Kaki Warner (10 page)

Lacy immediately set to work wiping off the layers of dust and grime.

“You’ll stay in here,” Tom announced, dropping her saddlebag on the bed in the small bedroom, then waving away the puff of dust that rose off the counterpane. “And since there’s no door on that staircase,” he shot Daniel a warning look, “I’ll take the cot in the attic.”

“Fine.” Daniel’s grin carried a warning of its own. “Then I’ll make a pallet out here by the fire. And to make certain your sister doesn’t get too cold, I’ll be sure to keep the door open.”

“Like hell.”

At five o’clock that evening, bathed, combed, and wearing their newly laundered clothing, the three of them crossed to the headquarters dining room, where the officers took their meals.

There were only four, three of whom Lacy recognized from the previous year: Commander Phillips, who handled the administrative duties of the garrison, Major Barnes, who was in charge of military operations, and Lieutenant Grigsby, the quartermaster. The new face belonged to Second Lieutenant Walters, newly commissioned and the youngest of the four by at least three decades.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ellis.” Commander Phillips bared his porcelain false teeth in a wide smile. “I am delighted to welcome you back.”

“Thank you, Commander Phillips. You remember my brother Tom Jackson? And this is Daniel Hobart . . . our . . . em . . . stepbrother.”

Once introductions were complete, the commander led them into the dining room, where a table had been set with white linens and china plates. “Were you able to find your daughter?” he asked as he helped Lacy into her chair.

“No, commander. That’s why we’re here. We’re hoping you can help us.”

“I shall certainly try. But as you no doubt have noticed, we have few travelers through here nowadays. Especially this winter.”

“We’re more interested in last winter, sir.” Over a thick lentil soup flavored with onions and rosemary, she explained Daniel’s theory that Hannah could have fallen asleep in one of the pilgrim wagons heading over the pass last December. “They may not have even known she was there.”

“That was a long time ago.” Major Barnes dabbed his napkin at his mouth with great care so he wouldn’t muss the wide, lacquer-coated mustache that curled like a pig’s tail against his ruddy cheeks.

“A storm was brewing,” Tom reminded him. “Some of the wagons might not have made it over the pass before it hit, and could have been stranded here at the fort until it passed. Maybe one with a little blonde girl who didn’t speak.”

The major thought for a moment. “I don’t recall stranded pilgrims. Or a blonde girl. But I do remember several wagons coming through just ahead of a three-day storm. When you arrived, asking about the girl, they were long gone.”

“Can you tell us anything about the travelers?” Lacy pressed. “How many were in their party, where they were going? Any small remembrance might help.”

They discussed it at length over buffalo steaks marinated in tequila, braised carrots with pine nuts, and creamed sliced potatoes. But no one remembered hearing anything about a lost child.

Lacy felt almost ill—both from the rich food and the disappointment. She looked at Daniel, wondering why he had said nothing throughout the meal, but he continued to eat in silence, listening and observing, his scarred face betraying nothing of his thoughts. It wasn’t until they were finishing an overly sweet dessert of warm bread pudding topped with brandied nuts, raisins, and currants that he finally spoke.

“Lieutenant Grigsby,” he said, turning to the portly quartermaster. “Do I hear a hint of Germany in your speech?”

Pushing back his empty plate, Lieutenant Grigsby nodded. “You do, sir. My parents came to this country when I was a youth. German was the only language spoken in our home for many years.”

“Do many German immigrants pass this way?”

“A few.”

“Around the time Hannah disappeared,” Daniel went on, “do you remember two big Conestoga wagons coming through? Maybe from Pennsylvania?”

“I do. Took two teams of oxen to pull each one.”

“Do you remember the people traveling in them?”

“Pacifists.” A distasteful look crossed the old quartermaster’s deeply lined face. “Old Order. Planned to go all the way to California and start up their own church.”

“Old Order?” Lacy asked, wondering what Daniel was leading up to.

“Old Order Mennonites,” Lieutenant Grigsby explained. “Not outgoing like others of their sect. Plain dressers and standoffish like the Amish. But they do know how to build a wagon. Fine work, those Conestogas.”

“I remember.” The commander signaled the trooper to clear the dessert plates. “An interesting group, but difficult to understand. Barely spoke English, as I recall. Luckily Lieutenant Grigsby and one of our sergeants were available to translate.” He rose. Chairs scraped as his officers followed his lead. Turning to help Lacy from her chair, he said, “My thanks to you, dear lady, and to your brothers, for sharing dinner with us. It’s always nice to see new faces at the table.”

But Daniel had one last question as they filed out of the dining room. “Do any of you know if they made it to California? Or if they settled around here?”

“They didn’t settle on this side of the pass,” Major Barnes answered. “But one of my patrols reported a new settlement at Jasper Lake. Might be the immigrants you’re looking for. I’ll check with Sergeant Mueller. If there are any other Germans in the area, he would probably know.”

The gathering broke up soon after, and after thanking their host, Lacy and her brother and Daniel left the headquarters.

The night was still and cold, the sky clear, except for a white ring around the moon. Lacy watched her breath fog and was relieved they would be indoors tonight. Even sandwiched between the hound and her brother the previous night, she had felt chilled to the bone.

Until she woke up with Daniel Hobart’s hand stroking her back.

Tom kicked at a clod of snow that had rolled down from the shoveled mounds lining the path. “Well, I guess that’s it. Another dead end.”

“Maybe not.”

Lacy looked up. “Do you think the German immigrants by Jasper Lake might have Hannah?”

“Maybe.”

“Why would you think that?”

He hesitated a long time before answering. “Because Hannah told me. More or less.”

“Here we go again,” Tom muttered.

Ignoring her brother, Lacy asked Daniel what Hannah had said.

“That the man who didn’t want her to leave talked funny. At first I thought she meant he stuttered or had a defect of speech. But then she said the lady talked funny, too.” He looked down at her, his gray eyes glittering like polished silver in the slanting moonlight. “If they didn’t speak English, or had heavy accents, wouldn’t a six-year-old think they talked funny?”

“It’s possible.”

“But what would German Mennonites want with Hannah?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know. But maybe when we talk to the sergeant tomorrow, we’ll find out.”

***

It was long after midnight. Unable to sleep, Daniel had left Roscoe on the pallet by the fire and moved to the table, where he had spent the last hour whittling on a chunk of wood. Chips and slivers of fir wood piled up on the table as he worked, but the figure was slow to take shape. He wished he had his sanding block, or a better carving knife. He wished a lot of things.

“It would help if you gave me more information,” he muttered. “How can I find you if I don’t even know where to start looking?”

Hannah didn’t answer. He didn’t really expect her to. Stubborn like her mama, she would come to him when she felt like it. If ever.

Through the ceiling and floor joists overhead, he heard Jackson’s rumbling snore. But other than an occasional sigh from the hound, the music of the fire, and the snick of the blade cutting into the wood, the downstairs was as quiet as a church on Monday. Which is why he was so startled when he looked up and saw Lacy Ellis standing in the bedroom doorway. Sneakiness must run in the family.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked, pulling her canvas duster tighter around her shivering form. She was barefoot, toes showing beneath the hem of the flannel nightdress she wore under the duster, and her braided hair hung over her shoulder like a thick rope of gold.

“Come by the fire and get warm,” he offered once he’d gathered his thoughts. Leaning over, he pulled out the chair next to his. He would have gotten to his feet, but his trousers were unbuttoned, and he was afraid they would fall down. Luckily, his untucked shirt hid that. As well as his reaction to the way she looked. Even wrapped in a duster, the woman would test a saint.

With a deep sigh, she sank into the chair.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

She shrugged and, wrapping her arms around her upraised knees, watched him work at the piece of wood. “What are you making?”

“A cat.”

“Hannah likes cats.”

He smiled. “I know.”

Blinking hard, she looked away. When she faced him again, her eyes were wet, but not brimming. “You think we’ll find her at the German settlement?”

“Maybe. If not, I’ll keep looking.”

Her nearness was an assault on his senses—the clean soap scent of her hair, the soft rush of her breathing, the heat of her body beside his. It was so distracting that Daniel was half afraid he would cut into his hand and not even notice.

“That looks more like a frog,” she said after a while.

“Frogs don’t have tails.”

“That doesn’t either.”

“It will. If I take my time and be patient and don’t rush it, it’ll all come out right. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.” He turned his head and looked at her, wondering if she caught the other meaning in his words.

She must have. A deep flush moved from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

Here it comes,
he thought.
And sure enough..
.

“About what happened in the shelter this morning.”

“You were crying in your sleep,” he said when he saw she was struggling. “You needed comfort. I gave it. A simple thing.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

He stopped carving and looked at her.

“I heard what you said to Tom.”

Ah . . . there it is.
He had wondered how much she’d heard, but then had decided it didn’t matter. He was committed now—to her, to Hannah, to seeing how deep this odd, unexplainable connection between them went.

He studied the block of wood in his hand. “I knew you were listening.”

“You did?”

He drew the blade across the wood and thought of the way her body had startled, then calmed under his touch. “The moment you came out of your dream, I felt it under my hand.”

“Oh.” She hesitated, then said in a rush, “Daniel, I can’t think about courting now. I can’t think about anything but Hannah. Nothing else holds any interest for me. Nothing means anything anymore. Maybe it never will.”

“I know.” Carefully setting the half-finished figurine and knife on the table, he sat back in his chair. “I’ve been through this, remember? So I know.”

Tears welled up. He watched her battle them and felt a familiar ache move through his chest. “Losing Pete was hard, but Hannah . . . ” Tears won, overflowed, and rolled in glistening tracks down her cheeks.

He wanted to taste them, kiss them away, hold her in arms that had been empty for too long.

“Does it get any better, Daniel? Will this awful empty feeling ever go away?”

Unable to keep from touching her, he reached over and took one of her hands in his. “No. Not completely. But it quits hurting so much, and eventually you learn to live with it.” Brutal but honest. He would never lie to this woman.

She wept in silence for a time, then pulled her hand from his and wiped the tears away. “Sometimes I can’t even remember her face, and that terrifies me. Can you still picture your wife and son?”

“Not their faces.” Daniel probed his memories. But all he found were quick glimpses—impressions—that hovered just at the edge of his vision for an instant, then were gone. A smile, the sound of her laughter, the grip of his tiny hand around his finger. Never their faces.

He took a deep breath and let the memories go on a long exhale. “What I remember most,” he finally said, “is the way I felt when I was with them. That doesn’t ever change.” He looked over at her and smiled. “But you’ll get better, Lacy. And when we find Hannah and bring her home, everything will feel right to you again, and that empty feeling will pass. I can wait until then to court you.”

She smiled back, her lips quivering with the effort not to cry. “Oh, Daniel . . . ” Lifting her hand, she laid it against his scarred check as if the puckered ridges against her palm didn’t matter in the least. “You are the dearest man.” Leaning toward him, she pressed her lips to his.

He froze, shocked and delighted, every sense focused on the smell of her hair, the salty taste of her tears, the warm breath filling his mouth. His arms started up, but she was already drawing away.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Then, before he could regain his senses, she rose and went back into the bedroom.

He watched the door close behind her, his heart thumping, blood singing through his veins. Hope could be a dangerous thing, he realized, letting out a deep breath. But after seven empty, lonely years, he was willing to risk it.

He went to sleep smiling, only to be jerked from Lacy’s arms and thrown back into the chaos of war. Then he realized it was a bugle sounding reveille, not the call to retreat—and Roscoe panting in his face, not Lacy.

Hell of a disappointing way to start the day.

Rubbing a hand through his hair, he shoved the hound aside and sat up. The fire was down to coals, and the chill in the room made him shiver. Overhead, floorboards creaked as Jackson moved toward the stairs.

With a yawn, Daniel rose from his pallet and stoked the fire, then righted the clothing he’d slept in. Wrinkled, but clean enough to go one more day. By the time he returned from the privy out back, the bugler was sounding morning colors, Lacy had wash water heating, and Jackson was parked by the hearth with Roscoe, waiting for the coffee to boil.

As he hung his jacket on a peg by the back door, a trooper arrived to inform them Sergeant Mueller would be happy to join them in the mess hall for breakfast and answer their questions about the German settlers in the area.