A Good Man (25 page)

“I trust I have not interrupted your work,” Mrs. Tarr says to him.

But Joe is back at the table with plates, forks, and knives, and he answers before Case can get a word out of his mouth. “And thank God you have, Miz Tarr. Because Mr. Case here is a blamed slave driver. Chases me out of my bed every morning before the crack of dawn, waving a stick.”

Case is growing more irked by the second. “Pay no mind to him. Joe has liberal views on what constitutes the truth. In fact, he treats it with prodigious latitude.”

McMullen puts his hand to his breast and draws himself up ramrod straight. “As God is my witness, Miz Tarr, what I say is the unvarnished truth. But now I have went and contradicted him and he’ll take me to the woodshed for it when you’re gone. Don’t ever contradict or cross this man. It stirs up something terrible.”

Ada’s lips curve in a half smile. “Yes, I have had experience of it.” Case flushes bright red and McMullen throws him a puzzled glance as Ada reaches down for the basket at her feet. She produces the cake, sets it down on the table, and unwraps the cheesecloth.

“Why, look at that, ain’t that a cake!” Joe exclaims.

“Very fine,” mutters Case.

“Gentlemen, it is a simple pound cake, not the Elgin Marbles.”

“A lady as humble as she is kind and good,” Joe says. “I hope you don’t mind me saying what a fine thing you and your daughter done, throwing that benefit concert for the misfortunates.”

“That concert,” responds Ada dryly, “is an event best left unremarked and forgotten.”

“I can’t agree nohow. Why, all that music and singing, trust me, I ain’t going to forget it in a month of Sundays.”

“For God’s sake, Joe, there are bounds,” Case snaps at him. “You weren’t even there.”

“I didn’t say I was there. I said I wouldn’t never forget it. Why? Because young Peregrine couldn’t talk of nothing else all the way to Fort Walsh. Now if you’d have told the lady how you enjoyed it I wouldn’t have felt it necessary to risk a compliment.”

“You were there?” Ada asks Case.

“Yes, yes, certainly,” he says quickly. “A very memorable evening.”

Ada’s mouth twists ironically. “Mr. Case, it seems every time you are present I show myself at my best.” Then she points to the stove. “Is that the coffee I hear on the boil?”

“Yessir. Let me take it off the fire. Let the grounds settle.” Joe hands her a knife. “I’d be obliged if you’d be mother and cut the cake, Miz Tarr.”

Ada touches Case’s hand as Joe tends to the coffee pot. “I require a word alone with you. Please volunteer to walk me home.” It is less a request than a command. She eases back in her chair as Joe returns.

The cake eaten, the coffee drunk, Ada gathers up her basket and gloves, rises from the table. “And now, gentlemen, I must take leave of you. I have passed a very pleasant hour in your company. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Miz Tarr, you’re very welcome. As welcome as the flowers in May.”

Ada turns to Case and waits. He lurches to his feet. “Mrs. Tarr, might I have the pleasure of escorting you home?”

“Most kind of you. I would be pleased.”

“Its a poor day you don’t learn a lesson in something,” says Joe. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

“Always another day, Mr. McMullen,” says Ada, smiling. “Always another day.”

Joe roguishly tucks his tongue in his cheek. “Tomorrow?”

“Goodbye.”

“Day after tomorrow?”

“Good
bye
, Mr. McMullen.”

Once outside, they are both at a loss for words. Ada studies the ground, biting her lip, as they walk along in silence.

Eventually, Case finds himself saying, “There was something you wished to speak to me about?”

“You must find this all very curious,” she says, sounding hesitant. “I debated at length the propriety of this, but in the end – well, it is a matter of conscience.”

“Conscience?”

“Yes. It concerns Peregrine Hathaway. Something needs to be done. He must be told the truth.”

“Told what truth?”

“How else to put it but directly? My stepdaughter, Celeste, is involved with a young officer at the post. I think it is serious. I have told Celeste she has a duty to inform Mr. Hathaway where her affections lie. I said to her she must write and make the situation clear to him. She refuses. She says that Peregrine never harboured any illusions she welcomed his attentions. Which seems to me patently untrue.”

“I should say so. At least from his perspective.”

Ada gives a curt nod of agreement. “The next time he comes to Fort Benton he will be on our doorstep to pay her a call. I should hate to see her turn him away and humiliate him. He is owed an explanation, but Celeste will not give him one. She says to do that would put
her
in a humiliating position. I know the girl. She will not change her mind.” Ada pauses. “So you see, I have come to a dead end.”

“Indeed.”

“It struck me that if a friend, an older man whom he trusts and admires, could show him how things stand, gently lower him down from the clouds and set his feet firmly back on earth, that would be the kindest solution. Would you consider writing him such a letter? For the boy’s own good? As a favour to him? A favour to me?”

Case takes a moment to answer. “Yes. If you think it necessary.”

“You sound as if you have reservations.”

“Mrs. Tarr, I am a cautious man. It is my nature. I do not like meddling in other people’s personal affairs. This is not an errand I welcome, but I will do it. Writing such a letter will require a good deal of thought.”

div>

“But not too much thought. Or too much time.”

“As little of each as possible.”

“You have my gratitude, Mr. Case. I mean that most sincerely. I knew you would put the boy’s interests first.”

“You have put the boy’s interests first. I am merely your agent.”

Ada halts. “You see, I have done it again.”

“Done what?”

“Been insistent. Just as I did the day you came looking for Peregrine. I have
pushed
you. I think you are not a man who likes to be pushed, Mr. Case.”

“No. Perhaps not.” He makes it sound as if this thought has never struck him before.

“And since I am a woman who does not care to be pushed myself, I should have known better. It was rude of me when you paid your first visit … to try to make you speak of things that I find amusing and you do not.”

Case shakes his head. “I would like to correct your impression of that afternoon. It was I who was rude to you. I was very short-tempered that day. Hathaway’s irresponsibility put me in a foul mood. I have no excuses for my behaviour. I was a guest in your home. An uninvited one, I might add. I imposed my company on you –”

“And I was glad you did,” Ada interjects. “I was happy to know you. The way Peregrine spoke of you – I thought we might have a good deal in common.” She smiles faintly. “I was eager to make a friend of you and my eagerness made me act foolishly.” She stops and subjects him to a searching look. “You are taken aback.”

“I am taken aback. I have no talent for friendship.”

“From what I have seen, I think Mr. McMullen would disagree. Young Hathaway certainly would. He believes you kind and decent.” She pauses. “Shall I put that description to the test? Will you be so decent as to shake my hand? Be so kind as to let bygones be bygones? Come now, let us be friends.”

Case looks down uncertainly at the white hand held out to him. His fingers close on her palm; the softness and heat of it are disturbingly intimate. He holds it for just a moment too long and then lets it go.

“There,” she says, “my conscience cleared on two counts. A good day’s work.” Briskly, she straightens her shoulders. “You know, when winter rolls round, if time hangs heavy on your hands – you are welcome to borrow any of my books.”

“That is a very kind offer.”

There is a mischievous glint in her eye. “Of course, I will not press George Eliot on you.”

“Perhaps you should. Perhaps it would be good for me.”

“But your opinion of her was so very disapproving and decided –”

“All second-hand, paraded as my own. I knew a man who often passed disparaging judgments on her work. I merely parroted him.”

“And who is this critic?” demands Ada, laughing. “So if our paths ever cross I can box his ears.”

“His name?” Case says, more to himself than her. “It hardly matters.”

But it does matter, he thinks. Pudge Wilson.

They recommence their walk. In a short time, Mrs. Tarr’s house comes into view. Suddenly she stops and says, “I think it best we part here. I did not announce to Mr. Dunne that I was paying you a visit. I slipped off. Now I must steal back into the house through the back. How very wicked of me,” she says, giving him a pert look.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mrs. Tarr.”

“Well then, I’m off.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Tarr.”

Case watches her go briskly down the trail, skirts switching.

ELEVEN

AT THE BEGINNING OF
September, Case had found Walsh’s first brief communiqué awaiting him at the Fort Benton post office. It informed him that the Major had sent his two most dependable Métis scouts, Cajou Morin and Louis Léveillé, below the border to visit the Assiniboine to see if they could learn anything from that tribe about the whereabouts of the Sioux. The Assiniboine professed to know nothing about the Sioux’s movements, asserting that they had had no contact with them since the days before the Battle of Little Bighorn, when Sitting Bull had sent an emissary to the war chief White Dog, promising him a hundred horses if he would join forces with Bull against the Long Knives. Case immediately brought this news to Ilges’s attention. The Sioux chief’s attempt to strike an alliance with the Assiniboine gave credence to the rumours that Bull was making overtures to other tribes to draw them into war with the Americans. It hadn’t been much to give Ilges, but it was something.

Case hadn’t heard anything more from the Major, which he found exasperating. If Walsh wanted him to keep Ilges happy, the Major needed to make an effort. Walsh’s aversion to paperwork might be one reason for his silence, but it was Case’s guess that the Major was piqued because Ilges had provided no recent updates on the progress of the Crook-Terry campaign. Perhaps he suspected Ilges was holding back on him. If he did, more fool Walsh. Since the end of August, no one knew where Crook and Terry were. It was as if the wilderness had swallowed them up. Then, in the last week of the month, Ilges had a visitor, and he brought with him a great deal of insight into the situation.

September 30, 1876

Fort Benton

My dear Walsh,

If in your last report to Secretary Scott you did as I urged you – suggest that the joint campaign of Gens. Terry and Crook would come to naught – you will have been well served, may even have earned a reputation for perspicacity in Ottawa. An officer who, until recently, had been attached to Gen. Sherman’s headquarters passed through Benton en route to join his regiment for active service against the Sioux. He is an old friend of Ilges from Civil War days and they spent an evening discussing the most recent developments of which this gentleman was fully cognizant given his position on Sherman’s staff. He was as full of gossip as an egg is full of meat. According to him, the whole campaign turned into an unmitigated debacle because of the animosity and petty jealousy that rules relations between the two men. On August 25th Crook separated his force from Terry’s control on the pretext of providing protection for the settlements in the Black Hills of Dakota Territory. The real reason appears to be he could not abide Gen. Terry’s company any longer. Crook led his men into unfamiliar territory with meagre rations and inadequate supplies. The difficult terrain coupled with many days of cold rain soon took its toll on soldiers and animals. By September 7th, many of the troops were exhausted, stricken with acute dysentery, and suffering from exposure because they had no tents and each man had been issued only a single blanket. Within ten days of separating from Terry, the force was facing starvation and had no alternative but to slaughter and eat the majority of their horses.

Given the seriousness of the situation, Crook dispatched Capt. Mills of the 3rd Cavalry with 150 troops and 50 pack mules to hasten to Deadwood in the Black Hills to secure provisions. Shortly after setting out, Capt. Mills came upon signs of a large body of Sioux. Scouts found their encampment near a place called Slim Buttes. Mills thought the Indians vulnerable to attack because the bad weather and heavy rain was keeping them hunkered down in their lodges. He attacked at first light and took the Indians by surprise, but he did not press forward, giving the Sioux time to place warriors in a defensive position to cover the escape of the women, children, and elderly. Mills ordered a second assault, but that was met with stiff resistance. By then, warriors had arrived from Crazy Horse’s band, which Mills hadn’t realized was camped nearby. By the time Crook appeared with reinforcements, the initial advantage had been squandered, and the engagement petered out into an inconclusive standoff.

Ilges’s friend said that the Army is determined to put the rosiest complexion on what they glorify with the title “The Battle of Slim Buttes.” It will be painted as a great victory. To describe it so is the height of absurdity. True, Sioux horses were seized, food stores and tipis taken; nevertheless, casualties among Sioux fighting men were very light. Most of the Indian fatalities were women and children, and sustained during the first attack on the village. The officer who divulged all this to Ilges believes American losses were equal to those inflicted on the enemy. He was disgusted by what appears to have been near mutiny among the American troops after this fight. Contempt for the incompetence of the leadership was given vent to by the rank and file, and Crook’s vain attempt to take his men to the Black Hills was openly and disparagingly referred to as “The Starvation March.” After the battle, soldiers refused to obey orders to assist the ill and wounded. The rule of the day was “Every man for himse” Even junior officers are said to have shown signs of disaffection.