Kate Kingsley - The Scout's Bride

“Merci, mon capitaine.” The Frenchman saluted smartly.

“Doesn’t that fellow speak English?” Francis frowned as St. Jean hurried away.

“Not much and not well,” Flora answered, “but he performs miracles in the kitchen, even with rations.”

“And he pampers madame outrageously,” Brian added affectionately. “Shall we promenade before it gets any hotter?”

Taking the arm Francis offered, Rebecca could not resist a glance at Injun Jack. Clad in light buckskins, his gun belt riding low on slim hips, the scout faced in her direction. One broad shoulder was braced against the tree trunk as he talked to Malachi Middlefield. She could not tell if his eyes, shaded by the brim of his hat, rested on her. She did not know why it should matter.

As the couples strolled, children capered around them in the dry brown grass. They chatted, stopping here and there to visit with friends and greet new faces from town.

It was good to be out among people, Rebecca mused, even if she did look like a crow among songbirds in her widow’s weeds. Though the day was hot, it should be enjoyable if she could keep Francis at arm’s length. And if she could forget Injun Jack’s presence.

Despite her resolution, her gaze was drawn to the big scout. He was alone now, his arms crossed on his chest, his face unreadable. She nodded. He did not acknowledge her gesture though she knew this time he watched. Suddenly she wished she were somewhere else, doing something besides walking arm-inarm with Francis.

Sternly she reminded herself that Jack Bellamy was a rude, insulting rogue. He had kissed her and promptly forgotten it…which was exactly what she must do. Determined to get him out of her mind and keep him out, she was careful not to look his way again when they moved to watch the chess game under the tamarack.

Absorbed in planning his strategy, Doc hardly noticed them. The colonel nodded coolly, but said nothing. Rebecca was not sorry when her friends were ready to go on to the sergeants’ hotly contested horseshoe tournament.

From the other end of the quadrangle, the scout’s icy blue eyes narrowed when he saw the adjutant lay his hand possessively over Rebecca’s. He had never liked Porter. He liked him less now.

“What’s it to me if there’s something between them?” Jack muttered to himself, looking away. “Not a damn thing.”

He did not see Rebecca withdraw from Francis’s grasp and walk toward the officers’ tent. He did not notice that the adjutant followed her sulkily, with Flora and Brian trailing behind.

As she neared the tent, Rebecca realized that the women within had fallen silent. Steeling herself, she met Mrs. Major Little’s eyes and read unmistakable censure in them. Caroline Johnson and Sally March chatted with each other. Only Willa Plath smiled in welcome. “Come, join us in the shade,” she invited.

“Thank you.” Closing her parasol, Rebecca took a seat in the circle of officers’ wives. “It’s very hot out there.”

“I fear she is not accustomed to the Kansas sun yet.” Francis arrived and placed himself beside her.

“You really must be careful, Mrs. Emerson,” Mrs. Little lectured. “Sunstroke is all too common on the prairie.”

“You won’t have to worry about sunstroke much longer, will you, Rebecca?” Caroline asked enviously, holding onto her squirming young daughter. “I understand you’re going back east.”

“That’s Colonel Quiller’s wish.” Rebecca smiled blandly.

“I wish I were going,” Caroline murmured, seemingly unaware that her daughter had slid down and stood beside her chair.

“We were just remarking that the fort is so full of people,” Mrs. Little changed the subject. “It is hard to avoid socializing, even when bereaved. Will you attend the dance this evening, Mrs. Emerson?”

“No, the picnic is the extent of my socializing today.” Smiling when Caroline’s daughter presented herself, she took the child into her lap. “Hello, Phoebe.”

“You’ll be there, won’t you, Lieutenant?” Mrs. Little turned her attention to Francis.

“Of course he will, Mama,” Amy Little proclaimed as she joined them. Newly arrived from finishing school in New York, she was Fort Chamberlain’s reigning belle.

Rebecca nodded pleasantly at the girl and her escort. The young cavalry lieutenant, George Davis, had taken Paul’s command.

“How would it look if the adjutant did not attend a post dance?” Amy went on, gazing up at Francis coquettishly. “Horrors!”

“Hello.” Brian and Flora joined the growing circle. “Enjoying the day so far?”

“Very much,” Amy gushed, answering for everyone. “Won’t the dance be fun? Did you see Mama’s clever idea?”

Rebecca buried a giggle against Phoebe’s curls when Flora exclaimed with wide-eyed innocence, “The gazebo? Why, it’s as clever as anything I’ve ever seen in the East.”

“Thank you, dear Mrs. Mackey,” Mrs. Little practically purred.

“But wouldn’t you know it?” Amy lamented. “The first cotillion in weeks and the colonel says we must end it before midnight.”

“Dawn will come early for the companies who must ride out tomorrow, Miss Amy,” Francis explained.

“Why can’t they go the next day?” she protested with a winsome pout. “Can’t our boys wait one more day to fight Indians?”

“We hope not to fight this time, unless we have to,” Brian answered. “A large, well-armed patrol along the Smoky Hill River will serve to tell us if the Sioux are honest about their hopes for a truce.”

“And it will be their last chance to talk peace before they are completely outnumbered by superior forces,” George added. “Our reinforcements will arrive any day now.”

“Oh dear, the noon gun already,” Flora interjected with a brittle smile. “Rebecca, will you help me set out our lunch?”

Rebecca complied at once, returning Phoebe to her mother. She knew Flora’s vivacious manner and constant chatter masked dread every time her husband rode out with his men. Company C, his command, would leave in the morning.

“Try not to worry,” she soothed quietly as they spread a quilt on the ground and unpacked the basket. “Brian will be careful. He’s been on plenty of campaigns.”

“I know, but it gets harder every time he goes.” Flora smiled feebly. “You’d think after a lifetime in the army, I would have known better than to marry a soldier….”

“But you love him,” Rebecca completed the thought. They had had this conversation often in the past months.

“Look at this feast,” Brian pronounced, joining the women, oblivious to his wife’s concern. Plopping down on the quilt, he surveyed the picnic lunch with pleasure. “Pass the pickles, please.”

A dozen muted conversations went on as the families and friends of the officers dined. All discussion ceased abruptly, however, when a raucous clamor reached their ears.

“Look out, boys, here we come!” A dray, overflowing with garishly dressed females, rounded the curve from town in a cloud of dust. Squealing and laughing, the women clung to the sides of the wagon as it bounced behind a galloping team.

“Oh,” Flora breathed in awe, her face turned toward the spectacle, “a whole covey of soiled doves.”

“Flora!” Francis sputtered disapprovingly.

Brian chided mildly, “An officer’s lady is not supposed to know about those women.”

“But we do.” Flora grinned without a hint of remorse. “Don’t we, Rebecca?”

“They are rather hard to miss,” the widow agreed wryly.

“This is no subject…or sight…for ladies,” Francis cut in, stroking his moustache in vexation. “What are they doing here?”

“The colonel did invite the whole town,” Rebecca reminded him, her eyes on the wagon circling the parade ground. Its occupants leaned out, blowing kisses to the men in the crowd.