The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  “Lieutenant.” Private Morris stepped forward with a letter in his hand. “Just got this from Washington. Thought you’d like to see it.”

  The letter was from the Office of Indian Affairs regarding their request for gold to replace what had been stolen. The bureau thought that greater effort should be put into finding the lost money before more was requested. It also questioned why troopers weren’t sent to Fort Smith to accompany the agent when an escort had been requested.

  “That bad, huh?” O’Hare shifted nervously.

  Jack’s mouth tightened. “Did we receive a request for an escort on that distribution payment?”

  O’Hare hit the spittoon with a well-aimed missive. “No, sir. Not that I saw.”

  “Me either.” And everything that Major Adams saw came through Jack’s office first. “Get in touch with Fort Smith. See what happened to the request,” Jack said.

  A simple mistake was possible, but something about the situation didn’t add up.

  Hattie walked ahead of the young private carrying the crate to direct him into the kitchen. Once she stepped through the cluttered parlor and into the dining room, she backed out of the way to let him pass her. Her skirt bumped against the dining room table, causing a stack of books to crash to the ground.

  Private Willis popped his head out of the kitchen. “If I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it. Lieutenant Hennessey is so particular about our uniforms and drills. Everything has to be sharp as a tack. And then he keeps his house like a family of pack rats lives here.”

  Hattie gathered the musty-smelling books and returned them to their place on the table. She ran her finger between the stacks and held up a smudged glove as proof. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

  Willis whistled. “And now you’re married to him? You’ve got your work cut out for you. To tell you honestly, all us men are downright surprised by the marriage business. We knew he had a girl he was sweet on, but we didn’t know he was ready to jump the broom.”

  A girl he was sweet on? Hattie could feel her throat tightening again. But why should she feel guilty? It wasn’t her fault they were in this mess.

  “Now, me, I’ve got a sweetheart of my own. She lives down in Texas, and as soon as I . . .” Private Willis’s voice droned on from the kitchen, where he was unloading the crates.

  Hattie felt awkward hearing about some stranger’s courting plans, but if he wanted to talk, it took the pressure off her. The house was a mess. And while it wasn’t her fault or her responsibility, she’d rather have some order imposed if this was going to be her prison for the next few days.

  Weeks? Months?

  Hattie ripped off her gloves and tossed them onto the table. First she’d get her goods put away, and then she had some drawing to do.

  Private Willis proved to be able help when it came to toting heavy bags and crates around. He did drop a paper-wrapped package when he tried to walk across the house while balancing it on his head, but it was only clothing, so no harm was done. And although he shared his opinion on everything from green apples to camels, he didn’t require Hattie to respond. Her efforts were focused on arranging the vacant kitchen shelves to her preferences. Once all the heavy lifting had been completed, Private Willis left with a tip of his hat and a spin on his heel, leaving Hattie alone with her thoughts and a pack of pastels she’d picked up at the mercantile.

  Here, with a blank piece of journal paper and the thin winter light streaming across the kitchen, Hattie could pretend that her plan was still viable. If she’d had her paints, then this house would suit much better than a peopled boardinghouse. Would the boardinghouse have had a kitchen this spacious? Honestly, the house on Officers’ Row was much nicer than she’d expected in Denver—even nicer than her parents’ house back in Van Buren. If it weren’t for the strings attached, she could be content here.

  She hurriedly sketched Jack’s house. Instead of showing the homes on either side of it, she showed it alone, the sole refuge in a hostile territory. The angle she portrayed, coming down from on high, made the large home look fragile but safe. A safety that she couldn’t guarantee would last. Most of the page was filled with light brown scratches to color the plain surrounding the haven.

  Hattie looked out the window. She’d left home to feed her soul on the beauty of God’s creation. Instead she was stuck in the most dismal landscape God’s infinite mind could devise.

  She sat staring out the back of the house at nothing. Thin, wispy clouds feathered high up in the blue sky. With such a massive sky, such big space surrounding her, Hattie felt tiny, insignificant. The world had never felt this large, nor she this small. How easily she’d been lost on the plains, just one warm heart beating in miles of cold, dead fields. And now, even though she had a roof over her head, she still had trouble believing that God was taking any notice of her plight. How could He, when she could completely disappear in the emptiness and not cause one ripple?

  “I don’t know if You’ve forgotten me,” she said, “or if You are just too busy to bother right now, but I’ve never felt so alone before. It’d be nice if I could just have a sense of You every once in a while. Just a sign that You see me. That You haven’t forgotten me. Or, if it’s not too much to ask, that You’d send a friend.”

  “Hattie?”

  Her fingers tensed on the pastel. It was Jack. How long had he been listening? She rubbed her neck. “Do you need something?” she asked.

  “I came to check on you, see if you needed any help putting things away.” His boots creaked as he shifted his weight. “It looks like you’re doing a fine job setting up the kitchen. I usually eat in the officers’ mess, but it’ll be handy having food in the house.”

  Instead of honing her painting talents, she’d be cooking. The implications kept getting better and better.

  Poor Jack. She’d always imagined that he was impatient with her dullness when it came to school, and here she’d been berating him for his lack of social acuteness. Everyone had their strengths. Dealing with ladies wasn’t Jack’s.

  “It’s a nice kitchen,” she said.

  “Is there anything else you’re planning to do today?” he asked.

  Hattie smiled. “Now that you mention it, I was thinking about taking a hike up in the mountains with my easel this evening to catch the best light of the day. But while I wait for the sun to get at the right angle, I’m hankering to find a soda fountain, and after that I’ll attend an art exhibit at the museum. I’m sure the Darlington museum houses a grand collection.”

  She stopped herself before she went any further. He stood watching her, the same striking man who’d rescued her. Instead of sounding funny, now her words left her ashamed.

  “I’m sorry.” She rubbed at a spot of color on her finger. “I need to keep my thoughts to myself.”

  “No.” His dark eyes held enough sorrow for both of them. “I’m asking a lot of you—telling you what to say and how to behave when we’re in public. You deserve a place where you can say what you want and be honest about how you feel. You don’t have to pretend here.”

  “I’ll just make you miserable.”

  “Then it’s a fair turn,” he said. “What are you drawing?”

  Hattie turned the paper around so he could see. “Just getting started. I removed the other houses to capture the sense of isolation here.”

  “It’s not that isolated,” he said. “And the shutters are darker green, too.”

  She looked at the picture again. Was he really going to correct her drawing? “It’s the right shade. Light, like a mint leaf.”

  “No. Closer to basil. I remember when they were painted.”

  “I saw them today. Light green.”

  “We could go outside and look,” Jack said.

  She shook her head. “You can go on your own, because I know I’m right. Come back and tell me when you see.”

  “Later. First, the stove’s almost gone cold. If you’re going to be cooking, we’ll need to have
firewood delivered to the kitchen door.” He reached up to the top shelf over the window and retrieved a box of matches.

  Hattie arranged the picture before her. One warm, safe place. That was all she had at the moment. “I’m going to write my parents today, but I don’t know what to say. If I mention the robbery or the Indians or the wedding, they’ll come after me and drag me home.”

  “That’s going to be one short letter.”

  “What can I say? Just that I’m at the fort—safe and warm for the winter.” The smoky smell from the stove made her nose itch. She rubbed at it with a vengeance.

  “And that you happened to run across a childhood friend.” He reached a hand toward her face. Hattie drew back. “You’ve got a smudge,” he said. He rubbed his thumb along the side of her nose.

  Their eyes met. He dropped his hand but didn’t drop his gaze. Hattie turned away before he could see the questions in her eyes.

  Childhood friend? He’d never been that exactly, but he was a friend now. And the more time she spent with him, the more she realized that she’d never known him at all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jack’s coffee cup rattled as he set it down in the saucer and scanned the dispatches that had come in that day. ’Twas a pity that filling in for Major Adams meant that his schedule would be full, with little time to escort his wife around. Did Hattie prefer him gone and busy, or did she think he was being rude if he wasn’t there to attend to her? Either way, he wanted to spend all the time he could with her before they parted ways.

  His daydreams were interrupted by the words on the missive before him. According to the onionskin paper, Fort Smith had requested an additional escort for the gold shipment. They’d sent a telegram to Fort Reno before the stage had set out. Jack adjusted his spectacles. Had the message been received, but mislaid? Mistakes did happen, but it was unlike the major or himself to be negligent—even amid wedding plans.

  “Lieutenant Hennessey, there’s a lady here to see you.”

  “Send her in,” he said. He should have brought her around and introduced her to everyone, but he didn’t want to vex her. He only had time to smooth his hair and stand before she entered.

  Her chestnut hair was thick and plentiful, hanging in a heavy mass at the nape of her neck. Hattie had the winsome habit of focusing completely on whomever she was conversing with, but his office must have caught her off guard. Jack gave her a moment to take in her surroundings.

  “I didn’t expect your office to be so vital,” she said. “It seems like the heart of the fort.”

  Jack didn’t know what to do with her praise. “It is,” he said. “All expenditures and correspondence pass through here.”

  “Including reassignment requests?”

  Jack laid down the report from Fort Smith. “Yes, but I can hardly request my own transfer. Major Adams sent that before he left.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Time is getting away from me if I want to succeed in my painting challenge.” She tugged on her earring—her only earring. “But that’s not why I’m here.” She dropped an envelope on his desk.

  Mr. and Mrs. Carl Walker. Jack gazed at the address. How many times had he lingered on the street outside the brick two-story home, hoping to catch a glimpse of her?

  “The post has already gone for today, but I’ll send it out tomorrow.” He placed her letter on a stack of envelopes on the credenza. “Do I need to write my parents?”

  She cocked her head. “Why would you do that?”

  “If you made any mention of me, word might get back to my folks. I wouldn’t want them to hear something significant secondhand.”

  “Why in the world would I tell my parents that I’m staying with you? Don’t you think that would obligate us, in some way, to . . . you know?”

  She played dense when it suited her. Now it suited him. “Obligate us to what?”

  Hattie squirmed under his gaze. Her hand brushed her cheek as she looked behind her to see if anyone was listening. “I’ve already spent several nights alone with you,” she whispered. “If that becomes known, then we might as well resign ourselves to the fact that we’re married.”

  “I agree.”

  “What?” Her startled expression put him on the defensive.

  “If it gets out, I mean. But I thought we were going to tell people that you worked for me. You were my housekeeper for a few weeks, or my cook, if you’d rather.”

  “Who’s going to believe I left home to become your housekeeper?”

  “Who’s going to believe you married me?” he replied, and she acquiesced the point much too easily. Jack took his seat and gestured for her to do the same. “All I’m asking is whether your letter invoked my name.”

  Hattie perched on the edge of the rickety wooden chair with her hands on her knees. “I told them that I hadn’t made it to Denver. That the weather had turned cold, and I was going to stay at a little town in Indian Territory until travel became more convenient.”

  “No mention of me?” He looked at her over the top of his glasses.

  “Why does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Hattie’s face contorted, and she covered her mouth with her hand as she tried to hide a yawn. “It’s been a long day, and I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Because of her nightmares. The little frame bed squawked when she tossed and turned. He could hear her voice at times, which led to his waiting outside her door as he debated at what point to intervene. So far, he’d restrained himself, but there was a limit to the agony he’d let her endure. He wished there was something he could do.

  “Do you have everything you need?” he asked.

  “Besides paints, yes. I cleaned out my room and moved those crates to the spare bedroom, but it’s chock-full of furniture. What do you have all that for?”

  “It’s not my furniture. It came with the house. The army doesn’t want to cart around tables and chairs for us, so they keep the officers’ homes furnished. There’s even a crib, just in case.”

  Her brown eyes flashed up to meet his.

  “Just in case,” he repeated, “the next officer who lives there has a family.”

  “Sir—oh, sorry,” Sergeant Byrd stammered. “I didn’t realize you were entertaining. I’ll tell the quartermaster you’re occupied.”

  Jack was just about to agree when Hattie spoke up. “No, please send him in. I don’t mind.”

  He studied her with surprise. No one met with the quartermaster if they could avoid it, and she wanted to stay? Could it be that she was interested in what he was doing?

  Jack nodded to Byrd, and before he knew it, he was going over accounts, pointing to areas that needed clarification, and jotting notes on projected expenditures—all under Hattie’s gaze. If Jack was a tad too complimentary of the quartermaster, it was for Hattie’s benefit. He wanted her to see that he wasn’t overly critical. It didn’t stop him from pointing out areas a person could improve, but he could do it in a positive manner.

  Before he knew it, the sun was going down, and he had spent more than an hour working beneath Hattie’s full attention. He felt like floating when he closed his ledgers and took up his hat.

  He escorted her home, just like he’d always wanted to do back in Van Buren, but the situation still troubled him. What was he going to do? Even if they could somehow secretly get away from Fort Reno without anyone from Van Buren hearing about their shocking living conditions, there was always the chance that somewhere, someday, it would come back to taint her reputation. Twenty years from now, Hattie could be a well-respected artist and mother, but what would happen if she crossed Miss Richert’s path? What would she say? How could Hattie defend herself?

  He saluted Captain Chandler as he turned onto the walkway that led to his home, then stopped in his tracks. “Well, what do you know? I could’ve sworn that we painted the shutters a darker green.”

  “I tried to tell you. You might have painted them dark green, but paint fades.” Hatt
ie dimpled. “As do bad memories of unbearable boys.”

  “I hope you don’t forget this one altogether,” he said. “Maybe that’s why God brought you here. So I could make amends for my insufferable behavior from years past.”

  “Just saying I’m sorry would’ve been less trouble.”

  And the longer they were together, the more Jack had to apologize for.

  Once they got to the house, Hattie disappeared into the kitchen to set about supper while Jack organized his papers in his study. The only way he saw to safeguard Hattie from further gossip was to stay married to her. Wasn’t that the gentlemanly thing to do? But Hattie wouldn’t see it as gentlemanly. She’d think he was taking advantage. He opened his journal—a daily habit to record anything new he’d discovered that might warrant further contemplation—but he had nothing he could put on paper.

  If only God would appear and fix everything. God knew his mistake was honest. God knew that Jack would rather lose Hattie altogether than have her think he’d manipulated her into this. But here they were, and Jack didn’t like the thought that they would both be living the rest of their lives with a secret that any one of a hundred people could disclose.

  He closed the journal and went in to supper. God wasn’t showing him an easy way out, so all he could do was stay the course, take care of Hattie, and pray that nothing they did would bring shame to them in the future. He hoped that someday he could look her husband in the eye, knowing that he’d done nothing to harm her.

  But his resolve was to be tested that night.

  After supper, Jack sat in his reading chair in the parlor and tried to ignore Hattie’s movements in the kitchen. He tried not to think of her cheeks flushed by the heat of the stove, of her bending and reaching to clean the table, or of her graceful hands covered by soap bubbles and warm water. There were so many things he was trying not to think of, he couldn’t concentrate on his book at all. When she passed through and wished him good night, he exhaled a sigh of relief. Just a few minutes, and then it would be safe to go upstairs.