The Unlikely Wife (13 page)

“She’s a shrewd one, Paddy,” one of the soldiers said. “You best watch yourself.”

Paddy didn’t look near as tough when he was smiling. “Let’s be discussing this in private, miss,” he said, stepping away from the others. “It is miss, isn’t it?”

“Mrs. Forrester,” she said, not making a move to follow him.

His companions murmured their concern for the life of poor Paddy after joking with an officer’s wife.

Paddy turned toward Rebecca and gave a gallant little bow. “I prefer to do me negotiatin’ in private,
if you would be so kind as to step out o’ the hearin’ of these rascals. They be jealous o’ me hens, truth be known.”

After a moment of hesitation, Rebecca followed the private around the side of his tent She was barely out of the other soldiers’ sight and not out of earshot if she raised her voice. Still the situation made her nervous.

“Ye said barter, ma’am,” Paddy began in a low voice. “I reckon ye be sayin’ there’s no money for Paddy. What service might ye want to offer me?”

It came to Rebecca suddenly exactly what service the man could be thinking of. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that this could be dangerous. “Sewing, perhaps,” she said quickly.

“I can stitch a seam as fine as any woman,” he whispered. “I’ve somethin’ else in mind.”

“Mr. Malone,” she began, but he cut her off with a wave and a grin.

“Can ye read, ma’am? And write?”

“Of course. Do you want me to teach you?” She wasn’t sure she was up to the task, but if that was what this man wanted, she’d do her best, with or without the eggs. Everyone should be able to read.

He shook his head and laughed. “I be way too old, ma’am. But there’s folks back home what I’d like to be writin’ to. Could you do it for me?”

Rebecca nodded slowly.

“See, me friends there, they don’t know I canna read. You’ll keep me secret?”

“Of course,” she whispered.

“I got no eggs today,” he said, “but I’ll bring ‘em by in a day or two.”

He held out a hand to close the deal and Rebecca shook it. With a nod she turned to leave. Behind her one of the other soldiers asked, “Did you get a deal, Paddy?”

“Come Sunday, the angel’s gonna save me soul.”

“I’m a sinner, too, ma’am,” the other soldier called.

Rebecca was thoughtful as she walked back to her tent. So far she had promised to do one man’s mending, write letters for another and teach a boy to dance. That didn’t seem like too much to do, especially considering that housecleaning only took ten minutes. No, it was all going very well, as long as she didn’t run out of skills to barter.

The tent seemed lonely when she entered it, not at all like a home. She sat down on one of the chairs and looked around critically. What was missing?

Memories, she decided. If it looked like Clark’s tent on the march, with his cot at one side, and the folding desk with the chess set in the center, it wouldn’t seem lonely. She smiled to herself. They needed to make some new memories.

She felt her smile fade as worries invaded her
mind. She brushed them away. Tonight’s dinner might make the difference.

And in the meantime, there were lots of things to do. She needed to go to the quartermaster, find out if Clark had collected all the food issued to him, and determine the size of his current debt at the commissary.

She wrinkled her nose. Running a tab at the commissary was really something she should discuss with Clark. She was reluctant to do so because she wanted to manage everything herself. How would she prove she was a perfect wife if she had to ask his permission to purchase every little thing?

With a sigh, she stood and walked to the crate that stored the foodstuffs. She would think of something. Though what, she couldn’t imagine. The quartermaster could read, or he wouldn’t have that job. He no doubt knew how to dance as well and probably had some arrangement for mending. At least in the case of the last, she hoped so. She truly hated to sew.

Clark caught the smell of roasting fowl as he made his way toward his tent. The scent wasn’t especially surprising on the prairie, but finding his wife tending the birds over an open fire was.

He paused to study her profile. She was crouched near the fire, her skirts tucked carefully beneath her knees. Little wisps of dark hair danced in the heat
A bead of sweat trickled down her flushed cheek, and she brushed it away with a rolled-up sleeve.

She lifted a pan from the edge of the fire with only a folded towel to protect her fingers, and held it beneath a bird. With a small paintbrush she basted it, catching the excess back in the pan.

Fear that she would burn herself propelled him forward. He had his gloves on before he reached her. He knelt, closer to her than was necessary, and took the pan from her.

“You startled me,” she said, drawing a little away from the fire, bringing her shoulder up against his.

“I didn’t want to do that,” he said. His free arm went around her, steadying her unnecessarily. Her face was turned up toward his and for a moment he forgot about their dinner sizzling in front of them. What would those flushed lips taste like?

“Do you think they look good?” she asked just above a whisper.

Clark blinked then pulled his eyes away from her face. She was speaking of the birds, of course. “They look wonderful. Let me help you finish.”

He held the pan while she basted each bird. “This is quite a surprise,” he said as they worked. “Don’t tell me you can hunt, too?”

She smiled. “As a matter of fact, I can. Or at least I used to. But I got these from Hank, Major Raymond’s son.”

He didn’t want to know how she talked the boy
out of them. A dimpled smile would probably do it. Just how old was the major’s son, anyway?

Clark helped Rebecca remove the meat from the spit and carried the platter into the tent. She went ahead of him with a bowl of rice she had kept warm near the fire. The table was set with a jar of wildflowers in the center.

“It’s impossible to find any fresh vegetables,” she said, “except onions. There are some canned goods at the commissary.”

“Buy what you want. They’ll keep a tab of it.”

“Is that all right?”

He had stepped up beside her to set the platter down. He didn’t want to move away to take his seat. She didn’t seem in any hurry either. He wished she would give him some sign that she wanted his touch. “Of course,” he said, answering her question.

“I’ll try to be careful,” she said, turning a little toward him.

Her face was closer, but that didn’t mean it was an invitation, only that it was more tempting. There was no smile, no dancing lights in her whiskey-colored eyes. “Rebecca,” he said, fighting his desire with serious conversation, “the life of a soldier’s wife can be difficult. Anything you think of that could make it easier, you’re to tell me.”

She smiled then, but moved away at the same time. “You forget,” she said, taking a seat at the table, “this is how I grew up. This is the life I want.”

He took the seat across from her. “I’m glad,” he said, wondering if he really was. Knowing that she had intended to marry an officer and had found him as good as any other should make him feel better than thinking she hadn’t wanted to marry at all.

She served the food and he ate, savoring the onion in the rice, complimenting her cooking. All the time he tried to decide how much he should take from her simple statement. If marriage to an officer, any officer, had been her plan all along, then he didn’t need to feel she had made a sacrifice for him. She was in fact using him. That being the case, he should be able to use her as well without a twinge of guilt.

He glanced up at her as she delicately picked the meat from a bone. She noticed his scrutiny and grinned. “It’s delicious, but messy.”

He nodded in agreement, watching her suck the grease off the tip of a finger. He had kissed her before, and she hadn’t been unwilling. A voice in the back of his mind told him that had been nothing more than a young girl’s flirtation and was a far cry from what he was thinking.

He tried to ignore the voice. He wanted to believe he could forget yesterday’s vow and demand his marital rights. She was his wife, whatever her reason had been.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” she said.

Her face was a combination of eagerness and suspense.
She reminded him of nothing so much as a little girl, awaiting praise for some special gift.

“It was perfect,” he said, watching her face light with a smile that he swore seemed shy.

He was a fool. It was amazing what a man could talk himself into when the ache got bad enough. All she had meant was that she wanted to make the best of the situation. The meal proved how hard she was willing to work at it.

She stood to scrape the bones together and clear the table. He remained seated, watching her. Her movements were graceful, efficient. She caught him watching her again and gave him another shy smile.

He looked away quickly and came to his feet, helping her stack the dishes. He was finding himself as excited by her innocence as he had ever been by her flirting. How much more time could he spend with her before he forgot he was a gentleman? One more evening at least.

“You don’t need to help,” Rebecca said.

“I don’t mind.” They had both stopped and were gazing at each other.

“There aren’t that many. It won’t take me long.”

“Even less if I help.”

Her lips curled up in a tentative smile. “Are you afraid I’ll break one of your mother’s dishes?”

He thought he heard teasing in her voice. Her eyes seemed to hold a hint of a sparkle. But he didn’t trust
his perception tonight; he was too willing to believe what he wanted to.

“They
were
my mother’s dishes,” he said softly. “They’re yours now.”

She was still for a long moment. “Thank you,” she murmured finally.

He had to turn away. “I’ll heat some water,” he said. He filled the kettle from the bucket and took it to the dying fire, scraped the hot coals together and set the kettle directly on them. He stayed outside until it was hot. Inside, he helped her with the dishes, trying not to watch her more than necessary.

Afterward he sat beside the lamp with his journal trying to forget that she sat near him, stitching a seam with the same light He didn’t look directly at her until she told him she was going to bed. He noticed a sadness about her eyes then that made him sure he had made the right decision.

R
ebecca sat on a camp chair in the middle of the tent, knowing she should be busy with something, but unable to think of anything that would really matter. Fatigue call sounded, calling the soldiers to their assigned tasks.

“What are my assigned tasks?” she muttered aloud. She should make the bed, find fresh flowers for the table and make plans for the evening meal.

She sighed. She had worked so hard yesterday, and the dinner had turned out well. Clark enjoyed it; she knew he did. Just not enough to warm his heart toward her. In fact, she had a feeling she made him uncomfortable.

She had even produced raisins for their oatmeal this morning. He had seemed surprised that they were available at the commissary. She would have liked to tell him that they hadn’t even cost him a cent. She had traded back some of the salt pork for them, a
trick she didn’t expect to work a second time. She had fallen back on old habits and the sutler had been taken in by her dimpled smile. She was too ashamed to admit it to Clark.

Now she faced another day of trying to put together a great meal, knowing it would likely have no effect on her husband. She wouldn’t mind cooking all day if she could anticipate a reward come nightfall. She hadn’t expected yesterday’s plan to fail. She had no alternate plan to fall back on.

“Mrs. Forrester?”

She recognized the Irish brogue of Paddy Malone. She stepped out of the tent to meet him.

“I brung ye three fine eggs today, ma’am,” he said, taking them from various pockets.

Rebecca made a basket with her apron, and he laid them gently inside.

“Why aren’t you on duty?” she asked.

“I’ve been hired as striker for the colonel. Gets me outa everythin’ but guard duty and drill, only we don’t drill on account o’ no bein’ built and all. And o’course, I could get called for actual patrol.”

Rebecca smiled. “I thought Father already had a striker.”

“He couldn’t get along with the new lady.”

Rebecca nodded her understanding. “Well, I hope you last longer,” she said with a smile.

“I’ll be doin’ me best.” He tipped his hat and left.

Rebecca laughed softly as she turned back toward the tent.

“Rebecca.”

Clark’s voice. She spun around to greet him, mindful of the fragile contents of her apron. He was right behind her.

“Eggs,” she said, hoping to explain the meeting he had surely witnessed.

“Step inside,” he said.

She did as she was told with some trepidation. She hoped he wasn’t angry with her. But then that would mean he was jealous. He couldn’t be jealous if he didn’t care.

Instead of turning to speak to her he went to his trunk and began packing some things in a blanket roll. “I’ve been called out on patrol,” he said. “A group of advance surveyors for the railroad came in. They had heard reports of raids in their area. We’re to return them to their camp, leave a small detachment for their protection, and pursue the hostiles.”

Rebecca stared in silence. He was leaving. Of course. He was a soldier. They were here for a reason. Yet somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that he would leave, at least not so soon.

He turned and came toward her. “I shouldn’t be gone more than a few days.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say. Her foolish mind wanted to find an excuse for him to stay.

He stopped beside her and kissed her cheek. “Save those eggs till I come back.”

She didn’t have time to react, to turn her head for a proper kiss. He was gone.

Save the eggs? She had forgotten the eggs. Her fist was frozen in the gathers of her apron. She stood a full minute before she shook off the shock enough to take the eggs to the crate of dishes and make a nest for them in the straw.

She wandered out of the tent, her mind in turmoil. He could be killed. She didn’t remember ever worrying about her father, at least not like this. Why hadn’t she thought of that? And what difference would it have made? She hadn’t set out to fall in love with a soldier.

Near the corral she stopped to watch the men saddle their horses. It seemed like an awfully small force to send out She would have liked to see at least two hundred men behind him instead of what? Thirty?

He had to come back. She hadn’t told him she loved him,
yet.. Please, God, don’t let him get anywhere close to the Indians.

She watched the lines form, watched Clark take his place at the head of the column. He saw her then and gave her a quick salute before he ordered the troops forward. She watched until the last of the line faded into the cloud of dust.

Hank came by late in the morning. “Rabbits, Mrs. Forrester,” he said, holding the gruesome carcasses
up proudly.

“Wonderful, Hank,” Rebecca said, grabbing up an empty pan and holding it out so she wouldn’t have to touch them.

He wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m curing the skins,” he said.

She nodded, carrying the pan to a corner of the tent where she wouldn’t have to look at it. She used to think hunting was so much fun.

“Might I have a dancing lesson now?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, brightening. It was a perfect time. There was no danger of Clark interrupting them. She filled a basin with water and brought soap so Hank could wash. In a few minutes they had the table and chairs moved out of the way.

She stood in the middle of the tent and motioned Hank forward. He turned shy.

“Maybe you could just tell me how to do it.”

Rebecca laughed. “I can tell you this, you can’t dance with a girl without touching her. Come here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shuffled forward.

Rebecca spent an hour with Hank learning just how stiff and awkward a boy could be. When she didn’t think her toes could stand another moment, she ended the lesson and sent him home. After soaking her bruised feet in cold water for a few minutes, she retrieved the pan with the rabbits and went to her father’s tent.

She found Malone outside frying salt pork. “Will ye be joinin’ the colonel’s family for lunch, Mrs. Forrester?”

“I didn’t realize it was noon,” she said. “I brought some rabbits for supper.”

He took the pan and grinned at her. “I suppose ye’ll be wantin’ a fine Irish stew.”

She gave him a little curtsey. “That I would,” she said with a touch of his accent. “Is the family inside?”

“I’d show ye in, but I reckon ye can find yer own way.”

Alicia had heard her voice and came to the entrance to greet her with a hug. They moved farther into the tent arm in arm.

“Why aren’t you home fixing lunch for your husband?” Aunt Belle asked.

“Clark’s gone,” Rebecca said.

“Gone? He’s left you already.”

“No.” Leave it to Aunt Belle to think the worst. “He’s left the fort. He’s leading a troop of soldiers out to look for Indians.”

Belle grunted as if that were merely an excuse. “I suppose you want to eat with us, then.”

“Malone has already invited me,” she said

Belle’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know our Paddy?”

Rebecca didn’t want to give away Malone’s secret
“I met him yesterday,” she said. “You should call him Malone.”

“He’s a servant. I’ll call him Paddy.” Belle took up the sewing she had set aside, dismissing the conversation.

Rebecca exchanged a smile with Alicia. She knew, even if the others didn’t, what her father would say about that. “He’s a soldier, still,” she said, but Belle only shrugged.

“Is Father coming home for lunch?” Rebecca asked Alicia.

“I believe so. Come, let me show you what I’m making.” Alicia led Rebecca out to the other tent. Inside she whispered, “How is everything? Rebecca, I still can’t believe you’re really married.”

“Neither can I,” she murmured. Seeing the concern on her cousin’s face, she smiled. “Everything’s just fine. He’s really very sweet. And I’m going to surprise everyone and turn into a perfect housewife.”

Alicia’s look turned skeptical. “Don’t change so much we don’t know you.”

Rebecca laughed. “It is a strain, I’ll admit, but I have a couple of days before I have to come up with another fancy meal. Which isn’t easy out here, by the way.”

“But everything is all right? The lieutenant makes you happy?”

Alicia was watching her closely. Rebecca found she couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Everything’s
fine,” she said again. “Now quick, show me what you’re making in case your mother mentions it. I hear Father coming.”

A moment later, they returned to the other tent. The colonel didn’t appear surprised to see Rebecca. She assumed Belle had already informed him of her presence. An additional place had been set at the table.

“Well, Mrs. Forrester,” he said by way of a greeting. “You look none the worse for wear.”

“Levi!” admonished his sister. “What a thing to say.”

The colonel only grinned. Rebecca had the sudden realization that he liked to shock Aunt Belle as much as she did.

“Speaking of which,” she said, matching her father’s grin, “did you have to send my husband away so soon after the wedding?”

The colonel frowned. “He volunteered,” he said.

“Volunteered?” The word didn’t seem to make sense.

The colonel nodded. “Ah, here’s dinner. Let’s sit down.”

He led a quick blessing, and the food was passed. Levi and Belle had a brief discussion on the use of the striker’s first name, though Malone swore he hadn’t taken offense. Very little of it got through to Rebecca’s one-track mind. Volunteered? He wanted to get away from her?

“You’re not eating, Rebecca,” her father said.

“What? Oh. I fixed such a big breakfast, I’m really not hungry.” How easily the lies tripped off her tongue.

“Could it be a guilty conscience that’s killed your appetite?”

She tried to laugh. “What are you talking about?”

Her father leveled a glare at her. “I’m talking about a new husband that willingly leaves his wife after only two nights. Have you denied him his marital rights?”

“Levi!” Belle leaned back in her chair, fanning her hot face with her napkin. “If this is the kind of conversation you’ve always had with your daughter, it’s no wonder she’s turned into such a…a…Oh!”

Levi ignored his sister. “Rebecca?”

Rebecca glanced around the table. Alicia stared wide-eyed, almost as horrified as her mother. Rebecca turned back to her father. We trapped poor Clark into this, you and I, she thought. But she wasn’t sure she was up to that much honesty. Perhaps she simply wasn’t
used
to honesty, at least not with her father.

She forced a smile. It wasn’t so hard. She had had plenty of practice. “Don’t be silly, Father,” she said. “I haven’t denied him anything. Perhaps he wanted a—rest.”

There was another gasp from Belle, but neither Rebecca nor her father spared her a glance. She would
have to swoon to get their attention, which was a real possibility. But for now Rebecca and her father stared at one another.

Finally the colonel nodded. “Don’t mess this up, daughter.”

“I’ll try not to,” she said with complete sincerity. “If you’ll excuse me.” She shared her smile with the women at the table. “I think I’ll go home and—take a nap.”

Aunt Belle groaned. Rebecca didn’t wait to see if she actually fainted. She left the tent and hurried to her own. Inside, she lowered the flap, casting the small space in shadows. She slipped behind the canvas curtain and sank onto the bed. She wanted to give in to tears, but what good would that do? She needed a plan.

Ironically, the only thing she did well was tempt and tease. Clark had already seen all her tricks and knew them for what they were. If she greeted him with a sultry smile and told him she had missed him, he wouldn’t believe she was sincere. In fact, he would probably assume she had been practicing the same flirtation on other men while he was gone.

There had to be another way. Could she pretend to be deathly ill? Would he realize her value if he were about to lose her? What if she tried to make him jealous?

She threw herself backward onto the bed with a
groan. Did her mind only understand subterfuge? Wasn’t there an honest way to win a man?

She had already tried the only way she could think of, and it had failed. Or perhaps it simply took more time than she had given it. A cheerful, hardworking wife would ease the burdens of his life. Maybe it took years for gratitude to turn to love.

She rolled over and stifled a groan against the quilt. Years. And it was working so well so far that he had actually volunteered for patrol to get away from her.

She rolled back to a sitting position, her optimistic nature usurping her spell of fatalism. He was her husband. She loved him. She would think of something.

An hour later, Malone came to her tent. “Afternoon, Mrs. Forrester,” he said slightly louder than was necessary. “‘Tis just me stoppin’ by to deliver a message to me employer’s daughter.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Malone,” she responded, taking the stack of blank writing paper he extended to her.

He looked to his right and left then slipped into the tent and lowered the flap. “Ye understand there’s no message from the colonel. Just guardin’ me secret.”

“I understand.” She lit a lamp and sat it on the table, taking a seat. “Sit down, Mr. Malone.”

He did, after lowering the flame in the lamp a bit. “We’ll be castin’ shadows,” he whispered.

Malone’s very acts of secrecy were going to make things look even worse if they happened to be discovered. Still she could understand his feelings.

“Who are we writing to?” she asked, settling in for the task.

Thirty minutes later she had folded and sealed the letter, addressing it to New York. “I thought I’d be sending it to Ireland,” she said.

“All me family’s in America,” he said with a touch of pride. “I joined the army ‘cause it’s hard ta find work.”

Rebecca nodded her sympathy. “I’m willing to teach you to read, if you want. It could improve your chances at a better job.”

He brushed the offer away with a grateful smile. “I’ll be leavin’ the paper here for next time, if ye don’t mind,” he said, sliding the letter into his pocket as he stood. “I’m much obliged.”

He turned toward the entrance but hung back.