The Unlikely Wife (9 page)

“I’m glad to hear that, sir,” Whiting said. “I’m afraid most of the boys feel the honor of all men is at stake.”

“I’ll have to keep my wits about me,” Clark added softly.

Rebecca was frustrated by even the slightest delay that evening. It wasn’t that she hated to keep a man waiting; that had never seemed like a bad strategy. She was simply impatient to be with Clark again as soon as possible.

While Aunt Belle was not happy to learn of her plans for the evening, Alicia seemed positively livid. She expressed her resentment by refusing to speak to Rebecca at all. Rebecca could hardly blame her. Alicia wanted to spend time with Brooks the way Rebecca would with Clark. There was a world of difference between the two men, but Rebecca didn’t know how to explain that to her cousin. Besides, Alicia was in no mood to listen to anything right now.

Finally, after a tense meal served by strangers, Rebecca made her way to the lieutenant’s tent Powers was waiting outside to usher her in. “Lieutenant Forrester, your guest is here,” he said, as if the tent were some huge hall in which her arrival might pass unnoticed.

Clark closed a journal and stood, indicating the chair across from him with the an outstretched hand. The chess game was already arranged on the camp desk.

“Can I get you some coffee, ma’am?” Powers asked.

“No, thank you.” Rebecca smiled at Powers as she sank into the chair, then turned her attention to Clark. He spared Powers a glance as he resumed his seat, checking perhaps to see that the man didn’t leave.

“I believe it’s your turn to play first,” she said.

Clark nodded. “I don’t suppose it would be wise for me to turn down even the slightest advantage.”

They each played several turns in near silence, positioning their pieces for their own strategies. Rebecca knew that she had won so handily before because she had managed to keep Clark distracted. She was going to have to work harder at it tonight

“Clark,” she said after making a particularly careful move. “Would you call yourself a Galvanized Yankee?”

An eyebrow quirked up at the question. She was delighted.

“I don’t,” he said. “But some folks back home do, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

Clark studied the board for a moment, then evidently decided not to risk a move at the moment. “I was just out of West Point when the war began. I was a second lieutenant in the United States Army. I had no intention of fighting against my own country. But I didn’t want to fight against my own state, my own neighbors, either. I requested service in the West.

“Since I wear the blue uniform, I’m not especially welcome back home. Any southerner who fought for the north might be called a Galvanized Yankee, among other things. Out here it usually refers to the Confederate soldiers who were recruited into the army of the West from the northern prisons.”

She was delighted to learn some of his history, but he wasn’t playing. “So you came west about the time
I was sent east,” she said, smiling. “It seems we just missed each other.”

“I assure you, Miss Huntington,” his voice dropped to a seductive murmur, “if I had so much as passed by you on my trip west, I would remember.”

Oh, my.
Now who was distracting whom? While she sat staring at him, he had the audacity to lower his eyes to the board. She tried to do the same. She couldn’t make sense of her own pieces, let alone his. Hadn’t she had a plan? Hadn’t she thought a few minutes ago that she knew his?

Maybe he was playing two games. She had to get the upper hand in at least one of them. Chess was safer. But less interesting.

She leaned slightly toward the bent head. “What a romantic thought, Lieutenant,” she said just above a whisper. “The young soldier’s glimpse of a beautiful woman sustains him through six arduous years on the plains.”

He raised his head, their faces mere inches apart. “It didn’t happen. Sorry.” He drew a little closer, and her breath caught in her throat. He whispered, “Your play.”

Rebecca sat back and laughed. She tried to concentrate on the board, but her eyes kept wandering back to his face. He wore his usual placid expression except his eyes fairly danced. He had enjoyed teasing
her. Perhaps her best bet was to turn him serious again. But first she would play.

She studied the board and discovered he had put her queen in danger. She used it to jump his offending knight and started a veritable bloodbath. First he jumped her queen. Then her half-finished strategy fell apart as she took every opportunity to decimate his ranks. He responded in kind at nearly every turn.

Just as quickly it was over. Rebecca looked down at the few pieces scattered across the board. The kings, of course, had been protected but not much else. “What wanton destruction,” she muttered.

He laughed, and she looked up quickly to see his face, glad she hadn’t missed what she suspected was a rare display of pleasure.

“You could concede now,” he said. “I see no way you can win.”

“I see no way you can win, either,” she retorted.

“Ah, but I have both a bishop and a castle. I can corner your king.”

“But I have my castle to stave off your pieces and two pawns. I could get my queen back.”

He shook his head. “They’d never make it all the way down here.”

“We could call it a stalemate.”

He opened his mouth as if to disagree, then laughed again. Rebecca loved the sound. She vowed to make him laugh as often as possible.

“Stalemate it is,” he said graciously. He came to
his feet and offered her his hand as she rose. “Would you consent to a game again tomorrow night? I hold out hope of winning at least once.”

Rebecca stood beside him, surprised but pleased that he hadn’t released her hand. “Perhaps we should switch to poker,” she suggested and smiled when his eyebrow shot upward.

“I’m afraid that could prove expensive. Mr. Powers,” he said, turning toward the striker as he tucked Rebecca’s hand in his elbow. “That will be all. I’ll see Miss Huntington back to her wagon.”

They followed Powers out of the tent and started slowly toward the ambulance. The camp was not entirely quiet but the voices and stirrings were muffled and soft. Crickets and frogs provided a discordant lullaby.

“Have you regretted it?” Rebecca asked softly. “Choosing the West, I mean?”

“No. It is part of the reason I’m only a first lieutenant, though. My superiors, for the most part, distinguished themselves during the war between the states. This war out here isn’t considered as noble a cause.”

“Are you ambitious, Clark?”

“I used to think I was. Advancement now depends on someone’s retirement or death. Few men have saved for the former, and I don’t like to think I’d wish the latter on anyone. I’m fairly content as things are.”

“Fairly?”

“Especially now.”

She lifted her face up to his, hoping he would explain. No, hoping something else.

He stopped walking and turned toward her. “A beautiful woman to walk beside me in the moonlight, what more can I ask?”

She leaned toward him, letting her hands rest delicately on his forearms. “I’d ask for a kiss,” she whispered.

He made no move toward her. It was hard to see his expression in the dim light. “Miss Huntington,” he said softly, “you’re out to break my heart.”

He stepped aside and gently led her onward. Rebecca found herself trembling. She hadn’t realized until this moment how very much she had wanted that kiss. She practically leaned against his strong arm for support, but the heat of his body only added to the trembling.

Near the wagon, he stopped and freed himself from her grasp, squeezing her hand slightly before he let it go. “Good night,” he whispered near her ear and slipped away.

She stood looking after him until he was swallowed by the shadows. He didn’t go back the way he had come, leaving the impression that he was merely dropping her off on his way someplace else. She didn’t like the feeling.

She considered following him to see where he was
going. Then a thought brought a smile to her lips. He was taking a long walk to cool his blood before trying to sleep.

It wasn’t until later, when she had gone to bed that she thought about his comment. He had said she was out to break his heart. It wasn’t true. She wanted to steal it and keep it and give her own in return. Could his comment have been a gentleman’s way of turning aside unwanted advances?

She closed her eyes against the sudden pain. He had been more than charming tonight. He had flirted with her. He had dropped his voice to a timbre that seemed to resonate with her blood. And she had
asked
for a kiss. She had been thoroughly dazzled. She had been right when she told Alicia it was a little like being burned.

Perhaps he had gotten revenge.

T
o help shake off the lethargy left from a nearly sleepless night, Rebecca took a brisk walk around camp after breakfast. It was fate or luck or coincidence that brought her near Clark’s tent just as he began to shave. There was no design, conscious or subconscious that brought her there, or so she told herself. She had no explanation for why she stayed to watch.

As she hurried to saddle her horse, her pulse still racing with guilty pleasure, she decided her only hope of ever facing Clark again was to pretend she was completely unaffected by last evening’s events. She had been merely teasing, as had he. His kiss would have meant nothing, therefore she wasn’t disappointed that he had refused.

It all seemed perfectly clear to her until she rode toward the front. She drew back on the reins to watch the lines being formed. Whiting called the orders and
Clark surveyed the troops. He looked wonderful. Tall and straight in the saddle. Calm yet alert. She was sure even a person unfamiliar with uniforms would see instantly that he was in charge.

Totally in charge.

Where did she ever get the idea that she had dazzled him? Even on the train he had been in control. She was a diversion, as men had always been to her. In spite of his words, his heart was in no danger. In fact, it had barely been touched.

A voice in her head argued that it wasn’t so. She had seen his eyes grow warm at the sight of her, had heard desire color his voice. But couldn’t she pretend these things as well? Hadn’t she counted them among her weapons?

Steeling herself, she kneed her mount forward. Clark gave her a nod in greeting, but instead of turning his attention back to the troops, he let his eyes linger on her.

She forced a broad smile. “Good morning, Lieutenant. It looks like it’s going to be another lovely day.”

“It does now.”

Oh, he was good. He said it without the barest trace of a smile. One could easily believe him sincere. But of course it was part of the game. Her only defense was to turn up her own charm.

She tried to brighten her smile. “So sweet of you to make me feel welcome.” She had let a trace of a
southern accent creep into her speech, hoping it annoyed him. The game wasn’t as fun when she knew he played it too.

In a few minutes the line started forward with her once again riding between Clark and Whiting. She was too unhappy to care to talk and left it to the men to initiate any conversation. Though she tried to respond pleasantly and show an interest in what was said, they may have found her attitude discouraging. Several times they lapsed into long silences.

At noon she joined her aunt and cousin at the wagon and suffered the former’s displeasure and the latter’s resentment while she ate. Still it would have been easier to stay beside the ambulance for the afternoon’s march than to rejoin Clark and pretend to be enchanting. But she couldn’t Her pride demanded that she keep up the pretense.

It was during one of the now familiar silences that Whiting spotted the smoke. Rebecca turned quickly in the direction he pointed. It was a mercifully still day, at least for Kansas, and there was little danger of the fire spreading. But it seemed ominous nonetheless.

“What do you think it is?” she asked, turning to Clark. The way he watched the trail ahead made her wonder if he had noticed the smoke sometime earlier.

“I don’t want to guess. We’ll find out when we get closer.”

It seemed forever before he called a halt. “Sergeant,
take four men and scout the perimeter. Send four with me. Everyone else is to stay close and remain alert.” He turned to Rebecca. “Go back to the wagon.”

He didn’t wait for Whiting to relay the orders, but rode toward what was clearly the smoldering remains of a building. Four soldiers quickly caught up with him.

Whiting had his men selected but paused at Rebecca’s side. “You should go back like he said.”

Rebecca nodded. “Of course.” But she sat staring after Clark and the others as Whiting turned away.

Had there been an Indian attack? Clark’s orders indicated that was his suspicion. But perhaps someone’s carelessness had caused their cabin to burn. An upset lamp. A spark from the chimney landing on a wood-shingled roof. She had to know.

A closer look revealed the building to be a sod house with its roof completely caved in. Thin streams of smoke curled up from two or three separate spots inside. Tools and household goods were scattered around the yard.

She drew rein as Clark came around the side of the building. He glanced at her before speaking to the men. “Get shovels from the supply wagon and see if you can put the last of the fire out. There are bodies inside that should be buried.”

She sat frozen as he walked toward her. The
breeze’s soft caress and a quail’s whistle seemed out of place in the face of this stark destruction.

“You don’t follow orders well, do you?” He caught her horse’s chin strap when it would have sidestepped away from him.

“What happened here?”

He glanced over his shoulder before he spoke. “I can’t be certain, but I know those people did not die in the fire.”

Rebecca swung to the ground, feeling a need to be moving, doing something.

“You should go back,” he said gently. He took the last step that separated them and raised a hand to touch her arm. She wondered if she had swayed. She hoped not.

“I want to help,” she said.

A slight smile touched his lips. “Are you good with a shovel?”

She lowered her eyes. There had to be something she could do. “I could collect their personal effects to send to the next of kin.”

He shook his head. “You won’t find much in there.”

“I can try.”

He turned away to study the building for a moment before he answered. “Let me hear Sergeant Whiting’s report so I know if there’s any further danger. Then, once we get the bodies out, you can go in.”

“You don’t have to protect me. I’ve seen death before.”

His eyes met hers. What she saw stirring in their depths made her tremble. “Not like this,” he said before he turned away.

Rebecca stayed beside her horse at the edge of the yard watching. Whiting rode in and reported that he had seen the trail of a band of Indians, twenty or more, but they were long gone. The four men with him joined the burial detail, and Clark sent Whiting back to the caravan to set up camp and post guards. When the bodies were wrapped in blankets and lifted from the rubble, Clark returned to Rebecca’s side.

“You can go in, but I want you to be careful. I think the walls will stand, but there could be live coals anywhere.”

She nodded her understanding and started forward, absently handing the reins to Clark. She heard Clark call to one of the soldiers but had no curiosity about his purpose. The smell of ashes and smoke seemed to reach out to her, and she had to struggle not to turn away. The smallest memento could mean so much to a brother or sister or parent.

She stepped through the narrow doorway and her heart sank. Clark had been right The destruction appeared to be nearly complete. Everything was black and ugly and deformed.

Before she could do more than look around in bewilderment, she felt a presence behind her. She
turned to find Clark. She almost hoped he had changed his mind and had come to send her back to the wagon.

“Take your pick,” he said. One hand held a hoe, the other the long handle of a broken garden tool. Until that moment, she hadn’t noticed that he was holding anything. She accepted the handle with a smile of gratitude.

“I think the fire was concentrated over there,” he said, tipping his head toward his left. “Our best chance of finding anything will probably be here.”

He stepped around her and used the hoe to turn over chunks of the burned roof.

“You don’t need to help me,” she said, moving quickly to begin her own search.

“The men have the burials well under control, and I can trust Whiting to take care of the camp. But I can’t bear to think of you in here by yourself.”

A hint of color under the ashes made her kneel to dig more carefully. “Well,” she said as she worked, “I’m grateful for the company.”

“Getting a little spooked, were you?” He was kneeling close beside her.

“More discouraged, I think.” She uncovered a broken piece of china, intricately painted and probably treasured. Even if she found the other pieces, they couldn’t be pieced together. It seemed a sad memento.

“Look at this.” He held something toward her between
gloved fingers. “It’s hot,” he warned when she reached for it. With his other hand he laid it in his palm. It was a medal of some kind. Scraps of charred cloth showed where a ribbon had burned away.

“A soldier?”

Clark nodded. “During the war, I would imagine. Neighbors will know who lived here.”

He said something more as he resumed his search but Rebecca didn’t hear him. She had tossed aside a chunk of wood that had probably been furniture and stared into the face of a small rag doll. Part of her hair and dress had been singed and the stitched smile and eyes were streaked with soot.

Rebecca lifted it reverently. She had to swallow twice before she could speak. “Was one of the bodies a child?”

“Yes.” Clark’s whisper caressed her cheek. He had moved very close to her. She appreciated the gesture, but his nearness tempted her to give in to the threatening tears and seek comfort in his arms.

She set the doll aside and hastily resumed her efforts. At least the child wasn’t a captive, she told herself. Unless the doll belonged to a sister of the child the soldiers were burying. She shook off the thought As Clark had said, the neighbors would know.

She had no idea how much time had passed when
she felt Clark catch her arm. As she turned toward him she realized he had been calling her name.

“I don’t think we’ll find much else,” he said gently. He pointed to the pitiful pile of trinkets at their feet “These few things will bring the family some comfort.”

“Will they?”

He nodded his assurance. She let the handle slip from her hand to join the debris at her feet Clark tried to lead her forward but she slipped from his grasp, bending to lift the doll. Leaving the rest for Clark to gather she stumbled out of the sod house. Nearby the soldiers were finishing the burials. It was easy to tell which grave was the child’s. The mound of dirt was barely four feet long. Against the rocks that had been stacked to form a crude headstone, Rebecca gently placed the doll.

Clark strolled toward his tent. It wasn’t full dark but already the camp was quieting down. In spite of the early stop, there had been very little commotion. Most of the soldiers were subdued by what they had seen.

He took a deep breath, wishing he was farther away from the cook fires. He wore clean civilian clothes and his body was clean, or at least as clean as he could make it in the little trickle of the creek, but he didn’t think he would ever get the stench of charred wood and burned bodies out of his nose.

Near his tent, he checked the clothesline Powers had rigged to dry his uniform and determined it was in no danger of toppling over. A soft inviting light shone through the tent opening. Powers again, he supposed.

He stepped inside his tent and was brought up short. “Rebecca. I didn’t expect to see you tonight”

A slight smile touched her lips. “You’re out of uniform, Lieutenant.”

“So are you, soldier.”

She ran her hands down the sides of her dark brown dress, probably chosen to be less visible at night. “It’s an odd time, I know, to go back to dresses, but my uniform was filthy.”

“Mine was as well” He watched her look nervously around the tent. “Rebecca, are you all right?”

She took a step toward him. “I’ve put them in danger, haven’t I? Aunt Belle and Alicia? Because I was so impatient to get home to Father.”

He hated to see her distressed. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, but he would probably gain more comfort than she. “Perhaps, Rebecca,” he began, searching for words, “but there are dangers everywhere. Trains derail. Carriages run over people. No place is completely safe.”

“But those are accidents. I brushed off reasonable warnings.”

He moved toward her, meaning to draw her closer. It occurred to him suddenly that they were alone.
Any number of men might have seen them both enter the tent. Their silhouettes could even now be visible through the canvas. “Let me walk you back,” he said.

“Clark.” Her tone was a protest.

“I’m not dismissing you, I’m protecting you.” He all but dragged her out of the tent then set a leisurely pace toward the ambulance. “Rebecca,” he said softly, “none of us knew how this would escalate. Back at Fort Riley, we made our decisions based on the information we had at the time.”

“I didn’t.”

Clark smiled down at her. “Well, I did.”

She shook her head, her eyes on the ground. “You thought I was blackmailing you. If you didn’t agree to take me, I’d tell the general some outrageous version of what happened on the train.”

“Would you have?”

She looked up at him sharply and seemed annoyed by his smile. “Of course not.”

“I’ll admit that the thought did cross my mind. But if I had known the kind of danger we might be in, I would never have traded your safety for my career.”

“You would have faced a court-martial rather than follow a direct order to take me?”

His hand slid against her cheek and under her short curly hair almost of its own volition. “If I had thought the danger was severe, yes. I’m not convinced
even now that we are in that kind of danger. It’s unlikely that the hostiles will attack soldiers, though they may try to run off our horses. There are guards posted and we are well-armed. And we’re only a day and a half from Fort Hays.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. The temptation to kiss her was so great he pulled his hand back and stepped away from her. Almost certainly someone was watching them.

He thought he read disappointment in her eyes but knew he could be imagining it. Her next words didn’t indicate that she missed his touch.

“I keep thinking about that child.”

He nodded. “It’s sad. And it sounds cold, but life goes on.”