Page 33 of For This We Are Soldiers
“… sergeant’s?”
“Yes, for the sake of argument, some sergeant’s proposal? Fire you? You’d be married. So what?”
Again that laugh, but softer, because the baby seemed to be settling into her breast and neck. “Between you and me, Miss Hinchcliffe is not at her best whilst thinking.”
He mulled that over, imagining what a fine match Miss Hinchcliffe would be for Lieutenant Shaw, who had graduated somewhere near the murky bottom of West Point Class of ’75. But no, perhaps one of them should marry into brains. He shook his head and did his best not to snort.
“It is a bit frightening, Sergeant,” she whispered, and turned slightly. “Is the baby asleep?”
“Yes. And call me Hiram.”
She rose slowly and sort of glided out of the room, which kept the baby asleep, but also set her skirts to swaying in a manner so pleasing he had to look away to maintain any composure.
She soon returned to the parlor and sat beside him. He wasn’t certain what to do until she looked at him with those beautiful brown eyes. His arm went around her shoulder. Since she didn’t bat him away and cry foul, he continued breathing.
Without any encouragement, Hiram told her about his hard life on that Iowa farm, and his even harder eighteen months in the Union Army, beginning with the Battle of the Wilderness, and ending with the surrender at Appomattox. He handed her his handkerchief after the Battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse when he told her about stepping on top of still-writhing wounded men to continue firing into the Bloody Angle.
She handed it back for Cold Harbor as he blubbered and wiped his eyes. “Six times, Birdie. Why would any general make us charge six times?”
Her head rested on his shoulder through the Grand Army Review in Washington and then his Indian Wars years. He wanted to hear her life story next, and she began, but it ended quickly when they heard booted feet stamping off snow on the front porch. In a flash she was up and opening the door for the major and his wife, and then Miss Hinchcliffe with two lieutenants trailing behind her, one of them his own.
No one said anything about his presence in the parlor, but Hiram hoped what he noticed in Major Dunlap’s one good eye was a little twinkle. Everyone said good night to everyone else and he found himself on that porch now. The door closed, then opened again and there stood Birdie O’Grady.
She gave him another serious look, the kind that meant business of a sort he had hoped for all his life, even if he did live in a dry-bone garrison in a territory full of testy Indians and earned thirty dollars a month.
She didn’t say anything, but mouthed the words, “Please write to me,” then closed the door.
And he had. Now he waited like Lieutenant Shaw, eager for a word from a lady, and wondering why in tarnation the US Mail had forgotten Fort Fetterman.
A
Two days later, Hiram knew it was not his place to say anything to his superior officer, but he wasn’t surprised when Lieutenant Shaw moped around the guardhouse while Hiram released a C Company miscreant, and waited for the room to clear out.
“Sir?” Hiram asked, knowing that was enough to get his lieutenant to bare his soul, a somewhat shallow mechanism, as far as the sergeant could tell.
“Sergeant, did I mention to you that in my last letter to Miss Hinchcliffe, I hinted I would be asking her an important question?”
So you told me; the more fool you,Hiram thought, amused. He probably knew even less about courtship than his lieutenant, but Hiram did not think it wise to mention something so vital to a man’s future happiness in a letter, or even to be so coy about it. “Brave of you, sir,” he replied, because Shaw seemed to expect a comment.
“Brave? Brave? I wrote that letter eight weeks ago, and have I heard a single word from her since? D’ya think she has a clue what I meant? Has she rejected me?”
Hiram considered how to answer. Birdie O’Grady had remarked unfavorably on Miss Hinchcliffe’s mental acuity, so that was one consideration. Maybe she truly was clueless. Or maybe she had rejected this lieutenant and didn’t know how to put it in writing. An even more unhelpful scenario rose: perhaps Miss Hinchcliffe had already scarpered off to Ohio, dragging the dutiful Birdie along.
“We … I mean you … just won’t know until a letter comes through, sir,” he said finally.
Shaw swore long and fluently, which suggested too much time spent in the company of teamsters. Hiram could have done the same, because he was desperate to hear from Birdie, but he had better manners.
There the matter rested for nearly the entire month of May, with Lieutenant Shaw becoming increasingly sarcastic and morose in turns. Hiram was an expert at keeping his own counsel, but he longed to hear from Birdie. On a day with no wind and not much to do, he had walked to the non-commissioned officers’ quarters and noted one empty duplex. He had looked in all the windows, putting imaginary furniture here and there.
He felt his own hopes begin to fade along with his lieutenant’s, but he kept his misery to himself. News of the coming of the paymaster brought army business to the forefront over real or nonexistent affairs of the heart. The army was supposed to pay its soldiers every two months, but it had been six months since the ambulance carrying any paymaster of any kind had pulled up to the fort with his strong box full of heavily discounted greenbacks and a list of what was due every man, from Captain Coates, commanding, to the greenest private.
Hiram liked to be paid as well as the next soldier, but he was a provident fellow, and always hung onto enough salary to tide him over during financial drought. He loaned a little here and there if he knew the need was great, but never at moneylender rates. He preferred the good will of his men.
Amazing how a garrison could perk up at the dry announcement that the paymaster had arrived and would give every man what was due him directly after Guard Mount tomorrow. Years of experience assured Hiram what would follow, once the men had finished their day’s duties. Those who owed the bloodsuckers would end up forking over a large amount of their pathetic salary to those who had loaned, with bitter words often exchanged, and occasional mayhem.
Even though excess was forbidden, someone always managed to get hold of beer and harder stuff, and the drinking commenced, accompanied by fierce gambling until the garrison was broke again. The guardhouse would be full of many sinners.
The barracks fairly buzzed with anticipation that night. Hiram shook his head at the noise and went to his own room, probably the best perquisite attached to his rank. He didn’t have to share his space with bunkmates.
