be careful,” he told her.
She gave him the same startled look that had puzzled him in the stage station, but he understood now—Susanna Hopkins was unused to kindness.
He would gladly have paid for her room, and she must have known that. Before he could say anything to the desk clerk, she took out the money she must have reserved for the stage, and laid it on the counter. She hesitated for a moment.
She kept her voice low. “Major, do I pay something for my transportation?”
“No, ma’am, that’s courtesy of the U.S. Army.”
“How kind,” she said, and returned to the desk clerk. Joe was struck again at her wonder, as though good fortune had not been her friend, or even a nodding acquaintance recently.
He reflected on that all the way back to Fort Russell. He had learned from childhood that women were to be protected and cherished. Hard service in the war had showed him the other side of that coin, when he saw too many thin, tight-lipped women, unfamiliar with kindness. Susanna Hopkins had that same wary look, and he wondered why.
Chapter Two
Susanna waited in the lobby the following morning. Breakfast had been amazingly cheap: a bowl of porridge and coffee for a dime.
The major arrived before the sun rose, wide-awake this time. “You’re a prompt one, Mrs. Hopkins,” he told her.
A glance from the major sent the desk clerk hurrying to carry her luggage to the ambulance. Susanna let the major help her into the vehicle, which was already warm. Bundled in overcoats, two other officers nodded to her.
There was space next to one of the men, but someone had left a book there. The only other seat was a rocking chair—close to the little stove—that had been anchored to the wagon floor and covered with a blanket.
“That’s for you,” the major said.
“But …”
“For you,” he repeated. “Let us come to a right understanding. We take good care of the ladies in the army.”
The other men nodded. “They’re scarce,” said one about Major Randolph’s age.
Susanna seated herself on the rocking chair, grateful for the warmth.
“Let me introduce you, Mrs. Hopkins,” Major Randolph said. “Major Walters, who understands the scarcity of ladies, is from Fort Fetterman.”
The officer tipped his hat to her. The surgeon indicated the other man. “Captain Dunklin is from Fort Laramie. This is Mrs. Hopkins, gentlemen.”
“For God’s sake, close the door,” Captain Dunklin demanded.
Major Randolph closed the door behind him and latched it. He picked up his book and took his seat, and she heard the driver chirrup to the mules.
Susanna pulled the blanket close around her. She glanced at Major Randolph, who was staring at her with a frown. She looked at him, then realized he was staring at the blanket. She stared at it, too, wondering.
“Mrs. Hopkins?”
She looked at Major Walters. “Your blanket is too close to that stove,” he whispered.
She looked. The blanket was not close to the stove, but she pulled it to her anyway. “Better?”
“Perfect.”
She glanced again at Major Randolph, who sat back with a relieved expression on his face. I don’t understand what just happened, she thought. I should say something. “Captain, uh … excuse me ….”
“Dunklin,” he offered, as if relieved to break the charged silence.
“Captain Dunklin, you have children who will be attending school?” She glanced at Major Randolph, who stared straight ahead, as if seeing something no one else saw. In another moment, he settled back with a sigh.
“I have one son, aged nine. High time he went to school.”
She couldn’t hide her surprise. “My cousin wrote that there is a school already.”
“Yes, one run by the private.”
Susanna heard the disdain in his voice.
“The army requires that children of enlisted men must be educated, but officers’ children are merely invited,” Major Randolph explained.
“Not required?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “Strange to you?”
“A little. Surely an officer’s child could learn something from a private.”
“We try not to mingle,” Dunklin said. “Joe, you’d understand if you had children.”
Susanna could tell from the post surgeon’s expression that he understood no such thing. I should think any school would be better than no school, she thought. Captain Dunklin was already reminding her of Frederick, because he seemed so certain that he was right. “Probably the private does his best,” she said, defending her profession.
“He does,” the surgeon said. “Private Benedict has eleven pupils now, all ages.” He must have noticed her expression of interest. “I head the post administrative council, and one of my responsibilities is the school.”
“Is there a schoolhouse?”
“No. They meet in a room in the commissary storehouse.”
“Between the salt pork and the hardtack,” Dunklin interjected. He laughed, but no one joined him.
From the look the post surgeon exchanged with Major Walters, Susanna suspected Dunklin was not a universal favorite.
The silence felt heavy again, but Dunklin filled it. “Where are you from, Mrs. Hopkins? Your cousin mentioned Pennsylvania.”
“Shippensburg, originally,” she said, afraid again. Major Randolph glanced at her. It was the smallest glance, but some sixth sense, honed to sharpness by years of fear, told her he knew more.
“My wife is from Carlisle!” Dunklin exclaimed. “She won’t waste a moment in making your acquaintance.”
Please, no, Susanna thought in a panic. “I … I didn’t get out much in society,” she stammered.
Dunklin nodded, his expression serious. “Your cousin told us of your loss. Too many ladies are war widows.”
Her heart plummeted into her stomach. She wondered what story her cousin had started, in an attempt to make her more palatable to the people of Fort Laramie. Suddenly the twenty miles between Shippensburg and Carlisle seemed no longer than a block.
“Mrs. Hopkins?” Major Walters asked, concerned.
“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Dunklin
