Authors: Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig
All or Nothing (9 page)
Such an innocent question, and yet RuthAnne’s throat began to seize up. Each breath drew hard and fast, yet no air seemed to fill her lungs. Her thoughts circled around the life she and Mara had left behind in Somerville, Alabama. Her mother, lost to the world. Her father, a mere shadow of his former self. Both of her brothers were buried and gone. Evan...It all seemed very far away.
“My husband...he died...and...” Her breath hitched.
Dolly took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “One thing’s certain in this world. If you come this far west you’re either running from something or running toward it. Me, I’m through with running. It just makes you sick. The army’s got its drawbacks, but it’s good for three squares and a roof over your head. If you’re willing and able, we’ve got the work. Ready to enlist?”
Enlisting meant accepting and depositing the basket of hand-me-down clothes into her empty quarters and being marched to the post store for meager supplies. Dolly’s step was quick and surefooted, and RuthAnne found herself scurrying to keep up. Obviously, Dolly knew where she was going, with a clear angle on all of the shortcuts to get there.
They hot-stepped it through the mess hall, around some irritated KP soldiers: one elbow deep in scrubbing out giant pots, another busy unearthing a burlap bag of pinto beans that RuthAnne assumed would be for supper. Making sure the coast was clear, Dolly pushed her across the parade ground and through a corner of the thickest grove of spiny trees that RuthAnne had ever seen. That bosque of Bowen’s couldn’t mean forest. It must be a Spanish word meaning sharp and angry trees.
Up ahead, Dolly yelped as a spiny thorn pierced her boot. “Watch out for thorns!”
RuthAnne considered the spines that littered the ground, along with the rough, peeling bark clinging to the hem of her skirts. It seemed everything in this corner of the world was dressed to defend itself. She glanced at her own feet and the comfortable, thick leather moccasins Mariposa had given her. They made much better walking shoes than Dolly’s more fashionable button boots.
On the other side of the mesquite thicket stood a stubby adobe building with a low roof and small wooden door. A sign above the rough-hewn ramada claimed that this was the Post Store. Another sign noted that patrons could send and receive mail and telegrams and order from catalogs, as long as they paid in advance. Dolly marched them right inside without as much as a how-do-you-do to the two men sitting on the bench seats in the shade. RuthAnne heard a derogatory comment come from one of them and approved highly of Dolly’s decision to ignore them. Her ears still burned with embarrassment as she stepped inside the dusty, dim establishment.
After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the light. The store was built of the same rich brown adobe brick as present elsewhere in the fort, but this one was unlike the other buildings RuthAnne had seen. The floors were wood plank and echoed hollowly underfoot. She wondered what was below as she followed Dolly to the back counter, eyeing the displayed items along the way and feeling the sharp pang that she had neither money nor the barest of necessities to call her own.
Shelves and barrels were stacked floor to ceiling with goods. Tinware lined one wall with pots, pans, cutlery, and the like for cooking everything from boiled eggs to cakes and muffins. Selections ranged from inexpensive to extravagant. She couldn’t help but notice stacked kegs of coffee, dark brown roasted beans whose aroma seeped into the air. She inhaled its rich scent, feeling instantly invigorated. The burlap sacks of green coffee beans, a flavor she had never acquired, didn’t smell like anything at all.
Gunnysacks of flour, sugar, pinto beans, and other dried goods were out with signs displaying their prices at five, ten, and twenty cents per pound; compared to Kansas City prices, it seemed the post store owner was making himself a fair profit.
Walking further through the store, she identified lye and soda ash for use in making soap, as well as bottles of indigo dye and jars of polish for army boots and brass. Her fingers trailed the items as she dimly heard Dolly tell her she’d be back directly. RuthAnne nodded absently. Moments later, she heard the hollow steps of someone going below, as if to a basement, while she found what she was looking for.
Rolls of yard goods were stacked close to a window in an effort to catch the light, though she clicked her tongue in disapproval. The pretty fabrics should not be displayed where the sun could ruin them so completely! She stretched out a bolt of calico in colors of red, orange, brown, and tan and wrinkled her nose. Too late for that one; the sun had done its work aplenty, as there was a fade line on the bias. She re-folded the fabric and went on to search out what this post store thought was essential to the average Fort Lowell woman.
She was happily cooing over a stretch of Irish linen when Dolly appeared with a man a good three inches shorter than herself. He was stocky of build, with a well-kept black handlebar mustache and thinning salt-and-pepper hair. His chocolate-brown eyes were kind, his face weathered, but his way was easy and light; he and Dolly were obviously quite fond of each other.
Something inside her clicked. Would a man ever look at her that way again?
Her thoughts flicked to the captain. The way his brusque manner had dissolved into a quick laugh at the little girl. RuthAnne pushed down the thoughts the handsome soldier brought to her heart. He certainly didn’t view her as anything but a means to an end. That would have to be enough.
“Ruthie, this here’s Whit Baker. He just bought this here post store from the fool who built it.” The two had a good laugh at the inside joke.
“Bought it for a song, but I’m not the one singing it at present.” He stepped forward and held RuthAnne’s hand warmly. “I’m told that you are our newest laundress. Welcome to a long and distinguished army tradition.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baker.”
“Women who keep our boys from wearing rags, what a tradition indeed!” Dolly whispered for RuthAnne’s ears alone. “Our soldiers will never mention it, but the army pays us for each one we tend to, once a month out of their salary. The only good thing Post Commander Carington ever did was see that we’re paid before the men see their money, or we’d be left holding more often than not.”
Dolly happily dug through a crate that Whit had dragged up with him from the cellar below and continued her tirade. “With the troops staying closer to the fort these days, you may have as many as nineteen or twenty to tend to. We’ll see how you do. Oh! Whit, this is why I love you so dearly. Look, Ruthie. It’s that special soap with the lavender scent to it! I just love this soap. Not a drop of lye in it! Oh! And cold cream! And hand cream! Where did you find this? I’d requested this from old what’s-his-name months ago. See, I just knew you were a catch. Isn’t he, though?”
RuthAnne offered a strained smile. She’d never seen a woman so easy to laugh, quick to tease, and able to calculate expenses so rapidly. She watched in awe as Dolly set aside things to purchase immediately and things to wait for later that month.
“I’d buy it all now, if I could. God didn’t give me the sense he gave a mule. I’m trying to be patient and wait, but it all smells so good! Doesn’t it?” She stretched out a length of red and white striped satin ribbons. “Whit, be a dear and throw in a yard of this for Katie’s hair. Won’t those look lovely with her coloring?”
Whit drew out his silver scissors, measured, and cut before Dolly changed her mind. RuthAnne had no time to answer as Dolly launched into a conversation about the torrential rain and the flood that had taken all of RuthAnne’s belongings. “Those flash floods around here are killers.”
“You are lucky that you escaped with your life,” Whit said with genuine concern.
Guilt flushed RuthAnne’s cheeks. Suddenly, she realized it was the truth. She was lucky she had escaped with her life after what that bandit had done to Mr. Bingham and Mara...
“Oh, let’s not talk of such sorrowful things.” Dolly grabbed RuthAnne’s hands, which had gone ice cold, and rubbed them vigorously. “We’ve managed to put together the sorriest batch of dresses, skirts, and whatnots that you’ve ever seen. Now, what can we have on account to set our Miss Newcomb up as a proper fort laundress?”
RuthAnne watched in awe as the two of them began grabbing the soap, dye, and washboard and basin that would be her tools of the trade, but also sundry items that she hadn’t even thought of. A tube of tooth polish; a delicately carved wooden hairbrush; what Whit described as a laundress’ standard ration of coffee, tea, sugar, flour, beans, and packets of salt and pepper. She saw him grin as he shoved in a small canister of cinnamon and even a paper-wrapped bar of chocolate.
“Now, how handy are you with a sewing table?” At Dolly’s grin, she wondered if Bowen hadn’t disclosed her full story to this woman after all. “I saw you eyeing that fabric over there. Whit’s a dear, but if you want to think about making some new clothes, why not wait until the weekend and journey to town. Hernando Ochoa has the best selection of new patterns and fabric south of Prescott.”
“I don’t need anything; really, you all have been more than generous with me. I don’t even know where to begin I’m so grateful.” RuthAnne smiled warmly and couldn’t resist the urge to hug her new friend.
Dolly balked and then laughed, hugging her back. “Honey, you’re going to earn everything Whit shoved in that box for you, ten times over. Truthfully, I’m so grateful for the help I should be the one hugging you!”
Across the parade grounds, the bugles called and soldiers shouted during drills. Sounds of marching, weapons practice, and officers shouting filled the air.
“No rest for the weary! We’d better get to work or the day’s washing won’t be dry by “Taps.” Good day, Mr. Baker! You’ll bring the rest out to Suds Row later today, I trust?”
“Always a pleasure for a minute of your company, Miss Jewel.” He tipped an imaginary cap to her and had her giggling. Dolly ushered RuthAnne out the door and into the sunlight.
Chapter 12
Abigail Stevenson brushed her gunmetal gray hair out of her eyes. It was already steaming hot outside, and she had miles of work yet to do. With a huff, she looked up from her washbasin aiming to see the next bag of soiled linens to set to wash. Instead, she noted Captain Bowen Shepherd. His stride was unmistakable as he crossed the parade grounds, passing a company of men with a sound salute. The sight of a man in uniform still made the girl in her tremble, even though her girlhood had long since passed. Shepherd was a sight to behold in his hat trimmed in gold, pressed blue coat, and blue trousers. The leather on his boots didn’t dare hold the dust he tromped over. He was a mountain of a man and a lifer in the army. He was the type who didn’t know how to quit anything. She had known him long enough for that.
“Now, where’s Captain Shepherd going in such an all-fire hurry?” she wondered out loud as she wrung the last of the water from the freshly washed jacket. Her fingers had long since lost their softness from years of lye and water. Washboards and frontier women were anything but soft and feminine. That bit of a girl the captain had dragged out here had a whole heap of worry in front of her that she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Abigail smirked as she hefted her next load of wash to the basin, debating on whether to fill it with fresh water. If it was an officer, then she’d bother for the extra money they paid her, but the tag read Private, so she’d give her poor back a break for one more load.
As she watched Captain Shepherd make his way past the stables, it became clear he was aiming for Suds Row. Her heart seized in her chest. Her first thought went to her husband, Lawrence, a sergeant with the Seventh. When the Indians were flexing their muscles, an officer coming to call always made her nervous. Then again, she’d been responsible for Captain Shepherd’s uniforms and laundry since he transferred to the fort. He was early; that was all, she told herself, crossing herself quick. She ran a cake of soap briskly across the poor Private’s trousers and raked them up and down the washboard with a practiced hand.
Bowen wandered in, looking somber as ever. “Morning, Abigail. I’m too early for my things, I know.”
“No. They’re ready.” She gestured to the stacked and folded uniforms, wrapped in his blanket. She gave him a wink. “I always get to my favorites first.” His smile warmed her to the bones, even though she was twice his age.
“That’s not the only reason I’m here.” He hesitated, but she knew before he even spoke.
“You came to ask me to look out for that fair-haired Southern girl.” She plopped the now-rinsed trousers over a peg. “I’d say you should know better, but you do already, so I figure you’ve got your reasons, Captain. I’ll do it. But I wouldn’t count on her to stay long. She has soft hands. Trim figure. She’ll either get herself back on a stage east or hightail it to California. This here’s no place for a woman like her.”
“And what if she has her own reasons for staying put?” he challenged with a slight smile on his otherwise stern face.
“Reasons like falling for a tall, handsome soldier?” She watched him bristle at her words.
Interesting.
“Not likely.”
“Well, if she’s fool enough to stay around this outfit, after she’s been interviewed by our esteemed post commander...”
“Now, Abigail...”
She pooh-poohed him with a laugh, watching him shoulder his laundry sack. “Don’t get your hackles up. He’s up in Prescott and won’t be back for a week or more.”
Their eyes held a mutual understanding that words didn’t even cover. Post Commander Carington had a reputation for greeting the young laundresses in his own special way.
The captain thanked Abigail and set on his way, but she wondered after him. He was worried and more than a little smitten, if she didn’t guess right. Too bad he was too stubborn to do anything about it.
****
Dolly led RuthAnne to the area referred to as Suds Row. The women worked in the open air under a ramada with washbasins set up rank and file. Dirty water was to be dumped into an eroded canal that watered the gardens by the stable. Someone had thought to place wood planks underfoot to keep the mud at bay, but RuthAnne could see baked and dried evidence where basins had been wrestled free from sinking and feet had been sucked in after several days worth of rain and sloshed water.
There were lines for drying soldiers’ clothing. Once dried, the officer’s uniforms would be pressed with flat irons and packed for delivery. RuthAnne smiled solemnly at the worn garments even now blowing hollow and ghostly in the steady hot breeze. Somewhere in a train depot, their replacements waited and were sorely needed, from the look of things.
“You can work by me today,” Dolly said.
“I’d like that. Thanks.” RuthAnne followed Dolly’s lead and rolled up her sleeves and began filling buckets.
“Now, on Sunday we’ll head into town and see about getting some new fabrics for clothes.” Dolly blew at her bangs while RuthAnne worked the pump handle and filled another bucket. “There’s a new shop there that sells camisoles and pantaloons, as I’m sure you’ll want to rid yourself of hand-me-downs as soon as you can. I wish we could have done more for you.”
RuthAnne was already overwhelmed with the kindness that had been shown to her by her new friend. She had been all but speechless when Dolly showed her back to her quarters to find the basket of donated items deposited in a footlocker and a handmade quilt folded neatly at the foot of the straw-tick bed. She was about to say something about it when an older, gray-haired woman burst upon them at the pump.
“Well, if you two are finished buying out Mr. Baker’s store, there’s a mountain of work to be done. It’s almost ten! Where’ve you been, Jewel? Did you forget you get paid for working?”
Dolly smiled back easily, sloshing a final bucket of water into her wood basin as if she were used to this kind of greeting from the storm of a woman before them. She introduced Abigail Stevens and tossed RuthAnne a scrub brush.
“Any good stories today?” Dolly gave a conspiratorial wink, nudging RuthAnne’s ribs.
Abigail’s face melted from annoyed to gleeful in an instant. She took a quick look around before leaning in to share her bit of news. “Just a word I overheard while helping Reggie collect eggs. You haven’t told her much about our post commander yet, I reckon?”
Dolly cleared her throat. “We haven’t really had the time to get into that.”
“Didn’t think so.” With a huff, Abigail continued. “Dolly can fill you in later. The most important thing to know about that man is he is his own favorite human being. Aside from that, don’t be caught alone with him or tongues will fly faster than a bobcat after a rabbit. The man has a habit of collecting innocent young women like an Apache collects scalps.”
RuthAnne nodded as if she understood. Abigail went on to tell about the arrival of the post commander’s wife. “She’s returning from San Francisco by way of steamer.”
RuthAnne’s eyebrows went up in question as Dolly laughed heartily and said, “Oh, honey.
No one
takes a steam ship around the Gulf of California in August. Not unless you’re crazy, stupid, or reassigned by the army. You can bet Post Commander Carington didn’t request her presence here.”
“Nope.” Abigail shook her head. “She’s come to do her darndest to make their sham of a marriage look good. Seems her son’s come back to the territories from West Point, and she is determined to play the doting mother once again.”
“I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.” Dolly giggled. “She’s meaner than a whole nest of rattlesnakes and about as attractive. After riding that steamer ship for ten days without a bath, fresh food, or fresh water, she’ll be a sight to behold!”
“And the ride up the Gila River won’t have been much better. Those barges get stuck on sandbars and the like, sometimes for days on end. I’d give her a wide berth when she gets back to the fort. Take them words to heart, missy.”
RuthAnne watched Abigail go back to her work. “I don’t think she likes me very much...”
Dolly shook her head. “Aw, she doesn’t really get close to anyone. She’s lost her boys. Lost her purpose in everything but her daughter, Moira. Doesn’t really have much fun save for the chance to gossip. And talking about Clara Carington is one of her favorite things to do.”
“Well, it sounds like Mrs. Carington is going through a lot of trouble to get here. She must be very excited to see her son.”
“That’s what I enjoy about you so much. You’re sweet. Let’s just see what you think after you’ve had a chance to see her firsthand.” Dolly’s eyes had hardened like clear stones and then softened again when she turned to work. “Now, Ruthie, meet your soldiers. Their names are on the bag they come in. Try and keep them together. Someone will claim you lost something, that’s inevitable. Do your best to make it not true. These boys out here need all that they have and more. Take special care with some of them, they’re all but worn through.”
Dolly took that opportunity to dump the first sack of sweat-smelling, salt-crusted, dusty clothes, and RuthAnne fought the urge to both burst into tears and smile. The last time she’d washed men’s things was when Evan was alive; nearly two years had passed and yet it seemed like only yesterday. Emotions swirled, making her light-headed.
Dolly held out a cake of lye soap and a pitying look. “You don’t have much experience with labor, do you?”
RuthAnne bit her lip and smiled. It was an innocent enough question. It took more than a day with a person to get to know her true self.
“Don’t worry. I can hold my own.” With that, RuthAnne pulled up a sturdy, three-legged stool and set to work.