"I don't intend to hurt her, Mr. Trump."
The actor released the headstall. "Then a safe journey to you. With my blessing."
But he would have to hurt her in some way, Charles realized as he cantered west from the city. He was in love with her, and confused about it; vaguely angry that he'd let it go so far, wanted it to go that far. But he had. So he had to undo it, and soon.
22
When Charles reached Fort Leavenworth, Duncan told him that in late July, Johnson had signed a bill increasing the number of infantry regiments from nineteen to forty-five and, of more pertinence on the Plains, where distances were vast, the number of cavalry regiments from six to ten.
The brigadier, who now wore the olive-green trim of the divisional paymaster's department, was excited about the news. "It means that by next year we'll be able to demonstrate in force against the hostiles."
Charles chewed an unlit cigar and said nothing. Like Sherman, Jack Duncan believed the tribes must inevitably be driven onto reservations if the West was to be made safe for white settlers and commerce. Duncan saw nothing improper in this appropriation of Indian land, and Charles knew he couldn't change Duncan's mind, so he didn't try. Instead, he announced Willa's forthcoming visit,
"Ah," Duncan said, smiling.
"What does that mean — ah? She isn't coming just to see me. She wants to look over halls that the company could rent for a tour."
"Oh, of course," Duncan said soberly. He was delighted to see Charles react to teasing. Perhaps the young man was recovering from the despondency that had haunted him for so long.
Willa arrived in late August. She had already visited City of Kansas — some were calling it Kansas City — on the opposite shore of the Missouri, and Leavenworth on the near side. She said Frank's Hall in City of Kansas was an ideal auditorium.
Duncan's frame residence on officers' row, on the north side of the parade ground, contained an extra room Maureen used. She kept little Gus there in a homemade rocker-crib. She invited Willa to share her bed and the young actress accepted without hesitation. Maureen approved of Willa's adaptability, and in fact she did fit in well. She chatted easily about Sam Trump and the playhouse, and listened attentively to talk of Army life and the Indian problem. She didn't conceal that she stood with the Indians against the great majority of settlers and Army professionals. It didn't nettle Duncan as badly as Charles had expected. The brigadier argued with Willa, but clearly respected her as an intelligent adversary.
The first evening, after the women retired, Duncan poured two whiskeys in the parlor. The open window brought in strong, sweet yeast fumes from the post bakery nearby. For a few minutes, Duncan complained about the paymaster's department. It was thankless work; the officers who rode from fort to fort with soldiers' wages could never travel fast enough to please the men.
Presently he said, "That's a fine young woman. A bit free-thinking, to be sure. But she'd make a splendid —"
"Friend," Charles said, and bit down on his cigar.
"Exactly." Duncan decided not to push Willa's cause further at the moment. Charles looked fierce. He might not be as ready to resume normal life as Duncan had thought.
Where oaks and cottonwoods shaded the bluff above the fort's steamboat landing, Charles and Willa went walking on the last day of her visit. Gus rode on his father's shoulder, happily surveying the world from his perch. Pleasant sounds drifted through the Sunday air: yells and cheers of soldiers playing baseball; the chug of the post steam engine pumping water.
Willa was nervous and a little unhappy. Here at the fort, Charles was less demonstrative than he'd been in St. Louis. She was in love with him — there was no escaping that — but she knew she'd better not say it too often. The bleak, exhausted look that showed in his eyes occasionally said he wasn't ready for an emotional commitment.
Still, she couldn't bring herself to pretend disinterest. So amid the dapple of sun and the shadows of reddening leaves stirring in the breeze, she took Charles's son in her arms. There he rested contentedly, gazing over her shoulder at squirrels racing along tree limbs of picking up decaying green hickory nuts that had fallen in midsummer.
"Gus is a wonderful boy," she said. "You and his mother brought a fine son into the world."
"Thank you." Hands in pockets, Charles stared at the glinting river a hundred and fifty feet below them. Common sense told Willa she shouldn't press. But she loved him so much —
"This has been a grand visit. I hope I'll be invited again."
"Certainly, if it's convenient for you."
Gus laid his head on Willa's shoulder and put his thumb in his mouth. His eyes closed and his face softened, blissful. Willa touched Charles's sleeve. "You're treating me as though we just met."
He frowned. "I don't mean to, Willa. It's just that I get the feeling Jack and Maureen are both — well — pushing us together. That's no good. Week after next, I'm going out to meet Wooden Foot at Fort Riley. I've said it before: trading isn't the safest work, even though most of the Southern Cheyennes are my partner's friends. I don't want to get involved. Suppose we went out one season and never came back. It wouldn't be fair to you."
Her blue eyes snapped. "Oh, come, Charles. Life's always full of risks like that. Who are you really sparing, me or yourself?"
He faced her. "All right. Myself. I don't want to go through what I went through before."
"You think I'm delicate? Sickly? That I'm going to collapse tomorrow, and you'll lose me? By the way, I'm not pregnant" Her use of that generally unmentionable word startled him. "I'll be around for a good long while yet. Your excuse won't wash."
"I can't help it."
"And I thought women were the fickle sex."
He turned away, staring upriver again. The cool breeze fluttered his beard. The low-slanting sun lit Willa's hair till it shone like fine white gold. "Charles, what in God's name did the war do to you?"
He didn't answer.
Undone by his stoniness, she found herself irked again. "We can be friends — casual lovers — but nothing else?"
He looked at her. "Yes."
"I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm not sure I like it. I'll tell you when you come back from this next trip. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go back to the brigadier's quarters. It's gotten chilly." She lifted Gus and handed him to his father, and walked away.
She knew that a display of temper would probably drive him off. Yet she couldn't do anything about it. She was angry at her untouchable enemy — the pain left in him by the death of the boy's mother. Reason, even affection, might never overcome something so deeply wounding. How could she fight it? Only by hanging on. By demonstrating that Charles could love her without risk, though not without commitment.
She hated for the visit to end on a dismal note, but it did. When they parted at the steamer landing, he kissed her cheek, well away from her mouth. He said nothing about visiting St. Louis in the spring, only thanked her for coming. As she went aboard the stern wheeler, little Gus waved and waved.
The steamer churned into the current and Willa watched man and boy grow smaller. Charles looked unhappy and confused. That was exactly how she felt.
But she couldn't deny that she was in love. So she wouldn't give up.
It was going to be a long winter.
As August dwindled away, Charles grew impatient to be moving. He left a day early, and no regrets about it, except for Gus. The boy now called him Fa, and readily came to him for hugs or sympathy. Charles was sad that the whole process of getting reacquainted would have to be repeated next spring. As for Willa, he tried to suppress his feelings for her, hopeful that he'd made it clear that any closer involvement was impossible.