“Thanks,” Rebecca said, brushing at the dust on the hat.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
Rebecca frowned. She would have to go back inside the wagon and try again to pin up her hair. She probably ought to stay there. Aunt Belle didn’t approve of her spending time with the driver. Of course, Aunt Belle didn’t approve of anything.
Still, until she found a way to keep her hat in place, she would have to stay inside. Stopping the ambulance to retrieve it would be considered a nuisance by a certain officer in charge.
That evening, Clark set up the field desk and took out his journal. He had written half a page when a uniformed figure approached his desk. His first reaction was to finish the sentence. Then he remembered his experience of the morning. He looked up and came instantly to his feet, barely avoiding knocking over his chair again.
“Ma’am. This will take some getting used to.” Her hat was in her hand and her dark hair was loose around her shoulders. He was sure he had never seen a woman’s hair like that outside the bedroom. He shook off the image.
“Not for me.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin that nearly disarmed him. “All this time I thought women were clumsy, but we hobble ourselves with our dresses.”
Clark had no response for that. Feeling like a fool as he did every time she was nearby, he escaped behind his military training. “Is there something I can do for you, ma’am?”
“I have a problem,” she said, but she didn’t look particularly concerned.
“What’s his name?”
The girl looked positively hurt. He almost regretted his bluntness, but it had been a reasonable guess.
“Not that kind of problem. Aunt Belle took my scissors.”
Scissors? “Would you like her arrested, ma’am?”
She shot him a grin that told him she liked the idea. “No, I don’t want her arrested. I wanted to know if you have a pair I can borrow.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“A knife?” she asked.
He drew a large bowie knife out of a sheath at his waist, certain the size would change her mind. “May I ask what you need it for?”
She looked from the knife to his face and grinned. “I’m having trouble keeping my hat on over all this hair. Would you do the honors?” She spun around, tossing her hair over her shoulders. It cascaded down her back in dark, shimmering waves.
Clark stared. “Ma’am?”
She turned to face him, sighing in exasperation. “I want you to cut my hair.” She paused, but he was speechless. “I can’t pass as a soldier like this, can I?”
“Ma’am,” he pleaded, making a mental note to thank Mrs. Evans for hiding her scissors. “I could never explain this to your father.”
“Lieutenant, we are probably being watched or will be as we travel farther west. You said yourself that women might tempt the hostiles to attack. With this much hair showing, I am plainly a woman.”
“Or an Indian scout,” he interjected hopefully.
She chose to ignore him. “If I don’t keep my hat on I’m going to be sunburned. I could die of sunstroke. Do you want to explain that to my father?” She paused a moment, to give him time to digest her comment, he supposed, then turned her back again. “Slice it off at about my shoulders.”
“Perhaps you could stay in the wagon.” Even as he said it he knew that would be too much to ask of someone like Rebecca.
She spun around. “With Aunt Belle? All day, every day? For a week? I’ll go mad. Wouldn’t you?”
She turned her back on him again. When he made no move toward her, she tossed, “Lieutenant,” over her shoulder. There was just enough threat in her voice to irritate him. He stepped around the desk and took the dark tresses in his left hand. She deserved this, he thought. Let her explain it to her father.
His knife was sharp, and it took only a moment. When the final cut was made she tossed her head, turning the bluntly cut locks into curls. Placing the hat firmly on her head she sent him a grin. “Thanks,” she said as she walked away.
Clark looked after her, down at the knife and handful of dark, soft hair, and back at the retreating figure. He realized with a start that his hands were shaking and his breathing had become labored. He returned the knife to its sheath but stared at the hair for a long moment while the wind tried to pull it from his grasp. He had the fleeting feeling that he had just scalped her.
He drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and, entering his tent, spread it on his bunk. Carefully, not wanting to miss a strand, he placed his treasure on top and folded the handkerchief around it, tying it with a string from his pack. Then he unbuttoned his blouse and, without pausing to analyze his actions, tucked the bundle into the pocket in the lining, next to his heart.
Aunt Belle would probably swoon. Then she would try to find a way to punish her. But Aunt Belle’s authority had diminished with every mile they put between themselves and Chicago. Soon Rebecca would be back in her father’s care, and he was easily managed.
Rebecca made her way from Lieutenant Forrester’s tent to the ambulance, putting Aunt Belle out of her mind. The lieutenant’s face was much more fun to think about. He tried so hard not to register any reaction that it took something outlandish, like a request that he cut her hair, to get him to so much as raise an eyebrow. Disconcerting him was worth anything Aunt Belle could think to do to her.
Alicia had set up a camp table and two chairs beside the ambulance and sat hunched over a book. She looked up when Rebecca arrived. “You actually did it,” she whispered.
Rebecca took off her hat and gave her bobbed hair a toss. “Do you think you can get my scissors from your mother and trim it for me? I doubt if it’s very even. Maybe you could cut it in layers, like a man’s, so it’ll lie better.”
Alicia merely stared.
“Relax, Alicia.” Rebecca moved to the other chair and put the hat on the ground beside her. She looked at the table for the first time. It was set with Aunt Belle’s everyday china and flatware—probably this was her idea of practical. There were only two places and an extra plate sat atop Alicia’s.
“Is Aunt Belle feeling all right?” She hoped her determination to cut her hair hadn’t actually made her aunt ill.
“She won’t come out,” Alicia whispered.
Rebecca glanced at the wagon, noticing that the canvas had been unrolled completely. “Even now? There’s nobody around.”
“There’s lots of men around.” Alicia waved her hand to encompass the whole camp with its many little campfires. “Besides, our driver said he would be bringing our dinner soon. Mother doesn’t want anybody to see her in the pants.”
“She might as well change into a dress if she’s never coming out of the wagon. Of course, then she would have no reason to stay in the wagon.”
Alicia started to giggle, then touched her finger to her lips. “She’s sure she will be instantly scalped.”
“That’s ridiculous. She’d be perfectly safe.”
Alicia gaped at her a moment, then hissed, “You said women would attract the Indians. That’s why we’re wearing these awful pants.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Lieutenant