Mallory Page 3

  “I’m privileged and honored to make your acquaintance. My name is Mallory Metcalf Reynolds. And I’m beholden to you for saving my life.”

  “My privilege, Ma’am, to be sure. May I inquire where you were headed?”

  “To your fort, Commander. I’m a mail order bride. Mr. E. P. Murphy placed an advertisement in the Texas Christian Advocate, a Methodist publication that is widely circulated throughout the south. My good friend, Nancy Arledge, a minister’s wife, showed me the advertisement. I answered it, and Mr. Murphy and I exchanged letters.”

  When she said “the South,” she could feel his muscles tense. Like as not, he’d been a Federal soldier during the war, fighting on the other side. But she’d given up her prejudice against Union soldiers, though the war had torn apart the fabric of her life.

  “I know Mr. Murphy,” he said. “He’s a good man and a devout Christian. He built a Methodist church in town and hired a minister from his own funds. And his ranch is one of the largest around.” He inclined his head. “There’s the fork leading to his spread. Was he expecting you?”

  “Yes, though, I couldn’t telegraph him when I was due to arrive.”

  “I understand. We’re scheduled to string wire from Barilla Springs, the farthest point west. We’re waiting on the telegraph wire to arrive. Eventually, the telegraph will stretch to Fort Bliss and El Paso.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it. I can’t imagine how cut off you must feel without a telegraph.”

  “Yes, it hinders our efforts to coordinate with other forts to fight the hostiles.”

  She shuddered and glanced back at the two men who’d died today. This was a wild and untamed land with danger lurking around every corner. Beau hadn’t been the only casualty of the war; she’d seen enough death and suffering to last a lifetime.

  Hosea, who’d helped her onto the back of the horse, was a Negro, as was all of the men of Commander Gregor’s patrol, except for the native translator. She’d heard of such, Negro men serving in the Army, but she’d seldom seen them in uniform.

  It was unusual, but the world was changing, and she was determined to change with it. That was what her new life was about, adapting to change. She might have been born in the South on a plantation with numerous slaves, but to her way of thinking, people shouldn’t own other people.

  When her English-born mother had died of a fever, two months before her father marched off to the war, she’d had no one but Negro servants to take care of her. Her Mammy, Astarte, had been her surrogate mother, and all of the servants had remained, even after Lincoln freed them, to care for her and the house.

  “You’re more than welcome to stay with me and my daughter, Peggy,” the commander broke into her thoughts. “We have an extra room, something of a luxury on a fort where lodgings are in short supply.”

  He looked over his shoulder again and smiled. “Though, I’ll warn you, I keep a bachelor’s establishment. My wife passed away, almost two years ago.”

  “My condolences to you, Commander. This must be a harsh place to live without a proper helpmate.”

  “Yes,” he said, as if considering, “yes, it is. I miss my…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “You’re very perceptive, Miss Reynolds. Mr. Murphy is a lucky man.”

  “I hope he feels as you do, Commander.”

  “I’m sure he will.” He patted her hand, but almost awkwardly, like someone would pet their dog or horse. “Martina, my housekeeper, can draw you a bath, and you can rest and get cleaned up. I’ll send one of my men to Mr. Murphy’s ranch to tell him you’ve arrived.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be distressed to find out how I arrived.” She chewed on her lip and hesitated, not knowing what to think about his offer of a room when he was a widower. “Uh, Commander, I can’t thank you enough for your kind offer of putting me up, but I’m an unmarried woman and as such—”

  “No explanation necessary.” He shook his head. “I forgot how it might look. I had an unmarried woman live with me and my daughter at Fort Clark, but she was betrothed to one of my sergeants, and no one thought the worst of her. Out West, we don’t always have the luxury of observing the proprieties. You’re still welcome to my home, and I can sleep at my office. I want you to feel safe and looked after. I’ll post a guard for you and my daughter at my cabin. Will that suit you?”

  “Oh, I don’t want to trouble you, Commander. Is there a hotel or boardinghouse in town?”

  “Fort Davis doesn’t have a hotel yet. Though, there’s a Mrs. Johnson who rents out rooms but not for a night or two. She prefers boarders on a monthly basis. Besides, a single woman alone in town is more… vulnerable than one at the fort. Please, won’t you reconsider?”

  She sucked in her breath, realizing what the commander was saying. The Apache were all around them, raiding and making war. And a single woman wasn’t safe in town at a boardinghouse?

  When she’d accepted Mr. Murphy’s proposal, she had no idea what she was getting herself into.

  “All right, Commander, I will accept your hospitality, though, I hate to put you out.”

  “Not to worry, Miss Reynolds. I will be pleased to host you, and I know my daughter will enjoy having you, too.”

  “Thank you, Commander. Though, I hope you’ll come home for your meals.”

  “I’ll sleep at my office, but I’ll be home for meals. I can’t desert Peggy, my daughter.” His voice sounded gruff, heavy with unspoken emotions. “We’re almost to the fort, and we’ll have you married in no time. I’m assuming you’ll marry in town at the new church?”

  “I guess so,” she said.

  And then she had an idea, though, she knew there was no turning back. But for some reason, after what had happened today, she didn’t want to be delivered to Mr. Murphy like a wrapped-up package. No, she wanted to ride out and see his ranch first.

  Why? She didn’t know. And she could ill afford doubts.

  Still, the idea stuck in her head, and she could be stubborn. Too stubborn for her own good, her father had often told her.

  “Commander, rather than sending a soldier to fetch my intended, would you escort me to his ranch? I’d like to surprise him.”

  “Uh, Miss Reynolds, are you sure…”

  “Very sure.”

  “Well, I can send one of my officers with you, but I’ve pressing duties. I don’t know if I can find the time to—”

  “Please, Commander,” she implored. “After all, you’re the one who saved me.”

  “I was just doing my job, Miss Reynolds. I, uh…”

  “Please, Commander.” She tightened her grip, almost hugging him. “I would consider it a special favor if you would escort me to my husband-to-be.”

  “All right, Miss Reynolds, if you put it that way. I’ll take you the day after tomorrow. That should give you plenty of time to rest and recuperate before you meet Mr. Murphy.”

  “Thank you. You’re such a kind man.”

  As she said the words, she knew them to be true. He was kind. And since Hiram, she’d not looked upon any man with favor. She hoped it was a good omen of her life to come.

  ***

  Gregor sat at the kitchen table, picking at his breakfast. Peggy, who sat to his right, was chattering like a magpie with Miss Reynolds. He lifted his coffee cup and gazed at them over the rim, realizing his daughter was growing up fast.

  When she’d celebrated her twelfth birthday last month, he’d given her a pair of tortoise-shell barrettes. Sally Rodgers, one of his captains’ wives, had cut her long braids, leaving her with shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair.

  Sally had helped her pick out several bolts of fabric, too, and was teaching her to sew. Peggy with her loose, flowing hair and a new pink dress, looked more like a young lady than a girl.

  He sipped his coffee and realized the thought of Peggy becoming a young woman was disconcerting. Not that he expected her to remain a child forever, but without his wife to guide her, he worried how he would hand
le the next stage of his daughter’s life. He felt poorly equipped to help his daughter with female concerns.

  His daughter laughed at something Miss Reynolds said, and her blue eyes sparkled. He was glad she’d taken a liking to Miss Reynolds, as there weren’t many women in Fort Davis, at the fort or in town. Sally was the one lady who Peggy seemed to enjoy being around. Their housekeeper, Martina, spoke only rudimentary English. Peggy, on the other hand, was learning Spanish with ease.

  It was a good thing his daughter was learning something. Since they’d moved to Fort Davis, her education had been sorely lacking. There was only a handful of officers’ children at the fort, and so far, no regular classroom had been established. Each of the families took charge of their children’s education.

  He put down his coffee cup, realizing he missed Crissy, his housekeeper from Fort Clark, who’d been well-educated and had served as a governess to Peggy. Crissy and his daughter had been close with Crissy acting as a surrogate mother after he’d lost his wife.

  Crissy had written last week to tell him Davie had finished his enlistment, and they were moving to Galveston where her husband would take over his father’s carpentry shop.

  Crissy, in the first year of their marriage, had given birth to a baby boy, named William, after himself. He wished he could have gotten away for the christening, but the fort’s business was too pressing. Now, Crissy was pregnant again.

  Not that he was surprised. Davie and Crissy had been in love, and he knew their family would grow quickly. But he missed them, especially Crissy.

  At Fort Davis, he’d churned through several of the local women, all Spanish-speaking, hoping to find someone like Crissy, but in the end, he’d settled for a good cook and decent housekeeper. He was in charge of his daughter’s lessons, and he knew he wasn’t giving Peggy the education she needed.

  Miss Reynolds laughed, a tinkling, cultured sound, and reached for Peggy’s hand. He hadn’t been paying attention, but it was obvious the woman had found something his daughter said amusing.

  Raising his eyes, his gaze swept Miss Reynolds. Doc Winslow had examined her and said her wounds were superficial. Bathed and rested and with a cameo on a thick ribbon, hiding the wound on her neck, she’d appeared at the breakfast table, looking like a vision and smelling like a meadow filled with flowers.

  She had on another expensively-tailored dress, her waist cinched in, made tinier by corseting. Out West, few women wore corsets, except to church or other special occasions. The climate with its hot days and manual labor made corsets cumbersome.

  As enticing as her hour-glass figure was, he couldn’t keep from stealing glances at her face. She was so much like his Martha when she was young. Her ash-blond hair and hazel eyes reminded him of his late wife. Her features were regular and handsome, as his Martha’s had been. Even her southern drawl was reminiscent of how his late wife had spoken when they’d first met.

  They’d met at a barn-raising dance on the Kentucky border. He was from Ohio, and she was from Kentucky. His father was best friends with Mr. Rawlins, the farm where they’d gone to help. Martha’s people were distant cousins of the Rawlins. They’d fallen in love at first sight. He winced and closed his eyes, fighting back the pain of remembering too much.

  “Papa,” his daughter’s voice broke through his memories, “can I show Miss Reynolds around the fort and town? She says she’d love to explore with me.”

  Miss Reynolds patted his daughter’s shoulder and said, “Please, not Miss Reynolds. I’ll call you Peggy, and you must call me Mallory.”

  “Miss Mallory then.” His daughter grinned.

  It was good to see his daughter smile. Despite her youth and enthusiasm, he knew she missed her mother and, like him, hadn’t stopped grieving. He often heard her sobbing into her pillow, trying to muffle the sound, realizing with her young-old sensibilities that he was hurting, too, and not wanting to add to his misery.

  “What about your lessons, young lady? I stayed up late, outlining your lesson plan for this week. You need to work on your division, and you’re several chapters behind in history. I wrote out some sentences for you to diagram, too.”

  “Oh, Papa, can’t my lessons wait? Miss Mallory will be leaving tomorrow. You said you’d be taking her—”

  “Don’t contradict your father, Peggy. If you’ve lessons to do, I’m more than happy to help. I had an excellent governess when I was young. She was quite a task master, and then I finished my schooling at Miss Prentiss’ in Charleston. My best friend, Nancy, believes I would make a good teacher.” She hesitated, lowering her head and fiddling with her teacup. “Though, I thought it best to choose another destiny.”

  He’d been right about Miss Reynolds, she was from a life of wealth and privilege. Only the privileged could afford a governess. If that was true, why had she risked her life to come west as a mail order bride? The Civil War was most likely the answer. Many wealthy plantation owners had lost their fortunes and free labor during the war.

  “You’re our guest, Miss Reynolds. No need for you to assist Peggy. She knows what she has to do,” he said.

  His daughter scowled and set her mouth in what he called her stubborn-as-a-mule look.

  “I’d be honored to help, Commander. I may be your guest, but I owe you more than I’ll ever be able to repay.” She reached her hand across the table as if to touch him, must have thought better of it, and drew her hand back. “Please, let me go over Peggy’s lessons and if she finishes what you’ve set out for her, we might have time to explore later.”

  “Yes, Papa, please.”

  “All right, then. I doubt I’ll be back for the mid-day break.” He fixed his gaze on his daughter. “Make certain you finish what I’ve set you to do and after the mid-day meal, I want you to lie down for an hour. Then, if there’s time, you can show Miss Reynolds around. I’m certain she would be particularly interested in the new church. But don’t go beyond the church.”

  Peggy jumped up and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Papa, thank you! I’ll apply myself and get my lessons done in no time.”

  He gazed at his guest. “Thank you, Miss Reynolds, I appreciate your willingness to help.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s a struggle, making certain my daughter does her lessons while I’ve pressing matters at headquarters.”

  Not only had he stayed up late, outlining his daughter’s lessons, he’d ridden out, hours before, at sunup, to personally deliver the Apache hostages to Caballero and his braves. Caballero hadn’t bothered to show up, sending his medicine man, Cloud Walker, in his stead.

  He might not be able to trust the war chief’s word, but it appeared Caballero had no such reservations. He sighed. It was a heavy burden, trying to stop the Apache depredations. And most of the time, he failed miserably.

  On his ride to Seven Springs he’d had an idea of a better way to deploy his troops. He was optimistic about his new idea, which was a good thing, as he often doubted himself and became frustrated with the slow progress in this remote, mountainous area.

  He’d thought increased patrols would thwart the Apache and lessen the raids, but the troops never seemed to be in the right place, at the right time. It was puzzling, and with two stagecoach attacks in one week, he needed a different strategy. First, though, he had to meet with his two cavalry captains, Rodgers and Myerson, to go over the terrain again.

  After delivering the hostages, he’d attended the burial of the stagecoach driver and guard. The new Methodist minister had officiated. The fort had a chaplain, but the men were civilians, and he thought it best to engage Reverend Finley, hoping to get the young man accustomed to the demands of his ministry on the frontier.

  He pushed back from the table, keen to start strategizing. Martina came from outside with a pail of milk. She set the pail down, bobbed her head, and started clearing the breakfast dishes.

  Miss Reynolds, with her arm around Peggy’s shoulders, led her to a table in the corner, saying, �
��Show me your father’s lesson plan, and we’ll start right away.”

  Peggy gazed up at Miss Reynolds, naked adoration in her eyes. He winced and gulped. He’d not seen his daughter look like that since they’d lost her mother… and then Crissy.

  His almost-empty stomach clenched, and he straightened his back, reaching for the front door latch. Life was hard and, he often thought with his wife gone, if he hadn’t been committed to making the frontier safe, he should retire and return to Ohio.

  But he’d chosen his path, and now, he must stay the course.

  ***

  Mallory held Peggy’s hand as the girl led her through the fort, pointing out the various buildings and their purposes. Fort Davis was a bustling place with soldiers drilling, performing everyday tasks, and erecting new buildings.

  As she’d noticed the day before, the mounted soldiers were all Negroes, except for the officers. But there was a sprinkling of white soldiers, too, working at various jobs, as carpenters and masons on the half-built structures. It was a singular way of dividing the duties.

  “Peggy, why are all the mounted soldiers Negroes, and the other soldiers—”

  “Oh, the mounted cavalry, they’re our Buffalo Soldiers.”

  “Buffalo Soldiers, what does that mean?”

  Peggy swung their hands and glanced at her. “You’re from a long way off, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I grew up in Georgia.”

  “I was born here in Texas,” the girl declared proudly. “Papa says the frontier is different from any other place.”

  “I’m sure it is but Buffalo Soldiers?”

  Peggy hitched one shoulder. “That’s easy, it’s what the Indians call the Negroes, saying their grizzled hair reminds them of buffalo pelts.”

  “I’ve never seen a buffalo, except in a book.”

  “Well, you probably won’t see them around here, either. They mainly stay on the plains, not in the mountains. And the Buffalo Soldiers are our mounted cavalry because they’re awesome scouts, tracking Indians better than anyone, except other Indians.”

  “Well, that makes sense. But what about the other soldiers?”