Words Heard in Silence (18 page)

Rebecca pulled the small tub in front of the fire and half filled it with water from the boiler, topping it with cool water from the cistern pump until it was warm but not hot. She knew that, given how cold Charlie’s skin was to her touch, that a bath that was too hot would be painful.

She then carefully eased the blanket from his shoulders. Kneeling in front of him with her back to him, she lifted one booted foot and gave it a hard tug, pulling the mud-encrusted leather from his foot. The other boot was more stubborn, and Charlie had to brace his sock clad foot against her back to give her enough leverage to pull it off.

She turned to him expectantly. Charlie silently drained the mug of broth. "Thank you, Miss Rebecca. I can handle the rest myself."

"I do not think so, Colonel. Let me help. You still have stitches in your shoulder, you are cold and wet and muddy, and I doubt if you have the energy to take care of yourself properly." She stepped close to him and began efficiently unbuttoning the heavy wool tunic he was wearing. Embarrassed, Charlie looked down at her hands working the buttons through the stiff cloth, then signed and unbuckled his belt. The tunic came off quickly, then the sodden cotton shirt under it. She was just as efficient with the bindings that were so much a part of Charlie’s life.

Rebecca stepped back from the tall figure standing before her, dressed only in britches and socks. The contrast was startling. In one moment, Charlie went from being a tall, lean, well-built man to being one of the most elegant and unusual creatures Rebecca had ever seen. There were muscles in Charlie’s arms and chest similar to a man’s but more fluid, more graceful. Her breasts were small and firm, with the nipples erect in the cool air. She could see the muscles around Charlie’s ribcage and those of her belly, each muscle defined. The skin under her shirt was pale, almost translucent and lightly marked with blue veins. For a moment, it was as if she were looking at a beautiful carving, done in the finest marble, of an ancient Amazon warrior. Rebecca forgot to breath for a moment. Charlie slowly turned the most remarkable shade of red, starting with his ears and working its way down his body to disappear into his britches.

She shook herself. "Turn around and sit on this stool. I need to look at that shoulder." Carefully, Rebecca examined the injury. It was healing cleanly, with no sign of the infection that had been there when she first treated it. While the scar would always be there, it was now a healthy pink, not the angry red it had been when she first treated it. "I think I can take the stitches out." She fetched her embroidery scissors from her sewing basket and used them to snip the stitches, pulling each one out carefully.

"There. Now you can soak your whole body in the tub without having to worry about keeping the stitches dry. In you go, Colonel."

Charlie turned his back to her and quickly slipped out of his britches and socks and into the tub. The warm water against his cold skin prickled and burned for a few minutes until his body started warming up. He relaxed, sliding down and curling into a ball, allowing him to sink into the water up to his neck. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the edge of the tin bath. The wonder of the woman who had done this for him made his heart beat a little faster, and kept him awake when sleep should have already claimed him. A silent prayer of thanks went up from Charlie’s soul to the God that at times had been his only confidant and companion.
She waited for me, made me soup, made a safe place for me to get clean. And she was worried about me.

Charlie shivered in sudden shock. Rebecca had taken a soapy washcloth and stroked his shoulders and neck with it before dropping it over his shoulder. "Here, my dear Colonel. You still look like a mud puppy."

Charlie sat up in the tub and began to scrub himself clean. Rebecca could not resist watching those limber muscles move under the surprisingly alabaster skin. Her eyes fell again on the old scars crisscrossing Charlie’s back.
Who could have done such a thing to him. To her. Oh, Lord. I have got to figure this out.

"Tilt your head back, Colonel." Rebecca eased her confusion by doing what she had always done. By going to work on the thing at hand that most needed care; and hoping the rest of the situation would sort itself out eventually. Right now, getting the mud out of Charlie’s hair was the most obvious thing that needed to be done.

The bath was concluded as quickly as possible. Each had their reasons for wanting to hurry through it. Charlie did not want to embarrass himself any more than he already had. And if Rebecca kept looking at him and tending to him in his current state of undress, the arousal she inspired in him would be more than a little uncomfortable, even in his current state of exhaustion. Rebecca wanted to touch Charlie, to explore the feel and texture of those muscles and skin, because Charlie was, without question, the most fascinating thing she had ever seen, combining the best of both genders. He was a strong woman, a delicate man or maybe something entirely different.

For now, the nightshirt that had been warming by the fire was Charlie’s immediate objective. To get dry and warm, and covered, and then get some sleep were all that he was capable of for now.

Rebecca insisted he get another mug of broth, which he took with him as they went upstairs to the bedroom. She had built a small fire in the room, and it had burned down to glowing coals. Shoveling a few into the bed warmer, Rebecca ran the copper pan under the covers, warming the cool sheets before Charlie gratefully tumbled into the bed. He was asleep within seconds of his head touching the pillow. She gently tucked the comforter around him and stood beside the bed just looking at his face, relaxed and somehow innocent in sleep, regardless of the horrors he had seen.

Then she turned, banked the fire and trudged downstairs to try and rescue his mud caked clothing.

C
harlie’s dream began much as it always had when he was hurt, tired or sick as a child. He had not had this dream in almost twenty years. She was small, still wearing the short white dress and stockings of a very young child. And there were warm arms around her, a soft shoulder to rest her head on, a safe haven when the world was too much for the little girl. A low voice, softly accented would sing, sometimes in French, sometimes in English, songs that the child loved.

The child looked up, trusting and safe, into the pale blue eyes of one long missed person.

"Maman."

The ice-eyes smiled.

Charlie faded back into dreamless sleep.

R
ebecca woke, quite early, for some unknown reason. Clearly, it was still very dark out, and Charlie was still curled up behind her with a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Actually, truth be told, it was she that always initiated the contact once they were both in bed. She would lie on her side and listen until Charlie’s breathing slowed to a constant rhythm, and then she would roll over and get as close as she dared without waking her companion.

She did not realize how much she had missed and craved the warmth and comfort of another body until Charlie began sharing her bed. To her surprise and once that passed, her great delight, the Colonel always moved closer, wrapping her in strong arms and making her feel very, very safe as well. It had been years since she slept as well as she did when Charlie shared her bed.

And two nights ago, when he had not come in because of the storm, she had not only worried about the officer, but she realized she missed him as well. She had a very difficult time falling asleep, finding it impossible until she rolled over and pulled Charlie’s pillow into her arms.

Then she heard the noise that had disturbed her slumber. It was Charlie. There was a quiet but very persistent wheeze coming from the Colonel that was not her normal soft snore. Carefully Rebecca rolled over and placed a hand to Charlie’s face. She felt the skin under her hand. It was so hot it was almost painful to touch. Moving away slowly, she got up from bed, quickly lighting a lamp to really get a good look at her companion. Charlie’s skin was reddened considerably and slight beads of perspiration had broken across her forehead.

"Good Lord, Charlie, I told you, you would catch your death out there in that storm." Moving to the other side of the room, she poured a basin of water from the pitcher and collected cloths from the cabinet underneath. Taking it back to the bed, she placed the wet cool cloths on Charlie’s forehead and neck.

The Colonel stirred, coughing as he came further into wakefulness. It did not take long for him to realize he felt awful. He had not felt this bad since Jocko assured him it was all right to ‘‘have just one more’ when they had visited the local bar outside of Sedonia, Missouri that housed a house of quiet, or in some cases not so quiet, pleasure.

"Ungh……" Was all he could manage before trying to lick impossibly dry lips.

Gently, Rebecca brushed a damp cloth across Charlie’s lips to help the process. "You are sick." She whispered needlessly.

Charlie was very well aware of the fact he was sick. If it were not for the tender caring of the woman at his side, the good Colonel would wish himself dead, so he would feel better. His body was hot, his chest, head and stomach hurt as if he had been kicked by the biggest horse in the stables. Closing his eyes to keep the room from spinning and his stomach from rolling, he merely nodded his head. Gently.

"Guess who is staying in bed today, Colonel Redmond."

The thought of protest crossed his mind. Then the rolling sensation crossed his stomach. The protest tucked its tail between its legs and dutifully lay down in the corner of Charlie’s mind.

"Jocko……" He rasped, softly for fear of yet another coughing jag.

"You leave it to me, Charlie. I will see to it that we get word to Jocko."

"Thank you."

"And in the meantime, Charlie Redmond, you will stay in this bed and you will do everything I tell you to do."

"Yes, Ma’am." Charlie just really felt too bad to argue. Besides, he was learning rather quickly that Rebecca Gaines had a stubborn streak a mile wide and when her mind was set to something, it was just better not to argue, because when she was riled, Rebecca could talk the ear off the Devil.

A smile curled at the Colonel’s lips when another cool cloth was place across his burning forehead and gently fingers combed through his damp hair. He could feel her breathing on his cheek and hear her whispering in his ear. "Rest, Charlie, I will be right back with something to help your chest."

Unable to open his eyes for fear of what would happen to the contents of his stomach, he listened as she left the room. He could hear a slight creaking in the stairs as Rebecca descended them.

He pushed down the covers, feeling far to hot with them on. A shaky hand traveled to his nightshirt and he felt the wetness that had been absorbed from his sweating skin. He moaned as his hand dropped back to the bed. Turning his head slowly, he could see it was still very dark out and he wondered what woke Miss Rebecca.

Then he realized he must have been fussing in his sleep and awakened her. He listened as she made her way back up the stairs, holding a plate with a steaming towel on it. He wanted to tell her he would be out of her way soon, that he would go back to his tent until he felt better, but the words just would not pass through his dry mouth and thick tongue.

Suddenly he had no choice but to open his eyes when he felt the button being opened on his nightshirt. He turned his head and looked at her with wide, startled eyes.

"Relax, Colonel, it is only a mustard plaster for your chest. It is all right, I am not going to hurt you."

Being hurt was the last thing on Charlie’s mind. The first thing was the gentle touch of this lady’s hand as she applied the medicine cloth to his chest. They never broke eye contact the entire time it was being done and Rebecca’s sweet smile reminded him it was okay. He need not worry; he was just as safe with her as she felt with him. She would not tell his secret or betray his trust.

"Relax." She whispered again.

His mind began to reel with her tender touches, continuously replacing old clothes with fresh wet ones to cool his fevered brow. He closed his eyes, absorbing the comfort she was offering. It had been a very long time since someone other than Jocko or Dr. Walker had taken care of him. He imagined that the man who would eventually have Rebecca as a wife would be the luckiest man alive. Charlie only hoped that whoever it would be would have the good sense to cherish the woman. He relaxed even further, knowing that he was falling asleep and unable to stop it.

Rebecca watched as Charlie’s eyes closed. She could not help but smile. She did feel sorry that the Colonel was sick, but falling into a peaceful slumber as he was, she felt good that she was able to relieve some of the distress. She brushed her fingers through damp hair, smoothing it back.

"Rest well, dear Charlie." She placed a tender kiss on the Colonel’s forehead, lowered the wick on the lamp and quietly left the room to let Charlie rest.

As the sun came up, Rebecca saw Sergeant Jackson, riding up to the house. She moved the pot of mint tea she had been preparing for Charlie to a hot plate on the stove, then moved to the backdoor. Opening it, she smiled at Charlie’s friend as he climbed the steps.

"Good morning, Sergeant Jackson."

"Good morning, Ma’am. I am here to inquire about Colonel Redmond. He has not returned to camp this morning."