Merline Lovelace (17 page)

A few moments later, the gig swept up a slight, sloping incline to the bluffs above the river. Julia’s jaw dropped in sheer astonishment.

A sea of purplish-blue spread before her delighted eyes. Acre after acre of tall spiky flowers poked their heads above the grass and bowed proudly in the breeze. They were the most extraordinary color, so deep an indigo as to make Julia think of the fabled royal purple of ancient kings.

“They’re glorious,” she breathed. “What are they?”

“Private Cooper identified them in one of his botanical lectures as prairie gentian, but the troopers call them Johnny-jump-ups.”

“Because they jump right out of the grass like that, I suppose,” she murmured, gazing in awestruck wonder at the spectacular display.

“I think it has more to do with the fact that the dried leaves make a sort of tobacco.” A lopsided grin tugged at Andrew’s mouth. “It has certain, er, stimulating effects when smoked.”

An answering chuckle tickled Julia’s throat. “Leave it to your inventive cavalrymen to discover a practical use for all this beauty.”

How good it felt to laugh, she thought ruefully.
How wonderful to simply sit here in the sun amid all this glorious color. Sighing, she clasped her hands loosely in her lap and let her gaze roam over the rippling sea of indigo.

With a sideways glance at her face, Andrew brought the buggy to a halt. Her unabashed wonder lit little fires of satisfaction just under his skin. So many of Fort Laramie’s residents hated life on the Plains. They saw nothing but relentless miles of dun-colored hills baked by sun in summer and heaped with snow in winter. Only a few, like Andrew, had learned to appreciate the subtle beauty of the area.

Showing Julia its transitory magnificence was part of his deliberate campaign to erase the horror of August from her mind…and to convince her to abandon any plans of returning to Mobile.

He’d lost her once. She didn’t know it yet, but he had no intention of losing her again.

He allowed no hint of his determination to show in his face when he climbed out of the gig and walked around to lift her down. He’d laid out his campaign in deliberate steps. The first was to get her out in the sun, away from the fort, amid this riot of color and heady scent. The feel of her narrow waist under its layers of stiffening and whalebone propelled him directly into phase two.

He lowered her slowly, sliding her body down between his and the wagon wheel. When he didn’t step back, her gaze lifted to his. He smiled down at her,
fighting to control the sudden pounding in his blood from the brush of her breasts against his chest.

“The jump-ups only bloom for a few weeks. Each time I saw them I’d try to decide if they were the same color as your eyes. Then I’d curse myself for thinking about you at all.”

“Andrew…”

“Your eyes are a deeper violet, Julia. And I’ve given up trying to keep you out of my thoughts.”

His blunt admission sparked an answering desire, quickly overlaid by distress.

“Don’t look so worried,” he told her gently. “I would never come between you and your daughter. You have to do what’s best for Suzanne.”

“You heard her, Andrew. She was so weak, and I was so frightened that I might lose her.”

“I know.”

“I would have promised to put her on my back and climb to the moon, if she’d asked.”

“She won’t be strong enough to travel to the moon or anywhere else for weeks yet.” Reaching up, he tucked a wayward strand of inky black silk behind her ear. “Anything can happen in those weeks, sweetheart.”

With a wavery smile, she clutched at the temporary reprieve. “That’s true.”

“Like this,” he murmured, bending to take her lips.

Fire raced through her. As swift and greedy as a
prairie fire, it set her skin to burning. Groaning, she flung her arms around his neck.

Julia had never made love under the open sky before. Never dreamed she would lie amid a crush of purple blossoms, her clothes cushioning her back and bottom while the breeze raised goose bumps on her bare skin and Andrew’s clever, busy mouth teased her nipples into aching peaks.

This wasn’t her. This greedy wanton who refused to think beyond this moment, beyond the feel of Andrew’s mouth and hands on her flesh, bore no resemblance to the convent-bred Julia Robichaud Bonneaux. To Julia Robichaud
Garrett
Bonneaux, she reminded herself fiercely. The silly, naïve virgin who’d convinced herself a few vows exchanged in a dim chapel cloaked in propriety the passion Andrew roused in her.

She knew better now. There was nothing proper or decent or polite about this all-consuming hunger. No vows could tame it, and none were offered or exchanged this time.

A few weeks, she thought desperately as Andrew’s mouth found the damp heat between her legs. They had a few weeks yet of this glorious autumn. Then she’d carry the memory of these crushed blossoms and wild, windswept plains back East with her, to hold forever in her heart.

A
ndrew implemented the next phase in his campaign to sabotage Julia’s return to Mobile the Sunday after their trip to the meadow.

His brief visits to Suzanne and intelligence gathered from various sources indicated the girl had put back on some of the flesh she’d lost. She could now walk a bit, but became winded after only a few steps. She’d also grown fretful at her confinement. A planned concert by the 2nd Cavalry regimental band would cheer her considerably…and provide Andrew with just the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

On a bright, breezy Sunday afternoon he rigged out in his blue dress uniform complete with gold epaulets and Prussian-style helmet sporting a high horsehair plume. A wide yellow sash weighted on its fringed ends fell in neat folds beneath his dress saber. With a final pass of the polishing rag over his boots, he headed for the stables.

Company C’s farrier was waiting for him. The
brawny sergeant had shed his leather blacksmith’s apron and cleaned the grime from beneath his nails. Like the major, he’d decked out in his best uniform for the afternoon’s concert.

“Is she ready to go?”

“All set, sir.”

Grinning, the farrier led Suzanne’s pony out of the stables. To the merry tinkle of bells, the little pinto clip-clopped into the sunshine. She was harnessed between the shafts of a pony cart and looked about with bright, intelligent eyes, happy to be out of her stall.

“Well, Major? What do you think of the rig?”

Andrew ran an appraising eye over the cart. He’d commissioned its construction the day after he’d carried a weak, listless Suzanne back to Julia’s quarters on Suds Row. The farrier, also an accomplished carpenter, had been only too happy to supplement his pay with this extra project.

As the vehicle began to take shape, half the company had become involved in the project. The annoyed farrier received advice on everything from the size of the wheels to the correct angle to set the shafts. His well-intentioned advisors had voted on the paint scheme and accouterments, too. As a result, the cart now boasted a coat of bright-blue paint, cavalry yellow trim on the wheels and a strand of jingling bells across the harness holder. The street-tough Private O’Shea had added the finishing touch—a spray of painted daisies on either side panel.

“You’ve done a fine job,” Andrew said sincerely. “Very fine.”

So fine, in fact, that the major became the object of goggle-eyed stares as he paraded through the post. He felt more than a little foolish returning the troopers’ salutes with one hand while grasping the pony’s leading rein with the other, all done to a silvery chorus of bells. He was sure none of the men in his company had ever thought to see their commander all spiffed up in his best uniform and leading a little spotted pinto and blue cart instead of mounted on Jupiter’s broad back.

After the third or fourth such encounter, he shrugged off the astonishment he generated. Surely his reputation as an officer and a decorated veteran would survive a blue-and-yellow pony cart.

He’d sent a note earlier offering Julia and Suzanne his escort if they wished to attend the band concert. Her brief reply expressed heartfelt appreciation. Both mother and daughter needed relief from each other’s company, Andrew guessed. They were waiting for him when he arrived at their quarters, trailed by a following of wide-eyed children lured along by the bells and the cart.

Suzanne’s delight when she glimpsed Daisy more than compensated for Andrew’s brief embarrassment during his march across the post. Julia’s gratitude when she saw the gaily painted rig repaid him tenfold.

“Oh, Andrew, how thoughtful of you!”

“I take full credit for the cart,” he told with a grin,
“but the flowers on the side panels were Private O’Shea’s contribution. Consider this an early birthday present for Suzanne from the entire troop.”

Julia’s violet eyes glistened with moisture. “You’re so good to us.”

His grin took a wry twist. Bending, he murmured a few words for her ears alone.

“Don’t credit me with too chivalrous a nature. There’s deliberate intent behind this pony cart, as I think you understand.”

Julia blinked back her silly rush of tears. Of course, she understood his intent. He’d made it clear enough that afternoon among the Johnny-jump-ups. He didn’t want her to return to Mobile, any more than she wanted to go.

That didn’t mitigate the extraordinary generosity of this gesture, though. She might have told him so if his next murmured comment hadn’t completely stolen her breath.

“I can’t sleep for wanting to whisk you back to the meadow. Or my quarters. Or the hay barn. Or anywhere else.”

Mercifully, Suzanne didn’t notice the sudden blaze of color in her mother’s cheeks, and Andrew moved away before she did.

How absurd that two adults should have to whisper like this, Julia through ruefully. Or be held hostage to a promise made to a girl just turning six, an evil voice in her mind whispered. Only then did Julia re
alize how much she’d come to regret that rash promise.

She didn’t want to leave. Nor could she deny the catch just under her heart when Andrew unlatched the pony cart’s door, clicked his boot heels and bowed to Suzanne.

“Your carriage awaits, milady.”

The girl turned to her mother. Desire to climb onto the leather seat and take the reins clearly battled with her instinctive wariness of the major. He represented everything foreign and strange to her, Julia knew. Everything she’d lost in the past few months. Clinging stubbornly to memories of Philip and Mobile, the girl resented the major’s attentions to her mother. Swallowing a sigh, Julia gave her daughter an encouraging smile.

“It’s all right. You’re strong enough to take the ribbons. Major Garrett will hold the leading reins, just in case.”

“I want you to hold them,” was the petulant reply.

“Suzanne…”

“It’s all right.” Andrew passed the leads to Julia with unperturbed calm. “We’d better start for the parade ground. We don’t want to miss the concert.”

Closer to being out of patience with her daughter than she’d been at any time since her illness, Julia tugged the pony into a sedate walk.

Suzanne and her little cart provided almost as much entertainment as the regimental band.

The post’s entire population had turned out for the afternoon affair, as if determined to let the music lift spirits still heavy from so much grieving. Parasols and bright-colored shawls fluttered in the breeze. Officers in helmets and dress swords strutted amid enlisted personnel similarly spit-shined and polished. Rows of chairs had been arranged for the ladies, who reverted back to rank now that the crisis had passed, Julia saw. The officers’ wives occupied one end of the front row, the laundresses the other.

After so many weeks and so many shared hardships, Julia seemed to have bridged the gap between the two classes. Victoria McKinney, still wan and drawn from the loss of her baby, begged her to take the chair next to hers. Maria Schnell waved a plump hand and offered to make space for her. Mary Donovan and the other laundresses called friendly greetings.

Their warm overtures filled Julia with a sense of belonging that intensified the little ache just under her heart. Now, just when she was coming to feel at home and count so many of Fort Laramie’s residents as friends, she would leave them.

Hiding her thoughts behind a smiling facade, Julia chose to stand with Walks In Moonlight beside Suzanne’s pony cart. Lone Eagle towered behind his wife, erect and proud in fringed buckskin leggings, dark-blue army jacket and gray slouch hat with its single eagle feather. Andrew returned the scout’s greeting and turned to Walks In Moonlight. In a voice
as soft and melodious as her daughter’s, she asked a question of him in her native tongue. He answered with a shake of his head and a few words of Sioux.

Catching Julia’s curious glance, Walks In Moonlight smiled apologetically. “We speak of my father’s cousin, Spotted Tail. I asked the major if he has heard yet whether the chief will meet with the new peace party when they arrive at Fort Laramie.”

Julia slanted Andrew a curious glance. “Will he?”

“He’s said he will.”

“What about the other chiefs?”

“We don’t know.”

“I’m surprised the commission would travel all the way to Fort Laramie without firm assurances that the other chiefs will come in to parlay.”

“The commission is remaining in St. Louis for the present, debating how best to proceed. In the meantime, they’re sending George Beauvais as a sort of advance ambassador.”

Lone Eagle’s eyes gleamed with interest at the news. “Beauvais? It is good. He knows the ways of the people.”

“He’s an old hand,” Andrew explained to Julia. “A trader who’s long held the respect of both the Sioux and the Cheyenne. He helped craft the treaty of ’51, and forced the recall of one of the agents who stole goods and supplies that were supposed to go to the Sioux under the terms of the treaty. General Sherman’s hoping his weight added to Spotted Tail’s will convince Red Cloud to come in and negotiate.”

Lone Eagle shook his head. “Red Cloud will not talk peace until the White Father agrees to burn the forts to the north. More blood will yet spill.”

The talk of war dimmed the brightness of the afternoon. A shiver rippled down Julia’s spine. She clutched her fringed shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

Andrew caught the little gesture and changed the direction of the conversation. “Suzanne has found her shadow, I see.”

The women’s gazes turned to the pony cart, where Suzanne had invited Little Hen to join her for the concert. The two girls sat with their heads together, whispering and giggling while lively marches and martial beats filled the air. They made such a marked contrast, Julia thought. Suzanne in her Sunday dress of bordered muslin and bonnet to match, Little Hen in her finest beaded and fringed dress. Yet the girlish delights and fantasies they shared made them closer than sisters.

So close, in fact, that Julia had to quietly prompt Suzanne to give the other children a ride in her cart during the brief intermission. Julia guided the pony for two lengths of the parade ground before relinquishing the rein to Andrew’s striker. Private O’Shea took the lead willingly enough, but shook his head when he surveyed the cart’s occupant.

“I don’t know, missus. Doesn’t seem right, her driving an army wagon without the proper uniform.”

“This isn’t an army wagon,” Suzanne protested. “It’s got daisies on it!”

“Sure it does, darlin’, because I put them there. But this conveyance was built on army property, out of army scrap lumber. Don’t know what the major was thinking of, putting a civilian in the seat.”

As reluctant as she’d been to accept the cart, Suzanne wasn’t about to relinquish her prize now. Her agonized glance darted to Andrew.

With a dry look at his striker, he stepped into the breech. “As it happens, the same thought occurred to me.”

Reaching inside his uniform jacket, he extracted a flattened forage cap. A brisk shake gave the hat its proper shovel-front tilt. The brim had been polished to a glossy black, Julia noted, as had the chin strap. The crossed swords and regimental insignia embroidered on its crown caused an uneasy flutter in her breast. She’d never thought to see her daughter wearing the cap of a Yankee officer.

Suzanne had no such qualms. With a squeal of delight, she untied the strings of her bonnet and tossed it into the back of the cart. When Andrew set the cap at a jaunty angle on curls that were only beginning to regain their luster, the girl actually dimpled up at him.

“How do I look?”

An answering smile softened the major’s rugged features. “Like a regular trooper.”

Julia drew in a swift breath. The unexpected moment of harmony between the daughter she loved and
the man she was coming to crave held her spellbound. Like uninvited guests, tantalizing possibilities crept into her mind and refused to leave, but she allowed none of them to take specific shape. The connection between Andrew and Suzanne was too fragile to attach any significance to it.

Julia reminded herself of that salient point repeatedly over the days that followed.

With a diet supplemented by wild game, haunches of venison and the store-bought delicacies Andrew and his troopers insisted on sending to the quarters in Suds Row, Suzanne steadily regained her strength. She soon progressed from sitting docilely in her pony cart to wanting to handle the ribbons herself. In a remarkably short time, the residents of Fort Laramie became used to the sight of a diminutive trooper with a forage cap tipped over her curls tooling about the post in a blue-painted cart, her boon companion beside her more often than not.

The troopers in Company C seemed to have adopted her as a sort of a mascot. Daisy never wanted for grooming or attention, and was waiting patiently between the shafts when “the little soldier girl” arrived at the stables after classes. Andrew assured Julia he would see that Suzanne didn’t overtax her strength.

If the sharp nip of fall brought a hint of color back to Suzanne’s cheeks and a quiet joy to her mother’s heart, that joy was increasingly tempered by the knowledge Julia would have to decide soon when
they would return to Mobile. If she waited much longer, the threat of winter storms would make travel across the open plains too dangerous.

After his flat assertion that day in the meadow that he would never come between Julia and her daughter, Andrew didn’t bring up the matter of their departure. Yet she knew it weighed as heavily on his mind as it did on hers. With the inexorable press of time, she no longer tried to deny her hunger for the man she’d once hated as much as she’d loved.

The craving left her tossing restlessly at night when she laid in bed beside Suzanne. The same craving fired her blood during those few hours she could steal away to lie under…or atop…or entwined around Andrew. With a wantonness that shocked her when she had breath enough to think about it, she rode him like the most savage, untamed beast would ride its mate. Other times, she would writhe in pleasure when he rolled her over, yanked her up on all fours, and plunged into her from behind with the same ferocity.