Comanche Rose

by Anita Mills

  "I still don't see—"

  "Well, I do. Why don't you pass the meat plate to Mrs. Bryce? Maybe after supper you can go over to Major Hammond's. I understand there's a card game there, and I'm sure it will be more suited to your tastes, anyway."

  "He's already got a full table."

  "Oh. Well, I was just thinking of you, of course," she murmured through thinly drawn lips. "I'm sure Mrs. Bryce will wish to go to her room, and I hate to leave you alone here."

  Her meaning wasn't lost on Annie. The woman obviously expected her to throw herself at Davis the instant she was alone with him—or vice versa. "Actually," she spoke up, "I would like to go to church, Mrs. Davis."

  "Tell her it's out of the question, Frank."

  "I don't see why."

  "Well," Lulene floundered, trying to think of a reason, then declared, "well, the seats are by subscription."

  "To a church meeting?" he asked incredulously.

  "I told you, he's a guest speaker," she responded peevishly. "Now, will you please let it go by?"

  "Then let her have my seat. If I've paid for it, I ought to be able to give it away."

  "It doesn't work that way, Frank. Besides, I'm sure since Mrs. Bryce knows no one here, she'd be uncomfortable. She probably isn't even a Baptist. Now, are you going to pass the meat, or shall I reach across the table for it?"

  "Actually, I am a Baptist, Mrs. Davis," Annie admitted.

  Lulene's expression was pained. Appealing to her husband, she said, "Surely you can see why it wouldn't be appropriate, Frank." Picking up the platter, she thrust it toward Annie. "Here, do take some roast so that we may get on with eating. I really don't have much time tonight."

  "Before you go, you ought to take out your Bible and read out of John—I think it's in chapter eight," Frank said, addressing his wife.

  "What?"

  "Excuse me," he murmured to Annie, rising. When he came back, he had the book opened in his hand. Leaning over Lulene, he placed it in front of her. "Read verse seven, my dear."

  She looked down, then flushed angrily. "It's not the same thing," she snapped.

  "No, it's not. At least you realize that," he muttered, taking his seat again as she quickly closed the Bible. "But you cannot just pick what you want to believe and leave out the rest, can you?"

  Furious with him, Lulene stood up. "I don't need a lecture from—from an unbeliever, Frank! I'm not the one who doesn't go to church!" With that, she stalked from the table.

  There was an awkward silence for a moment before he looked at Annie. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bryce, truly sorry. If I'd known it was going to be like this, I'd have asked the colonel to ask someone else. I guess Lu doesn't realize it could happen to her out here."

  "Yes. Well, I'm quite sorry also, but I cannot say it was totally unexpected. I grew up in Texas, you know. I know how people feel."

  "But when I made the offer to Captain Walker, I didn't think she'd act anything like this, ma'am."

  "It's all right, Lieutenant." Reaching across the table, she retrieved his Bible. As she opened it, the front door to the house slammed, telling her Lulene had left. She thumbed the pages until she found the book of John, then the chapter he'd mentioned. Following her finger down the page, she found the passage where Jesus was asked about punishing the woman taken in adultery.

  So when they continued asking him, he lifted himself up and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her.

  Blinking back tears, she looked up at him. "Thank you, sir."

  "And I meant it when I said it wasn't the same thing," he said quietly. "Adultery is hardly the word for what happened."

  She made up her mind then. "I'm not very hungry, Lieutenant. If you'll excuse me—"

  "No need to go to your room on my account, Mrs. Bryce. I was sort of thinking about going out to the cantina myself," he admitted sheepishly. "I figure I've got a good, stiff drink coming to me."

  "I wasn't planning on going to my room, sir." Her eyes met his again. "I'm going to church. I'm just as much a Baptist as anyone else. What time does the Wednesday service start?" Seven.

  "I should have plenty of time to get ready."

  He watched her leave, then sat for a time, staring at his Bible, wondering if he'd done right by encouraging her to go. Finally, he pushed his untouched plate back and went to fetch his coat. If he found Walker at the cantina, he was going to tell him it wasn't fair to her to make her stay with Lulene. He was just damned sorry any of it had happened.

  A soldier stood outside the chapel, ringing what looked like a dinner bell, as a line of worshipers filed by him. While there were more women than men, there was a goodly sprinkling of blue coats in the small crowd.

  " 'Evening, major. Ma'am. 'Evening, sir. Ma'am," the fellow called out as people passed.

  Annie forced a smile. "Good evening," she said politely. "Are the pews assigned?"

  "No, ma'am, the first as gets in gets the seats," he assured her. Then, peering more closely at her, he seemed surprised. "Say, you're the Bryce woman, ain't you?"

  "I'm Mrs. Bryce," she acknowledged.

  Once inside, she took a printed program from a prim-looking female by the door, then made her way to the back pew. Taking a place beside three other women, she bowed her head and closed her eyes to pray for Susannah's return. When she looked up, the three ladies had moved away from her, all of them sitting quite close to each other, leaving a space of several feet between them and her. It was hard to miss the message.

  Pretending indifference, she looked around the chapel, taking in the lanterns lit at the end of every pew. Unlike the women, they were warm and inviting. Leaning forward, she retrieved a hymnal and opened it, turning the pages, seeing the familiar songs of faith and praise. She'd played most of them on her piano.

  What one was it that Hap Walker liked? "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God." Yes, it was in there. And all the Christmas carols. He wanted her to play them for him, too.

  As she looked up again, people in the rows in front of her quickly turned around. The woman closest to her opened a filigree watch case with gloved hands, and Annie caught the time. Six minutes to seven. She had another six minutes to sit there in silence while the curious stared at her.

  Outside, Hap Walker crossed the open area between cantina and fort, limping and cursing under his breath. He'd been peaceably playing cards and drinking decent whiskey when Frank Davis had told him about Lulene's behavior to Annie. Blast the woman—no, blast both of them. He was leaving a winning hand to go to church.

  " 'Evening, sir," the soldier told him, adding, "You'll have to check your gun at the door."

  "Like hell," Hap muttered.

  By the time the startled bell ringer recovered, Hap was already inside. Recalling where he was, he paused to smooth his hair, then looked around. She was there, all right, sitting by herself in the back row, while those three hens crowded against each other down at the end. That was one thing he'd never understood about women—there didn't seem to be much sisterhood between them. Resigned, he went to her side of the pew.

  "Move over," he said tersely.

  "What are you doing here, Hap?" she whispered.

  "I came to sing."

  "Oh." She slid over to make room for him. "I thought you said you couldn't."

  "Couldn't what?"

  "Sing."

  "I can't," he muttered.

  She could smell the liquor on his breath, but he didn't seem drunk. It didn't matter, she decided. She was extremely grateful to see him.

  "Thank you," she murmured.

  "Yeah."

  There was a stirring among the small congregation, and then a woman moved to take a seat at the piano. A man in a black frock coat stepped forward to the lectern to announce, "Number one forty-two, folks, all verses."

  As Annie opened the hymnal, Hap leaned over for a look. "Never heard of it," he declared, disappointed.

  "Neither have I."

  "You lead, and I'll try to
follow."

  "It's not a dance," she whispered. The woman closest to her turned and glared. "All right."

  The song was too high, and his voice cracked trying to reach the notes. He gave up the effort to listen to Annie, who could hit them all cleanly. She had a pretty voice—a real pretty voice. When he closed his eyes, it was like listening to his mother sing again. And then it was over, and she was closing the book.

  "You didn't have to quit, you know," she said, low.

  "You were doing all right without me."

  "God doesn't care."

  "A man doesn't like to make a fool of himself."

  He'd about forgotten how long-winded a preacher could be, he discovered to his regret. Once the fellow in the black coat got started, he waxed eloquent for well over an hour, haranguing his captive audience about the cost of sin, enumerating just about every transgression anybody'd ever think of. About halfway through, Hap took a peek at his watch, then resigned himself to endure, vowing silently that it'd be a long time before he made this mistake again.

  His thoughts left the sermon, turning to the woman beside him. The lantern light seemed to reflect off her pale hair almost like a halo, and the irony wasn't lost on him. Nobody but him was seeing it. They were too determined to look down their noses at her. But she sat straight, her shoulders back, her head up, listening to the preacher, almost daring anybody to tell her she didn't have the right to be there.

  He'd been angry with her earlier, but as he watched her out of the corner of his eye, he was damned proud of her now. She had real grit. After everything that had happened to her, she could still face folks down. She wasn't going to play dead for anybody.

  She was poking him, pointing at the hymnal. He glanced down, seeing the title. "Break Thou the Bread of Life." "Surely you know this one," she whispered.

  "Yeah, but I can't sing it, either. It's too slow."

  After Communion, the prayer lasted another ten minutes, and then came the inevitable invitation to be "saved in Jesus." And a recessional he could actually manage with some authority. As he gave full range to the refrain of "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee," he was almost reluctant to close the book.

  He felt pretty good now that it was over. The chapel was emptying, the people lingering outside in small groups. Seeing that the three women were eyeing him speculatively, he flashed them a smile, then took Annie's elbow.

  "You didn't have to do that, you know," she murmured.

  "Smile?"

  "No, come on my account."

  "What makes you think I did?"

  "You saw Frank Davis, didn't you?"

  He started to deny it but didn't. "Yeah. Why didn't you tell me about her? No sense putting yourself through that."

  "I haven't seen you since I got here," she reminded him. "Besides, I doubt if anybody else is exactly wanting my company, either."

  He had no answer for that. It was cold enough outside that he could see his breath. Guiding her past the curious, he nodded to them but kept going. "Guess we'll be leaving in the morning," he said finally.

  "You don't have to leave for me, Hap. You need to make it easy on yourself."

  "It doesn't make much difference. If I hang around here, I'll just play poker and get drunk. There's not much else to do around a fort in winter."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yeah. I reckon we ought to get an early start. Think you can be ready to load up by six?"

  "My carpetbag?" she asked, smiling. "I'm sure of it."

  "Good. I'll tell Davis I'll be by about then. There's some rough country between here and Griffin, and I still aim to have you settled in your house by Christmas."

  They were almost to the Davis house when he stopped. "You better get on inside and get some sleep, Annie. Six o'clock'll be coming early." But despite his words he made no move to leave. Instead he stood there, looking at her.

  "You're a fine-looking woman, Annie Bryce," he said softly. "A real fine-looking woman."

  It was as though the world stood still for a moment. Afraid he meant to touch her, she froze, her expression stricken. "Don't," she whispered. "Please don't."

  "Don't what, Annie?" His hand reached to brush a stray strand of hair back from her forehead. "You've got nothing to be afraid of with me, Annie."

  He could see her swallow, and the terror in her eyes was real. He dropped his hand and backed away. "Hell, I'm just drunk, don't mind me," he told her. "Good night."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Be sorry for things you can help."

  "I'm dead inside, Hap."

  "See you in the morning, Annie."

  But as he left her, he knew he would have kissed her if she'd let him. And it would have been wrong. She wasn't ready for anything like that, and neither was he. Any man wanting to bring her back to life was laying himself out a hard row to hoe.

  She watched him walk toward the low building beyond the post grounds, wondering if it was the girls that drew him there. Not that it was any of her business, anyway, she reminded herself. Yet as he disappeared into the darkness, she felt an acute, aching loneliness.

  CHAPTER 14

  Gray, weathered boards showed through where the whitewash had faded on the exterior of the house. And the yard was strangely empty. The clothesline was bare, the big tree in the front of the house gnarled and naked. Her gaze moved to the barn and the pen surrounding it. They were deserted, too. There wasn't a living, breathing creature on the place. She'd known it would be like this, but she still was unprepared for what she saw. "I reckon you'll want to go inside," Hap said behind her. "Yes."

  "Key's under the jar. I had Rios lock it up when we left. I didn't figure anybody ought to be going in."

  "There was a time when I never thought I'd ever see this place again," she murmured.

  "I'll get the key for you."

  "It seems so empty."

  "Last time I looked, your things were still there." Moving around her, he stepped onto the stoop and felt beneath a heavy crockery jar. "Yeah, it's here, all right." Straightening up, he unlocked the door.

  It creaked on its hinges as it swung inward, admitting a slice of winter light that spread across the dusty floor. Her heart pounding, Annie followed him in, and her spirits sank. In her memory everything had stayed just as it was before. She was unprepared for what she saw.

  Cobwebs hung from every horizontal surface and clung to the walls. As she walked across the room, her skirts stirred gritty dirt, nearly choking her. She stopped at the piano and reached her hand to trace the carved beadwork along the top, leaving a trail of fingerprints in the thick layer of dust.

  As he watched her move through her house, stopping to touch each piece of furniture, each bit of bric-a-brac she'd collected, each scarf and doily she'd made, he felt like an intruder. "It's all here, isn't it?" he asked finally.

  "Yes—yes, it is."

  "You want to go through the rest of it?"

  "Yes."

  She didn't look nearly as happy as he'd hoped to see her. "It's a nice place, Annie. You had it fixed up real pretty, you know."

  "Yes."

  "It's going to need a little cleaning up to make it look like that again," he added in an understatement. "But you can do it. In a week it'll be home again."

  "I hope."

  "Tell you what—you make a list of what you need, and I'll go into town and get it. Then we'll spend a couple of days getting everything back in order before I leave for good."

  "All right."

  "I'll get the fire going, bring in some of the food from the wagon, and help you get started. You'll be all right while I'm gone, won't you?"

  "Yes."

  He came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. "Something's the matter, isn't it?"

  "No, I'm all right."

  But she was moving around almost as though she were in a trance. Instinct told him to leave her alone, to let her work out whatever was ailing her. He dropped his hands.

>   "Well, first things first," he said. "I'd better see about some wood before you take your death of cold in here. Until then you'd better keep your coat on."

  If she heard him, she didn't respond. Instead, she walked into another room, leaving him standing there. Maybe he'd been wrong to bring her home in winter. Maybe if the sun had been shining, things would have seemed better. Maybe she was just now facing the reality of being alone. Maybe the task of cleaning up the place was too much after the long trip from Fort Sill.

  He took a deep breath, and nearly choked from the dust in the air. Yeah, he'd better get some wood in. With a fire in the stove and some food on the table, things might seem different to her.

  "When I get back in, I'll try to help you get some of this swept out," he promised.

  She heard the door close after him. Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, she took in the heavy wood bedstead. Her quilt was still there, only now the background was tan instead of white. She walked closer, studying the fine stitches she'd made, the intricate blue and white stars in the pattern. Then she pulled it off the bed and threw herself onto the feather mattress. Sobbing, she pounded the pillows with clenched fists. It wasn't fair that this was all she had left.

  The wood in the pile behind the house was bleached with age, the bark on it long since eaten by something. It was too old, too porous to burn right, but if he could put it with something else, maybe it wouldn't go so fast. He went to the barn to look for Ethan Bryce's ax, found it and an iron log splitter, then carried them back outside. It had been a long time since he'd actually chopped wood, since he'd lived at home with his ma, but it wasn't something a man forgot.

  It took awhile to find what he wanted—a stunted Cottonwood tree already more than half-dead, apparently struck by lightning some time before. The first swing of the ax told him something he didn't want to know. As the muscles pulled across his back, he knew he was going to hurt when he was done. But all the time he was growing up, his ma had always said good, honest hard work never killed anyone. Now he was going to find how just how right she'd been.