Faith

by Lyn Cote

  “She fainted,” Honoree was saying.

  “She should have been taken to a surgeon,” Dev insisted, his anger still bubbling.

  For the first time, Honoree touched him, resting a hand on his sleeve. “Faith and I have seen many surgeons and witnessed what harm they can do. Faith has studied and read much and knows that if she falls into the wrong hands, she could die of infection and complications.”

  “She could die.” The words caused Dev to stop breathing. This is my fault. I should have protected her.

  “This isn’t your fault,” Honoree said as if reading his mind. “She knew she was taking a chance. But she won’t rest till my sister is found. Neither of us will. What did you find out? Anything?”

  He’d almost forgotten. He inhaled and gazed out at the lush green riverside passing by. “Shiloh had been there. When Faith asked about her, the lady of the house slashed her with a knife. She’d held her hands down by her sides within the folds of her skirt. The worst I thought she might do was slap or hit Faith. I was ready for that.”

  “My sister wasn’t there?”

  “No, he … LeFevre took her with him to war. As his laundress.”

  Honoree let loose a sound as if someone had jabbed her hard. She covered her mouth with a hand.

  The shipmaster cleared his throat. “I’m sorry this has happened. But we are making the best time we can against the current. And I’m afraid we may be in for questionable weather.”

  “Questionable weather?” Dev repeated.

  “Did you see the bright, rosy dawn this morning? ‘Red sky in morning, sailor, take warning,’ they say. This is September. Storms and hurricanes can come on fast.” The man looked up at the sky. “Those high, dark clouds mean stormy weather. We’ll try to outrun it.” The captain bowed his head to them and headed for the bridge.

  “You said LeFevre took my sister with him?” Honoree pressed.

  “Yes,” Dev said, unable to keep the disgust out of his tone.

  Honoree sent him a pained look. “I have to go back to Faith.” She turned away.

  The tin-clad riverboat chugged upstream, the vibration from the engine throbbing two decks below his feet. Dev stared out at the passing scene: the cypress trees with their knobby knees in the water and the other riverside trees and plants. He’d let Faith and Honoree have their way about Faith’s injury, but what if they were wrong? What could happen to Faith in delaying surgery for three days at the least? God, help me make this work.

  Then a drop of rain plopped on his hat. He looked up, and another drop trickled down his cheek. The sky had changed in moments. Sheets of gray clouds were scudding overhead. And a massive thundercloud was building over the trees behind. “Red sky in morning, sailor, take warning.”

  The wind buffeted the ship. Thunder clapped ominously ahead and to the west. The steamboat was racing northward. Did the captain still plan to outrun the storm? Or was he heading toward a safe harbor to wait it out? The west wind hit the side of the boat like a great fist. Dev grabbed for the railing to keep upright.

  Ahead, Dev glimpsed a small bay. The steamboat appeared to be tracking there, toward the tiny river town onshore. Western waves threatened to wash over the tin cladding surrounding the lower deck. When the boat turned toward the relative protection of the bay, Dev breathed a sigh of relief.

  Gunfire cracked from shore. Ducking, Dev glimpsed telltale gunsmoke among the foliage.

  “Man your stations!” the shipmaster bellowed over the plopping of rain upon the river surface.

  He wasn’t going to return fire, was he?

  “Prepare foremost gun!” The captain’s voice lifted above the storm.

  Dev clung to the railing, aghast.

  “Fire!” Fentress roared.

  One cannon blasted a ball over the houses on stilts along the shore, ripping through the high trees. Dev could only hope that it missed every living soul.

  The steamboat finally slipped forward, within the protection of the bay. “Lower anchor—”

  The words were cut off by pounding thunder. Hail pelted down. Dev yelped and rushed inside Faith and Honoree’s cabin, slamming the door behind him.

  Hail hit the tin and clattered as if they were being stoned.

  Faith shrieked, setting his teeth on edge. She began thrashing on the bunk. Honoree grabbed both Faith’s hands to keep her from tearing at the bandages wound around her head and face.

  Dev grabbed Faith’s waist with his two hands.

  Intense hail continued to hammer the tin cladding, deafening them. Faith babbled, moaning, twisting, and shrieking.

  “It’s the opium,” Honoree called into his ear. “She’s having a nightmare and thinks it’s real.”

  “Josh!” Faith screamed. “Josh! Don’t go near the river!” she screamed.

  The sound tore at Dev. “Faith, you’re all right!” he shouted against the din. “Nobody’s going into the river.” He hoped he was right. Could a storm like this cause their boat to founder?

  Faith did not stop thrashing, but she began to moan instead of screaming.

  He still kept Faith pinned to the bunk, gripping her waist. “Who’s Josh?” he asked and then regretted it.

  Honoree struggled to grip Faith’s hands, restraining her. “She was engaged to him before the war.”

  Unpleasant surprise shot through Dev. Faith had been engaged?

  Faith continued writhing, trying to break free. Between that and the hail and thunder, communication was impossible. Finally Faith went still.

  Honoree let go of her. “She’s passed out.”

  Dev released her too. He staggered back to sit on a three-legged stool, and Honoree sank onto the end of the lower berth at Faith’s feet. The storm moved eastward. The hail ebbed and the rain slowed to a shower.

  “I hope you won’t regret not taking her to a doctor sooner,” he said, exhausted by the day’s events.

  Honoree ignored his scold and merely stared at him. Then she leaned over Faith and touched her forehead. “Fever’s started,” she murmured. “You said that Shiloh’s ‘master’ took my sister with him. What officer does he serve under?”

  Dev searched his mind but could not bring up the information. He grimaced. “I know I heard it, but I can’t call it to mind now. It will come back to me.”

  Honoree shook her head but didn’t chastise him. No doubt taking pity on him.

  Dev leaned back against the wall, shutting his eyes, drained. Of everyone in this war, he’d wanted to protect Faith most of all. He’d failed. He couldn’t change what had happened or control what might happen. He was a feather on the wind. And he hated that.

  Dev woke with a jerk. Where was he? Scant moonlight flowed in through the window, enough light that he realized he’d fallen asleep on the stool in Faith’s cabin. Why hadn’t Honoree woken him and sent him to his own room?

  The moonlight cast a shaft over Faith’s hand, making it glow white in the dim light. He had touched that hand, had felt it clasp his arm when she walked with him. A tenderness filled him. Faith. The only bright spot in the war—and he might lose her.

  He moved silently and knelt beside her. Would she wake if he lifted that hand? He imagined himself pressing its softness to his cheek and burying his face in her palm. Women were soft and life was hard.

  The ship moved and the angle of the moonlight exposed her bandaged face. Sickened, he withdrew from her. He walked to the door and let himself out to feel his way to his cabin. The moist, cloying night air drenched his face.

  He still accepted the fact that he wouldn’t survive this war, but he had expected this good woman to make it through. Fear clutched him. Don’t die, Faith. Live. Go home to your garden.

  Faith woke and saw that daylight had come again. Her cheek hurt with an intensity she’d never experienced before. The pain controlled her. Barely moving her head, she glanced around the tiny cabin. She swallowed and tried to speak. “Honoree,” she whispered through dry lips.

  Honoree turned from the win
dow and hurried to her, immediately feeling Faith’s forehead.

  Faith then became aware of her fever. Her face radiated heat. “Close to Vicksburg?” Each word cost her pain and energy.

  “Closer,” Honoree replied. She walked to the three-legged stool, lifted a teakettle, and poured out a cup. She carried it over. Sitting beside the lower berth, she spooned the tepid sweet tea into Faith’s mouth.

  The perspiration-soaked bandages over her face felt odd, but Faith resisted the urge to touch her face, disturb them. She recalled an illustration in a newspaper of Egyptian mummies and how they were wrapped in strips of cloth. That must be what she looked like, wrapped like a mummy.

  “Infection?” Faith asked, speaking with care and barely moving her lips.

  “You know there will be some, but I’m doing what I can to keep it at bay. How bad is the pain?”

  “I can … bear it.”

  Honoree frowned. “Laudanum?”

  “Only when I can’t,” Faith whispered.

  Praying softly, Honoree continued to spoon tea to Faith’s lips.

  Speaking those few words and sipping tea exhausted Faith. As she swallowed, she also prayed for healing and strength. She was no use to anyone like this, not even to herself. The thought of the coming surgery tried to bring up fear. She fought it. “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God.”

  VICKSBURG, MISSISSIPPI

  Dev glimpsed Vicksburg high over the river. Relief drenched him. The captain wasted no time docking in port, and soon Dev was carrying Faith down the gangplank. Honoree followed him, toting her valise. A sailor trailed her, carrying Dev’s valise as well as Faith’s.

  Dev paid little attention to the town as he led the other two toward the camp. Faith was conscious but said nothing. He went straight to the hospital tent area. Once there, he glanced around for Dr. Bryant.

  “I’ll get him.” Honoree set her valise at Dev’s feet and headed into the tent. “Take Faith to our tent. She won’t want to be operated on in the hospital tent.”

  Before Dev could argue this point, Dr. Dyson appeared.

  “What’s happened?” the doctor snapped.

  “Miss Cathwell has been wounded,” Dev said.

  “Dr. Dyson, where’s Dr. Bryant?” Honoree asked, turning.

  Dyson ignored her. “Wounded? You mean the woman finally met someone who wouldn’t put up with her impertinence?”

  Dev surged toward the man. “Where’s Dr. Bryant?”

  “I’m the surgeon on duty. I’ll perform the surgery. Bring her into the tent, Colonel.”

  “No!” Honoree exclaimed.

  “No,” Dev echoed. “Miss Faith insists on Dr. Bryant. Where is he?”

  “It’s not up to her to decide who will operate. But it’s just like her managing ways.” Dyson motioned to two orderlies. “Take this woman to the operating table.”

  Neither man moved.

  “You’ll be fired if you don’t do as you’re told,” Dyson blustered.

  “Miss Faith the one who hired us,” one of the black men said. “We not doin’ anything she don’t want.”

  “You’re fired!”

  “Dr. Bryant will perform her surgery,” Dev said, leaning forward, nearly nose-to-nose with the surgeon. Dev turned to the two orderlies. “Please find Dr. Bryant and tell him to come to Miss Faith’s tent.”

  The two hustled off.

  With Faith tucked close to him, Dev and Honoree headed toward the tent the two nurses shared. The sailor followed them there, deposited the baggage, saluted Dev, and left for his ship.

  Dev laid Faith on her cot and stared down at her.

  She gazed up at him, only her eyes, nose, and mouth visible between the bandages.

  The sight wrenched him and he blurted out, “If only you’d stayed safely on the boat in New Orleans and let me take care of this, you wouldn’t have been wounded.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, ashamed of scolding her.

  She barely nodded.

  Dev heard Honoree’s voice. He turned and saw Dr. Bryant coming inside.

  Dr. Bryant stepped near Faith and studied her. “I hear you’ve been wounded. And don’t want me to operate in the hospital tent?”

  “Yes,” Faith whispered.

  The surgeon shook his head at her. “Still believe in microscopic disease carriers?”

  Dev didn’t know what Bryant was talking about, but he realized the doctor was trying to lighten the mood.

  “Exactly,” Faith whispered.

  “Very well. I’ll clean my hands, and Honoree is—” he turned toward the opening—“soaking my instruments in alcohol as I speak. And we’ll move you into the sun so I can see better what I’m doing. Two orderlies are bringing an operating table. But first I think you need a stiff dose of morphine.” The doctor opened his bag and soon was helping Faith to sip the dark, nasty-smelling liquid.

  Once Faith fell asleep, Dev and the doctor carried the cot out into the sun. Dr. Bryant donned a clean surgical apron, and scrubbed his hands in a basin.

  Honoree stood beside him with his surgical tools.

  The sun beating down on his shoulders, Dev stood nearby while still giving the doctor and Honoree room to work. He watched the surgeon as he carefully unbandaged and then slowly stitched up Faith’s cheek. Dev felt the needle each time it pierced Faith. Finally the ordeal ended.

  “That does it,” Dr. Bryant said. “Honoree, you did an admirable job of nursing. And I’m glad you let me perform the surgery. I’ve done my best, but I’m afraid your friend will bear the scar of this attack for the rest of her life. It’s a pity for such a beautiful young woman.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Honoree said. “Faith trusted you to do the best surgery she could hope for.”

  “That is high praise from a lady I respect. Honoree, the army is going to be marching again soon. I am going to recommend that you be allowed to travel home by riverboat. Nurse Cathwell will need careful tending and complete rest. She’ll do better at home.”

  “Well, I’ll try to persuade her, but I doubt she’ll go,” Honoree replied. “And even by riverboat, Cincinnati is a far way from here. If you can let her travel lying in one of the hospital wagons, she would do just as well as getting shuttled from one riverboat to another.”

  Dr. Bryant shed his surgical apron and put on his frock coat. “I take your meaning. And I assume you’re still looking for your sister.”

  “We are.” Honoree had washed the man’s tools in the basin and was drying each and returning it to the leather holder near his bag.

  “Did you find out anything in New Orleans?” The doctor was shooting his cuffs and straightening his collar.

  “Yes.” Honoree proceeded to tell what had happened. She turned to Dev. “Have you remembered the man’s commander?”

  Dev felt himself flush. “It will come to me.” He and the doctor carried Faith back inside the tent.

  “Sometimes a crisis causes a memory to elude us.” Dr. Bryant accepted his medical bag from Honoree. “I know I don’t need to tell you what to do, Honoree. But call me if she takes a turn for the worse. Watch for blood poisoning.”

  “I will, Doctor, and thank you again.”

  “When the army moves, I’ll make sure there’s room for Nurse Cathwell on one of the wagons.” The man nodded in acknowledgment and departed.

  This news finally hit Dev. The army would be moving east. “I’ll check back later,” he told Honoree. “I have to report to my immediate superior.” He hurried away, unhappy that Honoree wasn’t even going to try to persuade Faith to go home, where she belonged.

  FAITH WOKE AND GASPED, the searing and throbbing pain in her cheek overwhelming everything else.

  “Faith,” Honoree said, “I’m here.” She gripped Faith’s hand. “Is it very painful?”

  Faith started to nod and halted. Any movement sent shocks of agony through her very teeth. “Surgery?” she asked in a dry whisper. />
  “Dr. Bryant did just as you wanted. Everything clean. And he did his very best stitching.”

  “Thank … him?”

  “I did. I’m so sorry, Faith. I didn’t imagine anyone would attack you like this,” Honoree lamented once again.

  “Didn’t either. Colonel?”

  “He’ll come back. Faith, the colonel told me you found where Shiloh had been. And that her master took her with him to the army.” Honoree began to weep. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of one hand. “I’m glad to know she’s alive, but when I think of how she’s been treated, I want to … hurt someone.” Honoree’s hand fisted around Faith’s.

  “Understand.” Faith panted with the exertion of speaking.

  Honoree’s voice became quicker, stronger. “The army’s moving soon. Dr. Bryant wanted me to take you home via steamboat.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry. I said no. You shouldn’t be traveling at all, but the army—or part of it—will be on the move again eastward any day now.” Honoree visibly struggled with herself. “Perhaps we should stay here. There will be a few troops left to guard Vicksburg.”

  Faith read the concern for her in Honoree’s expression. “No. Shiloh … east. We … must go. Otherwise …”

  Honoree gripped her hand again. “I know. If we don’t stay with the army, it will be just like trying to get permission to go to New Orleans all over again. And we want to go east. That’s where the bulk of the Confederate Army is.”

  “Yes.” They had no choice. Faith felt as flat and flimsy as a sheet of foolscap.

  “I think I better foment your wound. I need to keep it from infection.” Honoree patted her shoulder.

  Even her friend’s touch was anguish to Faith. Too exhausted by this conversation, Faith merely blinked in reply.

  Honoree left the tent and returned with a small kettle of water. Soon she was spooning a scant dose of laudanum to Faith. Then Honoree prepared a poultice and set it on Faith’s cheek.

  Faith let out a muffled shriek. And lay panting. The pain … the pain …

  Honoree murmured comforting apologies and Scripture verses and then began singing, “‘Hold on. Keep your hand on the plow; just hold on.’”