The commander is a known drunkard, according to Evelyn, who filled the soldiers with whiskey the night before, and rallied them to the unspeakable once the killing was begun.
She insists she has overheard many such stories and does not believe them to be exaggerated. Her uncle was among those who argued for the men to be disciplined, while even at the same time politicians in Washington, D.C., were calling for them to be decorated with medals. In the end, the soldiers were neither punished nor rewarded.
And did Mr Pruitt truly have a hand in this? Evelyn could not say for certain, but she said there is no doubt that he was with the company.
All of this, Evelyn relayed in a breathless, excited manner, and in it, I saw an unfortunate cruelty. If she had been born a man, I wonder if she might have been clever and daring, if not somewhat wild. Instead she is confined to gossip and idleness, and the boredom of it all does her character ill.
As for Mr Pruitt, I hardly know what to think. No matter his part in the battle, it must darken his mind. I can only hope Allen has chosen his men well.
April 24
I spend too much time with this map, as if I could somehow divine your whereabouts if I only studied it diligently. There is so little to go by: the jagged margins of the coast, a thin line marked “Wolverine River,” yet I know all too well that its route is only conjecture.
You must be through the icy canyon by now, and into that wild country so little known.
It is all well and good for me to write such things from the warmth of my bed, but I am sure I would rather be at your side at this very moment, suffering whatever cold and hunger you endure, than to sit here with all the comforts of the world, alone and unknowing.
April 25
I was in need of such a day as this! To take in the fresh air, to observe a dozen species of birds, and to have an interesting encounter, all without leaving the back yard.
The weather was pleasant, and Charlotte brought my chair so that I might sit for a while out of doors. I had everything I needed?—?a lap robe, a stool to rest my feet upon, a cup of warm tea, my field glasses, and notebook.
As I was sitting here, a man came up the lane and then along the side of the house without noticing my presence.
Up close, he cut a somewhat menacing figure. He is near to seventy years old, I would guess, but he is yet broad chested and marked as a soldier?—?deep scars on his face cause such a downcast to his eye and scowl to his mouth that he looked quite angry, and I hesitated to speak to him at all. However, I screwed up my courage, and called a greeting.
I am afraid I must have startled him. He was on his way to my yard, I am certain, but finding me sitting there, he seemed to consider turning away as if he had not seen or heard me.
“You are welcome,” I called to him and waved.
He looked down at his boots, adjusted his sagging cavalry hat, and at last shuffled my way.
“Good afternoon ma’am. Just checking on the fruit trees. I’m the one looks after them.”
“Oh, yes, there are several apple trees just over there, but I suppose you know that,” I said, and then I realized how strange and rude I must appear, sitting there with my feet propped.
“I am not usually so helpless,” I chattered on senselessly, “but you see, I’m?.?.?.?I’m expecting?.?.?.”
And here he waited for me to finish my sentence, as if I might say I’m expecting a package, or a visitor.
“A child. I’m with child.”
Why on earth did I say all this to the poor man? It must have made him dreadfully uncomfortable.
“Well, then, that’s good news I suppose,” he said at last.
“Yes, of the best sort!”
The man removed his hat then, out of politeness, and I noticed several fingers missing on his right hand, but I averted my gaze so as not to cause him embarrassment. An awkward silence descended upon us, and I wished Charlotte would come out.
“Oh, please excuse me, I haven’t properly introduced myself. I am Sophie Forrester.”
“MacGillivray,” he said.
“Oh, a grand name!” I exclaimed, for I could not help my enthusiasm. “The MacGillivray’s warbler?—?do you know its call, Mr MacGillivray? I believe it is similar to the mourning warbler.”
I did my poor imitation?—?“churry churry chorry cho.”
I feared the man was becoming annoyed with me, for his face contorted in the oddest way, but then he laughed out loud.
“Is that what I sound like then?” he said.
“No, no, not you, just your namesake.”
At last, there was some ease between us and I asked him some about the work he does.
“General’s put me out to pasture, so to speak, which suits me well enough. Always have preferred the company of trees.”
Since he knows the landscape so well, I asked if I might have any hope of seeing the elk or grizzly bears for which this wild country is so famous.
“Not likely at all,” he said. “This fort’s been occupied by hungry men for half a century. They’ve fairly scoured the land for any bite of meat. Now and then a cougar or black bear might wander down off the mountains, but only two or three times that I can remember.”