The Men of Pride County: The Rebel (26 page)

Once he made it into the clear, Noble glanced back to see three braves in pursuit.
Only then did he fire off a couple of rounds, knowing them to be out of range. Still, it made the Indians think twice about closing the distance.

Without regard to man or mount, he drove his horse down into rocky washouts and up crumbling banks on the other side. In the mad scramble across open ground, he remembered all the times he’d raced to glory on a hard-packed Kentucky dirt track for the fun and sport of it. This time he was gambling not with his pocket money but with other men’s lives. They were counting on him, and time was his enemy—time and distance and his three pursuers.

He bent low over the animal’s neck, urging it to greater speed. He tried to keep his mind on the single objective of survival, but a great cloud of blame hung over him.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have led his men right into that shooting gallery?

It wasn’t his military skill that would save them now. It was his horsemanship.

But even the best rider in the world could do nothing once his horse’s foot went down into a prairie-dog hole. With a scream and the crack of its fetlock bone, the Indian pony went down, casting Noble over its head to slam into the dirt and roll into darkness.

Chapter 19

Waiting was hell.

Juliet had watched her father leave on perilous marches countless times during her growing-up years, but somehow this was different. The way she missed Noble was different.

Instead of just loneliness and worry to cope with, a deep gnawing ache settled inside and refused to be soothed. No matter how much time she spent at the infirmary, nursing the invalid men of H Troop, no matter how many volumes she read until her eyes no longer focused, no matter how many witty conversations she had with Jane, the fear of losing Noble failed to ebb, because he’d ridden away without telling her how he felt about her.

Jane and Pauline had history with their husbands and futures upon their return. She had nothing but stolen moments, as fleeting as they were unsubstantial. She had pieces of his past and no guarantee that there would be
more than that if—not when—he came back. Though she’d sworn not to need it, she craved that sense of permanence, the stability of a ring upon her finger, a shared cupboard of clothing, the right to cherish his personal belongings. She wanted to bear his children.

Having never allowed herself to consider what she’d missed in her nomadic life, fearing that longing for something her father couldn’t give her equated to disloyalty, Juliet was surprised by how deeply she desired … more. The house, the family, the sense of community that didn’t revolve around a bugle call. A man who wore lace-up shoes and suspenders and didn’t risk meeting death each time he left the yard. These were no longer vague wishes. It was what she wanted with Noble Banning.

She was tired of sacrifice, tired of being afraid and brave and silent in her suffering. And because she felt all these things churning inside her, sitting across from her father at dinner was too torturing to endure.

“If you’d excuse me, Papa, I promised to take some fresh milk over to Pauline for the children.”

He studied her expression, and for an anxious second, she was sure he could see right through her to the treachery of her heart, to the fact that if Noble Banning asked her in the next moment to desert with him to Kentucky, she would be packed and gone in an instant, without thought or remorse. But of course, he
wouldn’t. And her father had no way of guessing at her treachery.

He smiled. “Enjoy your visit, daughter.”

How could she enjoy it?

Juliet measured out a pail of milk from the cooling jug hanging close to the ceiling, her emotions in turmoil. How could she enjoy a meeting with Pauline, well knowing the talk would revolve around Tom and the life they shared. She had no such experience to relay, no tender times, no fond recall, no routine to miss, no empty sheets to mourn. She didn’t even have the freedom to discuss the sentiments she was feeling, because they didn’t belong to her and Noble the way they belonged to a man and wife.

She was about to step out the back door when she collided with George Allen. After they’d steadied the pail of milk between them, she smiled and said, “Good evening, Captain. My father is just finishing his meal. I’d be happy to set you a place if you’d care to join him.”

“No. No, thank you, ma’am. Actually it was you I came to see.”

“Me?” She set down the pail, noting the pallor on the young man’s face that had his freckles standing out like a rash of measles. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

Despite his awkward shifting, there was a seriousness about George Allen that alerted her. “This is a delicate matter, ma’am, one I promised I would not involve you in.”

“Promised whom?”

“Colleen—that is, Miss McDonnal.”

Juliet was suddenly all concern. “Is something wrong with Colleen?”

“More than she’ll admit, at least to me. I thought you being another lady, perhaps she would confide the cause of what I’ve witnessed and she denies.”

“What exactly have you seen?”

At her taut command, the chaplain relaxed, seeming to realize that he’d done the right thing in coming to her. “Bruises, ma’am. More each day. On her arms and legs and now on her face.”

Juliet summed it up in a word. “Maisy.”

“I fear the woman is beating her. This morning, she could hardly walk or lift so much as a broom without—” He broke off, clearly distressed by the evidence of abuse.

Refusing to vent her fury in front of him, Juliet merely placed a hand upon his arm. “Thank you, George. I’ll take care of it.”

He sighed in relief. “Yes, ma’am. I was hoping you would. I could only arrive at one other solution for freeing her from that household, a last resort if you wouldn’t help.”

His embarrassment made Juliet smile. “George, I hardly think Colleen would see a proposal from you as a last resort.”

His ruddy face stilled. His expression grew somber. “I’m not worthy of her.”

“You are a good man, George Allen.”

He shook his head sadly, his features tragic.
“Being a man of God does not excuse him from sin.”

Wondering what sin the devout young man could have committed, she said gently, “It’s no sin to want to protect those who are weaker or to love them.”

He looked uncomfortable, as if there was more he needed to say, but he didn’t speak. Nor did he deny what Juliet plainly saw. He was in love with the Irish servant girl.

She smiled reassuringly. “I’ll do what I can, George.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Juliet quickly delivered the milk to Pauline, then cut her visit there short to confront Maisy Bartholomew. Her anger grew with each step. How dared the woman think she could abuse another with impunity? She could think of no greater abomination and cursed the Southern slave-owning mentality that allowed one human being to treat another like property. Then she caught and corrected herself. Not everyone was like that. Noble would never condone such a thing. Neither had George. It was a single mean-spirited female who saw her own comforts as superior to another’s.

And Juliet meant to correct that thinking at once.

Juliet paused outside the Bartholomews’ door, breathing deeply to control the urge to take a horsewhip to the woman. As she stood there, forming a diplomatic argument, she
heard a different, louder argument coming from inside.

Maisy and her husband were fighting.

Or rather Donald Bartholomew was on the receiving end of his wife’s cruel rantings.

“Coward! You useless coward! How many times must I ask you,
beg
you, to let me go home? And you do nothing.”

“Maisy, what do you think I can do?” His voice was weary, long-suffering.

“Something,
anything
, to get me out of here. This heat, this filth, it’s making me go mad. I cannot stand it. I have to get away.”

“If you’d left with that troop the other day, you would have come back sporting an Apache arrow. Or not at all.”

“Maybe I’d be better off. Maybe I’d rather be dead than trapped here in this hell.”

“Maisy, my darling, no. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

His dismay was plain. He didn’t think she said the words just for shock value. And hearing them, neither did Juliet. She’d known women to lose control completely in the frontier isolation. She’d thought Maisy too full of herself to break down to that level, but perhaps she was wrong.

“Yes, I do. I know exactly what I’m saying.” That sounded more like Maisy—selfish, shrill, and blaming others for her discomforts. “I’ve been saying it all along. Damn you, Donald, for bringing me to this place. I’d rather you were still in prison. Then at least I’d still have
my things and my friends around me.”

There was a shocked silence. Juliet was about to withdraw, embarrassed and alarmed by what she’d overheard. But she’d promised George and she owed it to Colleen. She knocked.

Maisy jerked open the door. Her face was flushed, her eyes red-rimmed. There was a moment’s panic as she wondered how much Juliet had heard.

“Good evening, Captain, Mrs. Bartholomew,” Juliet began cheerfully. “I’ve come to beg a favor of you.” She paused. “Have I come at a bad time?”

Maisy immediately composed herself. “Not at all. Please come in.”

Not wishing to linger any longer than she had to, Juliet got right to the point. “I’ve come to borrow Colleen’s services—just temporarily.”

“What?” Maisy all but roared. Her eyes narrowed in fierce suspicion. Juliet guessed she was wondering if ranking out applied to domestic help, too.

“My father needs special care while he recovers from his injury. I’ve been helping at the infirmary and haven’t been there for him as I should be. I was wondering if I could impose on you to allow Colleen to stay with us, just until my father is better.”

“But what am I to do in the meantime?”

“I would have an enlisted man appointed to serve as a striker for you. I realize this is a
tremendous favor to ask and no soldier could perform Colleen’s duties as well as she, but my father feels uncomfortable asking personal favors from one of his men, so you see the difficulty of my position. I would be
greatly
in your debt.”

Maisy weighed the benefit of that debt, but it was her husband who answered.

“If Colleen has no objections, I’ll send her over with her belongings tonight.”

He knew. Juliet stared at him in surprise. Donald Bartholomew might be a conceited agitator, but he was aware of his wife’s cruelty and was willing to do something about it. Juliet smiled at him, but he looked away as if ashamed of what he’d allowed to go on within his own home.

Maisy gaped at her husband, her features flushing darkly. Juliet saw that as her cue to cut in.

“Oh, I am so relieved. How can I thank you for your unselfish generosity?” She sucked a breath, gritted her teeth, and embraced Maisy with a vigorous squeeze.

After that, what could the woman say?

Racing home to advise her father as to why he suddenly needed a nursemaid, Juliet hoped she’d covered everything. Knowing the colonel would never interfere in the domestic problems of his officers unless they affected his duty, she told him that Colleen was going to be helping her with her workload. Though surprised, since Juliet had never asked for a
maid, he nodded, saying she was certainly entitled to it. She procured a tiny room for the Irish girl to call her own, and when showing her to it, found herself on the receiving end of Colleen’s tears.

“Oh, I’m ever so grateful to you, Miss Crowley,” the girl sobbed against her shoulder. “It was George—I mean Captain Allen—who told you, wasn’t it?”

“Now, Colleen, don’t be angry with him.”

“Angry? Saints be praised! I don’t know if I could have stood up to another day of that woman’s bullying without taking a stick to her meself.”

Juliet chuckled at the girl’s courage and at the same time felt guilty for not noticing her troubles earlier. “Now you won’t have to. And until we think of something, you won’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You won’t have to go back to working for Mrs. Bartholomew if I can help it.”

“But I’m to take care of your da.”

“Heavens, don’t let him hear you say that. He sees himself as completely independent of anyone’s care. We’ll help each other, how’s that?”

“That sounds fine, ma’am.”

“Juliet. That’s my name, Colleen.”

“Thank you, Juliet.” Her brow puckered worriedly. “Mrs. Bartholomew, she can’t do anything to me now, can she?”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t. Why did she hit you?” That, she still couldn’t understand.

“Just mad, I guess.”

“At you? For what? I can’t believe you did anything to deserve it.”

“Mad at the world.”

That summed up Maisy Bartholomew in an unpleasant nutshell. And her nasty disposition had a ripple effect through Fort Blair. As officer of the day, Donald Bartholomew rained down punishment upon the head of any Union soldier who happened to cross his path the following morning while he gave his own Southern troops preferential treatment. Noble wouldn’t have allowed it if he were on the post. But he wasn’t, and the captain took full advantage, much to Miles’s irritation. Juliet and her father hadn’t finished their coffee before the irrate major was at the door demanding that something be done.

“Is he out of line with his edicts, Major?” Crowley asked. He was short-tempered himself because of his enforced inactivity while he healed and in no mood for pettiness within the ranks.

“Not exactly, sir.”

“Then what is your complaint?” His narrowed eyes should have cautioned Miles, but the junior officer was caught up in his own sense of indignation.

“He’s inciting the men to mutinous thoughts.”

“Has it gone beyond thoughts to actions?”

“Just grumbling in the ranks.”

“This is the army, Major. The men grumble
about everything from the lack of variety in their diet to the itching caused by too much soap left in their laundry. Do you expect me to bring the cook and the laundresses up on disciplinary charges, too?”