Authors: Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig
All or Nothing (8 page)
Chapter 10
RuthAnne squinted at the bright blue, cloudless sky as she hustled to keep up with Bowen. She fell into a quick step behind his lunging gait as he gave the nickel tour of the new Fort Lowell.
“The laundresses’ quarters are around the other side of the mess. You’ve already seen the stables.” He gestured toward the split rail fence that served as a corral and yet another adobe brick structure ever-present throughout the fort. The buildings were all low and squat, constructed from dried mud brick and framed with split-beamed open windows. The creek and dense mesquite forest lay beyond, thickening the fort’s borders. Miles away to the north, the sheer rock face of the Santa Catalina Mountains towered above the foothills and sloping floodplains in silent majesty.
Already, the heat of the day pricked RuthAnne’s skin with sweat, her cheeks flushed. Bowen seemed undaunted by the weather as he marched her around the fort. He answered hasty salutes as they passed startled infantrymen performing their morning duties.
“We keep the horses for the whole regiment and any who visit. Alex McDole’s in charge of the stables. You probably saw him last night. He keeps a flock of chickens, a rooster, even has some turkeys out in the back; tends a small garden there, toward the
bosque
on the edge of the creek. Grows beans, corn, onions, carrots, squash, whatever seeds he can manage.”
“Bosque?”
“It’s a Spanish word for forest.”
She turned her gaze toward where he pointed and drew to a halt, wondering at the thought of calling that scrubby stand of trees a forest, but even more at the thought of growing fresh vegetables out here in the middle of the godforsaken desert.
“We don’t have all day now. Let’s keep moving.”
She turned as a throng of brass instruments blasted the still morning. Bugle, horn, and drums played together in a cacophony of mismatched sounds.
“That building over to the left is the band barracks,
the pride
of the 7
th
Cavalry. They’re practicing for the dance this week.” He grimaced at an off note. “Sounds like they need it.”
She stifled a laugh more at the captain’s wry attempt at humor than his joke. The men outside the adobe band barracks picked up where they left off with their instruments shining in the morning sun, leaving thoughts in her head about a beautiful dreamer.
“In the summers, they have dances every week at the post hall. Boosts morale when it’s so danged hot. That’s also the barracks where the enlisted men bunk out.
“Officers’ quarters are beyond that span of cottonwood trees on the other side of the parade ground. You can tell the difference over the enlisted barracks, as they have tin roofs to keep the rain out. Officers’ wives get rather put out when the adobe roofs melt over their heads in a thunderstorm.”
“I can imagine.” Her eyes swept from the swaying, green-leafed, white-trunked grove of cottonwoods to where neat rows of soldiers practiced shouldering and un-shouldering arms in tightly packed groups. They were impressive in their gray and blue, all business though waves of heat already emanated from the dirt parade grounds they marched over.
She followed him into the blissful shade provided by the tunnel of cottonwood trees as he pointed out the post store and the equipage supply office.
“That’s the last of it. The creek runs to the north and east. The city is to the southwest. You’ll find all that you need in the laundresses’ quarters. What you don’t have, Dolly will set you up with from the post store. Anything else’ll have to wait for an ambulance to take you to the city.” He led her to the trunk of a fallen tree.
“I’m sure I’ll be just fine, Captain.” She saw him flinch at her formality as he directed her to sit.
The trees gave more than shelter from the sun; they bred privacy. In the dappled shade, she watched him pace, dark boots crunching the gravel path. She eyed him in a sidelong glance, so he wouldn’t see her staring. He fumbled with a loose button on his coat as he took a swig from his canteen. Was he nervous being alone with her? Should she be nervous being alone with him? He cleared his throat and passed the battered tin jug her way. She drank deeply, keeping a wary eye on her benefactor.
“You’re wondering why I didn’t mention Mara. Or El Tejano.” He waited a beat before he went on. “You’ll have to trust me.”
“Captain Shepherd, I’m most thankful to you for bringing me here and for giving me such a...fine opportunity, but this is starting to feel dishonest, and I can’t abide by that.” There. She’d spit out what had been burning inside.
“It isn’t a lie so much as an omission.” He took off his hat, turning it in his large, work-worn hands before leaning beside her on the moss-covered tree trunk. “The army is all I know, and the laundresses are the best thing the army has ever done for us. Hardworking, decent, and fair. More so than you’ll find in any officer’s quarters. Remember that. I’m not sure what it’s like where you come from, but out here this is still a territory. They’re trying their best to look prim and proper to bid for statehood, but underneath they’re still kicking up their heels and ready for a fight. In Tucson, the law has its own rules, and the walls have eyes and ears. Out here, it ain’t much better.”
He kicked at stones on the ground at her feet. She noticed a long, deep scratch under the polish of his left boot heel, something he’d tried to disguise. He stood on formality, but as he knelt in front of her and ran a hand through his ragged, curling dark hair, he looked so concerned. As if he were trying to take his very heart out and show it to her, but he couldn’t quite get a grasp on the words.
“Please understand, RuthAnne. One mention of a woman being accosted by that bandit and the good citizens would be up in arms. Before you know it, they’d be lynching every Mexican man in the city, just to prove a point and satisfy their blood lust. Military law is the only way we can see justice done. We’ve been searching him out, but he’s smart. I’m getting closer, and he’s getting careless. You see...your driver is the first man he’s killed. And, Mara...well.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat at the mention of Mara. “So, you think I’m better off if I am just Mrs. Newcomb, alone, lost in a storm and needing shelter?”
“For the moment, yes.” His stony gaze held hers like a vice. “The truth comes out, it’s your telling. You’ll be safe here until the army wagons can get through. You’ll get your money, and maybe we’ll get another bead on El Tejano. If you help me find his hideout.”
She thought long and hard about what he said. Sighing heavily, she figured he was right. Still, she yearned for the peace that came from knowing she made the right decision.
“So. You’re stashing us away. Mara at the chapel, and me here on wash duty.” She picked up a smooth, flat stone and skipped it down the dirt path. “I don’t see as how I have much of a choice. It’s a good offer, Captain. And it’s
honest
work. I thank you for it. If you could just show me where the chapel is, I’d really like a moment to pray on this.”
He cleared his throat. “Fort Lowell hasn’t had much call for one, ma’am. Not yet.”
“No chapel? What do the people do on Sunday?”
“You could go to the Presbyterian church in town. Most of the good citizens are still sleeping off Saturday night.” The humor in his tone didn’t reach his eyes. She suspected that he was more than likely one of them.
“I see. Well. Is that all of our business, then?” She stood and brushed the stray bark off her skirt. He nodded, brusquely. “Then I’d best be getting to work. I’ll be seeing you, Captain Shepherd.” RuthAnne squared her shoulders and set off across the compound to the laundresses’ quarters.
Bowen kept his eyes trained on her back. Though her slight figure and lengthy frame got more than its share of head turns from soldiers at arms across the field, she never broke her stride.
Bowen wondered at this woman, her inner strength, and smiled. They’d see just how strong she was when she realized what she’d be up against as a brand-new army laundress.
Chapter 11
RuthAnne entered the laundresses’ quarters. Her eyes swept the room, noting how the hard-packed dirt floor had been disguised by a wide, threadbare rug. A settee and set of camp chairs appeared silent audience to the guitar leaning on the opposite wall. The sparse furnishings seemed arranged for entertaining and conversation.
She could almost imagine folks gathering to sing songs, tell tales, and enjoy company on long summer evenings.
Dolly waited on the worn, blue velvet settee; her suntanned face beamed into a ready smile at RuthAnne’s entrance. “Well, I see that ol’ Bowen’s finally turned you loose. Did he manage to scare the livin’ daylights out of you yet? Have a seat, and we’ll get ourselves acquainted.” Dolly took her by the hands, talking a mile a minute.
Moments later, RuthAnne perched on the small settee and accepted a tin cup of cool water from the sweet hand of Dolly’s little girl. Dolly shot a proud grin in her daughter’s direction. “Thank you, Katie. This here’s Miss Newcomb.”
“Pleased to meetcha.” Katie gave a wobbly curtsey. RuthAnne couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s skinned knees and loosening braids that were mismatched with her prim outfit. “I’m Katie Jewel, and I’m five.”
“Oh, well, isn’t that nice?” RuthAnne said, hiding a laugh.
“Skedaddle, miss! Time to go do your schooling.” Dolly shooed the girl out the door to fetch her slate and pencil.
Dolly returned to a wicker basket stuffed full of clothes, shoes, and indeterminate items and began sorting through them. RuthAnne spied a small silver and turquoise cross brushing against Dolly’s blue gingham dress. With a long, slow breath, Dolly slipped the necklace inside her bodice and tucked the loose strands of red-gold hair behind her ears. It framed her sweet face and eyes that danced with good humor while she spoke. “It isn’t much, here, these quarters of ours. Not more than a lean-to set up against an old half-built, mud brick barracks, but it’ll do. It’s clean. We managed to finagle a tin roof even before the officers’ wives. Don’t you bet that didn’t beat all!”
She gave a saucy wink while she folded and stacked some worn-looking dresses. “We rate here in the army, you see. We’re paid regular as any enlisted man, and more than some. The officers’ wives, they’re just tagalongs for the most part. There have been some that pulled their own weight. Missy Sutton for one. Her Jack was the old quartermaster before John Cross was assigned here, God rest him. They were a pair, to be sure. Not many like her. Tough as they come, and that’s something, considering he dragged her all the way from Virginia as a young bride. They got reassigned, oh, about two year ago, up to Prescott. Me, I’m from the territories, born and raised. Never even been back east. Heck, never been east of the Rio Grande!”
She waited as if prompting RuthAnne to offer some personal information. Instead, there was a moment of awkward silence while RuthAnne fingered the stack of clothes, took a garment, and started folding.
“Let’s see...” Dolly continued. “There’s a privy right out back. The kids won’t stay underfoot if you shoo them outside like a flock of hens every now and again. That and a day’s work that would terrify the bravest man’s about all there is to tell.”
Dolly helped RuthAnne to her feet and shoved the basket into her arms. “These are yours. Some’ll fit, some’ll have to be fitted, and some are plain trash. Up to you to decide. I have a sewing kit you can borrow and even a Singer treadle table stashed in my room, if you’re handy with a pattern. You ready?”
RuthAnne clutched the basket and blanched, but quickly saw that Dolly was only teasing.
“You gotta have a good sense of humor when you’re faced with our workday in and out. Hope you have a strong stomach. Follow me.”
Sure she was going to be forced to the washbasins immediately, RuthAnne followed Dolly down the dark corridor, passing canvas flaps that served as doors. Behind were the sparsely furnished laundresses’ quarters. Each small room was about a ten-by-ten box, sectioned off by a canvas partition and included a cot, a gray army blanket, and a hard pillow of striped cotton duck cloth.
“Doesn’t matter if there’s just one of you or four or five, we all get the same amount of space. Of course, some of us are better at procuring the comforts of home than others.”
Dolly opened a flap at the end of the room and led RuthAnne into her own personal quarters. A Singer treadle sewing table was stuck neatly in one corner, the only tidy part of Dolly Jewel’s quarters.
A carved wooden wardrobe with a silver-backed mirror perched inside graced one corner. Clothes were stuffed in the drawers and draped over the cane-backed chair at a small secretary desk. Dolly’s cot was mounded with a featherbed ticking, and a hand-stitched quilt was thrown hastily over its mass of pillows. Katie’s small bed stood beside, bedecked in a handmade quilt with butterflies made from purple, pink, and green bits of cloth. A rosy-cheeked, porcelain doll with curling brown hair sat proudly displayed among her pillows.
“This here’s mine and Katie’s spot.” Dolly plopped down on her bed in a heap.
“It’s very...cozy.” RuthAnne barely managed to find something pleasant to say about the jumbled mess.
“Cozy! That’s rich. It’s a mess. I never did take to military styling. Never had the need. My parents dragged us from here to Texas and back again, and I used to drive them crazy, having to crate up all of my belongings! After the Injuns burned everything we owned when I was fourteen, we hooked back up with an army escort. Came back by way of Tucson. I swore I’d never make that trek east again. That’s them, there.”
She pointed to the steamer trunk that served as a table. It sat topped with daguerreotype pictures in leather pocket frames; the faces of people Dolly knew and loved stared stoically out at the room.
“You got family, honey?”