JASON’S ANGEL
By
Cheryl Pierson
Jason’s Angel by Cheryl Pierson
Copyright 2011 Cheryl Pierson
Cover Design by Livia Reasoner
Cover Image: www.periodimages.com Image Jax_FelixJGP_0500pm
Licensing Notes
All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This story may not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Jason’s Angel is a work of fiction.
Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.
“Dear Heavenly Jesus, what have you done now, child?”
Sabrina Patrick raised her chin a notch at her Aunt Emmaline’s question. Even the expectation of her disapproval failed to soften the sting of it. “My Christian duty, Aunt,” she replied firmly.
The small procession halted on the flagstone path behind her.
“They’re…damn…Yankees!” Aunt Emmaline hissed. She raised her eyes in silent apology to the men bearing the two litters.
Sabrina turned away from her aunt momentarily to face the muscular black man closest to her. He held up the front end of the first litter, and as she turned to him, he waited attentively for her direction.
“Jake, please get these men upstairs to the second bedroom on the right.”
“Yes’m.”
The older woman’s eyes raked her. “You are installing Yankees in a bedroom between yours and Desiree’s? Sabrina, child—”
Sabrina could listen to no more. For the past three days, she’d witnessed the mistreatment of these two prisoners in the hospital where she worked. They were given the poorest of rations and the least care possible. Today, one of the guards had provoked the younger man, and he’d struggled up from his cot to defend his honor, ripping his shoulder wound open in the process.
Sabrina had managed to get the blood flow stopped, but not before he’d lost a dangerous amount of it. The guard had walked away laughing at her efforts.
“Let him bleed to death! What do you care, Miss Patrick? He’s nothing but a damn Yank.”
But Sabrina knew the young man was more than a “damn Yank”—he was someone’s son; someone’s brother—younger than she. As she’d peered into his face, beneath the grime and stubble, she could see the pain and fear of a boy, the pride of a young man. He couldn’t be much older than her younger sister, Desiree, who had just turned sixteen.
The other Yankee, his companion, was at least five and twenty. His wounds had not been cared for at all since he’d been brought to the hospital. Now, he lay in a delirium, and Sabrina doubted her ability to see him through. At least, here at Oakmont Place, he could die in peace, with no jeering guards taunting him, no rough hands upon him.
“Please, Aunt Emma, they are hardly in any condition to accost us, do you think? Look at them.” She nodded at the procession as they made their way to the back door of the once-grand old house. “They’ll both be lucky to survive.”
“They are going to require much care,” Aunt Emmaline said thoughtfully.
Sabrina hid a smile. Her aunt was already thinking of treatments and remedies. “I’m up to it,” she assured the older woman, “and so is Desi.”
Aunt Emmaline shook her head and held her hand out to take Sabrina’s. “It may take more skill than any of us have to pull them through.”
Sabrina understood it was her aunt’s way of letting her know not to expect miracles where none were possible. They’d do what they could do, but it might not be within their means to save these men.
“I’m counting on it, Aunt Emma.” Somehow, these men were important to her, though she couldn’t say why.
Aunt Emmaline turned to look at her, and Sabrina carefully masked her thoughts.
“We’ll do our best, child. That’s all any of us can do.”
There was a speculative note in her aunt’s tone, a watchful look in her eye, and with a sinking heart, Sabrina realized she would have to be very careful with her words in the future.
The sun sank low as Sabrina followed her aunt inside the house. She took up a nearby lantern and lit the wick, turning it up to fight away the early evening shadows.
From upstairs, Desiree’s voice drifted to where Aunt Emmaline and Sabrina stood in the dining room. “Oh, do have a care, Sam! It looks like there’s fresh bleeding here—”
There was a muted groan, then the sound of one of the men’s footsteps, followed by a command for help from one of the others.
Sabrina started back toward the kitchen to put some water on to boil, but Aunt Emmaline laid a hand on her shoulder. “What happened to make you bring them home, here? Seems like, being there in the hospital would’ve been a better place for them.”
Sabrina shook her head. She would tell her aunt, later, about the things she’d witnessed. But now, she needed to set about doing what she’d brought them here for.
“I couldn’t leave them there, Aunt Emma. If I had left them another night, neither of them would live. There were…some things that happened that I saw…things that never should have taken place. But here, they’ll be safe.”
Aunt Emmaline gave her a long look. “Yes. But, I wonder, will we?”
****
Jason McCain couldn’t contain the low groan that escaped his lips as the two black men moved him from the litter to the softness of the feather bed. Oddly, the pain began to subside as he breathed in the fresh-washed aroma of clean sheets.
At the hospital, the Confederate soldiers had, of course, been treated first. What small amounts of painkiller available had been used sparingly on the soldiers of the South; not at all on those wearing uniforms of Union blue.
The wound Jason had suffered to his right thigh made it impossible to walk. Three days ago, just after it had happened, he’d taken the last two steps he’d figured he’d ever make. That morning, the fighting at Mason’s Creek had started out as little more than a skirmish. But it had dragged on into the afternoon. Running low on ammunition and cut off from the rest of their company, Jason McCain and his younger brother, Eli, along with five others, faced certain death.
When Eli had taken a bullet in his shoulder, Jason had had no choice but to crawl to him to see how bad he was hit. He’d managed to stuff a bandanna into the gaping hole in his brother’s flesh just seconds before he’d been shot, himself—a bullet to his right thigh, and moments later, one to his right arm. Then, one of their group had been captured and held hostage. The Rebel captain had offered terms if their little band surrendered. With the casualties they’d taken and the wounds they’d suffered, there was no other alternative.
The hospital they’d wound up at was worse than a field hospital would have been. The medical care—at least for the Union soldiers—was nonexistent. From what Jason had seen, the staff figured they were doing their part by supplying a roof and no gunfire, allowing for a peaceful death.
Jason and Eli had been given pallets on the floor in a corner, along with two other men from their small group. The other three hadn’t made it. On the second day at the hospital, another of their little band had died. Only this morning, the last of their comrades had succumbed as well, leaving Jason and Eli the only survivors of that skirmish at Mason’s Creek. And Jason knew that neither of them would
last long with the lack of medical care.
The fever had set in, and there had been the light cool touch of an angel. When he’d managed to open his eyes, she was bending over him, her golden hair framing her face like a halo.
He’d tried to form a word, to reach for her, but Quincy, one of the guards, had shoved him back to the floor.
The woman had said something in a harsh tone, a note of commanding steel in her voice, that he never would have thought her capable of by the sweet look of concern she’d given him earlier.
Now, here he was, lying on a soft bed with clean muslin sheets enveloping him, pain roaring through him like a runaway freight train.
“Here, Sam, let’s turn him—” The soft voice broke off as strong hands grasped his shoulders.
A bolt of fire shot through his leg. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back a groan, but in the end, unable to keep it from escaping.
“Careful—” a woman said.
“Sorry…” a deep voice answered.
Jason’s fingers curled into the sheets as they shifted him, and he tasted blood. “Eli…” He whispered. His brother was hurt. Jason had never felt so helpless in his life. He’d always protected him, and he wasn’t about to stop now.
“Shhh.” Cool fingers touched his dry lips. The angel bent close to him—so close that the slight movement sent a whiff of lemon verbena across his nostrils.
He tried to open his eyes and found he could only manage to get them apart in a narrow slit. The beautiful woman’s lips curved upward slightly in a reassuring smile, her blue eyes warmed by kindness and genuine care.
“Please don’t talk. Your friend is safe, here with you. We’ve got to see to your wounds.”
All he could do was nod in response. His eyes were tired, and he couldn’t keep them open a second longer.
He felt the cold tracing of metal shears against his fever-hot skin as his ragged clothing was cut away from his body.
“Nothing worth saving anyhow,” another woman’s voice said from the shadows.
At first, Jason thought the woman meant him and Eli. Then, it settled into his consciousness that she was talking about his clothing. She was right. It was filthy. And bloody, now. But, it was all he had, since he’d been taken prisoner. He’d lost everything—maybe even his leg, from the worried whispers around him.
A sharp gasp sounded, and he knew it was the angel. She wouldn’t be used to seeing such gore. She had found him at the hospital, so she wasn’t completely unfamiliar with wounds such as his. But that harsh intake of breath that she’d given spoke of a deep concern, or shock at the sight of such a grievous wound—or both. Though it hardly fit that she should be overly worried about him—someone she didn’t even know. Disgust washed over him. She shouldn’t have to see him like this. Still…she had brought him and Eli home with her. Why?
All thoughts deserted him as an ominous silence descended momentarily, then strong hands gripped his shoulders and ankles. A restraining knee came across his uninjured leg, and a firm grip fell upon either side of the wounded flesh of his thigh.
He smelled the heat, felt the reluctant anticipation of the men who held him, and he knew what was coming. In the next instant, hot steel slid into the wound, purging it.
An animalistic cry ripped from somewhere deep inside him. It died away, and the hands released him as he twisted on the bed. A cool cloth came across his forehead, and he was aware of gentle fingers on his cheek as he fell back into the sheets, his breathing labored and strained.
“Jason!”
Eli’s desperate cry reverberated in his brain. He tried to answer, and wasn’t sure if he’d managed or not, until the older woman spoke in response.
“You most certainly are not all right, young man. Be lucky if you keep that leg. Now, let’s have a look at your arm…”
Jason felt the darkness closing in. He couldn’t push it back. The exhaustion overcame him, and finally, he had no more strength to fight it.
His last thought was not of the pain or the worry that he might lose his leg. He felt an odd sense of safety, knowing that the beautiful woman was near. Nothing bad could happen—not with her nearby.
****
The clock downstairs chimed midnight. Desi would come to relieve her in an hour or two, as she had the past two nights. Sabrina leaned back into the chair where she sat beside the bed. The ache between her shoulder blades was familiar. She couldn’t help the tension that engulfed her. These men’s wounds had been severe, and had become infected due to the lack of care available to them at the hospital. She only hoped they would heal to full health again.
She’d learned the older one was called Jason only because his young friend had yelled out to him when they’d been tending his wound. And though the younger man had been stoic in not giving his own name, Jason had spoken it in his delirium…Eli.
Once their wounds had been purged and they’d been cleaned up a little, it was easy to see the resemblance between the two of them. They were family. Brothers, Sabrina suspected, or cousins. They both had deep brown eyes, nearly black, and hair that was as dark as a raven’s wing. Sabrina couldn’t help but marvel at the different shade of their skin—like sand, burnished as if by the kiss of the sun…all over.
They both rested fitfully. It was the sleep of pure exhaustion fraught with anxiety and pain. But, for the past two days since she’d brought them here, she’d done everything she could for them. And, no matter what, she told herself, they were getting better care here than they would receive at the hospital.
Jason stirred in his sleep and Sabrina wet a clean cloth, squeezing a small amount of water onto his lip. He ran his tongue over the moisture, and his eyes opened.
Relief flooded through Sabrina. Her heart pounded uncontrollably as she looked into the dark depths of his eyes. “Hello,” she said softly. Heat rushed to her cheeks. The way he looked at her made her pulse thunder in her ears.
“Ma’am.”
Pleasure rolled through her at the sound of his deep voice. “My—my name is Sabrina. Sabrina Patrick.”
He gave her a slow smile, and she stopped breathing for a moment. She rushed on, once she was able to speak again.
“You’re Jason, I know. And your friend is Eli.”
At the mention of Eli, Jason’s brow creased. Immediate worry entered his eyes. “How…is he?”
Sabrina was touched at the deep concern that filtered into Jason’s dark eyes, obliterating the pain until she answered him. Her smile faltered as she remembered the excruciating agony Eli had suffered as they’d purged his wounded shoulder.
“He…I’m not certain—His wound was very serious. It had become infected.”
“Will he live?”
Sabrina looked down at her hands. “Only time will tell. We’re doing everything we can do.”
Jason let out a sigh and closed his eyes.
Sabrina reached out to pat his hand. “Please—trust me. Is he…your brother?”
Jason nodded. After a moment, he said, “He followed…”
“Followed you?”
“Yeah.”
Sabrina turned and poured a cup of water from a pitcher on the nightstand. She held it to Jason’s lips, helping him take a swallow, then another. “I have a younger sister,” she said, setting the cup back on the table. “She would do the same.”
He nodded. “Stubborn.”
Sabrina laughed. “Oh, yes. Desi certainly is that.”
“Eli, too.”
Silence settled over them, but it was comfortable. Jason closed his eyes and Sabrina stood, stretching her muscles.
“Hurt?” Jason was watching her again.
“No, just stiff. I should check on Eli.” She turned away, touched that Jason would be concerned about her, and walked to the small bed at the far end of the room. Eli was sleeping, his fever still high, and she was careful when she touched his forehead. She dampened a clean cloth and trailed moisture over his parched lips. He shifted, but didn’t awaken.
&n
bsp; Sabrina felt Jason watching her, but when she turned toward him again, his eyes were closed.
Suddenly, she was aware that she must look worse than a field hand. Although her hair was pulled back from her face, as the day had worn on, tendrils had escaped and fallen close to her cheeks. Her day dress was smudged with dirt and an occasional splotch of blood. Her dismay was complete as she glanced down at the front of her clothing, a particularly large irregular circle of blood standing out in the dim light.
As she neared Jason’s side, he opened his eyes and met her look.
“Mine...’m sorry…”
She shook her head, appalled that she had allowed him to see her worry over something so inconsequential. But she couldn’t help feeling dowdy.
As if he’d read her thoughts, he smiled at her—a slow grin that showed white, even teeth amidst the dark stubbled growth of whiskers. And for an instant, laughter filled his dark eyes with a warm light that shocked Sabrina into silence.
“Your face…is an open book…”
Sabrina drew herself up and consciously schooled her features into an expressionless mask. The nerve! He barely knew her. But, that didn’t seem to bother him in the least. He was forward—too much so, even for a wounded man. And it was up to her to rebuke him.
“Jason—Mr. McCain—”
“Sabrina…” Her name was a soft whisper on his lips, and the way he said it caused a wave of heat to roll through her, the like of which she’d never felt before. Suddenly, her stomach felt fluttery, and any chastisement she’d thought of delivering fled. She must be hungry. She had not eaten since breakfast, and that had been meager. But it didn’t feel like hunger—at least, none that she’d ever experienced.
She took a deep breath and gave him a stern look. She would have to be careful. In the past, a couple of wounded patients had thought they were in love with her. She had gently but firmly refused their proclamations of love and explained as kindly as possible that the war surely would soon be over and all would return to normalcy—that once they left the hospital, they wouldn’t feel so enamored of her, their caregiver. It was a common thing for soldiers who were at their most vulnerable point to think they might be in love with the person who cared for them.
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