Woman of Three Worlds (15 page)

She glared, but it was such an accurate summation that she had to give a reluctant chuckle, though she felt far from amused. Angry as she'd been at Zach's careless proposal, she hadn't wanted him to forget her. It hurt to think he apparently had.

Brittany had written Lawyer Hackett and Jem Morrison shortly after arriving at the post. By coincidence, the mail stage brought letters from both on the same day.

Jem was glad she'd safely reached her cousin, though shocked at the Apache attack on her coach. “Be very careful, my dear,” he wrote. “I'd never forgive myself if you came to harm there after I urged you to go.”

The news from Hackett was disappointing. Brittany had hoped sale of the furniture at Tristesse might bring her a little money, but Bradley Eustis had claimed it as his and only by ferocious argument had the lawyer managed to bring away Fulkston's library, the china, and a few other family heirlooms. These were stored safely and would be sent when Brittany requested them.

So Eustis had stolen her furniture as well as her home! It took Brittany a while to master her indignation, but she told herself she was lucky Lawyer Hackett had been able to save the books and things that would add a touch of beloved Tristesse to the home she might someday have.

She wrote gratefully to both her friends and, after a humorous account of her time as a laundress, told them of her present enviable position.

Two months late, the paymaster from Fort Lowell in Tucson finally reached Camp Bowie. Brittany saw the line of men filing past headquarters and then making a rush for the post trader's.

“It's a shame they don't have something to do with their pay besides drink and gamble,” she remarked to Mrs. Harmon.

The older woman sniffed and settled her spectacles higher on her nose. “That's all they want to do except chase women! At least Mr. DeLong serves honest drinks and they don't get robbed.” She sniffed again. “By midnight most of them'll be skunk-drunk and flat broke. But the laundresses' money's deducted at the pay table and so's a dollar for the company fund, so I guess what they do with the other nine dollars is between them and God, Mr. DeLong, or their wives.”

Some of that pay went for a totally unexpected cause. When Jody returned from his daily visit with Patrick, Brittany thought for a startled instant that one of the darker soldiers had dwindled to dwarf size.

A perfect miniature of a cavalry sergeant, Jody was resplendent from black campaign hat with tasseled gold cords to shining knee-high boots. Light blue trousers bore yellow stripes on the legs and the yellow-piped dark blue blouse had three chevrons on the sleeves.

“Land alive!” gasped Mrs. Harmon.

Laurie ran forward to enviously touch the chevrons. “You look wonderful,” she sighed. “Where did you get all these things?”

“My friend sergeant,” said Jody, using his name for Patrick. “Other soldiers, they give dollars too.” He pointed toward the tailor shop, much frequented by men of all ranks because the government-issued clothes seldom fit. “That man, he make.” Jody revolved slowly. “Good? Nice?”

“Nice,” said Brittany, but she felt a stab of compunction as the small copper-brown face dimpled up at her. This had been generous of Patrick and his friends, but was it right for an Apache child to wear the uniform of a government bent on conquering his people?

The same doubt must have occurred to Erskine. He complimented Jody but frowned as he turned away. Michael, though, thought it was perfectly all right. “Face it,” he admonished the first time they went riding with Jody in his new regalia. “The best life for the boy would be as a scout. Not much future on the reservation.”

“Couldn't he ranch there?”

“Sure, I suppose he could. But Apaches aren't used to that kind of life. It's more exciting to steal horses and cattle than to raise them.”

Jody tugged at the lieutenant's arm. “Four mare have four foal,” he explained sagaciously. “Foal grow up, have more. Big herd. Good. Eat mare right off, she no have foal. No herd. Not good.”

O'Shea cast Brittany a startled look. “Holy smoke! We ought to hire you as an Indian agent!”

“No, but maybe Jody can spread the idea. When he goes back to his people, what he's learned of white ways can help them deal with us.”

“Whose side are you on?” grinned O'Shea.

“On Jody's. You know the Chiricahuas will be brought in sooner or later, Michael.”

“Later, probably, with leaders like Juh and Geronimo.”

“Maybe. But when they have to give up, don't you want them to have a chance at a decent life?”

O'Shea said dryly, “I'll think about that when they're caught.” He changed the subject, laughing. “Patrick went on a toot payday and sort of mopped up the bar with some teamsters. Do you know what his defense was when I called him in?”

“I can't guess, but I imagine it was a good one.”

The lieutenant nodded. “He said the water's getting so bad that it's dangerous to drink and that if it doesn't rain and raise the level of the spring, he'd respectfully suggest that the army issue beer rations to keep everyone healthy.”

It did rain next day. Thunderclouds started banking in the afternoon, loosed their torrents while the sun still shone on the San Simon valley, and by morning every structure at the post had leaks. The storms retreated long enough for troopers to be detailed to pitch dirt over the leaks, but the sodden roofs continued to ooze muddy dribbles. Brittany, Mrs. Harmon, and Corporal Harris emptied filled pans and Corporal Harris emptied filled pans and buckets and put out more. The sag of the logs holding up the roof was alarmingly evident.

“Someday, Major Hugh, this roof is going to fall in under all that mud,” Mrs. Harmon warned Erskine that evening. “Army's got no business expecting people to live like this.”

“The army's planned to close the post several times,” said Erskine. “Then there'll be more Apache trouble to keep it going, but the army doesn't want to spend money on improvements. Just be thankful we have floors now. The buildings that don't are real bogs inside.” He added jokingly, “At least this raised the spring and we can have baths again.”

“Lot of good that does when we're wading in mud,” Mrs. Harmon grumbled.

It poured again that night. The barracks were so deluged that the men moved out in tents on the parade ground and the Graveses' home was in such a state that they had to do the same. It rained off and on for three more days. Everyone looked muddy, damp, and bedraggled, and when the blazing summer sun ruled a cloudless sky again, it was heartily welcomed, at least till it had dried up mud on roofs, dirt floors, and the parade ground.

Erskine heaved a grateful sigh the first evening he came home to find a floor mopped and clean, free of buckets, tubs, and basins. “Let's celebrate!” he suggested. “The Shaws kindly had me to dine a number of times before Mrs. Harmon arrived and so did Mr. DeLong. Do you suppose, ladies, that we could manage a nice meal for them?”

“Now, Major Hugh,” said Mrs. Harmon reproachfully, “haven't I always set a good table when you've wanted to invite your friends?”

“We'll do our best,” said Brittany.

“I'm sure that'll be excellent.” The major gave Brittany a probing look. “Would you care to invite Lieutenant O'Shea?”

She managed to respond with dignity, though she felt color rise to her face. “Thank you, sir, I'm sure he'd be glad of a change from his striker's cooking.”

When she relayed the invitation, O'Shea regretfully shook his head. “I'm going on scout tomorrow. But it was good of Erskine to ask me, especially when he has an eye for you himself.”

“Your Irish imagination!” Brittany laughed.

“Be careful while I'm away,” Michael urged. “A miner was killed a few days ago about ten miles from the post and some troopers on wood detail over in Pinery Canyon twenty miles from here were ambushed and had to fight their way clear.”

“I'm always careful,” Brittany assured him.

She was sitting with Mrs. Harmon going over recipes and trying to match them with what they had or could buy at the trader's when Erskine walked in and gave Brittany a long, appraising look.

“Mr. DeLong has a guest he'd like to bring and I took the liberty of consenting. Zachary Tyrell.”

Brittany's hand flew to her throat. Before she could answer, the major's face turned stony. He strode past her to his room, and though the door shut quietly, it almost seemed to slam.

XI

The table gleamed with china, crystal, and polished silver. In the center was a cut-glass bowl with an arrangement of wild flowers and dried thistle pods. From the trader's and post garden, Brittany and Mrs. Harmon had devised a feast, for the major had told them to spend whatever was necessary. Brittany had never been a hostess, and she nervously checked her written menu against what was keeping hot on the stove or cooling by evaporation, like the champagne.

A salad of lettuce and cucumbers, chilled potato soup sprinkled with dill, peas and cauliflower, roast beef and gravy, smoked oysters, crackers and pâté, and, for dessert, jelly tarts, chocolate cake, and melon.

“It's a feast,” gloated Mrs. Harmon. “The major doesn't entertain often but when he does, it's in style.”

The children had been fed early but would say hello to the company before going to play in Laurie's room till bedtime. Jody wore his uniform and Laurie a confection of blue-sprigged white dimity. The Shaws arrived first. Mrs. Shaw knelt to kiss Laurie, admiring her dress and blue hair ribbon. Jody moyed out of hugging range, so the colonel's wife shook his hand and complimented him on his outfit.

Mr. DeLong arrived next, Zach Tyrell looming over his shoulder. The trader wore a dark frock coat and white shirt. Zach's blue shirt was clean but wrinkled, as if it had just come out of a saddlebag, and his fawn colored pants and jacket were travel-stained. DeLong inclined his handsome graying head as he took Brittany's hand.

“I envy the major such a charming hostess,” he said. “Since Mr. Tyrell had something to do with your safe arrival at the post, it seemed fitting to ask that he be included.”

“Indeed, we both owe Mr. Tyrell our lives,” said Erskine frankly, shaking Zach's hand. “You know Colonel and Mrs. Shaw, of course, but you haven't met my daughter.”

Laurie came forward, tugging Jody with her. “This is Jody, Mr. Tyrell. Isn't his uniform grand?”

Zach nodded. “Certainly is. And you look mighty pretty yourself. Your daddy's lucky to have you with him.” He looked at Jody. “Major, did you know this boy is the son of Kah-Tay?”

“Kah-Tay!” exclaimed DeLong. “He's as notorious as Geronimo and Juh! A war leader even Cochise had trouble controlling.”

“That's right,” said Zach. “Colonel, this lad is Kah-Tay's only son. Sooner or later, Kah-Tay will try to get him back, maybe take captives to trade for him. My advice would be to let me try to restore him to his band.”

“The Apaches might kill you before you had a chance to tell them your errand,” Colonel Shaw objected.

Zach shrugged. “If they could, I wouldn't live much longer in this country anyhow.”

The colonel pondered, smoothing his moustache, brow furrowed. “I appreciate your offer, Tyrell, but it seems important to me to educate some of the Apaches so they can serve as advisers to their people once they're on the reservation, keep them from being victimized by crooked agents and other thieves. Jody's learning rapidly from Miss Laird, and you can see that he's not unhappy. I can't think it's in his best interest to send him back to a renegade band that may have to be bloodily forced into submission.”

“It may not be in his best interest, sir, but I think it's in yours.”

“Thanks, Tyrell, but I think it would be criminally shortsighted to send the lad away just when he's starting to learn civilized ways.”

Zach didn't pursue the matter. There was an ironic glint in his eyes as he smiled coolly at Brittany. “I saw the boy earlier at the saddlery. He says he'd like to take you to live with the Chiricahuas, ma'am. His own mother's dead and he thinks you'd be lots nicer than anyone his father might marry.” He tilted his head, blandly surveying her. “You're an adaptable young woman. Officers' Row to the washhouse and back again. Who knows? You might fit admirably into a wickiup.”

Erskine took an abrupt step forward, but Mrs. Shaw laughed and gave Zach a chiding tap with her fan. “As you say, Mr. Tyrell, Brittany is amazing, and I'm sure from the tempting odors that we're about to be amazed again! Would you like us to sit down, my dear, so you can serve the food before it cools or dries out?”

“Amazing, indeed,” the colonel said, savoring his second cut of chocolate cake and third cup of steaming coffee. “Miss Brittany, if you can do wonders like this, you'd be an invaluable officer's wife.”

“Mrs. Harmon did most of it,” Brittany demurred. She smiled at DeLong. “Fortunately, sir, you keep a well-stocked shelf of delicacies.”

“I try,” he nodded.

During the conversation it had come out that the trader was a member of the Council of the Territorial Legislative Assembly, a former mayor of Tucson, and had first entered Arizona with the California Volunteers, who reclaimed the territory for the Union during the Civil War. He looked straight at Brittany, and there was a shadow of pain in his expression. “I'm glad you're doing so well with that Apache youngster, Miss Laird. If you ever need anything for him, it would be my pleasure to supply it.” His tone lightened. “You've managed this party with such aplomb that I daresay you could have handled one dinner party I gave that was brought to utter confusion.”

Zach chuckled. “Is that the dinner you gave for Cochise?”

“Oh, you've heard about it?” DeLong gave a rueful laugh. “Cochise was a good customer and I wanted to have him for a nice meal. Just him. However, his friends followed. Those who could sit at the table did. The others leaned over and helped themselves with hunting knives, fingers, or whatever utensils they could pick up. One ate potatoes from the serving bowl while another appropriated a whole chunk of beef. It was a marvel to see how fast the last bite was gone.”