He thought about Paris and studying with Pasteur and realized, as he stalked back to his own quarters, that for the first time since M’Liss died, he was making plans.
Susanna sat in the tin tub, her knees drawn up to her chin, even more angry with Major Randolph than with Mrs. Dunklin.
Rational good sense finally triumphed. She washed herself thoroughly, embarrassed now that a man had seen her in five-day-old dirt, she, the most meticulous of persons. Come to think of it, he had seen her at her worst from Cheyenne on, she reckoned, and scrubbed harder. Then she just sat there, her forehead resting on her drawn-up knees, because she was too tired to move.
After some effort, Susanna stood up, frightened at her own weakness. She wobbled there in the tub a moment, then wrapped the towel around her, shivering even though the small kitchen was warm. It chafed her that she had to lean on the chair to step from the tub, but that was the consequence of thinking she could starve herself to death. She sat there and decided she had done enough foolish things.
She was still sitting in the chair, towel wrapped around her, when she heard the post surgeon open his front door. Even though the kitchen door was closed, she felt a little puff of cold air around her bare ankles. She wanted to stand up and dress herself, but her clothes were still in the parlor, where Emily must have dropped them off.
“Susanna?” he called.
When she didn’t answer promptly, he opened the door to the kitchen and stood there, giving her what looked like a professional appraisal.
“I didn’t have the energy,” she said finally, her face hot with humiliation for him to see her in a towel.
“I’ll help you.”
She shook her head, embarrassed at her weakness. “If you’ll just get my things …”
He went into the parlor and returned with her clothes draped over his arm. He set them on the small kitchen table but did not leave the room. “I’m going to turn my back on you and create the specialty of Chez Randolph—cheese sandwiches made with army cheese and army bread. It is my sole accomplishment in the kitchen. You will eat one sandwich. I will not leave you alone.”
True to his word, he turned his back and started to slice the bread. “If you need help, you only have to ask. I know what women look like,” he said, his voice so noncommittal that he might have been telling her a straight line was the shortest distance between two points.
With a sigh, Susanna dropped her towel and dressed herself. At the same time, Major Randolph, imperturbable, kept up a commentary of Fort Laramie news, spending the most time on Katie O’Leary’s delivery of a daughter. “I believe they are going to name her Mary Rose,” he said. “I suggested Josephine Randolph, but Katie gave a most unladylike snort at my idea. Where is the gratitude, I ask you?”
Susanna laughed softly, surprising herself that she could still laugh. Light-headed, she sat down on the chair, her stocking in her hand. “Major …” she began. “I just can’t bend over to do this. Makes me dizzy.”
“Call me Joe,” he said as he turned around and pulled her stocking up one leg, and then the other one. He did it with some expertise, which made her smile. “You can do the garters, Susanna,” he said, handing them to her and turning back to the bread. “I had some butter for these sandwiches, but I think it has gone rancid.”
“This is a strange conversation,” she said as she finished dressing.
“No stranger than any conversation I have ever had with Nick Martin,” he told her, setting the sandwiches on tin plates. “Incidentally, he asked me quite seriously if he could set fire to the Dunklins’ quarters.”
Susanna gasped. “I hope you discouraged him!”
“I did. Told him you would be very disappointed in him. He agreed finally, but I could tell his heart was not in it.” Joe indicated the sandwiches. “This, Susanna Hopkins, is what passes for luncheon in my quarters. Bon appétit.” He smiled then, his eyes kind. “I plan to brush up on my French. Perhaps you can help. How is your French? I will resign my commission when this latest Indian war is over.” He struck a pose that made her smile again. “I intend to travel to Paris and study with Pasteur! You have inspired me to blow the dust of gossipy,