by Rose Gordon
Gray brought his hands softly to his chest and dropped his jaw. “You didn’t save it for me?”
“No. But only because I was thinking of you.”
“Thinking of me?”
“Of course.” She pulled the iron pot of water off the fire. “You’re debilitated as it is, I couldn’t imagine how awful it’d be if you became sick from the spoiled meat, too.” She went to the bureau and picked up his folded uniform. “Then of course there is the other reason.”
“Which is?”
“I hear the medicine man around here hasn’t a modest fiber in his body. I’d hate to have to go seek him out only for you to grow jealous or insecure.”
A broken bark of laughter erupted from his chest. He grimaced in pain, but smiled nonetheless. “As a boy, I saw more undressed men walking about than is good for a body, but at least they were merely walking.”
She stilled for a moment, then understanding lit her features and she pretended to swat at him for the vivid and obscene thought he’d put into her head.
He threw his arms into the air. “Don’t hurt me. I only speak the truth. That man was jumping and running and screaming and flailing. I was thoroughly scandalized.”
“Ah, I see,” she said slowly, handing him his uniform. “And do you not think I haven’t recently been scandalized?” She gave a pointed glance in the proximity of his covered waist.
“I’d hardly call it scandalizing when it’s your own husband.”
“I think that might depend on the wife,” she said cryptically, filling him with an odd mixture of hope, dread and mostly uncertainty.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The second day of hauling logs seemed much easier than the first. Of course, that might be because Gray had rested so much the night before.
He was still exhausted though when it was time to stop for the day.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked Michaela from the threshold of the Lewises’.
“I will be in a moment.” She turned and picked up a plate covered with a white towel.
He arched an eyebrow.
She did the same.
“Do you plan to reveal what you have on that plate?”
“No. Now, let’s go.”
In comfortable silence, they walked home.
“Why don’t you rest while I start dinner?” she suggested once they were inside.
Gray couldn’t argue with that logic. He removed his boots and sat on top of their bed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He felt a sliver of guilt that he was such a useless burden to her, but it couldn’t be helped. His body still ached with crippling pain. One day, he promised himself. One day he’d be more attentive to her.
“Dinner is ready.”
Gray’s eyes shot open and his head snapped up. “It smells delicious.”
She gave him a queer look. “It’s just salt pork.”
“No salt pork is ever just salt pork.” He flicked his wrist. “Perhaps I’ll take you for a pass of the dining hall one night so you’ll know the difference.”
Shrugging, Michaela brought him a plate.
“Thank you,” he said, taking it from her. He licked his lips in anticipation. Very few times in his life had he eaten food made fresh just for him. As a boy, he’d eaten whatever scraps his mother or her friends had given him, with only a full plate on the occasion that one of them was sick. When he’d gone to Fort McHenry, the Jones family had been stingy with their food, never allowing him to dine at their table. Still, General Davis had seen to it he was given an equal portion at every meal with the men in the dining room. The food hadn’t been good, but it’d been more than he’d had for any meal before and he quickly formed a taste for it. The years between Fort McHenry and West Point he’d been reduced to scrounging again. Since then, he’d once again grown accustomed to undercooked (or sometimes overcooked depending on who was cooking) meals covered in salt and oozing with some sort of fluid. It wasn’t the most appetizing, but it would do the job.
Since coming to Fort Gibson, he’d been invited to the Lewises’ to dine for certain holidays and a few times for no reason other than them just inviting all of the officers under his command over for dinner, per Mrs. Lewis’ request, of course. Allison’s arrival had secured him about one improved meal per month and Ella had let him pilfer a few fresh tarts last week.
“Have you discovered a new way to eat, Gray?”
Gray’s eyes shot to where Michaela was seated at the table. “Pardon?”
“I find it usually works better to consume food through my mouth, but if you’d rather stare at it—” she shrugged, a sparkle in her green eyes— “who am I to question it?”
“Sorry, I was just— Never mind.” He cut into the thick slab with the edge of his fork then brought a piece to his watering mouth. The beefsteak she’d helped Allison make the other day faded when compared to this. He took another bite, then another. She could make this every night if she so desired. He’d eat it. When the meat was gone, he scooped up a large swoop from the cloud of whipped potatoes. “Mmm,” he said before he could stop himself. Her potatoes had something in them other than salt for spice and he liked it. He’d bet the beans were just as tasty. He stabbed a forkful and quickly devoured it.
“I take it I passed your standard?” Michaela teased as he scraped every last crumb from his plate. He’d have licked it if she were anyone other than his wife.
“You’re a good cook, Michaela,” he said, lowering his plate to his lap.
“Would you like mine?” She extended her plate in his direction.
His mouth watered. Her plate was almost full. “N-no.”
She laughed. “Here.” She walked over from where she’d sat at the table and gave him her plate. “It’s only fair. I ate yours last night.”
“That’s because I was unconscious,” he pointed out, reluctantly taking the plate from her.
“You eat that. I’ll just have some fruit and jerky.” She went to the shelves in the corner and retrieved some dried fruit and nuts and a swath of jerky. “This is all I need, now eat.”
Gray needed no further urging.
“Are you full?”
Gray’s eyes lingered to the covered plate she’d brought with her from the Lewises’. “Not too full.”
“I’d hope not.” She lifted off the towel at a rate so slow it was pure torture. “Are you sure?”
He scowled and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”
She frowned. “I wouldn’t wish to give you a stomachache…”
“You let me worry about that,” he said, salivating.
She ripped the towel away revealing what appeared to be a pie—covered in nuts?
“They’re pecans,” she explained. “I baked them into the pie.”
“It looks wonderful.”
Michaela sliced the pie generously. “Here. If you want more, I’ll cut you another.”
“No, this will be enough for now. I want to save it.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Unless you’ll make another sometime soon?”
“I think that’ll depend on your behavior,” she teased with an unsuppressed giggle.
After he’d eaten enough of Michaela’s pecan pie to almost make himself sick, Michaela picked up a book she’d borrowed from one of the ladies and Gray promptly fell asleep.
***
Just as the second day hauling logs had been easier than the first, the third was easier than the second and the fourth slightly less daunting than the third. By the eighth day, Gray and his men had mastered a system. A system that allowed for Gray to use his frequent rests to ask casual questions of the other men.
So far, no one seemed to know anything about anything. Of course he couldn’t directly ask if anyone knew who at the fort might have fancied Soft Dove.
Grunting, Gray went back to work. His nights had become almost as mundane as his days. He’d collect Michaela from the Lewises’, then they’d go back to their room and she’d cook their dinner. It wasn’t anything fancy or dive
rse, but it was flavorful. Perhaps, he was biased, but he’d swear her cooking was better than Mrs. Lewis’, Allison’s, and Ella’s combined.
She’d also continued to help him when he needed it and let him rest. She’d offered to help him bathe, but that’s where he drew the line. If she were going to help him bathe, it wasn’t because she thought he couldn’t do it himself. Not to mention, just the thought of her dainty hands on certain parts of him were enough to drive him mad. The act might actually kill him.
“You doing all right out here, Gray?” Private Jacobs asked from behind him.
Gray spun around slowly to face the man who’d pulled him from his thoughts. “It’s not easy work, is it?”
Private Jacobs shook his head. “No. It ain’t,” he agreed in his thick Southern accent.
“Sorry we never got around to our chat.”
Jacobs remained expressionless, his shrewd eyes catching on something in the distance. “I’d best be off.”
Gray stood rooted in place as Jacobs walked away. There was something about the man that was off. A combination of his stature and demeanor that just sent chills down Gray’s spine. It was almost as if the man was hiding something. Gray narrowed his eyes on the man’s form. Could he be hiding something? Jacobs was certainly taller than most and stronger than that fella named Sampson from the Bible his mother had once told him about. Forcing a woman to accept his attentions wouldn’t be a difficult task. Gray’s blood turned ice cold.
You have no evidence, Gray reminded himself. Slow down. There are other strong and menacing men around here. This place is full of them.
His body relaxed. He needed to go home and think it through. Jacobs was under the command of Lieutenant John Lansky. Gray didn’t know him that well since Lt. Lansky had spent all of his time at Fort Gibson answering to General Ridgely. Now that Gray was also under Rigid’s command it wouldn’t seem strange that Gray was trying to form superficial relationships with Lt. Lansky’s men.
As had become their unspoken routine, Michaela met Gray at the door when he came by for her, then they went home and she cooked while he rested. His torso was starting to hurt less, except his broken ribs, those still hurt more than he’d like.
Michaela hummed quietly as she went about her work. She mixed this and stirred that. Flipped something over and scraped something from a bowl. When their meal was on the fire, she started making dough. A cloud of flour constantly surrounded her. Every so often she’d look up from her work and smile at him. He’d often wondered if she wanted to talk to him, but she never said anything and he didn’t have a single idea of what she’d like to talk about. The only women he’d talked to in recent years were prostitutes who knew nothing of how to protect themselves from their clients. He’d always purchase their time so they’d have a reprieve and while they were alone together, he’d try to convince them to take a sheath or two with them to offer to men who they might suspect had a disease. Most were appreciative for his generosity. He had a suspicion Michaela wouldn’t be quite so impressed.
***
Almost two weeks had passed since Gray had gone back to work and Michaela was on the edge of insanity.
Her father had transformed from a minor annoyance to an abrasive aggravation that insisted on spending several hours a day with the ladies in Aunt Lucille’s sitting area.
Ella asked constantly how things were going with Gray, if he was healing, if they’d worked out the problems they’d had before he’d been injured.
Mrs. Ridgely had become a cold recluse; barely speaking while she sewed and absolutely refusing to even look at Michaela.
Then there was Gray. It wasn’t that he was trying to be cold to her. But neither was he warm. Not that she should have expected him to be, she supposed. He’d always thought of her as an annoyance so why should he be excited to talk to her now? At least they weren’t fighting.
And neither was she at odds with Aunt Lucille and Allison. Which was a good thing, really it was. Whenever she felt alone or dejected, she looked to one of them for comfort.
Two days ago had been most of the men’s day off. Not Gray though. He and his men had been made to continue working while Michaela spent the day helping Aunt Lucille cook and bake. Custom at forts dictated that men never missed two reprieves in a row, so at least she could look forward to spending time with Gray during the next day off. If he didn’t sleep through it again like he had the last day he’d had off.
“Jack and Wes are here,” Mrs. Lewis announced, craning her neck to look out the little kitchen window.
Ella and Allison scrambled to put away their sewing and gather their things.
Michaela couldn’t help but grin at their obvious behavior.
“Oh dash,” Aunt Lucille exclaimed as a loud crash echoed throughout the room.
Michaela ran over to her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “But that bottle of oil will never be the same.”
Michaela smiled at her. “Does Charles sell oil in his store?”
Aunt Lucille nodded. “Do one of you men think you could walk me by the Sutler’s store on your way home?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wes said immediately.
Aunt Lucille wiped her hands off on her apron as she followed them from the house.
“Would you like us to walk you home?” Ella asked Michaela quietly.
“No, Gray will be coming in just a few minutes.”
Ella nodded, then shot a pointed glance at the pale-faced Sarah Ridgely and whispered, “Do you want us to wait with you?”
Grimacing, Michaela declined. “I’ll be fine. She’s not the only female capable of delivering a blood-curdling scream when in distress.”
Ella giggled. “Indeed.”
When Ella and Jack were gone, Michaela turned her attention to the broken glass on the floor. She reached for an old corn broom and began sweeping. When she’d gotten as much glass up as she could, she grabbed two towels and started mopping up the fluid. Michaela frowned. Where was Gray? He was usually later than the others, but not this late. Seeing no other choice, she took a seat in the sitting area across from Sarah.
How convenient that when she could use her father’s presence to act as a bulwark and dissolve the tension in the rom he wasn’t here. Her frown deepened. Where was he? Likely together, she thought. She sighed. That might not be such a bad thing. There was a suffocating level of bitterness between her husband and father; it would do them good to spend time together.
Speaking of…
Perhaps now was the best time for Michaela to resolve some of the tension in her own life.
She took a deep breath. “Sarah?”
Sarah looked up from where her fingers had been twirling the fraying edge of her fabric, her gray eyes glossy.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Now isn’t the time.”
Michaela recoiled at the sharpness of her tone then went to the window to watch for Gray. When she saw him, she had to restrain herself from leaping through the window.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“All right, boys. That’s good for today,” Gray hollered to his men a good ten minutes early.
None of them seemed too broken hearted about finishing early for the day and wasted no time going back to the barracks to drink and gamble and whatever else they did with their time.
“Mind if I help?” Gray asked, walking up to Lt. Lansky.
“Not at all. Climb on up. There’s plenty of pitch that needs spreading.”
Gray did as he was instructed. Though they were all just men working for the same government, there were still prejudices and reservations and if Gray wanted a chance to get close enough to Private Jacobs to investigate him, he first needed to prove to Lansky, his superior, that he was no threat or concern. “Say Lieutenant, how long have you been here now?”
“Two years.”
Gray nodded and started mixing the stiff pitch with a touch more vigor. “Ever think of going home?”
Lansky used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Sometimes.”
“Better food,” Gray said.
“Bigger bed.”
“Softer,” Gray added.
“Warmer, too,” the guy said with a slight chuckle.
Gray lifted an eyebrow. “You do know that from time to time a group of women pass through to offer companionship.” He ground his teeth. He’d always been so careful to try to protect those who passed through and now he’d just as good as suggested Lansky go find his satisfaction with one.
“I’m not interested in a soiled dove.” He twisted his lips in disgust. “A man never knows what kind of disease he might get.”
Gray grinned in relief. “Partial to all of your parts, are you?”
“More than some men around here,” he said in a way that left no doubt that he was referring to Gray and his reputation to have a never-ending longing for fallen women.
“Didn’t you hear I’ve recently been reformed?” Gray dipped his brush into the bucket of pitch and started spreading it.
Lansky’s eyes widened in shock, then he visibly relaxed. “That’s right, you just got married.” He chuckled. “With General Davis as a father-in-law, I’d imagine you did make some changes to your habits,” he said with another chuckle.
“Indeed.” Gray made a few more passes with his brushes while listening to Lansky continue on about the frightening things he’d heard about the ‘Great and Fearless General Davis.’ Gray would have rather heard just about any other topic discussed, but if that’s what the man wanted to talk about and it would make Gray trust him, then Gray could nod his agreement all evening.
When the horn blew that marked the end of working hours, Gray dropped his brush back into the bucket and did his best to show some sort of interest in helping clean up. He caught Jacobs’ eye and just as quickly, the man averted his gaze. Was that a sign of guilt?
Gray pushed away the thought. He had to take this one step at a time. So far he’d discovered nothing that would help him. General Bridges could be here any day to start this trial. He needed to start finding real clues, not speculation.
Gray headed over to the Lewises’ to meet Michaela. She seemed to be enjoying herself out here, if her beaming smiles were any indication. He still didn’t know what to talk to her about while in their room, but she didn’t act to concerned with it.