Lily looked helplessly at her sister, unable to confess the degree to which she had counted on Aunt Lavinia to save her. “Mama wouldn’t like me to act like this. She would say everything happens in God’s time, not mine.”
Rose nodded as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Then leave it to God.” She began crocheting again. “Meanwhile, I so love having you here for company. And take heart. Aunt Lavinia didn’t rule out a visit later in the year.”
Lily unfolded the pattern, but, disappointed by the letter and consumed by guilt over how her departure would affect Rose, she couldn’t concentrate on dressmaking.
* * *
Several nights later, Caleb stretched out by the campfire, wearily resting his head on his saddle. This morning the cavalry had caught up with a band of Kiowas secluded in a small grove of trees. The soldiers had mounted a charge. Outmanned, the Indians had fired a few warning shots and then, to Caleb’s relief, had fled on horseback. Since the Washita, he had no stomach for engagement.
He understood there was no stopping the westward migration of his own people, but at the same time he grudgingly admired the Indians, both those who came in peace and those risking their lives for their tribal lands and honor. Perhaps the Indians weren’t that different from the emancipated slaves with whom he had fought in the war. Rarely had he been in battle with more dedicated or able fighters. Yet so many of his fellows treated these so-called “buffalo soldiers” as inferiors and made known their prejudice both with their abusive words and their fists.
Gazing up at the infinity of stars, Caleb wondered what God thought of the arrogant human beings He had created, so anxious to lord it over their fellow creatures whom they deemed ignorant or savage. Were the Indians and the former slaves that much different from himself? He suspected all any man wanted was dignity. Yet he knew firsthand that any one of them was capable of barbarity.
Tired of his gloomy thoughts, he withdrew a worn letter from his pocket. Slowly he unfolded it and squinted to make out the words, although he had already practically memorized them.
Dear brother,
Sister Sophie, Pa and I are continuing to purchase additional acreage near Cottonwood Falls for the Montgomery cattle operation. As I’ve told you, grazing land is lush and water is plentiful. The other settlers are welcoming and enthusiastic for the prospects in this sparsely populated part of southeastern Kansas.
Thank you for the monies you have sent us. Your share of the ranch will be waiting for you when you muster out. We are all thankful that time is fast approaching. We are adding to the herd, so with hard work, this fall when we go to market, pray God we will see the realization of our hopes.
We likewise pray for your safety as we await the day of our reunion.
Your affectionate brother,
Seth
Their ranch—a dream come true. Joining his father and brother in the exciting enterprise would finally anchor him in one place. His place. A place where money could be made. Where a family could grow and prosper. A peaceful place.
Once before he had thought to establish a home. To live in harmony with a woman he loved. To plan a future together. That dream, interrupted by the outbreak of war, had sustained him through long marches and frenzied battles. Until Rebecca’s letter, creased and soiled from its long journey, made its way to him in the winter of 1864. It was painful, even now, to recall her flowery words, made no less harsh by their embellishment.
It is with profound and heartfelt regret that I rue causing you any disappointment or loss of marital expectations. It has been my greatest endeavor to pass these uncertain days in the hope of your deliverance by a beneficent providence. But we are all, in the end, human beings—human beings with a need for love and companionship. So I beg your understanding and forgiveness for informing you that on Saturday last your friend Abner and I published the banns for our upcoming marriage.
Rebecca had, with a single blow, severed their relationship, one he had entered into wholeheartedly and purposefully. Beyond that, Abner’s betrayal of their boyhood friendship had cut deep. Caleb closed his eyes, the lullaby of coyotes baying on a distant hill doing little to induce sleep. The Garden of Eden. The tempted Eve. Caleb snorted under his breath. Rebecca had certainly succumbed to temptation and, in the process, taught him a bitter lesson concerning trust.
And what of Miss Lily Kellogg, the first woman since Rebecca to interest him? Was she made of sterner, truer stuff? Did he dare acknowledge how appealing he found her? Even for an intrepid cavalryman that was a daunting thought. One he should not entertain, not when his hands were tainted with the blood of innocents.
Chapter Three
Caleb joined his fellow officers Saturday night at the tavern just a short walk from the fort. It was a rough frontier establishment, crudely built and redolent of sweat and beer. Loud, harsh voices assaulted his ears. A bar covered one wall, and in the back were several tables of serious card players. Two women, no longer young, their faces caked in makeup, sashayed among the men. Caleb didn’t drink liquor, but neither did he want to appear standoffish. Through the years, he had learned a great deal about those under his command by observing their off-duty activities. Yet such places made him uncomfortable.
“Cap!” Maloney, a cavalryman who had been with him during several engagements, waved him over. Maloney was always good for a few stories. Caleb settled into a chair at the man’s table and didn’t have long to wait for the opening line. “Did you hear the one abut the general who saw a ghost?”
While the storyteller waxed eloquent, Caleb studied the crowd. Some gambled, some ogled the ladies, others, their eyes glazed over, threw back whiskey, undoubtedly searching for oblivion. He, too, sometimes longed for oblivion, but had long ago made the decision not to drink or gamble. He’d seen firsthand what such indulgences could cost a man—in some instances, not only his dignity but his soul.
When Maloney’s story came to its hilarious conclusion, Caleb rose and headed toward the door. Passing by a table of enlisted men, he overheard the tail end of a conversation and recognized Corporal Adams as the speaker.
“...and that one’s ripe for the pickin’ and I might just be the one to harvest her.”
“In a pig’s eye,” his fellow cackled. “She’s too good for the likes of you, Miss Lily is.”
“They’s all the same beneath that flouncin’ and finery. You just wait. I’ve got my eye on her. Some dark night—”
Caleb jerked the man to his feet. “You’ll do no such thing, Adams, or I’ll have you on report so fast it will seem like a cyclone hit you.” It took all of Caleb’s will to refrain from hitting the man in his obscene mouth.
Sniveling, Adams looked up at him through bleary eyes, his mouth stained with chewing tobacco. “’Twas just talk.”
“You make sure of that or you’ll deal with me.” Caleb thrust the man back in his seat and glared at him to be sure he understood.
“Mighty protective, aren’t you?” the corporal mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’.” Then he added, “Sir,” as if that would vindicate him.
“Change the subject, then,” Caleb said before striding out into the night, fists clenched at his side. This wasn’t the first man Caleb had heard talking about Lily, but most were respectful. Adams was a sneak, and Caleb hoped he was all talk, but based on his history with the corporal, he wasn’t so sure.
Walking back to his quarters, he wondered if he would have reacted so strongly had it been just any woman under discussion. He hoped so. But the mere suggestion of such a creature touching Lily Kellogg made his blood boil.
* * *
The much-anticipated spring band concert was a break from the monotony