Rules of Decorum

by Leigh Lee

  “I will head back to the Stewart farm in the hope that Miss Johnson has returned.”

  Each man saluted him and rode off. Jeff hunched over the back of his horse, rain dripping from the brim of his hat as he watched them go. Miserable and feeling defeated, he tugged on the reins and turned around. The feeling that Eugenia was in trouble was unshakable—and he vowed he would continue to look for her, rain or not right after he checked in with Mrs. Stewart.

  When he rode up, the house was dark. He thought Mrs. Stewart had retired for the night and it surprised him when she opened the front door at the first pull of the bell. Her face remained stoic as she peered around the door when he told her he had not found Eugenia. Yet when she stood stiffly aside to let him enter, he realized she was fully dressed. Alarm bells began to sound in his head when he realized Harris, the man sent to guard Mrs. Stewart, was nowhere in sight. Immediately, he reached for his side arm.

  When the shadowy figure of a man appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen, Jeff breathed a sigh of relief. He placed his gun on the table by the door and proceeded to remove his wet slicker and hat. Hanging them on the coat rack, he called out, “Hi Harris, any trouble so far?”

  When a stranger answered, “Hello, Captain,” Jeff made a grab for his gun. The cocking of a gun halted him.

  “I would not do that if I were you, Captain. Your man is in the barn with a bullet in his head, and unless you want this nice lady to be next, keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Cautiously, Jeff turned with raised hands to find an older man with a grizzled face training a revolver on him. Now he understood why Mrs. Stewart had been acting so strangely when he arrived. He glanced at her, and once he was satisfied she was unharmed, he addressed the man. “Sheriff Dunlap, I presume. You are a long way from home and I dare say your jurisdiction does not extend to this area.”

  “Yes but I am the one with the revolver. You must be the captain from the field hospital, the one who has been caring for our dear, sweet Eugenia. When I met Horace on the road, he did not want to tell me anything. I had to convince him otherwise.” Dunlap paused to chuckle. “Poor fellow won’t have much to worry about anymore.”

  Mrs. Stewart gasped, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You murdered him?”

  “Shut up, old woman,” Dunlap hissed, waving the barrel of the firearm at her. “Go make me something to eat. And make sure that’s all you do.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Jeff ground out. To be at last face-to-face with the man who had haunted Eugenia’s existence for the past three years seemed surreal. Although not a tall man, Dunlap presented an imposing demeanor with his glittering dark eyes, wide shoulders and solid, muscular build.

  Mrs. Stewart moved with caution past Dunlap. He waited until she disappeared into the kitchen and then motioned with the gun. “Into the parlor, Captain.”

  Jeff backed into the room giving his opponent cautious regard. A dish dropped in the kitchen and shattered.

  Distracted for only an instant, Dunlap’s eyes darted that way. Jeff lunged, hitting the older man square in the chest. The impact took them both to the floor. The gun flew from Dunlap’s hand and it loud report sounded throughout the house as it fired. Then skittering across the floorboards, it landed in the corner by the door.

  Dunlap was quick to recover and jumped to his feet. Jeff was just standing when the sheriff’s fist slammed into his jaw. Flashes of light burst before him, the impact momentarily stunning him, but he blocked Dunlap’s next punch with his arm. He landed one of his own to the other man’s face, dropping him to his knees. Dunlap attacked again, swiping out at his legs. Jeff fell on top of him and for long moments, they tangled in combat on the parlor carpet.

  Jockeying for an advantage, Jeff used his weight to flip his opponent onto his back. A flash of steel appeared in Dunlap’s hand. Jeff captured his wrist, stopping the upward jab of the knife. With a bent knee to Jeff’s gut, Dunlap shoved him far enough away to jump to his feet. Jeff sprang up, shifting quickly to avoid the blade, but not before Dunlap slashed through the sleeve of his uniform, slicing into Jeff’s forearm.

  Grimacing, Jeff jammed his fist into Dunlap’s gut, doubling him over, and wrenched the hand that held the knife until he dropped it. He kicked it out of reach, and grabbing Dunlap’s shoulders, he aimed a knee to his chin, snapping the man’s body up and back against the wall behind him.

  Dunlap slid down the wall, wiping at the blood trickling from his mouth with the back of his hand. Thinking the confrontation at an end, Jeff was distracted by a fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Stewart backing out the front door. The last thing he saw was Dunlap’s fist slamming into his face.

  ~*~*~

  A voice jarred Eugenia from her black haze. “Wake up, miss!”

  Her eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, but her lids felt heavy, and she slid back into unconsciousness. More frantic badgering awakened her again. This time she moaned. A heavy weight lay across her chest making hard to breathe. The object was rolled away allowing a deeper breath. She cracked open an eye and saw the dead body of a Union soldier lying next to her—his eyes open and unseeing—a bloody hole between his eyes.

  Mrs. Stewart’s distraught face appeared above her, and the jarring continued. “Eugenia. Please, oh please. Wake up. We’ve not much time.”

  Listless and woozy, she sat up with Mrs. Stewart’s help. Once upright, her world teetered and nausea threatened. Gradually, she was able to focus enough on Mrs. Stewart to realize she looked terrified. Something in the back of Eugenia’s mind warned of impending danger, but she could not bring the thought to the forefront. “What happened? Why are we in the barn?” she asked, looking around.

  Mrs. Stewart yanked at the ropes binding her ankles with tremulous fingers, freeing her feet. “Oh, miss, please snap out of it.” Moving around to Eugenia’s back, she untied her wrists. “That sheriff is back. He killed Mr. Harris here and then he held me at gunpoint until Captain Bradford showed up.”

  “Dunlap was ready to kill me,” Eugenia murmured as her head cleared. “Then we heard your buggy on the lane. I heard you scream and a gun fired. I thought you had been shot.”

  Tears filled Mrs. Stewart’s eyes. “It was Harris here. The sheriff killed him—the man Captain Bradford sent to protect me. The poor man never had a chance to defend himself.” Reaching under her arms, she frantically tried to lift Eugenia to a stand. “I have to get you into the buggy. When I escaped from the house, the captain and the sheriff were fighting. Oh please, miss, we’ve not much time.”

  The events of the evening rushed back with shocking rapidity. Her arms and legs were still unsteady, but with help, she got to her feet. Blinking, she focused on what Mrs. Stewart had just said. “Dunlap is with Jeff? Oh no! This is my entire fault. Dunlap came here looking for me.”

  “Yes, dear child, but there is no time now to discuss it,” Mrs. Stewart pulled her along by her arm toward the buggy. “We have to go for help.”

  Eugenia dug in her heels. “I cannot go with you. I have to help Jeff.”

  Mrs. Stewart spun around and gripped her shoulders. “You are not thinking clearly. We can do nothing. We have to go for help.”

  Eugenia wrenched away and staggered to the barn entrance. Stopping, she held on to the barn door to gather her wits. “I have to do this. Please, there is no time to argue. If Bill Dunlap thinks I am still tied up, then he will not be expecting me. Take the buggy and go to Camp Letterman for help. It is closer than the town. And Mrs. Stewart, hurry.”

  Mrs. Stewart frowned. “This plan is very dangerous. But I would probably do the same if Captain Stewart was in trouble.” She withdrew something from the pocket of her apron. “Take this.” She handed Eugenia a US Army issue revolver. “It’s Captain Bradford’s. Do you know how to use it?”

  Eugenia took it and gave the older woman a hug. “Yes, I do,” she reassured her. “Now go.”

  Tears welled in Mrs. Stewart’s eyes as she climbed into the buggy. “Good luck. May
God be with you.”

  Eugenia watched until Mrs. Stewart was safely down the lane before running on unsteady feet to the front porch. Crouching low, she rounded the house and approached the kitchen door. Eugenia eased the door open, crept inside, and listened. The quiet evoked ghastly visions she was not prepared to see. On legs that trembled, she took a few steps forward. She cringed as something hard crunched beneath her shoes.

  A figure too short to be Jeff appeared in the foyer doorway holding a lamp. Her hands shook as she raised the pistol.

  “I assume the good Mrs. Stewart untied you and that was her leaving in the buggy?” Dunlap’s voice answered setting the lamp down.

  Eugenia aimed the gun at his chest. “She has gone to Camp Letterman to alert the authorities of what happened to Harris.”

  “Then we haven’t much time, have we, dear girl.”

  ~*~*~

  Jeff woke to find himself lying on his back on the parlor floor. There was an argument going on in the kitchen and he was sure he recognized Eugenia’s frantic voice. Spurred into action, he tried to push himself up using his elbows, but his right arm refused to cooperate. A quick glance at his bloody sleeve reminded him Dunlap had sliced his arm open.

  He rolled to the side and struggled to his knees. The pool of red left behind on the floor was alarming indication of how much blood he had lost.

  Dizziness fogged his mind, but adrenalin gave him the strength to grip the back of the settee with his uninjured arm to pull himself up. Coming to a shaky stand, he removed his belt from his pants, looped it around his arm, and yanked it tight with his teeth. He squelched a yowl as pain radiated down his arm, but at least he’d managed to stop the flow of blood. On staggering feet, he moved toward the foyer as quietly as he could.

  Jeff stopped just behind the foyer door. From his vantage point, he could see Dunlap standing in the kitchen doorway with his back turned.

  “Well, here we are, Eugenia, at cross purposes once again. Both of us with pistols. I wonder who will shoot first.”

  Pistols?

  Before Jeff could react, a wave of dizziness overtook him. He gripped the parlor door willing it to pass.

  “Captain Bradford’s men are due to arrive at any moment,” he heard Eugenia say.

  Dunlap’s insane laughter chilled his blood. “Then I need to be expeditious.”

  “Either you leave, or I shoot you,” Eugenia answered. Jeff heard the click of a hammer cocking into position.

  Dunlap backed out of the kitchen, and Eugenia followed him into the foyer. Jeff could see her eyes darting around looking for him. Fearing she might drop her guard if she saw him, the door, terrified she he remained hidden behind the door.

  “Captain!” she shouted, “Are you all right?”

  The dread in her voice made Jeff cringe. He longed to reassure her, but in doing so, he would give away his element of surprise. He had little strength left with which to save her, and he had to make his move at the right moment or risk both their lives.

  Panic rose in her voice. “What have you done to him?”

  The lunatic chuckled at her trepidation. “If you’re asking about the captain, he is dead, most likely.” Last time I saw him, he was on the floor bleeding out from where I sliced his arm open.”

  The cold-blooded oaths that rang from his love’s ruby lips made Jeff wince. Apparently during her time in the military, she had learned a few choice words of which most young ladies were unaware. The deadly intent in her voice was unmistakable. “I will kill you myself.”

  Dunlap stroked his chin, daring a few steps closer to her. “My, my. Charming words for a woman to speak. Still, I do not think you have it in you to kill me a second time.”

  “Do not count yourself as that important to me,” she snapped. The strain of holding the heavy pistol was beginning to show. Her arms trembled violently.

  As Dunlap sidled around her, Jeff could now see Eugenia’s face clearly and the terror he saw on her lovely features was torturous.

  Dunlap lunged for her suddenly and wrenched the gun from her hand. Grasping a handful of her hair, he dragged her up against his body.

  Jeff’s reflexes were slowed by the blood loss, but inhuman strength drove him forward. “Let her go.”

  Dunlap swung around, dragging Eugenia with him. His fingers wrapped around her neck and holding her in front of him as a shield, he aimed the pistol at her head. His lips curled up into a smirk. “I seem to be no earthly good at killing people tonight. Let me rectify this error now.”

  “Jeff!” Eugenia screamed, struggling against her captor. Dunlap sank his fingers deeper into her windpipe, stifling her cry.

  As Eugenia clawed fiercely at the hand squeezing off her air, Jeff hurled the knife he had been holding in his left hand.

  Miraculously, the weapon found its mark. The very blade that had killed Eugenia’s father now sat lodged in his killer’s throat. The lunatic sank to the floor, taking Eugenia with him. His fingers relaxed, allowing Eugenia to suck in much-needed air. Dunlap did not fare as well. Blood mixed with air gurgled and bubbled from the knife wound. Within seconds, he took his last breath.

  Fighting to stay conscious, Jeff fell against the doorjamb helpless to aid Eugenia while she fought Dunlap’s dead weight. Fresh blood oozed from his arm where his makeshift tourniquet had loosened.

  He held his good arm out to her. “Eugenia,” he whispered sliding down to sit on the floor. Freed at last, she ran to him falling to her knees at his side. He pulled her close. “I love you,” he mouthed collapsing in her arms.

  Chapter 22

  Soldiers from Camp Letterman thundered down the lane on horseback with Mrs. Stewart’s buggy racing at breakneck speed right behind them. When they stormed the house and burst through the front door, Captain Bradford lay unconscious on the floor with his head in Eugenia’s lap. She had retightened the belt on his arm and for the time being, the bleeding had stopped. Rigby, along with another Union soldier, carried Jeff upstairs. Mrs. Stewart followed up with medical supplies and then hurried downstairs to oversee the removal of Dunlap’s and Harris’ bodies.

  Once they placed Jeff in bed, Eugenia cut the sleeve from his jacket and with Rigby’s assistance managed to remove the rest of his coat and shirt. Bruising and cuts covered his face, arms, and abdomen, but the critical injury was to his arm. He would need stitches to stem the bleeding and there was no time to transport him to camp for the surgery. Eugenia would have to do it herself.

  Careful to use the same techniques of cleanliness that the captain had insisted upon with John Wells’ injury, she washed her hands and then surveyed the condition of the wound. Not only had the knife cut deep into the muscle, it had severed a major artery. Even if she was careful in repairing the damage, Jeff might never regain the dexterity needed to perform surgery.

  She was laying out the instruments she would need when she noticed Jeff was awake and staring at his arm. “How is it you are awake and alert?” she asked, stunned.

  He smiled weakly, his eyes scanning her. “Are you unharmed?”

  “I am fine.” Her eyes teared up. “You are the one injured.”

  He nodded. “Did you feel for the pulse above and below the wound?” he asked, studying his injury. “Is the artery completely severed? You should open the wound wider to make sure of the condition of the artery.”

  “I can see it. The radial artery is nicked. I will put in a few stitches to hold it.”

  That did not seem to appease him. He strained to lift his shoulders from the bed. “Help me to sit up so I can see for myself.”

  Pressing him back, she reached for the cone, some cotton, and the bottle of chloroform. “Captain, I should administer anesthesia.”

  His left hand snapped up capturing her wrist. “No. Whiskey. Not chloroform. And help me sit up so I can direct you.”

  “What?” she asked in disbelief. “This is not wise. The pain will be excruciating and if you move your arm or pass out—”

  “Tie my arm down,
” he said firmly. “In fact, prop up the head of the bed and secure my body. I must watch.”

  Her eyes widened. “You know this is the most absurd thing you have ever asked of me.”

  “Do it,” he commanded with a grimace.

  There was no use asking Rigby to hold him down while she administered the anesthesia. The physical fight that would ensue would mean more precious blood loss. Knowing he was growing weaker by the moment, she called, “Rigby!” at the top of her lungs. Pouring a whiskey, she placed it in his left hand. “Drink.”

  Rigby stomped up the stairs and into the room. His eyes popped wide when he saw the captain awake and sitting up enjoying a whiskey. The corporal jumped to attention. “Sir?” he asked.

  “I want you to secure me to the bed so I cannot move,” Jeff answered, raising his glass for a refill.

  Rigby took off his cap and scratched his head. “And why would I be doing that, sir?”

  Jeff waited for Eugenia to refill his glass before answering. “Because I am ordering you to do it.”

  Rigby’s forehead shifted in surprise, but he left without further questions in search of extra sheets.

  With the captain secured to the bed, save the hand in which he held his whiskey, Eugenia picked up the scalpel to enlarge the cut. Jeff stopped her. “Wait. Hold the scalpel in the third position and make sure your cut is directly over the artery.”

  Biting her lip, Eugenia nodded. Under the guidance and watchful eye of her father, she had done procedures many times with confidence. However, never had the patient been conscious and the one giving instruction while she did.

  As she made the incision, Jeff’s jaw tightened, and beads of sweat erupted on his forehead. He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, his fingers gripping the glass so tight that she feared it would shatter.

  Eugenia could not hide her anguish as she asked, “Are you going to pass out?”

  He ignored her question. “How does the artery look?”

  She applied clamps to hold the flesh apart. After dabbing the area with fresh cotton, she studied the artery in question. Her eyes moved to Jeff’s face. “It is as I said earlier, only a nick. Most of the damage is to the muscle.”