CHAPTER

17

A new woman left the Darlingtons’ bedroom. Refreshed, relaxed, and looking forward instead of back, I wondered what Kindle would think about my transformation. Did my appearance match my inner happiness? A quick glance in the small mirror on the wall said it did. Quite possibly, it was the improvement in my hair. It would take months for it to grow long, but for the moment, it was downy soft and framed my face rather fetchingly, though nothing could keep me from looking like a Quaker in the plain gray dress I wore.

The kitchen was chaotic with women working. But it became quickly apparent Isabel Darlington was fully in command. She directed her charges with a smile and a please and thank-you and the women responded quickly, efficiently, and without rancor. Mrs. Darlington caught sight of me in the doorway and her face bloomed with joy.

“Why, Mrs. Martin, I wouldn’t have known you!”

The younger women stopped what they were doing in unison and stared at me. To a one, they wore plain gray dresses with white collars. Their hair was pulled back severely from their faces into buns at the napes of their respective necks. I wondered how Mrs. Darlington could tell them apart.

“I cannot thank you enough for the bath.”

The women went back to work. “Well, it did a wonder on you, and that’s a fact. Mr. Oscar is outside talking to a new arrival. Can’t remember his name. He keeps looking toward the house, waiting for you to emerge.”

“The new man?”

Mrs. Darlington laughed. “No, you silly goose. Mr. Oscar. I think he’s harboring stronger feelings than a mere Good Samaritan.” She raised an eyebrow and flapped her hands at me. “Go on, put the poor man out of his misery.”

“Are you sure I cannot help?”

“What a sweet offer, but you’ll just gum up the works.”

She didn’t realize how right she was. Maureen had shooed me out of the kitchen more times than I could count. I suspected I wasn’t as incapable as Maureen said, but she had preferred to be in control of everything around her. Maureen and Mrs. Darlington would have gotten along like a house on fire.

Two long tables with benches were set up behind the house. Uncut by trees, the plains stretched out to the west, where the sun sat low and bloodred on the horizon. I shielded my eyes against it and searched for Kindle. He saw me, peeled off from a clump of men, and strode over. I grinned. Despite being clean and put together, his eye patch, beard, and longish black hair made him look like a pirate. A teasing comment tickled the tip of my tongue, until Kindle got closer and I saw his expression.

“Pope’s here.”

“The pope?”

Kindle chuckled. “Yes. The Holy See is touring Indian Country.” He shook his head. “Henry Pope, the bastard who gave us the Murderess and the Major moniker.”

I leaned to the right and peeked around Kindle’s shoulder. Sure enough, there was Henry Pope, watching us, his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest. He saw me, touched a finger to his derby, and grinned.

“Good Lord, can’t anything ever be easy?”

“The good news is he seems to be playing along. Didn’t flinch when he met me, though he did snigger at my eye patch. I don’t blame him. I look ridiculous.”

“He’s jealous. He could never pull an eye patch off like you do.”

Kindle raised his eyebrows. “You like it.”

“More than I should. Enough about the eye patch. We can flirt with each other later. What are we going to do about Henry Pope? What is he doing here anyway?”

“He’s touring Indian Territory to write a story about them. He heard about Soule at Sill and decided to follow him. Maybe pool their resources.”

“Who’s Soule?”

“The photographer set up by the river.” Kindle lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my fingers. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Thank you for my bath.”

He touched my hair. “I miss your long hair.”

“Mrs. Martin!” Henry Pope walked up, and Kindle’s face turned to granite. We met Pope together. Mrs. Darlington and her helpers went past carrying food-laden dishes. “How nice to meet you!”

I smiled. “You must be the newspaperman Mr. Oscar told me about.”

Henry Pope turned slightly to watch the women walk out of earshot and turned back. “Miss Bennett.”

I kept my sweet smile. “I don’t know who you are referring to. Do you, Mr. Oscar?”

“Nope.”

“Mrs. Martin. Charlotte?” Henry Pope said.

I inclined my head. “Mr. Pope.” I stepped forward and turned serious. “How are you feeling? Have you recovered from your injuries?”

Henry Pope’s head jerked back slightly, as if astonished. “I’m better, thank you.”

“I wanted to visit you, but I wasn’t allowed to leave my room, for obvious reasons. I’m so sorry for what you went through, and any part I might have played in it, though unintentional.”

Pope studied me. “Cotter Black was insane.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Are you going to turn us in?” Kindle said, dispensing with any pretense of civility.

Henry Pope switched his gaze to Kindle. “I should. I took a beating from your brother, because of you.” Pope pulled his mouth open to show a row of broken back teeth. I stepped forward and inspected them.

“Are you in much pain?”

Pope patted his coat pocket. “Nothing my flask can’t help.”

“Even if I had a full complement of my medical tools, I don’t think there’s anything I could do to help you.” I pursed my lips in thought. “I know an excellent dentist in New York City, if you’re going that way.”

“I’m not sure where I’m going.”

“I’ll write the name down for you, just in case. Obviously, I’d rather you not mention who referred you.”

Pope stared at me beneath furrowed brows.

“I can see you’re still unsure about turning me in. If you could just wait until we eat a good meal?” I said with a smile. “I would like to have one night with a semblance of normalcy.”

“No need to ruin a good meal with retribution and revenge,” Pope said.

Pope turned and walked toward the tables, which were now set with food. I put my arm through Kindle’s and said, “William, let me deal with Henry Pope.”

“Do you think you can manipulate him into letting us go?”

I grimaced. “Manipulate is such a harsh word. I prefer sway. Don’t get jealous if I flirt shamelessly with him.”

Kindle’s mouth quirked up. “Poor Henry. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

I winked at Kindle and was stepping over the bench to sit next to Henry Pope so I could bombard him with charm when Mrs. Darlington stopped me. “This is the men’s table. The women sit over there. After the men are served.”

Kindle squeezed my hand in warning. He knew being relegated to the females’ table would chafe Catherine Bennett or Laura Elliston, and it did. Charlotte Martin, however, wouldn’t care in the least. I smiled my most vacuous, charming smile and said, “Well, of course we do.” I stepped away from the table and released Kindle’s hand. “Are you sure I can’t help you serve?”

“Not at all. You’re our guest. You go make yourself comfortable.”

I cut my eyes to Kindle, who was trying not to laugh, and went to the women’s table with a forced smile.

I sat facing the west and watched the sun set. The one redeeming feature of the vastness of the plains was the stunning display of color Mother Nature put on every night at sunset. A breeze fluttered the simple tablecloth and I reached out to keep it from flying. Two young men whom I hadn’t noticed lunged to help.

“Thank you,” I said. “It almost got away from me.” I stood at the end of the table and straightened the cloth while one of the men did the same on the other side.

The tall man, who was slightly older than the other, spoke. “Are you not eating?” His eyes drifted to the table of men.

“Yes. After the men are served.”

The young man walked forward, hand extended. He smelled of chemicals. “William Soule, and this is my assistant, Joshua Bain.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Charlotte Martin.”

Soule’s eyes lit up. “The woman who took down the Bell Gang?”

“Along with Mr. Oscar and a Cheyenne woman.”

“I would love to photograph the three of you.”

“Oh.” My stomach dropped. “How kind of you, but I don’t want to immortalize my injuries.”

Souls gaze drifted to my forehead. “I have powder to cover, if you like. It would be a fantastic photograph.” His brow furrowed and though his gaze never left my face, I knew he was lost in his vision of staging the photo. He jolted himself out of his musings and said, “I’ll talk to your husband about it,” and walked off.

One of the women clapped and the children who’d been running around playing turned serious and made their way to my table. I sat at the far end, hoping it would discourage their curiosity, but it only made them more determined. A boy about twelve walked up to me. “You the woman who killed the Injuns?”

I exhaled and furrowed my brow. “I suppose.”

“It’s a sin to kill.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to hell.”

“I may very well be.”

His eyes widened. “Burning in eternal flame doesn’t scare you?”

“Of course it does, but I would rather live another day to worry about it than have it arrive.”

“What’s wrong with your voice?”

“A bad man crushed my vocal cords.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.”

“Did you kill him?”

“My, aren’t you full of questions? What’s your name?”

“Elijah Darlington.”

“Elijah! Leave Mrs. Martin alone!” Isabel Darlington bustled forward and shooed Elijah away, much in the same way she had me earlier. Elijah went to the end of the table and Mrs. Darlington shook her head as she set a plate of biscuits down. “That boy is too curious for his own good.”

Everyone was seated, and Mrs. Darlington bowed her head. “Dear Lord, bless this food to the nourishment of our body and our body to thy service. Amen.”

My head was barely level when the woman across from me said, “Is what they say about you true?”

Mrs. Darlington served herself a spoonful of mashed potatoes and passed the bowl to me. “This is Elijah’s mother, Meg, as if you couldn’t tell. Let the poor woman get some food in her before you bombard her with questions.”

The mashed potatoes were creamy white and topped with puddles of melted butter. My mouth watered. “What is it they’re saying about me?” I asked Meg.

“That you ran away from your husband?”

The clicking of serving ware stopped and everyone’s attention turned to me. Mrs. Darlington didn’t interject, apparently as interested as her daughters. “Yes. Mr. Oscar saved me from a life of cruelty. Something I hope none of you know anything about. He’s taking me to the railroad in Independence so I can return to my family in the East.” I hurried on, hoping to keep them from asking about the men I’d killed. I wasn’t sure Mrs. Darlington’s opinion would survive that bit of truth telling. I smiled thinly and passed the potatoes. “Tell me about yourselves and how you came to be here.”

“Brinton—Mr. Darlington—and Lawrie Tatum were two of the first agents chosen under President Grant’s new peace policy. Mr. Tatum is the agent at Sill,” Isabel said.

“How long have you been here?”

“A little over a year. Meg’s husband is the blacksmith. Deborah’s husband is the carpenter. Sarah’s husband is a bit of a jack-of-all trades. Lately, he’s been helping with carpentry. Eventually, he will be the agent teaching the Indians how to farm.”

The mashed potatoes melted in my mouth. “What are your jobs?”

“I am teaching the women and children English,” Sarah said. “The challenge is getting them to come regularly.”

Isabel nodded. “They say they want to adapt but when it comes down to it, they don’t understand the need to change their ways. They’ll try for a while, get bored, and leave as soon as the allotment comes in and return to their traditions.”

“Mr. Oscar said the allotment arrived?”

“Such as it is,” Sarah said.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s never enough, which angers the Indians.”

“And leads to them leaving the territory to hunt buffalo, which leads to raids on the settlements,” Meg said.

“Why?”

“Because the settlers are displacing the buffalo,” Sarah said.

“It will take time, patience, and God’s grace to civilize the Indians,” Isabel said. “But it can be done. Look at the Cherokee in Tahlequah. A wonderful example of what acclimation can do. As I said, we’ve been here a little over a year. What you see here, the few buildings we have, will grow quickly.”

Everyone was served and the conversation lulled while we tucked into fried steak, mashed potatoes, boiled carrots, and of course, biscuits. I held the biscuit in my hand and was thankful the bath had resolved my equilibrium so I didn’t burst into tears at the sight of it. I understood biscuits were easy to make with limited means on the frontier, but it didn’t mean I wanted to eat them at every civilized meal. I put it down, but Meg noticed my expression. “Don’t like biscuits, Mrs. Martin?”

“Please, call me Charlotte. And, no, I’ve had one too many since I’ve been in Texas, is all. At least you aren’t serving beans.”

“Wait until you taste Deborah’s cobbler,” Sarah said. Deborah, who’d been silent for the entire meal, but had kept looking over at the men’s table, turned her attention to us.

“They aren’t talking about anything worth hearing, Deb. I guarantee you,” Meg said.

Deborah’s upright comportment stiffened further at the rebuke. “There is no reason why men and women cannot sit together while eating. This tradition we have—”

“Thank you, Deborah. We know what you think of this tradition,” Isabel said.

“Since the slaves are freed, Deborah’s decided next it’s women’s turn to be freed,” Meg said.

“I want women to have the right to vote,” Deborah said. “It is not a scandalous or original cause. Women Friends have been speaking of it for thirty years. We can hardly expect men to take us seriously if we are not allowed a place at the table.”

Meg raised an eyebrow at me and rolled her eyes, apparently thinking she had an ally. I was not sure I wanted to be allied with her.

I addressed Deborah. “I, for one, cannot wait to return to civilization, where I will fight alongside you for women’s right to vote, for women to get a place at the table.” Deborah flushed with pleasure, but it was Meg’s turn to bristle.

“On the other hand, I have forced myself into enough male conversations to know Meg is also right. I suspect the reason they do not want us at the table is because they know they will have to broaden their base of knowledge from politics, gambling, and business to carry on intelligent conversations with us.”

“Hear, hear.” Sarah lifted her glass of water in toast to me. Everyone but Isabel raised her glass. When we set them down, Sarah changed the subject. “Did you see the Indians lined up and waiting to have their pictures taken? The beadwork on their clothes is stunning.”

Isabel leaned over to me. “Sarah is also our seamstress.”

“I can sew,” Meg said.

“We all can, but Sarah is the best. As Deborah is the best cook, and you are the best nurse. God gave us all different gifts to use to His glory. Who’s ready for cobbler?” Deborah rose and went into the kitchen.

“Me!” Elijah said from down the table.

“After the adults have been served,” Isabel said.

Elijah crossed his arms and pouted. “That’s a custom I’d like changed,” he said, and all the women laughed.

“What is your strength, Isabel?”

“Leading.” She gave me a quick wink as Deborah placed the cobbler in front of her. She spooned a heaping serving into a bowl and handed it to me.

“Oh, Isabel, it is too much. I will never eat all of it.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet,” Deborah said. “Here’s some cream, fresh from the cow.”

The glass bottle was warm beneath my hand. I poured a tiny amount of cream on the top and passed it to Sarah.

“There’s plenty,” she said, and splashed more of the thick cream over my cobbler. “It cuts the sweetness,” she explained.

While everyone watched me with anticipation, I dipped my spoon into the cream-covered cobbler and took a bite. My mouth exploded with flavors it hadn’t tasted in months. A hint of cinnamon and sugar contrasted perfectly with the tart apples. The buttery crust melted on my tongue. And the cream. Heavens above, the cream. I’d never eaten cream this delicious in my entire life.

I swallowed and dipped my spoon in the cobbler for the second bite, all nausea forgotten. “It’s sinful how good it is.”

The women all laughed. “Indeed it is,” Isabel said.

“Elijah better keep a watchful eye on his cow. I’m tempted to steal it tomorrow.”

“I heard that,” Elijah said from down the table.

“Tomorrow? Are you leaving so soon?” Isabel asked.

I pulled the spoon slowly out of my mouth, chewed, and swallowed while the women watched me. “I believe so.”

“Dr. Cairns will not be pleased,” Meg said. “He thinks you should rest for a few more days. I agree. You took quite a hit on your head.”

“I slept for most of the day, and I feel much better.”

“Which will only prove Dr. Cairns’s point. Imagine how much better you will feel after another day of rest.”

Isabel placed her cool, dry hand over mine. “Let us take care of you, Charlotte.”

“Once your bruise heals sufficiently, you can have your photo taken with Mr. Oscar and the Indian girl you saved,” Meg said. “I overheard Mr. Soule mention it to you.”

“Are you going to have your photographs taken?” I asked to turn the conversation.

“If poor Mr. Soule has any glass left to photograph us,” Sarah said. “His first priority is chronicling the Indians in their native dress, he says, before they are civilized.”

“And Mr. Pope is here to write about them and the agencies,” Isabel said. “Our job is to make sure everything runs well and Mr. Pope’s story about Darlington is favorable. We’re here to treat the natives as God’s children and to teach them how to survive in a white man’s world. If we fail, the men in Washington who favor extermination will win.”

“I thought the extermination policy was regarding the buffalo?” I said.

“It is, though since Sherman had his near miss down in Texas, he’s told his officers to drive the Indians to the reservation by any means necessary. Hopefully, the loss of the buffalo will drive the natives onto the reservation, where they will be taught to acclimate.”

“The adults are almost hopeless,” Sarah said. “They will receive their allotment and return to their camps down the Canadian. All the good we’ve accomplished while they’re here will be lost.”

Sweat prickled my upper lip. “Did you say the Canadian?”

“Yes. We were closer to the fort but decided to move farther downriver to keep the Cheyenne and Arapaho away from the Kiowa and Comanche. Most Cheyenne and Arapaho want peace with us, but there are a few bands who can be cajoled by the Comanche to go on the warpath.”

“Who can blame them after Sand Creek and Washita?” Deborah said.

The table in front of me tilted. My voice sounded far away. “This is the Canadian River?”

“Yes, dear. Why?”

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memories flitting through my mind. “Nothing.”

A sharp pain shot through my abdomen and down between my legs. I shifted in my seat. This wasn’t real. I was healed. I had checked myself today.

The men at the table behind me laughed. I jerked my head around, expecting to see the next Indian striding toward me, naked, laughing.

“Charlotte?” The voice was far away, deep beneath the mocking laughter ringing in my ears.

I saw Tuesday hunched over Aénhé’ke. Me straddling Tuesday, bludgeoning her with a bloody stick. The hole in the back of Cotter Black’s head as he fell forward onto the red-rock floor of Palo Duro Canyon.

“Charlotte?”

I turned to the left and saw Maureen sitting there, concern all over her face. “You’re gonna wander off one day and be taken by them savages and I’m gonna have to live with the images my whole life.”

“Maureen?”

“No, dear. It’s Isabel.”

I swayed toward the woman and fell off the end of the bench, unconscious.