Summer of Promise (26 page)

Corporal Keller appeared unconvinced. “I must get the money sooner. That vould be better.” He nodded briskly. “I vill find a way.”

Ethan felt like an insect whose antennae had suddenly begun to vibrate. How was Dietrich Keller going to raise more money? And how had he saved enough to send for his girl, anyway? It was no secret that enlisted men barely survived on their wages. Perhaps Keller was the soldier helping the outlaws.

Ethan left the shadows of the commissary storehouse and headed toward Abigail. As the corporal saluted him, he nodded. He’d speak to Keller later. Right now, he wanted to see Abigail. Correction: he needed to see Abigail. He needed to be reminded that something was right in the world.

“Your class went late tonight,” Ethan said when the corporal had left. The smile Abigail gave him left no doubt that the delay had been good, and Ethan found himself smiling in response. This was what he had needed: a few minutes of normalcy.

“We were almost at the end of one of the readers, and they wanted to finish,” Abigail explained. “I wasn’t going to stop them, not when they seemed excited.”

Ethan wrinkled his nose. “At least your students have a reason to be excited. The Laramie Blues certainly don’t. Everyone’s getting discouraged by our losing streak.”

“That will end.” Abigail spoke with confidence. “Jeffrey would never admit it, but your team is stronger than his. It’s only been bad luck that you haven’t won.” Worry lines formed between Abigail’s eyes. “You’re not letting it bother you, are you? The scores have been so close that it’s only a matter of time before the Blues win.”

Ethan felt himself relax. This was why he’d wanted to be with Abigail, to have her put everything in perspective. “That’s what I told the team, but thanks. It helps to have someone else confirm our strength.”

As her forehead smoothed, Abigail nodded. “Any time. I told you once that I’m a good listener, and I mean it.”

What would she say if he told her about the letter? Probably the same thing she had the last time—go home—and that was advice Ethan did not want.

“I need to take Puddles for a walk,” Abigail said when they reached the Crowley residence. “Would you like to join us?”

Ethan nodded. Even though he didn’t want to talk about Grandfather, he was far from ready to relinquish Abigail’s company. “Believe it or not, my quarters feel lonely without your dog.”

“He’s not mine. He’s Charlotte’s,” Abigail corrected him, “but I understand. The house seemed empty when he wasn’t here.”

It felt amazingly good to have Puddles greet him as if he were a long-lost friend. Perhaps this was what he needed. Perhaps he ought to adopt a dog of his own.

As they circled the parade ground, hoping to tire Puddles enough that he would sleep all night, Ethan and Abigail spoke of trivial matters, everything from speculating on how large Puddles would be when fully grown to whether or not there would be another hailstorm. And, as frequently as they spoke, they were silent, but while silence could be oppressive, this was comfortable. For the first time all day, Ethan felt at peace. The worries were still there, but they’d become muted. Though nothing had changed except his outlook, his world had shrunk to three inhabitants: a wonderful woman, a playful puppy, and himself, and so it was with reluctance that he bade Abigail good night.

Once in his quarters, the weight of the day returned. Pushing thoughts of his grandfather aside, Ethan focused on the robbery. Was it possible that Dietrich Keller was involved? The man appeared honest, but Ethan knew that appearances could be deceptive. He would learn more tomorrow morning when he questioned the corporal and his friends. In the meantime, he would sleep.

But sleep proved elusive, and Ethan found himself wandering aimlessly around his room. At least when Puddles had been here, he’d had someone to talk to. Ethan smiled, remembering how the puppy had strained at the leash when they’d approached the BOQ. It had taken all of Abigail’s strength to keep him from climbing the stairs.

“See, he thinks he’s yours,” she had said with a laugh. “I won’t tell Charlotte.”

“Or Jeffrey,” Ethan had added. “He’d probably welcome an excuse to give Puddles away permanently.”

Ethan walked to the window, wondering if anyone other than the guards were out. Surely there were no runaway dogs. The night was calm, the parade ground empty. Ethan looked to the left, and as he did, he blinked in surprise. Why was Jeffrey returning from the stables? Tonight was one of his nights to play poker at the Officers’ Club, and the game was still going on. Curious, Ethan hurried outside.

“You’re getting back late,” he said, deliberately infusing his words with a questioning tone as he matched his steps to Jeffrey’s.

If his friend was surprised to see him, he gave no sign. Instead, Jeffrey said, “Charlotte’s so busy with her sister that I feel like a fifth wheel around the house. I went for a ride to clear my head.”

Ethan understood that need. “I wish I could clear mine. I keep thinking about the robberies.” And Grandfather and Abigail, though he wouldn’t admit that.

“The rifles or the stagecoach?”

“Both. I’m trying to figure out who else is involved.”

Jeffrey kept his eyes fixed on the distance as he nodded shortly. “I haven’t heard anything.”

That was what Ethan had suspected. If Jeffrey had any clues, he’d tell him. But Jeffrey had not overheard Dietrich Keller’s conversation with Abigail. “How well do you know Corporal Keller?”

This time Jeffrey’s response was a shrug. “As well as I know any of your men, I guess. Why?”

“Would you say he was intelligent?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but yes, I would.”

“Smart enough to lead men?”

The question gave Jeffrey pause. “Probably,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “Why?”

“I heard him talking about needing extra money. He claims he wants to bring his girl out here and marry her. Nothing wrong with that, but it sounded as if he has saved more than other men.”

“And you think he might be getting that money illegally.”

“Precisely.”

“So, ask him.”

“I am not a thief.” Dietrich Keller’s face flushed with anger as he glared at Ethan, seemingly forgetting that he was addressing an officer. The two men were standing in the small room next to the adjutant’s office. Though Corporal Keller had appeared slightly apprehensive when he’d received Ethan’s summons, the apprehension had turned to anger.

“If you didn’t steal it, where did you get the extra money to bring your girl out here? And don’t deny that you have it. I overheard you speaking with Miss Harding.” Ethan kept his voice firm, knowing that men were more likely to break down and reveal the truth when pressured.

“I vill not deny it, sir. It is the truth, and everyone knows it. I vorked for that money. Some men pay me to shine their boots and buckles. I clean rifles for others. I save every penny I can, but I never stole anything. Never. You must believe me.”

“The fact remains that someone took weapons from the storeroom. Do you know who it was?”

“Nein.”

Unfortunately, Ethan believed him, and that meant he was where he’d been the day before: no closer to discovering who was responsible.

Frances frowned when she realized that she’d turned right rather than left at the Y in the road. She never came this way, for the trail that was the Army’s excuse for a road led to the river, and she had no desire to see that. The hog ranch, which was where she was headed, lay in the other direction, and yet Frances could not dismiss the feeling that there was a reason she’d come this way. It wasn’t simply inattention. Something, some instinct, had led her toward the river. Intrigued, she flicked the reins and increased her pace. It might be nothing at all, a false alarm, but at least she’d know.

When she crested the last rise and looked down at the Laramie River, Frances whistled softly. She’d been right. There was a reason she was here, and it was to learn what Leah did when she left the ranch.

The fool! It was bad enough that Leah was with a woman from the fort, but of all the possible women, she had somehow gotten mixed up with Abigail Harding. That had to stop immediately, for Abigail was the one person who might be able to connect Mrs. Dunn with Peg. The lieutenant was a man and as unobservant as they came, but Abigail was different. Was that why she was with Leah?

Frances’s frown deepened. Though Leah did not know what Frances was actually doing when she pretended to visit her fictitious ailing sister, she wasn’t dumb. And neither was Abigail. Frances couldn’t control Abigail, but she could ensure that Leah understood the consequences if she ever spoke to Miss Abigail Harding again.

16

J
effrey won’t be happy.” Charlotte sighed as the runner reached home. The Laramie Blues were at bat, and tonight it seemed as if nothing could stop them. While Crowley’s Champs fumbled balls, dropped bats, and missed seemingly easy catches, the Blues were playing a virtually faultless game.

Abigail shifted the basket of baked goods from one hand to the other. Normally, she would have placed it on the ground during the game, but Charlotte had insisted on bringing Puddles with them tonight. At a minimum, the dog would have tried to stick his nose under the napkin. More likely, he would have devoured at least a couple of the cinnamon rolls she’d spent the afternoon baking.

When she’d returned from her morning ride without seeing Leah, Abigail had decided that kneading dough might ease some of the tension that had settled in her neck and shoulders. Today was the third consecutive day Leah had not come to the riverbank for her lesson, and that worried Abigail, making her fear that Leah was ill. There was only one thing to do. If Leah wasn’t at the cottonwood tomorrow, Abigail would visit her at Peg’s Place. In less than a month, Abigail would be on her way back to Vermont, and before she left, she wanted to see Leah finish another reader and begin lessons in basic arithmetic. Leah might still lack the confidence to leave the hog ranch and build a new life, but if she chose to go, those skills would help her find a position as a cook, even if she wasn’t ready to work in a shop.

Abigail glanced at Charlotte, knowing her sister would not approve of a trip to the hog ranch. Nor would Ethan, but perhaps the trip wouldn’t be necessary. Perhaps Leah would come for her lesson tomorrow. Abigail would worry about it then. Tonight was for baseball.

“It’s about time the Blues won,” she told her sister. “Ethan said they’ve been horribly discouraged.” Who wouldn’t be? No matter how hard they tried, Ethan’s team had lost every game so far.

Another batter took his place, waiting patiently while the Champs’ pitcher stretched his arms, then swung them in wide circles. It was a ploy familiar to everyone who’d watched the games this summer, an attempt to make the batter so anxious that he’d swing at anything.

“You always did champion the underdog.” Charlotte’s words were matter-of-fact.

Abigail would not deny the accusation. It was, she suspected, part of the reason she felt such a strong need to help those who were less fortunate or in times of trouble. “I know what it’s like to be in second place. It wasn’t easy being your sister. You had already mastered everything I tried.”

As Puddles, apparently bored with being forced to remain stationary, began to dig a hole, Charlotte tugged on his leash before she looked at Abigail. “That was only because I was older. I knew how hard it was to do some things, so I tried to make them easier for you.”

“And you did. I tried to do the same thing for Elizabeth.” Abigail frowned at the pitcher and his seemingly endless warm-up exercise. “But, no matter what I did, I was always the second daughter. Sometimes I wondered what it would have been like if I’d been an only child. Did you ever think about that?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“Well, I did. On bad days, I’d wish I didn’t have to share Mama and Papa’s attention with anyone. Now, though, I look at Ethan and I’m glad I wasn’t the only child. I can’t imagine life without you and Elizabeth.” Perhaps Ethan’s childhood would have been easier if he’d had a sibling. At least then he would not have been the sole recipient of his grandfather’s attention.

Crack! The batter hit the first pitch, sending the ball into right field as he began to circle the bases. When he reached home, breathless but clearly exultant over his run, Charlotte sighed again. “The Champs will never recover from this.”

They did not. The Blues won by ten runs, their elation palpable as the last inning ended. While the Blues celebrated, Jeffrey stalked to the center of the parade ground and shook Ethan’s hand. Abigail could not hear his words, but the firm line of his mouth told her that Charlotte had been right: he was not happy. Though it was only a game, the loss appeared to rankle more than it should have.

As her husband turned to leave, Charlotte handed Puddles’s leash to Abigail. “I’d better go with Jeffrey.”

With the basket in one hand, the dog’s leash in the other, Abigail made her way to the triumphant team.

“Congratulations.” Though she addressed the words to everyone, her smile was for Ethan, for she knew how much the win meant to him. His team’s vindication was visible in the relaxed line of his neck and shoulders and in the smile that softened his face. “The Blues were great tonight.” As if seconding Abigail’s opinion, Puddles barked.

Ethan’s smile widened into a grin. “Hear that, men? Even the dog agrees.” He looked down at the basket. “Could it be that you have something for us?” Everyone on the post knew that Charlotte and Abigail brought baked goods to each game and presented them to the winning team. Ethan had groused about the tradition once, saying it made his team’s defeat even more bitter. Tonight he was not grousing.

“Indeed, I do,” Abigail said with another smile. “Tonight we have cinnamon rolls.” A cry of approval met her words. In prior weeks, the treat had been simpler, normally pieces of cake left over from whatever Mrs. Channing had served for dessert, but there were no suitable leftovers from Mrs. Nelson’s meals, because she served puddings and compotes rather than baked goods. “I made them myself,” Abigail added.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You must have known we were going to win.”

“I hoped that would be the case.”

Lifting the napkin from the top of the basket, Ethan made a show of sniffing the contents. “C’mon, men. Let’s enjoy Miss Harding’s reward before Puddles takes a notion to help himself to the rolls.” He sniffed again. “They smell mighty good.”

As the men devoured the hearty combination of cinnamon and sweet dough, Ethan stood at Abigail’s side. “This means a lot to the team and to me.” He reached over and took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “Thank you, Abigail.”

His hand was warm and firm, sending shivers of delight up her arm. Even through her gloves, Abigail could feel the differences between Ethan’s hand and hers. His was larger. She’d known that. The flesh was firmer. That was no surprise. His grip was stronger. She had expected that. What she hadn’t expected was that his touch would make her feel as if she were a precious object, worthy of being cherished. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but oh, so pleasant. Abigail looked down at their clasped hands, not wanting the moment to end. And then Puddles whined, putting his front paws on Ethan’s legs.

“I think he’s feeling left out,” she said.

Ethan wrinkled his nose as he pretended to glare at the puppy. “Pesky dog!” As Puddles barked, Ethan released Abigail’s hand, leaving her feeling somehow bereft.

“Abigail.”

Her hand stopped in midair. She had been daydreaming, recalling how wonderful it had felt to have her hand clasped in Ethan’s, and so she had been later than normal getting dressed this morning. On an ordinary morning, Abigail would have been downstairs, checking the porridge and making coffee. Today, she was about to pin her mother’s brooch to her dress when she heard Charlotte’s voice.

“Come here. Please.”

Abigail’s heart began to pound. Something was desperately wrong for Charlotte to sound so weak. She opened the connecting door and hurried into her sister’s room.

“What’s wrong?”

Charlotte’s face was devoid of color. Not even when she’d been in the throes of morning sickness had Abigail seen her sister look so ill.

“I don’t know.” Charlotte’s hand rose to her throat. “I feel worse than I have in weeks.” She managed a weak smile. “Would you fetch Mrs. Grayson?”

“Shall I get Jeffrey too?”

If possible, Charlotte’s face lost even more color. “No. I don’t want to worry him needlessly.”

Though Abigail was tempted to disagree, she did not. Instead, she hurried to the midwife’s house, saying a silent prayer for her sister’s health with each step.

“I don’t understand.” Mrs. Grayson had spent half an hour with Charlotte. Now she sat in the parlor, a cup of coffee in her hand. “None of the other women I’ve attended have had problems like this.”

And that was what Abigail had feared. She’d asked a few discreet questions and had learned that, though Mrs. Grayson had no formal training as a midwife, she had a lot of common sense about childbirth and women’s ailments, far more, according to the other women, than Dr. Pratt. Mrs. Grayson was well-regarded and hadn’t lost a patient yet, but Abigail still worried that Charlotte’s condition wasn’t normal. “My sister was very ill as a child,” she said, explaining what had happened then. “Do you think this might be related? The doctor warned that her lungs would always be weak.”

Mrs. Grayson shook her head. “This isn’t her lungs. If I had to guess, I would say it’s the result of high-strung nerves. Has Charlotte always been this easily disturbed?”

“No. Our mother claimed she was the strongest of us.”

“She’s not strong now. She’ll need to spend three or four days in bed, and even then . . .” The midwife frowned. “To be honest, I’m worried about the rest of her pregnancy.”

So was Abigail. She hated seeing her sister so ill, and even more she hated the thought that she would soon be thousands of miles away, unable to help Charlotte in any way. Perhaps she could postpone her return a week or so and still be there in time for classes to begin. She would check the schedule, but first she had to tell Jeffrey his wife was ill.

She found him in the post headquarters. “It’s my fault.” Jeffrey smacked his forehead with his fist when Abigail explained what had happened. “I should not have brought Charlotte here. Why couldn’t I see that she’s too fragile for this land? What will I do if she dies?”