The Peacemaker (6 page)

Indy knew the moment Prudence Stallard entered the hospital that she was one of the laundresses. Her hands gave her away. They were rough and red.

"Please, call me Pru," said Prudence when Dr. Valentine made the introductions. "Everyone does." Likewise, Indy requested Prudence use the shortened form of her name. Dr. Valentine excused himself and left.

"Word is around camp that Shatto and his band came to your rescue," Prudence said. At Indy's nod, she went on. "I've only seen him a time or two. Once on my way to Tucson for supplies, and last spring when he sent word to Captain Nolan that he had a present for Peter Clarke, the former post commander's little boy. It was a puppy to replace the dog Peter had lost the night his father was killed."

"That was kind of him," Indy said.

"I thought so too. I've never heard of an Apache doing anything like that before. That's when I got the notion that there was something
different
about Shatto, something that set him apart from the other Apaches. He's still a dangerous savage, mind you. I've heard about how deadly he is with a knife—but it's like he has. a heart if you get my meaning."

Indy recalled thinking exactly the same thing right after the attack—that there was
something
different about Shatto—
something
that set him apart from the other braves. She might have told Pru how much in agreement they were and she might have elaborated on the subject by saying how Shatto had prevented her from killing herself and Captain Nolan, but she found herself oddly reluctant to share her thoughts.

"Nobody seems to know much about him," Prudence went on. "In fact, nobody had even heard of him until five or six years ago, then all of a sudden there he was." She lifted her chin and looked straight into Indy's eyes. "You saw him up-close. What did you think of him? How did he impress you?"

"Impress me? He terrified me."

Prudence clucked her tongue. "No, that's not what I mean," she said, laughing and shaking her head. "Once you realized he wasn't going to hurt you—what did you think of him? You know, as a man?"

Indy looked confused. "As a man? Why, I don't think I know what you mean. Of course I think of him as a man. What are you saying?"

Prudence gave an exasperated sigh. "Where did Doc say you were from? St. Louis? Did you grow up in a convent, or did your papa keep you locked up in the attic?"

Indy was taken aback at the woman's bold affront, but Prudence didn't seem to notice. "Most Apaches I've seen are sort of broad in the face. Now, Cochise. I saw him once in '62. He's handsome as far as Apaches go, and very distinguished looking, but Shatto—he's so—" The bridge between her eyes wrinkled, then she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "There's just a look about him that takes my breath away." She gave a delicate shiver.

Indy took a moment to think of a reply. "He's a fine-looking Indian," she said at length, refusing to indulge in an evaluation of Shatto's physical attributes—attributes that were deeply etched into her memory.

Prudence laughed again. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Indy. You aren't going to be like those stuffy officers' wives are you? They're so worried about trying to impress your papa so he'll look upon their husbands with favor at promotion time, they can't say a word unless they've rehearsed it first! But you— Now, you don't have to impress anybody. So you can speak up and say whatever is on your mind. Especially in front of me."

Indy laughed in spite of herself. She had never met anyone quite like Prudence Stallard before, and she had a feeling it was going to be a very interesting relationship. "Thank you, Pru. That's good to know, but I really don't have anything to say, at least not at the moment. And as far as men go, I never had much time for that sort of thing. I was always so busy taking care of the house and Father." She shrugged.

"I see. Well, then, you'll just have to take my word about Shatto. He'd have every woman here dreaming about him if he were a white man . . ." She rolled her eyes and made a funny face.

Indy wasn't amused.

"Well now, let's get you up and dressed. I've prepared your quarters so that at least you have a place to sleep and bathe, but I have to tell you there's a lot yet to be done." She gave a heavy sigh. "Your father—I mean, the colonel—it's apparent he hasn't lifted a broom to the place since the day he moved in. I cleaned the bedrooms, but that's as far as I got, so consider yourself warned."

On the other side of the privacy screen, Captain Nolan snored loudly. The two women looked at each other and broke into laughter.

In spite of Prudence's warning about the condition of her father's quarters, Indy was shocked and appalled. She had been prepared for dirt and disorder, typical of any man who didn't have a woman to take care of him, but she had not been prepared for this—this went beyond dirt and disorder.

The main room—the sitting room or parlor— was a perfect square, with a front window facing the parade ground, and a southern window looking out to the detached kitchen and a domed mountain that backed the camp. The inside adobe walls looked much the same as the outside walls, except lighter in color.

The furniture, what little there was, consisted of a scarred pine table, two camp chairs, and an iron bedstead like the one she'd just vacated. Several half-eaten meat pies, no doubt provided by some of the officers' wives, were so old they'd grown fuzz. Tin plates, encrusted with food, had been pushed to one end of the table and haphazardly stacked. A saddle, in need of mending, had been tossed in the corner beside the window, along with a sword belt, an old pair of riding boots, and an obscene boot jack, the iron cast in the likeness of a naked woman sitting down, her legs spread wide open.

Army regulations allotted a colonel four rooms with an added detached kitchen. Yet, it was obvious that her father used only this one room to eat, sleep, and live in. It seemed a great waste when there were probably several officers with families who could have made good use of the extra rooms.

Slowly she walked across the room to the hearth. There, on the mantel, above the stone fireplace, was evidence that this was indeed her father's quarters: several well-worn books by Scott and Irving, and Dennis Mahan's textbook,
Course of Civil Engineering
. Mahan was a renowned instructor at West Point where her father and U. S. Grant had learned the
art of war
.

Indy lifted the book off the mantel. The leather binding had recently been oiled. The book fell open at a page long held by a child's golden curl. She reverently touched the silky lock and recalled how she had teased her little brother for having such beautiful, golden, curly hair.

"Do you happen to know where my father might be now? I'd like to talk to him."

"I wouldn't expect to see him until tomorrow anyway. He took a patrol out right after I spoke to him this morning. They went hunting for Chie. It's a waste of time and energy as far as the men are concerned, but your father is the one in command."

Indy looked up from the book. "Why do you say that?" she queried in an even voice that belied her irritation. She resented people speaking badly of her father.

"The Apaches know every inch of this land— every mountain crevice, every arroyo, every canyon. If they don't want to be found, no soldier on earth can find them,
especially
the colonel."

Indy stared at the textbook in her hands. The author had taught his students warfare strategies based on those of Frederick the Great and Napoleon—civilized men—not desert nomads. What Pru had just said, combined with what Captain Nolan and Sergeant Moseley had said, made Indy realize just how serious the situation here at Bowie was. She took a deep breath. "Does
everyone
think my father incapable of dealing with the Apaches?" she asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

"I'm afraid so, Indy," Prudence said in earnest. "The problem is he's convinced that his way—by that book—is the right way. The
only
way. He just doesn't seem to realize that things need to be done differently here. He refuses to listen to the men with experience."

Indy bowed her head. "You don't like him, do you?"

"The colonel's a hard man. But I don't have to tell you that, do I? I was there when you came in last night. I saw your expression when he rebuked you. I saw how much he hurt you." Prudence looked suddenly weary. "I know I've spoken out of turn, and you can hate me if you want. I wouldn't blame you a bit, but you're going to be living here and you'll soon be meeting the women of Bowie—the wife of the soldier who was killed yesterday and others."

Indy felt suddenly sick inside. "No doubt they blame my father for their losses."

"They won't openly admit it, but yes."

Indy nodded, resigned. "I know Father is a hard man, but he wasn't always that way. You have to believe that. He used to be . . . different. He was kind, patient even loving."

"Come on now," said Prudence. "I've prepared a bath for you. The water was practically boiling when I left to get you. It should be just about right now. After your bath you need to get into bed before Doc sounds a charge. And while you're resting, I'll get working on this . . . mess."

"Oh, no, Pru. It's too much. I can't ask you to clean this up. I can't ask anyone to clean it up. I—"

"Oh, pshaw! There's nothing here I haven't seen before. No, I insist!"

Unlike the parlor, the diminutive sleeping room Prudence had prepared for her was neat and clean. There was a bed, a chip-sided washstand, and a chair with a rawhide seat. The fragrance of fresh straw from the bed sack beneath an invitingly thick goose-down mattress filled her nostrils and made her think of long-ago afternoons when she and Justice used to play in the stable behind their house.

"All right, if you insist." Indy gave in.

"I'll leave you now. Enjoy your bath, then get into bed!"

Indy swung around and took Prudence's hands into her own. "You've been awfully kind. Thank you."

Prudence smiled and squeezed Indy's hands. "We're all sisters out here. We need to help each other. And you're welcome." She turned and left, closing the front door gently behind her.

Indy stood staring at the door moments after Prudence had left. It had been so long since she'd had any female friends that she had almost forgotten what it was like. Friends laughed together, cried together, and shared secrets. It would be nice to have a friend again.
"Sisters,"
Prudence had said. She smiled and gave a little laugh. Sisters would be even nicer.

Indy was about to return to her room when she looked out the window and saw the patrol ride two by two into the parade ground, her father in the lead.

"Prepare to dismount," Colonel Charles Taylor called out. "Dismount." He dismissed his men, tossed his reins to a waiting orderly, and started across the parade ground to his quarters.

Indy opened the door and waited for him, her fingers tightly gripped around the door handle. With a cheeriness she was far from feeling, she smiled. "Hello, Father. I was told you probably wouldn't be back until tomorrow. What a nice surprise."

He continued toward her, his gray eyes appearing as hard and cold as gunmetal. "You're the only surprise around here, miss, and it isn't one that pleases me."

The bath Prudence had prepared would have to wait.

Indy backed into the parlor to allow her father to pass, then closed the door, leaned against it, and watched him survey the room. By rights, he should be embarrassed knowing that one of the laundresses had come in and cleaned up part of his deplorable mess. He should also be ashamed. But she knew he was neither.

Standing in front of the table, facing the window, he removed his hat and tossed it on the table. A cloud of dust rose up off the brim and crown. Then he stripped off his gauntlets and threw them on top of the hat. "Well, daughter, what do you have to say for yourself? You were told to stay home and take care of things there."

Indy drew a steadying breath and spoke to his back. "Yes, Father, I know, and I fully intended to do just that, but the servants do everything that needs doing around the house and there really wasn't anything for me to take care of once you were gone."

"In other words, you were bored and thought coming here would be a great adventure?"

"No. The fact of the matter is that I was worried about how you would manage without someone to see to your needs. I thought I might be of help." She could tell he was furious by the way he rolled his shoulders back and straightened his posture.

He turned around quickly and stood on the balls of his feet. "Well, miss, you thought wrong! If I had wanted help, I would have hired a striker!"

His anger hit her like a hard slap making her suck in her breath. She felt herself weaken, then chided herself, telling herself that this was no more or no less than what she had been expecting. She likened his fury to that of a hurricane. At the moment he was all wind, but he'd eventually blow himself out. With that thought in mind, she resolved to weather the storm and not let him see how he upset her.

She forced a light laugh as she pushed away from the door and walked around him to the hearth. "I beg to differ with you, Father, but you are very much in need of help," she said with a calm that belied her jumpy nerves. "Why, I couldn't believe these were
your
quarters when I first saw them. I've never seen such filth. I'm surprised you weren't overrun with vermin!" She turned to face him. "And to think," she scolded, narrowing her eyes and lowering her voice, "of all those lectures you gave Justice and me about being neat and tidy."

"You blatantly disobeyed my orders, Independence. If a soldier disobeyed me the way you did, he'd be charged with insubordination and made to ride the cannon."

It was a fagged, used-up threat that she had heard him say a thousand times before with his subordinates. Hearing it now, directed at her, made her bold. "Oh, for heaven's sake. As long as I can remember you've wanted to punish someone by making them
ride the cannon
, but you haven't done it yet, and it's unlikely you ever will. Besides, I'm not a soldier, Father. I'm your daughter, therefore, I'm not subject to military punishment." She paused to catch her breath. "Now, what's done is done," she told him in a dismissive tone. "I know you would like to send me back, but you can't. It's too dangerous. So why don't we just make the best of it until you get your new orders? Then we'll both go home." She struck a match to light the kerosene lamp sitting on the mantel.