Desert Hearts (17 page)

He laid Woolcott on top of one of the blankets and spread the other over him. He pulled off his own neckerchief and, soaking it in water, cleaned the lieutenant’s face off.

“Is he all right, sir. He saved our lives,” Mahoney choked out.

“What happened, lad?”

“The Indians turned into a small canyon. He insisted on taking Private Black and going in first. Some of the Indians had stayed behind in ambush and started shooting from the rocks. We went in after him, but Black was already dead and the lieutenant wounded.”

“How did ye get him out?”

Mahoney dropped his head. “I had the men cover me,” he said in a low voice, “and I rode in after him. I couldn’t leave him there.”

Michael patted his arm. “No, you couldn’t leave him there. Ye’ve turned into a fine soldier.”

Thomas groaned and Michael lifted his head.

“Water,” he whispered.

“I don’t think ye should be drinking, sir,” said Michael. He poured more water on his neckerchief and lifted it to Thomas’s lips. “Here, sir, this will keep ye from dryin’ out.”

“That’s Burke, isn’t it? The wagons?”

“Whist, Mr. Woolcott. Ye mustn’t be talking. Some of the supplies gone and two men dead, sir. Their sergeant turned back to Albuquerque for help. I guess he was afraid to follow the Navajo.”

“Mahoney?” whispered Thomas.

“Right here, sir.”

“You are a good soldier, Private Mahoney. Be sure you recommend him to the colonel, Burke.”

“Sure and ye’ll be recommending him yerself.”

Thomas shook his head and attempted a smile, which turned into a grimace as a wave of pain hit him.

Michael wet his lips again.

“Burke….”

“Yes, sir.”

“Elizabeth….”

“Yes, sir?” Dear Mother Mary, the man couldn’t die, not like this. Not and leave her alone again.

“Tell her…she’s made me very happy…very happy. And, Burke?”

Thomas’s voice was so weak that Michael had to put his head down next to his lips.

“Tell her I died fast and easy.”

Michael reached out and took Thomas’s hand. He squeezed it gently and said, “I will, sir.”

“Thank you, Burke. You are a good man. I always said so.”

Thomas Woolcott did not die slowly or easily. The only blessing, thought Michael, was that he lost consciousness around midnight.

“You need some sleep, Sergeant Burke,” said Mahoney as they sat with him. “I can stay with him for a while.”

“No, lad, ye get yerself some sleep.” Michael kept his vigil, regularly moistening Thomas’s lips with his makeshift sponge. Even unconscious, the man’s mouth sought the water eagerly, and he knew that he was giving the dying man the only small comfort he could.

It was just before dawn that he slipped away. Michael had just brushed his lips again, but instead of sucking at the cloth they relaxed open and with one sigh, Thomas Wood was released into death.

Michael ran his hand down Thomas’s face to close his eyes and pulled the blanket over him. He stood up slowly, stiff and aching from the long night. The sun was coming up, lighting the ocher and pink rocks around them with the clear light so characteristic of the country. It was going to be a beautiful day, he thought: crisp, cool, and clear, but Mr. Woolcott would not be seein’ it. He crossed himself and murmured a Hail Mary. “And pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”

Mahoney stumbled over, barely awake. The boy took in the lieutenant’s shrouded body.

“When did he die, Sergeant Burke?”

“Just a little while ago, Mahoney.”

Mahoney wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “It should have been me lying there, sir. If he hadn’t gone first into that ambush…. He saved our lives.”

“It shouldn’t be anyone at all down there, lad,” said Michael, putting his arm around Mahoney’s shoulders. “Ye went after him.”

“But he is dead, sir.”

“Had he only been wounded in the shoulder, he would have lived because of you, Mahoney. Don’t be forgetting that.”

“Thank you, sir,” the boy whispered.

Michael stood silently for a few minutes. He had a handful of men, a dead officer, and a wounded boy back at the wagons. He wanted to bring the lieutenant back himself, he wanted to be the one to break the news to Elizabeth, to be there for her. But he couldn’t send anyone else back to the wagons. He had promised that boy someone would be back for him.

“Mahoney, I’m putting half the men under your command. Ye’ll take the lieutenant’s body back to the fort.”

“You’re not going after them?” the boy protested.

“No, but there is a lad close to your age lying by the wagons and the rest of the supplies with him. I have to get them to the fort.”

They wrapped Thomas’s body in another blanket, tied it with rawhide, and slung it over one of the horses. “Two of ye ride double, lads,” ordered Michael.

“Yes, sir.”

Michael put his hand on Mahoney’s knee when the boy was mounted. “Mahoney,” he said. “I promised Mr. Woolcott something and ye’ll have to help me keep my promise.”

“Sir?”

“Tell Mrs. Woolcott he died quickly and with very little suffering.”

Mahoney frowned. “ ‘Twas his last wish,” Michael said persuasively.

“All right, sir.”

Michael patted his knee. “Good lad.”

Michael saw them off and then, mounting Frost, he waved the rest of the men to follow him.

When they got to the supply wagons, there was no sign of the Navajo’s return. The young private was unconscious, Michael’s canteen lying empty next to him.

“He was lucky to pass out. Get him into one of the wagons, Private Stanton. Gently now, be careful of that leg.”

There were only six mules left, so Michael consolidated what was left of the supplies into one wagon and onto the backs of two mules.

“We’ve got about everything, sir,” said Private Stanton.

“Move them out then, men.”

It was after dark when they reached the fort, but they were obviously awaited, for the gates swung open as they approached. The colonel was standing in front of his headquarters and waved a summons to Michael, who walked Frost over to the railing and started to dismount.

“You must be exhausted, Burke. And your horse, too. Get yourself some food and settle your mount and then I’ll hear your report.”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael turned Frost and walked her slowly down the line toward the stables. He couldn’t help turning his head as he passed the Woolcotts’ quarters. The lanterns were lit in the parlor and also in what he assumed was their bedroom and he could see a woman’s silhouette walking back and forth.

When he got to the stables, he rubbed Frost down slowly and carefully and after watering and feeding her, settled her down with a fervent “Thank you for gettin’ me back safely.”

He presented himself at the colonel’s half an hour later.

“Come in, Sergeant Burke, come in. Sit down, man. You must be tired.”

“A wee bit, sir,” Michael admitted as he sank gratefully into a chair.

“Tell me what happened, Sergeant.”

“We camped at the rendezvous, sir. In the morning, after waiting two hours past their expected time, Mr. Woolcott sent me ahead. I found the wagons had been attacked and two men dead. And a wounded lad, sir. How is he?” Michael asked.

“Will lose his leg, the surgeon thinks. But otherwise fine, thanks to you.”

Michael shook his head. “I thought he might. His knee was shattered. Poor lad.”

“He’s young and healthy. He’ll adjust.” The colonel poured himself a glass of brandy and offered some to Michael, who shook his head.

“I’d likely fall asleep on ye, sir,” he said with a smile.

“What are your thoughts on the attack, Sergeant?”

“The lad told me there were about twenty in the band, with two women captives. It didn’t sound like it was planned. More like they came upon the wagons and took the opportunity offered them. And their behavior when they came upon the lieutenant suggests the same thing. They lit out as soon as they saw our men, according to Mahoney.”

“And the lieutenant?”

“He had to follow, sir, seeing as how they had captives and were leading an army mule loaded with supplies.”

“Yes, he did,” said the colonel sadly. “He was a good man, Thomas Woolcott, and an expert soldier. A great loss, a great loss,” he murmured, “both to the army and his wife.”

Michael kept his voice even as he asked, “And how is Mrs. Woolcott, sir?”

The colonel shook his head. “My wife has been with her since she received the news. She can’t get her to sleep or even lie down. She hasn’t even cried yet. I believe it is all too sudden for her. You know her story?”

“A little, sir.”

“Thomas Woolcott was the one who rescued her when she was a girl. She depended upon him, I believe, perhaps more than most wives.”

“I have a message for her from her husband, Colonel Gray. It may comfort her a little.”

“You should deliver it yourself, Burke, but get yourself some well-deserved rest and see her in the morning. You did well, Burke. As did Mahoney,” said the colonel with a kind smile. “I promoted him to corporal.”

Michael grinned. “He deserves it, sir. And Lieutenant Woolcott would have approved.”

“I am happy to have the two of you back safely.”

“Thank you, sir.”

* * * *

Michael slept through reveille the next morning and when he finally awoke and saw that the barracks were empty, he groaned.

“ ‘Tis busted to private I’ll be for this,” he said aloud as he got himself washed and dressed.

The mess was almost empty, but he spotted Elwell in the corner and sat down next to him.

“The colonel told the officer of the day to let you sleep, Michael. I see you did. It was bad, I hear.”

“Not for me, for I didn’t even see them.”

“No, but you were with the boy and Mr. Woolcott. I hear he went quickly?”

God bless Mahoney, thought Michael. “He did.”

“Why is it that we lose all the good officers and the ones like Cooper live to old age, ripe like cheese and stinking too, with their own self-importance,” said Elwell bitterly.

“God knows, Josh. Have ye heard anything about Mrs. Woolcott?”

“Only that she is taking it very hard.”

“I am going to call on her,” said Michael, sliding off the bench. “I have a message from her husband.”

“I don’t envy you, Michael. I’d rather face a howling savage than a grieving woman.”

* * * *

Mrs. Gray greeted him warmly when she opened the door and saw him standing there, cap in hand.

“May I speak with Mrs. Woolcott, ma’am?”

“The colonel told me you have a message from her husband?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t know if she’ll even hear you, Sergeant, but come in.”

Michael stood in the parlor, waiting. He could hear Elizabeth pacing back and forth, back and forth, and Mrs. Gray’s soft murmur. After a few minutes, Mrs. Gray led her out.

There is no life in her at all, thought Michael, and his heart ached for her. She stood there, her face white, her eyes wide and staring, and just looked through him.

“There is Sergeant Burke, my dear, as I told you.”

Elizabeth extended her hand as though he were a stranger. “Sergeant Burke, yes, how kind of you to come.”

“If you would sit down, dear, the sergeant could too. He is quite worn out, you know,” said Mrs. Gray, deliberately appealing to Elizabeth’s feeling for another’s need. There was no sense in appealing to her for her own.

“Oh, yes.” Elizabeth perched herself on the sofa and Michael sat next to her.

Mrs. Gray gave a small sigh of relief. It was the first time Elizabeth had sat since receiving the news.

“I will get you both some tea,” she announced and hurried into the kitchen.

“I wanted to express my deepest sympathy, Mrs. Woolcott.”

Elizabeth gave him a quick, polite smile. “Thank you, Sergeant Burke. So very kind of you.”

It was as though they had never met before. As though he’d never danced with her, or argued with her. Or laughed with her over that foolish puppy.

He cleared his throat. “Em, I was with the lieutenant when he died, ma’am.”

A slight shiver went through her.

“It was a quick and easy death, I understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. But the lieutenant was conscious for a short while.” Well, that was the truth, at least. “He gave me a message for you, ma’am. Would you like me to deliver it now, or would you rather wait,” Michael asked gently.

Elizabeth folded her hands together slowly and carefully placed them on her lap. She turned a little to face Michael.

“You may tell me now, Sergeant.”

“Em, the lieutenant asked me to tell you…he said it very strongly, Mrs. Woolcott….” Michael felt his own throat tighten with emotion. He felt that Thomas Woolcott was speaking through him somehow, telling his wife something it was important for her to hear, that he wanted her to hear, although it took almost his last conscious breath to say it. “He said, ‘You made me very happy, Elizabeth, very happy.’ ” Michael’s voice broke as though he were saying his own farewell to a beloved wife.

Elizabeth sat very still. At first Michael thought she hadn’t taken in the words at all, but then she began to shake. A low moan, which seemed to come from the depths of her soul, made Michael reach out to her, but she flinched at his touch. “Oh God, Thomas.” The words were torn from her throat and she was looking down at her hands, clasped so tight that her knuckles went white. Before Michael could stop her, they loosened and flew up, hitting her forehead again and again and then raking her arms with her fingernails. It was as though she were trying to reach the pain, to make herself feel it even more.

“Elizabeth,” said Michael softly, trying to hold her hands still, “ye’ll be hurting yerself.”

“He didn’t deserve to die like that,” she cried out, and hearing her, Mrs. Gray rushed in.

Harsh wracking sobs were being torn out of her. And words. “Oh, Thomas, was I really a good wife to you?”

“Whist, whist,” whispered Michael, putting his arm around her shoulder. “His last words were of how happy you had made him.”

Elizabeth rocked back and forth, tears pouring down her face. Her crying reminded Michael of the keening women at home in Ireland.