Fire on the Plains (Western Fire) (24 page)

The fact that they’d bickered at all didn’t sit right with him. He enjoyed Lydia’s company, and was
greatly annoyed that their brief tenure with Beaumont’s wagon train had put such a strain on their marriage. He wanted their relationship to return to what it had been
before
the Comanche attack: sharing conversation during the daylight hours and their bed at night.

He sure as hell didn’t want to
argue over whether or not Percy Beaumont was a ‘gentleman.’ In fact, once they left the wagon train, he hoped to never hear the bastard’s name ever again.

As they approached the center of the camp, it appeared that the celebra
tion had just gotten under way.

“
By God, I think that’s a Virginia ham,” Ben murmured longingly, his mouth watering as he gazed at the makeshift buffet tables.

Lydia cast him a sidelong glance. “
Still sorry that you came?”

Not
ready to surrender just yet, Ben stopped at one of the tables to inspect the assorted array of home-cooked delicacies. “It depends on whether there’s any fried chicken,” he good-naturedly grumbled, loudly smacking his lips when he spied a platter at the end of the table.

Setting down her basket of fresh-baked biscuits, Lydia relieved Ben of his burden, the crock of baked beans garnering appreciative sniffs from several party-goers.

Dixie, a look of pure enchantment on her face, tugged at Ben’s shirt sleeve. “Look, Captain Ben. There’s even going to be music.”

To Ben’s sur
prise, there was a bandstand on the other side of the clearing. And, sure enough, there was a quartet of musicians busily tuning their instruments.

Lydia gestured to the ‘dance floor’ in front of the bandstand.
“Will I be able to entice my husband to dance with me?”

Put
on the spot, Ben stared at his boot tips. “Well, um, I’m not much for dancing,” he mumbled, not about to embarrass himself, or his wife, by pretending otherwise.

“I could teach you a few steps,”
Lydia offered.

While he’d like nothing more than to take Lydia in his arms and spin her around a dance floor, Ben knew from past experience
that he’d more than likely mangle her feet in the process.

“Afraid
the dance lesson won’t do any good, Lydia. Plenty of ladies have tried, and all of them will attest to the fact that I’m unteachable.”

Lydia’s eyes opened wide in mock surprise. “‘Plenty of ladies?’ Lucky for you, Ben Strong, I’m not the jealous type.”

“You know what I meant,” he replied sheepishly. In truth, it had been years since he last attended a church social.

Glad
-hearted that they seemed to have put their harsh words behind them, Ben slung a husbandly arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “I know it’s not proper for a man to kiss his wife in public,” he whispered in her ear. “But I am sorely tempted just the same.”

Smiling at him,
Lydia’s cheeks blushed with color.

I
f she keeps that up, I might yet get on the dance floor, big booted feet, and all.

“
The band just started to play a song,” Dixie informed them, raising her voice to be heard over the lyrical strains of the fiddle, mandolin, guitar, and banjo.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ben saw that a number of
spinning couples had already commenced to dancing.

With a gleeful clap of the hands, Dixie executed a dainty pirouette. “I want to dance! I want to dance!”

Removing his arm from Lydia’s shoulders, Ben went down on bent knee, putting himself on eye level with his stepdaughter. “Why don’t you go ask Doc Wylie’s little boy if he’ll dance with you,” he suggested, aware that the two children had become fast friends over the course of the last few days.

“Mama says
that it’s not proper for a lady to ask a gentleman to dance,” Dixie demurred.

Figuring there’d be hell to pay if he counseled Dixie to disobey one of Lydia’s cardinal rules of ‘ladyho
od,’ Ben saw no alternative but to ask his stepdaughter to dance. “Corporal Dixie, may I have the honor of this first dance?”

The child’s russet
-colored eyes twinkled merrily. “I just knew that I could get you out on the dance floor.”

Lord
Almighty. Hoodwinked, again.

“Makes me wonder who rules the roost,” Ben said in a joking aside to
Lydia before he led Dixie out to the dance floor.

As they made their way through the crowd, Ben couldn’t help but be impressed with the musical
ity of the gray-suited ex-Confederates. Although calling them
ex
-Confederates might be a bit of a stretch. In fact, he’d be willing to bet hard currency that Beaumont and his crew never got around to formally surrendering. Yet here they were, hooting and hollering, having a time of it, as if they had every right to celebrate the birth of Freedom.

Standing in the middle of the dirt dance floor, Ben suddenly wondered if, with his limited dancing abilities, he wasn’t making a big mistake. The last thing he wanted to do was inadvertently step on Dixie
’s little feet.

“Stand on top of my boots,” he instructed, having determined that to be the easiest, safest way to take his stepdaughter for a spin around the dance floor.

Giggling, Dixie did as she was told, trustingly placing her hands in his. Thus posed, they ‘danced’ to the music, both of them hard put to keep a straight face, both of them enjoying themselves immensely.

No sooner did the song end than young Tad Wylie headed toward them, a steadfast look on his nine
-year-old face.

With a paternal smile, Ben gladly turned Dixie over to her newfound admirer. Wanting to rustle himself some fried chicken while there was still a few pieces left, B
en headed for the buffet table.

A few moments later, he was about to make a grab for a drumstick when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Percy Beaumont escort Lydia onto the dance floor.

Damned if
I’m going to let that puffed-up peacock squire my wife.

Without so much as a muttered apology,
Ben shoved a pair of gray-uniformed soldiers out of the way as he stalked across the dance floor. Ignoring the startled look on Lydia’s face, Ben clamped a hand on Beaumont’s shoulder, pulling him away from her.

“She’s already spoken for,” Ben rasped in a low, proprietary
tone of voice.

Clearly taken aback, Beaumont’s gaze darted back
-and-forth between husband and wife. “I apologize, madam. But it would seem that Captain Strong has the prior claim,” the Confederate colonel said with a gracefully executed bow.

Not giving
Lydia a chance to object, Ben wrapped an arm around her waist, spinning her onto the dance floor. Luckily, the band was playing a slow country waltz. Had it been a polka or a quadrille, he would’ve been in hot water for sure. As it was, he felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop.

No sooner were they out
of hearing range of her erstwhile dance partner than Lydia let Ben have it with both barrels.

“You, sir, are jealous,” she hissed in a low voice, her green eyes
flashing angrily. “And it is most unbecoming.”

“You’re damned right I’m jealous,”
Ben hissed right back at her, his arm tightening around her waist. “Whenever that bastard is near you, I suddenly feel like a hayseed who’s not good enough for his own wife.”

His blunt admission caused
Lydia to falter a step, her face blanched of color. “How can you even think such a thing, Ben?”

“Easy enough. Just look at me
. I’m a Kansas farmer; not a gallant blue-blooded gentleman.”

Lydia’s expression
immediately softened. “Oh, but I beg to differ with you, Mister Strong. You are without a doubt, one of the finest, bravest, most gallant men that I’ve ever been privileged to know. Luckily for me, I had the good sense to ask you to marry me.”

Ben smiled
warmly at his wife. “And believe me, I’m glad that you did ask.”

“Are you really?”

“Uh-huh.”

Wishing
that they were anywhere else but in the midst of a dozen swirling couples, Ben suddenly understood Lydia’s self-conscious embarrassment on the previous night.

“It was wrong of me to get angry last night when you refused to, um. . . .” Not wanting to be overheard by anyone, Ben
shot his wife a pointed glance. “I guess that after being in the army, forced to sleep ten to a tent, I learned to live without much privacy. But I’m not in the army anymore; and it was inconsiderate of me not to respect your feelings. Although, if you really want to know, I wanted you so badly last night, I didn’t much care who saw us kissing outside that wagon.”

“I wanted you, too, Ben.”

Hearing that, Ben brought Lydia’s hand to his mouth. Locking gazes with her, he kissed the back of Lydia’s knuckles. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you the first night that we’re alone?”

“For mod
esty’s sake, I’m afraid to ask,” Lydia whispered.

Ben
leaned his head close to hers, his lips lightly grazing her earlobe. “I’m gonna suck on your nipples . . .
hard
, just the way you like it.” Hearing his wife’s quick intake of breath, he pulled her closer to him, letting her feel his erection. “Then, when you’re good and wet between your legs, I’m gonna ease myself into you, slowly, one hard inch at a time.”

Lydia whimpered softly, her fingers digging into
Ben’s shoulder. Clearly, she was as thrilled by those provocative images as he was.

Taking pleasure in the moment
, the two of them slowly swayed in each other’s arms as they savored the small, stolen intimacy.

All t
oo soon, the song ended.

Feeling someone tap
him on the shoulder, Ben turned around, surprised to find Doc Wylie standing behind him.

“Sir, will you grant me the pleasure of dancing with your lovely wife?”

Grinning broadly, Ben shook his head.

“No, I will not. I intend to keep on dancing with my lovely wife for a good long while yet.”

“You should be happy to know, Lydia, that we’ll reach Uvalde by nightfall tomorrow.”

At hearing that welcome bit of news, Lydia glanced over at Ben who was in the process of folding the map that he’d been using to plot their course. Having just finished tucking Dixie in for the night, she pulled the canvas flaps closed on the back of the wagon.

“
That is good news, indeed,” Lydia informed her husband as she joined him at the evening campfire. It had been seven weeks since they left Missouri. Seven weeks fraught with peril, passion and near catastrophe.

While relieved that they
would soon reach journey’s end, Lydia was well aware that a new venture loomed on the horizon – cattle ranching. A venture that would require unflagging dedication, and large sums of money; the latter, unfortunately, in short supply since the Comanche attack.

“You have yet to mention how we will finance our new ranch,” Lydia
broached somewhat hesitantly, hoping that the sensitive topic didn’t spoil their evening. Since leaving Colonel Beaumont’s wagon train, Ben had been in exceptionally high spirits.

“Probably because I have yet to figure that out,” Ben said with wry grin. Wrapping a hand around
Lydia’s wrist, he pulled her into an empty camp chair. “Since my well-intentioned wife gave away most of our nest egg to the Comanches, we’re down to our last hundred dollars.”

“And
I would have given that away, as well, if it meant saving you from certain death,” she retorted.

Ben slid his hand over hers
, and tenderly entwined their fingers. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an extraordinary woman?”

“I believe someone just did,”
Lydia said, smiling warmly.

Over the course of their seven week trek,
she and Ben had crossed more than a few bridges together. And with each crossing, the bond between them had strengthened. So much so that she felt the time had finally come to raise a topic that had been weighing heavy on her mind.

“
Please don’t take offense to what I am about to say, but I need to be brutally frank with you about something.” Lydia paused a moment to take a much-needed breath to shore her faltering nerves before she continued and said, “All too frequently I feel as though I’m married to a total stranger.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for two people to sleep in the sa
me bed and
not
know each other,” Ben muttered as he disengaged his hand from hers.

Although Lydia was disheartened that Ben had emotionally retreated so quickly, the fact that he did reinforced that the
conversation was long overdue.

“
I fear that’s
all
that we share with one another,” she countered, having suspected that he’d take that particular line of defense. Ben believed that because they were sexually intimate he didn’t have to share any other intimacies with her. “After seven weeks of marriage, there’s still so much about you that I don’t know . . . so much that you refuse to divulge.”

“Careful, Lydia. You’re wading in deep water,” Ben warned.

It was a warning she chose to ignore.

“
Don’t you think it’s about time that you told me what happened during the war?”

Ben shrugged.
“In a nutshell, we won.”

‘
Your husband is holding onto something that he must let go of.’

That
had been Walks Tall’s assessment, the Cherokee having intimated that the unknown
‘something’
was the reason why Ben suffered from nightmares. And why he’d fallen victim to a mysterious two-day delirium. Given that Ben’s nightmares had to do with a battle that took place during the war, Lydia had reason to believe that dark episode was the ‘something’ that her husband needed to let go of. To finally cleave from his soul.

For several weeks
now she’d agonized over the best way to broach the matter. But every time she’d hesitantly asked about the war, Ben quickly shuttered himself behind an impregnable wall of silence. Moreover, it’d not escaped her notice that in the last seven weeks, he’d not once mentioned his brother Ethan who served alongside of him in the 1
st
Massachusetts Infantry. A glaring omission, to say the least.

“If you won’t tell me about the war, will you at least tell me how Ethan died?”

A fierce look instantly glittered in Ben’s eyes. Tightly clamping his jaw shut, he turned away from Lydia and peered at the crackling fire.

When it became apparent that he
r husband had no intention of responding, Lydia tried a different approach. “There is an ache in your heart, Ben. And if I don’t know what caused it, how can I help to ease it?”

“I need to check on the horses,”
Ben said abruptly as he lunged from his chair.

Resolute
, Lydia grabbed him by the wrist, manacling him with both of her hands. “I suspect that when you first went to war, the army took a man who was noble and strong-hearted; and they turned him into a warrior. A warrior who was able to kill without compunction and without mercy.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t l
ike I was the only one,” Ben muttered, averting his gaze.

“I know that,” Lydia said quietly. “A
nd I also know that in order to live with the warrior that they created, you put an impenetrable shield around your heart. But the war is over, Ben. You can lower your shield now.”

Ben
vehemently shook his head. “If you think that I can revert to being the man I used to be, then you’re greatly mistaken. That man is dead, Lydia. He died at Bull Run in the summer of ‘61.”

“
No
, he didn’t die,” Lydia steadfastly affirmed. “That same, noble, strong-hearted man is standing before me now.” When Ben made a sudden move to leave, she tightened her hold on his wrist, refusing to yield. “You can’t fool me. I know you for the man that you truly are.”

Ben’s
mouth turned down at one corner. “Sorry, Lydia. But you’ve got the wrong man . . . Ethan was always the noble one.”

“So tell me ab
out your brother,” she implored, seizing the small opening that he’d just given her.

Cursing under his breath, Ben
forcefully yanked his wrist free from her grasp.

“What’s the matter,
husband? Are you
afraid
to tell me?” Lydia taunted, purposefully tossing down the gauntlet. If she knew anything at all about Ben Strong, it was that he never walked away from a fight.

“No, I’m not afraid to tell you,” he snarled. “I’m
ashamed
to tell you. And the shame of it is killing me.”

“Beca
use you’re letting it kill you.”

“Do you actually think that I enjoy reliving my brother’s death, night after night?”

“I didn’t mean to suggest such a thing, and you know it,” Lydia retorted, refusing to be sidetracked. Intuiting that this may be her only chance to help Ben cast out the painful memories, she gestured to his camp chair. “
Please.
Sit down. I am your wife. It is wholly proper that we speak freely and openly to one another about our past experiences.”

With a resigned sigh, Ben reseated himself
. His slumped shoulders and glum expression put Lydia in mind of a condemned man who’d accepted his fate, and was simply marking time until the death knell sounded.

“Two days ago at
the Fourth of July party, you claimed that you were glad to have married me,” Ben said despondently. “But I guarantee that if I tell you what happened the day my brother died, you’ll have a change of heart.”

“I doubt that will happen,” Lydia
assured him, having reason to suspect that over time Ben had distorted the tragedy in his own mind. “There is nothing,
nothing
, that you can say that will change the way I feel about you.”

“We’ll see
about that.” As he spoke, Ben leaned forward in his chair. Planting his elbows on the top of his thighs, he steepled his hands, as though in prayer. “These days, you hear a lot of folks talk about the ‘demons of war.’ Well, that’s what they are, all right. And believe me, Lydia: I’ve tried to exorcise ‘em. But, so far, I haven’t had much success.”

“The
atrocities you witnessed during those four years must have been unimaginable.”

At hearing that, Ben gave a mirthless laugh. “The irony is that both Ethan and I were anxious to join
the army, the two of us raring to see the elephant, as they used to say.”

“Having read many newspaper account
s about those hard-fought battles, I can understand why you quickly became disillusioned.”

“Disillusioned?” Ben shook his head,
disavowing her of the notion. “Hard-hearted, that’s what we became. A whole army full of hard-hearted determined men.”

“Including Ethan?”

A hint of a smile hovered on Ben’s lips as he slowly shook his head. “Ethan was one of the few who stayed true to his convictions . . . right up until the day he died.”

“
And how exactly did he die?” Lydia gently prodded, determined to uncover the
full
truth. More was at stake than the future well-being of their marriage. As best she could determine, every aspect of Ben’s life – spiritual, emotional, and physical – was in the balance.

“
Ethan died on one of those January days when the warmth of the sun is just an illusion,” Ben intoned in a slow, measured voice. “Of course, by that last winter of the war, we were inured to the weather, able to fight on even the coldest of days. Which is exactly what we were doing on that cold winter’s morn . . . that is until everything went to hell in a hand-basket.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there were no generals, no colonels, not even a major in sight. All of the senior officers had been killed, or wounded, or were off somewhere nursing their fears in a bottle.”

Hearing that, Lydia suddenly surmised what transpired on that January morning.
“You took command of the regiment, didn’t you?”

He
r husband confirmed with a nod. “Someone had to take charge before those Rebs ran us into the ground. And since the enemy was so well barricaded, I had no choice but to send a detail of skirmishers to ferret them out.”

Ben
paused a moment, his chin resting on the tips of his fingers as he stared into the inky darkness beyond their encampment. Although she was anxious for him to continue, Lydia curtailed the urge to inquire as to what happened next. Having finally persuaded Ben to talk about the incident, she now had to allow him to piece the story together in his own fashion, at his own pace. If needled too much, she might unwittingly incite a silent retreat.

“Ethan was one of the skirmishers that I ordered to the field,”
Ben said finally after a lengthy silence. “In no time at all, he and the others came under intense enemy fire.”

“Did you or
der the regiment to return fire?” she asked, trying to envision the scene in her mind’s eye.

Ben dolefully
shook his head. “I couldn’t. Not without giving away our position. If the Rebs had discovered where we were hiding, they would’ve rained enough mortar fire to bury the entire regiment in one fell swoop,” he explained. “That’s the reason why you send out skirmishers in the first place, to lure the enemy out of their barricaded hidey-holes so that
you
can attack
them
.”

“
I see.” And Lydia did see, only now beginning to understand that Ben had been placed in an impossible situation. “What happened when the Confederates opened fire on Ethan and the other skirmishers?”

“
What I hoped would never happen . . . I was forced to stand by and watch as a mortar shell tore my brother’s body to shreds.”

Lydia
bit back a horrified gasp. “I can’t even imagine the horror of having to watch one’s own brother die so cruel a death.”

A haunted look came over
Ben, his torment plain to see. “That horror I might have learned to live with. Plenty of other men did. No, it’s what I did
after
my brother was hit that’s so . . . so unforgivable.” As he spoke, Ben’s eyes glazed with unshed tears. “Ethan had this hole in his gut as big as a pie plate, his entrails spilling all over the front of him, and he was screaming, begging, to be put out of his misery.” For the first time since he’d begun to speak of the tragic episode, Ben turned his head so that he could hold Lydia’s gaze. “I couldn’t just stand there and watch him, no,
make
him suffer like that. I mean, hell, they shoot horses, don’t they?”

Lydia’s eyes
watered as she struggled to grasp the enormity of Ben’s tortured memories.

“Y
ou did the merciful thing,” she assured him, hoping to assuage his guilt.