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Into the Wilderness
Laura Abbot


He survived a battlefield massacre and, before that, his fiancée’s betrayal.Cavalry officer Caleb Montgomery is unable to trust in anything now, especially himself. But then he’s stationed in Fort Larned, Kansas, where Lily Kellogg, the lovely army surgeon’s daughter, begins to rekindle his faith—and his hope. Caleb is the kind of gallant, surprisingly sensitive man Lily never expected to find on the western frontier.Since childhood, she has longed for the stability and culture only the big city can offer, and her most cherished wish is suddenly within reach. Still, putting both their dreams to the test is the one way she and Caleb can find their road home…to each other.







WOUNDED BY LOVE AND WAR

He survived a battlefield massacre and, before that, his fiancée’s betrayal. Cavalry officer Caleb Montgomery is unable to trust in anything now, especially himself. But then he’s stationed in Fort Larned, Kansas, where Lily Kellogg, the lovely army surgeon’s daughter, begins to rekindle his faith—and his hope.

Caleb is the kind of gallant, surprisingly sensitive man Lily never expected to find on the Western frontier. Since childhood, she has longed for the stability and culture only the big city can offer, and her most cherished wish is suddenly within reach. Still, putting both their dreams to the test is the one way she and Caleb can find their road home…to each other.


“Is there still hope for us, Lily?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” She turned away then. “St. Louis is everything I thought I wanted. Until you.”

Caleb knelt in front of Lily, hoping against hope that she would hear and respond to the urgent call of his heart. He picked up her hands and held them in his, seeking in her astonishing blue eyes the response he longed for. “Dearest Lily, I ask you before God to become my wife. I pledge you my undying love.”

Her eyes filled with tears, Lily shook her head back and forth, gripping his hand tightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. Adrift, Caleb could only stand, draw her to her feet and enfold her in his arms. Her slight body trembled in his embrace and muffled sobs gave evidence of her distress. Finally she stepped away and gazed at him with such love he feared ever forgetting this moment. A glimmer of hope. That was all he needed….


LAURA ABBOT

Growing up in Kansas City, Missouri, Laura Abbot was deeply influenced by her favorite literary character, Jo from Little Women. If only, Laura thought, I could write stories, too. Many years later, after a twenty-five-year career as a high-school En-glish teacher and independent school administrator, Laura’s ambition was unexpectedly realized. When she and her husband took early retirement and built their dream home on Beaver Lake outside of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, he bought her a new computer and uttered these life-changing words: “You always said you wanted to write. Now sit down and do it!” Happily, she sold her first attempt to Harlequin Superromance, a success followed by more sales to the same line.

Other professional credentials include serving as an educational consultant and speaker. Active in her church, Laura is a licensed lay preacher. Her great blessing, however, is her children—all productive, caring adults and parents—who have given her eleven remarkable, resilient (but who’s prejudiced?) grandchildren, including at least three who show talent in writing and may pursue it as a career. Jo March, look what you started!

Laura enjoys corresponding with readers. Please write her at LauraAbbot@msn.com.


Into the Wilderness

Laura Abbot






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.

—Isaiah 43:19


To Paula Eykelhof, editor extraordinaire,

with gratitude for her encouragement,

guidance and enduring belief in me.


Contents

Chapter One (#u8aa78a08-f8e6-50ee-829e-3b18bc519f1d)

Chapter Two (#u20e5c350-2a81-5985-8084-52abb8b0b4d8)

Chapter Three (#ubc1a275a-00dd-54b3-998d-bdecfe44f175)

Chapter Four (#uca93fd8a-53ec-57a5-9662-a481dba850a6)

Chapter Five (#u70b38568-3245-5e3a-bfea-5d6b8be24688)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Discussion Questions (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Fort Larned, Kansas

March, 1869

Lily Kellogg stood before her mother’s small grave marker, oblivious to the raw spring chill. Mathilda Louise Kellogg, b. 1820, d. 1868. Beloved wife and mother. From these few words, who would discern the bravery and compassion of the woman buried there? Or how quickly she had succumbed to the influenza that swept through the fort a few short months ago, despite the heroic efforts of Lily’s father, the post surgeon.

Once again Lily asked the familiar questions. Is this ultimately what we amount to? A few facts etched in cold stone? Do we rest for eternity beneath a blanket of grass battered by wind, sleet and snow, subject to infestation by creatures both crawling and flying? Standing there motherless, she struggled to believe in a merciful God.

Too late she thought of the questions she should have asked her mother, but hadn’t, and the family stories she should remember, but couldn’t. Yet she knew her mother had loved her, as she had loved her father, brother and sister. In part, she blamed this isolated place for her mother’s death. If only they had remained in Iowa, living with her maternal grandparents as they had while her father served in the Union Army. When the conflict ended and her father elected to remain in the military, her mother, not without misgivings, had insisted that she, Lily and Lily’s older sister, Rose, accompany him to this remote fort on the Kansas plains. Her mother had loved fine things and had assumed she would always live in the familiarity of the town where she grew up and in comfortable proximity to her well-to-do parents.

Since her death, Lily had harbored a painful question: Would Mama still be alive if the family had stayed in Iowa? She cast a baleful glance at the headstone. It all came down to choices, and her mother, a faithful wife, had chosen to follow her husband. Now that Mathilda was gone, Lily knew her father depended even more upon his daughters and worried whether Fort Larned was a suitable home for two unmarried women, one twenty-one and the other twenty-four.

Gazing at the gray clouds scudding overhead, Lily permitted herself a moment of self-pity. She tried not to complain and to trust in God’s plan for her. But surely her destiny lay someplace else—in a city lively with creativity and dedicated to progress. Blinking back tears, she laid her hand gently on the grave marker.

The clatter of mounted horses interrupted her reverie. The arrival of new troops was no novelty, and, like others before them, these soldiers deserved a welcome. Gathering her cloak around her, she waved. Their leader glanced in her direction, smiled and lifted his hat.

Whether it was his erect posture astride the black horse, his light brown curls blowing in the wind or his engaging smile that caused her heart to skip a beat, she couldn’t say. Perhaps it was his air of confidence, the hint of mischief in his smile or his fleeting resemblance to the brother she had lost in the war that moved her. She turned away. He is just another officer, she reminded herself. Just another officer.

Dismayed by her spontaneous reaction to the man, Lily hurried toward home. No good could come from idle speculation about the new captain, handsome or not, and no such man could ever derail the exciting future she planned for herself.

When Lily returned to their quarters attached to the hospital, her sister met her at the door. “You look chilled. Come warm yourself by the fire.” Rose gathered Lily’s cloak and hung it on the hook in the entryway. “I’ve brewed some tea.” She bustled to the stove to fetch it while Lily settled in the rocker in front of the hearth, grateful for her sister’s solicitude. Rose, always a steadying influence, had moved effortlessly into her mother’s homemaking role.

Her ample body swathed in an apron, Rose handed Lily her tea and sat on the bench across from her. “Did you see the new troops arrive?”

“Yes. They’re fortunate to be assigned to this modern post, rather than one of the more primitive ones.”

“And we are fortunate to have received an invitation from Major and Mrs. Hurlburt to dine with them and the newly arrived captain.”

“How thoughtful.” Ordinarily Lily would have been delighted by such a welcome invitation from the fort’s commander and his wife. Yet she was suddenly overcome with uncharacteristic shyness. The possibility of acquaintance with the new captain should not so unnerve her.

Rose leaned forward. “I’m wearing my apple-green. What will you choose?” They smiled in concert, knowing full well that aside from their few everyday dresses and recently discarded mourning clothes, they had only two Sunday gowns. “You look best in the lilac,” Rose ventured. “Do wear it.”

“Why are you so bent on how I look?”

Rose took a sip of tea. “You know I will not leave Papa. I am a homebody. But you? It’s time to consider romance. Past time. If a dashing cavalryman is to sweep anyone off her feet, it is you, dear Lily.”

“Such a prospect! To follow some man from post to post, never having a true home of one’s own.”

“That’s what Mama did,” Rose gently reminded her.

“Yes, but though she never complained to us, I always thought Mama acted more from loyalty than from enthusiasm. Remember when we first arrived here? How she would purse her lips and shake her head with resignation?” Lily squared her shoulders. “I have bigger dreams than living at assorted military establishments.”

“Ah, yes. Your dreams.” Rose’s sigh spoke volumes.

“You just wait. I am determined to seek another path. Mother always planned for one or both of us to visit Aunt Lavinia in St. Louis if she offered to take us under her wing. Think what we could learn there! What we could see! Libraries, museums, theaters—all just waiting for us.” She glowed with the possibilities. “As for courtship, surely there are plenty of men of intellect and substance in the city.” She glanced around the room. “Whatever happens, my future is not in an isolated place like this.”

“Lily, if leaving is truly what you desire, I hope it happens even if I would sorely miss you. Mama recognized our different talents and temperaments. She knew you, not I, would thrive in a more sophisticated environment than rural Iowa or this fort. If Aunt Lavinia’s invitation comes, you are the one to go.”

Lily set down her cup and stretched her feet toward the fire. “Imagine,” she said breathlessly. “St. Louis.”

Lavinia, her mother’s only sister, had married well. Henry Dupree had made a fortune in commerce and doted upon his wife, whose only apparent regret was that she was childless. She had begged Mathilda not to marry Ezra Kellogg, appalled that her sister would settle for being the wife of a small-town doctor. Then the war changed even that, and Lavinia had made no secret of her disappointment at finding Mathilda doomed to the itinerant life of an army surgeon’s wife. Lavinia’s letters following their mother’s death had even intimated that she blamed Ezra for the influenza that had cruelly taken her sister.

Through the years, Lavinia had corresponded regularly, delighting her nieces with the wonders of St. Louis and the gaiety of her social calendar. Lily pored over the back issues of Godey’s Lady’s Book their aunt sent them. Transfixed by illustrations of the latest styles, she could picture herself dancing in the arms of a sophisticated city man at some fashionable soiree. Although she realized she was indulging in romantic fantasy, such daydreams alleviated the loneliness of her existence on the prairie.

Living among men of all ages and stations was not easy. Some ogled, some were crude and others were helpful, going out of their way to assist the surgeon and his household. Tonight she would meet another in a long string of officers, most of whom were either too forward or disdainful of women. Few viewed females as intellectual beings or appreciated a well-read woman. Why should this newly arrived captain be an exception?

Rose gathered their teacups. “We are due at the Hurlburts’ home at six o’clock.”

“Will Papa join us?”

“No, a serious case at the hospital requires his attention.”

Lily seized on the excuse. She often served as her father’s nurse. “Perhaps I am needed there.”

“Papa said to assure you this was a delicate matter best handled by men.”

Later as she and Rose walked toward officers’ row, Lily wished her father’s case had required her assistance. Then she could have avoided testing the giddy feelings of anticipation occasioned by the thought of meeting the new captain.

* * *

Captain Caleb Montgomery held up his arm to halt the cavalry troops behind him. From his vantage point on a small rise, he surveyed the endless expanse of Kansas prairie, barren except for cottonwood trees bordering a sluggish stream, which he took to be the Pawnee Fork of the Arkansas River. In the distance, neatly laid out in a rectangle, were the buildings of Fort Larned, his final duty post before mustering out of the army.

Behind him lay the wagon ruts of the Santa Fe Trail. Protecting it from Indians and renegades was a far cry from the havoc of clashing Union and Reb forces, but that war was over. However, it never left the minds of those who had fought it as he had. Nor would he ever forget the recent heartless attack on Black Kettle and his people at the Washita River in Indian Territory. Both his innocence and the lure of adventure had been lost long ago, obliterated by the bloodshed he had witnessed. Only twenty-seven, he felt much older, seasoned by the harsh reality of “man’s inhumanity to man,” as the poet Robert Burns so aptly put it. Duty and honor remained, but did little to compensate for recurring nightmares. Pushing aside such grim thoughts, he spurred his horse and men toward the fort.

Approaching the compound, he spotted the figure of a woman standing in silhouette against the weak March sun. Tall and slender, she seemed oblivious to their approach. Only as they rode closer did he notice she stood in a cemetery, her eyes fixed on a small headstone. Caleb wondered whose grave she visited and what heartache might be represented by that solitary marker. He had seen many such markers, and, alas, too many comrades buried in nameless graves amid the confusion of battle. At the sound of the troops’ approach, the woman faced them, then lifted her hand in greeting.

Doffing his hat, Caleb turned in his saddle to observe her more closely. She was fair-skinned, and tendrils of honey-hued hair escaped her bonnet. He was seized by an impulse to make her smile, to ease her burden of grief. He grunted. A foolish thought.

Entering the fort, Caleb was struck by the breadth of the parade ground and the height of the flagpole in its center. He drew his men into file for the approach of the commanding officer, Major Robert Hurlburt, who strode toward them. Caleb dismounted and saluted. “Captain Montgomery reporting for duty, sir.”

The post commander returned the salute, then smiled broadly as he extended a hand. “Welcome to Fort Larned.” He nodded at the soldier standing at his elbow. “Sergeant Major, show the men to the stables and then get them settled in the barracks.” He clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Officers’ quarters are over there.” He pointed to a row of new houses on the west edge of the parade ground. “My wife and I would be pleased to have you dine with us this evening.”

“It would be an honor, sir.”

Before relinquishing the reins of his horse to a hostler, Caleb stepped forward and stroked the animal’s nose. “Good job, Bucephalus.”

The major regarded the horse. “Bucephalus? A noble enough steed for Alexander the Great. I hope his namesake has served you well.”

“He’s one of the finest, sir,” Caleb said without going into detail about his affection for the horse, which had been with him through many fearsome engagements.

Following the major across the parade ground, Caleb commented on the fort’s modern buildings, which had recently replaced more temporary structures.

Hurlburt nodded. “It is a fine facility. Better than most we’ve both seen, no doubt.”

The major left him at the bachelor officers’ quarters to get settled. Caleb was weary, not just from his travels but from military life, as well. Since enlisting at eighteen after the attack on Fort Sumter, he’d known nothing else. He mentally counted his few remaining months of service, eager to begin the next chapter in his life.

He unpacked quickly, ambivalent—thanks to his exhaustion—about dining at the major’s home, but duty called and he would welcome a home-cooked meal. After washing up, he lathered his face then picked up his razor. Some of his fellow officers prided themselves on luxuriant beards and drooping mustaches. Caleb regarded such practices as peacockery and preferred to be clean shaven. Scraping the blade over his three-days’ growth, he pondered the end of his military career. There were things he would miss—the physical challenges, the sense of accomplishment when missions went well and the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers; but he would never miss the thunder of cannons, the tumult of gunfire or the otherworldly, agonizing cries as bullet or ball ended a life. It was time to settle in one place, to put down roots.

Donning his best uniform, he made his way next door to the post commander’s home, an impressive dwelling with a wide front porch overlooking the parade ground. Major Hurlburt greeted him and drew him into the parlor. “Captain, may I present my wife, Effie.”

Caleb bowed slightly. “An honor, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hurlburt was a plump, middle-aged woman with rosy cheeks, frizzy red hair and mischievous eyes. “Hurly and I are delighted to meet you.”

Hurly? Her use of a pet name for her husband defied the customary formality of such occasions.

Noting the surprise he had been unsuccessful in concealing, she laughed. “I know, I know. We’re supposed to observe stiff conventions. So silly. We are all in a strange place, thrust together by circumstance. Within my home, I will do as I please. Hurly can follow protocol elsewhere.” She laid a hand on Caleb’s sleeve. “I hope I haven’t shocked you.”

Caleb glanced at the major, whose eyes were fixed fondly on his wife. “No, indeed. I shall happily abide by the rules of this house.”

Major Hurlburt moved to a sideboard. “Brandy, Captain? Tea?”

“I’d prefer tea, sir.” While the major prepared his own drink and poured the tea, Caleb studied the room, furnished with a Persian rug, two settees, an armchair, a library table and a small piano. Several watercolor landscapes and embroidered samplers adorned the walls. The decor was tasteful but confining after his months in the field.

The major handed Caleb his cup, but before he could sit down, a knock sounded at the door. While Hurlburt went to answer, Effie said delightedly, “This will be the Misses Kellogg. Regrettably their father, our post surgeon, has duties which prevent him from joining us.”

Feminine chatter filled the entry hall as the major took the ladies’ cloaks. A sturdily built young woman with pale skin and freckles entered the parlor first. “Permit me to introduce Miss Rose Kellogg,” the major said before turning to the second woman. “And her sister, Lily.”

From her erect posture and demeanor, Caleb recognized Lily immediately—the woman in the cemetery. Close up, her flawless skin, the thick blond hair coiled on her head and her wide blue eyes rendered him tongue-tied. When had he last seen such a lovely female? Then, recovering his voice, he said, “Miss Rose, Miss Lily, the pleasure is mine.”

Was it his imagination, or did a faint blush suffuse the latter’s face? Before he could make that determination, the major seated the ladies and offered them tea.

Effie motioned for Caleb to sit beside her while the major served the Kellogg sisters. “Tell us, Captain, what brings you to Fort Larned?”

Although Caleb was certain she already knew, he briefly recounted his experience subduing marauding Indian tribes.

Rose leaned forward. “Did you also see service in the recent war?”

“I did, miss.” He had no desire to elaborate.

Lily, apparently sensing his discomfort, deftly changed the subject. “That’s history. I am interested in your opinion of Fort Larned.”

Until they adjourned to the dining room, he offered his initial impressions of the place and then listened as the others told him about the recent rebuilding. Effie, in particular, put everyone at ease with her gently humorous comments and informality. Clearly the major was satisfied to let her hold sway at home, just as he controlled the fort.

At dinner, Caleb had the good fortune to be seated directly across from Lily Kellogg. He hoped his perusal of her wasn’t too obvious, but it was difficult to keep his eyes averted. The delicacy of her features was at odds with the self-composed figure he’d seen in the cemetery. She was both dazzling and enigmatic.

Effie seemed determined to direct questions to him, but he noticed her slyly studying Lily while he answered. He had a familiar sinking sensation. He was in the hands of a skillful matchmaker. If he wasn’t bound by social niceties, he could save Effie Hurlburt the trouble. Looking at Lily Kellogg was one thing; entanglement, quite another. He had learned that lesson from bitter experience.

Buttering a slice of bread, the major commented that he was sorry about Ezra Kellogg’s absence from the table. “A fine doctor he is. During the outbreak of typhus late last fall, he performed valiantly, keeping our mortality rate low.”

“He’s very skilled,” Effie agreed. “As is his most proficient nurse.” She smiled at Lily, who bowed her head modestly.

“I do what I can.”

“Sister, you are a marvel,” Rose said. “Few of us could do what you do.”

Lily looked up. “When you find something interesting and fulfilling, it isn’t work.” Caleb watched her eyes light up. “Learning about the human body and how to control and treat disease is fascinating. If only...” Her voice trailed off.

Caleb suspected she’d been about to say “If only women could be doctors,” but no one else picked up on the thought. To spare her the awkward moment, Caleb said, “May I ask how you began nursing?”

The young woman set down her fork. “Before she died, my mother attended women in childbirth. I was curious, and she began to teach me. Then when she was ill, we—” she nodded at her sister “—helped nurse her, and I discovered I had a gift. Our father is often shorthanded or in the process of training inexperienced enlisted men, so I assist him as I can.”

“A regular Florence Nightingale she is,” Effie said, beaming approval.

“Miss Nightingale is an idol of mine, but I would never venture to compare myself to her.”

“The nurses I observed during the war performed invaluable services,” Caleb said, recalling painfully the field hospitals he had visited. “It is important work, and I commend you.”

The conversation then turned to the latest rumors about a railroad to be built to replace the Santa Fe Trail. “The railroad is only the beginning of a new era, I suspect,” the major observed. “With such progress, we will no doubt experience many changes.”

“Not the least of which is moving to the parlor for coffee.” The major’s wife rose to her feet. “And perhaps Miss Lily will honor us with a selection on the pianoforte.”

Caleb smiled inwardly. Miss Lily Kellogg seemed to be a woman of myriad and contradictory talents. He didn’t want to be intrigued by her, but even fatigued as he was, the prospect of learning more about her kept him alert. A half hour later, after further conversation and two pleasing piano pieces, the major asked him to escort the Kellogg sisters home.

Outside, clouds played tag with a nearly full moon. The light-colored stones of the buildings shifted and glowed as shadows came and went. From the enlisted men’s barracks came sounds of revelry. It was nearly time for taps, so as they proceeded across the parade ground, the noises gradually subsided. At the door of the small house adjoining the hospital, Caleb took each of the ladies’ hands by turn. “Miss Rose, Miss Lily. Good night.” His gaze caught Lily’s. “Thank you for an evening I will long remember.”

“Good night, Captain,” the women said in unison before disappearing inside.

Caleb strolled back across the parade ground, reaching his quarters just as the bugler sounded taps. As they often did, the haunting notes recalled other nights, other encampments. Deeply moved, he lingered on the porch, taking in the fort, the surrounding countryside, the limitless sky. Feelings he hadn’t experienced in a long time, if ever, came over him. Part longing, part mystery, part promise—all centered in the disturbing sense that it wasn’t by accident God had put Lily Kellogg in his path.

Sighing wearily, he regained control of his thoughts. He would need to be on his guard. A woman had hurt him once, and he never wanted to feel that vulnerable again. No matter the provocation.


Chapter Two

Sunlight filtering through the windows of the post hospital the next morning brought an illusion of cheer to the convalescing patients. Lily moved among the beds, changing a bandage here and wiping a fevered brow there. Only after she had checked all the patients did she pause at the bedside of a young man who had been kicked by a horse, suffering painful bruises and a concussion. Taking his hand, she gently called his name.

The man stirred, then groaned. Lily spoke louder. “Benjamin, tell me where you are.”

His eyes fluttered before focusing on her. “In heaven?”

“Try again. Where are you?”

The hint of a smile teased his lips. “Just joshin,’ Miss Lily. Hospital. I’m in the hospital.” Then just before he fell back to sleep, he mumbled, “Clumsy nag of a horse.”

Across the room lay a cook, scalded by a pot of boiling soup, his hands mittened in gauze. She made her way to him. “I have time now, Timothy, to write that letter for you.”

She retrieved paper, pen and the lap board and listened as he dictated his message. “Tell me mum I am dandy. Say I had a bit of an accident, but that I’ll be cooking again before she even gets this letter. Ask her to write.”

Lily had seen the burns on his hands and doubted he’d be cooking anytime soon. She prayed he would be spared infection, so common with burns. “I will post your letter this afternoon.”

“Thank you, miss,” he whispered, tears flooding his eyes. She turned away to spare him embarrassment.

When she had finished her duties, she stepped into the small surgeon’s office where her father was working on his weekly medical report. “Do you need me further, Papa?”

Ezra Kellogg looked up, his blue eyes gentle behind his spectacles. “You’re a godsend, daughter, but we’ll manage for the rest of the day.”

Lily studied his pale face and stooped shoulders. There was an air of resignation or...a lack of vigor...something that had diminished him. It was as if when his wife’s life drained away, his spirit had ebbed, as well. She and Rose did what they could to lighten his heart, but, in truth, all of them sorely missed Mathilda. Only after her death had Lily realized the extent to which her mother had been the family’s anchor.

Not quite six years before, a similar shadow had passed over the family and forever changed them. During the war she, Rose and her mother had prayed unceasingly for the safety of her father and brother, David. Lily’s chest tightened, as if a claw gripped her heart. David. So amiable and strong. It had been natural to idolize the big brother whose hearty laugh had charmed them all. In her innocence, she had thought him invincible. Until that awful news. The telegram from the War Department had stated in cold, impersonal terms that their beloved David had been killed in the Battle of Lookout Mountain.

She remembered the sickening feeling she’d experienced with the realization that he had been dead for many days before they received word. Days when he had still lived in her imagination—eating, laughing, singing and...fighting. That blow had been especially cruel since they had no efficient way to communicate with Ezra. Their father’s return following the war, though a cause for celebration, was a somber occasion, the four of them grieving for the son and brother who would never again grace their family circle. Recalling past family dinners where there was always one empty place at the table, she was reminded of last night’s meal.

“Papa, we missed you at the Hurlburts’ dinner.”

“I hope you and Rose enjoyed it.”

“We did. The new captain dined with us.”

“What did you make of him?”

“He seemed pleasant enough.”

Her father rose to his feet and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I worry about you girls being in this place. There are good men here, but others...” He grimaced. “Others you shouldn’t even have to see, much less come into contact with.”

“Captain Montgomery is no cause for alarm.”

He kissed her forehead. “I probably shouldn’t have brought you here with me, but we had been so long apart during the conflict that I—” his voice cracked “—needed you.”

“And we needed you, do need you.” She patted his arm. “Never blame yourself for our circumstances. Rose and I are fine, and, after all, we are a military family. Women do their duty, too, you know.” Then, to emphasize her point, she saluted airily and took her leave.

As Lily made her customary way from the hospital to the cemetery, the breeze carried a tantalizing hint of spring. Full sun warmed her back as she stood before her mother’s grave, pondering the exchange she’d had with her father. Finally she spoke. “Mama, we miss you so. Papa is lost without you.” She closed her eyes, picturing her parents embracing. “How he must have loved you. And you? How sad to die in a harsh place like this so far from the home you loved.”

Turning to leave, she glanced in the direction where yesterday she’d seen the new cavalry troops arrive, led by Caleb Montgomery. He had none of the arrogance of George Custer, who had been stationed at Fort Larned a few months ago, nor the affected dandyism of some of the others. Montgomery seemed...was solid the word for which she searched? Yes, that, but more. Dependable? Trustworthy?

She chided herself for attempting to pigeonhole the dashing captain. His essence would not be captured, even as she ruefully admitted thoughts of him had captured her, despite her best efforts to will them away.

* * *

Although it had been a week since his arrival at Fort Larned, Caleb had slept poorly, troubled by disturbing dreams. Awake before reveille, he dressed quickly and stepped onto the front porch to watch the sunrise. Smoke rose from the mess hall kitchen, and in the distance a horse whinnied. After a few minutes, he made out the form of the bugler, who sounded notes that brought the fort from quiet to bustling activity. Lantern light flared in the barracks, and he heard the raucous shouts of prompt risers rousing the slugabeds.

From inside, the lieutenant with whom he shared quarters grunted and coughed. Will Creekmore, a fellow from Wisconsin, began every day with prayer. While Caleb found the practice laudable, he wondered how it had served the man on the battlefield. He himself had struggled to find God in the chaos of armed conflict, finally latching onto the instinct for sacrifice, even love, that he observed in the way men in extremity cared for their brothers in arms. He had concluded that just as evil existed and tempted men to war, so was mercy present in the myriad selfless acts he’d witnessed. That thought was all that made his duties bearable. Yet his uneasy truce with God had suffered a significant setback at the Washita River.

He would go to his grave with the horrors of November 27, 1868. On that wintry dawn, he had led his troop to a rendezvous point above the Washita River where they waited in hushed darkness for Lt. Col. George Custer’s command to attack the camp of Chief Black Kettle and roughly two-hundred-fifty vulnerable Cheyenne. A survivor of the infamous 1864 Sand Creek Massacre, Black Kettle had negotiated for peace, but had been unable to control younger, more belligerent warriors, engaging in raids against white settlers.

Swallowing sourly with the memory, Caleb saw it once again in his mind’s eye. Their orders were to take woman and children hostage, but to kill anyone who fired on them and destroy the enemy’s horses. When the first rays of the sun illumined the horizon, the command came, bugles blew and the cavalry charged down on the sleeping village. It took only one shot from a single hapless Cheyenne to incite a frenzy of fighting. Screaming women clutching their children ran for the river, old people fell in their tracks, and bodies littered the snow.

In his nightmares he would forever see the little girl holding a cornhusk doll, a bullet hole through her chest and the lifeless body of a woman cradling beneath her a piteously mewling infant.

He had experienced horrific combat in the War between the States; however, that cause was justified and didn’t involve women and children on the battlefield. But the engagement on the Washita? That was different. It was a massacre. To his eternal shame, he had been unable to prevent it. No wonder he had lost his zest for soldiering. It was even difficult to believe himself worthy as a man.

The orange ball of the sun brought light into his dark thoughts. “God,” he whispered, “help me to understand. Why? Why?” Scraping a hand across his beard, he paused as if waiting for an answer, and then went back into his quarters to shave.

After breakfast, Major Hurlburt gathered the officers for a briefing. Spring wagon trains setting out for Santa Fe would soon be passing their way along with the usual supply wagons. Roving bands of Kiowas, Pawnees and Arapahos, angered by the white man’s usurpation of their tribal lands and hungry after a long winter of deprivation, were on the prowl. Scouts had already located Kiowas camped along the Pawnee Fork. Caleb and his sergeant were ordered to accompany a seasoned troop the following day to deal with the situation and familiarize themselves with the immediate territory.

That evening, keyed up in anticipation of action, Caleb sought the quiet of the post library. Before the war, he had entertained thoughts of studying at university, but now that was a distant dream. However, he reckoned the lack of formal education needn’t keep him from learning.

In a somber mood, he pulled a volume of Tennyson’s poems from the shelves. The book fell open to “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” and Caleb was transported instantly to the suicidal attack in the Crimean War. “Into the valley of Death / Rode the six hundred.” He looked up from the page, grimacing at the image of men riding to certain doom. Did mankind ever learn? Such atrocities were no different from what his own army had inflicted on the peace-seeking Indians massacred at Sand Creek and the shameful Battle of the Washita.

He closed the book, rubbing his eyes, gritty with the need for sleep. Crimea. Unwittingly, Florence Nightingale came to mind, her lantern bringing hope to the wounded and dying there. How incongruous that the lovely Lily Kellogg could also be engaged in such grisly hospital work. Yet her name had surfaced again and again in the conversations of men at Fort Larned. Although she brooked no nonsense, they said, she had a fearless and compassionate heart, and sometimes their healing had depended as much on that as on any medicines or procedures.

As if he had conjured her, the door opened and Lily entered, her attention fixed on the stack of books she carried. When she saw him, she uttered a startled “Oh” and dropped her armload on the floor. He hastened to her side, where they both knelt to gather the volumes.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he assured her.

At that same moment she was saying, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

In the lantern light, her hair cast a golden glow, and he found himself at a loss for words, finally managing, “Do you come here often?”

“It’s my favorite place,” she murmured.

He assisted her to her feet and then gathered the books and laid them on a shelf. “Mine, too. No matter the post to which I’m assigned.”

Looking over his shoulder, she noted his book, abandoned on the chair. “What were you reading when I disturbed you?”

“First of all, you didn’t disturb me. Besides, Tennyson’s ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’ is rather gloomy. In truth, I was daydreaming rather than reading.”

She crossed the room, picked up the poetry collection and skimmed it. “I do so admire his work. ‘Flower in the Crannied Wall’ is one of my favorites.” She closed her eyes and recited, “‘Little flower—but if I could understand / What you are, root and all, and all in all, / I should know what God and man is.’”

“A big if. Can we ever know about God and man? Would we even want to? Man has a habit of mucking up things.”

She smiled, a glint of humor in her eyes. “Not only ‘man.’ In rare instances, ‘woman’ can also create problems.”

Rather than going to the unhappy place where a woman had created a problem for him, he chose to respond to her lightheartedness. “In rare instances? My dear miss, have you forgotten Eve?”

She laughed, a delightfully musical sound. “I fear, sir, that any discussion of serpents and apples might take an unpleasant turn.”

“Perhaps, instead, we should both pledge to reread Milton’s Paradise Lost and compare our reactions later.”

“He is a marvelous poet, isn’t he? Such descriptions of the Garden of Eden. Why, I myself might have bitten into the forbidden fruit.”

He had a sudden image of her rosy lips grazing a red-ripe apple. He mentally erased the charming picture. “Did you come for a particular title?”

She moved to the bookshelf, where she hesitated. “No, I’m browsing.” She laughed again. “That’s not exactly true. I’ve read nearly everything here.”

“Then I shall look forward to hearing your recommendations.” He was pleasantly surprised. From his brief exposure to her at the Hurlburts’, he hadn’t figured her for a bookworm. Discussing literature with her would provide at least one antidote for the boredom that was part of military life.

“I favor Mr. Dickens and the Romantic poets,” she said.

“My, quite a divergence of taste.”

“And why not? Fiction, poetry, biography, essays—we don’t have sufficient time to read everything, but I try.”

He inclined his head in an abbreviated bow. “Permit me, then, to take my leave so you may find the hidden gem that you have not read.”

She bestowed a smile that banished any thought of the Crimea. “Good night, Captain.”

“Good night, Miss Kellogg.” Then as an afterthought, he added, “I shall look forward to sharing our opinions concerning Paradise Lost.”

“As shall I,” she said.

Walking toward the officers’ quarters, Caleb pondered the if in Tennyson’s poem. To understand God and man. He longed to understand God, to find answers to his questions. As for “man,” they were a mixed lot. As he had to admit women were, too. Even on short acquaintance it was clear that Lily bore no resemblance to Rebecca, the faithless woman who had broken his heart.

* * *

“In like a lion, out like a lamb,” Rose announced on the last day of March as she and Lily made their way to the sutler’s to buy provisions and collect the mail.

The day was warm, and wagon wheels and horses’ hooves had churned the ground into dust that clung to their boots and the hems of their dresses.

“We’d best enjoy days like this,” Lily observed. “Remember last summer? I swear equatorial Africa couldn’t be any hotter. In mid-July, we will look back on this weather with gratitude.”

Rose linked her arm with Lily’s. “Enjoy the day, this day. God’s day.”

Lily squeezed Rose’s hand. Their mother had often uttered those very words when her impatient daughters peppered her with questions: “When is Papa coming home from the war?” “How long until my birthday?” And more recently, “How are you feeling this morning, Mama?”

When they entered the store, enlisted men buying tobacco and assorted medicinal items made way for them. Several tipped their caps, a few ventured mumbled hellos and one insolent corporal winked leeringly. Jake Lavery, the proprietor, beamed as they approached. “Ladies, what can I do for you?

After placing their grocery order, Lily ushered her sister to a corner where yard goods and sewing notions were displayed. Thus removed from the prying eyes of men, the sisters studied some newly arrived bolts of cloth.

Rose stroked a brown calico covered with sprigs of tiny yellow flowers. “I rather fancy this for my summer dress.”

Each summer and winter, their father provided them with money to make one serviceable gown apiece. Lily always had difficulty making up her mind, and today was no exception. She draped a navy blue muslin across her shoulders.

Rose shook her head. “Too drab. Try the gingham. It reminds me of the ocean. That is, if I’d ever seen it.”

Lily unrolled a couple of yards and carrying the bolt to the small mirror on the wall, held the gingham to her face. The color did something magical for her eyes, tinting the usual blue with a hint of sea-green. She turned to Rose. “I like it.”

“That was easy. I do, too. Have we need of patterns?”

Lily shook her head. “I have some ideas about adapting ones we already have.”

“I trust you. You’re the expert seamstress.”

Mr. Lavery’s wife measured and cut the material, then wrapped it in brown paper and tied it with string. “Come show me when you’ve finished the gowns.” A wistful expression crossed her leathery face. Observing the woman’s worn gray dress, Lily ached for her. Frippery was hard to come by on the prairie where simplicity and practicality were both necessary and valued.

Lily tucked their purchases in the mesh bag they had brought with them. Their last stop was the mail counter. “Kellogg. Anything for us?” Rose inquired of the red-bearded postal agent, recently arrived at the fort.

“I know who you are,” the man said, as if offended that they would identify themselves to someone with such a brilliant memory. “You’re those girls the men are always talking about.”

Rose bristled. “I hardly think so.”

The man leaned on the counter and folded his gnarled hands, peering at them with beady eyes. “Bet on it, miss. It’s just as well your papa don’t hear some of what they say.”

Lily drew herself up to her full height. “Sir, our mail, if you please.”

He grinned wolfishly, then took his time moving to the mail slots.

“I declare,” Lily whispered to her sister. “The nerve.”

Rose took the letters from the man, uttered a huffy “thank you” and led Lily out of the place.

“That was demeaning,” Lily said when they were out of earshot.

“Yes, but, Lily, I imagine the men do talk of us...you. Think about it. They’re far from home, missing their wives and sweethearts. And some of them are so young. Bachelors.” She trudged on deep in thought, then added, “Don’t you see how they look at you?”

“Me?” Lily blushed.

“Oh, there’s some that might settle for me, but you’re the beauty.”

“Hush, Rose. Don’t you go tempting fate with that talk. ‘Pride goeth before a fall,’ and I don’t want to be prideful.”

“You can’t pretend you don’t notice their interest. For example, that new captain couldn’t keep his eyes off you at the Hurlburts’ dinner.” She stopped in her tracks and studied her sister. “You could do a lot worse,” she said gently.

“I’m not husband hunting.” Lily grinned coquettishly. “At least not until St. Louis, if that time ever comes.”

“St. Louis. A den of iniquity, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

With a shrug, Rose held up the mail. “I suppose then that you’ll be wanting to look over the letter that came today from Aunt Lavinia.”

“Oh, do let’s hurry.” So eager was Lily to read the letter, she didn’t notice how Rose lagged behind. Nor did she see the concern in her sister’s eyes.

At home, scanning Aunt Lavinia’s letter before sharing it with Rose, Lily sighed in disappointment. There was no invitation for either of them. Just a description of Lavinia’s new Easter bonnet, the menu of a sumptuous dinner at the home of a local politician and a recipe for an elegant presentation of tenderloin of pork, as if they often had such a cut of meat available.

Bent over her crocheting, Rose looked up as Lily read the final paragraph.



“I shudder to think of you girls subjected to the cold winds and extreme weather of the prairie. Not to mention living in a forsaken army post, surrounded by who knows what sort of individuals. For the life of me, I cannot understand why Ezra took you to such a place. Would that your mother had persuaded him to abandon his army career. Well, water over the dam. I pray for your safety and hope conditions will permit us once again to meet. Perhaps after the miasma that is summer here along the Mississippi.

Your devoted aunt,

Lavinia”



Lily put the letter aside and sought composure by going to the sewing cabinet to locate the pattern for Rose’s new dress. Only now in light of Lavinia’s vague promise could she admit how much she had counted on deliverance from this wilderness outpost. She tried to take each day as it came, but the fierce, unpredictable spring winds tried her soul and increased her longing to escape. At times she wanted to scream from sheer frustration.

Rose had said something, but lost in her thoughts, Lily had to ask her to repeat it.

“Dear sister, patience.” Rose wasn’t trying to irritate her, and, yes, patience was needed, but right now the advice rankled.

“What’s the matter with me, Rose?”

Her sister set aside her crocheting. “You really do want to leave. It’s more than a dream, isn’t it?”

Lily sank back into her chair. “I’m so restless. Every day is like every other day. Rose, there’s a whole world out there, and I want to be part of it. If only I were a man, I could choose my lot and go wherever my fancy took me.”

“I would miss you.”

Chastened, Lily hung her head. “And I you.” She had thoughtlessly hurt her sister. The tug to home and to Rose and Papa was strong, but so was the pull of the exciting world beyond the prairie. Why couldn’t she lay aside these dreams that only grew more compelling with each passing day?

“Are you very disappointed? Had you thought Aunt Lavinia’s invitation would come this soon?”

Lily looked helplessly at her sister, unable to confess the degree to which she had counted on Aunt Lavinia to save her. “Mama wouldn’t like me to act like this. She would say everything happens in God’s time, not mine.”

Rose nodded as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Then leave it to God.” She began crocheting again. “Meanwhile, I so love having you here for company. And take heart. Aunt Lavinia didn’t rule out a visit later in the year.”

Lily unfolded the pattern, but, disappointed by the letter and consumed by guilt over how her departure would affect Rose, she couldn’t concentrate on dressmaking.

* * *

Several nights later, Caleb stretched out by the campfire, wearily resting his head on his saddle. This morning the cavalry had caught up with a band of Kiowas secluded in a small grove of trees. The soldiers had mounted a charge. Outmanned, the Indians had fired a few warning shots and then, to Caleb’s relief, had fled on horseback. Since the Washita, he had no stomach for engagement.

He understood there was no stopping the westward migration of his own people, but at the same time he grudgingly admired the Indians, both those who came in peace and those risking their lives for their tribal lands and honor. Perhaps the Indians weren’t that different from the emancipated slaves with whom he had fought in the war. Rarely had he been in battle with more dedicated or able fighters. Yet so many of his fellows treated these so-called “buffalo soldiers” as inferiors and made known their prejudice both with their abusive words and their fists.

Gazing up at the infinity of stars, Caleb wondered what God thought of the arrogant human beings He had created, so anxious to lord it over their fellow creatures whom they deemed ignorant or savage. Were the Indians and the former slaves that much different from himself? He suspected all any man wanted was dignity. Yet he knew firsthand that any one of them was capable of barbarity.

Tired of his gloomy thoughts, he withdrew a worn letter from his pocket. Slowly he unfolded it and squinted to make out the words, although he had already practically memorized them.



Dear brother,

Sister Sophie, Pa and I are continuing to purchase additional acreage near Cottonwood Falls for the Montgomery cattle operation. As I’ve told you, grazing land is lush and water is plentiful. The other settlers are welcoming and enthusiastic for the prospects in this sparsely populated part of southeastern Kansas.

Thank you for the monies you have sent us. Your share of the ranch will be waiting for you when you muster out. We are all thankful that time is fast approaching. We are adding to the herd, so with hard work, this fall when we go to market, pray God we will see the realization of our hopes.

We likewise pray for your safety as we await the day of our reunion.

Your affectionate brother,

Seth



Their ranch—a dream come true. Joining his father and brother in the exciting enterprise would finally anchor him in one place. His place. A place where money could be made. Where a family could grow and prosper. A peaceful place.

Once before he had thought to establish a home. To live in harmony with a woman he loved. To plan a future together. That dream, interrupted by the outbreak of war, had sustained him through long marches and frenzied battles. Until Rebecca’s letter, creased and soiled from its long journey, made its way to him in the winter of 1864. It was painful, even now, to recall her flowery words, made no less harsh by their embellishment.



It is with profound and heartfelt regret that I rue causing you any disappointment or loss of marital expectations. It has been my greatest endeavor to pass these uncertain days in the hope of your deliverance by a beneficent providence. But we are all, in the end, human beings—human beings with a need for love and companionship. So I beg your understanding and forgiveness for informing you that on Saturday last your friend Abner and I published the banns for our upcoming marriage.



Rebecca had, with a single blow, severed their relationship, one he had entered into wholeheartedly and purposefully. Beyond that, Abner’s betrayal of their boyhood friendship had cut deep. Caleb closed his eyes, the lullaby of coyotes baying on a distant hill doing little to induce sleep. The Garden of Eden. The tempted Eve. Caleb snorted under his breath. Rebecca had certainly succumbed to temptation and, in the process, taught him a bitter lesson concerning trust.

And what of Miss Lily Kellogg, the first woman since Rebecca to interest him? Was she made of sterner, truer stuff? Did he dare acknowledge how appealing he found her? Even for an intrepid cavalryman that was a daunting thought. One he should not entertain, not when his hands were tainted with the blood of innocents.


Chapter Three

Caleb joined his fellow officers Saturday night at the tavern just a short walk from the fort. It was a rough frontier establishment, crudely built and redolent of sweat and beer. Loud, harsh voices assaulted his ears. A bar covered one wall, and in the back were several tables of serious card players. Two women, no longer young, their faces caked in makeup, sashayed among the men. Caleb didn’t drink liquor, but neither did he want to appear standoffish. Through the years, he had learned a great deal about those under his command by observing their off-duty activities. Yet such places made him uncomfortable.

“Cap!” Maloney, a cavalryman who had been with him during several engagements, waved him over. Maloney was always good for a few stories. Caleb settled into a chair at the man’s table and didn’t have long to wait for the opening line. “Did you hear the one abut the general who saw a ghost?”

While the storyteller waxed eloquent, Caleb studied the crowd. Some gambled, some ogled the ladies, others, their eyes glazed over, threw back whiskey, undoubtedly searching for oblivion. He, too, sometimes longed for oblivion, but had long ago made the decision not to drink or gamble. He’d seen firsthand what such indulgences could cost a man—in some instances, not only his dignity but his soul.

When Maloney’s story came to its hilarious conclusion, Caleb rose and headed toward the door. Passing by a table of enlisted men, he overheard the tail end of a conversation and recognized Corporal Adams as the speaker.

“...and that one’s ripe for the pickin’ and I might just be the one to harvest her.”

“In a pig’s eye,” his fellow cackled. “She’s too good for the likes of you, Miss Lily is.”

“They’s all the same beneath that flouncin’ and finery. You just wait. I’ve got my eye on her. Some dark night—”

Caleb jerked the man to his feet. “You’ll do no such thing, Adams, or I’ll have you on report so fast it will seem like a cyclone hit you.” It took all of Caleb’s will to refrain from hitting the man in his obscene mouth.

Sniveling, Adams looked up at him through bleary eyes, his mouth stained with chewing tobacco. “’Twas just talk.”

“You make sure of that or you’ll deal with me.” Caleb thrust the man back in his seat and glared at him to be sure he understood.

“Mighty protective, aren’t you?” the corporal mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’.” Then he added, “Sir,” as if that would vindicate him.

“Change the subject, then,” Caleb said before striding out into the night, fists clenched at his side. This wasn’t the first man Caleb had heard talking about Lily, but most were respectful. Adams was a sneak, and Caleb hoped he was all talk, but based on his history with the corporal, he wasn’t so sure.

Walking back to his quarters, he wondered if he would have reacted so strongly had it been just any woman under discussion. He hoped so. But the mere suggestion of such a creature touching Lily Kellogg made his blood boil.

* * *

The much-anticipated spring band concert was a break from the monotony of life at the fort. This particular evening featured two fiddlers, a banjo player and a wizened harmonica player. Benches had been set up in the commissary, and the officers’ wives and daughters had prepared cookies and tea for a social following the musicale.

Major and Mrs. Hurlburt sat in the front row. Effie gestured to Ezra to bring Rose and Lily and join them. There was a stir of anticipation as the musicians took their places. The band performed old folk tunes as well as more recent camp songs. Early on, some of the enlisted men began clapping in time to the beat, and for an hour, all thoughts of danger and homesickness were suspended.

Lily was aware of the bachelor officers sitting in the row behind her, their buttons brightly polished, their gloved hands resting on their knees. Since the arrival of Aunt Lavinia’s letter a couple of weeks ago, Lily had been pondering her future. Was it unrealistic to consider another world—one of sophistication, intelligent discourse and high fashion? Rose had urged her to encourage Captain Montgomery, yet it would be hypocritical to lead him on. Attractive as he was, her favorable impressions of the man were surely skewed by the limited world of Fort Larned.

At the conclusion of the concert, the musicians bowed to enthusiastic applause and then asked the audience to join them in singing “Aura Lee.” Behind her, Lily heard a rich baritone voice and discovered when she stood to leave that the singer who had pierced her heart was Captain Montgomery.

Effie shoved her way between Rose and Lily and grabbed the captain by the arm. “Rose and I are helping serve the tea, but perhaps you could get some refreshments for this young lady.” She nodded at Lily.

“My pleasure,” the captain said, following the major’s wife to the food table to comply with her request. Before Rose moved off to join Effie, she poked Lily in the ribs and whispered, “It won’t hurt you to flirt a bit.” When Lily glared at her, Rose affected wide-eyed innocence and added, “Consider it a rehearsal for your assault on St. Louis beaux.”

Juggling two cups and a plate of cookies, Captain Montgomery returned to Lily. Most of the crowd had gone outside to eat, but he set the refreshments on a bench. “Shall we stay here?”

She looked around, flustered to see how few concert-goers remained. “This is fine,” she said, sinking onto the bench.

He handed her a cup, then made a toasting gesture with his own. “To you,” he said quietly.

“Whatever for?”

He smiled. “For gracing this place with beauty and gentleness. Most of us have lived with men for far too long. You are a breath of fresh air.”

The compliment both flattered and disturbed her. “Sir, I think you give me too much credit. I would suggest it is easy to say such things when, by your own admission, you have been long deprived of feminine companionship.”

“Do you think me so devoid of discernment that I am drawn to just any woman?”

Drawn? He was drawn? How to answer such a question? “Forgive me, Captain. Of course, you must know your own mind.”

“As I believe you must know yours. From what the men tell me, you are a fair, but demanding taskmistress—is there such a word?—among your patients.”

“A hospital is not the place for indecisiveness or the encouragement of malingerers.”

“Although one might not blame them for preferring your company to that of a drill sergeant.”

“I assure you there are times in that environment when I bear a closer resemblance to a drill sergeant than a docile maid.”

“From what I’ve seen of you, docile isn’t a word that comes readily to mind.”

She couldn’t help herself. She chuckled. “What word does come to mind?”

He leaned back as if to study her. “Perhaps curious. Or maybe determined.”

“And what led you to such conclusions?”

“Your interest in medicine, your passion for that which interests you, whether it is nursing or literature. I suspect there is more going on in that head of yours than meets the eye.”

“You, sir, are a keen observer. I shall have to watch my p’s and q’s.”

He set down his cup. “Would it be presumptuous to ask you to call me by my Christian name?”

Lily was flustered. This conversation was moving beyond her powers to control it. “You have me at a disadvantage, Captain. Are we to become friends, then?”

“That is my intent, especially as we are both book lovers.”

“Then, as friends—” she leaned forward by way of emphasis “—in informal situations, I will call you Caleb.”

“Good.” He hesitated as if hearing his name echo. “Would you object to saying it again?”

She looked at him quizzically, then softly repeated, “Caleb.”

“Thank you. It has been many months since I have heard my name uttered by a lovely woman. And, then, only by my sister, Sophie.”

Unaccountably, Lily felt her eyes moisten. She had never considered how a soldier might miss simple feminine interactions or long for a soft, endearing voice. Casting about for a safer topic, she said, “Tell me about your sister.”

He stood. “Perhaps we could take a turn around the parade ground while I relate some Sophie stories.” He held out his hand to assist her to rise.

Tucking her arm through his, she was startled by a sensation very like happiness. Surely, she told herself, it was the beauty of the spring night rather than her companion that provoked such an emotion.

On their walk, she discovered that he was a gifted raconteur. His mother had died giving birth to Sophie, and he obviously doted on his younger sister, a tomboy of the first magnitude. His tales of her cutting off her long hair when she was ten in order to look more like a boy and wading into the river to noodle for catfish were both humorous and poignant. He painted a vivid picture of his sister’s flyaway curly red hair and ended by saying, “Sophie possesses a mind of her own, but she has a generous heart.”

“I think I’d like her,” Lily said, full of admiration for the independent young woman who dared to live beyond the conventional.

Caleb faced her. “She would like you.” He clasped her hand between his own. “I like you.”

“Captain—”

“Caleb, please.”

“Caleb, I don’t know what to say.”

He snugged her hand beneath his arm and started walking slowly toward her home. “You don’t need to say anything.”

She decided silence was the best course lest she offer any more encouragement than, inadvertently, she may have already given. As they walked, an awkwardness seemed to develop where earlier there had been camaraderie. She could ask him about the mother he had lost, but they were nearing the hospital. Perhaps another time. Did she want another time?

At her door, he gently disengaged his arm and faced her. “Miss Lily, I pray I have not overstepped my bounds.”

Again, she was at a loss for words. “It’s late, Captain. It’s best to say good-night.” When his eyes clouded, she took pity on him. “Until we meet again, Caleb.” She liked saying his strong, masculine name.

“Good night, Miss Lily.” As if remembering his manners, he added stiffly, “Thank you for a pleasant evening.”

Inside the house, she leaned against the closed door, bewildered. He had shown signs of his interest in her, but in the past few minutes had seemed to retreat into formality. She had enjoyed his company more than she cared to admit. That concerned her. She would need to steel herself and not let her fickle emotions sidetrack her plans.

When Lily entered the bedroom she shared with Rose, her sister was just finishing plaiting her long reddish-blond hair. The light from the candle on the bedside table cast an intimate glow. Lily loosened her buttons, plucked her nightgown from its hook and prepared for bed. Rose watched her, a smug smile playing about her lips. “Well?” she finally said. “How did you find your Captain Montgomery?”

“He’s not mine,” Lily said decisively, taking the pins out of her hair and beginning her ritual one-hundred brush strokes. Knowing that those three words would not satisfy her sister, she went on. “Like many of our officers, he is lonely. I provided a temporary diversion, no doubt.”

Rose hooted. “Are you blind? The way he looked at you was special.”

“He can look all he wants, but I will not encourage him. He would only be a distraction in my life.”

“The life that’s taking you to St. Louis?”

Lily set down her brush and put her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “I’m sorry it’s difficult for you to understand, but I have to be true to myself.”

Rose reached up and clasped Lily’s hands. “I know. Papa and I have realized for some time that this place is too confining for your spirit.” She bowed her head, whispering so quietly Lily had to bend closer to hear her. “But it is so hard to let you go.” Rose looked straight into Lily’s eyes. “I suppose I had hoped that if you married an army officer, our paths would cross now and again. And of the lot, Captain Montgomery seems a good man—a man who would cherish you or whomever else he chose.”

“It is a fine thing to be cherished. Pray that I may find such a suitor in the city.”

“I cannot honor your request. I will pray for you, of course, but for your well-being, happiness and the fulfillment of God’s purpose for you, wherever you may be.”

Lily embraced her sister, so good and true. Then she blew out the candle, and they curled into the depths of the feather bed they had shared since childhood. Soon she could hear her sister’s gentle exhalations, but sleep eluded Lily. She lay awake for some time, not thinking so much about St. Louis as remembering the name Caleb and how he had needed to hear it spoken.

She turned on her side and shortly before falling asleep whispered to the shadows, “Dear God, why can’t life be simple?”

* * *

When Caleb entered his quarters, Will Creekmore was sitting at the desk writing a letter by lantern light. “Did you enjoy the concert?”

Caleb stripped off his gloves and jacket and tossed them on a chair. “It was a welcome morale boost. Routine drills get mighty boring for the men.”

“And for us.”

Caleb noticed a daguerreotype sitting on the desk. He pointed to it. “Your family?”

The lieutenant picked it up and gazed at it fondly. “No. Fannie, my sweetheart back in Wisconsin.” He hesitated and then added, “She’s been waiting a long time. I’m asking her to come here. To be married. But it’s far from her home. I don’t know if...” He sighed. “All I can do is ask, though I do hate to inflict such a long journey on her.”

“It’s a lonely life out here. For your sake, I hope she says yes.”

“Speaking of the ladies, how was your evening with Miss Kellogg? I couldn’t help noticing how you favored her.”

In the confusion of his feelings, Caleb didn’t want to discuss Lily, but neither did he want to be rude. “She is a delightful young woman.”

His fellow officer speared him with a look. “Whose company you enjoy.”

Caleb shrugged helplessly, wishing he had done a better job of resisting Miss Kellogg’s charms.

Will stood and clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Heaven help us, then. We can fight the rebel and the savage, but one look from a pretty woman and we’re goners.” He gathered up his ink, pen and paper. “I’m turning in. Good night, Montgomery.”

“Good night. Leave the lantern. I want to read for a while.”

After the man departed, Caleb picked up the book he’d left on the shelf and settled in a chair. But the book remained unopened, forgotten in the swirl of his thoughts. Lily Kellogg was a puzzlement. At the same time she had seemed interested in their conversation, he’d sensed a reserve on her part, as if she was unwilling to commit fully to their dialogue. Perhaps he had been too forward and she was merely being proper. Given his lack of recent experience with women, he was at a loss. He fingered the leather-bound volume in his lap. If only there were a treatise to teach him how to read women. How to court them without the fumbling awkwardness he had felt when he left Lily at her doorstep.

Courtship? Where had that idiotic notion come from? But even as the idea formed, the specter of Rebecca rose in his mind, and his spirit curled in on itself. He was too near his goal of joining his family in the cattle business to be waylaid by a woman.

He closed his eyes, picturing the verdant hills of the Montgomery Ranch, the beauty of the blooming redbuds his brother had described and the panorama of orange-pink sunsets stretching across the horizon. It was there he would ultimately build a home and father children. Someday he would have a wife. But why, lately, did the “someday” wife of his imagination look like Lily? Could she—or any woman—endure his nightmares? Accept his role in the Washita battle, especially when he couldn’t?

* * *

The unseasonably warm April afternoon was made even more unpleasant by wild winds rattling windows and blowing dust high into the air. Lily moved among the beds of men laid low by spring fevers, following her father as he stopped to recommend treatment or offer encouragement. After their rounds, Lily prepared medications and folded clean laundry.

She consciously tried to appear busy to avoid the unpleasant stares of one of the enlisted men recently assigned to hospital duty rotation. He had a weasellike appearance and followed instructions to the bare minimum a chore might require. It seemed every time she moved around the ward, he was lurking nearby with the same insolent look on his face. She was probably overreacting, but something about Corporal Adams made her distinctly uncomfortable. She shuddered before resuming her work.

Late that afternoon her father asked her to go to the post office to check on a package he was expecting, a medical book about the treatment of snake and insect bites. She welcomed her escape.

However, when she stepped outside, strong winds buffeted her, whipping her skirt around her legs. She tightened the sash on her bonnet and struggled toward the sutler’s. Once there, she checked with the officious postal agent. “Have you a parcel for the surgeon?”

“Nasty day, what?” he said, his eyes roaming over her in an unseemly manner.

“Indeed.”

He waited another beat before withdrawing a package from under the counter. “Wouldn’t do to get it wet. Best hasten home, missy. Clouds are comin’.”

“I’ll hurry.” She grabbed the package and turned to leave, stunned to see Corporal Adams slouched against the door, hands in his pockets. When she tried to slip past him, he fell in beside her. “Doc sent me to help you.”

She eyed him with suspicion. Her father had never before sent anyone in such a situation. “I’m fine, thank you, Corporal.”

Despite her dismissal, he followed her outside. Suddenly the fierce winds died, and a humid, pea-green canopy fell over the fort. Looking to the west, Lily saw thunderhead upon thunderhead mounting to the heavens and rolling toward them. She picked up her pace, leaning protectively over the package as the first pellets of rain fell. Then before she had gone more than a few yards, the sky went black, a gust of wind hit her and the heavens opened up.

“Here, miss.” Adams seized her by the arm and pulled her into a darkened storehouse. “We’ll be right cozy in here.” His eyes glinted dangerously, and his grip on her arm hurt.

She struggled against him. “I’m going home.”

The soldier moved closer. “You’ll get wet. Now don’t be a spoilsport. Besides, ole Adams just wants to have a bit o’ fun.”

He grabbed her around the waist, and she smelled his foul breath on her face. She could hardly breathe. “Get your hands off me!”

In the dim light, his mocking look said it all. He had no intention of letting her go. Fear such as she had never known buckled her knees. It was then that he pulled her to him, pinching her cheeks between his callused fingers. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, missy.”

Outside the wind roared among the buildings, zinging with power. In some corner of her brain, Lily registered the torrents drumming against the roof.

Adams’s tone changed to sinister cajoling. “Now calm yourself, and give us a kiss.”

Drawing on all her strength, Lily reared back, raised her arms and hit him over the head with the book, then raced into the storm, praying she could outrun him.

Blinded by the rain and slowed by her soaked dress, she sprinted toward the headquarters building, visible in the lightning flashes that briefly illumined the parade ground. Behind her, she heard the corporal’s howled oaths, but as she neared headquarters, he fell back and gave up the chase.

Breathless, she kept on running until she had nearly reached the wooden boardwalk outside headquarters. Then, somehow, she felt herself being lifted into strong arms and held in a protective embrace. When she looked up and saw Caleb, so great was her relief that she was racked with trembling. “Shh,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re safe now.” Then he stared out over her head. “Was that Adams I saw?”

Bile filled her throat and all she could do was nod.

Caleb’s voice was steely. “He won’t be bothering you any more. I’ll see to that.”

Weak as a kitten, Lily laid her head on Caleb’s broad shoulder, drawing from him warmth and security and reminding herself over and over, “I am safe.”

Afterward she had no idea how long she had remained sheltered in the comfort of his arms. All she knew was that she had found peace in the storm.


Chapter Four

Scarcely daring to breathe, Caleb held Lily, moved by both her trembling and her floral-scented hair brushing his chin. Conflicting emotions tore through him—the unexpected joy of the embrace set against his rage at Corporal Adams. He itched to get at the man. First, though, he needed to see Lily safely to her family. Reluctantly, he stepped away. “I’m sorry, Miss Kellogg. This man should never have accosted you. I assure you he will be punished.”

She straightened to her full height, adjusted her collar, then smoothed flyaway tresses back from her face. “I will count on that, Captain.”

“Are you steady enough for me to escort you home?”

“I think so. It was all so sudden...and shocking.”

“I’m glad I could be of assistance.” He was aware of the forced formality of their conversation. Had she been offended by his embrace? Yet she had lingered there contentedly as she recovered from her panic.

“Please give me a moment,” she said, turning away from him as if to study the storm, now diminishing in strength. She held herself purposefully, like a shattered vessel that had been glued back together. She seemed to be composing herself by sheer effort of will. “All’s well that ends well,” she finally said.

His pent-up anger threatened to explode. It hadn’t ended well. That cad Adams had terrified her.

With a deep sigh, Lily faced him. “When we see my sister and father, I would ask you not to dramatize the situation. Rose doesn’t need undue worry. As for Papa, he already suffers guilt for bringing us here with him. I fear he might never forgive himself.”

“Eventually the facts must be told and Adams held accountable. But I will permit you the telling of the tale.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Caleb?” he asked hopefully.

For the first time in their conversation, she mustered a half smile. “Caleb. You were more than a friend today. You were my rescuer.”

“I’m thankful I was here to help.”

They stood a foot apart, their gazes locked, until a clap of thunder caused them to start. Caleb took Lily’s arm and they dashed through raindrops to the Kellogg home.

Rose must’ve seen them coming. She flung open the door and hugged her sister. “We’ve been worried about you. Were you caught in the storm?”

Ezra Kellogg stood behind Rose, his eyebrows knit with concern. Never taking his eyes off Lily, he acknowledged Caleb with a curt “Captain.”

Caleb squeezed Lily’s arm gently before relinquishing his grasp. “Your daughter had a bit of a fright—”

“But I’m quite fine now, thanks to Captain Montgomery.”

“Please come in, Captain.” Rose took Lily’s damp cloak and stood aside. “We all need a cup of tea. Lily, sit down and collect yourself and then do tell us what has happened.”

Ezra directed Caleb to a chair by the fire and settled Lily on a small sofa. While Rose brought in the tea, Ezra wrapped Lily in a wool afghan, then sat down beside her, pulling her close. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Now,” he said, “what’s this all about?”

When Lily didn’t respond, Ezra turned to Caleb. “You, sir. We’re awaiting an explanation.”

“Papa, there is little to explain.” Lily raised her head and looked at them one by one. “I had started home when the storm broke. When it raged all about me, I sought temporary refuge in a storeroom and then made a dash for headquarters. There Captain Montgomery was kind enough to ease my fears.”

Caleb sent her a questioning glance. She couldn’t let it go at that. “Lily?” he said by way of encouragement, then inwardly reproached himself for taking the liberty of using her first name in this setting.

She glared at him, defying him to correct her version of events. While he hoped the matter of Adams could be taken care of discreetly, Ezra Kellogg deserved a fuller answer. Caleb suspected in a more intimate setting with her sister, Lily would confide the truth, but perhaps the incident was still too raw for her to discuss with her father.

Ezra turned to Lily. “Daughter, I recommend you take a tonic when you finish your tea. Then after supper it would be best for you to retire for the evening. You have had a trying experience, but rest should restore you.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “You are safe now, for which I thank God.”

She touched her father’s cheek. “And Captain Montgomery.”

“Ah, yes.”

Rose stepped forward and gathered Lily, afghan and all, and led her from the room.

After the women had departed, Caleb stood and prepared to leave. The surgeon crossed to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, might I have a word with you in private?” Ezra Kellogg was no fool. The look on his face revealed his suspicion that Lily had withheld information. “Follow me.”

The surgeon ushered Caleb to his office in the hospital, closed the door behind him and leaned against his desk, arms folded across his chest. “There is more to the story, am I correct, Captain?”

“Yes, sir.” Although Caleb felt uncomfortable telling the part of the tale that Lily had chosen to omit, her father needed to know.

Ezra gestured to the wooden chair against the wall. “I’m listening.”

Caleb lowered himself into the seat, then fixed his eyes on the doctor. “One of our enlisted men attempted to assault Lily.”

Ezra raked his fingers through his graying hair. “I’ve been afraid of something like this.”

“Fortunately Lily was able to escape his grasp and run away from him before anything more serious happened. When I first saw her from headquarters, she was running lickety-split across the parade ground, pursued by the cad, who fell back when I stepped outside. I did what I could to calm her and assure her she was safe.”

Ezra spoke in a steely tone. “Do we know the identity of this scoundrel?”

“I do. Corporal Adams. I will be ordering him held in the stockade as soon as I leave here.”

Ezra rounded his desk and slumped into the chair, burying his face in his hands. “I should never have brought my family here. I knew what rough-and-tumble places military forts are. I permitted my own needs and desires to override my common sense.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Most of the men are good souls who respect women.”

As if he hadn’t heard, Ezra said, “I’ll never forgive myself. What have I done to my daughter?”

Caleb realized he needed to get the man’s attention. “Sir, listen to me. This was not your fault. It was the result of one man’s actions, a man who needs to be drummed out of the army in disgrace.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “Lily begged me not to tell you about this. I think she was afraid you’d react just as you have. In no way does she regard any of this as your fault. Furthermore, she seemed to recover well. She is brave and resilient. She will worry about you if she thinks she has been a cause of your increased concern.”

“Have you ever had a child, Captain?”

“No.”

“Then you cannot know how strong is a father’s instinct to protect his children. It is a grave responsibility, which I have failed.”

“Even the best father cannot foresee and prevent all circumstances. Let Lily guide you. She loves you very much and wanted only to spare you pain.”

Ezra scraped his hands across his face, then looked at Caleb. “I fear I have forgotten myself. My daughter called you her rescuer, and for that I am most grateful. I know that for every scoundrel and hooligan, there are fine, conscientious men like you, Captain.” He stood then and offered his hand across the desk. “Thank you, sir. I am in your debt for your service to Lily.”

Caleb grasped the man’s hand and said, “Rest assured justice will be done in this matter, sooner than later. I will attend to it directly.”

“I would expect no less.”

Exiting the hospital, Caleb strode across the parade ground to the enlisted men’s barracks. Inside, some men were playing cards or writing letters, but in the back corner a tight group clustered around a dice game, Adams among them, the visor of his cap pulled low as if to make himself invisible. The minute the duty sergeant saw Caleb, he shouted, “Attention!” The men rose to their feet, braced for what might follow and saluted.

Caleb let his eyes rove over the assembly, before closing in on Corporal Adams. Then he called him out. “Adams, front and center. You are summarily ordered to the stockade, pending investigation of a charge of assault.”

No one looked at the culprit as he slunk through the stony silence toward Caleb, his shifty eyes darting about as if soliciting sympathy. Caleb waited until the man stood in front of him. “Do you understand the charge?”

“I didn’t do nothin’,” Corporal Adams whined.

“That is for your superior officers to determine. Thank your lucky stars it isn’t solely up to me. Consider yourself officially on report. Come along.”

Caleb saluted the sergeant and, accompanied by the unrepentant corporal, strode from the room, holding on to his temper by only the shortest tether.

* * *

In the days that followed, Lily tried to forget the afternoon of the storm. She couldn’t bear to think what might have happened had she not escaped the leering corporal, nor did she want to remember how protected she had felt in Caleb’s arms. It had been bewildering to go from the clutches of one man to the welcome embrace of another. Rather than dwell on either sensation, she threw herself into her work at the hospital, even though her father had expressed reservations. “Are you sure this isn’t too much for you?”

From Ezra’s obvious concern, Lily suspected that Caleb had told her father exactly what had happened. The captain had sought her out the day after the attack to assure her that Corporal Adams was locked in the stockade awaiting a hearing.

Even so, Lily was now more cautious as she moved among the men, no longer innocent concerning the occasional one who eyed her just a trifle too long or smirked when he thought she wasn’t looking. But mostly the soldiers were embarrassingly solicitous of her. Whatever hopes she had entertained of keeping the affair quiet had been disappointed. A military hearing could hardly be kept secret, but thankfully justice had been swift. Adams would remain under guard pending transfer to Fort Riley.

Rose had been tender with her the night of the incident, finally coaxing the story out of her. Lily had confessed to the fear that had clotted her throat when the corporal dragged her into the storeroom and laid his hands on her. Even now the rasp of his coarse fingers on her skin and the smell of his sour tobacco breath lingered in her memory. Rose had wiped away her tears and rocked her in an embrace. “There, there,” she had said. “Try to concentrate instead on your good fortune that Captain Montgomery saw Adams and protected you.”

Every day since, warm spring winds howled and dust flew in the air and choked the throat. Restlessness unlike any Lily had ever known surged within her. No place—not the hospital, the library or the cemetery—brought her peace. Even thinking about St. Louis made her dejected—it seemed a distant goal. She felt as if the flame of her soul had been snuffed out.

Near the end of April a few wagon trains appeared. Camped near the fort to avail themselves of both protection and the opportunity to restock provisions, the settlers brought with them stories of previous hardships as well as their idealized hopes for the future. The women, in particular, gazed fondly at the fort, perhaps wishing they could stay rather than launch into the dangerous, unknown sea of prairie grass.

Lily had seen Caleb going about his duties, and once or twice they’d been together in the library. However, others were present so no further literary discussions had ensued. Lily fretted in a limbo of frustration.

Late one night a few days later, she was awakened by frantic knocking on their door, followed by her father’s commanding voice. “Take her into the hospital and I will get my daughters to assist.”

Closing the door, he called to them. “Girls, are you awake? Come quickly to the hospital to assist with a delivery. Bring plenty of towels.”

Rose, dressed first, fetched clean towels. Lily slipped into a shift, and both donned clean white aprons before extinguishing the candles and hurrying next door.

Behind the curtain drawn around one bed came the sound of a woman bawling in pain. Lily moved to the head of the bed where the woman lay, her skin ashen, her cracked lips caked with the salt of her tears. Rose had gone to boil water, and her father stood at his patient’s side palpating her abdomen, his face grave. “She has been in labor since yesterday evening,” he said quietly. “I fear both she and the child are in distress. Daughter, can you determine how the baby is presenting?”

Lily dipped her hands in hot water, scrubbed them with soap and moved to the foot of the bed. What she saw upon examination was not reassuring. When her father raised his eyebrows in question, Lily shook her head in the negative.

As another contraction racked the whimpering woman, the surgeon made his decision. “I fear mother will not last long. We must take the infant.”

While he went to inform the father, Lily and Rose prepared the instruments and changed the bed linens. The woman watched them with large, sad eyes. “Save my baby,” she whispered. Then she added in the howl of a wounded animal, “I told Jacob I never wanted to come west.” Her tone hardened. “Never.”

Lily knew that many women died in childbirth on the trail. That, along with cholera and typhus, posed an enormous threat, not to mention possible attacks by hostile Indians. Yet so many of these wives had no choice; they were tied to their husbands and lacked alternatives. Lily vowed under her breath that she would never submit to such grim realities. If only she could wait in God’s time for deliverance from this wilderness.

Ezra reentered the room, and after that, all extraneous thoughts fled in the intensity of the procedure. Her father’s deft movements were swift, and soon he had extracted a tiny, wrinkled infant who, with Rose’s ministrations, finally managed a feeble cry. While Rose cleaned and swaddled the baby, Lily and her father worked frantically to stem the woman’s bleeding and close the incision. Lily sutured while her father listened to the mother’s heartbeat and took her pulse. “Thready” was all he said. A knowing glance passed between the two. They had done what they could, but the mother’s life hung in precarious balance.

Lily’s nimble fingers tied the last knot and she stood back, flexing her hands. Ezra seemed preoccupied. “We’ve done all we can,” he finally said. “I’ll fetch her husband.”

In her father’s absence, Lily gave the woman a drink of water and gently wiped her feverish face with a cool cloth. The woman’s eyes fluttered briefly. “My baby?”

“A boy.”

The woman’s features relaxed and she closed her eyes, her breath now coming in irregular rasps.

After a few moments, Ezra led the father into the room, followed by Rose carrying the newborn. The father rushed to his wife’s side. “Good news, Patience. We have a son.”

Rose placed the baby in his mother’s arms. She opened her eyes and gazed at the child, her limp fingers caressing his face, his hair, his tiny hands. A tear traced its way down her sunken cheek. “Beautiful,” she murmured.

Lily turned away.

The husband knelt at his wife’s side, cradling her and his son. His body language conveyed knowledge of the end, but his words spoke denial. “My love, our boy will grow into a fine young man.” He kissed her forehead.

Once more the mother examined the baby. As her son studied her in return, his little hand curled around her finger. “Alas.” The word came with an effort. “I shall not see that day, Jacob.”

His expression wild with questions, the husband looked around the room, seeking reassurance. In honesty, neither Lily, nor Rose nor Ezra could offer any. Then a strangled “No!” rose from his chest. When he looked back down at the bed, the baby kicked weakly against the lifeless body of his mother.

Lily bowed her head, struck, as always, by the random quality of death, whether it claimed her brother, her mother or this hapless woman. God, in Your mercy, bless this dear soul, her motherless baby and her grieving husband. She bit her lip and then added, And help me to accept what is so difficult to understand.

After Ezra led the father away, Lily washed and prepared the corpse while Rose went in search of a wet nurse among the women of the wagon train. This poor soul! One more poignant example of the risks women took in the isolated country they traversed.

When Lily finally left the hospital, the eastern sky was streaked with pale light. Too disturbed to go home, she instead sought refuge in the cemetery. Better than anyone, her mother would understand her tears of helplessness.

As she crossed the parade ground near the officers’ quarters, she noticed a man sitting in the shadows of the porch. Caleb. She couldn’t think about him right now. Yet standing beside her mother’s grave a few moments later, he was the person she thought of.

He, too, was a son whose mother had died in childbirth. How had that loss affected the young boy and influenced the man he had become?

Tonight’s was the first birth she’d attended that didn’t have a happy outcome, and she could not have foreseen how deeply it would affect her. She wept for the mother and father and for their baby. She wept for herself. And she wept for the motherless eight-year-old Caleb.

* * *

Caleb stood at the edge of the cemetery, not daring to interrupt what seemed to be a sacred moment. In recent days, he had rarely spoken to Lily privately. When she had emerged so early from the hospital and walked toward the cemetery, lost in her thoughts, some impulse that she not be alone seized him and he’d followed her at a distance. Yet drawn to her as he was, he hesitated, trapped in self-doubt.

He watched as she touched the headstone, much as one might dip fingers into holy water, and then, head down, walked toward him. Fearful of startling her, he spoke softly. “Miss Kellogg?”

She looked up and upon recognizing him, halted. In her piteous glance he read both exhaustion and sorrow. “Captain?”

He hastened to answer her unasked question. “I saw you walking across the parade ground at this unusually early hour. You looked sad, and I wanted to be of assistance...comfort...” He struggled to find the right note. “It is not my intent to intrude, but...”

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “No harm. You are right, I am overwhelmed with grief, frustration—and questions.”

Confused by her answer, he tucked her hand in both of his. “Pray what has happened to cause you such distress?”

She shook her head as if dispersing cobwebs. “I shall not burden you with my concerns.”

“Let us walk together.” He took her elbow and they started slowly toward the hospital. “You could never burden me. If you want to speak of whatever has happened, I will gladly listen.”

Then, more to herself than in dialogue with him, she told of the senseless death of the settler’s wife despite efforts to save her. She bit her lip in the effort, he guessed, to keep from crying when she told him about the precious little boy, now motherless. As if coming out of reverie into the harsh light of reality, she vented. “I can’t bear thinking about the travails of women, subject to the whims or ambitions of their husbands, who risk their lives and the lives of their children, for what? For some distant paradise gained only by crossing vast miles of unknown land where death waits at every turn of the trail?” She stopped again, sweeping one arm in a gesture encompassing the empty horizon. “Who leads them? God or ruthless ambition?”

Caleb knew he should be shocked by her outburst, which went beyond the accepted standards for polite conversation. Instead, he was moved by her passion and grateful that she could speak so openly.

“Last night had to be a wrenching ordeal. I have known that same kind of powerlessness to stop the inevitable.” His jaw worked as he recalled his inability to alter the unconscionable massacre at the Washita, over in a matter of minutes but horrific for its victims. “Sometimes there are no answers to the question ‘Why?’”

“God may know, but at times like this, that is little comfort.” She cocked her head to one side, studying him intently. “Tell me about your mother. How did you go on without her?”

He rarely spoke about that time before his mother died when she filled the house with laughter and song. About her cinnamon rolls which had spoiled him forever from savoring any others. About the way she cuddled him and his brother at bedtime and made Bible stories come to life.

He must’ve gone to another place, because Lily’s voice returned him to the present. “Forgive me, Caleb. That is an overly personal question.”

“Not between friends,” he said, swallowing hard. They resumed strolling. “As a little boy, I thought I was the luckiest child in the world to have a mother who looked like a princess. Ours was a happy family. My older brother, Seth, and I never tired of her songs and stories. But she also didn’t put up with too much mischief from us. As hard as I try, though, there are some things I can never remember. But I always knew she loved me.” He was silent for several minutes. “After she died, Father, Seth and I had difficulty speaking of her. It was too painful. Besides, boys don’t cry. It was easier to let baby Sophie divert us.”

“Your mother would be proud of the man you’ve become.”

“I hope so.” Yet even in that breath, guilt washed over him. His mother, who had revered each living creature God had put on the earth, would have been appalled by what happened with Black Kettle and his band and, no doubt, ashamed of her son’s role. And even though it was a necessary cause, could she have countenanced his behavior in the heat of battle in the War between the States when his very survival depended upon killing the enemy? He sighed as he thought about the dubious acts he had committed when following orders. Perhaps it was best that he would never know what his mother might have thought of his soldiering, nor was he eager for Lily’s opinion.

The two of them were approaching the hospital when she said, “Thank you for your concern on my account and for sharing memories of your mother. Death is hard, but perhaps it shapes us in ways known only to God. We must believe something good ultimately comes from such experiences.”

He prayed it could be so, but nightmares and insomnia argued to the contrary. “Your outlook is more sanguine than mine.”

She looked up at him. “It would appear we are both searching for answers.”

To lighten the dark mood, he said, “Perhaps we should turn to the poets. John Donne would say, ‘Death, be not proud.’”

She smiled sadly. “Indeed.”

They had reached her door. “Thank you for coming to my side this morning,” she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, the blue-gray cast to the skin beneath her eyes an indication of her exhaustion.

He gave a short bow. “Miss Kellogg, we seem to have traveled some similar roads. It is a comfort to know I am not alone.”

Now the smile relaxed and her eyes deepened into pools of blue. “Lily. My name is Lily. Your friendship is most welcome.”

He exhaled in relief. “Lily.” The name was melodic on his tongue. “Until we meet once more.”

He waited until she was safely inside and then ambled toward his quarters. The sun was full now on the horizon, and morning activity buzzed all around him. But he was ignorant of it, lost in the memories of his mother, the horrors of battle and of the one person who might either understand it all or condemn him. Lily.


Chapter Five

On an afternoon in late April, Rose, Lily and two lieutenants’ wives, Carrie Smythe and Virginia Brown, gathered around Effie Hurlburt’s dining room table to sew bandages for the hospital. Talk ranged from the gardens they planned to variations on bean recipes. Effie, ever cheerful, laughed when they complained of the upcoming heat of summer. “You cannot stop the seasons in their turn. Just as the cold winds blew in January, so July will become an oven. Best not to let either overwhelm your spirit.”

Lily acknowledged Effie’s sound advice even as she felt weighed down by the prospects of boiling temperatures. “I wish I shared your optimistic nature,” she said.

“Bother. It’s all in what you decide—life is either a pleasure and an opportunity or a dismal ordeal to be endured.”

Carrie shrugged. “You are undoubtedly right, but there are days it is hard to keep positive.”

“I think what Mrs. Hurlburt is trying to say,” Rose interjected, “is that it serves no purpose to let conditions we can’t control alter our natures.”

Lily lowered her eyes to her sewing. Was her sister criticizing her desire to escape the frontier? In fairness, each single day was bearable, made sweeter by proximity to her family. But taken in total, day after day of this existence with no end in sight ravaged her soul. Boredom was the greatest enemy. Perhaps she should be grateful for her work at the hospital, the occasional conversations with people like Effie and Caleb and the solace of a good book.

Effie’s warm voice intruded into her thoughts. “What we need is to create diversions to occupy us and help pass the time.”

“What do you have in mind?” Virginia inquired.

Effie laid down her sewing. “Now that the weather is better, the men are starting to play baseball again. Perhaps we could organize a pie supper after a few Saturday games. Not just pies, but cakes, too.”

Rose warmed to the idea. “The men enjoy home-cooked food. It would occupy us and please them. Sometimes we forget that they are far from home, just as we are.”

“Excellent point, Rose.” Effie looked around the table. “What else?”

A thought occurred to Lily. “We could organize a monthly reading—poetry, biographies, travel books. I’ve seen several of the men in the library, so I’m confident we could engage their participation.”

“I like that idea,” Carrie said. “Some of the troops cannot read well, if at all, so they might enjoy listening to others.”

“You see?” Effie beamed in satisfaction. “We can be the authors of our own entertainment.”

She rose from the table, gesturing to the rest to remain seated. “I shall fetch the pound cake and tea from the kitchen. Then we can celebrate our brilliant ideas.”

After she left the room, Rose began folding the completed bandages for laundering. “We are blessed to have such an accommodating commander’s wife.”

“I’ve been told some are cold and condescending,” Carrie ventured.

“True enough,” Virginia confirmed. “At our last post, I lived in fear of an invitation to the commander’s home.”

Lily nodded. “Our mother always said to count our blessings. And surely Effie Hurlburt is one.”

As they were eating the delicious cake, talk turned to marriage and the balance between supporting one’s soldier husband in his duties and, at the same time, attending to a marriage.

“I confess impatience with my husband when he is away on a mission,” Carrie said, “or even when he is right here, drilling, but still unavailable to me.”

“We’re always at the whim of the regiment,” Virginia complained. “Sometimes I feel as if I have no influence on our lives whatsoever.”

Lily was surprised. Usually the junior officers’ wives were more circumspect with a commander’s wife, but Effie seemed not to mind. Lily thought of her as a mentor and protector of the women stationed at the fort, and they certainly needed one.

“Marriage is a challenge, especially in military life,” Effie agreed.

Overcome by sudden curiosity, Lily laid down her fork. “What is your secret? How do you and the major make it all work?”

Effie brushed a crumb from her lips. “There is no mysterious formula. Commitment to one another and to overcoming any challenges is foremost. Honesty is the other.”

“What exactly do you mean—honesty?” Lily asked.

“My husband and I promised at the beginning that there would be no secrets between us. Regardless of the subject and its pleasantness or unpleasantness, we would share our thoughts and feelings.”

“Not all men are good at that,” Carrie mumbled.

“No, they are bred to be brave and to withhold their emotions. This is especially true of soldiers. But—” she grinned conspiratorially “—they can be trained. The point is not to overreact when they say something you might prefer not to hear or which is initially painful to you. With practice, husbands can become more comfortable with confidences.”

“What you call ‘training’ could be difficult,” Rose said.

“I’m not denying that, but consider the results. I’m happy, and I believe the major is, as well.”

A morsel of cake lodged in Lily’s throat. She longed for the kind of relationship Effie described, but she had already experienced one man’s reluctance to confide. Caleb had finally—and only briefly—talked about his mother, but had never said a word about his war experiences, which surely formed a large part of his identity. Lily admired the bond Effie had with her husband, one characterized by freedom and openness. Was such a thing possible? Not for most people, she imagined. Subservience was the more accepted practice for wives.

She wondered whether her parents had shared everything. For instance, could her mother have expressed her reluctance to leave Iowa? Or had both husband and wife held back, fearful of offense or hurt?

As if realizing the conversation had grown overly intimate, Effie changed the subject. “Now then. The first baseball game is this coming Saturday. Let’s talk about the desserts we will prepare.”

Rose agreed to make three raisin pies while Lily volunteered a chiffon cake. She wished a pie supper or a series of readings would change her attitude about being here, but she doubted it. When she returned home today, she would write a letter reminding Aunt Lavinia of her hopes for a St. Louis visit.

* * *

“Caleb!” Buried in darkness, Caleb heard a voice, felt himself being roughly shaken. “Wake up, man!”

Indians screaming war whoops hounded him from all sides, bullets hailed down upon him and the earth trembled with the reverberations of cannon fire. Moaning, he clawed his way to consciousness. Will Creekmore stood over him, his face illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window of the officers’ barracks. “Montgomery, can you wake up?”

Caleb tried to focus, then sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, groggy and disoriented. “The dream,” he croaked.

“Again?”

All Caleb could do was nod in disgust and humiliation. The ghosts of combat refused to relinquish him. He had come to dread sleep because of the horrific night visitors. He wiped beads of sweat from his brow even as he shivered in the cool night air. Mustering strength, he stood and clapped Will on the back. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

Will smiled ruefully. “You’re not alone. We all have our battle scars.”

That was true, and Caleb understood each man’s struggle was personal. “Go back to bed, friend.” He drew on his trousers. “I’ll be fine. I just want to clear my head.”

He stepped out on the front porch, needing to purge from his body and soul the terrors that sat upon him like lead weights. Would this torment ever abate? Could anything or anyone cleanse his poisonous memories? He leaned on the railing, gazing over the encampment. Others were sleeping, most, peacefully, he surmised. But on nights such as this, sleep was a luxury he could not afford to indulge, not when it might invite again such troubled dreams.

He looked up at the sky, brilliant with moonglow and starlight. If there was a God, was He up there? Amid the countless stars, why would He concern himself with one tortured cavalryman? And yet... “His eye is on the sparrow...”

He reminded himself of the good in the world. His family. His loyal troops, some risking their lives to carry wounded mates to safety. Lily—a lovely young woman acquainted with grief. He must not, however, come to depend upon her to be the light in his darkness. Rather he should spare her his demons.

Such wisdom, though, was at odds with his instincts toward friendship. What could friendship hurt? Her frequent visits to her mother’s grave confirmed that a military outpost could be a lonely place for a woman, too. As he remained on the porch, surrounded by night sounds, gradually an image of Lily replaced that of his nightmares. He fixed on it, grateful for his clearing mind and slowing respiration.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but finally he went back inside, lighted the lantern and tried to lose himself in Charles Dickens’s David Copperfield. Unable to concentrate, he set the book aside and picked up a piece of paper and a pen. He held the pen in the air, gathering his thoughts. Finally he dipped it in the ink and began writing. With each succeeding stroke, he felt his torment subside.

* * *

May 1 dawned with the cheery songs of birds and the tantalizing aroma of hotcakes. Lily patted the empty space on the mattress beside her. Rose was already up and cooking. Cocooning herself in the covers, Lily lay listening to the avian reveille, soon joined by the bugle version. She found something predictably reassuring about military schedules, which, like clocks, remained constant.

She had posted her letter to Aunt Lavinia and hoped she had been subtle but effective in saying how much she anticipated reuniting with her aunt and being introduced to the wonders of St. Louis. She knew such a trip would be expensive and that her father could not afford the entire cost. Months ago, Lavinia had offered to underwrite the expense. Had she forgotten? Or was the delay merely about timing? Lily appreciated that summer was not the season to go, but if she was to travel in the fall, plans had to be made.

She sighed, then reluctantly left the warmth of the bed and moved to the pitcher and basin on the nightstand to make her morning ablutions. She chose her rose-colored dress, which seemed a fitting way to greet the new month.

Her father was already sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. Rose bustled at the stove, pouring more batter into the sizzling iron skillet. “Good morning, everyone,” Lily said.

Her father smiled. “Top of the morning, daughter.”

“I didn’t mean to dawdle, but it was so cozy.” She moved to Rose’s side. “How can I help?”

“Put the butter and honey on the table and I’ll bring the hotcakes.”

When they were all seated, Ezra said grace. Lily had just picked up her first forkful of food when she thought she heard a light tap on the door. Rose, too, cocked her head toward the sound. “Did you hear that?” Lily asked.

Her father looked up. “What?”

“Perhaps a knock,” Rose said. “I’ll go.”

When she didn’t return right away, Ezra called, “Was anyone there?”

“Not exactly,” Rose said, a hint of laughter in her voice. When she came back into the kitchen, she concealed something behind her back. Ezra regarded her expectantly. “You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

“A surprise was left on our doorstep.” Then she produced a small bouquet of wildflowers wrapped in a newspaper secured with twine. “Happy May Day, Lily.” Rose beamed, handing the bouquet to her sister and winking at her father.

A blush rose to Lily’s cheeks as she studied the flowers. Nestled among the wild violets, primroses and sprigs of fern was an envelope inscribed with her name.

“It would seem you have an admirer,” her father said. “I remember well the times I left a May Day bouquet at your mother’s door when I was courting.”

Lily set the bouquet on the table and pulled a note from the envelope. Scanning it for a signature, she murmured, “Not an admirer, Papa. A friend.”

Then engrossed in the message, she failed to see a knowing look pass between her father and sister.

In strong masculine handwriting, the words blurred in her vision as she recalled her last conversation with Caleb at her mother’s grave.



If when thy thoughts to gloom do fly

And sorrow seeks thy soul to cloy,

Mayhap these blooms may still thy sigh

And serve as harbingers of joy.

A friend



“Well?” her father studied her inquiringly.




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