Page 26 of For This We Are Soldiers
What do I say now? What now?he asked himself with some desperation as Millie ambled along with him to the quartermaster stables, blessedly some distance away. “Um, uh, how do you like working at the hospital?” he asked, at a loss.
“Well enough,” she replied, skipping to keep up with him. He slowed down. “I like to cook, and we do have better ingredients to work with.”
“What would you make with the milk?” he asked, curious now.
“Butter, and perhaps cottage cheese. Probably a creamed stew involving canned oysters,” she replied, with no hesitation. “Creamed chipped beef on toast points.”
Ted started to salivate. He wiped his mouth and hoped she didn’t notice.
She did; he watched her dimple play about in her cheek after she glanced his way. “Perhaps you had better come down with an epic disease and find out,” she teased, which made him want to wriggle like a puppy.
“Nope. Strong as an ox,” he said. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been sick. Obviously hard tack and sowbelly on the march agreed with him. His palate must be immune to the tender ministrations of constantly revolving enlisted men in E Company who took their turn cooking, no matter what their culinary skills.
Bless Millie Drummond’s heart, but she seemed to understand he was just one more corporal, healthy or not, rendered tongue-tied by her presence. As they herded three cows from the parade ground to the stable, she told him about the various garrisons she had lived in, and her last two years spent in Minnesota attending school and living with a beloved aunt.
“She said I could easily find a husband among all the lumberjacks,” Millie said, “but I missed the West. She gave me her blessing to leave.”
Ted silently uttered his own prayer of gratitude to a woman he had never met, who hadn’t held Millie hostage. The men of Minnesota could snoop about among their own to find brides. Out here in Dakota Territory, the pool of bridal material was so miniscule as to be nonexistent.
The cows were duly turned into the corral behind the quartermaster storehouse to serve out their sentence. Ted looked down at the memo in his gloved hands, wondering what storm was about to break over Captain Crampton’s head. Ted knew him as a surgeon who never minded making house calls to either Officers Row or Suds Row. Hopefully he would take the memo in good grace and end the matter.
He wanted Millie to talk with him back to the hospital, and he waited as she stood a long moment, arms on the corral fence, just watching the hospital cows. When she turned, her expression was thoughtful.
Taking a cue from Millie, he told her about his own route to Dakota Territory, admitting he hadn’t enjoyed farming or cows much. Soldiering suited him well enough and he said as much to the pretty miss walking by his side, now that he was smart enough to shorten his stride to accommodate her.
“Papa likes soldiering too,” she told him.
Might as well ask. “Do you mind moving from place to place?” he asked. A man ought to know that much, if he planned any sort of campaign involving a sergeant’s daughter.
“I don’t mind,” she said, after favoring him with a shy glance. “It might be fun to settle down sometime, but so far I haven’t found a spot I minded leaving.”
He felt more or less the same way, but he couldn’t think of another question, not with the hospital right in front of them. Duty called and he could not ignore it, as much as he wished to. He held up the memo.
“This might be an ugly scene,” he said. “Thanks for keeping me company, Miss Drummond,” he said.
“It’s Millie,” she said quietly. She touched his arm with light fingers, then hurried toward the back of the hospital from whence kitchen fragrances originated. He went down the hall and knocked on Captain Crampton’s door.
“Come in,” he heard and opened the door. He saluted, and handed the memo to the surgeon, who read it and frowned. The post surgeon stuck his head out the door and called, “Corporal Roach!”
In a moment, the hospital steward appeared, wiping his hands on an apron with questionable yellow stains.
Captain Crampton showed him the memo. The hospital steward frowned too. “I am certain they were grazing behind the hospital, last time I looked,” he said.
Captain Crampton tapped the memo. “Obviously not now.” He looked at Ted. “Major Brotherton is really going to fine me three dollars for this silliness?”
“I believe he is, sir,” Ted replied, wishing he had a better answer. “One dollar per cow.”
“My steward here says they were grazing behind the hospital,” the post surgeon said, obviously not a man to yield gracefully.
“They may have been at one time, sir,” Ted told him, “but I found, um, evidence on the parade ground, and they were definitely between the houses on Officers Row when I apprehended them.”
The post surgeon rummaged in his desk and pulled out a prescription pad. “Give this to Major Brotherton,” he said, ripping off his own memo.
Ted took it and stared down at handwriting so illegible that he turned it sideways for a better look. Captain Crampton snatched it back and tried again. He gave the second memo to Ted. “It says I will be down to see him later on, after I debride a burn, stitch a laceration, and recast a leg.”
Ted knew better than to turn this memo sideways, even though it looked no more readable than the first. He saluted and left the hospital, resisting the urge to smile until he was well down the boardwalk path.
He watched Major Brotherton turn the memo sideways before telling the man just what the post surgeon had written. Another smart salute, and Ted beat a dignified retreat. He left orders with the sergeant of the guardhouse to send a detail with bucket and shovels to do justice to the parade ground, then returned to his temporary domain in the officer of the guard building.
