Holding the Fort

by Regina Jennings

  His eyes never left the velvet. “She came yesterday, but she’s feeling poorly. She ain’t going to make it to Fort Reno, so she’s waiting for the next coach north.”

  A woman going to Fort Reno? That must be who the valise outside belonged to. “Where is Mrs. Townsend?” Louisa asked. “I’d like to make her acquaintance.”

  “Boy, don’t you talk fancy?”

  The word fancy had been applied to her more than she’d like to admit.

  “Mrs. Townsend is holed up in the cookhouse,” he said. “I’ll take you to her.”

  Louisa followed, enjoying the exercise after two days of jostling in the coach. She also enjoyed the absence of the jangling reins and creaking wheels. She could actually hear some birds here. Without even thinking about it, she began to hum. She hadn’t heard any music for three days. Hadn’t sung. For her it was like going without butter on your bread.

  All too soon, they stepped across the threshold of a small soddie. An Indian woman turned toward them. If she was surprised to see a woman in silk, she didn’t show it, but the woman seated at the table did.

  “My, oh my, Hubert,” she said, “who did you bring me?” Her thick gray hair was twisted into a neat bun and covered by a black doily. Louisa’s throat caught. She’d learned to expect nothing but scorn from women like her.

  The boy, Hubert, stole a piece of jerky off a drying line and answered, “She wanted to talk to you.”

  “My name is Miss Louisa Bell.” Louisa trained her face to mimic the sternness of the Indian and not break out into the welcoming smile that was so popular on the stage. “I understand you are traveling to Fort Reno.”

  The woman’s dress pegged her as one in mourning, although from the age of the fabric, Louisa guessed that she hadn’t been recently bereaved. Then she looked again at her bloodshot eyes and dripping nose. As Hubert had said, this woman was ill.

  “I’m Mrs. Townsend, dear,” she said, “and I was going to Fort Reno, but my plans have changed.” She wiped at her nose. “I’ve suffered from hay fever ever since I started this journey. My eyes itch. My nose runs. I spend the night coughing endlessly. If I don’t find a remedy, I’ll catch pneumonia, surely.”

  Young Hubert nodded. “Ralph says it affects a lot of people who come through. Especially in the spring.”

  Louisa filled her lungs, relieved to feel them expand unencumbered. Catching a cold would ruin any performances she might arrange.

  “I’m sorry for your suffering,” she said carefully. She didn’t want to offend this woman who’d managed to hide her revulsion so far. And revolted she must be, for Louisa had met plenty of her kind before.

  When she was young, a few good-hearted women had befriended her, giving her their children’s cast-off clothes to wear, bringing her to church. She’d felt like she someday might be like them, until that Sunday afternoon when the children were invited to sing at the picnic. Even then Louisa’s voice had been remarkable, so she hadn’t thought twice about volunteering. But when it was her turn, the ladies had been outraged. Proof that her mother was right in this one respect.

  “Believe me, young lady, I’m terribly discouraged that I won’t be going.” Mrs. Townsend dressed prudishly, but so far she hadn’t snubbed Louisa as expected. “I felt like this trip was my mission, that God had called me to go on this adventure. I don’t understand why He closed the door. Now I’ve wasted some of my late husband’s funds on the trip, and I won’t ever be able to put these books to use.” She gestured to a crate near the door. “I thought I was acting in obedience, but all I’ve accomplished was catching a cold and inconveniencing Barbara Spotted Fawn by being underfoot.”

  The cook glanced up at the mention of her name but continued slicing potatoes.

  Louisa looked at the box, and a plan began to form.

  “Can I deliver those for you?” she asked.

  “Oh, my dear, that would be won . . . won . . .” Mrs. Townsend broke out into a series of tight sneezes. “Wonderful. I’ve already been reimbursed for them and must not fail to have them delivered.”

  Without a word, Barbara Spotted Fawn set a cup of water before Louisa. She thanked her while eyeballing the crate.

  That Sunday years ago, the song she’d sung as a child was deemed inappropriate. Within minutes, the truth of her parentage had been revealed, and she stood shamed as her peers were whisked away from her by their shocked mothers. She’d been told she could visit church, but her singing was not welcome. Well, if she had to choose between God and her singing, it was her singing that had kept her fed over the years, not God.

  “What kinds of books would I be delivering?” she asked. “Religious?”

  Mrs. Townsend smiled. “You are astute. I am Mennonite, but these books are not for religious instruction. They are for general education. Major Adams ordered them.”

  Major Adams? Louisa hiccupped suddenly. Grabbing her cup, she took a big gulp of water to hide her surprise. Dare she travel with his property? On the other hand, what better way to guarantee an audience with the stern major?

  Louisa smiled. She didn’t think God cared enough to worry about where she was going, but maybe He cared about Mrs. Townsend. Maybe helping Mrs. Townsend was Louisa’s ticket to success.

  Chapter Three

  Their stay at the Red Fork Ranch would last longer than anyone had planned.

  Mr. Collins had come into the cookhouse to inform Louisa that the axle on the stagecoach needed to be replaced. They were working on it even now, but it would probably be late afternoon before they were rolling again.

  Mrs. Townsend was leaving for Kansas on the northbound stage immediately. Still pronouncing blessings on Louisa with every sneeze, she gave her arm a firm squeeze.

  “Meeting you has filled me with peace. I know this was ordained.”

  Louisa bit the inside of her mouth. Did Mrs. Townsend have to make it sound like she was dying? “I’m not after your eternal gratitude, ma’am,” she said. “I’m only delivering a crate on my route. Nothing heroic.”

  “Well, you should be there by nightfall. And hopefully I’ll be away from this insufferable dust.”

  Nightfall? Louisa surveyed the rolling grasslands stretched before her. What was there to do until then? She wasn’t sure Barbara Spotted Fawn spoke English. The men had no interest in shooting the breeze with her. In fact, they acted as if they’d been warned not to speak to her at all. Right now, she missed all the busyness and conversation of the Cat-Eye Saloon. Not that she’d tell Miss Missionary that.

  “I left you something in the kitchen,” Mrs. Townsend said. “A more serviceable blouse and skirt. You don’t want to ruin your fine things traveling in a coach.”

  Louisa looked down at her tightly fitted bodice. Her gown was sky blue and likely to pick up a stain or two. And she’d already noticed how the elaborate ruffles along the hem collected grass and burrs. Perhaps Mrs. Townsend didn’t approve of the outlandish costume, but she was offering a solution. It was an unexpected, kind gesture.

  “May God make your trip good and no sinning and everything good,” Louisa said. She imagined that was what one said under the circumstances. She hadn’t had much opportunity to talk to church women.

  Mrs. Townsend’s eyes twinkled. “That, my dear, is the most original benediction I’ve ever received.” She gave her valise to the coachman. “I only wish I could be there on your arrival.” Then she was handed up to her seat.

  Louisa covered her face as the four-horse team pulled the coach away from the ranch. It was a wonder she wasn’t as afflicted as Mrs. Townsend. Well, she’d deliver the crate of books, see about employment, and then figure out how to catch Bradley by the ear and straighten him up. At least one of them needed a future they could rely on.

  Mr. Collins turned to her. “We should get this stage under way in a few hours, but I’m afraid we don’t offer much amusement around here.”

  “I could take her fishing.” Hubert had been hauling water and firewood to the kitchen all morning.
It seemed that everyone at the Red Fork Ranch put in their fair share.

  “The lady doesn’t want to walk that far,” Mr. Collins said.

  “It’s not so far.” Hubert’s eyes shone. “She can handle it.”

  Mr. Collins weighed his decision. “It’s up to Miss Bell,” he said finally.

  “I have nothing else to do,” she said. After hours in the stagecoach, she would enjoy a chance to get some fresh air.

  “Then it’s settled. Hubert, you can go down by Turkey Creek, but stay clear of the Cheyenne lands. They’re feeling their oats. You should be back within . . .”

  He continued to give instructions while Louisa went inside to get her hat. True to her word, Mrs. Townsend had left a bundle of clothes on the table. Barbara Spotted Fawn followed Louisa with her eyes, and seeing that she was headed toward the bundle, turned again to her stove, uninterested.

  Multiple washings had faded the cotton fabric from black to a midnight shade. The material was soft and obviously of a more generous cut. Louisa could loosen her stays, which would be more comfortable in the coach. And the material would breathe well for relief from the heat. So far, the shade trees were few and far between.

  Hubert appeared in the open window. “Miss Bell, are you ready?”

  No time to change now. Besides, she’d rather keep the new clothes fresh for the coach ride.

  Mr. Collins carried two canteens along with a fishing rod and a small rifle out of the main house. “Hubert, you bring Miss Bell back when she says. If you hear three shots, that means the stage is ready and you get your tail home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Teddy and his crew are out past the creek. If they see any Cheyenne about, they’ll sound the alarm. If you need anything, shoot twice and they’ll come to you.”

  Hubert handed Louisa a canteen and an empty basket. “And we’ll try to bring home some perch for supper.”

  “That’s the idea. Good day, ma’am.” Mr. Collins lifted his hat, pulled it on more firmly, and then headed to the corral.

  “It’s this way.” Hubert shouldered the rifle and the fishing pole, then forged through the tall, dry grass with a skip in his step. Wishing she’d had time to change after all, Louisa lifted her hem and followed.

  It wasn’t long before they found a trail and she could stop worrying about the burrs and thistles. The wide sky was as vibrant and blue as her gown. The tall grass on either side of the road was as golden as the brass chandelier at the Cat-Eye Saloon. In fact, she’d love a canvas painted with this expansive scene to use for an aria she’d learned, if she ever got a chance to get on stage again.

  Soon her humming had broken out into a full-throated rendition of the aria from Don Carlos. Louisa wasn’t sure the lyrics were appropriate for young Hubert, but she felt it safe to assume he didn’t speak Italian.

  There was satisfaction in knowing that your voice could travel so far. She’d never had such a large stage. She performed some of her favorites as they trotted briskly along. No appreciative audience followed her every gesture, but she still felt like someone important was listening.

  Even Hubert agreed. “That’s mighty fine singing. I never heard the like.”

  Louisa patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Hubert. I guess you don’t get much entertainment at the ranch.”

  “Oh, we put together some music of an evening, but it’s just us old cowhands.” He stood a little straighter at including himself with the men. “I can pick at a piano—I learned it at home—but there ain’t no piano here.”

  At home? Louisa had noticed that Hubert called Mr. Collins by his given name instead of Father. Was he an orphan?

  “How did you come to be at the ranch?” She kept her eyes peeled for signs of a town but only saw grassland in every direction.

  “Ralph is my brother. He wrote my parents in the States and told them that the city was no place for me. I needed to come to the nation and learn to be a man. And I can do so much more than my friends back home. I bet they’re all sitting in school today. Ain’t none of them carrying a gun, a fishing pole, and”—he ducked his head—“accompanying a pretty lady.”

  Louisa laughed aloud. “You are a smooth talker, Hubert Collins. I’d heard to watch out for you cowboys.” Actually, she’d met scores of cowboys at the saloon. Most fell into one of two parties—either they favored being alone to sit and drink, or they were smooth talkers who’d had a month on the cattle trail to think up charming things to say to young ladies. Louisa could tell which Hubert would grow up to be.

  Soon a cool line of trees appeared in a shallow valley. The creek wasn’t far. “You only brought one fishing line,” Louisa said.

  Hubert waved a bee away. “I didn’t figure on you wanting to fish.”

  Louisa smiled. “That’s fine. I wouldn’t mind exploring a bit, as long as you promise not to leave me.”

  He grinned, his too-big front teeth fully exposed. “You bet, but don’t forget about the coach. We gotta get back when they signal, no questions.”

  Louisa nodded. She hadn’t traveled much in her life, but she supposed such delays were typical.

  More singing, that was what she’d do. She’d see this creek of Hubert’s and then take a stroll from there.

  Fort Reno more resembled a deserted village than a military outpost. From inside his home, called the General’s House, Major Adams had a perfect, centered view of the parade grounds, the barracks and mess halls arranged symmetrically on either side. And right now, most of those barracks were empty.

  Daniel watched as the troopers went through their afternoon drills. Some of the troops were aligned on the southeast side, with the colored troops of the Tenth on the northwest. They looked to be in good form, but they needed reinforcements.

  Picking up his letters, he stepped outside to his porch, where an always-ready assistant was waiting. “Post these letters,” he said. “And saddle my horse.”

  “Should I get an escort ready?”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  The trooper saluted and turned to his tasks. The letters would go to the base post office and from there to Fort Supply to remind the powers that his fort was understaffed for the volatile location. Nothing had happened yet. He just prayed that he was prepared before something did.

  The main purpose of Fort Reno was to keep peace among the Indian nations and tribes that surrounded it, and although always ready for battle, more likely than not you’d find Major Adams stuck behind his desk, away from the action.

  But today he needed to get out. He needed room away from his men, away from his family. Daniel was a bloodhound when he scented a mystery, and lately he had a question that he couldn’t puzzle out on the parade grounds. Because of his rank, the sentry wouldn’t question him as he left the gate, but there’d be questions aplenty if they saw what he was up to.

  Once astride his horse, Daniel pushed it into a canter. He didn’t get enough time in the saddle. Paperwork and managing the troops kept him tied to the fort. Having his daughters there alone meant that he rarely accompanied troops out on patrol. Even if he asked his cook, Private Gundy, to keep an eye on the house, he hated leaving them. But today he needed to get away from questioning eyes. Something was eating at him, and he wouldn’t rest until he found an answer.

  He headed north and then turned east once he’d skirted the agency. He didn’t need an audience. He needed some time and a lot of space, something Indian Territory had in abundance. But it was imperative that he was absolutely alone.

  Was ten miles far enough? He kept going. Fifteen? His horse was in good shape, and he was traveling light. Besides, time on a horse was never wasted. It cleared his head and gave order to his thoughts.

  Agent Dyer had come through with a recommendation for a governess. The widowed missionary lady sounded perfect for Caroline and Daisy. She would impose some sanity on the girls’ dramatic turns, and her age and status would guarantee that the troopers afforded her respect. The last thing he wanted was to i
ntroduce a flighty female into the company of his men. He had enough trouble keeping the troopers in line.

  He passed Turkey Creek, which meant he was nearing the boundary of the Red Fork Ranch. Daniel reined in his horse. He couldn’t afford to run into any cowboys at the Cherokee-owned ranch. He found a mild depression in the land—a place where he wouldn’t be as exposed.

  Nights of turmoil had already framed his plan. As usual, he’d considered every variable until he came up with the most favorable option. He dismounted and began unbuttoning his coat. Off went all his accoutrements—his gauntlets, his saber, his sidearm, and his eagle-and-wreath belt plate. He had more gear than a peddler. He stacked it carefully, then covered it with his blue dress coat. The horse surveyed his white shirt with droll amusement. Daniel had determined that the cavalry coat was unnecessary to his experiment, but no use explaining it to the horse.

  With a grunt, he tugged off his boot and immediately followed with his sock. He looked beneath him to make sure there weren’t any goat’s head stickers before he lowered his foot, and then the other boot followed.

  Perhaps it was immature competitiveness, but knowing that someone had accomplished something made him eager to achieve it as well. Which was how he’d climbed to the position of major. And that same energy and planning would help him climb again.

  He ran his hand over the McClellan saddle. Surely with his bare feet he could balance on it. Bradley Willis had done it in his boots, but he’d been full of liquid courage. Daniel wasn’t looking to break his neck. He just had to see if he was equal to the challenge.

  He moved the boots next to his coat and then hopped up in the saddle. He got the horse going at a smooth lope over flat ground before he pulled his feet up. Getting his feet under him was a trick. He’d expected it to be tough, but his feet held fast to the rawhide saddle. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as he’d feared.

  How could it be, when Private Willis made it look so easy?

  Feet in place, he rocked with the movement of the horse, getting the rhythm. Slowly he rose, straightening his legs. A few bumps had him stopping at a crouch, but soon he was standing at full height. The reins stretched their full length. As he leaned back to steady himself, the reins pulled tight. His horse, well trained and sensitive to his movements, slowed. That was a problem. The change in pace unsettled him. Swaying, Daniel leaned forward to put slack in the reins.