Comanche Rose (16 page)

"I
thought
I heard noises," Cora said.

Caught out, Annie smiled ruefully, admitting, "I was trying not to wake you or the major. Both of you need your sleep."

"As if I wouldn't want to say good-bye," Cora chided. "And Will's up and already shaving." She glanced at the peeled shell on Annie's plate. "I'd planned on making you a better breakfast than one egg. That's not much to travel on, especially when one travels with a man. They aren't like us—they never want to stop, you know. And I expect it'll be even worse with Captain Walker, because the rangers are not known for any notions of comfort at all."

"It can't be worse than following a war party," Annie murmured.

"At least let me fry some bread and salt pork. If you can't eat them now, you can at least make a sandwich for later."

"I guess I'm just excited. It's been a long time since I've been there. In some ways it seems like I just left, you know. I can close my eyes and remember everything in my house."

The older woman regarded her wistfully for a moment, then sighed. "I suppose you are all packed up, aren't you?"

"Except for my toothbrush and hairbrush. I still have to use those."

"I find myself wishing you'd stay—at least through Christmas, anyway. But..." She sighed again. "But I quite understand how it is."

"As much as I want to go, it's hard to leave," Annie admitted. "You've been very kind. I don't expect the same generosity when I get home."

"No." Cora sat down across from her. "It wasn't entirely kindness, my dear," she allowed somewhat sadly. "To a degree it's been selfishness, for I've enjoyed your company. So many of the other military wives on the post are terribly young, and I don't have much patience with most of them. They arrive with such silly notions of what life is like, and then they are so disillusioned all they want to do is complain about everything from the weather to the isolation. Sometimes I just want to shake the nonsense out of them."

"The Hughes woman comes to mind."

"Exactly. When I was a young army bride, I considered it a noble calling, Annie. The need was—and still is-—very great for good surgeons, and I knew Will could fill that need," she said softly. "It was my duty to make it possible."

"I imagine there were times it was hard for you."

"Not really—or at least no more for me than for Will. And we had four children—three that lived to grow into what I hope are good men. Even though one was born out on the Kansas prairie with soldiers holding blankets to shield me, and another in a tent during a blizzard, I wouldn't change my life for anyone's, Annie. It's been a grand adventure."

"I always thought that was the way a marriage was supposed to be—a grand adventure, I mean," Annie said quietly. "Ethan and I had such plans for the children and for growing old together."

"Oh, my dear—"

"No, I'm all right now. I've accepted that it won't happen, that he's gone. I know I'm not going to wake up from the nightmare one morning and find him beside me-—at least not in this life, anyway." Annie stirred her cold coffee absently. "I loved him more than anything, Cora, and it's hard to go on without him and Jody. But at least I had them for a while."

Cora nodded. "I've always wondered what it would be like without Will. During the war, when he ran field hospitals in the thick of terrible, terrible battles, I was so afraid." Her mouth twisted. "I've always loved Will, you see—from the first time I danced with him at my coming out in Boston. Of course, my father was less than pleased. Although Will was in medical college, he'd already declared an intent to go into the army, and Papa wanted me to marry well."

"Mine wanted me to choose a lawyer in Austin rather than what he called a 'dirt farmer,'" Annie recalled. "But the lawyer he liked didn't suit me at all."

"It's always that way, isn't it? In my case, Will enlisted as soon as he completed his degree and was posted to Fort Hays, Kansas, something that gave my father enormous relief," the older woman went on. "Papa said it was a wild place, fit only for Indians, and he thought the distance would make me forget my 'foolish infatuation,' but it didn't. Finally, when Will came back to Massachusetts on leave, we faced Papa together, seeking his blessing. Of course, he didn't give it, but at least we tried. We wed at the Congregationalist minister's parsonage, then left for Kansas the next day."

"Ethan and I were married like that," Annie said softly. "Only it was a Baptist preacher's parlor in Austin."

"I guess that's what I like so much about you. You're a lot like I am, only you've faced more than I ever will. In spite of everything you still hold your head up."

"Thank you."

"I just hope you can keep it there." Cora reached out and clasped Annie's hand. "I admire you, my dear. I don't know how you managed to survive."

"I didn't want to die," Annie answered simply.

"But you chose not to give up."

"It wasn't much of a choice, really. The war party had taken a young German girl earlier, and she was so afraid—so very afraid. I couldn't let her know how frightened I was, not even after"—pausing, Annie looked away—"after they killed Jody," she finished, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I knew if she was hysterical, they'd kill her, too."

"You're very brave—you know that, don't you?"

"No. I did what I had to, nothing more."

"Is she still alive?"

"No. He killed her later, anyway." Afraid to remember any more, Annie stood up. "I guess I'd better finish getting ready. Captain Walker said he wanted to get an early start."

Knowing that the younger woman's confidences were at an end, Cora let her go, then rose to cook her husband's breakfast. What Annie needed, whether she knew it or not, was another husband, she reflected as she laid pieces of pork in the iron skillet. But it was going to be hard to find one big enough to overlook what the Comanches had done to her, and that was a shame. With a new man and a new name, Annie could get on with her life, and people would eventually forget. Without them, they never would. For a moment she thought of Hap Walker, then shook her head. He was too bitter—and he didn't seem like a man who'd want to settle down.

Outside, at five-thirty, it was cold and dark, with the moon still visible in the sky. But Hap already had the four-oxen team under yoke, the canvas around the wagon bed secured, and Old Red and a mule he'd bought tied to iron rings at the back. Ready, he stowed the Henry rifle and his old army pistol under the seat, swung up, and drove up to the Sprengers' door. He was early, and he knew it. He'd probably be lucky if Annie Bryce was even awake.

He eased down from the seat, thinking he'd get a cup of Cora Sprengers coffee while he waited. As he raised his hand to knock on the door, he heard something heavy hit the back of the wagon. He spun around, drawing the Colt.

"Oh, it's you. Sorry."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with your hands, anyway," Doc remarked sardonically. "You're pretty fast, Hap."

"Yeah." He eased the gun back into the holster.

"Kinda skittish, though."

"I'm thirty-seven—and alive."

"That's right. Most of 'em don't last that long, do they?" Sprenger murmured.

"No. Not many, anyway."

"Then I guess you could consider yourself real lucky, if you wanted to look at it that way."

"I don't. If I'd known that the bullet was going to do this, I'd have had Rios stake the damned Comanchero that gave it to me out on an anthill. Instead, I just shot him."

"You're a bitter man, Hap."

"You could say that. It's not easy to be washed up, Doc."

"I wouldn't say that. It's the leg, isn't it?"

"What did you put in the wagon?"

"Cora offered Mrs. Bryce some blankets, but she wouldn't take 'em—said she'd taken too much already—so I put the box back there, anyway. I reckon if it turns cold, she'll be glad enough to have em."

"Yeah."

"It's going to get better, you know," Sprenger told him. "The infection's gone, and if you'll stay off the damned thing, give it time to heal, that limp's going to improve. In time it won't even hurt except when the weather changes."

"That's a lot of comfort, Doc."

"It ought to be."

"It'd be a whole lot more if you could say I'd be back in the saddle again."

"That's a young man's job, Hap. You don't want to be following outlaws into New Mexico the rest of your life. You've done more than anybody I know, but it's time to hang up those guns and settle down."

"Is Mrs. Bryce ready?" Hap countered impatiently.

"She's had the bag by the door since last night." Sprenger sighed. "You aren't much for free advice, are you?"

"I figure it's about worth what it costs." He was being touchy, and he knew it. He knew also that he owed the surgeon more than he could repay. "Look, don't mind me, Doc. I'm just not much for talking until I get a little coffee in me."

"Eat anything?"

"I bought a couple of biscuits—they're in my pocket. I figure I'll eat 'em after a while."

"Haven't traveled much with a female, have you?"

"No."

"Then you're in for a real education. Come on in. Cora'll fix you a couple of eggs at least." Stepping past Hap, the major opened the door. "I'll tell her to set another place."

"Coffee's enough."

He wound up standing in the kitchen door, drinking from a little china cup, while Cora Sprenger quickly fried thick slices of salt pork, then put them between buttered bread. As he set down the cup, she wrapped four sandwiches in two napkins and handed them to him.

"At least you'll have something in your stomach," she told him. "Since you don't think you have enough time to sit at the table, you can eat on the way. The extra two are for Annie. She didn't want anything either, but I told her I was going to make them, anyway."

"Thanks."

"It's a long way to Richardson, Captain Walker." Putting his cup in the dishpan, she asked over her shoulder, "How long do you expect it'll take you to get there?"

"If nothing goes wrong, and if the supply wagons haven't made the road too bad, I reckon I can make four miles an hour," he allowed. "With about ten hours of daylight, that'd be forty miles. Probably about three days," he guessed. "Four, if Mrs. Bryce has to stop a lot."

"She won't." Wiping her hands, Cora turned back to him. "She's not one to complain."

"That's good."

"I'm ready," Annie announced from the door. "I just have to take out my bag." Seeing that he had the wrapped sandwiches in his hand, she dared to ask, "I'm not late, am I? I thought you said dawn, and it isn't light out yet, is it?"

"I'm a mite early. I figured we better get on down the road. Probably be close to Sunday before we get there, anyway." He followed her into the small hall, and as she bent to pick up the carpetbag, he stopped her. "That all you're bringing?"

"Well, it's all I have," she murmured.

"Here, you take the food, and I'll throw that in the wagon for you. No sense in lifting anything you don't have to.

On the porch, Annie's eyes misted as she turned to the Sprengers. "You've both been so kind to me," she managed. "Nothing I could ever do would be enough to repay you.

"Fiddle," Cora declared, embracing her. Her lips brushed Annie's cheek, then she stepped back. "Now, you come back whenever you can, you hear? The spare room'll be waiting for you."

"I will. Thanks."

"And write when you get home. Will and I want to know that you're all right."

"I will."

"Yes, well, I hope everything works out for the best, my dear. Good-bye and God bless."

"Thanks. I won't forget either of you, ever," Annie promised.

The major gripped her hand. "Take care of yourself, my dear."

"And God keep you." Annie tried to smile, but her mouth twisted. Afraid she was going to cry, she stepped blindly off the stoop. "Good-bye."

Hap caught her arm, then cupped her elbow to give her a boost up. "Hold the reins until I get around to the other side," he told her. Now it was his turn, and he wasn't any good at things like this. He turned his back toward the major and nodded. "Thanks, Doc. I'm not much of a hand to write."

"Well, neither am I. But you take good care of Mrs. Bryce, and we'll be even up, Hap. If you're still able to walk when you get to Richardson, you tell 'em it was me that fixed you up. If that leg gives out, then keep quiet about it."

Hap grinned. "You want me to brag on you, huh?"

"Well, I don't want to be blamed, anyway." Will held out his hand. "Take time to get down and walk every now and then, will you?"

"Yeah."

Hap clasped the older man's hand, then let go. Moving in front of the oxen, he made one last check of them, then swung up into the wagon. Taking the reins from Annie, he settled in beside her.

"You might want to sit in the back, where it's warmer. If you didn't get your sleep out, my bedroll's back there," he offered. "You don't have to feel like you got to keep me company."

"I'm fine. Besides, I like to see where I'm going."

"Not much to see until the sun comes out," he observed laconically. He glanced upward briefly, then flicked the whip out over the backs of the oxen. "Reckon it'll be out before long. Within an hour, anyway." Exhaling, he squared his shoulders. "Well, we're underway. You'll be sleeping in Texas tonight."

"Yes."

She pulled the heavy cloak closer and wrapped her arms in the folds as the wheels began rolling slowly The wagon creaked on its axles, then seemed to catch up. Behind her, the canvas cover filled with the wind. She was on her way home.

Watching them cross the parade ground, Will Sprenger laid a hand on his wife's shoulder. "It's going to be all right. Hap'll see she gets there."

"I know."

"She felt like she had to go, Cora."

"But it's going to be so hard for her," his wife managed huskily. "We both know she's not going to get that little girl back." Pulling away, she went inside, leaving him standing there.

CHAPTER 11

Annie held on to her seat and studied the rugged mountains to the west, thankful they wouldn't be crossing them. The reservation land was flat, with a slight slope downward, but that didn't help the way the wagon rode. The dried ruts left by the earlier supply train made for rough going. Finally, to avoid the deeper gouges where some of the vehicles had apparently sunk all the way to their axles, Hap pulled completely off the road and followed alongside it. Not that that was much of an improvement. When the soldiers had cleared the roadway, they'd left a number of dead stumps on either side of it. Every time the wheels struck part of one, the whole wagon bounced, sometimes clear off the path.