Dakota Dream (11 page)

"Evening, Private.
You're new here, ain't
ya
?"

Jacob glanced at the intruder, a woman whose features he gazed on, but didn't see, and said, "Yes, ma'am."

"Got a surprise for
ya
, then."
She laughed, exposing a row of crooked, stained teeth. "Have a swallow—but don't be surprised if it
don't
taste like coffee, soldier."

Jacob accepted the mug and peered at the contents. "What is this?"

The
laundress,
aged beyond her years, glanced around the room, then whispered, "Hard cider. Stir it with this and take a sip. It'll warm the cockles of your heart and a lot more."

Jacob accepted the short length of wood, slipped it into the liquid, and stirred the cider. Skeptical, but careful not to offend anyone at this critical period of acceptance into white society, Jacob lifted the mug to his mouth. His senses were assaulted by the sharp scent of heavily spiced yet bitter fruit. He tapped the stick against the edge of the cup,
then
brought it to his nose. Cinnamon, his memory supplied. He stood there, as if frozen in time, while his mind raced to the past. The woman he once knew as mother had served him apple dumplings. They were sweeter and warmer than the drink he held in his hand, but the aroma was very close to the same, and the scent of the cider evoked vivid images of a life he'd long since ceased thinking about.

Jacob struggled to return to the present, but felt
himself
slipping back in time, crawling through layers of a past he didn't dare think about. Without warning, his mind's eye supplied the image of a pretty blond woman with sparkling blue eyes. She was humming a tune, reaching out to hug him, smelling of spiced apples. Her name was Christina and she was German like his father, the immigrant Joseph
Stoltz
. Jacob blinked his eyes and saw his baby sister crawling on the bed of their covered wagon. Then he blinked again and saw the orphaned daughter of a fellow homesteader, a young girl with eyes the color of a stormy day, but whose name escaped him. The girl had made it her personal crusade to tutor Jacob, who spoke in curious and halting sentences comprising both German and English, in the proper use of the King's English. She promised to instruct his awkward fingers to write it one day as well.
But before that could happen, a Crow arrow slammed into her throat.
And a lance found a home in the heart of the woman who smelled of spiced apples.
Mother.

The mug crashed to the wooden floor. Hard cider splashed over Jacob's boots. The laundress cried out as the soldier brought his hand to his temples, his features twisted into a grimace.

Stumbling blindly, pushing his way through startled revelers, Jacob ran from the hall.

Later that night, Libbie Custer sat at her dressing table going through her nightly routine.
"Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty."
She rested her arm on the edge of the table and waited for the blood to rush back into her fingertips before picking up the ivory- handled hairbrush and finishing the job. "Eighty-one, eighty-two—"

"Surely your locks are shiny enough for this night, my precious sunbeam," Custer murmured as he approached. Reaching the back of her chair, he stared into the mirror and fondled a lock of his wife's silky chestnut hair. "We need to talk."

Libbie glanced into the looking glass at her husband's reflection.
Lines of dejection, of weariness, cat-tracked from the corners of his eyes, aging him beyond his thirty- six years.
She dropped the brush and rose.

"What's wrong, Autie? Have there been some complaints about the ball?"

"No, sunbeam."
He pulled her into his arms and stroked her shoulders through the soft flannel of her nightgown. "I received new orders this morning, but didn't want to trouble you with them until after the party.''

"Orders?
But your orders are to wage a summer campaign against the
hostiles
right here. You have your orders."

"Had," he corrected with a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I have to report to Washington at once."

Libbie pulled back and tried to push out of her husband's arms, but he held fast. "That can't be," she cried. "We've just returned from New York in the dead of winter. Don't they have any idea what they're asking of us?"

"They probably do, but it doesn't matter. The official dispatch says I'm urgently needed so that the building of new forts on the Yellowstone River can be discussed and implemented. It seems that President
Grant"—
he spit the name out as if it were sour milk—"has found one thing he likes about me—that I do seem to know my Indians and the particular problems they present."

"Oh, Autie, I can't believe he'd make you go all the way back to Washington so soon. Do you have to go?"

"Keep control of yourself, precious. This may work in my best interest. Grant's term is almost up. With a little luck and some intelligent voting, what he thinks or does may no longer be of any consequence to my career. Besides"—he smiled, winding the tail end of a pink satin ribbon at her throat around his finger—"if we can live through the next four years of a new administration, don't be surprised if you find
my
name on the ballot in 1880."

"Oh, Autie," she said. "Do you really think it's possible?"

"It's more than possible, my precious." Custer gave a tug on the ribbon, releasing the bow at her neckline. "It's almost a fact. Now, then, we have only tonight to last us for the next few weeks. How would you like to drop your drawers for the future President of the United States?"

 
Chapter Five

Jacob swung the shovel and took a swipe at the
pile of manure. The movement startled the general's favorite horse, Dandy. The stallion reared, striking out with his hooves, and narrowly missed Jacob's temple.

"
Waicpia
,"
he murmured, reaching out to calm the horse. Then, realizing what he'd said, damning the lapse into the Lakota language, Jacob corrected himself. "Easy, brave one. No harm will come to you. It is your master who must have the eye of the eagle and vision of a shaman."

Grinning at the thought, Jacob continued his work. He'd accomplished much over his first three days as a soldier and had made several friends among the officers. These new friends, Barney in particular, would be of great service to him and ultimately to his people. It had taken him only one day to demonstrate to the Long Knives his prowess with the horses. In less than a week, he hoped also to show them how valuable he could be as a scout.

He'd done much toward fulfilling his mission in a very short time, he decided, congratulating himself. Jacob repeated that thought, hoping to convince himself that these accomplishments were all that mattered, that the recurring thoughts and dreams of his dead white family would eventually fade, and that his undeniable attraction to the crazy one would ease after his return to the Lakota camp—and to Spotted Feather's arms.

Footsteps, the rustling of petticoats, and low voices alerted him to the approach of visitors. He threaded his fingers through Dandy's mane and turned toward the barn door as three figures passed through the opening.

"Afternoon, Stoltz," Barney Woodhouse called. "I have a new assignment you might be interested in—one that's bound to be a heck of a lot more fun than stable call."

Jacob noticed the lieutenant squired Hazel Swenson on his arm, but his attention was riveted on the woman at her side—Dominique DuBois. His spirits lifting in spite of his doubts, Jacob nudged Dandy back into his stall and knotted the rope gate. Wiping his hands on his blue regulation trousers, he approached the trio.

"Afternoon, ladies," he said with a tight smile. "You have work for me, Lieutenant?"

"When we're not at assembly, I'm just plain Barney to the man who saved my life, Stoltz." He gestured toward Dominique,
then
turned back to his friend. "The general's niece has a hankering to learn how to ride a horse. Captain Ruffing says he's mighty impressed with your work, says he's never seen a man so smooth with the mounts. Says—and begging your pardon if I don't quite believe it—that you could give Iron Butt a run for his money any day of the week."

"Iron Butt?"

Barney choked, and his scant mustache puckered with his upper lip until it almost couldn't be seen. "Begging your pardon, Miss DuBois," he muttered, tugging at the bright yellow scarf knotted at his throat. “Iron Butt is an affectionate term some of the soldiers use for your uncle. It is an honorary title, to be sure, since the general's horsemanship is legendary, but, well ..."

"But Uncle Armstrong doesn't know about the nickname?" She laughed, struck by the ludicrous image of her uncle wearing trousers of lead.

"Ah, I don't know for sure, but just in case, it’d be best if you didn’t mention it."

"Don't worry. He won't hear it from me, Lieutenant."

"Ah, thank you, Miss DuBois." Quickly turning his attention back to Jacob, he said, "Do you think you can teach the young lady how to ride? I might be able to wrangle a little more than your basic pay out of it for you."

Jacob's brow wrinkled as he considered the lieutenant's request. While the idea was as tempting as the beautiful woman herself, he hesitated. Was this honorable work for a soldier or better left to those too cowardly to confront the enemy? If he accepted, would helping the crazy one interfere with his mission or make it more bearable? His main objective was to get close to those included in the Long Hair's council. Barney Woodhouse was one of those soldiers. Could he chance the lieutenant's disapproval if he chose not to give the lessons? Perhaps this chore could actually work to his advantage, even gain him favor in the eyes of Custer, should he hear of Jacob's obedience upon his return to the fort.

Jacob shrugged. "I can try to help her."

If Barney missed the underlying tension, the hesitation in Jacob's words, Hazel didn't. She cleared her throat and stepped forward. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I can see you have
work
to do, Private Stoltz, and I'm sure Dominique doesn't want to interfere with the operations of the fort."

"I really don't see the problem, Hazel," Dominique cut in, worried all her planning would be for naught. Ever since Jacob had disappeared from the dance, she'd schemed to see him again, hoped that more time in his company would help her to separate the feelings she had for him from those she harbored for Redfoot. To that end, she laughed gaily and said, "Why, even Uncle Tom said the riding lessons would be a welcome break from the tedious busywork the soldiers must do. Why don't you and Barney go ahead and finish your walk? I'm sure Private Stoltz and I can manage my lessons without an audience."

Hazel trained a thoughtful amber eye on Jacob. "Well ..."

"Come on, Mrs. Swenson," Barney encouraged. "She's right, and Stoltz knows exactly what he's doing with the horses. This lovely spring day demands we take advantage of it and go for our walk before a surprise storm hits."

She shrugged. "Oh, all right, but do be careful," she admonished both her charge and the soldier. "Dominique has never been around horses, you know. She needs lessons from the ground up. Don't let her walk behind a horse lest it kick her, and be sure—"