Legacies (21 page)

"I've known him since I was a little girl." Truthfully, it had only been within the last year that she had grown close to the elderly minister. Diane was careful not to delve too deeply into the reasons behind that. Pride wouldn't allow her to admit that she sought out Reverend Cole as a means to learn the latest news about Lije. She always anticipated Nathan's reports on his condition and whereabouts.

Their engagement was ended. It was over between them. Diane was determined to build a new life for herself, a new future—one that excluded Lije. She had thrown herself into the effort by working, striving, and fighting, all the while smiling to hide the pain of rejection. And yet . . .

Adam Clark joined her, a quick smile carving attractive, masculine dimples in his cheeks. "The train should be rolling in any time now."

"Wonderful." Diane smiled back. "I truthfully thought we would be in for a long wait."

"I wouldn't have minded," he said casually, his manner offhand, but the warmth in his eyes suggested his interest in her was anything but casual.

It wasn't the first time Diane noticed the way Adam Clark looked at her. As always, she pretended she didn't. "I'm afraid I'm not as patient as you are."

"Patience is a necessity in my profession," he reminded her. "As much as we might wish it otherwise, every physician quickly learns the healing process can't be hurried."

"No, it can't," she agreed, realizing that in his own subtle way, he was telling her that he knew she hadn't fully recovered from her broken engagement, and that he was willing to bide his time until she was heart-whole again. She warmed to him, touched by the understanding he had shown for her.

"Say," the store clerk spoke up, "ain't you the doc from the fort?"

"I am." Adam Clark pulled off his leather gauntlet and extended a hand in greeting to the clerk. "Dr. Adam Clark, originally from Abilene."

"Josiah Hubbard," the store clerk identified himself and shook hands. "Pleased to meet you, Doc—Sorry, I guess I should be calling you Major," he said, glancing at his insignia of rank.

"Major is the army's idea, not mine," Adam replied with a wry smile. "I answer quicker to Doc than I do to Major Clark."

"Say, Doc, you wouldn't happen to have a good poultice for carbuncles, would you? My missus has been plagued with them lately." The store clerk went on to describe at length his wife's problem.

Diane took advantage of the distraction to make a covert study of the young army physician, his previous assertion of patience still fresh in her mind. She judged him to be somewhere in his early thirties, of average height and build. His hair was thick and dark, a mass of curls he kept trimmed close to maintain a neat appearance. He had the fine features of an artist and gentle eyes that inspired trust. His teeth were pearl white and evenly spaced, set off by a rich and carefully groomed dark mustache. His bearing was one of a man quietly confident and capable.

Search as she might, Diane could find no surface resemblance to Lije. She should have been glad about that. Instead, she grew irritated that the image of Lije remained so vivid in her mind. She had only to close her eyes to see his strongly boned face, the black of his hair, and the blue of his eyes. It angered her that merely thinking about him could produce again a whip of emotion, which should have dimmed long ago—along with the hurt.

"Sounds like the train is about to pull in." The clerk's announcement broke across her thoughts, making Diane aware of the long, muffled sound of a whistle, signaling the train's approach to the station. "Sure been good talking to you, Doc."

"I hope I was some help." Adam Clark nodded to the man in farewell, then turned his attention to Diane. "Shall we go outside and wait on the platform?"

In answer, she took his arm and headed toward the door. "You must get tired of everyone parading their aches and pains before you, wanting free medical advice."

"I don't mind—unless I'm with someone. Then I would prefer more pleasant topics—such as the way your eyes light up when something amuses you."

She laughed. "Is that a clinical observation, Doctor?"

"A compliment. Most definitely a compliment. Do you mind?"

Although inwardly on guard, Diane feigned a breezy unconcern. "Why should I mind?"

He gave her a long considering look as he opened the door onto the station platform. "Because I'm not sure you're ready to accept a compliment from me," he replied in all candor.

Diane replied in kind, "To be honest, I'm not sure I am either."

"That, in itself, is a hopeful sign." He ushered her outside where the clatter and rumble of the arriving train eliminated further conversation.

The whipping wind swept the smoke and steam from the train onto the platform. Diane turned to avoid the brunt of its sting as the locomotive wheezed to a stop, the cars clunking against one another in a chain reaction. The cloud of steam and smoke lifted, swirling away on the wind, giving Diane a clear view of the disembarking passengers.

Reverend Cole was the third person off the train. She spotted his tall, bony, stoop-shouldered frame the instant he stepped down. Smiling a welcome, Diane went forward to meet him. He nodded briefly to her, then turned back and offered a helping hand to the woman behind him.

Diane stared in astonishment. "Susannah! What are you doing here? I thought you were back in Massachu—" Her delight in seeing Susannah vanished in a dawning rush of sorrow and sympathy. "Your father. Reverend Cole told me of his passing in August. Susannah, I'm so sorry."

They hugged and Susannah fought back a few tears. Then Diane remembered her manners and introduced Susannah to Adam Clark. "Susannah, I would like you to meet Major Adam Clark, the post surgeon. When I mentioned to Major Clark that I was coming to meet Reverend Cole, he remembered he had a shipment of medical supplies due to arrive on the train and offered to drive me." Both Diane and Major Clark knew that he could have easily arranged for the shipment to be picked up by one of his subordinates. But he had used it as an excuse to spend time in her company. "Major, this is one of my dearest friends, Miss Susannah Gordon. Susannah and I have known each other since childhood."

"I'm glad to meet you, Major Clark."

"The pleasure is definitely mine, Miss Gordon," he replied and nodded to Reverend Cole. "I hope you had a good trip, Reverend."

"I did."

"I still can't believe you're here, Susannah," Diane declared, then explained to Adam, "The last time I saw her, she was back East attending the female seminary, Mount Holyoke."

"You've traveled a long way, Miss Gordon."
 

"A very long way."

Diane turned to Reverend Cole. "Did you know Susannah was coming?"

He shook his head. "I was as surprised as you are when I boarded the train and saw her sitting in the car." He paused, then added, "Susannah is on her way home to Oak Hill."

"Now?"
Diane protested, her attention swinging to Susannah. "But such a trip is so very dangerous these days."

"So Reverend Cole has told me more than once," Susannah said with a quick smile that suggested her decision had been the subject of considerable discussion between them on the train. Then her expression grew serious. "But I can't bear the thought of my mother being alone. She needs me . . . now, more than ever before."

"Susannah, you really should wait until the area is more secure. A woman traveling alone—"

"Reverend Cole has agreed to accompany me. In fact, he insisted on it." Susannah smiled. "We plan to leave tomorrow morning at first light. Hopefully, I'll get to see Kipp tonight—"

"His company went out on patrol. I saw them ride out this morning. I doubt they'll be back before you leave."

"I would have liked to have seen him. Alex, too."

"Isn't there some way I can talk you out of this, Susannah?"

"None at all," she replied, then hesitated, her gaze darting between Major Clark and Diane. She searched Diane's face for a clue as to the relationship between the two, but guessing nothing, finally asked, "If I should see Lije when I get home, is there any message you want me to give him?"

Diane thought she had been braced for the sound of his name. She was wrong. The instant she heard it, a longing leapt up, sharp and strong and unmistakable. She crushed it, almost as quickly.

"You can tell him . . . I hope all is well," Diane said in a voice deliberately flattened of emotion.

"Is that all?" Susannah prodded gently, conscious of the major's intent appraisal of her friend's response.

"Yes, that's all."

"Diane, I know it's difficult for you, your father fighting on one side and Lije on the other, but—"

"If it were only that, Susannah. But it isn't. Lije is obsessed with that stupid feud."

"Try to understand, Diane—"

She broke in, needing to end this discussion, "I understand very well."

Reverend Cole, sensing Diane's uneasiness, changed the subject. "We'd better go to the baggage car and claim your trunks, Susannah. The train won't stop here for long."

"You're right, of course," Susannah admitted. "And heaven knows we have a lot to do if we want to leave in the morning."

They started toward the baggage car. Anxious to make amends for the sharpness of her previous words, Diane said, "When you finish the preparations for your trip home, you and Reverend Cole will come to dinner, won't you? When I left, my father's striker was already busy preparing a special meal for us."

"Of course, we will," Susannah assured her. "You have no idea how good a home-cooked meal sounds after all this traveling—not to mention the company."

"Good." But Diane knew she faced the prospect that Susannah might again bring up the subject of Lije at dinner. Thinking quickly, she glanced at Adam Clark. "You will join us for dinner as well, won't you? I meant to ask earlier."

"I'd be delighted," he told her as they arrived at the baggage car. When Susannah went to point out her trunks to Reverend Cole, Adam Clark tipped his head toward Diane and asked in a low voice, meant for her hearing alone, "Am I right in assuming that Miss Gordon is related to your former fiancé?"

Diane nodded, uncomfortable with his question and struggling not to show it. "Susannah and his mother are half sisters."

"And my role at dinner tonight—am I to play the ardent suitor, or merely that of one of your father's fellow officers?"

"Am I so transparent?" Diane smiled her chagrin, aware that he had seen through her invitation and knew she planned to use his presence to keep the dinner conversation away from any discussion of her broken engagement.

"You must remember I'm a trained observer," he said a little wryly, the gentleness of understanding in his eyes.

Her smile softened. "I do like you, Major Clark."

"If I'm to be convincing tonight, I suggest you call me Adam."

"Very well . . . Adam."

Later, as they loaded Susannah's trunks in the ambulance wagon, Diane stole a glance at Adam Clark. She knew it was unfair to use him this way, but she took solace in the fact that he was willing, no doubt secretly hoping that one day she would regard him as more than a friend. In truth, she felt safe with him, confident she wouldn't have to fend off unwanted advances, that he would demand of her no more than she was willing to give.

But try as she might, Diane couldn't imagine loving anyone other than Lije. The thought made her angry. Surely in this new life she was building for herself, she could find a new love, couldn't she?

The problem was—she didn't seem to want one.

 

 

 

14

 

 

Cherokee Nation. Indian Territory

November 1862

 

Small, yellow-tipped flames danced above the campfire's white-hot embers. In the iron pot suspended above them, a stew of rabbit, potatoes, and onions released its appetizing aroma into the night air. Susannah Gordon stirred it, then swung the pot away from the fire's center and crouched down in front of the fire again.

The air had a sharp autumn nip to it, and overhead, a canopy of stars winked brightly to compete with the light of a sickle moon. Drawing the wool shawl more firmly around her shoulders, she stared at the campfire, not focusing on the flames themselves, but rather the charred ends of the sticks that lay on the outer circle.

The partially burned wood reminded her of the homesite she had seen that day. Blackened timbers, charred rubble, and gray ash piled like autumn leaves were all that remained of the house that had once stood there. A neighbor said the rebels had burned it.

Back in Massachusetts, the newspapers had carried few reports of fighting this far west. Rather, the stories in recent months had dwelt mainly with the second battle of Bull Run and the bloody clash at Antietam. Arriving at Fort Scott in Kansas, Susannah hadn't understood why so many families had fled the Indian Nations and taken refuge there.

But today, after riding past field after field lying fallow; after crossing pastures empty of livestock and overgrown with weeds; and after observing homes abandoned, most ransacked, some burned to the ground, all the stories she'd heard at Fort Scott became real for her. Talk of Confederate guerrilla bands terrorizing the countryside, pillaging and looting and burning—striking with the swiftness and devastating force of a lightning bolt before vanishing—had seemed impossible. She hadn't believed it was as bad as they said. Now she did.

Something rustled in the dead leaves behind her. A second later, a twig snapped. Susannah stiffened, alarm shooting through her as she glanced toward the sound, conscious of the light weight of the small derringer in her dress pocket. A month ago she had laughed when Frank, Payton Fletcher's grandson, had given it to her for protection, well aware that when he thought of the Indian Territory, he conjured up images of the Plains tribes that lived along its western boundaries.

To pacify him, she had packed the derringer away in her valise and forgotten all about it until tonight—until she had seen what war could do to a land and a people. Now it was tucked in her pocket, and she wasn't laughing. Now she wished she had paid more attention when Frank had tried to show her how to shoot it.