1882: Custer in Chains

Chapter 3

Custer was annoyed and showed it by angrily tapping his fingers on the highly polished table. The response among his cabinet had been less than enthusiastic and there was actually resistance to his ideas for the prosecution of the war. Congress had just passed the declaration of war with a vote that was far from unanimous, and he wanted to move on it quickly before enthusiasm waned even farther. But now his Secretaries of War and Navy were telling him that quick action was impossible.

The president accepted the fact that there would be logistical problems, even nightmares. He already knew that from his prior military experience. An army “moves on its stomach” was an oft mentioned quote by Napoleon and it was still true. Neither the army nor the navy was large or well-equipped. The massive forces that had been built to crush the Confederacy were but fading and rusting memories.

Equally important, Libbie wasn’t with him at the meeting and he felt uncomfortable without her incisive comments. The world was not ready for a woman assistant to the president. She was, however, listening in the next room and they would talk about it later as they always did.

Robert Todd Lincoln, son of Abraham Lincoln, was the Secretary of War and the first bearer of bad tidings. “Sir, as an Indian fighter, you well know that the army is small and scattered all over the west. There are barely enough men to keep the Indians in their reservations. We cannot take that army and send it east to either protect our coast or invade Cuba without putting just about every city west of St. Louis at risk.”

“But it will have to be done,” Custer replied testily. “If we are going to develop our volunteer units, then their senior officers must come from the pool of officers and even senior enlisted men we currently have out west. Perhaps we shall require the western states and territories to supply their own volunteers. If they won’t send them to fight the Spanish, perhaps they will use them to protect their homes against the Indians.”

Lincoln continued. “Do you have any idea how many men will be needed to invade and conquer Cuba? General Sheridan’s estimate is at least a hundred thousand, and all of them will have to be fed, clothed, housed, and provided with weapons and ammunition. This is based on our estimate that the Spanish have at least fifty thousand of their own soldiers in Cuba along with an unknown number of loyal militia. We can assume that Spain will quickly reinforce their garrisons both in Cuba as well as Puerto Rico. We can also assume that reinforcements are on their way from Spain or North Africa as we speak. A successful invasion of Cuba will not be easy. If done halfheartedly or ineptly, it could be a disaster.”

Custer growled something and Lincoln continued. “Sir, it is highly unlikely that we will get that many volunteers, maybe half that number. Then, we will have to supply and support those troops in Cuba and we simply do not have the resources to do that.”

Custer glared at him. “Then we will make do with what we can.”

Lincoln was shocked. “Surely you’re not suggesting that one American is worth ten Spaniards or anything like that.”

“Of course not,” Custer said angrily. “I learned that on the Little Big Horn. But I will say that one American volunteer is worth more than one poorly trained, poorly armed and poorly led Spanish conscript.”

William H. Hunt, the fifty-eight year old Secretary of the Navy decided it was his turn to comment.

“Mr. President, as I have been trying to inform you since your inauguration, the navy is in even worse shape than the army. The mighty fleet of ironclads and other ships we had during the Civil War has either been scrapped or the ships are little more than barely floating piles of rust. Worse, those few that remain afloat are obsolete. Naval technology is increasing at a rapid rate while we have been either standing still or moving backwards. We have a number of ships, but they are all either small, old, obsolete, or all of the preceding. In fact, many of our so-called warships are wooden sloops and schooners that were inadequate before the Civil War commenced. Simply put, we have no ships capable of defending the troop ships and supply ships that we might send to Cuba.”

“Damn it to hell,” Custer muttered.

Hunt continued, undeterred by the comment. “Spain, on the other hand, has a handful of what are now being categorized as battleships and cruisers. Their navy might be laughably small when compared with Great Britain’s or even France’s, but it could easily overwhelm ours.”

Custer glared at him. “Then we will build a navy, just as we are building an army.”

Hunt glared back, “And that is much easier said than done, sir. Starting from scratch, it will take possibly two years to build a good-sized warship of, say, eight thousand tons, and another year to get her crew trained. And obviously, we must have a number of these to fight Spain. We have the ability to create a fleet, just not the time.”

Robert Lincoln laughed harshly. “If we’re not careful, Spain and the United States will be likened to two chained dogs who cannot quite reach each other because of the lengths of their chains. Instead, they just sit there barking and growling at each other in impotent fury. Instead of this war serving to create an American empire, or fully reunite the North and South, or even freeing the slaves in Cuba, we could become the laughingstock of the world.”

Custer stood and began to pace. Uniting the North and South was a secondary consideration and freeing Spain’s slaves was not even on his agenda. He wanted the glory that would come from being victorious over Spain. He wanted to take that giant step in creating an American empire. He wanted to cement his place in history as a great president.

“That cannot happen,” he snapped. “We must get our men to Cuba. My goal is to have an army at the gates of Havana within a month. I think we can hire or commandeer enough civilian transports to send a good-sized army to Cuba before the Spanish fleet can gather in strength.”

“I do have a few suggestions,” said Hunt.

“Let’s hear them,” snarled Custer.

“First, regardless of what other steps we might decide, we must begin building proper and modern warships, even though it will take time and money.”

“Agreed,” said Custer.

“Second, we must arm merchant ships, just like we did during the Civil War. These ships must be listed as regular navy ships and not privateers which are, of course, illegal according to international treaty. While these ships would not be able to take on large regular warships, they should be able to blockade Cuba and Puerto as well as interdicting Spanish commerce. They should also be able to defend themselves against smaller Spanish warships.”

Custer rubbed his hands together. “Excellent.”

Hunt smiled, “And finally, sir. If we cannot build a navy, may I suggest that we rent one?” * * *

Brevet Colonel Martin Ryder arrived unannounced at the encampment of the First Maryland Volunteers. An astonished sentry did nothing more than salute him and let him pass.

It was before reveille and no one was stirring, at least not anyone he could see. He noted approvingly that the camp was well laid out and well kept. The tents were all in straight lines. There was no trash or debris in sight. And there was no stench from improperly dug latrines. He quickly found the commander’s tent and entered. Inside were an old folding cot and a desk. Even though he was tired, the cot did not look inviting. What the hell, he thought, he’d slept on the ground often enough. He’d get used to the cot. He decided he’d been corrupted by sleeping in a real bed for the last few months at West Pointe.

He lit the oil lamp and began reading some of the correspondence on Colonel Fowler’s desk. Most of it was old, so he assumed that other officers were taking care of pressing matters.

There was a knock and a clearly flustered young major entered and saluted. “Sir, I’m Major Jack Barnes and I apologize for not being here to greet you.”

Ryder stood, returned the salute and shook the major’s hand. “Don’t worry about it, major. If I’d wanted a ceremony I would have told you in advance that I was coming. I assume that sentry did his duty and reported upwards.”

“He did sir. Now, what can I do to assist you?”

“First, major, you can get us some coffee and then you can sit down and we can talk.”

Mugs of coffee arrived almost as quickly as they had at General Sheridan’s office. It was hot, dark, and thick. “Excellent,” Ryder said after a swallow. “Now, after reveille I want all officers assembled. I’m sure they’ve got some concerns and questions and I’m going to answer them to the best of my ability. To set yours and everyone else’s mind at rest, I have no plans to change command assignments or demote anyone. Everyone will stay as is until proven incompetent or we need them elsewhere. And that includes you, major; even though I’ve noticed that your military experience is somewhat less than negligible. Has Sergeant-Major Haney arrived yet?”

“He came yesterday and informed us that you were on the way. He just didn’t know the details as to when.”

“Good. Now let me be blunt. Haney knows more about the army than all of you in the regiment put together. I strongly, strongly, urge you to take solemn heed of anything he suggests. He may not be an officer, but, trust me, I will back him fully.”

Barnes grinned. “I already came to that conclusion.”

Bugles sounded and men stirred. Word that their new commanding officer had arrived was spreading quickly.

“Barnes, we are going to train hard and fast. This regiment is going to Cuba a lot sooner than anticipated. We might have only a month before we depart.”

“Jesus. Can we be ready in that short a time?”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

* * *

James Kendrick presented himself to the White House usher and was told to wait in the first floor Green Room. A few moments later, Libbie Custer arrived. She was dressed in a blue silk gown and smiled radiantly. The dress was cut to show her shoulders and a significant amount of her exquisite bosom. Kendrick could easily see how the very lovely Mrs. Custer could melt anyone. What really struck him was the wit and intelligence behind her eyes. She would be a helluva woman to conquer; he thought and then wondered just how her husband had managed that task. Perhaps there was more to the president then he thought. Or maybe she had conquered him. After all, it was widely rumored that she was the power behind the throne. Women could neither vote nor hold office, but Libbie Custer was clearly in charge of the President of the United States.

They sat in facing chairs and sized each other up. Finally, she spoke. “Are you satisfied with what you see, Mr. Kendrick? Or have I changed so much in the last few years?”

The last time he’d laid eyes on her, she was taking her wounded husband away from the Dakotas down the Missouri on a flat-bottomed steamer. She’d been anguished but firm. Her husband would survive his wounds and the reports of the battle would paint him as an American hero. Any attempts on Kendrick’s part to tell a different version of the story would be quashed, and, for the most part, they had been.

“I wouldn’t be lying if I said you have become even lovelier, Mrs. Custer.”

“You’re too kind to be a reporter. Now, why did you ask to see my husband?”

“Madam, we are either fighting or not fighting a very curious war. Despite a declaration of war, there has been little fighting and even the telegraph lines between Cuba, Spain, and the United States are still operational.”

“And they are likely to stay that way. It serves everyone’s purposes to keep lines of communication open. It is also possible that some in Spain and Cuba are so technologically backward that they are unaware of the potential of the telegraph.”

Kendrick wondered if President Custer would have thought that way. “I thought you should know that I received an invitation from the Cuban General Gilberto Salazar to be his guest in Havana so I can report accurately on events in Cuba.”

Libbie looked momentarily astonished, but recovered quickly. “Isn’t Salazar the filthy little man who massacred the Americans on the Eldorado? Yes, of course he is. Do you want to go and why are you, in effect, asking our permission? You journalists seem to go and do as you wish.”

“I do want to go. It could be a wonderful story. I might also be able to maintain very personal lines of communication between our countries.”

“While getting rich and famous in the process?”

Kendrick grinned. “Of course, and I would not like to be painted as a traitor for my efforts in writing an unbiased report.”

Libbie stood and Kendrick did as well. She was a little taller than he recalled. She exuded a hint of some perfume and he was acutely aware that the President’s wife was as sensuous a woman as he’d ever met.

“Mr. Kendrick, both my husband and I are of the opinion that the coming war will be short and will result in a great victory both for us and for the country. It has been years since the Civil War ended and it is time for a major reconciliation between the North and the South. A victorious war against a common foe will go a long ways towards accomplishing that goal.”

Kendrick agreed with that, but with one caveat that he kept to himself. The Spanish had had their own civil wars, the last ending with Alfonso XII becoming king. The Spanish needed a unifying war against a foreign enemy as much as the United States did, perhaps even more.

He also wondered if members of his own government wanted war so badly that they would have betrayed the men on the ill-fated Eldorado to the Spanish, thus precipitating the crisis. No, he thought, no one could be that duplicitous. Of course, perhaps no one had intended it to go that far. From what he’d seen of the government’s reaction, the shock of the massacre had been very real.

“May I ask a favor from you, Mr. Kendrick? First, I would like your promise that you will give us any information that might help our nation before you submit it for publication. That will be at your discretion, of course. I don’t want you to either get fired or killed.”

“Agreed, Mrs. Custer, although I’m not totally certain how I’d work that out.”

Libbie smiled radiantly. “Excellent and I’m sure you’ll think of something. Now let’s have some sandwiches. I’m famished.”

She took his arm and steered him to a table where a servant dashed in with some small sandwiches. He was acutely aware of the light feel of her breast against him. Jesus, he thought, she really is something.

When they were again seated, she smiled warmly. “Now I would like a favor from you.”

“Just ask.”

“Since we’re going to be such good friends, please call me Libbie.”

* * *

Waves of blue uniformed soldiers moved up the low hill while other soldiers awkwardly tried to maneuver a pair of brass twelve pound cannon commonly known as Napoleons, and another pair of Gatling guns into position. This was the first time he’d had the entire regiment try a maneuver like this and it was apparent that they all had a lot to learn. The men were enthusiastic but untrained. Ryder had forbidden them to fix bayonets to their new to them 1873 Trapdoor Model Springfield rifles. There was a real fear that they would skewer themselves and that, as Haney said, would be bad for morale.

These rifles were improvements over the ones used by the army during the Indian Wars and had largely solved the problem of jamming caused by overheating during prolonged firing. When the old rifles overheated, the spent cartridge might expand and get stuck and that would be disastrous on the battlefield. Unconfirmed rumors had it that some of Custer’s men had suffered from that problem and lost their scalps as a result.

The soldiers reached the summit of the hill and lustily cheered their victory over a non-existent foe. The men dragging the cannon and the Gatlings were too tired to cheer.

“What do you think, Sergeant Haney?”

Haney snorted. “I think they look like a thousand little kids running for free ice cream. At least they didn’t bunch up until the last minute.”

Ryder agreed and dismissed them to their ice cream reward. Despite all the good work done by Colonel Fowler, their former commander had trained them in Civil War tactics that included massed forces slowly approaching an enemy. With current weapons that fired more rapidly and more accurately and at greater ranges, the tactics used at Gettysburg were a recipe for disaster. The men had quickly learned that spreading out and shooting and re-loading from a prone position, which the Springfield permitted, was a potential lifesaver. During the Civil War, soldiers generally had to reload while standing which made them excellent targets.

The two battalions of five hundred each were only part of his regiment. A third battalion of almost totally untrained men was being formed. They were mere spectators to this show, although they looked like they’d like to join in what appeared to be a lot of fun.

Ryder looked at the large number of civilians who’d showed up to watch the maneuvers. It reminded him of what he’d read about the first Battle of Bull Run when thousands of civilians had appeared thinking that war was a spectator sport. They’d quickly had their illusions dashed when they saw the bloody reality of battle. They’d fled in panic for the safety of Washington after the Confederate victory.

“Sergeant, we are going to keep doing it until we get it right. We are going to keep teaching these farm boys and mechanics how to attack and shoot without hitting themselves in the rear and we are going to whip them into shape.”

“Indeed, sir. By the way, I see young Major Barnes approaching with two ladies. With your permission I think I shall disappear and leave you to charm them.”

“Go to hell Sergeant Major,” Ryder said with a laugh. Barnes was only a couple of years younger than he. “And did I ever tell you how good you looked with a thousand Sioux arrows sticking out of your body?”

“Several times, sir. A bloody pin cushion I was, although there were only three of them and not a thousand and they hurt like the devil,” Haney said and quickly walked away.

A slightly flustered Barnes approached. “Sir, may I present my sister, Mrs. Sarah Damon and her friend, Mrs. Ruth Holden.”

“A pleasure,” he said and wondered why Barnes had hesitated slightly before announcing Mrs. Holden. Barnes sister was a small slender woman who had intriguing features. No beauty in the classic sense, she had dark hair, large expressive eyes and looked intelligent, although quite prim and solemn. The other woman was older and a little more, well, robust and earthy.

Sarah Damon took the lead. “My brother has informed me that you are living a Spartan life in a tent and eating miserable canned food while you try to turn these poor boys into soldiers.”

“It’s not quite that awful, Mrs. Damon.”

“But it could be better. My brother is still too much of a civilian to understand military protocol and I know even less of it. So unless I am making a huge faux pas, we would like to invite you to dinner tonight. I can guarantee you that the Willard Hotel’s cuisine will surpass the tinned food you’ve been eating.”

“To tell you the truth, I think that anything that had once been alive would be better than the tinned food supplied by the army, and, yes, I’d be delighted. Other than you two ladies and your brother, will your husbands be in attendance?”

Ryder noted a flicker of dismay before Sarah responded. “Both of our husbands have been dead for several years. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with the three of us.”

“Please accept my condolences. Again, I’m delighted.”

His acceptance was greeted with a radiant smile that totally changed Sarah Damon. Yes, he would very much like going to dinner with the two widows and the young Major Barnes. Maybe, he thought wickedly, he could get rid of the young major.

Ryder was enjoying that last thought when a portly middle-aged man in a civilian suit approached him. “May I speak with you for a moment, colonel?”

The man had a heavy accent and he wore his clothes like they were uncomfortable and that he would rather have been in a uniform. “Of course, and what embassy do you represent? From your accent, I would guess that it is either Germany’s or Austria’s.”

The man blinked and smiled. “Well done. I am Adolf Helmsdorf and I have the honor to be a colonel in the army of Imperial Germany. I am further honored to serve the Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm who, it is hoped, will be the first in a long line of German emperors ruling the new nation of Germany.”

Ryder nodded politely. “I’m honored to meet you. May I assume that you are assigned to the German embassy which means that you have diplomatic immunity and are not a spy?”

“Colonel Ryder, why stoop to spying when all I had to do was follow the crowd to a very public event and observe to my heart’s content? And yes, I do have diplomatic immunity, for all that‘s worth. All I wanted to do, colonel, was congratulate you on the efficiency shown by your men. I’ve watched other volunteer units and many of them would give a mob a bad name. Your army has a long ways to go before it can take on even an enemy as inept and corrupt as Spain’s. However, your regiment is off to a very good start, although I’m not sure I would recommend ice cream as a reward for a battle well fought.” That last comment was said with a small smile.

Ryder shrugged. He could not argue with that observation or its source. The new Imperial German Army, which previously had been the Prussian Army, was considered to be the finest in Europe. The Germans had defeated France and Austria-Hungary along with a number of smaller countries as Prussia became Germany.

Helmsdorf continued. “I was pleased to see that you took Gatlings with you up the hill. The machine guns are excellent defensive weapons, but not too many officers try to use them as offensive weapons. You, of course, did that when you saved Custer, and we in Germany have been trying to find offensive uses for them as well.”

Ryder was both surprised and pleased that the German knew about this exploits on the Little Big Horn.

“On the other hand, Colonel Ryder, I would strongly urge your government to find lighter weight uniforms. Your men will be weak and uncomfortable in what they are wearing. The British have begun wearing something called khaki in warmer climes. I will be leaving shortly for Havana and a new assignment on the German consular staff. Of course I’ll be a military attaché and will be doing a lot of snooping. Assuming your country wins, I look forward to seeing you again some time.”

Helmsdorf bowed and departed. The German did not offer to shake hands. The Germans, Martin recalled, were too formal for that sort of thing.

* * *

Later as they walked from their horses to the Willard Hotel to meet the two widows, Barnes decided that some explanations were in order.

“Neither of the two women is in mourning, so please don’t let that be a concern. My sister’s husband died of a sudden heart attack almost five years ago. She inherited his substantial property most of which she has sold and is living off the investments. She handles them herself and is doing quite well. The other widow is similarly well off, although I’m not totally certain of the source of her funds. I tease them about being the two richest widows in Maryland, although I believe that Mrs. Holden’s past has been a little more, shall we say, colorful? She actually lived in France and was in Paris when the Prussians attacked and when the French had their own bloody mess of a civil war. It is my understanding that her husband got himself executed for his part in it.”

Interesting, Ryder thought-A woman who handles her own investments and another who saw and survived the horrors of the fighting in Paris in 1871.

They entered the Willard Hotel and were informed that dinner would be served in the women’s suite. Yes, Ryder thought, the ladies did have money. He liked the idea of a private dinner more than being in the Willard’s large, gaudy, crowded and ostentatious dining room where it was sometimes necessary to shout to be heard. Too many people who thought they were important liked to see and be seen at the Willard. This made private conversations almost impossible.

In the women’s suite, Ryder found himself essentially paired with Sarah, which he didn’t mind at all. He confirmed that his first impressions that she was quiet and reserved were totally wrong. Sarah was vivacious and delightful. Either that or he’d been away from women for far too long. No, he decided, she was both attractive and pleasant.

Dinner was extremely pleasant as well. He decided that the ladies must have thought he hadn’t eaten in weeks and had ordered a full menu of beef, fish and chicken, all cooked superbly by the Willard’s staff. Wine was served and since they were in private, no one looked askance at mixed couples enjoying themselves as sometimes still happened.

In short, Ryder was soon as stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey. A walk was in order, they decided. Again, he found himself paired with Sarah while Barnes and Ruth Holden went in another direction. Part of him wondered if this had been planned. Another part decided he didn’t much care.

The Willard was only a block from the White House so they decided to walk to it and then around the mansion where George and Libbie Custer lived.

In response to her question, Ryder gave her a brief personal history. “We lived in Ohio and my father owned a store. He had political connections so I was admitted to West Point at the tender age of sixteen, which meant I graduated at twenty. I think a mistake was made in admitting me at such a young age, but I also think the army decided to live with it once they found out.

“After graduation and being commissioned, I was immediately sent out west and you already know the story of me allegedly saving Custer from the Indians.”

“Allegedly? Colonel, everything I’ve read and heard said that if you’d arrived a few minutes later, Custer and the remainder of his men would have been killed.”

Martin grinned. “And do you know how many people have told me I should have waited another half hour before showing up? Or maybe stopped for lunch and a beer? Custer is not overwhelmingly popular among the military.”

Sarah smiled at the thought. “And after that, my brother says you had a number of postings out west and helped keep the Indians pacified.”

“Let’s just say I tried. Many Indians hate us and don’t want to be pacified. To them this means being confined to those open air prisons called reservations, all the while being swindled by government agents who are supposed to distribute food and clothing to them. I tried to put a halt to that but was singularly unsuccessful. The agents have too many powerful political connections here in Washington. It’s another reason I’m not all that popular here.”

“It sounds like you sympathize with the Indians.”

“I do. They’ve been treated brutally and I hope that the country someday realizes the shame of it. Now please tell me something about yourself.”

They had walked more than a mile so she steered him to a bench in a small park. They could still see the White House from where they were seated.

“I was married at seventeen and widowed at twenty. My parents loved the idea of my getting married. They were afraid I’d become an old maid. My husband wasn’t much taller than me and quite possibly just as skinny.”

“If I may be bold, I don’t think you’re skinny.”

She smiled and flushed. “Thank you. At any rate, Walter was an incredibly hard worker and, shortly after our marriage, his parents died in a train accident and left their businesses to him. He tried hard to run them, but it was overwhelming. I helped him and learned a lot. In fact, I think I ultimately knew a lot more about the world of business than he did. Then one day he simply keeled over at his desk and died. The doctor said it was likely a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Again thank you, but it was five years ago and, while I was fond of him and have warm memories, that part of my life is over. I sold off most of his properties except a house and small farm in Maryland, and formed my own investment company with the proceeds. I buy stocks in companies I think will do well in the future and, so far, I’ve won far more than I’ve lost.”

“I’m impressed,” he said truthfully.

“Sometimes it’s so annoying when I find that some laws do not permit women to do certain things in the world of business, while some men flatly refuse to deal with a woman regardless of the law. Fortunately, I do have a brother and a father who front for me when the occasion arises. Please don’t tell me that you believe women have no brains and should be confined to the kitchen.”

“Not anymore,” he said with a laugh.

“I also have vices, although I don’t think they’ll consign me to hell. I like an occasional cigarette and a nice brandy is a delight. I also like horseback riding, but I cannot abide riding side-saddle. If circumstances permit, I like to wear men’s clothing and go out in the country where I can ride like a man. Since I am small I can wear a hat and most will think I’m a boy.”

“I would never make such a mistake.”

They stood and began the walk back to the hotel. Ryder realized that he would have to go back to his damn regiment and he didn’t want to. He wanted the evening to continue.

“Do you consider Washington a great city, Colonel?”

The question surprised him. “No. Our nation’s capital in no way compares with New York or Boston or Philadelphia.”

“What about Paris, London, or Rome?”

“If I’d ever been to them, I might be better able to answer the question. From what I know and have read, Washington is nothing compared with them. Quite frankly, Washington is still very squalid.”

“Agreed,” she said. “President Custer wants us to be a great country, but we can’t be one until our capital is a great one as well. Look around you. The White House is lovely, but it is miniscule compared with the palaces of Europe or even the new palaces of the wealthiest Americans. Our Washington Monument has been under construction for almost forty years and still isn’t completed. And the original city plans called for a park in the mall running from the Capitol Building to the Potomac, but what exists there now is a weed-choked field with the remains of a canal off to its side that has become a sewer. Worse, there are slums all around the city and most of the roads are muddy tracks. And yes, I know that all cities have slums, but ours are terrible and they are so close to the center of government. Something should be done.” she said and laughed at herself. “Oh dear, once again I’ve begun a lecture.”

Ryder thought about suggesting that the two of them tour Europe someday, but decided to wait for another time and place. “May I ask you a question, Mrs. Damon?”

“Only if you call me Sarah and I will call you Martin.”

Ryder grinned like a little kid who had just passed a test he hadn’t studied for. “I would love to take you riding in the country and I would not be offended or shocked if you dressed as you wished.”

“Then give your men Sunday off and pick me up in the morning.”

They were almost at the hotel. They’d been so wrapped up in themselves that they hadn’t noticed that it had gotten dark. Washington in the night was not the safest place in the world and Ryder was suddenly concerned that he’d made a mistake by suggesting that they walk so far.

They were only a dozen or so yards from the hotel door when two men jumped out of an alley and grabbed at Sarah’s purse. She screamed and pulled back. An astonished Martin was staggered by a punch to the top of his head from the second man who pulled a knife and lunged at him.

Ryder regained his balance as best he could and ducked as the knife man lurched past him. He punched the man hard in the kidneys and he dropped to the ground but did not let go of the knife. Ryder stomped on the man’s hand and heard bones break. The man who’d grabbed Sarah’s purse jumped on Martin’s back and began to claw for his throat and eyes.

Suddenly, the attacker screamed and let go. He staggered backwards and Ryder saw Sarah standing there with a long metal hat pin that was nearly a stiletto held tightly in her hand. The man grabbed his crotch and Martin realized just where Sarah had jabbed him.

They’d had enough. The two would-be robbers ran and limped down the street. It had taken only seconds and the few other pedestrians hadn’t had time to react.

Sarah smoothed her clothing. She had begun to shake and was trying to hide it. “Well, that was exciting. Are dinners with you always like this? You are all right, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and are you?”

He reached over and touched her hand. She put her other hand over his. She took a couple of deep breaths and smiled.

“Of course. I may be petite, but I do know how to protect myself. Things like this have happened to me before, as they have to so many women. Now, will I see you Sunday or has this little incident alarmed you?”