Santa Fe Woman Page 2

  His eyebrows rose, and he ignored the stove for a moment. “All that for a little bit of sewing? Did you ask what else he might need? He could have stayed for dinner at least. Home cooking and all.”

  “No, he couldn’t.” Rachel walked over to their one comfy chair. She paused and then better arranged the dress over the arm so no one would sit on the threaded needle. “I didn’t ask because he’s gone tomorrow.”

  “Eh. Too bad.” He stood slowly as if his knees were paining him again. “Do you know where? I wouldn’t be averse to following if he were dropping silver dollars along the way.”

  She chuckled at the idea. “I have a feeling he’s not as loose with his money as all that. Otherwise, he’d have had a new pair of trousers sewn instead of an old pair mended.”

  “Eh. I like my plan better, letting you hold your apron under his pockets to let the coins fall.”

  “All of your joking is useless. He’s gone tomorrow, as are we.” She took the last bit of butter from the icebox. “We’ll never see him again.”

  Chapter Two

  Patrick lifted the brim of his cavalry hat and wiped his brow. The setting sun hovered over the horizon. Golden light bounced off of the overhead clouds. The warm reflection lit the shadows caused by the surrounding buildings and trees of Fort Leavenworth,

  He’d left the hat hanging from its necktie on his saddle’s pommel while in the seamstress’ shop. He grinned. Miss Stewart had been a dream the entire time he’d waited for his repairs. She looked like an angel and sewed like a demon. The gleaming yellow in the sunlight reminded him of her hair. Her blue eyes mirrored the early evening sky. If her lips were a little less rosy and more twilight coral, every late afternoon would remind him of her. Too bad he and his men were moving out tomorrow for a new assignment. A few more days here and he’d insist on his men refreshing their wardrobes just for her financial benefit.

  He nodded at a passing soldier. The slow and easy walk of his horse didn’t bother Patrick. The quiet time gave him a chance to dwell more on the seamstress. Growing up, he’d been close enough to his sister, Josie, to recognize how Rachel had a much older dress than most of the women around Weston. The latest fashions worn by the few officers’ wives this far west hadn’t been what tipped him off. Instead, the thin fabric with the repairs only visible close up showed him how much she’d done without in the past few years.

  Everyone around here suffered, except for those swooping in to take advantage of desperate people. Patrick ignored his protective instincts. Most likely she was one of many ladies working in town, and would be fine with her brother there. She didn’t need any soldier loitering around her.

  Cottonwood trees rustled in the breeze coming off the Missouri River as he rode alongside the water. Rachel’s brother’s gruffness nagged at him. The fellow had been kind enough to her, so Patrick had ignored his protective instincts at the time. Rachel shone like a star; however, her brother, similar in coloring to her, gloomed like a dark comet. A cranky, smart-mouthed comet.

  On the other hand, he mused, her retorts toward Isaac were amusing. Patrick would love to get into arguing with her sometime just to see what she’d say next. But doing so meant going back to Weston instead of Fort Dodge. Nothing else would kill his Army career faster than staying put when the military said go.

  Patrick dismounted in front of Fort Leavenworth’s main stable. He nodded at the stable hand. “Thank you,” he’d said to the soldier caring for the animal.

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  He hadn’t worn his uniform into town. No matter what side they’d been on, some of the residents held resentment toward any soldier, Union or Confederate. Patrick had wanted to get there, accomplish his errands, and return without any sort of incident. He retrieved the packages and his clothes from the saddlebag. “Did I miss dinner?”

  “Just about.” The young man pulled the saddle from Patrick’s horse. “The kitchen might be open.”

  “Appreciate it.” He set off for the officers’ quarters and the small mess hall there. If he could charm the cook out of leftovers, he wouldn’t need to make a meal of his dried fruit and pecans.

  The aroma of roast chicken lingered in the air as he stepped inside the building. “Hello?” he hollered when reaching the end of the hall. “Anybody have scraps for me?”

  “Again, Captain Sinclair?” The largish woman, old enough to be his mother, came out from the kitchen and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ve just washed the last dish.”

  He strolled up to her. “Aw, come on, Molly. You know I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  She turned on her heel with a “Hmph,” and walked back into the kitchen. From inside the room, her voice echoed as she added, “Put your things away and come on in. I’ll rustle something up for ya.”

  Patrick left the hall, agreeable to anything if she fed him. He crossed the courtyard to the bachelor officers’ quarters. In his room, he put his hat and purchases on his bunk. With most of the troops out fighting the natives, he had his own room. The solid walls, door, and comfortable bed weren’t things he’d ever take for granted again. He ran his fingers down the quilt his mother had made for him. There’d be plenty of time to think after dinner. Right now, his stomach ached.

  Hurrying back, he paused to return a salute and continued on into the mess hall. Molly waited for him in the doorway, her foot tapping. He smiled at her mock outrage. She was always blustering, yet managed to keep him fed. Her cooking was why he’d met Rachel today. “I appreciate your saving me back some dinner.”

  She smacked his shoulder with a hand towel as he walked by her. “Enough to clean up my kitchen when you’re done?”

  He sat at the table closest to the stove. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We ran out of gravy. Jenkins had more than his share.” Molly set down two plates of chicken and mashed potatoes.

  Patrick took the fork she handed him. “Considerate of him.”

  “Yes, well, I knew he’d have a heavy go with the ladle.” She shrugged. “Teaches me to not save some back when he’s at the table.”

  He nodded, preoccupied with the buttery potatoes and how good they tasted. “Excellent, as usual, and I don’t blame Jenkins after all.”

  She wiped her mouth. “So, what kept you out so late? Leavenworth City rolls up its streets pretty early unless you’re on the wrong side of town.”

  “I was in Weston, having some pants mended.” He broke up a biscuit and took a bite. The warm bread soon melted the fresh butter. Patrick hummed in happiness, almost happy at the lack of gravy.

  “You went to Ellie’s for the work?” she asked, and Patrick nodded. Molly shifted in her seat. “Good choice. Rachel Stewart is a hidden treasure, and I don’t know what El will do when she’s gone.”

  He paused in buttering another biscuit. “She’s going somewhere?”

  “She and her brother are. Last week, Miss Ellie placed an advert for a new employee.”

  Patrick almost said she shouldn’t need to follow her brother, but held back. Likely those two were the only family they had left. If they went along the same trail as him to anywhere near Fort Dodge, he’d get a chance to see her again. He set down the butter knife. “Any idea where they’ve decided to go?”

  “I hadn’t heard. Maybe back east, or even the west coast.” She ate her last bite. “Isaac has been itching to leave the area for months and has been pushing at Rachel to leave with him. I don’t blame either one for wanting to start anew. Their family farm was destroyed during the General Order Number Eleven incident.”

  Most people knew about the order designed to punish Confederate bushwhackers living in four Missouri counties. The plan backfired. Resentment boiled under the surface, still. Patrick figured the people would take decades to recover. “That’s a shame,” was all he could say, since he’d hate anyone associated with the area troops, too. “Do you know what happened to the Stewarts in particular?”

  She shrugged. “A little, and about the same as everyone else i
n those counties. Their farm was burned while Isaac and Mr. Stewart were gone, fighting in the war. Mrs. Stewart and Rachel lined up with the others along the Missouri River. Steamboat captains picked them up, all of them, and the Stewarts landed in Weston. Miss Ellie and Mrs. Stewart had been in elementary school together.”

  He ate up the last bit of his dinner. “Did Mr. and Mrs. Stewart rebuild their farm?” Patrick asked, and dreaded the answer he suspected he already knew.

  “No. He died on some battlefield. I forget which one. She passed away two years ago after a long illness.” Molly stood, taking their dishes. “If you ask me, her heart broke when her husband died and having to see her son’s spirit gone.”

  Isaac’s bitterness came to Patrick’s mind, and he had to disagree while he followed her into the kitchen to learn more. “He seemed pretty spirited to me.”

  She dunked the dishes into the washtub and began scrubbing. “You met him, too?”

  He nodded, taking a dripping plate from her. “Briefly. He doesn’t care for Union soldiers despite the fact he was one.”

  “After the General Order destroyed his family? I don’t blame him.”

  “Neither do I.” Taking the second wet dish from her, Patrick asked, “Were most people around here affected by the order?”

  “Somewhat, even if they didn’t have farms in those counties. The process started out orderly but soon disintegrated into a free for all. Not all soldiers were bad, but not all were good, either.”

  He nodded and took the forks to dry them. “We might have to wait for a generation or two for the country’s scars to fade.” Patrick tapped the washbasin. “Do you want me to empty the water?”

  Molly made shooing motions with her hands. “I’ll take care of this. You’re leaving tomorrow, remember?”

  “I don’t mind helping.”

  “No, go on. Get some rest before tomorrow morning. I’ve chatted your ear off about people you’ll never meet again.”

  Patrick forced a smile. He’d spent as many as thirty minutes with Rachel. Yet his heart sank at how he might never see her again. Molly didn’t know where the Stewarts were moving, and if he asked to stay at Fort Leavenworth to find out? His army career would end like a snowball hitting the general’s face. Especially if he explained why. “You’re right. I’d better turn in for the evening.”

  “Goodnight, Captain. See you tomorrow at breakfast.”

  “Goodnight.” He headed out and to the officers’ quarters. Other soldiers passed him, and he nodded a greeting at each. Most of the men he’d led during the war were back in Virginia or already at various forts scattered throughout the wilderness. There’d been a few friends he’d made during one of his darkest times. None of them had survived.

  He opened the door to his room. Tomorrow meant proving himself to the tougher nuts on their way to Fort Dodge. The trip west would give him plenty of time to think about and come to terms with the past.

  Patrick moved his things off of the bed and onto a small end table. Fresh water and a small wash basin with a hand towel sat on a dresser. He began scrubbing his face, lost in thought over the Stewarts. He’d heard about families torn apart during the Civil War. Whether by incidents or intent, he had cousins he’d never see again. Still, his parents and sister’s new family were together back in Pennsylvania. He could visit them any time the military allowed him.

  Rachel and Isaac were on their own, without any other kin if they lived above a shop. He undressed, folding his clothes and packing them in the haversack. Tomorrow meant returning to his cavalry uniform along with no time to run back to Weston just to see Rachel. He’d love to learn where she was going. Not that he could follow, but even a letter or two exchanged between them would be interesting.

  He settled into bed, the ropes under the straw tick mattress squeaking with his weight. Part of being a soldier, particularly an officer, meant the army dictated his life. Patrick had always been fine with following orders until today. Now, he’d like to loiter in Fort Leavenworth for the morning at least and visit the lovely seamstress he’d met today.

  Chapter Three

  “Isaac, the sun’s up already.” Rachel shook her brother with her free hand. The man would sleep all day every day if she’d let him. “Come on. I want to be somewhere before tonight.”

  “Mmph,” he groaned. “Do you have to be so loud?” He rolled over, pulling the covers over his head.

  She hadn’t bothered starting a fire in the stove but now reconsidered. Coffee was the only thing luring him out of bed most days. “You’ve seen the illustrations of Santa Fe as well as I have.” Rachel resumed making checkmarks on her packing list. “I don’t know how you could lie there and not be ready to go.”

  “Those mountains aren’t going anywhere,” he said, his voice muffled under the comforter.

  “Neither are you at this rate.” Satisfied for the moment about her to-do list, she examined the room one last time. They each had their own bedroom in her dreams. They’d live in a place big enough to give them privacy instead of a single room, with a parlor, kitchen, and washroom. Motivation renewed, she pushed at him again. “Upsie-daisy so I can fold your bedding.”

  “Don’t bother.” He flipped over, his face framed by their mother’s quilt. “I’ll do it myself and hitch up Bossy when you’re ready to leave.”

  She was ready now but didn’t believe he was, judging by how snug he was under the covers. “Your things are all packed in your one bag?”

  “As many as I want to take.” He flung the blankets off and sat up fully dressed. “See? Sleeping in your clothes is very efficient.”

  A knock at the door interrupted Rachel’s next argument. “Hello? Have you left yet?”

  She hollered, “No, Miss Ellie. We’ll be along soon. You know Isaac.”

  “Very well, dear.”

  Rachel turned to her brother. “Now?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes. “Let’s get going, so it’ll all be over soon.”

  He wore his maudlin attitude like a favorite shirt, but she wasn’t fooled at all. The trip west had been his idea and, once she warmed up to leaving Missouri behind, hers as well. Only, now she might not mind staying… Rachel shook her head. No handsome brown-eyed soldier was going to change her mind. She’d be a successful business owner in Santa Fe, sewing new dresses for all the recent women settlers. She and her brother couldn’t be the only ones looking for a better life away from the east.

  Isaac took the coffee pot from the cold stove. “I wouldn’t mind roasting a few coffee beans for chewing on in the morning.”

  “Something to get you moving so you can get moving?” She grabbed her small carpet bag. “I’ll write down to cook up a few tonight at our campfire.” Rachel scribbled the task before tossing the book and pencil into her bag.

  He nodded and opened the door. “Exactly.”

  Rachel followed Isaac down the stairs, leaving what had been their home for the past year. Part of her, the one afraid of change, wanted to stay safe. The rest of her wanted to push her brother out of the way and lead the way west. She paced herself and took each step one at a time. “How far do you think we’ll go today?”

  He stared up at her until she stood next to him. “Probably ten or fifteen miles since it’s our first day.” He opened the door to the shop’s showroom. “Settlers west could reach twenty miles a day with a loaded-down wagon. I’d like it if we could go further.”

  His goal seemed almost impossible. “Good thing for Bossy we’re traveling light.”

  Isaac stopped. “Speaking of her, I’ll go hitch her up before saying goodbye to Miss Ellie.”

  Her nose stung and her eyes grew watery. She understood his need to put off seeing her friend and their benefactor. “It’ll be difficult.”

  “Isn’t everything?”

  She laughed at his typical morose response. “I suppose so. Life is but a veil of tears.”

  Isaac grinned. “Now you’re learning,” he quipped and went out the back door.
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  Rachel shook her head at his teasing. He didn’t fool her. Isaac relied on her sunny nature to lift his depression. He always switched to cheery when life made her too sad to smile. She sighed and looked at the back entrance to the shop room. Time to say goodbye to her boss and benefactor.

  The hinges creaked as she pushed open the swinging door. “Miss Ellie?”

  “There you are.” The middle-aged woman stood up from the sewing machine and walked up to Rachel. “I have something for you, and you’re not allowed to refuse.” She held out an envelope. “Something to help along your next adventure.”

  Rachel took the offering and peeked into the unsealed envelope. More cash than she’d seen together in years, maybe forever, lay inside. The bills might be small, but there were so many of them. “I can’t take this. It’s your profits for the year, at least.”

  “You can. Put the money in your pocket, deep, and be glad about having emergency funds.” When Rachel hesitated, Miss Ellie pushed the envelope closer to her. “Don’t argue and don’t tell Isaac until you’re too far to turn around.”

  She nodded, unable to argue with her boss. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Miss Ellie brought her in for a hug. “No ma’aming me now, missy. You’re on your own with that mangy brother of yours, now.”

  “I heard that.”

  The ladies stopped hugging, and Miss Ellie went to Isaac. “Come here and give me one last hug goodbye.”

  He did as she requested. “This isn’t the last goodbye, you know. We’ll be back someday.”

  “Maybe so.” Miss Ellie let go of him. “And you might love the wild west so much you never return.” She sniffed and smoothed her skirt. “I might have to come to visit and make sure you’re doing well.”

  “You might have to.” He glanced at Rachel, his grin fading. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” She gave Miss Ellie one last hug, as did Isaac. “The day isn’t getting any younger.” The three of them went out the back to the stable. Now that she faced the wagon, the bed seemed terribly sparse for a two-month trip west.