by Betty Bolte
She stared at the men, uncertainty sweeping through her. Upcountry Cunninghams were notoriously loyalist, especially the family led by William "Bloody Bill" Cunningham, who attacked a group of patriots at Clouds Creek last November. She didn't know if the men before her sided with the loyalists as well. If they could help Tommy, what difference did it make? Her grip on the baby tightened as she met his gaze. "I'm sorry for disturbing your rest, but thank you for coming so quickly, Doctor."
"What have we here? A snake bit him, I'm told." He took the silent baby from Emily's arms and turned to the fair-haired man standing behind him. "This is my son, Dr. Trenton Cunningham. He has more experience with venomous injuries than I do, so I asked him to accompany me."
"Thanks again for coming." Emily appraised the younger man. His broad forehead and generous mouth showed his displeasure in tense lines even as the skin around his startlingly blue eyes displayed small lines radiating from the outside corners. She imagined his smile normally conveyed warmth and caring. "I understand it's inconvenient."
"Call me Trent. You should have sent for us as soon as this happened." Trent's eyes were dark and concerned. "The delay may cost this child his life."
He turned his attention immediately to the boy, listless, lying in the older doctor's arms. The elder's deference to the younger man showed his pride and trust in his son's abilities. The lack of motion and even sound from her nephew propelled a wave of fear and regret crashing through her. She couldn't determine whether he even breathed. Trent's frown deepened, but he ignored her. What had she done?
As much as she resented Tommy living when her sister had died, she could not bear to lose him now. His smile and babbling worked into her heart until life without him seemed unimaginable. As Samantha had said, he embodied the only living piece of Elizabeth left.
Frank. He should be summoned. She caught Jasmine's eye where she stood in the door, and then walked to her.
"Jasmine, go wake Captain Frank. He'll want to be here, I'm sure." She'd make sure to keep him informed whether he responded or not. She wouldn't give him any reason to mistrust her again.
"Yes, miss." Jasmine scooted out the door, and her slippered feet pounded up the steps.
Emily watched the young doctor inspect the wound and then raise his worried gaze to her.
"I need a tub of cold water." Trent pinned her with accusing blue eyes, and she swallowed the protest forming in her throat.
Hurrying past the speechless Mary, she rushed upstairs and retrieved the small tub from the nursery, lugging it back into the gathering room. She poured cool water from the urn into the tub, and Trent placed the baby in it, reaching automatically for a cloth to sponge him.
"He'll warm this up in no time as hot as he is."
"I'll fetch more." She hurried to the door. As Emily approached the uncertain girl, she said, "Mary, we'll need towels to wrap him in."
She grasped the back of a chair to support her shaking legs. She must stay strong for Tommy. The wisp of a girl nodded once before running from the room soundlessly. With a sigh, Emily followed her trail toward the open door.
Booted footsteps thudded on the floor boards, and Frank suddenly filled the door, two vertical frown lines between his eyes. His presence calmed her ragged emotions, her overwhelming fears for her nephew. Her eyes smarted, but she forced the tears back as she crossed the short distance to take Frank's hand in hers.
When he didn't look at her, she whispered, "I'm sorry."
He continued to stare over her head at the scene unfolding behind her for a moment; then she felt the weight of his look. "What have you to be sorry for?"
"I should have sent for the doctor earlier after all. I didn't think—"
"We all trusted Samantha." Frank's deep voice pulsed with anger as he interrupted her. His scowl deepened, and he raked a hand through his hair, a sure indicator of his distress. "My brother's son may die because of a miscalculation."
"But Samantha assured me he'd be fine." Her voice failed her. Had her trust in Samantha's abilities killed Tommy? She glanced at the small body in the tub. Dr. Trent gently bathed him in the tepid water, his face serious. She looked back at Frank. He had every right to never forgive her for endangering his nephew, his charge. How had they gotten to this place of enmity and mistrust? Insistent tears finally won the battle and coursed down her cheeks unheeded.
"At least a doctor is trained based on careful observation and study and not some old wives' tales. She's apparently following in her mother's footsteps. Let me through." He brushed past her, his worry emanating from him as he moved her away from him.
"What do you mean?" Emily swiped at the tears and grimaced as the little boy moaned. "Frank?"
He waved a hand to silence her as he stopped by the young doctor. "How is he?"
Emily leaned against the door frame, unable to leave without hearing the verdict.
"Do you mean, will he live?" Trent continued sponging the little boy as he glanced at Frank, then Emily. "It's hard to say. I will do everything I can, but it's been so long since the bite, the venom has spread throughout his body. If you'd called sooner—" Tommy writhed in his arms and moaned softly when Trent turned him over. "Shh, little one. We must balance your humors by purging you to reduce your fever. You're safe with me."
"What do you need, son?" the elder doctor asked.
"An emetic should serve the purpose," Trent said.
Emily's tears fell more rapidly as the men hovered over Tommy. Safe. With them, but not with her. Elizabeth should not have left her precious one in such clumsy hands. Emily had let her down as she feared she would. Because of Emily's lack of knowledge, her nephew would die. She hiccupped as the extent of her failings seared through her. Clasping a hand to her mouth, she tried to stifle the next hiccup. No one paid her any mind. No one wanted her. They didn't need her except for sewing and overseeing the chores. Nothing more. Unable to bear being in the same room, she grabbed her skirt in one hand, whirled in the doorway, and fled.
Racing into the backyard, she hurried to the winding garden path. Her breaths came quick and shallow, tears in her eyes. She must calm down. She could do no good for anyone in such a state. Her rapid steps carried her through the stark flower beds, dry and brittle stems lying dormant under the pine needles and fallen leaves. She hugged herself against the chill air and the growing coldness within. The barren scene echoed her feelings. She paced the narrow path, wiping the tears from her cheeks as quickly as they fell. Surely she could do something to help. Anything.
Her feet stumbled to a halt. Oh no! She'd forgotten. Selfish, that's what she was. Through and through thinking only of her own wants and needs and feelings. No more.
Water. She needed more water. She'd promised. Running now back up the path, she flew to the water pump at the well and pumped cold water into a bucket. Grabbing the wooden handle, she lifted the pail, the cold water sloshing out and soaking her skirt. Calming her actions though not her agitation, she hauled the heavy load back into the house. The sound of the men's deep voices in low conversation reached her ears as she closed the door and hurried down the hallway.
"There, the emetic has done its job."
"Yes, we should see a change soon."
"Where is that water I asked for?" Trent said as she reached the door.
"Right here, sir." She entered the room and crossed to the young doctor with her load. "I'm sorry for the delay."
"Let me help you." Frank lifted the bucket easily from her weary hands. His eyes did not meet hers when his fingers brushed the palm of her hand as he transferred the handle to his grip.
He did not react to the thrill, a tingling sensation she experienced at his touch. Her heart ached with the loss of their connection. Even though he had coerced her into the feigned courtship, his attentions evoked a sense of expectation and familiarity combined. She gazed at him momentarily, then glanced at the older doctor watching from the sideboard as Frank added cool water to the bath. Trent kept his eyes fixed on the li
ttle boy. Nobody looked at her. She'd become an outcast in her own home. She didn't matter to anyone, except maybe Tommy. And that was questionable. The boy's eyes stayed closed, cheeks flushed as Trent worked over him.
A soft cry erupted from him when the water chilled around him. His eyes opened, and relief flooded through her. Thank God, he lived. She didn't realize she spoke aloud until Frank's surprised look met hers.
"Excuse me." Emily ducked her head and hid her grin of relief. She hadn't killed her nephew after all. Glancing up, she caught Trent's knowing look. "Can I get you anything else, sir?"
Mary slipped into the room, drawing the doctor's gaze away from Emily. The girl carried a stack of towels and placed them on the table within reach of the doctor. With a quick curtsy, she backed away and left the room.
"I think I have what I need for the moment, miss," Trent said. "Now that the towels are here." He laid a hand on Tommy's forehead, then his back and nodded.
Frank stepped closer and felt the boy's arm, his fingers caressing the small limb. "His fever's broken. The purge worked as promised."
Unlike the fleabane salve. Emily smothered an exasperated sigh.
"Fortunately, yes." Trent lifted the child and wrapped him in a towel.
Tommy watched Emily silently as the doctor rubbed him dry. She felt helpless and useless all rolled into one unhappy woman. What more could she do? How could she even begin to make amends for her mistake? Tommy didn't need her, but he surely needed something. Perchance clean clothes to wear after that chilling experience. "I'll fetch his nightclothes."
"He'll need warm things." Frank peered at her. "Can you manage?"
Her cheeks warmed at the slight. She deserved that after her lack of judgment risked the boy's life. Without a word, she nodded and left the room. Would he ever forgive her?
Chapter 13
The stars twinkled against the velvet sky, fighting to be seen beside the full harvest moon. Emily braced her hands shoulder-width apart on the porch railing and inhaled slowly. The night stilled, save for the occasional whir of bat wings flashing past or the desultory sound of the night watchman calling out the hour.
Alone. In all things. She sighed, angling her head to examine the sky above. At one time she'd have been grateful for solitude. But not now. She hoped Elizabeth watched her from the heavens. If so, she probably wasn't any happier with Emily than Frank was at the moment. Emily trusted Samantha to know the best way to treat wounds. Samantha always came through for her. Until today, anyway. Frank's words echoed in her head, gouging the emotional wound deeper into her soul. What had he meant about Samantha following in her mother's footsteps? Perhaps Amy could answer that question.
It seemed as though her cousin had been away for months. So much had occurred during her absence. Wait until Emily told her about Benjamin's return and his promise to dine with them. Which raised other questions in her mind about the availability of appropriate fare for the festive meal. She must talk with Father upon his return from his short trading voyage to see what stores the plantation could provide or that might be available at the market, and then hope the guests contributed the remainder. Frank likely wouldn't even sit near her, eschew being with her, after her lapse in judgment.
Far out to sea the dim outline of a sail ghosted against the horizon. Who would be trying to breach the shore currents at this time of night? The low tide made the coastline more treacherous than usual. At least the moon gave them light to see by. Her father would trounce any crew foolish enough to attempt such a return. Far safer to lie at anchor overnight and come in the morning hours with the tide.
She caught the whiff of Frank's distinctive fragrance mingled with pipe tobacco. Gazing out to sea, she listened for his approach and knew when he saw her by the sudden stillness. Although quiet, his presence charged the atmosphere like a swarm of bees on a summer afternoon, both promising and threatening.
Once, long before the tragedy of Jedediah's death, she had dreamed Frank would take a fancy to her. The brothers had joined the Sullivans for meals frequently so that Jedediah could visit with Elizabeth. Emily had suspected Jedediah and Elizabeth's visits were more intimate than strict propriety allowed, but once a couple announced their betrothal, people ignored such indiscretions. However, when Elizabeth revealed she was pregnant, the wedding plans were accelerated and the banns started to be read as required. Then his death during the fighting at Eutaw Springs in September of last year left her unwed but with child.
Though Emily didn't have much opportunity to speak privately to Frank during that period of time, she was aware of him at a fundamental level. Each time he entered a room, she detected his presence without him saying a word. His soul searched out hers. Or so she'd thought until she learned he planned to marry. Frank had sacrificed his bachelor status to provide for her sister, a noble act. But an act that quashed any hope of a true relationship between them.
She would never allow herself to experience such pain again. No, better to flirt and move on, nothing serious, nothing permanent. She'd be her own woman, take care of herself. He held no sway over her. She steeled herself to hide the physical reaction his nearness caused, the hive of longing and disquiet buzzing inside.
"Em?"
She inhaled sharply, brought from her reverie with a start. In the distance, the ship's sail dipped and swayed against the horizon. "What do you want? To chastise me further?"
"Not at all."
The floor boards creaked as he moved ever closer. Shutting her eyes briefly, she prayed for strength as her soul hearkened to his call. When his hands rested on her shoulders, her eyes flew open. Before she could think of anything to say, he pivoted her to face him. She fixed her eyes on the cravat hanging loosely around his neck, the shirt unbuttoned to expose light-colored hairs in contrast to his darker throat. He'd obviously responded to the earlier summons regarding Tommy's fever in a state of undress unusual for such a fastidious man. Yet the result was she enjoyed an intimate look at the man beneath the clothing. She swallowed the attraction, denying it to him and herself. She couldn't feel this way. Love and desire didn't fit her plans.
"Look at me." He lifted her chin, applying guiding, gentle pressure with his fingertips until her eyes met his. "I have more experience in these matters than you. The child is my responsibility, not yours."
"I thought you wanted me to care for him," Emily said on a breath. "Now I've failed you—and him. For that I'm sorry."
"Please forgive my overreaction." He searched her face. "You panicked and trusted Samantha to know the best remedy, an oversight anyone could make. Do not fret over it anymore, love."
His derogatory comments about her friend delivered in such a patronizing tone irked her. She pressed her back against the railing. The sound of waves slapping the hulls of the ships at anchor created a background to the night birds calling to each other. Yet his expression revealed his sincerity. "What did you mean about Samantha's mother?"
"I thought you knew." He kissed her hand lightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Her mother has had her own problems over the years, some whispering she harms more than heals."
The touch of his lips to her hand catapulted her senses toward a dangerous cliff. If kissing her hand could cause such torment, she would never survive another kiss on the mouth. Frank talked to her, formed more words, but Emily didn't hear them as she imagined the feel and taste of his kiss. Brandy and honey blended into nectar, she bet.
The tang of the sea filled the air. Ropes holding the boats fast to the piers creaked with the swell of the waves tugging and pushing them. Moonlight softened the deep shadows. Moistening her lips, she searched his eyes. "Samantha has not had any problems. She said different herbals work differently in people."
"Until now, she's not had anything specific go wrong. She spent many months away and mysteriously reappeared without any real explanation as to where she'd been and what she'd been doing. Word about town implied she'd been up to some questionable activities while away. Given her failing
attempt with Tommy, perhaps she returned because she made a grave error like her mother." Frank stepped closer, banishing the cool air from between them with the heat of his body. He brushed a stray hair back into its proper place, his finger lingering against her temple.
"That's absurd." Or was it? Samantha's trip involved visiting her grandmother in Savannah, nothing more. Other than visiting a Cherokee doctor. She shivered, realizing Samantha had never spoke of a grandmother prior to that trip. What had she really been doing?
"I see you don't believe your own words." Frank leaned in and kissed her.
As she predicted, the world stopped with the press of his lips against hers. If she angled her head thus, then his tongue could slip inside and twine with hers. Sizzles of desire rippled through her like the widening rings formed in a small, glassy pond by the splash of a stone. Though the height and depth of the ripple lessened, the reach extended farther and farther until the small pond reflected nothing but the effect of one lone rock. A simple pebble disrupting the calm all around. Reality crashed through her and she pulled back.
"Stop that!" Emily brushed her fingertips across her mouth, unsure if she should savor the taste of his kiss or wipe it away. Where did his previous anger flee? Why did she no longer care if he kissed her? Her body hummed in response to the desire aimed her way. His eyes drew her in, and she willingly lost herself in their depths.
"Why? You're delicious." Frank kissed her fingertips when she tried to push his mouth away. "I want to taste every bit of you."
She should be shocked. She should, really. But the image his words evoked coupled with the anticipated sensations intrigued her. His tongue running across her hot skin. His lips pressing on places only she knew. A thrill pulsed through her when he kissed her again, tenderly at first, then with growing pressure until his tongue sought entrance. She opened her mouth eagerly, her tongue playing with the tip of his, wrapping around it, teasing, tasting sweet brandy. A low moan started deep within her and coursed up and out of her mouth into his. He moaned in response, and his tongue delved into her mouth deeper, more urgently.
