The Lieutenant's Bargain

by Regina Jennings

  But they weren’t leaving. They were looking at her. One ancient woman with long silver braids pounded on her table. Two young mothers with soft eyes and strong hands joined in. Others joined in until the quartet was overtaken. The standing Indians parted as Chief Right Hand made his way toward them.

  The room quieted at his upraised hand. He pointed at Jack. The fringe on his sleeve swayed with every one of his deep, bass syllables. Jack ducked his head as the chief continued. He was talking about Hattie. All eyes, mostly brown, but a few blue and green, were turned her way. Hattie’s heart beat painfully and unevenly. Was she in trouble for Sloane? Did they understand what had happened? Or did they think that once again she was a victim in need of rescuing? She looked at the brave mothers who had made the hard choice to send their children to school. Hattie didn’t want to be a victim in their eyes.

  The chief ended his speech. Major Adams and Superintendent Seger watched Jack expectantly.

  “Well,” said Major Adams, “what did he say?”

  Jack shot her an apologetic look. Hattie’s eyes dropped to the ground as she waited for whatever uncomfortable pronouncement Jack was forced to translate.

  “It’s been made known to Chief Right Hand and the rest of the tribe that the gold shipment meant for the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes has been recovered by Mrs. Hennessey. They also understand that by her quick thinking, she was able to bring the second bandit to justice.”

  Hattie’s hands clenched. That wasn’t the announcement she was expecting. She looked up at Jack, surprised to see him smiling.

  “Furthermore,” he said, “since we were married in an Arapaho ceremony, they feel they have the right to claim her as one of their tribe as a daughter, and they want it known that the gold was recovered by one of their own.”

  Hattie watched Chief Right Hand through tear-filled eyes as he walked forward and took her by the shoulders. Placing her in front of him, he pulled a feather out of his braid and threaded it through her coif.

  Next, Spotted Hawk stepped forward. With a toothy grin, she said something that Jack quickly translated. “They won’t call you One Who Spills Stew in Anger anymore. She will tell the chief that you have a new name. From now on, they will call you Found Treasure.”

  Hattie had to laugh. She wished she had something to give them back. It didn’t seem like the money should count, since all she’d done was remember where it was.

  But she did have something. Clapping her hands together, she spun to Daisy. Daisy read her smile and snatched her basket off the table. It felt heavenly to greet the students and hand them their gifts.

  Daisy skipped as she wove through the tables, finding every last child she knew and handing the unnamed packages to those she didn’t know. At first the children held the paper-wrapped bundles curiously, turning them over and over. But Tom Broken Arrow snapped the string on his, and then there was an avalanche of rustling paper.

  Hattie watched as Francine’s shell fell out of the paper and into the girl’s hand. Francine turned it over, and her eyes widened. Her face glowed as she touched the smooth interior that held the painting of her mother and younger sister. Her mother was bending to get a better look. Her brow wrinkled in disbelief as she leaned in. With a quick word, a young man who had to be Francine’s father leaned in to see. He grunted with pride, his eyes traveling from the shell to his family and back again.

  Francine ran across the room to Hattie with her parents following. She could barely take her eyes off the shell.

  “Father wants to know if you painted this,” she said.

  “I did,” Hattie replied. “I’m sorry he’s not in it, as well. I didn’t see him that day at the school.”

  Francine translated, then waited for his response. “He’s asking if you could make another one. Except this time he wants it to be a picture of me.” She smiled up at her father before continuing. “He wants to keep it with him while I’m away at school. Then he can see me even when I’m not there.”

  Both parents looked eager for her answer. Hattie nodded. “If I can find enough shells, I’d be glad to do a portrait for each child.”

  “We will provide the gift,” her father said, according to Francine. “It is little compared to the beauty you add to them.”

  Hattie wanted to tell them that the beauty was provided by God and shown through them, but she didn’t want to tax little Francine’s vocabulary. Either way, she was honored to create keepsakes for the family, especially if it made their separation easier to bear.

  Painting was what Hattie did. It was her gift to share with others. And if it gave her an excuse to spend more time with these children, then she was amply rewarded already.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  They didn’t have a Christmas tree. To even get firewood on the prairie, the army traveled east all the way to Council Grove, so making a special trip for a tree was out of the question. And it didn’t matter much. After all, they’d gone to Major Adams and Louisa’s for Christmas Eve after the dinner in Darlington, and one Christmas tree was enough in Jack’s book.

  But one could never have enough mistletoe.

  Jack waited just inside the dining room as he heard Hattie coming. After church, she’d baked while he looked after his correspondence in the adjutant’s office. Now the house was filled with the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, his work was complete, and the rest of Christmas Day was all his. His to share with her.

  She was humming to herself as she came down the stairs. “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” it sounded like. Her footsteps faded as she crossed the parlor rug, then returned as she neared the passage into the dining room. He knew better than to jump out at her. She’d had enough scares to last a lifetime.

  Instead, he stepped into the doorway just as she reached it. Her humming halted. She drew up, pulling a large flat bundle against her chest, then broke into a laugh. He wrapped both arms around her waist and drew her against him despite the awkward package between them.

  “How surprising,” she said. “It appears you’ve caught me under the mistletoe again.”

  “What a coincidence.”

  “I’m not so sure. It seems like there’s a sprig of mistletoe over every doorway, support beam, or lamp.”

  “Which is exactly why I haven’t allowed Major Adams or anyone else to visit. Not until I take it all down. In the meantime, you’re my only victim.”

  Hattie moved the package out of the way as she smiled up at him. “A willing victim.” She tilted her head back, allowing her husband to gleefully prove his love for Christmas traditions.

  Kissing his wife was enough to make Jack forget about any Christmas gifts. Well, almost enough.

  “Is that a present?” he whispered as he strayed from her lips.

  “Of course.” She still held it in one hand, although its safety seemed precarious.

  “Is it a painting?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she pushed him away. “You aren’t supposed to guess.”

  “Is it a painting of me?”

  Her jaw dropped. “You are wicked, Jack Hennessey. Have you been snooping?”

  He couldn’t help his devious chuckle. “It’s just deduction, dear wife. Look at the shape of the package. Of course you painted a picture. Why would it be wrapped up? Well, it is Christmas, after all. And of all the fascinating subjects you could choose from, what would you find most endearing?” He shrugged. “The answer is obvious.”

  Hattie twisted, trying to pull out of his embrace while swatting at his hands, but he kept a hold of her and stumbled into the parlor as she dragged him along. She was feisty, twisting and spinning in ways that only encouraged him in his advances. When they landed on the sofa, they barely took up half the length of it. Her skirt splashed across his lap. His feet tangled with hers. With a quick adjustment, he bounced her into a cozier position and took the package from her.

  “I could deduce that it’s a picture of me, but I doubt it’s flattering.”

  “Why should it be flatteri
ng? My aim is honesty.”

  Jack winced. “Honesty in words is admirable, but if you looked like me, you’d be more appreciative of flattery when it came to portraits.”

  “Misplaced humility.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Are you going to unwrap it or not?”

  The paper crumpled beneath his hand as he reminded himself that Hattie was an excellent artist. No matter how painful the portrait looked, it would be accurate. And he had to act thrilled, even if it hurt his vanity.

  But instead of a portrait of Lieutenant Jack Hennessey, it was a picture of a puny youngster standing in the doorway of the Van Buren secondary school.

  Jack was captivated.

  “Is this how I really looked?” Throughout his life, he hadn’t spent much time in front of mirrors. He did have a good recollection of a family photograph around that time, but his whole family looked starched and stiff in it, so he hadn’t taken it for truth.

  “Exactly how you looked,” Hattie said. “Remember how your arm was white when your splint came off in the autumn? See right there, where your sleeve is rolled up. And you’re carrying the book on horses. I always thought it was funny that you read books on horses instead of riding them, but look at you now. You’re a regular . . . what is it?”

  “Centaur?”

  “No . . . horseman. That’s it. And the second book you’re carrying. It was poetry, right?”

  Jack squinted at the spine. “That’s Sonnets from the Portuguese. That’s right. I read them when I was recovering from the broken arm. How do you remember this?”

  “It’s just a picture of you I’d carried with me.”

  Jack groaned. “It’s a wonder you ever talked to me at all if this is how I looked. Such a defenseless bookworm.”

  “Look again,” Hattie said. “I’m learning about myself and how I paint. When I painted that picture of the outlaws, I hadn’t understood the significance of what was right before my eyes, but I was able to paint it, even so. That’s what happened here. Look at this boy. No, he’s not the strongest boy in the schoolyard, but look at that determined jaw. Look how straight and proud he walks, even past the boastful bullies. Look at the sensitivity in those brown eyes. When you see all that, it’s no surprise the boy will grow into a man like you.”

  It was all there in the painting, just like she said. Jack didn’t believe her memory was accurate, not this far removed, but if he had to decide between a love who remembered everything perfectly and a love who colored the past in his favor, he knew which he’d choose.

  “I love it,” he said. “Mostly because it reminds me how lucky I am to have adored you for so long. Found Treasure is an apt name.”

  She purred as she snuggled into his side. “I’m glad you like it. I’m sure I’ll like my gift just as much.”

  The minx. “What makes you think you’re getting anything?” But Jack had never learned how to bluff. He pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket. Hattie snatched it out of his hand and moved to the edge of the sofa, suddenly as alert as a hawk.

  “There’s a bump in it,” she said as she felt along the length. “You tried to hide it by putting paper in there, but I can feel the bead. Next time you should consider wrapping it. A simple box—”

  “Just open it,” he said.

  She pried her finger beneath the flap and then paused. “Maybe you should keep it. It was part of the bargain.”

  “I am keeping it. It was my wedding ring, and I’m never letting it go. This is just a replica. But that’s only part of the present. You didn’t even look at the papers.”

  She was too busy putting on the earring, although her habit of wearing only one had grown on him. “The papers?” She nearly ripped the two sheets pulling them out of the envelope. “Tickets?” Her eyes sparkled. “Tickets to Colorado? Oh, Jack, it’s wonderful. And you’re coming with me?”

  “I’ve already arranged it with Major Adams. I wouldn’t miss your first exhibition for anything.”

  “My first—?” Her face went pale and her eyes filled with terror. “What are you talking about? What have you done?”

  “I received a telegram from the Denver Exhibition saying that they accepted your painting of Tom Broken Arrow as part of their show. They also said that one of the board members owns a gallery, and he is interested in any other paintings you might have.”

  Her hands squeezed his like a vice. “My painting was accepted? It was accepted?” She darted forward and kissed him on the mouth. “You are the most wonderful—wait! Did you say they want more paintings to display?” She pressed her hand against her heart. “More paintings? And we’re leaving in a month? Oh, my dear, what did you do to me? I’ve got to get to work. I have some sketches that are coming along nicely. A couple of them might be worthy of the canvas, but I hadn’t considered . . .”

  And just like that, she was up and gone.

  Jack hummed to himself as he eyed the portrait she’d left behind. Propping the picture up against the window, he smiled at the ambitious little fellow. “Don’t worry if she flits around,” he said, now that it was just the two of them. “Once she comes to her senses, she’ll see you. And when she does, she’s worth all the waiting you’ve done.”

  Then, with a wink, he went upstairs to see what he could do to remind his wife that they were sharing the most wonderful Christmas ever.

  A Note from the Author

  Dear Reader,

  You’ve reached the back of the book. I sure hope you’ve finished reading the story and aren’t skipping ahead to see what happens. If so, you won’t find out here, because this is where I tell you about the real history of Fort Reno and the Darlington Agency.

  The first thing you should know is that the Arapaho school in Darlington did exist (you can still walk its foundation today), as did the larger, more well-known Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania. If you’re curious about the philosophy of Indian education in the nineteenth century and what many of the Indian students went through, I encourage you to search out the extensive resources about the Carlisle school online. It’s all there—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

  As for the main plot of The Lieutenant’s Bargain, the enforcement of an Arapaho wedding ceremony, it was also inspired by research. White settlers were not allowed on the vast lands of Indian Territory without a connection to the tribe. Unscrupulous men often courted and married Native American women just for access to the tribal funds and land. All too often, these speculators would decide to seek easy money elsewhere and leave behind a wife and children, claiming that the Indian wedding ceremony wasn’t binding on them. Over time, the government enacted different policies trying to prevent the exploitation of the tribe, but it remained a problem for decades. For that reason, I thought it plausible that a cavalry officer might be pressured to honor a ceremony that he misunderstood. (If you don’t think it’s plausible, I hope you at least thought it was entertaining.)

  Many of the characters who make an appearance in The Lieutenant’s Bargain were real people, including the Marshals Bud Ledbetter and Bass Reeves, Agent Lee, scout Ben Clark, Reverend Voth, and Superintendent John Seger. When possible, I borrow the last names of people or towns in the region to create new characters. Most of the school’s teachers were named in honor of those first Mennonite missionaries that settled in Darlington to educate and evangelize.

  Even our hero, Lieutenant Jack, has a name inspired by true but less uplifting events. Locals will recognize the name of Hennessey as being a town north of Darlington and the fort. They might not know that the town was named after Pat Hennessey, a freighter who was killed by a band of Cheyenne (with possibly some Kiowa, Osage, and Comanche participants) in 1874. In fact, it was the murder of Hennessey and the four other members of his team that brought about the establishment of Fort Reno to protect the workers at the Darlington Indian Agency. Our fictional Lieutenant Jack is blissfully unbothered by his connection with the tragic tale and intent on leaving his own happier story for posterity.

  Speak
ing of happy stories, I’m so glad you’re the kind of reader who appreciates both history and fiction. If you’re looking for more fiction, you can find me and news about my books at www.reginajennings.com or on Facebook. If you’re looking for more history about Fort Reno, just head on west of Oklahoma City and drop in to visit the folks at the fort. They’ll love to see you!

  God bless, and thanks for reading!

  Sincerely,

  Regina

  Regina Jennings is a graduate of Oklahoma Baptist University with a degree in English and a minor in history. She has worked at the Mustang News and at First Baptist Church of Mustang, along with time at the Oklahoma National Stockyards and various livestock shows. She lives outside of Oklahoma City with her husband and four children.

  Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook

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  Twitter: @Bethany House

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Books by Regina Jennings

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty