Authors: Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig
Marcus herded them toward the door. “Now, you two have gone batty. What on earth would RuthAnne know about him?”
They answered him with blank faces and silence. He didn’t have time for this.
His expression darkened. “Bandits! Masks! Rumors.”
“But, Marcus!” Megan said.
He closed his ledger with a slam, and the girls jumped in unison. “Women, get out of this office,” he ordered and hustled them to the porch and gave them both sound hugs and kisses on the forehead. He had some thinking to do.
Hours later, Marcus closed his ledger book. His thoughts were on the winsome RuthAnne Newcomb. What an astounding set of circumstances this was turning out to be. If Captain Shepherd indeed was overseeing the opening of the pass, then he would telegram the La Junta Depot that very day and send for her things. They would be there within the month, along with payroll, supplies, and a hefty amount of silver waiting for delivery. He’d be indebted to her more than she could possibly imagine.
Chapter 29
Wringing out yet another shirt, RuthAnne’s hands were cracked, fingers pruned from being immersed in water all day. She gritted her teeth, watching the clear water drip into her basin. Suds free. This one was ready to hang. She had buried herself in her methodical tasks of the day. One after the other, she marked each of the soldiers’ names from her list.
Almost in time to the cadences called on the parade ground outside, she unpacked dusty, sweat-stinking clothes from stuffed canvas bags, separated and dumped each into the water; pants first, as those took longest to dry. She immersed them completely with the aid of her large wooden paddle.
The cool morning air had melted into the oven-like August afternoon. No clouds would bring reprieve this day as the chatty row of laundresses went about their tasks. Their babbling was background noise for the action at hand. Soap skipped across the dark fabric, musically scratching, with a little extra on the stains. Then it was plunge, scrub, turn, and repeat, until she’d scraped her knuckles raw on the washboard.
She dumped the filthy suds-filled water into the ancient, muddy canal and went to clip clothes to the lines. Katie and her friend Tommy, a nine-year-old with shaggy brown hair and mischievous dark eyes, had begged to run the pump and fill the basins today, hauling pails and singing “Buffalo Gals,” their voices sweet and strong. As the temperature rose, their enthusiasm for the task waned. RuthAnne smiled with approval as their mothers dismissed the children to go wade in the creek.
This late in the morning, she already had each soldier’s trousers drying; the gray flannel shirts went up next, in an assembly. It wasn’t a bad life, but now that she had a glimmer of hope in front of her, she found herself daydreaming of the future. She could see it clear as crystal, as she hadn’t since she’d been working under Evan’s ridiculous time constraints. While slaving over his orders, she had often dreamed of a shop for ladies, selling ready-made clothes, having women come in for tea and leaving with sacks full of purchases. With orders placed for more...And this time, she didn’t shun the idea of Bowen making an appearance as well. The thought sent her heart soaring.
RuthAnne pulled wooden pins out of her apron and absently sang about buffalo gals dancing by the light of the moon; she shook out the damp and drying tunics from her basket and set them fluttering in the breeze. They’d be dry in no time, and with that, she was already done for the day.
“Dolly! Quit your lollygagging. I wanted to go with you to the post store. I thought we’d make soap this afternoon...”
“Soap! That’s the hottest thing, Ruth. Really. We have plenty.” Dolly had spent the morning alternately working and chatting with whoever would stop long enough to talk.
“Well, I had a hankering for something that smelled a little better than lye.” She reached deep into her apron pocket. “Charley gave them to me. Pine needles from up the mountain, I guess.”
Dolly wrinkled her nose. “I still can’t believe you agreed to wash that savage’s jacket. Scared the breath out of me this morning when he showed up here. Why on earth someone should traipse around half-naked, wearing an army jacket, is the strangest thing. Caring that it’s washed? That’s a stranger thing altogether.”
RuthAnne had to admit she’d been completely taken aback when the towering Yavapai man had appeared at her doorstep that morning. She remembered quite clearly and doubted that she would ever forget the sight of that mahogany-skinned, magnificent man; standing well over six feet in height, he loomed above her. He had simply taken the jacket off his back and handed it to her. This had left him standing in his full glory, with only the smallest covering of leather flap and rawhide between him and total exposure.
Charley was quite a specimen of masculinity, long regal nose, proud chin, and classic profile. His skin was such a rich tone of golden red that she itched to touch it. Waist-length black hair fell in a long braid down his back, restrained with a leather thong. Though she’d never seen a man with a hair braid, the look was far from feminine. It had taken quite a bit of self-restraint to pry her eyes from appreciating his sculpted muscles. And she winced, remembering the wry smile that had touched his lips when she thanked
him
for bringing his jacket to her to wash.
She had inspected his pockets in his presence, as she always did to make sure nothing of value was destroyed in the wash. Inside, she had found bunches of pine needles, bound together with thread. She breathed in their heady scent again, remembering how he had taken all but one, closing it instead in her palm with a nod. A gift. Probably her payment. RuthAnne doubted the army would be paying for Charley’s suit cleaning. However, offering clothes washed with the gentle, clean scent of forest pine might just draw an extra profit from some of the men.
“You go on without me, honey. And tell that man of mine I love him something awful...” Dolly grinned like a schoolgirl.
“I’ll let you tell him that. I’ll just say you send your regards.”
“Best regards.” Dolly winked and pushed her reddish-blonde hair out of her eyes. “Mercy, where did all this work pile up from? The day’s half over!”
RuthAnne gave a quick hug to her friend, while giving a guilty glance to her already straightened work area.
“Oh, go on,” Dolly said. “I’ve handled worse than this!”
RuthAnne palmed the pine needles and ran them under her nose as she left the sweat-smelling laundry and walked into the sun.
An hour later she elbowed her way through the post store door with her box full of purchases. She blinked in the bright sunlight, surprised to see Marcus Carington waiting on the bench.
“Well, hello there, Quartermaster Carington. You getting the depot whipped into shape yet?”
“Truthfully, I got more accomplished during your brief visit than I have all week. But that isn’t why I’m here.”
“So...you were waiting for me?” She twitched her lips in amusement thinking perhaps he had come to see about courting her. Wouldn’t that make things interesting around here? Would it give Bowen something to think about, if someone else had an interest in her? Or would it even bother him? RuthAnne turned to view Marcus fully. He looked amicable enough, walking beside her, but something in his eyes left her wary. She stumbled, and Marcus caught her by the elbow, steadying her.
“I saw you heading over this way and thought I might share a moment of your time, if that isn’t too bold of me. Might I carry that for you?” He kept his tone affable as he liberated her of the box of soap making supplies without waiting for a reply. The lye and oil bottles clinked into one another musically.
Marcus strolled at her side, his gaze distant and his jaw set. RuthAnne cocked her head at him, wondering what it was he wanted with her. They walked along in silence for a minute. Her skin prickled, but not from the heat.
She hurried to keep pace with him as he walked in the direction of the cottonwood stand. He looked clean-shaven, well-dressed even, as if he had taken special care before coming to see her. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I was hoping we could have a conversation. I overheard my sisters discussing something that I found quite alarming. And, of course, something that I hope isn’t true.”
She stopped, turning toward him. “All right, sir. Out with it. What did they say?” Her mind churned. It could have been any number of things, from their father’s advances to their mother’s suspicions. Either one set her blood to boil. It was unfortunate that rumor and deceit seemed to rule the Carington family.
“Well, I’ve asked around. I know how you came to be here.
Lost in a storm.
Of being stranded with nothing...and no family to turn to.” He hazarded a sarcastic laugh. “Why else would a lady like you end up laundering for a bunch of nasty soldiers?”
“Why indeed...” RuthAnne gulped around the lump of ice that seemed to fill her throat.
He led her into the tunnel of cottonwoods on the edge of the hospital grounds. The spotty shade of the reaching, white-barked trees was a blissful relief from the scorching late summer Arizona sun. Birds darted through branches that swayed in a light breeze; lighting, each sang their brief tune and took off in flight again. Leaves rustled. They were alone. How did she keep ending up this way? By herself in the company of a man she barely knew?
He continued, words coming slow as glue. “I know what happened in the mountains. In the caves.”
She blinked.
“El Tejano.”
“I never...”
“Don’t patronize me.” He swallowed hard, his gaze burrowing into hers. “Did he touch you? Dishonor you in any way? I’m sure he would have wanted to.” He set her box down at his feet and took her hand. Searched her face. “Now, don’t be angry. I just need to know. I need to know what you told Captain Shepherd.”
“My virtue is intact, Quartermaster Carington, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m fully recovered from the incident.”
He waited for her to divulge more, and she stood her ground. Something about this whole meeting was off. This went far beyond a new friend being concerned for her well-being.
“Listen, Marcus. Please don’t mention this to anyone else. We don’t want people to get the wrong idea. People in these parts...they tend to get up in arms about things like this.”
“It’s Camp Grant, you’re referring to? Captain Shepherd had dirty business there.”
RuthAnne bristled with his accusation. “Leave him out of it.”
“Oh, I know the stories. And I know his suspicions about my family. His self-righteous act doesn’t erase the fact he’s killed his own share of innocents. But this is different.”
“Captain Shepherd is a good man. You’ll not speak ill of him around me.”
“He has a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No matter what he says, no one is quite sure of the role he played in the Camp Grant slaughter...”
“Captain Shepherd may be many things, but he isn’t a cold-blooded killer.”
“Are you certain of that?” he asked.
RuthAnne glanced around. The post hospital was vacant, as the post surgeon was on hiatus in San Francisco. Unlike the rest of the fort, there seemed to be no one around. This late in the day, the parade grounds were empty, all the soldiers out on patrol. Her pulse elevated with worry. “I’m certain that he has his own demons to deal with, and it’s none of my business. Just as what happened in Reddington Pass is none of your business, Quartermaster Carington. Good day.”
She took a step, but a strong hand clenched around her arm. She could go nowhere.
“Why won’t you talk to me, RuthAnne?” His breath was on her neck. His voice resonated in her ear. Gooseflesh erupted on her skin.
“I need to get back. They’re waiting for me...”
“I think they can miss you for a while.” His grip tightened further.
“I can’t, Marcus. I made a promise.”
“To Shepherd. I see.”
RuthAnne wrenched her arm away. His expression was grim. Dark. Uncompromising. She tried another tack. “If word gets out that El Tejano
attacked a white woman, nearly killed...well, me...who knows what people would do? No Mexican man would be safe!”
“They’re pretty good at finding someone to make an example of, aren’t they?” He gave a thin smile.
RuthAnne stepped back, just out of reach, wanting nothing more than to rub the newly-forming bruise. Instead, she retrieved her box of supplies, keeping it like a shield between them. “Promise me you won’t pursue this any further.”
“Let’s just say I promise to keep my eyes open.”
“What’s this all about, Lieutenant?” Bowen Shepherd’s booming voice reached them before he did. He closed the distance readily, a full head taller than Marcus and ready for a fight.
“It’s Quartermaster Carington to you, Captain.”
“Is it?” Bowen didn’t bother to amend his error, turning his attention to RuthAnne. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just a little misunderstanding, Bowen.”
“
Misunderstanding?
I didn’t think you all knew each other well enough to even have an understanding.”
“Now see here, Captain...” Marcus puffed up to his full height, still inches shorter than Bowen.
“If I even hear of you coming within a casual distance of this woman, you and I are going to have more than words.” Bowen gave Marcus a solid shove, pushing him to the ground.
Marcus scrambled quickly to his feet. Only an invisible barrier kept the men from brawling. Bowen’s lip curled into a sneer.
With a glance to RuthAnne, Marcus dusted himself off. “I do apologize if I scared you.”
“Not at all, Quartermaster.” RuthAnne summarily dismissed him, and he skulked off back to his duties. It only took a moment for her to realize Bowen was breathing heavily and a thin trickle of blood came from his shoulder. A dark patch was broadening at his upper arm.
“Where have you come from? What’s happened?” She threw her box to the ground, bottles shattering, the air filling with pungent fumes from the lye as she removed his jacket to inspect his wound.
“Not me. It’s nothing. Ross is the one who needs help. He was thrown when his horse was shot out from under him. Reggie’s bringing him in now.” His face darkened as he took her cheek in his hand, eyes questioning. He looked her up and down with concern. “Did that animal hurt you in any way? I swear to all that’s holy...”
“Just a bruise on my arm. On my pride. How is it you’re always around to pull me out of a scrape, even when you’re hurt yourself?”
Bowen grinned. She loved the way his rare smile made his eyes light up, even though he winced when she touched his shoulder.
“Come with me.” RuthAnne hurried him around to the post hospital door. When they found it locked, Bowen used his good shoulder to muscle it open. She directed him to sit as she threw open the windows, letting the dusty light fill the room. All of her attention focused on his injury. Her heart seized in her chest.
“That’s a bullet wound, Captain.”
“That’s right. A .38 caliber from the look of it. Went right through front to back.” His words were matter-of-fact.
“You say that like it’s happened before.” RuthAnne helped him ease back, and then she reached for a bottle of iodine and a stack of gauze from the glass cabinet.
He closed his eyes, sitting back on the wooden table. “A time or two.”
“Can you move it? Or am I going to have to cut that old shirt off of you?”
“I can get it.” With one hand, he unbuttoned his shirtfront.
She helped him shrug out of one sleeve and then gently pulled the other off, careful where the blood had started to congeal around the wound. He was right. Front to back, and a small hole at that. Blood wasn’t flowing freely.
“The iodine should kill any infection. This is gonna hurt, Bow.” She sopped up the dark fluid with the gauze pads.
Their eyes met for a long moment, and he nodded. He was ready. His breath sucked in as she began her work. RuthAnne mopped up blood and dried sweat, swabbed the healing fluid into the wound. She bit her lip until the copper taste filled her mouth as well as her nostrils. She painted his muscular shoulder with the brown-orange fluid in concentric circles. He was pale, but his color returned as she finished.
She wrapped him up as best she could. The bend at his arm was an awkward spot for a bandage. “You did quite a number on that poor young man one-handed.”
He laughed. “That little pipsqueak doesn’t scare me none. I watched him grow up. He was a scrawny kid. Kind of creepy. Always watching us train, practice, asking about killing Indians.”
“Well, he knows what happened to me. I don’t know how.”
Bowen simply nodded. “It was bound to come out sooner than later. The road’s open. Men’ll be back in the morning with the news. We got on someone’s bad side out there; not sure where the bullets came from but someone had bad aim, thank heaven. I think more people than just us are looking for El Tejano’s cave of wonders.”
“How do you mean?” RuthAnne blinked. Why would anyone want to find a bandit’s hideout?
“He’s robbed the bank of over one hundred thousand dollars. That’s bound to make him quite popular. With the road closed, it gives gold diggers an idea they can scout it out, sight unseen. The army wasn’t all too welcome out there.”
“You took thirty men! Who would shoot at a company of soldiers but someone with a death wish?”
“We went looking for the cave on our own. Ross, Reggie, and I.”
The post hospital door flew open, and Reggie half walked, half dragged Ross MacEvoy inside.
“Dear Lord! Have mercy...” RuthAnne sent a prayer heavenward as she left Bowen’s side to lend a hand.
Ross was unconscious, his breathing shallow. Raspy. His head was a mess of dirt and blood and matted hair. Blood caked his neck and shirt from a wound that still bled profusely.
They set to work immediately, all hands reaching to help Reggie with the fallen soldier. RuthAnne ordered Bowen and Reggie to ease Ross onto the surgical table. They heaved their friend up as she took his head, placing towels underneath.
“Nearest doctor’s in Tucson. I sent Alex off to fetch him, but...” Reggie wrung his hands.
There was no need to explain further. Tucson was a good half-hour ride. They couldn’t wait.
Her hands were shaking. Bile rose in her throat as she glanced around the small, white-washed room, scant with supplies. She found what she needed in a bottom drawer and applied pressure to Ross’s weeping wound with a roll of cotton.
Bowen and Reggie both looked to her as if she knew how to mend the broken man that she considered a friend.
“What do you want us to do?” Reggie asked, his eyes shadowed and his tone grim.
“I need a basin of clean water set to boil, soap, and a straight razor.” RuthAnne briefly closed her eyes as Bowen left to do her bidding.
Once she was satisfied the bleeding had staunched, she realized it was up to her to sew this poor man back together or the wound would never heal.
Her mind flashed to her childhood, during the war in Somerville. She recalled standing on the wide front porch of her parents’ home. It had become a makeshift field hospital after a skirmish near Watkins Ferry. At not quite thirteen, she had not been allowed to hide upstairs like her cousins on the neighboring sugar plantation. Mother, Aunt Mariah, and Mariah’s daughter Elizabeth washed their hands to the elbows, and RuthAnne did the same at Mother’s direction. She assisted with piecing the wounded back together. The images still haunted her dreams.
She still remembered carrying the whistling kettle and Mother’s best crockery from the kitchen. She and Mother had snapped sugar peas into the bright yellow bowls just the day before, sitting on the porch swing, listening worriedly to the crack of rifles to the north. Now, RuthAnne poured them full of steaming water, their new purpose to dampen bandages for blotting blood and grime from the wounded.
She recalled the soldiers stripped of their uniforms and laid prostrate on pallets. Mother said that they were no longer Union or Confederate. Just men. Husbands, fathers, and sons who lay bleeding or dying. Mother ordered Daisy to burn blue and gray uniforms alike, lest the Yankees kill any of the Southern wounded. RuthAnne recalled the acrid smoke, the copper of clotting blood, and the stench of gangrenous flesh that filled her nose along with scents of bodies that hadn’t bathed in weeks. It wafted together, making her want to gag. Mother hadn’t allowed it.
Some screamed as her mother wove them back together again. Others were silent. RuthAnne hadn’t known which was worse as Mother worked tirelessly, driving herself mad all the while. Praying for her sons who would never come home. RuthAnne shuddered with memory.
Reggie stood wringing his hands. He needed something to do or he was going to pull his fingers right off at the roots.
“I have the iodine already, enough to kill any infection. When Bowen gets back we’ll need to shave Ross’ head around the wound. See how bad it is. We’ll need silk thread. White would be best. And the silver-tipped needles. There’s some at the post store. Tell Whit to give it to you, and tell him I told you so. He owes me. And, Reggie...” He looked at her, eyes wide and waiting. “Send someone for Josie. Fast.”
e