The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  The words slurred over unfamiliar syllables, but then she heard her name. The chief motioned to her, and she stood. When he reached out, she wasn’t sure what to do, but she took his hand, more and more sure that with the trooper there, she was in no danger. His wizened hand gripped her firmly as he motioned for the officer to stand.

  Hattie’s cape was slipping. The officer straightened it before allowing the chief to take him by the hand, too. Thank goodness for the officer. If a simple release of a prisoner was this complicated, then Hattie would have never figured it out on her own.

  What came next startled her. Chief Right Hand placed the officer’s hand atop hers. The officer covered her hand in a broad, warm grasp. Her eyes flickered up to his, and she was surprised by the emotion she saw. He must have been thinking of someone else, some other time, because she hadn’t earned the regard in his gaze.

  The words continued while they stood there with their hands linked atop the chief’s open palm. He was drawing to a close, or at least she hoped so. She heard her name again, but this time it was followed by something more.

  “. . . Lieutenant Jack Hennessey.”

  Hattie’s eyes widened. Jack Hennessey? The spindly stretch of a boy she’d gone to school with?

  The officer’s chin went up as he dared her to question him. And here she was with her mouth gaping open. She snapped her jaw shut and studied his gloved hand covering hers. It was impossible. Not this handsome, manly lieutenant who’d come in and risked his life for her. He couldn’t be the know-it-all boy from home, could he?

  She fluttered her eyes upward to steal another peek. She’d meant to answer his letters, but he was so clever, and she got intimidated when she picked up a pen. Procrastination took over, and she’d never gotten around to replying. But why would he be here in Indian Territory? And why hadn’t he told her?

  As the chief’s words ended, the women whooped and cheered. The men pounded their staffs into the ground in beat with the drums that had struck up. Again she was being led around the circle of observers, but this time Jack was holding her hand.

  Jack? Maybe this was a man who only shared his name, because she could see nothing of the boy she’d known in him. But his gaze was too familiar, too knowing for him to be a stranger. It had to be him. And even as she was coming to terms with that fact, her embarrassment grew. Why hadn’t he told her right from the first? It put her at a disadvantage, and she had always been at a disadvantage around him. Other boys flattered her and made her feel superior when they competed in their immature contests to win her favor. Never Jack. He was above all of them. And her. And now she would have to admit that she hadn’t even recognized him while he was saving her life.

  The Indians broke out into some chanting song. Jack smiled and hummed along as if he’d heard it before. Everyone was looking at her as they marched around in the circle. Just what a woman who had been through the wringer wanted, to be the center of attention.

  Still, one thing was settled. She would be safe. Jack Hennessey always passed his tests. She had nothing to fear in his hands. Nothing besides looking inadequate.

  Chapter Five

  What kind of ceremony was that? Jack sat on the cold ground, shoulder to shoulder with Hattie. He took the food offered to them, finding it strange that the Arapaho made the guests of honor share a bowl when everyone else had their own. Through all his study on the Arapaho, this had been one of the richest experiences he’d witnessed, yet it didn’t have the feel of a usual village celebration. It was too scripted, too formal, too similar to another ceremony—one he didn’t dare name.

  Instead he let his mind wander to a cold day in Van Buren years ago, when he’d decided to ask Hattie to the Valentine’s Day dance. He’d written a very formal, very proper invitation, wanting to impress her with the forethought he’d put into the offer. But when he stood in front of her on the schoolhouse steps, his hands shook too much to read the sonnet he’d composed. Instead he gaped, unbelieving that anyone’s skin could be so perfectly flawless when his own was so besieged. And her eyes sparkled, while his were hidden beneath the reading glasses he’d had to don if he had any hope of making out his sonnet.

  All the preparation was worthless, because instead of rivaling Shakespeare with his eloquence, he stammered, “Are you going to the dance?”

  And when she replied with, “Yes, I am. Carson McKinney is taking me,” Jack could only smile and say, “I hope you have a good time,” before running away to berate himself on the botched offer.

  Normally, Jack was the first to speak up, ask a question, or share an opinion, but he had always lost his nerve around Hattie. Even here, even now, when it seemed important to know exactly what Chief Right Hand was saying, he had let the ceremony go on. If he had made a mistake, he’d correct it later. Hattie didn’t need to know.

  One by one, the Arapaho came by to impart a word that Jack had never heard before—neniiseekuuthi’. He wished he had a notebook to write it on, but after hearing it a dozen times, he was confident he could reproduce it in his office. He focused on the well-wishers, keeping in mind that he was the official representative for the army and relationships were important. Meanwhile, Hattie could feast on the rabbit stew, which she was doing with relish.

  He’d heard from his family that Hattie’s artistic talent had continued to mature. He’d also heard when she rejected a proposal, choosing to study painting instead, thus keeping his hopes alive that he might someday have a chance. But she was a different person now. He didn’t know her anymore. And he’d changed, too. Or at least he thought he had, until she appeared and made him feel thirteen years old again.

  The party continued until midnight. Coyote had shed his agency clothing and was dancing with his tribesmen, unconcerned with Jack. As much as Jack was enjoying seeing village life in this manner, he worried about Hattie. The ambulance driver must have bunked down for the night. They wouldn’t see him until morning, but Hattie could barely keep her eyes open. It was time for her to retire.

  He motioned Coyote over. “Miss Walker is tired. What accommodations have been made?”

  Coyote scrunched his forehead in confusion while Hattie listened attentively. “She’s sleeping here. This is your tent.”

  “My tent?” Jack scanned the hastily constructed tepee. “I don’t need a tent.”

  “It’s custom,” said Coyote. “They know you’re going back to the fort, but for the night after the neniiseekuuthi’ feast, you are given your own tent.” He turned to the group and in a bellowing voice made some sort of announcement. The party began clearing out, women and men picking up the pots and musical instruments as they squeezed through the narrow opening and out into the night.

  “I don’t mind sleeping at the door to guard it,” Jack said, “but isn’t someone going to stay in here with her? Spotted Hawk?”

  Coyote’s skills as an interpreter were unsurpassed, but he seemed to be having trouble understanding now. “No one will guard the tent. You will both be safe in here.”

  “Jack? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  It was the first time she’d said his name. The first time in years. Jack turned, ready to give her the world if she wanted it. “Nothing is wrong. We’re making arrangements for the evening. Excuse me while I get this settled.” He motioned Coyote to follow him a few steps away. “Are you saying that we’re both supposed to stay in here?”

  “Don’t you speak English?” Coyote asked. “She’s no longer the tribe’s responsibility. You asked them to give her to you. Now you take care of her.”

  “I am taking care of her. I’m protecting her reputation. We can’t stay in here together alone. It’s against our customs. You’re on the army’s payroll, and I’m ordering you to remain with me.”

  Coyote stepped backward. His hands flew up in protest. “No, sir. I can’t do that. I have a reputation as well, and if word got around the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes that I stayed in the tent after a neniiseekuuthi’ ceremony, I would be shunned. Stop worry
ing so much, Lieutenant. You’re warm, you’re fed, and you have your lady back. Tomorrow you can work. Tonight is celebration.”

  Then, with a curious tip of the hat, he sauntered out of the tepee and closed the flap behind him.

  Jack stood with his back to Hattie. How was he going to explain this? Somehow he knew that the change in circumstances was not going to improve Hattie’s opinion of him.

  Hattie had never been so exhausted before. She had reached her limit. But even though her eyes drooped, she feared what scenes would play in the dark when she finally closed them.

  Jack lingered by the door, but Hattie wasn’t fooled. She might be tired, but her ears worked just fine. Jack had always been one of the more cautious boys of her youth, and she could well imagine his dread of staying the night with her. After all he’d done, she hated to be more trouble. He was probably wondering how she’d managed to get herself in such a mess. He probably wondered how soon he could get rid of her.

  Despite her embarrassment, Hattie was relieved that he was staying. The rules of society she’d always lived by had vanished when the stagecoach rolled away without her. This was pure survival, and if that meant falling asleep under the watchful eye of a cavalry officer, then Hattie could live with that.

  “I’m so glad you’re going to be my guard tonight,” she said to ease his discomfort. “I know it’s an inconvenience for you, but I don’t think Spotted Hawk likes me.”

  His posture softened a smidgen. “I tried to explain to them—”

  “Please, if you don’t mind.” Her face burned with shame at her request. “If you’d stay, I’d be eternally grateful.”

  The words seemed to do the trick. “I’ll remember you said that,” Jack said. He pulled a stack of buffalo hides away from the door and arranged them next to the fire. “I apologize for the unorthodox manner in which this was conducted. It seems I don’t know as much about the Arapaho customs as I thought I did.”

  Hattie sank to her knees on the hides. “I can’t believe you are Jack. I would’ve never recognized you.”

  “The army has changed me, Hattie.”

  Yes, it had. He’d always been an awkward smarty-pants. Now? Well, the smarty-pants aspect was probably still true.

  “Where are your spectacles?” she asked.

  His mouth twitched into a smile. “I still have them, but they’re only for reading.”

  “It seems you wore them all the time in school.”

  “I was in school. Reading.” He spread another hide next to the door.

  “You don’t want to be by the fire?” she asked.

  “I don’t think it’s proper.”

  Perhaps not, but the truth was she worried that she’d never be able to close her eyes and sleep again. On the other side of darkness was the fear of being discovered, of being cold and hungry, of bad men groping in the blackness, trying to find her.

  “At least take your coat back. There’ll be a draft.” She unclasped it and handed it to him. But she forgot to let go. He stood over her, the cape suspended between them. “And give me my earring,” she said. “You have no use for it.”

  A strange look came over his face. “No. That was part of the ceremony, and it has meaning to me. I think I’ll keep it. At least until you’re back on your way to . . . where were you going, again?”

  She released the cape and tucked her skirt beneath her knees. “I’m going to Colorado. And those earrings were a gift from my father. If he knows I lost one . . .”

  “I’ll be glad to explain it to him. I always admired your father. Why are you going to Colorado?”

  “To study art.” She could only imagine what Jack thought of her grandiose aspirations. “I only have two months to be recognized, or else I have to go home.”

  “I recognized you immediately,” he said.

  “I suppose I haven’t changed as much as you have,” she replied.

  Hours later, Jack was still awake. He’d lain down mostly to assure Hattie that he wasn’t leaving, but as soon as she’d fallen asleep, he sat up and pushed open the tent flap. He wouldn’t go out, but his thoughts needed more space than the smoky tepee could afford.

  Nothing moved in the camp. The dogs were curled up in tight circles against the tepees to keep warm. The outdoor fires had gone cold. Everything was quiet. Everything was peaceful.

  Everything except Jack.

  He looked up at the sky full of sparkling crystal stars. Jack knew nothing happened in life that God didn’t allow, but that didn’t mean that everything had a purpose. Sometimes it was just dumb luck that you spilled your coffee on your uniform and had to change. Or when you misplaced the book you’d been reading and spent the better part of an hour looking for it. God might allow it to happen, but in the grand scheme of things, what did it matter? Bullets flying, prairie fires raging, disease spreading—in situations like that, you hoped God was guiding the outcome. In other things, well, He probably let nature take its course.

  For most of his life Jack had been in love with Hattie Walker. Puppy love, infatuation, besotted—no matter what you called it, Jack couldn’t think of another woman without first comparing her to Hattie. Hattie was joyful, courageous, spunky, and generous. Even when they grew up and it became obvious she didn’t share his regard, she was still kind. And rather than test her kindness by applying himself again and again, Jack had left Van Buren.

  He’d hoped that her memory would fade, but the longer he was away, the brighter her memory seemed to grow, until he wasn’t sure what was truth and what was his own conjecturing. It was the courtship of Major Adams and Miss Bell that forced Jack to admit that longing for Hattie wasn’t healthy. He had to move on. He had sat under these very stars and prayed about it, asking God to bring him a woman of godly character, common sense, and—if it wasn’t too much to ask—a pretty smile. And most of all, someone who’d be able to consider loving him, too.

  A gust of wind snapped the hides on the tepee. Was he letting in too much cold air? He closed the flap and looked behind him, but Hattie didn’t stir. She looked so small, curled up beneath the heavy robes with her back to him. It hurt to imagine her sleeping uncovered in a cold, lonely gully. How frightened she must have been. What was her family thinking, letting her make this trip alone?

  And what was God thinking, bringing her here to him? This wasn’t a spilled drink or a missing book. Jack couldn’t by any stretch of the imagination turn this into a coincidence. Something else was going on. Had his prayers been answered? Maybe instead of asking him to give up on Hattie, God was delivering her right to his arms.

  The fire had slacked. Moving silently, Jack took the unburnt ends of the sticks and pushed them toward the coals. Hattie stirred. She flipped over to face him but was still asleep. Her brow wrinkled, and her mouth tightened. Her whimper nearly broke his heart. Feebly she pushed against the blankets, like she was trying to claw her way out of a grave. Jack hurried to sit at her side.

  He brushed her hair away from her face, and his heart skipped a beat at the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. She’d been through so much, and yet she still could stand her ground, even surrounded by a whole culture that was strange and frightening to her. He’d always thought her unsinkable, unshakable. But now, in her sleep, trouble creased her face. Her chin quivered, and her hand continued to push at invisible torments.

  “Shhh . . .” Stroking her hair seemed to calm her, but what if she woke suddenly? Would his presence startle her?

  Then she did something that startled him. Hattie grabbed a handful of his overcoat and pulled it beneath her chin, like it was her most cherished possession. He drew back, but she wouldn’t release him. Instead, she took a deep breath against the fabric, and her breathing slowed. The creases on her face smoothed, and everything relaxed except for her grip.

  He was caught, awkwardly leaning over her at an angle that couldn’t be sustained. What would Coyote or any of the Arapaho think if they walked in? There was only one thing to do. Jack unbuttoned the c
oat and slid it off his shoulders. He tried to tuck it around her, but she preferred to hold it tightly to her chest.

  He waited another moment before moving away. It would be a cold night, but he couldn’t complain. They’d made a trade, after all, and he’d had his reasons for keeping her earring. He had to wonder what her reasons were.

  Chapter Six

  Hattie woke with a start. She shoved off the heavy buffalo hides and bounced to her feet. The cool air in the tepee bit clean through her fogginess. She stood with one hand against the sloped wall, the other hand clutching a wool coat over her chest, and it was already light outside. What had happened?

  The caped overcoat was the clue. The troopers had come, and one of them—Jack Hennessey, of all people—had arranged for her release. Last night she’d finally been fed and rested, and today she could continue her journey.

  The cedar log on the fire filled the tepee with a sweet scent. Hattie threw the coat over her shoulders and huddled next to the flame. The experiences of the last few days were too frightening to think about, so she tried to focus on her future. What was her plan? Was she ready to give up on her mission and return home? If she did, her parents wouldn’t fund another venture. So she’d continue to Denver, then. Get on another stagecoach like the one before and travel with strangers. Hattie pulled the edges of the coat around her and shivered. She’d do what she had to, but she didn’t relish the journey. Not with the memories so fresh.

  Reins jangling and the creaking of wheels alerted her that someone had arrived. The door flapped open, and a tall silhouette darkened the space. She tucked her chin into the cape. All her hopes hung on Jack Hennessey. She was still having trouble acquainting herself with that fact.

  He took off his hat and brushed at his wavy hair. She did remember that brown shock of mess, but it didn’t look so out of control now that he’d grown into it. His fresh haircut enhanced his fine dark eyes, just like the perfect frame could anchor a painting.