Chapter Thirty-One

With the evil spirit from the basement now identified and under guard, Jack had volunteered to take the happy news to the tribes that the school was safe and the Christmas program could recommence.

That left Hattie with time on her hands, and she was in the mood for some female companionship, so she gathered her paints and headed next door.

The Adams ladies were delighted that she’d braved the short, icy trip to visit, and when Daisy spotted her box of paints, she flung her arms around Hattie.

“I do love to paint. Grandmother brought me scads of shells from Galveston. Let’s paint them.”

“Painted shells? Who would want those?” Caroline asked, although her disdain for her sister’s idea seemed manufactured.

“The Indians wear them as jewelry. They’ll love them,” Daisy said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Are you comfortable living next door?” Louisa asked. “When Major Adams and I were courting, he took me to dinner at Lieutenant Hennessey’s a few times. After seeing his parlor, I’ve been worried about your safety. Bump into the wrong stack of books, and we might never find you again.”

Hattie laughed. “I’ve got a hardy constitution,” she assured her. “And I started setting things aright immediately. He needed my help.”

“You never know, do you?” Louisa said. “Lieutenant Jack is the most articulate, disciplined man. One would expect his home to be as controlled as he is.”

Hattie could feel her face warming. Jack wasn’t as in control as he pretended. “Looks are deceiving,” she said. Then, to draw the attention away from her suddenly pink cheeks, she pointed at the girl entering the room. “My, you have a lot of shells, Daisy.”

Hattie reached into Daisy’s basket and picked a white shell shaped like a fan. She flipped it over and rubbed her thumb on the smooth, flat underside of the shell. “There’s room enough to paint here.”

“Hurrah! Let’s do them in the kitchen,” Daisy cheered and ran off toward the back of the house.

“I’m sorry about her.” Louisa ran a hand over the curls that were gathered on her shoulder. “She’s as jumpy as a frog sitting on a firecracker.”

“Louisa,” Caroline groaned, “where do you come up with these sayings?”

“This mule driver used to say that. He’d come through the Cat-Eye Saloon every spring on his way delivering supplies here in the nations. He had a temper, but when he was sober, he could tell stories like you wouldn’t believe.”

Hattie must have misunderstood. Louisa was as beautiful and refined as any lady she’d ever expected to meet in the big cities. What in the world was she talking about?

Seeing her confusion, Caroline said, “My new mother has a very interesting collection of skills. Don’t ever challenge her to a singing competition . . . or a chess match.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” But Hattie was glad to see that Caroline looked proud of her.

“Will you be giving painting lessons in Darlington?” Louisa asked. “Assuming the school continues, that is.”

“I hadn’t really considered that possibility. Perhaps if they’d allow it.”

Louisa’s smile was stunning. “I think you know the right people to make it happen.” She started toward the kitchen, then turned to Caroline, who was watching listlessly out the window. “Don’t you want to paint some?”

“Nah.” Caroline flung her red hair over her shoulder. “Let Daisy play at it. My works are more suited to real canvases.”

“Does Caroline paint?” Hattie asked as the young lady sauntered out of the room.

Louisa checked over her shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot. “Often and very poorly. Daisy is so much better, but we’re conspiring together to make sure Caroline never realizes it.”

“Would it crush her?”

“No.” Louisa laughed. “She’d think we were lying and be furious.”

They entered the kitchen, where Daisy had dumped the shells on the table. “This is a capital idea, Mrs. Hennessey. Do you think that together we could paint a shell for every student at the school?”

“What an excellent Christmas gift!” Hattie said. “I’d be honored if you’d let me help.”

Louisa patted Daisy on the back as she hopped and clapped her hands together. Hattie was suddenly struck with the thought that she herself was a married woman. She had a husband, a house, and could soon start a family. It wasn’t something she’d particularly planned for, but the thought of starting a family with Jack seemed intrinsically whole. She missed him. He’d only be gone for the afternoon, but already she missed him. What would he say about their prospects for the future? That would be a conversation she might find too sensitive to begin.

While Daisy and Louisa spread an oilcloth over the table, Hattie held a chalky shell in her hand and tried to think of what a student would want to see—or what a particular student would like. The first one she thought of was Tom. What could she give to help him not feel so far from home? What would he see as special?

Taking a fine brush, she started with his horse. The black pony he’d ridden from his village hadn’t been stabled in town, and he undoubtedly missed it. When it came time to paint the boy, Hattie hesitated. Should she paint him as she’d first met him on the cold day he’d accompanied them to Fort Reno? That was the past. She’d rather give him a picture of the future. The boy she painted on the Indian pony was Tom, but it was Tom as he looked now. His hair was chopped, and he wore the school’s uniform. Not that he couldn’t do as he wished when he went back home, but she wanted him to remember that the outside appearance wouldn’t change the things he loved.

Daisy stepped behind her. “Great Saturn’s rings!” she gasped.

“Daisy,” Louisa said, “didn’t your father tell you not to say that?”

“But you do.”

“Not anymore,” she said. “Now what’s the matter?”

“Look at what Mrs. Hennessey painted. It’s Tom Broken Arrow.”

Hattie turned the shell for Louisa to see.

“Great Saturn’s rings,” Louisa said. “That’s amazing.”

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Hattie asked.

“He’ll love it!” Daisy said. “Can you teach me how to do that? But I want to paint a tepee for Mirabel. She and I practice drawing them together when I visit.”

“That sounds perfect.” Just the thing Hattie needed to keep her mind off the slowly passing time until Jack returned.

The wind carried hard bits of ice that stung like someone was pelting Jack in the face with salt. But his trip had been worth it. The tidings of catching the thief hiding beneath the school both reassured the parents that the cavalry had taken their concerns seriously and proved that the problem had been dealt with. The fact that the outlaw had also been the one the Cheyenne had harassed gave them something to be proud of. It wasn’t often that they were praised for their ill-treatment of guests, but in this case, they had slowed him down long enough for the authorities to catch up with him. Their only regret was that they wished they’d known Olin Bixby was the one responsible for their missing payment from the government. The Cheyenne and Arapaho were confident that Bixby would tell them where the gold was hidden once he’d experienced their arts of persuasion.

At any rate, the children were coming back to the school, and they’d be there in time for the Christmas celebration. Jack had at least accomplished that much.

The lights from the fort shone for miles on the black plains. The skies darkened early in the winter, so they had probably already missed the six-thirty roll call. Sure enough, when they reached the fort, Jack saw that the post flag had been retired for the day, but tattoo had yet to be played, so the men were on their own time.

“You want me to take your horse?” Icy slivers on the shoulders of Private Willis’s coat sparkled beneath the light from the lanterns lining the thoroughfare.

“I appreciate it,” Jack said. “Thanks.”

“Thought you might be in a hurry to get home. Just remember this when I get my next leave to go to Garber to see my lady.” Private Willis winked before dismounting.

Jack took his gear and left the horse in Willis’s capable, if often mischievous, hands. He stomped the thick, hard mud off his boots on his porch. Just as he’d hoped, Hattie’s quick footsteps could be heard, then the door swung open. She was dressed in a simple gown, but her hair was arranged as expertly as if she were going to a show at the King Opera House in Van Buren. Her eyes sparkled as she caught him by the arm and dragged him inside.

“That was a quick trip. I’m so glad you weren’t out late. I bet you’re hungry. Let me help you with your coat.”

Jack closed the door behind him. Her fussing over him was the best welcome he’d ever received. He waited patiently as she unbuttoned his coat and removed it. He allowed her to take his gear and drop it in his office. He handled the pistol and saber himself, then helped her with the boots. By the time she allowed him any farther into his own house, the stiffness had almost been worked out of his fingers.

“Come by the fire. I have some hot water on the stove. Would you like tea or coffee?” Hattie was always on a mission, and now his care fell under her domain.

“I’d rather sit with you,” he said. “And we ate supper in the field. No need to make anything for me.”

“Tea it is.” She rolled up his scarf and strode into the kitchen.

Jack stretched his hands toward the fire and let the warmth seep in until the knees of his wool trousers were almost too hot to touch. Stepping back, he noticed dozens of seashells stacked on an end table along with scraps of twine and butcher paper. What was she up to now?

Picking up a shell, he turned it over to see a breathtaking portrait of a young Arapaho mother. Her cradleboard hid all but the top of the baby’s head strapped to her back, and she was holding her hand down low, as if summoning another child.

Hattie handed him a mug of tea. “Do you like it?”

“Should I know her?” he asked. The fact that he could make out specific features on a miniature told much about Hattie’s talent.

“It’s Francine’s mother. I met her the day they came to pick up the children at the school. I’m giving it to Francine for Christmas.”

He turned the shell so it caught the light. “Your work is exquisite. Either those men in Denver are going to be impressed, or they’re dolts. Either way, I hope you don’t regret not going there yourself.”

Hattie took the shell out of his hand and laid it on the table. “I have space to work here, and I have someone to share it with. Besides, didn’t you say that it’s too late to change my mind?”

“Definitely too late.” He moved her around to face him. “I was just thinking that something had to be wrong. My life can’t possibly have turned out so well.”

He couldn’t wait to take her back home to Van Buren. He was proud of her. He’d spent so many years hiding his devotion to Hattie that it had become a habit. A bad habit. Now he could gaze at her with all the adoration he used to keep bottled up, and she seemed to enjoy it.

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” she said. “Or everyone will know we were only faking earlier.”

“I wasn’t faking it, but I didn’t realize how much more I could love you until now.” A quick kiss, followed by a rather lengthy one, and then he thought to ask about her project again. “Are you painting a shell for each student?”

Horses, tepees, a woman at a cook fire, men hunting—each picture was a tiny masterful glimpse of Arapaho life.

“Daisy and I are.”

“The Christmas program is tomorrow. I could help wrap them if you need. Not that I will do a tidy job.”

“I’ll supervise,” she said. “I’ll tell you who I made them for, but I might need help with some of the names.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He picked up the shears and began cutting the butcher paper into squares for her. “You know, I’d be a fool to continue doing the illustrations in my studies when I have an artist as talented as you in the house. Look at these little pictures. You’ve already displayed the Arapaho better than my descriptions could.”

Hattie beamed. “Me, helping Jack with his homework? My, how the scales have tilted. You used to intimidate me something awful.”

“And you scared me something fierce,” he said. “If you knew how much courage I had to gather every time I talked to you . . .”

“And then you wasted the opportunity by correcting my composition.”

“Lesson learned. And while you’re identifying my inadequacies . . .” He pointed down at the shells in front of him. She’d already wrapped two while he’d talked. “I’m no good at this, either. My fingers are numb.”

“Don’t give me any excuses.” Her smile quirked at the side. “Especially when you’re asking for my help.”

“I’ll try again.” He lifted the paper, but he could only think of how much he wanted her attention for himself.

Hattie knotted the twine on another gift and asked, “Now that we have Bixby, what happens?”

“Once he’s fit to travel, they’ll haul him to Fort Smith in Arkansas, and he’ll stand before Judge Parker. We’ll go for the trial, of course.” He held up the twine. “It tangled.”

She leaned against the table to reach for it. Jack managed to brush his leg against hers as she caught the twine. Her eyes flickered, but they stayed on the string.

“What about Sloane?” She undid the knot he’d made and dropped the twine on the table in front of Jack, giving him no chance for another caress.

He folded the paper over a shell. “We haven’t found him, but we will. It’s just a matter of time. Could you put your finger here and hold this while I tie it?”

She leaned across his arm to pin the paper down.

“Bixby hasn’t uttered a peep, but the evidence suggests that Sloane was an accomplice. Which is why I won’t let you wander around alone until this business is finished.” He rested his hand on top of hers as he made the bow, but even after he pulled it tight, he didn’t move away.

She remained focused on the gift, but her lips had parted. His wife didn’t want to wrap presents right now. Jack was certain of it.

“There could be other, less noble reasons for keeping you close, as well,” he said.

Hattie’s eyes met his, and he saw the invitation he was hoping for.

“I can wrap these first thing tomorrow,” she said as she took the gift out of his hand, her fingers trailing over his palm. “You weren’t getting anything done anyway.”

He winked. “If you insist.”