Her Hesitant Heart

chapter Fifteen



Maddie Wilby fit into Susanna’s classroom as easily as though she had been there all term, reminding Susanna how flexible children could be. Maddie knew her letters and numbers already. By the end of the third day, the self-possessed child, obviously used to the company of adults, was helping the younger pupils with adding single columns.

“Monsieur Ecoffey lets me look at his ledgers,” Maddie had explained to her, in her matter-of-fact way. “Each morning I check his totals from the night’s business—two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve.”

“That’s a questionable way to learn to count by twos,” Susanna told Joe when she came to the hospital a few nights later to finish Little Women. “Joe, those women aren’t paid very much for services rendered.”

She knew she had shocked him with such a statement, but that he would see the humor of it.

“Susanna, do I see before me a rabble-rousing reformer?” he asked.

“I’m just a teacher,” she assured him.

“Just.” He took her hand, raised it to his lips, then turned back to the paperwork on his desk, as if such a gesture was something he did every day of his life.

“Are … are you practicing for Paris?” she asked, wishing she did not sound so breathless.

He just shook his head as a slow smile spread across his face. “Leave me alone. Go read to my vile patients! I love it when hardened veterans cry over Beth and worry about Amy.”

Susanna hoped every morning that Jules Ecoffey would be true to his word and get Maddie to school. And he did, depositing her at the warehouse and admonishing the child in quiet French to do her best for her mother’s sake.

The afternoon transfer was less reliable. Hand in hand with Rooney O’Leary, who had whispered to her earlier that he thought Maddie was pretty, Susanna walked the O’Leary’s son home, and then continued the quarter mile to the Rustic Hotel, a raw building that more than lived up to its name. She read to Maddie or sometimes just held her on her lap, until Ecoffey arrived.

He was invariably late. After the second day, Nick Martin accompanied her and sat with her as darkness fell. By the end of the week, the post surgeon came along, too, when Nick was busy. Once he rode out with Ecoffey and Maddie. When he came back hours later, he slipped a note under the Reeses’ door for her. “Claudine is holding her own,” the note read. “I believe your prognosis is better than mine. JR.”

In all the turmoil, Maddie Wilby held her own, too, calling no attention to herself, but capable in a way that made Private Benedict shake his head in wonder. She always came to school as neat as a pin, her hair arranged beautifully in styles too old for her years, but lovely. To her amusement, Susanna observed two distinct styles of coiffure, which made her suspect that at least two of the Three Mile Ranch women were competing.

Maddie’s clothes were equally lovely. Only the sharpest of needlewomen could have detected they were cut down from larger sizes, or so Maeve Rattigan told Susanna when they stopped at the Rattigans’ for an after-school cookie.

“There must be plenty of willing hands at Three Mile,” Maeve whispered to her. “So stylish.”

The cookie habit had begun almost as soon as Maddie arrived. After school one day, Susanna had walked both of her after-school charges to Suds Row to visit Maeve, who had been pulling cookies from the oven when they arrived. After two days of this, the children just naturally veered to the Rattigans’, and Maeve did not disappoint.

Susanna knew Joe made visits to Three Mile Ranch as Claudine’s condition worsened. He stopped by the Reeses’ quarters a week later, long after taps.

“I know it’s late.” He nodded to Emily, whose eye were full of fright. “Now, now, Emily. No news from the field,” he soothed. “I just wanted give Susanna something. Rest your mind.”

Susanna lowered her voice. “Is Claudine still alive?”

He handed her a note with delicate, spidery handwriting.

“‘Merci,’” Susanna read. “That’s all?”

“It took all her strength, Fifi said.”

“Fifi?”

“One of the girls,” he replied, and held out a book. “This was at the hospital addressed to you, and it’s from a more dignified source.”

Puzzled, she took the book and let out a whoop that made Emily look up from her knitting in surprise. “Little Men! Oh, my! Is there a note?”

“Look inside.”

She did. “‘I have heard through the infamous army grapevine that you just completed Little Women,’” she read. “‘We just finished this at our house, and it’s the book that follows Jo March’s adventures. Keep it as long as you need it.’” Susanna ran her finger over the signature. “‘Mrs. Andrew Burt.’” She looked at the post surgeon. “She is so kind.”

Emily looked, too. “Susanna, do you have a champion?” she asked, amazement in her voice.

“Just a nice lady. That’s all,” she replied quietly, when she really wanted to dance around the room. “Please tell her thank-you for me, Major.”

“Tell her yourself,” he said, as he opened the door again. He touched Susanna’s nose. “I told you it was just a matter of hanging on a little longer.”

“You did,” she agreed, wishing he would stay there. She put her hand on his arm to detain him. “We’ve heard rumors of battle, and Emily and Katie are on edge. If you know anything …”

“I’ll tell you immediately,” he whispered back, his eyes on Emily sitting with her knitting, staring at the wall. He kissed Susanna’s cheek quickly. “Chin up.”

She tried to be severe with him. “You would do better to conjugate a French verb or two, rather than kiss me on the cheek like a Frenchman.”

“To be proper, I should kiss the other cheek, too,” he whispered, and did just that. “Do you know, Jules Ecoffey—whose French is excellent, if not his good taste—loaned me a scurrilous book of naked women and French text. It looks like more fun than conjugating everlasting verbs. So glad I didn’t hand you the wrong book just now. ‘Night, Susanna.”

Amazed, she stood in the open door, watching his jaunty walk as he crossed the parade ground. In another moment, he was whistling.

After school the next day, Susanna worked up her nerve to visit Elizabeth Burt. It took all her courage to knock on the door, and to her relief, the infantry captain’s wife opened her door wide and welcomed her.

“I was hoping you would visit me,” Mrs. Burt said. “Would you like some tea?”

Susanna was so terrified she didn’t think she could swallow, but she nodded. In another moment, she was seated in the parlor, teacup in hand.

“I wanted to thank you for the book,” she said, and took a sip. Peppermint. Just the way she liked it. “The men liked Little Women so well, and they are enjoying its companion now.”

“I thought they might. My husband blew his nose a lot when we were reading Little Women!”

She talked of inconsequentials then, and Susanna felt herself relaxing. By the time she left, she wondered why she had worried at all.

Mrs. Burt showed her out, touching her hand. “Mrs. Hopkins, would you object to cards here some evening with a few of my friends?”

Susanna felt her face drain of color. “I shouldn’t think …”

Mrs. Burt looked at her in a kindly manner. “You need never fear, in my home.” She touched her again. “Think about it, all right?”

March dragged, mainly because escort service between Fort Russell in Cheyenne and Fort Laramie was reduced to vital messages only, since so many mounted soldiers were in the Powder River country. The December and January newspapers had been around the fort twice, and were finally relegated to lining shelves and starting fires.

When Colonel Bradley, commanding officer of the Ninth Infantry, arrived to relieve Major Townsend of duty, he brought mail with him, and a stack of newspapers. They followed the usual pecking order of rank, with dependents last, but Major Randolph brought Emily and Susanna one Pennsylvania paper on the sly.

“Captain Dunklin snatched the Gettysburg paper, but he wasn’t quick enough to grab the Carlisle one, too,” Joe said as he presented the newspaper to Emily with a flourish. “What a dog in the manger. I’m glad I outrank him. Use it well and pass it on.” He pointed to Susanna. “And you have a roomful of patients waiting to hear about Professor Bhaer’s school for boys at Plumfield. Need an escort?”

“Do you have time tonight for more French verbs?” she asked as they walked to the hospital. Susanna took a deep breath and regretted it. “My stars, what is that odor?”

“That is the fragrance of spring at Fort Laramie. While you are reading to a roomful of eager listeners, I will be composing a stiffly worded memo to the effect that it is time for the garrison to turn out and police the grounds. Don’t let me offend you—”

“You couldn’t possibly. I have heard it all,” she murmured.

“I’ll be the judge of that. During this long, cold winter, everyone from private to major—I am the notable exception—has been tossing the contents of chamber pots out into the snow, knowing said contents will be covered by the next snowfall, and so on.”

“I know this for a fact,” Susanna said. “Pardon your blushes now!”

“It takes more than that to make me blush,” Joe retorted. “We are now at that moment of reckoning. Spring at Fort Laramie brings with it the bouquet of raw sewage. Welcome to my public health world. It’s even more fun than being a surgeon.”

“I had no idea your position was so exalted,” she joked. “Very well, you may write your memo. But there will be French verbs in your near future.”

Joe was still laboring over his memo when she finished reading, but there was Nick Martin to deposit her at the Reeses’ quarters, where Emily was still reading the Carlisle paper. Her eyes troubled, Emily gestured for her to come closer.

“What is it?” Susanna asked.

“Look.”

Susanna looked where Emily pointed, read it, and read it again. “Do you believe me now?” she asked finally.

Emily nodded. “I almost overlooked the article. It’s so small. ‘Frederick Hopkins of Hopkins Carriage Works has filed for bankruptcy,’” she read, taking the newspaper back. “There is such a list of creditors! But that is not the worst part.” She turned to another page and jabbed her finger. “Look at this letter from one of his creditors, blaming ‘the grain and the grape’ for his dereliction!”

“I was not wrong,” Susanna said quietly, but there was no victory, not with her son facing ruin, too, and her so far away. She pulled on her coat and grabbed the newspaper from Emily, running up the hill to the hospital to arrive at Joe’s office, out of breath and her hair tugged out of its pins by the wind.

Nick stopped sweeping. Startled, Joe looked up from his paperwork. He was out of his chair in a moment, his arm around her, as she calmed herself. She still couldn’t talk, but she handed him the Carlisle newspaper and pointed to the article. He read it, and then she turned to the editorial page with the condemning letter. They stared at each other over the paper.

“Is there anything I can do, do you think, to get my son back?” she asked.

“We need a lawyer.”

She stared at him, still out of breath and wondering if she had heard him correctly. He set down the paper and put his hands gently on her face.

“I know what I said. We need a lawyer.” He glanced at Nick, who stood there leaning on his broom, looking at the article. “Nick, could you see if there is any of my bad coffee left in the ward?”

Joe sat her down and took the chair opposite her. He made no other move to touch her, but his expression seemed to reach out and caress her heart.

“This … this isn’t your fight, Major Randolph,” she said tentatively and formally, so unsure of herself.

“I rather believe it is,” he replied.

She tried again; the man needed to be reasoned with. “Major Randolph, I’m the scapegoat and bad example of this entire garrison.”

“Not lately,” he countered. “The people who matter know better. I happen to be one of them.”

He looked up when Nick returned with coffee. “Thanks. You might as well retire now, my friend.”

Nick shook his head. “She’s in trouble? I don’t like that.”

“I don’t either, Nick,” Joe said, speaking carefully to the big man. “It’s her son who could be in trouble, back in Carlisle. Susanna is fine.”

No, I’m not, she thought, almost as a reflex, then let the matter work on her brain as a great feeling of relief covered her. And there was Nick, her champion, looking so concerned. “I am fine,” she told him, meaning it with all her heart, because it was suddenly true. “My son is in a difficult position because his father is facing ruin.” She put out her hand to Nick. “The wheels of justice move slowly, my friend.”

Nick nodded and left.

“You’ll have to reassure him. He is my champion, isn’t he?”

“I’m another one, Susanna,” Joe replied. “Casual travel between forts is so unsafe right now, but when things loosen up, we’ll go to Cheyenne for a lawyer. Coffee?”

She took the cup from him, sipped and made a face. “You haven’t a clue what to do in your kitchen, or a hospital kitchen, or probably over a campfire.”

There was a long silence that Susanna knew better than to interrupt. She saw before her a man whose heart was as hesitant as her own, who years before had watched, powerless, as the dearest person in his life died a terrible death. You need time, she thought, as she set down the cup and rose.

“I’ll go back to Emily now. We’ll … we’ll worry about an attorney later.”

The look in his eyes told her he knew she wasn’t talking about attorneys. He nodded, then put his arms around her, holding her close until her arms went around him, too. They stood that way, her head against his chest, until he kissed the top of her untidy head and stepped away, professional again.

She hadn’t even removed her coat, so she waited while he put his on and doused the lamp. She followed him into the hall and waited while he walked into the ward and spoke to his night steward. Then, arm in arm, the two of them walked slowly, silently, down the hill. She noticed that his steps slowed as he passed his own quarters, almost as if he wanted to take her inside.

Not yet, Joe, not yet, she thought, relieved when his pace quickened again, because she did not want to tell him no.

The light in the Reeses’ parlor was still burning, so she asked him in. Emily just sat in her chair, knitting in her lap. She looked at the newspaper in Joe’s hand.

“Can we rectify a terrible wrong?” her cousin asked, surprising Susanna with her concern.

Joe looked her in the eye and shook his head. “I’ll circle those articles and leave the paper on the Dunklins’ stoop. I know from long experience that some are unable to give up a prejudice. We can try, but some minds won’t change. Good night to both of you lovely ladies.”

After the door closed, Emily and Susanna just looked at each other. Emily broke the silence first. “Cousin, my feet are cold every night and I know yours must be, too. What do you say we share my bed, like we used to when we were little?” Her voice faltered. “Until my darling returns.”

After a good cry with her cousin, Susanna had the warmest night’s sleep in recent memory. Cuddled close to Emily, she thought of Major Randolph in his solitary quarters and wished herself beside him.

Word of battle seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Garbled word filtered down, probably carried in some way known only to them, from Indian to Indian until it reached the Arikara scouts at Fort Laramie: big fight. Village burning. Horse herd captured. And that was all anyone knew.

To Joe’s surprise, he who thought he knew human nature, it was Emily Reese who gathered women at the hospital to roll bandages and scrape lint, preparing for the troops’ return. “Thank you for keeping us busy,” she told him one afternoon.

He wanted to visit Susanna, but she was busy all day with school, and then night school, and then reading twice a week to his patients. Organizing and policing the filthy grounds occupied him, and he chafed at his duties, where before he would have just accepted them.

As the tense days passed, he examined his heart, trying to make scientific sense of his emotions, because that was how he worked. Probably since that awful night in the aid station when he had turned from a dying man to save a living one, and sealed his future, he had allowed a callus to grow around his heart. He knew that was scientifically impossible. In his yearnings to turn to Susanna Hopkins now for comfort, he understood what he had done to himself. The callus was gone now and he ached inside, because he wanted to love that lady. He was in pain, where he had been numb. Numbness was better, in some respects, but as a physician he knew pain might mean healing.

She seemed to see him differently, too, in the few moments they had to look, talk and say nothing remotely close to what they wanted to say. He made his peace with that, because larger concerns loomed.

One concern that embarrassed him was the disappearance of Nick Martin. Perhaps embarrassed was the wrong word, he told himself, the morning he found Nick gone from the military reservation, along with two hundred dollars, the entire contents of his special fund. Joe endured a scathing rebuke from Colonel Bradley for being so careless around an idiot, and knew that his pride was more wounded. It was an easy enough matter to assure Bradley he could make good the loss with his own money.

Mostly he missed Nick’s help around the hospital, and his escort for Susanna and Maddie to the Rustic Hotel every afternoon. He discovered he missed Nick for a lot of reasons; maybe he missed his strange friendship.

“Gone? You mean as in gone?” Susanna asked that afternoon as he walked her and the child to the Rustic Hotel.

No wonder he loved her. She had the good sense to laugh at herself, which gave him permission to laugh, too, because it was the funniest thing he’d heard in days.

“Yes, that gone,” he teased, which earned him a slap on the arm, which made Maddie laugh, too.

“Any idea where?” Susanna asked.

He could only shrug and suggest that Nick had followed the increasingly large number of miners now using the iron bridge that took them to the Black Hills and lots of gold, or so they hoped. Amazing that just the thought of gold seduced otherwise reasonable men to take a chance on Indians, accident, ailments and other calamities.

For a change, Jules Ecoffey was there on time at the Rustic, worry etched all over his face. Susanna saw it, too, and distracted Maddie with another cookie purloined from the generous Maeve.

“Is Claudine dead?” Joe whispered.

“No, but hemorrhaging. Could you come? I brought an extra horse so you wouldn’t have to take the time to get one.”

“Let’s go.”

Susanna was so well in tune with him that he didn’t do more than wave his hand. She nodded, kissed Maddie and handed her up to Jules. Joe looked back once to see her still watching them.

When they arrived at Three Mile, one of the women took Maddie with her, and he followed Jules to Claudine’s crib. He knew what he would see, but he was never prepared for it. No one should suffer as consumptives suffered. She had bled so much that she was impossibly white, her eyes large and terrified.

Once the blood was cleaned up, he helped Fifi dress Claudine in a clean nightgown. He held her frail body as another woman changed the bed, then carefully settled her between tidy coverlets, with a well-wrapped iron pig at her feet. He knew the hospital wouldn’t miss it.

There was nothing he could do, so he sat with her, telling her about Maddie’s progress at school, which lit up her tired eyes.

“She’s a bright one, Claudine.”

The prostitute nodded and struggled to speak. “Promise me …” was the best she could do.

“I promise you she will have an excellent home and all the education she needs to make a real difference in the world.” Joe swallowed, amazed how his callus-free heart could ache so much for this prostitute he could not help. “Of course, she still has a fine mother. Claudine, you’ve done good things with Maddie.”

The woman nodded, then slept, at peace in that strange way of patients who have reached the point of acceptance.

He rode back to Fort Laramie long after dark, thinking he would just go to bed. He went instead to the Reeses’ quarters, knocking softly on the door when he saw there was still a light on.

In nightgown and robe, Susanna let him in, her finger to her lips. “I couldn’t sleep until I knew,” she told him.

He sat in the armchair he figured was Dan’s, wondering if he would have the energy to get up. “I’m not sure what she’s using for blood now, because she lost so much. Hanging on, Suzie.”

He had never called her that before. For all he knew, it was a nickname her former husband had used. Her smile told Joe otherwise, which relieved him, because he had wanted to call her that for ages. “I just sat with her and made her all kinds of extravagant promises for a rosy future for her daughter. She believed me, and maybe I believed me, too.”

“I’d be willing to sit with Claudine.”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t have you risking infection. I’m not totally sure how consumption travels, but I take no chances with people I’m … fond of.”

There. He wanted to say more, but he still had his doubts about himself, not Suzie. “If I’m speaking out of turn …”

“You’re not, but that will do for now,” she said, her voice equally quiet. “I would suffer if the, um, good people of Fort Laramie ostracize you if you are … fond of me.”

Ostracism? Child’s play. He tried out her nickname again, noticing how her eyes lit up. “Suzie, I’ve been ostracized by masters, and I include my own family, may you never meet them. I’m always amazed how ostracism ends when someone in garrison needs a doctor and all they have is little ol’ Virginia me.”

She started to say something, but there was Emily at the top of the stairs, alert, her voice full of panic.

“Susanna! Please don’t tell me it’s bad news!”

Joe got up quickly and went to the stairs. “No fears, Emily. It concerns Maddie Wilby’s mother, who is fighting a pretty good fight. Go back to sleep.”

He sat down again with a sigh. “The commanding officer often gives me the ‘death walk,’ I call it. I get to deliver sad tidings. All we know so far is that there was a fight, but every cavalry wife on this post has dread in her eyes when she sees me.”

Susanna put her hand over his. “These are difficult times. Perhaps we had better just remain fond.”

He thought it was a stupid idea and nearly told her so. A moment’s consideration forced him to agree, because he knew she was right. Still, if everyone waited until the time was precisely right to marry, or even fool around, the earth would have ground to a stop eons ago. She looked so pretty in her flannel nightgown. If he made a move toward her, he wasn’t sure if she would resist or yield. Better not test the matter. She was right; it was late.

“‘Night, Suzie. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Joe was right about the tension, Susanna decided, as another day passed. She felt the whole garrison’s strain, and so did her little ones at school. One child, ordinarily so cheerful, burst into tears when the chalk broke against his slate. Another child glowered at her uncharacteristically when she said it was time to turn in her class work. Even Private Benedict had a sharp word for his best pupil, too distracted to diagram a compound sentence.

Taking her cue from her students’ worry, Susanna abandoned her afternoon lessons and just read to them instead. Everyone eventually took a turn on her lap, and she dubbed them “page-turning monitors.” The afternoon stop at Maeve Rattigan’s quarters lengthened to include ample time for Maddie on Maeve’s lap, or the sergeant’s, if he happened to be home. Susanna noticed with a pang that Maddie’s pretty hair was less tidy. Joe had told her how busy the other sporting women were, taking care of Claudine.

The odorous policing of the fort had begun, which meant the post surgeon was out at all hours, making sure the prisoners from the guardhouse scooped, shoveled and limed the ground. This led to a flaming row when one of the more lax infantry lieutenants took exception to his company’s participation, and the major thought otherwise.

“I always win those discussions,” he told her later as he passed the Reeses’ quarters, headed for his own. “Amazing how rank can sharpen even a second lieutenant’s intellect.” He held up his hands playfully to ward her off. “Close enough, Suzie! I reek.”

From a distance, he told her he had left the Carlisle newspaper for the Dunklins’ perusal, but Susanna had no expectations. The only difference she noticed was that Mrs. Dunklin avoided her eyes now, the gloat gone. Susanna didn’t look for more, especially since it was more pleasant to exchange a few words with Mrs. Burt, or spend an evening laughing with her night school students, some of whom could read better than their husbands now.

I could worry myself into an early grave, Susanna decided after a week of tension. It was a rare night. The house was her own, since Emily and Stanley had adjourned to the Burt quarters for an evening of cards and games—anything to create a diversion. Susanna had been invited, too, but that was a step she wasn’t prepared to take yet.

She had adjourned to the kitchen table to write her weekly letter to Tommy, when she heard banging at the door. Her nerves practically humming, she listened. No, someone was kicking at the door. Her heart in her mouth, Susanna leaped to her feet, her mind crowded with Tommy first, as always, then Captain Reese, and now Nick.

“Yes?” she quavered, not about to open the door.

“Ma’am, it’s Sentry Number 4. There’s someone who needs you.”

Confused, she opened the door. Her coat a mess and her shoes muddy, Maddie Wilby was held tight in the arms of a sentry who juggled his gun on one shoulder.

“Maddie!” she exclaimed, taking the sobbing child from the soldier, who stepped back in obvious relief.

“I found her on the flats by the Rustic Hotel,” he said, his eyes full of concern. “I think she must have walked from Three Mile Ranch.” He touched her head. “When I called out the password challenge, she started to cry. I have a little sister back in Indiana ….” He shouldered his rifle again, nodded to them and left the porch.

His voice came out of the darkness. “Mrs. Hopkins, she told me you would help her, because you are her teacher.”

“I am, Private. Thank you,” she told him, then called after him. “Before you return to your post, could you please inform Major Randolph?” She turned her attention to the child in her arms. “Maddie, my dear, is your mother …”

Maddie nodded, clutching her tighter. “Everyone was crying. I couldn’t see her. I knew you would help me.”

“Yes, but mercy, you took a chance getting here,” Susanna said, sitting down with her, trying to calm herself so she wouldn’t show fear to a distressed child. She sat still a long moment, holding Maddie, wanting to hold her forever, since her own dear child was out of reach, perhaps never to be seen again. As her mind cleared, she knew she had to be brave. Someone else needed Maddie even more.

“My dear, I know just the place for you. Let me get my coat.” She yanked it on, knowing that if she hesitated for another moment, her resolve would fail her. There was only one place for Maddie Wilby, one refuge. She picked up the child and ran toward the footbridge, running from herself, maybe, because she wanted the child for her own. Halfway across the parade ground, she wasn’t sure if she had closed the door behind her. She hesitated and nearly turned back, but from some forgotten reservoir of courage deep inside her, she found determination.