The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  At any rate, the children were coming back to the school, and they’d be there in time for the Christmas celebration. Jack had at least accomplished that much.

  The lights from the fort shone for miles on the black plains. The skies darkened early in the winter, so they had probably already missed the six-thirty roll call. Sure enough, when they reached the fort, Jack saw that the post flag had been retired for the day, but tattoo had yet to be played, so the men were on their own time.

  “You want me to take your horse?” Icy slivers on the shoulders of Private Willis’s coat sparkled beneath the light from the lanterns lining the thoroughfare.

  “I appreciate it,” Jack said. “Thanks.”

  “Thought you might be in a hurry to get home. Just remember this when I get my next leave to go to Garber to see my lady.” Private Willis winked before dismounting.

  Jack took his gear and left the horse in Willis’s capable, if often mischievous, hands. He stomped the thick, hard mud off his boots on his porch. Just as he’d hoped, Hattie’s quick footsteps could be heard, then the door swung open. She was dressed in a simple gown, but her hair was arranged as expertly as if she were going to a show at the King Opera House in Van Buren. Her eyes sparkled as she caught him by the arm and dragged him inside.

  “That was a quick trip. I’m so glad you weren’t out late. I bet you’re hungry. Let me help you with your coat.”

  Jack closed the door behind him. Her fussing over him was the best welcome he’d ever received. He waited patiently as she unbuttoned his coat and removed it. He allowed her to take his gear and drop it in his office. He handled the pistol and saber himself, then helped her with the boots. By the time she allowed him any farther into his own house, the stiffness had almost been worked out of his fingers.

  “Come by the fire. I have some hot water on the stove. Would you like tea or coffee?” Hattie was always on a mission, and now his care fell under her domain.

  “I’d rather sit with you,” he said. “And we ate supper in the field. No need to make anything for me.”

  “Tea it is.” She rolled up his scarf and strode into the kitchen.

  Jack stretched his hands toward the fire and let the warmth seep in until the knees of his wool trousers were almost too hot to touch. Stepping back, he noticed dozens of seashells stacked on an end table along with scraps of twine and butcher paper. What was she up to now?

  Picking up a shell, he turned it over to see a breathtaking portrait of a young Arapaho mother. Her cradleboard hid all but the top of the baby’s head strapped to her back, and she was holding her hand down low, as if summoning another child.

  Hattie handed him a mug of tea. “Do you like it?”

  “Should I know her?” he asked. The fact that he could make out specific features on a miniature told much about Hattie’s talent.

  “It’s Francine’s mother. I met her the day they came to pick up the children at the school. I’m giving it to Francine for Christmas.”

  He turned the shell so it caught the light. “Your work is exquisite. Either those men in Denver are going to be impressed, or they’re dolts. Either way, I hope you don’t regret not going there yourself.”

  Hattie took the shell out of his hand and laid it on the table. “I have space to work here, and I have someone to share it with. Besides, didn’t you say that it’s too late to change my mind?”

  “Definitely too late.” He moved her around to face him. “I was just thinking that something had to be wrong. My life can’t possibly have turned out so well.”

  He couldn’t wait to take her back home to Van Buren. He was proud of her. He’d spent so many years hiding his devotion to Hattie that it had become a habit. A bad habit. Now he could gaze at her with all the adoration he used to keep bottled up, and she seemed to enjoy it.

  “You have to stop looking at me like that,” she said. “Or everyone will know we were only faking earlier.”

  “I wasn’t faking it, but I didn’t realize how much more I could love you until now.” A quick kiss, followed by a rather lengthy one, and then he thought to ask about her project again. “Are you painting a shell for each student?”

  Horses, tepees, a woman at a cook fire, men hunting—each picture was a tiny masterful glimpse of Arapaho life.

  “Daisy and I are.”

  “The Christmas program is tomorrow. I could help wrap them if you need. Not that I will do a tidy job.”

  “I’ll supervise,” she said. “I’ll tell you who I made them for, but I might need help with some of the names.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He picked up the shears and began cutting the butcher paper into squares for her. “You know, I’d be a fool to continue doing the illustrations in my studies when I have an artist as talented as you in the house. Look at these little pictures. You’ve already displayed the Arapaho better than my descriptions could.”

  Hattie beamed. “Me, helping Jack with his homework? My, how the scales have tilted. You used to intimidate me something awful.”

  “And you scared me something fierce,” he said. “If you knew how much courage I had to gather every time I talked to you . . .”

  “And then you wasted the opportunity by correcting my composition.”

  “Lesson learned. And while you’re identifying my inadequacies . . .” He pointed down at the shells in front of him. She’d already wrapped two while he’d talked. “I’m no good at this, either. My fingers are numb.”

  “Don’t give me any excuses.” Her smile quirked at the side. “Especially when you’re asking for my help.”

  “I’ll try again.” He lifted the paper, but he could only think of how much he wanted her attention for himself.

  Hattie knotted the twine on another gift and asked, “Now that we have Bixby, what happens?”

  “Once he’s fit to travel, they’ll haul him to Fort Smith in Arkansas, and he’ll stand before Judge Parker. We’ll go for the trial, of course.” He held up the twine. “It tangled.”

  She leaned against the table to reach for it. Jack managed to brush his leg against hers as she caught the twine. Her eyes flickered, but they stayed on the string.

  “What about Sloane?” She undid the knot he’d made and dropped the twine on the table in front of Jack, giving him no chance for another caress.

  He folded the paper over a shell. “We haven’t found him, but we will. It’s just a matter of time. Could you put your finger here and hold this while I tie it?”

  She leaned across his arm to pin the paper down.

  “Bixby hasn’t uttered a peep, but the evidence suggests that Sloane was an accomplice. Which is why I won’t let you wander around alone until this business is finished.” He rested his hand on top of hers as he made the bow, but even after he pulled it tight, he didn’t move away.

  She remained focused on the gift, but her lips had parted. His wife didn’t want to wrap presents right now. Jack was certain of it.

  “There could be other, less noble reasons for keeping you close, as well,” he said.

  Hattie’s eyes met his, and he saw the invitation he was hoping for.

  “I can wrap these first thing tomorrow,” she said as she took the gift out of his hand, her fingers trailing over his palm. “You weren’t getting anything done anyway.”

  He winked. “If you insist.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Even though most of the Mennonite missionaries didn’t display one in their homes, Darlington was lit up like a Christmas tree. Every light on the streets glittered. The government employees left candles burning in each window, throwing a festive atmosphere over the cold town. Although the temperature remained chilly, the evening would not be a beautiful snow-covered Christmas village like the ideal. Then again, nothing about the Christmas pageant would look like a traditional tableau.

  Hattie adjusted the basket on her lap. She held half the presents for the children, while Daisy, riding in the buggy in front of them with Major Adams and Louisa, had the rest. I
n the two miles to Darlington, Daisy had craned her neck out of the buggy a dozen times to look back and check on Hattie.

  “She’s worried the shells aren’t going to make it.” Jack wore his dress uniform, as did the other officers who had come for the festivities. Hattie had brushed the lint off the coat for him when he pulled it out of the wardrobe. He’d been too busy sneaking something into the house that he didn’t want her to see. It would take effort on her part not to snoop for whatever he had hidden in his desk drawer, but with Christmas coming in the morning, she should be able to wait that long.

  They’d reached the school, and Daisy peeked out again even as her father pulled up to the hitching post.

  “She’s as excited as I am,” Hattie said.

  “Let’s leave the gifts in the wagon for now. It’ll be disruptive if we carry them in before the program.”

  “And we don’t want Headmistress Lehrman cross with us.”

  He nodded as they went inside to join the Adamses and other families. The Arapaho families that had come from the reservation filed in as well, the women greeting each other in their own language, the younger children bundled up tight for the journey from their villages, and the men grouping together to question one of their own.

  “What’s going on over there?” Hattie asked.

  Jack tilted his head as they passed, trying to catch their words. “That’s White Horse they’re talking to. He’s passing on the dispatch we received from Washington. Since the government lost their payment, they won’t be getting it until next quarter. White Horse understands what happened. He knows it’s not our fault, but the news isn’t welcome. I hope it doesn’t get in the way of what they see tonight.”

  Hattie had never seen the mission house so crowded. She clutched Jack’s arm to keep from being separated from him. “What do they know about Christmas?” she asked.

  “The missionaries, mostly Mennonites, have taught them the basic tenets of the faith if they wanted to learn. Some will know the story, but they’ve never seen it presented like this. Hopefully it’ll bring them closer to understanding what a miracle it is that God would send His holy Son to live with us on Earth. It would do me some good to ponder that outrageous plan, as well. But I don’t want to put undue expectations on the children. After the week they’ve had—closing the school and going home, only to get called back—I’ll be relieved if they make it through the program.”

  Inside the meeting room of the mission house, anticipation made voices more melodic and the greetings merrier. Hattie was hugged by Mrs. Lehrman and Mrs. Voth, while Jack shook their hands. The teachers and agency workers had migrated toward the front, leaving the seats in the back open for their guests.

  The situation didn’t please Jack. His chin hardened as he stopped next to Major Adams’s pew.

  “Major Adams, must we all sit up front? Shouldn’t we give the Arapaho the seats of honor? It’s their children performing, after all.”

  “Simmer down, Jack.” Major Adams flicked a pine needle off his shoulder. “I offered the same thing, but Right Hand was adamant. Their people don’t feel safe being pinned in with all of us between them and the door.”

  Before, Hattie would have said that she didn’t feel safe having a hundred Indians between her and the exit, but now that she knew them, it was the furthest thought from her mind.

  “Then I withdraw my complaint,” Jack said. He motioned to Hattie to take a seat. “As long as they’re close enough to hear.”

  Superintendent Seger came to the stage. His mere presence was enough to silence the crowd as the few left standing found their seats. He welcomed them with halting words in Arapaho before gesturing to Jack. Hattie gaped as Jack stood and went to join him on the stage. The superintendent continued to line out the rest of the program, pausing every few phrases to give Jack a chance to translate to the rest of the audience. Hattie listened carefully, trying to pick out words that were repeated, but even as slowly as Jack was talking, it only made her head spin. How did he make heads or tails of it? By next year, he’d probably be speaking it as well as Coyote spoke English.

  His gaze stole to hers. She lifted her chin. Yes, she saw him, and yes, she was proud. He walked a bit taller leaving the stage.

  “You look just like you did when you beat Willie Porter at the spelling bee,” she whispered.

  “Learning that was a lot harder than besting Willie. He wasn’t any competition.” He took her gloved hand and squeezed it.

  Mrs. Lehrman came to the front row and took a seat on the aisle. There was a rustling from the back of the room as the doors opened, revealing the children lined up, each one with a candle in hand. The procession down the aisle was met by appreciative murmurs of their parents. Most of the older students walked nobly to the front of the room, familiar with the importance of pageantry, but the younger ones waved as they spotted their parents in the audience. Only a speedy interference by a gray-haired grandmother decked in fringed buckskin kept a candle from toppling over. She righted it, then set the little boy back on his path.

  Once they were in place, the students broke into the strains of “Joy to the World,” but Hattie had never heard it sung like this before. Singing at twice the volume of any children’s choir she’d ever participated in, they belted out the lyrics in their own tongue. But wasn’t that how it should be? Why shouldn’t the Savior’s coming be expressed with enthusiasm? The angels’ message may not have been delivered in this tongue, but it surely matched this fervor.

  “I hope I translated that correctly,” Jack whispered. “Coyote helped, but we had to take liberties with some of the phrasing to get it to fit.”

  “Sounds beautiful to me,” she said.

  From there, the program went through the basic Christmas story. Or at least Hattie assumed it did, but with the Arapaho narrator, she couldn’t be sure. Arapaho Mary and Joseph arrived with quiet dignity and took their place on the stage. No longer did they have a rag doll Baby Jesus in the cradleboard. Now a bright-eyed little fellow was strapped to Mary’s back. He’d managed to get a chubby arm out of the swaddling clothes. His beaded bracelet twinkled in the candlelight as he waved his arm. Two little girls on the front row of the choir hunched together, giggling over the baby’s delight.

  Hattie let the miracle of the season alight on her anew. God had come to Earth as a baby, entrusting His care to earthly, fallible parents—a mother maybe not much older than the girl playing Mary’s part. And He didn’t come to an elegant, civilized world, but landed Himself in a territory just as brutal and dangerous as Indian Territory had ever been.

  And why had He come? For her. For Jack. For Tom Broken Arrow. For anyone who would call on Him. The supreme gift of Christmas gifts. The gift that often went forgotten and overlooked.

  Three boys dressed in buckskin hunting clothes played the parts of the shepherds. Even with their hair cut short, they were still able to weave in beads and adornments for the occasion. They danced down the aisle with two spry youngsters bounding before them on all fours, baaing like sheep. The shepherds prodded their sheep more fiercely than they should, but that was the nature of boys. The girls who came as angels weren’t in the traditional white gowns. Instead they wore finely worked buckskin. The dresses sparkled with smooth beads and polished elk-teeth buttons.

  “Those gowns must weigh twenty pounds each,” Hattie whispered to Jack.

  “Each bauble was selected and sewn on with pride,” he answered as the girls passed down the aisle, making their own music as the trinkets jangled against each other.

  The Christmas program couldn’t be any better, but Hattie felt some unease about what was coming. Would the children have any bad memories? She looked over her shoulder as the doors at the back of the room opened. The superintendent, Reverend Voth, and Agent Lee stepped inside, looking foreign and regal in their soft flowing robes. Hattie tensed as they made their way toward the stage. Francine’s eyes widened. She’d stopped singing, but Cold Rain bumped her with her elbow. With a ju
tted jaw and lowered brow, she gave Francine a firm stare as if to warn her against disgracing them with cowardice. Francine bravely recommenced her singing, but her eyes never left the silky robe that Reverend Voth was wearing.

  The Magi presented the gifts, which in Indian Territory consisted of an eagle feather, a buffalo robe, and a piece of ledger art. The narrator finished his speech, and the children broke out into another rendition of “Joy to the World,” but this time they sang it in English. Voices rumbled from the Arapaho side of the room. Were the parents unhappy? Jack seemed pleased.

  “They’re impressed that their own children are learning white men’s words,” Jack said. “They might not like what we say most of the time, but they understand the advantage it’ll give their children.”

  The program had ended. The students streamed off the stage to join their families and make their way to the dining hall for the grand banquet.

  “I hope we’re doing what’s best,” Hattie said. “The school will change everything for them.”

  His eyes sparked with interest. “You made this possible. If you hadn’t agreed to stay here and help me, many of these children would have had to go to Pennsylvania for school. Or had none at all.” He searched her face in the dim light of the room. “Do you think it was worth the sacrifice?”

  She wormed her hand between his arm and his side. “I can’t rightly call it a sacrifice anymore, can I? This is so much better than whatever I expected to find in Denver.”