Joe left, and Emma sat alone at the table. After such a long time on the
Trail, the past three days at Laramie had been unbelievable luxury.
Their quarters were warm and snug, with adequate housekeeping
facilities. The roof was wood instead of canvas. Best of all, there had
been three days of blessed relief from worry and tension. For the first
time since leaving Independence Emma slept restfully because she was
positive that they would have to respond to no alarm in the middle of
the night. Because they did not have to rise with the sun and travel all
day, there was leisure for sewing, washing, and preparing meals as Emma
thought they should be prepared. However, though Laramie provided
surcease from the rigors of the Trail, it brought its own problems.
Emma did not agree with Joe's notion that there was no reason to worry
about Barbara. Most of the young men who overwhelmed her with attention
were more amusing than otherwise. Except that some of them were a little
older than the swains who had so awkwardly wooed Barbara in Missouri,
they did not differ greatly from the Tenney's Crossing youths. They
blushed easily, sometimes stumbled over their own feet, and while they
devoted themselves to Barbara and wanted to admire, they were content to
do so from a distance. Barbara could wither them with a frown, or send
them into ecstasy with a smile. Emma poured a second cup of coffee, a
blissful extravagance, and thought about Private Hugo Gearey.
Emma thought he was about twenty-six, not old, but still older than most
of the other privates. There was about him a fine courtliness and
courtesy which within itself spoke of background and good breeding; he
knew exactly what to say and exactly when and how to say it. His was a
charm that attracted men and captivated women. Emma had never before met
such a person, and she knew that all of Gearey's charm and courtliness
had been fully noticed by Barbara.
But though Emma was old enough, and wise enough, to base her final
appraisal of anyone at all on other than outward characteristics, she
could not suppress an uncomfortable feeling that Gearey's eyes were cold
and that they betrayed an inner weakness. Most of all, with no war on,
she wondered what a person of his obvious breeding and background was
doing, as a private, in a fort like Laramie. She conceded that he might
be out for a bit of adventure, but most of the youngsters who were at
Laramie for that reason alone were from three to seven years younger
than Gearey. Though there were a few older privates who kept their own
counsel and doubtless had their own reasons for being where they were,
most of the enlistees who were making the Army a career were
non-commissioned officers by the time they were Gearey's age.
The bedroom door opened and Barbara appeared, sleep-disheveled but
lovely.
"Good morning, Mother."
"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"
"Oh!" Barbara stretched her young arms for the sheer pleasure of doing
so. "I had a heavenly rest!"
"I'll get your breakfast."
"I'll get it, Mother."
Barbara washed, put two slices of bacon in a skillet and knelt before
the fire place. She broke an egg over the sputtering bacon, brought it
to the table and buttered herself a piece of bread. Emma smiled at her
daughter.
"Have you reflected upon your ardent suitors' fist-fight of last night?"
Barbara said scornfully, "Yes, and it was so silly! I couldn't stop
them, and I was just mortified when they insisted on fighting that way!"
Her face clouded. "Do you think they'll keep them in the guardhouse very
long, Mother?"
"I suppose they'll be out before they're both old men." Barbara grinned,
and said happily, "It's been such fun!" "It would be," Emma admitted
dryly, "with fifty or more unattached young men ready to grovel at your
feet every time you make calf's eyes at them."