The Peacemaker by Chelley Kitzmiller Page B

to create the new Indian policy. But when that time came, Grant called on a civilian friend instead. Her father had felt betrayed and considered his assignment to Camp Bowie a slap in the face.
    The confrontation left her exhausted and brought back her headache. She was about to sit down when someone knocked at the door. "I'll get it," she offered before he could say anything. The diversion was just what she needed.
    Three women greeted her with cheerful smiles. "We're the official welcoming committee," one said, taking a single step forward. The movement made Indy notice that she was pregnant—very pregnant. "I'm Ava Burroughs, Lieutenant Burroughs's wife, and this," she said, gesturing to her right, "is Aphra Sinnett and Opal Dillehay. We didn't think you'd be up to preparing meals yet, what with your injury and all, and we thought you might like some supper."
    Indy had steepled her hands in front of her mouth. "Oh, yes, thank you." She could have cried she was so grateful. "Won't you please come in? You'll have to excuse the place. I'm afraid I haven't had time to do anything with my father's quarters yet." Stepping back into the parlor, the three women paraded past her with their fragrant offerings.
    "Think nothing of it," Ava Burroughs said on her way to the table. "We've all been where you are now, some of us more times than we can count. Good evening, Colonel Taylor," Ava said, holding her ceramic stew pot in front of her enormous belly. "I know how much you like my beef stew, so I brought enough for you and your daughter." Turning to Indy she added, "The vegetables are from my garden behind our quarters and the beef is range beef, a little different tasting than the eastern beef I know you're used to, but I think you'll like it."
    "I'm sure I will," Indy returned with a wide smile.
    Aphra set her gingham-checked bundle down on the table and unwrapped it like a baby. It was a loaf of freshly baked bread with the most beautiful golden crust Indy had ever seen. She almost swooned at the aroma that wafted up from the table and filled her nostrils. The last, from Opal, was an apple pie, reminiscent of the apple pies her mother used to make.
    "Everything looks absolutely wonderful. I can't tell you how grateful I am—and hungry. I haven't eaten a thing since breakfast. Thank you. All of you."
    As if tied together by an invisible thread, Ava, Opal, and Aphra started for the door at the same time. Ava reached out and touched Indy's arm. "You're quite welcome. As soon as you're feeling yourself, you come by. All three of us live just up from you on Officers' Row."
    Indy closed the door, then went in search of eating utensils. In a day or two, she promised herself, she would return the dishes and become acquainted with the women of Officers' Row.
     
    The next morning, immediately after she heard her father leave, Indy set about moving his personal belongings from out of the parlor into the next largest bedroom. Among his things was the leather pouch in which he kept the letters Justice had written him from West Point. Her father prized those letters more than gold and reread them often, but had never shared them with her. Someday, when things improved between them, she would ask to read them.
    Indy had just opened the front door to sweep the dust outside when the bugler blew the nine o'clock call. A moment later her father and a number of the troopers—all in full dress uniform—and a half-dozen women assembled on the parade ground in a semicircle around three wooden coffins. She leaned on her broom listening as the chaplain’s prayers. Then the coffins were lifted into the ambulance and the procession made its way down the hill to the cemetery while the trumpeter played the funeral march. They had been gone a quarter hour when Indy heard the honor guard fire off three volleys of shots.
    The troopers were the first to return, marching at quick time back to their quarters. The women followed at a slow walk. Indy didn't have