by Gina Danna
The entire situation was a fiasco, and Ada couldn’t help but laugh. The doctor was pinned to the floor by the type of man she couldn’t stand, but considering everything, it wasn’t a surprise. She had pushed him to extend himself too fast, making her realize her plan to get him back in shape so she could rid herself of him had backfired marvelously.
He stopped halfway up, surprised. “I rather expected you’d demand I get off you immediately.”
She snorted, inhaling now with a good breath. “No, I think I’ve pushed you too hard.”
The door to the parlor swung wide open and James the butler stood, with another male servant with him. They raced into the room.
“Master Fontaine, Miss Lorrance, are you all right?” James asked as he and the other servant lifted Francois upright before he offered her his hand.
“Truly, we are fine, James. Thank you, though, for coming so quickly.” He was there in a flash, making her wonder if the servant hadn’t been watching through the doorway lock. She gave Francois a look, scanning him from head to toe for injuries.
“Are you hurt?”
The Frenchman smiled. “You, dear lady, are a saint. I’m no worse for wear, but you, are you all right?”
She stood, stretched her fingers and shifted on her feet, testing herself. “Thank you, I feel fine. Perhaps a little shaken, but overall, fine.”
“What a relief, ma’am. A man his size could easily have hurt you,” James inserted, handing her the shawl that had fallen off her shoulders. “I’ll have Mrs. Mooney prepare tea to revive you.”
Tea. She wanted to laugh. Only polite society would think of tea and, no doubt, biscuits, to ‘revive’ someone. Hardly medicine, she thought, though perhaps, as she found her throat now dry, not a bad idea. “That would be lovely, James.”
As the butler left to get the tea, she turned toward Francois and found him grinning. “What has you so amused?”
“In my part of the country, ladies would be swooning, with their mothers demanding smelling salts and a priest for nuptials for having so ‘invaded’ their daughters. You? You appear to brush off such conformities and worry how I am.”
“I am a doctor, and you are my patient. My goal is to have you recover, not reprimand you for falling during therapy to restore your abilities to walk.” She wrapped the shawl around her tightly, the flush that spread all over her from his warm smile made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t explain.
With a heavy sigh, he bent to pick up his worn-out boots and hobbled to the chair to sit. She watched him put the shoes back on and inwardly grimaced. Since they’d been hacked down to accommodate the injured foot, they barely worked as a shoe. And frankly, she determined, he’d need better support, especially when she saw the seam ripping apart on the sole.
James reappeared, followed by a maid carrying a tea tray. In the butler’s hands was a pair of brogans.
“Miss Ada, perhaps Master Leonard’s shoes might aide you at this time.”
The man was a good servant.
“Thank you, James. What an excellent suggestion.” She took the shoes to Francois. “Perhaps this will help. They are not falling apart.”
Francois frowned. He hadn’t noticed the commotion of the servants. If nothing else, he’d been fumbling at putting on his own shoes and not doing well at it, as his blood raced hot from the contact with her on the floor. A myriad of emotions swirled in his head, ranging from angry at his inability to walk to feeling like a clumsy oaf to a man wanting to kiss her. So now, he stared dumbly at the pair of shoes she handed to him, trying to rationalize his thinking and failing.
“Yes, perhaps.” He reached for them but she’d already dropped to her knees, the skirt pooling around her on the floor as she gently removed the torn pair from his feet.
“It doesn’t appear to be swollen from the fall, which is good.” She guided the foot in and loosely tied the lacing. “I think that is all of the training we shall do today.”
“Good. It doesn’t feel too bad, just tired.” He offered his hand to help her back up as she struggled to gather her skirts to find her footing.
“Thank you.” She straightened her skirts once upright.
Francois smiled. But she didn’t return one to him. If nothing else, she appeared agitated or worse. Her tension was something he couldn’t pinpoint. He was recovering but not near perfect. Perhaps it was her trying to hide him that drove her mad. Or was it something else?
She said nothing during their lunch. He was too worn out to push the conversation. Besides, what would they talk about? With her attitude and her strong dislike of his southern heritage, that left little on which they could converse. Or maybe, he didn’t care at the moment. He ignored the throb in his foot. These shoes were better for his coordination, so he hoped his recovery might be smoother.
Yet it was definitely the entire issue of him recovering that stuck in the mud in his head. He had a private physician as it were, one that wanted him well for her own agenda, but the tension between them was drawing tight. The lines were drawn between attraction, for he knew she felt it too, as well as the sectionalism that had caused this war. She could turn him in to the authorities in a heartbeat, or help him walk again. How could he bridge that gap?
Watching her over the wineglass at lunch, he decided to make an attempt, even if it’d cost him in the long run.
“Miss Ada, perhaps fresh air would do us good.”
She stared at him hard. “Fresh air? You mean, outside? You do realize it’s winter and cold, right?”
He laughed. “Yes, I can tell the chill in the air.”
“And we’re in New York, a truly Yankee state? Not the area for your type.”
Her tone turned condescending on that and it irked him. He wanted to see her smile, not snarl at him. “I’m well aware where we are. It might surprise you, but I’ve been to New York on several occasions. Granted, not generally during the winter, but still.” He crooked his lips upward, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “I just was thinking it might be nice to step out in the breeze, as it were, and with a longer space, stretch my legs some. Being confined makes exercising it sore.”
That made her giggle. “You realize, that makes no sense.”
He shrugged. “Ole Doc Williams used to urge us young’uns to go out and stretch our limbs, when the growing pains hit. Mama encouraged it. I think it helped, in its own way.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, she gave him a glowing smile that was like a gold Spanish coin. “All right. Let’s get our coats and do so.”
With more gusto then he thought he had, Francois took her hand, devouring her feminine charms like a dying man. Only vaguely did the ghost of a Southern belle seem to whisper to him…
Chapter 22
“From this time on till the end of the war, a soldier was simply a machine, a conscript…All our pride and valor had gone, and we were sick of war and cursed the Southern Confederacy.”
—Sam Watkins, Maury Grays, 1st Tennessee Regiment, CSA, on extended enlistments, requiring all ‘able-bodied white men, 18-25 years old, to serve for 3 years’, summer 1862
The man puzzled her.
Ada braced as another blast of cold rushed over her as they ambled down the sidewalk in New York. Her woolen cloak was heavy, the mink muff warm, almost toasty with her leather gloves on, but her silk lined bonnet and cotton day dress were no match for winter. Thankfully, she had her woolen undergarments on, or she’d be an icicle. How had she been convinced to take a stroll?
Out of the corner of her eye, her reason walked next to her. Francois had made the suggestion, and since he’d seemed so adamant about it, she didn’t want to discourage him. Her own medical practice had taught her that patients who pushed themselves often made a faster recovery than those who succumbed to their handicaps and embraced a life of inertia.
Frankly, she was surprised how well he was doing. His cheeks, though gaunt from lack of food thanks to the war and imprisonment, were flush and gave him a glow. W
ill’s wool overcoat engulfed him, yet he sported it well. He stood tall, shoulders straight, even though he used a cane, rather fashionably, too, to walk. It was as if he had adapted to the walking stick as if it were an accessory. Even now, on the wooden sidewalk, he guided her with his free hand on her elbow with only his body between her and the street.
“I insist that you walk on my left,” he’d stated when they exited the carriage.
She frowned. “This is just a short jaunt outside for fresh air. Not a societal affair.”
He laughed. “While that may be correct, it is nigh mid-afternoon. You are well aware, that eyes will be on those walking the fashionable district at this time. Tongues will wag if I was not the gentleman and stood as the brace between you and the wild beasts and their wheeled-contraptions kicking up mud and whatever else.”
She giggled. “Beasts, you say? All right. I will not insult your gentlemanly task.” She moved inside his left, but whispered in his ear, “If you over do this, please let me know. I will not have you hurt yourself over some farce of worrying about ‘wagging tongues.’”
“Of course, my lady.” He tipped his felt hat in her direction.
That had been virtually an hour ago. The cold was burrowing in, past the layers she wore and she’d bet he was miserable, too, for it wasn’t just his face that was thin. That lack of food had slimmed him and while they’d had two days of good food at Sweet Briar, it’d take more to fill him out. She gave him a glance as they walked and saw not only determination etched in his face but also amusement. He was enjoying this. To a Southerner, a man not accustomed to the cold of the north, this was bitter cold. Then, the skies began spitting snow at them.
Francois looked upward, his brows furrowing, his lids squinting as the flakes struck his face. He stuck his tongue out, as if licking them from the sky and that made her laugh.
He grinned at her. It was a contagious grin, and one that caught her full attention. His dark hair, even combed under the borrowed hat, gleamed. His blue eyes sparkled and the shade of whiskers that he’d missed shaving gave him a dandy appearance. The mischief that lurked behind his sapphire gaze should make her watchful, but instead, it drew her closer. This man was dangerous yet she couldn’t pull herself away.
“What is so funny?”
“You can’t catch snowflakes.”
“I wasn’t trying to catch them but to taste them. They’re a rare occurrence where I come from.”
That intrigued her more than she liked. “It snows in the South?”
“It can, during a hard freeze, which I only recall less than a handful of times.” He shrugged. “They never stick and what little we have melts fast.”
“They’re plenty where I hail from. Pennsylvania can be covered for weeks with the stuff.”
He hummed. The noise held her too close, she decided, and turned to look in the storefronts near them.
“Christmas is almost here.” She eyed the ribbon bows on the dress hanging in the dressmaker’s shop. Christmas. Balls and soirees galore sprung up from what she could see in the morning post and the stack of invitations that filled Will’s front table in the foyer. She bit back a sigh of envy.
“Yes. Do you hear the carolers?”
She turned back to see him but said nothing, straining her ears for holiday music. The sounds echoed softly and she found the handful of singers just down the street, near the train station.
“Ah, yes. Very nice.”
Francois nodded. It was then she caught the shiver he tried to hide except his grip on her arm tightened along with the tremble she saw in his jawline.
“Perhaps we’ve been out too long,” she decided, determined to turn them around but he stopped her.
“Let’s walk in here and warm up.” He nodded toward the dressmaker’s shop.
Reluctantly, she agreed. They’d warm up and then head back. She didn’t want him to come down sick. He needed to recover and Will had to retrieve him, though she buried the wayward thought that it was nice to be so escorted…
Yes, it was cold. Francois swore to himself that the Yankees could have it, for he’d stay in his warm winter state any day. The chill had managed to work its way through the heavy winter overcoat he wore, and despite the work it took to walk and keep balanced while escorting a lady, he was freezing.
He was thrilled to escape the confines of the house. Ever since his capture, he’d discovered being bound in a hospital or prison made him feel way too confined with no escape. Hospital from his injury and prison, well, it was confinement. As to his nurse, or doctor as it were, he grew more and more aware of her chomping at the bit to break free herself. What she wanted in the long run, he couldn’t guess, except a husband, her own home and children, like most ladies. Then again, most ladies he knew had no formal medical training like her, so his assumption of throwing her into the lot with the rest was probably wrong.
As he eyed the stores they passed, he noticed several things. Mostly that Ada was a beautiful lady, but kept her beauty locked up in that tight bun, stark color dresses and no jewelry. Here, where she wasn’t under a military rule, she dressed more like a lady and he found that appealing, even though it wasn’t easy for her. The dress she wore, and it was the one she wore two days ago, looked like dresses he’d seen before the war and it showed mending. Apparently, she only had two dresses. Her hair was still pulled back, though now the bun was a mess of braids wound up in the back. She wore no earbobs, though he swore he could see holes in her lobes for them. All in all, she looked presentable, but he’d love to see her truly attired in the current styles, so the dressmaker’s shop caught his attention.
The bell above the door rang when they entered. The shop was large, with bolts of material on one side of the room, stacked on tables, with the other half filled with chairs, dressing screens and small tables where pastries sat and tea cups waited. But mostly important—the building was warm, heated with a warming stove placed near the center.
He went to warm his hands and noticed Ada, rubbing hers together, had floated over to the rack of silks. Given any other time, he’d order her a dress or two to have made. A time before the war, when he had thrown all away, simply to escape his heart.
“Good afternoon.”
He glanced up and found the proprietress standing nearby, a grin on her face. She wasn’t a young woman, years of experience etched into her face. But her eyes were warm and welcoming, a sight he hadn’t experienced much since joining the fight.
“Bonjour, madam.” He smiled. “Pardon our interruption of your day, but the cold drove us to seek any warm haven.”
The woman nodded. “Entirely understandable. Welcome to Madame Florissant’s Boutique. Your accent, ‘tis francais, n’est pas?”
He snorted. “Oui, merci beaucoup.”
“We have little of that here, now that the war is continued.” She sighed. Searching the table of accessories, she pulled a gray and navy plaid wool scarf and looped it over his head. “For the cold, monsieur.”
“Ah, merci, but I fail to have anything to pay you with.” The army prison had taken anything he had, failing to return it on his departure, though, that was an unplanned journey. Yet, it still irritated him.
“It is of little concern. I’d like to give it to you, for the cold, of course.”
He nodded. The North wasn’t so cold in nature, he decided. His gaze returned to Ada. She milled through the leather gloves, her fingertips skimming across the tops of them. Again, he noticed the outfit she wore, along with the lines on her face. He wondered what she was thinking, for her jawline was rigid, probably from gritting her teeth, he decided. All around her were silks and laces and ribbons.
“Madame Florissant, may I have a word with you?”
Ada’s nerves were on edge. Shops like this only reminded her of what her decision, to be a doctor and to help the Union Army, had made her give up. The Army needed any trained doctors it could find. The fact she was a woman, though, kept her away from actually doctoring the sol
diers, except…
She shook her head. No point on dwelling on what was done.
The gloves displayed on the table were lovely, but not useful in a hospital, nor on the warfront. However, the stack of men’s leather gloves sitting to the right, grabbed her attention. Her patient had bundled for the weather, thanks to Leonard’s butler who’d equipped the man in his employer’s spare coat. It made Ada want to giggle, that Leonard had clothed the Southerner, but she stifled the noise edging up her throat. The wool coat was sorely needed, as was the hat stuck on his head. However, he lacked gloves. His hands looked rather chaffed when she gazed at them, and nothing could make one colder than to lack a hat and gloves. So, while he conversed with the owner, she sneaked a pair of gloves, eying them on size, guessing they’d fit, and nodded to the young attendant that stood in the shadows. Slipping her the money for them, she pushed her purchase into her coat pocket and smiled.
It was then she noticed he was looking straight at her. She flattened her skirt, a nervous habit she’d picked up somewhere. The need to escape the finery made her miss Francois, who stood in her exit route. She ran right into him.
“I take it, my lady, you are warmed enough to continue?”
She nodded, her tongue in her throat. Why did this man, the enemy, make her heart skip a beat?
As they walked out of the shop, a loud commotion across the street flared up. Ada narrowed her gaze to find the source and there it was, plain as day. A marching group of freemen, beating a makeshift drum and chanting to set the slaves free. The scene excited her, for she longed for abolition, until the man politely escorting her, the one who held her elbow, tensed.
“This happen often?” he queried.
She cleared her throat. “A little more, since the war started, I’d gather.”
He growled. “Well, ain’t a sight I’d see down home.”
That made her snort. “No, I’d bet not.”
