I rushed over to him and knelt down and said frantically, “I will get you help.”
As I sped through the woods and back to the mansion, I couldn’t stop thinking of his platinum-blond hair and his sea green eyes and the way he cried out for my help. I called out for Hamilton, Curtis P. Boyd, anyone.
Eugenia appeared on the gallery, with Mammy steps behind.
“What is it, Amelia?” Eugenia snapped.
Hamilton came around the corner.
“A Confederate soldier in the woods . . . he’s wounded!” I rushed to explain. “Come quick.”
“Hamilton, go with her. Take Abigail with you and see what this is about.”
“I saw him lying there . . . I wasn’t sure if he was dead. He isn’t, but I think he will die any minute.” I was frantic and out of breath. I stopped against a tree to catch my breath, while Mammy waited with me.
“He’s a few yards away from the swimming hole,” I said to Hamilton, and pointed in the right direction.
“Take some breaths, Miss Amelia. We don’t need you passing out,” Mammy said.
“I’ve never seen anything so gruesome. There was blood everywhere!”
“It’s gonna be all right. Stop frettin’ now.”
Hamilton came back with the man lying half dead in his giant arms. Mammy rushed over and lifted his shirt to see where all the blood was coming from.
“Been stabbed, lots of times,” she said. She tore off her apron and tied it tightly around the man’s trunk.
“We have to hurry. Get him back to the big house!”
Hamilton laid the man in the bedroom down the hall from mine, and Mammy got right to work. Eugenia stood overseeing the nursing, and I stood back in the far corner so I wouldn’t be too close to all that blood. Mammy cleaned each one of the half-dozen wounds with soap and a warm rag as the man winced in agony. Hamilton held the man’s hands back so he would stop trying to fight Mammy off in his delirium. Eugenia went through the pockets of his uniform, looking to identify him, but there was nothing with his name on it at all.
After she pulled every pocket open, she leaned over him, and quietly asked, “What is your name?”
Mammy had just finished sewing him up, and for some reason Eugenia thought he could speak. He was breathing deeply, covered in sweat, and softly moaning from all the pain.
“Not now, Mrs. Arrington. Needs his rest. In time, we learn who he is.” She reached out to touch Eugenia’s hand. Eugenia snapped her arm back, and I thought she would reprimand Mammy for speaking without permission. But Eugenia’s said nothing, surprisingly, and she left the room.
Mammy stayed with the man most evenings as he fought a terrible infection. The doctor came by and gave some medicine for the pain, and said there was not much more he could do. During the day, Eugenia assigned me to watch over the ill man.
“Do as Abigail instructs. If anything changes and he wakes, be sure to let me know right away.”
Each day, after a small breakfast, I relieved Mammy of her watch. I did just as she said. I wiped his sweated brow with a cool cloth, had him try and swallow warm chicken broth, changed the oozing bandages, to my revulsion, and then just sat and watched and waited for his heavy lids to open. The man must not have been older than twenty-five. His hair, now washed, was a bright platinum blond, thick and wavy. He initially appeared to be at good weight and rather muscular. I couldn’t help but gaze at him when I changed his bandages; it certainly took my mind off looking at the gross wounds. While he slept in what the doctor called a coma, his eyes fluttered madly underneath his lids. I imagined he was dreaming of the dreadful attack, certainly from a Union soldier. To ease his mind, if he could hear me at all, I read to him every day. I read verses from the Bible and chapters from my favorite novels. I found myself obsessed with entertaining the sleeping man. I enjoyed getting up each day and wondering if that was the day he might just open his eyes. Then we would finally learn who he was and what happened.
As the weeks passed, the man fought off his infection and color came to his cheeks. He had a thick beard now, and I suggested to Mammy that she shave it off. She had been the one to completely bathe him, and for that I was grateful. So when I suggested shaving his beard, she had no qualms. After the thick hair was off his face, I could see that he had a surprisingly healthy glow. He was quite handsome, in fact.
The doctor gave us no medical reason why he was still in a coma. The doctor came by once a week at first, and then his visits dwindled to once a month.
“It’s unexplainable,” the good doctor remarked, as he closed his bag and left.
“I won’t be paying for his services any longer. There is nothing else he can do,” Eugenia informed me while I sat next to him on the chair beside the bed.
I was nearly done for the day and prepared to leave and retire to bed. Mammy no longer stayed with our patient all night, but checked on him at first light of morning.
Eugenia had left, and as I stood and was leaning in to blow the lamp out, I turned and glanced over at the man, then sucked in my breath as his eyes fell upon me.
“You’re awake!” I cried.
He blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes. I hurried next to him and took hold of his frail hands.
“Your name . . . what is your name?” I begged to know.
The stranger, whom I had grown close to without his even knowing, stared at me for the longest time, his gaze bewildered. I could see he was trying to grasp where he was, who I was.
“I’m Amelia Arrington. I found you wounded in the woods nearly two months ago. Do you remember me finding you?”
I waited on edge as he struggled to speak.
“You mean you’re not an angel and I’m not in heaven?”
I laughed, which made him smile.
“No, sir. You’re here in Savannah. This is Sutton Hall, my daddy’s plantation. My daddy is serving in the Confederate Army, too.”
He glanced around the room, and then his eyes fell upon me once again.
“We have cared for you day and night,” I said. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“Thank you for taking care of me, Amelia Arrington,” he said between heavy breaths. He was already exhausted.
“Please don’t go back to sleep without telling me your name,” I cried and squeezed his hands tightly.
To my relief and delight he replied, “My name is Warren. Warren Stone.”
* * *
The hot, steamy summer finally gave way to a cool autumn, by Savannah standards, yet the entire country was heating up. Battles and skirmishes took place throughout the entire East Coast.
Warren Stone, our temporary guest, gave little information about the war and his part in it. According to the doctor, Warren had amnesia. Though he remembered his own name, he recalled nothing else. He couldn’t remember where he was from, what infantry he was enlisted in, or how he came to the grounds of Sutton Hall after someone brutally attacked him.
Warren was a charming, handsome man, with fine manners and genuine gratitude. Eugenia wasn’t all that fond of him - the lingering stranger who took our food and time. After he was healed, she expected him to remember where he belonged and go back to fighting the war. But the doctor insisted that with amnesia, he should not go into battle.
“The man might not remember what side he is fighting for and kill one of our own.”
Eugenia agreed to let him stay, under the circumstances, though she repeatedly reminded Warren that when Daddy returned he would find out just where he belonged. Eugenia tried to pay little mind to Warren, though for me it was difficult to ignore him. He followed me around all day, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“I’m here at your beck and call for anything you need. I don’t mean to be a nuisance. Please believe me, I am in debt to you for saving my life, and I will stop at nothing to repay you,” he said with a sweet grin.
I had been helping Mammy with the linens, since more and more of our slaves were gone. The ones tha
t stayed were either captured and whipped horrifically into submission or too afraid to take the risk. We had neither a blacksmith nor anyone running the spinning house. The livestock were being neglected, and the farm was dying.
When I explained to Warren about Eugenia’s iron fist, he appeared to be appalled.
“She has them whipped?” he mumbled as he strolled beside me, carrying the laundry basket full of wet linens.
“Do you remember if you came from a plantation, Warren?” I asked, hoping to trigger his memory.
We got to the line and he dropped the basket and said matter-of-factly, “I don’t recall.”
“How odd not to remember anything at all about your past. Sometimes I wish I didn’t remember mine,” I confessed.
I handed Warren the linens, and he hung them up on the line.
“Why would you want to forget the past? You must have had a nice life here. After all, look at that mansion,” he said pointing back to the big house. “Your family is obviously very wealthy.”
“Money doesn’t always buy happiness.”
“Sure would make me happy,” he said.
“Well, how do you know exactly? Since you don’t remember what it’s like to have or not to have money,” I asked.
Warren thought hard for a moment, his brows narrowing, making several creases in his forehead.
“I suppose you’re correct on that point. Sure are a smart woman,” he said with his usual easygoing smile.
“Don’t you wonder if you have a family, a wife?” I inquired, staring up at him as I bent down to pick up the empty basket.
“Thought about it for a moment, but I’m assuming there is no wife to speak of. Family . . . well everyone has family. My family believes I am off at war, and hopefully I will regain my memory and be able to return to them,” he said in a more sorrowful tone. “But for now, can I call the Arrington’s my family?” he asked, as if I would be the one to give him permission to use the family name.
“You would have to asked Eugenia, of course, since Daddy isn’t here.”
“Then I shall ask Eugenia,” he declared.
We walked back to where Mammy was preparing a modest lunch for all.
“I’ll get washed up,” Warren said, and he set off to his room.
Eugenia gave him a slight scowl as he hurried up the stairs. “Don’t know what it is about that man, but I don’t trust him. Has he said anything to you I should be aware of, anything that would indicate where he’s from?”
“No, nothing. He says he doesn’t even remember his own family.”
“You be careful around him. Remember to stay clear of men who have an obvious attraction toward you. I’ve told you more than once what men are made of, what they think of nearly all the time, haven’t I?” she quizzed, glaring down at me with those stone-cold, eyes of hers.
“Yes, Eugenia.”
“And you know your own weaknesses. Don’t forget, you are a product of your sinful mother. And no matter how much praying you do to ask to forgive your mummy for seducing Thomas, he may still punish you for your own conception.”
I gulped hard, frightened at the thought. “I have been good. I have prayed hard for forgiveness.”
“Keep being good. Heed my warning. If he touches you or even gazes lustfully at you, you come tell me right away.”
I nodded in agreement, sickened to my stomach at the thought of being chased after by a grown man again. Though Warren was undoubtedly attractive, I had no interest in being with him. He wasn’t the man sent to whisk me away, of that I was certain. My heart didn’t flutter in my chest, and I didn’t feel weak in the knees or lose my breath when he was around, like the women did in the romance novels I frequently read without Eugenia knowing, or like I had felt when I was around Perry Montgomery months and months ago. I didn’t dream of Warren or write about becoming his wife in my journal. The man I was waiting for would come into my life and steal my heart instantly. We would meet and lock eyes and fall madly in love in that very moment.
~ ~ ~
~ Thirteen ~
True to my word once again, I stayed distant from a man who couldn’t be trusted in my presence. Warren attempted to capture my attention regularly, following me around like a lost puppy dog. I managed to stay clear of his eager eyes, which often looked me over when he believed I wasn’t watching. Except when attending church services with us or eating inadequate suppers, Eugenia kept him occupied helping Hamilton take care of daily chores. Warren helped chop wood, milk cows, and butcher what little livestock we had left for meals. Luckily, we still had enough chickens for eggs and milk to churn butter; but we had little red meats and not much sugar, coffee, and such. The local mercantile supply, from foods to simple store-bought goods, was scarce.
Daddy sent regular letters describing the horrific battles he had participated in. Men were not only dying in battle but from disease as well. Infrequent letters came all the way from England. Beatrice and Violet wouldn’t return for Christmas, as passenger vessels traveling across the seas were not safe.
Along the ride home, Eugenia read over letters addressed to only her. I wondered if Daddy had asked about me, but if he did, she didn’t reveal such news to me.
The days were slipping by; one day just rolled into the next for me. After the excitement of Warren’s arrival had worn off, life seemed rather bleak, especially with nearly all the slaves having left Sutton Hall, despite Eugenia’s threats of whippings and hangings.
As we rode back to the plantation, I closed my eyes and drank in the warm sun that beamed against my face, remembering years back when Hattie and I would sunbathe by the river, forsaking school, just to stay away from John Mason. Then I thought back to my earlier years and how Daddy used to sail us down the sparkling river, just the two of us. We would have private picnic lunches prepared by Mammy for our special father and daughter outings. We would find a cozy spot by the river and set up a blanket under the shade of a weeping willow and spend the day together. There was no other woman to steal him away, not even Mammy. Back then, Daddy always put me first and swore I would be the only love of his life.
“You resemble your mother so much,” Daddy said, gazing at me. He could easily replace my face with his beloved Charlotte’s, it seemed. “Now that she is gone, far up in heaven, you are my best girl, Amelia. I thank God for sending me you in her place. I know that was his plan - to have you fix my broken heart, to heal my wounds, and fill my life with unconditional love all over again.”
I must have been only five at the time, but I remember the day vividly. I recalled how his eyes shined so lovingly on me, and how he doted on me, wanting to fulfill my every want and need.
“Seems so long ago,” I mumbled to myself in the midst of my daydreaming.
“What was long ago?” Eugenia asked as the buggy abruptly stopped at the mansion. “Never mind,” she added sharply.
A saddled Appaloosa horse tied to the post of the gallery caught her attention. Hamilton assisted Eugenia down, then me. I watched as Eugenia sauntered up the gallery stairs and went inside to see who had arrived unannounced at Sutton Hall. Warren came from the stables to unhitch the horse.
“Whose horse is that?” I asked.
“Don’t know. I was in the stables all afternoon fixing loose boards in the stalls.”
“We have a modest amount of supplies. Please bring them inside,” I instructed.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile and tipped his hat to me. “With pleasure.”
His insistent flirting annoyed me, and I chose to ignore it so as not to lead him on. Warren trailed behind me as we entered the foyer. I wasn’t intentionally looking to see who our mystery visitor was, but the moment I stepped out of the light and my eyes refocused, I saw the handsome officer.
“This must be Amelia.”
The man stood tall and distinguished, his Confederate uniform spotless and tidy, unlike Warren’s blood-soaked uniform had been. This man wore a steel grey frock coat lined with black silk serge
. The shoulders of the coat were bordered in black and gold, and his sleeve insignia supported two half-inch wide looped gold stripes. His hat, which sat upon his dark, wavy hair, was the same steel grey color, with gold and silver embroidered bullion and two stars.
I was mesmerized by his dashing good looks. Apparently this was so obvious that Eugenia needed to clear her throat several times to get my attention. Then she glared at me, just before formally introducing me.
“Amelia, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Commander Patrick Garrett,” she said as she guided him over to me.
Warren, still beside me, studied the soldier, while I said bashfully, “Please to meet you, sir.”
I could feel my own blush, and I cast my gaze downward toward his black shoes, just so he wouldn’t see how flustered I was in his presence.
“Do you have any idea who this man is?” Eugenia asked with some genuine amusement in her tone.
“No.” I replied bluntly, lifting my gaze to quickly look him over, to see if he looked familiar in any way. He didn’t appear to be anyone I’d met, however.
The man seemed to enjoy playing along with Eugenia.
“And this young man is Colonel Warren Stone. Amelia found him half dead in the woods several months back. This poor man has a bad case of amnesia.”
The lieutenant reached for Warren’s hand and said, “Please to meet you.”
Warren appeared uncomfortable and abruptly excused himself. “I have to go tend to the horses.”
“Well then, shall we step into the parlor for a drink, Patrick,” Eugenia offered.
“Thank you for the invitation ma’am. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would like to wash up from the long, dusty ride from Charleston.”
“Of course, of course, forgive me. Abigail will show you to your room. She will bring you a tub and warm water.”
Mammy, who was waiting in the wings for her instructions, came in without a word and motioned for the officer to follow her. And as he turned to leave, I spoke up nervously and said, “My apologies, Lieutenant, but can you tell me how I should remember you?”
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 12
