The Jeweled Spur (5 page)

Winslow suddenly laughed aloud, then put his arms around Laurie and squeezed her so hard she gasped. “You’re a real desperado, you are!” She struggled to free herself, but he held her firmly for a moment. When she did look up, he said, “You’re a fine girl, Laurie. No man ever had a better daughter.”

“Oh, Daddy, I feel so—so
useless!
”

“Never think that, Laurie!” Winslow spoke almost sternly and released her. He started to say more, but glancing over at the drill field, he saw it was filling up with mounted men. “Time for retreat,” he murmured. He wheeled, saying, “Wait until I come back.”

Laurie nodded and moved over to stand in front of the feed barn. One of the things she did like about the post was the daily ritual that took place every evening as the sun went down. It was a splash of color and drama that bloomed in the midst of the gray monotony of the army post.

She watched as five cavalry companies filed out from the
stables to the parade ground. The officers yelped sharply, like foxes, shrill in the air. “Column right! Left into line! Com-m-pany, halt!” The mounted men guided their horses expertly, the animals sending quick puffs of dust rising into the air. One by one, the five companies came into regimental front, each group mounted on horses of matched color, each company’s guidon colorfully waving from the pole affixed in the stirrup socket of the guidon corporal’s stirrup.

Then the moment came when the milling horses seemed to freeze into position, each trooper sitting with a grooved ease in his McClellan saddle, legs well down and back arched, sabre hanging on loosened sling to the left side, carbine suspended from belt swivel to right, dress helmet cowled down to the level of his eyes.

Laurie stared at the sunburned faces all pointed toward her father and to the adjutant now taking his report. She felt a quick glow of pride rush through her as her father took the report and answered the adjutant’s salute. Always at a time like this, she was proud of him, for all these men were in her father’s hands, and she knew how they trusted their commanding officer.

Then a word was spoken, and the band broke into a quick march. The officers of the regiment rode slowly front and center, formed a rank, and moved upon their commanding officer. Laurie watched them salute her father, and then they swung around and marched down the front of the regiment, in full tune, and wheeled and marched back. They halted, and at once the little brass cannon at the base of the flagpole boomed out, its echo filling the parade ground. The flag began to descend, and when a trooper received it, Major Winslow called out in a ringing voice, “Pass in review!”

The first sergeants barked their stiff calls as the companies wheeled around, and the band broke into a march tune. It turned the corners of the parade ground and passed before Winslow, and the horsemen moved toward the stables, each company pulling away toward its own area.

The ceremony was finished, and almost at once Winslow came to Laurie, saying, “Got time for a ride?”

“Yes!”

Winslow called out, “Sergeant, let my daughter have your horse.”

“Yes, sir!”

The lean, sunburned sergeant stepped out of his saddle and held the reins while Laurie found the stirrup and swung into the saddle with a graceful motion. He grinned, saying, “Major, don’t let her get thrown. This horse is disrespectful.”

Laurie smiled down at him, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Don’t worry, Sergeant. I’ll make him mind.” She took the reins and followed her father as he rode out of the stockade at a fast gallop, pulling the bay up to ride beside him as soon as they were clear of the gate.

For half an hour they rode toward the west where the sun’s violent flame rolled back like sea waves across butte and ridge and far-scattered clumps of timber. The harsh sunlight that had burned the ground all day caught up the thin and bright flashes of mica particles in the soil, and the heat that had been piled layer on layer began to dissipate as the evening breeze started to stir.

The pair rode silently, soaking in the night air, now freighted with the scent of baked earth and a faint aroma of timber as they pulled their horses up at a small creek. The only sound was the huffing of the horses blowing into the water and the pleasant off-key tinkling of metal gear.

“I want to explain why we’re not moving to Wyoming to take up ranching.” Laurie turned in the saddle, startled by the sound of his voice slicking across the silence. Tom had his back to the sun, so she could not read his face, but his voice was serious. “Been meaning to talk to you about it, but your mother and I have had a difficult time coming to a decision.”

“I know, Daddy.”

“Do you? Well, I guess you can read your old man pretty well.” He stroked the neck of his horse, then went on. “It
wasn’t easy, Laurie. The army is a tough life—more so on women and youngsters. Monotonous, nothing much to do. I’ve regretted that for you, most of all, I think.”

Suddenly, Winslow heard a sound off to his left, and at once his hand went to the revolver in the holster at his side, his eyes peering at the clump of timber half-hidden in the dusky light. Then a deer leaped out, saw them, and veered sharply, disappearing into the growing darkness.

“Don’t see them this close to the fort very often.” Winslow relaxed slightly, but there was a vigilance in him that kept his eyes moving even as he continued. “You must have wondered why we’ve stayed in the army, haven’t you?”

“I think a lot about the time when you and I followed the Indians, when you were an agent,” she said thoughtfully. “That was better.”

“It wasn’t confining. If we got tired of one spot, we’d move on—but an officer can’t do that.” He sighed, regret edging his tone. “No life is more controlled than a soldier’s, I guess.”

“You could do well on a ranch. You’d do well at whatever you put your hand to, Daddy.”

“Think so? Well, I doubt if I’m as good as you think I am, but I’m glad I’ve got you fooled.” He arched his back, saying, “I’ve tried a hundred times to figure out what it is that keeps me in the army—and I’ve decided it’s two things.”

Waiting for him to go on, Laurie suddenly realized that not many men would go to the trouble of explaining their philosophy and their decisions to an eighteen-year-old daughter.
He’s always talked to me like I was an adult—even when I was a little girl.
The thought pleased her, and she listened carefully as he spoke evenly, his voice a counterpoint to his thoughts.

“A man has to belong to something, Laurie. For a long time I floated around, not much in the way of ties. But as long as someone just does little chores that end with his hands and never reach his heart, he’s no good to himself. Some things
are real, and some are only illusionary, things that people wrap themselves in because they don’t have anything real.”

“Why—that’s what I’ve thought for a long time!”

He twisted his head toward her, catching the classic profile of her face. “I know, Laurie. That’s why I’m telling you how I feel. We’re alike, you and me—got to have more to do than most.”

“And the army does that for you?”

“The army is made up of good men—and some pretty bad ones, too. But when the trumpet sounds boots and saddles, they’ll all swing up together; and when the bullets start flying, they’ll all move forward. That’s what men should do.” Then he halted and shrugged his shoulders. “But I could find that in other ways and in other professions. It’s more than that—and I don’t even know how to say this to you.”

“What is it, Daddy?”

“I believe,” he said slowly, “that I’m in the army for a purpose. I think God puts people in certain places because sometime or other, there’s a job that needs doing and they’re the ones to do it.”

“That’s what Reverend Gliddings says.”

“Yes, but I didn’t need a preacher to tell me about it.” He stopped his horse, and when she pulled up alongside, he said, “I’m no prophet, but somehow I know that down the line, I’ll be doing something that God wants me to do.”

Laurie had sensed this about her father, though he’d never spoken of it. Now she asked, “Does Mother feel that way?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact,” he admitted wryly, “I was about ready to resign and move us all to that ranch for some easy living, but Faith came up with one of those flat statements that almost knock you down. She said, ‘God has called you to be a soldier, not a rancher, Thomas Winslow, so be what He’s made you!’ ”

They both laughed, for they had long delighted—and learned to trust—in Faith’s sudden announcements about
the will of God. “I guess that settled it,” Winslow admitted. “But it makes things harder for you.”

“Oh, I’m all right,” Laurie said quickly. “The ranch was nice, but—”

“You wouldn’t have been satisfied there, Laurie,” Winslow interrupted. “It would have been more pleasant than this post, but in six months, you’d be miserable again.” She started to protest, but he said, “Come on, let’s get home.” He spurred his horse forward and raised his voice. “Your mother has another one of her little ‘announcements,’ but I want you to get it straight from her.”

Laurie was filled with curiosity, and as they rode back to the fort, she pondered over what her father had said. When they turned their horses over to the handlers and started toward the house, she asked, “What is it? Mother’s announcement?”

“I’ll tease you the same way you teased Ugly,” Winslow grinned. “Let you wait on it. Maybe you’ll be a little kinder to that poor dog next time.”

When they entered the house, they found supper on the table; and her father whispered, “It’ll have to wait until the kids go to bed.”

For Laurie that was one of the longest evenings she could ever remember. She could hardly wait to get Jubal and Ruth into bed, but when she suggested that it was time for that, her father said blandly, “Oh, it’s too early yet, Laurie. I want to read to them a little while.”

Finally the last paragraph was read and the children plunged into bed ready for prayers. Laurie waited impatiently until her father came back into the room, then turned to her mother. “Daddy says you’ve got something to tell me.”

Faith smiled at Tom. “How much did you tell her?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “It’s your idea.”

A sudden gust of impatience burst from Faith. She gave her husband a disgusted look and shook her head. “No, it’s not
my
idea! It’s a word from God that both of us have prayed for.”

Tom Winslow walked over and put his arm around Faith. He winked at Laurie, asking innocently, “I wonder why it is that God gives you all this information instead of me?”

“Oh, hush!” Faith turned to face Laurie, her gray eyes catching the reflection of the lamp’s yellow flame. At twenty-eight she was as trim as she’d been when she’d come to the West to preach to the Indians and, according to Tom’s testimony, even more attractive. She had been both mother and friend to Laurie, who’d never had either, and now a softness spread over her face as she said, “Laurie, did you know I was an heiress?”

“An heiress?” Laurie echoed blankly. “What kind of an heiress?”

“Are there two kinds?” Faith smiled. “I had an aunt who lived in Baltimore. I met her when I was six years old. My parents took me to her house for a visit, and we stayed three days.” Her eyes grew thoughtful. “It was a wonderful time for me—and for her, too. She was very old, even then, but she was lively. My father’s older sister, she was. She liked me very much—and when she died the next year, I cried an ocean!”

Laurie had never heard about this and asked with curiosity, “Did she have lots of money?”

“No, very little,” Faith said. “She lived on a small pension and owned her tiny house. But when she died, my father was her only living relative, so she left everything to him. I asked him once what had happened to all her things, and he told me that she’d wanted them sold and the money to be given to me.”

“If I’d known I was marrying an heiress,” Tom grinned, “I might have shown more energy in my courtship.”

Faith shot him an enigmatic look and murmured, “You were energetic enough—after you got started.” She shook her head, adding, “It wasn’t enough of a legacy to marry me for.” But letting her gaze rest on Laurie, “It’s enough to send you to school so you can study how to write.”

The floor under Laurie’s feet seemed to tilt, and there was
a hollow ringing in her ears. She blinked and saw that her father was grinning broadly, and her mother was smiling too. “I’ve known all this time it wasn’t for me, and now the Lord has made it plain that the money is for you.”

“Oh, Mother—I couldn’t take it!”

Faith tipped her head to one side and gave Laurie a penetrating look. “Are you telling me you don’t want what God has sent to you?”

“Oh—no—!”

“Then are you saying that I’m mistaken and that I didn’t hear from the Lord?”

Laurie flushed and ran to Faith, who caught her in her arms. “No! It’s not that!” She clung to the older woman for a moment, then pulled away, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s just that—I feel so
selfish!
Your aunt didn’t even
know
me!”

“But God knows you,” Faith nodded firmly. “And that settles it. Now—let’s talk about this school you’re going to.”

“The Lord didn’t mention which particular school, I don’t suppose?” Tom Winslow asked innocently.

“That will be what Laurie will have to seek God for,” Faith answered instantly. “Unless,” she said, turning to the girl, “you’ve already got some school in mind.”

Laurie had always envied her mother’s ability to find out what God wanted, and now she could only say, “There’s one I’ve thought about, but I don’t think God told me to go there.”

“If it’s in your mind, there might be a reason for it,” Faith said. “I hope you don’t expect a flaming angel to come and stand in front of you and bellow out the name of the school God wants you to attend.”

Despite herself, Laurie laughed at the image. “No, I don’t have to have that. But how can I know if what I think is what God is saying, or just what I’m thinking?”

“The scripture says, ‘They that seek me early, will find me,’ ” Faith said quietly. “But God’s not a servant you can summon up and demand things from.” She hesitated, and her voice grew very soft indeed. “He will come—when you
have waited until all other things are put out of your mind.” It was her own method, and both her hearers knew well how at times this woman would separate herself from everything, go into seclusion, and would not be seen until she emerged with a peaceful look on her face.