The Unlikely Wife (12 page)

“Then I suppose we should proceed,” Aunt Belle said, “before your father yells at us again. I’ll go first and send your father back to escort you. Alicia, you go in just ahead of them.”

Rebecca laughed. “It seems a little odd to stick to tradition at this point.”

Aunt Belle’s answer was an unladylike grunt.

“Alicia,” Rebecca said, taking advantage of a moment alone. “Don’t worry about me. I’m marrying the man I love.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

“I didn’t. But I do now. Please don’t be so frightened.”

Alicia took a step toward her, looking more anguished than ever. “If I’m caught kissing a man, will he make me marry him?”

Rebecca wished she could assure her cousin that it wouldn’t happen, but she wasn’t so sure. “He’s not making me marry Clark…exactly. This was my idea.”

“So he’s making Clark marry you. Somehow that’s worse.”

Rebecca didn’t know how to answer her cousin. Her father didn’t give her a chance, anyway. He stepped into the tent and took her arm. She had to hold him back long enough to give Alicia a head start.

She stepped out of one tent and into another and saw Clark waiting for her. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. He was so handsome. And so serious. She wanted to see that eyebrow quirk up in surprise. A dimpled smile would probably do it, but she was too nervous to manage it

Her father put her hand in Clark’s and they turned to face the chaplain. The ceremony was brief. To
Rebecca’s surprise, it was her father who produced the ring.

“It was Rebecca’s mother’s,” he said, handing it to Clark. “Since I have no son to pass it to, I want her to have it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Clark said, then slipped the ring on Rebecca’s finger.

“I pronounce you man and wife,” the chaplain said. “You may kiss the bride.”

Clark’s kiss was brief and entirely too chaste. He was as nervous as she. Or perhaps she wasn’t nervous at all. Perhaps what she felt was anticipation. Clark’s earlier kisses had made her long for something more, something only partially understood.

But Aunt Belle’s words confused her. She wanted to be a good wife to Clark. Aunt Belle might know better than she what that meant Perhaps, she decided, she would take her cue from Clark.

Colonel Huntington poured another round and toasted the new couple. Then Clark, with Rebecca’s hand firmly clutching his, led the way out of the tent. The other officers were waiting and sent up a cheer at their appearance. A command performance, Rebecca assumed, since few of them knew Clark.

They started toward Clark’s tent with the crowd following.

Clark leaned close to Rebecca’s ear. “When I moved into my tent, I didn’t know I’d be sharing it.”

Rebecca hadn’t thought of that Of course Clark’s
tent wouldn’t be as large as her father’s. “We’ll be a little crowded but it’s only for a few months.”

“Space wasn’t exactly my concern.”

“What then?”

His voice dropped even lower. “Rebecca, I can’t provide you with even the most basic of comforts.”

Rebecca pictured herself wrapped comfortably in his arms and smiled. “What,” she murmured, “do you consider basic comforts?”

“A bed. A stove. A floor.”

Rebecca had to laugh. “Until the fort’s built, we all live like this.”

They had reached the tent, and Clark and Rebecca turned to face the crowd. Rebecca counted only two women besides her relatives. The other wives, she guessed, were waiting for the quarters to be built before joining their husbands.

“I thank you, gentlemen and ladies,” Clark said in his smooth drawl, “for your good wishes. If you would excuse us now, my wife and I…have some things to discuss.”

Rebecca’s cheeks grew warm from the laughter that followed his remark. She turned toward the tent. Clark reached around her to raise the flap. She stepped inside and felt him enter behind her. The sight that greeted them made her laugh. “Someone’s taken care of your first concern, anyway.”

It was definitely the ugliest bed she had ever seen. It looked like the frame had been made of scrap lumber.
The mattress was three mismatched ticks split open and stitched together. It seemed a little long for its width, or perhaps a little narrow for its length. And it took up at least a third of the entire tent.

“Sergeant Whiting!”

Clark had left the tent, and Rebecca hurried after him. Most of the crowd had started to disperse, but several officers turned back at the lieutenant’s shout.

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant?” Whiting saluted then removed his hat. “Afternoon again, Mrs. Forrester.”

“Afternoon, Mr. Whiting,” Rebecca said, grinning at the mischievous twinkle in the older man’s eyes.

“I assume you know something about this,” Clark said, with the slightest tip of his head toward the tent.

“The tent, sir?”

“The bed, Sergeant.”

“Ah. Yes, sir. I put four of my best men on it. The mattress is stuffed with fresh straw, but that’s about the only thing I’m vouching for.” He leaned toward Clark. “So you might want to take it easy on it, sir.”

Clark was silent for a long moment. Rebecca knew she should be embarrassed. They were after all joking about what would surely happen on that monstrous bed that night. And she was a little embarrassed. But she was also fighting down a giggle. Nerves, perhaps.

Clark cleared his throat. “Well, Sergeant. Thank them for me.” With a final nod, he turned and motioned Rebecca back inside, following close behind.

While Clark lit a lamp, Rebecca eyed her wedding present. “Is it safe?” she asked, hearing the giggle in her voice.

Clark stepped cautiously toward the bed, and she bit back another laugh. Clark grabbed one of the rough boards on the frame and shook it. To Rebecca’s surprise the bed barely trembled. He lifted the mattress. “At least they used new rope,” he said.

“It’s beautiful, Clark,” Rebecca said. “I’m sure we’ll cherish it for years to come.”

His eyebrow shot up, and she gave in to the laughter. He laughed too, easing some of the tension. If he had given her the slightest sign, she would have walked into his arms. But he didn’t, and, while she wanted to touch him, she wanted more than anything else to follow his wishes.

Rebecca lay as still as possible, staring into the darkness. She didn’t know if Clark slept. He was still. Silent. He was near enough that she could sense his presence but at the same time he was completely out of reach.

She had watched him all evening for any sign that he would welcome her touch, that he longed for a kiss as much as she did. But she saw none.

He helped her arrange the tent when her trunks arrived. He hung a canvas beside the bed, dividing the tent into two rooms. He was pleasant. Respectful. Quiet.

Wasn’t that always his manner? She looked back on the short time that she had known him. He had kept his feelings carefully hidden. Even when she flirted outrageously he had done little more than quirk a brow.

But he had kissed her! More than once. She had assumed he had liked it as much as she did. Now she wondered if he had kissed her only because he knew that was what she wanted. Had he been the polite, accommodating gentleman?

Well, he could be a gentleman again! She wanted to be kissed, and she would just tell him so.

No she wouldn’t, she realized. He had married her to save his career, a career her own thoughtlessness had come close to destroying. And, as her aunt had said, he may have made the sacrifice to protect her reputation. She wouldn’t add to his misery by forcing herself on him.

She felt tears sting her eyes and closed them tight, hoping to stem the flow. He would never know how unhappy she was. She would make his home as comfortable as possible. She would try to do just what he wanted. Maybe, if she was a perfect wife, he would grow to love her as much as she loved him.

Clark rolled cautiously out of bed. There was little room between the bed and the side of the tent and he eased along until he could slip around the divider and enter the other room. He had slept, but not very
much. There was probably an hour until dawn, but he knew his rest was over.

His body ached for her. Her warmth had heated his blood. The sheet that covered him had come from her trunk and carried the same dried-flower scent that clung to her clothes. He had been conscious of even the slightest movement, the tiniest sigh while she slept. He had never felt such desire.

Where had the little flirt gone? He could have silenced the tease with his kisses. One suggestive grin would have sent him tumbling into that ridiculous bed with Rebecca in his arms.

But she wasn’t flirting now. She didn’t want him. She had married him out of some misguided desire to atone for her earlier behavior, behavior for which he was equally to blame.

And he shouldn’t have let her. He should have spent the night on the ground with shackles on his hands and feet God knew, he would probably have slept better.

He had listened to his heart and ignored everything else. It was too late to go back now. He had tied her to him, and he would do his best to make her happy.

The thought nearly filled him with panic. He had no idea how to do that. What did she want? What did she expect? He thought back on everything she had said. She loved the prairie. She loved riding. He smiled to himself. Having donkeys for pets she had said. Maybe it wouldn’t be impossible after all.

But she also loved to flirt. It was part of her nature.

It took him a moment to sort out the implications of that thought If she had no interest in flirting with him, would she flirt with other men? If he objected, would she turn into a stern, bitter woman like her aunt?

He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. It wasn’t worth thinking about They had only had one evening together. She had no doubt been nervous. Her dimpled smile would be back, her sparkling eyes. She would tease him and he wouldn’t have to resist

He left the tent to light a fire. He would warm some water and shave. Start coffee for their breakfast As he went about the tasks his thoughts kept returning to his wife. What if he was wrong? What if she didn’t want him? What would he do the first time she turned those eyes on someone else?

He stared into the tiny fire as if he would find the answer there. After a moment he sighed. God help him, it would break his heart, but he would allow her that freedom.

R
ebecca woke to the smell of coffee. Realization of where she was came to her instantly. She sprang out of bed and wrapped a light robe around herself as she slipped past the canvas curtain. Sleeping late didn’t quite fit with her plans to be a perfect wife.

The room was lit by a single lamp. In the soft glow she made out the camp desk, already set for breakfast. She approached it and stared down at delicate china dishes. She lifted a bowl and tipped it toward the light. The soft pink roses looked like painted needlepoint.

“They were my mother’s.”

She looked up to find Clark just inside the tent. He carried a small pot to the table and emptied its contents into the two bowls. “Oatmeal,” he said. “Not a particularly elegant breakfast but something I can manage.”

“You didn’t need to do this.”

“I wanted to.” He stood watching her for a moment then seemed to catch himself. “I’ll bring the coffee.”

As he left the tent, Rebecca sighed. He was off to a better start as a wife than she was.

When he returned with the coffee she noticed his eyes flick over her before he filled the cups.

“I should get dressed,” she said.

His response came quickly. “No. Eat it while it’s hot. That was the idea, you know. To let you sleep.”

“Thank you,” she said, slipping into one of the folding chairs.

“I’m sorry we don’t have any cream, but there is sugar,” he said as he sat across from her.

“They say this is very good for you.” She wondered if she should reach for the sugar or wait until he had taken some. She thought her uncle had always served himself first, but she hadn’t ever paid that much attention.

“At least if you’re a horse.”

“What?” Her mind had wondered. “Oh. The oats.” She smiled and reached for the sugar bowl. Eating would give her something to do besides feel foolish.

“Speaking of horses,” Clark said, taking the sugar when she passed it to him and sprinkling a liberal portion over his cereal. “You should ride yours today.”

It seemed like a frivolous pastime, but an attractive
one. “I’m not sure I’ll have time,” she said, hoping no hint of disappointment rang in her voice.

“You should take the time,” he said. “He’ll turn wild on you if you don’t.”

Of course. The horse was valuable, one of her few assets, and she should protect it.

“You can wear the pants if you want.”

She looked up, surprised. “Wouldn’t that be scandalous?”

He was watching her face, trying to find something. She didn’t know what She averted her eyes and tasted the oatmeal.

“Rebecca,” he said. “I’m sure everyone here has heard how you dressed on the journey. And after yesterday, what could it possibly hurt?”

Rebecca understood. He wasn’t serious, of course. He was reminding her how much damage she had already done. She ate quickly, hoping he wouldn’t speak to her again, afraid if he did she couldn’t meet his eyes.

The notes of reveille sounded, followed immediately by stable call. Of course there were no stables yet. The horses had been turned into a corral, Rebecca’s gelding with them. Each cavalryman had the responsibility for the care of his own mount. Officers might care for their own or leave it to their striker. She didn’t know which her husband did. She did know she wasn’t going out to the corral at the same moment as the entire cavalry.

“I need to go,” Clark said, rising.

Rebecca looked up, barely meeting his eyes before she lowered her head again.

“I don’t know where I’ll be at noon. Why don’t you eat lunch with your family?”

She nodded, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

He lingered for a moment. When he moved, instead of leaving immediately, he bent and kissed the top of her head. “Have a pleasant day,” he whispered.

That kiss was the first touch since the wedding. She wanted to take it as an invitation and throw herself into his arms, but he was already moving away.

Alone, Rebecca considered what she should do. She needed to make some kind of arrangement for the gelding. She didn’t want to hire anyone. What money she had should be saved to furnish their house once it was built.

On top of that, she had to figure out how to run a household. Or rather a tent. Her aunt wouldn’t be much help there. She should talk to the women she had seen with the officers.

Shortly after the trumpet call for the sick marcher to take sick soldiers to the post hospital, Rebecca left the tent. She had washed the dishes and packed them carefully back in the crate, tidied the tent as much as possible, and dressed in her most practical skirt and
blouse. Everyone else would have finished with his horse and reported for duty. She should be alone at the corral.

But she wasn’t. As she approached, she saw a soldier dressed in a white stable frock about to exit the corral. When he turned to face her, she recognized Mr. Powers.

“Morning, Miss…Mrs. Forrester.”

She smiled. “Good morning. Did you sleep late?”

“No, ma’am. I took the liberty of caring for your horse.” He blushed a little at the admission. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Thank you. I was just coming to do that.”

He nodded and was about to move on when she noticed the collar of the cotton frock had come loose and been resewn in a very haphazard manner. “Mr. Powers,” she said quickly. “Would you be willing to continue with that task?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He seemed honored by the request

She had no intention of imposing, however. “I can’t pay you, but I could do your mending for you.”

Powers touched his collar. “That seems more than fair, ma’am.”

She smiled. “If you find the time, could you ride him once in a while?”

He nodded and hurried away. She knew fatigue call would sound in a few minutes and he needed to
be ready to report. She hoped the care of a second horse wouldn’t cause him trouble. She would have to remember to ask when he brought his mending.

She wrinkled her nose at the prospect. She wasn’t fond of sewing. But she could, and was at least better at it than he was. If he needed anything too complicated like an alteration, she would have to call on Alicia for help. And do her a favor in exchange.

With a sigh, she headed back toward the officers’ tents. She would call on Aunt Belle and Alicia first. Perhaps they had already met the other wives and could introduce her.

Aunt Belle set aside her sewing and greeted Rebecca rather suspiciously, as if she expected to learn Rebecca had already been thrown out by her husband. Alicia glanced up from a book, returned Rebecca’s smile, and went back to her reading.

“I’m on my way to meet the other wives,” Rebecca said. “Have you met them yet?”

“Only briefly. But you’re right, it is our responsibility to call on them. Come along, Alicia.”

Alicia opened her mouth to protest then closed it and her book at the same time. “Yes, Mother,” she murmured.

Belle led the way. “We will visit Captain Morton’s wife first. Her name is Jennifer. She is quite acceptable for you to befriend, I believe.”

The comment was directed at Rebecca and did not
seem to include Alicia. A married woman would not make a suitable friend for the girl, Rebecca supposed.

Belle stopped outside a tent very near her own and called in an overly-pleasant voice, “Yoo-hoo. Mrs. Morton. Are you in?”

A pretty dark-haired woman pulled aside the flap. “Where else would I be? There’s absolutely nothing to do here.”

“Exactly,” Belle agreed.

“Come in, Mrs. Evans. Miss Evans.” Her eyes narrowed as Rebecca passed. “And I finally get to meet the new Mrs. Forrester. You snagged quite a looker, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Not at all,” Rebecca said. “I haven’t seen your husband so I’m not prepared to assess what you snagged.”

“Rebecca! You’ll have to excuse my niece,” Belle said. “She is too outspoken for her own good.”

Mrs. Morton laughed airily and waved one hand in the air as if brushing aside an apology.

Rebecca was surprised to discover the floor of Mrs. Morton’s tent was covered with Persian rugs, some already damaged by mud. The chairs, both of them, belonged in a parlor and took up far too much room in the crowded tent. Mrs. Morton sat down in one of these and said, “I’d offer you ladies tea, but my striker’s gone and I’m afraid I can’t boil water.”

They all laughed with her, but Rebecca suspected
the woman wasn’t exaggerating. So much for learning anything from her.

Belle took the remaining seat, and Alicia and Rebecca sat together on a trunk. Rebecca held her tongue while her aunt and Mrs. Morton traded miseries. Feeling the press of time, Rebecca finally came to her feet.

“Please excuse me,” she said, “but I hoped to call on the other woman yet this morning.”

“Mrs. Raymond? I daresay you won’t find her very pleasant.” Mrs. Morton cast her other companions a knowing smile.

“Rebecca,” Aunt Belle said, “what are you thinking? It’s hours until noon.”

Rebecca tried not to show her impatience. “Of course you’re right. And since none of you will be preparing the noon meal you should certainly stay and visit. Would you direct me to Mrs. Raymond’s tent?”

Mrs. Morton gave her the directions, and Rebecca bade them goodbye. She would have liked to rescue Alicia but knew Aunt Belle would object. She left the tent without a twinge of guilt over the false impression she had given them. She wouldn’t be preparing a noon meal either, except for herself.

The Raymond tent wasn’t exactly where Mrs. Morton had said it would be. In fact nothing was. But, as Rebecca was looking around for someone else to ask, Mrs. Raymond stepped out of a double tent
and poured the contents of a dishpan into a series of potted plants.

“Mrs. Raymond?” Rebecca asked as she approached.

“Yes?” The woman turned and smiled in recognition. She was probably close to forty, very trim and neat. “You’re the new bride,” she said, reaching a hand out to Rebecca.

“Yes,” Rebecca said, taking the damp hand. “I’m out meeting the other ladies this morning.”

“I’m Opal. Come inside,” she said, leading the way. “You can’t imagine how thrilled I was to discover there were going to be three more women here. You’ve met Jennifer?”

“My aunt and cousin are visiting with Mrs. Morton now.”

Opal laughed. “Call her Jennifer. It’ll annoy her.”

The inside of Opal’s tent was at once practical and homey. There was no unnecessary clutter but a small jar of flowers graced the table and a family portrait hung on one canvas wall.

Opal quickly filled a kettle with water and, excusing herself, left the tent. In a moment she was back. “The stove heats up the tent too much so we put it outside,” she explained. “We’ll have tea in a minute and you can tell me all about yourself and that handsome husband of yours.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’d rather you tell me how to run a household.”

“Without a house,” Opal added for her.

“Exactly.”

Two hours later, Rebecca’s head was full of halfformed ideas. She now knew where to find eggs and milk, she just didn’t now what she would trade for them. But her first task would be bartering fresh game from Opal’s son.

The boy came in right when Opal said they could expect him. He was tall, with the muscled body of a young man but the face of a fifteen-year-old. He grinned shyly when his mother introduced him to Rebecca.

“Your mother’s been bragging about your hunting skills, Hank,” Rebecca said.

“I’m pretty good,” he replied modestly.

“I understand you sell what your family can’t eat. I was wondering if there was anything I might do for you in exchange for some meat” Saying it aloud suddenly made it sound foolish. Surely this boy’s efficient mother could provide anything he might want.

Still the boy looked thoughtful. He glanced at his mother, shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Might you know how to dance, Mrs. Forrester?”

“Dance?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied in a rush. “When the rest of the families get here there’ll be dances. I know a couple of the officers have daughters and there might be some settlers with girls, too. I don’t want to step on their toes or nothin’ but I don’t want
to stand in the back and watch like when I was a kid, neither.”

“Dancing lessons,” Rebecca said, nodding. “I think I can do that.” She tried to picture the tall boy leading her around a dance floor. Then she tried to imagine Clark’s reaction. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

But the boy was already beaming. “Gee, thanks, ma’am. I’ll try to bag ya something every day. I shot lots of quail this morning. You could have two or even three, maybe, after Ma picks what she wants.” He shuffled his feet again, pointed behind himself, added, “I’ll go dress ‘em,” and left the tent.

Rebecca turned to find Opal grinning at her.
“I
could teach the boy to dance. Do you think he’s ever mentioned this to me? Not on your life.”

Rebecca laughed. “I’m glad. I was afraid I was going to be taking on more sewing.”

With Opal’s instructions for roasting quail tucked in her bodice, Rebecca set out to find Private Malone. Opal said he had four chickens in a cage behind his tent. He claimed to have bought them from a passing settler, though Opal was dubious. Whatever their origin, he took good care of them and sold the eggs at a dear price.

Recall from fatigue had already sounded, and she knew the men would have approximately two hours before they were called back to duty. In a normal
fort, she would never have dreamed of invading their mess hall, but camp rules still applied and Malone would be assigned with three messmates to share meal responsibilities however they chose.

Opal’s directions were better than Jennifer’s, but even if they hadn’t been the gentle clucking of the hens would have led her to Malone’s tent once she got close.

She approached a group of soldiers intent on building a fire. “Is Private Malone here?”

“Aye, lass.” One of the men stood. Evidence of several fights decorated a hard face. “Be ye an angel come to save this poor sinner?”

His companions laughed.

Rebecca smiled. “I came to barter for some eggs and if preaching’s your price, I’d be happy to oblige.”