The War of the Remingtons

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

Amelia sat by the fire knitting. Her gaze was on the man sitting nearby, as he read a history of the Revolutionary War while jawing on what was left of his cigar. Her attention to Samuel Remington was rich with unspoken possibilities. He was a man of rugged character and looks, often forbiddingly stern and formal, though his heart was generous and his nature passionate. Though his brown hair had grayed, his face was yet vigorous and youthful, his eyes intense and his speech impeccable. His compact, stocky build distinguished him as a rooted and powerful man that matched the rough 1890’s Wyoming in which he lived. His allure would be his command, appealing only to women of a submissive nature who would not think of challenging his authority. Amelia found herself intrigued by him, though just as frightened as she was curious.

“You hear something?” Samuel’s ears perked and he looked up from his reading to pay attention to the unusual sound outside the lodge’s thick log walls.

“Just the wind,” she answered.

“Humph. You’re likely right.” He returned to his book.

She smiled kindly and resumed her knitting. The lovely Amelia had been blessed with fine, soft features: bright eyes, long lash, a pretty winsome mouth and pale skin, though her cheeks glowed a natural rosy pink. The ash blonde hair piled atop her head was, by this time in the evening, loose enough to look alluringly s****l, though she would be too innocent to realize that fact, and her companion would be too oblivious to any such feelings he might harbor for his housekeeper. They spent their evening in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by an occasional comment about the weather and the rising gale blowing outside. The two seemed lost inside the grandeur of Great Bear Lodge, the shadows looming around them, only dispelled by the light of the roaring blaze in the massive stone fireplace. Some odd crawling feeling created a grand shiver through Amelia’s entire frame just before Samuel spoke again—as if she was having a premonition.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

She heard it now, too—the sound of a shouting voice. “Christian, perhaps?” she wondered aloud. He could be the source of her prickly premonitions.

“Damn! If he’s back… !” Samuel thundered as he rose to his feet.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the huge oak door.

Samuel strode toward the entrance of his lodge with Amelia on his heels. An enormous blast of cold air greeted them along with Christian Remington’s anxious face. In his arms, he held the body of a young woman.

“What is this!” his fathered demanded.

“I’m not sure, sir,” he answered as he carried the limp body inside to Samuel’s sofa and laid her gently against the soft leather.

“Amelia, some blankets and tea,” Samuel shouted. Amelia was already on her way. “One of your harlots, I suppose,” he leered down at the groaning woman, her dark hair flipping frantically side to side, wet, clinging to her neck and clothes. She wore britches, boots and a leather shirt, but was distinctly feminine despite the masculine attire. There was a necklace of beads about her neck, a talisman of Indian origin.

“No, she’s not a w***e,” Christian barked. He was on his knees beside her, gently stroking her hair. “I think this is Charlotte Desmond.”

“Good God! Would that it was!” Samuel declared. “How did you find her?”

“About ten miles from here, I stumbled on her huddled near some rocks. By the time I found her, she was delirious; fever I think.”

“You’ll ride for the doctor, then.”

“Someone else will ride for the doctor,” Christian answered. “I found her; I’ll take care of her.”

“I have no one to go out in this storm.”

“She’ll be fine without a doctor.” The boy was sure of himself laying a tender hand on her cheek. He looked up, seeing both his father and Amelia hovering over them.

“Tea, Christian.” Amelia handed him the cup, then covered the shivering woman with two wool blankets.

“Put a little brandy in that,” Samuel decided, finding his decanter and pouring a hefty shot into the mug. “I think she needs a doctor, son.”

“Perhaps in the morning,” Christian replied. He was too busy nursing the young woman to care about his father’s demands. Of course, it was expected that they’d disagree; they did on everything else in their lives. In his twenty-five years, the impudent and reckless son of Samuel Remington could be counted on to rebel against his father on every issue. He had his own passions and his own life. Still, he continued to return home every few months as though beyond their differences there was some genuine love between them.

Amelia knelt at the girl’s head to assist the younger Remington with the tea. Her soft hand caressed the girl’s face to calm her, while Christian tipped the cup to her lips. Just as his spirit was indomitable like his father’s, they shared the quality of compassion.

“You’re cold yourself, Christian,” Amelia said, feeling his shivering hands.

“I’ll warm.” His gaze turned to her, and momentarily he flashed his charming grin. The blue of his eyes was enough by itself to woo her. She shook with the remembrance of old passions, seeing the sensuousness she’d seen before.

“What has it been, a year now?” Samuel speculated, as he moved to the fireplace for another matchstick. “They believed she was taken by Indians. It’s obvious now, seeing the way she’s dressed. Poor Charles. He would be relieved to know his daughter is alive. I wonder if the Indians knew he died last month.” The elder Remington looked wistfully toward the girl. “Certainly she has relations in the East who will be happy to note her survival. I’ll have to write the Army and find out about Colonel Desmond’s kin.” He lit his cigar again, and puffed it into a billowing cloud of fragrant smoke, then stood before the fire. The two at the couch, attending the once captured daughter of a US Army Colonel, seemed to have the matter in hand. Clearly, they were lost in their own world without him. The fact was painfully reminiscent of times past, at least those times he remembered between his son and the lovely Miss Burke.

***

“Will Christian be here for dinner?” Amelia asked Samuel, as she was about to set the table.

“I believe he will, but then we never know about my son, do we? And the girl …”

“Lottie? She’s well enough to come down and join us. I’m so glad her illness was brief.”

“Yes, we can all be thankful. Three days has hardly been anything at all.” He smiled pleased. “Do see that she has something decent to wear.”

“I’ve already done so, but I’d better check on her. She’s not used to social graces. Strange, how just a year in such savage circumstances could change a person so much.”

“I understand she was a bit of a fractious brat before she was kidnapped—probably the reason it happened in the first place.”

“I’m afraid she’s been resisting my ideas for her clothes; perhaps if she had her own....”

“Ah!” His face brightened. “I’m sure you’re right. We’ll see about a trip into Cheyenne next week.”

“Have you written the Army about her parents?”

“Actually, no. I was hoping to have an interview with her personally; see if she could cast some light on her relations. An aunt, uncle, grandparent, perhaps. The Army moves at an incredibly slow pace. I’m sure I could speed up the process if I could write to her family directly. I imagine she’d rather be with her kin than remain in our wild lands.”

She nodded. “I’ll go see how she’s doing.”

Ten minutes later Amelia returned to the living room wild-eyed and distraught.

“Samuel, please,” there was a pleading look in her cottony blue eyes.

“My dear, what’s the matter?”

“Miss Charlotte,” she said. Her face was nearly white. She slumped into her chair. “She’s refusing to dress for dinner.”

“Refusing?”

“Yes. Seems there is no debate in her mind over her attire. The leather britches and shirt are what she plans to wear.”

“That’s completely unsuitable,” he lashed out indignantly. “Go persuade her otherwise.”

“I’ve tried, sir. Adamantly. Reports of her obstinate character have not been exaggerated.”

“It is your duty, Amelia, to take care of such things,” he said firmly. “Try again.”

“Samuel …” She sighed wearily and reluctantly rose from her seat, making her way up the staircase one more time.

Moments later, Samuel heard a painful shriek, the sound of something crashing to the floor, then a door slamming overhead. In seconds, his housekeeper was rapidly taking the stairs, approaching her employer in a panic while trying to regain some measure of composure.

“She is not persuaded, sir.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not! Your mother’s floral vase is now in a thousand pieces!” Amelia had never raised her voice to the man in her three years with him, though she was tempted now.

“Perhaps she needs a manly approach?” he suggested kindly.

“A good kick in the pants,” Amelia added, she was still out of breath. “I’ll see to dinner.” She made a hasty exit, all too glad to turn over the project of Lottie Desmond’s attire to Samuel.

The master of Great Bear Lodge was amused. The flustered Amelia looked prettier than ever, all winded and mussed. The two women must have had quite a tangle to have the normally serene Miss Burke this undone. While her cheeks had been so pale the first time—as though she was bewildered by their houseguest—on her second return from the upstairs battleground, those same cheeks were now flushed red from whatever transpired between the two. As he expected, the prim young woman was lady enough not to tell him the nature of their quarrel, but he suspected the brat had given her quite a mouthful. Lottie Desmond, in just three days, had proved to be lacking the cultural refinement typical of young women of her social status. As Amelia had said, her one year in captivity had obviously undone any manners she’d been taught.

Mounting the stairs, Samuel was reminded of his own daughter, Johanna, in her wilder days. He’d tussled with her several times in her teens when she seemed more interested in riding the range than in becoming a refined young lady. More than once, he’d taken his daughter over his knee, stripped her of her bitches and bloomers and given her bare derriere a sound paddling. There had even been a couple of trips to the woodshed when she was particularly irascible. Johanna could be as stubborn as her brother. It seemed that the only solution to her unacceptable behavior was a sizzling strap laid on her ass until the two cheeks were crimson from the blaze of it. For both his children the treatment was the only answer he found that worked to bring peace back into his world. At least until Johanna turned seventeen. He’d promptly put her on the train for Boston where he enrolled her in a ladies’ finishing school. His own sister, Hannah, confirmed the remarkable change in her niece’s behavior. “It’s the environment you raised her in, without a woman, in those forbidding wilds …” Samuel chuckled. Hannah could go on insufferably about the mistakes he’d made raising his children after Leonora died.

Perhaps now he had another hellion to wrestle. He was hardly interested in the battle, but if it was necessary …

A knock on Lottie’s door yielded no reply.

“Miss Desmond,” he spoke directly. “This is Samuel Remington. I shall come in whether you invite me or not.”

Still, no reply.

Turning the knob, he was almost surprised that she hadn’t locked him out.

Inside the bedroom, he found Lottie sitting in the window seat, fully dressed in the leather garments she wore the night Christian rescued her from the storm. Tucking her knees into her chest, she hugged them as she stared out the window and didn’t look up.

“Miss Desmond, perhaps I should have made myself clear to you before now, but I didn’t want to interfere with your recuperation.” He remained cool and formal, but kind. “We are so glad that you have recovered from your malady. And, I am quite prepared to extend the warmth of my home until we can contact your family and have you returned to them. I’m sure it’s quite a shock being thrust back into your own world so suddenly, and we’ll do everything we can to make this arrangement an agreeable one. However, there are some rules that must be followed.” Lottie showed no sign of hearing a word, and Samuel’s delivery became less kind and more severe. “Miss Burke tells me you refused to wear the dress she offered you.” He spotted the simple burgundy muslin lying in a heap on the floor. Nearby, the broken vase. Lottie continued to stared disinterestedly out the window. “Miss Desmond, I expect your answer now.” His voice was laced with indignation. Samuel waited for some moments, and still no response. “Look at me, young lady,” he barked. He watched her twitch, some sign of giving in. “Look at me!”