Summer of Promise (12 page)

“I thought that a woman needed my help. You’d have done the same thing if you’d seen her.” Abigail wasn’t certain of that. The Charlotte she’d known in Vermont would have sought to help a woman in distress, but the Wyoming Charlotte, Charlotte the wife, was different.

Charlotte shook her head. “You’re wrong. I would never have gotten that close. You must have noticed that she wasn’t dressed like us.”

Abigail looked at her sister. Even her nightdress was more elegant than most women’s, with delicate pin tucking and the finest of lace decorating the neckline. “No one dresses as well as you do. They don’t have your skill with a needle or your eye for fashion, but Leah’s dress was perfectly respectable.”

Charlotte was not to be placated. “I don’t care what the harlot was wearing. What I do care is that you spoke to her. Oh, Abigail, when will you outgrow your impulsiveness? One of these days, you need to realize that you can’t help everyone.” Charlotte shuddered. “A soiled dove! How could you?”

“How could I not?” Though Mrs. Grayson had admonished Abigail to keep her sister calm, she had to explain. “I remembered Mama and Papa talking about the Golden Rule. I thought Leah needed love, and maybe I could offer it.”

As her words found their mark, Abigail watched Charlotte’s face soften. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s just that I hate the thought of that kind of temptation so close to the fort. And . . .” She hesitated for a second, as if choosing her words. “I worry about you, Abigail. I know you mean well and that you want to solve every problem you see, but you can’t. I’m worried that you’ll get hurt trying.”

Abigail put her arms around Charlotte’s shoulders and hugged her. “Don’t worry, big sister. I’ll be fine.”

Ethan looked around, pleased with what he saw. The team was as ready as they could be, considering they’d had only a few days’ practice. Fortunately, Jeffrey’s team had had no more time. Both teams practiced each evening between supper and retreat, and the men who didn’t have guard or fatigue duty took turns pitching, hitting, and catching during the day. Tonight was their first game, and though Jeffrey could—and did—brag all he wanted about his team, Ethan believed his was better. Dietrich Keller, the corporal who’d translated the canine detail orders, had proven to be a formidable pitcher, while Oliver had become a first-rate batter. The rest of the team approached the sport with enthusiasm, albeit not much skill. But their skills were improving and—even better—so were their moods. A win was just what they needed to give their morale a decided boost.

That was the primary reason Ethan wanted his team to win—for their sakes—but he couldn’t deny the desire to prove Jeffrey wrong. The man had a tendency to boast, as proven by the name he’d chosen for his team, and it would be gratifying to see him get his comeuppance.

“You let your team choose the name?” Jeffrey hadn’t bothered to hide his scorn when he’d learned that Ethan’s team was to be called the Laramie Blues, in honor of both the fort and the color of their uniforms. “You’re the captain. You should have made the decision.”

Ethan forbore pointing out that he had made the decision, and that decision was to let the team determine its name.

“All right, men. You know what to do.” Ethan addressed his team, hoping his pride in them would instill confidence. “Let’s show Crowley’s Champs who the real champions are.”

Dietrich Keller grinned. “The Blues vill vin tonight. I feel it in my bones.” As the rest of the team cheered, Ethan led them onto the field.

It was an hour and a half later, and Dietrich’s prediction had yet to come true. Ethan realized that he’d been wrong in underestimating the other team’s skill. Their pitcher might not be as good as Dietrich, but their catcher and shortstop were first rate, with the result that they had reached the final inning, and Ethan’s team was ahead by only one run.

“We gotta win.” Ethan heard his second baseman mutter the words. While there was a man on first base, the Champs had two outs, and the batter was two strikes down. All it would take was one more strike.

From his position in left field, Ethan looked at the crowd that had gathered to watch the game. It seemed as if every soldier who wasn’t on duty and almost every civilian were standing on the sidelines, cheering on their favorite team, booing when they didn’t like the umpire’s call.

Ethan wasn’t surprised that Abigail had come, even though her sister remained confined to her bed. After all, Abigail had attended practice each night, bringing Puddles with her. Though the catcher had joked that the dog was trying to take his place on the team, Puddles had proven to be more than a squirming, barking ball of fur. He’d served a useful purpose, retrieving runaway balls. The only problem was, he’d taken those balls back to Abigail. Despite her efforts to teach Puddles to return them to Dietrich, she’d had no success. Still, the team had enjoyed the dog’s antics, and Ethan . . . well, anything that was good for the team was good for him.

And so, while he wasn’t surprised that Abigail had come to the game tonight, he could not deny that he was pleased. It was true that she cheered both teams, but that didn’t seem to bother the Blues. Ethan had overheard some of the men speculating which team she’d favor and had learned that most recognized that Abigail was duty bound to cheer the team her brother-in-law led. “Wish she’d brought the dog,” one had groused. But tonight there was no mischievous puppy, only a beautiful woman with what appeared to be a genuine interest in baseball.

Ethan dragged his attention back to the game. Dietrich was winding his arm, preparing for the final pitch. The batter would miss. The inning would be over. His team would win.

Crack! It was the unmistakable sound of a bat connecting with a ball. Ethan blinked in astonishment as he saw the ball speeding past the infield. It was the best hit of the night. He ran, determined to catch it on the fly, but the ball bounced before he could reach it. Behind him, Ethan heard the crowd roar and knew the batter had reached first base. Judging from the shouts, the man on first had gotten to second and was heading for third, while the batter raced toward second. There was still hope, Ethan told himself as he ran for the ball. He’d get it to the catcher, the runner would be out, and the game would be over. But Ethan was too late. By the time he snagged the ball, the first runner had reached home and the batter was on his way to scoring a home run. The Blues had lost, and it was Ethan’s fault.

“Congratulations,” he said as he shook Jeffrey’s hand a minute later. “Your team played a good game.”

Jeffrey’s smile was little less than a smirk. “I told you we were the best. Now you have proof.”

Knowing that his team was listening, Ethan said only, “There’s another game next week.”

“And the results will be the same.” Jeffrey turned toward his team. “You did a good job, men. I’m proud of you.”

As Jeffrey’s team left the field, Ethan turned toward his. “The Champs were good, but you were great. If I hadn’t been here, you would have won.” Though Ethan kept his voice even, he hated even pronouncing the words and admitting that he’d failed his men.

Dietrich shook his head. “If you had not been here, ve vould not have had a team.”

A murmur of assent greeted his words. “Dietrich’s right,” one of the other men said. “Next time will be different.”

For their sake, Ethan hoped so.

7

W
as she the only one who had noticed that he was upset? The slump of his shoulders and the downward twist of his lips had been momentary, but she had seen them. An instant later Ethan had looked as if nothing was amiss as he strode to Jeffrey’s side to congratulate him. Was that something he’d learned at West Point, how to hide his emotions? Perhaps it was, but Abigail knew what she had seen: Ethan was bothered by his team’s loss. That was why she lingered on the parade ground, waiting until the enlisted men headed for their barracks.

“It was a good game,” she said as she approached Ethan. For once, Oliver, who usually offered to escort her home after practice, had left as soon as the game ended.

Ethan shook his head. “We should have won. The Blues are a stronger team than the Champs. If it hadn’t been for me, we would have won.”

So that was what bothered him. It wasn’t the loss as much as his belief that he was responsible. Was that another thing he’d been taught at the Military Academy, that he was solely responsible for his men? That might be true in battle, but baseball was different.

“It’s a team, Ethan. That means everyone plays a part. Winning or losing depends on the whole team, not one person.”

He looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “You don’t understand.”

“I think I do. You’re afraid you’ve disappointed your men. But, Ethan, think about why you organized the team in the first place. You wanted to give them a new interest, something to do. You didn’t want them to be bored.”

Though his lips remained flattened, Abigail saw a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. Hoping to fan that spark, she said, “I watched everyone on the field, and one thing I can assure you: no one was bored.”

“You may be right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Abigail fisted her hands on her hips and feigned indignation. “Didn’t you learn that schoolteachers are always right?”

For an instant she thought he might smile, but instead Ethan’s frown deepened. “It’s the strangest thing, but when I congratulated Jeffrey and watched him smirk, I could have sworn I was looking at my grandfather. I could almost hear him tell me that I had failed to live up to his standards.”

Abigail wasn’t certain whether she heard sorrow or bitterness in Ethan’s voice, but neither was good. “I wonder if any of us meets our parents’ expectations. I know I disappointed mine more than once.”

The sun was beginning to set, and the breeze that teased Abigail’s hair was cool, a reminder that while days might be warm, Wyoming evenings could be downright cold. Abigail knew she should return to Charlotte’s home, and yet she did not want to leave Ethan.

He was silent for a moment, as if considering what she’d said, but when he spoke, his words surprised her. “It must have been difficult, being a minister’s daughter. Living with my grandfather wasn’t always easy, but at least the fire and brimstone were confined to Sundays.”

What kind of church had Ethan attended? As quickly as the question entered her brain, Abigail knew the answer. Papa had been asked to leave several congregations when the parishioners had declared him too soft. They had wanted sermons that promised fire and brimstone to anyone whose opinion varied from their own. Instead, they’d discovered that Papa had opinions of his own and that those opinions didn’t always match the church elders’.

“My father wasn’t that kind of minister.” Abigail nodded when Ethan started walking toward her house. They could continue their conversation on the verandah. “He preached that God is a God of love.”

“No thunderbolts from on high? No threats of eternal damnation?”

“Not very often. Papa wanted us to strive for the reward Jesus promised. He said that if we accepted Jesus as our savior and spent our lives following his example, we wouldn’t have to worry about fire and brimstone.”

“Promises instead of threats. It’s an intriguing approach.”

“Not just toward faith. That’s what you offered your men when you organized the baseball games. You gave them the promise of entertainment and a new challenge. You didn’t threaten anything.”

Ethan chuckled. “Next I suppose you’re going to tell me it doesn’t matter that we lost the game.”

“Of course.”

“And if I tell you I’m not convinced, you’ll tell me you’re always right.”

“Of course.”

Ethan’s laughter was the sweetest sound Abigail had heard all night.

If it hadn’t been for the reason, Ethan would have enjoyed the ride. Though he knew Abigail would disagree—vehemently, in fact—in his opinion, there was nothing quite as beautiful as the Wyoming prairie. Where else could you find sky so clear that a fanciful man could believe he was looking all the way to heaven? Where else was the ground carpeted with the smallest flowers imaginable, each an example of miniature perfection? Where else did the wind carry the scent of sagebrush for miles? Wyoming was beautiful. No doubt about that. Unfortunately, the gently rolling hills and the occasional ravine that added to its beauty also provided ideal terrain for men to hide. And hide they had.

Ethan frowned as he shaded his eyes and stared into the distance. They had to be close. Even though they had a twelve hour head start, they were on foot. By all rights, he should have found them by now, and yet those two miserable cowards continued to elude him. He’d lost the trail more times than he wanted to admit, and it was only his instincts that propelled him in this direction.

Chances were good that they were headed for the gold fields of Deadwood. That’s where most of the deserters went, thinking they’d get rich overnight. It didn’t happen, but there was no denying the allure of gold. That was the reason the official search party had gone northeast toward Deadwood. While he did not doubt the deserters sought gold, Ethan hadn’t been convinced they had any desire to dig in the dirt. As a result, he’d saddled his horse and headed south, scouring the area parallel to the stagecoach route. His instincts told him that these men, like Private Schiller, craved instant riches.

“C’mon, Samson. We’ll find ’em.”

The horse needed no urging to gallop. Seconds after Ethan’s command, he was flying across the prairie, his mane streaming behind him, his hoofs pounding the ground. And then it happened. One instant Samson was galloping; the next he missed a step and lunged forward, stopping abruptly. A prairie dog hole. It had to be. Though Ethan had spent hours being entertained by the social rodents’ habits, there was nothing amusing about stepping into one of those holes. They were wide enough to trap a horse’s hoof and deep enough to break his leg, particularly if he was galloping.

Ethan dismounted quickly and began to murmur words of encouragement to the stallion. “It’ll be all right,” he said as ran his hands up and down the horse’s leg, checking for injuries. Samson was fortunate, Ethan realized as he ran his hand over the horse’s fetlock. The leg was not broken, merely badly bruised. “C’mon, boy,” he said, encouraging the horse to walk. As he’d hoped, though Samson favored that leg, he was able to put weight on it.

Pulling a bandage from his saddlebag, Ethan began to wrap his horse’s leg. “You’ll be fine in a few days,” he told his mount, then grimaced. There would be no more riding today. Not only did that mean that he would have to walk back to the fort, but—even worse—he would not catch those miserable deserters.

Ethan tried not to frown as he trudged toward Fort Laramie. It wasn’t Samson’s fault that he’d caught his leg in the hole, any more than it was the stallion’s fault that the men had chosen to go over the hill. And it most definitely was not his fault that Ethan was out of sorts now. He’d been confident that baseball would solve the desertion problem, and yet it obviously had not. One of the men who’d fled the post in the middle of the night had been part of his team. Though logic told Ethan that desertion was not a spur-of-the-moment decision, he could not dismiss the niggling fear that their team’s loss had contributed to the man’s disappearance.

That was absurd. As absurd as the fact that he missed taking meals with the Crowleys.

Samson snorted and tossed his head, almost as if he could read Ethan’s thoughts and was taking exception to them. The horse wasn’t a mind reader. Of course he wasn’t. But if Ethan were being honest, he’d admit that what he had looked forward to was spending time with Abigail, not the rest of the family.

Abigail was not like any woman he’d met. It was no wonder Jeffrey considered his sister-in-law trouble. She had an opinion about everything and did not hesitate to share it. Look at the way she’d tried to convince Ethan that the team’s loss wasn’t his fault. She hadn’t succeeded—not completely—but she had given him many things to think about, not the least of which was that Grandfather’s view of God might be wrong. Unfortunately, thanks to Charlotte’s indisposition, Ethan no longer enjoyed verbal sparring matches at meals. Instead, the most he could hope for was ordinary conversation with the other officers, conversations that all too often consisted of Oliver singing Abigail’s praises.

Though it wasn’t the first time Oliver had been smitten, this time seemed worse than normal. He turned a simple smile into a sign of undying love. Why, he was even convinced that Abigail attended baseball practice for the express purpose of watching him bat. As soon as practice ended, Oliver would rush to Abigail’s side, pat the dog, and mutter inane comments. Ethan cringed each time he heard the senseless words pour forth. One night Oliver had spouted several verses of poetry. Surely it hadn’t been Ethan’s imagination that Abigail had appeared tempted to laugh.

A hawk soared lazily, its wingspan casting a welcome shade for the seconds it was overhead. Though beautiful, the Wyoming sky lost a bit of its appeal when a man was forced to walk beneath it for hours on end. Ethan uncapped his canteen and took a quick swig. He shouldn’t let the sun bother him any more than he should be bothered by not sharing meals with Abigail. She’d be gone before the leaves fell unless Oliver convinced her otherwise.

Ethan’s lip curled in distaste as he considered the possibility of Abigail remaining at Fort Laramie as Mrs. Oliver Seton. A preacher’s daughter and a man who saw nothing wrong with spending his evenings at Peg’s, drinking, gambling, and cavorting with the women. Ethan could not imagine them together. And then there was Woodrow.

Ethan pulled out his watch and frowned. It was time to let Samson rest again. Though the horse would not complain, Ethan would not risk further injuries to the leg. That was why he spent a quarter of each hour sitting on the ground while Samson gave his leg a rest. That was good for the horse. The only problem was that the inactivity gave Ethan more time to think, and today his thoughts were not happy ones.