And One Rode West (31 page)

Somewhere out there, he knew, Buffalo Run watched his movements.

And tomorrow he had Sherman and his party of officers arriving. It would be a very long day.

His set his jaw, his teeth grating. He was the ranking officer. He’d be expected to entertain Sherman. Christa would have to swallow hard and accept it.

But what if she didn’t?

He determined that he’d best be prepared for the worst.

Jaffe, he thought, would be doing the cooking for the general’s arrival.

He started back along the water, through the myriad tents of the enlisted men, and finally to his own.

Robert Black Paw, silent and nearly blending in with the shadows of the tent, saluted him and slipped past him. His vigil was over.

When Jeremy slipped inside, he found that she had doused the kerosene lamp on his desk, making it difficult for him to move about in the darkness. He would manage.

He crawled into their camp bed, wondering for a wild second if she would be there. Yes, of course, she would. Though she didn’t know it, Robert always kept vigil, and if she had thought to go somewhere, Jeremy would have known it long ago.

No, she was there. As his eyes adjusted to the total darkness, he realized she was bundled from throat to toe in a flannel nightgown. She was as far to her side of the bed as she could manage and her back was to him. She was awake, he was certain. She was lying there too tensely to be asleep.

He leaned close to her. But before he could say a word, she whispered fiercely, “Touch me, and I’ll scream until every man in this camp is awake!”

“My love, I am far too weary to touch you tonight. You should know that I don’t give a damn if you scream until you’re hoarse. In fact, princess, I have a word of warning for you. Be courteous tomorrow. Be courteous, or I will tan your hide. I will do so with an audience of dozens of men, and I will not care in the least what a single one of them has to say. Am I understood?”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Dare. Yes, I would. But don’t worry about your precious solitude this evening. My pillow offers far more comfort and warmth! But take care tomorrow!”

He turned on his own side. He didn’t touch her. The inch between them lay like a great chasm.

* * *

General William Tecumseh Sherman arrived with a small party of officers and their wives, some who would now be joining Jeremy’s ranks, and some who would be moving on with the general.

He arrived early and was greeted with a bugle salute. The men not on guard duty presented him with a show of their horsemanship.

Christa was not with Jeremy. He had slipped from bed while it was still dark to dress, and he had mounted his bay to ride out with James Preston to meet the approaching party as soon as the messenger had arrived to announce the imminent appearance of the great general.

He was an interesting man. A ruthless one in his way, Jeremy thought, but not an exceptionally cruel one, and certainly not cruel by choice. Like so many others, Sherman showed the wear of the war on his face. It was deeply lined, never a really handsome face, but now one with haggard cheeks beneath a full beard and mustache and with soul-weary eyes that looked upon the world with a weary wisdom.

He was accompanied by a Lieutenant Jennings and his wife, Clara, Captain and Mrs. Liana Sinclair, Captain and Mrs. Rose Claridge, and two bachelor officers, Captain Martin Staples and Captain Dexter Lawrence.

The younger women, Liana Sinclair and Rose Claridge, were both charming and sweet, if somewhat wide-eyed and ill-prepared for the rigors of the western roads. Liana giggled a bit excessively for Jeremy’s taste, and Rose shivered every other minute. Yet both ladies seemed pleasant enough.

Clara Jennings, however, was a virago.

Jeremy had been in their company for not more than ten minutes before she had managed to complain about the ruts in the road, the dirty taste of the water from the streams, and the awful way they had been bumping along since coming into Comanche territory.
Jeremy chanced a glance at Sherman and realized that the general was going to be overjoyed to leave the woman behind.

Through the presentations and ceremonies, Sherman was polite and cheerful due to the presence of the ladies. Despite a generally stern nature, Sherman could be a very polite and pleasant social companion when he chose to be.

But toward midafternoon, the ladies were escorted to their newly erected tents, and when he and the other officers sat around the field tent drinking coffee, he was much more blunt.

“Colonel McCauley, there is going to be trouble ahead for you. It’s as clear as day, the handwriting is on the wall. Comanche.”

“I’ve heard that Buffalo Run is on the warpath. They warned me about him in Little Rock. Has something else happened?”

Sherman waved a hand in the air. “A great deal has happened, sir. Some regrettable. Some, perhaps, unavoidable. Captain Miller, in charge of Company B of the Third, raided one of the Comanche villages. I understand that his men panicked and that it turned into a slaughter. It’s been said that Buffalo Run promised retaliation. Now, you know my stand on the Indian issue pretty much, I think.”

“Yes, I think I do, General.” Sherman was a soldier, first and always. He didn’t mind the Indians who behaved—those who bowed to the white decree and obediently went to live on their reservations. But he intended to be hell on those who were determined to go their independent way. Sherman knew that Jeremy felt far more sympathy for the Indians and the loss of their way of life than he did, although he didn’t agree. From some of the things that Sherman had written and said, Jeremy was certain that he actually favored extinction of the tribes who continued to be warlike.
Sherman was a man who tended to resent the point of view of another man, especially when it disagreed with his.

Lieutenant Jennings, the middle-aged man saddled with the harridan, Clara, made a sound and pointed his pipe at Jeremy. “Colonel, I believe I saw some of his work not an hour’s ride from here. We couldn’t detour much from our path with the ladies present, but I saw smoke rising and I rode out a bit. If I’m not mistaken, I saw smoke. I’m not sure where off the trail, but I’m sure that some mischief was afoot.”

Jeremy was damned sure of it. He’d heard of Captain Miller. The man hated Indians, he’d had a brother killed in a prewar clash with them. Buffalo Run was sure to be on the warpath if one of his villages had been raided, if the innocent, women, children, and the aged, had been killed.

“I wish you had mentioned it earlier,” Jeremy commented. It was too late to send his men out tonight. He’d send a party out with Robert Black Paw in the morning. If anyone could find the faint embers of a dying fire, it would be Robert.

“Gentlemen, perhaps we should retire for an hour. Sergeant Jaffe has taken it upon himself to create an excellent dinner, and I believe that Celia Preston is arranging entertainment. She determined to drag her spinet out to her husband’s new post. We’ve also a fiddle player and some of our men are talented harmonica players. After everyone has freshened up, we can meet again at the officers’ mess tent.”

Jeremy rose and the others joined him, filing out. Sherman was watching him. “I look forward to this evening. It’s my understanding that you have wed one of the most beautiful women to reside on either side of the Mason-Dixon line. I regret that I’ve yet to meet her.”

Don’t regret it! Jeremy thought. He smiled stiffly.
“My wife is very beautiful. She is—she is with child. In the early stages, sir, but you know women and their moods.”

Sherman laughed, rubbing his beard. “I know she’s a Cameron, and a Rebel one at that. I imagine it will be a lively evening.”

“Sir—”

“You mustn’t expect too much of her, Colonel. It was a long, bitter war. Few people understand that I bear no rancor toward our southern brethren. A ‘scorched earth’ policy is the fastest way I know to win a war. It gave me no pleasure to hurt people.”

“I know that, sir.”

“I’ll try to tell your wife,” he said lightly, and winked. “But, yes, I think it will be a lively night!” He walked out.

You don’t know how lively, Jeremy thought with an inward groan.

He hadn’t gone near her himself all through the day, but he had asked James to see to her whereabouts now and then, and he knew that she had spent the day with Celia. She was in camp. Presumably, she would at least show up at the dinner table. He thought that he had made his threat strong enough for that.

When he returned to his tent to shave and change for the evening, she was nowhere in sight. She had been there recently, for the hip tub had been brought in for her use and the water in it was still tepid.

Whatever she intended to do to Sherman, she intended to do it clean, he thought wryly.

He hadn’t intended to bathe, but the water was there, and so he made use of it, shivering when he rose—it wasn’t quite as warm as he had thought and the night was growing chill. He dressed and shaved quickly, and came out in search of Christa.

Sergeant Jaffe stopped him, presenting him the full menu for the evening. They would begin with a buffalo
broth soup. There would be a mixed vegetable platter composed of the yams and fresh greens they had purchased from the peaceful group of Choctaw the week before. He’d arranged for the best buffalo steaks. And one of the messengers had brought with them some strawberries from St. Louis last week, so they would be able to have a fine dessert with fresh cream.

“Very commendable, Sergeant.”

“And we’ll be eating on your wife’s fine plates, sir,” Jaffe said happily. “I think we’ll do you proud, sir.”

“I’m sure you will. She helped you today with her plates and silver?”

“Oh no, sir. She trusted us with the boxes. She’s been busy with little Mrs. Preston all day. I’m sure they’re planning a delightful entertainment for you.”

“I’m sure,” Jeremy agreed.

When he came past Jaffe, he nearly tripped over a dozen of the hunting hounds that accompanied the troop. He swore beneath his breath, then realized she was definitely getting the best of him.

He strode into the officers’ mess tent. Nathaniel was in the corner, softly playing the fiddle. Officers in their finery were standing by their ladies, definitely decked out in theirs.

But there was no one there so striking or beautiful as his wife.

Christa was engaged in conversation with Jimmy and Celia. A delicate champagne flute was in her fingers, and he imagined that the glass had traveled with them from Cameron Hall.

Christa had eschewed her usual trail clothing for the most elegant wear. She was in a gown of rich blue taffeta with velvet and black lace trim. The gown had a slightly high collar at her nape, but the handsome edge work was cut low across the bosom. It hugged her upper body, and the skirt fell in elegant folds down to the ground, the rear caught up in a bustle at the back.
Against the rich coloring of the gown her hair had never appeared more midnight black, nor her eyes so endlessly blue.

She had dressed for the occasion, he thought uneasily. She had drawn out her plates, her silver—and her own finery. Magnanimous. And frightening.

He strode across the tent, acknowledging the men and women as he did so. The company was not a large one. Tomorrow there would be an officers’ picnic to which all the officers and their wives would be invited to meet the newcomers. Tonight was a smaller grouping, just the general, the newcomers, Lieutenant and Mrs. Preston, and a few others.

Christa’s eyes rose to his. She studied him for a moment, her eyes grave, and he wondered what went on within her head. He tried to convey his own warning to her through his eyes.

Coolly, she looked away.

He came beside her, slipping an arm through his. “Evening, Jimmy, Celia.”

“Colonel!” Celia always had a smile for him, even when she was frightened of something and her smile was wavering.

“Has he arrived yet?” he asked Jimmy.

“Just coming in now, sir.”

Freshened, smiling, Sherman came through the entry, Lieutenant Jennings and Clara right behind him. His eyes fell instantly upon Christa. Naturally. He was intrigued with her.

Naturally. She was exquisite. Every man in the tent had looked her way.

“Ah, the elusive Mrs. McCauley at last!” Sherman said. He strode to them, ignoring the salutes of his officers. “McCauley, so here she is. No wonder you hide her. She is a treasure.”

He reached for her hand and kissed it. Jeremy saw
the blood drain from her face. She snatched her hand back quickly. “General Sherman,” she murmured.

“I know of your brother, madam,” Sherman said. “Men who should have died considered his skill a rare gift from God.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Jesse is quite talented, sir. Have you heard of my other brother?”

“Daniel Cameron? Indeed.” Jeremy waited. Every eye in the place was on the two of them. Tension rose. Sherman continued, “Time and again, Mrs. McCauley, we shook our heads at his exploits. Had he and his like but been on our side, the war might well have been won much earlier.”

It was a gracious comment. Christa said nothing.

“I believe myself, General, that had Christa but been on our side, the war might have been won much earlier.”

A burst of laughter rose. Christa still didn’t reply, but the tension had been broken. Jeremy tightened his fingers around her arm. “Suggest we sit, madam!” he hissed to her.

She freed herself from his touch. Short of creating a disturbance, he could hardly pull her back.

“We need some dinner music,” she said, walking over to Nathaniel and whispering something to him. Jeremy grit his teeth.

“Shall we sit?” he suggested himself.

As it happened, Christa was on his right—and Sherman was on her right. He was sure that Christa hadn’t planned it that way—perhaps Sherman had. Sherman had been designated a seat beside Clara Jennings.

Maybe that was why his seat had been changed so that he was placed beside Christa.

Whatever the reason, Jeremy inwardly braced himself for the coming storm.

It arrived within minutes.

Sherman politely complimented the soup, and
Christa assured him she’d had nothing to do with it. The subject of fine dining came up, and then the subject of dining on the trail.