Woman of Three Worlds (7 page)

“There's not much other recreation for them except baseball,” Mrs. Shaw said soothingly. “After all, Mrs. Taunton, most of them are young, and there's no nearby town where they can go for entertainment.”

“But the drunkenness!”

“Colonel Shaw feels,” said his wife firmly, “that Mr. DeLong fills a great need in supplying a decent, honest place where men can socialize.” She offered Regina more tea. “Are you nicely moved in, my dear?”

“Yes, though we're sorely crowded,” began Regina. She began to complain of the children's partitioned room when Gertrude Fenwick, the surgeon's wife, gave a toss of her tight taffy curls.

“You're lucky these quarters have floors, or you'd be up to your ears in mud when it rains. I was ranked into a hall at our first post and had our first baby there. You've little to fret about, Regina, but when you're tempted, it might help to remember that your choice of quarters advances with your husband's rank and eventually you'll be cursed by young wives for having the nicest dwelling—which, of course, you'll feel you've earned!”

She helped herself to another scone. Mrs. Shaw bridged the awkwardness. “We lived in a doubled tent for one Nevada winter,” she laughed. “The problem was keeping from freezing without burning down the shelter. At Camp Supply, the floors were dirt, so damp that mushrooms grew overnight. Up at Fort Fetterman, we lived in a dugout.” She paused, glancing around and said slowly, “Still, we were together. And because we were, each of those places was home.”

On the way back to the Graveses' quarters, Regina said crossly, “It's all very well for her to romanticize being together and in love in a dugout! They never had children. And she has a spare bedroom, that lovely big parlor, a maid and a striker! I'll wager when she was a second lieutenant's wife and pushed about by everyone that she wasn't so philosophical.”

Brittany suspected that Miranda Shaw had never been a whiner but it seemed impolitic to tell her cousin that, so they walked on in silence.

The detachment returned a week later without having glimpsed an Apache. “Zach Tyrell left the column when we rode north of his ranch this morning,” explained Edward to Brittany, wisely picking a moment when his wife was out of the room. “But he said to tell you he'll be in for the dance this Saturday.”

Regina returned before Brittany could say that Tyrell's whereabouts were none of her concern, which saved her from a lie. The truth was that he was seldom out of her mind, and she'd spent that week alternately worrying about his safety and devising withering speeches to deliver when she next saw him.

Of course, she'd been busy otherwise too, helping Regina settle into new quarters and beginning lessons with the children. Neither could do more than the most elementary sums, and Angela couldn't read much better than Ned, who was in McGuffey's primer. Her writing was almost as bad as her spelling. Brittany did her best to make lessons interesting, and Ned responded, though he had a plodding mind. Angela was quick but flighty. The only way to get her to study was to say that they were staying in the parlor-classroom till she'd satisfactorily completed her various stints.

“Sergeant Meadows wasn't mean, like you!” the elfbeautiful child hurled at Brittany. “He never checked papers or made us read out loud.”

“Perhaps that's why your mother decided you needed another teacher,” Brittany said with pleasant firmness.

“But Hattie's knocked
twice
!”

“Yes, she's waiting for you to come out, so why don't you apply yourself?”

Angela shot her teacher-cousin a spiteful glance but attacked her division problems and was soon finished. Brittany sighed as she watched her run out and link arms with black-braided, skinny Hattie Fenwick, who didn't attend school at all, because her mother considered her too delicate.

Schooling at Camp Bowie, as at most frontier posts, was rather casual. The school served as a library, a chapel on Sunday, and a courts-martial room when required. Sergeant Meadows got extra pay of thirty-five cents a day for his exertions and still had to carry out his regular duties, including his turn at guard. Another sergeant had classes at night for the enlisted men. The post commander strictly prohibited favoritism to officers' children, though they were not required to attend school, as were children of enlisted men.

This seemed peculiar to Brittany, but she was rapidly learning the ways of military life and becoming familiar with the small world of the post.

One thing that took some getting used to was using the adobe “sink,” or toilet, set out behind their quarters. Except for an attached chicken coop, there was no screening of trees or fences, and for a while Brittany looked to make sure no men were around before she dashed for the little building.

The parade ground where the flag was raised in the morning and lowered to “Taps” at night was where guard mount was performed in dress uniform before breakfast, in midafternoon, and before “Taps.” Because it slanted a lot, drill was held on flatter areas.

There was stable call down at the corrals every afternoon. Dressed in stable frocks of unbleached drilling, troopers groomed their mounts, oiled and polished riding gear, and cleaned the stables. Each corral had its own blacksmith's shop, granary, farrier's and saddler's rooms. The cavalry barracks, kitchen, and mess were catercorner across the parade ground from Officers' Row, in front of the corrals. The granary, quartermaster's storehouse, guardhouse, and bakery were between the cavalry complex and hospital, which flanked the school next to the adjutant's office, or headquarters, the official center of the post.

The social center was the post trader's, operated by Sidney DeLong, a pleasant gentleman who had a reputation for honesty, though wares were necessarily expensive because of freighting costs. Next to his office were two rooms where officers could play billiards and cards, and there was a bar for enlisted men.

The store carried things not available at the quartermaster's: imported delicacies, canned fruits, tobacco, sewing supplies, medicines, shoe blacking, dishes, utensils, soap, and items like Van Buskirk's Fragrant Sozodent, a dentifrice promised to keep “teeth pearly white, the gums rosy, and the breath sweet.” There were shelves of beverages, imported Irish soda water and root beer concentrate, Guiness stout, Schlitz and Anheuser beer, champagne, wine, and whiskey.

The impending dance had sent all the women, from Mrs. Shaw to the laundresses, flocking to the store for the wherewithal to furbish their best dresses.

“It's too vexing!” Regina grumbled, eyeing the array of trims and ornaments. “Precious little to choose from and all priced sky-high!”

Brittany didn't answer, though she wished she had a little pocket money to spend on lace to freshen the sleeves and collar of her shabby best blue dress. Apparently, the notion of giving Brittany a small wage for her governess—maid-of-all-work chores had never occurred to Regina, and Brittany shrank from asking.

While Regina fretfully held up and discarded braid, ribbons, frills, and beading, Brittany enjoyed sniffing blended odors and studied labels on everything from Jamaica Ginger to Vermifuge and Vaseline.

A broad pink arm reached in front of Regina to extract a yellow silk rose from the merchandise. Regina looked down her nose as much as was possible at a woman who towered over her. “Pray have the goodness to let me examine that flower,” she snapped.

“Dearie, I've got one tub of clothes in the boiler and another ready to wring out,” returned the woman good-naturedly. She held the rose against her carroty hair and pursed her lips as she studied the effect. “You got all day. I don't.”

“Why, you rude, pushy—”

The orange-haired woman shook her head in regret. “Don't suit.” She dropped the rose in front of Regina. “You can have it, mum.”

“After you've mauled it around?” Regina snapped, cheeks crimson.

The woman had beautiful violet eyes, dimples in her plump cheeks, and a gap-toothed grin, which broadened. “Much as my hands stay in water and soap, they're cleaner than yours, dearie.” She picked up a massed bow of brown velvet and called to the trader, “Mr. DeLong, will you trust me for this till payday?”

“Happy to, Mrs. O'Malley,” said the dark-bearded, moustached trader, whose wavy hair was gray at the sides. “Need snuff for Patrick?”

“Don't worry about that one running short,” she chuckled. “But you might put a few beers on the tab. Schlitz.”

“Right you are.” The trader handed over the bottles and bow. “That brown velvet will really set off your hair,” he complimented. “Save a dance for me.”

“You bet I will,” she laughed and strode out, her vitality attracting admiring glances from several men, though “healthy” was the most praise that could be given to her looks.

DeLong, still smiling, turned to Regina. “Have you decided, ma'am?”

“Thank you,” she said icily, “but I'm not interested in goods that have been handled by everyone at the post.” As his jaw dropped she swept toward the door but froze in the entrance.

“Zach Tyrell!” she muttered almost beneath her breath. “Lord save us! He's got an Apache brat!”

Brittany didn't know how much she'd hoped that Tyrell would call at the Graveses' quarters till she saw him ride away from headquarters. His rescue of her would have been excuse enough to inquire. But there he went, back as straight as any cavalryman's, though with a loose easiness in his posture. He didn't even glance around.

Perhaps, she told herself irefully, he'd rescued another woman by now and was flirting with her. “I wonder where he found that Indian child,” she ventured to Regina.

“Edward will tell us at noon.” Regina's brow furrowed. “Can you sew, Brittany? Since I couldn't find a pretty trim for my green dress, I'll have to wear my gray, and the hem needs turning up just a trifle to hide where it's worn.”

Edward's news of Tyrell's report was disquieting. “He tended to things at his ranch after our patrol and then managed to locate the raiders' trail down in Skeleton Canyon. Crossed the Mexican border and encountered Mexican soldiers who'd skirmished with the Apaches and captured this child. They say that the fiercest Apache leaders didn't surrender and go to San Carlos. Instead, Geronimo, Juh, and other chiefs are down in the Sierra Madre with perhaps four hundred followers. Even figuring lots of them are women and children, it would seem we're in for trouble.”

Regina's eyes dilated with fright. “You mean that after all that hullabaloo, Agent Clum took peaceful Chiricahuas up to the reservation while the renegades are still on the prowl?”

“I'm afraid so,” Edward said unhappily. “Anyway, Tyrell didn't like to see the Apache child condemned to what would be a life of slavery, so he bought him.”

“And dumped him here?”

“After all, my dear, a bachelor's ranch is scarcely a good place for a five-year-old, especially when Tyrell's gone so much.”

“That little savage had better not give our children lice or some horrible disease!” Regina flashed. “I suppose he'll be sent to the reservation?”

Edward rubbed his moustache. “That's up to Colonel Shaw. This morning he seemed to favor keeping the boy here and attempting to civilize him.”

“That's insane!”

“Please, my love—”

“If he molests Ned or Angela, I shall write direct to General Kautz,” Regina vowed. “I suppose the little wretch has been assigned to a laundress—as if they were civilized themselves!”

“No. It would seem the Shaws are taking him in.”

Regina gaped. “How
can
they? Mrs. Shaw's younger brother, just out of West Point, was killed by Apaches during one of Crook's campaigns.”

“All the same, she pities the lad.”

“She doesn't have any children he can infect or murder!”

“Regina!”

She caught in her breath. “Oh, I know! The commander and his wife can do as they please and the rest of us have to put up with it! But I warn you, Edward, if he molests Ned or Angela—”

“They're both much bigger than he is, my dear,” sighed Edward. He turned to Brittany with a ponderously teasing look. “Lieutenant O'Shea can't wait till the dance to meet you, Cousin Brittany. He's asked permission to take you riding in the safe vicinity of the post. I told him he must apply to you.”

“I don't know how to ride,” Brittany protested.

“All the better for O'Shea,” chuckled Edward. “He'll enjoy holding your hands as he shows you how to manage the reins.”

“Brittany's here to teach the children, not lollygag about with harum-scarum young officers,” Regina said coldly.

“I've noticed that she does a lot more than teach, Regina. Good Lord, she must have some recreation!”

He excused himself and returned to his duties. As Brittany rose and began to clear the table, Regina gave an annoyed shrug. “People would gossip if you weren't allowed to ride occasionally or engage in some innocent diversions. Now that we're settled in, you may consider the time between afternoon lessons and supper as your own.”

Brittany had never expected to be a full-time unpaid servant, but it seemed prudent to say, “Thank you, Regina. I'm sure it's best to have an understanding.”

First Lieutenant Michael O'Shea, Third Cavalry, U.S. Army, presented himself that very afternoon, accepted lemonade, and complimented Regina on her having so quickly made the new quarters attractive.

“It's a gift you have, ma'am, the more astonishing in one so pretty.” The gold cord frogs and sleeve loops on his coat were the color of his tousled hair and fluffy sideburns, while the blue of his coat matched his sparkling eyes. He grinned infectiously at Brittany. “May I say, Mrs. Graves, that your cousin lives up to the family standard of beauty?”