The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  He tipped his hat, but before he could properly introduce himself, she said, “Quick, that woman will be back any second. We’ve got to go.”

  Her voice. It was different, more mature, but so familiar it gave him chills. She came closer, and he recognized her face, as well. It was impossible. How could she be here?

  “I apologize for the delay,” he said. His throat jogged painfully. He looked for a wedding ring on her finger and didn’t see one. “We got the report only this morning. We’ll be ready to go as soon as the wagon—”

  “You have to get me away from here.” She clasped her hands, straining her red, scratched knuckles. “What do we have to do? Are we going to sneak out once it’s dark?”

  Jack felt like a dolt. This had to be a dream. Or a joke. Had Daniel arranged this? But one look at the rumpled Miss Hattie Walker, and he knew she had no thought of a lark. Yet here she was, and Jack’s analytical mind was spinning with what it meant.

  “Sneak out?” He looked over his shoulder. She didn’t think this was a hostile situation, did she? After all, the tribe had rescued her. She had everything backward.

  Before he proceeded, he should introduce himself, but his mouth felt full of marbles. Despite all he’d accomplished since seeing her last, he felt like the same tongue-tied boy. What if he said his name and she didn’t remember him? Why couldn’t he think straight when she was around?

  “When she comes back,” Hattie said, “she’ll see you and raise the alarm. We don’t have much time.”

  He’d sat by her at school, helped her with her homework, walked her home when he had the courage. He’d even invited her to his send-off party when he’d joined the army. She hadn’t attended, but had she completely forgotten that her old classmate was in the cavalry? And the letters. Jack had braved a few letters to her over the years—just friendly correspondence to keep in touch—but she’d never responded.

  Gathering his wits, Jack puffed out his chest. “I don’t sneak or hide, miss. Maybe if I’m off duty, I might draw the shades. It seems like the major never thinks of anything he wants to chat about until then. But I don’t hide from danger, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He had to forget who she was. Treat her just as he would any other problematic civilian on the reservation.

  “They aren’t going to give up a captive that easily,” she said. “Walking out seems foolhardy, if you ask me.”

  “As far as danger goes, this is so diminutive I couldn’t even measure it with my caliper.” As soon as he’d spoken, Jack wanted the words back. He’d always tried to awe Hattie with his intellect, and she had never been impressed. He could do better. “What I mean is that I’ve been in more danger several times. A lot of times, actually.”

  “I knew what you meant.” She kept an uneasy eye on the door. “Then how am I going to get out of here?”

  He was fixing to suggest using the door but stopped himself. This was Hattie Walker standing before him. The Hattie Walker. If ever there was a good time to play the hero, it was now.

  Back home, Jack had kept his nose in a book rather than play stickball with the boys at recess. But now he was any man’s equal. Now he was here to rescue her. Didn’t he deserve a little credit?

  Warm satisfaction spread through his bones as he found his footing. If he played his cards right, she would be in his debt. He’d rather have adoration, but gratitude was a good start.

  “It’ll take considerable negotiation skills,” he said. “They might not be agreeable. They might demand a payment of some sort.” No reason for her to know that the chiefs wouldn’t keep her another day if Jack paid them.

  Her eyes widened. Finally she was looking at him like a desperate female should. “I can’t stay here. I have plans.”

  “I hope it’s nothing urgent,” he said. “These treaty deals can be tricky. Could take some time.” And the longer it took, the more time Jack had to impress Hattie.

  “Please,” she said. “Please do whatever it takes. If I have to stay here any longer . . .”

  “Chief Right Hand respects me, but you’re asking a lot. Let’s just pray I can persuade him.”

  If he wasn’t mistaken, he saw respect in her eyes. About time. Jack turned to leave and saw the damp spot in the dirt and the chunks of stew on the ground. Remembering Spotted Hawk’s pantomime, he realized that Hattie’s bedraggled condition might be due to more than the weather.

  “How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?” he asked.

  “Three days.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I think they’re trying to poison me.”

  “Why in the world would you think the very people who went out of their way to rescue you would poison you?”

  Hattie’s brow wrinkled. “Rescue me? I thought you were rescuing me.”

  And just like that, Jack had nearly lost his advantage.

  “Ransom,” he said. “They saved you for a purpose, and now we have to see what they’re demanding for your return. While I’m negotiating for your release, I’ll see about getting you some supper. It’s the least they can do for all the trouble they’re causing us.”

  Then he saw something he’d never thought he’d see—a tear on Hattie Walker’s cheek. The confident, vivacious girl of his dreams had shown a weakness. And he was in a position to help her.

  Jack wasn’t sure what to do. He knew Hattie. She wouldn’t appreciate his noticing that she’d succumbed to womanly emotions. While he dreamed of taking her in his arms, he thought better of it. Respect. That was what Hattie wanted more than anything.

  Keeping his gaze somewhere over her head, he said, “You’ve maintained your composure so well. Just a while longer, and everything is going to be fine.”

  Her voice was flat and tired. “The coach was attacked. I saw him shoot the driver. I . . . I touched dead bodies.” She swiped at her face, but not before Jack saw another tear forming.

  He had to look away. Had to think of something besides smoothing her hair, now matted and littered with dry grass. Better to keep the conversation on the facts. Facts had always been Jack’s friends.

  “Ma’am,” he asked, “did you know anyone on that stage?”

  It was the right question. Her chin went up, and her sorrow turned to outrage. “No. And the two men traveling with me were very disrespectful.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Her dirty cuffs exposed hands with red, cracking skin and fingernails split by the cold. “They didn’t give me a moment’s peace. Extremely rude.”

  If the report was accurate, they wouldn’t be rude to a woman ever again, but he knew better than to tell Hattie that. “We’ll find the man responsible for putting you through this,” he said. She gave a brisk nod, and the pain in his chest eased. Now that she was ready to fight again, he was ready with his plans. “In the meantime, eat the food Spotted Hawk gives you and cooperate with her. I’ll speak to the chief and work everything out.”

  He had to force his feet to carry him away. Of all the prayers he’d said for Hattie over the years, he’d never thought to ask for her to be delivered to the reservation. It was up to him to make the most of it.

  Chapter Four

  We will have a feast,” said Chief Right Hand. “Is that what you want?”

  Jack nodded. The sun had gone down. His men were still out scouting the stagecoach massacre scene, and the ambulance wagon hadn’t arrived. It looked like Hattie would be stuck in the village for another night. Stuck with him. But once she saw what a good leader Jack was, and how much authority the U.S. Cavalry trusted him with, she couldn’t help but be reassured . . . and maybe impressed. And maybe once she got home, she’d remember how brave and handsome he was. And maybe she’d answer a letter of his every once in a while. Or at least once.

  “A feast would be perfect,” Jack said. “Do it up right. Songs, some of those drums. And can we have a ceremony where you hand her over to me? Something to make my possession of the survivor official?”

  Coyote’s translation pleased the elders. “A
ceremony is necessary,” Chief Right Hand replied. “We will have the women prepare.” The women sitting to the side began chattering. Many happy glances were cast Jack’s way. Jack returned their smiles with a nod. At least these ladies were on his side.

  “They like this idea?” he asked Coyote.

  Coyote raised an eyebrow. “They’ve been wishing for this ceremony ever since you started telling us about the Darlington school.”

  If they’d wanted to have a party, then why hadn’t they said so? “If this will convince them to send their children to the school, then it’ll be well worth it.”

  “Lieutenant Hennessey is more determined than we knew,” Coyote said. “We’ll tell you when everything is prepared.”

  Jack hoped they didn’t rush. After years without Hattie, he wanted to savor every moment before him.

  This time when Spotted Hawk brought her a bowl of stew, Hattie fell on her knees as soon as it was in her hands. She greedily slurped the broth, then picked up the chunks of meat with her fingers. Part of her knew she should slow down, but she couldn’t stop eating until the woman gently pulled it away from her. Now that the soldier was here and Hattie no longer feared Spotted Hawk, she recognized that the woman was just trying to help. And look how Hattie had acted. Like a spoiled brat.

  The little she’d eaten only made her hungrier, but it also gave her strength. Standing, Hattie made her way to the side of the tepee, then began to wipe at the dried stew with the hem of her ruined dress. She’d made a mess, and she would fix it. She didn’t expect anyone else to be put out on account of her.

  But more women entered the tepee, and they wouldn’t let her clean the hides. They pulled her away from her work, but the tone had changed. Hattie understood now that they had been gracious to her, and they understood that she was sorry. Or at least she hoped that they did.

  The appearance of the cavalry officer had changed everything. His confidence gave her courage. His protection gave her hope. She hadn’t been forsaken. God had sent her a rescuer, and it was no less miraculous in her mind than the jail door falling open for Paul and Silas.

  A woman dressed in beaded buckskin presented her with a basin of water and a cloth. Hattie knew what to do with that. The warm water and calming ritual made her realize how sleepy she was. The sun had gone down, and she couldn’t wait to rest. Would she sleep at a fort tonight, or out on the range? The thought of traveling with the trooper should have troubled her. He was a stranger, and yet there was something so familiar, so endearing about him. He was strong and hardy, that much was clear, and she hoped he was as competent as he claimed. She felt confident that he could save her, but she wondered where this confidence in his abilities came from. Who did he remind her of that she trusted him so implicitly?

  A younger woman with a baby on her hip handed Hattie a strangely shaped comb. Just thinking about the tangles in her hair made Hattie’s head hurt, but she smoothed the comb over the top, knowing she’d have to have some soap and a bath before tackling the snarls.

  One of the women approached with a leather dress draped over her arm. Hattie froze. They didn’t expect her to put that on, did they? Her fears that she would never get to leave returned.

  She shook her head. Spotted Hawk touched the muddy hem of her skirt. Hattie drew her feet in and tucked the hem beneath her. They weren’t taking her clothes. If she had to yell bloody murder she would, but she wouldn’t get undressed until she was in a room with a lock and key.

  Sensing her panic, Spotted Hawk motioned the dress bearer back. But this time she didn’t just touch Hattie’s dress, she pulled the hem toward her and began picking off the clumps of mud. Spotted Hawk’s voice was stern but calm. Seeing what she was about, Hattie and the other women joined her in removing the burrs and mud as best they could. The dress was ruined, but Hattie was grateful they wanted to clean her up. She was going to see the soldier again and, although she knew not to have her head turned by a dashing officer, she might as well look her best.

  From outside the tent, children’s voices could be heard, and heavy, slow steps passed as if many people were carrying burdens. A drum pounded a rhythm, then stopped and tried a different cadence.

  At last Spotted Hawk stepped back, and with her hands on her hips, nodded in satisfaction. Good. Hattie had tired of the attention and wanted to find the soldier again. How was he doing with the negotiations?

  Now that she’d had a moment for her food to settle, Hattie reached again for the bowl of stew, but the young woman took it away. She shook her head and motioned for Hattie to come to the door. Looking at the half-filled bowl as she passed, Hattie stepped through the flap of the tepee.

  She didn’t remember the tepee that stood right outside. In fact, with women still staking down the bottom of the leather covering, it looked like they were still in the process of constructing it. White puffs of breath followed the men laboring to carry logs inside for a fire. The smell of another spicy meal reached her nostrils. All the activity could only mean one thing: the trooper had planned a feast for her.

  Hattie smiled in relief. The women giggled, and two of them took her by the arms as an escort. Hadn’t the trooper told her to cooperate, that this was a delicate negotiation? She’d do as she was told. She had to trust him.

  The elders of the tribe were crowded in the tepee, men on one side and women on the other. Hattie nearly ran back outside when she saw them all assembled with their layers of colorful adornments and braids spiked with feathers.

  But then she saw the officer. He sat among the men at the fire, his back every bit as straight as the chief’s, his overcoat with the cape draped from his shoulders and rumpled on the ground around him. He stood when she entered, and every fiber of him spoke of achievement and success. But then a young Indian man in white man’s clothing tugged on his sleeve, and the officer returned to his seat at the fire. Under the direction of the women, Hattie sat among them, opposite the men.

  The room quieted for the chief. His speech wasn’t long but was appreciated by his people. He dragged a boy forward and, with a hand on his shoulder and a hand palm up, made some sort of pledge. Although the scene was not as majestic as she imagined the Rocky Mountains to be, Hattie wished for her box of paints and a canvas to capture it.

  She was brought to her feet again, but this time she was led all the way around the circle. When she spotted a kettle of stew, her stomach growled, but the women kept her marching past it. The trooper was also being marched around. He looked solemn, dignified, making her wish that she had clean clothing.

  The two groups met at a spot by the fire that had been cleared for them. With a little tugging, their hosts managed to arrange both of them at the fire next to each other. Never had Hattie been so anxious to hear her own language.

  “You’re doing wonderful,” the trooper whispered. “If we play our cards right, we should get out of here alive.”

  Yet he was so brave, the danger didn’t seem to bother him at all.

  “Do they do this for all the captives?” she asked.

  “This is a first for me.” Instead of cowering, he motioned to an Indian wearing an army coat over his fringed buckskin trousers and asked, “Coyote, when can we feed the lady?”

  “Soon. Chief Right Hand will have prayer first.”

  Prayer before the meal. Maybe they weren’t as foreign as she’d thought. Hattie bowed her head and thanked God for sending her a rescuer. She prayed for Agent Gibson and Mr. Sloane’s families and the family of the driver. She prayed for her parents, that they wouldn’t be worried about her, and she prayed that this detour wouldn’t prevent her from the success she sought in Denver. Maybe the exhibition directors had been right. She had never experienced hardships like this before. It had certainly changed her perspective.

  The prayer was over, but only Coyote moved. “What do you have to give her?” he asked the trooper.

  For the first time, her escort looked uncertain. “Give her? I wasn’t prepared for a trade.”

&
nbsp; Oh no. His confusion frightened her, but the tease of the familiar had returned. Looking worried like that, he reminded her of someone. It was on the tip of her tongue. . . .

  “How about my overcoat? Will that suffice?” The officer unclasped the navy cape from his neck and removed it. He paused, then draped it over her shoulders.

  Hattie kept her eyes down. She must smell like a three-week-old basket of wash left in the cellar, but he treated her as if she were decked out in her finest gown. Why hadn’t a man like this been on the stagecoach with her? It would have made all the difference in the world. Then again, considering the fate of the other men, she was glad he hadn’t been there.

  “And you?” the Indian asked her.

  Hattie sat flummoxed. She could give him her coat, but it would be useless to him. She had nothing else. All her luggage, even her reticule, had been on the stagecoach. Thinking quickly, she reached for her earring and slipped it off. The officer blinked in surprise but held out his hand for her to press the jewelry into. The gesture pleased their audience. The women shimmied their shoulders to make their bells jangle. The officer smiled his thanks and tucked the earring into his pocket.

  “Aren’t you going to wear it?” the Indian asked. “We have a knife, so we can fix that ear.”

  “No, thank you, Coyote,” he said. “I’ll just put it in my pocket.”

  “Then the ceremony is complete. The chief will make an announcement.”

  The chief stood before them and raised his hands. A brief word with Coyote, and then Coyote whispered to her, “Your name is Hattie Walker, right?”

  Hattie tensed. She hadn’t told anyone her name, not even the officer. How did they know? Had they found her luggage on the stagecoach? Something with her name on it? She nodded, then waited as Coyote passed on her reply to the chief.