The Crossed Sabres (13 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

An Old Acquaintance

Eileen Jennings took a white tablecloth from the side compartment of an ancient buffet, and as she spread it over the table, a memory from the past stabbed at her, causing her to pause and stare at the cloth. It was a fine piece of work, Irish linen, thick and smooth, given to her by her grandmother as a wedding present.

It was Frank’s favorite tablecloth,
she thought, and then the memory of that last supper with him the night before he’d ridden out on his last patrol came back as sharp and clear as a photograph. She could even remember the meal—all his favorite foods: roast beef very rare, sweet potatoes, green beans and biscuits. He’d been very handsome that night, his face cheerful, white teeth gleaming and eyes happy. They’d eaten, and he’d joked about leaving her alone.
Hate to leave a good-looking woman like you alone with all these dandies around!
She’d smiled at him, teasing him. He’d held her with such a passionate hunger that night, she’d returned his ardor freely.

Now, holding the cloth, her mouth went dry as she thought of her last sight of him, seated on his black charger, proud and handsome as any man in the army leading his company off on a routine mission.

She’d never seen him again, for he’d been so mutilated by the Indians that his coffin hadn’t been opened.

That had been six months ago, and she’d never shed a tear, at least in public, except for that first time, when they
brought him back wrapped in a piece of canvas tied across a mule. Now, feeling the texture of the cloth, it all came back, and it wasn’t until the girl spoke that Mrs. Jennings pulled herself quickly away from her thoughts.

“What did you say, Laurie?”

The girl was standing in front of the stove with the hinged door open, peering in. When she turned to question Eileen, her face was flushed with the heat of the wood stove. “Are they ready, Mrs. Jennings? I can’t tell.”

“Let me see—and I think you might call me Miss Eileen.” She looked at the biscuits, then stood up. “Maybe another ten minutes. Why don’t you set the table while I work on the food? Here’s the cloth, and the dishes are in the buffet.” She watched as the girl happily spread the tablecloth, then carefully put the dishes on its snow-white surface. She handled each piece of the fine china carefully, then placed the silverware beside the plates. When she was through, she looked up, asking, “Is that all right?”

“Just fine, Laurie.” The girl came to watch her finish the supper preparations, and Eileen asked, “Where did you and your father live before you came here?”

“Well, we came from Wyoming, but we weren’t there too long.”

“Did you hate to move away and leave all your friends?”

The answer was slow in coming. Finally Laurie said, “There weren’t too many children there.”

“Well, there are a few here on the post, about your age. Most of them go to school in Bismarck. I’m sure you’ll make friends quickly.” The child, she thought, was too solemn, and she decided that it was because she had not been with other children very much. Tom Custer had told her that Laurie’s father had moved among the tribes for several years, but hadn’t said much about Laurie.

She told Laurie what little she knew about the school, but was thinking that her own loneliness was worse than Laurie’s.
At least she’s got her father!
The thought leaped into
her mind, and she shook it off as self-pity—yet it was true that she had nobody. Her own parents had died in a cholera epidemic, and what distant relatives she had in the East were not close. Frank had been her world, and though she’d had an invitation from his parents to join them in Chicago, she’d graciously rejected it. She’d met them only twice, and even if they were very nice, they were strangers to her.

She’d been aware that some of the men on the post were interested in her—like Tom Custer, a lady’s man by popular rumor, who would have been drawn to any woman. Then there was Captain Nelson Leighton, who had been Frank’s friend as well as hers for two years, and Eileen knew that sooner or later he would come with his offer. He was a widower, a quiet man of forty with two children he was trying to rear. There would be security for her in Nels, she knew, but something in her rebelled against such a businesslike solution to her problem.

“Here comes Daddy!” Laurie cried. She had been looking out the window and ran out the door. Eileen watched as the two met, noting how he smiled at her and put his arm around her shoulder while they walked to the house.

As they came in, he saw Eileen smiling at them, and he pulled away at once, self-conscious. Eileen said, “You’re just in time, Mr. Winslow. If you and Laurie would like to wash up, I’ll have it ready.”

“Sounds good,” Tom said, and went to the table out on the porch and washed his face and hands, listening as Laurie told him about helping with the meal. They went back inside and took the places Eileen indicated, but he waited until she was seated before sitting down himself.

“Would you carve that chicken, Mr. Winslow? I never could handle that too well.”

Winslow took the carving knife and fork, saying, “My first name is Tom. I’d feel better if you’d call me that.”

“Yes, and I’m Eileen.” She watched as he skillfully cut
thin slices from the baked chicken, adding, “I always start by trying to do that, but finally just hack it off in chunks!”

They pitched into the meal, which in addition to baked chicken consisted of boiled potatoes, pinto beans, fried squash, and biscuits. The latter came under special attention. Tom tasted one judiciously, then exclaimed, “By heavens, these are
good!
You didn’t make these yourself, Laurie?”

“Miss Eileen watched and told me how, but I mixed them up and everything!”

“Well I’ll be eternally confounded!” Winslow shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll never cook another biscuit again as long as I live! Not with a biscuit-shooter like you in the house!”

The pleasure in Laurie’s eyes pleased him, and he finally said, “I guess I’ll have to brag about the other cook. This is a fine meal, Eileen.”

She grew slightly flustered, saying, “Oh, anyone can cook when there’s someone to cook for.” Then she caught the quizzical look in Tom’s dark eyes and was afraid that he’d interpret the statement as a plea for pity. She asked quickly, “I understand you’re enlisting in the Seventh?”

He nodded, and explained how he’d decided to begin a new career. He said nothing about Laurie, but when he finished, she asked, “You’ll be gone on scouts quite often, then?”

“Yes. And on patrols with the units sent out by the general.”

Something changed in her eyes, he noted, and afterward learned that she could not bear to be around when a company was sent out. He ventured a guess that it had something to do with the death of her husband, but said only, “I’ll be home more than I have been in a long time. The job with the Indian Bureau kept me on the move most of the time.” He reached over and gripped Laurie’s shining crown, squeezing it and giving it an affectionate shake. “Never liked to go off and leave my girl.”

Laurie gave him a sober look and asked, “Will you be fighting with the soldiers, Daddy?”

Winslow nodded slowly, and when he answered it was as
honest as he could make it. “Sometimes. I’ll be a soldier, and that’s what soldiers are for.”

Laurie said no more, but they both saw that she was worried. Eileen, wishing to break the mood, said, “I have dessert.” She rose and came back with a large apple pie, placing it in the center of the table. “I made this yesterday. If I eat it all myself I’ll be fat as a pig.”

The pie was good, so good that Tom ate two pieces. Finally he refused a third, saying with a chagrined laugh, “You’re probably thinking I’m the world’s biggest glutton as it is. Maybe I’ll have a chance at it again.”

He insisted on helping with the dishes, while Laurie sat all folded up on a chair reading
The Old Curiosity Shop.
As they talked, Eileen had another painful memory, for the sight of Winslow in his shirtsleeves drying dishes was all too familiar—except it had been a different man. Afterward, she said, “It’s early. Would you like to walk around the post?”

“Fine. Want to go with us, Laurie?”

“No thank you. I’d rather read.”

The post was quiet and a full moon was lifting over the river. The sound of singing and a banjo came to them faintly from the barracks, the plunking of the instrument clear on the still air.

“I hope your new career works out well, Tom,” Eileen said. “It’s a hard life, not as adventurous as the novels make it sound.”

“I had plenty of adventure during the war,” he remarked. “I’m not a young man looking for romance.”

She was puzzled by him, and intrigued as most women would have been. He was a fine-looking man, and knew that sooner or later she’d find out about his marriage. Most men married after losing a wife—especially those with children to raise.

He must have had a very happy marriage,
she thought as they walked along,
or perhaps a very unhappy one.

They stopped at the edge of the parade ground and looked
down on the river, catching the little leaping waves touched with silver light. Far off, the lights of Bismarck gleamed, and from far away came the mournful cry of a night bird.

He had been thinking about her comment and finally said, “I don’t need any more adventure or romance, Eileen. I do need some kind of order in my life.”

“For Laurie?”

“Yes.” He turned to face her and was caught by the curve of her cheek, smooth and clean, in the warm moonlight. She was not tall, but straight and well-formed, slender but filled out with mature curves. “I’ve got to settle down. I could take a desk job with my brother, but it would just about kill me.” He turned to look at the barracks, listening to the faint sound of the singing, then said thoughtfully, “I think the last time I had any kind of peace was when I was in the army.”

“The Confederate Army?”

“Yes. Maybe I’m one of those men who just wants to be told what to do.”

“I doubt that, Tom. But the army isn’t exactly the profession I’d pick for stability. Especially not with the trouble that’s coming.”

He thought of that, then nodded. “You’re right, of course. If I had any character whatsoever, I’d ignore my own desires and do what’s best for Laurie.”

She saw how deeply the problem had etched itself on his mind, and it made her say, “That might not work out very well. If a man gives up being what he is, he changes. I always wanted my husband to leave the army, to do something safer. It took him away from me. But I had enough sense to know that he would have been miserable in another job. He loved the army, and I resigned myself to it.” Then she turned away from him, saying, “And it killed him—just as I always feared it would!”

Winslow felt awkward. He needed to say something, but dreaded to utter one of those empty phrases people use when trying to comfort one who has had a loss.

Finally she turned to him. “Sorry, Tom. I don’t usually let it get the best of me—not in public, at least.”

He fell into step with her, and they walked around the ground, she speaking of the post and the officers. He listened with interest, for as soon as he took the oath, those men would be in charge of his world. He was surprised that she had such positive feelings, for without gossiping, she spoke of the strengths and weaknesses of the group. Even for Custer, she had both praise and rebuke. “He’s a masterful man, Tom,” she said thoughtfully. “Whatever it is that men have that makes other men follow them, General Custer has a lot of it. But his men don’t love him, as soldiers sometimes love their leaders. Like men loved General Lee.”

“Some men can make men love them. But not Custer, you say?”

“No. He cares nothing for the men of his command. He’s one of the worst martinets in the army, Tom. He hands out severe punishment to any man who breaks one of his rules—yet he himself violates the orders of his superiors.”

“That’s bad,” Tom commented.

“Yes, I think so. You’ll find out what sort of a commander he is. My husband had no respect for his military judgment. Frank always said Custer had no concept of strategy, that he just threw all his men against the enemy in a wild charge.”

“That may have worked in the war at times. It won’t work against the Sioux.”

Then they were at the house, and she said, “Come in for coffee.”

“No, I’ll say good-night.” He paused, took off his hat and stood there, a tall shape against the darkness. “This has been a fine evening. I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Laurie.”

“Let her come to me sometimes, Tom. I do get a little lonesome.”

“Of course.” He waited until she sent Laurie out, then bent to kiss his daughter. Good-night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good-night, Daddy.” Her small arms held tightly to his neck, and she released him only with reluctance. He knew that she was worried. She had no one but him, and it was inevitable that she would fear losing him.

“We’ll get us a house right away,” he said, stroking her head. “You can make biscuits and I’ll eat them. We’ll have a fine time.” He kissed her again, giving her a squeeze, then turned and walked down the walk toward the barracks.

He looked up the first sergeant of A Company, a weathered veteran named Hines, who had been told by Tom Custer to expect him. “Take that bunk there,” Tom was told, and he went to it at once. Some of the soldiers were playing cards, and a few looked at him curiously, but no one said a word. He undressed and lay on the bunk thinking of the day, wondering if he’d made the right choice. He hated the uncertainty he felt. Unaccustomed to sleeping with eighty men in a room, he slept poorly and was glad when Hines called out before dawn, “All right, roll out of them bunks!”

After breakfast with A Company, Winslow waited for an hour, then walked toward the adjutant’s office. He entered and found Tom Custer talking with Cooke, the lieutenant he’d met the day before. “The general wants to see you before you take the oath,” Custer nodded, and led the way across the parade ground to the line of officers’ houses. The Custers lived in the middle of the row of seven, in a roomy two-story house with an inviting veranda. They were met at the front door by a petite woman. “This is Mr. Winslow,” Tom Custer said. “The general wants to speak with him.”