Summer of Promise (24 page)

“You’re right,” she said, giving Ethan her warmest smile. “A new home is a wonderful idea. It wouldn’t be forever—only until we could convince Mrs. Channing that he’s not so bad.” Abigail leaned forward, trying to lessen the distance between her and Ethan. Mama had always said that proximity aided in persuasion, and today she needed every ounce of persuasion she could muster. “Will you do it, Ethan? Will you take Puddles?”

“Me?” Ethan’s look of incredulity left no doubt that he had had no intention of volunteering to be Puddles’s savior. “I live in one room. I’m hardly ever there, and I know nothing about caring for dogs. Taking him would be a bad idea.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” The more Abigail thought about it, the better the idea seemed. “Puddles knows you, and he likes you. If he stayed with you, he wouldn’t be frightened. Oh, Ethan, this would be good for him.”

“What about me?”

It wasn’t an outright refusal, and that was good. Surely it meant that he was considering the possibility. “This would be good for you too. Please, Ethan. He’s such a sweet dog, and I promise it will only be for a month or so. If we don’t find another solution, I’ll take him back to Vermont with me.” Abigail started to rise. As she had intended, Ethan hurried to her side of the table to pull out her chair. She turned and gave him her most persuasive smile. “Please.”

“It’s against my better judgment, but . . .” Though he tried to frown, Abigail saw amusement in Ethan’s eyes.

“You’ll do it?” she asked, hoping she’d understood his change of heart. While not perfect, this would be a good solution for Charlotte, and Abigail couldn’t help but believe that Ethan would enjoy having a pet.

“Yes. I’ll probably regret it, but . . .”

“You won’t. I know you won’t. Oh, Ethan, thank you!” Impulsively, Abigail leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his cheek. An instant later, she drew back in shock. What had she done? First she had hugged him. Now a kiss. What was happening to her?

Mama would have been horrified, for Abigail’s behavior was outside the range of decorum. Abigail was horrified too, but for different reasons. She had never kissed Woodrow, for she knew the rules and had always followed them. Why, then, had she kissed Ethan? And why, oh why, had it felt so right?

“That’s a cute little mutt.” Oliver bent down to scratch Puddles’s head before he settled himself onto a chair.

Ethan frowned as much at the interruption as the description of Puddles as cute. He’d had the dog in his room for less than an hour, and the puppy had already chewed a sock and dragged two towels onto the floor, worrying them into a pile, then flopped on top of his makeshift bed and looked up at Ethan with those mournful eyes, as if seeking approval. He hadn’t received it, for all the while he’d been tearing around Ethan’s room, he’d barked and yipped enough to attract the attention of everyone else in the building. Ethan didn’t want that kind of attention. What he wanted was some peace and quiet.

The other men had merely laughed and continued on their way, but Oliver had entered Ethan’s room and appeared to be prepared for a long visit. Puddles didn’t need the distraction, nor did Ethan. He had other things to think about—things like his new pet and Abigail’s kiss.

The dog was temporary, or so she had promised, but the kiss . . . Ethan sighed. It had meant nothing. It was simply the result of Abigail—impulsive Abigail—expressing her gratitude. It meant no more than the hug she’d given him the day they had fished. Ethan knew that, and yet he couldn’t forget how soft her lips had felt against his cheek and how sweet she had smelled. He wanted time to think. Time alone to replace the memory with the reminder that she was promised—almost promised—to Woodrow. But it appeared he would not have that time soon, for there was no easy way to discourage Oliver.

“The problem is, Puddles won’t be little for long,” Ethan said as calmly as he could. “It seems he’s already twice as big as he was a month ago.” He shook his head. “I should never have agreed to take him, but I didn’t want to disappoint Charlotte.” Or Abigail. It had been Abigail’s plea that had convinced him to assume responsibility for Puddles.

Oliver continued to stroke Puddles’s head, then when the puppy rolled onto his back, he scratched his stomach, setting the dog to wiggling with delight as he said, “He’s a good companion.”

Abigail had said that too. “I don’t need a companion.”

“Everyone does. That’s why most of us look for wives.” Oliver was back to his favorite topic. Pretty soon, he’d talk about Adam and Eve, then Noah and the ark. Ethan only hoped he wouldn’t propose a canine companion for Puddles. But Oliver did not recount any Bible tales. Instead, he pursed his lips as if he’d eaten something sour. “I wish I could find the right woman.” Puddles, who seemed keenly attuned to human moods, began to whine.

“I thought you had.”

Oliver stroked his nose. “Abigail? That’s over.”

Ethan looked at his friend. Had he been mistaken? Had the kiss Oliver had pressed on Abigail’s hand been not a gesture of undying love but rather one of farewell?

“She refused me.” Oliver’s lips twisted into a caricature of a smile. “I don’t mind saying, it’s not a pleasant experience. It makes me think I ought to stick to the girls at the hog ranch.”

“You know the dangers.”

“You’re not my father, Ethan, so don’t preach at me. At least the girls there pretend they love me. Abigail never did.”

“That’s because she wasn’t the right woman for you.”

Unfortunately, the woman with the heart as big as Wyoming wasn’t the right one for Ethan, either.

Abigail stared down at the blank piece of paper, the same piece of paper she’d pulled from the desk drawer fifteen minutes ago. She was supposed to be writing a letter to Woodrow. When she’d sat down, she had planned to tell him about the incident with Puddles, turning the spilled beets into an amusing story, but each time she picked up her pen, the only thought that whirled through her brain was the memory of how she’d kissed Ethan. It had been nothing more than a peck on the cheek, not enough to have given Mama the vapors, though she would have delivered a stern lecture over the possible consequences of Abigail’s being so forward.

One second. Less than a second. That’s all the longer the kiss had lasted. A reasonable person would have been able to dismiss the memory, relegating it to the scrap heap the way she did other insignificant events. Abigail had always considered herself a reasonable person, but try though she might, she could not forget what she’d done. Instead, she kept remembering how firm Ethan’s cheek had been, how the faint hint of whiskers had seemed somehow intriguing, how his skin had smelled of soap and fresh air and an underlying scent that was unique to him. Instead of being sensible, she was acting like a lovesick schoolgirl.

14

F
rances pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling them. Though the man probably expected her to offer him whiskey, there would be none today. Whiskey was a reward for a job well done. The man she had summoned for a reprimand hadn’t done his job at all, much less well. That was why Frances held the cards. She knew the sound reminded her visitor of the times he’d sat in this room, watching his stack of chips dwindle and with it his hopes for instant riches. It would grate on his nerves. Good. Excellent. Success depended on keeping the others off balance, and if there was one thing Frances knew, it was that she would not let success slip through her fingers. The man who now had beads of perspiration popping out on his forehead could be replaced. No one was indispensable, no one except Frances herself.

“I heard a nasty rumor,” she said, watching his expression while her fingers continued to play with the cards. “I heard that Lieutenant Bowles recommended that the captain put at least one soldier on every stagecoach between here and Cheyenne.”

The man’s eyes widened, confirming what she feared. He’d known nothing of the new plan. What a fool! He should have known, and even if he didn’t, he should have pretended that he did. It was little wonder he was such a poor poker player. A man who couldn’t master the art of concealing his emotions didn’t deserve to win at poker or anything else.

“Seems to me you should have known, seeing as how he’s your friend.” Frances gave the cards another quick shuffle, just to watch her visitor squirm. “I’ve got two questions for you: why didn’t I hear about it from you, and what are you going to do to stop it?”

As she’d expected, the man had no answers.

Ethan was not happy. He’d spent the day thinking about Private Schiller and the robberies and had begun to feel as if he were acting like Puddles. Ethan had given the puppy a bone, expecting him to devour it. Instead Puddles had moved his treat around, looking at it from every angle, taking a quick gnaw on one corner, then another, all the while regarding it with a combination of curiosity and concern. Did he fear that Ethan would snatch it away, or was he simply wondering how to consume such a huge object? Ethan didn’t know. All he knew was that the problem of the firearm and stagecoach robberies loomed as large to him as the bone did to Puddles, and there was much less anticipation involved.

While he wanted to resolve the mystery, Ethan disliked the direction his thoughts had taken. Like Puddles, he’d circled the question, gnawing at it from different directions, but no matter what he did, no matter how he looked at it, he kept coming to the same conclusion. It made sense to him. The question was, would it make sense to anyone else?

“Jeffrey, I need to talk to you for a minute,” he said when supper was finished. It had been an odd meal. Ethan had been preoccupied, and that had made even casual conversation difficult. Add to that the fact that, while Abigail was visibly excited about her impending class, Charlotte had been almost totally silent, perhaps because of the absence of her dog. And although Jeffrey had eaten with gusto, apparently unaffected by the others’ moods, he had said little.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry.” As they walked onto the porch, Jeffrey gestured toward the left. “I’m headed to the Officers’ Club. Tonight’s poker night, and I don’t want to be late.”

Ethan had forgotten. “I can wait until morning.”

Jeffrey shook his head. “No. Go ahead now. Otherwise, I’ll just keep wondering what the problem is.”

“I didn’t say there was a problem.”

“But there is, isn’t there?” When Ethan nodded, Jeffrey grinned. “I could tell by the tone of your voice that whatever it was, it was troubling you. I hope it has nothing to do with my sister-in-law or that dog.”

“It doesn’t.” Ethan took a deep breath, then said, “I think someone at the fort is involved in the robberies.”

The blood drained from Jeffrey’s face, leaving his freckles in sharp relief against his pale skin. “That’s ridiculous! Where did you come up with a crazy idea like that? We know Schiller is responsible.”

That was the reaction Ethan had feared. “I don’t think he’s working alone. He’s not smart enough, and he wouldn’t know the guards’ schedule. Whoever took the firearms had to know when they wouldn’t be guarded, and that changes every week.” Ethan continued to outline his reasoning, watching his friend’s face. As the color returned, Jeffrey nodded slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the distance. “It sounds pretty far-fetched to me, but I’ll be on the lookout.” Abruptly, he descended the steps and turned to the right.

Ethan blinked in surprise. “The Officers’ Club is that way.”

Jeffrey pivoted on his heel. “Oh . . . right.” He let out a brittle laugh. “See what distraction does?”

“Good evening, gentlemen.” To Abigail’s relief, her voice sounded normal as she greeted her class. She looked around the former bakery that now served as the post’s school. Fourteen of the fifteen students she had expected were seated at tables, their expressions ranging from cautious to eager. Though some of the soldiers were conversing among themselves, most sat stiffly, their tension palpable.

“We will begin our lesson with reading.” Picking up a McGuffey’s Reader from the table that served as her desk, she said, “This is the same book I used when I learned to read. Fortunately for me, you’re more advanced than I was, because you already know the alphabet.” As several men grinned, Abigail sensed that the tension was dissipating. Apparently they had been as apprehensive as she was. Abigail smiled at the realization that the first day of school was always a strain for pupils, regardless of their age.

“Let’s get started. We’re going to go around the room, and each one of you will read a sentence.” It was a technique she had used with her youngest pupils when she’d discovered their attention wandering. “We’ll spell out the unfamiliar words, and everyone will pronounce them. My father made me do that when he taught me German. He told me it wasn’t enough to be able to read the words; I had to know how to pronounce them correctly.” Abigail flashed a rueful smile. “You should have heard me say ‘
willkommen
’ the first time.” She gave the German greeting an exaggerated American accent, hoping for and receiving a big laugh from the class in response. “Now, let’s begin.”

By the end of an hour, Abigail saw signs of fatigue on her students’ faces and knew that they’d reached their limits for the day. It must be difficult, she thought, to spend the entire day working at Army business, especially when that business included heavy labor like cutting timber or helping construct a new building, and still have any energy left for learning. It was one thing for the men to practice baseball in the evenings. That was a welcome change from the day’s routine, and the physical exertion was nothing more than a continuation of the drills they’d performed during the day. But school demanded mental acuity while sitting almost motionless, a difficult task at any time but much more so at the end of the day.

Abigail closed her book and smiled at the soldiers. “You did exceptionally well, and now I’m going to say those words you’ve been waiting for: class dismissed.”

Before anyone could move, Corporal Keller rose. “This vas good, very good. Thank you, Miss Harding.”

As the sound of applause filled the room, Abigail felt her spirits rise. She might not have been able to help Leah today; she might be confused about Woodrow; she might still be worried about her sister; but at least she had been able to start the men on the path to learning. There was no doubt that this was part of the reason God had led her to Wyoming.

“Oh, Charlotte, it was wonderful,” Abigail told her sister a few minutes later. “I would not have thought it possible, but this was much more fun than teaching children.” The pleasure she had felt working with Leah had not been a fluke. Tonight had been even more rewarding.

Abigail pirouetted, letting her skirts swirl around her high-buttoned shoes. “And it’s all due to you. Every time I looked at this beautiful new frock, I smiled, and that helped the soldiers relax.”

As she had hoped, Charlotte smiled, but the smile appeared forced.

“Is something wrong?” Though there was no evidence of tears, her sister was visibly upset.

“No, it’s just that I wish . . .”

“What do you wish?”

Charlotte’s face crumpled. “I wish Puddles were here.”

“Let’s go see him. Ethan won’t mind. In fact, he’ll be grateful if we take him for a walk.” Puddles was probably already driving him slightly crazy. As Ethan had said, he lived in one room, and the puppy was accustomed to a much larger space.

But although Abigail thought it was a good idea, Charlotte did not. “I can’t. It’ll only make it worse. I won’t want to leave him there.” Charlotte rose, her movements that of a far older woman. “Why don’t you go? I’m going to try to sleep.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

“I’m sure.” Charlotte closed the distance between them and hugged Abigail. “I’m glad your class went well. I’m happy for you. Truly I am.”

But that did not disguise the fact that Charlotte was not happy for herself. Though it was probably a combination of what Mama would have called Charlotte’s “delicate condition” and the loss of Puddles, knowing that didn’t mean Abigail could change it.

Since there was nothing more she could do for her sister tonight, she tied her bonnet ribbons, pulled on her gloves, and set out for the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters. Though it would not be seemly for her to go inside, the BOQ was close enough to the sutler’s store and the Officers’ Club that there were bound to be men walking by who could tell Ethan of her arrival.

As she rounded the corner past the commanding officer’s quarters, Abigail smiled. She wouldn’t have to send a messenger, for there they were. The tall lieutenant was unmistakable, as was the black and tan puppy straining against the leash. Both were headed in her direction.