The Scout's Bride

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.

“Sorry we’re late,” a buxom redhead blared from the front seat, “but Nell couldn’t find her petticoat.”

“This is intolerable.” The adjutant shot a dark look toward his commanding officer, who watched the new arrivals impassively.

“There’s no reason for the Old Man to expel them unless they misbehave, Francis,” Brian argued sensibly. “If they observe post regulations, they can stay, regardless of who or what they are.”

“And the enlisted men will have someone to dance with tonight besides the washerwomen,” Flora teased him.

“Not that there’s a good deal of difference—” Francis’s retort was cut off by the blaring voice.

“Look, it’s Injun Jack! Howdy, Jack, save me a dance tonight.”

Against her will, Rebecca glanced toward the cottonwood tree. In its shade, the scout waved his hat at the red-haired woman.

“More cake, Francis?” she asked, turning her back on the scene.

Brian drowsed after lunch, his head in Flora’s lap, as Rebecca and Francis watched a group of men grease an unused flagpole near the guardhouse. Nearby, others marked the field for the afternoon’s events. From its starting point at the flagstaff, the racecourse ran straight past the tamarack and onto the brown, limitless prairie.

“Though I’ll officiate most of the afternoon, I plan to compete in the horse race,” Francis announced. “It’s the biggest event of the day.”