Isn’t her coffin the one set on a high scaffold in the post cemetery?”
“Yes,” Andrew replied quietly, “that’s Ah-ho-appa.”
“Ah-ho-appa?”
“It translates loosely to Yellow Buckskin Girl.”
“Did you know her?”
Thinking of the slender, bright-eyed maiden in supple buckskin who’d delighted in the fancy dress parades and parties at Old Bedlam, Andrew nodded.
“Yes, I knew her.”
Julia eyed him curiously, as if sensing there was more to his reply than he wished to communicate.
“Do you think her father will listen to you?”
“I can only hope so. We’ll be gone two, possibly three weeks. I’ve instructed Corporal Gottlieb to deliver any telegraphs that come in concerning you or your husband during my absence.”
“Thank you.”
He’d said what he’d come to say. He should leave. Andrew was damned if he knew what held him there. The way the sunlight sparkling off the Laramie brought out the blue-black glints in her hair, maybe. Or the tired shadows under her amethyst eyes.
“I wish you would reconsider and move back in with Victoria McKinney while I’m gone.”
“I prefer the company of Mary Donovan.”
“Julia, for pity’s sake, think of your daughter if not yourself.”
She turned away, hugging her arms tight aroundher waist. Her gaze fastened on the buttercups sticking out of the water like tiny yellow totem poles.
“I am thinking of Suzanne,” she said at last, her voice low and strained. “I must have some means of providing for her if Philip isn’t… If he doesn’t…”
Andrew bit back the answer that rose to his lips. Julia wouldn’t have to worry about providing for Suzanne if Philip Bonneaux was dead. Any of the two hundred men on post would jump at the chance to take such a young, beautiful widow as his wife.
The truth was, most of them wouldn’t care whether she was widowed or not. Such matters tended to become blurred out here, where men and women formed the partnerships needed to survive. Andrew knew of more than one female who’d set up housekeeping with two or more troopers.
The idea that Julia might enter into such an arrangement sent a shaft of primitive possessiveness lancing though him. If she went to anyone’s bed, he thought savagely, it would be his.
He took a step toward her, driven by an instinctive need to stake his claim. Just in time, he remembered her scathing comment that she never wanted to feel his hands on her again. He curled his fists inside the buff leather gauntlets. All he could do was offer the same comfort he had the night of the hop.
“If Bonneaux’s alive, he’ll come for you.”
“If he’s alive,” she echoed hollowly.
Dammit, there were a hundred tasks and fifty men waiting for him. He needed to see that the troops hadturned out to prepare their mounts and equipment for the march. He had to ready his own gear, and ensure his striker got Jupiter to the farrier to be reshod as well. Yet the thought of leaving Julia alone there beside the river carved a hole in his belly.
“I’ve tasked my striker to check on you while I’m gone,” he said gruffly. “His name’s O’Shea. Let him know if you need anything. Anything, do you understand?”
At her nod, he started back along the bank. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
“Andrew!”
“Yes?”
“Be—be careful.”
“I will.” He tipped two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Bring Suzanne to watch the troop leave tomorrow. It’s a brave sight. A lot braver,” he added with a quick, slashing grin, “than when we come back in, dusty and saddle sore.”
Suzanne and Julia weren’t the only ones who turned out to watch the platoon depart. The entire population of the fort gathered on the parade ground in front of the barracks, as well as most of the residents of the tents and tipis across the river. The event soon took on almost a festive air, as if to disguise the fact that some of the men preparing to ride away from Fort Laramie that morning might
“Yes,” Andrew replied quietly, “that’s Ah-ho-appa.”
“Ah-ho-appa?”
“It translates loosely to Yellow Buckskin Girl.”
“Did you know her?”
Thinking of the slender, bright-eyed maiden in supple buckskin who’d delighted in the fancy dress parades and parties at Old Bedlam, Andrew nodded.
“Yes, I knew her.”
Julia eyed him curiously, as if sensing there was more to his reply than he wished to communicate.
“Do you think her father will listen to you?”
“I can only hope so. We’ll be gone two, possibly three weeks. I’ve instructed Corporal Gottlieb to deliver any telegraphs that come in concerning you or your husband during my absence.”
“Thank you.”
He’d said what he’d come to say. He should leave. Andrew was damned if he knew what held him there. The way the sunlight sparkling off the Laramie brought out the blue-black glints in her hair, maybe. Or the tired shadows under her amethyst eyes.
“I wish you would reconsider and move back in with Victoria McKinney while I’m gone.”
“I prefer the company of Mary Donovan.”
“Julia, for pity’s sake, think of your daughter if not yourself.”
She turned away, hugging her arms tight aroundher waist. Her gaze fastened on the buttercups sticking out of the water like tiny yellow totem poles.
“I am thinking of Suzanne,” she said at last, her voice low and strained. “I must have some means of providing for her if Philip isn’t… If he doesn’t…”
Andrew bit back the answer that rose to his lips. Julia wouldn’t have to worry about providing for Suzanne if Philip Bonneaux was dead. Any of the two hundred men on post would jump at the chance to take such a young, beautiful widow as his wife.
The truth was, most of them wouldn’t care whether she was widowed or not. Such matters tended to become blurred out here, where men and women formed the partnerships needed to survive. Andrew knew of more than one female who’d set up housekeeping with two or more troopers.
The idea that Julia might enter into such an arrangement sent a shaft of primitive possessiveness lancing though him. If she went to anyone’s bed, he thought savagely, it would be his.
He took a step toward her, driven by an instinctive need to stake his claim. Just in time, he remembered her scathing comment that she never wanted to feel his hands on her again. He curled his fists inside the buff leather gauntlets. All he could do was offer the same comfort he had the night of the hop.
“If Bonneaux’s alive, he’ll come for you.”
“If he’s alive,” she echoed hollowly.
Dammit, there were a hundred tasks and fifty men waiting for him. He needed to see that the troops hadturned out to prepare their mounts and equipment for the march. He had to ready his own gear, and ensure his striker got Jupiter to the farrier to be reshod as well. Yet the thought of leaving Julia alone there beside the river carved a hole in his belly.
“I’ve tasked my striker to check on you while I’m gone,” he said gruffly. “His name’s O’Shea. Let him know if you need anything. Anything, do you understand?”
At her nod, he started back along the bank. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
“Andrew!”
“Yes?”
“Be—be careful.”
“I will.” He tipped two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Bring Suzanne to watch the troop leave tomorrow. It’s a brave sight. A lot braver,” he added with a quick, slashing grin, “than when we come back in, dusty and saddle sore.”
Suzanne and Julia weren’t the only ones who turned out to watch the platoon depart. The entire population of the fort gathered on the parade ground in front of the barracks, as well as most of the residents of the tents and tipis across the river. The event soon took on almost a festive air, as if to disguise the fact that some of the men preparing to ride away from Fort Laramie that morning might
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