The Major's Wife Read online

  Molly was too polite to ask about the newcomer, who had not been seen since her arrival on the buckboard, and Liz volunteered little information. She told of St. Louis and their home there. Of the train ride to Cottonwood Creek, where they left the railroad, stayed the night at the questionable Cottonwood Hotel, and the bumpy ride to the fort. Personal things went unsaid for the moment.

  When everyone was out of hearing range, Captain Grant asked, “Sergeant, what was that all about? I thought those two men were friends.”

  “They are, sir…or were, I guess. Nothing like a naked lady to drive a wedge atween two comrades.”

  “What lady, Sergeant?”

  “Oh, I thought everyone heard her scream. She was loud enough to avalanche the snow on those there mountains. Anyway, a mouse was all it was, but the two of them rushed to her rescue before the major got there. Our pretty Mrs. Sawyer was standing on the bed as naked as a bride on her wedding night. Dryer told Winters to keep his mouth shut, but Winters being Winters was describing it in careful detail to the rest of the troops as soon as he had a chance. Jed did not take kindly to that, and that is what happened.”

  Captain Grant nodded and walked away. He wished he had been one of those men, or at least heard what Winters had said. She had found a wedge somehow, somewhere in his mind, and would not go away. Under his breath he said, “Get over it, Grant. She is another man’s wife.”

  Inside the house of the major and his wife, Lucretia had stopped crying. She listened to her husband’s soft voice, crooning to her that everything would be all right and that he would find a way to make a better place for them to live. She was not sure she believed him, but feeling his hands on her soft skin as he rubbed her shoulders and back pushed away her panic over the mouse.

  His dick hardened when she pressed her tits against his chest. He moved his mouth to capture hers and found it willing. Just as their tongues touched, a bell rang outside, catching her attention. “What was that, Jeffrey? I think I heard it last night, too.” Jeffrey sighed, knowing the moment was lost.

  “That is the dinner bell, calling us to breakfast.”

  She giggled. “A dinner bell for breakfast. Wonderful, I am starving. Filthy dirty and starving. We will just have to make sure no one gets too close to us, the way we smell. Oh, but I have nothing to wear. My gown on the floor is disgusting and so are my littles. Maybe I should just wear your shirt instead.”

  He picked up her dress and shook it out. A dust storm descended on everything, making them both cough. “I like that picture, my darling, just you in my shirt. I would wager the men would love it, too.” She stepped into her dress and waited while he tied the tiny bows as best he could, fumbling. “I like untying them better than tying them.” He laced her shoes too, letting his fingers caress her legs. “After breakfast, we should come back here and I will comb out your hair.” She grinned, knowing full well what he had in mind.

  From her tiny handbag, she took a comb and pulled at the knots in her hair. “Liz usually does this for me. Poor Liz, I have abandoned her somewhere and I do not even know where. We must find her, Jeffrey.”

  “Come, my dear. I think finding her will be no problem.” He helped her into her coat and bonnet. He opened the door and offered her his arm. They stepped into the bright sunlight and walked toward the group of tables inside three walls under a partial roof, beneath leafless limbs of three small trees near one wall of the fort.

  They knew every eye was on them. Lucretia saw Liz walking with a little black woman and forgot her embarrassment at being the subject of close observation by so many men. Not that she did not like it, but after all, she was a married woman now and flirting was a thing of the past.

  Chapter 13

  Jeffrey watched his wife run to her Auntie Liz. She looked fetching, with her skirt rocking as she ran across the packed dirt surrounded by high log walls. Until now, he had never really looked at the place. He had looked, yes, but he really did not see. At least he did not see it as he suspected Lucretia saw it. It was as dusty and ugly as she said. He felt despair settle in. What could he do to change it? Nothing. It was a fort and forts are forts are forts.

  He watched Lucretia hug her aunt and listened to a few words the wind did not blow away. She apologized for leaving Liz to fend for herself, but the others just laughed. Something caught his eye behind them. It was a curtain over the window of a house. He thought of his own window covered with a blanket to keep out the cold.

  Like a slam on the side of his head, an idea formed. He could at least fix up the cabin, as he now saw that Deke had done. The chinks and holes looked as if they were filled with an adobe made of clay, hay, and water shoved in the gaps. He called to one of the men just leaving the breakfast table and gave him curt instructions. The man nodded, then shook his head as if trying to understand, but immediately went to work as instructed.

  He walked to where his wife still chattered. “Let us get some breakfast before Greta feeds the rest of it to the dogs.” Jeffrey offered one arm to Liz and the other to Lucretia. “I doubt either one of you has ever eaten anything quite like what Greta makes. She originally came to stay to do the laundry—when we have water—but Private Jones, who was the cook, did so badly that she ran him out and took over.”

  “Greta, my sweet Greta, I would like you to meet my beautiful bride, Lucretia, and her aunt, Elizabeth Harold, both from St. Louis. Ladies, this is Greta Stormah.”

  The women nodded to one another, but when Lucretia stepped forward to kiss the older woman, Greta stopped her. “Sorry, missy, I ain’t smelling like anything kissable. Lordy, I keep praying for rain, or even snow, but the Lord be ignoring me. Now sit yourselves down.” She filled three tin plates with mountains of food. Scrambled eggs from the hens that ran freely everywhere, thick slices of ham from one of the hogs that had been in a pen outside the fort, and milk from one of the cows in the barn near the hog pens. A guard posted twenty-four hours a day protected them from predators.

  “You are right, Jeffrey,” said Liz. “I have never tasted food like this.” She smiled at Greta, who grinned at the compliment. The major did not know if Liz was serious or just being kind. Either way, he got the sense the praise gave the woman a sense of worth that feeding only men seldom did. Soon they were chatting like old friends.

  Sergeant O’Brian spoke from behind them. “Miss Greta, may I have a cup of that wonderful coffee of yours? Good morning, Mrs. Harold. Mrs. Sawyer. Major.” He nodded to each and took a seat across the table from them. “Did you sleep well, Mrs. Sawyer?”

  “How she slept is no business of yours, Sergeant.” Liz’s cold voice matched the look she gave him.

  Lucretia smiled at him and patted her aunt’s hand. “I slept fine, except for the cold. Thank you for asking.” The small talk continued as Liz scowled and ignored the man who had so carefully removed his hat when he greeted her. Lucretia and Jeffrey exchanged smiles, knowing that fun was ahead for these two.

  Jeffrey gave the women a tour of the fort, starting with the stable, where Frank Grogan was shoeing a horse. He was courteous, but clearly uninterested in anything but horses.

  Liz said, “He and Greta have different last names. Perhaps they are brother and sister, she being a widow.” It was her way of snooping, albeit with finesse.

  “Auntie, it is none of our business.”

  Jeffrey smiled. “I am afraid they are not related and, to my knowledge, not married. They do share a cabin, but beyond that, there is nothing I can tell you.”

  “Humph” was the reply.

  They saw the storerooms for food and the munitions depot, set far away in one corner; the privy and a small chapel; a store of sorts with tobacco and such; the barracks, with a separate room for the sergeant; a room for card tables and the like; and a room with desks for the major, Lieutenant Deke Carter, and one for the man who was a guard from their trip to the fort.

  “Captain, I do not believe you have met my wife.”

  “Yes, I did. I was part of the
unit that escorted her here to the fort.” He nodded at her before returning his eyes to his paperwork.

  Lucretia was unaccustomed to being dismissed like that. She resented him for making her feel unimportant. “No, Captain, we have not been introduced properly. I do not know your name.” She extended her hand. Courtesy forced him to stand and take it. He bent over as if to kiss it, but his lips made no contact.

  “Darling, this is Captain Black Eagle Grant.”

  “How do you do, Captain? It is nice to have a name for the face that is so stern. I have the distinct feeling that you actively dislike me. Do I offend you in some way, or do you just dislike women in general? Or is it officers’ wives? Perhaps women with yellow hair? Or is it my clothing? Maybe the way I speak. What, Captain, do you find about me to be so distasteful?”

  Chapter 14

  No one spoke. Jeffrey looked stunned by her questions. Liz looked at Lucretia carefully, wondering why she was being so rude. Captain Grant regarded her without expression. “No, ma’am. I do not dislike you in any way. I do not think about you at all, except to say you sure do talk a lot.”

  Lucretia never took her eyes off his. When he spoke, she detected a glimmer of a smile deep inside him.

  They continued to stare at each other until even Jeffrey could feel the tension between them. “Well, come now, darling. Let us go see what all the noise is outside. I think it is the other wagon back from Cottonwood Creek with your trunks. Corporal Dryer told me they were delayed en route, so he had it wait for your luggage and start out as soon as it arrived. They were to travel all night, or stop to camp as they preferred.”

  Lucretia did not even hear his words, as she was so engrossed in her dislike of the captain. At the door, she stopped and turned. “Captain, I am sorry if my talking is offensive to you. I will endeavor to say nothing in the future when in your presence.”

  “Mrs. Sawyer, do you make it a habit of having the last word?”

  “Yes, Captain, I do.” Then she was gone.

  Liz trailed behind them, but stopped at the door. She turned back to the captain. “I will reckon no trouble from you, sir. Be certain of that.”

  If Lucretia had been asked why she was so rude to him, she would not have been able to answer. For all her sexual activity with her husband, she was extremely naïve in other ways. A mature woman might have sensed the raw magnetism the man gave off and would have been awed by it, either pleasantly or it might have frightened her. That was not the case with Grant and Lulu…at least that day.

  Chapter 15

  Captain Black Eagle Grant understood the aunt’s words and he knew why she spoke to him that way. He and the major’s wife were two of a kind, although he doubted the young woman, barely more than a girl, knew it. The old woman knew it and was afraid of it. He knew enough to be afraid of it, too. She was nothing but trouble. Just looking at her made his cock begin to rise.

  That and the odor of sex on her were impossible to ignore. He was Indian, or at least part, and his keen sense of smell was part of his heritage. He doubted if any of the white men detected it, but it was there on her and the major. He closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to picture them in the throes of passion. He saw them entangled, crotch to crotch, moving in the age-old rhythm of sex. The picture changed and he was the man fucking her. Her legs were around his waist, her hands pulling his head down to her swollen tits. He forced his eyes open and the pictures out of his mind. Damn her to hell.

  A breath of fresh air and a long ride would help clear his head. Eagle left the building and strode to the stable, where he quickly saddled his horse. The gates were open as the wagon from the depot came through. He ignored the excited chattering from the women and the orders the major gave. Even Lucretia’s voice was enough to make him catch his breath. He spurred his horse out onto the prairie, letting it choose where it wanted to run. His thoughts took him back to the time when he was no more than a sapling, playing under the tall trees on the hill.

  I watched the young boys at their games. They considered themselves more than boys and took their games seriously. They were warriors, in their own world, out to best one another. His grandfather, Soaring Eagle, had named him Black Eagle after himself, the year before he died. The boy’s father, Iron Eyes, took a white woman as a wife when the matriarch of the tribe refused to allow slaves in the village. Their union produced only Black Eagle, as the white woman died in childbirth. The boy knew nothing of his mother, not even her name.

  Black Eagle never considered himself anything but the smartest, bravest, most courageous of all the young ones, but his white blood made him different. Even his brown—not black—hair had set him apart. He bested all comers in shooting, hunting, and everything else, but the elders had never considered him worthy of being their chief. Jealousy of his talents spurred them to point out to their sons that a half-white should never be superior to them in any way. More than one boy felt a switch or a backhand when he failed to defeat Black Eagle. Thus, their resentment of him grew.

  Only when he became an adult did he begin to understand and begin to hate the woman who lost her life giving him his. He did not hate women of his tribe, but passionately hated the pale-skinned females of the white men.

  I watched him with one of those women from the wagon train as they fucked under my boughs. She followed him when he moved away from the group that he had escorted to trade their blankets and herbs with the women of the train. She came up behind him as he relieved himself. He heard her long before she neared him. He stood with his back to her, waiting to see what she would do. I wondered that myself.

  He could smell her white woman odor, but also the odor of a female in lust. He was not surprised when she slid her arms around his waist and took his cock in one hand. He stood still, letting her caress him until his rod hardened. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman. Was he no better than his father was? Lusting for a woman not of his world? By now, it no longer mattered. She was there and he would give her what she wanted.

  He seemed to take her as he might an animal, hard and savagely. He turned around, took her by her shoulders, and leaned her forward over a log. He pulled up her skirt, moved into her, and took her with thrusts that could not have been pleasant for her. She complained and begged him to be gentle, but he ignored her. Before they ended their joining, she cried out for him not to stop.

  This is another thing I do not understand about women. First a no, then a yes. Who can comprehend how they think?

  Nor did I understand why he would mate with her, knowing how much he hated those females. I decided it gave him power over them in a way that was like a small death. When he finished, he just walked away without a look backward. To an Indian woman, he was gentle and loving, making sure she enjoyed what they had done. The women of the tribe who offered their favors to him were older ones, widows and the like, but never maidens. They waited for a husband. Later they might come to him, but he showed no desire for a wife. He had fears the white woman might say he attacked her, but nothing came of that.

  His father, Iron Eyes, called him to his side one evening.

  “Come, my son, let us walk. You are a man now, but you are an unhappy man. I know the others care for you, as they do for one another, but you are different. No matter what I say, nothing can change that. I should have given you this advice as a child, but I was proud of you and your coups. I have done much thinking about this and now tell you how you can change things.

  “Let others win. Do not always kill more buffalo or defeat more enemies. Do not outride them or beat them in wrestling. It will make them feel superior to you and soon they will forget what you are and accept you.”

  All the years of knowing that brought anger neither Iron Eyes, nor Black Eagle himself knew he felt. His rage suddenly broke over the dam behind which he had held it his whole life. He turned to face his father and yelled at him, as he had never done before.

  “Why, Father? Why did you have to fuck a white woman? Were your
own people not good enough? Was her cunt different or better than our women? You should have killed her, instead of bringing her here. Or you should have killed me when I was born. I can never forgive you for letting me live this life with no hope of ever being a warrior in the eyes of our people. Oh, yes, I hunt with them, war with them, fuck with them, but I am not one of them. Nor will I ever be. I will leave here in the morning and will never return. Tell my grandmother, Summer Swan, that I love her and thank her for the life she tried to make for me. She will understand, but you will not.”

  He turned from his father, gathered his robes and weapons, and mounted his horse. Morning was too far away to wait to leave the place he had loved as a child. As an adult, he knew he had to go, but where to, he had no idea.

  Black Eagle rode up the hill and sat in his saddle, overlooking his village, the river, and the plains. He looked at the flickering fires in the distance, where wagon trains had camps, some south of here and some north. Far off on the western horizon, with the mountains behind it, stood a fort the army had begun to build. Finally, he dismounted and sat at the base, leaning back against my trunk. All night he stayed there. Did he sleep? He knew not. Did he dream? I hope he dreamed and talked to the gods.

  At first light, he arose and mounted. For a minute only, he surveyed the world once his, now belonging to the white man. I know I heard him say, “Good-bye, Grandmother. Good-bye, my dear Summer Swan.”

  Chapter 16

  Major Sawyer watched Captain Grant ride away without a word. He did not notice that his wife watched the man from under her long lashes. With her head bowed, her bonnet covered her eyes so no one was the wiser, except Liz, who elbowed her in the side gently. She raised her head and ignored her aunt.