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

  General Sherman leisurely lit his cigar and took a puff. “How long has Mrs. Wilkes been here?”

  “About six weeks, sir.”

  “Interesting.” The general put his cigar down on the end of the desk and drew a paper out of his pocket. “I have here the official mortality reports for this camp hospital for the past three months.” He tapped the paper. “Some curious numbers. The mortality rate in this particular hospital dropped dramatically for the month of February.” He eyed the men. “What can we attribute this to?”

  Major Logan sat up straighter.

  General Sherman smiled. “Yes. You’ve arrived at the same conclusion I have, Major Logan. It has to be the nursing the men have received at the hands of Mrs. Wilkes.”

  Major Logan blinked. And he’d wanted to send her away.

  Drake clenched his meaty fists. “You don’t mean to say you’re going to let her stay, General? That’s outrageous.”

  “I disagree.” The general shook his head. “To successfully fight this war, I need every man I can get, as strong as he can be. Mrs. Wilkes has accomplished a small miracle here, one I wish to see repeated in other hospitals. As a matter of fact, I’m going to ask her to accompany my army in a few days when we move south to Tennessee.”

  Major Logan’s chest tightened. Of course she would say yes, and that realization left a surprising void inside him. He struggled to keep his face stoic as Drake leered knowingly at him.

  “You’ll be coming with me as well, Major Logan. The sanctuary is going to be returned to its congregation, and the Marine Hospital should be able to handle the patient load as the army moves farther south.”

  Logan couldn’t hold back the grin that cracked his face. “Yes, sir.”

  Drake gasped. “You can’t be serious, General,” he sputtered.

  “To the contrary, I’m quite serious.” General Sherman stubbed his cigar out and stood. “But you needn’t worry about it, Major.” The general’s lips pursed in a faint moue of distaste as he scrutinized Drake’s sweat-stained uniform, the corpulent paunch over his belt, and the bloodshot eyes. “You’ll be on a train to Washington for your court-martial.” He nodded to the soldiers. “Put him in a cell.”

  Kate awoke to a pink sunset outside her window. Why was she in bed at dusk? Her throat hurt, and still groggy, she swung her legs over the side of the cot and wrinkled her nose at the harsh scent of charred wood and smoke that rose from her ruined dress. The altercation with Major Drake, the flames of fire—it all came rushing back, and she blushed, remembering how Major Logan had swept her up and carried her to the tiny bedroom, sat on the cot, and tenderly washed her hands and face. The intimacy of that moment had taken her breath away. Her face grew hotter at the memory of his strong arms holding her close, the heat of his body against her wet, chilled flesh.

  Then she blinked. He’d probably noticed she wasn’t wearing a corset. What would he think of her?

  This wouldn’t do. She clamped her jaw, got out of bed, and reached for the water glass, taking a cautious sip. Not quite as painful as this morning. She needed a wash and change of clothes. She emptied the cold water from the pitcher out the window and went to the door, where she ran into the guard.

  The soldier snapped to attention. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said. “You’re awake now.”

  “I am. Going to fetch some hot water.”

  “I’ll be happy to do that for you, ma’am.” He took the pitcher from her.

  “Thank you.”

  Back in her room, she pulled fresh clothing from her trunk and found her brush. A gentle knock sounded at her door and the guard peeked in. “Here’s your hot water, ma’am. I’ll be off to report to Major Logan now. He asked to be notified when you woke.”

  Once he left, she stripped off her sooty clothes and washed her face and body, giving thanks for soap, hot water, and clean towels. Carefully she brushed tiny pieces of glass out of her hair. After dressing with fresh clothing from her unmentionables out to her dress and with her hair pinned up, she felt herself again. Then she left her room and made her way to the front of the churchyard to sit on one of the shabby wooden pews. Venus twinkled low on the horizon in the rosy sky, and the pungent smell of charred wood wasn’t as pervasive. Horace wandered over and pushed his nose against her shoulder. She was giving him a vigorous scratch when General Sherman and Major Logan came along the road and approached her.

  The general bowed. “Mrs. Wilkes, I will come straight to the point. I have direct evidence that your care for my men here has borne joyful fruit, despite what many say about a woman in the hospital camps. You’ve single-handedly reduced the mortality rate here by half.”

  A thrill ran through her, hastily tempered by the knowledge of why she was there to begin with. “Thank you, sir,” she said hoarsely.

  “Major Drake will bother you no longer. He’s been placed under arrest. I sincerely apologize for his actions.”

  “Thank you.” Now he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

  General Sherman studied her, his fine dark eyes seeming to miss nothing. “I’m moving my forces to Tennessee in a few days. Would you consider accompanying me? I will give you all the assistance and support you need.”

  Kate blinked. Henry would have been proud of her. Then her gut twisted, and she tried to keep the agonizing pain off her face. If only she hadn’t—

  She bowed her head. “I would be honored, General. Thank you.” The expiation of her terrible sin could continue in Tennessee.

  General Sherman bowed to her and left.

  “May I?” Major Logan glanced at the seat next to her.

  “Of course.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  Silence stretched between them as the sky darkened and a white mist appeared over the river.

  “I want to offer my congratulations,” Major Logan said suddenly. “You’ve done some fine work with the men.” He hesitated. “I know…I know I was harsh when you came.”

  “You were.”

  “I had a reason, Mrs. Wilkes.” He gazed out at the river. “The horrors I’ve seen, the waste of life, the blood, the dirt, and the despair.” His voice rose, impassioned. “Why should you have to see it? Endure it?” His voice broke. “Forgive me, I—it’s wrong of me to burden you.”

  “I have my own burdens, Major,” she said quietly. “Things in my past I’d rather forget.” Such as Henry’s eyes, dulled with fever and pain, yet still full of love for her. Love she didn’t deserve. Forgiveness she didn’t—

  Major Logan shifted on the seat to look at her. “I knew there was something different about you right from the start. A certain …” He paused, searching for the right word. “Intransigence. Yes, that’s it.” He smiled. “No compromise.”

  She smiled bitterly, glad the darkness hid her face.

  If only he knew.

  Chapter Five

  Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee April 7

  At midnight, Major Logan sat at the desk in his tent by the battlefield, wearily writing a letter to his mother. So many amputations today, so many lives lost. The rebels had charged the Union forces early this morning with initial success, resulting in thousands of Union casualties. General Sherman had been wounded twice—in the hand and the shoulder—and had three horses shot out from under him. When reinforcements arrived later that afternoon, the tables had turned, the Confederates had been forced back, and a Union victory declared.

  At a terrible cost.

  Through the narrow opening of the tent flap, a flickering orange glow appeared on the battlefield, flitting in and out. Logan turned his lantern down and peered through the darkness. Midnight had passed. There shouldn’t be anyone out there at this time of night.

  He stepped outside the tent as the light disappeared and then reappeared farther down the field. Looters? He didn’t see any other lights. Looting the dead and injured was strictly forbidden, but there were always blackguards who didn’t hesitate to break the law and had no respect for the
dead.

  He approached the nearest sentries and pointed out the light. “Investigate that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They saluted and went out into the darkness. A few moments later, the orange light bounced crazily about and went out. Footsteps approached, jostling, and grunts from the men. The sentries stepped into the tent with a small struggling figure between them.

  A pair of baleful gray eyes glared at him. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “You!” He snapped his sagging jaw closed. “What are you doing out on the battlefield? In the dark. An active battlefield, may I remind you, Mrs. Wilkes.”

  “I’m well aware of what it is, Major.” She glared at the two soldiers holding her. “Take your hands off me.”

  At a nod from him, they quickly let go and stepped away, one furtively rubbing his shin.

  She raised her chin, her cheeks flushed, and the outraged glare she leveled at him made him shrivel inside. He cleared his throat. “I repeat, Mrs. Wilkes, what are you doing?”

  She straightened her back. “If you must know, I’m searching the bloody ground because I can’t rest until I know there is no living man left on it.”

  He gasped, struck speechless for a moment. “Have you no regard for your own safety? There might be enemy soldiers still alive out there.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “You could be killed. A woman with no protection.”

  She smiled faintly. “I’m not stupid, Major.” She plucked the baby Dragoon Colt from her pocket and cocked it. He ducked instinctively as the soldiers yelped and fell back. “Mrs. Wilkes! Please! Put that away.”

  She lowered the hammer and pocketed the pistol.

  “Do you even know how to use that?” he asked indignantly.

  She shot him a withering look. “Why else would I be carrying it?” Then she pointed toward the battlefield. “It’s lovely having a midnight conversation with you, Major, but while we’re speaking, a wounded soldier is lying out there. Best get to bringing him in.”

  He bristled and then exhaled hard. “Get a stretcher and fetch the man,” he said to the two sentries.

  The soldiers saluted and quit the tent.

  Mrs. Wilkes turned to go.

  “A moment, please.”

  “Why? I need to attend to that injured man.”

  “Please take a seat.”

  She plunked down on the camp chair. “What now?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, exhausted after a long day performing amputations. How she had the energy to be out at midnight on the battlefield when she had been awake since 4:00 a.m. mystified him. She had more energy in her little finger than most of his surgical assistants. He thought back to the evening sitting outside the burned-out sanctuary of Grace Episcopal Church.

  “Intransigence,” he said slowly. “I thought that was it.” He studied her, noting the clenched fists and the high color in her cheeks. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  She stiffened.

  “The risks you take, the fearlessness. It’s not really altruism, is it, Mrs. Wilkes?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “There’s a desperation about it, as if you don’t care if you live or—”

  “Flummadiddle!” She sprang up so quickly the chair crashed over backward. Her brows slanted together in a ferocious scowl. “Who do you think you are, sir? Ascribing the basest of motives to what I am trying to do here? Good night!”

  She stalked out of the tent.

  He waited to be called for surgery, but the summons didn’t come. Just as well. He needed to rest before the next round of battle-injured men arrived. But sleep wouldn’t come, and he found himself thinking of Mrs. Wilkes and the elusive hunch about her that had occurred to him while she sat fuming in his tent. She had a deeper reason for being here than simply ministering to the men.

  Something that drove her to do dangerous things.

  Chapter Six

  Memphis June 2

  Kate stood in the middle of her well-appointed tent kitchen. General Sherman had been true to his word, supplying her with assistants. Two older women, Mrs. Blake, a tall, gray-haired widow, and Mrs. Ennis, who reminded Kate of a plump brown wren, had joined her to help run the camp hospital. She had managed to avoid Major Logan in recent weeks after—after whatever had transpired in his tent after the battle at Pittsburg Landing. She steadfastly refused to think about it, up before dawn and never going to bed until midnight or later. Only the present existed. Nursing the men, washing their clothes, boiling bandages, cooking them special treats. There was no time to dwell on the past. It was gone.

  If only that were true, said a tiny voice in her mind.

  “No!” she said aloud.

  Mrs. Ennis turned from kneading a bowl of bread dough and shot her an inquisitive look.

  “Sweets have gone missing,” Kate said hastily. “We have a thief on our hands. Last week an entire batch of blanc mange disappeared, and yesterday two apple pies vanished.”

  Mrs. Ennis nodded and returned to her work while Kate considered the peck of early peaches on the counter, donated by a local family. Then she went into the ward to fetch her medicine chest, a gift from General Sherman. Cunningly crafted from walnut, with brass end handles, it had three shelves fitted with compartments for vials and bottles, with a drawer below for bandages and lint. She ran her fingertips over the middle row of bottles, labeled variously camphor, quinine, rhubarb, castor oil, tincture of opium, and then stopped. Calomel. That would do. She pocketed it and returned to the kitchen, where she prepared a large bowl of peach pie filling. When none of the kitchen workers were watching, she surreptitiously sprinkled a good portion of the calomel into the peaches then added more cinnamon. She left the filling on the wooden counter nearest the tent flaps and went back into the ward.

  An hour later she returned to the kitchen, and sure enough, the bowl of peach filling had disappeared. She casually took a seat outside the back of the hospital tent as if to rest for a bit. She had an excellent view of the center of camp and the sea of canvas tents that surrounded it. Then she waited.

  It wasn’t long before a soldier passed her at a fast trot, his face twisted in a grimace. “Good afternoon, Private Murphy,” she called pleasantly. He didn’t answer but increased his pace and dashed past the tents to a scrub of bushes where one of the camp latrines stood.

  Then she straightened as Major Logan approached her. She hesitated, trying to decide whether to bolt, but she waited too long.

  He stopped in front of her. “I don’t usually see you sitting down, Mrs. Wilkes. Is all well?”

  “Yes, indeed,” she said shortly, avoiding his gaze.

  Then she suppressed a smile and tried to keep a straight face as a couple of young soldiers from two different tents burst through the flaps and headed toward the latrine. One actually had a hand clutching his posterior as he ran, his eyes bulging, and she couldn’t stop from laughing.

  Logan turned to see what had caused her laughter. “Mercy me,” he exclaimed as the panicked men disappeared behind the bushes. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  Distant groans emanated from the latrine, and Kate doubled up, tears streaming down her face. The moaning, now accompanied by gasping curses, grew louder, alarming Major Logan. “I’d better see what the ruckus is about.”

  “No, Major.” She recovered and wiped her eyes. “They will be perfectly all right in an hour or so.”

  Major Logan squinted sternly at her. “What did you do?”

  She hesitated.

  “Mrs. Wilkes?”

  My, he was handsome as he gazed down at her. His skin had tanned in the southern sun, making his blue eyes even more intense.

  She averted her gaze and smoothed her skirts. “Some varmints have been stealing food from the hospital kitchen.”

  Go on.”

  “After the last episode, I couldn’t tolerate it any long
er. So I fixed some peaches for pie filling. And then I spiked it with calomel.”

  His eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

  “I did,” she said calmly.

  Major Logan looked toward the latrine, bemused. “So that’s why they’re doing the quick step. Well, those boys have only got one oar in the water if they try to pilfer anything else from your kitchen after that.”

  “I don’t suppose they will.”

  “Rather unorthodox way to deal with food thieves.” Then he turned to her. “But then, you’re a rather unorthodox woman.”

  Their gazes locked.

  “Good afternoon, Major.” She stood and turned to go.

  “Wait, please.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “I have a message from the general for you.”

  “Thank you.” She pocketed the envelope and walked away.

  Once inside the ward, she opened the small note:

  Dear Mrs. Wilkes,

  I hope I may presume upon you to visit with the women of Calvary Baptist Church in Memphis tomorrow evening. They are Union supporters and have made inquiries as to what aid they might provide for our wounded soldiers. I can think of no better person to undertake this request than you.

  I have asked Major James Logan to accompany you.

  Please reply at your earliest convenience if you are able to speak to the ladies.

  Your servant,

  W. T. Sherman

  The next day Kate stood in front of the cracked mirror Private Bennett had scrounged somewhere for her. For months, she hadn’t worn anything but her practical cotton dresses and the huge aprons that covered them. It had been an age since she’d had a complete bath and washed her hair—which may have been a mistake. Freed from the pins and netting and freshly washed, her hair streamed past her shoulders in a wild cascade of curls and ringlets. The Tennessee humidity had doubled its volume, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get it back up correctly.

  She had debated whether to ask General Sherman for a different escort than Major Logan. But he had more serious things to worry about, so in the end she had sent an affirmative response to the general and left the ward in the capable hands of Mrs. Blake and Mrs. Ennis.