bathhouses nonexistent, since there was no water to spare. Enlisted men with wives were allowed to live outside the barracks in their own tiny homes, but the best quarters were reserved by seniority of service. But even the best was little more than a small house with two to four rooms.
Juliet stood in the doorway of her new home and surveyed the interior dispassionately. A sheet-iron stove stood in the middle of the main room surrounded by scant furnishings: several campstools and unpainted chairs, and a dining table composed of three planks stretched across carpenter horses. Gray government blankets held down the dust on the floor, and curtains fashioned from unbleached cotton sheeting hung limply at the windows. A grim and uninviting welcome. She’d seen better. She’d also survived worse. Her mind hummed with possibilities. Some beet juice to dye the curtains. Colorful calico to tack over the packing-crate shelves. She’d crochet rugs for the floor from strips of an old gown. The extra touch of greenery from her plants would almost create the appearance of a real home.
Almost .
A sudden commotion from outside interrupted her musings. Juliet wasn’t surprised tohear Maisy Bartholomew’s strident tones rising in a shrill crescendo. Though she would have preferred to close her door and leave those troubles to another, as the daughter of the ranking officer, she knew it was her duty to make peace and restore a tenuous harmony.
“Mrs. Bartholomew,” Miles Dougherty explained reasonably, “Captain Folley has a wife and three children. They would have to move from four rooms to two. Surely you can see how uncomfortable that would be for them, especially when we’re dealing with a matter of only a few months.”
But Maisy’s jaw was set and her eyes flashed indignantly. “Does or does not my husband’s earlier commission date entitle him to those quarters?”
“Of course it does,” Pauline Folley answered with a resigned smile. She’d followed her husband from post to post long enough to understand the practice of “ranking out,” which evicted a military family if an officer of superior service wanted the house. It was an often barbaric system, but an officer wouldn’t be respected if he didn’t demand his due. And Maisy Bartholomew was demanding. Loudly. There was nothing the Yankee captain’s wife could do but back down gracefully. “We’ll have our belongings removed immediately.”
The situation was grossly unfair, but Juliet had no grounds to interfere. The military caste system was rigidly adhered to, regardless of inconvenience or personal sacrifice. It was acase of rank value, not family size, or in this case, a favoritism of North over South. But Maisy Bartholomew’s attitude left a bad taste in the mouths of the occupants of Fort Blair. Juliet could read it in their closed expressions. And she feared subtle repercussions.
Apparently, she wasn’t alone.
“Miz Folley?”
The matronly woman turned toward Noble Banning, probably wondering if she was about to be bumped from those two rooms to a tent.
“Ma’am, as a bachelor, I’ve no need for the four rooms I’ve been given. I’d gladly surrender them to Captain and Miz Bartholomew so that you and yours don’t have to uproot yourselves to move two doors down. I’m sure Miz Bartholomew will agree to the logic of that, won’t you, ma’am?”
Put on the spot, Maisy was forced to swallow down her bid for superiority by accepting a show of generosity. “Why that’s fine by me, Major Banning. It wasn’t my desire to put anyone out.”
A true gentleman, Noble didn’t allow his wry smile to escape, though Juliet caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. He waited outside her door until the others dispersed to settle into their appointed lodgings. Only when they were alone did he display a toothsome grin.
“Very diplomatically done, Major.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Can’t see that it’d doanyone any good to get folks at cross
Juliet stood in the doorway of her new home and surveyed the interior dispassionately. A sheet-iron stove stood in the middle of the main room surrounded by scant furnishings: several campstools and unpainted chairs, and a dining table composed of three planks stretched across carpenter horses. Gray government blankets held down the dust on the floor, and curtains fashioned from unbleached cotton sheeting hung limply at the windows. A grim and uninviting welcome. She’d seen better. She’d also survived worse. Her mind hummed with possibilities. Some beet juice to dye the curtains. Colorful calico to tack over the packing-crate shelves. She’d crochet rugs for the floor from strips of an old gown. The extra touch of greenery from her plants would almost create the appearance of a real home.
Almost .
A sudden commotion from outside interrupted her musings. Juliet wasn’t surprised tohear Maisy Bartholomew’s strident tones rising in a shrill crescendo. Though she would have preferred to close her door and leave those troubles to another, as the daughter of the ranking officer, she knew it was her duty to make peace and restore a tenuous harmony.
“Mrs. Bartholomew,” Miles Dougherty explained reasonably, “Captain Folley has a wife and three children. They would have to move from four rooms to two. Surely you can see how uncomfortable that would be for them, especially when we’re dealing with a matter of only a few months.”
But Maisy’s jaw was set and her eyes flashed indignantly. “Does or does not my husband’s earlier commission date entitle him to those quarters?”
“Of course it does,” Pauline Folley answered with a resigned smile. She’d followed her husband from post to post long enough to understand the practice of “ranking out,” which evicted a military family if an officer of superior service wanted the house. It was an often barbaric system, but an officer wouldn’t be respected if he didn’t demand his due. And Maisy Bartholomew was demanding. Loudly. There was nothing the Yankee captain’s wife could do but back down gracefully. “We’ll have our belongings removed immediately.”
The situation was grossly unfair, but Juliet had no grounds to interfere. The military caste system was rigidly adhered to, regardless of inconvenience or personal sacrifice. It was acase of rank value, not family size, or in this case, a favoritism of North over South. But Maisy Bartholomew’s attitude left a bad taste in the mouths of the occupants of Fort Blair. Juliet could read it in their closed expressions. And she feared subtle repercussions.
Apparently, she wasn’t alone.
“Miz Folley?”
The matronly woman turned toward Noble Banning, probably wondering if she was about to be bumped from those two rooms to a tent.
“Ma’am, as a bachelor, I’ve no need for the four rooms I’ve been given. I’d gladly surrender them to Captain and Miz Bartholomew so that you and yours don’t have to uproot yourselves to move two doors down. I’m sure Miz Bartholomew will agree to the logic of that, won’t you, ma’am?”
Put on the spot, Maisy was forced to swallow down her bid for superiority by accepting a show of generosity. “Why that’s fine by me, Major Banning. It wasn’t my desire to put anyone out.”
A true gentleman, Noble didn’t allow his wry smile to escape, though Juliet caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. He waited outside her door until the others dispersed to settle into their appointed lodgings. Only when they were alone did he display a toothsome grin.
“Very diplomatically done, Major.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Can’t see that it’d doanyone any good to get folks at cross
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