Dakota Dream (24 page)

He strode back into the parlor, his chest puffed,
his
jaw tense. After sending Dominique to her aunt's side, he called for quiet. "Gentlemen, we have our orders, and this time they are firm. We leave for our summer campaign in two weeks. Our preparations must begin immediately."

The men voiced a lusty cheer, but the women were noticeably silent and cast furtive glances at one another. When the celebration died down, an officer spoke up. "Does the campaign have a clear goal, then, General, sir?"

"We will have the usual purpose, Major, but this time, we will not tolerate anything less than full containment of the hostiles. The entire objective of this mission is to ferret out, then completely subdue those heathen Sioux once and for all. Either they will accept our terms, agree to inhabit the land we set aside for their reservations, or they will be"—he glanced around the room, noting the wide-eyed women, and amended his speech—"exterminated."

Another rousing cheer erupted, but this time Custer discouraged the response. "Gentlemen, please. We have much to accomplish in little time. Our men are to join General Terry's troops, the Montana Column, as quickly as possible. We will be known as the Dakota Column."

"And everyone knows," Tom Custer cut in, "the Dakota Column alone can wipe out the entire Sioux nation."

Again the men cheered, and this time, Custer let them.

When they'd quieted to a few murmured conversations, he finished his speech. "Please inform your men and all the barracks that reveille will be at five from now until we leave on May seventeenth. Tomorrow I'll call a general officers' meeting, and we'll go over our strategy and plot our route. For now, I've just finished a very long journey. I'm exhausted. Good night, ladies, gentlemen." He bowed,
then
saluted, and his guests filed by, responding in kind.

As the men and women stepped off the porch and navigated the impressive staircase on the way to their homes, none of them noticed a private crouching behind a
Juneberry
bush. His hands worked the soil around the base of the plant, dusting the particles away as if he were looking for something he might have dropped under the parlor window of the Custer house. None of the officers paid any attention to this same private when he casually strolled away from the house and stole back to the barracks of Company C, either. And no one but Jacob grasped the full implications of the speech General Custer had just made.

After the last of the visitors said their farewells, Custer took his wife's hand and led her down the hallway, commenting as he walked, "I imagine you and Nikki haven't had your supper yet."

"No, dear, but I'm sure Mary's cupboards are full. She's just started working on a fresh saddle of venison. There's plenty for you."

"I have no appetite, sunbeam. I would ask, however, that you have Mary hold your meal until you and I have a chance to talk. Then I must get some rest."

"Of course, Autie.
Go on up.
I'll be right with you." Libbie stood and watched her husband climb the stairs, her heart heavy when she noticed the lack of enthusiasm in his step, the heavy-footed gait. She turned to go back into the parlor, but Dominique was already at her side.

"I overheard you and Uncle Armstrong. I'll tell Mary to hold your meal, but do you mind if I eat without you? I'm starved."

"Go ahead, Nikki." Libbie glanced up the stairway and softly added, "I may be a while." Then she lifted the hem of her skirt and followed the footsteps of the only man she had ever truly loved.

When she stepped into the room they shared, Libbie found her husband stripped down to his trousers and socks. He stood, leaning against her dressing table, staring into her looking glass as if seeing himself for the first time. Tiptoeing across the carpeted floor, she stole up behind her love and slid her arms around his waist.
"Oh, Autie.
What is it? What troubles you so?"

With a weary sigh, he straightened and turned around in her arms. "I'm afraid your boy didn't quite make a very good impression on the President."

"Oh, Autie, what has he done to you this time? If he's—" Libbie cut off her own sentence as she finally realized what had been nagging at her since her husband's return.
"Autie.
Your hair.
What have you done with your curls?"

His smile cut deep lines around his tired eyes as he said, "I had them cut. I hoped a new look might boost the Senate's opinion
of
 
the
boy general with the golden curls. I meant to bring my hair back for you to weave into a memento, but I was so upset by the time I left Washington, I'm afraid I left it behind."

"Oh, my darling," Libbie cried as she rested her head on his smooth chest. "What have they done to you?"

"Nothing much," he said. "Nothing but castrate me in front of my men, render me impotent as their leader."

Libbie jerked back, her brow knotted.
"What?
Oh, please, Autie, please tell me what that swine has done to you."

With great difficulty, Custer swallowed the steel ball of hatred in his throat and said the words he would have to repeat time and time again over the next few days. "I've been relieved of my command."

Libbie broke free of his arms. "You can't be serious." She cupped her palms over her ears and shook her head. "I won't listen to another word until you tell me the truth."

"Telling the truth is what put me in this position." He ground his teeth and reiterated. "President Grant relieved me of my command. General Terry is the commander of both the Montana Column and the Dakota Column. I wasn't even supposed to be allowed to join in this campaign."

"But downstairs, you told the men you had a new assignment."

"I know what I said, and it wasn't a complete lie. Generals Terry and Sheridan know what we're up against, even if Washington doesn't. They convinced Grant that my experience was badly needed in this campaign, so he relented, but I'm only to head up my own regiment. The entire command is under Terry.''

"Oh, no," she choked out through a sob.
"Oh, God, no."

"There now, sunbeam.
Chin up." He pulled her back into his arms and pressed her trembling head against his shoulder. "I'll come out of this all right. You know I'll find a way to make them pay, to sit up and take notice of the best damn military man the cavalry has ever seen."

Libbie took several deep breaths, fighting off the sobs, and said, "But why? Why was Grant so angry with you?"

Custer pressed his face into her warm brown hair and shrugged.
"Because I'm an honest man.
Because when he asked this forthright man to testify in congressional hearings on what I know about fraudulent practices out here on the frontier, he didn't like my answers. I guess he didn't
really
want to know how the government was being cheated or by whom. That's why."

"Oh, Autie, there must be a way for you to convince them they're wrong. They simply can't treat you this way."

"Apparently they can treat me any damn way they like, but I don't intend to tell them another thing. From now on, I'll show them." Custer narrowed one steel-blue eye and stared off into an imaginary future only he could see. "I'll show them on the field of battle, where I have no equal."

Encouraged by the change in his tone, Libbie stepped away from her husband and stared into his eyes. Trancelike, illuminated by fires of imagination, they revealed his skills as a great craftsman, a man whose talents were no less creative than those of a fine artist. His canvas was the uncharted territories into which he would lead his men; his paintbrush, uncanny skills in strategy and the tenacity to pull off miracle after miracle. A landscape, when George Armstrong Custer finished with it, was no less than a masterpiece that could be viewed as a graphic monument to man's fascination with war.

Libbie observed her husband and trembled with desire. He was beyond the reach, past the understanding of mere mortals at this moment.
Above even her.
But when he broke out of that spell, when she knew he could be approached as a man, as
her
man, she would make him forget his trials in Washington. She would ease the pain of his loss. She would show him her own creativity, those areas in which she could only hope she had no peers.

Back to reality, Custer shook his head and yawned. "That's my sad tale, precious sunbeam. And please believe me when I say I will not discuss it again."

"As you wish, Autie."
She stretched up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. The kiss, a brief, gentle caress, ended when Libbie slid her hands to the front of his trousers and began to tug at the buttons.

"No," Custer said, "not like that. I'm in need of comfort tonight. Strip and get into bed."

"Oh, Autie," Libbie breathed with a shudder of excitement, "whatever you want."

She helped herself to another quick kiss,
then
began to remove her clothing. Making sure her movements were slow and deliberate, Libbie kept one eye on her husband as she disrobed, hoping to see that he was as excited as she. By the time she slithered between the sheets, her mouth watered in anticipation.

"Well, General? What are you waiting for?" She curled a seductive finger and beckoned him.

Custer peeled off the rest of his clothing and climbed into bed beside her. When she rolled toward him, he pushed her back against the mattress. "I said I'm in need of comfort tonight. Be my best girl. Hold me, take care of me."

"Of course, darling.
Whatever you say, you know I'll do anything you want." Unsure what he expected from her, Libbie forced herself to remain still even as her hot blood raced through her system, heating her loins, driving her mad with longing. Impatient for his touch, she waited for the next instruction wondering what new game he'd thought of.

Sliding down on the mattress until his head was level with Libbie's
breast,
Custer curled into a fetal position and rested his newly shorn head in the crook of her arm. Then he took her rosy nipple into his mouth and began to suckle.

"Oh, Autie," she gasped, "that feels so-o-o-o good."

But he didn't reply. Custer squirmed, nestling his head deeper in the valley between her arm and ribs and curled himself into a tighter ball. His mouth worked furiously against her breast,
then
slowly eased to an occasional pull at her nipple. A random cry, muffled, pathetic, broke the silence. Soon, his lips ceased to move.

"Oh, my poor, poor boy," Libbie whispered against his golden hair.

But there was still no answer. As the rhythm of her husband's light snoring reverberated in her ears, tears swamped corners of Libbie's stormy blue-gray eyes.

 
Chapter Ten

The next two weeks passed in a flurry of activity as the troops made preparations for their long journey. Dominique spent most of her time helping Libbie sew new silk flags for Custer and the troops to carry, and spent the rest of her hours fretting.

She'd hardly seen Jacob since the evening he'd spent with her in the parlor. If he wasn't off scouting, sometimes two or three days in a row, he was busy with the rest of the soldiers. Only twice had he found a few moments to give her additional riding lessons, and during those precious minutes, she had found him guarded, indifferent. She'd hope for some different lessons, a few stolen moments to further her education as a woman. Now it looked as if that would never happen—not with Private Stoltz, anyway.