Into the Wilderness. Laura Abbot

felt much older, seasoned by the harsh reality of “man’s inhumanity to man,” as the poet Robert Burns so aptly put it. Duty and honor remained, but did little to compensate for recurring nightmares. Pushing aside such grim thoughts, he spurred his horse and men toward the fort.

      Approaching the compound, he spotted the figure of a woman standing in silhouette against the weak March sun. Tall and slender, she seemed oblivious to their approach. Only as they rode closer did he notice she stood in a cemetery, her eyes fixed on a small headstone. Caleb wondered whose grave she visited and what heartache might be represented by that solitary marker. He had seen many such markers, and, alas, too many comrades buried in nameless graves amid the confusion of battle. At the sound of the troops’ approach, the woman faced them, then lifted her hand in greeting.

      Doffing his hat, Caleb turned in his saddle to observe her more closely. She was fair-skinned, and tendrils of honey-hued hair escaped her bonnet. He was seized by an impulse to make her smile, to ease her burden of grief. He grunted. A foolish thought.

      Entering the fort, Caleb was struck by the breadth of the parade ground and the height of the flagpole in its center. He drew his men into file for the approach of the commanding officer, Major Robert Hurlburt, who strode toward them. Caleb dismounted and saluted. “Captain Montgomery reporting for duty, sir.”

      The post commander returned the salute, then smiled broadly as he extended a hand. “Welcome to Fort Larned.” He nodded at the soldier standing at his elbow. “Sergeant Major, show the men to the stables and then get them settled in the barracks.” He clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Officers’ quarters are over there.” He pointed to a row of new houses on the west edge of the parade ground. “My wife and I would be pleased to have you dine with us this evening.”

      “It would be an honor, sir.”

      Before relinquishing the reins of his horse to a hostler, Caleb stepped forward and stroked the animal’s nose. “Good job, Bucephalus.”

      The major regarded the horse. “Bucephalus? A noble enough steed for Alexander the Great. I hope his namesake has served you well.”

      “He’s one of the finest, sir,” Caleb said without going into detail about his affection for the horse, which had been with him through many fearsome engagements.

      Following the major across the parade ground, Caleb commented on the fort’s modern buildings, which had recently replaced more temporary structures.

      Hurlburt nodded. “It is a fine facility. Better than most we’ve both seen, no doubt.”

      The major left him at the bachelor officers’ quarters to get settled. Caleb was weary, not just from his travels but from military life, as well. Since enlisting at eighteen after the attack on Fort Sumter, he’d known nothing else. He mentally counted his few remaining months of service, eager to begin the next chapter in his life.

      He unpacked quickly, ambivalent—thanks to his exhaustion—about dining at the major’s home, but duty called and he would welcome a home-cooked meal. After washing up, he lathered his face then picked up his razor. Some of his fellow officers prided themselves on luxuriant beards and drooping mustaches. Caleb regarded such practices as peacockery and preferred to be clean shaven. Scraping the blade over his three-days’ growth, he pondered the end of his military career. There were things he would miss—the physical challenges, the sense of accomplishment when missions went well and the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers; but he would never miss the thunder of cannons, the tumult of gunfire or the otherworldly, agonizing cries as bullet or ball ended a life. It was time to settle in one place, to put down roots.

      Donning his best uniform, he made his way next door to the post commander’s home, an impressive dwelling with a wide front porch overlooking the parade ground. Major Hurlburt greeted him and drew him into the parlor. “Captain, may I present my wife, Effie.”

      Caleb bowed slightly. “An honor, ma’am.”

      Mrs. Hurlburt was a plump, middle-aged woman with rosy cheeks, frizzy red hair and mischievous eyes. “Hurly and I are delighted to meet you.”

      Hurly? Her use of a pet name for her husband defied the customary formality of such occasions.

      Noting the surprise he had been unsuccessful in concealing, she laughed. “I know, I know. We’re supposed to observe stiff conventions. So silly. We are all in a strange place, thrust together by circumstance. Within my home, I will do as I please. Hurly can follow protocol elsewhere.” She laid a hand on Caleb’s sleeve. “I hope I haven’t shocked you.”

      Caleb glanced at the major, whose eyes were fixed fondly on his wife. “No, indeed. I shall happily abide by the rules of this house.”

      Major Hurlburt moved to a sideboard. “Brandy, Captain? Tea?”

      “I’d prefer tea, sir.” While the major prepared his own drink and poured the tea, Caleb studied the room, furnished with a Persian rug, two settees, an armchair, a library table and a small piano. Several watercolor landscapes and embroidered samplers adorned the walls. The decor was tasteful but confining after his months in the field.

      The major handed Caleb his cup, but before he could sit down, a knock sounded at the door. While Hurlburt went to answer, Effie said delightedly, “This will be the Misses Kellogg. Regrettably their father, our post surgeon, has duties which prevent him from joining us.”

      Feminine chatter filled the entry hall as the major took the ladies’ cloaks. A sturdily built young woman with pale skin and freckles entered the parlor first. “Permit me to introduce Miss Rose Kellogg,” the major said before turning to the second woman. “And her sister, Lily.”

      From her erect posture and demeanor, Caleb recognized Lily immediately—the woman in the cemetery. Close up, her flawless skin, the thick blond hair coiled on her head and her wide blue eyes rendered him tongue-tied. When had he last seen such a lovely female? Then, recovering his voice, he said, “Miss Rose, Miss Lily, the pleasure is mine.”

      Was it his imagination, or did a faint blush suffuse the latter’s face? Before he could make that determination, the major seated the ladies and offered them tea.

      Effie motioned for Caleb to sit beside her while the major served the Kellogg sisters. “Tell us, Captain, what brings you to Fort Larned?”

      Although Caleb was certain she already knew, he briefly recounted his experience subduing marauding Indian tribes.

      Rose leaned forward. “Did you also see service in the recent war?”

      “I did, miss.” He had no desire to elaborate.

      Lily, apparently sensing his discomfort, deftly changed the subject. “That’s history. I am interested in your opinion of Fort Larned.”

      Until they adjourned to the dining room, he offered his initial impressions of the place and then listened as the others told him about the recent rebuilding. Effie, in particular, put everyone at ease with her gently humorous comments and informality. Clearly the major was satisfied to let her hold sway at home, just as he controlled the fort.

      At dinner, Caleb had the good fortune to be seated directly across from Lily Kellogg. He hoped his perusal of her wasn’t too obvious, but it was difficult to keep his eyes averted. The delicacy of her features was at odds with the self-composed figure he’d seen in the cemetery. She was both dazzling and enigmatic.

      Effie seemed determined to direct questions to him, but he noticed her slyly studying Lily while he answered. He had a familiar sinking sensation. He was in the hands of a skillful matchmaker. If he wasn’t bound by social niceties, he could save Effie Hurlburt the trouble. Looking at Lily Kellogg was one thing; entanglement, quite another. He had learned that lesson from bitter experience.

      Buttering a slice of bread, the major commented that he was sorry about Ezra Kellogg’s absence from the table. “A fine doctor he is. During the outbreak of typhus late last fall, he performed valiantly, keeping our mortality rate low.”

      “He’s very skilled,” Effie agreed.