The Major's Wife

Things were slow at the fort right now. The cattle drives were over for the year and most of the crops harvested. That had bothered him this morning, knowing he wouldn’t have other duties consuming his time, but now he realized it was a good thing. Dedicating a few days to a plan that would ultimately hasten her departure was exactly what he needed.

The way he’d linked her wrist around his elbow had her breast brushing the upper part of his arm, and she was straining to keep the simple contact from happening. Telling himself it wasn’t affecting him, Seth asked, “Would you like to take a stroll through the compound?”

Her gaze bounced to the cabin and she pinched her lips together, which made him suddenly want to see what all the commotion had been about. “But you must be tired,” he said. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just go home.”

“No,” she said nervously. “We could take a stroll.”

“It’s all right, you’ll have lots of time to explore the fort,” he cajoled. “Right now, you need some sleep.”

“No, really—”

“I insist.” Seth let go of the hand he’d kept hooked on his elbow, and looped his arm around her shoulders. “You must be exhausted.”

She let out a sigh that held a tiny groan, but didn’t struggle as he guided her forward.

The sun hadn’t set yet and the warmth intensified Seth’s sense of smell. They were across the compound from Ilene’s flower beds, but he caught the scent of flowers. Or maybe it was perfume, because it smelled more like roses. Actually, he’d noticed a hint of it when he’d sat down next to her back in the hall.

A shiver rippled his spine as he turned his head, glanced down at the woman standing next to him. Her grin was much more of a grimace as she stepped aside for him to open the door to their cabin.

The warm, closed-in air rushing through the open doorway was downright overpowering. Blinking from the sting in his eyes, Seth asked, “Did a vial of rosewater burst in one of your trunks?”

“No,” she said, stepping past him to enter the cabin. “I washed the floors with it.”

“Washed the floors with it?”

Millie drew a deep breath, almost choking. The rose oil Lola made was quite potent and she may have used more than necessary. But it was what Rosemary would have done. “I also had To-She-Wi and Ku-Ma-Quai help me wash the walls.” She flinched slightly, not wanting to get two of Briggs Ryan’s maidens in trouble. The Indian women had proved to be not only friendly, but most helpful in assisting her with transforming the cabin.

“Wash the walls!” he exclaimed. “That oil will soak into the wood. It’s going to smell like this forever.”

“One can only hope,” she replied, sounding so much like her sister she wanted to bite her tongue. “It smelled of sour men before.”

The tick that appeared in his cheek should alarm her, but from what she’d learned today, Seth was not unfair. Though she might have decorated things a little more than she should have. It had been fun at the time, thinking she was getting him back for frightening her.

“My eyes are watering,” he said.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“What’s this?” He gestured toward the table.

“I know you’ve seen a tablecloth before.”

“Not in an army barrack.”

Making her best attempt at being nonchalant, she shrugged.

“And pillows, and cushions, and rugs.” He was walking through the tiny area, pointing things out, and stopped in the doorway to his office. “Curtains? Curtains in my office? Where did you get all this stuff?”

“Mr. Fallon. You must be quite proud of him. He has a bit of everything.”

Seth gave her a glimpse full of disdain before he spun to take a second look at the space that had been his office. Once again Millie flinched inwardly. She’d never done anything like this before, and pulling up the courage to finish what she started was not easy.

“Where. Is. My. Desk?”

His cold tone had Millie gulping, but she managed to find the nerve to step into the room and point toward the far corner. With the desk up against the wall, covered with a tablecloth, and the chair positioned in front of the window, decorated with two tiny pillows, plus a rug covering the floor, the room looked much bigger and more homey. To her. What Seth thought was probably a bit different. Obviously was.

He glared at her with those piercing eyes for several long moments. “You are Rosemary, aren’t you?”

She held her breath, hoping the churning in her stomach wouldn’t erupt.

“Put it back,” he growled. “Put it back the way you found it. All of it.”

Millie scurried aside as he left the room.

“And get rid of those stupid curtains!”

The door thudded shut and Millie let out her breath in a gush. Rosemary wouldn’t put any of it back. So Millie wouldn’t, either.

Chapter Four

Millie did walk over and open the office window she’d closed earlier, having known the heat would intensify the smell of the rose oil while they were eating supper. Lola had said to use it sparingly, just a drop or two in a bathtub of water. Millie had used an entire bottle scrubbing the cabin.

Exhausted inside and out, she plopped onto the chair. What would Rosemary do now?

Millie couldn’t remember when she’d learned her mother had died; it had happened when she was just an infant. But she did recall the moment she’d learned how her mother had died. It had been her eighth birthday. Papa had given her a new saddle, black with silver conchas, and a seat as plush as velvet. She’d ridden all afternoon. It was that night, when she was in bed, that Rosemary had entered her room and said if she didn’t give her the new saddle, she’d jump in the river. Drown. When Millie said she wouldn’t give it to her, her sister had told her the family secret.

No one was ever to know, Rosemary had said, but their mother hadn’t died from complications of childbirth. She’d taken her own life when Millie was six months old, with one of Papa’s pistols.

Papa hadn’t been home—he had been off doing army business, as he had been most of their childhood. The saddle had been ordered and delivered with a note from him. So Millie had asked Lola about their mother the next morning.

The housekeeper confirmed what Rosemary had said was true, that their mother had shot herself when Millie was a baby. She’d also said no one but their dear mama, God rest her soul, knew why she’d done it.

Months later, when Papa had come home and asked Millie about the saddle, she’d told him she loved it so much she was sharing it with Rosemary. Papa had said he was proud of her, how she understood Rosemary was different, and needed to be assured constantly that she was loved, just like their mother.

Millie closed her eyes. It was true. For as bold and brassy as Rosemary was on the outside, inside she was fragile, as delicate as glass, just as their mother had been. Rosemary had said she’d take her own life, and that of the baby, before allowing Seth to discover the truth. He would ruin her if he found out. Millie didn’t believe there was much left of Rosemary’s reputation to ruin, considering the number of men her sister’s name had been linked with, but she did believe her threats. She feared the baby would be in danger, for Rosemary did appear to be as desperate this time as she’d been over the saddle, when she had jumped into the river.

The weight on Millie’s chest increased tenfold. She didn’t believe her sister capable of murder, but she did know there were things worse than death. And knowing that had left her with no option but to agree to travel to Fort Sill to keep Seth from going to Washington, and possibly Richmond, as the letter he’d sent implied, until December.

Her gaze roamed the room. Seth didn’t deserve the deception, neither Rosemary’s faithlessness nor Millie’s lies. And he didn’t deserve her painting his cabin with rose oil, either. But Rosemary was her sister. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect her, and the life growing inside her.

If Millie was more daring and courageous, this would be easier. Actually, if she’d told Papa the truth five years ago, she wouldn’t be here now. She’d known about Clifton Wells, that Rosemary was planning to run off with him, but instead of saying something, fearful there’d be a row when Papa discovered it, Millie had gone to a friend’s house to avoid being dragged into the argument. The following morning, when she’d been summoned home, she’d been confused to hear Rosemary was marrying Seth instead of Clifton. Until Papa told her Clifton was already wed, and marrying Seth was the only thing that would save Rosemary’s name.

A knock on the door had Millie pushing off the seat and squaring her shoulders. She couldn’t stop protecting the family secrets now, nor could she give up on this mission.

“I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Parker,” Mr. Winston said when she opened the door, “but I wanted to drop off your boots. They should be fine this time. Good as new, actually.”

A lump had formed in her throat at how he’d addressed her. Others, when making her acquaintance, had called her Mrs. Parker, but right now, after contemplating the past and the events that had led her to here to Seth, the deceit seemed uglier. Heavier. Taking the boots, she found a simple smile. “Thank you, Mr. Winston. I do appreciate all you’ve done.”

“It’s been my pleasure, ma’am,” he said, bowing his head as he backed out the doorway.