“Sentiment across the country has swung to the Indians,” Muldoon said. “Even the Omaha paper is askin’ for mercy for them.”
“Ja, they’re valiant devils”—the captain nodded—“and you got to respect such bravery. Still, Washington’s afraid that if Cheyenne are allowed to get away with this, all Indians will be walking from reservations and going where they please.”
“Just like free men; well, now, wouldn’t that be a pity?”
The other frowned and stared at the toes of his shiny boots. “As old soldier myself, I warn you to watch your mouth; you wouldn’t want be labeled an Injun lover.”
“Injun lover I ain’t,” Muldoon said. “Injun respecter, I guess I plead guilty. I feel terrible about what happened to Mrs. Halstead, but things happen in war.”
The captain nodded, and Muldoon stood up. “I’ll be findin’ me quarters now, sir.”
Wessells stood, too. “Rumor is Washington is going to ship Cheyenne back to Indian Territory.”
Muldoon frowned. “Ah, it does seem a shame after what they’ve been through.”
“Ja, I know, but that not up to us; we just follow orders. If they get wind of it, they try to escape, and I don’t want trouble during the holidays at Fort Robinson!”
When Two Arrows first saw Muldoon at a distance, his heart almost stopped, but the soldier didn’t seem to see him, so Two Arrows pulled the collar of his buckskins up and stayed out of Muldoon’s way. He did, however, alert the Proud One that the Irishman was on the post. “Be careful,” he warned. “He of all people would recognize you.”
“Is David with him?”
He shook his head. “From what I have heard, both of them were promoted and given medals. Krueger was wounded and sent home. He and Muldoon are both heroes.”
“Good.” She smiled. “He said he only needed another chance; looks like both he and Muldoon got one. Maybe it’s a good sign, and the Cheyenne will get one also.”
“Proud One”—he put his hands on her small shoulders—“this may be your second chance. If you have any regrets at all, you could go to Muldoon, get him to notify Krueger, and you’d be safe as his wife.”
“Never!” She came into Two Arrows’s arms, hugging him to her. “I have faith that Washington will find in our favor.”
It seemed so important to her that he held her to him and nodded. “Maybe it will be as you say. I only think of how much you have given up for me.”
“I haven’t given up anything; I’ve lost nothing and gained everything.” She laid her face against his broad chest. “If I have your love; I want nothing more except a chance to live with you in freedom and give you sons.”
He held her very close, feeling her heart beat against his. It weighed heavily on him that she was enduring such hardships just to stay by his side. He loved her enough to want the best for her, no matter if he finally had to give her up. “I swear that no man ever loved a woman as much as I love you.”
“Then nothing else matters, my dearest. I’ll stay out of Muldoon’s way. Now stop worrying and hold me a while. I forget all our problems in your embrace.”
So he took her in his arms and made love to her, and, finally, she slept. But Two Arrows did not sleep and he could not forget the problems. The days were moving one behind another through the cold winter, and soon the white man’s new year would be coming. Soon, Washington would certainly make up its mind about the Cheyenne. He had a terrible feeling the news would not be good.
David stood by the Christmas tree, smoking his pipe and staring out the window of the library at the snow falling across the Kentucky pastures.
His father limped through the double doors, still ramrod straight even as an old man. “Well, I saw Dr. Linder out; I know you’re glad to have all those bandages off. I hope you’ll be able to use that hand.”
In answer, David flexed it. “I can.”
“Good.” His father’s ice blue eyes were almost friendly in the stern, military face. “You’ve got a great future in the military now.”
“Umm.” He pretended to look at the Christmas tree while tapping his pipe stem against his teeth.
“I’ve heard from one of my old friends, Colonel Carter. He thinks he may have an opening on his Washington staff.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that, Father.”
“What are fathers for if they can’t help a son’s career?” Fritz Krueger shrugged him off. “It will be good for you to be where the action is; not stuck out at some dreary, distant post where you’ll soon be forgotten and overlooked for promotion.”
“You might have asked me what I thought—”
“I knew you’d be happy about it, so I went ahead.” The colonel smiled with satisfaction. “You make some good connections, get promoted to major, then colonel. President Hayes might find a spot for a young, ambitious officer.”
David started to speak, then sighed. His father had always made his decisions for him, and he had tried all his life to please him without success.
“You don’t seem very happy about it. Your brother, William, would be a general now, if he had lived, but then he had so much more potential and was so handsome!”
“Yes, Father, so you’ve told me many, many times.”
“I don’t understand you, David. You’ve been given a chance to erase the mess of your past, make me happy—”
“Just once, I’d like to make myself happy,” David ventured, staring out at the snow, smoking and thinking.
“You’re talking gibberish,” his father snapped with a shrug. “You’re following a long-standing Krueger tradition. We’ve been professional soldiers for more than a hundred years in this country, ever since your Hessian ancestor came to America to fight as a mercenary for the British in the Revolutionary War.”
It took all his nerve to blurt it out, “You know, I really never wanted to be a professional soldier.”
“Oh, poppycock!” The colonel paced the library. “I thought you were over that childish whim that caused you to take off for Texas to play cowboy—”
“Please don’t bring up Susan and Joe,” David asked, and put the tips of his fingers on his throbbing temples.
“Fine girl, good bloodlines. Susan would have made a great officer’s wife, but no, you had to take her to Texas and then talk your younger brother into—”
“Joe didn’t want to be a soldier, either.”
“Poppycock! Of course he did! He was so smart, and I had made such plans—”
“Father, I am sorrier than you know about what happened to them both,” David whispered and leaned on the window, looking out across the landscape. “I would give my life to change that, but I won’t ever have that chance again.” He hesitated, wanting to say that if he had been there when the Comanche attacked instead of off fighting the Civil War at Fritz Krueger’s insistence, Susan and Joe might still be alive. He didn’t say that, of course; he never argued with his father. Texas. It was warm along the Rio Grande right now, he thought, and felt an awakening urge to be on his ranch to see the bluebonnets bloom in the spring. The colonel didn’t even know David still owned that land. He wondered where they’d assigned Muldoon, him with his poor, hurting hands?
“All right, we won’t discuss all your past mistakes—the many times you’ve disappointed me. You’re the only son I’ve got left, David; all my dreams and ambitions ride on you.”
David didn’t answer; there wasn’t any use.
His father busied himself sorting through the pile of mail on top of the elegant grand piano. “You really should get your horses sent home,” he said. “Second Chance and Gray Mist are worth a fortune, you know. I built my money on raising good horses for the cavalry. We can build a whole stable of fine cavalry mounts from those bloodlines.”
In his mind, David saw himself on the chestnut stallion galloping along beside Glory on Gray Mist. Glory always had her head up so proud and defiant, her hair flying behind her as she raced across the prairie. He summoned all his courage. “Father, I—
I don’t know if I want to end up on this estate.”
Old Fritz paused, evidently surprised at his son’s sudden independence.
“I mean, I’d like to make my own choices for a change.”
The older man shrugged, returned to sorting through the mail. “You made your own choices, and it almost wrecked your career.”
Did he have the nerve to buck his father? “I—I didn’t choose this career; you chose it for me, as you chose my school and my wife.”
“Poor Susan.” The colonel sighed and shook his head. “Such a perfect wife from such a good family—”
“I never loved her,” David snapped. “You chose her, and I let you pressure me into marrying her—”
“David, what is the matter with you?” the old man confronted him, blue eyes blazing. His sons had always done just as he said. “You have behaved strangely ever since you were sent home wounded. At first, I thought it was just the trauma—”
“No, I came to an epiphany,” David said recklessly, “and realized my whole life had been nothing but an extension of your life. I’ve never been allowed to live my own life, make my own choices!”
“Oh, how like a serpent’s tooth is an ungrateful child!” The colonel began to pace, his limp considerably less now that he was angry. “David, everything I’ve done, I did for my boys, and now you are the only son I have left—”
“Why don’t you say it?” David whispered. “Why don’t you say how much you regret that it wasn’t me instead of William who was killed in that cavalry charge at Gaines’s Mill?”
“Shut up! You aren’t even worthy to speak his name!” His father was shouting now, “William died a hero for a noble cause!”
“William and the Fifth Cavalry rode right into the blazing guns of the Confederate infantry; it was a terrible slaughter, and for what?”
“You are a soldier!” The older man’s face had gone an ugly red. “The Kruegers have always been military men, always!”
He was not sure he had the nerve to defy his father, and maybe there was no reason to. “Father, I’m sorry, but I hate the army. I tried to tell you before you shipped me off to West Point, but you wouldn’t listen.” David leaned against the windowsill and stared out at the snow. “All I ever wanted out of life was to own a ranch where I could raise children and cow ponies—”
“You’ll inherit this estate and raise fine cavalry mounts,” the other reminded him with a scowl.
David shook his head and walked over to empty his pipe among the coals of the fireplace. “I don’t want to raise horses to carry men into battle. I want nothing to do with war. I want to raise horses that a cowboy might—”
“Cowboys!” his father sneered. “You dare speak to me of the West? It was your crazy idea about Texas that got Susan killed, that got Joseph killed—”
“And you will remind me of that every hour of every day for the rest of my life, won’t you?” David turned on him. “If I’d been there to protect them against Comanches, instead of off playing soldier—”
“So again, it is your father’s fault?”
David closed his eyes and sighed. “No, it’s no one’s fault but my own, I guess, for not standing on my own two feet like a man should, making my own decisions. Ever since I survived this wound, I’ve been thinking maybe God was offering me another chance.”
“Well, of course he is,” the older man said firmly, as if God himself wouldn’t argue with Colonel Krueger, retired, U.S. Cavalry. “You’ve gotten your rank back and a medal. Now with a little rest, you’ll carry on the valiant tradition of the Krueger family as William would have done.”
What was the use?
“Father,” David sighed, too weary and heartsick to argue further, “you haven’t heard a word I said.”
“Of course I have.” The colonel shrugged and smiled. “You said God has given you another chance, and so we’re agreed.”
David stared into the fire a long moment. Of course he was going to stay in the military. He had to track Two Arrows down and take revenge. This is for Glory.
The doorbell rang.
The colonel limped to answer it, grumbling, “Now, who can that be?”
At least, this confrontation was ended, David thought with relief as he went over, sat down at the grand piano, stared at the keys. The mother he barely remembered had taught him to play before she died. His father had thought it unmanly.
The colonel limped back into the library. “Good! Dr. Linder said it would exercise that arm for you to play again.”
“I—I don’t really want to play it.”
“Poppycock!” his father snorted. “Of course you do. Play something for me; what about that song that was popular among the young people last year; what was it? Something about the gloaming.”
That was the one song he would never play again. David closed his eyes at the memory it brought back. Before the older man could insist, he asked, “Who was at the door?”
“Oh, a letter for you.” The colonel handed it over, his lined face bright with curiosity. “Who do you know in Nebraska?”
David took it, grinning. “Why, it’s from Muldoon; bless his old heart!”
“I remember that rascal!” His father scowled. “Didn’t he lose his rank for gambling—?”
“He also saved my life,” David reminded him, ripping open the letter. He had forgotten how much he missed the Irishman. “Hmm, what do you know; he’s been transferred to Fort Robinson.”
“Nebraska. That’s good enough for him, I suppose.” The colonel sniffed. “The army has a tendency to forget men it assigns to distant posts. You’re frowning, David; is there bad news?”
He didn’t know himself. “The northern Cheyenne have finally been apprehended and sent to Fort Robinson.” He reread the letter, but Muldoon did not mention Two Arrows. He thought about his dead sweetheart, and he gritted his teeth and silently renewed his vow. Even his dreams at night were full of images of putting his gunsights on the defiant Cheyenne’s head and pulling the trigger. He would never find peace until he did that.
“Cheyenne? Ragtag savages! The colonel snorted. ”Not like fighting real soldiers.”
“You haven’t fought against them.” David grunted. “Best light cavalry in the world, with no weapons, no supplies, nothing but raw courage.”
Fritz Krueger’s white eyebrows went up. “You admire them?”
David thought a minute. “I respect them,” he answered finally. “They will fight with their bare hands, if necessary, for what they believe in.”
“Poppycock! This isn’t real cavalry; we’re talking savages.” His father made a dismissing gesture as if that ended the discussion. “Oh, David, by the way, I did tell you we’re invited to that Christmas Eve ball tonight?”
“Another one?” He carefully folded the letter so he could reread it again later and put it in his pocket. “I don’t feel like a party; go without me.”
“That’s what you said to the last three invitations,” the colonel snapped. “Dr. Linder said you’re well enough, and all the young ladies have been asking—”
“I’m not interested in meeting young ladies,” David said, picking out a note or two on the piano.
“But Susan has been dead a long time, and it’s time you remarried—”
“And I suppose you’ve got her all picked out for me?”
“Don’t be smart-mouthed,” the older man said, “although I have narrowed the choice down to two or three, all of whom will be at tonight’s ball.”
“That figures.” In his mind, he pictured the girls his father would choose, pliant, meek, dull. He’d known a proud, defiant woman in Glory, and he didn’t want another staid, proper Victorian lady. “Really, Father, if you don’t mind—”
“Mind? Of course I mind.” The colonel dismissed David’s protest with an impatient shrug. “Senator Pierce Hamilton is going to be there, and these young ladies from the prestigious Carstairs Oaks Academy—”
“Carstairs Oaks is an estate.”
“It was,” the older man corrected him. “When old Elizabeth Carstairs died, she left her estate to be converted into a girls’ school.”
“Hmm.” David began to pick out an old melody on the piano. Maybe if he dropped the subject, his father would, too.
“David, perhaps you don’t understand,” the colonel began again as if explaining to a balky little boy. “These young ladies I have narrowed the choice down to come from very well placed families. One of them is the niece of General—”
“Oh, please, Father, must we discuss this?”
“Of course not! I won’t take no for an answer—”
The doorbell rang again.
“Why does the bell keep ringing on Jeeves’s day off?” the older man roared and limped out of the room.
David sighed with relief as he watched his father leave the room. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer about that party tonight, and maybe it wasn’t worth bucking him over. But one thing was. David reached to touch the letter in his pocket and smiled. He was going to ask for a post at Fort Robinson so he could search out Two Arrows. He would have his pair of fine horses shipped there, too. Only twice before, when he had bought the Texas ranch and when he had saved the colt his father had ordered destroyed, had David ever defied old Fritz Krueger. The posting at Fort Robinson would be the third time. Third time’s a charm, he thought.
The colonel limped back into the library carrying a large box, his face puzzled. “This came for you; something you ordered months ago, the deliveryman said.”
“I don’t know what it could be.” Baffled, David stood up and took the box, laid it on the top of the piano, opened it, removed the tissue paper. Oh my God.
“What is it?” His father peered over his shoulder.
For a long moment, David could not answer; his voice choked up and his eyes blurred as he ran his hand over the fine fur. “It—it was to be a surprise Christmas gift for the woman I hoped to marry.”
Cheyenne Song Page 27