the snow dogs overhead, another frigid advertisement to January on the northern plains. January was the month when the Northern Roamers were commanded by Washington to move their families to reservations not far from here in Nebraska. That will not happen and there will be premeditated war, Joe thought. No one will care that a competent teacher has been forced from her classroom by meanness.
Major Townsend was waiting for him. Joe nodded to him and shut the door behind him. All Townsend did was hand him the letter that Mrs. Dunklin must have carried to him that morning, the one with all the signatures of indignant parents on it, except the O’Learys.
Joe barely glanced at it. “What happened shouldn’t have happened, Ed,” he said, calling on his years of friendship with the fort’s commanding officer to keep this painful discussion informal. “The Dunklins only have half the story, and their half is lies and character assassination.”
Edwin Townsend regarded him for a long moment, and Joe felt his heart sink even lower.
“She had no business trying to pass herself off as a war widow.”
“Emily Reese started that lie, heaven only knows why,” Joe countered.
“Mrs. Hopkins had every opportunity to deny it.”
“Did she? I earnestly believe she wanted to spare her cousin embarrassment. Ed, did you ever try to unbake a cake? Bring someone back to life after the autopsy? You can’t do it!”
“Sit down, Joe.”
The post surgeon sat. He hoped Ed would sit next to him in the empty chair, but the major sat behind his desk instead, choosing command over friendship. Silent, he rummaged through a stock of correspondence on his desk and pulled out one of the twice-folded documents with the government stamp.
“It’s already begun. General Crook and Colonel Reynolds will be here in February to lead a winter campaign against the Roamers. I’ll need that room at Old Bedlam for temporary quarters, so I probably would have evicted her, anyway.”
“Ask General Crook if he’d like to stay with me,” Joe said. “I know what it feels like to have lies and character assassination dished my way.”
He hadn’t meant for his voice to rise. He was going to be calm about this, except he couldn’t, not with Susanna Hopkins’s stricken face before his, and then the death of hope in her eyes that he understood all too well, because he had a mirror over his bureau.
Major Townsend couldn’t look at him. He indicated the Dunklin letter again, which lay between them like a rank specimen in a pathology lab.
“Joe, I have no control over this situation,” Townsend said, his voice firm, even if he couldn’t look his friend and war comrade in the eyes. He jabbed the paper. “These families contracted with Mrs. Hopkins, and they are at liberty to break the contract, as they have done.”
Joe took his time. “I suppose that as this year’s administrative council head, you want me to shut her down. She’s teaching the O’Learys’ boy right now.”
“I’m sorry. What can I do?”
Joe contemplated his friend, remembering their shared Civil War fights. “Not much, obviously,” he said. He went to the door, wanting to jerk it off its hinges. As he stood there, Joe made up his mind. He looked back at the major, who was watching him now, wary. “I’m resigning my commission, Major Townsend.”
“Save your breath. You’re turned down, Major Randolph,” his commanding officer replied, biting off his own words. “We’re at war with the Sioux Nation, as of two weeks ago. You’re not allowed to resign.”
Joe walked to the hospital, head down. He mishandled paperwork until recall from fatigue, then walked down the hill to discharge his awful duty.
Mrs. Hopkins made it easy for him. As he approached Old Bedlam, she was coming out with Rooney O’Leary, holding his hand. She walked past Joe and took the boy up to his front door, giving him a hug and an affectionate swat on his backside when Katie O’Leary opened the door. Susanna shook her head at what must have been an invitation to come inside, then left the porch to stand by him on the boardwalk.
“Major, I have banked the fire and gathered the books on the desk,” she told him with the steely calm he wished he could have used in Major Townsend’s office. “Please return them to the officers’ families.”
“Susanna, I …”
She only shook her head, and her expression was kind. “Thank you for trying, Major.”
“It’s Joe,” he told her, feeling stupid and lame and impotent.