Her Hesitant Heart. Carla Kelly

Dunklin’s wife has no curiosity about doings in Pennsylvania.”

      “I won’t give it another thought.”

      I don’t doubt that for a minute, Susanna thought as she said good-night. After she closed the army blanket around her quasi room, Susanna sat still, her mind in turmoil. As she contemplated the gray blanket that constituted a wall, she felt a chill more than cold seeping into her bones.

      She undressed in the cold space, then did what she always did, closed her eyes and thought of her son. Usually she got no farther than that, but this time she added Major Randolph to her mental inventory. It was not a prayer, because she had given up pestering God.

      A bugle woke her in the morning, followed at an interval by a different melody. After the second call, she smiled at a massive groan from the Reeses’ bedroom, which suggested to her that Emily’s lord and master was not an early riser by inclination.

      Captain Reese eventually clumped downstairs, swearing fluently, which told her the true source of his son’s salty language, rather than the family through the wall. Susanna heard Captain—O’Leary, was it?—go down his own set of stairs on the other side of the wall, and decided there wasn’t much privacy in army housing.

      As Susanna lay there, she heard Mrs. O’Leary, in her bedroom through the wall, reciting the rosary. Her low murmur sent Susanna back to sleep.

      When she woke again, Stanley had pulled back her blanket and was staring at her. She remembered the times when Tommy had done the same thing: same solemn stare, same lurking twinkle in his eyes. With a laugh, Susanna pulled him down beside her. Stanley shrieked, then giggled as she snuggled with him.

      “Did your mama send you to wake me up?”

      “Damn right,” he said, the twinkle in his eyes daring her.

      Time to nip this in the bud, Susanna thought.

      “Do you know what I used to do to your cousin Tommy when he said things that he knew would shock me?”

      Stanley shook his head. “Mama usually shakes her fist at the wall.”

      Susanna sat up, her arms around Stanley, who had settled in comfortably. “I reach for a bar of pine tar soap, shave off a handful and make Tommy chew it.”

      Stanley’s eyes grew wide. “You would do that to a small child?” he squeaked, which made her cover her mouth and turn her head slightly, to keep her amusement private.

      “Yes! Tommy never cusses anymore. I would advise you not to, either,” she said, looking him right in the eye.

      Stanley considered the matter. “Would you make my father chew soap, too?”

      “I’ll leave that to your mother. But as for you …” Susanna reached around him into her carpetbag and found a bar of soap.

      Stanley flinched but did not leave her lap. With that dignity of children that always touched her, he eyed the soap and said, “I’ll tell Mama that you will be down to breakfast directly. Major Randolph is waiting, too.”

      Oh, he is, she thought, flattered. “I’ll hurry. Stanley, no more cussing. Promise?”

      He nodded. She put the soap back in her carpetbag and hugged him, then set him on his feet. “Stanley, I knew you would see the good in doing right.”

      He nodded in that philosophical way of four-year-olds and went down the stairs at a sedate pace that lasted for only a few steps. Susanna dressed quickly, wishing that everything she owned wasn’t wrinkled. She had no washbasin, so she went into her cousin’s room and washed her face, hoping Emily wouldn’t mind.

      Major Randolph sat in the dining room, frowning at a bowl of oatmeal. “My mother always told me it was good for me.”

      “It is, Major,” Susanna said, standing in the doorway.

      “Very well. I’ll eat it if you’ll join me,” he said, indicating another bowl of oatmeal.

      She sat down beside the major and picked up her spoon. “Race you,” she said.

      He smiled and started to eat. Emily came into the room and sat down, too, a stunned look in her eyes.

      Susanna put down her spoon. “Emily?”

      “Stanley told me he will never swear again. What did you do?”

      “I threatened him with pine tar soap, then appealed to the better angels of his nature, to quote our late president,” Susanna told her.

      Emily’s eyes were wide with puzzlement. “Our late president?”

      “Abraham Lincoln. Stanley knows his limits now. I am fond of little boys.”

      Susanna glanced at the post surgeon, who was smiling at her. She returned her attention to her oatmeal, pleased.

      When Emily returned to the lean-to kitchen, Major Randolph whispered, “After sick call this morning, I went to Captain Dunklin’s quarters, prescribed a moderate diet and praised him for bearing up under the strain of what I am calling erobitis.”

      “Erobitis?” she repeated. “I am afraid to ask. I know that ‘itis’ means inflammation of, or disease of.”

      “I expected a teacher to know that. Just spell ‘erob’ backward and you have it.”

      “Where is this erob located on the body?” she asked when she could speak.

      “Somewhere between the spleen and the bile duct, I should think, right next to the coils of umbrage,” he said serenely. “More coffee?”

      “If I drank coffee right now, I would snort it out my nose,” she joked.

      “Bravo, Mrs. Hopkins,” the doctor replied with a grin. “I have never heard anything resembling wit come out of Captain Reese’s quarters.”

      “Hush,” she whispered. “You will get us both in trouble.”

      Before the major could say anything, the bugler blew another call.

      “Guard mount,” Major Randolph said. “To the porch.”

      He gestured toward the front door as Stanley ran in from the kitchen. The major scooped up the little boy and carried him outside. He set Stanley on the porch railing and held him there, then pointed toward the end of the parade ground. “The bugler stands in front of the adjutant’s office, or post headquarters.”

      “And the bugle calls?”

      “Rubbing the sleep from his eyes before any of us—unless I have some calamity to deal with in hospital—the bugler starts with reveille first call, which is followed by reveille, and then assembly, when all the men line up in front of their barracks to be counted.” Major Randolph touched Stanley’s head. “What comes next, lad?”

      “Breakfast call,” the child said promptly. “My favorite.”

      “That is followed by surgeon’s call,” the major continued, “my favorite, Stanley. The infirm, lame and malingering stagger to the hospital, or I am summoned to the barracks. I just came from surgeon’s call, so the call that followed was guard mount.”

      Susanna looked at the other porches down Officers Row, where other women and children watched.

      “Usually the band performs for guard mount. They won’t play outdoors until at least the end of February. The night watch will pass—here they come now—and be replaced by the day watch, which means the guard for a twenty-four-hour period is mounted. Right now, the new guard is being inspected by the sergeant major—see? Over there in front of the old guardhouse.”

      She looked. “I gather the sergeant major is someone to be obeyed.”

      “I never cross him, even though I far outrank him,” Major Randolph joked. “Now he is giving the new guard their assignments. Here comes the officer of the day, Lieutenant