Her Hesitant Heart

chapter Seven



Susanna tried to trick herself into believing that the evening stretching before her would be easier this night. Maybe it was. Her cousin-in-law tried a little harder to be company, instead of hiding behind a months-old newspaper.

She carried on a decent patter about her day and mentioned Nick Martin, which made the captain pull a face and mutter something about “sending him to the federal insane asylum.” She exhausted all topics soon, almost wishing for Emily to hurry downstairs and save her from her cousin-in-law. Major Randolph saved her, as he had been saving her since Cheyenne, even though he wasn’t present this time.

“Cousin, I know this is none of my business….” she began, then watched with something close to unholy glee as his interest picked up. What had Major Randolph told her about the U.S. Army containing more gossips per square foot than any other organization he knew of?

Appeal to his masculine pride, Susanna, she advised herself. “I know so little about the army, and you know so much,” she began. “Someone told me that Major Randolph wouldn’t be going on the midwinter campaign because of some general or other. Why not?”

She could tell by the way Dan’s eyes lit up that she had hit on a topic guaranteed to please. “It’s a bit of a scandal,” he began, not even trying to feign some reluctance at proceeding. Major Randolph was right about gossip, but this was at his expense, and she felt a momentary pang.

“It happened during the Battle of South Mountain in 1862,” Reese began, tucking away his old newspaper. “More properly, it was during a skirmish at Boonsboro Gap, in a forward aid station when a Union soldier and a rebel soldier were brought in.” He clucked his tongue. “Major Randolph took one look at the Union man and knew he didn’t have a chance—head half blown off, or something. He turned his attention to saving the Confederate, when Crook—he was a colonel then, in an Ohio division—came into the aid station, took a look and went bat-shit crazy.”

No wonder Stanley has such a colorful vocabulary, Susanna thought. “Surely the major tried to explain …”

“And Crook didn’t hear one damn word of it.” Reese leaned closer, as though the room was full of Rebel sympathizers. “Some say Crook tried to yank the major out of that tent, but Joe Randolph held him off with a scalpel and backed Crook into a corner.” He shrugged. “That’s when the Union soldier died.”

“Surely it was obvious …” Susanna tried again.

“Nothing’s obvious in the heat of battle. When the Union secured South Mountain, Crook pulled enough strings to have Randolph sent to Florida among the saw grass and alligators. Maybe he hoped Joe would die of malaria.”

“That’s so unfair. Had he no friends?”

“Precious few. Joe is from Virginia, remember? Well, General George Thomas—he was also a Virginian—did manage to retrieve him from Florida. Joe served with Pap Thomas and the Army of the Cumberland until the war ended.”

“Thank goodness for General Thomas.”

“Too bad he isn’t still alive. Joe was supposed to serve with General Thomas in the Department of the Pacific, but the general died on his way to San Francisco in 1870. The Medical Department reassigned Joe here to the Department of the Platte, which Crook heads now. Talk about bad luck. Crook’s going to lead this winter expedition, so Joe will get left behind with hemorrhoids and the clap.”

“It must be humiliating to be passed over like that,” she said.

“I’ve wondered why Joe doesn’t just leave the army. He could practice anywhere.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t care,” Susanna said.

Let this be a cautionary tale, she told herself, as she went to the upstairs window in the hall that overlooked the parade ground. You mustn’t quit caring.

She finally retired to her blanket-partitioned bedroom, wondering how a well-educated man could tolerate such scorn heaped on him. She was drifting to sleep when she realized that for the first time in more than a year, her son wasn’t square in the middle of her thoughts. I am not alone in misfortune, she thought.

Nick Martin was waiting for her on the porch of Old Bedlam the next morning. Wrapped in an army blanket, he was covered in a light skiff of snow.

“Nick, tell me you haven’t been here all night!”

He stood up and shook himself like a Saint Bernard emerging from a snowbank. “No. The major was all night at Sergeant Rattigan’s house, and I went there first.” He shook his head. “Maeve Rattigan needs a miracle, and so I have informed my superior.”

“The Lord God Almighty?” Susanna asked.

“The very one,” he replied. “Major Randolph says she tries and tries to have babies and they never make it.”

Poor woman, Susanna thought. “Is Major Randolph as tired as you?”

“More. When someone dies, no matter how small, he just paces and paces in his office.” Nick folded his blanket. “What can I do for you, my child?”

“Let’s see what’s inside, and then I’ll tell you.”

She looked around in surprise at the dirty space that was rapidly becoming a classroom. Without the heavy drapes, sunlight poured in and warmed the place, even without a fire lit in the newly swept fireplace. The desks were clean and someone had polished them. There was even a blackboard now, and a pile of books by the door.

“Looks like the miracle happened right here, Nick,” she said.

The windows were dusty again, probably from the work of the chimney sweep, so she sent Nick up the ladder to wash them once more. She admired a handsome bookcase near her desk. “Where did this …”

Nick looked down from his lofty height. She almost expected him to raise his hand in a blessing. “I have seen one like that in the major’s quarters,” he said, then turned his attention to the window. “The Lord provides.”

“My goodness, I wonder when he found the time,” she murmured.

“Ye of little faith,” Nick scolded, but gently.

She started sweeping, but stopped when Katie O’Leary arrived with a globe.

“Hi, Nick,” Katie said cheerfully. “I am continually amazed what lurks in dark corners at old forts.” She set the globe on top of the providential bookcase. “Not you, Nick! It happens that the quartermaster clerk is from County Mayo, where Jim was born, so he found me a globe.” She laughed. “Life in the army depends on who you know, even though the other officers’ wives think I don’t know anyone!”

“You’re giving my pupils the world, Katie,” she teased.

“Mrs. Hopkins—may I call you Susanna?—you are a hopeless romantic!”

“Of course you may call me Susanna, and I am an educator, not a romantic.”

“I don’t know about that.” Katie took off her overcoat. “What will you have me do?”

Just keep reminding me how truly lucky I am to be at Fort Laramie, Susanna thought. She noticed the note on the books. “‘Since I head the advisory committee this year, I am also over the post library. Use what suits you. J,’” she read out loud, then looked at Katie. “Major Randolph takes a serious interest in his post duties.”

“You can think that,” Katie said, all complaisance. “I think he is interested in you.”

Susanna felt her face flame. “Surely not,” she murmured. “Now I will change the subject. Watch me! You, madam, may dust the books while I sweep and mop.”

Katie sat on one of the stools, took a cloth Susanna handed her, and started through the pile, sneezing at the dust. Susanna stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom. “My cousin-in-law told me such a story about Major Randolph last night. Does General Crook truly mean to snub him by keeping him here during that winter campaign?”

“I’m certain he does,” Katie replied. “It’s what the general has been doing for years.” She put down the dust cloth. “For my part, I am glad enough. I’d rather Major Randolph delivered this next O’Leary, and he can’t do that in the Powder River country.” She sighed. “The general has been plaguing Major Randolph’s life since he took over the Department of the Platte.”

“It’s so unfair,” Susanna said, attacking the dusty floor with more vigor. “Does Major Randolph just not care anymore?”

Katie was silent for a long moment, returning her attention to the old books. “Do you know what happened to his wife? It was so terrible I hate to think about it.”

Susanna nodded. She started sweeping slowly.

“I think if he could have crawled into the coffin with her, he would have,” Katie told her, after a glance at Nick on his ladder. She crossed herself quickly, and then was silent again. The whoosh of the broom was the only sound in the room. “I noticed something yesterday. He’s not wearing his wedding ring. I don’t know when he stopped doing that, but I noticed yesterday.” She gave Susanna a shy look. “You don’t wear yours. I suppose it’s difficult.”

I pawned mine, Susanna thought. The engagement ring got me to Chicago, and the wedding ring got me almost here. “Rings need to be tucked away, eventually,” she said, resisting a strong urge to tell the truth to Katie O’Leary.

The work was done by noon, or mess call, which Susanna recognized. Even though she assured him she was capable, Nick threw the mop water outside the front porch for her and returned the mop and pail to the hall closet. “Do you go back to the hospital steward’s house for noon?” she asked gently, when he just stood there, a puzzled look on his face.

“I do, I do, indeed.” He executed a courtly bow that made Susanna smile. “Thank you for reminding me. God will bless you.”

“You’re kind to him,” Katie said as they both stood on the porch of Old Bedlam and watched him walk away. “He’s a lost soul, and hardly anyone treats him kindly. Sometimes children are mean.”

“I know what that feels like,” she said simply. Katie could take that however she chose; it didn’t matter to Susanna.

As she looked across the parade ground, Susanna watched Major Randolph walk by the new guardhouse construction, his head down, his hands behind his back. She pointed him out to Katie, who was buttoning the only three buttons on her coat that closed over her pregnant belly.

“I don’t think things went well at Sergeant Rattigan’s house,” Susanna whispered, even though he was too far away to hear her.

“The Rattigans? Oh, no!” Katie said in genuine distress. “You haven’t met her yet, but Maeve Rattigan gets in the family way every few months, and just as regularly loses her baby.” She looked down at her own swollen body, evidence of fertility that the sergeant’s wife couldn’t match. “I’d go to her, but I fear I would only make her more sad.”

“Perhaps I could go,” Susanna offered.

Major Randolph was closer now. She thought he was headed to his quarters, but he veered toward Old Bedlam. He looked up and squared his shoulders in a gesture that went right to Susanna’s heart.

“It must be so hard to do what he does,” she whispered. “I couldn’t.”

They waited for him on the porch of Old Bedlam. The parade ground was busy now with soldiers heading to the mess halls behind their particular barracks, but the post surgeon hardly seemed aware of them. You have no one to go home to and talk out the misery you see every day, Susanna thought. What a shame.

He didn’t have to say anything when he got to the porch, because Katie was in tears. Without a word, he took out a handkerchief, wiped her eyes, then put the handkerchief over her nose. “Blow, sweetheart,” he told her.

He looked at Susanna. “I had a note tacked to my door last night, and I’ve been in the Rattigans’ quarters since then. I wish I knew how to help her, but …” He shook his head.

“Is there anything I can do?” Susanna asked.

“Are you finished here?”

She nodded.

“You wouldn’t mind visiting a sergeant’s wife over on Suds Row? Emily would probably be aghast.”

“I’m going to overlook that question,” she said, more crisply than she intended, but at least it brought a momentary smile to his face. “What would you have me do?”

He thought a moment. “I’ll get a book from my quarters. I’ll introduce you, but would you stay there this afternoon and read to her? She might listen, she might just doze. She’ll know someone cares, and that’s all I care about.”

He left the porch with a quicker step than he’d arrived, and hurried to his quarters. “What’s Mrs. Rattigan like?” Susanna asked Katie.

“Quiet. Calm. She worships the ground Sergeant Rattigan treads on.” Katie shook her head. “All they want is a baby. It seems so simple.”

The post surgeon was in no hurry to return to Old Bedlam, apparently. When Katie started rubbing her arms to warm them, Susanna told her to go home. Katie left with no argument, walking carefully down the icy steps. Before she reached her quarters, her husband joined her. Susanna sighed to see them continue arm in arm, her head close to his shoulder.

When she began to wonder if the post surgeon had forgotten her, he hurried from his quarters and up Officers Row again, a book and package in his hand.

The package was a cheese sandwich. “I eat a lot of these. This one’s for you.”

She smiled her thanks and sat down to eat it. He pulled a half-eaten sandwich from inside his overcoat and peeled back the waxed paper. “It wasn’t so appealing last night,” he told her as he chewed and swallowed. “I knew it could wait.”

“You should eat better,” she admonished, wishing for water to wash down the dry bread. The man was no cook.

“I should do a lot of things better.” He said it mildly enough, but she heard the regret in his voice. “Poor Mrs. Rattigan. She just can’t carry a child to term, and I have no idea why.” He sighed. “She looks at me so patiently, and I feel more inadequate than a first-year medical student. Give me a festering wound any day.”

He waited until she finished. “Tonight, after supper, if you wish, I’ll take you around to meet your pupils.”

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

He held out a book. “Up you get, Mrs. Hopkins. Here’s your text for this afternoon.”

She took it. “I have heard this is quite good.”

“I bought it in Cheyenne. Mark Twain always makes me smile. I doubt it will have the same effect on a lady who is sad, but we shall see.”

The bugler blew fatigue call as they crossed the parade ground and walked by the construction.

“It’s the new guardhouse,” he commented, taking her arm and walking her around a pile of lumber.

He pointed to a footbridge over the frozen Laramie River. “Can you swim? I’m joking. Over there is Suds Row, called so because of the laundresses. Noncommissioned officers and their families live here, too. This is where Private Benedict’s pupils come from, and this is Sergeant Rattigan’s quarters.” He opened a neat little gate.

“I don’t know if I can help,” she said, hanging back.

He pushed against the small of her back and moved her forward. “You can. She needs female company.”

“Do you bully everyone like this?” Susanna demanded.

“Yes. I always get my way,” he replied, a smile lurking around his lips.

He knocked and walked in. “I’m glad you’re sitting up, Maeve,” he said to a blanketed figure in an armchair, her feet propped on an ottoman. “Meet Mrs. Hopkins. She’ll be teaching the officers’ children starting Monday, and I’ve asked her to keep you company until your man returns. Mrs. Hopkins, this is Maeve Rattigan, just about my favorite person, because she makes me soda bread and peppermint tea.”

Susanna held out her hand. Maeve’s hand was cold, so Susanna did not release it, but put her other hand around it and sat on the edge of the sofa.

“I had … we had … a bad night,” Maeve said, not withdrawing her hand. She glanced at the post surgeon. “Did he tell you?”

“He did, and I’m so sorry,” Susanna replied simply. “May we ask the major to bring us peppermint tea?”

“Aye,” she said. “He doesn’t mind a little step and fetch.”

Her brogue was so charming that Susanna had to smile. “Do you know, I have only been here a few days, and I am rather smitten with the Irish accents I have heard. Thank you, Major. How prompt you are! Just set the cups on that little table. I need to take off my coat.”

She released Maeve’s hand and let Major Randolph help her with her coat. He hung it on a peg and returned to the lean-to kitchen. The house appeared to have two more rooms, and that was all. She looked around appreciatively. Everything was spotless.

She took Maeve’s hand again, pleased to feel more warmth. Major Randolph returned with something wrapped in a blanket. He lifted the blanket covering Maeve’s legs and pulled out a similar package. “Iron pigs,” he told Susanna. “I’ll leave the cool one in the oven and you can exchange it for this hot one, when it cools. Keep your feet warm, Maeve.”

He patted the blanket back in place and smiled at his patient. “Lean forward, my dear Maeve,” he told her, pulling out a thinner pad. “I’ll put this one back in the oven, too.” He returned to the kitchen, coming back with another blanket, which he put in place when Maeve winced and leaned forward again. “I’m not sure of the science behind a warm blanket on the back, but it feels good,” he told them. “You can trade it off, Mrs. Hopkins.”

He straightened up, took a professional look at Maeve Rattigan, then kissed her cheek. “Don’t tell the sergeant,” he said with a wink. Nodding to them both, he let himself out quietly.

Maeve shook her head. “I honestly think he feels worse about this….” She stopped and dissolved in tears, as though she had been holding them back until there were only women in the house.

Susanna gulped, then hesitated no longer than the major had. Quickly, she plucked a chair from the dining table and sat as close to Maeve Rattigan as she could. She leaned forward to hold her in her arms as the sergeant’s wife sobbed every tear in the universe. Tears came to Susanna’s eyes and she cried, too, both of them denied motherhood, one by cruelty and the other by biology.

They cried until there were no more tears. Her arms were still tight around Maeve Rattigan, and Susanna knew the warmth was gone from the blanket at the woman’s back. “Lean forward,” she said. “I’ll make it warm again.”

She did, returning with the oven-warmed blanket. She slipped it in place, and Maeve leaned back gratefully. Her eyes were raw and swollen with weeping, but her face was calm now.

“May I read to you?” Susanna asked. “Major Randolph has a brand-new book here.” She opened it. “I do like Mark Twain. Do you?”

No answer. Maeve just looked at her with the same expression in her eyes as when she had looked at Major Randolph, as though there was something she could actually do that would end the pain. Susanna touched her hand. “It’s called Sketches New and Old. Let’s see now. Ah. ‘My Watch.’ Maeve, dear, would you mind if I take off my shoes and put my feet by that pig, too?”

Maeve smiled and shifted slightly so there was room. “It’s still warm. ‘My Watch,’ you say?”

Susanna made herself comfortable. She cleared her throat and began. “‘My beautiful new watch had run eighteen months without losing or gaining, and without breaking any part of its machinery or stopping. I had come to believe it infallible in its judgments ….’”

She looked at Maeve, already asleep, and closed the book. “You dear lady,” she whispered.