THE BETTER PART OF VALOR. Morgan Mackinnon
he laughed. They ordered red wine with dinner, and each had two glasses.
By the time they’d finished a final brandy and some crème cake with coffee for dessert, Cresta said she’d had a lovely time but she really should get back to her cabin and try to get some sleep. Myles gallantly helped her up and escorted her out of the restaurant. He paused to retrieve his blue greatcoat from coat check, leaving a tip on the counter for the attendant. As they passed the door to the outer deck, Myles could see stars twinkling overhead and asked if she would like to go outside for a moment. Cresta expected this and let him escort her outside. The panoply of stars overhead was beautiful, mystical, breathtaking. Here and there could be seen a brief streak of light as a star fell to its death. Out on deck, it was windy and cold, and it was only an instant until the tall officer removed his greatcoat and wrapped it around Cresta’s shoulders. She noticed how his hands lingered on her shoulders just a bit too long, and she smiled into the darkness, pleased. It did not require too much effort to take his arm and just gaze out at the dark waves and beyond.
*****
Once Myles Keogh saw his dinner companion to her cabin, he went back outside and stood at the rail of the liner. He’d put his greatcoat back on and thought about the events of the day. He’d met a strange, mercurial woman like none he’d ever encountered before. She said what she meant and did not flirt and giggle like most of his women. He thought briefly of his one love, Abby Grace Clary, who he had met in the fall of 1865. Her brute of a husband had been a brevet Brigadier General named Robert Emmet Clary who had been a drunkard and a brawler and was court-martialed more than once. Clary thankfully died in December of 1864, a result of excessive drinking. This was in Memphis, Tennessee, where Myles was assigned at the time. He fell in love with the pretty, young widow and decided if he was to marry anyone in life, it would be her. After a cautious, discreet courtship, Keogh went out of town on a short assignment, and when he returned, he learned that Abby Grace Clary had died of gastrofever and had been interred in a cemetery in Washington, DC. Keogh was heartbroken and grieved for his lost love by hitting the bottle more than was good for him and falling into a deep depression. He swore then he would never court another woman and would resign himself to being alone the rest of his life.
Now as he stood at the railing, his eye was caught by a shining star above, and he wondered if it was Abby Grace. The star then caught fire and flew across the heavens in a fading trail of light. He turned away. Was she blessing him or cursing him? He did not know.
Back in her cabin, Cresta carefully took off her evening clothes and changed into a virginal white cotton nightgown, plumped the pillows on her bed, and took out the black notebook kept hidden in her trunks. Producing a ballpoint pen, she began her first entry. In a paragraph, she listed her observations and her impressions and signed it “Dr. Cresta M. B. Leigh, PsyD.” Then she locked the book away again and sank down onto her soft bed, thinking of a deep, lilting Irish accent and very blue eyes.
Chapter 3
The first few days of the voyage fell into a comfortable routine. Cresta favored the informal restaurant and usually arrived there for breakfast around 8:30 a.m. Invariably, she would find Keogh seated outside with a cup of coffee and the ship’s newspaper which would have whatever news had arrived over the ship’s telegraph along with small sketches of seafaring life, thumbnail descriptions of members of the crew or passengers, a list of daily activities on board such as shuffleboard, deck bowls, or a roster of lectures. The orchestra played on deck in the afternoons if weather permitted and played in the formal first-class dining room every evening.
Spotting Cresta, Keogh would rise, fold the newspaper, and tuck it under one arm while offering his other arm to her as escort into the restaurant for breakfast. Normally, both breakfast and luncheon were solely buffet choice while waiters brought water, coffee, tea, and juice to diners. Should a lady enter the restaurant with a gentleman, the gentleman would prepare her plate first, bring it to the table, and then fix his own. Cresta always waited for the gallant soldier to return to their table before beginning to eat.
After breakfast, they would stroll the deck (if weather permitted) or sit in deck lounge chairs and talk. Keogh spoke mostly of his family and how much he missed them; Cresta spoke of her family and made him laugh when she described a bevy of kooky, nosey, exasperating characters. When it came time for luncheon, they more or less assumed they’d be dining together. Afternoons were usually spent in the writing and reading room, and they were quite contented sharing each other’s companionship whether they spoke or not. Evenings they would change into more formal wear, share a drink together, and then eat supper. So far, they had not gone to the formal dining room because the informal restaurant was cozy and comfortable for them.
“Tell me, Myles. What is it you do with the US Army? I do not mean to be too inquisitive.”
“I am afraid my Civil War adventures are much more interesting. However, I do a variety of things. At present, I am assigned to Fort Abraham Lincoln, which is a large fort on the Missouri River in Dakota Territory. Despite my brevet rank, the end of the war dictated a much smaller military force. I was offered a commission as Captain in the regular army, and since I wished to stay in the military life, I accepted.
“Part of our duty is to assist the Reconstruction efforts in the South. I have chased after moonshiners as well as Klan members. Sometimes I am asked to serve on the panels of court-martial proceedings. I have served as acting Quartermaster as well as a staff officer for General Sully. To tell you the truth, service in a remote fort can be quite boring, especially in winter.”
She stirred her tea and took a sip. “Sounds to me as though you manage assignments to a variety of interesting duties.”
“I have made it known I would volunteer for anything noteworthy. I am not fond of doing nothing but drill and parade and eat and then do it all over again.”
As was normal in later afternoons, the Colonel was sipping at a glass of whiskey. Cresta shrewdly observed he drank too much, but she wasn’t sure why. It was true the Irish had a probably undeserved reputation as being hard drinkers but normally there was an underlying cause. So far, she had not seen him obviously inebriated.
“Our real purpose on the frontier is to guard the crews working on the expansion of the railroads and to chase after Indians attacking settlers and stage stations. I say ‘chase after’ because that is literally all we can do. While we chase one band, they are miles away, attacking another station. We have had the misfortune to come upon stations that have been attacked and burned not more than an hour before we arrived. All we can do is bury…”
Cresta wasn’t shocked in the least, but Myles apparently thought she, a lady, would be.
“I apologize, Cresta. There are things I should not say to a lady with regards to what is happening on the plains. I will continue with your permission. When I am not on assignment elsewhere, I am in command of Company I, which is one of twelve companies of cavalry stationed at Fort Lincoln. Each company has a Captain, a First Lieutenant, a Second Lieutenant, one first sergeant, one quartermaster sergeant, eight corporals, two trumpeters, farrier, blacksmith, saddler, wagoner, and seventy-eight privates.”
She smiled. “That is a lot of responsibility. And your commander?”
Keogh made something of a disgusted sound in his throat. “My commanding officer is a nuisance. Obnoxious, rude, hateful, vindictive, reckless…shall I go on?”
“If you hate him that much, why don’t you seek a permanent assignment elsewhere?”
“Sometimes I ask myself that question. Well, for one thing, Fort Lincoln is new, it is spacious, I have my own officer’s quarters, I am frequently away on special assignment, and I take as much leave as I can manage. I seem to have the odd distinction of being considered one of the commander’s special cadre of insiders, plus his wife likes me. I am included in many social functions which shut out those who are not insiders. I tolerate it as well as I can.”
She nodded. “Now I shall be nosy. Did you migrate from Ireland solely to offer your sword to the Union Army?”
“In a way, I suppose I did. I volunteered with