Desert Hearts (4 page)

“And what were your duties there, Master Sergeant Burke?”

“Training the new recruits, sir. And tracking, whenever they needed an extra scout.”

Cooper turned from the window and sat down.

The bastard was going to keep him at attention, thought Michael as the lieutenant slowly sifted through the papers on his desk….

“Well, we don’t have brand-new men here, Sergeant. And we have a professional scout,” he added with a patronizing smile. “Oh, at ease, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.” The crick in his shoulders smoothed out.

. Cooper looked him up and down. “At least you don’t look like you lived with your pigs, Sergeant. I compliment you on your professional appearance.”

“Thank you, sir.” Michael could feel the heat of anger staining his cheeks. The last five years he had received only respect from the officers under whom he’d served, and a few of them had actually been Irish, so there was understanding as well as respect. But in his early years in the cavalry, when he was a green recruit, and had had more of a brogue, he had learned the hard way to keep his temper with men like Cooper. He was a little out of practice, it would seem, however, given the impulse that arose to reach out and grab the skinny shite by the throat and throttle him.

Cooper shuffled a few more papers and then said, “Well, it seems as though we need someone to lead the wood detail, Sergeant. You will be in charge of four men and make sure we are kept well supplied.”

It was damned insulting and Cooper well knew it, thought Michael. To use an experienced, seasoned man as himself on such a task. Collecting wood, indeed!

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Will that be all, sir?” It took everything he had to keep his voice from shaking with anger, but he wouldn’t give the effete bastard the satisfaction that he had gotten Michael’s goat.

“Yes, Sergeant. You are dismissed.”

Michael came to attention and saluted, receiving a very lackadaisical lift of the hand in return. Just as he was halfway out the door, the lieutenant said, “Oh, and, Sergeant….”

“Yes, sir.”

“I noticed your horses. One is the army’s and the other…?”

“My own, sir.”

“That is unusual for a sergeant.”

“But not at all against regulations, sir.”

“She is an unusual-looking animal.”

“She is, sir.”

“And where did you get her?”

“I won her, sir, in a horse race at Fort Kearney.”

“An odd thing, surely, to take the losing horse?”

“No, sir. I beat her owner on another mount and chose Frost from his string.”

“We have races here from time to time, Sergeant,” said Cooper casually. “When things are quiet, as they have been, the Navajo come in for them. I have a gelding who would probably beat yours, given that it’s a mare. He has beaten several Indian ponies so far.”

“I congratulate you, sir.”

“Well, I may see you out there someday then, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael’s jaw was sore from clenching it. When he reached his quarters he was tempted to rip off his uniform, saddle up Frost, and head back to Utah.

“Goddamn his bloody soul to hell,” he spat out. He unbuttoned his good smock and folded it carefully, placing it in the small trunk at the foot of his cot. His old uniform would do very well for wood gathering, thank you!

Mother of God, what a pitiful crew, he thought as he viewed the four men assigned to him. Two were at least ten years older than he was and the other two merely boys.

He called the roll and had them line up as though for parade inspection. One of the older men was as tall as Michael, the other about a foot shorter and many pounds heavier. Of the two boys, one was tall and skinny and the other short and stocky. Lined up, they looked ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as he must, he thought, commanding such an oddly assorted troop.

“Private Fisk.”

“Yes,
sir
.” The barrel-shaped one with grizzled hair stepped forward.

“Private Mahoney.”

“Mahoney, sir.” The short and stocky boy stepped forward.

He has balls, correcting my pronunciation, thought Michael. The boy looked sullen and stubborn.

“Well, now, me apologies, Private
Mahoney
,” said Michael, his soft brogue becoming more pronounced. “In the west of Ireland where
I
come from, we pronounce it differently.”

“In New York, where I come from, it is
Mahoney
. Sir,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“I will try to remember that,” said Michael pleasantly. “But I hope, if I forget once in a while, you will know to whom I am giving orders?” Michael’s voice was mild, but the boy heard the undertones.

“Yes, sir.”

“Private Spratt.”

The tall, skinny boy stepped forward. It was all Michael could do to keep from laughing aloud.

“I don’t suppose your Christian name is John, Private?”

The boy flushed and stammered, “No. No, sir. Paul.”

“Thanks be to your wise mother, Private. And how long have you been in the army?”

“Six months, sir.”

“Mahoney?”

“A year, sir.”

“Private Elwell.”

Now this is a man I can trust, though Michael as he looked Elwell over. He seemed to be close in age to Fisk, in his forties, but in much better shape. No stomach to speak of. He had no beard, but a drooping salt and pepper mustache, which he probably grew, thought Michael, to offset the receding hairline. He was an average-looking man, but there was something about him, an energy despite his age and experience, that drew Michael to him.

“And how long have you been in the army, Elwell?”

“Twenty-three years, sir.”

Twenty-three years, obviously intelligent, and still a private? Well, some men weren’t made for command, thought Michael, no matter how competent.

“I am Master Sergeant Michael Burke, as you already know. I am new to the fort. Indeed, new to the territory. Not new to the army, however,” he added. “Now, I have been assigned to wood detail, and so have you.”

Michael could almost hear a collective groan, which they would, no doubt, release when they were away from him.

“It is not the most glamorous task, but then, me boys, there aren’t many glamorous tasks in the U.S. Army, are there? We will assemble tomorrow morning on the parade ground after general inspection for a daily drill. For now, you are dismissed.”

* * * *

“Daily drill!” Mahoney spat in front of him after Michael walked away. “Daily drill for the wood detail?”

Fisk just shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

“I don’t know, Jim, I kind of liked him,” said Spratt.

“Oh, Spratt, you’d like anyone, you poor skinny bastard.”

Elwell put his hands on both their shoulders. “Come now, younguns, let’s enjoy our last day of relaxation before the sergeant whips us into shape.”

* * * *

And whip them into shape Michael intended to do. When they lined up before him after breakfast, he had them fetch their rifles, and he put them through a good twenty minutes of rifle drill before he released them, informing them that he would meet them at the corral at 9:30 sharp.

Fisk could be brought back into shape, he thought, though he’ll never be as sharp as Elwell, who put as much energy into the drill as a young recruit. He didn’t even seem to be trying to impress him either, thought Michael. He would guess Elwell to be one of those men who did everything as well as he could for the sake of it.

Despite his sullen air, Mahoney was also sharp. Or could be, thought Michael with a grin, if he lost his obvious belief that if he gave his all to his work, he was giving himself away. It was hard in the army, Michael reflected as he drank his coffee and looked around the mess hall curiously at all the men who were to be his companions. Especially hard on the enlisted men. There was a balance you could find between slavish obsequiousness or outright rebellion against the harshness of the army hierarchy. You
could
remain your own man and follow orders. He believed he had, and he thought Elwell had. Mahoney was obviously struggling. The only way for him now to make a statement—that he was still a man, even though a lowly private subordinate to everyone—was to hold back. And Spratt? Only time would tell. He looked like the sort who could be easily cowed. But that could change, Michael knew. At any rate, he could help toughen the boy up.

Michael went to the stables first, to bring a piece of apple to Trooper and Frost. The big bay nuzzled him and nibbled at his suspenders. “That’s all for you, me boy,” he said and moved on to the mare’s stall. The horse’s rump was facing him, and the mare turned her head curiously.

“Oho, ‘tis the cold shoulder ye’re givin’ me, Frost? Well, no apple for ye this morning.” Michael turned his back as though he were about to leave and stood there for a minute. Then he felt Frost’s warm breath against his neck and the horse tipped his cap off, a trick that gave the two of them much pleasure.

“So, I won’t get away with it, will I?” Michael teased, and grasping the mare’s halter, breathed a few breaths into her nose.

“I’ve seen Indians do that, Sergeant,” said a voice behind him. It was Elwell, come to saddle his mount.

“ ‘Tis a way of talking, I suppose. Anyhow, it lets her know I’m both her boss and her friend.”

“More a friend, I would say, sir,” said Elwell with a twinkle in his eye.

“Em, yes,” admitted Michael.

“Mules this morning, sir?”

“That’s what I’ve been told, Private Elwell. The wood detail rides them and leads them. Even me.”

Elwell shook his head in disgust. “I know why I’m on this detail, sir. But you have a fine reputation as a drill sergeant and scout.”

“In the army, you follow orders, Private, you know that,” said Michael noncommittally.

“I’ve been following orders for twenty-four years and look what it’s gotten me,” grumbled Elwell as he turned away. “On the back of a damned mule!”

* * * *

Fort Defiance was located in a wide valley, which was mainly grasslands formerly used by the Navajo for grazing and now by the army. Wood supplies for the fort had to be gathered from a few miles away. Those on the wood detail were in for a long, hot day.

Michael looked around him curiously as they rode out.

New Mexico seemed to be as dry as Utah, but somehow easier to take in. There were the same red cliffs crumbling away in slow motion, but they were not as high or as awesome. There was something homey about the place, he realized by the end of his first week and then smiled to himself. How could the desert ever feel like home to someone who came from a green island and who had grown up with the scent of the sea in his nostrils? Who had emigrated to another island, this one a city, but with the comfort of water around him. The West had thrilled him, and terrified him and awed him, but never before had he thought to call it home.

* * * *

Three weeks after his arrival, it was known all over the fort that Master Sergeant Michael Joseph Burke was someone to keep an eye on. The wood detail set out regularly, their shoulders as straight on muleback as they were during their daily drill. Where other men had been teased about riding shavetails, these men let no openings and actually were beginning to look proud of themselves.

“And why shouldn’t ye be,” Michael had said after the first few days. “Without wood, the fort cannot function. Let those who are laughin’ at ye boys go without breakfast some morning and we won’t hear them laughin’ anymore.”

The men took it in. Not immediately, but little by little they began to realize that they were performing an important job, no matter how lowly it had been made to look. Even Mahoney lost his sullen look from time to time, though he made sure to find it again whenever Michael was looking at him.

* * * *

“I hear that new sergeant has whipped those men into good shape, Elizabeth,” said Thomas one morning at breakfast.

Elizabeth had her back to him as she stood frying bacon at the stove. Her face was flushed with the heat, she told herself, not at the sudden memory of her first sight of Sergeant Burke.

She slid the bacon onto her husband’s plate and a few strips onto her own. She poured him his coffee and herself tea. Drinking tea reminded her of Boston and civilization and Mrs. Compton’s Academy for Young Ladies. “I was surprised when Cooper assigned him wood detail,” continued Thomas. “He’s reported to be a very competent man. You’d have thought Cooper would have put him in charge of a platoon.”

“I am not surprised, Thomas. After all, he’s an Irishman. So many of them are prone to heavy drinking. I am sure Mr. Cooper wanted to see what the sergeant was like before giving him any major responsibility.”

Thomas watched his wife drinking her tea. She was a loving and good wife to him. And most generous to anyone in need. But she had never let go of some ideas and habits that she had brought with her from the East. He suspected that she held on to them mainly to keep some connection with her past. When someone’s world has been shaken, she will cling to anything she can, he had realized. He had seen it years ago with his mother, when his father died.

“The Irish have supplied some fine officers for the U.S. Army, Elizabeth,” Thomas responded mildly.

“I am sure they have. But Sergeant Michael Burke isn’t one of them.”

After Thomas left, Elizabeth washed the dishes and wiped the table, muttering to herself. “Michael Burke, Michael Burke. That is all the women are talking about too.” She had seen the way some of the laundresses had looked at him. And the officers’ wives were almost as bad. Many of them were much older than she was and sometimes when they were laughing and joking about their…well, their intimacies with their husbands, she felt very young. And when they started joking about young Sergeant Burke and his black wavy hair and bright blue eyes she couldn’t help seeing his beautiful curves rising from the creek. She wanted to banish that memory, for it made her feel something very unfamiliar and disturbing.

Michael had had to take the men a full four miles to the west to find wood one morning and the gathering took a long time since their source was small, scattered juniper trees. They were all hot and tired riding back and even Michael couldn’t keep his shoulders as straight as usual. As they got closer to the fort he was half dozing in his saddle and it took him a few minutes to make sense of what he was seeing in front of him. Someone was walking slowly, leading a lame horse. A woman. What in blue blazes was a woman doing out here all alone, he thought, rolling his shoulders to loosen them and kicking his mule into a trot.