Holding the Fort

by Regina Jennings

  From his window, the parade grounds looked the same as they did every other day. The flag flew in the middle. The turf wrinkled where Private Willis had performed his riding feats earlier that month. Ben Clark, their guide and interpreter, and Sergeant O’Hare walked from the adjutant’s office to the post office, chewing over some new bit of information, while a crew of troopers unloaded the wagons of the latest mule train at the commissary.

  Everything outside his office was routine. Inside his office, his world had just been turned upside down.

  “Major Adams?” Stinking Jack and his impatience. “Major Adams, may I present Miss Bell?”

  Daniel rubbed his eyes and prayed that she wouldn’t look the same when he turned around. Couldn’t he ask for that one favor?

  Jack cleared his throat. It was time for Daniel to face the music. While the events of his mishap weren’t clear, he remembered enough to know that whatever she had witnessed put him at a disadvantage. He touched his hat, making sure it covered his bandage, before he turned to address her.

  He had to look her in the eyes. A commander couldn’t go skulking around. Steeling his nerves, he raised his gaze. It was her, alright.

  Her blue eyes widened. Was that a spark of recognition?

  And why was Jack smiling?

  She had expected Major Adams to be intimidating. Standing in the small office, framed by the morning sun at his back, he radiated authority, but she got an even stronger sense of restless energy. Restless energy and a sensitivity to hot coffee.

  It was up to her to keep in his good graces, but now that she’d been introduced as the governess, how did she ask for another position? That was a question for another day, so she studied the chessboard to her left and pretended nothing was amiss until he’d recovered.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Bell,” he said.

  Finally, she could look him in the face, but between the sunlight at his back and the hat he was wearing, she couldn’t clearly make out his features. His words were short and clipped, as if he were in a hurry to get through his script.

  “It’s Miss Bell,” she said. “I’m unmarried.”

  Lieutenant Hennessey rocked from toes to heels, heels to toes. “Unmarried?” he asked. “How interesting.”

  “I was told that you were a widow.” The major’s voice was stern.

  “I’m not.”

  “I was also told that you were . . . old.”

  Louisa blinked. Of all the qualities he could disapprove of, he chose her age? Well, she’d already taken to this role. Now it was time to see how well she could perform it.

  “Mrs. Townsend became ill. I am here in her place, but I am old enough to handle your daughters. That’s all that’s required.” She kept her chin level. Hadn’t she handled rowdy cowboys, drunkards, and cardsharps? How much trouble could two well-off girls be?

  “You are not what was promised.” He had an orator’s voice, but his words were less than inspiring. And once he made a decision, she could tell it would be impossible to change his mind. She only had this one shot, and she might as well shoot for the moon.

  “Give me a week,” she said, surprising herself. “You don’t have anyone else for the job, and I’ve come all this way.”

  His hand dropped from his collar as he pondered his decision. Her eyes were adjusting to the light in the room, bringing his features into focus. His blue uniform coat stretched over broad shoulders. The belt defined a trim waist. Now that she’d met his daughters, she knew he wasn’t young, but his face had a youthful innocence that his years in the military hadn’t been able to erase. Still, even without all the decorations on his coat, she would recognize him as the major.

  Or would she?

  She narrowed her eyes. Was there light brown hair beneath that hat? Hair with a touch of red in it, just like Daisy’s?

  “One week,” he said, “but I’ll be monitoring your progress. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  He tapped the brim of his hat as a dismissal, but Louisa was fixed in place, unable to look away. It couldn’t be. Couldn’t be! The man she’d helped out at Turkey Creek couldn’t be Major Adams. It was too terrible to contemplate. In vain she searched for his wound, but the hat’s placement made it impossible to see.

  Lieutenant Hennessey stepped to the side of the doorway. “This way, please, Miss Bell.”

  It was time to leave. Both men were watching her as if they expected something to happen. Did he not recognize her? He had suffered a hard fall, so maybe he didn’t remember. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but to ask what? Do you recollect a gaudily dressed woman who held you on her lap? For her and Bradley’s sake, she had to hope that he didn’t. She’d just been introduced as a governess. If he remembered her dressed in her performance clothes, he’d kick her out immediately. No father wanted a chorus girl around his daughters.

  She hoped she could count on Lieutenant Hennessey to keep a secret, because if Major Adams ever remembered their encounter, she’d be the last woman he’d want under his roof.

  Chapter Eight

  On stage, Louisa had been caught unprepared before. Once she’d forgotten the words and stood there with her mouth hanging open like a broken gate as the music played. She’d almost lost her job. This time the stakes were even higher.

  Without thought, her feet carried her away from the office and to the parlor. That was Major Adams? That man? Had she known, she would have never stepped out of the trees. Now it wasn’t just this job at stake, but Bradley’s also. If Bradley’s commanding officer found out who she was, and that she’d lied to him in order to stay beneath his roof, Bradley might be in even more trouble. But why hadn’t the major said anything? Maybe Mrs. Townsend’s God was taking care of her after all.

  Morning light streamed across the room, painting a golden square against the lavender wallpaper. She’d only traded the major for another audience, his children. She had to get her bearings and continue with the show.

  “Aww, now you’re going to make us study?”

  Louisa startled to see Daisy lying on the ground beneath the sofa. Her legs stretched out behind her, and her foot pushed against the fireplace hearth.

  A governess. That was what Louisa had to be for the next week, or until she could find Bradley. If only she had a clue what a governess actually did.

  Daisy’s freckled face was scrunched up, watching her. Louisa had only gone to school here and there, but she did know that studying didn’t happen beneath a sofa.

  “Where’s your schoolroom?” she asked.

  “We don’t have a schoolroom.”

  “Then where do you do your lessons?”

  Daisy slapped the flowered rug beneath her. “Right here, if I’m of a mind. Or in the tree behind the house. Or in the kitchen. Lieutenant Hennessey helped me learn how to carry-over on my ciphering using pinto beans.”

  “And your last governess allowed that?”

  “We’ve never had a governess. There’s an old schoolhouse here on base, but the teachers don’t stay very long. Which is fine with me. I don’t fare so well with teachers. I’d rather be outside.”

  They had that in common, but Louisa thought it best not to admit it. She’d been hoping she could take her cues from the girls on how to behave, but it turned out that they didn’t have the slightest idea either. She smiled. Finally, a lucky break.

  “Bring out your books.” Louisa stepped around the child on the rug and moved the sofa cushions to make room for the two of them. If Miss Caroline didn’t want to participate, Louisa would leave her be for now.

  “You were supposed to bring books, remember?”

  The crate. It still sat by the front door, right next to Major Adams’s office. Louisa drew in a deep breath. No use in losing her nerve now. She’d already gotten her fancy boot in the door. She had to pretend to belong.

  With every ounce of courage she could muster, she sashayed past the open office door. From the corner of her eye, she saw him look up, but she didn’t s
top. Lieutenant Hennessey was gone, and she could think of nothing she had to say to the major alone.

  The wooden crate barely budged when she grasped it. Should she try to hoist it up? Would a real lady do that? Feeling the major’s eyes on her, she tested the lid of the crate and puffed a blond lock out of her face in satisfaction. The top had already been loosened for her.

  Quickly she set it aside and pulled out the books, dismay filling her as she looked at the titles.

  Ray’s New Higher Arithmetic

  A Primary Spelling Book of the English Language

  Heath’s Common School Music Readers

  Gray’s Botanical Textbook: Structural Botany

  The Practical Linguist . . . The French Language, Volume 1

  A Practical Reader with Exercises in Vocal Culture

  Higher arithmetic? Besides counting measures in a song, Louisa hadn’t had much call for ciphering. And she wasn’t one-hundred-percent certain what structural botany was, either. Houses made of plants? This was going to be harder than she’d thought. She lifted a last book, Sermons for Boys and Girls by Eminent American Preachers, and groaned. Hadn’t Mrs. Townsend pledged that this box wasn’t full of religion books?

  Those would be the last subjects she taught—sermons and math. Louisa gathered the books in her arms.

  Daisy called from the parlor. “We need a slate and chalk. Father keeps them in his office.”

  A sudden bump sounded from the office, as if the legs of a chair were lowered too quickly. Major Adams had heard Daisy’s request. Louisa chewed her lip. There was no avoiding the encounter. With an armful of books, she stepped into his doorway.

  Major Adams held a sheet of correspondence high before his face. His pen had stilled. He had to know that she was standing there. With a sigh, he lowered the paper and met her eyes.

  “How may I help you?”

  Louisa’s heart rocked inside her chest. He no longer wore his hat, so the bandage on his head was easily visible. So were the lazy waves of his hair and his soft brown eyes. She dragged her gaze away from him and studied the chessboard instead.

  “Daisy informs me that her slate and chalk are in here.” The board showed a game in progress. The pieces held each other in check. Whoever was playing the major was his equal. One more hard look at the board, and Louisa knew she’d be able to re-create it in her memory later that night. Just like the notes on a scale, she could summon their arrangement at will.

  He stood. “Let me help you with the books.”

  “No thanks,” she said too quickly. “I’m only carrying them to the parlor.”

  His head drew back just a whisker. Obviously, Major Adams wasn’t used to being refused, even if it was an offer of help.

  “I could use help getting the slate.” She smiled to soften her refusal. “And the chalk.”

  “I will do that,” he said. “And carry the books.”

  Without giving her time to prepare, he reached for the stack of books in her arms. Louisa felt a bit breathless at his sudden proximity. She shoved them toward him so there was no risk of him coming closer—although by the creek he’d gotten really close to her. In her lap.

  Great Saturn’s rings! She had to stop thinking like that!

  He tucked the books beneath his arm and marched to his bureau as sharply as if he were in a parade. When he pulled the drawer open, pieces of chalk clinked against each other. The wooden frame of the slate caught on the drawer top as he removed it, and he lowered it and tried again, with less fluster this time.

  But why should he be flustered? He was the mighty commander of this fort. He had nothing to prove to her.

  He balanced the slate and chalk on top of the stack of books. When he spun to face her, the chalk rolled, hopped over the slate’s frame, and fell. He grabbed handfuls of air as he tried to catch it, but the chalk bounced off his fingertips and rolled under his desk. Had Louisa not been so terrified of him, she might have laughed at his fumbling.

  Instead, she held her skirt aside and dropped to her knees. With her head under the desk and stretching forward, she was finally able to retrieve the chalk. She could feel the warmth in her cheeks as she stood. Major Adams looked flushed as well, and he did not strike her as a man who was easily unsettled. Perhaps that head injury still had him addled.

  “You’ve hurt your head.” With the piece of chalk, she motioned to his bandage. “Are you sure you’ve recovered?”

  His eyes lit at the challenge, but instead of answering her, he made an inquiry of his own. “As you know, I requested a strict, experienced governess from the missionary society. I understand you are a replacement, but are you sure you’re up to the task?”

  Louisa was walking a high wire without a net. No stopping now. “Has the missionary society ever misled you before?”

  He took a moment to savor her reply. The intensity of his gaze had her on her guard. “From this stack of books, it appears you are very ambitious.”

  “I’m sure your daughters will do just fine.”

  “I’m not worried about my daughters,” he replied. He tilted the books to get a look at the spines. “French? You speak French?”

  Louisa had never had a French lesson in her life, but she’d learned several songs in the language. Classical, fancy music at that. But instead of singing, she demurely quoted one of her favorites, carefully removing any musical inflection that might expose her as a performer.

  Belle nuit, ô nuit d’amour

  Souris à nos ivresses

  Nuit plus douce que le jour

  Ô, belle nuit d’amour!

  Major Adams’s jaw went taut as he blinked. Hadn’t she pronounced every word correctly? Mimicking was one of her strengths, and she’d heard this song performed several times, although it was usually a duet.

  “Will that be . . . will those be the phrases you teach my daughters?”

  Poor man was probably concerned they couldn’t keep up. Louisa smiled. “Nothing like that to start with. They’ll have to learn the basics first.”

  “Let’s hold off on the French lessons.” He nodded once, then waited for her concession.

  “Whatever you say.” She’d delay teaching them anything, if possible.

  Evidently Major Adams had no more time to visit with her, because he spun on his heel and strode to the parlor. By the time Louisa caught up, he’d deposited the books with the girls—Caroline having deigned to appear—and was making his departure.

  “And now I need to go out to supervise work detail,” he said. “I mean, Sergeant O’Hare can do it, but he might be . . . it’d be better if I wasn’t here.”

  He was flustered again. Louisa stepped out of the doorway to allow him to pass. The front door shut decisively behind him, leaving them alone in the house.

  “Father is supposed to stay at home.” This from Caroline as she carved her initials with a needle in the base of a candlestick. “He’s injured and not supposed to work. And then there’s you, who should be working but aren’t. A real governess would’ve started class immediately after breakfast instead of wasting time organizing her materials.”

  “Caroline’s a grouch.” Daisy was hopscotching the brick hearth in front of the fireplace. “She doesn’t know anything. She’s never had a governess.”

  “But I’ve read plenty of stories about them, and they are more professional than Miss Bell.”

  What stories were those? Louisa’s job would be easier if someone would tell her what to do. This was almost like taking on a role with no script.

  Actually, it was precisely like that.

  “Let’s get started,” Louisa said.

  Caroline stabbed her needle into the candle as she looked at the stack of books her father had left. “I’m too old for a slate,” she said.

  For crying aloud. Even considering all her customers at the Cat-Eye, Louisa had never worked for such particular people before. “Then you can use a pencil. Where are they?”

  Caroline tilted her head toward the major’s offi
ce. “There’s a pencil holder on Father’s desk. Help yourself.”

  Now that the major had left the house, the office didn’t intimidate her nearly as much, even if the stately bookcases and the impressive desk looked more like a fortress than the rest of the fort did. Louisa took a pencil off his desk and tested its point. Then she took another, because she supposed she’d need one, too. But when she considered what she might actually write with it, she returned it to the pencil case. Better not to have a pencil at all than to have one and not know what to write.

  She was about to join the girls in the parlor when the chessboard caught her eye. A quick look over her shoulder told her that no one was about. Her hand tightened on the pencil. She held her drab skirt tight against her legs so she wouldn’t bump the little table and scatter the pieces as she moved closer. Without effort, the battle sprang to life before her eyes. She saw strategy and defense. She saw mistakes made—although not gross mistakes—and she saw a plan unfolding. Whoever had left the pieces there was a good match for the major, for who else would be playing the game in his office? One of the girls, perhaps? She didn’t think so. The skill was too advanced. Probably Jack Hennessey.

  Like always, the way illuminated before her. Jack, if he was the black army, seemed unaware of the opening the major had left him. In a few short moves . . .

  Louisa slid a pawn forward one space to open a path for a rook. She gave the board one last look, but it was unnecessary. Like anticipating the next bar of music, patterns and predictions leapt out at her. Lieutenant Hennessey would appreciate the help.

  If only arithmetic were as easy.

  When she returned to the parlor, Daisy bounced on the sofa cushions. “What are we going to do first?”

  Caroline haunted the corner by the fireplace, unwilling to admit her curiosity. Her gingham dress, although well made and of quality fabric, looked uncomfortably tight in the shoulders. How many years had she had it? Louisa gave Daisy’s dress another evaluation. It fit similar to how Mrs. Townsend’s dress fit Louisa. The waistband sagged against her flat stomach. The sleeves flopped past her wrists. Daisy’s gown wasn’t new. A hand-me-down from Caroline, no doubt. Poor things. How they must yearn for something beautiful to wear. Instead of trying to teach them botany, she should be teaching them how to sew.