by Debra Samms
Molly walked into the kitchen – and stopped at the doorway. "What is it?" she asked, her concern suddenly rising.
Both Abigail and Lydia stood beside the table. It was already set up with flour and sugar and butter and eggs and a pitcher of milk – they had all agreed to make cakes this morning – but her two friends simply stood staring at her, with white faces and large eyes.
"Abby! Lydia! What – "
"Are they gone?" whispered Abigail. "Our husbands are with them today."
"Yes," said Molly. "They just rode away. Captain Strong is leading the patrol this morning, but that's all it is – just another patrol. Now, tell me immediately: Why are you so frightened?"
"Molly," said Lydia, "we are living with our husbands among the enlisted men. And those men talk."
"Constantly," said Abigail.
"Yes. They talk about what is really going on out there."
Molly began to feel cold, even in the warmth of the kitchen. "Going on – where?"
The other two women looked at each other. "With the Indians," said Lydia.
"They keep saying it's getting worse," said Abigail. "They say the Indians are preparing for war."
"War," whispered Molly. "Oh, no. No. I'm sure you must have misunderstood. There cannot be a war!"
"There can," said Lydia, walking out from behind the table. "The patrols are not just watching from a distance anymore. There have been attacks."
Molly put a hand to her throat. "Attacks! You mean the Indians are attacking the army patrols?"
"No," said Abigail. "The patrols are attacking the Nez Perce." Her voice shook and she started to cover her face with her hands, but Lydia caught her wrist and made her look up again.
"It's true," said Lydia. "I don't know how much your husband has spoken of it to you, Molly, but there was a treaty long ago – thirteen or fourteen years ago – saying that the Nez Perce were supposed to move to a different reservation."
"But it's a much smaller reservation," said Abigail. "They don't want to go. They're fighting over having to leave. And this fort – and our husbands – are the ones who have to fight them back!" This time Abigail did hide her face in her hands.
"All right, Abby," Molly said, as soothingly as she could. But it was difficult when her voice trembled and her heart raced. "All I know is that our men are very strong and very wise. They are trained soldiers. We have to – we have to trust them to keep safe and come back home. They know how to do that far better than we do."
"She's right," said Lydia, leading Abigail over to a chair in the corner of the kitchen. "Sit down, now. All we can do is trust our husbands when they are out there. They'll know what to do."
Abigail nodded, and took a breath. She wiped her tears away with her apron, and then tried to smile up at Molly – but then Molly suddenly turned away and covered her face with one hand, leaning against the table with the other as though her knees threatened to give way.
"Molly! What is it that you know? That we don't? Why do you look so frightened?"
Molly turned away, trying to compose herself. She was the oldest of the three of them – and she was a captain's wife – she was supposed to set the example – but she could not stop the tears.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," began Abigail. "You have already lost one man – one husband. This would be even harder for you."
Her sympathy was genuine, but Molly only felt greater despair. "You don't understand," she said, and her voice was becoming a wail. "You don't understand!"
Lydia walked over to hug her gently. "Your advice was good," she said, patting her friends shoulder. "We have to just trust them. They're smart. And they are all in the same danger – yours just as much as ours. Abby and I do understand."
"No," Molly said, still weeping. "You don't. It is different for William."
"Why?"
"Because he is an officer. Because it is a tactic of any battle to kill the leaders first. Because I can never forget this, as much as I do trust him."
"Oh . . . oh, Molly . . . " Abigail came over to join Lydia, trying their best to comfort their friend. "You are right. We had not thought of that."
"The men will watch out for each other. I'm certain of it," said Lydia. "They know what to do when they are out there."
Molly nodded, trying her best to regain her composure. "You're right, of course. I know that."
"We're all frightened," said Abigail, and even managed a little laugh. "I suppose we'll just have to be frightened together."
"I suppose we will." Molly sighed deeply. "All right, then. We will think no more about it, and speak no more about it." She stepped back, and began taking down the mixing bowls from the shelves. "What sort of cakes are we making today?"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The day passed slowly, even though Molly and Abigail and Lydia did keep themselves very busy baking cakes and biscuits and a few loaves of bread. They took time out for lunch on the front porch together, as had become their habit; but even as they made themselves laugh and tell little stories and keep the mood light, all three of them kept a close eye on the parade grounds while waiting – and praying – for the day's patrol to return.
Finally, the sun began to set. The work was done and the food all stored away and the kitchen clean. Molly and her two friends had to admit that their day was at an end. Now Abigail and Lydia had no choice but to return to their tents together and wait for their husbands, while Molly would have to remain at the house alone and wait for hers.
She stood on the porch and waved goodbye, watching the two women walk around past the end of the house towards the large field full of tents. Then they were gone, and Molly was there alone at her silent house with nothing but the distant sounds of the other men of the post finishing their work for the day and preparing for the evening meal.
Molly walked back inside and lit the lanterns downstairs, as well as a single one up in their bedroom. She knew that fuel had to be conserved but found it just too lonely to remain in a darkened house by herself. The soft glow of the lanterns helped to give her the feeling that she was not the only one who lived here, and that he would be returning very soon.
Another hour passed by. Darkness fell. Molly tried to keep herself busy with some sewing on the quilt she was making, but got little done because she kept walking back out to the front porch.
Then she heard it. The jingling of bridle bits and the snorting of horses and the soft sound of hooves on the grass of the parade grounds. Molly went tearing down the front steps and hurried over towards the riders, and finally felt she could breathe again when she saw William's tall form step down from his horse.
"William!" She wanted nothing more than to run to him and throw herself in his arms – but then stopped herself as he looked up at her.
He gave her a single nod, and surreptitiously held up one finger. Molly stopped, feeling very confused. He was telling her to wait and not go to him – but why? It was true that she had never run out onto the parade grounds to greet him, but it was also true that the patrol had never been so late returning before.
She made herself stop, and then walked back to the house. It was just as well. Now that she knew he was back, she could start supper for him. It was a great weight lifted just to know that he was home once again.
By the time Molly had the biscuits and sausage gravy ready, with a large beefsteak frying in the pan on top of the stove, she heard William's slow footsteps walking up the front steps and, finally, into the house.
"William," she whispered, running to him just as he closed the door behind him. "Oh, I'm so glad you're home!"
He took her in his arms and held her close, but she could feel the tension in him. "I am glad to be home, too," he said, taking a step back. He still had his hands on her shoulders. "But you must not ever run out to me like that again."
She stood very still. "I don't understand. I was so glad to see you, I was so very worried – "
"That is why you must not run out to me, Molly. The other two wome
n must not run out to their men, either – but it is most important that you do not."
Molly stepped back, and folded her hands together. "Most important – that I do not?"
He shook his head. "You will hear me say, over and over, that you are an officer's wife. You must set the example for all of the other wives on the post, even – especially – the wives of the enlisted men."
"But – I was so worried about you! There is talk – the others told me – "
"Yes. As I said – you must be the example. If all of the women start being afraid, where will the men be then? No. You must be as brave as any soldier, Molly, in a wife's own way, and be as much a leader as any officer when it comes to showing the other wives how to carry themselves. Do you understand?"
She nodded. William was right. She could see that. "I will try my best."
"Good. Now, whatever you have ready smells wonderful. I could eat everything in the house right now, I'm so very hungry."
"Then sit down, please, and I'll bring it out to you."
William slipped off his uniform coat and dropped it on the back of the dining room chair, and then sat down. Molly heard him sigh as he was able to relax at last, and hurried to fill his plate and bring it out to him.
They sat down together over the steak and biscuits. "There is apple cake for dessert," said Molly, carefully cutting her beefsteak. "We made tea cake, as well, and plenty of bread and biscuits."
"No wonder the house smelled so good when I came in." William smiled at her and then took a huge bite of the steak. "I am glad you've continued to get along so well with the other two wives, even if, in fact, they are your servants."
Molly shrugged. "People may call them my servants if they wish, but in truth they are my friends. And I am very grateful for them."
"Of course." He went back to eating.
She started to cut another piece of steak, but then set down her knife and fork. "William," she began, "Abigail and Lydia were . . . talking."
"Ah. Talking." He glanced at her with a small smile. "Women always talk. That is why I am glad you have them for company. It's more peaceful for the men that way."
His eyes sparkled and she knew he was teasing her – but she remained serious. "But this is not about what those two women say. It's about what their husbands are telling them. It is– worrisome," Molly said. "They say that the Indian tribes are angry about being pushed onto a smaller reservation. They say that the tribes are planning war. Is that true?"
William paused, and looked carefully at her. "It is true that some of the Indians are agitated. And it is as your friends have told you. The Indians want all of this land, but we cannot give it to them. Gold has been found. This fort is here. We are building towns and farms all around. They must move to the place set aside for them."
"Even though it is so much smaller than what they were promised?"
William started to stand up, but then stopped and slowly sat down again. "Molly, I am charged with seeing to it that the Nez Perce Indian tribes go to the place where they belong. It is my duty. I will carry it out. There can be no question as to that."
She nodded, looking down. "Of course. I know that. It's just that – " Molly peered up at him. "It is so dangerous. I did not understand that when I came here. I mean, yes, I knew this was the frontier, and you are a soldier, but no one said anything about hostile Indian tribes. Or that it would fall to you to face them down yourself."
"I am not left to face them alone. There are other men with me, all of them well trained."
"Yet you could ride out one morning and never return. I could lose you in an instant."
William studied her, with some genuine confusion appearing in his eyes. "I am an officer in the United States Army, Molly. You knew that when you came here."
"Yes. I did know that."
"And now you want me to refuse to carry out my orders?"
Molly took a deep breath. "No," she said. "I want you to leave the army."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Silence fell over the dining room table. The lantern flame flickered ever so slightly. "Leave," William repeated. "You want me to leave the army."
At first, Molly could not speak. She was beginning to lose her nerve. "I – "
"You realize that you are asking me to turn my back on my duty. On the men who look to me for leadership. For support."
"William. No – I am not. I know you cannot do that. At least, not right now. But – "
This time, William did stand up. "Molly. I know that in my letters to you, I did speak of going farther west to homestead in Oregon. But that will not be for some time to come – not until I am finished with my tour of duty in the Army."
Molly could only nod silently, and look down at the table. "I am sorry," she finally said. "I meant no disrespect to your position as an army officer – to your military career. It's just that I am so very worried about you. You will be in so much danger before your term here is over."
"A soldier is in danger wherever he goes. That is simply accepted when he joins the army. We do not dwell on it. There is danger everywhere, in every kind of work. You know that well, Molly."
"I do. Yes. I do. Yet – to me, this is so very different. Accidents are one thing. War – and enemies – are another." She gazed up at him. "I cannot apologize for being worried about my husband."
William sat down again. "I understand. But I cannot help you with this, Molly. Risk is a part of the military life – risk for both of us."
"Yes. It is." She knew that he was finished with the discussion, but she wanted to ask one more question while she had the chance. "William," she said, "I understand that you cannot leave the army. But – is there any possibility of your serving in a different place? A place where there is not so much unrest?"
William simply stared at her. His face was very still. Molly began to burn with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I should not have asked. That was wrong of me."
"Yes, it was," he said. "Molly, if your thoughts are constantly on what danger there might be, and how soon we can leave, you will never survive as an army wife. This will never be the life for you."
This time, Molly stood up. Both her fear and her anger were rising. "Maybe I should go home," she said, her voice shaking. "Maybe you are right. Maybe I don't belong here!"
With that, she ran to the front door and threw it open, running out into the night.
***
"Molly . . . Molly, please wait."
She could hear William's footsteps on the porch behind her, and then on the wooden steps, but Molly kept going until she was down on the parade ground. Once there, she kept going along its outer edge until she reached one of the horse corrals with its lean-to shed. She caught hold of the top pole of the corral and stopped there, standing in the shadows with her face against the rough bark.
There was no moon in sight. The only light came from the torches scattered around the fort and from the lanterns and candles inside the buildings. The horses snorted at Molly's sudden interruption of their night and turned to look at her, swinging their heads left and right as they tried to peer through the corral rails to see what was happening.
Molly hid her face and allowed herself to weep openly. She stood in darkness and there was no one to see her, or hear her, except the horses . . . and she felt sure that they would not care.
Then there were footsteps behind her. She did not have to look up to know that it was William who walked up and stood with her at the corral fence.
"Molly," he said quietly. "I want you to come home now. This is no place for you."
She raised her head and breathed deep of the night air. Even alongside the horses, the soft cool wind was fresh with the scent of spring grass and wildflowers and the wide rushing river.
"I can't," she said, sobbing against the fence. "I can't. I could accept the risks of farm life. And I did, even after the farm claimed by husband's life."
"I know you did," William said, with great patience. "Even after losing him, yo
u were willing to try again."
She nodded, taking a deep breath of the night air. "Yes. I was prepared for the normal risks that any life brings. But this – " Molly turned and hid her face again. "I know that I am a great disappointment to you. For that, I am so sorry."
He was silent again. "Perhaps it is my fault," he said after a few moments. "I should have made certain you were prepared for living as the wife of a soldier – an officer – in Indian country."
William took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. "Molly – life out here in this place will not change. Your purpose here is to be my wife. I rely on you be the one I can come home to for peace and respite. I must know that I can depend on you and you will always be there, no matter what happens. I must know that you will not take fright and run away, and be gone just at the time when I need you the most."
He reached out and placed his fingers under chin, making her look up at him. "If you are telling me that you cannot, or will not, do that – then I will not make you stay."
At that, Molly pulled her head away and covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. She turned around and leaned against the pole corral again, wishing she could just disappear into the earth and never be seen or heard from again.
"Molly. Molly!" Even through her weeping, she could hear the frustration in William's voice. "You must tell me what is wrong. You are stronger than this. I'm sure of it!"
He made her turn around again. "You rode alone for two weeks on a train. And then traveled five hundred miles on a supply wagon train to get here. You went through all that and when you finally got here, you looked as though you'd only left home that morning. That's how fresh and unaffected by it you were.
"So, tell me: You have two other women here for companionship. I have done all I can to make you feel safe and comfortable and welcome. What is it that disturbs you so much now?"
Molly caught a couple of deep breaths, making herself speak to him. "I fear I have brought this on myself," she whispered. "On both of us."