Holding the Fort

by Regina Jennings

  The ladies sat in silence with bowed heads and closed eyes, but on the inside, Louisa was rioting. Her palms grew damp with sweat. Her legs ached with tension. What did God think of her sitting in this chapel, pretending to be holy? He knew the truth. He knew she was no friend of His.

  She couldn’t suppress her panic any longer. Giving freedom to her anxious nerves, she stood and quietly slipped out the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The situation was tense, but there were no attacks yet. Daniel had sent out the necessary telegraphs notifying Washington of their predicament and again requesting more troops. The perimeter of the fort was heavily guarded, and he had their positions marked on the map spread over his desk. There was no word from Agent Dyer at Darlington. While Daniel appreciated his sense of duty, he dearly hoped his troopers wouldn’t be called on to make a frantic rescue if the Cheyenne carried out their threats. He’d lose men, and there was no guarantee Dyer and his wife could be saved.

  According to Captain Chandler, Dyer had some trusted Indian guards among Old Crow’s men. They would try to dissuade the band from doing any damage to the property and, as a last resort, would break away to ferry the Dyers across the Canadian River to the fort.

  Either way, Daniel preferred to be by the phone in his office. Everyone knew where to find him, and find him they did.

  “Major Adams, telegrams.”

  “Come in,” he called, little expecting to see Private Willis step inside his office. “You’re finished with the horses?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. I was coming this way to tell you when the fellas at the post hall suggested I bring you these telegrams along with some mail that came in before we went under siege.”

  “We aren’t under siege, Private. There might be hostile Indians in Darlington right now, but we could leave if we wanted.” Which of course they didn’t want.

  He ripped open the first telegram, then read it once, twice, three times with dry eyes. “President Cleveland has ordered General Sheridan to come here immediately.”

  Daniel had asked for more troops, not for the Commanding General of the entire U.S. Army to come. General Sheridan’s aide thought they’d be there within the week. Daniel’s jaw set. One week? It was a long time to hold off invaders, but not long enough to prepare for a visit from General Sheridan. He read through the rest of the letter carefully, making notes for his staff of particular requests. A hunting outing, the general’s favorite meals, the number of staff they’d need to find lodging for. Details Daniel hadn’t been expecting in the midst of a siege. Wait, not a siege. But now not only did he have to hold the Indians at bay, but he also had to plan a holiday for the army brass.

  Daniel turned in his chair to look over the green fields that stretched to the horizon. He hoped that the Cheyenne could be placated before any loss of life occurred, but would General Sheridan be satisfied with a peaceful solution? General Sheridan of the scorched-earth technique, first against the Confederacy and then against the Kiowa and Comanche tribes? And weren’t the Cheyenne attacked by him that winter, too? Daniel grimly crumpled the telegram in his hand.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Daniel spun around. He had forgotten he wasn’t alone. With everything going on, Private Willis didn’t realize the danger he was in. An accident could happen, like getting stabbed with a letter opener.

  “Report to your sergeant. Your delivery is complete.”

  With a “yes, sir,” he was gone, but Daniel’s worries stayed. The second telegram alerted him that three companies of the Fifth Cavalry were on their way, along with three companies of the Eighteenth Infantry. They definitely needed the help. The Cheyenne had shown a reluctance to challenge the fort directly, but one never knew when they might find the courage.

  Everyone was prepared. Every trooper was in place. Daniel had learned not to expend valuable energy anticipating an attack that might not come. Once the defenses were up, it was his job to look to the contingencies. What if . . . ? And while the attack wasn’t a certainty, General Sheridan’s visit was, and they’d better be ready to receive him.

  Returning to his list, Daniel began to assign the tasks. With so many of his men required to walk the picket line, he’d ask the Mennonite men for help with the carpentry and painting work needed to spruce up the fort. What if the Cheyenne didn’t let the mule trains pass? They might be running low on food by the time reinforcements arrived. Daniel would consult with the quartermaster on the situation and see how much could be shared with the agency families that had sought shelter here. They might need to bring in the gardens early. And then there was the entertainment that high-ranking officers required. The upstairs of the commissary needed to be spiffed up and decorated.

  His pen scratched against the thin pad, writing task after task that had to be done. First priorities were starred, then those that were less important added later. So much depended on the Cheyenne and what they had in mind. No use decorating the commissary if it was aflame the next day.

  After the tasks were identified, it was time to assign them. Easily, Daniel sped down the line, knowing exactly which of his staff and which units were the most capable for the various duties. He even remembered to include the Darlington men and women where applicable.

  And Miss Bell.

  Daniel lowered his pen. Why was she so shy around the other women? With her poise and confidence in the face of a motley unit of soldiers, he’d thought her beyond intimidation. But here came some simple, sacrificing women, and Louisa was reduced to a mess of nerves.

  Maybe he was being too hard on her. More likely the Cheyenne threat had her rattled, not the Darlington ladies. He was proud of the way Louisa had responded at the first news of the attack. Give her a few moments, and that courage would come back.

  He heard sharp orders and the familiar sound of boots marching across the green. They were changing the guard. He wanted to be there, to encourage his men and tell them of General Sheridan’s approach. He opened the front door, and behind the straight lines of soldiers, he noticed a lonely figure huddled next to the chapel.

  It was Louisa, hiding, while the rest of the ladies were inside.

  The prayers had finished. Soft voices floated through the chapel window to where Louisa was hiding beneath a pecan tree. Somehow she needed to blend back into the group when they left the building without them realizing she’d been absent the entire time. Even better if she could disappear completely before some innocent question destroyed her story, but Daisy and Caroline would be looking for her.

  And so was Lieutenant Hennessey, evidently.

  He’d spotted her. Not knowing what to do, Louisa bowed her head and made the sign of the cross, or at least something close to what she’d seen some religious people make while praying. Surely, he’d know she was busy and not bother her.

  Lieutenant Hennessey paused, but after a curious shake of his head, he marched up to her. “I thought you were Mennonite.”

  “Shhh.” Louisa squinted with her head bowed as if not completely finished with her prayers. “God will hear you.”

  “God hears everything,” he said.

  From the twist of his mouth, Louisa could tell she’d answered wrong. He wasn’t fooled. Before he could ask any more questions, she waved at the ladies leaving the chapel and called for Daisy and Caroline.

  “Are we under attack?” Daisy asked a bit too loudly and much too excitedly as she ran to meet them.

  “No, ma’am, but the telegraph wires are buzzing with news,” Lieutenant Hennessey said. “General Sheridan is coming with four other generals and practically half the army. We don’t have much time to prepare.”

  Louisa watched as the scared women passed in tight groups, comforting one another. “But that’s good, right? All those soldiers will mean that the Darlington people can go back home and things will get back to normal.”

  “Yes and no. It’s good as far as our Indian situation is concerned, but there’ll be nothing normal about having General Sheridan
at the fort. He’s the supreme commander of the entire U.S. Army and could easily cause more problems than seven hundred Cheyenne. If the fort was burning down around us, he’d still expect to be entertained in style.”

  “Entertained? What does that mean?”

  Caroline seemed to perk up at the question as well.

  “There’ll be some grand performance for the officers. The men will throw something together, of course, but Major Adams said that you and the girls were practicing a few musical pieces as well. If you have time to prepare, could they present their songs?”

  Louisa threw her hands in the air. “Our lives are in danger, but we’re supposed to practice some songs?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “When there’s danger, the fort’s response can be overwhelming, but everything is now in place, and we plan for the next mission. That doesn’t mean we’re going to be less diligent, just looking ahead. Besides, staying busy helps deal with the uncertainty.”

  Louisa chewed her lip as she looked about her. There was no more rushing around; the troopers had settled into their positions and were waiting. At least rehearsing with Caroline and Daisy would get her out of the way of the teachers from the Arapaho school. Caroline nudged her, hoping for a yes.

  Louisa nodded. “We can be ready. We’ll start practicing more.”

  “Perfect. And you shouldn’t expect to see the major this evening. He’ll be in the adjutant’s office for the rest of the day. He didn’t want the girls worried about him.” Lieutenant Hennessey looked down at a list in his hand. “Now on to Major Adams’s next command.” With a salute and a wink at Daisy, he was gone.

  They headed back to their house as some of the troopers were coming off their watch. Louisa knew Daniel would expect his daughters to be sheltered away from the high-strung troops, but then she saw Bradley. Taking Daisy by the hand, she stayed on the gravel walk, even though it led right into the path of the men.

  That was a mistake. A young man with a dashing mustache and pomaded hair made a beeline for Caroline. Whatever he said had Caroline covering her mouth as she giggled. Was he the mysterious letter writer?

  “Caroline!” Daisy yelled. “You’re gonna get him thrown in the guardhouse.” She pulled out of Louisa’s grasp and ran to them.

  The trooper lifted his head. He stroked his mustache and, with a quick bow, hightailed it away. Bradley glared a warning at Louisa, but with the danger all around them, she had to talk to him.

  “Be careful out there,” she whispered as she slowed next to Bradley. “Take care of yourself.”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he grumbled. “Do you have any idea how brutal the Cheyenne are?”

  “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.” Bradley rolled his eyes, but that was all the time she had. “We’ll talk later,” she promised as she marched both errant girls to the house.

  A second day had passed with tense pickets and mourning refugees, but no attacks. The war drums pounded all night, and scouts saw riders blazing across the prairie in war paint, but no smoke from Darlington meant the Cheyenne were demonstrating their anger in less destructive ways.

  No one was letting their guard down, but life inside the fort had found a tempo, and that tempo included preparations for General Sheridan and the oncoming units. Daniel made his way back to the house after a long day inspecting and evaluating what needed to be done. Again the ladies from Darlington had met at the chapel for prayer, but Daniel hadn’t seen Louisa among them.

  Now that he thought about it, she’d found an excuse each Sunday to avoid the church service. He’d wondered if her strict Mennonite upbringing prohibited her from attending the general Protestant meeting on the fort, but these women were mostly teachers and missionaries from the Mennonite mission. What could her objection be to praying with them? Besides, Louisa didn’t observe Mennonite traditions as far as Daniel could tell. Bright colors, wearing her hair unbound, singing popular music—in many ways she wasn’t what Daniel had expected. But was she what she claimed? How many inconsistencies could he ignore?

  Light lingered on the faraway horizon. The day had lasted forever, but with the evening came a sense of normalcy. Daniel was stuck in his office, answering correspondence, until after dinner. By the time he’d finished, the sewing machine had stilled, and the girls had gone to bed. He set aside his pen and slid his papers into his Gladstone case. Was Louisa still awake? Would she grant him some time?

  He rubbed the weariness from his face. He had a decision to make. Either he was in love with the kind, resilient woman living under his roof, or he didn’t really know her and needed to reserve his regard until some questions were answered. He was impatient to have it settled. Just when he was determined to declare himself, some new startling behavior would have him questioning her again.

  He went to the chessboard to place the pieces in anticipation of her visit. He even arranged her chair, pushing it a little to his side, though he suspected she’d move it back where it was directly behind her army.

  Daniel had at various assignments been able to play chess against some challenging opponents, but as his skill grew along with his rank, he found true competition harder to come by. Even if a man in the barracks could best him, most would rather not, and that left him untested and every victory hollow.

  But not anymore. In Louisa he had found someone who didn’t care a dime about his feelings when it came to the game. She beat him joyfully. And the one time he’d bested her, her frustration showed that she’d fought her best against him. Satisfying—that was what it was.

  When he’d finished arranging the table, he paused. What was he doing? She was under his protection, and under suspicion.

  But he’d rather not worry about some vague uneasiness. He had enough real danger lurking out in the canyons and flatlands of the reservation. This would be the most pleasant reconnaissance he’d ever undertaken.

  Louisa came to the door. No longer did she wear the old dress that disguised her beauty. Her red skirt warmed the lamplight and reflected it in rosy tones on her glowing face. Perhaps that was why she avoided the missionaries. Perhaps she was straying from their standards, but his standards were pleased.

  “Finished already?” he asked.

  “I thought I could cut some more pieces tonight—running the machine would be too loud once the girls are in bed—but I don’t have the right measurements. It’ll have to wait until they can help me.”

  His mouth went dry as thoughts of the chessboard faded. “Can I help?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I might not be able to stitch a buttonhole, but I know how to measure.” Then he saw the measuring tape and pad of paper in her hands. He smiled as he reached for them. “If you’re half as excited as the girls about getting a new dress, I want to do everything I can to help.”

  She relinquished the measuring tape, her hand resting in his for a heartbeat. “There’s nothing to it. I took my own measurements on my waist. I just need some help with my shoulders and back. It’ll be simple.”

  He ran the measuring tape through his fingers as she turned her back to him and dropped her pad of paper on his desk.

  “What do I do?” Standing behind her, he was free to appreciate the soft flowing fabric of the shawl pinned around her shoulders, their outline undisguised by their draped covering. He was glad both hands had to hold the tape. Otherwise, he’d have been tempted to span her waist and pull her against him.

  Who was he fooling? He was tempted just the same.

  “Take a measurement from one shoulder to the other,” she said. “Right where the sleeve starts.”

  He put the tape against her back, then stopped. “The shawl . . .”

  She tucked her chin as she fumbled with the brooch. Wordlessly she removed the shawl and folded it in her hands. It’d been so long since he had seen anything so beautiful.

  He pressed the end of the tape to her shoulder, just low enough to avoid touching the bare skin exposed by the wide neckli
ne, and stretched it to the other side. At the pressure, she braced herself and leaned back against him.

  “Fourteen inches,” he said. Why had he agreed to do this? It was pure torture. And yet he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  She jotted down the number, then straightened again. “Only one more. It goes from the nape of my neck to the waist of my skirt.”

  Oh, heavens. He’d earned medals for easier assignments.

  “This collar is lower than . . . other blouses. Where should I start measuring?”

  She reached behind her and touched the spot where a red ribbon gathered the mass of curls that she kept draped over her shoulder.

  “Your hair,” he said. “I don’t want to pull it.”

  She turned, her profile outlined by the lamp. “It’s alright, Daniel. I trust you.”

  That made one of them.

  Taking the measuring tape in one hand, he brushed away her curls with the other. He caught the scent of rose water as he pressed the end of the tape to the soft skin on her neck. Then, running his finger down the length of the tape, he passed the bump of her collar, down and down over every vertebrae between her shoulder blades. He encountered the firm edge of her corset, then traced the curve of her spine until he’d reached the band that marked the end of his journey.

  Somehow, he couldn’t bring the number on the tape into focus. It was too much. “Louisa?”

  She turned her head to look at him, her jaw resting against her white shoulder. Her curls danced across his knuckles as he moved his hand away, dropping the measuring tape in the process.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Louisa, there’s something I want to say.”

  She clasped her hands before her, as if startled, and that was the last thing he wanted. Taking her gently by the arms, he turned her to face him and gave her an encouraging smile. The words he’d written in his letter were perched on the tip of his tongue.