Samantha's Secret (A More Perfect Union Series Book 3)

by Betty Bolte

  "We'll find a way to heal the wound and make you better." Samantha approached him and laid a hand on his forehead, feeling the heat before her fingers even touched the dry skin. She ignored Trent as he stepped closer, his proximity renewing the tremor in her hands. She busied them with checking the pulse in Benjamin's neck, praying Trent wouldn't notice. "Won't we?"

  Trent nodded as he touched the back of his fingers to Benjamin's brow. "I conferred with my father last evening about your condition. He agreed we need to bleed you to release the bad humors which will also help reduce the fever."

  Samantha frowned, considering the suggestion. In her experience, the results of scarification varied in extremes. Either the patient got better or they died. "Where would you cut him, and how much blood would be required?"

  Trent lifted a brow at her interrogation as he leaned toward Benjamin and motioned to his right forearm. "I believe below the wound is best. I'd make four small incisions and let them bleed until they fill the measured bowl I brought for the purpose. That should restore balance to his humors and allow him to rest comfortably."

  Benjamin's ashen face paled even more as he gripped the arms of the chair. "I don't profess to tolerate the sight of my own blood. I can handle others, but not my own. Must you employ bloodletting?"

  Trent regarded the man reclining on the chair. "It's that or rely on the old, unreliable ways like that putrid ointment Samantha concocted."

  Putrid? Had he no sense? She straightened her spine and crossed her arms, literally holding herself together so she wouldn't lash out at the maddening man. The tremor disappeared with the rush of anger his statement evoked. She could temporarily disable him with one swift move. One swift kick in a sensitive place. As a last effort to stop the flow of foolish commentary spewing from his mouth. "I told you, it's worked well for me, so you have no call in denouncing its effectiveness. Not to me."

  "I see. That's why you still limp, because it proved such a great solution?" Trent turned back to their patient, effectively dismissing her complaint as he addressed Benjamin. "You don't need to watch if you don't care to, my friend, but we should do this as soon as possible."

  "Why are you in such a hurry?" Samantha crossed her arms and regarded the two burly men. Surely they had time to give her simple the chance to work. She didn't cotton to releasing blood on a whim. "He's obviously against the idea. You should listen to your patient's desires."

  "The longer we wait the more out of balance his humors will become." Trent paused in his preparations to peer at Benjamin. "We can do the wait-and-see method and hope you improve. Or we can employ my method, which has a better success rate. What do you wish me to do?"

  "Very well." Benjamin released a bone-weary sigh and struggled to his feet with Trent's help. "Where do you wish for me to be? On the bed?"

  "That is best. Here, lean on me." Trent braced an arm around Benjamin's waist, supporting him as they slowly walked out of the common room.

  Yes, it was best for Benjamin to be on the bed so that when he fainted they wouldn't have to catch him. Benjamin had made his choice, so she'd abide by it. Samantha bit her lip as the two men disappeared into the bedroom ignoring her presence as if she were nothing more than a fly on the wall. Trent's treatment of her efforts made her seethe. Before she confronted Trent again, she must compose herself. Her entire life's work centered on seeking out effective ways to treat illness and injury. She'd read every book her father owned on topics ranging from politics to geography to medicine. Shadowed her mother on countless visits to the sick and hurt and dying, observing everything, assisting when asked, and comforting when needed. Sat patiently under the tutelage of the Cherokee and Creek shamans in order to fathom the intricate ways and interactions of various aspects of nature. Combined and tested a multitude of herbs with different types of dirt and ingredients such as chicken manure, animal hair, and spider webs. Learned about using unusual ingredients, such as ground quartz and even human urine, to effect a cure. Not every attempt succeeded, of course, but such was reality. Trent's disregard of her experience and abilities left an unpleasant taste of dismissal on her tongue.

  She trailed after them, pleased to find the tiny bedroom clean and boasting two windows permitting light and air into the small space. Trent eased Benjamin down to sit on the side of the bed. Then he strode back into the main room, brushing past her with a quick grin, and returned in a moment or two with his medicine bag. Agitation over his dismissal of her swirled with the jolt of lightning shooting through her as a result of that little boy smile. The leather bag he carried in one hand likely proved necessary in order to convey all of the tools of his profession. Some of which, she was sure, resembled butchering implements. Samantha disliked the idea of bloodletting, but she had witnessed its effectiveness several times. It failed nearly as often, however. Why did it work on some occasions but not others? The question plagued her thoughts. Similar to the ointment, it seemed no one treatment proved useful in all situations. Would it work for Benjamin? There was so much mystery surrounding the causes of illnesses. Maybe one day answers would come to light, but for the time being all healers worked blind.

  "After you finish, Trent, I'll apply my ointment." She smiled when he tensed but continued laying out his instruments. She would not let him ignore her or set aside what she could contribute. Her reputation as well as her friend's life were at stake. "The combination of our experience to determine the treatments will have the best chance of success. Agreed?"

  Trent busily removed a dry bowl from his bag to catch the blood, followed by a scalpel with its handle at a sharp angle to position the cutting blade more comfortably for the doctor to hold. Which of course did nothing to make the patient more comfortable with the idea of being sliced open while they watched. She suppressed a shiver. If only they could numb the area before cutting. The thought sent a shudder rocking across her shoulders and she folded her arms to quell the motion. She wouldn't have permitted him to perform such an act on her person, preferring the traditional ways of healers, whether white or Indian. The newer approaches left much to be desired in patient care and comfort, to her mind.

  She cleared her throat to draw Trent's attention. "I do wish we could wait a few days—"

  Trent frowned at her from where he kneeled in front of Benjamin, a look demanding for her silence, and then focused on Benjamin's arm. "Please, do not babble on about the alignment of the stars again."

  "Stars?" Benjamin raised both brows and peered at her. "What do the stars have to do with anything?"

  "Everything." Samantha moved so she could supervise Trent as he prepared to make the incisions. She had no time to inform Benjamin or Trent of the strong reasoning behind her beliefs or the history of its effectiveness. Still, they needed to understand why she persisted with her opinion. "Astrology is very important when it comes to knowing the best time for certain activities. Healing among them."

  "So you think we should delay the bloodletting?" Benjamin focused on her rather than Trent's hands. "Because the stars are not aligned properly?"

  Trent had strong, capable hands, with long fingers tapering to narrow tips making it easier to perform delicate tasks such as slicing and stitching. Or soothing a frightened child. Or even calming a distraught woman as her husband lay ill. Or dying from a bayonet wound. Stop. Focus. She returned her consideration to Trent's quickly moving hands.

  "Exactly. The stars and planets impact life forms on Earth and in the ocean. Connections reach between the many elements of our world, engaging with each other in ways we do not fully comprehend. Unfortunately, we cannot risk delaying." Samantha smiled to reassure her friend. "It's best we proceed posthaste to make you well so your loving woman does not wring my neck."

  Benjamin rewarded her with a weak smile. Samantha prevented a sad sigh from escaping when she considered the difference between his normal brazen grin and his current state. A flash of silver drew her attention to the scalpel in Trent's hand descending toward its questionable mission. Benjamin
's eyes widened and then screwed shut as he clenched his jaw against the new pain in his arm. With a prolonged moan, Benjamin slumped onto his side, his right arm stretched out where Trent gripped it.

  Samantha peered at the prone man and then up at Trent. "He passed out."

  "Good." Trent slit the skin three more times, the blood beading and then rushing upon its release into the wide, deep, pewter vessel resting on the floor beneath Benjamin's arm.

  "We'll leave them open until the bowl is full." Trent rose to his feet and wiped off the scalpel before wrapping it in a clean cloth and placing it back into the bag. "I suppose it's only right to allow you to try the ointment you brought."

  "Thank you. As long as we maintain respect for each other, partnering to aid Benjamin need not be uncomfortable for either of us." The moment had arrived when she could demonstrate the traditional methods remained as good as or better than the new practices Trent preferred. She would not permit him to impair her reputation in town, nor be pushed aside as inconsequential. A frisson of concern wiggled down her back at the half-grin he aimed her direction. He expected her attempt would prove the opposite. Steeling her resolve, she nodded. "I'll only be a moment."

  She hurried to retrieve the small jar. Snatching it off the table, she turned to go back to Benjamin's side, only to remember the clean cloth. Quickly grabbing it, she rushed into the chilly front bedroom. A glance at the bowl filling with blood revealed she had a few minutes before she could apply the aromatic mixture. She placed the items on the floor by the bed, arranging them within easy reach. What to do next? Her mother preached to her endlessly about idle hands being the devil's playthings. The scent of the ointment reached her nose.

  "Perhaps some fresh air will help revive him." She caught Trent's attention by folding her hands before her skirts. "Do you agree?"

  "Opening the windows may help, and it will reduce the odor of the ointment." He waved her toward the windows. "Please. While you do, I'll put pressure on the incisions so they stop bleeding."

  Crossing the small room in three strides, she pushed the windows open enough to allow the frosty morning air to rush inside. Sounds of the town coming to life on the street below filtered into the room. Drawing a deep breath, she relished the refreshing breeze. Soon, based on the fragrance filling the room, a cold rain would arrive and settle the dust on the street. She leaned out the window and watched a carriage pulled by two horses move past the many gentlemen and ladies walking on the road. Horses waited at hitching rails. Sandpipers and terns flitted, hopped, and flew up and down the thoroughfare. Rain clouds continued to darken and build to the west.

  "Miss Samantha, if you will, it's time to work your magic on him." Trent closed his bag with a sharp snap.

  "It is not witchcraft." She pulled back inside the room and then strode to the sleeping man's side. She opened the pot where she'd left it on the floor and then addressed Trent standing at the foot of the bed. "My way may seem like magic to the uninformed, but I'd think you would have a better appreciation since the traditional approach forms the basis for your practices."

  "Yet there'd be no need for improvements on something that worked without fail." Trent moved to stand behind her as she bent over Benjamin. "Let me see what you're doing."

  The combination of his nearness coupled with his distrust of her accelerated her pulse. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves as well as her hands. Ignore him. Concentrate. Using one corner of the soft linen cloth, she scooped the green ointment from the container and onto the wound, and then also on the four incisions. The salve should help them heal with as little scarring as possible. Satisfied, she straightened and wiped her hands on a clean corner of the rag. Then she froze when Trent's hands landed on either side of her waist, squeezing gently as he indicated with a gentle tug for her to step aside. Her pulse echoed in her ears at his touch. Gramercy, what next?

  "If you're finished, I'll bandage the wounds to keep them clean." His deep voice vibrated down her flesh, thrilling and daring. He seemed in no hurry to release her, but suddenly the aim behind his words sank in.

  Bandages? "No, do not." She spun around to keep him from following through on his intent. He stood too close. Her breasts brushed his chest and erupted in fiery tingles, which ignited a pulsing response between her legs. The backs of her knees struck the bedframe. Her eyes widened and she gasped before placing both hands on his arms and pushing him back a step. "They... The wounds must be left open." Her voice emerged weak and uncertain.

  "I—" Trent's gaze flicked to her mouth then back to meet hers. He closed the distance between them again but left a polite, if too small, gap between their bodies. He reached to grasp her arms. "I think..."

  "Wh-what happened?" Benjamin's gravelly voice sounded behind her, filling the pause left by Trent's sudden silence.

  Samantha pushed Trent away again with both hands, her nerves humming from the intensity of the unexpected emotion when they'd faced each other, chest to chest. She struggled to restore some shred of composure as she turned to smile at Benjamin, who sat rubbing his forehead with one hand. "You fainted, but it's over. Now you should rest."

  "We've done all we can for the moment." Trent stepped around Samantha to talk to their patient, one hand resting in the small of her back. "I'll come by later to check on you."

  "As will I." The audacity of the man. Samantha stepped to the side and shot a glare in Trent's direction as his hand fell away. "We're in this together."

  "Thank you for your concern and care." Benjamin raised one brow as he smirked first at Trent, then Samantha, and back again to Trent. "I'm glad you've worked out a way to join forces on my behalf."

  "Between us, we'll ensure you're fit as a fiddle long before your wedding day." Trent shook hands with Benjamin and then stepped away to pick up his bag. "Shall I walk you home, Samantha?"

  Gramercy, not if she could prevent it. "No, thank you. I have other patients to see." Besides, she needed to put distance between the two of them before she caught fire. Lifting her chin, she acknowledged first Benjamin and then Trent with a confidence she didn't feel. "With both of us caring for our friend, he'll be well in no time."

  "Yes, we shall make sure of it." Trent bade farewell to Benjamin and then ushered her outside. He slipped his hat on and then touched the brim before clattering down the long flight of steps to the ground below.

  Only after he'd turned the corner did she release the breath she'd held and then started to descend the stairs. She placed each foot carefully on a tread, slowly making her way to the ground. She fought the urge to run, hide, leave.

  The depth of awareness of Trent's every look, every movement, every word spoken, even the subtle scent clinging to him, set her on edge. Made her long to flee. Of course, she couldn't act on such tempting desires. Not with a patient needing her ministrations. What if her ointment failed? What if Benjamin died? She caught her breath at the memory of Trent's hands on her waist and then her body's visceral response to him. What if she fell in love with the one man who could ruin her?

  * * *

  The Neck never failed to depress Samantha. She should be used to it after the numerous visits she'd made. Yet something in the very air filtering into her lungs via quick shallow breaths conveyed a sense of hope held down by helplessness. Clapboard one-room houses desperate for a coating of whitewash flanked the rutted dirt road she traversed in a light carriage. The earlier rain shower had created a muddy mess of the street and left the afternoon cold and damp. Over the bobbing head of the chestnut horse pulling the conveyance, she nodded to several dark skinned women wearing somber gray dresses with white caps on their heads ambling toward her. The maids likely were on their way back to their small homes, such as they were, returning from working at the manor house farther up the road, out of sight of the slaves' quarters. Samantha pulled on the reins and halted her horse in front of a house distinguished by the swept front yard, a child sized hoop and stick waiting for its owner leaning against the step, and a smattering of
weary rose bushes guarding the front door. A wooden barrel sat half under the eaves of the low pitched roof, positioned to catch rain to provide fresh water for the occupants. The area in front of the house featured shimmering puddles from the recent showers scattered among the patches of grass and sand. Relief, sweet and sharp, flooded through her when Lydia greeted her from the open door.

  Great with child, Lydia moved with the cumbersome grace of a woman who had birthed five children. Her four sturdy boys had grown old enough to work out in the fields like their father, leaving the tired yet determined mother alone with her three-year-old daughter who ran past her and into the street. Lydia laughed, a deep chuckle rich with love, and eased down the one step to follow her daughter over to the carriage. The plantation owner had grudgingly released Lydia from her strenuous duties after Samantha intervened on her behalf as the time drew near for the baby to arrive. The only argument that had worked on the man ended up being based on money. She'd finally convinced him it was in his best interest to take the necessary precautions to avoid the potential loss of a valuable slave if the woman were to die in childbirth. Instead, Lydia worked on mending the other slaves' clothing. Even though she continued to contribute to the never-ending work of a plantation, the plantation owner had been terribly ugly about it. He'd pushed to the point of threatening to seek payment from her father should she fail to keep the woman healthy, but she'd pressed the matter until he relented. Observing her patient's deliberate movements, Samantha's relief grew. She'd done the right thing for her after all.

  "Miss Samantha! Miss Samantha!" The child's high-pitched voice sang out her greeting as she danced in front of the house, the hem of her brown dress jumping about dirty knees.

  "Good day, Angel." Samantha wrapped the reins around the brake and stepped quickly from the carriage in time to scoop the little one into her arms. "I've missed your smile."