Liam

by Cynthia Woolf

  They were quiet on the way back to town, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Eleanor sat next to him, her arm locked with his. It made driving difficult, but he knew she needed the closeness.

  When they arrived back at Eleanor’s tent, Liam saw her inside. He was climbing back on the wagon when he heard her scream.

  He jumped back down and tore around the bed of the wagon. He drew his gun and threw back the tent flap. There was a man holding a knife to her throat.

  “Throw down your gun,” said the man, who wore a red bandana tied around the lower half of his face so he wouldn’t be identified.

  Liam dropped the gun.

  “Now kick it away from you,” the man growled.

  He did as he was told and kicked it to the side.

  The man moved toward the entrance with Eleanor in front of him. Liam saw a drop of blood run down her neck from where the knife nicked her. He moved to the side as she and the man moved closer.

  “Now, you move aside or the pretty lady here will be losing a lot of blood.”

  Liam backed away and they scooted by in front of him. When they reached the entrance flap, the man shoved Eleanor to the ground and ran through the opening.

  Liam sprang forward. “Are you alright?

  “Yes, I’m fine, follow him,” she shouted.

  Liam didn’t need to be told twice. He shot out of the entrance in time to see the man turn down the alley. He followed him. As soon as he made the turn to the alley, the man jumped him, slashing his back with the knife. Liam fell to the ground and rather than continue attacking, the man took off at a dead run down the alley.

  Fire seared Liam’s back where the knife had cut it. He surveyed the alley but the man was gone. Liam picked himself off the ground and made his way back to Eleanor’s tent.

  She was pacing up and down the aisle between the rows of chairs. When she saw him enter, she ran to him.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing.” Anger, or maybe fear, laced her voice, “there’s blood all over your back. Come with me and let’s get you cleaned up.”

  She put her shoulder under his arm and her arm around his waist, trying to take his weight upon her. He smiled at her effort but didn’t let her see. Now that she’d mentioned his wound, it was starting to hurt.

  They walked to the back of the tent into the kitchen. He sat on one of the chairs and leaned forward over the table.

  “Take off your shirt and let me see how much damage they did.”

  Obediently, he took off his shirt.

  “Oww,” he groaned at the movement.

  Eleanor put a kettle of water from the bucket by the stove on to boil. She grabbed some cloths from a box sitting on the long table that held their food stuffs, and brought it to where he sat.

  She then tipped a couple of ladles of water into a large mixing bowl and brought it to the table.

  “Lean forward again, please.”

  He did as she asked.

  Dipping one of the cloths into the bowl, she began dabbing at his wound.

  “Well, what’s it look like?” he asked.

  “It’s about six inches long but only deep on one end. That must be where the knife first struck you.”

  “Will it need stitches?”

  “Yes, I think so. I’ll have to get my sewing kit.”

  “You’re going to do it? Don’t you think we should have Doc Cochran do it?”

  She waved his concerns aside. “I’m fully capable. I’ve done it before. Most of the camps and settlements that we’ve been to don’t have doctors. I’ve had to be able to take care of father’s flock with many different ailments and injuries.”

  The tea kettle began to whistle. She stopped, put the cloth on the table, took the bowl to one corner of the tent and dumped the contents into a waste bucket. Then she poured the hot water from the kettle into the bowl, added some cold water to it so it was cool enough she could wring out the cloth without burning her hands and took the bowl back to the table.

  She then got a bar of soap from the worktable and came back to Liam.

  “This is going to hurt, but I’ve got to get it clean before we stitch it closed, otherwise it might get infected and we don’t want that.”

  “Do you have any whiskey?”

  “As a matter of fact, we do. I keep it for medicinal purposes…like this one.”

  She pulled a bottle of brown liquid from the same box she had the cloths, then got a cup and brought both to the table.

  “Drink as much of the cup as you can. You’ll need it to dull the pain.”

  She watched him as he downed a full cup of the liquor. When he was done, she wrung the water from a cloth and soaped it up.

  As soon as she touched him the stinging began and it was all he could do not to flinch away from her hands, gentle though they were. Each swipe of the cloth brought him pain, but he kept his mouth closed and his teeth clenched.

  Eleanor must have known some of what he was feeling because she kept talking, taking his mind off the pain.

  “Father and I were in the war together. He volunteered to be the chaplain for a unit of Missouri soldiers that were leaving to join the Union in 1861. I, of course, went with him. Where else was I to go? I aided the wounded, helped the doctors and nurses as much as I could and held the hands of those who were beyond the help that medicine could give.”

  Her hands were quick and sure. The next thing he knew she was rinsing his back. Squeezing the warm water down, over the wound, letting it run down his back. The top of his pants were going to be soaked, but right now that was the least of his worries.

  Eleanor was drying his back and her hands. Then she took out her sewing kit from the black doctor’s bag that she carried her bible and who knew what else in. Well, actually he knew now. She kept medicines, bandages, her sewing kit, and salves in it, along with her bible. She got a small bowl from the storage table, and poured some of the whiskey into it. Then she put the needle in there to soak while she found her thread.

  “Sorry you don’t get a choice of thread color. I keep heavy black thread for this very use. This is going to hurt, but I actually think the worst of it is over. Usually, when I clean the wound is the worst, well, until that very last anyway.”

  “The very last?” Liam was afraid what this might mean.

  “Yes. After I get the stitches in, I pour whiskey over the wound to kill anything that might infect it.”

  He tried to remain still. “You what?!”

  “It helps. Really. We learned a lot about infection during and after the war. Trust me on this.”

  She reached into the bowl and took out the needle, drying it off with a clean cloth. Then she threaded it with the black thread.

  “Alright now, let’s get this done. You might want to take some more of that whiskey.”

  He swallowed what seemed like half the bottle, but it wasn’t full to begin with so he didn’t know how much he really drank over and above the cup he started with.

  The needle pierced his skin and hurt like the dickens, but he knew it was almost done and the whiskey seemed to be taking effect. The stove and supply table seemed a little fuzzy when he looked at them now, when they hadn’t before.

  “All done,” she said, merrily.

  “What are you so happy about?” he growled.

  “Oh, you are grumpy.” She didn’t seem to let his surly behavior bother her and for that he was grateful. “The water is still hot. I’m going to wash up and make some tea. It’ll help you feel better.”

  He nodded and started to sit back.

  She stopped him. “You don’t want to do that.”

  He took a deep breath. “Right. Thank you…for everything.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope you don’t make a habit of this.”

  She smiled at him.

  Her smile was…fuzzy. She was fuzzy. As a matter of fact everything was a little blurry.

  “Stand up and come with me.�
�� It was a command not a request.

  He stood and wobbled a little.

  “Here let me help you.” She bent and placed her shoulder underneath his arm and helped him through the curtain to her bed. It was an actual double bed.

  He sat on the bed and automatically lay down on his back.

  He shot up at once. “Oww, that hurts.”

  “Lay on your side. It’ll feel better soon.

  He turned onto his right side. The relief was immediate. “Where are you going,” he asked when she stepped away.

  “To get a chair so I can stay by you. In case you need something.”

  “Come here.” He raised his arm. When she hesitated, he said “Please. I need you. Please.”

  She didn’t pause for a moment longer. She lay down beside him on the double bed.

  She was stiff as a board to begin with, yet just having her close was more comforting than he could have imagined. He placed his arm across her middle, pulled her close and that’s the last thing he remembered.

  ~*~

  What in the world was she thinking? She was lying with a man before marriage, although she didn’t think this was what it meant in the Bible.

  She was only giving him comfort. Just as she had many a wounded or dying soldier when she held their hand. But this was different. Liam was her fiancé and he needed her. And she wanted him. It felt so good, so right, to be lying with him, her body pressed against his. His warmth enveloping her. She relaxed against him.

  He made a sound, almost like a chuckle and tucked her closer to him.

  She sighed and let him.

  ~*~

  “Uh, hum.”

  She heard the sound. What was that?

  “Uh, hum.”

  There is was again. She opened her eyes. “Father?”

  “Eleanor.”

  Her father sat in a chair next to the bed, legs crossed and his hands clasped around his knee, watching her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, sleep lacing her voice.

  “I could ask the same of you,” he answered.

  “What?” Then she felt the arm across her stomach move. What?Oh, my God! What have I done? “It’s not what you think, Father.”

  “And what, daughter, do you think I think?”

  “That we…we…well, you know.” She tried to sit up but Liam squeezed her to him.

  He leaned up, never removing his arm from her. “Sir.”

  “Liam,” said Nathaniel. His voice and manner suggested he was more curious than angry.

  “I know what it looks like, sir. But Eleanor was only comforting me. I was injured and she was seeing to my injuries.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “I had that feeling, seeing your wound on your back. Care to tell me how you acquired that?”

  “He was protecting me, Father. A man came and had me with a knife at my throat. Liam saved me.”

  Her father looked at her sternly. “And you thought to repay him with your virtue?”

  “No, Father! We never!”

  “I assure you sir, we did not have congress with each other,” said Liam.

  “And I assure you, young man, that there will be a wedding this day. I will not have my daughter’s virtue or name sullied by what looks to have happened.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand,” said Liam.

  “No! Father, there is no need to rush things. Nothing happened.”

  Liam and Eleanor were both sitting up now. He took her hand. “It’s all right, Eleanor. We were to marry anyway, it’s just a little bit sooner than you wanted.”

  “You did this on purpose,” accused Eleanor. “You must have faked your getting drunk on the whiskey, just so this would happen.”

  “I did not fake anything. I suppose you think I faked the wound that you sewed up last night, too?”

  She shook her head. “No, you didn’t fake that.”

  “Or the attack you found yourself under, I faked that as well?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then suffice it to say, that I had not anticipated spending the night with you and having your father find us in the morning. Though I will not say I’m sorry that the wedding will take place sooner. The sooner you and your father move into my home the safer you will be.”

  “But your home was ransacked yesterday,” Eleanor reminded him.

  “And it will never be again. Until we catch these men, I’m hiring guards for the house and the school. I don’t want you or my children to be in any danger.”

  “Slow down, children. What are you talking about?” asked Nathaniel.

  They proceeded to tell him about the break-in at Liam’s home and the man that had been waiting for Eleanor.

  “That’s why I want you and Eleanor to move into my house. With Zach and I there to watch over you both, you’ll be safe.”

  “I agree that Eleanor should move to your home, however, I cannot. I need to be where my flock is and they are here. This is where I do my ministering and I cannot forsake them, even for my own safety.”

  “But, Father, nothing happened. I’m well past caring what people think of me.”

  “Hush, now Eleanor. You’ve given me enough gray hairs for one day. You may not care what people think of you, but I do, and I’m sure Liam does. He doesn’t want the mother to his children having a stain on her character. Now get your things packed. You must be ready for a wedding this afternoon.” Nathaniel turned to Liam. “Your family will serve as the witnesses. I’d just as soon keep this entire debacle quiet if we can.”

  “I understand, sir. If you could loan me a shirt, mine was destroyed in the attack, I’ll get my family and get back here within several hours.”

  “That is acceptable. Come with me.”

  “But…” protested Eleanor.

  “I suggest you use the time to freshen up and do some packing, Eleanor.”

  Her father had never been so stern with her before.

  “Yes, Father.” She slumped on the bed. She’d never seen the disappointment in her father’s eyes like she just saw and it made her feel ashamed, even though she was innocent.

  She stood, took her valise from the top of a wooden crate and began packing the contents of her bureau in it. She used crates for tables and to keep her things from the muddy floor. There wasn’t much to pack. She had an extra chemise and bloomers, a navy blue skirt and jacket, a pink dress, a blue dress, a nightgown, a robe and several pairs of extra socks. She always made sure she had lots of socks. She hated cold feet.

  She took her comb, brush, and mirror from on top of the bureau, and put them in the bag. They had been her mothers and she didn’t want anything of her mothers. But they’d also been her grandmothers before that, so she thought of them as her grandmothers.

  Why was she thinking of her mother now? The woman was a wanton, a sinner, a whore in the worst possible way. She committed adultery with another man and died birthing his child. Eleanor didn’t know how her father had been able to stand it. He’d known about her mother, known the baby wasn’t his, the whole town knew. Maybe that was why he was so determined to keep Eleanor’s reputation pristine.

  She would do this for her father, because she loved him. As much as she might not want to admit it, Eleanor’s reputation did matter to her. She was not her mother. She was not her mother. She was not.

  CHAPTER 12

  Liam put on Nathaniel’s shirt and made his way to Jake and Becky’s house. He was well aware he was probably being watched or even followed by the very man that had attacked him and ransacked his home.

  When he got to Jake’s, he knocked and scanned the passersby while he waited for Jake to answer the door. He looked, hoping to see someone he’d recognize. It was a long shot and he knew it. He could be looking right at the man and not know it, after all he’d hidden his face.

  “Liam, I didn’t expect you this early,” said Jake as he opened the door.

  “There’s been some new…developments.”

  “Well come on into the parlor. Bec
ky’s there with the kids.”

  “Can we talk some place private, please? My kids don’t need to know all of what I’m going to tell you.”

  “Of course. Let’s go into the office. Do you need me to get Becky?”

  “You can tell her later. Let the kids have their time with her. By the way, do you have a suit?”

  “Suit? Why?”

  “I’m getting married today and I want you to stand up with me.”

  “You’re what?!” exclaimed Jake. “What happened? I know Eleanor wouldn’t have agreed to a change without…” he started grinning.

  “Don’t even think it. That didn’t happen. But circumstances made it look like it could have happened.” Liam began to pace the space between the divan and the door. “I spent the night in Eleanor’s bed and her father found us this morning. Absolutely nothing happened. Both of us were clothed the entire time. Eleanor sewed up a wound on my back and the whiskey I drank made me a little drunk, so she put me to sleep in her bed. I sort of made her lie down next to me. But we kept out clothes on. Nothing happened.”

  “Then why didn’t you just leave this morning before anyone was the wiser?” asked Jake from behind the big oak desk. He didn’t normally like to sit behind the desk, but Liam bet he liked the feeling of superiority he was enjoying right about now.

  “Because her father is the one who woke us up this morning. He loaned me one of his shirts—”

  “That’s right you said she sewed you up. Let me see the wound.” Jake jumped up and came around to where Liam sat in front of the desk.

  Liam unbuttoned his shirt and eased it off of his left side.

  “Wow! You’re lucky it was a cut and not a stab wound. It could have killed you.”

  “I know. I didn’t say anything like that to Eleanor. I was bleeding enough. She was amazing by the way. Didn’t make faces or faint or anything like that. She’s like Becky that way. She just cleaned it up—that hurt like hell—and then sewed it up. The mistake I made was drinking too much of the whiskey she gave me. But in my defense, it hurt, damnit.”

  Jake’s fingers went lightly over the wound. It felt like he was checking each stitch.

  “She did a good job. You’ve got about twenty stitches. Nice and tight. There’s just a little seepage. You need a bandage if you’re going to put on one of my good shirts.” He walked to the sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy in a glass that he then held out to Liam.