The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  By midmorning, she had the outline sketched on the canvas and was ready to start with the oils. Then she saw a figure pass in front of the window.

  “Hattie, there’s someone here to see you,” Jack called as he stepped inside the house. As always, the sight of him in his uniform set her aback. “Marshal Ledbetter wants to talk to you.”

  Had any of the feelings Jack had confessed survived the years? Hattie saw a caring, honorable man, but she didn’t see what she was looking for.

  “I’ve already given a statement,” she said, scrubbing her hands with a scrap of feed sack to get the charcoal off.

  “We still need your help, though. If this man attacks another woman, I can’t marry her, too.”

  “Very funny.” She smiled a greeting at the grizzled marshal. Wrapped in buffalo robes and a beaver hat, he looked more animal than human.

  The marshal tipped his hat. “Mrs. Hennessey, I won’t waste your time. I caught a man trespassing in the Cheyenne and Arapaho Reservation near where we found the wrecked stagecoach and your luggage. I brought him in to see if you recognize him.”

  The hair on her neck tingled. “I thought you already knew he’s the one.”

  “You have nothing to fear,” Jack said. “They’re going to bring him out of the guardhouse for you to identify. It’ll only take a minute.”

  “I have to see him? Now?” She felt so fragile. Where had her strength gone? “I don’t want to be anywhere near him.” It wasn’t logical, but Hattie feared that if she saw his face, it would be the last thing she ever saw. “I can’t. Please.”

  Jack ducked his head. “We need you to do this,” he said. “Take some time to prepare yourself.”

  She covered her neck with a trembling hand. How could she prepare to see the monster of her nightmares? Her eyes drifted past the marshal to where two young troopers were leading a short rumpled man across the green. He squinted up at the sun as the wind blew long brown wisps of hair over his balding head.

  She blew out a shaky breath. “Is that the prisoner?”

  Marshal Ledbetter looked over his shoulder. “That’s him.”

  Hattie instinctively distrusted him, but her fear began to fade. Nothing about him reminded her of that fateful day.

  Jack took her arm. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded and left the house to confront the man being escorted to them.

  “That’s not her,” the prisoner said as the troopers positioned him in front of Hattie.

  “Shut up, you windbag.” The marshal shoved his hands in his pockets to keep his coat from flapping in the wind. “I have to listen to him all the way to Fort Smith. Might as well hang him now.”

  “But that’s not her.” The prisoner’s red nose dripped down his thick mustache. “You said we were coming here to get an identity, and I’m telling you, she’s not the one I robbed.”

  If only someone this inept had attacked the stagecoach, Hattie’s companions would have been safe. The way the prisoner’s round head sat directly on his barrel chest was a distinguishing characteristic. His form would have been familiar to Hattie had she ever seen him before.

  “He wasn’t there,” she said. “I’m sure of it. It wasn’t him.”

  The outlaw bowed his head. “I’m partial to your help. Now, can we end our association, Marshal, and let me go?”

  “Let you go? What about the woman you robbed?”

  “Says who?”

  “Says you. We have to find her and put you in jail.”

  “Pshaw, you ain’t gonna find her. She lives all the way over in Okmulgee, and that’s a long ways away.”

  The marshal’s weathered face crinkled. “But I get paid by the mile.” His hand rose toward his hat but paused midair as if struck broadsided by an unexpected thought. “Ma’am, your husband mentioned that you’re a trained artist. Do you figure you could paint what you saw that day?”

  Hattie closed her eyes. She’d avoided a confrontation with the murderer today, but he was still at large. What if she painted his likeness? But then, perhaps that would keep her from having to identify him later.

  But could she do it? She’d peeked over the dirt ledge of the gully for only a moment, but she could recall the scene in startling color. While she might not have the words to describe the man, she could display him. Furthermore, with a canvas before her, more details would emerge. That was how it had always happened in the past, anyway.

  “I don’t like to think about what happened,” she said. “I try not to think about it, but if I did . . .” If she did, she wouldn’t be able to sleep at night again. She found herself looking to Jack. His face reflected her anguish.

  “I’ll be with you,” he said.

  “I thought we were leaving Fort Reno,” she whispered. “You’re being assigned somewhere else.”

  “But we’re here together today. Shouldn’t we do what we can to catch this murderer?”

  A stiff gust of wind rustled her skirt and chilled her ankles through her wool stockings. Painting the scene would delay her work on Tom’s portrait, but Jack was right. She couldn’t refuse.

  “I’ll paint it,” she said, “if it’ll help.”

  “It just might,” Ledbetter said. “When I make it back around, I’ll check in and see if I recognize anyone in the painting.”

  Hattie was numb as he left. Prying open that horrifying memory would cost her. Her constitution would suffer, no doubt, but at least she had the comfort of knowing that Jack was with her.

  But for how long?

  Jack sat on the back porch as the sun came up, steam rising from his coffee cup. He could hear Mrs. Adams and the girls talking in the kitchen next door. Daisy sang “Joy to the World” as she walked out the back door to throw out a pan of cold dishwater. Seeing him, she waved, her strawberry-blond hair tied in curling rags.

  Major Adams had found love twice, with his late wife and now with Louisa, but Jack couldn’t imagine there being another woman in the world who could mean as much to him as Hattie. Surely God hadn’t kept the love for her alive in his heart all this time only to have it remain unrequited.

  Last night had been rough. Hattie had alternated between painting with deep, vigorous strokes and staring off into a bleak nothing. The look on her face scared Jack. He’d seen men with that look after a battle, and the scenes they were living and reliving were liable to return at any time. He didn’t want that for Hattie. He didn’t want her to relive the trauma she’d been through, but if she could show the world the man who had killed the three victims, then they might be able to find him. Then she would feel safe again.

  As the night wore on, she painted slower and slower. The stagecoach appeared on the broad sheet of paper. The fighting driver could be identified. The outlaw’s horse was visible, but not a trace of the man. It had seemed beyond her. Sensing that she had reached her limit, Jack had drawn her away, taking the paintbrush out of her hand and dropping it in a jar of mineral spirits as they went upstairs.

  He’d brought his coat to her, and she’d taken it to her room without comment. For hours he’d kept an eye on his open bedroom door, but she’d chosen to face her fears alone.

  Jack sighed and took another drink of his coffee. He wished he could do more, but there were places he couldn’t go with her, no matter how he loved her. All he could offer was to care for her needs while she let God look after her fears.

  But caring for her needs left Jack in a quandary. There was just something that God had put into men that knit them to a woman under their care. The thought of separating from her—of taking her to Denver and watching her walk away—felt like part of his flesh would be ripped off. How could he stand it? How could he keep watch over her any longer, knowing that the day was coming when she would leave?

  He had as many fears as she did.

  When Hattie joined him at the buggy so they could attend church in Darlington, she looked every bit the pampered girl he’d known in Van Buren. Certainly there were changes. Her figure had thinned dow
n and then filled out where it should. The roundness of her face had molded into shapely cheekbones and an elegant neck. Her newly recovered clothes showed that she still followed the latest Arkansas fashions, even if the dresses hadn’t been cared for as they should have during their circuitous journey to her.

  She kept her eyes down as she greeted him, and yet he saw the shadows she was trying to hide. There was no reason for her to be embarrassed, but just mentioning the subject would mortify her. Instead he pretended not to remember her anguish from the night before. He’d spent his life hiding his feelings for her. This was nothing new.

  “Are the Adamses coming to church with us?” Hattie asked as she spread the lap robe over herself. “I saw Caroline polishing her shoes on the porch, and she was dressed for Sunday.”

  “Most everyone here attends the chapel at the fort, as do I most of the time. But any excuse I can find to spend time in Darlington . . .”

  There was no need to continue. She understood. Unbidden and unobserved by anyone besides a hawk flying over them, Hattie tucked her arm under his and pressed against his side. He switched the reins to his other hand and pulled the lap robe higher.

  “Is that better?” he asked.

  “Being married has its advantages,” she said. “Otherwise this trip would be a lot colder.”

  His gut twisted. “And a lot lonelier.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “How are you going to manage when I’m gone, Jack? You’ll be leaving Major Adams and his family, the school, the Indians, and all your friends.”

  “Let’s not worry about that right now.”

  “I have a confession. When I was organizing your office, I found something. It was a picture of your house and the valley in Van Buren. I think I drew it in school.”

  Was there no end to the embarrassment his sentimental nonsense was causing him? “You did draw it. Of all the artwork in the world, that’s my favorite.”

  “You must miss home a lot,” she said. “I worry how I’m going to feel when I’m all alone in Denver.”

  The reins tightened in Jack’s hand, and the horses slowed. “Why are you going to Denver, again?”

  Her chin dropped. “There was no reason to stay in Van Buren. You should understand. You left years ago.”

  “I guess I’ve always carried home in my heart. The people, at least.” He wrapped his hand around hers. “The people I love.”

  Why couldn’t she look up? Why couldn’t she see the message in his eyes?

  Hattie cleared her throat. “I just wanted to say that if it’ll help, I’d be glad to sketch a picture of Darlington for you, or the fort. When we separate, I don’t want you to forget the people who were here—the people you love.”

  She turned her hand and entwined her fingers with his. Jack’s heart was in his throat, along with stanzas of suppressed love that he yearned to share. Would she be repulsed? Would she laugh?

  And then she did. Hattie giggled as she slapped his arm. “A picture and my earring? Jack, you’re a regular magpie hoarding shiny trinkets you find along the way. You really should reform your ways. Your house can’t hold much more.”

  He swallowed down the declarations and tried to match her mood. “One earring doesn’t take up any room. And it serves the same purpose as the picture. It’s a memory I don’t want to lose.”

  She squeezed his hand as they rode into town.

  The Mennonite mission housed the Sunday services. One side of the meeting room bulged out with a rectangular addition to make room for the students who crowded the pews. Now many of their spaces would be empty.

  Jack tied the reins to the hitching post before returning to help Hattie down. Peter Stauffer, a Mennonite missionary who’d been at the Cheyenne mission last week, greeted them at the door and seemed ecstatic to meet Jack’s new wife. Had the whole world been this nervous about his marriage prospects? If he’d only known that tying the knot would mean so much to so many. And how would they feel when they crossed his path years from now and learned that Hattie was no longer part of his life? The thought of their disappointment sickened him.

  They sat in Jack’s usual place by the window on the north side. Through the pane, he watched as the Arapaho students were marched over from the school, boys and girls in separate lines with the smallest students in the front. A gust of wind pushed some students sideways, curving the lines. A few girls ducked their faces into their scarves and hunched their shoulders while the boys tried to pretend to be unaffected. Eyes squinting into the wind was all the quarter they’d give.

  Perhaps next week Jack would visit the school and church at Cantonment, where the Cheyenne congregated. A few years back, the children of the two tribes had attended school together, but the constant fighting was deemed unsafe for everyone, and a separate school was built for the Cheyenne. Perhaps Cantonment would welcome the Arapaho children if the Darlington school closed.

  Jack’s eyes tightened. He wouldn’t be in Indian Territory next week if Major Adams got the paperwork approved. Even while insisting that Daniel transfer him, it hadn’t occurred to him that this could be his last Sunday to worship here. His last week in his big house crowded with books. His last week surrounded by the bare Cheyenne prairie.

  His last week with Hattie.

  Everyone waited patiently for the students to hang up their coats and file inside to their reserved seats in the front. When Tom Broken Arrow paused in the aisle, a stocky classmate shoved him in the back in good-natured fun. Superintendent Seger didn’t appreciate the humor and cuffed the boy on the back of the head as they worked their way between the pews to their seats so the service could begin.

  Reverend Voth had more gumption than Jack’s preacher from back home. Then again, he reckoned anyone who volunteered to come to Indian Territory possessed a backbone of iron. Once the sermon started, the reverend’s wild, curly hair bounced with his movements, which were plentiful. His plain words struck to the core of any matter he addressed, and his topic of the moment was idolatry.

  Jack looked at Hattie, wondering how she viewed the sermon, the preacher, Jack’s life in general. Could she have ever brought herself to appreciate military life? Or life with him? He had joined the cavalry to get away from his heartache, and God had shown him a love for the people who’d been entrusted to his care, but if she would have him, he’d give up all his work for her. He’d do anything for Hattie.

  “Then the children of Israel turned from God,” Reverend Voth said. “Forsaking their Lord and forgetting all that He had done for them, they took after idols, thinking that they would find happiness and blessing somewhere else. But they were deceived.” He was getting wound up, and Jack was spellbound. “Friends, there are many temptations to lead you astray, but the price is too great. No substitute for God will ever bring you peace. No addition to God will ever make Him greater in your life.”

  Jack’s heart sank. He rubbed his ear and then, thinking everyone was looking at him, quickly lowered his hand. While he knew that he loved Hattie, loved her purely and truly, somewhere along the way, he’d decided that his life would never be complete without her. Only she could satisfy him. And to his shame, he’d told God the same.

  Jack had always viewed his life as it pertained to Hattie. He did well in school to impress her. He joined the cavalry to bury the pain of her disinterest. He wrote letters back home, hoping against hope that word of his success would travel from his family and eventually be repeated in Hattie’s hearing. Everything he’d done or accomplished he judged by how she would view it. She was the invisible audience that he had performed for, the one whose approval he coveted.

  And now she sat next to him. She had many imperfections, just as he did. She found it hard to concentrate on a book for long. While she could be thoughtful, she expected to get her own way. Not that she was mean or vengeful about it, but she took it for granted that if she asked for something, it would be provided. Jack had always been more than eager to cooperate, but what if he didn’t? What if he had lived
his life for the last decade for God’s approval, instead of measuring everything he did by Hattie’s standards?

  She was only flesh and blood. She wasn’t enough to build his life around.

  Jack’s sigh was audible. When Hattie turned, he shrugged but held her gaze with new vision. Was this why God had brought her to him? So he could be free from her? So he could realize how frail his idol was? Her eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, and Jack took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t asked to be his ideal. He was the one who’d wronged her. He’d put the responsibility for his happiness on her, and that was a burden no mortal should bear.

  Things would be different, no matter how little time they had together, but before he could make things right with her, he had to do some confessing to God.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Something had happened in church, and Hattie wasn’t happy about it. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but Jack had changed. He was polite, he was considerate, but he’d turned into a stranger again. A different stranger than the one who had rescued her. One who was still dashing, determined, and delicious—okay, not delicious, but she’d wanted to stay on theme—and yet he was different in a different way. Or maybe she was different. That was it. It was like he’d forgotten who she was.

  She shivered under the lap robe as she waited in the wagon for him to come out of the agent’s office. Jack had asked if she’d mind waiting while he dropped off a report and had shown appropriate concern about her sitting in the cold, yet it wasn’t the amount of concern that she had come to expect from Jack.

  Canada geese glided overhead with the strong north wind at their backs. Their honking faded as they disappeared behind the roof of the warehouse. People were leaving, too. There was a one-way exodus from the mission house as families split off toward their individual homes. The Arapaho children marched around the corner toward the school, where Hattie hoped a hot meal was waiting for them. Everyone was headed home. Everyone except for one man.