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  “Yes. Well, it is the hope that, if we can resolve this Indian issue by getting the treaties in place, and these natives on reservations, the need for most of these forts will eventually disappear. I see no need to ask for large sums to build expansive forts that will be abandoned within the decade. It’s wasteful to go to that great of an expense and then, a few years later, sell materials and supplies for pennies on the dollar. Considering the cost of this war we just concluded, Congress is already complaining about anything they view as excessive and unnecessary.”

  “And, yet, they want the Indian difficulties resolved with all haste.”

  As he nodded, Capt. Prescott grimaced. “Yes. Immediately. That’s why we might need to bolster Fort Ellsworth.” He shook his head. “I’m also wondering how Butterfield’s new stagecoach line is going to affect us. He’ll be following the Smoky Hill Trail through Kansas, setting up his stations from Ellsworth into Colorado Territory. I think he hopes to start service by the end of May or early June. Unless the Cheyenne decide to do an about-face and agree to a treaty in the next month or two, protecting the stagecoaches and their stations will put a strain on Ellsworth’s resources.”

  Jake felt unsure how to respond. Much of what Capt. Prescott ruminated about now might have been discussed with the higher-level officers at Fort Riley. But some of what his superior officer now shared with him, he was hearing for the first time. A suspicion began to build up within him that he might find himself detailed away from Fort Riley for a year or more.

  When will I see Hannah Atwell again?

  Why did that thought pop into his head, Jake wondered. He had known all along, ever since he developed the ambition to apply for West Point, that an officer might have a family, but often found himself spending months—perhaps years—separated from his wife and children. And, at this point, Miss Atwell was an interest—a tantalizing interest, but their relationship promised nothing for the future for either of them.

  Prescott stood and slapped a palm on his desk. “That’s a concern for another time. For now, I want you to review the four forts going south, starting with Ellsworth, then down the trail to Zarah and Larned, also to the new Fort Dodge, since, I believe, we should already have men there. See what structures they need for barracks and storage, including for their subsistence stores. Pay particular attention to Dodge. From what I understand, there’s no wood or tools to speak of down there. They’ve sent a bunch of galvanized Yankees, and many commanders don’t care a whit for their comfort.” He heaved a sigh. “Check on the horse and mule stocks for all the forts, too. Since the stock is often what the hostiles are after, make sure they still have enough to ride or pull their wagons.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see to it. Would you like me to send reports back as I learn each fort’s condition?”

  “No, only if there’s an emergency situation. I don’t need any of these fort commanders deciding they have the right to read quartermaster reports and second-guessing me and my department. When you return will be soon enough. Like I said before, you can keep one man with you as an assistant, but after you get that freight train to Fort Zarah, send Sgt. Marsh and his men back to Ellsworth, and from there, their orders are to return to Ft. Riley. I’ve made requests to each fort’s commanding officer that you and your assistant will travel with their escort patrols between forts.”

  Jake felt a sense of relief. If the captain meant for him to return and give his initial report in person, perhaps he would not be stuck in the western part of the state all that long.

  Capt. Prescott picked up a stack of papers and tapped the bottom edges on the table to line them up. He then handed them to Jake. “Your orders, Also, a letter of introduction to each of the fort commanders and orders for Sgt. Marsh. Until Mr. Jones shows up with his wagons, see that you get everything organized and loaded on the two wagons you’ll be taking. Work with Lt. Blake to see the third wagon is loaded and ready to leave with those of us returning to Fort Riley.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jake accepted the papers and folded them before he stuffed the bundle into the leather pouch attached to his belt.

  “And, if you see Mr. Jones before I do, remind him, if his scout has joined the freight train already, I want to talk to him.”

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  Chapter 8

  ~o0o~

  I n spite of it being late, Jake Burdock, paper and pencil in hand, sat back on the bed in the rented room in Salina. He had known Sgt. Marsh would see to getting the men billeted for the night. Aside from telling him he wished Pvt. Mulroney to be assigned to the group that would continue on to Fort Ellsworth, he had left it up to the competent sergeant to decide who would go with them, and who would return to Fort Riley with Capt. Prescott.

  Reaching for a book in the top of his open trunk, he slid it under the paper to use as a makeshift desk. He grimaced at the thought he would not see Hannah Atwell again when the captain stopped by to pick up the horses—one from Jefferson Atwell and one from Sidney Atwell destined for the fort. Besides having good formation and the strength needed by the Army, the animals had the advantage of being raised on the plains and, therefore, not needing any acclimation for a year like the horses brought out from Virginia and Kentucky. Of course, he had known that was a strong possibility, which is why he stored most of his personal gear back at Riley and brought only a small trunk of items he thought he would need in the next few months. Before he left the fort, he tossed it in the back of the otherwise empty wagon assigned to return with equipment and supplies from the stockade dismantling. Fortunately, he retrieved his trunk and tossed it into a Fort Ellsworth-bound wagon before it was buried too deep in the other.

  Jake closed his trunk and scooted closer to the small table that held a candle and his mug of water. Knowing he needed a clear head for the next day, he limited himself to one drink after dinner. He began writing.

  Dear Miss Atwell,

  It was my great pleasure to renew our acquaintance this morning. Unfortunately, as I warned you then, I will not be in a position to visit you again when Capt. Prescott picks up the horse from your father. I have been detailed to accompany the men and equipment to Fort Ellsworth. My orders will keep me in the west for the foreseeable future. I’m not at liberty to say more beyond that.

  Jake paused. No, he was not at liberty to say anything more about his orders—the written instructions he received from the captain being more detailed than their conversation earlier in the day. As it was, he had probably said too much when they spoke at her family’s farm.

  At least, when she had brought up her brother’s enlistment in the 16th Kansas Volunteer Cavalry and her wish for him to be discharged soon now that the war was over, he possessed the presence of mind to say nothing. The Army knew, with the increasing boldness of the Plains Indians, it needed to next focus on subduing the hostile tribes. Some of the state volunteer regiments with three-year commitments, such as the one from Iowa that had been holding the Salina Stockade, might be retained. Jake had heard talk that the 16th Kansas was among those regiments that would serve their full three years before being mustered out.

  He shook his head. He and others had received enough warnings about taking care when socializing with the fairer sex. The Army had learned the hard way that women make excellent spies. Many an officer dismissed the possibility, considering women to be too gentle and lacking guile to be something so crass as a spy. Although he certainly did not suspect Hannah of deliberately passing on information that could raise questions in the general populace and cause problems, there was always the issue of idle gossip to consider.

  It is still my intention to write to you as time permits. It is my hope that, at your convenience, you will favor me with return correspondence.

  The freight train belonging to Mr. Jones did arrive at Salina this evening, as expected. I met briefly with Mr. Jones before he departed, presumably to visit your cousin. Unfortunately, his scout has not yet joined the caravan.
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  That was a shame. Jake tapped the end of his pencil on the paper as he thought about the half-Kaw scout. More and more, the Army used recruits from friendly tribes in that role. They were raised learning the necessary skills and seemed to have a knack for the task that many blundering white men never achieved. However, he dared not tell Hannah that he felt his chances were good that he would meet the man she called Charlie Gray Cloud.

  Unsure what else he might say to her at this time, Jake closed his letter.

  I do not know when I will return to the region. However, when that time comes, I look forward to visiting you again, and perhaps enjoying another opportunity to dance with you, should Mrs. Prescott organize another benefit for a worthy cause while I am at Fort Riley. Until then, I am your humble servant & etc.,

  Lt. Jacob C. Burdock

  As he signed the letter, Jake smiled. Although he preferred to go by Jake when military convention did not require that he be addressed as Lieutenant Burdock, the name recorded by his mother in the family Bible and inscribed in the finest calligraphy on his diploma from West Point was Jacob Charles Burdock.

  Jake finished and addressed the letter to Miss Hannah Atwell of Salina, Kansas. Whether he left it with the captain to be delivered or left it with the hotel clerk to be dropped at the town’s post office depended on what took place in the morning.

  He returned his book to his trunk, closed it, and blew out the candle. His uniform hung on the hook in his room, Jake interlaced his fingers behind his head as he settled himself on the bed. Although he would be the first to say this was not the softest mattress he had ever slept on, he chose to focus on the privacy the hotel room afforded him. He suspected this bed would be the most comfortable one he would enjoy for the foreseeable future.

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  Chapter 9

  ~o0o~

  May 19, 1865

  A s she folded the letter from Jake Burdock, Hannah fought back tears. His missive did arrive, as promised. However, it did not tell her much, not even where he was going or how long he would be gone. It was only thanks to her cousin, Kizzie, she learned Leander had been told his train would receive a military escort at least as far as Fort Ellsworth. She could only guess Jake would be part of that escort, for he had not said so to her. Fort Ellsworth was only thirty-six miles away. Surely, if he only escorted the train there and then returned to Fort Riley, those trips would not require very many days. Why did his letter make it sound like he would be gone for much longer?

  “Who sends the letter, Hannah?”

  Hannah cringed. She quickly stuffed the folded paper in her pocket before she picked up the knife and began to scrape carrots for the supper meal. “It’s from an officer stationed at Fort Riley, Mama. You remember Lt. Burdock. He stopped by the farm with Capt. Prescott two weeks ago.” She chanced glancing at her mother, who, as she feared, now wore a disapproving expression.

  “Hannah, it is not good, you write to him…”

  Hannah lifted a hand to ward off her mother’s words. “Please, Mama. You already told me what you thought about my speaking with an Army officer the day they were here. Please don’t harangue me about it again.”

  “Harang…? Such a big English word, Hannah. You speak things I know not the meaning, yet I know it is not a nice thing you say to me.”

  Hannah huffed out a breath. “It means to scold, Mama. To complain about something over and over for a long time. And, you did do that the day they were here to look at the horse and cattle, remember? After they left, you and I washed the cups and began peeling potatoes for dinner. As soon as you found out that, yes, Lt. Burdock was at the dance, that I danced with him…” Hannah stopped scraping and raised a finger in her mother’s direction. “Once! I danced with him once, just like I danced with the other gentlemen there one dance each. That’s all Mrs. Prescott would allow.”

  “Ja, your Papa and I agreed to the dancing. It is good with several partners you dance.”

  Hannah noticed her mother did not look her way as she picked up a pile of potato peelings and threw them in the slop bucket. She continued as if Carlotte had not spoken. “Then, you brought up the kissing game Mrs. Prescott organized to raise money. I made the mistake of telling you I kissed him. One time, Mama. I also kissed several other men—the ones who bought tickets for the cause and stood in my line. One kiss each, Mama, that’s all. We were in a well-lit room surrounded by many people, including chaperones, to make sure no one misbehaved.”

  “The kissing I don’t like.”

  “As you said more than once. That’s all you care about. Yet, with our help, Mrs. Prescott raised a lot of money for the Sanitary Commission to help the soldiers still in hospitals. She thanked Kizzie and me, as did her husband.” Hannah’s hands shook with frustration as she picked up the next carrot and scraped it more vigorously. “Are you and Papa happy for me that I did something important to help others, something worthwhile, other than just having a pleasant time at a dance? No. That means nothing to you. All I hear from the two of you is…ouch!” Hannah dropped her knife on the cutting board and brought her sliced finger to her lips.

  Carlotte threw her hands in the air. “Pah! See? All this upset talk and now you cut yourself.”

  Hannah pulled her shaking hand away from her mouth to inspect where her knife had nicked the fleshy part of the side of her index finger. The cut was not deep. “I’m not the one who asked questions so you could take my words and use them to criticize me, Mama.” Hannah released a breath as she poked a finger on her uninjured hand next her wound. A drop of blood formed. “It’s still bleeding. I’ll go upstairs and wash it with soap and water, and then I’ll come down and finish.”

  When Hannah, a strip of cloth wrapped around her finger, descended the stairs several minutes later, she noticed someone, probably her mother, had finished scraping and slicing the carrots for the stew. She also must have wiped everything down, for the kitchen area looked neat and clean.

  Carlotte now sat on the settee in the main living area stitching on a quilt square.

  Magpie was nowhere in sight. “Thank you, Mutti. I honestly meant to return in time to help. I’ll wash the dishes later.”

  Carlotte shook her head. “Nein. Wait for the cut to close. Maybe tomorrow.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Sit, Hannah. We talk, ja? You talk first, and I listen.”

  Hannah sat next to her mother and picked up her latest piece of embroidery. The thought flitted through her head that, now she had given Jake her nicest handkerchief, she needed to stitch a new one for Sundays. “What do you want me to say, Mama?”

  “This Lieutenant, he writes to you now?”

  Hannah kept her focus on her handwork. “Yes. After we talked the other day, he said he hoped, on their way back to Fort Riley, to see me again when they came for the horse Papa sold to the Army. He also said he might not come if Capt. Prescott sent him to a different fort instead. He asked if he could send me a letter and if I would write back to him. I told him I would.”

  “At the dance, you talk much? Is that how you know him?”

  “No. We met there, and I enjoyed speaking with him during the dance. He didn’t try to flirt with me or tease me like some of the others did. I liked him.”

  “And here at the house?”

  Hannah shook her head. “We just talked. You watched us the whole time, so you know I’m speaking the truth.” Hannah shared a summary of what she and Jake discussed the day he visited, choosing her words carefully because she knew it would be repeated to her father. She turned to her mother with a smile, hoping what she said would help her parents think better of Jake. “He liked that I knew a little German. He also said farmers are the backbone of this nation.” While she waited for a reaction, she focused again on her stitching.

  “The kissing, Hannah. It is not good. This game at the dance, for a good cause, it was, but some men…” Carlotte paused several seconds. “Some men, if girls kiss them, they thi
nk…”

  “That they are loose women?”

  “Ja.”

  “Some might, but I disagree that all do.”

  “Men you never kiss before, Hannah.”

  Debating how much to admit to, Hannah hesitated. She turned to her mother. “But, Mama, I have kissed boys before. Not a lot. I’m glad I did, or I might have felt stupid that night if I didn’t know how to kiss.” At the sound of her mother sputtering, Hannah suppressed her smile.

  “When?”

  “Once, after school while Henry and Magpie were busy talking to their friends. Twice after church.” Hannah kept her focus on her needlework as she waited. She suspected the conversation with her mother was far from over.

  “But, Hannah, Army officers, most come from rich families—privileged families. What they want to do, they think they have the right. You allow a kiss, next, more than that they may demand.” Carlotte sighed. “Such a pretty girl you are. You must take care.”

  “I know people consider me pretty, Mama. I like being pretty, but sometimes it feels like a burden. It’s like, I have to do this or not do that because I’m pretty and people will resent me or I’ll give someone the wrong impression. I just want people to accept me for who I am, not who they think I should be.”

  “For your good, your papa and I tell you these things. Before, you listened. Now, you don’t.”

  Staring at the quilted Bethlehem Star hanging that decorated the wooden wall of the house, Hannah dropped her hands holding her needle and fabric into her lap. “I know. I’ve tried to do everything you and Papa told me to do. But now?” She turned her gaze to meet that of her mother. “I’m tired of being the perfect daughter.” Again, Hannah bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling as her mother sucked in a breath.

  “I love you, Hannah, but you perfect? No.”

  “I know, but some people call me that, especially when they’re unhappy with me.”

  “Who?”