by Ginny Dye
“Thank God…” Carrie closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recall what was in the East Wing of Blackwell Plantation. Her eyes flew open when she remembered it was the large room where all the Blackwell Balls had taken place. She blinked away the vision of dancing with Robert the day after they had met. Now was not the time to let memories distract her. “Anyone hurt besides the three men who were shot?” The look on Simon’s face said he guessed what she was struggling with, but he kept his focus on her question.
“No.” Anger flashed in Simon’s eyes. “The men are blaming themselves that the house was burned, but they were no match for the vigilantes.”
“How many?” Carrie asked evenly, knowing conversation would keep her thoughts clear.
“About forty-five,” Simon snapped.
Carrie stiffened with surprise. “Forty-five men?” she echoed.
Simon nodded grimly. “They were serious.”
“Your men must have been more serious,” Carrie said in astonishment. “How in the world did just ten men stop forty-five?”
Simon shrugged. “They had the element of surprise on their side. The vigilantes were stupid enough to think Blackwell would be left completely unprotected. I suspect they had no idea how many men were actually shooting at them from the woods. The woods also gave my men protection. The vigilantes were out in the open with no cover. They managed to shoot three of ours, but my men figure they got a bullet into at least a dozen of the vigilantes. No one came off their horse, but they lost their appetite for a fight pretty quick. The house was burning when they took off out of here like scared rabbits, but my men got it out right fast. Thank goodness the well is close to the East Wing. The barns weren’t so lucky. There weren’t enough of my men to put out the fire in the barns, and also save the house.”
They reached the house just as Simon finished the story. Carrie was out of the saddle the moment they stopped.
June and Louisa appeared on the porch, their hair in disarray and their eyes fatigued. “This way!” Louisa called.
“Go,” Simon urged. “I’ll be right behind you with your bag.”
Carrie raced up the stairs. She gripped Louisa and June’s hands, but no words were spoken as they led her toward a bedroom on the lower level.
“In here,” Louisa said, pain dripping from her words.
Carrie, knowing it would be bad, took a deep breath before she entered the room. She glanced at the men, recognized they were all unconscious, and then turned to June. “Talk to me,” she commanded.
“All three were shot in the abdomen,” June replied. “The gunshot wounds are bad,” she said grimly. “I believe I stopped the bleeding, and I gave all of them the shock remedy. Their feet are elevated.”
Carrie nodded and smiled slightly. “You did the right things,” she assured June. It had taken only a brief look to discern that all three of the men had fevers, which meant infection had already taken hold. She approached the first man, and carefully pulled the bandage away from his wound. Her lips tightened as she examined the large hole in his stomach. The surrounding edges were already swollen and red. It was impossible to tell if any more organs had been damaged. “How long ago was he shot?”
“Abel says the attack happened around one in the morning,” June answered. “We got here around three o’clock. They were already in shock, but their breathing stabilized pretty quick after we gave them that concoction of water, honey, apple cider vinegar, and cayenne pepper.” She shook her head. “It was like watching a miracle, seeing how fast it helped them.”
Carrie grimaced. She was glad the shock had been reversed, but almost eight hours had passed. Still, she had seen much worse cases coming in from the battlefield. She quickly examined the other two men, and then turned to her friends. “All the bullets will have to be removed,” she said, “but I can’t do it here. They’ll need to come to the clinic.”
June sucked in her breath. “Will they make it that long?”
“I can’t be positive,” Carrie admitted, “but I think their chances are good.” She looked at Louisa. “We need to make a poultice of onion and honey to fight the infection that has already set in. I have some in my saddlebag.”
“We’ve already made it,” June informed her. “I just wasn’t sure if we should pack the wounds before you had a chance to look at the injuries yourself.”
Carrie hesitated. She would have preferred the wounds had been packed right away so infection could have been avoided, but there was only one person in the room with true medical experience. June was the reason these men were still alive. “You did great,” she said, as she resolved to give more medical education to women in the area. Living in the country meant you needed to know how to take care of your loved ones. “Let’s get the wounds packed.”
*****
Carrie and June were just finishing applying the onion and honey poultice when Louisa appeared at the door.
“Jeremy is here with the wagon,” Louisa reported, her usually bright eyes dull with fatigue.
“You need to get some rest,” Carrie urged.
Louisa lifted a brow. “And you?”
Carrie shrugged. “I’ll rest once the men are stable. If having you stay awake would help anything, I would ask you to do that, but since it won’t, one of us may as well get some sleep,” she said lightly.
When Polly appeared at the door, Carrie wanted to cheer. She filled her in quickly, glad Polly would be in the wagon with the men on the way home.
“The wagon be ready, Mrs. Borden. Me and the men are here to do whatever you want.”
Carrie smiled at the man who appeared at the door, and then directed the group who carried the patients out to the wagon. Within minutes they were in makeshift beds created from pillows and blankets. She recognized Polly’s work. When she was convinced they were as comfortable as possible, she waved Jeremy toward Cromwell.
Jeremy peered at her. “You’re up for riding Granite back?”
“I’ll be fine,” Carrie said. “The men and I will follow along in a few minutes. I’ll be there if the patients need anything, but Polly can probably handle whatever comes up.” Louisa, ignoring the advice to get some rest, was waiting on the porch when Carrie turned around. “I’m sorry about your house, Louisa,” she said softly.
Louisa shrugged. “It’s only a house,” she said dismissively. “It can be fixed. It’s been fixed before. I’m just sorry anyone was hurt protecting it.”
Carrie looked at her closely, noticing defeat mixed with the fatigue in her friend’s eyes. “How are you?” she pressed.
Louisa stared back, her shoulders slumping for the first time. “I’m tired of living in fear,” she admitted, raw pain coating her words and filling her eyes. “I love Blackwell Plantation, and I love the dreams we have, but I don’t know if the price is worth it.” She shuddered. “What if Perry and Nathan had been here? What if…”
Carrie knew the sentence she hadn’t finished. What if they had been killed like Robert? “They weren’t here,” she said gently.
“They could have been,” Louisa insisted in a weary voice. “As long as we run this plantation the way it ought to be run—treating our black workers as valued employees—the vigilantes are going to come after us. It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. When will they burn the entire house? When will they hurt or kill Perry or Nathan? What about June…or Simon…or Little Simon.” Her voice rose. “I couldn’t stand it if anything were to happen to any of them.”
Carrie wanted to argue, but she understood her fear all too well. “What would you do if you leave here?” she asked.
“You’re not going to tell me I shouldn’t feel this way?” Louisa’s look was full of suspicious astonishment.
“And if I did?” Carrie asked.
Louisa smiled tightly. “It wouldn’t matter.”
“Precisely,” Carrie replied. “Besides, I know exactly what you’re feeling.”
Louisa lowered her eyes, a look of shame crossing her face. �
�I know you do, Carrie. I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I truly understand.”
“How did you handle the fear?” Louisa blurted.
“I’m still dealing with it every day,” Carrie admitted. “When things like this happen, it brings back the memories of Robert’s murder, and of losing Bridget…”
“How do you stand it?” Louisa murmured, her eyes soft with sympathy.
“I don’t know,” Carrie replied. She turned her focus to the blackened boards encasing the East Wing. “I suppose I simply refuse to let them win. If I do what I think I should do, which is to leave, then I give them the victory. I believe Robert would tell me to keep fighting for the plantation, and for the right to live my life the way I’m meant to live it. There is going to be hatred in this country for a long time. I can’t run away from it, so I guess I’ve decided to face it where I live.”
Louisa listened carefully, but shook her head when Carrie finished. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “I don’t know what we will do,” she finally said.
“You’ll do what’s best for you and your family,” Carrie responded in a gentle voice. “That’s all any of us can do.” She started down the steps toward the group of men waiting for her. “I have to get back to Cromwell,” she said over her shoulder.
“Be safe,” Louisa called.
*****
Annie had lunch waiting for Carrie when she arrived back at the plantation. “I don’t have time to eat,” Carrie insisted. “I need to change clothes and go to the clinic.”
Annie stepped in front of her, blocking her way to the staircase. “You ain’t doin’ no such thing until you done had something to eat,” she said firmly, her eyes shining with compassion.
Carrie knew she must look exhausted. “But—”
“But nothing,” Annie said calmly. “Polly be with them men. Another few minutes ain’t gonna mean their death, is it?”
Carrie took a deep breath. “I don’t believe so,” she acknowledged. When she had last checked on the men, shortly before arriving at the plantation, none of them had seemed any worse. Polly had reported all three had regained consciousness for brief moments before passing out again.
“Then you gonna eat,” Annie repeated. “I got you some good chicken soup and bread waitin’ for you. You can eat it quick, and then go on over to the clinic. You prob’ly take better care of them men anyhow if you ain’t starvin’ to death.”
Carrie reluctantly acknowledged Annie was right, and she couldn’t deny how wonderful soup and bread sounded. “You win,” she conceded.
“I ain’t never had no doubt about that,” Annie retorted. “You go eat. I’ll have you some hot coffee in just a minute.”
Carrie was shoveling in the delicious soup when Marietta appeared in the door, a baby cradled in each arm.
“You look exhausted,” Marietta murmured, as she took a seat across from Carrie.
Carrie fastened her eyes on the two adorable infants. “They’re beautiful,” she said softly. Seeing their innocent faces somehow eased the worst of the pain and exhaustion.
“They are,” Marietta agreed.
Carrie continued to gaze at them. “I’m glad you’re getting them out of the South.”
Marietta nodded. “I am, too. I have hopes that someday the South will be a safe place to raise black and mulatto children, but it’s not now. I know there are many people who don’t have the option of leaving, and I feel lucky and privileged all at the same time. There are moments I feel guilty that I’m not trapped here, but mostly I feel gratitude.”
Carrie cocked her head as she considered Marietta’s words. “You have nothing to feel guilty about.” She would never forget the slaves who had escaped Cromwell. Miles had told her the stories of the long months hiding and suffering to make it to Canada, where they could be free. “Anyone who truly wants to leave can find a way. There are no options right now that are easy. I believe we make our choices, and then we do what it takes to live with our choices the best we can.” She reached out to stroke Sarah’s black curls, running a finger down her velvety, caramel-colored cheek. “Sarah deserves a chance to live without fear. Her grandma would tell you the same thing,” she murmured. She raised her eyes to meet Marietta’s. “And you deserve a chance to not constantly worry about what might happen to your children.”
Marietta looked back at Carrie for several long moments. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Carrie ate the rest of her soup quickly, stuffed several pieces of bread into her pocket, and then stood. “I need to change so I can go dig bullets out of the Blackwell men,” she said flatly. “I long for the day when I don’t have to do that, but it’s not here yet.”
*****
Carrie was beyond exhausted when she finished extracting the last bullet. The final one had required extensive probing before she discovered it, and she was grateful her patient was still unconscious. She carefully sewed up the wound, packed it with onion and honey poultice, and wrapped it carefully. Finally, she stepped away. Her eyes were burning, and her lower back ached from hours of being on her feet. She was stunned when she looked outside and realized it was dark. Had it really been just the night before that they had all gathered to watch the meteors. It seemed a lifetime ago.
Polly caught her expression. “You’ve been working a long time, Carrie,” she said softly. “It’s time for you to be done. I’ve got Gabe waiting outside with the wagon to take you home.”
“I should stay here with these men tonight,” Carrie protested, even while knowing she didn’t have the strength to stay awake.
“You’re not doing any such thing,” Polly insisted. “I’m staying here with them tonight, and I’ve got some other women coming in to check on them. They’ll be fine.”
Carrie slowly agreed. “If they wake up, they need to be given the white willow tea you fixed for fever and infection.”
“I know,” Polly said patiently.
Carrie managed a smile. “I know you know,” she replied sheepishly.
“You get on home,” Polly scolded. “And I don’t want to see you back here until lunch tomorrow.” She raised her hand to stop Carrie’s protest. “If something happens that we need you for, I’ll make sure someone comes to get you. But we both know the only thing gonna help these men is time. We’ll give them the white willow tea, and make them drink as much water as we can get in them once they wake up.”
Carrie nodded. “I do believe they’ll all make it.” Her mind traveled back to her patients in Chimborazo Hospital during the war. “I’ve seen men in much worse condition recover fully.”
Polly nodded. “I’ve sent word to their families. I suspect their wives will be here tomorrow to take over their care.”
“That will be the best thing for them,” Carrie agreed, stifling a yawn with her hand. She was suddenly not sure she could continue to stand.
“Go,” Polly commanded. “Not one more word from you.” She glanced at the window, gave a wave, and moved to open the door.
Her husband, Gabe, appeared in the doorway and took Carrie’s elbow. “Time to go home, Miss Carrie,” he said gently.
Carrie looked at him numbly and gave a short nod. She allowed him to help her to the wagon, climbed into the seat, and then slumped forward, hoping she could stay upright until she got home.
*****
Carrie was grateful for the cozy warmth of her room when she made her way upstairs. Annie had already pulled her covers back.
“I’ll have a bath brought up for you in the morning,” Annie declared, “but I reckon all you need now is some sleep.”
Carrie nodded, not bothering to resist when Annie pulled off her boots, undressed her, and slid a flannel nightgown over her head. She felt like a child, but she was so tired, the ministrations were welcome. “Thank you,” she whispered, as she slid between the sheets.
She was asleep before Annie slipped out of the room.
Chapter Six
Marietta, happy to leave
the twins in their father’s care for a couple hours, pushed into the kitchen. She stopped to breathe in the delicious aromas, welcoming the blast of moist heat that enveloped her. There was something about a warm kitchen on a cold winter day that created so much comfort. She smiled as she envisioned the twins running into her own kitchen in the future. The vision caused her lips to tighten and her eyes to fire with determination.
“What you doin’, Miss Marietta?” Annie looked up from rolling out a huge lump of biscuit dough.
“I want to use my time here to learn more about cooking,” Marietta said. Then she hesitated. “I’ve learned a lot from the books Felicia gave me, but you seem to have a secret ingredient.” She made her voice pleading, not sure if Annie had forgiven her for baking her first apple pie from a cookbook recipe.
“What about your mama or grandma? They didn’t teach you how to cook?”
Marietta shrugged. “They tried,” she admitted. “I thought I had better things to do than be in the kitchen, so they finally gave up.”
Annie eyed her. “Hmph! So, when did you get this burnin’ desire to cook?”
“Ever since the twins were born,” Marietta admitted. “I want them to be able to run into my kitchen, smell delicious things, and build memories of the foods cooked there. I’ve seen how happy your cooking makes people. I want to make my family happy that way. I love teaching, but I can find time for cooking, too – especially now that I won’t be teaching again until the twins are older.”
Warm understanding replaced the skepticism in Annie’s eyes. “It’s a gift for your family, sure ‘nuff.”
“So you’ll teach me?” Marietta asked. “Really teach me?”
Annie scowled. “What you mean by that?”
Marietta didn’t back down. “I’ve heard what the others say,” she replied. “You say you’re going to teach them how to make something, but you don’t teach them all of it. That way, no one cooks as good as you.” She stopped, a little nervous of incurring Annie’s wrath, but if she was going to learn how to cook, she wanted to do it the right way.
