The Courageous Brides Collection

by Johnnie Alexander, Michelle Griep, Eileen Key, Debby Lee, Rose Allen McCauley, Donita Kathleen Paul, Jennifer Uhlarik, Jenness Walker, Renee Yancy

  The tall man’s eyebrows dove for cover beneath the brim of his cap. The shorter just strapped her bag to the side of his bay. Jubal prophesied the wrath of God and Aunt Rosamund.

  And all gasped when she hauled herself astride and snapped the horse into motion.

  It was a hard ride, dirt and rocks flying behind her and the soldier. The path to the fort wasn’t well used from this direction, making it a challenge to stay in the saddle. By the time they charged through the wooden gates of Fort Snelling, her thighs ached from holding on and her fingers from gripping the reins. The soldier halted in front of the dispensary and hopped down. She followed suit, her feet barely touching the ground before he unstrapped the leather bag and shoved it into her hands. Had her father felt this unprepared, clutching his tools, dashing through a door into moaning and mortality?

  Inside, a soldier lay on a table, soaked in blood and sweat. A woman hovered over him, wiping his head with a cloth.

  Emmy darted into action with a “pardon me” to the woman and a visual assessment of the man’s leg. Ruined flesh gaped below the poor cloth tourniquet, but at least the fabric held.

  Straightening, she unbuttoned her coat and hung it on a peg then grabbed a stained apron off another, all the while spouting orders. “I’ll need a bite stick for his mouth, plenty of brandy or whatever alcohol is on hand, and a poultice of milkweed and comfrey. Oh, and two strong men to hold him down.”

  “Are you mad?” A deep voice boomed behind her. “What you need is a bone saw and a tenaculum!”

  She whirled.

  Framed in the doorway, a broad-shouldered man shrugged out of a coat—a well-tailored blue woolen. His green eyes assessed her as though deciding which part of a cadaver to cut up first.

  She stiffened. Who did this arrogant newcomer think he was? She flashed her own perturbed gaze at the soldier and the woman who had yet to carry out her orders. “I thought you said you required my help?”

  The soldier shrugged. “Seems the new doc just arrived, Miss Nelson.”

  “That’s Dr. Clark, if you don’t mind.” The man stalked past the soldier to a washbasin, rolling up his sleeves to the elbows. Dipping his hands in, he cast her a dark look over his shoulder. “And for God’s sake, wash your hands. You look as if you’ve just ridden in from the backcountry.”

  Resisting the urge to hide her fingernails, she lifted her chin like a shield before battle. “Doctor Clark, if amputation is what you’re about, you might as well sign the man’s death warrant, for he’ll have no livelihood out here with one leg.”

  “If that leg remains attached, I assure you I will be signing the man’s death certificate, and you’ll be the one to blame. Do you really want that on your head?” His voice lowered. “Now are you going to assist me or not, Nurse?”

  She sucked in a breath. Should she back down? Or worse…humiliate herself and admit she wasn’t a trained nurse at all?

  James Clark hid his admiration for the feisty woman beneath a scowl. She was a confident one, he’d give her that, though a field nurse likely had to be strong to survive in these backwoods. Intelligence lived behind those blue eyes, flashing like a lightning strike. Strength pulled a jaunty line to her lips. Sweet heavens! Would that they’d met under different circumstances, for very likely, this was a woman who’d not be swayed by convention. A refreshing change from the ladies out East. Grabbing the brush at the side of the basin, he attempted to scrub away such a thought along with the travel grime from beneath his nails.

  Miss Nelson’s shoes clacked across the wooden floor, clipped and brisk. Water splashed into the porcelain bowl next to his. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, Doctor”—she shot him a sideways glance—“but with a steady administration of laudanum to keep the patient still, I’ve seen milkweed and comfrey work miracles.”

  Bah! He snatched the towel off a hook, rattling the washstand with the force of it. This was just the sort of backward medicine he expected to encounter and furthermore…furthermore …

  His shoulders sank. Furthermore, this was the entire reason Dr. Stafford had sent him out here. If he didn’t make it past this hurdle, he’d never get that fellowship at Harvard Medical School—the one his father had spent his life on pushing him toward.

  Gritting his teeth, James crossed to the patient’s side and examined the leg. The flesh beneath the knee was mangled, a hotbed for incubation should gangrene decide to grow. What to do? Dare he try the folkish cure suggested by the snip of a woman?

  The fellow writhed, pumping out a fresh wave of blood—and making up James’s mind. “Heat an iron, and I’ll need those instruments. Now!”

  Miss Nelson darted over from the basin. “But Dr. Clark—”

  His gaze locked onto hers. “Either we are a team, Miss Nelson, or you can walk out that door.” He angled his head toward the entrance. “What’s it to be?”

  Crimson bloomed up her neck and onto her cheeks. The sergeant groaned, and with a whirl of her skirts, she mumbled, “Fine.”

  It was a quick surgery. Miss Nelson’s fingers were nimble, her instincts keen as she handed him tools before he even asked. She only bristled once, when he set saw to bone, but to her credit, she remained silent. The soldier who’d opted to stay, however, emptied his stomach into a nearby bedpan, and the other woman fled out the door. Just as well. The cold air it ushered in cooled the perspiration on his brow. Despite what Miss Nelson may think of him, removing a body part never came easy.

  “There we have it.” He tied a final suture, and she snipped the silk thread. Apparently when Miss Nelson committed to something, she did so wholeheartedly.

  “While you didn’t approve of my methods, your help was impeccable.” He waited for her to set aside the tray of used instruments and meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

  She pressed her lips together for a moment then answered. “You’re welcome.”

  They both washed their hands. Each removed their surgical aprons, their movements in unison. The woman may harbor archaic medical knowledge, but God and country, she acted with precision.

  Retrieving her overcoat from a peg, she slipped it on. “Good-bye, Dr. Clark. I wish you the best.”

  He frowned. Oughtn’t a nurse continue tending a patient post-op? “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I am expected in Minneapolis.” She fumbled with her bonnet strings. “You see, I’m not—”

  A woman’s scream leached through the door, and Miss Nelson yanked it open. Worse sounds blasted in on a gust of wind. Children crying. Men cursing. Soldiers, horses, and guns. What in the world?

  In four long strides, he drew up alongside Miss Nelson and blinked at the bloody chaos being prodded into the compound.

  “Good Lord,” he breathed. “What is this?”

  Chapter Two

  Alarm. Fear. Dread. Emotions rifled through Emmy so quickly, her stomach clenched. She stared, horrified, as a wretched group of Sioux spread over the parade ground like an open sore, mostly women and children, many elders, and several warriors—all sporting bruises. This close, face-to-face with the people responsible for her betrothed’s death, she expected to feel some morsel of rage. Yet as she watched a soldier raise a horsewhip against a cringing woman, only one feeling pounded stronger with each heartbeat.

  Compassion.

  “No!” She jumped down the single stair and sprinted toward the man. “Stop!”

  The private swung her way with a vow. “Back away, miss. This ain’t no place for a lady. These savages—”

  “The only savage I see, sir, is the one with a whip in his hand.” She snipped out each word, sharp and pointed.

  A scowl slashed across his face. “Oh? Injun lover, are you?” He hefted the whip once more. “Maybe you ought to join them, then.”

  “And maybe you ought to give me your name and rank, soldier.” Dr. Clark shoved between them, his shoulders blocking her view of the man, his voice a steel edge. Though she couldn’t see the soldier, she had no doubt the fellow probably froze slack-ja
wed. She’d read once that the growl of a tiger could paralyze its prey. Such was the bass tone of the doctor’s command. A tremor shivered through her. She’d hate to be on the receiving end of Dr. Clark’s anger.

  A tug on her sleeve turned her around. Purple darkened a circle around the woman’s left eye, and it had swollen nearly shut. Her split lower lip was crusted over with a scab, but even so, she offered a small smile. “Thank you, lady. You are kind.”

  Emmy blinked, astonished. “You speak English…and quite well.”

  A black-headed boy with eyes the color of a summer sky grabbed on to the woman’s buckskin skirt, crying. She lifted the lad, letting him rest his head against her shoulder before she answered. “My husband is a white man. An agent. He will see you are rewarded when he comes for me.”

  “No need. I’m sure you would’ve done the same.” The words flew from her tongue before she thought, leaving a bitter aftertaste. She sucked in a breath, stunned. How could she say such a thing to someone who may have supported killing innocents?

  The woman’s gaze stared straight into her soul. “Yes, I would have done the same.”

  Emmy breathed out, long and low, then startled when fingers gripped her elbow.

  “Miss Nelson, shall we?” Dr. Clark tugged her away from the soldiers and their captives. “I’ve spoken with a lieutenant. These are the ‘friendlies,’ as he put it. Those not involved in some sort of uprising. Apparently these people are to winter here, down on the flats and, well, you can see for yourself they’re mostly women and children, many sick, some beaten. Would you reconsider your stance on leaving? I …”

  His jaw clenched, and a muscle corded on his neck. Though she’d known him for hardly two hours, she’d wager whatever he was about to say would cost him a dear price.

  “I need you.” He bent toward her, a rogue grin flashing across his face. “Though I won’t admit to saying that in a court of law.”

  Over his shoulder, she searched the wreck of humanity. There must be more than a thousand souls to tend in this bunch. He’d need more than her help. He’d need a miracle.

  And so would she. If she agreed to this, Aunt wouldn’t simply have the vapors—she’d suffer an apoplexy. If Papa were here…her heart beat faster. She knew exactly what Papa would say.

  Squaring her shoulders, she faced the doctor. “I suppose we’ll have to clear this with the colonel.”

  He cocked his head. “Why?”

  “I see by the cut of your clothing that you’re not military. Nor am I.”

  His brow crumpled. “I have a six-month commission waiting for me once I walk through the colonel’s door, but you? I thought—”

  “I’ll explain along the way.” She set off with a confident step, fighting a sneeze from the dirt kicked up by her own shoes and those of the soldiers and Indians. Her father had brought her here a few times over the past years, and now the knowledge served her well. She waited until the doctor joined her side before she spoke again. “You might as well know I am no nurse, not officially, anyway.”

  Dr. Clark cut her a sideways glance. “I don’t understand. Your work back there was—” He dodged a soldier who parted them like a rock in a stream. “Let’s just say I’ve worked with many assistants, none as intuitive as you.”

  For the first time since her father’s death, genuine warmth wrapped around her heart, as comforting as an embrace and far more effective than the weak afternoon sun. “I may not have a formal education, but I grew up at my father’s side, shadowing his every case.”

  “He was an accomplished physician?”

  “Quite.” Despite the pain and misery mere paces to her left, a half smile curved her lips. “Some say the best west of the Mississippi.”

  “Really? What is your father’s name? Perhaps I may have heard of him.”

  “Dr. Edrith Nelson.” Her smile soured. Speaking his name was bittersweet.

  Dr. Clark’s step hitched, as if her wave of anguish moved him as well. “Did you say Edrith Nelson?”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  He snorted. “I don’t know if you know this, Miss Nelson, but your father’s methods are published in many a forum in the East, and are a major factor why my sponsor sent me here. I look forward to meeting him.”

  “I am sorry that won’t be possible.” She trudged up the few steps to the colonel’s front door and paused on the stoop. Clearing her throat, she fought to summon words she didn’t want to say while battling an onslaught of tears. If she let one go, the floodgates would open. “My father passed on a fortnight ago.”

  Clenching her hands into fists, she braced against the sympathy that was sure to follow, for such would be her undoing.

  But a gleam brightened the doctor’s green gaze. “You are quite the enigma, Miss Nelson.” He pushed open the door. “After you.”

  For a moment, she stood, mouth agape. Was everything about the man unpredictable?

  Inside, a makeshift office transformed the foyer. The doctor stepped up to a soldier perched on a stool behind a desk. “Dr. James Clark and Miss Nelson to see Colonel Crooks.”

  The man didn’t so much as look up from a stack of papers. “Can’t you see the colonel’s got a mess of murderers out there to deal with?”

  “Do you think he’d rather deal with the dysentery and typhoid that are even now infecting every soldier in this fort?” The doctor’s words fired out like a round of grapeshot.

  Emmy lifted her hand to her mouth, hiding a smile.

  The soldier jerked to attention. “Who’d you say you are?”

  “Private!” A muttonchopped man wearing colonel stripes at his shoulder leaned out an open door down the hall. “Just send them in.”

  Emmy clenched her skirts. This was it. Meeting with the commanding officer would change the course of her life—and not in a direction Aunt would approve of.

  Should she go through with this? Could she? How did one agree to care for a people who’d stolen Daniel from her so long ago?

  James strode through the colonel’s door, directly behind Miss Nelson’s swishing skirts. The colonel stood near a hearth, lifting the flaps of his dress coat so the heat warmed his backside. He eyed them upon entrance, yet said nothing, the pull of his sideburns accenting a glower. Except for a gilt-framed painting of the crossing at the Potomac, a clock ticking away on a facing wall, and a mirror opposite a window, the walls were as barren as the man’s manners, for he had yet to acknowledge them personally. James expected a certain lack of etiquette out here in the wild, but was this what military life would be like?

  Stretching himself to full height, James executed a salute he’d practiced to perfection back at Cambridge. “Dr. James Clark, reporting for service, sir.”

  The colonel dropped his flaps, his boots tapping out a cadence on the wooden floor as he crossed to the window. With one finger, he swept aside a curtain and studied the commotion on the grounds.

  And still, the man said nothing.

  Miss Nelson exchanged a glance with James, her brows lifting. Clearly she desired him to break the standoff, yet what more should he say? Dr. Stafford had prepared him for many things on this adventure that were “for his own good,” but a taciturn officer wasn’t one of them.

  “I’ve been expecting you these past four weeks.” The colonel’s voice ricocheted off the glass. He and Miss Nelson flinched, but the colonel didn’t seem to notice, for he continued, “Though I suppose the route here was a bit…disturbed.”

  That put it mildly. A steamship with an unsalvageable boiler. The coach with a broken axel. Dead oxen. Cholera at a wayside. Indeed. Fighting the urge to scratch the stubble on his jaw, he maintained his ramrod stance. “It was a piecemeal journey at that, sir.”

  The colonel allowed the curtain to fall then pivoted. His gaze slid from Miss Nelson to him. The clock ticked overloud. Angry voices pelted the building from outside. Yet the colonel held the deadlock of stares. What in the world went on behind those gunmetal eyes? If he intended a dressin
g-down, then why not have at it?

  “I can see more information will not be forthcoming until you are released, so at ease. The both of you.” The colonel swept his arm toward a few empty chairs as he moved behind his desk. “I expect doctors to be boorish at times, but oughtn’t you introduce your wife instead of relegating her to anonymity?”

  James choked, glad for the sturdy wooden ladder-back beneath him. Miss Nelson blanched to a fine shade of parchment.

  “I am sorry for the misunderstanding, sir.” He shifted in his seat. “But this woman is not my wife.”

  Across from him, the colonel’s face darkened. “Then you are worse than boorish. We may be on the edge of civilization, Doctor, but we are neither lawless nor immoral.”

  In the chair next to him, Miss Nelson strangled a small cry.

  “No! Nothing like that.” Heat crept up his back, his neck, his ears. Sweet mercy, but it was hot in here. “Allow me to explain.”

  The colonel sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Fire away.”

  James tugged on his collar, coercing words past the embarrassment tightening his throat. He could only imagine the discomfort Miss Nelson felt—for he refused to look at her. “When I arrived just a few hours past, I came upon Miss Nelson caring for a sergeant’s wounded leg.” The colonel pierced the woman with a gaze as sharp as a bayonet. “What the devil?”

  Miss Nelson leaned forward. “Two of your soldiers retrieved me from Mendota, sir. I am Dr. Edrith Nelson’s daughter. He’s recently passed on, so I came in his stead, being your doctor had not yet arrived.”

  “I see.” The colonel sucked in a breath so large, his chest expanded to the point that he might burst. At last, he stood and rounded the desk, offering his hand to the lady and helping her to her feet. “In that case, I thank you. Your willingness to rally to our aid is appreciated, especially at times such as these.”