The Endless Sky (Cheyenne Series) (20 page)

      
Hugh tilted her chin up so her gaze met his. “I propose we turn over a new leaf tonight, Stephanie. A child would occupy your days while I'm off on campaign, which, you'll be relieved to know, will be most of the time once we reach our new post. But until then...” He let his words linger like a threat as he began unfastening the buttons on her blouse.

Chapter Nine

Fort Fred Steele, Wyoming Territory

      
The silence was eerie. Stephanie stood on the porch of the post commissary watching as women, shivering in the chill autumn air, held babies while older children clung to their ragged, filthy skirts. Many of the little ones were practically naked and all were round eyed with fright as the soldiers prodded them with gun butts against the stockade wall, segregating the pitiful handful of men, the majority of whom were old, the rest too badly injured to give further fight.

      
Most of the troopers focused their attention on the men, gathering them into a sullen group that they forced into the small, windowless log cabin that served as a guardhouse. The women and children were herded inside one of the corrals used to hold livestock before it was slaughtered for the enlisted men's mess. It had rained the preceding night and the ground was ankle deep with sticky, foul smelling yellow mud. Huge black eyes stared out from weathered faces, erased of all expression except for infinite weariness...and perhaps resignation. They were beaten.

      
“The children don't cry,” Stephanie murmured to herself, watching in horror.

      
“They are taught not to from infancy on, for even the tiniest noise could alert an enemy.” The respondent was a small thin woman clad in a plain gray dress and unadorned bonnet. She studied the prisoners with compassionate eyes that were a shade darker than her faded cotton clothes.

      
“I’ve never seen any Indians this close before, only the scouts on the posts where we've been stationed and a few tame ones who trade in the towns. These people look different.”

      
‘They are from Red Cloud's Oglala Sioux, a small group who did not wish to live on the reservation lands to the south. They attempted to flee and join the Hunkpapa who roam from the Bighorn Mountains into the Powder River basin.”

      
“Sitting Bull's people?” Stephanie asked, having listened to Hugh rave about the thousands of Sioux and their allies who still refused to accept government handouts on the reservation and insisted on the old free-roaming way of life, following the buffalo.

      
“Yes, Sitting Bull's people...but these have not succeeded in escaping oppression.”

      
Stephanie looked startled at such unpopular sentiments so bluntly spoken in a soft melodic voice. Gold eyes collided with gray and held as the two women took each other's measure. Although Stephanie had only been at Steele a few days, she was certain this shabbily dressed woman with the ageless face was not an officer's wife. “I've never heard anyone say the Indians were oppressed before...although I can scarcely disagree, especially seeing women and children herded like cattle into that filthy pigsty of a corral.”

      
“Thee is new to the post,” her companion said merrily as an approving smile bowed her thin lips, making her small pinched face seem almost pretty for a moment. “Everyone here knows the Quaker troublemaker, Hannah Wiette.” She nodded gravely to Stephanie, offering a reddened, work-worn hand.

      
Stephanie took it, surprised at the callused strength in the small thin fingers. “I'm Stephanie Phillips and I am happy to make your acquaintance. On an army post, troublemakers, especially female troublemakers, are a rare find, indeed,” she added, returning the smile.

      
Both women chuckled, sensing in the exchange that each had just made a friend.

      
“If you're a Quaker, then you're not married to a soldier, are you?”

      
“No. I am here with our missionary society, although even among my own, I do tend to disturb tranquility. Rather than tend their souls with preaching, I am more inclined to fix on their bodies. Thee can see the poor people are cold and hungry and all too often prey to our diseases. I am a nurse. I assist Dr. Farmer, the post physician, when he asks me. Most of the time I tend sick Indians in the small hospital I've been allowed to set up.” She pointed to a long, low rectangular building newly constructed of rough-cut logs. “It is not much to look at, but we try to keep it clean and comfortable for our patients—the ones who Colonel Boyer allows us to house there,” she added tartly, then studied Stephanie with a shrewdness at odds with her seeming ethereal frailness. “Would thee be willing to assist us?”

      
“I've had some experience tending the sick on other posts. I would like very much to help at your hospital,” Stephanie replied, knowing an angry confrontation with Hugh was inevitable. “You said ‘we.’ Who else volunteers?” she asked, praying at least one or two of the higher-ranking officers' wives were involved.

      
“There is Sarah Verly and Faith Ballium.” Hannah named a series of women, only two of whom were married to soldiers, one a second lieutenant and the other a sergeant. No, Hugh most certainly would not approve. Stephanie looked over at the pitifully clad Sioux women in the muddy corral and heard the racking cough of a small boy who huddled protectively beside his injured mother.
That could have been Chase when Anthea Remington was captured
. “When may I start, Hannah?”

* * * *

      
“I absolutely forbid you to go near those filthy savages ever again,” Hugh said, white lipped with fury when he returned from patrol the following week. He had come storming into the small infirmary and seized her by the wrist in a bone-crushing grip as she sat bathing a fevered boy's face with cool compresses.

      
She had left the building rather than create a scene and alarm the already frightened patients. Once they were alone behind the building, she broke free, struggling to gather her thoughts as she massaged her aching wrist. It would be discolored with bruises by morning.

      
Think, think, how can you make him understand?
She had spent the past week so enmeshed in her work at the hospital she had pushed the thought of Hugh's return from her mind. ‘These people are human beings, Hugh—in spite of what the army thinks. They require food and shelter and medical care the same as white people. They've been rounded up like cattle, many of their young men killed, the rest imprisoned, the women and children confined quite literally in a pigsty, forced to sleep out in the open in foot-deep mud! They need better food—and blankets.”

      
“I've already heard from Captain Shaffer about your going around to all the officers' wives begging for these savages, collecting cast-off clothes and blankets as if you were some pathetic Salvation Army worker!”

      
“I’m only trying to—”

      
“You're only trying to humiliate me further than you have already—if that's possible.”

      
“Hugh, they're dying—of fevers, malnutrition—things we can cure, if only we care! Think of the children, Hugh!”

      
He gritted his teeth and grinned mirthlessly at her. “Sheridan said it best—nits make lice.”

      
“I can't believe you'd make war on babies in their mother's arms,” she said, ashen faced. But she could believe it, looking at him now, really seeing him.

      
“You will do as I say—do you understand me!” he shouted. Then glancing quickly around, he lowered his voice, struggling to appear calm and reasonable in spite of his desire to choke the defiant romantic nonsense out of her. “We've had this discussion before, Stephanie. I've explained to you how damaging to my career these kinds of associations can be. Coddling savages in the company of that female riffraff is unconscionable. I cannot permit it.”

      
“What will you do, Hugh, confine me to quarters? Court-martial me?” she snapped, goaded beyond endurance.

      
In pure reflex he lashed out, backhanding her across the cheek. The red haze of fury her temerity had occasioned quickly passed as it always did. He seldom left visible marks on women. This was the first time he had struck his wife. He cursed her for provoking him into it, yet felt oddly relieved to have let out some of the frustration he had always felt toward her. Calmly now, he said, ‘That was most unwise, dear wife. Such unladylike insolence is quite foreign to you.”

      
When he reached out to stroke her injured cheek, he was annoyed that she did not flinch. Beneath the red mark of his hand, her complexion was waxy pale as she studied his elegantly sculpted face with wide, stunned eyes. She did not back down but stood her ground, refusing to move, even when he leaned forward intimidatingly.

      
“We have never known each other at all, have we, Hugh?” she said. “I fear I've always been stubborn—‘willful’ I believe Josiah called it. You call it unladylike, but then, gentlemen don't strike ladies, do they?”

      
“I am an officer and a gentleman by act of Congress, my dear, which means you must be no lady at all,” he replied genially. “But you are my wife, so we shall just have to make do.”

      
“You can't lock me up every minute of the day, Hugh. I must have some meaning to my life—something more useful to do than pour tea and arrange masked balls for the regiment. I've done everything you've asked of me for the past two years, but I can't spend the rest of my life with nothing worthwhile to show for it.”

      
“Advancing your husband's career isn't worthwhile any longer but nursing savages is?” he sneered. “Defy me in this, Stephanie, and I shall make you pay far more dearly than you could ever imagine.”

      
There was a chilling edge to his voice that sent a frisson of fear down her spine. His eyes were soullessly flat, almost yellow-brown as they bored into her, willing her to acquiesce.
Dear God, will he murder me in my sleep?
He already had her money. He didn't need her now.

      
She had to get away from him, to gather her thoughts and plan what to do next. Shaken, she replied, “I had best return to our quarters and put some cold compresses on my face. We wouldn't want any scandal now, would we?” She noted with great satisfaction that her husband flinched ever so slightly.

      
The following morning, while Hugh was at roll call, an answer to Stephanie's dilemma materialized in the person of Emma Boyer, the post commandant's wife. Plump and flighty on the surface, she was a shrewd and manipulative campaigner who knew every whisper of gossip on the post.

      
Praying the cold water soaking last night and a liberal morning application of rice powder hid the discoloration on her face, Stephanie smoothed her skirts and opened the door to admit her unexpected guest.

      
“Abigail Shaffer and I were planning an impromptu trip to Rawlins for some shopping, a bit of holiday while the gentlemen take their troops into the ghastly Powder River country after hostiles. Since Lieutenant Phillips has been assigned to accompany Colonel Boyer and Captain Shaffer, I thought I would ask if you'd like to join us.”

      
‘That is very gracious of you, Mrs. Boyer. I'll have to discuss it with my husband, of course.”

      
“Of course,” Emma parroted with a nod that sent her pudgy cheeks to jiggling. ‘The men should be on patrol for several weeks. That will allow us plenty of time to enjoy the amenities in Rawlins. Even if it is only a small town, they have several respectable hotels and adequate mercantiles.”

      
Fully expecting Lieutenant Phillips to comply with her invitation to Stephanie, Emma bid her good day after refusing the offer of a cup of coffee, saying she had to go home and supervise packing. Stephanie felt her curious blue eyes study the discoloration beneath the rice powder but offered no explanation or excuse. If it tarnished Hugh's reputation, she did not care.

      
As Stephanie, and the colonel's lady expected, Hugh was delighted to have her included in the exclusive little excursion to Rawlins. “Do have some more stylish gowns made while you're there—even though they must be black for your period of mourning. Mrs. Shaffer's giving a dinner party next month and the Boyers always have an autumn ball.”

      
She did not argue even though the thought of endless fittings appealed little more than spending the evening in his company. Her trunks were already overflowing with more clothes than she could ever wear out here on a frontier army post. At least the trip would allow her a few weeks of peace away from Hugh. But what after that? The question haunted her as she packed. The marriage was in shambles, perhaps beyond all hope of repair, but she had been raised under a stern Congregationalist code which allowed no sundering of solemn vows. She had sworn to love, honor and obey Hugh Phillips before God, for the rest of their lives. The thought of the bleak years ahead chilled her to the very marrow of her bones.

      
If only he could gain his captaincy, perhaps things might be better...but no, for then he would only burn to be a major. Ultimately, nothing short of general would ever satisfy Hugh Phillips. A general staff appointment to Washington was his life's dream. And he would achieve it climbing over Indian bodies. This mission into the Powder River country was to pursue the raider they called White Wolf, some mysterious leader who had become Hugh's obsession in the past year. She prayed he would capture the renegade. Not only would it garner him that next promotion, but it might also restore a measure of peace to the plains.