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

by Betty Bolte

  Damnation. They were back to discussing medicine again. He detected a stiffening of her shoulders along with an erratic pulse at the base of her throat. Had she steered the conversation back to medicine because it was a safer topic? Was she unsure of herself around him? What a compliment, as he had wondered if she felt anything for him. Keeping a straight face in light of her nervous reaction proved challenging. "Silk is my current preference. However, one of my professors, Dr. Philip Physick, has been experimenting with leather sutures that actually dissolve in the body. That would be something to see. But enough shop talk, my dear. Let's enjoy our dinners, shall we?"

  "Dissolving sutures?" Samantha gaped at him. "I've never heard of such a wonder."

  Trent bobbed his head and grinned. "I learned so much at college, but I wish this war hadn't prevented me from studying in Edinburgh. That's where the real advancements are being made."

  "What of fevers? Is there progress on the best way to banish the heat from the body?"

  "I did hear of a pair of doctors who cured a man of his fever using a series of treatments." Trent sipped his ale, contemplating the interest shining from her eyes. "As I recall, it was up in North Carolina."

  "What did they do?" She spooned a bite of stew between her perfect teeth and he briefly wished he could be the spoon.

  Focusing his attention with no little difficulty, he shrugged. "I do not know for certain everything they might have tried. All I heard was they applied a blister between his shoulders, gave him medicine to open his pores and bowels, and fed him wine and other stimulating drinks."

  "To what aim?" Samantha leaned forward, a slight frown clouding her eyes. "Their method contradicts all my training. What happened?"

  "They induced a sweat, and within a couple of days he was improving." Trent took a bite of stew, chewing slowly while Samantha regarded him in silence.

  "So we should blister him and force wine down his throat and then make him sweat in order to reduce the fever?" She shook her head. "That combination makes no sense."

  "You might be correct in your appraisal, because two weeks later the man died." Trent lifted a spoonful, ready to eat it. "But without the trial and error of knowledgeable doctors, it would be impossible to narrow the possibilities down to only those that work."

  She pursed her lips and nodded. "Perhaps I was hasty to dismiss your education and experience." She stirred her stew, slipping another spoonful into her mouth as she studied him. She dabbed her mouth with the napkin and replaced it in her lap. "We could learn from each other's experiences."

  "Maybe." Trent leaned back on his chair. "You do have quite a bit to catch up on."

  Damnation. He'd said the wrong thing. Yet again, his propensity to blurt out whatever popped into his brain put him at odds with a beautiful woman. He could tell from the way she regarded him, eyes glittering, brows pulled down, and lips pressed into a line.

  Samantha placed her spoon in the bowl with care, pulled the napkin from her lap and put it beside the bowl. She met his gaze, silently perusing his face. "I've enjoyed our talk, Dr. Trent, but I'm afraid I must be on my way."

  Back to the formal address again. He sighed. It was his own fault. "Please, you've barely touched your dinner. If I have offended you, I apologize." He rose as Samantha stood. They were of nearly equal height, but he gazed down at her for a long moment. "It was not my intent. Won't you stay?"

  She held still as a marble statue for several seconds, then shook her head. "My cloak, if you please." She tugged her gloves on and waited for him to retrieve the garment and ease it onto her shoulders. Tying it closed, she paused to meet his gaze. "Thank you for dinner. It was enlightening."

  "My pleasure. I hope we can do it again sometime." Soon, too. If he hadn't blurted out that comment, perhaps she'd have stayed long enough to really become acquainted. Instead, she turned to make her way through the crowded tavern. "Miss Samantha, let me walk you home, please?"

  She looked over her shoulder at him, frowning. "Mayhap I'll see you at Benjamin's. Good-night."

  "Fare well." Without another word, she wove a path through the other customers. Away from him. Away from them. If only the elements of his life would come together, maybe he could find peace and contentment. But as long as Samantha resisted being with him, he had a nearly insurmountable feat to perform. How does a man make a woman fall in love with him?

  * * *

  Samantha strolled toward home along Bay, leaving behind the bustling McCrady's Tavern. Why had Trent spoiled the evening by denigrating her education just as she had started to like the man? Friendship with the enticing doctor might be the most she could expect from him, especially if he continued to dismiss her abilities. Catherine Manning nodded in greeting as she hurried by, the empty basket dangling on her arm an indicator she aimed to visit the public market over at the corner of Church and Cumberland. If so, Caroline best hurry before they packed up their wares for the day. The sun hung low in the sky, emphasizing the contours of houses and trees as well as the lateness of the hour. A cool cat's paw breeze caressed Samantha's cheeks, prompting her to snug her cloak closer. She turned onto Queen, recalling the harsh expulsion of Mr. William Johnson and his family during the Briton's capture of the town. Mr. Johnson had been overtly critical of the British and an ardent patriot, and thus they'd thrown him in the prison at St. Augustine and his entire family was banished. With good fortune, they'd be able to return to their home soon, the one that stood right down the alley she glanced at as she lengthened her stride. For the moment, she must reach her own house as soon as possible. Quickening her pace, she soon strode up the front steps of her home and pushed inside.

  She hung her cloak on a peg by the door before making her way into the parlor, following the sound of voices in serious conversation. Her mother sat relaxed by a cheery fire, while her father stood with one foot balanced on the andirons and an arm resting on the mantel. Evelyn looked up from where she sat on the settee facing her parents, her infant son cradled in her arms, and smiled at Samantha.

  Relief flowed through Samantha at how well and content Evelyn appeared. Clear gray-green eyes regarded Samantha before blinking twice. Since losing her husband mere days before, the stoop to the woman's shoulders had eased, allowing her to sit straight and proper, hinting at a tall, elegant posture. Dressed in one of Samantha's day dresses, Evelyn presented a tidy and graceful young mother. Given enough time, the woman would surely recover from the oppression her husband had bestowed upon her. Samantha returned her smile as she entered the cozy room.

  "I'm happy to see you. Your mother told me all about poor Benjamin. After all he did for us, I detest he's enduring such hardship." Evelyn patted the empty seat beside her and then jostled her baby to quiet his murmurings. "Come sit with me. How does Benjamin fare?"

  How, indeed? Samantha crossed to sink gratefully on the deep cushion, the plush pad welcome after spending the afternoon on the hard carriage seat and then the hard wood chair at the tavern. "He's not well, but Trent and I shall do everything in our power to help him improve."

  "Should you need my advice, I shall be pleased to confer with you." Cynthia sipped sherry from a small crystal glass, her gaze fixed on Samantha. "I do have some experience in such matters."

  "Thank you, Mother." Despite the offer of assistance, Samantha couldn't rely upon her mother if she were to effectively and decisively demonstrate her skills to Trent. She had to do this on her own or not at all, but her mother simply wouldn't understand her reasoning. In fact, she'd most likely take it personally. Best to change the subject and not delve into the matter. "Evelyn, how is little Jim faring this evening?"

  "He's doing well." Evelyn smiled down on her son who lay snuggled in her arms. His dark hair covered his tiny head while his fingers clutched the edge of the soft blanket swaddling his body. She raised her gaze to contemplate Samantha, a smile sliding into place. "Thanks to you."

  Samantha nodded in acknowledgement, grateful beyond words for the kindness in the sentiment. "A
nd what about you?"

  "I am well, but I fear I must not wear out my welcome with you gracious people." She glanced at Samantha's parents and back again. "My gratitude knows no bounds for your welcome. However, my parents sent word this afternoon that they insist, despite my initial misgivings, their house has room for me and my son as well as my personal slave, Belinda. So we shall move into my parents' town house and relieve your family of having us as a burden to your fine household."

  Aaron strode to the sidebar in five long steps. He poured his nightly brandy and a glass of sherry, then approached Samantha to hand her the crystal glass half-full of garnet-colored wine before crossing to a chair near his wife. He sank onto the cushioned seat, sipping his brandy from the elegant crystal glass reserved for the purpose. "A wise move, to be with your family in times such as these."

  "Indeed." Cynthia nodded, her gaze sliding from Evelyn to rest on Samantha. "Family always takes care of their own. Don't you agree, Aaron?"

  "One way or another, yes, family cares for family." Aaron rested his glass on a crossed knee as he let his words linger in the air. He regarded Samantha until she squirmed and looked away. "And Evelyn, my dear, you must think of us as your extended family from here on."

  Evelyn as family? A superb idea. She'd always wanted a sibling, and now perhaps she'd have one. "Then it is settled. We will be sisters from this moment." Samantha smiled at Evelyn as she clasped her hands together and laid them in her lap. "I will help you move to your home in the morning. But what will you do then?"

  Evelyn lifted her shoulders and let them slide back into place. "That is a query which must wait for another day. My entire future changed with the death of my husband and the destruction of his family home."

  "Most assuredly." Samantha glanced at her parents, silently pondering the emotions flickering in their expressions. Family needs remained her first priority. She raised her glass of sherry, the others slowly mirroring her actions. "To my new sister, new beginnings, and to families sticking together no matter what." She sipped, hoping against hope for her wishes to come to pass.

  Chapter 4

  Over the next three days, Samantha trudged down Queen and turned onto Bay to visit Benjamin each morning and reapply the ointment, but hoping for a change in his condition for the better. Trent also tended to him, had even bled their patient twice more, though the second time he had done so with reluctant skill and Benjamin's even more reluctant agreement. Nothing they had tried seemed to turn the tide in Benjamin's favor. Surely something had changed to cause his sudden weakness, but what? The mystery surrounding the precipitous debility plagued her thoughts. The story of the feverish man being sweated to break the fever haunted her thoughts as well. Why had the blister and other efforts succeeded in ending the fever but not in curing the man? Yawning, she mounted the stairs to his apartment and rapped on the door three times before pushing inside.

  The common room greeted her with cold silence and a suspicious smell. She inhaled deeply and then coughed at the pungent scent. Clearing her throat, she waited for her thoughts to clear. Too many late nights poring over her herbals and simples left her brain muzzy. She sniffed, recognizing the worrisome odor of dying flesh. Damnation. First task of the morning, arrest the advance of her worst fear, the devilish gangrene.

  She marched across the empty room and into the stuffy bedroom. Benjamin sprawled on the bed, covers twisted about as though he'd tossed and turned for hours. His hair lay matted to his head, fine lines carved between his drawn brows. Gripping the tiny pot of the strongest ointment she'd ever mixed, one concocted by drawing upon both her father's extensive resources and her own knowledge of medicinal interactions, she rushed to his side.

  "Benjamin, are you awake?" She pressed a hand to his hot forehead, his fever warming her flesh. She jostled him. "Ben?"

  He blinked open bloodshot eyes. "Is it morning? I feel awful."

  He looked awful. She perused his features and shook her head. The mystery had only deepened since the last time she'd seen him. "I brought another, stronger medicine. Can you sit up?"

  "If I must." He moaned and closed his eyes for a moment, opening them to fix bleary eyes on her worried face. Concentrating, he pushed one-handed against the mattress, attempting to shift into a sitting position, only to collapse. He shook his head, flopped back on the bed. "Sorry."

  "It's all right." Every day he grew weaker, more ill. The debility seemed to have begun at the harvest dinner, but somehow she must find a way to halt its progress. Fear for his life swelled inside her heart, impeding her ability to draw a steady breath. "Stay where you are."

  "What is wrong with me?" Benjamin shook his head again, a slow movement from side to side. "Why won't it heal?"

  "I do not know, my friend." She gripped his good hand and then opened her red bag. "But I will find the answer. You have my word."

  With efficient movements, she cleaned the boundaries of the seeping wound, inspecting its condition carefully. She detected the earliest signs of gangrene threatening the lower edge of the gaping hole the bullet had torn in his right shoulder. Quickly, she wiggled and then popped the cork on the clay pot, the strong scent of cloves and cinnamon filling her nostrils, and applied the odiferous concoction until the reddish ointment completely covered the wound.

  Wiping her hands on a clean rag, she judged his condition. Pale, sweaty, sunken cheeks. So frail and weak. Nothing at all like the robust man who'd saved her and Amy a mere week ago in the forest. Nor the man who'd fought off the renegades surrounding the manor house. The fever must break. Although, other patients had survived recurring ailments, like dysentery or malaria, with the intermittent or even continual low fever associated with the illnesses. As long as the temperature didn't climb too high, he stood a chance of recovering. But the gangrene was a different matter entirely. If it spread, grew out of control, the only recourse remained amputation. What else could she try if the ointment failed to halt the progression of dying skin?

  "Benjamin, can you hear me?" She squeezed his hand to rouse him. "I'm going to make a pot of tea for you to sip. Can you drink it?"

  He stirred, nodded. "If you'll help."

  "Of course. I'll be back in a moment." At least he could still speak and comprehend his situation. "Rest until I return."

  She grabbed her bag, hurried into the common room, and crossed to the fireplace. A pile of ashes sat in the center of the brick hearth. Damnation. Somebody had not tended it properly, a situation she'd make sure to correct. It was a good thing she didn't rely upon slave labor to keep house, or she wouldn't have the necessary skills to remedy the lack of a fire. She quickly cleaned out the ashes using a small shovel to transfer them into the wooden bucket reserved for such use. Then she laid some tinder in the center of the brick hearth and added a few twigs of varying size to the pile. Snatching the metal fire striker and piece of flint from the small tinder box, she struck them together, pleased to finally see a few small sparks with each strike. After several attempts, she managed to relight the fire, a low flame licking the twigs as she added a few larger sticks and then several logs from the rack to one side. When the fire blazed hot enough, she wiped her hands and turned to make the special tea she'd brought to try to help Benjamin combat the fever.

  She poured water from the urn into a black pot and hung it on a hook, before swinging the pot over the licking flames. While she waited for the water to heat, she straightened up the room from their earlier visits. She spied a silver tea service and set of porcelain cups resting on a shelf beside the chimney. Although the silver could use a good polishing, it would suffice for the occasion. The cups rattled on their saucers as she hurried to move the set to the table. Propping fists on hips, she contemplated her next move. With so few items contained in the room, her options for keeping busy were limited. The place needed a woman's touch to make it more comfortable and useful. Mayhap Amy could help in that regard. For now, there was little to be done except for the tidying she'd already accomplished. All she had lef
t was waiting for the water to boil. Finally, after long minutes, she spotted steam rising from the kettle. She slipped a packet and a small container of honey from her bag and brewed the tea using special fever-reducing herbs she'd gathered from the garden earlier in the season, and then dried and blended them for greatest potency. Stirring a spoonful of honey into the pot, she sniffed and smiled. Perfect.

  She carried the tray into the bedroom and set it on the night table before pouring the fragrant brew into a cup. "Benjamin, let me help you sit up."

  He grunted and shoved at the covers. She gently slipped an arm under his shoulders and lifted. Together, they wrestled him upward, moaning and breathing hard, into position against the headboard. She wiped a hand over her own brow to dry the perspiration gathered there. Resting his head against the wooden board, he panted until his breathing calmed. He squinted at her, the extent of his weariness evident. "I'm tired of feeling this way. I have important duties to perform."

  Samantha retrieved a cup and held it to Benjamin's lips for him to sip and swallow. "I'm afraid your duties must wait until you've recovered your strength."

  "The Governor may disagree with you." He sipped, focusing on the cup clashing with his chattering teeth. A few more swallows and Benjamin drained the remainder of tea from the vessel. He flopped his head back with a thump against the headboard. "I'm cold and so tired. Please, Samantha, help me."

  "I'm doing my best." Which may not be good enough, but she wouldn't stop trying until she'd exhausted every possibility. Cold resolve fought with the uncertainty in her heart. "Do not fear."

  He huffed a chuckle which set him into a fit of coughing. After he'd finished, he shook his head at her, the glimmer of his trademark grin flitting across his lips. "Too late for that."

  The front door clicked open in the other room and banged closed. Footsteps followed, heralding Trent's arrival in the bedroom. Samantha sensed his concern before she turned to greet him, a concern she shared. At the same time, another worry invaded her heart. Trent's presence focused her awareness on the attraction she couldn't deny she felt for the frowning man staring at Benjamin. Did he not feel the draw, the pull to move closer? She chided herself for her foolish response and forced her attention on what Trent was saying rather than the impressive physical attributes of the man.