Summer of Promise (31 page)

Ethan refused to answer. Though Oliver was quick to share his infatuations with the world, Ethan would tell no one of his feelings for Abigail. They were private and, more important, they were wrong.

“It is a woman!” Oliver fairly crowed. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Who is she?”

Ethan leaned forward, as if he were about to impart a secret. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level, he said, “My grandfather’s housekeeper.” It wasn’t a lie. He had been thinking about Mrs. Eberle.

“The housekeeper!” Oliver stared at Ethan for a second before his lips twisted. “All right. You’ve made your point. Whoever she is, you don’t want me to know . . . yet.” Oliver’s smile said he was confident that the secret would soon be revealed. “You like to keep things close to your vest. Me? I don’t mind folks knowing how I feel.” Oliver’s smile softened as his thoughts turned to his latest infatuation. “I tell you, Ethan, Miss Westland is the woman of my dreams.”

Ethan tried not to smile at the number of times he’d heard Oliver utter those precise words. Only the woman’s name changed, and that happened almost as often as the moon was full.

Oliver continued his litany of praises, his voice droning like a bumblebee. It was only when a clock chimed the hour that he stopped. “Let’s go,” Oliver said with a nod at the door. “We need you at the Officers’ Club. We’re one man short now that Jeffrey hasn’t been coming.”

This was the first time Ethan had heard Jeffrey had deserted his nightly card game. “Where’s he been?”

Oliver shrugged as if the answer should be clear. “With his wife. Where else?”

“We’ve got a problem.” Frances waited until the baron lit his cigar and took a few puffs before she broke the news. “Schiller is demanding a greater percentage of the take, and our friend at the fort is becoming difficult. I think he’s developed scruples. Either that or he found Big Nose’s stash.” Frances doubted the latter. When she had asked the man point-blank, he’d looked as if he’d never heard of the outlaw. Though he might have been acting, Frances didn’t think that was the case. He wasn’t smart enough to lie convincingly.

The baron remained silent, only the slight lifting of his eyebrows revealing that he had heard her.

“So, what do we do?” At times like this, Frances wished she hadn’t needed a partner. Life was so much easier when you didn’t have to consult anyone else.

The baron narrowed his eyes, then blew out smoke rings, smiling at their perfect shape. With visible reluctance, he turned his attention to her. “That’s twice you’ve said ‘we.’ You said we had a problem and asked what we should do. We don’t have a problem.” He emphasized the plural pronoun. “You do. So handle it. That’s your job.”

Frances inhaled sharply. While it was true that she preferred to work alone, she had learned that the baron was not easily pleased. The last time she had resolved a problem without consulting him, he had threatened to close down the hog ranch. “A few words to the fort’s commander and you’ll be out of business,” he had said, the steeliness of his expression leaving no doubt that this was not an idle threat. But today he wanted no part in the discussion.

“If that’s my job, what is yours?”

Laughter was his only response.

Abigail reached for her bonnet and gloves, all the while chiding herself for the worries that continued to chase through her mind. She had accepted the fact that she couldn’t solve every problem, and yet she couldn’t help wishing she could find a way to convince Corporal Keller that it was better that he’d discovered Marta did not love him now rather than after they were married. And then there was Leah. She deserved a better life than working at the hog ranch.

Abigail was still thinking of Leah when she entered the sutler’s store. Standing motionless for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the relative darkness, she blinked when she heard a familiar voice. What was Leah doing here? Had she somehow known Abigail was worried about her? Abigail looked around, searching for the pretty blonde, but all she saw was a woman with hair so dark it was almost black.

“Leah?” she asked. When the woman turned, Abigail saw that it was indeed her friend. “I didn’t recognize you.”

Leah touched her hair. “It’s a wig. Peg don’t like . . .” She paused, correcting herself. “Peg doesn’t like me to come here, but she needed some extra canned oysters. She’s expecting visitors this week, and I reckon they’re important folks, cuz she told us all to freshen up everything.” Leah smoothed her skirts over her hips in a gesture Abigail had come to know meant she was uncomfortable. She cleared her throat before giving Abigail a weak smile. “I’m not supposed to talk to you. Peg told me she’d turn me out if’n I did.”

“Then I’d better leave.” Abigail did not want to get the girl in trouble. Working at the hog ranch was a terrible way to earn a living, but at least it kept Leah alive. If she was on her own with no money, she would not survive long.

“You don’t need to do that. She’ll never know, and I . . . I miss you.”

Tears pricked Abigail’s eyes. “I miss you too, Leah.”

When Leah completed her purchases, Abigail accompanied her outside. “Would you like another reader?” They would pass by the schoolhouse on their way to the bridge, and Abigail could slip inside to get one.

Leah shook her head. “I don’t dare rile Peg. She’s been real cranky lately.”

“I’m sorry. You were making such good progress.”

Abigail and Leah were walking slowly along the perimeter of the parade ground when a soldier approached, his pace suggesting eagerness. A second later, he stopped abruptly and reversed course. A few seconds later, he turned again. This time he marched directly toward them, and as he did, Abigail recognized him.

“Good afternoon to you, Miss Harding.” After only the slightest of pauses, Corporal Keller added, “And to you, Miss Anson.”

Abigail blinked. She had not realized that Corporal Keller might be acquainted with Leah or, even if he were, that he would recognize her wearing the garish wig. “You know each other?”

“No.” Leah practically shouted the word at the same time that he said, “Yes.”

Abigail looked from one to the other. It was clear that they were both embarrassed, and yet the tender look Corporal Keller gave Leah made Abigail suspect his embarrassment was due to her presence, not Leah’s.

“There is no reason to lie, Leah.” Turning to Abigail, Corporal Keller added, “I do know Leah, but not in the vay you think. The night I learned Marta vas married, I did not care about anything except forgetting. I vent to Peg’s Place and planned to drink until I could not remember anything. Leah vas there.” The smile he gave her was warm, designed to comfort the young woman. “Ven she figured out vat I had in mind, she got me away from the bar.” Corporal Keller paused for a second. “She took me to her room.”

Leah kept her eyes fixed on the ground.

“There is no reason to be ashamed, Leah.” The corporal stretched out a hand, then withdrew it when he realized that Leah wouldn’t take it. “Ve talked. Leah and I talked. And ven ve vere done, I did not care about whiskey. I did not even care about Marta.” He looked at Abigail, his eyes shining with happiness. “Leah is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

And, judging from the smile on her face, Corporal Keller was the best thing that had happened to Leah.

19

T
he sun beat down on the already parched parade ground, and the wind evaporated beads of perspiration almost before they could form. Only the occasional cloud brought relief from summer’s heat, leaving the men groaning when the sun reappeared. It was no one’s idea of a good day to drill soldiers, least of all Ethan’s. He knew the men hated marching in the heat. Their dark blue woolen uniforms absorbed the sun’s rays, leaving them even more uncomfortable than normal, and the boots whose warmth was so welcome when the thermometer remained well below zero during the long winters felt as if they were made of limestone on a hot day. It was a miserable time to be out on the parade ground marching in formation, and yet it was necessary. This was, after all, a military installation, and its soldiers needed to be in prime condition. Though the danger of an Indian uprising or skirmishes among the miners that would require the Army’s intervention was low, his men had to be ready to fight on a moment’s notice.

“Left, right. Left, right.” The cadence continued, keeping everyone marching in time to the sergeant’s commands. Ethan stood at attention, inspecting the company as it made its way around the parade ground. The men were doing well. Not even his instructors at West Point would have found fault with them.

This was what Ethan had been striving for: the best company in the garrison. There had been no desertions in the last month, and since the captain had agreed to add guards to the stagecoach, there had been no further robberies. Morale was higher than ever, in part, he suspected, because the men looked forward to their opportunity to guard the stage. Only Oliver had protested, claiming he did not want to leave Melissa Westland. It had been a direct order and one Oliver could not refuse, but he’d seemed mollified when Ethan pointed out that he would have the opportunity to buy Melissa a token of his affection while he was in Cheyenne. Indeed, life was better than Ethan could remember.

“Telegram, sir.” Ethan turned, startled by the sight of a private slightly out of breath from double-timing across the parade ground. It was not unusual to receive a telegram. What was unusual was the apparent urgency of this one. “Mr. Peterson said it was important.” The private held out the folded piece of paper.

Ethan nodded, dismissing the messenger. “Continue, men,” he said as he unfolded the telegram. Had there been another stagecoach holdup? No. That message would have gone to Captain Westland. This telegram was addressed to Ethan.

“Regret to inform you . . .” Ethan scanned the rest of the brief message. Grandfather was dead. Ethan’s eyes registered the words. The man who had been part of his life from his earliest memories, the man who had tried to shape Ethan into his own mold, had taken his final breath, and Ethan felt nothing. Nothing. He twisted the paper between his fingers, then straightened the crumpled sheet and read it again. Surely he should feel something. Sorrow, regret, even relief, not this total lack of emotion. This void was wrong. Ethan knew that, and yet he could not manufacture an emotion. His grandfather was dead, and the knowledge affected him less than today’s weather.

“Company dismissed.” Even the cheer that greeted Ethan’s words evoked no feeling. It was as if something deep inside him had frozen. Or perhaps his feelings weren’t frozen. Perhaps the telegram had sucked every bit of emotion from him, leaving a vacuum in its wake. What kind of man was he that he simply did not care?

As the men scattered, Ethan headed for the bridge. Normally he would have saddled a horse, hoping that a gallop would clear his head. But today there was nothing to clear. Perhaps a brisk walk would do what a ride could not.

It did not.

Ethan was not certain how long he’d walked. Somehow, even the simple action of pulling out his watch seemed like too much exertion. But the sun was lower now, and the air had begun to cool. He should return, and yet reluctance slowed his feet, for he had no answers. He still felt numb, and he didn’t know why. Forcing his feet to move, Ethan crossed the bridge and reentered the fort, but rather than walk around the parade ground to reach his quarters, he turned left and followed the river’s edge. There were fewer people this way, and that was good, for the last thing he wanted was to encounter another human being.

“Ethan! What happened?”

He turned at the sound of Abigail’s voice. How could he have forgotten that this route took him along the back of the Crowleys’ yard? Or perhaps he had not forgotten. The rapid beating of his heart suggested that he had come this way deliberately, hoping to see Abigail.

“I was worried when you didn’t come for supper.” She scrambled down the bank toward him, stopping when she was only a foot away, near enough that he could see the concern radiating from her eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He wasn’t about to confess that he’d spent hours wandering aimlessly, trying to fill the vacuum deep inside him. There were things a man would never admit, and that was one of them.

Abigail shook her head. “I don’t believe that.” She took another step toward him. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll continue to imagine all sorts of horrible things. You wouldn’t wish that fate on me, would you?”

She cared about him. A flicker of warmth ignited deep inside him. This was what he needed: Abigail’s . . . Ethan struggled for the word, settling for
friendship
. For the first time since he’d read the telegram, he felt alive. Still, he was reluctant to tell Abigail how he’d spent almost half the day.

“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “So I’ve been told. I suspect it’s a better trait than being impulsive.”

She was trying to make him smile. Ethan knew that, and he appreciated the effort, though it did not succeed. He might as well tell her about the telegram. Its contents would be public knowledge soon.

“My grandfather died.” There. He’d said it.

Abigail closed the distance between them, placing her hand on his arm. “Oh, Ethan. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” The words came out unbidden, causing the blood to drain from Abigail’s face. Now she knew him for what he was: a monster. “I can see I’ve shocked you. I shocked myself too. I knew he was ill, so this wasn’t unexpected, but I thought I’d feel something when he actually died. I don’t, and that’s the worst part.”

What was it about this woman that she breached his defenses? Ethan hadn’t planned to tell her—or anyone—how he felt, and here he was, confiding the thoughts he had determined no one would ever know.

Abigail tightened her grip on his arm and looked up at him, her eyes filled with compassion and something else. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he would have said it was understanding, but no one could understand.

“It’s natural,” she said firmly. “What you’re feeling is natural.”

“But I’m not feeling anything.”

Abigail nodded. “Your body is protecting you from hurt. That’s why you feel numb. And before you tell me that I’m not a doctor, let me remind you that I’m a minister’s daughter. Papa told me he’d often see people whose loved ones had died walking around as if they were in a fog. He said sometimes it would take days before they could admit what had happened, and then they’d become angry. Papa claimed the numbness helped them deal with their sorrow.”

It was an interesting theory. Unfortunately, it had one major flaw. “I didn’t love Grandfather, and he didn’t love me.” As Abigail’s eyes widened, Ethan continued. “Do you ever have nightmares, and when you waken, you tell yourself it was only a dream?”

Abigail nodded, confirming that she’d experienced the same feelings. But she hadn’t, for her nightmares hadn’t turned into reality. His had.

“My worst nightmare came true this afternoon.” He could see the confusion in her eyes and knew he had to explain. “I’m just like my grandfather.” That was truly the stuff of nightmares. “I realized today that I’m everything I hated about him. I’m a man who’s incapable of caring about others.”

When Abigail started to speak, Ethan shook his head. “All my life I hated Grandfather’s coldness. I feared I was like him, but I hoped I wasn’t. I tried so hard not to follow in his footsteps. That’s why I joined the Army, because it was as different from running a railroad as anything I could imagine. But I can deny it no longer. I’m just like him, a miserable human being, unable to love and unworthy of being loved.”

Abigail reached out to grip his other arm, as if to restrain him. “You’re wrong.” Her voice was low but fierce. It was an effort to comfort him, but, like her attempt to make him smile, it failed, for Ethan knew the truth.

“You never met my grandfather, so how can you say that?”

“Because I know you. You care about people. I’ve seen the way you treat your men. It’s not just duty. You do everything you can to make their lives better.”

He couldn’t let her think he was some kind of hero when he wasn’t. “That’s hardly philanthropic. Whatever I do for the men is so they don’t desert. That makes me look better. I may get a commendation for it, and it might increase my chances for promotion. It’s all for me, just like everything Grandfather did was for himself.”

Abigail shook her head. “You can tell yourself that if you want, but I won’t believe it. As for the other side of the equation . . .” Her expression changed, becoming firmer. It appeared that the schoolteacher in Abigail had asserted herself. Ethan braced himself for a lecture. Instead, her lips softened and her voice was filled with fervor as she said, “Not only are you worthy of love, you
are
loved.”

Ethan was mistaken. It wasn’t Abigail the schoolteacher who spoke but Abigail the minister’s daughter. She was preparing to give him a sermon, not a lesson. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that God loves me.”

“He does.”

She didn’t understand. She was trying, but she didn’t understand. How could she? “That’s easy for you to say. You’re a preacher’s daughter. You’ve lived your life according to the Good Book. Of course God loves you. My life hasn’t been like that. I’ve done nothing to deserve anyone’s love, especially God’s. I’m not like you.”

Abigail closed her eyes for a second, and Ethan wondered whether she was praying. When she opened them, they reflected an emotion he could not identify. “Oh, Ethan, you’re wrong on so many counts. I’m just as much a sinner as you or anyone else, but I know that God loves me. He loves me so much that he sent his Son into the world to die so that I wouldn’t have to pay the price for my sins. I didn’t do anything to deserve that. There’s nothing I could do that would make me worthy of a gift like that. Don’t you see, Ethan? God offers love, forgiveness, and eternal life. Those are his gifts to me and to you. All you have to do is open your heart and welcome God into it.”

The flicker of warmth that Abigail’s caring had ignited grew, and Ethan could feel the ice that encased his heart begin to melt. Was it true? Was love a gift, not something to be earned? Was it possible that all he had to do was accept that gift? “You make it sound easy. I know it’s not.”

A sweet smile crossed Abigail’s face, and her eyes lightened. “It’s the easiest and the most difficult thing you’ll ever do. If you choose to accept God’s gifts, your life will change in ways you never imagined possible. If you don’t, life will continue the way it has. It’s your choice, Ethan. No one can make it for you.”

“You really believe this, don’t you?”

“I do. But don’t take my word for it. Read God’s Word. The answers are there.”

Ethan looked away, unwilling to face her penetrating gaze any longer. It was as if she could see inside him, and that was unnerving, for he didn’t want anyone to know of the emptiness, least of all this woman. The vacuum deep inside was his private nightmare, something he did not want to reveal to anyone. He had believed it was a permanent part of him, but Abigail disagreed. She believed the void could be filled. Was she right? Was it God’s love that Ethan lacked? Would God fill the empty spaces? He had to know.