Summer of Promise (20 page)

She’d been doing exactly that when she’d heard the explosion of fury in the kitchen.

“That’s it!” Mrs. Channing punctuated her words with a slap. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” A yelp and a whimper confirmed the object of her anger. Abigail hurried down the stairs to rescue Puddles from the cook’s ire. When she reached the kitchen, she discovered an overturned barrel of flour and one now-white puppy cowering in the corner.

“If I lay eyes on him again, I’m leaving,” Mrs. Channing announced. “That dog’s a demon.”

He wasn’t, but Abigail knew better than to argue with Mrs. Channing when she was in this mood. Instead, she brushed the flour from Puddles’s fur and tied the leash to his collar. “C’mon, boy. We’re going for a walk. A long walk.”

Not certain how long she would be gone, Abigail placed a jar of water and a hard-boiled egg in a cloth bag, then tied on her sunbonnet. Though the wind had subsided enough that she could have used a parasol, she didn’t want the challenge of trying to hold that, the bag, and Puddles’s leash.

The puppy, convinced that he was being rewarded, scampered at her side, detouring to sniff at a squirrel’s hole, then barking furiously when Abigail dragged him away from the rodent’s home. Though he strained at the leash as they passed a horse, Abigail kept him moving. There would be no riding today. Instead, they would walk until Puddles’s legs were so tired that he would gladly sleep for the rest of the day.

Abigail led the dog across the bridge, laughing as he vacillated between being frightened and fascinated by the sound of water beneath him. “It’s a river,” she told him. “Like a puddle, only bigger.” And far more dangerous, but there was no need to tell the puppy that. He’d discover just how deep the water was when Abigail let him wade into it. Her plan was to walk for at least half an hour, then let Puddles play in the water before they turned around. If all went as planned, not only would Puddles learn about deep water, but the river would wash the remaining flour from his coat.

They were approaching the bend of the river where Abigail had planned to let Puddles have his first aquatic adventure when she saw a woman walking briskly from the opposite direction. There was no mistaking the bright blonde hair that fell luxuriantly over her shoulders or the way she sashayed, a motion Mama would have deplored, declaring that no good woman would move in such an enticing manner. But Mama was not here, and Abigail had been given the opportunity she sought to speak with Leah. She wouldn’t ask whether she had seen Jeffrey last night. Leah probably wouldn’t admit it, even if she had. But if Abigail could find a way to get her away from the hog ranch, that might help not just Leah but Charlotte and Jeffrey too. To do that, they had to talk.

Leah had other ideas. Abigail could tell the moment she recognized her, for Leah turned abruptly and increased her pace to little short of a run.

“Wait for us!” Abigail cried. Puddles, intrigued by the sight of an unfamiliar person, tugged at the leash.

Leah paused. “You shun’t be seen with me,” she said when Abigail and Puddles reached her side. “It ain’t proper.”

Abigail shook her head. “My friends are my choice, and I choose you.”

A hint of moisture sparkled in Leah’s eyes, making Abigail wonder if she had anyone she considered a friend. Perhaps to hide the tears, Leah bent down and petted Puddles. “Ain’t he the cutest thing?”

Abigail chuckled. “His name is Puddles, and there’s at least one person who does not consider him cute.” As Abigail recounted his adventure with the flour bin and Mrs. Channing’s anger, Leah smiled.

“That’s what puppies do.” She knelt next to Puddles and placed her hands on both sides of his snout. “You didn’t mean to make the nice lady angry, did you?” As if he understood, Puddles gave a short bark, then licked Leah’s face.

The dog still needed a bath, and seeing Leah’s rapport with him gave Abigail an idea. “It looks as if you’ve had experience with dogs.”

Leah nodded. “There were lots of dogs on the farm. Pa used to let me play with them.” A wistful note filled her voice.

“Do you have any now?”

She shook her head. “Peg won’t let us. I don’t reckon she likes animals too much. I heard tell she complained when the first cat took up residence, until one of the girls told her cats eat mice. Now we have two. Cats, not mice. That’s all.”

“It’s time for Puddles to learn how to swim. Do you want to help me?”

Leah’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. You seem to know a lot more about dogs than I do. You’ll be helping both Puddles and me.”

With a quick nod, Leah took Puddles’s leash. “Let’s go visit the river.” When they reached the bank, she sat on the ground, giving Puddles only enough rope to wade into the shallow water. The puppy, attracted by the sound of the current and the smell of wet grass, rushed in bravely, then fled when the cool water hit his belly.

“He sure is the cutest thing. I wish Peg would let me have a dog.”

“Is Peg the owner of the hog ranch?” Abigail didn’t want to make any assumptions.

Leah nodded. “I heard tell she’s got a partner, some man none of us ever seen. He comes at night when we’re busy, but we always know when he’s been there, cuz we can smell his cigars. Phew!” Leah pinched her nose in apparent distaste. “I reckon we’re lucky that he’s the only one with cigars like that. We hate ’em, just like we hate what we do.”

Though Mama had taught her not to pry, Abigail could not stop herself from asking, “Why do you work there?”

Leah turned to face her. “There ain’t nothin’ else I can do. When my folks died, it turned out they was behind on payments.” Leah’s lips tightened. “The bank done took the farm, and there weren’t nowhere for me to go. I ain’t got no schoolin’, and there weren’t no man askin’ to marry me.” Leah gave Abigail a fierce look. “Don’t go feelin’ sorry for me. I’m still alive, and it could be worse. Peg don’t beat us or nothin’, and when she goes off to visit that sister of hers, no one minds if I take a walk.”

Despite Leah’s admonition, Abigail pitied her. “Is Peg gone now?”

Leah nodded. “She left three days ago. I reckon her sister is poorly again. I heard tell she gets spells, and only Peg can help. It’s lucky for her Peg is willin’ to go.”

Abigail thought of how she’d traveled more than halfway across the country to see her sister. “Do you have any sisters or brothers?”

“No, ma’am. I’m all alone.”

Abigail shook her head. “Not anymore. I’m here, and I want to help you.”

“How?”

Abigail had no answer.

11

A
re you certain you want me to attend?” Abigail looked up from the tiny sandwiches she was arranging on a silver platter. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but you know I can’t sew well.” Unfortunately, this afternoon was the monthly meeting of the Fort Laramie Officers’ Wives’ Sewing Circle. Had the location been anywhere other than Charlotte’s home, it would have been easy to simply not attend, but short of feigning illness, there was no way to avoid the gathering.

Charlotte’s eyes widened, as if she were surprised by her sister’s question. Perhaps she was surprised by the repetition, for this wasn’t the first time Abigail had asked. “Of course I want you here.” Charlotte opened a jar of pickles and began to arrange them on a small plate. “Nothing you could do would embarrass me.”

Abigail wasn’t certain about that. Her sister might find her friendship with Leah embarrassing, particularly if what Abigail feared was true and Jeffrey had been frequenting the hog ranch. That was why Abigail had not mentioned meeting Leah when she and Puddles had been out walking. By the time Abigail had returned, Charlotte had abandoned her bed and was downstairs, placating Mrs. Channing. It was not an easy task, and Abigail hadn’t wanted to complicate the day, especially since it had begun so poorly.

Even now, two days later, she chose not to tell her sister about Leah, though she had spent hours trying to think of a way to help the young woman. It was frustrating that she’d been unable to suggest anything to aid Ethan in his search for the kidnapped widow, but surely there was something she could do for Leah. The poor woman had nothing—and no one. But today was a day for Charlotte, and so Abigail focused on the sewing bee.

“I hope your baby won’t mind all the uneven stitches.” Abigail had purchased a length of flannel at the sutler’s store and was making a sacque and bonnet for her sister’s child.

Charlotte’s somber expression turned into a smile. “The baby won’t know anything other than that the clothes are warm and clean and dry. I, on the other hand, will cherish them as a gift from the baby’s aunt.” Her smile broadened. “And don’t worry about your stitching. I probably shouldn’t say this, but yours will not be the most crooked stitches. Mrs. Montgomery is worse than you with a needle.”

“The poor woman!”

An hour later, half a dozen women were gathered in Charlotte’s parlor, their sewing bags still unopened as they discussed the latest happenings at the fort.

“I’m appalled, simply appalled, by the kidnapping,” one woman said as she accepted a cup of tea from Charlotte. “Why, I told my Thomas, I wouldn’t feel comfortable going to Cheyenne again unless he accompanies me. He tried to comfort me, but I could tell that he was just as worried. Ladies, I don’t know about you, but I’m staying right here until the Army can guarantee me that it’s safe to travel again.”

The other women nodded and murmured their assent. “It’s a downright shame,” Mrs. Montgomery said as she polished her spectacles. “I wanted a new gown, but Lieutenant Montgomery and I agreed it wasn’t worth the risk. What is this world coming to?” She turned to Abigail. “I trust you’re not planning to return to Vermont until all this is settled.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not. I don’t plan to leave until the end of the summer.”

Perhaps Charlotte noticed Abigail’s uneasiness, and that was why she smiled at her guests and said, “Shall we discuss something more pleasant? I heard that the new administration building will be completed in October. I thought we should plan a celebration.”

“Indeed.” Mrs. Alcott nodded. “Perhaps we could have a reception.”

“Another dance might be pleasant,” Mrs. Montgomery offered.

As a spirited discussion of the merits of dances versus receptions ensued, Abigail settled back in her chair, noting that no one had begun to stitch. Perhaps the attraction of the sewing circle was not the sewing but the coffee, cake, and companionship. She couldn’t fault the women for that when she herself found that many of the days dragged. Even talking to Charlotte and taking Puddles on long walks weren’t enough to banish the boredom.

Two soldiers walked by the house, their heavily accented voices carrying through the open window. Mrs. Alcott frowned. “I don’t understand why the Army accepted those men.”

“Which ones?” Charlotte, who had returned to the kitchen for a fresh pot of tea, had not heard the soldiers’ conversation.

“The illiterates.” Her frown deepening, Mrs. Alcott continued. “Lieutenant Alcott told me some of them can’t read a word of English. That’s disgraceful.”

“I agree.” Mrs. Montgomery seconded her friend’s assessment. “Why, Lieutenant Montgomery said the same thing. He orders regulations to be posted, and those men don’t read them. It’s a serious problem, and someone needs to fix it.”

Abigail pressed her lips together to keep from smiling as ideas began to whirl through her brain. The men’s problem just might be the answer to one of hers.

Two hours later, when the women had gathered their sewing bags and left, having sewn a few seams and devoured the tiny sandwiches and cakes Abigail and Charlotte had prepared, Abigail turned to her sister. “Do you think the Army would let me teach the men to read?”

Charlotte looked surprised, but she tipped her head to one side, considering. “You’ll be here less than two more months.”

“But two months are better than none.”

A faint smile crossed Charlotte’s face. “You sound as if you’ve thought it through, and all you want is my approval.”

“It’s true that I want your approval, but I hadn’t formed any real plans. When the women started complaining about the illiteracy problem, it reminded me of Corporal Keller and his teacher.” As she recounted her conversation with him, Abigail’s pulse began to race with anticipation. If she couldn’t resolve Ethan’s or Leah’s problems, perhaps she could make a difference in some of the men’s lives. And maybe, just maybe, that would somehow help Ethan.

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Mama was right when she said you’re a lot like Papa.”

This was the first time Abigail had heard that. “In what way?”

“You think you can solve everyone’s problems.” As Abigail started to protest, Charlotte held up a cautioning hand. “It’s true. You came out here because you thought something was wrong and you could fix it. Then you met that unfortunate woman from the hog ranch, and you wanted to change her life. Now it’s the immigrant soldiers. Mama said Papa was like that too. He wouldn’t admit that there were some problems only God could fix. He kept trying to change everything, and all he did was get the parishioners so riled that they asked him to leave.”

Abigail had not heard this story. “I thought it was because of his opinions.”

“That was part of it. When he saw a problem, he’d decide what the solution should be, and he wouldn’t rest until everyone agreed with him. But sometimes they didn’t agree—like the time he tried to abolish child labor at the textile mill.”

Abigail nodded. She’d been eleven at the time, old enough to have vivid memories of the church elders storming into the parsonage and demanding that they leave immediately. It had been Mama who’d convinced them to let the family stay until the end of the week.

Charlotte laid her hand on Abigail’s. “Don’t repeat Papa’s mistakes. Make sure this is what God wants you to do.”

Abigail nodded as she said, “I’ll ask him.”

Ethan looked at the woman who stood next to him at the edge of the river. Though she looked like a sailor in that navy dress with the white trim, and though the hat perched on her head had a jaunty angle to it, the concentration on her face reminded him of a child trying to learn a particularly difficult lesson. If he’d had any doubt that she was a novice, the way she held the pole would have quashed that. Perhaps he’d been wrong in suggesting they spend the morning doing this, but when she’d admitted that she was bored by morning calls and afternoon sewing circles, he’d thought this might be a way to alleviate her ennui.

“I find it difficult to believe you’ve never fished,” he said lightly as he reached for the jar of bait. It was the perfect morning for fishing. Though the river was lower than it had been a month ago, it was still deep enough that fish lurked near the rocks. A light breeze stirred the cottonwood leaves, and a songbird warbled overhead. Best of all, since there were no other fishermen in sight, Abigail would not have to worry about displaying her lack of experience.

“Aren’t there rivers in Vermont?” he asked.

She gave him a look that would have discouraged a man who didn’t realize she was feigning indignation. “Of course there are. Ponds too. It’s just that I never learned how to fish. Papa was more interested in books.”

“Which is why you can speak French and German but can’t bait a hook.”

“Exactly.” Abigail’s mouth quirked into a teasing smile. “Besides, why would I admit that I know how to impale worms when ignorance means that you’ll do the messy work?” She glanced at the open jar, then wrinkled her nose.

“Taking advantage of me, are you?”

“If I were, I’d never own up to it, would I?” Abigail handed him her fishing pole but averted her head when he reached for a worm.

Ethan chuckled at the realization that the woman who had stared down bandits was squeamish over baiting a hook. Perhaps it was simply her compassionate nature that made her pity the worm. Whatever the reason, Abigail’s exaggerated expression of horror made him laugh, and that felt good.

Life at the fort, particularly since the most recent stagecoach robbery and kidnapping, had been a bit grim. Even the hotly contested baseball games had not managed to lift the pall that had fallen over the garrison, and so it was a welcome relief to laugh. Ethan would have enjoyed that under any circumstances, but sharing laughter with Abigail was particularly pleasant. Her smile made his pulse race, and when she laughed at something he said, Ethan felt as if he’d won an important battle.

“Does that mean you expect me to clean the fish too?” he demanded, matching her mocking tone.

She shook her head. “If we catch any, and I must admit I consider that an unlikely event, but if we do catch a fish, I imagine Mrs. Channing knows how to clean it.”

“That sounds as if you don’t.”

“I don’t.”

Ethan handed her the pole, then baited his own hook. “So, Miss Harding,” he teased, “what do you do if you don’t fish or cook?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I never said I couldn’t cook. And I simply have not had the opportunity”—she gave the word an ironic twist—“to learn how to clean a fish. That wasn’t part of the classical education my father thought his daughters needed.”