a fearful round of diarrhea, and he will help me, by God. Good day, ladies.”
With another nod in their direction, he left. Susanna looked at Katie O’Leary. “What do you make of that?” she asked.
“It is simply Major Randolph,” Katie replied. She put her hand to her mouth as though trying to stop a laugh. “I don’t know that I’ve seen him quite this animated before.”
“I couldn’t possibly call him Joe.”
Katie shrugged, and eyed her sandwich. “I never knew Major Randolph not to mean what he says.”
“But you call him Major Randolph!” Susanna exclaimed.
“I do,” the woman replied simply. “He never suggested I call him Joe.” She laughed. “Let’s eat.”
Katie unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite, rolling her eyes. “My husband, Jim, loves Fort Laramie,” she said. “There’s nowhere nearby he must run to, to satisfy my midnight food cravings.”
“I take it you have other children,” Susanna said, enjoying the pleasant lilt to her companion’s voice. She took a bite of the sandwich and decided the government beef had been helped along magnificently by sweet relish. “Nice sandwich, Mrs. O’Leary.”
“It’s Katie,” the other woman said. “Surely we can stand on less ceremony than you choose with Major Randolph. I suppose your cousin has other names for me.”
Susanna felt her face grow warm. Before she could comment, Katie touched her arm.
“No fears! Jim is certain she calls us the trolls through the wall. We have one son, Rooney.” She patted her belly. “And another soon.”
“Your son …”
“… is home with my servant,” Katie finished. “Your cousin envies me because servants are hard to keep. Mary Martha is a corporal’s wife who helps me during the day.” She winked. “She’s Irish, too. I have it on good authority that she prefers me to your cousin.”
“Will you have any children in my school?”
Katie nodded. “Rooney is six, and he will go. I’ve taught him his letters and he can count to twenty-five.” She ate the last of her sandwich and pulled out a sack of carrots. “Yes, I can read and write, and no, we don’t swear through the walls to trouble little Stanley.”
“Emily has always enjoyed an exalted opinion of her own gentility,” Susanna said. “Stanley and I have had a few plain words about his bad habit, which you and I know can be blamed on his father!”
“That expression ‘swear like a trooper’ had to come from somewhere,” Katie joked. “What should I do? You may have my afternoon.”
That’s a charming way to put it, Susanna decided. No one except Katie O’Leary and Major Randolph have given me anything lately.
They decided Katie would sweep the floor while Susanna washed the windows. The corporal of the guard returned with two prisoners who wiped down the desks, then left. Susanna perched on a ladder to reach the top of the tall windows, balancing a bucket of ammonia and water on the crosspiece.
“If you make it too clean, some lieutenant will claim it for his own quarters and eject you and your pupils,” Katie told her as she scrubbed.
“Over my dead body!” Susanna looked around, satisfied at the work of one day.
She sat on top of the ladder, already seeing her pupils studiously applying themselves at their desks. Katie had finished her sweeping and was sitting on the stool again, her hand against the small of her back.
“I’ve kept you here too long,” Susanna said as she climbed down. “Tell me about the families whose children I will be teaching.”
“I can sum up the families in two words,” Katie said, as she stood up. “High sticklers. They will expect far too much of you.”
“Daunting,” Susanna murmured.
“The children of the garrison are charming enough, but their mothers … They’re another matter.” She lowered her voice. “Remain above reproach and you will have smooth sailing.” She touched Susanna’s sleeve shyly. “I know you will do well.”
Until someone finds out I am not who they think I am, Susanna thought as she closed the door behind them. Joe, please be right. Let nothing come of Emily’s lie.
Joe Randolph glanced at his watch and pocketed it again, pleased with his timing. The ladies stood on the broad porch at Old Bedlam. He had come from the quartermaster storehouse, followed by a dubious private with a long-handled brush.
“I hope you did not mop any floors,” he told Susanna as he joined them on the porch. “You see here Fort Laramie’s answer to a chimney sweep. Go to, lad. Be brave. Come, ladies.”
Katie O’Leary took his arm, but Mrs. Hopkins hung back. “It seems so early to return to quarters,” she murmured.
It’s that difficult there? he thought. “It’s almost time for recall from fatigue,” he told her. “I’ll squire Katie home, and take you to meet your fellow educationist for the enlisted men’s children.”
“I’d like that,” she said, and sat down to wait for him.
Home for Katie was only two doors from Old Bedlam, but he would always be a Virginian, and prone to good manners. “What do you think?” he asked Katie, when he knew the two of them were out of earshot.
“She’s sweet, but there is such sadness in her,” Katie said, as she opened her front door. “I remember how I used to worry about my Jim before every battle, but he always came home. I’d hate to be a widow, and on my own.”
He returned some answer, writhing inside to continue perpetuating a lie to such a kindly woman. He toyed briefly with telling her the truth, but only tipped his hat and thanked her for her time, so generously given.
Mrs. Hopkins was shivering on the porch when he returned to Old Bedlam. “You’d be warmer in Emily’s house,” he said.
“I know, but I’d rather meet the teacher,” she said quickly, then glanced over her shoulder. “The chimney sweep must have found a bird’s nest. He swears better than Stanley.”
So you want to change the subject? he asked himself. They walked across the parade ground to a storehouse by the bakery, where children were coming out. Susanna watched them, and he noted the interest on her intelligent face.
“Where does Fort Laramie find teachers for enlisted men’s children?” she asked.
“From the ranks. It’s fifty cents a day extra duty pay,” he told her. “Sometimes it’s a malingerer wanting to get out of more arduous fatigue detail. I’ve even seen prisoners, clinking about a classroom in chains. Seriously.” He gestured to the open door. “Sometimes we get lucky, as we did with Private Benedict.”
He watched her expression as she stepped into the commissary warehouse, where barrels of victuals lined the walls. The room smelled of raisins and apricots, pungent dried herring,
