They woke up together at the sound of the reveille trumpet. They must have slept something like half an hour, but strangely they did not feel dizzy, nor Alison minded that he was still lying in her arms with all of his weight. McKay lifted his head, looked down at her with a smile, touched her cheek and kissed her softly on the lips, as she lazily encircled his neck. They remained locked in that embrace for some seconds, and there was no world beyond the circle of their arms. Then he gently pulled away from her, kissing her on the throat, between her breasts, below the navel. He got up and covered her with the blankets. She dozed off again, so she didn't hear him go to the outhouse and back, get washed and have breakfast. She stirred again when he came to kiss her goodbye, caressing her hair. They looked at each other, touching nose to nose, without words and without any more thoughts in their minds.
    When he was gone, Alison curled up again. She knew she had to get up and go to the stream to wash somebody else's clothes, but she snoozed off in the nest of warm blankets, thinking and dreaming about him. She dreamed about how just one touch had made her go wild, beyond all her fears, and to his delight, while he had held on to his self-control until he had been reduced helplessly and unconditionally to his most basic essence in her arms, an essence she loved beyond anything. She dreamed about their whispers entwining like their souls and their bodies. There had been no question of yelling, this time - their mouths had barely left each other. When she opened her eyes again, the sun was high, and the confusion outside was deafening. She stretched blissfully, then held out a hand to retrieve her nightgown, and suddenly the door flew open. Appalled, she squinted to see who it was, drawing up the covers around herself, and heard Mrs. Jenssen's voice.
    "Her Ladyship is sleeping late, today."
    "That's none of your business," Alison croaked, her voice shaking with embarrassment and rage. "Please get out."
    "I've got to clean up the room."
    "Well, nobody will die if you clean it five minutes later."
    The woman turned her pale eyes on Alison. "This isn't a hotel." She started sweeping the floor. The door remained wide open.
    "For the last time, get out," hissed Alison.
    "When I'm finished," answered Mrs. Jenssen. "Better get this into your head, this kind of slack isn't acceptable here."
    "If it's true, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. But this does not give you the right to behave this way."
    "What are you going to do, report me, like you did with poor Corty?"
    "That was a mistake, and I set it right with Corty himself!" cried Alison, at the end of her wits. "I kindly asked you to leave and you didn't, then you leave the door open -this is bad manners anywhere! Don't you come and lecture me on what is acceptable here."
    The woman pushed the dust out of the door. "You don't have a clue about life at the fort," she said. "We work hard. We're not here to have fun."
    "Neither am I." Stop this, thought Alison, stop before you say something you may repent of. But how could she stop, if she couldn't get out of bed? "I work hard at my farm, what do you think? Are you going to make me pay for the rest of my life because today you found me still in bed? Haven't you ever overslept?"
    It was not the right thing to say. The woman probably had overslept a lot of times, before her husband was butchered by the Indians, the body she had loved destroyed like garbage on a barren slab of rock. And she was desperately bitter about life, Alison knew, and forever sorrowful, and envious of her, and though it was wrong to take it out on her, Alison knew she herself had brought this about with her umpteenth sorry remark.
    "You think you're all this great thing for your husband, don't you?" said Mrs. Jenssen icily, dusting the sideboard. "You have no idea of what you're doing to him. He was satisfied with what he had. Then those Indians made him soft-hearted. Got stuck in this dead-end place. It still could have been all right for him, spending the rest of his life behind a desk. A waste if you will, because he's smarter than that. But he'd have done and received no harm. He'd have been content with a plain, simple girl, to do laundry and cook and warm the bed for him. No, you had to come along, with your farm and your looks and your dreams. He's wanting more, now, for you. He's not satisfied with what he has anymore. But he is what he is, an eighteen-bucks-a-month enlisted man, so he'll never get better than this, he'll never be like you. And he will always be unhappy."
    "Get out," Alison whispered.
    "I'm done with cleaning, anyway," said Mrs. Jenssen. She folded her cloth and took her broom. "Leave this door open to change the air." And she went out without another word.
    Alison was shaking with fury at that final gratuitous stab. Gathering all her dignity, she wrapped herself in a blanket, then got up, closed the door and barred it. This done, all the breath she had been checking came out of her in a loud sob. She pressed her hands on her mouth. She shut her eyes tight to stop the tears, but it just made things worse. She slid to the floor against the door, the blanket held tight about her, crying uncontrollably, letting out all her tension and rage and fear and frustration.

    It didn't take much to pack up her luggage. She started throwing everything into her trunk - her nightgown, her towels, her books and sewing things. Just as she was slamming in the last items, McKay came in.
    "Hi darlin', you seen my - " He noticed the state of dismantling of the room and was stunned. "What's the matter?"
    "I'm packing," she answered curtly. "Today I've got to go back to Colorado Springs, don't you remember?"
    "But - I thought you'd stay for lunch, an' I wanted to help you..."
    "Well, you know I hate protracted farewells."
    "Alison - what happened?"
    She was trying to be gentle. It was not his fault, after all. And she knew that right then she saw only the bad things, forgetting Mrs. Marlowe, Ma Hopkins, all the helpful troopers. But she couldn't hide her anguish. "Terence... it's not been easy. I'm tired of staying here. Maybe next time I'll manage to stay longer. But for now, I'm tired of having to fight for every little thing. I miss my home."
    "What d'you mean, fight?"
    "Mrs. Jenssen just let me know exactly how unwelcome I am here."
    McKay frowned. He looked at the door, as if he wanted to put his hands around Mrs. Jenssen's neck. "Alison, I'll talk to the colonel. I'll - "
    "All right. But for now, I have to go. Please, don't be sorry."
    "I tried to make everythin' good for you."
    "I know. You were wonderful."
    "I thought we'd had a good time, tonight..."
    She smiled, thinking back on the night. It was safe in her mind, a jewel to treasure. But she could not let herself be blinded by physical pleasure and her soul's state of bliss. "You can't solve everything with that, Terence," she said gently.
    He looked lost. "We can talk about it."
    Alison began to get annoyed. Why couldn't he take it graciously? "We only had four days. You knew from the beginning."
    His frustration surfaced too. "Yeah, but somethin' tells me you ain't gonna make the effort to come back sometimes for another four days."
    Alison reddened. A part of her recognised what was happening. It was no different from the afternoon they had let themselves be swept away by their passion, knowing that it wasn't the time, but unable to help themselves, both trying to draw back but always pushing forward. Only this was rage, not passion. "You want to hear me say it, McKay? All right, I think I'll be so stupid and so much in love to make that effort again and come here to be treated like an animal, but I hope I'll convince myself and not do it! What should I come back for, anyway, to see us two behaving like schoolchildren, putting pressure on each other, weighing every single thing we do as if the whole world depended on it?"
    McKay stared at her as if she had shot him. Then he lowered his eyes and exhaled a slow breath. He nodded, turned and quietly started dismantling the curtains from the window.
    Alison stared at him, pierced by a cold horror, faced with the consequences of her words. "I spoke in anger," she said in a low shaking voice.
    "But you spoke the truth," he answered simply. He put the curtains on the table, folded the tablecloth and moved the chair. The cat was nowhere to be seen. He gently picked up the leather cushion and laid it with the rest. "I'll give the room back."
    He wasn't throwing a tantrum, he wasn't getting back at her... he wasn't even angry. This was his realistic reaction to something that didn't work. And after what she had just said, there was no way she could convince him she would try to make it work, to get used to a life at the fort after all. Her eyes filled with tears for a loss she had not anticipated, because she had always thought he would keep fighting, he would convince her to relent, and she would come back and try again. Instead he had simply pulled out of the fight, wrapping himself up in his pride and leaving her to hers.
    As they walked towards the main gate, she holding the reins of the mare pulling her wagon with her things, Alison felt scared to death, scared that she had pushed him away. All her worst fears were cropping up like ghosts around her - that really she was too stupid to have somebody, that she had talked too much once again. He was silent, he didn't hold her arm. But then again he never did, by daylight and under everybody's eyes. She shouldn't be so worried. It was just their first quarrel - but God, it hurt.
    Just outside the gate, he stopped and took her hand. "I'll try to get some time off as soon as I can, Alison," he said earnestly. Her anguish lessened a bit. He briefly looked up - it was obvious that the sentries were enjoying the show as an unexpected treat. She saw a corner of his lips lift, then suddenly she was pulled into his warm, tight embrace, his hands clasping hard on her clothes, then relaxing and caressing her back tenderly. "I love you," he vowed, his voice catching in his throat.
    Alison locked her arms around his neck, tears falling unstoppable on the cloth of his uniform. "I love you too, Terence, and I want to be with you..." she repeated over and over again. She tried to dry her face with her hand, then pulled up and kissed him. She was already beginning to feel a desperate longing for him.
    She finally stepped back, pressing the heel of her hand against her eye, letting the fingers of her other hand trail along his extended arm to the tips of his fingers. Then she turned, mounted the wagon and started it down the twisting road bordered with fresh grass and small flowers in the green fields.
    McKay watched her go, treasuring the taste of her mouth and her tears, feeling the storms and roses of spring depart with her. He blinked and stared into the sky. He regretted there were no more easy tears in him. He clenched his teeth against his despair, then turned and stalked back into the fort.
    Just inside the gate, Colonel Marlowe was waiting for him, leaning against the wall. "So," he said, "whatcha gonna do now?"
    McKay just threw him a look. "Shave," he answered curtly, walking back towards his quarters.

    THE END