The Bride Wore Feathers (21 page)

"Enough." His anger real, just as sudden and unexpected as his amusement, Jacob bristled inside. How stupid he'd been to lead her down this path. He looked into her big brown eyes, so trusting, so innocent, so much like those of a newborn foal, and he wanted to scream. What a fool he'd been. Her heart was aching for him, burdened by this filthy lie, and filled with compassion for a man who deserved nothing but her scorn. He'd been wrong to think he could be her friend, insane to consider for a moment that she might someday be his, mistaken to believe he could live this lie and not feel the pangs of his own conscience. There was only one thing to do. He would leave this house and never see or speak to the crazy one again.

Dominique shrank against the cushions as Jacob's features twisted with rage. Had she told him too much too soon? Should she have been a little more discreet, fed him the information in small doses instead of shoving it all down his throat in one big scoop? She reached for his hand, murmuring words of comfort. "I know I've given you a huge shock, Jacob. Why don't you think about what I've said for a few days, and then, if you want to ask me any questions, I'll be happy to answer them."

"Dominique?" Libbie marched up to the couch, her expression pinched. "Aren't you and the private planning to join us at the piano? I don't think you should confine yourselves to this corner. It's not polite."

"Oh, sure, Aunt Libbie. We'll be right there as soon as I finish telling the private about a story I heard."

"We're starting the music now, Nikki. Please join us."

The set of Libbie's chin, the lifted nose, said much more than her words. Dominique gave her a short nod, and rose. "We'd love to, wouldn't we, Jacob?"

Plotting a hasty departure as he stood up, Jacob decided to wait until the general's wife was seated at the piano before he feigned a sudden headache.

They'd only taken a few steps across the room when an ashen-faced Lieutenant Woodhouse clicked his heels together and saluted a figure behind them. "General Custer, sir. Good to see you again, sir."

Libbie whirled around, her full skirts billowing out behind her, swinging to and fro like the eager tail of a devoted collie. "Autie. Oh, thank God."

Catching his wife as she flew into his arms, Custer gave her a brief hug, then addressed his guests. "Greetings to you all. As you were. I'll just be cleaning up, and then I'll join you."

"Autie?" Libbie looked into the general's bright blue eyes, noted the hard dark centers, and fought a tremor. "What's wrong? Why haven't I heard from you for the last three days? Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?"

"Later, sunbeam." He kissed the tip of her nose and released her. "We have much to talk about later, but for now, I see we have guests to entertain."

"Yes, but they can wait."

"Chin up, bunky. Give us a smile and go play something special on the piano. I'll return in a moment. Tom? Join me upstairs."

The order had been given, and there was nothing Libbie could do but force her leaden feet to march over to the piano and choose a song. As her fingers fumbled to find the correct chords, she urged her guests to gather around and sing along.

Dominique and Jacob moved in at her right, but neither of them attempted to sing a note. Dominique was too wrapped up in worrying about the Custers' strained embrace, the general's obvious anxiety, and Jacob was too busy plotting his questions for the general should he be given an opportunity to ask them.

Three badly played tunes later, the Custer brothers returned to the parlor. Libbie abandoned the piano and hurried to her husband's side. She stared at him for a long moment, wondering why he looked so different, thinking his uniform and slouch hat seemed too big for him. "You look so very tired, Autie. Why don't I send everyone home now so you can rest?"

"An excellent idea, but first I must speak with a couple of my officers." His eagle-eyed gaze scanned the room, landed on Jacob, then returned to his wife. "Why, may I ask, do I find a
private
in my home, availing himself of
my
refreshments and indulging himself in conversation with
my
niece?"

"Oh, well, Dominique thought it would be all right. She, ah, the private has been giving her riding lessons. She wanted to thank him, and I didn't see any reason why not."

"Has the girl lost the ability to exercise her remarkably glib tongue? A simple thank you would have sufficed."

"Yes, that would have been the better option. I don't know what I could have been thinking. I'll just go dismiss him."

Custer held out his arm, pressing his fingers into the hollow of his wife's shoulder. "Don't trouble yourself. I'll see to the private myself. You gather the ladies' belongings. They'll be more than ready to go to their own quarters after I make my announcement."

Then he straightened his jacket and marched over to where Dominique and Jacob stood. "Nikki, my dear, I'm surprised to see you're still here. I halfway expected you to have boarded a train and fled back to your papa in Monroe by now." He lifted her fingers to his mouth, gently kissing them, but never took his gaze off Jacob.

"Au contraire,
Uncle Armstrong. I'm really beginning to enjoy life at the post."

"We'll talk later, dear." Custer turned his full attention on Jacob, completely dismissing his niece. "It's Stoltz, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." Jacob saluted. "Welcome home, sir."

"Thanks, Private." Custer narrowed his gaze and studied the soldier intently. "Have you been doing much scouting in my absence? Found anything out of the ordinary?"

"I have been on detail at least three or four nights each week, sir. I have found no further evidence of hostile... of—" Jacob struggled to remember the word the officers discussed at every meeting, and finally said, "Of hostile infitation."

"Infiltration, Private?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, speaking of infiltration, I wonder if you realize what an honor you've been afforded here tonight?"

Jacob cocked his head. "Sir?"

"Privates, enlisted men, are not usually permitted at the social gatherings on Officers' Row, much less in my home. My niece has bestowed a great honor on you, but I think now would be a good time for you to say good night. We don't want the rest of the men to get jealous, now, do we?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Allow me to escort you to the door."

"I'll join you," Dominique said, elbowing her way back into the conversation. "I invited Private Stoltz. The least I can do is bid him good evening."

"Very well, Nikki." Custer made a sweeping gesture with his arm, then led the pair down the hallway. As he walked, he continued questioning. "Are you finding military life at the post to your liking, Private? Are you enjoying yourself as much as my niece seems to be?"

"Why, yes, sir, I believe I am. As you know, I am very fond of horses and working with them, and I also like scouting duty very much. It is a good life, sir."

They'd reached the entry. Custer gripped the doorknob, but before he turned it, he said, "What about recreation, Private? What have you been doing in your spare time?"

Jacob hesitated, not certain what the general wanted from him, then said, "I have traveled some. Two days past, I rode into Bismarck with a few of the other nincompups. We had a very good time."

Custer's hand slid off the doorknob, and the corners of his mustache drooped on down past his jawline. "Nincom
pups,
Private? What the devil are you talking about?"

Jacob's eyes darted between Dominique and the general. "Ah, I went to town with—"

"He went to Bismarck with me and a few of the other soldiers, Uncle Armstrong," Dominique explained with a sheepish grin. "I had some yard goods to pick out, and they decided to fill the supply wagon, since we needed an escort anyway."

"Yes, standard operating procedure," Custer said as he turned back to the private. "Now let's talk about the name you called the men. "Nin—"

"Uncle Armstrong, you really should let the private get back to the barracks. Look down the hallway. I think your officers are ready to leave."

Glancing toward the parlor, Custer frowned. "Thanks, Nikki. I have a very big announcement to make. Ah, good evening, Private." He opened the door, calling after the soldier as he stepped across the threshold, "I'll give you a little advance notice, Private. Reveille will be at five instead of six in the morning. I suggest an early lights-out tonight."

"Thank you, sir, and good night." Jacob snapped off a salute and disappeared down the long white stairway.

Turning to his niece, Custer took her by the elbow. "Come along, girl. You might as well hear what I have to say."

He strode back into the parlor, his chest puffed, his jaw tense. After sending Dominique to her aunt's side, he called for quiet. "Gentlemen, we have our orders, and this time they are firm. We leave for our summer campaign in two weeks. Our preparations must begin immediately."

The men voiced a lusty cheer, but the women were noticeably silent and cast furtive glances at one another. When the celebration died down, an officer spoke up. "Does the campaign have a clear goal, then, General, sir?"

"We will have the usual purpose, Major, but this time, we will not tolerate anything less than full containment of the hostiles. The entire objective of this mission is to ferret out, then completely subdue those heathen Sioux once and for all. Either they will accept our terms, agree to inhabit the land we set aside for their reservations, or they will be"—he glanced around the room, noting the wide-eyed women, and amended his speech—"exterminated."

Another rousing cheer erupted, but this time Custer discouraged the response. "Gentlemen, please. We have much to accomplish in little time. Our men are to join General Terry's troops, the Montana Column, as quickly as possible. We will be known as the Dakota Column."

"And everyone knows," Tom Custer cut in, "the Dakota Column alone can wipe out the entire Sioux nation."

Again the men cheered, and this time, Custer let them.

When they'd quieted to a few murmured conversations, he finished his speech. "Please inform your men and all the barracks that reveille will be at five from now until we leave on May seventeenth. Tomorrow I'll call a general officers' meeting, and we'll go over our strategy and plot our route. For now, I've just finished a very long journey. I'm exhausted. Good night, ladies, gentlemen." He bowed, then saluted, and his guests filed by, responding in kind.

As the men and women stepped off the porch and navigated the impressive staircase on the way to their homes, none of them noticed a private crouching behind a Juneberry bush. His hands worked the soil around the base of the plant, dusting the particles away as if he were looking for something he might have dropped under the parlor window of the Custer house. None of the officers paid any attention to this same private when he casually strolled away from the house and stole back to the barracks of Company C, either. And no one but Jacob grasped the full implications of the speech General Custer had just made.

* * *

After the last of the visitors said their farewells, Custer took his wife's hand and led her down the hallway, commenting as he walked, "I imagine you and Nikki haven't had your supper yet."

"No, dear, but I'm sure Mary's cupboards are full. She's just started working on a fresh saddle of venison. There's plenty for you."

"I have no appetite, sunbeam. I would ask, however, that you have Mary hold your meal until you and I have a chance to talk. Then I must get some rest."

"Of course, Autie. Go on up. I'll be right with you." Libbie stood and watched her husband climb the stairs, her heart heavy when she noticed the lack of enthusiasm in his step, the heavy-footed gait. She turned to go back into the parlor, but Dominique was already at her side.

"I overheard you and Uncle Armstrong. I'll tell Mary to hold your meal, but do you mind if I eat without you? I'm starved."

"Go ahead, Nikki." Libbie glanced up the stairway and softly added, "I may be a while." Then she lifted the hem of her skirt and followed the footsteps of the only man she had ever truly loved.

When she stepped into the room they shared, Libbie found her husband stripped down to his trousers and socks. He stood, leaning against her dressing table, staring into her looking glass as if seeing himself for the first time. Tiptoeing across the carpeted floor, she stole up behind her love and slid her arms around his waist. "Oh, Autie. What is it? What troubles you so?"

With a weary sigh, he straightened and turned around in her arms. "I'm afraid your boy didn't quite make a very good impression on the President."

"Oh, Autie, what has he done to you this time? If he's—" Libbie cut off her own sentence as she finally realized what had been nagging at her since her husband's return. "Autie. Your hair. What have you done with your curls?"

His smile cut deep lines around his tired eyes as he said, "I had them cut. I hoped a new look might boost the Senate's opinion of the boy general with the golden curls. I meant to bring my hair back for you to weave into a memento, but I was so upset by the time I left Washington, I'm afraid I left it behind."

"Oh, my darling," Libbie cried as she rested her head on his smooth chest. "What have they done to you?"