fond of each other, too. He dreaded the day when she had enough money to return to Georgia, knowing how attached his daughter was, like she’d been to Crissy.

  How many times did his Peggy’s heart have to be broken, finding a woman to care for, and then losing her again? Wouldn’t their marriage solve both her problem and his? Even if it was, at first, a marriage of convenience?

  Originally, he’d considered offering her the funds to return to Georgia as a loan. He had the savings put back, and he knew Miss Reynolds to be well-bred and honorable. She would have returned his funds, over time.

  But something had held him back. For one thing, he had serious doubts she’d take the money, looking upon it as charity. She was an independent woman. Or perhaps, even from the beginning, he’d hoped, despite all that had happened, she’d decide to stay.

  It had been selfish of him, he knew, but he wanted his daughter to have an adequate education and, for that, Miss Reynolds had been a godsend. Or was that an excuse? He had to admit, even though he’d expected to remain single, grieving for his Martha, he was attracted to Miss Reynolds.

  Gripping her warm hands, his mind was spinning with the thought of making her his wife. Her hands were so fine and smooth. Just touching her heated his blood and turned his thoughts to the bedroom.

  But was he ready to take a wife, especially in the Biblical sense? He hadn’t stopped missing Martha or grieving for her. And if he still had those feelings, would it be right to re-marry? Though, he had to admit, lately, the grief and sorrow dragging at him had receded. Even so, was he ready to be a husband in all ways?

  And he couldn’t help but notice Miss Reynolds was skittish about contact of any kind. Except the day when he’d rescued her. Then she’d clung to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Unfortunately, that day she hadn’t been herself; she’d been in shock. He wondered how she would have fared if E.P. had lived, they’d married, and her new husband had wanted to start a family immediately.

  Miss Reynolds was a very attractive woman. At this moment, her mouth sorely tempted him to take a taste. He leaned in closer.

  She shifted in the rocker and pulled her hands free. “I’m glad you approve of my idea, Commander. I think your soldiers and the townspeople will like seeing a play. It’s something everyone can enjoy.”

  She’d retreated again, but this time, he didn’t want to let her go. “I think, Miss Reynolds, it’s high time we dispensed with the formalities. May I be allowed to call you by your given name, Mallory?”

  Looking at her lap, she twisted her hands together. “Of course, Commander—”

  “None of that. If I’m to call you by your given name, you must call me by mine. It’s William.
”

  “All right.” She looked up and smiled. “But I prefer Will, if that’s all right with you?”

  “Actually, that’s what my folks used to call me. My father’s name was William.”

  “Oh, I see.” She hesitated and wet her lips again with her tongue. “You don’t think it will give Peggy the wrong idea, do you?”

  His gaze was riveted on her mouth. He hadn’t felt like kissing a woman since… since…

  “No, I don’t think so. We’re more informal on the frontier. You must have noticed I call Mrs. Rodgers by her given name, Sally.”

  “Yes, I noticed.”

  “Mallory is an unusual name. I’ve often wondered—”

  “It was my mother’s maiden name.” She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “A southern custom, I believe, using surnames as given names.”

  “What about Metcalf?”

  “Ah.” She chuckled. “My grandmother’s maiden name. I think it’s a way of keeping the women’s names in the family.”

  “What if your mother’s maiden name had been Hotchkiss or O’Sullivan or…”

  She gazed at him, her eyes twinkling. “Well, there are limits to certain customs. Though, I had a distant cousin who went by the name of Tarleton.”

  “A young lady, not a man?”

  “No, Tarleton was a girl, and she hated her name.”

  “I can see why.” He chuckled, too.

  Now he was getting somewhere. He’d managed to steer the conversation to her past and the South. Perhaps, he’d learn something about her—if he didn’t haul off and kiss her first.

  “Tell me more about your home, Miss… er, Mallory.” He grinned. “I’d enjoy learning about where you come from.”

  “Oh, there’s not much to tell. Really.” She snagged his gaze. “You didn’t fight in the South during the war?”

  “My battalion unit never got further than western Virginia. I was with the First Ohio Volunteers.”

  “So, you volunteered for the war?”

  “Yes, I hadn’t planned on being a soldier. I was in seminary school. I was committed to being a traveling preacher, going to frontier settlements to preach the gospel. Then the war started, and I didn’t want to see the Union dissolved, so I volunteered.”