The Pride of Hannah Wade Read Online Free PDF

possessions, brought with them from outpost to outpost, relieved the severity of their quarters. A green and gold Turkish carpet, a wedding gift that she had insisted on shipping all the way from Philadelphia with their china and silver service packed inside its roll, gave the parlor its color, and the hues were repeated in the sofa throw and finely embroidered pillows that Hannah had stitched by hand over the long, lonely hours when Stephen had been away from the fort on patrol. Lace curtains, remnants of an heirloom tablecloth from her mother’s family that had been destroyed by bugs, relieved the starkness of the windows, while family pictures and framed samplers, more of Hannah’s handiwork, adorned the blankness of the earth-bricked walls.
    The dining room held a small buffet table with a punch bowl of lemonade as well as platters of canapés and dainty cakes. Hannah inspected every item. Everything had been prepared by their striker, the army term for a soldier hired to be an officer’s servant. It was a coveted job, since it meant additional wages besides a soldier’s regular pay, as well as relief from routine duty. The practice had been officially outlawed six years ago, but it continued. It was too difficult to find and keep good help. Private Delancy was a superb cook, trained in one of the finest New Orleans restaurants. Rumorsaid he’d killed a man over a beautiful octoroon. He was a very quiet man. Hannah would never have thought their excellent soldier-servant was capable of violence.
    “Have you heard of an Apache called Juh?” she asked, repositioning the silverware to a more precise angle, her thoughts running back over the afternoon’s incident and her subsequent conversation with Captain Jake Cutter.
    “A leader of one of the Chiricahua bands,” Stephen recalled. “Why?”
    “Captain Cutter believed he was with those Apaches this afternoon.” Hannah paused. “Do you think it means anything?”
    “The bands are moving. I don’t think the quiet is going to last,” was the most he was willing to venture. “The Tucson ring has gotten too strong. Too many people—from government contractors to miners, ranchers, and lumbermen—want to see the Apaches concentrated on one reservation. In Arizona, they’ve already transferred all the Indians from the Camp Verde and White Mountain reservations to San Carlos. It’s only a matter of time before they decide the Mimbres—the Warm Springs Apaches—have to be moved from their New Mexico reserve at Ojo Caliente, and the Chiricahuas from their desert mountains. The Apaches will fight.” His lips thinned into a long, straight line. “And here we are—undermanned, at half company strength, mounted on inferior horses—and no one cares.”
    Hannah understood the bitterness Stephen felt. For five years, he had played the political games of currying favor to gain the attention of the right people, his company distinguishing itself in all its engagements with the enemy. During the Civil War, Stephen had legitimately possessed a major’s title, and he wouldnever be satisfied until he was no longer addressed as “major” out of courtesy, but because he had earned the title back.
    “Then you expect there will be trouble.” Hannah turned from the buffet table to study him fully.
    “I hope there is. I’d hate to be stuck out here and forgotten.” A wry smile slanted his mouth as he lifted his punch glass.
    She picked up a glass and filled it, keeping her private fears out of her expression. “To the victor, Major Wade.” She toasted him, inwardly knowing what his assertion meant. Making war on the Apaches meant taking chances—calculated risks, Stephen called them. It meant fighting and killing—things a soldier’s wife should understand. But hers was the waiting game, the sitting at home and worrying while smiling bravely.
    The hollow tramp of footsteps on the packed earth outside their door signaled the arrival of their first guest. “It must