The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  Setting the lamp down, Jack eased silently to the covering. If anything, he wasn’t reckless. He didn’t want to act until he’d decided the best course of action. He had nearly figured out what to say when the sheet moved. Whoever was under it had decided to come out and get him.

  Wanting the element of surprise, Jack roared with all his strength as he wrapped both arms around the sheeted figure, lifted it off its feet, and dragged it into the open so he had room for a tussle. But the minute he had his arms around it—her—he knew with every bone in his body exactly whose kicks and punches he was enduring.

  “Shhh.” He held her arms to her side, then dodged as she made a strike at his kneecap. “Hattie, it’s me. Be quiet.”

  He couldn’t tell if she’d heard him or not, but when he released her, she turned her fight to the sheet that was still draped over her head. With a mad scramble, she wrestled it off, appearing gloriously tousled. With a hand at her hip, she blew a lock of hair out of her face. She might be nettled, but Jack’s frustration at finding her in such a dangerous situation was too great for him to be sorry.

  “You scared the dickens out of me,” she said.

  “What are you thinking, coming down here alone?”

  “I was trying to find out who has been harassing the kids, which was exactly what you were thinking.” She raised one finely shaped eyebrow. “In fact, this might be the first time in my life I had the same thought as Jack Hennessey. Your intelligence is rubbing off on me.”

  “I don’t think it was very smart of you at all,” he said. “Not if that pallet means what I think it means.”

  “I had to do it. He was in their room while they slept. Do you realize how vulnerable those girls are? Until we catch that man . . .” She shivered as she contemplated the leftover food and dirty linens.

  “I’ll catch that man, thank you.” The longer Jack thought about her being down here alone, the more it irked him.

  “But I can help. Caroline noticed something about my painting. Maybe Sloane isn’t the victim we thought he was.”

  “You know about Sloane, and you came down here anyway?”

  Hattie lifted her chin. “This was my chance to be brave. My chance to beat the terrors that pester me at night. And besides, what if he hurt the kids? I couldn’t let him do that.”

  No longer afraid of the Arapaho children, now she saw herself as their protector. Jack took a deep breath. He was proud of her. Terrified for her, but proud. And being stern was difficult when she looked at him like that. Her smile softened as her eyes traveled to his lips. She would be the death of him.

  He forced himself back to the business at hand. “Did you see anyone down here?”

  “No, thank goodness, but there’s another exit.” She picked up the sheet and replaced it over the bookcase before leading him to the back of the room and a ladder leaning against the wall. “I don’t know where this leads.”

  “There’s one way to find out.” Jack climbed the wooden ladder until his head bumped against a tilted trap door. He climbed another step, then two, before forcing the door open with his shoulder. Light and cold flooded over him. Easing the door down behind him, he came out at ground level in an alley behind the school. He stepped outside, then turned to offer Hattie a hand.

  “They need to keep this door locked,” he said. “It’s not safe for strangers to have access to the school.”

  The massive commissary flanked most of the alley, and beyond that was a livery stable. Past those buildings, a man would be crossing Cheyenne and Arapaho territory, and, in general, they liked people to be invited instead of wandering across their land without explanation.

  “Where did he run to?” Jack asked as he scanned the prairie past the alleyway.

  “Now I have two villains to trouble me at night,” Hattie said. “I thought I was making progress.”

  “We’re closer to catching them now than before,” he said. “And if I’d taken your hunches and gut feelings more seriously, I might have spent more effort hunting down Sloane when you saw him yesterday. Keep reminding me of how insufferable I was to you in school, Hattie. I can’t seem to learn my lesson.”

  “I remember Jack Hennessey telling me something during our geology study in secondary school. He said, ‘Some lessons are tougher than others, Hattie, just like the rocks. It’s the student’s job not to let their pickaxe go dull.’” She fluttered her eyelashes and bared her man-killer smile. “Don’t be dull, Jack.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hattie looked one last time at the portrait of Tom Broken Arrow. She couldn’t say that she was completely satisfied with her work. There were so many emotions she’d wanted to explore—so many hopes and sorrows—that she had to accept it would never be done perfectly, and where it lacked pained her. And yet she’d attempted more than she had ever attempted before. Despite its failings, Hattie was confident that she had done as the gallery owners had recommended. She’d experienced more of life and found a deeper understanding of people.

  If only she had a deeper understanding of Jack.

  She had started on Jack’s portrait while he was working in the adjutant’s office, keeping up with all of Major Adams’s correspondence. She wanted her picture to be accurate, but lately she had begun to wonder if Jack had ever been the boy she thought he was. Could it be that she had misjudged him from the beginning? Either way, whatever effect she used to have on him, he’d outgrown. Now it was she who craved his attention, while he found excuses to keep his distance.

  She had painted him as he’d looked their first day back at school in their seventh year. His shaggy brown hair held a touch of blond from the summer sun, and he held his well-worn books beneath his arm as he stood in the doorway of the school, eager to show what he knew. In his eyes, even though she hadn’t recognized it at the time, was joy at seeing her in the classroom. Maybe she was remembering it incorrectly, but as this wasn’t a testimony to a crime, she should be allowed some license for creativity.

  Hattie swirled her brush in the jar of mineral spirits to clean it. In the last few days, Jack had stopped looking at her like that. He’d stopped looking at her at all, if he could avoid it. Could it be his way of preparing for the separation? But Hattie wasn’t sure she wanted to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. For now, she needed to be here. With Jack.

  She heard the front door open. Time for dinner already? Her canvas wasn’t dry yet, so she hooked her fingers on the wooden frame and rushed it into the pantry to hide until Jack left again and she could stow it in a spare bedroom. She had barely closed the door when he stepped into the kitchen behind her.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have anything prepared.” She wiped her paint-covered fingers on her apron.

  “It’s too early for supper. I just came to take your painting of Tom to the post office before the post goes out for the night.” He really was adorable. And thoughtful. And brave. “Are you still working on it?”

  She looked at the swipes of paint now marring her apron. “No, I’m finished. The crate is already packed and addressed.” She bustled into the dining room with Jack hot on her heels. “Here you go.”

  “If this is packed up, what are you working on now?” It was friendly interest. That was all. But she couldn’t help but look for something more.

  She caught his gaze and searched his eyes. What would he think of her painting him? She knew it would embarrass him, but would he secretly be pleased? With her heart in her throat, she ventured a parry. “It’s going to be my masterpiece.”

  “Even better than Tom’s portrait?”

  She nodded. She should be batting her eyes and flashing her teeth with a flirtatious smile, but she was too scared. Instead she just stood there, staring at him like a fool.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me what it is?” he asked.

  How could he not know? “It’s a picture of something very special to me,” she answered. “Something that has become even more special recently.”

  Recognition flickered i
n his eyes. He looked at the ground. “Hattie, you don’t need to say that. I promised that you would get your wish. I’ll get you to Denver.”

  “Why would I say something I don’t mean?”

  “Because of our bargain. You’ve kept your end of it. Now I have to keep mine.”

  “What if my plans have changed? What if I don’t want what I wanted before?”

  “You don’t know what you want,” he said. He spoke with confidence, but the way he watched from the corner of his eye told Hattie that he wasn’t all that sure. Was she finally getting through to him?

  She didn’t know how to act. She couldn’t play with his emotions. She couldn’t overstate her feelings when they were so new, but would he give her a chance if she told him about her doubts as well as her hopes?

  She would take the risk.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m not sure what I want for the rest of my life, but I know what I want tomorrow, and that is to stay here with you. And I want to stay here for the rest of this week, and maybe the next. Maybe even after this winter and on into summer.”

  He swallowed. “The longer you stay, the harder it will be when you walk away.”

  What if she couldn’t commit yet? Would Jack want to call on her in Denver? Maybe their courtship would survive through letters and correspondence—she imagined Jack could write a love letter to keep a girl warm on a cold winter night. But she couldn’t imagine saying good-bye. What did a boardinghouse in Denver have that compared with her days here with Jack?

  He sighed. “Don’t fear your decision,” he said. “You have to find what God wants you to do, and He’s got plans for me, as well. We can trust Him.” He picked up the crate holding the portrait and carried it out of the room.

  Hattie followed. “You’ll be home for dinner in a bit?”

  He stopped at the threshold. Only by looking over his shoulder could Hattie see Major Adams coming across the green.

  “Jack, we’ve got trouble,” the major said. “Half the tribe is at the school, wanting to take their children home. Turns out the stories about the ghost, the costume, and the missing items have convinced the parents that there is a danger. You’d better get over there.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack replied, then held up the crate. “Do you mind if I take this along to post at Darlington?”

  “Not at all. Take Mrs. Hennessey, if she’s of a mind. It might do the mothers some good to see her.” He turned his steps toward his own house, then spun around to them again. “One other thing. Your request for a transfer was approved. You’ll both be relieved to know that this charade can come to an end. With the school closing, it’s a good time to take up a station elsewhere, and Mrs. Hennessey—or Miss Walker, if you’d rather—will be free to continue her life as she sees fit.” He tipped his hat. “The U.S. Army thanks you for your service, ma’am.”

  The buggy could haul the crate, and it was faster than a wagon. Since time was important, Jack had it prepared immediately, and he and Hattie were on their way.

  Neither of them talked. So much had been said already, but nothing determined. He had steeled himself for her departure, but her uncertainty was chipping away at his resolve to honor their arrangement.

  Major Adams’s report had been correct. Horses and a few wagons crowded around the entrance to the school. Women with thick blankets wrapped over their long deerskin robes clamored on the steps, protesting any delay that left them out of their warm tepees on a day when the temperature was dropping. Chief Right Hand stood on the top step with Superintendent Seger and Agent Lee.

  Jack hopped out. “Don’t go farther than the post office,” he said to Hattie, but his mind was already trying to form the words in Arapaho that might prevent the disaster in progress. “Chief, it’s cold outside. Why come to town today?” he asked when he reached the top of the steps.

  “No reason to wait.” Chief Right Hand spoke clearly for the group of people who hung on his words. “These are my people in this building. I want them to come home, and I’m their chief. You must release them.”

  “You’re correct,” Jack said, “but can I ask why? What is the reason today? The Christmas celebration is later this week, and all the children will go back to their families after that.”

  “There’s unrest,” he said. “You promised to protect them, but they are not safe. Our daughters are in danger at night.”

  After what he saw in the basement, Jack had to agree. There had been danger, but the danger was past.

  “Chief, I can show you what has frightened the girls. There is no spirit. It was a—” He paused, trying to come up with the right word. “A man who had taken refuge in the school. He was hiding and stealing food at night. I can show you where he was sleeping and the door he was using, but now the school knows about it. The door is locked. We could put a guard on it if you’d like.”

  “What man? Has he been punished? No man could creep into our tepees at night without punishment.” The chief shook his head. “Until you protect our children as carefully as you would protect your own, they will stay with us. We know how to look after them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Hattie paid the postage for the crate, then prayed silently as the postmaster carried the package out of her sight. Whether or not her work found favor in the eyes of the exhibition curators, she was pleased with the new direction it had taken. She hadn’t needed the mountains to inspire her after all. If only Jack’s plans had worked out, as well.

  When Hattie returned to the school, the scene didn’t look promising. Judging from Jack’s open palms and pleading expression, he was making no progress with the chief. The doors of the school were open, and students were being marched out by teary-eyed teachers to their parents. Many of the students gave a last hug to a favorite teacher, but no one could miss their excitement at the thought of returning to their families. But did they know it was permanent?

  Her little friend Francine walked slowly out of the school, holding on to Miss Richert’s hand. Her dark eyes scanned the crowd, then her face lit up in a smile as a young woman darted through the others and knelt to hug her. Hattie made her way to them, anxious to meet the mother of the spunky little girl. Francine saw her coming and chattered quickly with her mother as Hattie approached. The mother replied something that made Francine cover her mouth and laugh.

  In English, Francine told Hattie, “My mother said that your name is One Who Spills Stew in Anger.”

  Hattie ducked her head. “I think I’ve been given a lot of names. Now I’m known as Woman Who Can’t Roller-Skate.”

  The girl shared the message and followed it with a lengthy description that included a hilarious pantomime of Hattie falling. Hattie could only be relieved that Francine hadn’t seen her and Lieutenant Jack on their later attempts together.

  “Francine, did you know that we found the place where the man was hiding under the ground? It’s a room called the basement, and we have a lock on it now so he can’t get back in.”

  “Did you catch him?” Francine asked.

  “No, we didn’t. But he can’t get in your room again.”

  The girl shuddered. “If he was human, how could he walk with one leg broken? How could he come up the stairs?”

  “One leg broken?” Hattie looked at the girl’s mother before remembering that she didn’t understand what her daughter was saying, either. “Honey, do you mean to say that the spirit had a broken leg?”

  Francine nodded, but with her mother inspecting her school clothes, she had no time for more foolish questions from Hattie.

  “I’m going home,” she said. “When I come back to the school, we can talk again.”

  But Francine didn’t realize that there might not be a school.

  The families were dispersing, huddling together against the cold as they took their children home. Hattie watched as they filed down the path toward the settlements. Just like that, Jack’s dream was scattering across the prairie.

  Hattie wanted to fix it. In th
e beginning, she hadn’t understood the importance or the selflessness of Jack’s mission, but having met the children and seen their homes and the hopes of their people, she had more sympathy. She’d thought that she had helped him at the expense of her own dream, but she’d gotten so much more in return.

  “I apologize for keeping you waiting in the cold.” Jack climbed into the buggy and took the reins.

  His transfer was approved. He was getting what he’d asked for, but not what he wanted. Yet if the school was closing, he’d failed already. Maybe his replacement would have more luck.

  “You got the painting mailed off?” He shot a sideways glance at Hattie. At the very least, he hoped she would find success in Denver. Not only did he want her to be happy, he didn’t want her to go home and marry the first fellow who asked.

  “It’s posted. It should make the deadline for the exhibition entries, but I don’t know if I’m going to make Mother and Father’s deadline. It still has to be accepted.” A gust of wind threw a lock of hair across her dark eyes. She brushed it away. “What about the students? What did the parents decide?”

  From one disaster straight to another. “Everyone is going home. A few might have been persuaded to stay, but not enough to justify staying open. The doors will be shuttered, and the teachers reassigned to other missions and agencies.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I know how disappointed you must be.”

  “I’ll keep trying,” he said. “We can get them back. It might take some time. . . .”

  “But you won’t be here,” Hattie said. “Major Adams has your transfer, and you have to leave.”