by Sharon Ihle
At this, the entire council broke into boisterous laughter.
When ordered was restored, Jacob jackknifed to his feet and motioned for the rest to remain seated. "I must leave and return to the fort now before the soldiers discover my trick and accuse me of taking what they call a French leave."
All nodded farewell and murmured good luck prayers, but none except the chief rose to join Jacob at the entry flap. Gall drew his ceremonial buffalo robe around his shoulders and stepped into the chill night air. "Then all goes well with you, my son? There is nothing more you wish to discuss?"
Walking beside him, his head bowed, Jacob said, "Perhaps next time I will have more news. Their chief, Custer, is due to return to the fort in less than one moon. I will know more about their plans then."
"And nothing else troubles you?"
Again he lied. "Nothing."
Too perceptive to ignore his instincts, Gall persisted as they approached the tethered horses. "What of the Long Knives' women, my son? Do they offer relief, or are the rumors we hear true? Do white women favor their men only for the purpose of breeding?"
Squatting, Jacob removed the buckskin thongs from Sampi's hooves. Then he rose and shrugged. "I do not know. The soldiers have not spoken to me about this part of their lives. What I have learned is that some of them go to a small building across the river and trade their coins to women in return for relief. This is where I will say I have been should I be discovered upon my return."
"Perhaps you should stop and take your relief here. Spotted Feather longs for you."
"No." Jacob shook his head, curiously uninterested in that which he thought might cool his desire for the crazy one. "I have no time for such things." Then he pulled himself onto the stallion's back and stated his candid opinion of the soldiers: "You should be happy to know that the Long Knives I have met, officers and common warriors alike, do not seem to be burdened with a great many brains."
With a nod of approval, Gall said, "Let us hope they all prove to be so simpleminded."
Jacob's thoughts immediately went to the Long Hair. Custer was anything but simpleminded. He possessed an intelligence and drive even Chief Gall would admire. But that information did not require discussion, at least not on this night. The Lakota had faced Custer and his men before. His cunning and abilities were well known to them. Also known and understood was the fact that one man, no matter how clever, could not bring down an entire nation determined to survive.
Jacob glanced at his father and waved. "Until the new moon."
"May the spirits guide and protect you." Gall pressed his palm against Jacob's thigh and squeezed. "Soon I am sure a rider will bring news of Crazy Horse and where he has fled. When you seek us next, we will both have much information. Ride to the tree-that-lives-in-death. Call the signal there and you will be directed to our camp." Then he backed away, adding an unnecessary warning to the son he'd trained himself. "Take care that none of the soldiers follow you."
"Hah." Laughing at the improbability of that happening, Jacob felt confident and at peace for the first time since he'd left the fort.
"Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts, Father." He wheeled Sampi toward the southeast, assuring the chief as he rode off, "When nature's call must be answered, those nincompups are lucky if they can find their own man parts."
Chapter 6
"I want the answer to question seventy-one. Ought I oppose the projects of my husband?" Libbie Custer squeezed her eyes shut and twirled her index finger before pushing it forward and spearing a spot on the page. "What have I chosen?"
"A single black triangle." Dominique snatched her book, The Ladies' Oracle, off the coverlet and furiously flipped through the pages. When she found the corresponding answer to her aunt's question, she howled with laughter and fell over on the bed.
"Nikki, stop it. What does it say? I have to know." Libbie reached for the book, but Dominique clutched it to her bosom. Libbie sat back on her heels and waited for the hysterics to subside.
"Oh," Dominique said, her eyes filling with tears. "It says, yes, you may oppose your husband's projects—if you wish to ruin him, that is."
"Oh, pooh." Libbie stuck out her tongue. "That book is filled with nothing but nonsense. I can't believe you were issued such a thing in a proper girls' school."
Dominique's expression sobered and she sat up. "I never said it was school issue. I merely mentioned that I got it at Miss Annie Porter's School for Girls."
"Nikki." Scandalized but nonetheless intrigued, Libbie scooted closer. Whispering, even though she and her niece were alone in her bedroom, she asked, "Who gave it to you?"
"I bought it from one of the other inmates in boarding school. Her mother felt her education wasn't complete without this book and a couple of others whose titles I can't mention."
"Oh, Nikki. What would your father say if he knew we were having this conversation?"
"Mon Dieu! J'ai eleve une trainee!"
Libbie's brows collided. "What did you say? I can't speak French."
"I know." She laughed, but at the older woman's stern expression, she made the translation. "All right, he'd probably say, my God, I've raised a harlot."
"Oh, my Lord." Libbie fell back on her pillow and fanned her brow with her hand. "No wonder your father sent you out west to finish you." She took a deep breath and went on, "I've spent the last ten of my twelve years of marriage lamenting the fact that the good Lord has denied Autie and me the joy of parenthood. Now and not for the first time, I feel I can see the wisdom in his judgment."
Dominique rolled over on her tummy and propped herself up with her elbows. "Aunt Libbie," she began, her tone serious. "Please don't think me rude or indelicate, but I have no mother to teach me these things, and asking father is simply out of the question."
Libbie turned her head and looked into Dominique's wide sable eyes. "I know, dear, and I've a confession to make. I'm not quite the laced-up old biddie you might think I am. But I'm also not given to talking about my personal life. These things are deeply private matters as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh," Dominique said in a tiny disappointed whisper.
Feeling empathy for her niece, remembering how bereft she felt when her own mother was snatched away while she was but a young girl, Libbie sighed. "All right. I will answer any questions I can, dear, but do not press me if I feel they are too personal."
"Oh, thank you, Aunt Libbie." Dominique's mind raced, but it was suddenly a blank. The best she could do was "Why can't you and Uncle Armstrong have children?"
"That's easy enough. I have no idea. It just never happened. Not, of course, that we haven't"—Libbie softened her voice and lowered her lashes before she said the final word—"tried."
"Tell me about that," Dominique said, her mind suddenly full of questions. "Tell me all about it."
"Not for all the silk in Paris. That subject is definitely too personal. In fact, I am growing weary of this entire conversation. Where's that cute book of yours? This time you ask it a question."
Dominique collapsed her arms and allowed her head to drop to the pillow. It was no use pressing her aunt any further. The subject had been closed just when her heart was beginning to open. She wanted so to ask Libbie about the incident in the stable with Jacob, tell her how close she'd come to kissing him right out there in the open with no thought to her morals. What did it mean? Was she a harlot? Or worse?
Dominique pressed her lips together. She didn't even know if there was anything worse than a harlot—and if there was, what shameful name a woman like that might be called. How would a sporting woman have reacted to the near kiss with Jacob? Would it have affected a more experienced woman as strongly as it had affected her? She remembered her very first open-mouthed kiss—with the gardener's son—as if it were yesterday, even though it had happened several months ago. He had kissed her, all right, and quite thoroughly as far as she could tell. Why did merely the thought of kissing Jacob excite her ten times more than the experience back ho
me? And why, she wondered, frustrated, wouldn't Libbie talk to her about these things?
"Nikki? Have you fallen asleep?"
Lifting her head from the pillow, she propped it up with her hand. "No, I'm sorry. I was daydreaming."
"Get your little book," Libbie urged, sensing that Dominique was upset about something. "I'm dying to hear what it has to say about your future love life."
With less enthusiasm than she usually had for the oracle, Dominique lifted it off the coverlet and studied the list of one hundred questions. When she got to number thirty-three, her spirits lifted considerably. "Here's the one I want an answer to. Shall I cease to be a virgin before I marry?"
"Dominique Custer DuBois."
"But, Aunt Libbie, it is a question—see?"
Libbie looked at the page. "So it is, but it is not a proper question."
"Oh, please? What harm can there be? Just let me choose my sign from the table and you read the answer. If you think it is much too vulgar for my delicate ears, simply keep it to yourself."
"Oh, all right." Libbie spread the book open to the sign table and waited for Dominique to close her eyes and make her selection. When her finger finally landed on three black circles, Libbie quickly consulted the numbers chart to find the answer. She read it once, screwed up her features, then read it again.
"Well?" Dominique demanded, her good friend, impatience, ruling her tongue.
"Hold your horses, miss." Libbie narrowed her eyes and read the small print. "It seems innocent enough. It says, 'No, as you will be married sooner than you expect.' Is there someone you haven't told your uncle and me about?"
Perplexed by the answer, Dominique ignored Libbie's question and reached for the book. "Are you sure you have the right page? Did you look under three black circles or two?"
Backtracking over the instructions and her choice of sign didn't change a thing. The answer remained the same.
Dominique would retain her virginity until her wedding day. "I'm doomed," she groaned, "destined to live a life of boredom."
"Oh, Nikki," Libbie encouraged. "It's not that bad. It only says you'll be getting married, as any young lady should. You will be chaste and pure on that special day. What's so terrible about that?"
Dominique shrugged. "It doesn't sound very exciting, especially when you consider I don't even have a beau." She immediately thought of Jacob, of his smoldering gaze. Here, she supposed, was a man who could burn the innocence from her body with only a dark, roguish glance, answer all of her questions with his fiery touch. Here was the kind of man who could teach her to be a woman. Dominique shivered at the thought.
Unmindful of her niece's indecent musings, Libbie offered a suggestion. "Now, don't think I'm rushing you into anything—marriage or any kind of courtship—but you must be blind. Haven't you noticed the streams of husband material lining up for a chance to court you?"
"Husband material?" Dominique wrinkled her nose. Is that what she really wanted—a husband? She glanced at Libbie and sighed. Her aunt was a woman who'd groomed herself to be the perfect complement to her man. What skills did she, Dominique, have to offer a man—an artistic flare, the ability to turn a blank canvas into a thing of beauty? Of what possible use could that feeble talent be? Again she sighed. "I'm not interested in finding a husband, Aunt Libbie. I don't think I'll ever get married."
"Why that's ridiculous. Of course you'll get married. And soon, I'll bet. Just last night in the parlor I noticed Captain Ruffing swooning, even if you didn't. The man is positively smitten, Nikki. Why don't you give him a chance?"
She thought of the long-haired officer and rolled her eyes. "I noticed him, but I don't like men who fawn all over me like that. I swear, he reminded me of Uncle Armstrong's staghound, Cardigan, drooling all over me the way he did."
"I doubt he was that bad, but even if he was, you can't blame a man for admiring you."
"I can so. That's not what I want from a beau. I like... I mean, what I really want is ..." Jacob. "Oh, bloody hell, I don't know what I want."
"Nikki. I simply will not permit that kind of language in this house."
"Oh, Aunt Libbie, I am sorry. I meant no disrespect." Knowing she must sound ungrateful and ill-mannered, Dominique sighed. "I don't know what comes over me. Sometimes it's as if my mouth runs all by itself—and such language. I realize this is no excuse, but I think I must have picked it up from Grandpa Custer."
Libbie's sparrow-like features softened, became girlish and nonjudgmental again. "Don't be too hard on yourself, dear. Grandpa Custer does have a penchant for foul language, and he's not particular about who's in the vicinity when he spouts off."
"Just the same." Dominique hung her head and took an exaggerated breath. "I don't deserve to live in a fine home like this. You would be completely within your rights to pack me up and ship me off to the ends of the earth. California, even."
"Now, darling." Libbie scooted closer to her niece and slipped her arm around her slumped shoulders. "That's enough. You'll make yourself melancholy with these thoughts. We were having such a good time. All is forgiven. Let's talk about other things. Perhaps there is something special you'd like to do tonight."
The devil, who found a very comfortable home there, sprang back into Dominique's eyes. "Well," she hedged, knowing exactly what she wanted out of her aunt—and from the evening, "I did enjoy yesterday's card party tremendously. Maybe we could have a few people in again tonight. And I adore listening to you play the piano."
"Then it's done." Her smile bright, Libbie hopped off the bed. "We'd better send out a few notes of invitation right away. Remember, this night is for you and your enjoyment. Is there anyone special you'd like to ask?"
Dominique made a great show of considering the guest list. With an air of nonchalance, she finally said, "I can't think of a soul. You choose the guests. You're so good at filling a room full of compatible people. I can't imagine how I can add to the list, unless of course, you think it would be proper to ask Jacob Stoltz."
"Stoltz?" Libbie pressed a finger against her temple. "I'm sorry, Nikki. I don't seem to remember him."
"He's the soldier who is giving me riding lessons. I'd like to thank him for his patience by having him join us this evening. Is that all right with you?"
"Oh, him." Libbie bit her lip. "I think it's commendable you want to thank the young man, dear, but have you forgotten that he's only a private?"
"I realize that, but I do feel sorry for him. He's quite backward, you know." Dominique laughed, hoping to lighten her aunt's mood. "Why the poor soul has never even seen a sidesaddle. He actually thought I should learn to ride Peaches astride. Have you ever?"
The women shared a laugh and Libbie shook her head. "I understand he's from parts west. Lord knows what they expect of their ladies, if there are any requirements at all, that is."
"Exactly my point." Dominique pushed off the bed and bounced over to her aunt. "Think what a kindness it will be for us to open your grand home to a young man who can never have hoped to see anything like it. Why, you'll go down in history as a kind and generous bearer of the great Custer name."
"Nikki, please." Libbie blushed, but her mind was busy mulling over the idea, loving the thought. At last, she raised her brows and her tone. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Autie is always after me to make sure I don't offend the common folk or allow myself to get carried away with the other officers' wives in our evaluations of those less fortunate. Yes," she said with a resolute nod. "I think Autie would be pleased if I were to entertain this unfortunate soldier in his absence. Would you like to write his note yourself?"
Her heart soaring, Dominique swallowed hard and took a breath. "Since we're having guests this evening, I really should be seeing to my toilet, but I suppose I could take the time to make the private feel truly welcome. All right." Fighting the urge to skip, she forced an easy stroll on her way to the writing table. "When the note is finished, I'll have one of the servants take it to him."
"That's a very k
ind gesture, Nikki. Your uncle will be very proud of you. I'll leave you now. I suddenly have a lot to do."
Dominique blew her aunt a kiss and waited until she'd passed through the doorway before she allowed herself to celebrate. She raised her arms above her head and sang a silent song, wriggled to the imaginative tune, and tapped her toes against the hardwood floor before she set about her task. When her heartbeat returned to normal, Dominique took a piece of pale pink parchment and dabbed the corners with lilac toilet water. Then she put her quill to the paper and, using her best script, jotted the invitation in a few short sentences.
* * *
As he brushed Dandy's sleek coat, Jacob hummed one of the new tunes he'd learned since joining the cavalry. Tonight he would ride the line, take his first turn at sentry duty. If he proved to be reliable, useful even, he could look forward to this post as a regular part of his responsibilities. And gaining the job as sentry for the Seventh Cavalry could be a critical maneuver for the Lakota's plans.
Smiling to himself, Jacob hummed louder, cutting off the outside world.
"You Private Stoltz?"
The voice startled him. Dropping into a crouch as he whirled around, he assumed a position of combat. When he spotted the "enemy," Jacob let the brush fall from his hand, then resumed an upright stance.
"Take it easy, fella," the servant cried out as she took several backward steps. "I brung you this here note from the Custer house. I don't want no trouble." She sailed the salmon-colored envelope toward the private, then turned and ran from the barn.
"Forgive me," Jacob called after the dark-skinned woman, "I did not hear your approach." He cut off further apologies when he realized he was the only one listening to them. Glancing down at his feet, he regarded the note, then bent over and took the thick paper between his fingers. As he lifted it to his line of vision, the scent of springtime and prairie flowers reached his nostrils. Dominique.