The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  “Thank you. Hopefully he made it somewhere safe and can get tended to.”

  “Speaking of safe, how’s Mrs. Hennessey faring? She had a rough go of it.”

  His wife. How could Jack praise her for keeping their bargain when he was thinking of ways to sabotage it? He rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you ever made a promise that you regret?”

  “Heaps of them,” Willis offered. “And I’m not just talking about my enlistment.”

  “Watch your words, Private,” Jack said, but only because it was expected. “Whether or not there’s a court to enforce it, there’s still a man’s honor. A bargain is a bargain.”

  Willis’s eyebrows shot up. “Are we talking about a promise or a bargain? A promise can’t be broken, true, but a bargain can be renegotiated. There’s always hope for better terms.”

  Jack looked again at his home on Officers’ Row. One did not expect wisdom to come from Bradley Willis. As much as Jack wanted to embrace the young trooper’s assertion, he couldn’t help but consider the source. True, Jack could expose his cautious heart with hopes of winning Hattie, but what was the probable outcome? No matter what he did or didn’t do, she had plans of her own, and those plans did not include him.

  With a sigh and a salute for Willis, he continued bareheaded to his office.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Snow swirled against the glass panes of the mission house’s windows. Christmas was next week, and the students were having their first dress rehearsal for the pageant. Hattie removed her coat and hung it over the pew. Daisy Adams ran up the aisle, waving at one of the Indian students, a girl with sparkling brown eyes and a festive costume. Her big sister, Caroline, shrugged out of her coat.

  “Too bad Daisy can’t take classes here. It’d make my house more peaceful.” Caroline pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear.

  “You’d miss your sister,” Hattie said. “From what Jack says, she keeps your father on his toes.”

  “And steps on mine.” But she said it fondly. “On the other hand, with Daisy raising such a ruckus, it keeps the attention off me, so she does serve a purpose.”

  At this, Hattie’s interest grew. “What are you up to, Miss Adams, that you need a diversion?”

  Caroline’s eyes narrowed as she smiled. “Why are you worried? You’ve already got Lieutenant Jack. There’s no one else at the fort who’s interesting to me.”

  Had the major’s daughter set her cap for Jack, too?

  But Caroline brushed away her confusion. “Jack could never see me as anything besides the daughter of his best friend. We wouldn’t have suited, so I have to broaden my horizons if I want to find a man with whom to while away the hours.”

  Mrs. Lehrman clapped her hands, and the students took their places in three lines on the stage. Mary and Joseph knelt at either side of a manger in the center while Mrs. Lehrman hummed the opening note. Then the children chimed in, which nearly overpowered the very interesting conversation Hattie was enjoying.

  “You shouldn’t complain,” Hattie said. “When I was your age, I would have given anything to live at a fort surrounded by eligible men. There were a few boys in my class at Van Buren who caught my attention, but none of those flirtations stood the test of time. After a picnic or two, their antics became so predictable that I would rather eat my fried chicken alone. Always showing off, boasting, trying to outdo each other.”

  “And you think they’re any better now?” Caroline cast an eye toward the adults lined up in the doorway in preparation for the procession, but seeing that they were out of earshot, she continued. “Even my new uncle, Bradley Willis, is a hopeless roustabout. Perhaps individually they might have some admirable qualities, but in concentrated numbers they’re more concerned with impressing each other.” Her intelligent brow wrinkled. “And that’s why I’m not settling for an enlisted man who is at the beck and call of others. I want a man who has a mission, a calling.”

  “A religious man?” Hattie asked.

  “Not as a vocation, no. But with a dream that borders on religious zeal. That’s what I find attractive.” Caroline’s cheeks colored, as if she feared she’d said too much. Her sharp eyes focused on Hattie. “But what about your classmates? You said there wasn’t a single one you found interesting.”

  Still pondering Caroline’s romantic ideals, Hattie answered, “Which is why I took this journey, so I could follow my dreams as a painter.”

  “But Jack was your classmate,” Caroline said. “Did you forget about him?”

  Caroline was watching her intently, waiting for a bride’s account of the exemplary young man who’d won her heart. If only Hattie had such a story. Then again, maybe she did, now.

  “What first attracted my notice was the way he looked after me. Whenever I needed him, he always showed up.” That was true whether Hattie was being held by Indians or simply had to tote her easel from her house down to Lee Creek to catch the first light of morning. When she thought about it, it only made sense that Jack had been the one to help her. He usually was.

  “I imagine Jack was probably a horrible bookworm when he was young.” Caroline smiled as two students dressed as shepherds marched down the aisle to pay homage to the baby in the manger. “I’m surprised he ever got his nose out of a book long enough to notice you.”

  “Oh, he put the books down when I came along.” That much was true, but what did he think now? Why had he scolded her that night when she’d tried to stir the embers a bit? Wasn’t he curious? Didn’t he want to see if this marriage might be something worth keeping?

  “I saw your painting of the outlaws.” Caroline tossed her red hair over her shoulder. “I’m not easily impressed, but you do have talent.”

  The mention of the picture turned her stomach, but Hattie forced a smile. “Thank you. I’d be happier painting a different subject.”

  “Maybe you’d do a better job of it. Something was wrong with the passengers. They were distorted so badly that it looked like one passenger was pointing his gun at the other instead of shooting at the outlaw.”

  Hattie should have been used to criticism of her art, but it still stung. “That picture represents a moment in time,” she said. “In the melee, they were trying to get off any shot they could.”

  “Unless the man inside the stage was trying to harm his fellow passenger, that painting is misleading,” Caroline said. “You should mention that before they take it as truth. Besides that, though, the image is remarkable.”

  Hattie closed her eyes to summon the scene, but in a chapel full of children and Christmas songs, it was impossible. What if Caroline was right? What if Mr. Sloane had accidentally injured Agent Gibson and inadvertently aided the outlaw?

  As if her sour thoughts had tainted the air, the Christmas carol “Angels We Have Heard on High” changed its tenor. Something was amiss. The students had broken into chaos. The more active girls raced off the platform, while some were huddled, too stupefied to move. Word spread across the stage to the boys’ side. The student playing Mary plucked the rag doll out of the manger and ran out of the room. The bottoms of her boots flashed their new soles.

  “What’s wrong?” Hattie turned to see two of the mission workers and the minister standing in the doorway, wearing jewel-colored robes. The Magi had come to worship the Christ Child, but the students were terrified. A few younger boys followed their fleeing sisters off the stage, while the older boys faced their foe with stern disapproval. The headmistress rapped her baton against the podium to restore order, but her efforts were futile. Tom Broken Arrow stood back, observing the chaos.

  Hattie stepped around Caroline to intercept the fleeing girls. She caught Francine by the arm and dropped to her knees to look at the girl face to face.

  “What’s wrong, Francine? Why is everyone running?”

  Francine tried to jerk her arm free, but seeing that Hattie wasn’t going to release her, she answered, “It’s the man in blue. He’s the one who steals our dreams.”

  Hattie
looked over her shoulder. The minister? “No, Francine, that’s Reverend Voth. Look again. Don’t you recognize him? Has he been coming into your rooms at night?”

  Francine paused. Her pert nose scrunched as she tried to get a better look. Hattie felt the tension leave her arm. “That’s the reverend. It’s not the spirit, but why is he wearing the robe?”

  “You’re saying the spirit that steals your dreams wears a robe like that?”

  “It is that robe,” Francine said. “It has the big sleeves and shiny material on it.”

  The minister had remained in the back of the room, his kind face crumpled at the distress he’d caused. The robe was made to represent an Eastern potentate, and it was very unlikely that there were two like it in the whole territory. And judging from the girls’ reaction, Hattie had to believe that the connection was real.

  “Where do they keep the costumes?” she asked.

  Francine shrugged. The room had almost emptied, as the teachers had gone to round up the children. Regretfully, Hattie allowed Francine to join the other students. Something about their terror convinced her that there was a real, human explanation.

  Jack reached the school about the time Superintendent Seger and Reverend Voth stepped outside. With their heads bowed together and the superintendent’s hands gesturing rapidly, their conversation felt urgent.

  Jack had been busy that morning, so blessedly busy that he hadn’t been able to squire Hattie around when she asked to go to town. Better terms. He couldn’t get the phrase out of his mind. One more night of her sweet attention, and they would be irrevocably wed, whether they planned it that way or not.

  When Major Adams mentioned that he was letting the girls take the buggy to town in the company of the quartermaster’s detail, it seemed like a good way to entertain Hattie while keeping her safe. No outlaw would approach the girls as long as they were with the troopers. Plus, it kept Hattie out of his path for another day. But as luck would have it, a call had come over the lone telephone line from the agency to the fort with a request for him to meet the marshal at Agent Lee’s office.

  Jack tipped his hat at the two harried men as they passed. It was probably some issue with the missionary society. He had more important fish to fry.

  He took the three steps up to the agency’s porch in one long stride. The fire glowing through the window looked cheery. Entering, he found tinsel paper draped over a map that hung behind a cluttered desk, showing the Indian territories and nations. Agent Lee rose with an extended hand, and Marshal Ledbetter stepped back to give Jack room.

  “Lieutenant Hennessey, thank you for coming,” Ledbetter said.

  “You’ve had time to look over Mrs. Hennessey’s sketches?”

  “Yes, sir.” The marshal unrolled the paper on the desk. Jack could almost hear the horses blowing and smell the gunsmoke. The way Hattie had captured the moment of action was incredible.

  “This picture is as good as a wanted poster,” Marshal Ledbetter said, “but it raises an interesting theory. Look there.” The paper crinkled beneath his glove as he tapped the figure of the passenger. “What’s it look like Mr. Sloane is doing there?”

  Jack pulled his spectacles out of his pocket and bent over the painting. “It looks like a fellow with no experience with a pistol is about to shoot his companion in the back.” His mouth twisted. “She did the best she could, but she was under considerable anguish while painting this. It might not be her best work.”

  “Before you go questioning your wife’s skill, would it make a difference if you knew that Samuel Sloane worked at the telegraph office in Fort Smith?” Marshal Ledbetter rested his hands on his belt, already heavy with cartridges. “Sloane bought a stagecoach ticket, boarded in Fort Smith, and walked away from his job without notice. He hasn’t been heard from since.”

  A telegraph operator in Fort Smith. A missing telegram requesting an armed escort. No third body found with the stagecoach. Hattie’s sighting of Sloane on Sunday.

  “We wondered why we didn’t get the telegram requesting an escort,” Jack said.

  “You can’t get a telegram that wasn’t sent,” Marshall Ledbetter replied.

  “And that would explain how they knew there was a gold shipment on the stage.” Jack rubbed his brow. “Hattie—Mrs. Hennessey saw Sloane yesterday after church.”

  “Here? In Darlington?” Agent Lee cast a nervous look out the window. “That doesn’t bode well. Did he see her?”

  “Yes, but he took off. I wanted to question him, but . . .” But he’d once again questioned Hattie’s judgment and hadn’t made a serious effort to detain the man. When was he going to learn?

  “She’s a witness, and with a memory like this, she’s a good one. I’d keep your wife nearer home,” Ledbetter said.

  More time together would not be helpful. “She’s here today under Major Adams’s protection. But I’ll keep her close.”

  Bud Ledbetter’s weathered face spread into a wide smile. “Yes, sir, I reckon you will.”

  Agent Lee motioned to the picture. “Are you taking that with you?”

  “Let’s keep it here for evidence,” Ledbetter said. “We don’t want to lose it, just in case something should happen to our witness.”

  Jack’s throat tightened. Shaken by the thought that Hattie had been unaccompanied when she saw Sloane, he spun on his boot heel and headed to the school. The doors opened to an intense conversation in progress in the headmistress’s office. Much like the superintendent and the minister he’d passed a few moments ago, Headmistress Lehrman and Miss Richert had gathered close to discuss something in low, urgent tones. Jack didn’t have to wait long before they acknowledged him.

  “If you’ve come to watch the practice, I’m afraid it’s been canceled.” The headmistress dropped a pile of costumes on her desk. “The children can’t make it through their songs without scattering in terror.”

  If there was no practice, then where was Hattie? “The last rehearsal I saw was going well,” Jack said. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s these costumes,” Miss Richert said. “The students took offense to something about the costumes and want nothing to do with the performance. I’m afraid we’re going to have parents pulling their children out of the school over this.”

  Jack didn’t know everything about Arapaho culture, but they were familiar with costuming in their own festivities. Surely nothing set in Bethlehem could be as exotic as their powwow gear.

  “The trouble started with the wise men,” the headmistress said. “We let adults fill those roles, since they don’t do any singing, and it’s always been fine before, but when they came in wearing the costumes, the girls were terrified.”

  “Did they give any reason?”

  Miss Richert answered, “No. They were running away and chattering in their language. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”

  “I heard one explanation,” the headmistress said. “Evidently your wife has befriended one of our younger girls. Francine told her that the blue robe Reverend Voth was wearing is the same robe the ghost wears.”

  He gestured to the pile of costumes on the desk. “Is the robe here?”

  Mrs. Lehrman dug through the pile and unfurled a satin men’s smoking robe that had been requisitioned.

  Jack held it up to the window to catch the light and then, spotting something, he drew it close. “Is that blood?” he asked.

  Miss Richert stepped back as Mrs. Lehrman squinted toward the dark swipe nearly hidden in the print.

  “Where’s Hattie now?” His neck felt like it had spiders running up it.

  “The last I saw, she was with Major Adams’s daughters at the practice.”

  Then she should be safe for the time being, but Jack had a suspicion he wanted to follow. “Where are the costumes kept when they aren’t being used?”

  “In the basement,” Mrs. Lehrman replied. “The stairway is in the west wing, at the end of the girls’ dormitory.”

  “Would that be the dormitory w
here the ghost has been spotted?” Jack asked.

  Mrs. Lehrman’s pallor was his answer.

  “Thank you, ladies.” He pushed through the swinging door that led into the school, clomping down the quiet hall. Hattie would have to wait. If his suspicions were correct, the ghost hiding beneath the school could very well be the man Hattie had seen on the street on Sunday. Had he been wounded? Hattie hadn’t mentioned it. Jack could only pray it was Sloane’s blood and there weren’t more victims.

  Whatever the case, the ghost stories needed to cease. If the school lost even a dozen more students, it would have to close its doors.

  Stepping inside an empty classroom, Jack found a lamp and lit it, then carried it into the dark, musty stairwell down to the basement. As expected, there were trunks, crates, and an old wardrobe down here, but no sign of a fugitive. Not yet, anyway. The walls were lined with sheet-covered shelves, so it was possible someone could hide beneath them. Jack lifted a sheet and found shelved books protected from dust. Despite the isolation, the room looked well cared for. He’d say it had been cleaned at least every semester or so, and the goods were tidy and neat, stacked against the wall for the most part.

  But there was something hidden. Holding the lantern in front of him, Jack stepped cautiously around a support beam that shielded a pile of clothes. Further inspection revealed a messy pallet on the floor made of choir robes and curtains. Jack nudged a pile of crumbs and an empty bottle lying next to the pallet. No mouse had collected this stash. Someone had been bunking down here. Someone the teachers knew nothing about. He lifted a filthy winter coat, its bottom hem shredded. Sure enough, tossed to the side were strips of the same cloth stained with blood. A tourniquet or bandages? Either way, the fugitive was in need of medical help and warm clothing down in the unheated basement. No wonder the thick robe in the costume trunk had caught his eye.

  A faint rustle alerted Jack that he was not alone. Switching the lamp to his left hand, he scanned the room. There was no space for anyone between the crates and the wall. He crept to the wardrobe. Taking the brass handle, he flung the door open but was greeted only by empty hangers. Another look at the wall of bookshelves revealed that one of them had a bulge in the sheet covering it. The person wasn’t large, probably a student, but he had to be prepared just in case.