The Major's Wife
“Trust who?” he retorted bitterly. “Her?”
Jasper shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m referring to life in general.”
Tension was eating at him, mainly because his second in command was much more than that. Over the years, Jasper, with his mellow ways that were the opposite of the urgency Seth often felt, had become the tutor he needed, often sought.
“You can’t hide it from me. I’ve noticed you struggling ever since that telegram arrived.”
Seth threw the report back on his desk. “Of course I’ve been struggling with it. I can’t imagine what she wants.”
“Then ask her.”
He let his glare show what he thought of that.
Jasper cracked a dry grin.
Seth ignored it.
“I know you only married her to appease her father. No one said no to the general. Ever. Including me. But—”
“Army men shouldn’t be married,” Seth interrupted.
“In your experience,” Jasper said. “I understand why you feel that way. Losing your father in battle, taking over his responsibilities for your family at such a young age... But it’s not always like that.”
“No?” Seth snapped. “I’ve seen it here, too. How battles take lives. Leave loved ones alone.” Perhaps he’d look upon things differently if his mother had been weaker. Amanda Parker-Wadsworth had cried over the loss of her husband—silently and behind her closed bedroom door. But in front of her children, she’d displayed strength and determination. Seth had seen through it, to the pain his mother harbored while comforting him and his siblings. To this day he lived on the tenacity her resolve had imbedded in him. Every day after school, he’d gone to work in the shipyards until dark, wanting to ease the burden that had fallen to his mother. Once old enough, he’d continued overseeing crews building ships, until his mother had ordered him to stop.
She’d always known his wish was to become a soldier, but considering he’d lost his father and two uncles at the Battle of Shiloh, Seth had given up on the dream. Not only for his mother’s sake—she’d lost her husband and two brothers on the same day—but for his, too. He needed to continue the shipbuilding business his father and uncles had started before the war, make sure his family was financially secure.
Even now, years later, he wondered if she’d truly wanted her sons to go to West Point, as she’d said, or if his mother had pushed him to because she’d known it was what he’d still wanted. It had been, and by then, money hadn’t been an issue. So he’d gone. Not just to make his mother happy. It had made him happy, too. By then he’d carried the weight of responsibility for his family and the shipbuilding crews for several years, and he’d found he liked commanding men. It came naturally to him. What he’d decided he didn’t want was the responsibility of having a wife and children. He loved his family, but the loss of their father had affected them all deeply.
“Yes,” Jasper said. “It’s here, too. There’s no avoiding death.”
Seth didn’t respond. Death was inevitable, but there was no reason to leave broken hearts and shattered homes when it happened. He saw it on the battlefields, but he shouldn’t have to see it in the faces of the wives and children left behind. It was too much.
“Someday, Seth, you’ll understand that living is as much a part of life as dying is.” Jasper crossed the room and left, closing the door softly.
A shiver settled deep in Seth’s spine, making his back stiffen. Living didn’t need to include a wife. Snatching up the report, he forced his mind to concentrate on it, as well as several other tasks that needed to be completed. So it wasn’t until the dinner bell echoed over the compound that he rose from his desk.
From the front steps of the headquarters building, where he was stretching muscles that had stayed idle too long, his gaze went to his cabin. The right thing would be to go get his wife, escort her to dinner. Then again, she had ears, and as he’d told Briggs, she might as well get used to fort living.
He was toiling with his decision when he entered the hall, almost feeling guilty. That instantly changed. She was here. Not sitting at a table set for two, but at a long bench, talking merrily with several men already seated around her.
A growl vibrated at the back of Seth’s throat. That definitely reminded him of Rosemary. As did the way she turned and lifted her brows at the sight of him.
Men moved, gesturing for him to take their seats, and Seth, accustomed to making snap decisions, faltered. He couldn’t ignore her in front of all his men, yet he couldn’t pretend they were happily married.
Or could he? That might prove to be the one thing that would irritate Rosemary—or Millie, or whoever she was. After five years, an amorous husband would be the last thing she’d expect, and perhaps the one thing that would send her on her way.
It was a twist he hadn’t thought would thrill him, but it did, and he almost cracked a grin as he walked across the hall. “Hello,” he murmured, gently placing a hand between her shoulder blades, where he felt the tiniest quiver beneath his palm.
Shock shimmered in her eyes as she answered, “Hello.”
“I trust you had a nice afternoon,” he said, taking a seat and scooting a bit closer to her side than necessary.
“Y-yes, thank you,” she stammered.
The twitching of her lower lip did make him want to smile. Oh, yes, this might be the perfect plan of attack. He should have thought of it earlier. Not doing what his enemies expected had kept him alive for years.
When Briggs opened the food line, Seth escorted her through it, with his hand riding low on the small of her back. He noted how her feet kept stumbling, and her nervousness had triumph rising inside him. They ate with the men at the long table, and Seth encouraged her to answer the slew of questions the soldiers posed. Many of them hadn’t been outside Indian Territory for years, and they were hungry to hear what was happening in other parts of the country.
The attention was more than she’d bargained for—her trembling fingers said that. And the edgy glances she sent his way told him she hadn’t expected him to be so accommodating.
Seth simply smiled, and asked a few nonessential questions of his own. When the meal was over, he took her hand and folded her arm through the crook of his while leading her to the door.
Things were slow at the fort right now. The cattle drives were over for the year and most of the crops harvested. That had bothered him this morning, knowing he wouldn’t have other duties consuming his time, but now he realized it was a good thing. Dedicating a few days to a plan that would ultimately hasten her departure was exactly what he needed.
The way he’d linked her wrist around his elbow had her breast brushing the upper part of his arm, and she was straining to keep the simple contact from happening. Telling himself it wasn’t affecting him, Seth asked, “Would you like to take a stroll through the compound?”
Her gaze bounced to the cabin and she pinched her lips together, which made him suddenly want to see what all the commotion had been about. “But you must be tired,” he said. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just go home.”
“No,” she said nervously. “We could take a stroll.”
“It’s all right, you’ll have lots of time to explore the fort,” he cajoled. “Right now, you need some sleep.”
“No, really—”
“I insist.” Seth let go of the hand he’d kept hooked on his elbow, and looped his arm around her shoulders. “You must be exhausted.”
She let out a sigh that held a tiny groan, but didn’t struggle as he guided her forward.
The sun hadn’t set yet and the warmth intensified Seth’s sense of smell. They were across the compound from Ilene’s flower beds, but he caught the scent of flowers. Or maybe it was perfume, because it smelled more like roses. Actually, he’d noticed a hint of it when he’d sat down next to her back in the hall.
A shiver rippled his spine as he turned his head, glanced down at the woman standing next to him. Her grin was much more of a grimace as she stepped aside for him to open the door to their cabin.
The warm, closed-in air rushing through the open doorway was downright overpowering. Blinking from the sting in his eyes, Seth asked, “Did a vial of rosewater burst in one of your trunks?”
“No,” she said, stepping past him to enter the cabin. “I washed the floors with it.”
“Washed the floors with it?”
Millie drew a deep breath, almost choking. The rose oil Lola made was quite potent and she may have used more than necessary. But it was what Rosemary would have done. “I also had To-She-Wi and Ku-Ma-Quai help me wash the walls.” She flinched slightly, not wanting to get two of Briggs Ryan’s maidens in trouble. The Indian women had proved to be not only friendly, but most helpful in assisting her with transforming the cabin.
“Wash the walls!” he exclaimed. “That oil will soak into the wood. It’s going to smell like this forever.”
“One can only hope,” she replied, sounding so much like her sister she wanted to bite her tongue. “It smelled of sour men before.”
The tick that appeared in his cheek should alarm her, but from what she’d learned today, Seth was not unfair. Though she might have decorated things a little more than she should have. It had been fun at the time, thinking she was getting him back for frightening her.
“My eyes are watering,” he said.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“What’s this?” He gestured toward the table.
“I know you’ve seen a tablecloth before.”
“Not in an army barrack.”
Making her best attempt at being nonchalant, she shrugged.
“And pillows, and cushions, and rugs.” He was walking through the tiny area, pointing things out, and stopped in the doorway to his office. “Curtains? Curtains in my office? Where did you get all this stuff?”
“Mr. Fallon. You must be quite proud of him. He has a bit of everything.”
Seth gave her a glimpse full of disdain before he spun to take a second look at the space that had been his office. Once again Millie flinched inwardly. She’d never done anything like this before, and pulling up the courage to finish what she started was not easy.
“Where. Is. My. Desk?”
His cold tone had Millie gulping, but she managed to find the nerve to step into the room and point toward the far corner. With the desk up against the wall, covered with a tablecloth, and the chair positioned in front of the window, decorated with two tiny pillows, plus a rug covering the floor, the room looked much bigger and more homey. To her. What Seth thought was probably a bit different. Obviously was.
He glared at her with those piercing eyes for several long moments. “You are Rosemary, aren’t you?”
She held her breath, hoping the churning in her stomach wouldn’t erupt.
“Put it back,” he growled. “Put it back the way you found it. All of it.”
Millie scurried aside as he left the room.
“And get rid of those stupid curtains!”
The door thudded shut and Millie let out her breath in a gush. Rosemary wouldn’t put any of it back. So Millie wouldn’t, either.
Chapter Four
Millie did walk over and open the office window she’d closed earlier, having known the heat would intensify the smell of the rose oil while they were eating supper. Lola had said to use it sparingly, just a drop or two in a bathtub of water. Millie had used an entire bottle scrubbing the cabin.
Exhausted inside and out, she plopped onto the chair. What would Rosemary do now?
Millie couldn’t remember when she’d learned her mother had died; it had happened when she was just an infant. But she did recall the moment she’d learned how her mother had died. It had been her eighth birthday. Papa had given her a new saddle, black with silver conchas, and a seat as plush as velvet. She’d ridden all afternoon. It was that night, when she was in bed, that Rosemary had entered her room and said if she didn’t give her the new saddle, she’d jump in the river. Drown. When Millie said she wouldn’t give it to her, her sister had told her the family secret.
No one was ever to know, Rosemary had said, but their mother hadn’t died from complications of childbirth. She’d taken her own life when Millie was six months old, with one of Papa’s pistols.
Papa hadn’t been home—he had been off doing army business, as he had been most of their childhood. The saddle had been ordered and delivered with a note from him. So Millie had asked Lola about their mother the next morning.
The housekeeper confirmed what Rosemary had said was true, that their mother had shot herself when Millie was a baby. She’d also said no one but their dear mama, God rest her soul, knew why she’d done it.
Months later, when Papa had come home and asked Millie about the saddle, she’d told him she loved it so much she was sharing it with Rosemary. Papa had said he was proud of her, how she understood Rosemary was different, and needed to be assured constantly that she was loved, just like their mother.
Millie closed her eyes. It was true. For as bold and brassy as Rosemary was on the outside, inside she was fragile, as delicate as glass, just as their mother had been. Rosemary had said she’d take her own life, and that of the baby, before allowing Seth to discover the truth. He would ruin her if he found out. Millie didn’t believe there was much left of Rosemary’s reputation to ruin, considering the number of men her sister’s name had been linked with, but she did believe her threats. She feared the baby would be in danger, for Rosemary did appear to be as desperate this time as she’d been over the saddle, when she had jumped into the river.
The weight on Millie’s chest increased tenfold. She didn’t believe her sister capable of murder, but she did know there were things worse than death. And knowing that had left her with no option but to agree to travel to Fort Sill to keep Seth from going to Washington, and possibly Richmond, as the letter he’d sent implied, until December.
Her gaze roamed the room. Seth didn’t deserve the deception, neither Rosemary’s faithlessness nor Millie’s lies. And he didn’t deserve her painting his cabin with rose oil, either. But Rosemary was her sister. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect her, and the life growing inside her.
If Millie was more daring and courageous, this would be easier. Actually, if she’d told Papa the truth five years ago, she wouldn’t be here now. She’d known about Clifton Wells, that Rosemary was planning to run off with him, but instead of saying something, fearful there’d be a row when Papa discovered it, Millie had gone to a friend’s house to avoid being dragged into the argument. The following morning, when she’d been summoned home, she’d been confused to hear Rosemary was marrying Seth instead of Clifton. Until Papa told her Clifton was already wed, and marrying Seth was the only thing that would save Rosemary’s name.
A knock on the door had Millie pushing off the seat and squaring her shoulders. She couldn’t stop protecting the family secrets now, nor could she give up on this mission.
“I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Parker,” Mr. Winston said when she opened the door, “but I wanted to drop off your boots. They should be fine this time. Good as new, actually.”
A lump had formed in her throat at how he’d addressed her. Others, when making her acquaintance, had called her Mrs. Parker, but right now, after contemplating the past and the events that had led her to here to Seth, the deceit seemed uglier. Heavier. Taking the boots, she found a simple smile. “Thank you, Mr. Winston. I do appreciate all you’ve done.”
“It’s been my pleasure, ma’am,” he said, bowing his head as he backed out the doorway.
Not so much as a single scuff mark signaled that the heel had once been separated from the boot. Brand-new at the start of her journey, the black leather was still relatively stiff and the breakage had been disappointing. To Millie. Rosemary would have thrown them away and bought a new pair in Tulsa.
“Good night, ma’am.”
“Good night,” she repeated, closing the door.
Seth watched the door close from where he stood across the compound. The smell of roses still filled his nostrils, leaving his insides hard. The flower’s aroma might be pleasant in small doses, but what he’d just experienced was sickening, mainly because it reminded him of Rosemary. The overpowering smell had taken him back in time.
“Marry her and I’ll make you a major,” General St. Clair had said that fretful morning five years ago.
Seth’s stomach recoiled all over again.
He’d refused the offer, more than once, but ultimately, before the day was done, he’d become a major and married her.
It had been a goal he’d set for himself, to become a major, and to do so at the age of twenty-three had been enticing, but that was not why he’d given in. The reason had been the general. The man had been afraid. Seth had assumed it was because of his daughter’s reputation, but St. Clair’s fear had been deeper, more distressing than one might experience over a reputation. The general had talked as if Rosemary’s very life was in danger, and eventually shared the truth that Rosemary was seeing another man, one she shouldn’t have been associating with, but was.
None of that had truly been Seth’s concern, but knowing how the general had numerous times put his own life in danger to save the men he commanded, he hadn’t been able to ignore the man’s plea for assistance. When the general had assured Seth that he could still return to Indian Territory, and that when things calmed down in Richmond, he’d see to the divorce himself, Seth had finally agreed to marry the girl. In name only. He’d left shortly after the ceremony, with the general’s promise of a divorce within the year ringing in his ears.
St. Clair had died less than a year later, and that’s when Seth had started pursuing the divorce on his own. It galled him, how he’d accepted the man’s deal—saved her reputation, and then worked twice as hard to prove he was capable of the position he’d been granted—only to have her ignore his requests. Not so much as a note had been sent his way, verifying she’d received his letters.
Why was she here now? The question jarred his insides. She had nothing to gain, and though he lived half a world away from Richmond, word traveled. He knew Rosemary wasn’t sitting in her father’s parlor, pining for her husband.
His gaze followed Winston as the man walked almost the entire length of the compound, his way lit by torches staked in the ground and shielded from the wind with heavy glass-and-brass enclosures. Winston turned near the icehouse and headed toward the location where a group had gathered.
Some of the boys sat back there most every night, strumming guitars and banjos, playing harmonicas and an assortment of other instruments they’d acquired over the years. Seth sat there plenty of nights, too, but it wasn’t their music filtering through his mind right now, it was an annoying little feeling he hadn’t experienced for a very long time. He couldn’t be jealous of Winston; the man had simply returned her boots. Yet there was an inkling of envy or perhaps resentment inside Seth. It had appeared as soon as she’d opened the door and smiled at the man.
She had Seth flustered. A crazy thing for him to be, but there was no other way to explain the turmoil swimming through his veins, and that confused him, too. Crazy as it was, he was attracted to her. A fact he’d been trying to deny ever since she’d climbed off the wagon and stomped across the dirt with that adorable uneven gait.
A smile tugged at his lips. Covered in Oklahoma’s red dirt, parasol whipping in the wind behind her, with bright red cheeks and windblown hair, she’d been a sight. He’d never seen anything so endearing.
And later, when he’d stepped onto the walkway after Russ had signaled that she’d left the bathing house, his heart had almost stopped in his chest. A puny gust of wind could have blown him over as he’d watched the beautiful woman walk toward him, dressed in a form-fitting blue-and-white dress that had him craving to see what lay beneath it. She still had on that dress, and he’d still like to see what was under it.
He drew in another breath of air, long and hard. The telegraph lines weren’t working. A renegade had chopped down several poles recently, and repairs had been ordered, but the troop he’d sent out hadn’t returned yet. It was ironic that the last message that had come in had been the one saying his wife was to be picked up in Tulsa.
A short time ago he’d questioned Lieutenant Paisley, but the man couldn’t say when the line might be up again. Poles could be down all the way to Tulsa. It had happened before. He’d given Paisley instructions—private ones—that as soon as the lines were working, a message needed to be sent to Richmond. He was determined to confirm his suspicions that it was, in fact, Millie in his cabin.
It had to be Millie. There were too many inconsistencies for her not to be.
Seth pushed off from the post he’d been leaning against. Whether it was Millie or Rosemary, payback was in order. “Lieutenant,” he shouted into the barn.
A man appeared instantly. “Yes, sir?”
“Get my saddle and some saddle soap. Bring it to my cabin.”
“Now, sir?”
“Yes, now.”
“But that soap will stink up your cabin. The Indians make it for us and—”
“I know,” Seth said, already heading there.
It took even less time than he’d anticipated. He’d barely opened the tin, had yet to work much of the black slime into the leather when the door to her room opened. Her little nose was curled and her eyes were squinting.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Oiling my saddle.” He explained the obvious without looking up.
“In here?”
“Why not in here? An army man has to keep his equipment in order.”
She crossed the room, opened the door. “Don’t you have a barn for that kind of thing?”
He leaned back in his chair, stared at her pointedly. “If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to leave.”
That was a nasty glare, the one she flashed his way, as she stomped across the floor to Russ’s old room. Seth allowed himself a moment to gloat.
Only a moment, because in the next instant she was back, pouring something onto the seat of his saddle.
“What the—” He grabbed the bottle, not needing to sniff the container to know she’d just dowsed his saddle with rose oil. “What do you think you’re doing?” A stupid question, but it was all he could think to say.
“Disguising the stench,” she said with a curl to her lip.
They stood there, across the table from one another. In all his born days, Seth had never backed down from a challenge, and he wasn’t about to start now. He even felt the tiniest mingling of guilt. After all, her only weapon was a bottle of rose oil.
Wrong.
Two nights later, Seth conceded her plethora of female things was more than he could take. Like those big bows, all eight of them, tied to the rungs of the ladder leading to his loft. And the bouquet of flowers that had been sitting in his hat this morning, which she’d positioned in the center of the table as if it was some huge, hideous vase.
She had to have done that after he’d gone to bed last night.
He should have heard her. He’d barely slept. Not with the way he was sneezing. The thought of another sleepless, miserable night snapped his last nerve. Two days of trying to out-scent each other hadn’t got him anywhere.
Seth barreled through the door of their cabin. “What are you doing here?”
Spinning around from where she stood near the stove, she held up a bundle of weeds. “Drying out wild lavender.”
He sneezed.
“Bless you,” she said.
He’d been worn down before, but never quite like this. The cabin was overrun with flowers and bows and cushions and curtains. A man couldn’t take it.
“No, I mean, why are you here?” He sneezed again. “If it was to make my life as miserable as possible, if the past five years haven’t been enough, you’ve succeeded.” They hadn’t spoken much over the past forty-eight hours, having been too busy trying to outdo each other. He was ready to talk now. “I did your father a favor—not to mention you—and he promised me a divorce in return.” After one more sneeze, Seth waved a hand around the cabin. “Instead, I get this.”