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Authors: The Horse Soldier
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and papawould be shocked to know a woman who’s married to two men is living under my roof.”
Thankful that she’d sent Suzanne outside to play, Julia lowered the baby dress she was hemming and counted to ten before answering.
“I’ve told you several times, Victoria, my marriage to Major Garrett was set aside by the church. I have only one husband.”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t care how many you’ve had,” her hostess returned irritably. “But I do think it’s odd that you put one husband aside, only to lose the other.”
“I haven’t lost Philip. He’s in Montana Territory.”
“How do you know?” Spitefully, she preyed on Julia’s own, secret fears. “The last letter you received from him is over a year old. Anything could have happened to him in a year.”
Heartily wishing she’d never shared that particular confidence, Julia tossed the baby dress on the wood crate that served as their table. She had to get out of Victoria McKinney’s house, if only for a few hours, or she would scream.
“All right, I’ll accompany you to…what did you call it? The hop?”
“That’s what the troopers call it,” her hostess said, brightening like an oil lamp just lit. “Probably because they jump around so energetically. You don’t have to dance with all of them, you know. Some are so dreadfully coarse. But one of the privates in Company A used to be a dance master in the court of King Leopold of Belgium, if you can believe it.”
Julia could certainly believe it. In the short time she’d spent on post, she’d discovered that more than half of the troopers had been recruited just weeks or months after stepping off the boat from Europe. They came from all walks of life—hatters, blacksmiths, farmers and dancing instructors. Some had previous military experience and found a familiar home in the Army of their adopted country. Others had been driven to the recruiters by the lack of jobs and severe economic depression that had followed the War Between the States.
“Private Lowenstahl waltzes divinely,” Victoria gushed, happy as a meadowlark now that she’d got her way. “You must let him, at least, have a dance.”
Private Lowenstahl did more than waltz divinely, Julia discovered that evening. He could guide a woman around the pine plank floor in a polka, a german, or a two-step with sublime grace. Tall and slender and tanned by the sun, with blond mustaches that drooped splendidly, he’d joined the regiment only six months ago and was already something of a legend.
Mindful of her appointed duty as baby-tender, Julia hung back. She’d left Suzanne tucked in with the children of the captain who lived next door, but Victoria’s baby would need feeding. He’d been carried in a wicker basket to the long, single-story barracks acrossthe parade ground from the officers’ quarters and now watched the proceeding with wide eyes.
Company A had done itself proud. The double-tiered wooden bunks had been pushed out of the way to form an empty space in the center of the barracks. A trestle table held lemonade for the ladies. The refreshing drink was chilled by the ice that had been cut from the river in winter and stored in straw in the icehouse for just such occasions as this. Evidently the men had pooled their resources and raided the sutler’s store for tins of oysters, pickled pigs’ feet and jellies.
Volunteer musicians playing the banjo, harmonica and violin augmented the company drummer and bugler. The makeshift orchestra pumped surprisingly melodious tunes into the air. If a distinct odor of earth, old leather and sweat permeated the barracks, no one seemed to take the least heed of it.
As Julia had discovered, a strict caste system regulated social life on army posts, just as it did civilian society. The officers and their ladies congregated at one end of the room. The enlisted men and their wives, the single laundresses and maids kept to the other. Given the paucity of women on the
Thankful that she’d sent Suzanne outside to play, Julia lowered the baby dress she was hemming and counted to ten before answering.
“I’ve told you several times, Victoria, my marriage to Major Garrett was set aside by the church. I have only one husband.”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t care how many you’ve had,” her hostess returned irritably. “But I do think it’s odd that you put one husband aside, only to lose the other.”
“I haven’t lost Philip. He’s in Montana Territory.”
“How do you know?” Spitefully, she preyed on Julia’s own, secret fears. “The last letter you received from him is over a year old. Anything could have happened to him in a year.”
Heartily wishing she’d never shared that particular confidence, Julia tossed the baby dress on the wood crate that served as their table. She had to get out of Victoria McKinney’s house, if only for a few hours, or she would scream.
“All right, I’ll accompany you to…what did you call it? The hop?”
“That’s what the troopers call it,” her hostess said, brightening like an oil lamp just lit. “Probably because they jump around so energetically. You don’t have to dance with all of them, you know. Some are so dreadfully coarse. But one of the privates in Company A used to be a dance master in the court of King Leopold of Belgium, if you can believe it.”
Julia could certainly believe it. In the short time she’d spent on post, she’d discovered that more than half of the troopers had been recruited just weeks or months after stepping off the boat from Europe. They came from all walks of life—hatters, blacksmiths, farmers and dancing instructors. Some had previous military experience and found a familiar home in the Army of their adopted country. Others had been driven to the recruiters by the lack of jobs and severe economic depression that had followed the War Between the States.
“Private Lowenstahl waltzes divinely,” Victoria gushed, happy as a meadowlark now that she’d got her way. “You must let him, at least, have a dance.”
Private Lowenstahl did more than waltz divinely, Julia discovered that evening. He could guide a woman around the pine plank floor in a polka, a german, or a two-step with sublime grace. Tall and slender and tanned by the sun, with blond mustaches that drooped splendidly, he’d joined the regiment only six months ago and was already something of a legend.
Mindful of her appointed duty as baby-tender, Julia hung back. She’d left Suzanne tucked in with the children of the captain who lived next door, but Victoria’s baby would need feeding. He’d been carried in a wicker basket to the long, single-story barracks acrossthe parade ground from the officers’ quarters and now watched the proceeding with wide eyes.
Company A had done itself proud. The double-tiered wooden bunks had been pushed out of the way to form an empty space in the center of the barracks. A trestle table held lemonade for the ladies. The refreshing drink was chilled by the ice that had been cut from the river in winter and stored in straw in the icehouse for just such occasions as this. Evidently the men had pooled their resources and raided the sutler’s store for tins of oysters, pickled pigs’ feet and jellies.
Volunteer musicians playing the banjo, harmonica and violin augmented the company drummer and bugler. The makeshift orchestra pumped surprisingly melodious tunes into the air. If a distinct odor of earth, old leather and sweat permeated the barracks, no one seemed to take the least heed of it.
As Julia had discovered, a strict caste system regulated social life on army posts, just as it did civilian society. The officers and their ladies congregated at one end of the room. The enlisted men and their wives, the single laundresses and maids kept to the other. Given the paucity of women on the
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