Summer of Promise (9 page)

The man shoved his chair back and bolted from the room, his gait revealing his anger. Frances waited until the door closed behind him before she laughed. He might not like it, but he was caught as surely as a trout with a hook in its mouth. Perfect.

To Abigail’s relief, Saturday was sunny and warm, windier than she would have liked, but not oppressively hot. The worst heat, Charlotte warned her, would come during July. Since June in Wyoming had already proven to be considerably hotter than Vermont, Abigail was glad that she would be leaving right after Independence Day.

When they reached their destination, Abigail discovered that the house where the dance would be held was similar to Charlotte and Jeffrey’s, a large building divided into two residences. Located on the west side of the parade ground close to the bachelor officers’ quarters, the post surgeon’s house, and the sutler’s store, it appeared to be a few years older than Charlotte’s house, but the rooms were larger. The majority of the furniture had been removed from the parlor to provide space for dancing, leaving only a few chairs around the perimeter for those who tired of the exercise.

“Come see what we have in store for you.” Mrs. Montgomery, who’d been waiting inside the house, gestured toward the dining room, where the table was laden with silver platters covered with what appeared to be a variety of cakes and cookies and a large punch bowl. An epergne filled with fresh flowers formed the centerpiece, flanked by heavy cut-glass candlesticks. It was a surprisingly elegant setting, and, though she was almost two thousand miles away, Abigail could have imagined herself back in Vermont, were it not for the wind howling outside. Her two hostesses wore heavy satin dresses that would not have been out of place in Boston, complemented by two of the elaborate hairstyles depicted in Frank Leslie’s
Gazette of Fashion
. “It’s beautiful. I feel honored to be here.”

“We’re pleased to have you with us.” Mrs. Alcott smoothed her light blue skirts. “Tonight is, after all, special.”

And it was. Mrs. Alcott’s parlor was soon crowded with so many people that Abigail wondered how they would manage to dance. Though Charlotte had told her there were only seventeen officers at the fort, and at least one of them had not arrived, the room was filled. The wives, dressed in their finest, mingled with the bachelors, while Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Alcott stood at the entrance to the parlor, introducing Abigail to each newcomer. Though she knew she’d never recall their names, what she would remember was the genuinely warm welcome each one offered her. Young or middle-aged, male or female—it didn’t seem to matter. They all made Abigail feel as if her visit would be one of the highlights of their summer. She spoke briefly with each one, forcing herself to keep her attention focused on the person she was greeting, and yet in the brief interval between conversations, she glanced around the room, searching for the one familiar face she had expected.

He was not here.

Abigail bit back her disappointment. Though she couldn’t explain how it had happened, in the few days that she had been at Fort Laramie, Ethan had become an important part of her life. He had begun to take meals with the family, and while it might be disloyal, she found his conversation more stimulating than that of her sister or Jeffrey. They had all discussed the dance—indeed, it seemed to be Charlotte’s primary topic of conversation, eclipsing even Puddles—but Abigail could not recall Ethan saying that he planned to attend. She had simply assumed that he would be here. And he was not.

“I think we’re ready to start dancing.” Mrs. Alcott looked at the small clock hanging on the wall. It was a quarter past eight, time for the evening’s festivities to begin.

Abigail nodded and started to turn, but the sound of boot steps in the hallway made her pause. He had come after all.

“Good evening, Abigail.” Ethan removed his cap and inclined his head toward his companion. A couple inches taller than Ethan, the man had brown hair, light blue eyes, and the longest nose Abigail had seen. “This young man would like to meet you,” Ethan continued. “May I present Second Lieutenant Oliver Seton? Oliver, this is Miss Abigail Harding.”

A rush of color flooded the man’s face. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Harding. Will you do me the honor of sharing the first dance with me?”

Abigail looked down at the dance card Charlotte had insisted she carry. “I’m sorry, but that one is already spoken for.” Jeffrey had insisted on accompanying her for the opening dance, claiming that Charlotte needed to rest. “I am, however, free for the third dance.” As she inscribed his name on her card, the lieutenant grinned, his thin face still flushed with what appeared to be embarrassment.

“May I have the fourth?”

“Certainly.” Abigail nodded at Ethan.

By the time the third dance ended, the room was overcrowded and overheated and the sounds of a dozen different conversations made it difficult to hear the musicians. Yet, despite the less-than-perfect conditions, the guests appeared to be having a good time, even those men who wore handkerchiefs tied around their upper arms to indicate that they were taking the women’s role. That was, Charlotte had explained, common practice, since men outnumbered women at the post. “There’d be little dancing, otherwise,” she had said.

“Would you prefer to spend this dance outdoors?” Ethan asked when he reached Abigail’s side. Lieutenant Seton, who’d insisted he would be honored if she called him Oliver, though he would not be so presumptuous as to employ her given name, had tried to convince Ethan to give up his dance but had met with a stern rebuke.

“If you hadn’t insisted on polishing your boots a second time, we would have been here on time,” Ethan told the lieutenant as he placed Abigail’s hand on his arm. “You could have asked Miss Harding for another dance then. Now her card is probably full.”

It was, but that gave Abigail less pleasure than the knowledge that Ethan had not been reluctant to come this evening. And, though she’d been looking forward to dancing with him, some quiet time outside now held more appeal.

“I’d be glad to go outdoors, if you don’t mind,” she told him.

Ethan favored her with one of the grins she liked so much. “Not at all. Bumping into other people in a hot room is not my favorite pastime.” Like her, he had had partners for the first three dances, and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. “In fact, bumping into people whether the room is hot or cold is not something I particularly enjoy.”

Abigail chuckled as he opened the door to usher her onto the porch. Though the wind continued to blow, the house protected this side of the porch, making it a pleasant spot.

“My grandfather insisted that I learn to dance,” Ethan continued, “but I have to admit I’ve never enjoyed it. You and Charlotte, however, appear to relish it.” Despite Jeffrey’s claim that his wife needed to rest, Ethan had shared the first dance with Charlotte, whirling her around with such enthusiasm that Charlotte had laughed out loud. Now he leaned back against the railing, facing Abigail, looking as if nothing was more important than her response.

“Perhaps it’s because dancing is still a novelty for us. Charlotte and I learned how less than two years ago.” When Ethan raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue, Abigail did. “Our father believed that dancing was temptation sent by the devil. Mama didn’t agree, but out of respect for him, none of us danced while he was alive.”

“He sounds like some of the preachers I’ve met.”

“He was a preacher.” Though Ethan’s eyes widened in apparent surprise, Abigail smiled, remembering her father. “Papa was a brilliant man. His faith in God was strong, and he knew how to share that faith with others. Mama used to tell us that many people claimed Papa’s sermons were the best they’d ever heard and that he’d been blessed with the ability to make complex subjects seem simple.”

Abigail stared into the distance for a moment, watching the wind chase clouds across the sky. Though the sun had set, the moon was large enough to light the sky. “All that was good, but Papa could also be dogmatic. When he was convinced he was right, he wouldn’t listen to others’ views. Although I was too young to realize it at the time, I suspect that’s the reason we moved so often—that he antagonized congregations with his strong views. As it was, it seemed that we lived in a different town every year until I was sixteen.”

“That must have been difficult.” A hint of sympathy colored Ethan’s voice, and Abigail wondered whether he understood how much a child—at least the child she had been—craved permanence.

“I hated it. We’d just get settled, and then we’d move. It felt as if I was always getting used to a new house and a new school. The worst was having to make new friends. If it hadn’t been for my sisters, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

Ethan’s eyes darkened with an emotion she hoped was not pity. She welcomed sympathy but didn’t want pity. “As you know, I have no experience with siblings, but the part about frequent moves sounds a bit like the Army. It can be difficult until you get used to it.”

“That’s one of the reasons I was surprised when Charlotte married Jeffrey. I thought she hated the impermanence of our childhood as much as I did. It appears I was wrong.” The change in Charlotte’s mood since Abigail had arrived, coupled with her comments about wanting all three of them reunited, made Abigail suspect that the problems she had sensed from Charlotte’s letters were caused by loneliness, and that was something Abigail understood. As much as she enjoyed teaching at Miss Drexel’s, she missed her sisters.

Ethan raised his eyebrows slightly. “Perhaps Charlotte’s feelings for Jeffrey were strong enough to overcome the obstacles. Or perhaps she’s like many of us and considers seeing new places an adventure.”

“Is that why you went to West Point, for an adventure?”

“Not really. As a child, I wanted to be like my father. He was a soldier, so I decided to be one too. I figured that the best way to do that was to attend the academy.” Though his words were light, Ethan’s expression told her there was more to the story, and—judging from the shadows Abigail saw in his eyes—it wasn’t all happy.

“Your father must be very proud of you.”

Ethan shook his head. “My father was killed in the war. I’m not sure he even knew I was born.”

And yet, even knowing that he too might be killed, Ethan had volunteered. Abigail didn’t pretend to understand that. What she did understand was that his father’s death would have left a hole in Ethan’s life. “I’m sorry.” It was inadequate, but Abigail wasn’t certain what else to say. Her family’s frequent moves seemed trivial compared to the loss Ethan had sustained. “Did your mother marry again?”

Ethan’s face turned to an impassive mask. “She died when I was less than one, leaving me to be raised by her father.”

That must be why Jeffrey had spoken of Ethan’s grandfather. He was the sole parent Ethan had known. Abigail could only hope that he’d been a loving one, and yet she doubted that, for Ethan had said his grandfather would not have ransomed him. At the time, she had been shocked by the statement, but she hadn’t realized its full significance. Now she wondered if his relationship with his grandfather had contributed to Ethan’s decision to become a soldier.

Her consternation must have been reflected on her face, for Ethan said brusquely, “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Why don’t you tell me about the school where you teach.”

Though her heart ached for Ethan, Abigail recognized the wisdom of his request. The dance would end soon. It would be best if they could return to the party with smiles on their faces, and so she said, “Miss Drexel’s is a small girls’ school in Wesley, Vermont. Normally we have no more than forty pupils. The founder had dreams of having a hundred girls, but forty is all the house can hold.”

As the wind whistled, Ethan raised an eyebrow. “It must be a large house if it can accommodate that many children, plus the teachers and classrooms.”

Abigail walked to the edge of the porch and gestured toward the large white building that had formerly served as bachelor officers’ quarters. Nicknamed “Old Bedlam” because of the raucous parties the men had held, it was one of the oldest buildings on the fort. “It’s smaller than Old Bedlam, but it is three stories high and made of marble.”

“Marble?” Ethan’s eyebrow rose another quarter of an inch. “That sounds ostentatious.”

Abigail would hear no criticism of the place that had given her both a home and an occupation. “That’s no more ostentatious than using lime grout here. There’s a marble quarry only a few miles away from Wesley, making that one of the least expensive building materials.”