TWENTY TWO


Dec. 2nd: 1400 hours

"Charles, this is nice!" MacAllister exclaimed. She and Winchester were standing inside her hotel room. "Look at the size of that bed! It's bigger than my whole tent."

"Look in here, as well," he showed her the porcelain tub in the bathing area.

"This is wonderful! But," she shook her head, "I can't afford this."

The man replied, "This is my treat, Sarabeth. I would not be enjoying the marvels of civilization, right now, if you were not required to be here."

"I didn't ask to come here. And, I didn't ask that you be made to accompany me."

"I am aware of that. But these accommodations will be infinitely better than anything that would be provided at the base."

"That's for sure and for certain." The woman looked around her and smiled, "Besides, we have to make sure this place is going to be good enough for Peg and Erin, right?"

"Absolutely." Charles Winchester smiled at the woman in return, "What you would like to do this afternoon?"

"Well, since we got here a little bit earlier than expected, I'd like to test out that bathtub; just to make sure Peg will like it," she said with an impish grin; but added more seriously, "At four, I have to be at the bank."

"We will both go to the bank," the officer assured her. "After that, however, I insist that we eat at the White Lotus. You simply must have the opportunity to experience the finest dining in the Orient."

"You're saying it's better than eating at the mess tent?" MacAllister teased.

"My dear, there is no comparison," the man replied firmly. "Since that is settled, I shall return in an hour and a half. Will that give you enough time to enjoy a good soaking?" Winchester asked.

"I should be sufficiently waterlogged by then, Charles," the woman grinned.

"I will see you then. In the mean time, I may have to test out my own bathtub; just to make certain Hunnicutt will also like it. Lock your door, and keep it locked," he directed before leaving her room.

Major Winchester stood outside her door until he heard the tumblers slide into place.


"What do you mean, you won't release my money to me!" Lieutenant MacAllister demanded angrily. She was sitting in front of the desk of Captain Cartier, base accountant. "My brother, Colonel MacAllister, set up this account especially so that I could write checks or withdraw money any time I wanted to do so."

"The colonel was ill-advised." With obvious distaste, Cartier looked across his desk, and down his nose, at the woman. He continued his explanation in a superior tone, "It is bank policy to not release large amounts of money to any female. Past experience dictates that women are incapable of handling..."

"Incapable...!" MacAllister sputtered. She was prevented from saying anything else by Winchester's very firm grip on her arm. She glared at the man who was sitting beside her.

"Captain, I quite understand your philosophy," Major Winchester's accent closely matched the banker's own. "However, perhaps, you would consider relinquishing that money to me? I shall see that it is not squandered."

"Squandered...!" the woman objected. Again, she was restrained by a tightening grip. Resentfully, she subsided. Her expression was murderous, however.

"That is a feasible solution, Major. I am quite certain that you will be able to manage McAllen's finances."

"MacAllister," came a dangerously soft-spoken correction from the woman.

"Now...as to the amount," Cartier reviewed his information. "McAllen wants to withdraw $275. That is almost the equivalent of three months of her military pay. An excessive sum, even if you are supervising her expenditures."

The medical officer glanced at the nurse beside him. She was restraining herself with difficulty. "You are quite correct," jovially, he agreed. "$275 isn't the right amount for her."

Cartier showed his approval with a parsimonious grin.

"Instead, I should like to withdraw...$300."

The banker was shocked. "$300! Surely you jest!"

"Very well, then. $400." The major looked at the lieutenant, silently asking if she had that much available. She nodded in confirmation. "$400, Captain," Winchester's tone was no longer friendly. "And I want it released to Lieutenant MacAllister, immediately."

"$400! You can't possibly be serious! Do you know what a woman would do with that kind of money?"

"Spend it, I assume," the man answered. "What seems to be the problem, now, Captain? You are satisfied with her identification, you know the amount requested and you have a male guardian who is willing to supervise her expenditures."

"I know. But $400! A woman can't be trusted with that large of an amount!"

"Captain Cartier, I want that money now!" Major Winchester ordered.

"All right," the accountant grumbled. "Sign here," indicating the location on the document, he handed a fountain pen to Winchester. The major signed his name with a flourish.

Leaving his office, Cartier returned a short time later. He counted the money, sealed it in an envelope and gave it to the other man. "$400. It's against my better judgment. However, if you insist, Major."

"I insist."

"And here is your copy of McAllen's withdrawal slip."

"MacAllister." The woman corrected him sweetly. She smiled at the banker. There were no kind wishes in her eyes. "MacAllister," she repeated. "Remember the name, Captain. You will hear it again."


Following, from what he hoped was a safe distance behind her, Charles Winchester listened to Sarabeth MacAllister fume, "A woman's incapable of handling money! Can't be trusted with large amounts! And the name's MacAllister. Not McAllen. Damn Yankee! Thrice-damned Yankee! Who the blue blazes does he think he is!"

She stalked along the base road. "And it's my money! Not my daddy's. Not Crockett's. Mine! It's my share of the sweat and profits from the ranch. My long hours at the hospitals! That thrice-damned Yankee! How dare he!"

"Sarabeth, is it safe for a Yankee to approach you, yet?" Winchester called to her.

She spun around to look at him, "Depends on the Yankee." She forced some of her anger away as she waited for him to catch up with her. She was still livid, however.

Stopping to collect a double handful of small stones, the officer dropped them into the palm of her hand. "Here. I suspect these all have the same name on them. You may begin 'chunking' them, at will. Or at Daniel. Or at Michael. Or whatever his name might be. Preferably, not at me; however."

"You think this is funny, don't you?" MacAllister inquired in accusation. "How would you like it, if you were denied access to your money?"

"I would not like it, at all. You have every right to be infuriated." He told her in all seriousness, "In fact, I would like to throw some of those stones, myself."

"At Will? Or at Daniel?" she asked with a hint of a smile.

"Or at Michael," he replied.

MacAllister gave him some of the rocks. "I am furious with Captain Cartier!" She announced as she threw all of her ammunition as hard as she could.

"As am I," Winchester's rocks hit the ground alongside hers. "Now then, Sarabeth," he began, conversationally, "shall we head for the White Lotus? I believe we both need a reprieve from the idiocies of Boston bankers."

"Just so long as he's not there." She warned, "I won't guarantee his life span if he calls me McAllen one more time…."

"I am quite certain, my dear, that we shall have a quiet, enjoyable evening with only the two of us."