“Et-nah-wah-ruchta! The tub must be but half full.” she said, realizing too late she had shouted.
Anticipation of the next few moments was almost overwhelming.
“It’s good enough as it is, Et-nah-wah-ruchta, you’ve done a very admirable service for me. Now, please come help me dispense with this corset.”
Et-nah-wah-ruchta approached the wife of General Custer as she always did at this time; nonchalantly, in a matter of fact, orderly fashion-but inwardly she was very uncomfortable during these moments. To her stoicism was added the levity of her situation.
About the lamp lit room lifelike eyes gazed down from mounted trophies that adorned the papered walls.
“I’m going to my bath directly; bring more hot water as I mean to wash my hair as well.” said Libbie Custer with the easy air of authority that came with a lifetime of ordering attendants to perform trivial tasks.
The tiny bathroom was located almost at the other end of the large house, sandwiched between the dining room and the kitchen. The bathroom door opened directly from the lengthy dining room and was directly opposite one of the two front doors. These two doors were almost side by side and admitted from the large veranda that swept the entire front of the two story home-a mix of Victorian and ranch architectures.
“Yes ma’am Mrs. Custer. I have the water heated beside the stove, eh? All very hot, oils, salts, and the soap.” responded Et-nah-wah-ruchta, the favorite servant of Elizabeth Custer, who hoped to leave the Custer house early.
The fort commander’s wife exited the bedroom ahead of Et-nah-wah-ruchta, who would continue beyond the bathroom and into the kitchen, where the large wood burning stove continually maintained the heat of two or more galvanized wash tubs of water. The maid servant saw the muscles play underneath the dimpled behind of Libbie Custer as she carelessly strode the length of the dining room completely naked.
The diminutive bathroom, the size of a master bedroom walk in closet, was illuminated by two wall mounted lanterns, which cast a soft yellow glow, and reflected off the glass of the large window, which began at knee level. The curtains were drawn open to allow cool air to enter through the window screen. The eyes of dozens of grass hoppers which lined the metal screen glowed eerily as they reflected the light of the two lanterns.
Et-nah-wah-ruchta kneeled beside the black, cast iron stove which sat atop fire bricks inlaid into the mahogany floor. Beside this were several galvanized tubs for maintaining hot water, and in one of these was a tin bucket filled with steaming water. Picking this up she poured an amount into a brown two gallon stone pitcher half filled with tepid water and tested it with her finger before taking it the short distance to where Libbie bathed.
The General’s wife had already stepped into the hip bath-a small, high backed pewter tub contoured at the low end to allow for the legs to extend over and for the feet to rest on the floor. She had already lathered down with a fragrant soap made of sassafras root; she was facing Et-nah-wah-ruchta as she entered the bathing room, bent at the waist washing the crease behind her knees. She was very shiny and slippery in appearance Et-nah-wah-ruchta thought, in the soft glow of the lamp light. Her small breasts swayed and jiggled as she rubbed her skin with a large sponge.
“Go ahead and wet my hair.” the general’s wife said to the servant, conscious of her nudity in front of the clothed woman.
Et-nah-wah-ruchta poured the hot, nearly steaming water onto the back of Libbie Custer’s head, as Libbie worked her fingers in it to ensure saturation. After adding a shampoo, she thoroughly massaged her scalp, and used the shampoo from her soaked hair to clean her face.
“Rinse.” she said authoritatively.
Squatting to a crouching position, she faced about and sat down fully in the small tub, legs extended over the contoured lips and feet on the floor.
“Fill it the rest of the way, now.” directed Libbie, who was fully aware of the discomfort Et-nah-wah-ruchta felt in these moments.
Libbie was reclined back, arms on the rests that winged out on either side of the small tub, head resting on the high end of the tub, which canted back to allow for long periods of comfortable soakings. This was the part that Elizabeth anticipated the most, as Et-nah-wah-ruchta returned several more times with the water pitcher full of nearly steaming water. Elizabeth knew that she was in full view of her female servant-practically spread with nothing but bubbles to hide what was beneath. The hip bath tub was popular and left little to be hidden, as the water line would barely exceed the navel.
Libbie liked to talk to Et-nah-wah-ruchta while nude, knowing that her captive audience could not leave. She especially liked to speak to her while in the bathtub. The sense of awkwardness that Et-nah-wah-ruchta betrayed with evasive answers and jilted conversation served to excite Libbie. This reminded her of her days at boarding schools, when she paraded naked around the other girls every chance she got, and relished the way they tried to distance themselves as she spoke to them in the afterhours, brazenly naked in the female dormitory room.
“Et-nah-wah-ruchta, I was mortified to have been compelled to impose such a chore upon you, but to lie down in this tub but for a moment or two has brought to me today a discovery of sheer Heaven! Today was nothing but sheer fatigue, for I was perfectly robust, and I could laugh and talk with the wives of my husband’s dear friends. Though I was nothing quiet equal to the task of sitting mounted on a horse nearly all day as we watched the dogs being set upon wild wolves!
“I principally feel exhausted from being in the saddle all day. Otherwise I would express contentment robustly for having been blessed to frequent such bucolic scenery as I enjoyed this morning and afternoon. The advantage provided by these pastoral settings cannot be over amplified. Why, disinclination, or even antipathy has less repugnance than a moribund existence back East. What an infecund existence that it would be, to endure a mundane presence in the security of a modern city, with nothing but the doldrums of book reading clubs and dreary vitriolic diatribes. Oh! You should have seen how my Audie’s hounds ripped the throats from those unfortunate wolves!”
She used her elbows to adjust her position in the tub as she added emphasis. Et-nah-wah-ruchta heard the skin of Libbie’s behind rub against the bottom as she slid herself up in the tub. It made a squeaking, rubbing sound.
“You could hear the bones snap as they crushed the wolves’ legs with their jaws!”
Et-nah-wah-ruchta paused, shifting her straight, black, waist length hair behind her shoulders; she wore a knee length buckskin dress with nothing on underneath. She searched Libbie Custer with stygian, almond shaped eyes, not understanding most of what Libbie said, but comprehending the gist of the statements. In her high pitched, distorted English she attempted to converse with her matron, out of a loathing sort of pity, and also prudence.
Libbie discerned a cold cruelty in the nasal tones of the halting English.
“When two man want marry same woman, woman choose, or make fight. I make fight, I make ’em fight in water, I like watchin’.”
There was no hint of a smile from the thin, cruel lips under the short, hooked nose.
“Help me up and towel me. How long did the fighting endure?” ejaculated Libbie, who did not particularly notice that she had spoken the words in an authoritative, commanding tone.
Libbie Custer had one foot planted on the floor and the other perched on the tub as she dried her leg, Et-nah-wah-ruchta toweled Libbie’s back, while searching for words.
“Fight all day, husband have arm round other man neck, keep down in water, not let go, make spit out air. Dead man, he get throw on trash heap, for dogs to eat.”
Libbie turned around and abruptly faced Et-nah-wah-ruchta, intentionally making her small pointed breasts jiggle with the halt of the motion. The unbrushed hair of Libbie Custer was wet, and the angelic face was set with gray blue eyes which were alive with merriment.
“So you made them fight to the death for you, and the stronger of your champions sent your other suitor
on an irrevocable descent into Hades beneath the River Styx! Oh! If I could but be witness to such demonstrations of athletic ardor! Surely you will arrange me audience to such a marital contest of young champions!”
Added to Elizabeth Custer’s fetish for exhibitionism was also a streak of voyeurism. Although this was less so, it was nevertheless a fact. Many times she had spied from her window at Et-nah-wah-ruchta bathing with her husband in the nearby creek, and would write about it in her diary.
“And what a handsome pair of excursionists you two make! I’ve watched you and your fine looking husband frolic in the creek as you bathed, and how you chased him with the towel! Now prepare my bed as I finish up in here, dear friend.”
Et-nah-wah-ruchta was of the Cree nation, which was held in contempt by the Sioux-primarily for their long standing practice of incest. Libbie also knew that the two contenders for the Indian maiden’s breasts were her brothers-twins, a rarity among the Native American tribes.
The sheets were pulled back on the bed as Et-nah-wah-ruchta prepared the final steps in the ritual before leaving the Custer home; this always involved removing the sleeping gown of the General’s wife, although she was clueless as to why her matron even bothered to don the apparel while the General was gone.
“Help me off with my gown, and then brush my hair.” instructed Libbie, who then sat a chair facing the French dresser, or commode, as it was known.
The commode was a popular feature in the bedrooms of officer’s wives and had a prominent mirror attached, into which a lady would look as she sat and brushed her hair. Libbie looked into her reflection as Et-nah-wah-ruchta brushed the tangles from her shoulder length hair. The brush would catch on a tangle, causing the general’s wife to cry out in exasperation, exaggerating the discomfort inflicted. She did this to further frighten her maid servant.
“You sadistic little sprite! You’re trying to pull out all of my hair!” spat the general’s wife, who exaggerated her discomfort and tried to intimidate the servant.
Standing suddenly, Libbie slid the chair backward into Et-nah-wah-ruchta, causing her to grunt. Libbie then looked down at her clothing which lay askew on the floor.
“I saw you looking at my corset. You may have it.” said Libbie, although the offer was not stated as obligatory, it really was.
Et-nah-wah-ruchta was surprised and always tried to appear gracious in the denial of gifts. She did not want to deepen her indebtedness any further to her matron than it already was. Et-nah-wah-ruchta and her husband lived like a queen and a king compared to the other members of the Cree. Elizabeth had showered her Indian servant with trivial, throw away type items of décor and utility. While these items were taken for granted by the officer’s wives, these same items were coveted by the impoverished aboriginals. Cooking utensils, clothing, heavy winter blankets, just to name a few items, Elizabeth showered gifts onto her captive audience. The tepee of Et-nah-wah-ruchta was furnished like a palace compared to the other tepees of the tribe.
“Mrs. Custer-I cannot, I am not thin woman as you, not gonna fit me.” expostulated the Indian servant, who secretly coveted the undergarment.
Libbie Custer walked across the floor, barefoot, and lay atop the bed, felinely, and sprawled herself belly down on the buffalo fur coat that served as a comforter, this buffalo was very rare in the Dakotas, her husband having shot it from the only known herd in the territory. Propping her chin on her hands, smiling, she responded to her servant.
“Well, I want to see it on you! I can only imagine the passion that such apparel will inspire in your champion!”
The native’s erector pili muscles contracted, causing the fine hairs on her arms to rise in adrenaline fueled alarm, Et-nah-wah-ruchta reiterated that she could not fit into the tightly fitting Victorian underclothing peculiar to white women, and that her husband was impatient for her return.
“Not gonna fit, Mrs. Libbie. Injun woman not like white woman. I too big, big tummy.” parried Et-nah-wah-ruchta, who was horrified at the prospect of appearing naked in front of the strange white woman.
“Too nice to give to Injun woman, can’t put on white woman clothes. Not gonna fit!”
“Try it on, I’ll tighten the laces for you.” answered Libbie Custer who was still smiling, but there was an edge in her voice…
Chapter Nine ~ What DeRudio’s Binoculars Reveal
Lt. Varnum reached the Crow’s Nest perched high on the divide, and could see 15 miles to the Little Bighorn. The river appeared as a tiny snake, bending and winding its way through the topography, made hazy by the distance. The Crow’s Nest was a high promontory located in the diminutive Wolf Mountains. What he saw astonished him; there on the side of a prominent hill was a seething, eddying mass of horses the likes of which he had never seen. He would have missed it had not his Indian scouts kept pointing it out to him. The hillside was blanketed with Indian ponies, the ocean of semi-wild, short, stout ponies seemed to roil and convolute, changing shape like a gigantic multi-celled organism as it foraged.
Lt. Charles Albert Varnum was the commander of Custer’s scouts in the Little Big Horn expedition. The son of a Civil War major, he graduated seventeenth out of fifty seven at West Point’s class of 1872. Like most cavalrymen, he was lean set; his brown hair was cut short, and receded suddenly along both temples, leaving a thick, but narrow widow’s peak common to many of the soldiers. Below his unnaturally high forehead, reptilian eyes scintillated through primitive binoculars at the massive herd of Indian ponies. These binoculars were extremely limited in their magnification capabilities.
“Send for the General, forthwith!” hissed Varnum through clenched teeth.
Varnum lowered the binos and looked directly at Bloody Knife. Bloody Knife hustled from the piranha faced lieutenant.
∞
Blue eyes peered through the Lemaire binoculars; the mainstay of the Army since the Civil War, they were of the narrow focus Galilean style, really the best of the opera types using the convex objective and concave eye piece lenses. Their magnification power was rudimentary at distance.
“I don’t see anything.” stated General Custer, as he scanned the horrifying spectacle laid out fifteen miles away.
Inwardly his adrenal cortex glands were secreting volumes of the hormone as he beheld a herd of Indian ponies numbering in excess of 20,000. He could see the end portion of a village that was a half a mile wide and four miles long. His heart was pounding with excitement-and worry-that the Indians might escape.
To belay the fear that his scouts betrayed, he reiterated loudly enough so that the contingent could hear his words.
“I don’t see anything, but we’ll have a little pow wow, discuss this thing and get after it.” said the Boy General, who placed the binoculars back into their leather case fumbling as he did so with over tensed nerves.
The Yellow Hair looked over to Lt. Cooke, and issued a curt order. “Head back to Reno’s command, find that piece of shit Lt. DeRudio. Tell that Italian son of a bitch I need his binoculars. Now move!”
Custer had looked through DeRudio’s binoculars on numerous occasions and coveted them. The Boy General had hinted that the Lt. should give them to him as a gift, and that he would consider it a personal favor, but DeRudio had refused. In reprisal, Custer had used his rank and placed another officer in command of DeRudio’s company, assigning him instead to a subordinate position under Major Reno. DeRudio bristled at the retribution.
“No! I will not relinquish my field glasses! There are not another pair like these on the continent of North America!” the flustered Lt. DeRudio retorted angrily to Lt. Cooke.
The officer’s accent betrayed his Italian ethnicity. DeRudio knew, too, that his life could depend on the telescopic binocular vision, the pristine clarity and amazing magnification inherent in the revolutionary new design of these optics.
“What the hell is going on here!” demanded Major Reno, approaching on horseback.
“The General wishes that I give to him my field glas
ses, there are no others like these!” complained DeRudio to Reno.
The new design was a quantum leap over what was currently in use. Employing Keplerian optics, in which the image is viewed through oculars, and accompanied with diopter focus rings to zoom in and focus the image. These innovations made DeRudio’s binoculars the first truly modern field glasses in the United States. Incorporated as well were Porro prisms, to correct the upside down imagery that occurred. These binoculars were a special gift to the Italian by the renowned European optician Ignazio Porro.
“Just give Lt. Cooke the glasses, I know you’re chaffed at having your company taken from you, but the General remembers favors, and it might get you your company back.” suggested Major Reno in a placating manner.
“No, no sir! We need these optics here! Our lives depend on them!” retorted DeRudio, his voice carried with it an arrogance that outraged the ears of Major Reno.
“Lt. Cooke, if Lt. DeRudio does not relinquish his binoculars to you forthwith, shoot him!”
Quickly DeRudio unslung the black leather binocular case from his shoulder and knocked his hat off in doing so. Dismounting, he handed the Porros over to Lt. Cooke and kneeled to pick up his straw hat, and donning it looked up to see the rear of Cooke’s horse as he prepared to return to Custer at once. It was at that moment that a powerful stream of urine issued from the horse’s rear, hitting DeRudio squarely in the face and knocking his hat off again.
Chapter Ten ~ AP Correspondent Mark Kellogg Colludes with Custer
At the headwaters of Ash Creek, which gave to the nearby river, Custer had returned to his command as they watered their mounts, and he attended to personal matters. Mark Kellogg had ridden up beside the General and took shorthand notes of Custer’s actions as he spoke of the day’s progress with confidants. Then the General stopped talking for a moment, and seemed to take Kellogg in on a one to one basis for the first time.
Metal Storm: Weird Custer A Novel Page 5