Custer sighed, turned back into the tent, deciding he’d wait till tomorrow to write Libbie again.
“General Custer?”
Moylan slogged up between Keim and Sergeant William Johnson. All three were soaked through, their coats no longer any protection from the incessant rain, their wide-brimmed hats soppy, drooping like a beekeeper’s under the weight of a good soaking.
“What is it?”
“I have someone I want you to meet,” Moylan began, then turned and signaled someone who waited outside the tent. Across the sticky gumbo crabbed a young man, carefully positioning himself on two canes with every step.
The newcomer shuddered to a halt, then placed the right cane with its brother in his left hand so he could hold out a big, callused paw to Custer.
“My name’s John Morgan, General,” he spoke clear and strong.
“Mr. Morgan,” Custer replied.
“I’m looking for my wife. Anna Belle Morgan. Her name used to be Brewster. I understand she’s here with your regiment.” His dark, hooded eyes darted off again.
“General”—Moylan inched forward—“John has come to take the girl and young Brewster home. To what they have left in Kansas.”
“I plan on raising another house and barn, soon as I’m fit,” Morgan explained. “But for now, it’ll be enough just to take my family with me.”
Custer silently regarded this courageous man.
“I figured anyone in camp could lead me to my wife,” Morgan went on. “But told ’em I wanted to meet you first off, to shake hands with the man who saved my bride from the Indians.”
“Dan told me you were seriously wounded.”
“Was, General. On the mend now. Be back in the fields behind them mules by fall.”
“Your leg?”
“No. Took a bullet in the hip.”
“It pains you to move around?”
“Less every day. I laid there that first night, thinking about Anna Belle. Couldn’t move to help when they pulled her up on one of their ponies. Then had to watch ’em put the torch to my place. Some neighbors come to look things over the day after the raid. Found me in the field.”
“You’ll start over?”
“That land’s all I got. That and Anna Belle. Laid on a cot all fall in Solomon City, nursing my hip. Didn’t get no better, so they took me up to Minneapolis. Finally healed up ’bout as good as I’m gonna be for a while. Spent all winter praying I’d get Anna Belle back. All the time part of me said to forget her—savages had her and likely they’d use her up.”
Custer saw the tears welling in the big man’s eyes, the quiver at his lip.
“Mr. Morgan, your wife’s safe and very sound. She’s been through an ordeal of unspeakable horror, but she’s a strong woman.” He turned to his adjutant. “Moylan, take our guest down to Mrs. McNeil’s tent. The women are with her, waiting for family to fetch them.” Then he turned back to Morgan. “How was it you knew your wife was here?”
“Knew before your regiment got back to Hays. I’d heard talk of your winter campaign to free white prisoners of the Indians. Rode down the Smoky Hill line, past Fort Harker and up to Hays City. Never rode a train before.” He rocked uneasily on the homemade oak canes. “Up to Hays City they been posting stories ’bout your Seventh Cavalry.”
“Stories?” Custer asked.
“Heard Colonel Miles wanted the whole territory to know what a success you’d made of the winter campaign against them damned Indians. So he had the papers all across Kansas print up stories from your dispatches.”
“From what John tells me,” Moylan said, “you’re quite the hero to Kansas folk.”
“No doubt of that, sir.” Morgan gave him a big-toothed smile. “All over, folks say you’re the man who made this country safe for ’em to farm. They say General Custer’s the one who makes ’em sleep easy at night. After they’ve said their prayers for the Seventh Cavalry, that is.”
Custer straightened. “Good to know our winter’s efforts are appreciated. Suppose you go with Moylan down to the officers’ mess while he fetches your wife. I have a feeling she’ll want to freshen up before she sees you. It’s been quite a spell, hasn’t it?”
“More’n half a year. Some eight months now.”
“May I offer a word? Some advice?”
“Of course, General.”
“With all the time that’s passed, I want you to realize that your wife may have … changed some.”
“Sir?”
“When you see her for the first time, just remember what a horrifying ordeal she’s been through. If she didn’t do what was demanded of her, they’d kill her. Remember that when you want to touch her, Mr. Morgan.”
“While I was laid up for the shank of the winter I had a lotta time to think. I know the Indians had their way with Anna Belle—any white woman, I ’spect. But Anna Belle’s prettier than most.”
“A very striking woman,” Custer said.
“At first I wanted to forget her. Tell myself it was over. Then I got to brooding on what she’d be thinking, what she was feeling. All of what happened was no fault of her own. Laying on that cot in Solomon City, I asked God to bring my wife back to me, no matter what. Just bring Anna Belle back.”
“She’s what’s most important to you now.”
Morgan wiped a hand across his eyes. “Her, and the home we’ll rebuild up on the Solomon. Raise some kids.”
“I bet that’s what Anna Belle wants more than anything too. To go home where she can forget what’s happened. To start over.”
“May I say something, General?” Moylan inquired.
“Of course.”
“Last winter when Dan Brewster came down to Camp Supply, telling us that the Morgans been burned out of everything, well … Mr. Keim here came up with a deuce of an idea. I think he should tell you about it, General.”
Keim cleared his throat. “Several of your officers and I got to talking while we spent those two days beside the Washita on the trail back. Started taking up a small collection so we could help the two women. Maybe go some toward replacing what they lost in the way of clothing, household goods. The idea just took off on its own, with donations pouring in. Even the Kansas soldiers. Why, we’ve got over six hundred dollars to divide between Mrs. Morgan and Miss White!”
“Three hundred dollars apiece?” John Morgan whistled low.
Keim said, “I’ve never seen such an outpouring.”
Morgan wagged his head. “Can’t believe it. Thank God for you all! For your kindness and your bravery. God bless the Seventh Cavalry!”
Custer felt embarassed as he watched the big man shed tears too long held back. Moylan, Johnson, and Keim looked away, sniffling a bit themselves.
“Moylan,” Custer said, “I think Mr. Morgan would like to see his bride now.”
“Bless you, General Custer,” Morgan blurted like an adoring schoolboy, holding out a big hand once more. “Bless you for the job you’ve done for us.”
“It’s what I’ve been sent here to do, Mr. Morgan.”
They turned from his tent and slogged away through the mud and gumbo along the wagon road, dodging puddles and horse droppings.
Nothing like rain to make a man feel lonely. More than the cold of a winter storm. A long, endless rain isolated him.
Custer hurt for her return.
He glanced at his pocket watch again, setting it on his field desk.
