During those three days together on the trail Kindle and I were civil but distant. The two companies were small enough that any partiality between us would be noticed. There is nothing more observant than a bored soldier on patrol. We used my gun as an excuse to be alone. Each night Kindle worked with me on shooting and caring for my gun. As ruses to be alone went, it was rather inspired, I thought. Kindle could justify standing behind me, touching me, bending his head to speak in my ear. We worked until darkness made seeing impossible, cherishing these fleeting moments more with the knowledge we were going to be separated for weeks.
I pulled the hammer back and fired. The bottle I aimed at shattered.
“Nice shot,” Kindle said. He picked up more empty bottles and walked to the tree stump. “Reload.”
I opened the cylinder and removed five bullets from my holster. When he returned he said, “Remember, only keep four bullets in your gun. Carry it on an empty chamber.”
“Yes, but this is target practice and I plan on teaching those five bottles a lesson they won’t soon forget.”
Kindle stood behind me, pulled me back against him. The memory of our night together made me lose a bit of my bravado and playfulness.
He lifted my arm holding the gun. “Aim and fire.”
I did, shattering another bottle. “You might be a better shot than I,” he said.
I looked up at him over my shoulder and smiled. “Stationary bottles have no chance. Let’s hope I never have to shoot a moving target.” I stared down the barrel of the gun again. I dropped my arm. I couldn’t get Harriet’s strange behavior out of my mind. “If Harriet knew who I was, why did she let me leave?”
“Harriet is not the shrew you think she is.”
“I don’t think she’s a shrew. But, she didn’t like me in the least when we met.”
“I think she admired you very much.”
I raised my arm and aimed. “Admired is a strong word. She at least didn’t think the worst of me in the end, I suppose,” I said, and another bottle exploded. I dropped my hand, but Kindle didn’t move from behind me. “I’ve been meaning to ask: Did you find the man from the hotel?”
“By the time I returned to town, he was gone. It isn’t the first time I’ve thought I’ve seen my brother. It takes a certain personality to survive in the West, a degree of insanity that makes many men resemble my brother at his worst. He’s dead. I buried him in Maryland seven years ago.”
“You see your brother everywhere you go, just as I see bounty hunters around every corner. We are safe now and can stop looking over our shoulders.”
We arrived at the swollen Red River the afternoon of the third day, the first day of clear skies on our march. With no clouds on the horizon, Kindle decided to camp on the southern bank for the night to give the river time to recede before half of our group crossed the next day.
With speed and precision, Kindle’s regiment created camp from what appeared to be the shirts off their backs. Once the horses were watered, fed, unsaddled, and picketed the men turned to their own comfort, which didn’t amount to much on a short patrol such as this. The goal was to travel light and fast. The men slept out of doors and ate rations of hardtack and salt pork and drank their daily allotment of whisky. A few fires were made to ward off the chill of the late-spring evening.
Kindle, Beau, Strong, and I shared a fire. The officers, typically, socialized little with their men. Enlisted men were required to ask the NCOs for permission to speak to the officers. Some officers, like Strong, took this separation to an extreme, talking to their soldiers only when giving orders. Kindle, on the other hand, went around to his men nightly and spoke to them, usually of inconsequential things. His demeanor was not familiar, he still held himself apart, but it was obvious his men held him in high esteem for the efforts he made.
He and Beau had returned from their circuit of the camp when I accosted him about his health.
“Now that you have spoken with every man in your company you must take a moment to speak to me.”
“It will be a much more pleasant conversation, I’m sure.”
“Don’t count on it. I mean to give you strict instructions on your future rehabilitation.”
“In that case, I must sit down.”
“On the contrary.” I stood. “As part of your rehabilitation, you must walk.”
Kindle shot an exasperated look at Strong and Beau. “We’ll watch the fire,” Strong said.
I reviewed his treatment plan in a much louder voice than necessary. When we were out of earshot, I dropped the act. “I saw your expression.”
“Playing a part, my dear. As are you.”
We stood on the bank of the Red River, a normally wide and shallow river running deep and fast after the abundance of spring rains.
Kindle glanced back at the camp. Beau and Strong were sitting where we had left them, having an animated conversation about their baseball exploits at West Point, a common theme for the young men and one I had grown heartily tired of hearing.
“Are you sending Beau to Saint Louis?”
“Yes. After this patrol,” Kindle said. “He doesn’t need to be in the field. He is too much like his mother. Soft-hearted. Easily led by stronger personalities.”
“Such as Lieutenant Strong?”
“I don’t want to spend our time alone talking of junior officers.”
“What would you like to speak of?”
“How sorely my willpower has been tested the last days.”
“In what way?”
“You know very well. There are times when I wonder if our night together was a dream. Your expression never betrays our secret.”
“Doesn’t it? I fear my happiness shines from every pore of my body.”
“Are you truly happy?”
“As long as I don’t think of our separation, yes. I don’t want you to go tomorrow.”
“Nor do I.”
“How long do you think I will be camped here with Strong’s company?”
He studied the river. “It is hard to tell. A day. Maybe two.”
“Send Strong’s company in your stead. Escort me to Sill.”
“I cannot disobey orders, Catherine. As much as I would like to.”
“I have this horrible suspicion I’ll never see you again. You see? I would make a horrible officer’s wife.”
“Yes, you would.”
“I should have stayed in Jacksboro and left for Saint Louis with you.”
“Catherine,” he said. “We agreed this is the best way. You can disappear and never have to worry about that Langton woman finding you. She will be looking for Catherine Bennett or Laura Elliston, if you’re unlucky. Catherine Kindle will only mean nothing to her if everyone who knows us thinks we mean nothing to each other.”
I sighed. He was right. “I hate feeling this way.”
“I feel the same.”
I was not referring to the prospect of being separated from him, though the thought of it nauseated me. I hated feeling so weak, as if I would never be happy again unless he was near me.
“I have something for you.” He reached into his coat and removed a book. I knew what it was before he placed it in my hands. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.
“I read the end,” he said.
“What did you think?”
“She got her happy ending. Like we will.”
I thought of the long miserable separation the two fictional characters endured before being granted their happiness. “Come to me tonight,” I said, my voice husky with emotion.
He did not hesitate. “Yes.”
* * *
I woke to find a man in my tent, undressing.
I propped onto my elbow. “You’ll have to hurry,” I whispered. “I’m expecting my fiancé any minute.”
Kindle hung his holster on the center pole, draped his coat over it, and hung his hat on top. Using his cane, he sat on the ground awkwardly and with a grunt. He lay down and exhaled. “He’s in for a shock, then. I’m n
ot sure I can get up.”
I placed my hand on his chest, over his heart. “Are you in much pain?”
“It’s always worse when I ride.” He took my hand and kissed it. “I will be fine.”
“Do you want some laudanum?”
“Can’t command men high on opium, though some have tried.”
“Who?”
He looked at me in the darkness. “I’m not risking my life to talk about the Army. Did you say your fiancé is a strapping man with a jealous streak?”
“No, but he hides a knife in his boot.”
Kindle turned on his side. “Enough talking.”
“Whatever else is there to do?”
Kindle’s hand resting on my hip pulled my skirt up, bit by bit. I worked on the buttons on his waistcoat. “I’ve never considered it before, but there is almost as much clothing to get through on a man as a woman,” I whispered, working at the buttons of his breeches.
“I’m glad you’ve never had the occasion to consider it.”
“How do you not melt in all this heat?” The cool weather, which the rain gifted us, had changed to a suffocating humidity.
“This is balmy compared to July and August.” Kindle stopped and looked down at his hand resting on my bare hip. “You seem to be missing your bloomers, Dr. Elliston.”
I shrugged. “I thought I would make it easier on you. I see you didn’t have the same consideration.”
“I took off my holster.”
“How very kind.”
Kindle inhaled sharply. “Heavens.”
“Are you going to say that every time we are intimate?”
“If it’s warranted.” He stilled my hand. “I cannot get undressed,” Kindle said. “In case of attack.”
I covered Kindle’s mouth with my own to quiet him. “Do not talk of attacks,” I whispered.
Kindle’s hand brushed lightly up and down my bare leg. “Then let’s talk of our life together.”
“Running from the Pinkertons?” I traced a finger down his scar to the cleft in his chin.
“Being Mrs. William Kindle.”
“You mean Doctor Mrs. Catherine Kindle?”
“That would mean I am the doctor and you are my wife.”
Goose bumps popped up on my legs and I flinched. “That tickles. I cannot think when you do that.”
“Hmm.” Kindle kissed me and pulled my leg over his. “I like you when you cannot think.”
“I thought you liked my mind.”
One side of Kindle’s mouth curved into a smile. “The more I get to know you, the further down the list it goes.” His hand really did have a mind of its own.
“You are incorrigible.”
“Yes, we’ve established that,” he said. I gasped and clutched his shoulders. “Many times.”
“Have we? I don’t remember.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll continue to remind you.”
“Heavens.” My breaths came in small gasps. “If this is how you intend to, I will pretend to forget more often.” We were silent for a while, our tent a dark cocoon of small gasps and murmured endearments until Kindle covered my mouth with his.
After, I lay next to him, my head on his chest, and listened to his heartbeat. He held me firmly against him, sliding his hand up and down my arm periodically. I played with a button on his shirt, as the passion he awakened in me dissipated, leaving my body bathed with a warm glow of contentment. “I never imagined it would be like this,” I said in a low voice.
“We will have a feather bed in Saint Louis.” Kindle’s voice was slightly slurred, on the brink of sleep. “And, a lock on the door, so I can explore every inch of you without interruption.”
“Heavens.”
Kindle chuckled. “Yes. It will be exactly that.” He kissed the top of my head and pulled me closer, as if trying to absorb me into his very being. “Ten minutes, and I must return to my tent.”
“Rest. I’ll wake you.”
“I won’t fall asleep.” His words were more muddled than before.
“Of course you won’t.”
His breathing evened out, and within a minute, he snored softly. I propped my head on my arm and watched him sleep, memorizing every line on his face. An hour later, I woke him with a kiss.
* * *
When Kindle’s company left the next morning, we parted as a doctor and patient should, though I hardly knew what I said. My mind was filled with images from the night before and dreams of the future. My heart overflowed with love and threatened to burst with despair.
To keep my ever-changing emotions from showing I tried to talk with Wallace Strong like never before. He was surprised since I had done little to engage him in the entirety of our acquaintance, but eventually my persistence banished suspicions he may have harbored about my sudden interest in his favorite sport, baseball. When it appeared he exhausted even his interest in this subject, I asked of Alice.
“Alice? She’s fine, I’m sure. She’s a meek little thing but she is an excellent soldier’s wife. Never complains. There is no weeping and hand-wringing when I leave on patrol. I couldn’t stand a woman to do that.”
“I don’t find Alice meek in the least,” I said. “Don’t mistake a naturally quiet demeanor for weakness. What you have described, her stoicism when you leave, shows great strength. I assure you, she’s worried about your safety. She knows to show it would only anger you.”
“Has she told you this?”
“I have talked to her very little. It is only my impression of her personality through our interaction and her reputation with the soldiers.”
“Reputation?”
“She is well-respected by all of the soldiers, enlisted men and officers alike. She sat by Private Howerton’s bedside while you were away and was holding his hand when he died. Didn’t you know?”
“I did not.”
“Of course she would not tell you. I thought one of the other officers might have.”
Strong was discombobulated. “Someone might have mentioned something about it.”
“How did you meet your wife?” I asked.
“Through a family friend.”
I did not reply immediately, only nodded my head. I was not surprised when he did not continue. “Alice was one of the few people at Fort Richardson I was sorry to say good-bye to.”
“Maybe one day you will meet again.”
“Maybe. Though I doubt it. I wish you two a long and happy marriage, blessed with many children.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Where will you go from Fort Sill?”
I didn’t have the opportunity to answer. A warning cry from the soldier on sentry duty rang through the camp. Every soldier reached for his gun, which was always close by, and stood. I grasped my gun as Strong pushed me behind him.
* * *
The Indians ran their horses straight for the camp. Their bloodcurdling war cries mixed with the thundering of their horses’ hooves and the crack of rifle fire.
“No. No, no, no.”
It was happening again. This time I knew I would not survive.
“NO!”
Tears streamed down my face. Strong pushed me backward. Fear and anger clear on his face, he moved forward to fight with his men. “Under the wagon. Quick!”
I turned and ran.
Two Indians went after the horses, driving them away amid the soldiers’ gunfire. A second wave of Indians ran through the middle of the camp and out the other side. Strong yelled orders but I couldn’t understand what he said. All I could see was the wagon; all I could think was to crawl under it. For a few seconds, my entire world consisted of the space between the wagon and me. I stumbled on the hem of my skirt but caught myself with my hand before falling completely. I ran on, hearing only the sound of my breath and the beating of my heart, until a gunshot turned sound back on. I turned to see an Indian riding directly for me.
I pulled my gun from its holster, across my body, and fired in one smooth, quick movement. The horse didn’t slow, but
the Indian screamed and grasped his shin. Before I could pull back the hammer and fire again, he scooped me from the ground and laid me facedown across his lap. The horse never slowed down and we never looked back.
* * *
We rode through the night without stopping. I rode in the middle of the group, my hands tied and my feet bound under the horse’s belly. Being bound, without a saddle on a rough horse, made it impossible to focus on anything but staying upright and the pain between my legs.
Eventually I grew accustomed to the pain and thoughts of what would soon to happen to me took over. I fought back a sob. Rape and torture. Two horrible, unutterable words that in my other life elicited feelings of humiliation, despair, horror, and pain but conjured no images. Now I saw entrails spilling from the stomach of a half-dead mother and a baby’s crushed skull. I heard the screams of a man being burned alive. Maureen’s cries silenced with the blow of a tomahawk. I retched down the neck of my horse and received a crushing blow to the side of my head in response.
How I managed to stay on my horse I don’t know. If I did fall I would have remained on the horse, my feet tied across its back while my head was trampled beneath. I witnessed enough pedestrians run over by carriages in the city to know it would be certain death, though not certainly quick. My throbbing head jerked forward and backward with the uneven gait of my horse. I struggled to swallow the bile rising in my throat. Another blow to the head would kill me.
Was dying by my own hand a better alternative? I had no doubt the Indians would kill me after raping me. Was I willing to pay the price of eternal damnation to avoid the purgatory on Earth I was riding toward? Surely a fair God would forgive me for such an act.
I thought of Kindle. He would come for me, I was sure, but it would be too late. I didn’t think I could face him after. Death would be preferable to seeing the disgust on his face or, even worse, pity.
The idea grew and a plan formed. It would be a simple task—kick my nag into a run and throw myself to the side. I would likely be unconscious within seconds, dead within minutes. The Indians would cut me from the horse, scalp me, and leave my body for the vultures and animals. There would be no Christian burial, no mourning friends.
Sawbones Page 29