mentioned Nick Martin, which made the captain pull a face and mutter something about “sending him to the federal insane asylum.” She exhausted all topics soon, almost wishing for Emily to hurry downstairs and save her from her cousin-in-law. Major Randolph saved her, as he had been saving her since Cheyenne, even though he wasn’t present this time.
“Cousin, I know this is none of my business….” she began, then watched with something close to unholy glee as his interest picked up. What had Major Randolph told her about the U.S. Army containing more gossips per square foot than any other organization he knew of?
Appeal to his masculine pride, Susanna, she advised herself. “I know so little about the army, and you know so much,” she began. “Someone told me that Major Randolph wouldn’t be going on the midwinter campaign because of some general or other. Why not?”
She could tell by the way Dan’s eyes lit up that she had hit on a topic guaranteed to please. “It’s a bit of a scandal,” he began, not even trying to feign some reluctance at proceeding. Major Randolph was right about gossip, but this was at his expense, and she felt a momentary pang.
“It happened during the Battle of South Mountain in 1862,” Reese began, tucking away his old newspaper. “More properly, it was during a skirmish at Boonsboro Gap, in a forward aid station when a Union soldier and a rebel soldier were brought in.” He clucked his tongue. “Major Randolph took one look at the Union man and knew he didn’t have a chance—head half blown off, or something. He turned his attention to saving the Confederate, when Crook—he was a colonel then, in an Ohio division—came into the aid station, took a look and went bat-shit crazy.”
No wonder Stanley has such a colorful vocabulary, Susanna thought. “Surely the major tried to explain …”
“And Crook didn’t hear one damn word of it.” Reese leaned closer, as though the room was full of Rebel sympathizers. “Some say Crook tried to yank the major out of that tent, but Joe Randolph held him off with a scalpel and backed Crook into a corner.” He shrugged. “That’s when the Union soldier died.”
“Surely it was obvious …” Susanna tried again.
“Nothing’s obvious in the heat of battle. When the Union secured South Mountain, Crook pulled enough strings to have Randolph sent to Florida among the saw grass and alligators. Maybe he hoped Joe would die of malaria.”
“That’s so unfair. Had he no friends?”
“Precious few. Joe is from Virginia, remember? Well, General George Thomas—he was also a Virginian—did manage to retrieve him from Florida. Joe served with Pap Thomas and the Army of the Cumberland until the war ended.”
“Thank goodness for General Thomas.”
“Too bad he isn’t still alive. Joe was supposed to serve with General Thomas in the Department of the Pacific, but the general died on his way to San Francisco in 1870. The Medical Department reassigned Joe here to the Department of the Platte, which Crook heads now. Talk about bad luck. Crook’s going to lead this winter expedition, so Joe will get left behind with hemorrhoids and the clap.”
“It must be humiliating to be passed over like that,” she said.
“I’ve wondered why Joe doesn’t just leave the army. He could practice anywhere.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t care,” Susanna said.
Let this be a cautionary tale, she told herself, as she went to the upstairs window in the hall that overlooked the parade ground. You mustn’t quit caring.
She finally retired to her blanket-partitioned bedroom, wondering how a well-educated man could tolerate such scorn heaped on him. She was drifting to sleep when she realized that for the first time in more than a year, her son wasn’t square in the middle of her thoughts. I am not alone in misfortune, she thought.
Nick Martin was waiting for her on the porch of Old Bedlam the next morning. Wrapped in an army blanket, he was covered in a light skiff of snow.
“Nick, tell me you haven’t been here all night!”
He stood up and shook himself like a Saint Bernard emerging from a snowbank. “No. The major was all night at Sergeant Rattigan’s house, and I went there first.” He shook his head. “Maeve Rattigan needs a miracle, and so I have informed my superior.”
“The Lord God Almighty?” Susanna asked.
“The very one,” he replied. “Major Randolph says she tries and tries to have babies and they never make it.”
Poor woman, Susanna thought. “Is Major Randolph as tired as you?”