Her Hesitant Heart - By Carla Kelly Page 0,4

say something. “Captain, uh … excuse me ….”

“Dunklin,” he offered, as if relieved to break the charged silence.

“Captain Dunklin, you have children who will be attending school?” She glanced at Major Randolph, who stared straight ahead, as if seeing something no one else saw. In another moment, he settled back with a sigh.

“I have one son, aged nine. High time he went to school.”

She couldn’t hide her surprise. “My cousin wrote that there is a school already.”

“Yes, one run by the private.”

Susanna heard the disdain in his voice.

“The army requires that children of enlisted men must be educated, but officers’ children are merely invited,” Major Randolph explained.

“Not required?”

“No, ma’am,” he said. “Strange to you?”

“A little. Surely an officer’s child could learn something from a private.”

“We try not to mingle,” Dunklin said. “Joe, you’d understand if you had children.”

Susanna could tell from the post surgeon’s expression that he understood no such thing. I should think any school would be better than no school, she thought. Captain Dunklin was already reminding her of Frederick, because he seemed so certain that he was right. “Probably the private does his best,” she said, defending her profession.

“He does,” the surgeon said. “Private Benedict has eleven pupils now, all ages.” He must have noticed her expression of interest. “I head the post administrative council, and one of my responsibilities is the school.”

“Is there a schoolhouse?”

“No. They meet in a room in the commissary storehouse.”

“Between the salt pork and the hardtack,” Dunklin interjected. He laughed, but no one joined him.

From the look the post surgeon exchanged with Major Walters, Susanna suspected Dunklin was not a universal favorite.

The silence felt heavy again, but Dunklin filled it. “Where are you from, Mrs. Hopkins? Your cousin mentioned Pennsylvania.”

“Shippensburg, originally,” she said, afraid again. Major Randolph glanced at her. It was the smallest glance, but some sixth sense, honed to sharpness by years of fear, told her he knew more.

“My wife is from Carlisle!” Dunklin exclaimed. “She won’t waste a moment in making your acquaintance.”

Please, no, Susanna thought in a panic. “I … I didn’t get out much in society,” she stammered.

Dunklin nodded, his expression serious. “Your cousin told us of your loss. Too many ladies are war widows.”

Her heart plummeted into her stomach. She wondered what story her cousin had started, in an attempt to make her more palatable to the people of Fort Laramie. Suddenly the twenty miles between Shippensburg and Carlisle seemed no longer than a block.

“Mrs. Hopkins?” Major Walters asked, concerned.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Dunklin said.

“No, it’s just …” She stopped. Do I explain myself to these men? she thought in desperation. Do I say nothing? She sat there in misery, trapped. “Don’t worry, Captain Dunklin,” she said, becoming an unwilling party to a lie. “I am resigned to my lot.”

Dunklin nodded. He placed a board on his knees, took out a deck of cards and was soon deep in solitaire.

Major Randolph regarded her, and she realized with a shock that he knew she lied. What had Emily done? I must explain to him at the first opportunity, Susanna told herself. Drat Captain Dunklin for having a wife from Carlisle.

They stopped midmorning, which felt like an answer to prayer. For the past hour she had been wondering how she could delicately phrase the suggestion that they stop for personal purposes. And if they did stop, what then? A glance through the canvas flap revealed no shielding trees or even shrubs.

Without a word, the men left the ambulance. A shift of weight told her that the driver had followed them. Major Randolph was the last man out. Without a word, he lifted the seat where Captain Dunklin had been sitting, nodded to her and left. Speechless with embarrassment, she stood up and looked down at a hole and the snowy ground beneath. “That’s clever,” she murmured.

She peeked out the canvas flap to make sure no one stood nearby. There they were, standing off the road, their backs to her. By the time they returned to the ambulance, the seat was down again, and she had returned to her chair.

“We’re stopping tonight at Lodgepole Creek stage station,” Major Randolph informed her as they started again. “I have a little errand of mercy, a small patient.”

They stopped at a roadhouse for luncheon, which turned out to be a bowl of greasy stew and a roll amazing in its magnitude and excellence.

“This joint is famous for the rolls, but you don’t get one unless you suffer the penance of