Messenger by Moonlight (22 page)

Miss Collingsworth shuddered. “I don’t know how you endure working for that man. He’s absolutely terrifying. And so ill-kempt.”

“To be precise,” Lydia enjoined, “Annie works for the Pony Express. As for Mr. Morgan, I think he’s fascinating.”

“You would,” Miss Collingsworth sniffed.

An older women in the far corner chuckled. “I’ll allow he doesn’t quite look civilized, but I think it’s oddly attractive.”

“Annabelle Greeley,” another woman scolded.

But Mrs. Greeley didn’t back down. “Just because I’m not fishing anymore doesn’t mean I can’t admire the view from the banks of the stream.”

“Did you know he lived with the Pawnee? Mr. Smith says he arrived at Clearwater with that boy in tow. What’s his name? You know, the Indian.”

“Billy Gray Owl,” Annie said.

Mrs. Smith shuddered. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night with an Indian lurking in the barn.”

Miss Collingsworth asked, “Are you really staying the winter in that place?”

“Of course. The mail must go through, and that means the men must be fed.”

“Won’t you die of boredom?”

Annie forced a smile and tried a little joke. “I hope not, for the riders’ sake. Billy says George is a terrible cook.”
And yes. I know Billy and I call George “George,” and I don’t like you, either, Miss Nose-in-the-air. I wonder if there’s a Pawnee name for that.
She would ask Billy. Annie concentrated on the line of stitching at hand while conversation and gossip circled around her. She said very little, but she learned a lot—especially about Miss Nose-in-the-air, who spoke of “Lydia’s brother” with an undertone of ownership and expectation that obviously annoyed Lydia. When someone wondered aloud if the post commander would still be on duty in the spring, Annie learned more about how the political situation in the East was taking a toll here at Fort Kearny.

Mrs. Greeley spoke to the post commander’s political leanings. “If Lincoln wins the election, our commander will resign and don a different uniform.” She smiled at Lydia. “And your brother is the likely candidate to be promoted to his position.”

Talk continued about the horrible possibility of a war between the states. Finally, Annie excused herself to check on Frank. Lieutenant Hart intercepted her on the way to the hospital. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“Throwing you to the she-wolves.”

Annie smiled. “I survived.” After a moment she added, “I didn’t realize the North-South tensions were quite so strong among the ladies.” She glanced up at him. “You never did answer Miss Collinsgworth as to your personal preference in the matter of pie. Which is it, pumpkin or sweet potato?”

“Neither,” he said. “I’m partial to the raisin molasses pie
served at a road ranch a little to the east of here. Perhaps you know it?”

Say something, you idiot. He’s flirting with you.
She could think of nothing to say.

“As your escort, I’m speaking for the first two dances at the cotillion. If you don’t object.”

Object? Of course she didn’t object. She’d dream of it every night. She nodded.

“You do object?”

“No. I mean—yes.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t object. I will give you the first two dances.”
And the third, if you want.

“I shall hold you to it,” he said, “and count the days.” He nodded toward the hospital door. “I hope Frank mends quickly. And while I’m sorry that an injury was the cause for it, I’m very glad you’ve spent some time here at Fort Kearny. I was running out of excuses for leading patrols past Clearwater.”

The day after Annie met the ladies of Fort Kearny at the quilting bee, she was dusting the furniture in the apartment’s parlor when Lieutenant Hart stepped in the door. “Do I dare hope that’s raisin molasses pie I smell?”

“It is,” Annie replied, “but not mine. Lydia’s.”

The lieutenant grimaced.

“I saw that,” Lydia called from the doorway leading back to the kitchen. “It’s just now ready. Annie was going to get the first taste, but seeing that look on your face just now, I think you should do the honors.” She waved him toward the kitchen. “Come along.”

The lieutenant obeyed. When he joked about being punished for honesty, Lydia smacked him—playfully. He put his hand to his cheek. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“Just sit down,” Lydia said, and pointed to the chair by the door. She served up a piece of pie and handed him a fork.

“Can I at least have something to wash it down with? A cup of coffee, perhaps?”

“I’ll make coffee in a moment. It remains to be seen if I’ll be serving it to
you
.”

Taking a deep breath, Hart tasted the pie. He closed his eyes for a moment. Frowned. Opened one eye and looked at his sister. Took another bite. Finally, he spoke to Annie. “Tell the truth. She didn’t make this. You did.”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“Not true,” Lydia enjoined. “She’s been a most patient instructor in recent days. In fact, she’s suffered through three miserable failures.”

The lieutenant took another bite. “Well, there’s nothing miserable about this. It’s delectable.”

“Really?” Lydia stared at him in disbelief.

“Really.”

With a shout of joy, she grabbed Annie and gave her a hug. She looked over at her brother. “Wait until you taste my Johnny cakes. And grits. And—next I’m going to master jumbles. Do you remember Grandmother’s jumbles?”

Lieutenant Hart looked over at Annie. “What wonders have you wrought, dear girl? And in only one week. Lydia Morton Hart in the kitchen? Willingly?
Joyfully
?”

“She’s writing an article,” Annie said. “‘The Lady Cooks Western Fare.’”

“And I’m going to share the pie recipe,” Lydia said. She looked over at Annie. “I wish Frank nothing but a speedy recovery, but from a selfish standpoint I’m going to hate to see you leave.”

“I second that,” the lieutenant said.

After Hart left and while coffee brewed, Lydia asked Annie to follow her into the next room. Opening the largest of her trunks, she set a few things aside on the floor and then pulled a blue silk gown from the depths. “It’s not the latest style, but if you think you’d like it, we could remake it to fit you. For the cotillion.”

Annie caught her breath.

“Well? What do you think?” Lydia waggled the dress.

“I couldn’t. It’s too elegant. Too fine.”
It’s gorgeous
.

“Oh come now. It’s just a dress. And an old one at that.”
She held the gown up to Annie, folding it at the bodice and inspecting the waistline. “If we add a sash, we can draw it in.” She pulled a length of ivory silk out of the trunk. “Happily,” she said, “I’m not that much taller than you, so the sleeves will work as they are. We have plenty of time to hem it up.” She looked over at Annie. “I’m actually quite handy with a needle. I can easily have it ready by the twenty-seventh. You’ll need to arrive a few hours early, just in case we have to adjust something at the last minute.”

What could it hurt to try it on? Annie stepped out of her calico and into the silk. The gown rustled as she walked to the front of the apartment to peer into the mirror by the front door. What she saw made her gasp with delight.

Lydia reached around from the back and tied the ivory sash in place. “There. It almost looks like an original part of the gown.” She stood back. Tilted her head. “If I can find some matching silk—or something complementary—I’ll add an accent to the hem.” She rushed back to her room and returned with a nosegay of pale ribbon flowers. Turning Annie back to look in the mirror, she tucked the flowers into the twist at the nape of her neck. “That’ll look nice. I wish I had blue ones, though. They’d look so nice with your eyes. And—one more thing.” Again, she retreated to her room, this time returning with a velvet box.

When she opened the lid, Annie gasped at the stunning array of sparkling blue and silver. She had no idea what the stones were, but from the look of the box, they were incredibly valuable. She pushed it away. “I can’t. It’s too much.”

Lydia insisted. “It’s not ‘too much.’ It’s just right. All the officer’s wives will be showing off their best. Why shouldn’t we? Besides, it isn’t even my best. I’m keeping that for myself.” She draped the jewels about Annie’s neck. “This is simple
and tasteful.” She leaned sideways and looked at Annie in the mirror. “I’m wearing rubies and a claret gown. We’ll look like fire and ice. It’ll be fun. Wade will think he’s dancing with a princess.”

Annie touched the necklace. The only thing missing was a pair of glass slippers.

The morning after Lydia’s success with raisin molasses pie, something clicking against the parlor window accompanied First Call. Pulling her patchwork comforter about her for warmth, Annie rose and padded across the floor to peer out the front window. Sleet had transformed the world into a silver wonderland—at least for those with nothing to do but peer at it from the warmth of their apartments. It would be a treacherous day for everyone else. The stage might be forced to lay over. The thought sent a pang of guilt through Annie, as she thought of George, alone at Clearwater—alone save for Billy and the two or three members of the summer crew who were staying over to try their hand at trapping this winter.

Annie’s concerns grew when, after breakfast with Lydia, she stepped outside and had to navigate the stairs. She made her way to the hospital with careful steps, nearly slipping and falling more than once, until Lieutenant Hart called out for her to wait for him to help her. But when he tried to hurry to her side, he fell on his backside.

“Are you all right?”

“Nothing hurt but my dignity,” he laughed as he righted himself. “Just—wait.”

Annie waited and together they slipped and slid their way to the hospital, laughing so hard by the time they got there they were both out of breath.

“Thank God for bannisters,” the lieutenant said as he handed her off to the railing leading up to the hospital’s front door. “That’s far more dependable than I am at the moment. I hope you get good news inside.”

Frank sensed rather than saw Annie sitting beside his cot. He didn’t open his eyes at first, but rather lay quietly, listening to the clicking of her knitting needles. When he finally did open his eyes, however, he was surprised that the chair beside his bed was empty. So what was clicking? A glance in the direction of the window answered the question.
Sleet
.

Annie peeked around the curtain separating Frank’s cubicle from the rest of the ward.

“Thought you’d still be asleep,” she said.

He nodded toward the window. “I thought you’d borrowed someone’s knitting needles.”

“It’s letting up some,” Annie said, shivering and drawing her shawl close as she settled on the chair next to his cot. “Too bad I didn’t borrow knitting needles. I could have gotten a lot done by now.”

“Check over at the commissary. From what I heard, they have just about anything anyone could want, and they sell to civilians.”

“There’s no point in spending money when I have what I need back at Clearwater.”

“If we ever get back there,” Frank groused.

Dr. Fields stepped into view from just beyond the curtain. “You really don’t like the accommodations here at Fort Kearny, do you?”

“Don’t take it personally,” Frank said.

“Let’s see how you’re doing.” The doctor extended his
index finger and ordered Frank to follow with his eyes as he moved his hand back and forth, up and down. Next, he checked beneath the bandage. Looking over at Annie he said, “If you think you can handle removing the stitches in a few days, I’d be open to letting your brother go today—assuming the weather lets up later this morning.”

“Of course she can do it.”

“I believe the doctor was talking to
me
,” Annie snapped.

Whoa
. Since when did she mind his answering for her? “You killed a rattlesnake with your bare hands. Compared to that, what’s snipping a stitch or two?”

“It’s
twelve
stitches,” Annie said, and then looked at the doctor. “But of course I can do it. As long as the weather improves.”

The doctor nodded. “Take the ride to Clearwater at a nice, steady walk.” He looked over at Frank. “By the time you get there, you’ll probably feel like you just set a hundred-mile speed record for the Pony Express. I’m telling you that so when it happens, you won’t be discouraged. It’s going to take some time for that hard head of yours to return to normal.”

Frank reached for the shirt draped over the back of the chair Annie had been using when she visited.

“You just settle back,” she said firmly. “We’re not running out of here this morning.”

“Well, of course we are. We’re just not running. I heard the doc about that—but—we are leaving. You said you rode Morgan’s buckskin here, right? I’ll just ride”—he glanced at Dr. Fields—“I mean I’ll
walk
Buck to the Pony Express relay station down the road and bring another horse back. Shouldn’t take long at all.”

Annie shook her head. “
I’ll
ride to the relay station and bring back an extra horse.
You’ll
wait here until I have things
sorted out. And we aren’t going anywhere if the weather doesn’t improve.” She thanked the doctor for all he’d done and left to see about the horses.

Moving slowly, Frank finished dressing, surprised at how much effort it took and pondering how bossy Annie had become in recent days. By midmorning, though, he and Annie—along with Lieutenant Hart, who insisted on escorting them—were on their way back to Clearwater.

Fort Kearny had disappeared from view when Frank reached behind him to grasp the cantle, hoping it looked as though he were slouched comfortably in the saddle. The truth was, his head had started to pound. A jackrabbit sprang from behind a bunch of grass. Outlaw snorted and stepped out. Frank had to grab the saddle horn to keep his balance.

Annie looked over, frowning. “When I saw him in the corral at the relay station, I knew you’d want Outlaw, but—I hope he isn’t too much for you.”

“I said I’m fine,” Frank sputtered. If only the world would stop quaking. If only his stomach would settle once and for all. Outlaw’s ears twitched forward. With an instinctive “Whoa, there,” Frank peered at a moving smudge in the distance. Finally, the smudge resolved into a lone horse and rider headed toward them.

Annie had better vision than either of the men. “It’s George!” As soon as he was within earshot, Annie called a hello.

With little more than a nod by way of greeting, Morgan reached inside his coat and withdrew a wrinkled envelope. “News from Emmet.”

When Frank reached for the letter, Annie asked him to read it right away. “At least find out if it’s good news.” She thanked Morgan for making the effort to deliver it. “You could have sent it by stage.”