Woman of Three Worlds (13 page)

Brittany's heart contracted as she thought of Zach and the smile died on her lips. “I think I will.” she said grimly. Avoiding Bridget's puzzled eyes, she turned back to her scrubbing.

O'Shea appeared that afternoon with two horses. When he boosted Jody up on the buckskin, the boy puffed out his chest and held the reins as he'd seen troopers do, not at all frightened to be perched so far from the ground on a creature twenty times his size, though his legs stuck out almost straight from the saddle.

“Horse!” he said proudly, stroking its mane. “Rider, me!”

“Rider, you,” agreed the lieutenant. “But next time we'll use a surcingle for you. You can't get the feel of the horse with your feet jutting out like that.” Mounting, O'Shea turned to Brittany. “Apaches aren't horse Indians, though they use them when it's handy. They can travel through places a horse can't go. Most of the horses and mules they run off wind up being eaten.”

Brittany gasped at the thought of eating her pretty mare.

“It's all in what you're used to,” O'Shea pointed out. “I've eaten mule on several occasions and been glad to get it.”

They rode along the stage route toward Apache Pass Summit and then back to Siphon Canyon, O'Shea showing the boy how to handle the reins. “There must not be anything in that story that white men's horses carry on when an Indian gets near them,” Brittany mused.

“Again, it's what they're used to,” O'Shea laughed. “Indian horses snort when they scent a white man. Right now, Jody smells like us—especially since baths are forbidden.”

By touching or pointing, the officer taught Jody the names of all parts of a horse and riding equipment, a lesson Brittany appreciated too. He also inquired rather sharply, “Has Zach Tyrell been around?”

Brittany glanced away as her cheeks flamed. “He came, but not for long.”

“What does he think of your moving down to Soapsuds Row?”

“I didn't ask and I don't care,” Brittany said dangerously.

O'Shea gave her a searching look but didn't pursue the matter. When they stopped at the laundresses' quarters, Jody looked at him imploringly. “Jody help—?” He made gestures of brushing his buckskin.

“Sure. We'll get you a box to stand on, my lad.” O'Shea nodded approval. “He'd make a good cavalryman. Knows he has to look after his mount.”

“But he hasn't had his lessons,” Brittany began.

“Hasn't he?” countered Michael. “Knows all the parts of his horse and gear, and now I'll teach him about looking after his horse's feet and how to groom him. Begging your pardon, but that's more important than whatever you'd teach him this afternoon.”

It was true and she was glad that the popular young officer had taken a liking to the boy. Again, a lieutenant could champion the small captive where Colonel Shaw couldn't. So she waved them off with a happy feeling and went in to prepare supper.

It was early Saturday afternoon when the Camp Grant baseball team arrived with their supporters, among these a group of officers and their ladies. Since the Camp Grant team were tired from their forty-mile ride, having left before dawn that morning and traveled since midmorning in ever-increasing July desert heat, their horses were cared for by Camp Bowie men and the visitors were treated to beer and refreshments in the post trader's bar.

When they felt restored enough, as one of them shouted across the parade ground, to “lick the tar out of Bowie,” the worst heat was over and the sun was half down the western sky. Benches and chairs had been set up for officers and ladies in front of Officers' Row, and enlisted men, a few with families, stood or sat where they could get the best view.

Regina gave a frosty nod and whisked her skirt aside as the lieutenant escorted Brittany and Jody to a plank laid across stacked adobes. Mrs. Shaw, though, called her over and took her hand warmly as she smiled at Jody.

“From all I hear and see, you've done wonders with him, my dear.” She shook her head as she glanced down at Brittany's fingers, chapped and red from water and harsh soap. “I admire your independence, but I can't help wishing some young man would make it his business and pleasure to take care of you.”

“I'm doing my best, ma'am.” Michael O'Shea grinned. “But I think I'll turn Jody into a cavalryman before convincing Miss Brittany that she doesn't have to do everything the hard way.”

Major Erskine strolled up with his winsome little blond daughter, all blue and white ruffles, who had arrived that week on the stage, and a plain middle-aged woman with an outthrust jaw and steel-rimmed spectacles. “Miss Laird,” he said, bowing and taking off his hat. “This is Mrs. Harmon who looks after my daughter, and this is Laurie.”

Laurie put out her hand and said demurely, “How do you do, Miss Laird?” She shot her father a triumphant glance. “That's right, isn't it, Daddy?”

“Indeed, it is,” he said proudly. “Now come meet Mrs. Shaw and the other ladies.”

As he took her around and she was made much of by the women, Jody gazed after her in a kind of awestruck wonder. As O'Shea's party sat down, the lieutenant said, “No wonder she's the apple of Erskine's eye. When young officers start calling in about twelve years, won't he give them a grilling!”

The game started then and O'Shea explained the hotly contested game to Brittany and Jody. By the end of the first inning, Jody understood it better than Brittany did, and shouted wildly for the Bowie team when one of them made a good hit or stole a base or ran in home.

The score seesawed back and forth, but Camp Bowie won by Patrick's hitting a home run that let two men on bases come in with him following.

“Never you mind!” yelled a Camp Grant sergeant above the exultant cheers of the home team's supporters. “Just wait till you're the ones with the eight-hour ride behind you!”

Any disgruntlement was quickly forgotten in the barbecue that followed, and as night fell, visitors and hosts assembled in the cleared space of the quartermaster's storerooms. Corporal Stroud's eyes were sunken, and as he played his cornet he must have remembered that his pretty young wife had been alive and much sought after during the last dance. Still, he blew as merrily as the fiddler played.

The dirt floor didn't make for the smoothest and most gliding of steps, but no one minded. O'Shea swept Brittany into a waltz.

“Why do you keep watching the door?” he demanded. His jaw hardened. “Are you hoping Zach Tyrell may come?”

“Of course not!” snapped Brittany, but she couldn't suppress the blush that heated her shoulders and face.

“I'm glad to hear that,” said O'Shea dryly. “You look a bit flushed. I think you need some air.”

Before she could balk, he danced her outside and through the watchers congregated about the door. “Michael!”

Inexorably he swept her into the shadows. He said even more dryly, “I suppose I can thank Zach for showing me how to get you to myself.” He bowed his head and kissed her, his young lips cool and firm. Sighing, he reluctantly yielded to the pushing of her hands against his chest, but he still held her. “Brittany,” he said against her cheek, “I want to marry you.”

“Michael!”

“I do,” he insisted. He gripped her hands. “Now, don't tell me it's too soon! If I wait, you'll marry someone else.”

“I'd call that your good fortune.” The proposal had taken her completely by surprise. She tried to joke, hoping to cover the awkwardness. “Have you been drinking?”

“I don't have to drink when I'm with you.”

Distressed, for she did like him immensely and was grateful to him for enlivening her routine days and being kind to Jody, she touched his cheek. “I'm flattered, Michael. But I can't believe you want to marry yet. I've heard Mrs. Shaw say that bachelor officers owe it to the morale of a garrison's women not to marry till they're thirty.”

He didn't laugh. His hands on her shoulders tightened. “Give me a straight answer, Brittany.”

Regretfully, she said, “I'm sorry. I can't marry you.”

“Why?”

“Michael dear, I don't love you.”

He flinched but said after a moment, “I could make you love me if you'd give me a chance. Hang it, Brittany, I hate seeing you slave in that washhouse! I want to take care of you.”

She nodded. “You're sorry for me. Otherwise you'd be perfectly happy to ride with me and flirt.”

He made an angry sound, captured her mouth, brought her hurtingly against him. The onslaught of his fiery eagerness left her shaken and trembling when at last he lifted his head.

“Do you still think I only want to flirt?”

“Michael, please! Don't ruin the way it's been—”

He laughed harshly. “You want me to be content with taking you and Jody riding? Dancing with you when there's a ball?”

Brittany felt too miserably confused to answer. Why couldn't she have loved this man instead of that graceless Zach Tyrell? After a moment O'Shea took her arm. “My tactics professor taught me never to despair of a battle till it was indisputably lost. So I'm going to fall back, marshal my forces, and plot a new strategy.”

“I'm not a fort!”

“No, but I won't give up till you actually marry someone else.”

“Perhaps we shouldn't go riding anymore.”

“Because it wouldn't be fair to me?” he teased. “Don't you worry about that, Brittany Laird! I've been a simple, honest soldier thus far, but now I'm going to get devious!”

She had to laugh at his mock confident tone. “How?”

“I'll start by volunteering for all the escort and scouting duty I can get. That way you're bound to miss me. And each time I come back, you'll be gladder and gladder to see me.”

“I expect I will,” she admitted. “I'm terribly fond of you, and—”

“You're going to be more than that!” he growled, and danced her back into the crowded room.

Except for Edward, who probably feared to enrage his wife, Brittany had danced with all the officers other than Hugh Erskine, who arrived late, presumably having seen his golden little daughter off to bed. As the waltz she was having with Colonel Shaw ended, Erskine stepped forward and, with O'Shea's permission, took her in his arms.

“I was afraid I wouldn't have the pleasure.” The sun lines at the edge of his gray eyes crinkled. “You have a disconcerting way of vanishing suddenly into the night.”

Was he rebuking her? Brittany thought it best to ignore the remark. “Your daughter's absolutely beautiful, sir, and has very pretty manners.”

“I drilled her on introductions,” he said dismissingly. “She's quick and I can teach her things like that. But the niceties, the things she really needs to know as she grows up, can only be learned from a woman. One of refinement and sensitivity.”

That immediately eliminated every woman at the post except Mrs. Shaw. “Really, Major,” said Brittany, wondering if he had always been so sternly serious, “I think you worry too much. When Laurie's older, a few years in a good boarding school would take care of any defects in her social training. The important things like honesty and kindness are, in my experience, to be found more plentifully among plain people than in those usually considered their betters.”

“Quite possibly,” he shrugged. “Still, Miss Brittany, you don't belong on Soapsuds Row.”

With a stab of pain, she thought of Tristesse and that vanished life with Tante. “Maybe there's no place I belong now,” she said. “But I'm going to live—and be as happy and useful as I can.”

“Now, that's the kind of attitude I want Laurie to model after.”

What was he getting at? Surely, oh, surely not another unwanted proposal! Much as she didn't want that, it was still slightly deflating when Erskine said, “I'd like to offer you a position, Miss Brittany. Governess to my daughter and manager of my household. Mrs. Harmon can cook and clean, but she hasn't a notion of how to make government quarters into a home.”

Taken completely by surprise, Brittany mulled over the offer. Bending over a washboard was fatiguing work, but she had no great desire to return to Officers' Row and close proximity to her cousin. Still, Laurie seemed a delightful child. Having been motherless herself, Brittany felt for her. She was on the verge of consenting when she remembered another child, one who had no one but her.

“Thank you, Major. I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, but as you must know, Jody lives with me.”

“From what I see, he's become quite a pet in the saddlery and barracks. Surely the O'Malleys would look after him if paid for their trouble. And your salary would be fifty dollars a month plus board.”

It was a handsome offer and would quickly pay back her debt to the Shaws.

“Bridget and Patrick would take care of Jody anyhow,” Brittany said. She struggled to explain. “I just feel that Jody's mine, in a way, unless and till he can go to his family. I'm teaching him to read and write and do sums. I want him to have a chance in the white man's world.”

“I'll give you ample free time. You can teach him then.” Those straight lips relaxed into the hint of a smile. “After all, you'll want your excursions with Lieutenant O'Shea.”

She swallowed and spoke with some defiance. “I love Jody, Major. I'm not going to leave him.”

Erskine's frown deepened as he searched her eyes. Suddenly, amazingly, he laughed. “Bring him with you.” As Brittany stared, the major continued. “I'm not one of those who think their child will be contaminated by contact with a native. On the contrary, it should add to Laurie's practical education to have an Apache classmate.”

“He could live in your quarters?”

“Certainly. There's a cubby off the pantry, or he could share your room or mine. Laurie's afraid of the dark, so Mrs. Harmon has always slept in the same room.”