by Betty Bolte
Benjamin nodded and then winced at the movement. "I believe Amy is right. Some rest may help alleviate my discomfort."
Trent cast a practiced eye over his new friend and patient, concerned at the pallor, the tension, and fatigue accompanying the trauma associated with the gunshot wound. He'd require assistance and observation. "I'll go with you."
Benjamin waved him off, then permitted Amy to take his arm as much needed support. "I'll be fine tonight. Just tired. But tomorrow, come tomorrow."
"I'll be there at first light." The combined effects of Benjamin's symptoms concerned him, but by delaying until the next day he had time to consult with his father and his extensive library of medical texts. "Go home and rest. Nothing else. I'll see you in the morning."
"We both will." Samantha patted Amy's shoulder before the couple slowly strolled down the winding path toward the arbor draped with dormant rose vines. They passed under the shadowy arch and disappeared into the waiting street beyond. "I do hope he's had a brief relapse which shall pass."
Emily shook her head. "I have a bad feeling about all of this, Samantha."
"As do I." Samantha folded her arms, her gaze lingering on the spot where Benjamin and Amy had disappeared.
"Em, I should see you home as the hour grows late, and I must be up early on the morrow." Frank crooked his arm to receive the weight of Emily's hand tucked around his elbow. "If you'll excuse us, Miss Samantha."
"Certainly." Samantha grinned after the couple strolling down the garden path. She turned back to Trent and sighed. "I suppose I should start winding up this affair. If you'll excuse me?" She tilted her head and then pivoted in preparation to move away.
Trent's heart raced as she turned to leave. He couldn't let her escape. Not yet. "Walk with me, Miss Samantha?" He didn't want to let her go even though she left him unsettled and defensive. For one thing, he wanted to understand her plan. For another, intriguingly, she enthralled him with her beauty, her voice, her smile, as fleeting as he'd seen it. "We should discuss our plans for Benjamin."
She paused to evaluate his request for a moment before nodding once, her black hair, pulled up in an intricate style with a cascade of curls, dancing about her shoulders. "Would you be so kind as to hand me a glass of wine from the tray? I'm parched."
"Very well, my fair queen." He made an elaborate bow, a brow lifted as he smiled at her, tempting her to play along with his charade. He wanted to win her over, to know her not on a professional level but on a personal one.
Startled, her eyes grew wide and then she blinked before raising the back of her hand to her brow and leaning as though about to fall. "Pray hurry, kind sir, before I faint away from lack of wine."
She had a sense of humor after all. Grinning, he clasped her hand and pulled her upright. "Indeed. Stay here while I search for a bolstering beverage for your enjoyment." His smile spread as he turned to seek out the refreshment.
After a quick skim of the crowd, he spotted a young black woman slowly moving among the guests. Motioning to her, he waited for the girl to reach him, her long black gown relieved only by a white frilly apron and matching kerchief about her neck. As he watched her approach, sidling between a host of fellow residents as they laughed and chatted, it occurred to him every person in attendance at Samantha's party would need to be convinced his way of practicing the healing arts surpassed those of their friend and neighbor. Samantha had won the esteem of many, which also indicated their belief in her abilities. Changing their opinions of who to trust would prove a daunting task, but he'd had a great deal of practice at being persistent and even pigheaded if it came down to it. If he had any hope of seeing his ultimate goals come to pass, he needed a plan of his own.
Finally, the girl wended her way close enough and Trent snagged two flutes from the tray. He turned to offer one to Samantha, unsure of exactly what he wanted to relay to her. "M'lady."
"Thank you, kind sir." She lowered her hand to receive the glass and flashed a grin before sipping the garnet-colored wine. "I feel better already. Did you have something you wished to discuss?"
"Nothing specific." He motioned to the path leading away from the lamplight toward the shadows of the garden. As they walked, perhaps he'd fasten upon a proper starting point for their conversation. He simply had to stop staring at her so he could formulate a coherent thought not centered upon the complications resulting from his strong attraction to her. "Shall we?"
She stepped off and he matched her stride, surprised to note her limping ever so slightly as they strolled together along the path. He considered offering his arm, but she stayed far enough apart to suggest she wouldn't welcome such an act. Although he no longer trusted the simples of a healer, the quantity and variety of plants they strolled past impressed even him. Indeed, the source of most medicines based on organic compounds could be readily produced using the plants in the extensive and inviting garden. The collection alone increased the value of the property despite its less than ideal location in town. So many of the buildings surrounding the house had burned in recent years, due to accidents and bombardments, until the area felt abandoned.
"Might I inquire as to the cause of your limp? How did you hurt yourself?" He held his breath. She might very well reveal a dark and questionable past with her explanation. Or the story might be related to a simple injury while working among her medicinal herbs. Regardless, would she entrust the details to him?
Her dark jade eyes flashed his direction then slid away. She lifted one shoulder and then let it settle back into place. Her gaze searched the black velvet heavens, a sliver of moon hanging over the party. On a long sigh, she said, "From behind the house, the stars are shining brighter, don't you think?"
He could take a hint. Her business, not his. He'd probably react the same way, assuming he had a secret regarding his past. Smiling to himself, he nodded. "Indeed."
She studied the sky for several strides. "This is not a good time for treating Benjamin's wound."
Frowning, Trent mulled over her words. What did she mean? He lifted his gaze to match the direction in which she looked. The cool evening air chilled around him as her meaning crystallized. "Please tell me you don't believe the stars' alignment has anything whatsoever to do with how well medicine works."
She tucked her shawl more tightly about her shoulders as she turned down a side path. "Absolutely. I'm surprised your fancy education didn't include an appreciation for the intricacies of nature's relationships."
"No, no, no." He shook his head for emphasis on his point. "I do not mean to offend, but this is one reason why I believe the old ways are based on fallacy and superstition."
"Yet they've proven successful for millennia."
"Success, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder."
"Mayhap. How do you define it then?"
Trent examined the points of light in the sky, mulling her question and taking his time formulating a response. A nightingale pierced the quiet surrounding them, the distant hum of the other guests creating a supportive consonance to their conversation. "Success means methodologies and practices which yield the same results each time they are employed. Despite which doctor uses them, the time of year or what constellations are visible."
Samantha laughed out loud, a light trill of sound reminiscent of a warbler. "How do you expect every doctor to have the same results? Depending on not only the time of year but also on the options at hand, each will have different experience and capabilities. You said as much yourself, no doctor can cure everything."
"I intend to found a new hospital with trained doctors from around the globe." His pace quickened as he spoke of his dreams. He'd been working toward his goal since childhood when he comprehended not knowing the cause of an illness led to a person's death. He swallowed the emotion threatening to choke off his air. "After the fighting ends and Americans can begin to truly establish who we are as a country. Then my hospital will be among the leaders in medical advances, rivaling the hospital in Edinburgh itself."
Samantha halted abruptly, her skirts eddying about her ankles. She regarded him for two breaths, a frown forming. "And as a result, you'll force healers such as myself out of business?"
Her fierce expression gave him pause. Made him reconsider blurting out the simple, "naturally," forming on his tongue. He'd learned at university he needed to work on diplomacy, improving his manners when working with patients. For that matter, people in general. But standing in front of this woman, he wanted her good opinion of him, and moreover he needed her to be in his life. He wouldn't make a stupid blunder which would jeopardize that possibility. He swallowed and hedged. "Not necessarily, no."
"But if it happens, so be it. Is that what you're saying?" She propped fists on hips, a scowl emphasizing her position on his plans. "You have no right to wipe away my practice in order for you to have one. The people will have a say in the matter."
"They will definitely have a say, and I'm afraid you'll find them flocking to the proven methods good doctors use. I'm sure they will see it's in their best interest." Trent studied the play of emotions competing in her expression. Perhaps she didn't realize the benefits she'd reap as his plan unfolded. Perhaps a gentle reminder would go a long way to smoothing out her ruffled feathers. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be happier tending your home without all the worry associated with caring for the ill and frail. You can still be a midwife, even if you're not a healer as you are now. After all, you'll want to find a good man to marry and bear his children."
She raised one brow. "Do not presume to fathom what would make me happy. You do not have the right, Dr. Trent. We shall work together to please Benjamin, but nothing more. Now, if you're through deciding my life for me, I have ignored my real guests for far too long." With a curt nod, she spun and hurried back down the path.
What had he said wrong? He trailed after her, sauntering along the winding path as he considered the equally intriguing and infuriating woman. Reviewing their conversation, he found nothing unreasonable in his opinion. She must have simply misinterpreted his intent. Women. Leave it to the female of the species to take affront at common sense observations. Over time, she would come to appreciate the sensibility of his words.
Chapter 2
Soft sunlight washed across the street, urging the birds to awaken and serenade the day from their nests in the young trees planted along the thoroughfare. Low clouds hung to the west, the scent of rain heavy on the chill breeze. Samantha's dark blue skirts stirred up swirls of dust with each marching step. Deep concern for Benjamin's welfare had spurred her to rise extra early to finish preparing the stronger ointment she'd decided to try. She shifted the clay pot, wrapped in a red and white checkered cloth, to rest on one hip. The scent of ground cinnamon, mace, and cloves mixed with cow and hens dung lingered in the air as she hurried along Queen, past the burned out shells of houses intermixed with newly rebuilt homes, then turned right onto Bay. The stark memory of the terrifying fires of 1778 burning through nearly half of the town chilled her. Those buildings had stood so close to her parents' house that they'd nearly lost their home in the conflagration. She pulled her cloak tighter to ward off the cold inside as well as the wind whipping by. A large hunting dog loped across the street in front of her, disappearing down an alley. She calculated the time based on the sun's angle and then hastened her pace. Perchance she'd arrive before the egotistical Dr. Trent interfered. Again.
His idea that she'd want to tend home and hearth instead of, not in addition to, caring for others galled until she quivered in outrage. Who did he think he was, taking such a high-handed view of her future? Speaking of which... Upon her return home, she'd sit down with Evelyn and help her plot out possible options, as well. The poor woman could not stay upstairs, cloistered in a room with her baby, forever. She must face her fate, as Samantha well understood. Her steps carried her swiftly down the street, her thoughts spinning and diving like the river in the sky created by unending flocks of migrating starlings.
The slender woman, so beaten down by her husband's heavy handed ways, showed courage in the face of the threat the day before. She'd been like a mother lion, protecting her young cub from the renegades only a day after bringing him into the world. That courage echoed the same kind of strength Samantha was known for, and would serve the young widow well as she gathered the pieces of her life and strode forward. With a flash of a smirk, Samantha realized she and Evelyn shared another status, though one few others knew about.
In due course, she arrived at Captain Sullivan's warehouse, which remained closed so early in the morning. The row of silent two-story buildings stood as a testament to the resiliency of the populace. Fire had destroyed half of the buildings, but they'd already been replaced with new brick and wood structures. Their freshly painted walls and shining windows fronted on the river and the harbor beyond. Hard to believe they'd only recently been built. She shook her head, recalling tales of the numerous out of control fires the town had battled over the years. Thoughts for another day. She slipped down the private alley and turned to hurry up the flight of wooden steps leading to the rooms above the shop, where Benjamin had taken up temporary quarters. She rapped on the door three times. While she waited, she surveyed the area stretching in either direction behind the row of businesses.
The rear of the store faced a narrow lane with white-washed clapboard houses on the other side. Down the way, she spotted the blacksmith opening the livery for business, carriages and various iron pieces visible as mute testimony of the man's skill. Beside the livery, a cabinetmaker's sign swung in the wind in front of a narrow single house, the entry door on the left side leading presumably into the dwelling's rooms as evidenced by the windows on the right. Next to that, a double house—one with rooms flanking a central hall rather than having the hall on one side and rooms along the other side as in a single house—boasted a sign advertising the tavern famous for its food and music performances. Indeed, taverns as a place of business and social activity constituted the most popular kind of business in Charles Town. Artisans followed close behind, providing bricklaying, glass making, leather tanning, and silversmithing. She loved the port city and its people, so varied and vibrant in times of peace. She wanted nothing more than to continue as healer and midwife, to give back to them after all they had done for her. Especially, after her disastrous adventure brought her home, reeling.
The door swung open behind her and she spun around, a smile in place at the hope Benjamin felt well enough to be on his feet. That the poultice she'd applied would yield the usual outcome, and he'd beam right back at her before long.
"Good morning." Trent angled his torso in a half bow and winked. "I'm glad you decided to join us, my lady."
Fiddlesticks. She clutched the cloth-wrapped package closer as her smile stretched into a nervous grin she feared revealed the depth of her unsettled emotions swirling through her in the man's company. What in the world was wrong with her? She wrestled her lips into a softer more normal line. Something about the handsome and exasperating man set her senses on fire, snatching her breath and leaving her legs trembling. And making her behave like a silly schoolgirl with an inappropriate crush on the teacher. But she'd come out to this part of town for Benjamin's benefit, not Trent's. She refused to appear any less confident than him.
"It's not as late as all that." She squared her shoulders before brushing past him when he stepped back. "What have you done with Benjamin? How does he fare?"
She paused inside the door to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior, finally spotting Benjamin sitting in a large cushioned chair by the crackling fire. His head rested on the back of the chair, eyes closed, apparently dozing. From where she stood across the room, a discernible tension pinched his pale features. Gramercy. Not better, then.
Early the afternoon previous, he'd seemed fine. A touch tired, mayhap, but what else could any one expect after the strain of the morning? But last evening, he'd seemed almost normal and then without warning he appeared weaker. What had changed? S
he searched her memory of the previous night, without locating a reason for the change.
"Still in some distress, unfortunately." Trent nudged the door closed. He strode to stand with her as she continued observing Benjamin, trying to assure herself of his condition. After a moment, her attention was drawn by Trent shifting beside her, positioning himself closer at her side. Trent frowned as he blinked at her and then stared at the cloth-wrapped package in her hands. "What is that terrible smell?"
She stiffened at the hint of derision laced through his words. "A green ointment I made to help heal the wound and lessen the amount of bruising."
He huffed at her description, nose wrinkling. "What's in it? Manure?"
"Yes, naturally, that is one of the ingredients. Mixed with many powerful herbs and spices. Oh, and black dew snails of course. It's one of the stronger poultices I have and will surely help him heal."
"If the stench doesn't kill us all first." He waved a hand in front of his face, his features screwed into a disgusted expression.
"Such is the petulant whine of a child, doctor." She turned and laid the package and her medicine bag on the square table situated under the single window with a lone ladder-back chair for company. Tugging off her gloves, she placed them on the wood surface, beside the lit oil lamp, and glanced over her shoulder at Trent. "The ointment has worked marvels for me over the years when the need arose."
"I hope the need never arises again." Trent grimaced, moving away from where she stood. "But when have you used it successfully in the past?"
She began unwrapping the cloth, revealing the gray clay pot with its red stopper. She turned to Benjamin, his countenance reflecting an unacceptable amount of pain. They must do something to make him comfortable. "For the injury to my thigh last year. Is Benjamin awake, do you think?"
"Yes, I am." Benjamin opened his eyes, his trademark grin fleeting as he shifted his position. "Wish I wasn't, though."
