by Zina Abbott
Kizzie opened her mouth to retort.
Hannah knew, as much as her father would fuss at Kizzie, he would direct even more words of disappointment towards her. After all, had she not convinced her parents she was the obedient daughter who never misbehaved?
Mrs. Prescott hurried over and her piercing words cut off Kizzie’s defense. “Now, please don’t fret, Mr. Atwell.” She smiled and placed a hand on his arm in what was, no doubt, intended to be a gesture of comfort and assurance. Her voice softened to match the coaxing expression on her face. “This was organized and intended to be all in fun and managed in good taste. It’s for a worthy cause. You do want to support our boys in uniform who have sacrificed so much for their country and now languish sick and injured in some hospital, don’t you?”
Hannah’s gaze caught her cousin’s gaze. They both knew Hannah’s father well enough to realize the woman’s tittering voice grated on Jefferson Atwell’s nerves. They both understood that, even though Mrs. Prescott was a force to be reckoned with, her attempt at wheedling an agreement out of Jefferson Atwell was a lost cause. Her antics might have worked on Kizzie’s father. However, if she thought she could mollify Hannah’s, she was in for a rude awakening.
To the cousins’ dismay, Jefferson Atwell did not disappoint. “Madam, I don’t care how worthy your cause may be. There is nothing in good taste about my daughter and my niece kissing a room full of men with whom they have a casual acquaintance, at best.” He turned to Kizzie and Hannah. “Come girls. As far as you are concerned, this kissing fiasco is over.”
Hannah, understanding she needed to assume the role of the contrite daughter in order to calm her father, hurried to take his arm while Kizzie followed. From the men remaining in her line, she heard grumbling about being cheated. She turned her head and offered an apologetic smile, only to realize her gaze focused on Jake of the tender lips that warmed her heart and caused her to tingle from head to toe. At least I was able to kiss him.
Hannah waited for her father to take a breath, at which time she grasped the opportunity to remind him there was still the buffet supper to attend. “Please, Papa, let us go. You come, too, since there will be good food to eat. I promise, other than being polite, I won’t encourage any attention from the men who will be there. You’ll be with us to make sure we behave.”
Hannah had danced with a host of handsome officers and kissed a myriad of men that night. However, only one kiss filled her memory—Jake’s.
Would Jake remember her kiss? Had she been foolish to press her handkerchief into his hand before turning to obey her father? In her mind, she thought of it as a lady giving her favor to the knight of her choice. How did he perceive it? Would he view it as a trophy for bragging rights and flaunt it before the other men? Would he use it to polish his boots or something even less respectful?
Or, would he keep it as a memento of that magical moment when they both knew their kiss was not for the sake of the Sanitary Commission and the soldiers it served. It represented a token of special that had passed between them as they kissed.
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Chapter 4
~o0o~
East of Abilene, Kansas
April 25, 1865
A s his troop traveled the Smoky Hill Trail toward Salina, Jake Burdock battled to prevent his face and words from revealing the anticipation he felt over possibly seeing Miss Hannah Atwell again. After reporting to Capt. Prescott three days earlier to receive his orders for this march, he looked forward to visiting with her, even though doing so was not guaranteed.
The primary mission called for him and the captain, plus a half platoon of troopers, to accompany several wagons from the fort to Salina. The stockade set up the year before—to protect the citizens of Salina and the other frontier towns west of Fort Riley from attacks by hostile native tribes that had not yet signed treaties and moved to reservations—had served its purpose. However, with the reassignment of Capt. Elisha Hammer from the Salina Stockade, orders had been issued to dismantle their presence in the makeshift fortress set up in the middle of the town. They would return the use of the buildings to the city.
Normally, with his rank of first lieutenant, this assignment would have been given to Jake to oversee. However, with Fort Riley being the primary supply center for those military installations to the west, Capt. Prescott, as the officer in charge of logistics, chose to head this mission. He intended to inventory supplies to determine if there were enough to warrant having them brought back to Fort Riley. If not, he planned to forward them to the new Fort Ellsworth thirty-six miles to the west.
Capt. Prescott’s secondary purpose of checking on the horses at the Atwell farms, particularly the Sidney Atwell farm where, from what Jake understood, Hannah’s cousin owned a horse with a history of throwing good foals. Jake had every intention of convincing the good captain to also stop by the farm of the other Atwell family to check on the prospects of available horseflesh or cattle. With some luck, they might be invited in for a visit, or even a meal, and he would have an opportunity to spend time with—or at least see again—the delectable Hannah Atwell.
Jake fought back the black cloud of dread that threatened to overshadow his anticipation. Hopefully, Mr. Jefferson Atwell’s temper had cooled since the dance at Fort Riley. With some luck, he now realized the innocent nature of the kissing game Mrs. Prescott had organized. Hopefully, he did not remember Jake was the last man who kissed Hannah before he exercised his parental right to call a halt to the activity as far as his daughter and niece were concerned. Jake shook his head. Unfortunately, his disruption had put an end to the game completely, leaving several men holding tickets for unclaimed kisses.
Other discouraging thoughts crowded Jake’s mind. Hannah Atwell had been beautiful the night of the dance. Then again, the gown she wore and the manner in which someone had styled her hair showed her off to her best advantage. If he saw her in a faded, patched dress wearing muddy boots and a stained apron, would he still find her to be as lovely? During the one dance he enjoyed with her, she had struck him as outgoing and friendly. Unlike some young women—one of them her cousin—she did not appear shy or stand-offish. However, he had not spent enough time with her to determine how much of their interaction was genuine and how much was for show, intended to impress.
How would she react upon seeing him again? Would she be pleased? Would she consider his visit to her family’s farm an unwelcome intrusion? Jake inhaled as he considered her possible responses to meeting him again. There was only one way to find out, and he intended to make that happen this trip.
“Lieutenant, signal the men to form a single file until we get around this freight train up ahead.”
Hearing Capt. Prescott’s order snapped Jake out of his musings. He saluted, and then turned to the sergeant behind him and repeated the order. As he straightened and faced forward once more, he listened as the sergeant turned his horse, issued the command, and repeated it down the line until he reached the two military supply wagons partially filled with food, supplies, and ordnance—not for the Salina Stockade, but for Fort Ellsworth beyond. The empty third wagon, Jake knew, would carry supplies not forwarded to Ellsworth but back to Fort Riley.
He focused on the scene around him—the green grass interspersed with the brown blades of the previous year’s growth, the trees lining the river, and the sky with its billowing, white clouds serving as a cover for it all. He could not complain about the clear spring day. Although there had been enough rain to keep the ground damp and the dust settled, the last few dry days meant they rode without slogging through mud halfway up their horses’ legs. The beauty of the season and the landscape enveloped him with a sense of satisfaction about his chosen life’s work—serving as an officer in what he considered to be the greatest army in the world.
“If this is the Jones train out of Bonner Springs ahead, I want to stop and talk to Mr. Jones—find out if his half-breed scout has been far enough a
field beyond Salina to see any signs of Indian trouble.”
Once again, Capt. Prescott’s words captured Jake’s attention. He grimaced with realization this was also the time of year the tribes converged on the great plains of the central North American continent to hunt bison. Conflict could arise anytime. However, as the Indians’ perception of white encroachment often led to hostilities when they felt the activities of Americans interfered with the bison migration.
Jake reflected on his mixed feelings regarding the natives’ claims. They felt all the land of the plains was theirs, since they were there first. Yet, they had no legal system for holding title to the land—they claimed it by conquest only. More to the point, the land they claimed was huge compared to the land owned by most white Americans, even those who were among the wealthiest and held title to hundreds of acres.
Although Jake did not foresee taking advantage of the Homestead Act in his future, the possibility existed. The federal act signed into law by the late President Lincoln granted all who had not taken up arms against the United States the right to claim and prove up 160 acres, with preference given to veterans. Most men could easily farm or grow stock on that amount of land. Yet, the land mass claimed by the natives exceeded that amount per head of household many times over. Giving up hunting bison to farm or ranch meant a big change in lifestyle for the Indians. However, the Cherokee and other tribes originally from the East had done so. Even if the government saw to it they received comparable acreage on their reservations, they should bow to the government policy to provide land to all who needed it to live and adapt.
Jake shook his head. No, the heads of the native tribes were right to be wary of the efforts to force them on reservations. It would be one thing if the land offered to them was fertile land like what they now rode through—land that would promise a good crop yield or support several head of cattle along with other stock. From everything he heard of what was offered as reservations to the tribes, it was nothing he would want to farm. Most of it was far to the north in the mountains where the winters were harsh. Much of it was rocky with poor soil and insufficient water. Although these treaties promised goods and sufficient food to allow the natives time to adapt to their new homelands and learn to support themselves, Jake had heard enough to know most of what was promised to the tribes now under treaty never reached them. Instead, the bulk of the wealth ended up in the hands of middlemen who overcharged for their services.
Jake inhaled and stretched his spine as he resettled his body in his saddle—the McClellan saddle. Adopted by the cavalry, it was intended for the comfort of the horses, not their riders. Concerns about treaties with the natives, whether or not the reservation lands were adequate, and the integrity of the white Americans—from Washington D.C. to those who dealt with the Indian agents—were not his problem. His assignments concerned setting up forts, getting them and their men properly supplied, and maintaining the facilities. That was in addition to being subject to temporary assignment anywhere else the Army, in their wisdom, deemed he was needed. He would leave issues such as making and enforcing treaties with the native tribes to those generals and officers directly under their command.
Jake looked up to see a civilian riding a black stallion with white markings approach. He envied the man his mount and wondered how, considering Capt. Prescott’s vigilance at requisitioning quality horses for the use of the Army, he had managed to keep possession of such a steed with its spirit and lines. He would consider mount like that an improvement over the gelding he now rode.
As the horse drew within several yards of his position, Jake recognized the rider as a man who had attended the dance at the fort. Other than paying attention to Hannah’s dark-haired cousin, he had spent most of his time leaning against a wall and watching the goings-on in the room.
“Lt. Burdock, instruct Sgt. Marsh to continue with the men past the train and rest the horses where the Solomon River joins with the Smoky Hill.”
Jake saluted and issued the captain’s orders to his sergeant, who responded with his own salute and a nod before he raised his hands to signal the men behind him to follow his lead. He moved off to the left, the single column passing him and the captain, and next the approaching rider. Jake followed the captain as he pulled his horse to the right, slightly off the trail, and loosened the reins to allow the horse to crop the new grass. He faced the captain as the man continued speaking.
“Hopefully, this bunch will stop on one side or the other of Abilene. If the horses are rested enough, I’d rather push through to Salina and settle at the stockade. I want to get our business there settled before the bullwhackers hit town and start their search for entertainments.”
Jake nodded. Although Salina was a small farming community that did not offer many diversions of the female variety to men looking for an evening of debauchery, the town happily sold liquor to gold-seekers heading to the Pike’s Peak region and freighters alike. He also did not relish the prospect of becoming part of a policing action.
Jake focused his attention on the man with dark hair peeking beneath his slouch hat and framing a long, narrow face already tanned by days spent out in the springtime sun.
“Mr. Jones, good to see you this afternoon. I’d like to introduce you to Lt. Burdock. He will be working under me for the foreseeable future. Lieutenant, this is Leander Jones. He manages the freight trains for his father’s supply post in Bonner Springs.”
The freighter moved his horse closer and held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant. My freight train is among the wagons ahead of you.”
Jake shook hands and completed the pleasantries. As he studied the man who now sat his horse only a few feet away, he noticed piercing gray eyes. Although dressed for the road, Jones did not appear to be as rough and uncouth as most of the bullwhackers he had run across in his short time on the frontier.
The captain leaned forward as if to stretch his back. “I trust you have sufficiently recovered from the activities of the recent social my dear wife organized.”
Jake craned his head between the captain back to Mr. Jones in time to witness his nod and grin. “Your wife is to be commended, Captain. Although it is not how I generally spend my free time, it turned out to be a beneficial event in more ways than one. That night, I was able to persuade a particular young woman to become my wife.”
“Congratulations. Mrs. Prescott will be pleased to learn of it, if she hasn’t already. Who is the fortunate lady?”
“Miss Atwell.”
Jake kept his face expressionless, but involuntarily his fists tightened on the reins and his spine and shoulders stiffened. Tell me you don’t mean Hannah Atwell. Surely, the beautiful blonde would not have been so agreeable in their conversation together, nor would she have handed him her handkerchief and offered her first name if she entertained notions about accepting a marriage proposal from the freighter.
“Ah. Would that be the dark-haired daughter of Sidney Atwell? I noticed you kept a pretty close eye on her that evening.”
The man broke into a wide smile. “Yes. Miss Kizzie Atwell. Fortunately, when I spoke to her father, he also gave us his blessing.”
Capt. Prescott raised an eyebrow. “I thought it customary to approach the father first before arranging to court or offer marriage.”
“Yes, sir, that is generally the case. However, Miss Atwell has a mind of her own. She would have skinned my hide if I had not cleared it with her first.”
The captain dropped his gaze and shook his head. “She is definitely an unconventional young woman. It’s a condition that afflicts several women in the West, I’ve observed. I hope you know what you’re getting into with a young lady like that.”
Leander leaned his head back as he laughed. “Yes, sir, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Jake lifted his chin, unsure what to think of what he had just heard. He assumed Hannah’s cousin to be rather headstrong and untamed. He sensed a story, one he hoped to coax the captain to share with him
. However, now was not the time to interrupt and ask.
“I must admit, though, that stallion of yours and her mare have produced some nice colts. After I finish my business in Salina, I plan to stop by to collect the latest of their offspring. The war between North and South may be over, but the need for good horses for the campaign against the hostiles has not diminished.”
The smile on the man’s face faded.
“Yes, sir, I figured it’s about time. As of a couple of weeks ago when I was there, the horse looked ready. Kizzie…I mean, Miss Atwell…won’t be happy to see one of her mare’s offspring go, but she’ll make the best of it. I…ah…I’ll be stopping by to visit for a few minutes as we pass through Salina. I’ll warn her so she can prepare herself for your visit with her father.”
“Be sure to tell her that young gelding better not disappear when I come to claim it, Mr. Jones.” Capt. Prescott shook his head. He hesitated and a puzzled expression crossed his face. “Now I think of it, I’m surprised to see you on the Smoky Hill. I thought we had contracted with your father for you to take supplies down to Fort Union.”
Leander Jones nodded. “You did. We waited on a special order to fill one of the wagons which is to go to the sutler at Fort Ellsworth. From there, we’ll cut down and join the Santa Fe Trail at the big bend in the Arkansas River.”
“Ah, by Fort Zarah.” The captain scrunched his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware there is a sutler at Ellsworth.”
“I believe he’s trying to establish himself, sir. I don’t know the particulars, only that he ordered in a wagonload of supplies.”
Jake exchanged a glance with the captain—one that told him someone would need to check on that situation. He suspected he would end up being that someone. Although a town appeared to be building up near the fort, he was not aware of there being a contract for a sutler on the grounds of the fort itself.