The Unlikely Wife

“That’s kind of you,” she said, trying to locate the lieutenant in the column ahead. “Aunt Belle prefers her privacy. Your name is Brooks, isn’t it?” He had been introduced that morning when he was assigned to drive their wagon, but she had barely noticed the young enlisted man.

“Yes, ma’am. Victor Brooks.”

“Have you heard when we’ll be stopping to rest?” The new recruits were riding four abreast directly in front of their wagon. She stood up for a moment to get a better view beyond, assuming the lieutenant was leading the column.

“Ain’t been in the army long enough to even make a guess. All I know is to mind my sergeant, steer clear of officers, and eat whenever they give me a chance.”

Rebecca laughed. “I hope they give us that chance soon.”

“Me and my messmates are supposed to cook for you ladies as well as ourselves. I reckon that means we roast your rabbit before we boil our salt pork.”

Rebecca turned and studied the soldier for the first time. Judging by his smooth skin, he was in his early twenties, but there was a hardness about his eyes that made him look older. She couldn’t tell if he was resentful of the assignment or had intended his comment as a joke.

“Oh dear,” she said with a sigh. “I seem to have forgotten to set out my rabbit traps so tonight you’ll probably be cooking double rations of pork.”

Brooks gave a mirthless laugh. “Not likely, ma’am. Dixie Boy will be looking out for himself, and for you too, I reckon. I imagine there’s a hunting party out what won’t get a bite of what they kill.”

Dixie Boy? She had a feeling this soldier was headed for trouble. Arguing with him wouldn’t help, though, especially if he turned out to be right. He had evidently heard stories, she had too, of officers who dined in elegance while the troops ate the standard rations. Or substandard as they called them.

“Did you see a hunting party go?”

“Three men were sent ahead a while ago.”

Rebecca scowled. Why would she be so disappointed if Brooks was right? “Maybe they’re scouting out a river crossing,” she suggested.

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

“Tell you what, soldier,” Rebecca said, standing again as the column ahead mounted a rise. “If you turn out to be right, I’ll see you get a share.”

“Why, that’s kind of you, ma’am,” Brooks said.

Rebecca smiled. She had located him finally, riding a bay horse in the lead of the column. She sat down when he was once again hidden by the other soldiers. “But that won’t be till evening anyway. The noon meal is usually too hurried to cook anything. And General Hale’s wife packed us a lunch.”

“I should have guessed.”

She leaned closer and spoke softly. “If it won’t make your messmates jealous, I’ll see if I can’t save something back.”

“What my messmates don’t know, can’t upset’em.”

They caught up with the three outriders at a creek and rested just beyond it. Stock was fed and watered, fires were quickly built and coffee boiled. Rebecca wanted to spread a blanket on the ground and eat Mrs. Hale’s lunch picnic style, but Aunt Belle refused to leave the wagon except for a brief excursion into the trees. Even with Rebecca and Alicia standing guard, she found the experience humiliating.

Brooks offered them coffee, but otherwise they were left alone to eat their lunch in the same confining space they had shared all morning. Rebecca listened to the voices of the men outside and felt like a prisoner. She hoped the lieutenant would come to check on their well-being and comfort but knew Aunt Belle would probably voice her complaints. When he hadn’t come by the time they started down the trail, she told herself it was just as well.

She slipped out to the seat again shortly after they started, bringing the driver two pieces of cold chicken. He seemed surprised, though not particularly pleased to receive the offering, as if he would rather have had his worst notions confirmed than have the chicken to eat. She decided she didn’t like Victor Brooks.

Still, she determined to be nice to him. She and her companions were dependent on him in many respects, and he would no doubt take more care for their comfort if she was kind to him.

Brooks, busily eating the chicken, didn’t seem inclined to talk so Rebecca watched the column ahead, especially the officer when she could get a glimpse of him, and wished she was riding alongside him. As she imagined smiling up at him, the wind took a swipe at her hat. She grabbed for it too late.

“Stop!”

Brooks stared at her. Only after seeing the heat in his eyes did she realize that her hair had come completely unpinned and tumbled around her shoulders.

She gathered it into her fist, and Brooks came to his senses, hauling on the reins. He jumped from the wagon and Rebecca leaned around the side to see if the next team had already trampled her hat. The freight wagons were still a few yards behind, and Brooks sprinted to her hat, bringing it back to her at a run. He was in the seat and calling to the team before the next wagon was forced out of line.

“Thanks,” Rebecca said, brushing at the dust on the hat.

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

Rebecca frowned. She would have to go back inside the wagon and try again to pin up her hair. She probably ought to stay there. Aunt Belle didn’t approve of her spending time with the driver. Of course, Aunt Belle didn’t approve of anything.

Still, until she found a way to keep her hat in place, she would have to stay inside. Stopping the ambulance to retrieve it would be considered a nuisance by a certain officer in charge.

That evening, Clark set up the field desk and took out his journal. He had written half a page when a uniformed figure approached his desk. His first reaction was to finish the sentence. Then he remembered his experience of the morning. He looked up and came instantly to his feet, barely avoiding knocking over his chair again.

“Ma’am. This will take some getting used to.” Her hat was in her hand and her dark hair was loose around her shoulders. He was sure he had never seen a woman’s hair like that outside the bedroom. He shook off the image.

“Not for me.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin that nearly disarmed him. “All this time I thought women were clumsy, but we hobble ourselves with our dresses.”

Clark had no response for that. Feeling like a fool as he did every time she was nearby, he escaped behind his military training. “Is there something I can do for you, ma’am?”

“I have a problem,” she said, but she didn’t look particularly concerned.

“What’s his name?”

The girl looked positively hurt. He almost regretted his bluntness, but it had been a reasonable guess.

“Not that kind of problem. Aunt Belle took my scissors.”

Scissors? “Would you like her arrested, ma’am?”

She shot him a grin that told him she liked the idea. “No, I don’t want her arrested. I wanted to know if you have a pair I can borrow.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“A knife?” she asked.

He drew a large bowie knife out of a sheath at his waist, certain the size would change her mind. “May I ask what you need it for?”

She looked from the knife to his face and grinned. “I’m having trouble keeping my hat on over all this hair. Would you do the honors?” She spun around, tossing her hair over her shoulders. It cascaded down her back in dark, shimmering waves.

Clark stared. “Ma’am?”

She turned to face him, sighing in exasperation. “I want you to cut my hair.” She paused, but he was speechless. “I can’t pass as a soldier like this, can I?”

“Ma’am,” he pleaded, making a mental note to thank Mrs. Evans for hiding her scissors. “I could never explain this to your father.”

“Lieutenant, we are probably being watched or will be as we travel farther west. You said yourself that women might tempt the hostiles to attack. With this much hair showing, I am plainly a woman.”