Mallory

by Hebby Roman

  “Were you already married? I mean, when the war started?”

  “Heavens, no. I didn’t expect to marry, thinking an itinerant preacher had no right to a wife.” He shook his head. “Wouldn’t have been fair to a woman.”

  “But then how did you marry?”

  “I was on furlough. I’d taken a musket ball in my calf.” He grimaced and stretched out his right leg. “Still gets stiff and achy when the weather’s cold.” He lowered his head and leaned forward. He took her hands again and, this time, she didn’t recoil.

  “We met at a barn raising. Not that I did much raising with a bum leg, but afterwards, there was a dance. Martha was there.

  “We talked and talked.” He grinned. “I couldn’t do much dancing. Before the night was out, we’d promised to write. She waited for me. I didn’t finish seminary, decided soldiering would be my profession, knowing it would give me more security to raise a family.”

  “Do you regret it sometimes? Giving up the seminary?”

  He lifted his head and looked into her sparkling eyes. How had she done it? They were supposed to be talking about her—not him. She’d turned the tables on him once more, diverting the conversation from herself. She was clever, very clever.

  If he couldn’t best her at conversation, maybe he could get to know her in another way. He leaned in and pulled her closer. His lips brushed hers.

  She started and her eyes widened.

  “Colonel Gregor, Colonel Gregor,” a man’s voice interrupted them.

  He looked up to see Corporal Walsh running toward them. The corporal skidded to a halt at the edge of the porch, panting. “Colonel Gregor, Doc Winslow sent me for you. Reverend Finley took an arrow in his leg. The doctor said to fetch you, as he knew you wanted to be informed of any Injun attack.”

  He let Mallory’s hands go and rose, wondering how much the corporal had seen. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Mallory and could read the concerned look on her face, knowing she was wondering the same thing.

  “You did the right thing, Walsh, coming for me. Let me see Miss Reynolds home and ask Martina to stay with my daughter. Then I’ll be right there.” He’d reverted to using her proper name, hoping it had been too dark for Walsh to have seen anything, hoping there would be no gossip.

  She got to her feet, too, and touched his sleeve. “Let me stay with Peggy. It’s late, and I’m sure Martina wants to go home.” She shivered a little in the warm air, probably remembering her abduction by the Apache. “After, will you come and tell me what happened?”

  “Of course, and it’s kind of you to stay with Peggy.”

  “I want to.”

  “But don’t tell her about the reverend yet. Let me break it to her.” He shook his head. “Sometimes, she has nightmares. Besides, she’ll learn soon enough, tomorrow in church.”

  “Yes,” she said, “and I understand about having nightmares. Sometimes, I have them, too.”

  Chapter Six

  Gregor watched as Doc Winslow expertly cut the arrowhead from Reverend Finley’s leg, leaving a flap of skin to stich over the puncture wound. Finley, who’d refused whiskey to deaden the pain, writhed on the Doc’s operating table and arched his back. He was held down by four soldiers, including Corporal Walsh.

  The doctor had given Finley a stick to bite on, and the man was crunching it between his jaws. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he sank onto the table.

  Doc Winslow grunted. “Better that way.” He glanced over his shoulder at his assistant, Corporal Richardson, and said, “Bring me more gauze, the needle I had you boil, and thread. I’ll have him patched up in no time. Just a flesh wound, doesn’t look like any arteries or muscles were hit.”

  The doctor patted Finley’s shoulder. “He’s a lucky man.” Then he held up the shaft of the arrow he’d broken off, looking it over. “Appears to be Apache.”

  “Not too surprising,” Gregor said. “That’s why I wanted to speak with the reverend, but with him passed out, I won’t be able to question him.”

  The doctor held the needle up to the lantern light and threaded it. “You can question him, Colonel. No worries. My stitching him up will probably bring him around. If not, I’ve smelling salts.”

  Gregor nodded and folded his hands behind his back. “I’ll stay then. I need the details of what happened.”

  The doctor’s movements were quick and deliberate, closing up the wound swiftly. He motioned to his assistant and, after saturating the gauze in whiskey, he applied it to the raw looking wound.

  Reverend Finley’s eyes flew open, his back bowed as if he wanted to lift himself off the table. He spit the stick out, roaring, “Aaargh! Save me, Lord! It feels like hell’s demons are…” He stopped and sank back onto the table, digging his fingers into the wood.

  “All done, now.” Doc Winslow patted the reverend’s shoulder again. “You’re a brave young man.”

  “No, I’m not. Truth be known, I’m a lily-livered coward.” The reverend rolled his head from side to side. “It’s why I asked for a transfer. I lay awake nights, thinking about Indian attacks and, before my replacement could get here, this happened.” He groaned and bit his lip.

  That was news to Gregor; he hadn’t known the reverend was leaving them. He stepped forward. “Where did you take the arrow, Reverend? I need to try and find who shot you. Where did it happen?”

  “I was at the Bolton’s ranch, Colonel, saying prayers over a cowhand who was gored by their bull. We were standing at the grave, praying. Phineas Bolton leaned down and stepped forward to throw a handful of dirt on the cowboy’s coffin. That’s when the arrow hit me.”

  “How many hostiles?”

  “I only saw the one. He was waiting in ambush behind a large boulder about twenty yards away. After he hit me, he jumped on his pony and rode off.”

  “What about the Bolton family?” Gregor knew Phineas had a wife and two daughters. “Are they all right?”

  “They’re fine. Phineas tried to shoot the Apache, but he missed. They brought me to town, after securing their ranch. Their cowhands are standing watch, taking shifts. The family is spending the night with the Lovells, but they’ll be heading home tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll send troops with them. They’ll reconnoiter the area and make sure everything is clear.” He shook his head. “Speaking of which, Reverend Finley, if you’re concerned about Apache attacks, why didn’t you ask for an escort to the Bolton’s spread?”

  “It didn’t occur to me, their place being so close to town. I guess I thought I was safe, but I should have known better.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “It’s good of you, Colonel, to send troops with the Bolton family. I’m sure they’ll appreciate all the help you can give them. Phineas is one of my best parishioners, but I don’t know how he manages to raise enough cattle to keep his family fed. His spread is so small, he can barely afford to pay his hands. He’s been thinking of selling to Mr. Murphy.”

  Hearing the reverend mention Murphy, suspicions that had been churning in the back of his mind surfaced, and pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.

  “Do you think the Apache meant to shoot you, Reverend? They don’t usually take aim at holy men. It goes against their superstitions.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think he meant to shoot Phineas, but then Mr. Bolton leaned down to get a handful of dirt and step closer to the grave. I think the Indian hit me by mistake.”

  He groaned again and reached for his thigh. “I’m more than glad to take an arrow for Phineas.” He managed a weak smile. “I think.”

  Doc Winslow pushed the reverend’s hand aside. “Don’t touch the wound, unless you’ve sluiced your hands in whiskey, man. You don’t want it to fester, do you?”

  “No, of course not, Dr. Winslow.”

  “Good then. Do you have someone who can take care of you until you get on your feet?” The doctor asked.

  “Mrs. Johnson, where I board, will be happy to help
me.”

  “All right, that’s fine,” the doctor said. “I’ll check on you every day for the first week or so, until I’m sure the wound is healing. After that, we’ll see about getting you some crutches made, so you can start moving around. But not until I tell you to.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good.” The doctor turned to Gregor and said, “I’m going to give him a dose of laudanum, so’s he can rest. He can stay with me tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll need a pair of orderlies and a litter to move him to the boarding house.”

  “I’ll be sure you get what you need. Just send for Corporal Walsh, and he’ll see to it.” He glanced at the corporal.

  “Have you finished questioning him?” Dr. Winslow asked.

  “Yes, I have.” He looked at his orderly again. “Walsh, if the doctor doesn’t need you, I want you to go to the Lovell’s home, and tell Phineas I’d like to talk to him after church tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  “And have Captain Rodgers come here, I need to speak with him about the patrol I’m sending with the Bolton family.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The doctor put his hands on his hips and gazed at his patient. “Speaking of church, who’s going to hold services tomorrow?”

  “Bob Lovell can hold the services. He’s my head deacon.” The reverend glanced at him and asked, “Can Walsh tell Mr. Lovell when he takes your message?”

  “Of course,” he said and looked up at Walsh. “Be sure Mr. Lovell is informed.” He inclined his head. “Bring the captain first before you go to town, Corporal. I’ll be waiting for him on the front porch.” He saluted. “Dismissed.”

  Walsh saluted and exited the room.

  Gregor stepped forward and put his hand on Finley’s arm. “Take care of yourself, Reverend. Be sure to do what the doc tells you. He knows his stuff.”

  The reverend nodded, his eyes drifting shut. “No worries there, Colonel. I’ll be a model patient.”

  He squeezed the reverend’s arm. “Good man.” He turned to the doctor. “I’ll wait on your front porch, if you don’t mind.”

  He nodded his head at the three remaining orderlies. “Help the doctor get the reverend settled for the night. Then you’re dismissed. I appreciate your helping out.”

  The three privates saluted, and he returned their salute.

  “Good night, Doc, and thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “Good night, Colonel.”

  He exited the doctor’s office and pulled the door shut behind him. He looked up and saw a small crowd had gathered, mostly soldiers from the fort with a sprinkling of townspeople.

  Word traveled fast in these parts.

  He held up one hand and raised his voice, “You can all go home now. The reverend took an arrow in the fleshy part of his thigh, but Doc Winslow says he should be fine.”

  Then he noticed a man in the back of the crowd—a stranger. The man had his Stetson pulled low. He wore a red-checkered bandana at his throat, a white shirt, and a sturdy-looking pair of denims. On his hips, slung low, were two holstered Colts.

  He wanted to know who the man was. The last two stagecoaches, one headed west and the other east, hadn’t brought any newcomers to town. He stepped off the porch and called out, “You, there! I’m the commander of Fort Davis. Would you care to introduce yourself?”

  The man whirled around and leapt onto the back of a brown mare. He didn’t look back, just dug his spurs into the mare’s sides and took off toward town.

  Gregor looked around for someone to go after the man, but everyone was afoot.

  Captain Rodgers pushed through the remnants of the crowd, most of whom were drifting away, returning to their homes.

  Rodgers came to attention and saluted. “You sent for me, sir?”

  He watched as the stranger melted away, swallowed by the darkness. Then he turned to Rodgers. “Yes, I did. I need for you to pull together a patrol of twenty men to escort the Bolton family to their ranch tomorrow after church services. They’re staying with the Lovells in town. When you get to the ranch, have your patrol search around the ranch house in a five-mile-wide perimeter. See if there are any Apache nearby.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll get the men together tomorrow. If we encounter Apache, what do you want us to do?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it will be too late to conclusively tie any hostiles you find to the attack on the reverend.” He shook his head. “Talk to them, see why they’re on the Boltons’ ranch. And then warn them off. It’s all we can do for now.

  “Who’s on guard duty?” he asked, changing his focus.

  “Corporal Jenkins of Company H, sir.”

  “All right.” He gazed at the captain. “Have you seen a stranger, wearing two Colts and with a red-checkered bandana? He’s riding a brown mare.”

  “No, sir, I haven’t.”

  “Hmmm, odd timing for a stranger to turn up. See if Corporal Jenkins saw which way the man rode. He was waiting outside with the crowd, wanting to hear about the reverend, but when I spoke to the man, he high-tailed it.”

  “Not a good sign.”

  “No. Rouse some of your men and go look for the man in town, after Jenkins tells you which way he’s headed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, and another thing,” he added, remembering the Apache might be watching the Bolton ranch. “If you encounter Apache on the Bolton spread, you’ll need an interpreter. Take Deer Stalker with…” He stopped himself and considered. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around for a while.”

  “I thought you knew, sir. He got paid last month and then he disappeared.”

  “No, I didn’t know. I’ve been busy deploying the infantry troops and rotating them.” He stared at the captain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The captain lowered his head. “Uh, I thought Myerson told you. Deer Stalker was attached to his unit. Not mine.”

  “Yes, you’re right, Captain. I forgot which unit he was officially with. The translators go where they’re needed.” He rubbed his chin. His skin was bristly; he hadn’t shaved since this morning. And he’d kissed Mallory.

  He shook himself. She crept into his thoughts, no matter how hard he concentrated on the matters at hand.

  “He left after the last payroll, you say?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That would have been a couple of weeks after he helped me with Caballero and the hostage situation?”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  “Odd timing, all of this.” He glanced at the captain. “You have an interpreter assigned to your outfit?”

  “Yes, sir, Pale Hawk.”

  “Well,” he said and puffed out his breath. “He’s not as adept as Deer Stalker, but until we can replace him, take Pale Hawk with you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And tell Myerson to report to me after church tomorrow. I want to know…” He stopped himself. Myerson and Rodgers had enough of a rivalry going without him stoking the fire. “Just tell him to report.”

  Rodgers straightened and saluted.

  “You’ve got your orders. If your men find the stranger tonight, I want to be wakened and told. You can question him, but if he didn’t break any laws, you can’t take him into custody. Understood? And if you don’t find the man, report tomorrow before you take the Bolton family to their home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  ***

  Mallory leaned over the front porch railing, staring at the blazing lights coming from Doc Winslow’s surgery, across the parade ground. The commander had been gone for a long time, and she was worried about the reverend.

  She hoped the Methodist minister wasn’t badly hurt. He was such a nervous young man. And she’d thought the commander’s new strategy had been working. The Apache raids had lessened, based on the conversations she’d had with Sally. But now Reverend Finley ha
d been shot.

  She took out Macon’s picture and gazed at it in the half-light from the kitchen. She couldn’t wait to get home to her son and away from the dangers of the frontier.

  Jittery from the anxiety gnawing at her, she put Macon’s picture away and paced back and forth on the porch. Perhaps, she should check on Peggy. But she’d just checked on the girl a few minutes ago, and Peggy had been fast asleep. Earlier, she’d hurried over to Sally’s to tell her about the reverend and explain she was going to stay with Peggy until her father returned.

  Then she’d come back and helped Martina clean up. After that, she’d returned to the porch and to wait for Will.

  She put her fingertips against her lips. He’d kissed her. Never in a thousand years had she expected him to kiss her. Funny, when she thought of the commander as Will, just his name sparked something deep inside her. Some long dormant yearning… to belong, to be desirable to a man.

  It was something she thought had withered away, washed away by betrayal and disillusionment.

  The more she thought about Will, the more her thoughts tumbled, like dice in a cup, clattering around. What were his intentions? They must be honorable, knowing he’d trained as a preacher.

  And the more she knew about him, the more she’d grown to admire him. He was kind and fair-handed with his men. He expected his soldiers to perform to the best of their ability, but he gave them every opportunity to meet his expectations. He was the same way with his daughter, tough but caring. The perfect mix in a man, to her way of thinking.

  Knowing him as she did, after her initial instinctive reaction, she hadn’t minded them holding hands and him kissing her. Not nearly so much as she would have thought.

  Was she attracted to the commander… to Will? It was hard not to be. He was tall and well-built, his rangy frame belying the muscular body that lay beneath his uniform. His features weren’t parlor-style handsome. Instead, his wide-set, blue-gray eyes, blade-thin nose, and chiseled mouth combined to make him ruggedly good looking. Even the spray of gray hair at his temples added to his appeal.