“Agent Gibson,” she said. “He had a large, heavy traveling case that he kept at his side. Maybe he was sick, but he seemed to be melancholy on the journey.”
“That wasn’t unusual for him,” Jack said. “But he didn’t seem nervous?”
O’Hare frowned at his superior. “He didn’t seem nervous?” he repeated.
Hattie shook her head. “Only concerned about his traveling case. And then there was Mr. Sloane. He got on in Fort Smith, same as me. He was a very handsome man, with a beguiling smile.”
Jack cleared his throat. O’Hare dropped his gaze to his paper, but his pencil had stopped moving.
Hattie rolled her eyes. “He looked mighty fine, but he was a pretentious bore. Always checking his big gold watch and lifting the curtain, which let in the cold. He certainly put on airs for a working man.”
Was it her imagination, or was Jack breathing easier? “And the driver?” he said.
“I never caught his name,” she replied.
“What were you doing when you first heard or saw the outlaw?” O’Hare asked.
Hattie folded her hands and tried to be as objective as her colorful imagination would allow. “I was down in a gully when I heard a horse approaching.”
“Where was everyone else?” O’Hare asked.
“In the stagecoach.”
“And you were the only one outside? Why?” His florid face scrunched in confusion.
Hattie wanted to hide. “I just needed a breath of fresh air.”
O’Hare laughed. “That’s all we’ve got here is fresh air.”
“You don’t seem the type to lollygag,” Jack said. “Getting to Colorado was important to you, so why delay?”
“Colorado?” O’Hare’s forehead wrinkled. “I thought she was coming here to get hitched to you. Why was your fiancée going to Colorado without even stopping by for a howdy?”
Hattie arched an eyebrow. “You should’ve let him do the interviewing.”
Jack leaned back in his chair and motioned for the sergeant to continue.
“I got out of the stagecoach because of nature,” Hattie said. “I think that’s as specific as I need to be.”
“That won’t answer in a court of law—”
“O’Hare,” Jack barked. “Move on to the next question.”
“Alrighty, then. You were down in the gully, and then what happened?”
Hattie closed her eyes to blot out the cozy office and the two men in blue. “I heard shots. I don’t know who shot first. I looked over the edge of the gully, and the driver told me to get down. I ducked. The two men in the stage, Agent Gibson and Mr. Sloane, both had their guns drawn. They were shooting out the windows at a man who was riding up behind the stagecoach. Agent Gibson had opened the door of the stage and was using it as a shield. Then the horses took off, and the coach was just beginning to roll away. The driver was urging the horses forward, but then he was hit and fell out of his seat. He didn’t catch himself when he fell, so when he hit the ground . . .” She dug her fingernails into her palm.
Funny how she could tell it now, and it seemed distant, like she was repeating someone else’s story. But Hattie knew that when night fell and she heard the Indian drums again, it would come back with startling clarity.
“What about the outlaw? Could you describe him?” O’Hare asked.
She tried to turn her mind’s eye toward him, but every time she directed herself that way, she wanted to duck. “I yelled to disrupt him, but when he turned, I couldn’t let him see me,” she said. “I can’t let him see me. If he sees me, then he’ll come over and—”
Jack took her hand. The gesture was unexpected, but appreciated.
“He didn’t get me,” she said at last, fighting the tightness in her chest. “I’m safe now.”
“Was he white? Indian? Thin? Thick?” Sergeant O’Hare asked.
Drawing up the memory of his face made her stomach churn. “I don’t know. I don’t have the words.” She looked to Jack, as if her eloquent friend could help, but he had no comment.
“How long did you wait before the Arapaho found you?” O’Hare asked.
Hattie’s hand trembled. Jack renewed his warm grasp. “I think we have enough for now, Sergeant,” he said.
Hattie could only sit mute as they discussed getting their information to the marshals. She was so confused. She was frustrated by the position Jack had put her in, but when faced with the reality of her situation, she knew that without him, she was in danger of losing her sanity. As someone who prized her independence, it was a bitter pill to swallow.
“If that’s all”—Sergeant O’Hare gathered his paper and stood—“thank you, Mrs. Hennessey. Lieutenant, I’ll send word back to the marshals and see if they can piece together any more information.”
“What about my belongings?” Hattie asked. “Were they recovered?”
“We haven’t found the stagecoach yet, but if you’d like to make a list, it’d help us identify them if something does show up,” Jack said. “Did you lose anything of value?”
Anything of value? That trunk contained her whole life. “No. Just my clothes, my money, my sketchbook, my oils and watercolors. Nothing that couldn’t be replaced.” She ducked her head. Nothing except my freedom.
Chapter Eleven
It was her second day as his wife—or at least the second day since she’d found out that she was married—and Hattie and Jack were at an impasse. He stood at the front door, decked in his full uniform with a wagon waiting behind him. The cold wind gusted between them and snapped her dreary skirt around her legs.
“I can’t go to town wearing only one earring.” Hattie’s teeth would have chattered had she not clenched them. “I’m not accustomed to appearing in public half dressed.”
The set of his jaw could only be called stubborn. “Then don’t wear any earrings. Makes no matter to me.”
“Why don’t you give it back? You know I never meant for you to keep it.”
“I’m keeping it.” When had Jack grown so determined?
“Why?” Hattie asked.
He opened his mouth. Then, with a narrowing of his eyes, he looked away.
Hattie could have asked Mrs. Adams for the loan of some earrings before she and Major Adams had left on their honeymoon, but she was standing on principle. She’d given him back his coat. It was only fair that he return her jewelry.
“Come on, Hattie,” he said. “Darlington is a tiny town full of Indian students and Mennonite missionaries. No one will even notice what you’re wearing.”
Which was precisely her objection. Hattie had always been able to convince her parents to keep her dressed in the latest fashions. Her darling traveling gown had been ruined by the night in the gully. Her other clothes were in the possession of a bloodthirsty murderer, and now her pretend husband was hoarding her jewelry.
“If you don’t want to go, I could pick out some clothes for you, I reckon,” said Jack.
“You know a lot of things about a lot of things, but I doubt women’s clothing is your fermata.”
“Forte,” he corrected. “C’mon, you look beautiful in faded black. I’ll ask around if they have some more. Or maybe buckskin. I know how you admire the Arapaho fashions.” His mouth twitched. If he wasn’t so infuriating, Jack would be a decent-looking man.
Hattie closed her eyes. How long was she stuck here? “I’ll get my coat.” Although the battered garment looked even worse than wearing one earring.
Jack moved to the wagon while Hattie pulled the coat over her too-loose blouse. Her eyes darted over the cluttered entryway and parlor as she thought about what items she needed to replace. Besides clothing, she needed food, since she wouldn’t be eating in the officers’ mess with Jack, and she insisted on replacing her paints and canvases. She hadn’t held a brush since leaving home, and she had a painting to paint, although what she could find to inspire her here was beyond her imagination.
She joined Jack outside, prepared for the trip. Providing h
er with food and clothing was the least he could do, since he was withholding things like freedom and liberty. Her shoulders tightened as they left Fort Reno behind. She would master this fear that lurked at the corners of her mind, waiting for an unexpected moment to attack. Nights were the worst. She’d stayed in her room the night before, but comfort and sleep had eluded her. Would having Jack’s coat in her arms have made a difference? She was too embarrassed to ask. Even now in full daylight, she couldn’t hide from the feeling that she was being hunted.
“Darlington is just ahead,” Jack said. “The two miles between the fort and the agency are the safest two miles on the reservation.”
Why did he have to notice her distress? Hattie slipped her gloved hands into her coat pockets. “Thank you for that information. You always were a walking almanac.”
Jack stared at her, dead even. Then, as if deciding not to say what was on the tip of his tongue, he turned back to watch the horses. Had she offended him? Maybe riding in silence was the best option. Though he was better company than Agent Gibson and Mr. Sloane had been—one of them studiously ignoring her as if her mere presence was offensive while the other taunted her with mocking chivalry. They were both dead now, unable to redeem themselves. Hattie would rather not think of them at all. She’d rather forget everything that had happened since that blustery day, but the new Jack was hard to ignore. Especially since he kept glancing her way.
“We need to get our story straight,” he said. “I can’t have you going to town and telling everyone how I ruined your life.”
“You didn’t ruin it. You only messed it up temporarily.”
“And as generous as that sounds, maybe you can prevent yourself from saying it.”
“I want to help,” she said, “but exactly what is it that you’re asking me to do?”
Jack drew in a long breath before answering. “First off, don’t faint when I introduce you as Mrs. Hennessey. Try to act like a new bride might, happy to spend time with your husband. I’ve seen you pour on the charm. I know exactly how you act when you want to impress someone. Act like that, and everyone will be too enchanted to bother asking about our engagement.”
Hattie felt at a disadvantage. Jack seemed to know everything about her, while she was constantly surprised by him. While Jack was nothing to sneeze at now, she couldn’t shake the image of the bookish adolescent who always seemed ready with a helpful, unsolicited suggestion. If people back home heard about their union without knowing the real story, how they’d laugh.
“I can promise you silence,” she said. “That’s as far as I’m willing to go.”
“Silence? I should be used to that from you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Never did have much to say when I was around.”
“Because I didn’t enjoy my grammar being corrected. Other boys acted delighted with everything I said. Tommy Dupree never told me that my subject and vowel weren’t in agreement.”
“Subject and verb. So why didn’t you marry Tommy Dupree?”
She snorted. The thought was ridiculous. Tommy Dupree wasn’t the least bit interesting now that he’d grown up. Or maybe since she’d grown up. Hattie shook her head. “He asked. I declined. Nothing further to report. If you’ll remember, I took this journey to win my freedom. I never thought that I’d end up . . .” She paused to look at her companion. Jack shot her a sideways glance. “Jack, what exactly did you tell the Indians to do for that ceremony?”
“I made a mistake. My Arapaho isn’t as good as it should be. Simple misunderstanding.”
“Do you have any idea how many times you told me that I had made a mistake on my papers, how many times you pointed out that I wasn’t quite as clever as you?”
“I was trying to help you with your homework. I was looking for an excuse to talk to you. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”
“By sneaking looks at my homework so you could discover my inadequacies? Not exactly a charming trait, Jack. If you think I want to spend the rest of my life married to the boy who stopped my speech on David Livingstone to correct me, then you’re wrong. Wrong. You didn’t pass this test.”
“You claimed Livingstone was English. He wasn’t! He was Scottish! How could you make that mistake?”
Hattie almost laughed at his indignation. “Another reason why we can’t be married. We’d make each other miserable.” He looked so crestfallen, she felt guilty. She dipped her head and smiled at him from the corner of her eyes. “You never answered my question about the Arapaho banquet. Hadn’t you ever seen that ceremony before?”
“You look cold.” He buttoned the top button of his coat to keep out the prying wind. “We should’ve brought you a blanket. Hopefully we can find a new coat that fits you.”
“Get one that is made for traveling, and work on that story of yours. You owe it to me.”
The white tepees along the river didn’t interest Hattie in the least. She’d seen a camp up close, and now they only reminded her of her mislaid plans. She looked to the heavens and all but cried, Why me? But then another thought hit her. She could have been one of the bodies left on the cold ground. She could have been found by men who were not as chivalrous as the Arapaho. She could have been in the same situation with another man who wasn’t Jack.
New perspectives. That was what she was supposed to learn from this adventure. Maybe when it was all said and done, God would bring something positive out of this. But it was too late for Agent Gibson, Mr. Sloane, and their driver, whom she’d nearly forgotten about when faced with the inconvenience of Jack’s proposed delay. Could it be that the gallery owners were right? Could it be that Hattie was shallow and selfish and didn’t know how to sympathize with people?
It was an unsettling thought.
And what about Jack? How was he affected? She hadn’t spent much time thinking about what his life had been like before he’d encountered her, or what would happen to him after she left. Hattie shot him another glance. He’d saved her life and, the earring notwithstanding, had provided for her needs ever since. It wouldn’t hurt to show him some understanding. Besides, he’d promised to help her get to Denver, which was as generous of him as it was necessary for her.
“What are you going to do, Lieutenant Hennessey?” she asked. “If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to hide this humiliating episode from my acquaintances, but what about you? How are you going to explain it to your fellow soldiers when I leave?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. I’m hoping Major Adams will reverse his decision. If not, then I’ll have to leave Indian Territory, as well.” His eyes tightened. Was there some danger ahead? But then he looked away. “As far as most of them will know, my lovely bride and I were reassigned to live out our marital bliss at another location.”
“But won’t they find out sooner or later? I mean, it’s not like you won’t cross their paths someday. It’d probably be best if we told everyone at Fort Reno exactly what happened. Then they won’t think ill of me when I have to leave.”
“That would be counterproductive. If our objective is to show the Arapaho that we’re honoring their marriage ceremony, then we have to be consistent. Strong marriages have been built on shakier foundations.”
“But not when both parties opposed the union.”
He sighed. “By the rules of the Arapaho, in whose reservation we are abiding, we are man and wife. There’s no further explanation needed for anyone—American or Indian.”
Hattie disagreed. She wanted to explain to everyone that the man at her side, however gallant, was not her choice. That he was the result of a series of unmanageable circumstances, and she couldn’t be held responsible.
His gaze saw right through her. “Hattie, please just follow my lead,” he said. “These people have been moved from their homeland, their movements are restricted, they are surrounded by a society that has done them harm, and now they are being told that their best hope for the future is to embrace the changes and adapt. Can you imagine?”
“Taken from their home, th
eir travel restricted, and told to embrace the changes? Yes, I think I can imagine.”
Jack’s begrudging smile was almost attractive. “While you have a good point, mine is equally true. For years, the Arapaho and Cheyenne have claimed that sending their children to school was a hardship that I couldn’t understand. They blamed it on me not being a father. Now, whether they truly misunderstood or if they decided to fulfill my lack, the fact that a lieutenant in the U.S. Cavalry was married by Chief Right Hand is being told in every village. It means something to them. We have to keep up appearances.”
“But only in public?”
“Only when we’re in public. Back at the house, you are free to completely ignore me.”
“Can I rail at you, berate you, and order you about?”
“Certainly, but I thought you didn’t want to pretend that we were married.”
Hattie had to smile. “Your behavior could help me get into my role.”
“It’s about time I turn ornery. The nice guy never gets the girl.”
He had her now, she thought, and he didn’t know what to do with her.
They crossed a river on a metal bridge. Ice frosted the banks white, but the water flowed sluggishly down the middle. Once on the other side of the river, Hattie strained her eyes to make out the strange shapes that littered the ground. Like bizarre sculptures, the white prongs emerged off the flat plain.
“What are those?” She thought about pointing, but they were scattered everywhere. Besides, it was too cold to pull her hand out into the wind.
“Bones. On distribution day, every Indian family gets a steer from the agency. They chase them out of town and butcher them here.”
The shapes were beginning to make sense now. Piles of bones? Not exactly the warm welcome she’d hoped to meet outside the nearest town. Then she saw dark forms darting among the piles of bones. They were stray dogs fighting over a recent kill. She thought of her beloved Saint Bernard, Nero, who was furry, patient, and gentle. How could these rangy, mangy animals be the same species?
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