The Bride Wore Feathers

by Sharon Ihle

Dominique glanced over at the barracks. Friday afternoons left the fort looking deserted, as the common soldiers cleaned the facilities in preparation for their weekly Sunday inspections. Not a soldier stirred outside the barracks—with the exception of Private Stoltz and Lieutenant Woodhouse. This privileged duo, she noticed with delight, sauntered along the path of Officers' Row on their way to the grand centerpiece, the Custer house.

  Ducking out of sight, Dominique gave her cheeks a final pinch before bolting from her room and down the stairs. Once in the hallway, she lifted her chin and modified her manners. Strolling quietly into the parlor, she found a member of her family over by the sideboard.

  "Good afternoon, Uncle Tom. I didn't know you were coming by."

  Thomas Custer jumped a foot, spilling the ill-gotten brandy down the front of his dress shirt. "Oh, ah, Nikki. I didn't hear you come in."

  Unaware of his distress, she approached him. "Sorry if I startled you. Is Uncle Bos coming, too?"

  "I don't know, sweetheart." Working with his back to her, Tom managed to hide the small glass behind Libbie's collection of fine silver before he faced her. "You know Bos," he said with a forced laugh. "He's a civilian and thinks he can march to his own drummer. I don't know where he is today."

  "Tom, Dominique," Libbie greeted as she hurried into the room. Dressed in a plain brown wrapper the color of her chestnut hair, she looked unusually drab and stern. "Did I hear you mention Boston? Is something wrong?"

  "No, dear." Tom reached for her hands. "I was just explaining to Nikki how hard he is to locate since he really doesn't have to answer to anyone."

  "He has to answer to the general, Tom."

  "Yes, of course, but more as a brother than as a soldier. After all, Libbie, a civilian guide is hardly bound by the rules of the United States Calvary."

  "Tom?" Libbie blurted out. Sniffing, she stepped closer. "My stars. You reek of brandy. Oh, Thomas, you promised the general, you promised us all you wouldn't take another drink."

  "Shussh, Libbie, please?" Tom inclined his head toward Dominique. "I hardly think this needs to be discussed in front of an audience. After all, it was just one little shot of brandy. You're carrying on as if I'd gone out and gotten all liquored up."

  Libbie glared up at him, biting her tongue, checking her temper. She'd promised Autie and Grandpa Custer she would keep a close watch on Tom and help to ensure his sobriety whenever temptation reached out to him. And so she had. Or at least, she thought she had. How many times had he broken his pledge behind her back? Had he been fooling her all along? The sound of voices filled the entryway, making it impossible for her to ask him any questions until some more private time.

  Libbie leaned toward him, whispering, "You and I are going to discuss this later, Tom, but discuss it we will. Now, if you please, I'd like you to help me greet our guests." Then she took his outstretched arm and walked to the archway as the first of the ladies stepped into the parlor.

  Dominique, forgotten and left standing by the sideboard, contented herself by staying in the corner. She had no more interest in her uncle's drinking problem than she had in the officers or their high-and-mighty wives. Her only concern this night was for Jacob and his opinion of her now that she'd allowed him to see the wild, undisciplined side of her nature. Would he think her common and cheap, try to take further liberties whether she encouraged them or not? Or would he ignore her altogether, think her less than worthy of him or of any decent man?

  Suddenly more nervous than excited, Dominique bit her bottom lip and began to worry the split at the side of her thumbnail. Then Barney strode into the room. Jacob was one step behind him. After shaking the hand of hostess and saluting his host, the private made straight for her.

  "Good afternoon, Miss DuBois," he said in a loud, clear voice. Then, making sure they weren't overheard, he added in a lower tone, "I hope you have had time to recover from your sickness caused by Professor Harrington's cure-all. Or did your aunt force you to drink another bottle of this famous medicine?"

  Dominique laughed as she said, "You heard her?" When he nodded, she went on, still chuckling. "I spent the better part of the night convincing her I had suddenly become well. She was determined to test the effects of that horrible stuff on me. Ugh."

  Jacob chuckled as she mimicked an exaggerated shudder, then said, "I do hope you are well at last."

  "I am." She looked up at him and smiled. His return gaze, the caress in his deep blue eyes, turned her insides to mush, her mind to soup. What was it she wanted to talk to him about?

  "Do you intend to continue your riding lessons, Miss DuBois? Peaches misses you."

  "Huh? Oh, yes, I do wish to go on with the lessons. Tomorrow, in fact." Dominique glanced around, looking for the most private seating, then took his hand. "Come and join me on Aunt Libbie's new sofa."

  She led him to the low-backed Elizabethan couch of flowered damask and eased onto the edge of the cushion. When Jacob sat down beside her, she quietly broached the subject she'd been avoiding for so long. "Before the music starts, I thought we might take a moment to talk. There is something I should have told you before now, but I couldn't find the words. I should have said something right off, but I wasn't sure until, well, I can't say that I'm sure now, but I have a feeling that what I'm thinking is... I mean, if it's true, and believe me, I'm not saying that it absolutely is a fact or anything—"

  "Please," he sliced in, rubbing his fingertips across his forehead, "tell me your news while I can still understand what you are saying."

  "Oh," she said with a laugh, "I'm sorry. I get carried away when I'm nervous or upset."

  "You want to talk to me about something that upsets you? Have I done something wrong?" His mind raced back to the burning kiss they'd shared, that treasured moment he knew he'd never forget, and panic gripped his heart. Had she confessed to her aunt? Was he—and therefore his mission—in jeopardy? Jacob prepared to leap from the sofa as Dominique slid her hand across the back of his.

  Her voice hesitant, she said, "I've been afraid to mention this because I thought it might upset you, Jacob."

  His confusion complete, he said, "Please, go on. Tell me what this terrible thing is."

  "It has to do with my experience in the Sioux village when I first arrived in the Lakota Territory, specifically my ordeal with a warrior called Redfoot." She looked into his eyes and watched them widen, then close as her words sank in.

  He'd known this might happen. After all, hadn't he planted the seeds for this story himself? Somehow he wasn't quite sure he was ready to deal with it, with her feelings about it. When Jacob opened his eyes again, their azure depths twinkled with animation as he said, "We never did have a chance to talk about our lives as captives. I am very interested in what you have to say about this dreadful savage, but I think it would be best for you to forget it and never speak of it again."

  "Oh, but I don't mind. I want to talk about it."

  "Wasn't it a terrible thing to be held prisoner by this savage?"

  "Terrible? Oh, no, he was very, er, awfully ..." The word she sought wouldn't come to her, at least not a word that could be considered ladylike and decent. Memories of her few hours with Redfoot conjured up many words, many feelings, all unsuitable for the unmarried niece of General Custer. She fought against a sudden blush, and tried to explain. "What I'm trying to tell you has nothing to do with me, Jacob. It has to do with you."

  "Me?" he exclaimed, knowing exactly what she was trying to tell him. But even though quills of guilt poked at his gut, he went on with the deception. "None of the Sioux spoke to me. I was captured, beaten, and tossed into a tipi with Barney. I know nothing of a warrior called Redfoot."

  "That's not what I was trying to say." She slid closer to him, choosing her words carefully. "Redfoot is someone I think you should meet. Oh, Jacob, I don't know how to say this other than straight out. I believe this Indian may be your brother."

  Surprising himself with a sudden urge to laugh, Jacob pressed his hand across hi
s lips and worked to twist his mouth into a grimace. His words muffled, spoken through his fingers, he said, "That is ridiculous. I suggest you forget about this Indian and never think of him again."

  "But I can't. Don't you understand? These Sioux may be the savages who took your mother years ago. They may have, she might have. Shoot. This man was too much like you not to be related, Jacob."

  "Enough." His anger real, just as sudden and unexpected as his amusement, Jacob bristled inside. How stupid he'd been to lead her down this path. He looked into her big brown eyes, so trusting, so innocent, so much like those of a newborn foal, and he wanted to scream. What a fool he'd been. Her heart was aching for him, burdened by this filthy lie, and filled with compassion for a man who deserved nothing but her scorn. He'd been wrong to think he could be her friend, insane to consider for a moment that she might someday be his, mistaken to believe he could live this lie and not feel the pangs of his own conscience. There was only one thing to do. He would leave this house and never see or speak to the crazy one again.

  Dominique shrank against the cushions as Jacob's features twisted with rage. Had she told him too much too soon? Should she have been a little more discreet, fed him the information in small doses instead of shoving it all down his throat in one big scoop? She reached for his hand, murmuring words of comfort. "I know I've given you a huge shock, Jacob. Why don't you think about what I've said for a few days, and then, if you want to ask me any questions, I'll be happy to answer them."

  "Dominique?" Libbie marched up to the couch, her expression pinched. "Aren't you and the private planning to join us at the piano? I don't think you should confine yourselves to this corner. It's not polite."

  "Oh, sure, Aunt Libbie. We'll be right there as soon as I finish telling the private about a story I heard."

  "We're starting the music now, Nikki. Please join us."

  The set of Libbie's chin, the lifted nose, said much more than her words. Dominique gave her a short nod, and rose. "We'd love to, wouldn't we, Jacob?"

  Plotting a hasty departure as he stood up, Jacob decided to wait until the general's wife was seated at the piano before he feigned a sudden headache.

  They'd only taken a few steps across the room when an ashen-faced Lieutenant Woodhouse clicked his heels together and saluted a figure behind them. "General Custer, sir. Good to see you again, sir."

  Libbie whirled around, her full skirts billowing out behind her, swinging to and fro like the eager tail of a devoted collie. "Autie. Oh, thank God."

  Catching his wife as she flew into his arms, Custer gave her a brief hug, then addressed his guests. "Greetings to you all. As you were. I'll just be cleaning up, and then I'll join you."

  "Autie?" Libbie looked into the general's bright blue eyes, noted the hard dark centers, and fought a tremor. "What's wrong? Why haven't I heard from you for the last three days? Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?"

  "Later, sunbeam." He kissed the tip of her nose and released her. "We have much to talk about later, but for now, I see we have guests to entertain."

  "Yes, but they can wait."

  "Chin up, bunky. Give us a smile and go play something special on the piano. I'll return in a moment. Tom? Join me upstairs."

  The order had been given, and there was nothing Libbie could do but force her leaden feet to march over to the piano and choose a song. As her fingers fumbled to find the correct chords, she urged her guests to gather around and sing along.

  Dominique and Jacob moved in at her right, but neither of them attempted to sing a note. Dominique was too wrapped up in worrying about the Custers' strained embrace, the general's obvious anxiety, and Jacob was too busy plotting his questions for the general should he be given an opportunity to ask them.

  Three badly played tunes later, the Custer brothers returned to the parlor. Libbie abandoned the piano and hurried to her husband's side. She stared at him for a long moment, wondering why he looked so different, thinking his uniform and slouch hat seemed too big for him. "You look so very tired, Autie. Why don't I send everyone home now so you can rest?"

  "An excellent idea, but first I must speak with a couple of my officers." His eagle-eyed gaze scanned the room, landed on Jacob, then returned to his wife. "Why, may I ask, do I find a private in my home, availing himself of my refreshments and indulging himself in conversation with my niece?"

  "Oh, well, Dominique thought it would be all right. She, ah, the private has been giving her riding lessons. She wanted to thank him, and I didn't see any reason why not."

  "Has the girl lost the ability to exercise her remarkably glib tongue? A simple thank you would have sufficed."

  "Yes, that would have been the better option. I don't know what I could have been thinking. I'll just go dismiss him."

  Custer held out his arm, pressing his fingers into the hollow of his wife's shoulder. "Don't trouble yourself. I'll see to the private myself. You gather the ladies' belongings. They'll be more than ready to go to their own quarters after I make my announcement."

  Then he straightened his jacket and marched over to where Dominique and Jacob stood. "Nikki, my dear, I'm surprised to see you're still here. I halfway expected you to have boarded a train and fled back to your papa in Monroe by now." He lifted her fingers to his mouth, gently kissing them, but never took his gaze off Jacob.

  "Au contraire, Uncle Armstrong. I'm really beginning to enjoy life at the post."

  "We'll talk later, dear." Custer turned his full attention on Jacob, completely dismissing his niece. "It's Stoltz, isn't it?"

  "Yes, sir." Jacob saluted. "Welcome home, sir."

  "Thanks, Private." Custer narrowed his gaze and studied the soldier intently. "Have you been doing much scouting in my absence? Found anything out of the ordinary?"

  "I have been on detail at least three or four nights each week, sir. I have found no further evidence of hostile... of—" Jacob struggled to remember the word the officers discussed at every meeting, and finally said, "Of hostile infitation."

  "Infiltration, Private?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, speaking of infiltration, I wonder if you realize what an honor you've been afforded here tonight?"

  Jacob cocked his head. "Sir?"

  "Privates, enlisted men, are not usually permitted at the social gatherings on Officers' Row, much less in my home. My niece has bestowed a great honor on you, but I think now would be a good time for you to say good night. We don't want the rest of the men to get jealous, now, do we?"

  "No, sir."

  "Good. Allow me to escort you to the door."

  "I'll join you," Dominique said, elbowing her way back into the conversation. "I invited Private Stoltz. The least I can do is bid him good evening."

  "Very well, Nikki." Custer made a sweeping gesture with his arm, then led the pair down the hallway. As he walked, he continued questioning. "Are you finding military life at the post to your liking, Private? Are you enjoying yourself as much as my niece seems to be?"

  "Why, yes, sir, I believe I am. As you know, I am very fond of horses and working with them, and I also like scouting duty very much. It is a good life, sir."

  They'd reached the entry. Custer gripped the doorknob, but before he turned it, he said, "What about recreation, Private? What have you been doing in your spare time?"

  Jacob hesitated, not certain what the general wanted from him, then said, "I have traveled some. Two days past, I rode into Bismarck with a few of the other nincompups. We had a very good time."

  Custer's hand slid off the doorknob, and the corners of his mustache drooped on down past his jawline. "Nincompups, Private? What the devil are you talking about?"

  Jacob's eyes darted between Dominique and the general. "Ah, I went to town with—"

  "He went to Bismarck with me and a few of the other soldiers, Uncle Armstrong," Dominique explained with a sheepish grin. "I had some yard goods to pick out, and they decided to fill the supply wagon, since we needed an escort anyway."
r />   "Yes, standard operating procedure," Custer said as he turned back to the private. "Now let's talk about the name you called the men. "Nin—"

  "Uncle Armstrong, you really should let the private get back to the barracks. Look down the hallway. I think your officers are ready to leave."

  Glancing toward the parlor, Custer frowned. "Thanks, Nikki. I have a very big announcement to make. Ah, good evening, Private." He opened the door, calling after the soldier as he stepped across the threshold, "I'll give you a little advance notice, Private. Reveille will be at five instead of six in the morning. I suggest an early lights-out tonight."

  "Thank you, sir, and good night." Jacob snapped off a salute and disappeared down the long white stairway.

  Turning to his niece, Custer took her by the elbow. "Come along, girl. You might as well hear what I have to say."

  He strode back into the parlor, his chest puffed, his jaw tense. After sending Dominique to her aunt's side, he called for quiet. "Gentlemen, we have our orders, and this time they are firm. We leave for our summer campaign in two weeks. Our preparations must begin immediately."

  The men voiced a lusty cheer, but the women were noticeably silent and cast furtive glances at one another. When the celebration died down, an officer spoke up. "Does the campaign have a clear goal, then, General, sir?"

  "We will have the usual purpose, Major, but this time, we will not tolerate anything less than full containment of the hostiles. The entire objective of this mission is to ferret out, then completely subdue those heathen Sioux once and for all. Either they will accept our terms, agree to inhabit the land we set aside for their reservations, or they will be"—he glanced around the room, noting the wide-eyed women, and amended his speech—"exterminated."

  Another rousing cheer erupted, but this time Custer discouraged the response. "Gentlemen, please. We have much to accomplish in little time. Our men are to join General Terry's troops, the Montana Column, as quickly as possible. We will be known as the Dakota Column."

  "And everyone knows," Tom Custer cut in, "the Dakota Column alone can wipe out the entire Sioux nation."