by Shirl Henke
Perhaps she did share the blame with Hugh for the failure of their marriage. Did I marry Hugh so that he would take me west...to Chase? She flinched at the harsh unvarnished truth, admitting to herself that unconsciously she had done just that. “Whether I was aware of it or not doesn't matter. I must go back to Hugh for there's nowhere else to turn,” she murmured to herself bitterly.
Not that she had not considered all manner of desperate alternatives, from bargaining with him for a modest settlement from the Summerfield estate in return for a divorce to simply leaving him and applying somewhere for a position as a governess in order to support herself. But her own common sense had quickly prevailed. Hugh would never countenance the scandal of a divorce any sooner than he would give up the hope of bestowing the Summerfield wealth on his own heirs. And no one would ever hire a governess who had left her husband. Indeed, no one would hire such a person to scrub pots, for that matter! She would have to return to Hugh.
Perhaps she might yet conceive. A child might fill the void in her heart, someone small and trusting, someone who might love her just a tiny bit in return. Upon that slender hope, Stephanie resolved to make the long arduous journey to Bismarck as soon as the snows allowed passage by cars from Chicago into Dakota Territory.
* * * *
Hugh lounged against the crude clapboard shack that passed for a railway station in Bismarck, waiting impatiently for the afternoon train carrying his wife. Stephanie was rejoining him, considerably chastened, he imagined with a cool smirk. He had been stunned and utterly delighted when the documents from old Josiah Summerfield’s attorneys had arrived. How bereft his poor little wife must have been to learn that her husband, not she, was heir to the family fortune. How relieved he had been!
After their hostile parting a month earlier, he had feared that she might decide to ensconce herself in Josiah's Boston mansion and prosecute a divorce, using her newfound wealth to finance such long, drawn-out and expensive proceedings. He would have been utterly ruined both socially and financially if she had done it, and he had little doubt that she would have. Stephanie had always been headstrong and heedless of social censure in spite of her deep-seated insecurities.
Hugh smiled to himself, remembering their first meeting. He had handled her well then, playing on her shock and hurt at being snubbed—not that she did not deserve it. On their wedding night he had frankly been amazed that she proved a virgin. But he had planned to wed her, maidenhead or no.
The Phillips, family had been long on noble lineage and short on cash for several generations. All his life he had burned to succeed where the other men in his family had failed. Fools, all of them, giving themselves to losing causes, joining the Confederacy and wasting what precious little remained of their resources. But he knew his best path, the one chosen by destiny for him, lay with the Union Army. He was born to be a soldier, had dreamed of nothing else since he was a boy, filled with tales of illustrious Phillips ancestors who had distinguished themselves in the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812 and the Mexican War.
To succeed in the army, however, required more than courage, dedication and fierce ambition. Climbing the ladder of rank was as much a social as a military process and the former required money. That was why he married Stephanie. He heard the faint echo of a whistle. “My beloved will be here soon.” He chuckled sardonically.
Best if he handled her with tact at this point. She might still prove troublesome and cause him some embarrassment. Gossip on any officers' row was worse than that in the highest social circles of Boston or Baltimore. To date Stephanie had gained a reputation as something of an angel of mercy, tending sick soldiers in the infirmary and even civilians in Bismarck since he had been forced to leave her here while construction of Fort Lincoln was completed.
She had such strong maternal instincts, he thought with a smile. Best if he got her breeding. Babies would occupy her leisure time when he didn't require her services as hostess. Also, he reminded himself grimly, providing a direct heir would keep the Summerfield fortune from passing to Frazier's sniveling brats.
“Yes, my dear, I do believe we shall begin a new phase in our relationship,” he murmured, stroking his chin as he watched the train rumble and hiss to a stop in front of the station.
Stephanie climbed down from the car, tired and sooty, looking as wilted by defeat as she felt. But she had washed her face and freshened her heavy hair into a sleek chignon beneath a fashionable bonnet at the last stop. Even if propriety demanded she wear black for months yet, she must still look the part of an officer's lady. Hugh approached, smiling broadly at her. There was more than a hint of smug satisfaction in his expression.
“My dear, I've missed you,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek and taking her arm proprietarily. “I assume the journey was not too arduous.”
When he looked down at her, she gasped softly in surprise, reaching up to touch the wide white scar across his cheek. ‘‘You've been hurt.” Probably in a bar brawl or cut by one of your whores.
His expression darkened and the naked fury in his eyes turned his face from the boyish handsomeness of a moment earlier to a cold, frightening mask. “A half-breed renegade shot me while we were out on campaign, but I will effect retribution,” he replied stiffly.
“I'm sorry, Hugh,” she said, feeling guilty for her earlier uncharitable thoughts.
He stroked the scar unconsciously as they walked to the elegant George IV phaeton he had purchased upon receiving word of the inheritance. With a flourish, he lifted her into it. ‘‘For you, my dear. A present to celebrate your safe return. I know how you love to go visiting the other officers' wives. This gives you the means to do it in style.”
“It's...it's quite beautiful, Hugh.” Purchased with my money, she thought sadly, reminding herself that it was no longer hers but his now. “Do you think it will be practical in the mud at Fort Lincoln?”
Hugh shrugged as he slapped the reins and the phaeton took off. “It will serve well enough now here in Bismarck. After that we'll have it stored until we return to a larger post—when I'm promoted.” He paused, waiting for her reaction, then went on. “Oh, my last letter didn't have time to reach you, did it? We aren't going to Lincoln. I've applied for a transfer to Wyoming Territory on the Union Pacific rail line, to Fort Fred Steele.”
“But the general and Mrs. Custer are here,” Stephanie said, bewildered by the sudden turnabout.
Hugh had not written to her at all regarding the change. It pleased him to throw her off balance. “I believe it in the best interest of my career to part company with Autie. He's incurred the disfavor of President Grant over some scandals in Washington. Even Sheridan hasn't been able to rescue him. Anyway,” he added dismissively, “I have a special reason for requesting this posting to Steele. That's where the action is, where a man can earn his captain's bars. You've heard the rumors about the Indian raids to the south, on payroll details, stagecoaches carrying gold, even munitions trains—”
“That renegade called White Wolf—a Sioux, isn't he? Or at least so the Eastern papers say.” She nodded, feeling for some inexplicable reason a sense of disquietude steal over her.
“He could be Sioux, no one's certain, any more than they can figure out how an ignorant savage always seems to pick targets that are not only vulnerable but carrying weapons or money. The reward on him's just been raised to five thousand dollars.”
“And you intend to be the one to capture him,” she said in understanding.
“No, I plan to flush him out and kill him and his whole cutthroat band.”
When they reached the hotel he turned the team over to a stable boy waiting at the porch, then assisted her down. “I expect it'll take you a while to unpack, once the striker brings your trunks from the depot. Let's plan on a late supper, here in our suite.”
The husky intimacy of his voice took her by surprise. “Hugh...” She moistened her lips nervously as they smiled greetings at another first lieutenant's wife and passed through t
he small lobby headed upstairs.
Once they were inside the parlor, he closed the door and drew her into his arms. She came woodenly, pressing her hands against the stiff wool and cold brass buttons of his uniform jacket.
“So chilly, Stephanie. I'd hoped so long an absence might warm your blood a bit.”
“You haven't complained of a cold bed for some time, Hugh. You've always found some woman more than willing to warm it.”
“Ah, but those women aren't my wife. They can't provide me with children. You do want children, don't you, my dear?”
A suffocating panic squeezed the breath from her. “Yes, I do, but you don't. You want heirs for the Summerfield estate, Hugh.”
He did not deny it.
“What do you want, eh, wife? Did you ever stop to think it was your coldness that drove me from your bed? All you've ever done was lie rigid as a stick, enduring your duty.”
The accusation stung for she did hate his touch and had indeed forced herself to endure rather than welcome it. “A lady isn't supposed to know how to...how to...” She stumbled over the words in a misery of shame and guilt. With Chase you responded—you knew what to do!
Hugh tilted her chin up so her gaze met his. “I propose we turn over a new leaf tonight, Stephanie. A child would occupy your days while I'm off on campaign, which, you'll be relieved to know, will be most of the time once we reach our new post. But until then...” He let his words linger like a threat as he began unfastening the buttons on her blouse.
Chapter Nine
Fort Fred Steele, Wyoming Territory
The silence was eerie. Stephanie stood on the porch of the post commissary watching as women, shivering in the chill autumn air, held babies while older children clung to their ragged, filthy skirts. Many of the little ones were practically naked and all were round eyed with fright as the soldiers prodded them with gun butts against the stockade wall, segregating the pitiful handful of men, the majority of whom were old, the rest too badly injured to give further fight.
Most of the troopers focused their attention on the men, gathering them into a sullen group that they forced into the small, windowless log cabin that served as a guardhouse. The women and children were herded inside one of the corrals used to hold livestock before it was slaughtered for the enlisted men's mess. It had rained the preceding night and the ground was ankle deep with sticky, foul smelling yellow mud. Huge black eyes stared out from weathered faces, erased of all expression except for infinite weariness...and perhaps resignation. They were beaten.
“The children don't cry,” Stephanie murmured to herself, watching in horror.
“They are taught not to from infancy on, for even the tiniest noise could alert an enemy.” The respondent was a small thin woman clad in a plain gray dress and unadorned bonnet. She studied the prisoners with compassionate eyes that were a shade darker than her faded cotton clothes.
“I’ve never seen any Indians this close before, only the scouts on the posts where we've been stationed and a few tame ones who trade in the towns. These people look different.”
‘They are from Red Cloud's Oglala Sioux, a small group who did not wish to live on the reservation lands to the south. They attempted to flee and join the Hunkpapa who roam from the Bighorn Mountains into the Powder River basin.”
“Sitting Bull's people?” Stephanie asked, having listened to Hugh rave about the thousands of Sioux and their allies who still refused to accept government handouts on the reservation and insisted on the old free-roaming way of life, following the buffalo.
“Yes, Sitting Bull's people...but these have not succeeded in escaping oppression.”
Stephanie looked startled at such unpopular sentiments so bluntly spoken in a soft melodic voice. Gold eyes collided with gray and held as the two women took each other's measure. Although Stephanie had only been at Steele a few days, she was certain this shabbily dressed woman with the ageless face was not an officer's wife. “I've never heard anyone say the Indians were oppressed before...although I can scarcely disagree, especially seeing women and children herded like cattle into that filthy pigsty of a corral.”
“Thee is new to the post,” her companion said merrily as an approving smile bowed her thin lips, making her small pinched face seem almost pretty for a moment. “Everyone here knows the Quaker troublemaker, Hannah Wiette.” She nodded gravely to Stephanie, offering a reddened, work-worn hand.
Stephanie took it, surprised at the callused strength in the small thin fingers. “I'm Stephanie Phillips and I am happy to make your acquaintance. On an army post, troublemakers, especially female troublemakers, are a rare find, indeed,” she added, returning the smile.
Both women chuckled, sensing in the exchange that each had just made a friend.
“If you're a Quaker, then you're not married to a soldier, are you?”
“No. I am here with our missionary society, although even among my own, I do tend to disturb tranquility. Rather than tend their souls with preaching, I am more inclined to fix on their bodies. Thee can see the poor people are cold and hungry and all too often prey to our diseases. I am a nurse. I assist Dr. Farmer, the post physician, when he asks me. Most of the time I tend sick Indians in the small hospital I've been allowed to set up.” She pointed to a long, low rectangular building newly constructed of rough-cut logs. “It is not much to look at, but we try to keep it clean and comfortable for our patients—the ones who Colonel Boyer allows us to house there,” she added tartly, then studied Stephanie with a shrewdness at odds with her seeming ethereal frailness. “Would thee be willing to assist us?”
“I've had some experience tending the sick on other posts. I would like very much to help at your hospital,” Stephanie replied, knowing an angry confrontation with Hugh was inevitable. “You said ‘we.’ Who else volunteers?” she asked, praying at least one or two of the higher-ranking officers' wives were involved.
“There is Sarah Verly and Faith Ballium.” Hannah named a series of women, only two of whom were married to soldiers, one a second lieutenant and the other a sergeant. No, Hugh most certainly would not approve. Stephanie looked over at the pitifully clad Sioux women in the muddy corral and heard the racking cough of a small boy who huddled protectively beside his injured mother. That could have been Chase when Anthea Remington was captured. “When may I start, Hannah?”
* * * *
“I absolutely forbid you to go near those filthy savages ever again,” Hugh said, white lipped with fury when he returned from patrol the following week. He had come storming into the small infirmary and seized her by the wrist in a bone-crushing grip as she sat bathing a fevered boy's face with cool compresses.
She had left the building rather than create a scene and alarm the already frightened patients. Once they were alone behind the building, she broke free, struggling to gather her thoughts as she massaged her aching wrist. It would be discolored with bruises by morning.
Think, think, how can you make him understand? She had spent the past week so enmeshed in her work at the hospital she had pushed the thought of Hugh's return from her mind. ‘These people are human beings, Hugh—in spite of what the army thinks. They require food and shelter and medical care the same as white people. They've been rounded up like cattle, many of their young men killed, the rest imprisoned, the women and children confined quite literally in a pigsty, forced to sleep out in the open in foot-deep mud! They need better food—and blankets.”
“I've already heard from Captain Shaffer about your going around to all the officers' wives begging for these savages, collecting cast-off clothes and blankets as if you were some pathetic Salvation Army worker!”
“I’m only trying to—”
“You're only trying to humiliate me further than you have already—if that's possible.”
“Hugh, they're dying—of fevers, malnutrition—things we can cure, if only we care! Think of the children, Hugh!”
He gritted his teeth and grinned mirthlessly at her. “Sheridan said i
t best—nits make lice.”
“I can't believe you'd make war on babies in their mother's arms,” she said, ashen faced. But she could believe it, looking at him now, really seeing him.
“You will do as I say—do you understand me!” he shouted. Then glancing quickly around, he lowered his voice, struggling to appear calm and reasonable in spite of his desire to choke the defiant romantic nonsense out of her. “We've had this discussion before, Stephanie. I've explained to you how damaging to my career these kinds of associations can be. Coddling savages in the company of that female riffraff is unconscionable. I cannot permit it.”
“What will you do, Hugh, confine me to quarters? Court-martial me?” she snapped, goaded beyond endurance.
In pure reflex he lashed out, backhanding her across the cheek. The red haze of fury her temerity had occasioned quickly passed as it always did. He seldom left visible marks on women. This was the first time he had struck his wife. He cursed her for provoking him into it, yet felt oddly relieved to have let out some of the frustration he had always felt toward her. Calmly now, he said, ‘That was most unwise, dear wife. Such unladylike insolence is quite foreign to you.”
When he reached out to stroke her injured cheek, he was annoyed that she did not flinch. Beneath the red mark of his hand, her complexion was waxy pale as she studied his elegantly sculpted face with wide, stunned eyes. She did not back down but stood her ground, refusing to move, even when he leaned forward intimidatingly.
“We have never known each other at all, have we, Hugh?” she said. “I fear I've always been stubborn—‘willful’ I believe Josiah called it. You call it unladylike, but then, gentlemen don't strike ladies, do they?”
“I am an officer and a gentleman by act of Congress, my dear, which means you must be no lady at all,” he replied genially. “But you are my wife, so we shall just have to make do.”