Desert Hearts (13 page)

Elizabeth made some sort of flustered thank you and good-bye and hurried off, leaving Michael leaning over the stall door, watching her go. He heard a low whine behind him and felt the greyhound bitch press against his leg. “Oh, I know ye’d like me to let ye out of here, Misty, to go off after yer baby. But he’ll be fine,” said Michael, scratching behind her ears. “And I’m sure yer master’ll be breedin’ ye again and this time ye’ll get to keep all yer babbies.” He opened the stall door and slipped out, closing it quickly behind him. As he walked toward his quarters to clean up for dinner, he couldn’t stop thinking of how sweet and desirable the prim and proper Mrs. Woolcott had looked cuddling her puppy. “Sweet Mary, Mother of God, keep me from thinking such a thought,” he prayed desperately. “She’s a married woman, Michael Joseph Burke, and not for the likes of ye anyway.” He decided that a visit to Mary Ann’s would be a good idea tonight. Fornication might be a mortal sin, but surely God would forgive a poor Irishman who had no chance in hell of getting married for a while. And surely it was better to go to Mary Ann occasionally than be lettin’ himself be wondering what Mrs. Woolcott’s breast would feel like under his fingers.

* * * *

“Are ye going to Mrs. Casey’s tonight, then, Josh,” Michael asked as he slipped onto the bench next to Elwell in the mess hall.

Elwell grinned. “I was thinking about it.”

“Well, I think I’d like to come along and see if Mary Ann is free. Would ye mind the company?”

“Not at all, Sergeant, I would enjoy it, and I’m sure the women would. I’ll meet you after supper.”

* * * *

Mrs. Casey had been a laundress for five years and her “seniority” had gained her a nice room and a half. The four of them squeezed into her sitting room and Elwell pulled a pint of whiskey out of his jacket.

“Here, Ginny,” he said as Mrs. Casey offered her glass. “And Mary Ann. And, Michael, will you join us tonight?”

“Just a wee drop,” said Michael as always. He never had had any problem with whiskey and he never intended to. He’d seen too many Irishmen on the streets of New York who had drunk their lives away.

“Cheers,” said Elwell, lifting his glass.

“
Slainte
,” said Michael.

The others finished the bottle quickly and Elwell and Mrs. Casey were soon wrapped around each other and clearly ready to retire into her bedroom.

Mary Ann tugged on Michael’s sleeve. “Come, Michael, we’ll go next door and give them their privacy.”

“I doubt they’ll notice whether we’re here or not,” said Michael with a grin as he let himself be led next door.

Mary Ann lit the kerosene lamp by her bed. She kept her small quarters very clean and neat, something that Michael liked and admired in her. It was hard enough to keep the sand and dust out when you were an officer’s wife with a striker to help you. And although her bedspread was worn, it was brightened by a homemade afghan.

The lamp shone on Mary Ann as she stretched herself out on her bed and brought out the red highlights in her dark brown hair. She was at least five years older than Michael and he suspected that the red came from henna, but he didn’t care. She was an attractive woman, was Mary Ann, whatever her age. He sat on the edge of the bed and slowly unbuttoned his blouse while she lay there watching him.

“You looked fine on Sunday, Michael, riding your mare. I’m sorry you lost. I thought you had the race till the last few minutes.”

“The blood bay and Frost are well matched, and I just might be taking turns winning.”

When he turned to her after pulling off his boots and trousers, her skirts were lifted and she was reaching down to loosen her garters.

“Can I help you with those, Mary Ann,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Michael.”

He peeled the stockings off her slowly and then reached up under her skirts to trace her thighs with his fingers. He pulled himself up next to her and rested on one elbow while he unbuttoned her blouse and lifted her shift over her head. She was a plump woman and her breasts were round and firm and spilled over his hand when he went to cup one.

He lowered his head and teased one nipple with his tongue and she pulled his head closer with one hand and reached down with the other to feel him through his skivvies.

He shivered as she touched him and she whispered, “Do you need me right away?”

“I’ll try to wait, but I’m not sure I can be promising anything.” Dear God, but he had been feeling like he was going to burst since he walked into her bedroom. Or to be honest with himself, all afternoon. But he banished the thought of a smaller, daintier woman and pulling down his underwear, let himself spring free. When she rubbed her hand along him, he groaned and pulled himself on top of her. His hands reached up to knead her breast and then he was up and thrusting into her, hoping she was ready enough for him. But she was slick and wet and he came very quickly and then collapsed on top of her.

She lay still for a moment and then taking his hand, guided it down between her legs. He began to kiss her again and she came almost as quickly as he had. He was glad, for he liked women in general and Mary Ann in particular and liked giving her pleasure. And tonight he had not exactly been an ideal lover.

“That was a wee bit quicker than usual,” he whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I don’t mind when someone has to have me quick because he’s wanting me so much,” she whispered back. “And you took good care of me, too, Michael. Perhaps we’ll go slower in the morning.”

And indeed, when they awoke before dawn, Michael took her slowly and carefully. She was a hardworking woman with a hard life, Mary Ann was, and she deserved to have someone thinking of her once in a while, even if she was doing it for a little extra money. But although he had no trouble, he did feel a little removed from her and himself. He liked Mary Ann and he needed her, but he didn’t love her nor did she love him. Not that he expected it or even wanted it between them, but it just left him with a lonely feeling as they lay together for a while before he had to go.

Elizabeth got very little sleep for the next week. At first the puppy merely whimpered outside the door, but when that didn’t bring him any company, he started crying in earnest. Thomas was tired enough from his day’s work to turn over and go back to sleep, but Elizabeth couldn’t stand the heartbroken yowling and she would get up several times a night and sit the pup down on her lap and pet him until he went back to sleep. Then she would lay him down gently in the old basket that was his bed and they’d both sleep for an hour or so before he started again.

After a night or two she snuck him into bed with them, but when Thomas saw him in the morning, he put his foot down.

“Absolutely not, Lizzie.”

“But, Thomas, at least he slept last night.” And so did I, she added to herself. She daren’t complain about him, since he was her idea.

“It is a bad habit to develop, my dear. I guarantee, you will not want him in our bed when he is full grown and has been rolling around with the other dogs.”

So she continued to get up and thought she was going to die of exhaustion until, finally, Mrs. Taggert from next door gave her some advice.

“Wrap a hot water bottle in a towel, Mrs. Woolcott, and put it in his basket with him and he will do fine.”

It worked, thank God, and finally things were back to normal in the Woolcott household. More or less. For as the puppy got bigger, he set out to explore everything and chew everything, including Thomas’s favorite sheepskin slippers.

Thomas was furious when he found the puppy worrying at them, but when he pulled the slippers away and started to yell at the little dog, both the puppy and his wife gave him such pleading looks that he could only laugh.

“Take it then, you little monster. This one is ruined anyway,” he said ruefully.

“Thank you, Thomas, for hot making me get rid of him,” his wife said later as they curled
up
in bed together, “He is very bright, and as he gets older, he’ll understand things better, I am sure.”

But Elizabeth was a pushover for the puppy’s apologetic looks. When she would chastise him gently, he would sink down on his fat little stomach and wag his tail and look at her beseechingly, as though to say, “I know, and I’ll
never
do it again.”

As he got older, he grew more out of control, but Elizabeth was not yet willing to admit she had a problem with him, although the whole fort was by now aware of what havoc the little dog was creating in the Woolcott household. The enlisted men were now betting as to when the lieutenant would shoot the little bugger, and those that had bet sooner rather than later were greatly optimistic when he came to parade one morning with a hole chewed out of his best hat.

“I don’t know what to do,” Thomas confessed to his commanding officer one afternoon. “He is a charmer, I have to admit. And she is crazy about him. But she hasn’t the least idea how to discipline him and then when I try, she looks at me as if I were a monster.”

“I’ve seen women like that with their children.”

“But you can’t drown children, sir, and I hate to say it, but I am ready to take the little bastard and drown him in the horse trough where his brothers died!”

“How soon were you thinking of doing this,” asked the colonel with a big smile.

“Oh God, they’re betting on it!” groaned Thomas.

“A few, here and there.”

Thomas gave a disgusted groan and stalked out. Tonight he was going to lay down the law: either she was firm with the little dog, or else.

It was unfortunate, then, that the puppy chose that very afternoon to pull Thomas’s best blouse down from the laundry line and start chewing off the brass buttons. When Elizabeth looked out the kitchen window and saw him, she felt her heart sink. This would be the last straw, and she wouldn’t blame Thomas if he came home and wrung the puppy’s neck as he had threatened to do.

She walked out the back door slowly, a crumbled piece of bacon in her hand. “Here, puppy, here you are.” The little dog stopped worrying at the buttons and cocked his head. Wagging his tail, he started to prance over to get his favorite treat. Elizabeth sprinkled some bacon in front of him and darted for the shirt. He saw her out of the corner of his eye and reached it before she did. He ran off, dragging the blouse through the dust, with Elizabeth after him. At first she crooned to him in a sweet, low voice, the voice she usually used with him. He would turn around and come close and she would think she had him and just as she’d reach for the shirt, he would scamper out of the way, his eyes dancing.

She had left the kitchen door open, and she grabbed desperately for him as he ran through the house and out the front door, dragging Thomas’s blouse and looking back at her over his shoulder as though to say, “There’s much more room to play this game out here.”

Elizabeth lost her composure. Here was this damned little dog she had saved from certain death and there he was, gleefully making a fool of her.

“Come back here, you little devil,” she screeched, running after him.

He tore off down the line with the usually prim-and-proper Mrs. Woolcott screaming after him. Officers’ wives opened their doors at the noise and looked at each other and laughed. They had been wondering how long it would take for Mrs. Woolcott to break.

Luckily most of the men were out on patrol, but the wood detail was just returning as the puppy ran toward the stable, Elizabeth red-faced and shouting behind him.

The four men and Michael were dumbfounded at first at the sight of a lieutenant’s wife running with her skirts hiked up, and screaming like a
bean sighe
, thought Michael. Then Fisk started to laugh and the rest were almost falling off their mules when Michael turned to them. “That’s enough, men,” he ordered. It took all his self-control to hold back his own laughter, but he couldn’t let his detail be disrespectful to an officer’s wife. “Private Elwell, have the men lead the mules into the corral and unsaddle them there.”

“Yes, sir,” said Elwell, straggling not to smile.

Michael dismounted and handed his reins to Elwell.

“And take my mule, would ye, Josh.”

“Yes, sir.”

The puppy was headed straight for him, head turned, watching to see if his mistress was still part of this glorious game and Michael had no problem scooping him up. He pried the pup’s jaws open with his fingers and made him drop the shirt, just as Elizabeth rounded the corner.

“Come back, you little bastard.” She was crying now, tears of anger and frustration and at first she only saw that her husband’s shirt was lying there on the ground. In front of some soldier’s boots. In front of Master Sergeant Michael Burke’s boots. She stopped, her hand flying to her mouth, and realized what she must look like. What she must have sounded like.

“I’d say the wee ‘bastard’ has been thriving under your care, Mrs. Woolcott. He’s certainly grown since the last time I saw him.”

Elizabeth stood there, still holding her skirts up in her hand, until she noticed the sergeant’s quick and appreciative look at her ankles. She dropped them instantly and nervously smoothed them and tried to straighten her hair and regain some sense of dignity.

Why did it have to be the goddamned Irishman seeing her out of control like this? And where was such language coming from, Elizabeth Jane Woolcott. A young lady from Mrs. Compton’s would not be using words like ‘damn’ and ‘bastard’!

“Give me that damned puppy, Sergeant Burke,” she blurted out.

Michael’s eyes twinkled, but he managed to keep his face straight.

“Don’t ye want the lieutenant’s blouse first, ma’am?”

He reached down and shook some of the dust off before he handed it to her. It was filthy with dust and dried manure and missing two buttons.

It was the shirt that did it. She buried her face in it and began to cry. “I should have let Mr. Cooper drown him,” she sobbed.

“Drown this fine little fellow? No, no, ye did the right thing then. But ye’ve been goin’ wrong somewhere, Mrs. Woolcott. Here, come into the stable with me and we’ll pop this wee devil into a stall for a minute and talk about it.”