by Donna Dalton
“Well, there you go.”
On the contrary, this interrogation was going nowhere. “Did you get a good look at them? Could you identify anyone?”
“I didn’t linger long enough for that. Once I realized there were too many of them to stop on my own, I released Bessy from her stall and with a prayer in my heart, fled into the woods.”
Hoggard’s account sounded reasonable. Yet something didn’t ring solid. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was there. Like an odd smell—not unpleasant, but not agreeable either.
Meredith wrapped a clean bandage around the wound and tucked in the tail end. “There. All done. I think that’s enough questions for today, Lieutenant. Mr. Hoggard needs his rest.”
He doubted he’d get anything more useful from the befuddled man anyway. “I have all the information I need for now. Good day, Mr. Hoggard. Thank you for your time.”
He followed Meredith back through the jailhouse and out onto the porch. Heat engulfed him. It was going to be a long, miserable day. Not that he expected anything less. These days, ill-weather and ill-luck seemed to be hot on his trail.
Dainty frown lines creased her brow. “You urged Mr. Finley not to be late for your excursion. Are the two of you going somewhere?”
“Major Allen ordered me to go with Mr. Finley to the reservation. He wants us to apply pressure on the Indians to provide more information about the renegades. We’re leaving at midday.”
“Won’t that be dangerous? Going into the lion’s den, so to speak?”
Was she concerned for his sake or for Agent Finley’s? His stomach turned at the thought of her developing feelings for the smarmy agent. “It will be worth the risk if we can uncover the identity of the renegades. From what we can gather, it’s just a small group that has splintered off from the tribe. The sooner we catch them, the better.”
“I will pray for your success then.”
He’d need all the prayers he could get. He stepped off the stoop and turned to look up at her. Sunlight played over her pretty face. He memorized the sight to savor later if things with the Indians did indeed turn ugly.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. We’ll most likely set up camp outside the reservation and return after our meeting. Could be one maybe two days.”
Her lips tipped into a gentle smile. “We should be able to manage for a few days without you.”
Would she miss him? He would definitely miss that lovely smile. It made the loneliness of living in the backwoods more bearable.
“If you need anything while I’m gone, send for Private Womack. He’ll relay your needs to Major Allen, or if Mr. Hoggard needs medical attention, he can send for the doctor.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Hopefully there will be no need for the doctor. Mr. Hoggard appears to be on the mend.”
Speaking of Hoggard… “A bit strange that his account of the attack changed so abruptly from yesterday.”
She shrugged. “Head injuries are known to upset the memory.”
“I suppose that is true.” He tucked on his hat and headed back to his tent. He’d come to get answers, now all he had were more questions.
****
The children walked behind her, orderly and quiet, like dutiful little ducklings. The previous excursions to the fort’s dining hall had proceeded uneventfully. With any luck, this one would turn out the same. Every venture outside the jailhouse tempted trouble.
A patrol of troopers rode by, their uniforms and mounts gray with dust. Begrimed faces sagged with weariness. The sight triggered thoughts of Preston. He’d only been gone for a couple of hours, yet she missed him. Missed the tenderness that crept into his eyes when he let his guard down. Missed his strength and confidence in the face of adversity. Missed how his touch warmed her body and her soul. Despite her efforts, she had developed feelings for him—feelings that refused to be corralled. And that frightened her. In her experience, caring for someone usually led to anguish and heartache. She didn’t think her heart could take any more pummeling.
Gabriel hefted his nose in the air, sniffing. “Mmm. Something smells scrummy.”
“I hope they have boiled carrots like yesterday,” Robbie peeped.
The army cook had added sugar to the carrots, making them taste like a sweet dessert. She’d have to remember that trick to encourage the finicky ones to eat their vegetables. A few loved greens and carrots and would even eat them raw. Others would turn up their noses. In her younger years, when her father’s favorite mashed turnips were on the menu, she would feign a sour stomach. She couldn’t, in all fairness, be critical of the children’s pickiness.
She stopped at the bottom of a short stoop leading into a long rectangular building which the soldiers referred to as the mess hall. Odd that they called it that. The dining chamber was always neat and spotless. Not a mess in sight.
“All right children, get your supper and sit at the same table as yesterday. And remember, mind your manners.”
“We will, Miss Talbot,” Robbie and Gabe said as they bounded onto the stoop.
The girls trailed behind the boys, faces aglow and eyes sparkling…all except for Lily. The older girl wore a guarded expression. It would be a long while before she trusted people enough to relax around large crowds.
As the last duckling entered the hall, a tall, slender woman approached. She looked to be about Meredith’s age, yet carried an old look in her eyes—as if she’d seen more of the world than she cared to. Blonde braids wrapped her head in a pretty arrangement. Her gingham dress, while thin and faded, was clean and pressed.
“Pardon me, this is vhere supper is served, yah?”
The Dutch community in Philadelphia had spoken with a similar accent. Because of their speech and unfamiliar customs, they were shunned by the local citizenry. This unfriendly treatment caused the immigrants to avoid contact with others…something she understood quite well.
Meredith nodded. “This is the dining hall, or mess hall, as the soldiers call it.”
“Tank you. I am new to the fort. So many buildings and such strange names. Vera confusing.”
“Yes, it can be quite the labyrinth.” Others might be unkind to the unusual sounding immigrants, but she wouldn’t. She gave the woman a welcoming smile. “I’m Meredith Talbot. I oversee the orphans from Seaton House.”
“I am Mrs. Valder. Jana Valder. From Pennsylvania. I moved into the Mineral town last month.”
Footsteps clicked on the stoop, and a small hand closed around hers. “Are you coming, Miss Talbot?”
“Yes, Anna. I’m coming.” She dipped a nod at the woman. “Excuse me, I should go inside. The children are waiting for me. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Valder.”
“Yah. It vas pleasure to meet you.”
A riot of sound and people met her inside. Dozens of civilians sat at crudely-made plank tables. Others waited in line to be served. There wasn’t enough room for everyone at the fort to dine at the same time, so the commander had ordered all meals to be taken in shifts. The townsfolk ate first and then the soldiers. So far, the arrangement worked very smoothly and efficiently—quite an accomplishment considering the overcrowded conditions.
Meredith joined the queue waiting to be served. The line moved along quickly, and she soon had a steaming bowl of soup in hand. She carried her supper to the table where the children were busy devouring their meal. Only a few slices of bread remained in the baskets dotting the tabletop. Hungry, indeed.
She sat next to Anna, gave a quick prayer of thanks, and dove into her meal. Her taste buds sighed at the delicious fare. Chunks of venison and summer vegetables floated in a tasty broth. What a blessing to have such a competent cook—one less hardship for the soldiers to bear in the remote outpost.
The clink of silverware and muted chatter filled the room. Most of the civilians appeared to be focused on eating—all but one. Jana Valder stood near the soup kettle, looking around the room, her face cratered with uncertainty. Poor woman. There was litt
le space left at any of the tables, and no one seemed inclined to make room for her. What was wrong with these knot-headed people?
Meredith rose and waved her hand, catching the woman’s attention. She motioned for Mrs. Valder to join them. A smile blossomed on the woman’s face, and she headed for their table.
“Scoot over, Robbie,” Meredith said. “Give our guest some room.”
The boy did as asked, and Mrs. Valder settled beside him on the bench. “Tank you, Miss Talbot. I vasn’t sure vhere to sit.”
“You are always welcome to join us, Mrs. Valder.”
“Please, call me Jana.”
“Of course. And you must call me Meredith.” She resumed her seat and picked up a basket. “Would you like some bread? There are a few pieces left.”
“Yah. It looks vera tasty.”
Jana plucked a slice for herself and also gave one to the eager-eyed boy beside her. Thoughtful and kind. A woman she could easily call friend.
“You mentioned you were from Pennsylvania,” she said as she set the basket back on the table. “I used to live outside of Philadelphia in Montgomery County.”
“Vee lived in Allentown…until Mr. Valder decided vee should go vest. To California. To the land of opportunity, says he.” Sadness crept into Jana’s face and into her voice. “My husband passed to God three months ago. He did not get to see his opportunity.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. I know that had to be hard on you. If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”
“Tank you. You are vera kind.”
Meredith lapsed into silence. As much as she hungered for conversation with another woman her age, she should let the poor soul eat in peace. She didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times she’d ended up with dyspepsia after balancing eating and answering the children’s questions.
“Vhere are you staying, Miss Talbot? I haven’t been out much since moving into the fort.”
Apparently Jana didn’t require quiet to eat. Maybe she had a good constitution. Or perhaps she too craved friendly conversation.
Meredith dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “The army quartered us in the jailhouse on the east side. It’s set off from the main part of the fort.”
“In the jailhouse?”
Meredith chuckled at the woman’s astonished tone. “It’s not the finest of accommodations, but at least we are all together. It took a lot of hard work, but we made the place livable. You should come by and visit some time.”
Mrs. Valder wagged her head, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. “I vill certainly have to do that. I vould like to see vhat you have done with this jailhouse.”
A shadow fell over the table. “You shouldn’t be consorting with the likes of her, Miss Talbot.”
The familiar condescending voice set her neck hairs on edge. Meredith swiveled on the bench seat to confront the intruder. “The likes of whom, Mrs. Allen?”
Harriet Allen pointed a bony finger at Jana. “That one. She’s the scourge of good people.”
Meredith shot to her feet, anger fisting her hands and heating her blood. “Because she talks and dresses differently? What nonsense. The woman just lost her husband. You should show more compassion.”
“I have no compassion for a woman who sins.”
Sins? What was the harpy rattling on about now? The woman spewed her pious poison like pus oozing from a boil.
Mrs. Allen’s cronies gathered behind their general, clucking like agitated peahens. “We have no room here for the likes of you,” Alvena Wood huffed. “We want you to leave. Go back to your house of depravity.”
Jana rose from the bench, the color fleeing from her face. “I should not haf come.”
“No, you should not have darkened this fort or our town with your filth.” Mrs. Allen pointed to the door. “Go back to that rock you crawled from under.”
Not while she drew breath. No one, no matter who they were or what their circumstances, deserved to be mistreated. Meredith moved to Jana’s side and rested a hand on the woman’s quivering arm. “Don’t you go anywhere, Jana.”
Mrs. Allen bristled. “Are you condoning what this woman does? At least the floozies in the saloon halls know better than to flaunt their wares around the good people of Mineral.”
Jana was a prostitute then. Not that it mattered. “How can you be so narrow-minded? With no husband to support her, Mrs. Valder is doing what she has to in order to survive. Surely you good people can understand that.”
“What we understand is she’s rubbish. You will regret aligning with her. Most assuredly.”
Mrs. Allen punctuated her words with a poke to Meredith’s shoulder. Meredith stumbled back and nearly fell into the diners seated behind them. As she righted herself, Nel rose from the bench, hands fisted at her sides.
“Dorothea is disappointed in you, Mrs. Allen,” the girl scolded. “She says you should remember Reverend Bosch’s teachings and how you felt when the other children excluded you from their games because of your stuttering.”
Harriet Allen’s mouth yawed like a catfish tossed out of the water. Beady eyes narrowed, and Mrs. Allen leaned toward Nel, her brow knitted into a formidable line. “How do you know such things, young lady? My mother is deceased, and I have never spoken of my stammering, which I might add, I outgrew.”
Nel shrank back, color draining from her face as she realized her mistake in revealing conversations heard from beyond the grave.
Meredith moved to shield Nel from Mrs. Allen’s vicious talons. “She must have overheard you talking at some point. You do like to go on about yourself.”
“Humph. She’s a witch, I say. A devil-consorting witch who should be burned at the stake.”
“Yes, burned,” Alvena and Edeline repeated.
The oil lantern sitting on the table began to shake, the glass globe rattling. The flame sputtered and sparked. Black smoke began pouring from chimney. A second later, the lantern tipped over and fell to the floor amid a shatter of glass.
People shouted and leapt to their feet. One man threw his coat over the spreading puddle of flaming oil. The three peahens backed away, screeching about fires and witches.
Fear glazed Meredith’s insides. Her worst nightmare had come to pass. She plucked Anna from the bench and urged the other children to follow her.
As they rushed for the door, Harriet Allen called after them, “Go, you heathen witches. Leave this fort, or we’ll run you out.”
Chapter Eight
Burning logs sizzled and popped. Smoke tails billowed upward and caught on the wind. The flaming fire pit called to mind the torched orphanage and Meredith tucked in his arms. His body had clamored for more than a comforting cuddle. During the ride to the reservation, he’d come to one undeniable conclusion. He couldn’t fight his attraction any longer. He wanted her. And not just for one night. He wanted her every night—in his bed and in his life.
Once he returned to the fort, he would start the courting process. It was the logical thing to do. He would eventually need a wife, and she was a good fit. When she talked of the children, of keeping them safe, he thought of his troopers. It was a connection that would only grow and strengthen. She might refuse his suit. But if the way those sparkling eyes lit up and her pretty mouth parted when she saw him was any indication, he needn’t worry about a refusal. Those sweet lips would soon be his for the tasting any time he pleased.
A noise kicked into his daydreaming. On the other side of the rock-rimmed pit, dark-skinned faces watched him with wariness. He gave himself a mental thump. Best quit his woolgathering and focus on the task at hand before he needed an undertaker instead of a minister.
He set his face into a steady, non-provoking response. He wasn’t going to give the Creeks any reason to get riled. He would smoke their peace pipe and garner their respect and with any luck, their cooperation. Though many of his fellow officers would have resorted to swords and bullets to get results, he preferred to loosen lips with honey—in the fo
rm of the finest tobacco the Sutler’s store had to offer.
Bathed in late afternoon sunshine, the pipe holder stood in front of the gathering, holding the bowl in his left hand and the stem in his right. He pointed the pipe to the east and chanted in his native tongue. He then sprinkled some tobacco onto the ground and loaded a pinch into the bowl. The Indian did this at each of the compass directions, filling the pipe and chanting.
Once again facing east, he touched the stem to the ground and then lifted the pipe above his head, angled toward the sun. After a few minutes, he lowered the pipe and lit the bowl. The pipe was passed around to each of the gathered guests. Some whispered a blessing before smoking, others remained silent. Some did not smoke at all, just held the pipe before passing it on.
Preston accepted the pipe from the Indian seated next to him. A bluestone bowl sat at the end of a long hollow reed. It reminded him of the carved wooden pipe the army had given his father when he retired from service. From that day on, the man lived with that pipe, either clenched between his teeth or clamped in his hand, emphasizing his gestures. Maybe one day he would be presented with such a fine retirement gift. He first had to come out of this parlay with his scalp intact.
He drew in a mouthful of smoke and puffed it out. Smooth and woodsy with just a little burn to the tongue and throat. Well worth the expense.
He did this three times as the others had done and handed the pipe to Agent Finley seated next to him. Once the pipe had completed its journey, the pipe holder smoked the last of the tobacco, cleaned out the ashes, and tossed them onto the ground. He then separated the stem from the pipe and placed both in a pouch. The ceremony was over. Now the tournament could begin.
His head adorned with a large bonnet of eagle feathers, Chief Red Wing sat cross-legged in the forefront of the gathered warriors. The leader of the Red Ground tribe of Creek Indians wore a blue-and-white striped jacket belted at the waist and animal hide leggings—quite the eclectic mix. Yet it was his eyes that caught and held one’s attention. They were black as pitch and piercing, like the bird of prey he was named for. He would make a most intimidating opponent. Luckily, they sat across from one another in peace.