Holding the Fort

by Regina Jennings

  Trying to be as quiet as a church mouse, Louisa stepped next to the bed and knelt to lift the coverlet that draped to the floor. Pinching the fabric between her finger and thumb, she lifted it gingerly. Instead of a fringed shawl, she saw an Indian’s face, painted for war.

  Louisa’s holler echoed off the wallpapered walls. She sprang away from the bed and would have jumped out the window had it not been on the second story.

  Her door rattled. The knob shook. A girl’s voice yelled, “Daisy, is that you? Open the door.”

  Keeping an eye on the bed and her back to the wall, Louisa slammed the door to her wardrobe closed, then slid her way around the room. Passing the washstand, she grabbed the pitcher to smash over a head if necessary. With shaking hands, she unlocked the door, jumped across the threshold, then slammed it closed behind her.

  Which brought her face-to-face with a young woman with blazing red hair. The girl’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “Who are you?” She stepped backward to scan Louisa from head to toe, paying particular attention to the pitcher Louisa held above her head.

  “There’s an Indian in there.” Louisa tightened her grip on the doorknob. “We have to get Lieutenant Hennessey.”

  The girl’s mouth twitched. “If you’re going to scream every time you see an Indian, it’s going to be an irksome association.”

  The redhead grabbed the doorknob as the door began to shake and held it firm, but the voice coming through from the bedroom sounded nothing like a member of the Cheyenne or Arapaho tribes.

  “Let me out, Caroline, you ugly lizard.”

  Louisa startled. What was going on?

  “We shouldn’t open the door,” the girl said. “She’s quite dangerous. You should heed your inclination to fear her, that’s for certain.”

  But Louisa had lived by her wits for years. She knew when someone was mocking her. With a warning glare at the redhead, Louisa motioned for her to let go of the doorknob. Louisa kept the pitcher raised and ready as the door flew open. A younger girl with paint streaking her face and feathers woven into her braids stomped out. She seemed confused to find Louisa standing there, but her focus soon fell on the redhead.

  “You told her to lock me in!” The younger one dove at the older girl.

  “You’ll wish you’d listened to me and kept her trapped inside,” the older girl said to Louisa as she tried to fend off her opponent, who was swinging at her like a windmill.

  Sisters? Their oval faces and doe-like eyes evidenced family blood. Their squabbling guaranteed it. Well, Louisa hadn’t expected to find girls this age at the base, but they were none of her business. Still shaking, she darted into the room to set the pitcher down, returned to the hall, then closed the door behind her and walked past the warring siblings.

  “Hey,” the little one said, “aren’t you going to make us behave?”

  Louisa had dodged hundreds of fights at the saloon. Why would she get involved in such a paltry—?

  Her fists tightened. Could these girls be Major Adams’s children? With a deep sigh, she turned. The oldest wasn’t a child at all, and the younger fought like an alley cat. But Louisa was the governess. Even if it was only for the evening, she had a duty to perform. Both girls held each other at arm’s length and waited for her to intervene.

  “Are you Major Adams’s children?” she asked.

  The older one tossed her red mane. “You might as well catch the next stagecoach before you embarrass yourself.”

  Louisa had faced some tough audiences before. She’d been jeered at and heckled, and she wasn’t about to let this young lady prevail.

  Louisa’s posture was always excellent, so she didn’t need to set her shoulders or stiffen her spine, but she did remind herself to use her proper diction. “I beg your pardon, Miss Adams, but you will not address me in that manner.”

  “Or you’ll tell my father?” Her little sister—Daisy, hadn’t she called her?—had stepped away. Whatever qualms Daisy lacked about getting under beds and scaring people, she didn’t want any part of this rebellion. Her eyes darted to the staircase nervously, but while she feared her father, her sister did not.

  “Tell your father . . .” Talking to Major Adams was something Louisa would rather avoid just yet. Not until she knew why Bradley was in trouble this time. What other punishments did parents inflict on their progeny? Whippings? Somehow, she didn’t think governesses could do that to girls nearly grown, but she wasn’t sure. She’d have to be creative. “You will speak to me with respect”—she used her stage elocution—“or I will punish you in a dozen different ways. I’ll give you extra schoolwork. I’ll give you extra chores. I’ll make you stay in your room on lovely days.” The older girl just scoffed. Louisa hadn’t hit on the right target yet, so she continued. “I’ll make you wear hideous old dresses like the one I’m wearing. I’ll feed your desserts to Daisy.”

  “Hooray!” Daisy cheered. “Caroline loves her sweets. She never shares.”

  Caroline of the red hair shoved her sister away. “Don’t tell her anything. Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m on the side that lets me stay at the fort and doesn’t make me go live in Grandmother’s boring house,” Daisy replied.

  Grandmother? There was something missing.

  “Where’s your mother?” Louisa asked.

  “We haven’t got one,” Daisy said. “She died after I was born.”

  “Who’s been taking care of you?”

  Caroline’s chin jutted. “We don’t need anyone to take care of us.”

  “When I was a baby, I had a nurse,” said Daisy. “But she didn’t stay with us when we moved here. Colonel Keyes’s wife watched us when we were little, but he got reassigned, and Pa is the post commander now. We’re too big to need a nanny.”

  Louisa didn’t like this one bit. She’d hoped that Major Adams’s wife would be reasonable, but from the sound of it, Louisa would be answering directly to the man himself. Not as a musician who would spend her days practicing and evenings performing. Not even as a lowly washerwoman. She would answer to him, live in his house, and care for his children. She hadn’t planned on this type of work, and if she failed, he would surely send her packing. But what choice did she have? It looked like her best option. And she had nowhere else to go.

  “I can promise you,” Louisa said, “I have never been mistaken for a nanny. Now, I haven’t ate supper yet—”

  “Eaten,” Caroline interrupted. “You haven’t eaten supper yet.”

  Daisy squinted up at her. “You don’t look very old. Are you sure you’re a governess?”

  This was going to be harder than she’d imagined. These weren’t babies to be rocked to sleep. These were intelligent, even if uncouth, young ladies who could riddle her story full of holes in minutes. She had to give a convincing performance.

  “I’m a hungry governess,” she said. Then with a smile as warm as she could muster for a child who’d endangered her life just minutes before, she added, “Would you mind showing me to the kitchen?”

  The painted stripes on Daisy’s cheeks crinkled as she smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” She skipped to the staircase.

  Louisa rattled her doorknob and looked Caroline in the eye. The fiery redhead hadn’t backed down an inch. “Please respect my privacy, and I’ll respect yours.”

  “You’ve already invaded my home,” Caroline said. “And throwing out intruders is the family business.” She turned and marched away.

  Major Adams might be the least of Louisa’s concerns.

  Chapter Seven

  Was that a trumpet? Louisa lifted her head off her pillow. It was still dark outside, and some amateur musician had decided to play a concert. Wasn’t this an army base? What kind of discipline did they have if they were up at all hours tooting away on a horn? Groaning, she dropped her head back on the feather pillow and pulled the blanket over her head.

  She must have dozed off, because the next thing she heard was knocking at her door. Throwing the covers away,
she saw light streaming in through the window. It had to be early yet. Probably not even ten o’clock.

  “Miss Bell, are you in there?” It was a child’s voice.

  Where was she? Louisa reached for her silk dressing gown and got a better look at the room. The fort. Now she remembered. And obviously they got around earlier than the performers at the Cat-Eye Saloon.

  “Keep your drawers on,” Louisa called.

  “What did you say?”

  Louisa rolled her eyes. She was supposed to be a governess. Her memory was coming back to her. “Daisy? Sorry. Give me a minute.”

  She plumped her mass of messy curls and tied the ribbon closed on the rose-colored gown. After checking her face in the mirror, she went to the door.

  “Private Gundy said that our lessons start today.” Daisy’s face was clear of paint, and her hair was unbound from its braids and flowing over her shoulders.

  “What time is it?” Louisa peeked carefully around the hall, making sure she wasn’t in front of an audience before she’d gotten into her role.

  “It’s already after seven,” Daisy said. “Drill is over, and the troopers have started their fatigue duties. But if you’re not ready for lessons, Caroline and I don’t mind.”

  Lessons today? What kinds of lessons? Louisa’s education had as many holes in it as the lace on her old pantaloons. She hadn’t considered that lessons would be required of her so soon.

  “I think I’ll spend the day becoming acquainted with the grounds. This fort is rather large. Can you take me around?”

  Daisy laughed. “Pa doesn’t like us to be around the troopers. He’d whup us for sure. Sometimes Caroline makes us walk slow so the men will catch up with us—”

  “Daisy.” Caroline popped her head around the corner of the stairwell. “What are you telling her?” She took a long look at Louisa’s robe. Her eyebrow rose.

  A missionary lady probably didn’t have a robe like this. Was everything about her totally unsuitable?

  Louisa tugged the neck of the robe closed all the way to her chin. “I’ll come down as soon as I’m dressed. We can eat breakfast together and then decide what to do next.”

  “Breakfast is already over. You missed it.”

  “At seven o’clock?” No one Louisa knew got up so early.

  “She can eat if she wants, Daisy.” Caroline shook her head in disapproval. “Let her take all the time she needs. That means less schoolwork for us.”

  So education wasn’t Caroline’s forte? Finally something was going Louisa’s way. The last thing she needed was a scholar to teach.

  She shooed Daisy out of her room, closed the door, went to her wardrobe, and reached for one of her more flattering gowns. But as her fingers touched the rich fabric, she stopped. A governess wouldn’t wear anything interesting. No feathers, no velvet, no lace. Nothing that would draw attention to herself. With a last lingering touch, Louisa turned again to the faded blouse and black skirt thrown over the chair. The longer she kept up the ruse, the more time she had to plan her next step.

  The girls had gone downstairs already, so the sure tread of boots in the hallway outside her door made her stomach heavy with dread. Major Adams was in the house. Feeling like she was trapped in a mouse hole with a cat prowling just outside, Louisa went through her morning routine, minus the cosmetics, and tried not to make a peep.

  Daniel’s head throbbed with every step down the stairs from his room to his office. He’d slept through reveille, slept through drill, but that was what he got for listening to Dr. Bowen. Had his thinking not been so muddled last night, he would have insisted that Doc send him home sooner. As it was, he’d whiled away half the night answering imbecilic questions while sitting on an uncomfortable cot in the same room as a consumptive trooper. When Daniel finally recovered his wits enough to command the doctor to release him, they declared him well enough to go home, because frankly, what else were they going to do? He was still commander here. He did remember that much.

  He remembered other things, too. Things that didn’t make sense. Like the fact that he was standing in the saddle when he fell. And how he’d hit his head hard enough to see a fancy woman out at Turkey Creek. Not just see her, but feel her hand on his face, hear her voice singing from the trees, and then later the sweet sound of her calling after him to come back.

  A siren, tempting him to linger in the underworld and forget his duties in life. Such thoughts weren’t consistent with what he knew about eternity, but that didn’t mean much when you got hit hard enough. She was the product of hammering his imagination against a hard rock.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs with teeth gritted. He touched the bandage on his forehead and decided that he’d wear a hat today, even inside. He didn’t want to be bothered with more questions, although he couldn’t hide forever. Going to the front door, he stuck his head out. A trooper stood guard on his porch.

  “Are you waiting for something?” Didn’t they think Daniel was capable of protecting his own house?

  “I’m supposed to report to Lieutenant Hennessey as soon as you’re about.”

  Blast it, Jack. Why did he have to be such a nursemaid?

  “Tell Lieutenant Hennessey that I’m just fine. I won’t need his assistance.” Daniel tried to turn in the doorway, but the open door bounced against something. A wooden crate. “And what in tarnation is this? Has my entryway become the commissary?”

  “I’ll ask Lieutenant Hennessey what to do.”

  “I don’t need Lieutenant . . .” But the trooper hurried off.

  Turning his back on his commander? Daniel should have him thrown in the guardhouse. And he should make a note of that, because he wasn’t confident he’d be able to remember past the next ten minutes.

  He eased himself into his office and sat behind his desk. His brain felt too big for his skull. Daniel picked up the nearest newspaper—the Cheyenne Transporter—and read a headline about the ongoing dispute over grazing land that the Texas cattlemen had leased from the Cheyenne and Arapaho. The cowboys claimed that their cattle were still being stolen, despite them paying rent. The tribes claimed it was justice done for their shortened rations, and that much worse could happen if they weren’t fed better.

  Daniel tossed down the paper and covered his eyes. The throbbing had to get better soon. If he could just keep his eyes closed for the rest of the day . . .

  Why did Jack have to pound on the door so loudly? Daniel yelled at him to come in, then prepared himself for the worst.

  Jack appeared with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. “How are you feeling?”

  The concern of his post adjutant embarrassed Daniel. A commander shouldn’t show any weakness to his men.

  Gathering his wits—which had been scattered considerably by yesterday’s events—Daniel took the coffee. “Thanks for seeing to everything last night. It’s best that we don’t allow a minor injury to distract the troops from their tasks.” Because he was distracted enough. He took a swig of coffee. He’d need a strong dosage of it if he was going to make it through the day.

  “They haven’t been disrupted in the least. Only the few you sent to arrest Private Willis.” Jack leaned forward. “Do you remember what happened yet?”

  Daniel leaned back. “What has Willis done now?”

  “You mentioned his name when we found . . . when you rode into camp last night. You said he was responsible for your injury, but we don’t know how that’s possible, since he was here all day.”

  Daniel didn’t need the concern on Jack’s face to tell him he’d made a mistake. “Let him go. He didn’t do anything.” What had he said about Private Willis? His memory was full of holes.

  “And I apologize about that crate. The governess got here last night, and Gundy said he’d move it. I’ll remind him before I leave.”

  The new teacher had arrived while he was indisposed? Daniel got to his feet so quickly that his head spun. A strict disciplinarian—that was what he’d requested, and a woman like that wou
ldn’t appreciate him keeping her waiting. Daniel had wanted her welcome to be appropriate and civilized—two traits he heartily wished his daughters possessed, as well. He didn’t want to start out on the wrong foot. Women with book learning could hold a grudge longer than Queen Victoria could hold a throne.

  “Where is she now?”

  “Here, I suppose. Haven’t you seen the girls?”

  “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than keep track of my daughters and a matronly widow.”

  “I’m going to check the kitchen. Stay right here.” Jack dipped his head.

  “They should’ve been done with breakfast an hour ago.” But it was too late. Jack was gone, his boots clomping right through Daniel’s home—against his orders.

  Daniel took his seat, had another drink of coffee, and flipped open his ledger. Show no weakness. Just pretend to be doing the job until he could do it. His eyes blurred over the page. More purchase orders from the quartermaster needed to be logged. Also on his desk were reports from the various Indian agencies and wanted posters from Fort Smith. By tomorrow, he might not remember anything he read with this headache, but he should appear busy, at least.

  Footsteps. Daniel needed to snap out of his foul mood. He didn’t want his knuckles rapped by the governess’s ruler.

  The door opened, and Jack motioned a woman into his office. Daniel lifted his cup to his mouth and took stock of the black skirt. A widow, Mr. Dyer had told him. Still in mourning, as was proper. But then he saw a face that was anything but proper.

  It was a face he’d thought he’d never see again.

  The coffee scalded Daniel’s lungs as he inhaled it. Determined not to erupt, he locked his jaw despite the burning. His chest heaved, his eyes watered. Seeing his distress, Jack turned the governess away, but not before Daniel got a clear look at her face.

  Her beautiful, unforgettable face.

  Daniel spun to the window to gain his composure. She was real, but how was it possible that she was in his house? Had he regained his senses, or not?