Authors: Susan Macatee
A group of stretcher-bearers approached. She signaled to them. Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed him on the lips. The coldness of his mouth alarmed her.
Chapter Eleven
Jake leaned against a wide oak, furiously puffing on a cheroot. He’d nearly been killed today and for what? When that fool Lee ordered the march across that wide-open field, he’d tried to find a way to duck out. He didn’t plan on dying for a cause he didn’t believe in.
If it hadn’t been for Captain Montgomery catching him, he could have hid until the battle was over. And if Montgomery hadn’t been wounded, he’d likely be up on charges of desertion. At least, he was still in one piece with no one around to punish him.
Now, to make things worse, his arrangement with Erin O’Connell had gone awry. Ever since she’d fallen from that mare, she’d been a different woman—cozying up to Montgomery...acting haughty and refined like she was too good for him. She didn’t even speak the same. This wasn’t good. If that bitch had thoughts of betraying him...
She hadn’t returned to her tent for hours. Spotting Brigid Malone, he casually asked if she’d seen Erin.
The dumpy Irish woman scowled. “She’s helping with the wounded, but I don’t think she’ll be wanting to see the likes of you tonight.”
Jake kept his expression bland, tipped his cap, and strode off. He knew the Irish cook hated him. He drew near the barn. The surgeons used it as a medical facility, since the hospital tents had filled to capacity the day before. The scent of blood caused him to stop short.
Men, who’d been left lying in the open yesterday, had been taken inside as heavy rain started to fall. He moved to the entrance and peered in.
Inside was chaos. Men moaned and screamed in pain. Doctors, nurses, and stewards rushed about trying to help in any way they could.
He grimaced at the sound of a bone saw coming from the back of the barn. He backed away from the horrific scene, but not before catching sight of the slender back of a woman with a reddish-gold bun. She bent over dispensing water to a cluster of men lying on a pile of hay. He watched until Erin lifted the bucket and moved toward where he stood.
Her eyes widened when she saw him. Before she could pass him, he grasped her arm. She strained against his grip.
“I need to get more water.” She held the empty bucket for him to see.
“I’d like a word with you first,” he ground against her ear.
“But they need me—”
Ignoring her protest, Jake yanked her outside into the rain. “Let me go!” She dropped the bucket.
Jake glanced inside the barn. No one noticed him pull her outside. After shoving her under the canopy of a wide oak, he spun her around to face him. “I want to know what’s going on between you and Captain Montgomery.”
Her eyelids narrowed to slits. “Nothing’s going on. He’s been wounded, and he’s lying in there barely alive.” She flung her free arm toward the barn.
“I need to know you won’t betray me,” he said. “Remember, I know who and what you are.”
Before she could reply, one of the drummer boys stepped out, lifting the bucket she’d dropped. The lad’s blond eyebrows rose when he spotted the two standing in the rain.
“Ma’am, they said I should fetch the water right quick.”
Erin glanced at Jake. “Leave it out to catch the rain water,” she told the boy. “Bring the other bucket, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He left the bucket out in the open and disappeared inside.
She looked at Jake. “I’ll talk to you about this later.”
He nodded, releasing her arm. He’d wait until later when they had privacy. Before he could issue a final warning, the boy reappeared with a second bucket he placed beside the first. Erin and the boy disappeared inside, leaving Jake alone. He strode to his tent. Once things calmed down, he’d see to it she reveal everything. Or on second thought, maybe he should take matters into his own hands. He needed knowledge of all her activities, so he’d have evidence to hold against her, if she ever had any thoughts of betraying him.
****
Sitting near his cot, Erin stared at the captain who appeared to be sleeping after his surgery. Doc had dug out the lead ball and stitched the jagged wound. For now, the best thing she could do was keep the area clean. She carefully removed Will’s bandage by first soaking it with water from the basin she’d placed beside him. With the bandage wet, she snipped it off with a small pair of scissors. Exposing the bright red wound, streaked with a dark zigzag edge, she looked for any sign of infection.
If I only had some sort of antibiotic. Even an ointment
! Infection could be a death sentence, especially in his weakened state.
Seeing no pus and catching no putrid smell, she breathed a sigh of relief. She gently washed the side of his chest moving beyond the edge of the wound, ending at his narrow waist. Glancing at his face every few seconds, she looked for any indication she caused him pain.
Using a linen towel to dry the area, she re-bandaged him with the help of one of the musicians serving as a medical steward. Settling him back on the cot, she touched his cheek where a few days stubble roughened his face. His eyes remained closed.
“Will?” she whispered.
He reached a hand toward her.
She clasped it in both of hers.
“Anne,” he rasped.
Erin glanced around in surprise. She’d grown used to being mistaken for other women, but this man meant something to her.
“His wife.” Doc had sidled up beside her. “She died just after the war started.”
Erin nodded, glancing at the captain. “How did she die?”
“Pneumonia. She’d given birth to a stillborn son shortly after Christmas of ’60. The birth had weakened her, and she never fully recovered.”
“He left when she was sick?”
“At first, she had nothing life threatening. She stayed with his parents and the servants. Just after he left for camp, she came down with the grippe, which progressed to croup. Will wasn’t able to obtain a furlough to go to her. His parents assured him they’d care for her. Told him his duty was to defend Virginia.”
“That’s awful.”
“He got the telegram that she was deathly ill after Manassas. By the time he got home, she was gone.”
Erin tightened her grip on his hand. “He told you all of this?”
Doc shook his head. “My wife, Josie, had known Anne since childhood. We know Will’s family.”
“And the little girl?”
“Amanda. She was three when Anne died. Will’s sister, Jenny, and his parents care for her now.”
Erin gazed at Will’s face. His brow furrowed as if he were in pain or dreaming of something unpleasant. “How bad is he, Doc?”
“If we can keep the wound from getting infected, he should recover. Fortunately, nothing vital was hit.”
Nodding, she vowed to personally clean his wound. If her purpose in being here was to keep this man alive, she had her work cut out for her.
****
Hours later, Doc woke her. She’d fallen asleep sitting at the edge of Will’s cot with her head resting on a side table, where she’d left her basin and rags.
“Go back to your tent and get some sleep. You’re no good to anyone like this.”
Erin shook off the grogginess. A few hours stretched out on her cot sounded like a good idea.
As she crossed the camp to her tent, the heavy rain that fell revived her. Pulling back the canvas, she gasped. Her table and bunk had been upended, and the trunk gaped open, its contents spread everywhere. What could she have that anyone could want? She reached into the trunk, only then realizing the journal was gone.
Chapter Twelve
That evening Jake sat in his tent hunched over a lantern while rain pelted the canvas. He’d set the lamp on a flat block of wood away from the bedding and canvas and draped his rubber sheet over the opening of the small tent to keep the rainwater out.
Erin O’Connell’s journal proved to be very interesting reading, although he had a bit of trouble with her small handwriting. Pages that had been torn out most likely contained the information she’d gathered on troop movements. But what he found most interesting were the entries regarding him. Seems the woman tolerated him for what information she could get. Furthermore, she
was
attracted to Captain Montgomery.
As he deciphered Erin’s scribbling, his thoughts drifted to the woman who’d taught him to read. As a boy, he hadn’t had any formal education, and at the age of fourteen, his father had farmed him out to do chores for a widow who, before her marriage, had been a schoolmarm. The woman had taught him not only how to read but had taken him into her bed for further education. He still held fond memories of her.
He turned his attention back to the journal. The last entry was dated the tenth of June. Nearly three weeks had passed since she’d written anything. He counted back, trying to recall how long it had been since she’d fallen from the horse. Everything had changed that night, but why? He had a hard time believing the woman had lost her memory.
He squinted against the lantern’s glare to study the script. Although no military entries remained, notes on her involvement with him could possibly implicate her as a spy. Why had she made such personal entries? She was nothing but a foolish bitch.
Unfortunately, if anyone else found this book, he would be branded as her accomplice. A traitor. He sucked on his lower lip. There had to be something he could hold against her. He’d just keep this book in a safe place. If need be, he’d have to burn it.
But if she switched her allegiance and tried to betray him, he now had the means to bring her down with him.
****
Will drifted in and out of consciousness. One minute he was in the barn surrounded by wounded soldiers, the next he marched on a hot, blazing battlefield. Explosions tore men to shreds, but he plodded on. This was his duty, to defend...defend what? He thought of Amanda. The child had already lost her mother. If he should fall, she’d be alone.
Doc’s voice brought him back to the barn. “Wake up, Will.”
He opened one eye. The doctor’s thin face appeared even more haggard than the last time they’d spoken. “You need rest,” Will said.
Doc laughed. “You don’t look all that well yourself.”
“How bad is it?”
“You’ll live. Just don’t expect to be up and walking any time soon.”
Will grimaced as he stretched his protesting muscles.
Doc glanced toward the barn entrance. “I do believe I see your own personal nurse.”
He twisted his head to see to whom Doc was referring. Erin approached carrying something wrapped in a towel.
“Can he have soup, Doc?” she asked.
“I reckon so. Just take it slowly.”
Erin wore her hair pulled back off her face and coiled into a bun. She perched on a stool by his cot holding the bundle in her lap. When she unwrapped it, the aroma of chicken broth teased his nostrils.
Her gaze fastened on his face. “Are you hungry?”