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

  Drake sniffed. “Why delay the inevitable, James? You know he’ll send her away. And won’t the parting be even more painful?”

  “You’re mistaken. There is no affair. Are we agreed then?”

  Drake approached and stuck out his hand, and they shook on it. Major Logan had to swallow a smile at the remnants of eggs and toast in Drake’s beard.

  Chapter Four

  March 25

  Kate rose at 4:00 a.m. and dressed by the light of the kerosene lantern in the tiny rectory room that had become her bedroom, although she spent little time there. It had been six weeks since her arrival at Grace Episcopal. Major Logan had accepted her presence, although she often caught him studying her with an enigmatic look on his face.

  Major Drake maintained an icy reserve around her, but he had managed to stay sober for a month after his arrival. Unfortunately during the last fortnight he had arrived on the ward several times in an intemperate state. And she knew why. Someone had been pilfering the store of medicinal brandy meant for the patients. Three days ago she had hidden it in a canned milk crate and stuffed it in a pile of wool blankets on the dais. But even hidden there, brandy had still gone missing. The orderlies in the ward overnight swore they had neither seen nor heard anything.

  She tied her apron on as she reflected on Private Kelly. He’d been feeling poorly and feverish when she retired at midnight, still in despair over the loss of both his legs, and worried about his mother. Lantern in hand, she walked through the darkened rectory toward the ward. A stealthy scuffling noise stopped her at the door to the sanctuary, and she strained to listen. From the other side came a scraping sound and heavy breathing, then a muffled oath.

  Quickly she swung open the door and raised her lantern. The burly figure of a man turned and squinted against the sudden brightness. “Get that blasted light outta of my eyesh! Whoosh there?”

  Just as she had suspected. The milk crate sat on the floor in its nest of blankets, and Major Drake held a half-empty bottle in his hand.

  “Major, have you no shame?” She gave him a scathing look. “That brandy is for the patients!” From the alcohol reek that surrounded him like a fog, he’d already polished off at least one bottle.

  The orange glow of a lantern flared in the ward below as several of the patients raised sleepy heads, blinking. McCracken and Livingston sat up on their pallets in the corner, rubbing their eyes.

  “Git outta my way, w–w–woman,” bellowed Drake. He dropped the bottle on the carpeted dais and pushed her aside. She lifted the lantern dangerously close to his face, and he shrank away. She’d catch a weasel asleep before she let him have that brandy. “That’s not for your personal consumption, Major.”

  “Why, you brazen—” He struck the lantern out of her hand with his fist. It sailed across the dais in a perfect arc and crashed into a basket of cotton bandages, which immediately caught fire. McCracken shouted a warning as he and Livingston dashed toward the steps, pulling up their suspenders. Kate gasped and tore off her apron to muffle the burning basket while the orderlies grabbed blankets, but the flames, accelerated by the brandy spilled on the carpet, had already leaped to the back wall.

  “Get help,” she yelled to McCracken. “Most of the men can’t walk.” McCracken nodded and bolted for the door.

  “Fire!” screamed Kate. “Help! Fire!”

  Together she and Livingston beat at the flames as black smoke swirled through the sanctuary. The heat inside the building intensified as the flames consumed the wood of the back wall. Drake had lurched to a chair and sat, stupefied, staring slack-mouthed at the fire.

  “Help us!” she shouted at Drake. Her lungs burned, and the billowing smoke made it hard to see. Livingston moved ahead of her to attack a fresh burst of flames in the corner. Someone seized her arms from behind, and she was spun around. Drake’s demonic pupils mirrored the flames behind her and focused on her with diabolic intent. Before she could scream, he seized her by the throat with both hands. She flailed on the tips of her toes and desperately scrabbled to pry his fingers from her neck. Private Monroe stumbled from his pallet, got his crutch under his arm, and stumbled toward the dais as Drake squeezed harder and her vision darkened. A fiery explosion shattered the air, and Drake screamed and released her, falling back with his hands clamped to his face. The milk crate had caught fire, exploding the brandy bottles and spraying the dais curtains, which ignited with a blazing whoosh. On her belly Kate slithered toward Livingston. Below, the men coughed and choked and cried out as the flames roared to the top of the wall and curled along the vaulted wood ceiling, crackling as it consumed the wood like a living creature.

  Kate reached Livingston and pulled his pant leg. “Get help,” she shouted over the roar of the fire.

  Livingston nodded and turned for the door then stopped as Major Drake came out of the smoke and lunged at her once again. Her sleeve ripped as she twisted out of his grasp and screamed hoarsely through her bruised throat. Livingston tackled Drake, pinioning his arms, and wrestled him to the floor as Major Logan burst into the sanctuary.

  “Make a line! Make a line!” He tore down the flaming draperies and stamped on them. Other soldiers poured into the building and efficiently established a bucket brigade to the river while vile oaths and imprecations spewed like vomit out of Major Drake’s mouth. Slowly but surely the men brought the fire under control until only smoldering heaps of charred wet wood remained. Cold air poured in through the gaping, burned-out wall. The major put men to work to temporarily close the hole with tarpaulins hastily brought from the fort.

  Kate’s legs collapsed, and she sat down with a thump on the wet floor. Shivering, she pulled her knees to her chest. Her throat hurt terribly, and her body shook like she had an ague.

  Major Logan bent over her, dressed in trousers and his shirt loose. “Are you injured?”

  “Not badly,” she managed to croak through her bruised throat, so tired she couldn’t move.

  “Major Drake attacked her, sir,” said Private Kelly weakly, from his cot below the dais. “Like a mad man. He tried to strangle her. I seen it with my own eyes.”

  Major Logan’s face darkened as he lifted her chin and inspected her neck. His lips pressed into a hard line as he glanced at her torn dress and the purple bruises showing through her ripped sleeve. He helped her to her feet and settled her on a stool.

  “He’ll be court-martialed for this,” he said grimly. “If I don’t kill him myself first.”

  “He’s been…stealing the brandy…meant for the men,” she said. Her throat throbbed as if Major Drake’s hand still gripped it in a vise, her voice raspy. “Only this morning…did I get my proof.”

  “Shesh’s lyin’,” shouted Drake as the orderlies struggled to lash him to a chair. “I demand to be releashed at once!”

  “Shut him up,” said Major Logan.

  “Yes, sir.” McCracken obligingly stuck a massive roll of bandages in Drake’s mouth, effectively cutting off the fountain of profanities. Drake’s eyes bulged while he tried to shout around the gag and tossed his head from side to side like a madman. Blood dripped from the cuts on his face, giving him a ghoulish appearance.

  A soldier rushed in, slipped on the wet floor, righted himself, and saluted the major smartly.

  “Yes, Private?”

  “General Sherman, sir,” the soldier stuttered, “General William Tecumseh Sherman has docked on the river at Fort Anderson. He’s proceeding here now.”

  “Thank you.” Logan sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes. In the chaos of the fire he had forgotten the telegram that had arrived yesterday from Cairo, Illinois, informing him of General Sherman’s visit. He glanced about the dripping walls, the ruined ward, and the charred remains of the dais draperies. The riverfront lay two blocks away. General Sherman would get a firsthand look at the damage. He tucked his shirttail in and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. What a way to greet his commanding officer.

  A few moments later, Kate noticed the two orderlies sprin
g to attention. Major Logan followed suit. A tall officer strode in and saluted in return. His reddish hair lay curiously short and ragged on his head. He possessed an aquiline nose and thin lips in a dark beard clipped close. The shadows around his eyes gave him an implacable appearance. Even in her dazed state, Kate caught the air of strength and determination that emanated from him.

  “At ease, men.” The general scrutinized the damaged wall and the smoldering piles of scorched wood. He nodded to her, but his gaze lingered on Major Drake, bound and gagged in the corner.

  “Well, Major Logan, I can see this isn’t an ordinary morning.”

  “Not at all, sir.”

  General Sherman turned to her. “General William Tecumseh Sherman, at your service, ma’am.” He bowed. “No, please remained seated,” he said, as she tried to rise.

  “Mrs. Katherine Wilkes,” she whispered hoarsely, sinking onto the stool. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir, even under these conditions.”

  “You’re injured, Mrs. Wilkes. Do you require medical attention?”

  “I will see to it that she’s taken care of, sir,” said Major Logan.

  The general nodded. “I’ve been hearing some interesting reports about this camp hospital, Major,” he said briskly, “which I wish to discuss with you. But first,” he glanced toward Major Drake, once more struggling against his bonds and growling against the gag, “why is Major Drake bound?”

  “He’s been stealing the brandy meant for the men, sir,” said Major Logan. “When Mrs. Wilkes attempted to stop him this morning, he attacked her and tried to strangle her. Somehow a fire started.”

  General Sherman’s lips hardened, and he turned a calculated gaze on Drake, who wilted and quieted under the imperturbable assessment.

  “He knocked my lantern…into some bandages…which caught fire,” she said haltingly, her voice hoarse. “It spread from there.”

  General Sherman turned to one of the lieutenants with him. “Put Major Drake in the stockade.”

  The veins in Drake’s neck bulged as two soldiers released him from the chair and rebound his wrists behind him. He looked thoroughly disreputable and capable of further violence as he glared at her, and she shuddered, glad to see him taken away.

  Drake managed to spit out the gag as the soldiers dragged him away. Beet-red in the face, he shouted at Major Logan. “I’ll have y–you court-marthialed for thith!”

  General Sherman shook his head. “Gag him again.”

  After the soldiers removed Drake, General Sherman glanced around the ward. “All these patients will be transferred to the fort, Major Logan. Lieutenant Gordon, please see to it immediately.” He glanced at Kate. “That will give Mrs. Wilkes a few days to recover. After you’ve seen to her, come to the fort. I need to speak with you privately.”

  “Yes, sir.” Logan saluted General Sherman, who returned the salute and left.

  “Are you feelin’ poorly, Mrs. Kate?” Private Kelly gazed at her anxiously.

  She nodded, not wanting to speak unless absolutely necessary, but smiled faintly at his method of address. The men had taken to calling her that in the last few days.

  His pale face lit up. “You did real good, ma’am, standing up to that old wrangler.”

  Around the room, the soldiers nodded at her.

  “Serves him right,” said another. “He’s lower than a snake in a rut. I hope he does get court-martialed.”

  “Meaner than a whole sack of rattlesnakes, plumb sure,” said Private Monroe.

  Kate straightened and took careful stock of the men. “No one hurt?” she croaked.

  “No, ma’am,” they chorused. “Take more than that to hurt us.”

  The Fort Anderson soldiers had returned with litters to transfer the men. The boys were in good hands for the time being. She couldn’t have done much for them at the moment anyway. The rush of strength while fighting the fire had dissipated, leaving her spent and weak as a baby.

  Major Logan seethed inside. He should have reported Drake before this. Now Mrs. Wilkes had paid the price. She slumped on the stool, exhausted, her face streaked with soot and her dress singed with charred holes. The print of Drake’s thumbs showed clearly on her throat. He gritted his teeth.

  “Mrs. Wilkes, let me help you to your room.”

  She opened her eyes and nodded. Her first step was unsteady, and when she stumbled, he picked her up like a rag doll. She couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet.

  “At the far end,” she pointed to the end of the hallway, farthest away from the sanctuary.

  He carried her to the tiny room and laid her gently on the cot. After placing a pillow behind her head, he lifted the roller shade to examine her by the sunlight streaming through the window. Her eyes were clear, no hemorrhages. He poured a glass of water and held it out. “Try a swallow.”

  Obediently she took a cautious sip and shook her head, her face pained. “Hurts.”

  He placed the glass on the table. “You have some internal swelling, but I don’t think you’ll have any permanent damage. Your vocal cords have been injured, and you need to rest. I’ll make a draught of slippery elm for your throat.”

  She nodded wearily and pulled the pins out of her hair, releasing the mass of curls and ringlets down her back. In the sunlight her hair glowed a fierce reddish gold.

  He hesitated. “There isn’t any woman here to help you, Mrs. Wilkes. Shall I send to St. Mary’s and ask one of the sisters to come?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll manage,” she whispered. “Thank you.” She laid her head on the pillow.

  “I’ll bring you some hot water.” He took the pitcher to the cook tent and picked up some towels. He couldn’t imagine that she would want to stay after what had happened today.

  Her eyes were closed when he returned. Although she looked tiny and helpless, she’d already proven her value. But what had happened this morning might be enough to cause her to give up nursing the men. With a start, he realized he didn’t want her to go.

  She didn’t stir when he sat down on the edge of the bed. He wet a corner of the towel and took a gentle hold of her chin. Carefully he wiped the soot off her face and neck. Then he smiled. Tiny freckles were sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes opened then—gray eyes so clear he could get lost in them. He gave himself a mental shake. Get hold of yourself, Logan.

  “Major,” she said hoarsely.

  “Yes?”

  She gazed at him. “Why have you changed your mind about me?”

  His mouth fell open. He hadn’t expected such a point-blank question. The obvious reason was that the Lord had told him to wait. But if he were to be brutally honest, there was more to it. Because he’d never met another woman with the grit she possessed? The temerity to stand up against a man twice her size when he interfered with the care of her ‘boys’? An unexpected and powerful impulse surged through him to gather her in his arms and protect her.

  “I prayed,” he said gruffly. “I trusted that the Lord had another plan.” He stood and pulled the roller shade down. “Now get some rest.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” she said meekly and closed her eyes.

  Major Logan posted a guard outside her door, left orders to fetch him when she awoke, and walked the two blocks toward Fort Anderson on the Ohio riverfront. Sunlight glittered off the water-filled ditches that surrounded the fort on three sides. Another officer showed him to General Sherman’s study, and he and the general descended to the stockade, a small windowless room in the lowest level of the fort. Four small cells stood empty at one end of the room, each furnished with a cot and a wooden slop bucket.

  Major Drake had been handcuffed to a chair, with a burly guard on each side. Someone had washed the blood off his face. Although the gag had been removed, he didn’t speak as they entered the room but glowered daggers at Logan.

  General Sherman seated himself at a battered desk in the corner, and Logan took the only other piece of furniture in the room, a wooden stool. The general con
sidered each of them in turn, his dark eyes determined. “I want an explanation of what happened in the ward this morning. You may go first, Major Logan.”

  Logan nodded. “As I told you, sir, Mrs. Wilkes caught Major Drake stealing the medicinal brandy. When she tried to stop him, he assaulted her.”

  Drake sprang to his feet, dragging the chair with him, his face livid. “You’re taking her side against me?” The soldiers pushed him back into the seat. He turned to face the general and lowered his voice. He had regained control of his faculties, no longer slurring his words. “Sir, that woman is disrespectful. She back-talked me constantly and thought she was as good as any physician.”

  Major Logan exhaled hard through his nose, incredulous. “Do you remember anything about this morning? In your enraged and inebriated state you tried to strangle her!” He glanced at the general. “If the orderlies hadn’t managed to restrain him, he might well have accomplished the deed.”

  “I hardly touched her.”

  “The bruises on her throat and arms say otherwise, Major.”

  “I wanted to teach her a lesson.”

  “While fire destroyed the ward and the lives of our injured soldiers were at risk? If you hadn’t been stealing the brandy, none of this would have happened. You’ve lost your mind. And you will lose your commission now, if I have anything to say about it.”

  General Sherman pulled a case from his jacket and took out a cigar. “There are witnesses to this, Major Logan?”

  “Yes, sir. Several.”

  Drake tried to get out of the chair again, but this time the soldiers were ready and clamped him firmly in his seat. His fleshy jowls shook with rage. “I knew you’d take her side, Logan. Maybe General Sherman should ask what you’ve been doing with Mrs. Wilkes, hmm? I’ll bet you haven’t mentioned your little affair with that woman to the general. I should have reported you at once.”

  General Sherman turned his inexorable gaze on Major Logan. “Is this true?”

  “Absolutely not, sir, on my word as an officer.”