“I never hit anybody who doesn’t need it.”
She gave him a steady gaze. “I should think you’d be tired of fighting by now. We have enough troublemakers in camp with Morgan’s Men.” She turned her attention to bandaging the wound in his shoulder. “You may want to get used to your new circumstances. From what I’m hearing, the Cartel agreement is over. There won’t be any more prisoner exchanges anytime soon.”
She finished working and sat back. “You’ll remain here for a week. After that, you’ll probably be assigned to one of the barracks.”
He nodded. He extended his hand to her.
She hesitated, and then surprised herself by taking it. His skin was rough, but warm, and his grip had a striking gentleness to it.
“Thank you, Katharine,” he said.
She nodded and rose. “I’ll check those wounds again tomorrow.”
* * * *
JAKE WAS stripped to the waist, washing himself from a basin when she arrived. She was surprised to see that he had also shaved himself. His face bore faint scratches from whatever blade he had managed to use. His hair now showed as ash-blonde, far different from the dusky and indeterminate color it had been the day before.
He moved the basin off the chair beside the cot and began patting his skin dry. He gestured to the chair. “Set a spell. I was just finishing up.”
Katharine regarded him for a moment, appraising his movements, which showed a reserve and lingering stiffness. “If you want to stay here the week, you might want to take it easy.”
“Frees up a bed for someone who needs it.”
“So you’re an altruist.” She sat down, setting a bundle on the floor beside her.
The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened in a mischievous smile. “Nope. I’m usually particular about who I help. It ain’t just anyone.” He set the rag aside. “But I guess you don’t agree with that.”
“In my work, I can’t afford to have that attitude.” She began unwrapping the bandage around his shoulder, noticing he had apparently loosened it to clean beneath. “You don’t smell as badly as you did yesterday.”
He laughed, a rippling chuckle. “One of the guards called me a dirty secesh after you left yesterday. I figured I’d change what I could, since I can’t change where I am.”
“I’m glad you didn’t choose to hit him.”
“I considered it.” He paused. “And then I re-considered.”
“That’s an improvement.” She wrapped the bandage back tight again and began unwrapping the one around his side. “You’re certainly a free spirit, Jacob.”
“The wildest colts make the best horses.”
She glanced at him. “Is that something you made up?”
“I wish.” He smiled. “It’s Plutarch from the Lives of Illustrious Men. He said that about Themistocles, a common man who rose to be a great leader in Athens.”
“Is that how you see yourself?”
“Nah.” He laughed. “I’m just a wild colt.”
She peeled away the edge of the poultice on his side enough to see that it appeared to have scabbed over again. “So you know how to read.”
“My pa was a teacher back east, before he decided to settle in Texas. He brought all his books with him, and then he taught himself how to farm. He learned to read the soil as well as any book.”
“He must have been quite a man.”
“I guess. I never knew him. Pa died a year or so after I was born. My ma and older brother Micah kept the homestead and raised me.” He pulled his shirt over his head and tugged it down.
Katharine sat back. “And where are they now?”
“Ma died of fever when I was I guess about fourteen. My brother and me went to work with a bunch of vaqueros. He got thrown from his horse on a river crossing and drowned a few years back.” He rested his hands loosely on the edge of the cot. “So what brought you to this place?”
“I volunteered.”
He gave an easy laugh. “I guess that makes two of us. Funny how volunteering can turn out.”
“I like what I do. It makes a difference in men’s lives. What happened here last winter was a disgrace.”
“Heard some talk about it. Looks like they still got changes to make.” He glanced around. “I guess your husband is fighting—”
“I'm a widow.” She paused. “He died just before the war.”
“Sorry to hear that. Got any young ones?”
“My daughter, Grace.” She reached to her side and opened the drawstring of her bag, then drew out a small portrait miniature. A smile transformed her face as she stared down at it.
He peered at the small picture, of a young girl whose auburn hair matched that of her mother. “She’s a darling.”
“Yes, she is. She takes after her father in many ways.” Her finger caressed the gilded frame of the image.
“She looks like you.”
“Appearances are only one facet of a person.” She replaced the picture into her bag.
He nodded at her bag. “You’re carrying a gun.”
“You’re very observant.” She drew the string tightly closed. “Don’t think you’ll take it. You wouldn’t get very far.”
He smiled. “Not with that little thing. A derringer is for close work. Good enough for protecting yourself. You know how it works?”
“I know how to use it.”
He nodded. He glanced around the small space of the chapel, crowded with beds and patients. “I hear Reverend Tuttle isn’t happy with what they did to this place.”
“Colonel De Land didn’t give him a choice. We’re over-crowded as it is.” She paused. “The Reverend sometimes distributes books to the prisoners. If you’re looking for something to read, you might ask around about it.”
“I’ll do that.” He fished a worn volume out of a breast pocket. “I just have this.”
She glanced at it, and saw it was a small Bible. A bullet hole marred the faded leather cover.
“It’s seen better days,” he said. “But I thought I’d keep it, since it kept me alive once already.”
“My job is also to try to keep as many of you alive as I can.” She reached down for the bundle beside her and lifted it into her lap. She unwrapped it and handed him a woolen shirt and coat. “These were my husband’s. The sleeves will be short on you, but they’re better than what you have. I won’t need them back.”
“Much obliged, Katharine.”
“I have to tend to my other patients now.” She rose. “If you’re still improving tomorrow, we may want to free up your bed.”
He nodded, and slipped the Bible back into his pocket.
* * * *
KATHARINE SAT, regarding her daughter as she worked on arranging wooden puzzle blocks. The box that lay nearby depicted a tiger leaping through tall grass, its ears laid back and mouth opened in a snarl.
Katharine watched her daughter flip a piece over in her hand, comparing the upturned tail shown on one side to a section of grass revealed on the other, before deciding upon the grass and laying it carefully into place. A giraffe, elephant, and buffalo grazed benignly nearby in the three completed pictures arranged carefully beside her.
Grace was laboring over the last one, from which a pattern was beginning to gradually emerge, as carefully delineated as the tiger’s stripes.
Grace held up another piece. “Do tigers have manes, Mama?”
“No, but lions have manes.”
Grace nodded and turned the piece over, studying the puzzle as she turned the wooden block idly in her hand, trying to determine how it fit into place.
“I miss Papa.” Grace placed the piece down, revealing a section of blue sky. “And I miss you, Mama.”
“I’m right here, Grace.”
Grace stared down at the puzzle, her fingers grazing beside her for another block. “You’re always gone.”
“Your Aunt Emma is here. You’re not alone.”
“That’s different.” She pressed a block down, not really looking at
it as it slid into place.
“Grace, what I do is important. It helps people. And this war will not last forever.”
She nodded, her face still turned downward. She grasped one of three blocks remaining and pushed it down, then reached for another. She put that one into place, and then slotted in the last piece. She sat back on her heels, staring down at her work.
Katharine tried to smile, but a shadow passed over her face. She knelt beside her daughter. “Let’s see what you made.”
Grace shifted so Katharine could lean close. Katharine brushed back a wayward lock of hair from her daughter’s face, a gesture so practiced neither barely noticed.
“They’re all perfect.” She hugged her daughter against herself, feeling an initial stiffness that gave way to a soft hug in return.
Grace brushed her fingers across the four pictures, back and forth. “Everything is different, on the other side.”
She began to carefully turn each wooden block over, fitting it back into place in a mirror image. The scene transformed, the giraffe giving way to what may have been a zebra. Black and white stripes melded into verdant savannah grasslands and azure sky, but the pieces were now all arranged out of order.
“Is that a horse?” Grace pointed.
“It’s a type of horse. It’s a zebra. They’re wild and they live in Africa.”
Grace nodded, staring at the jumbled picture, a tail like a fan beside a yellow sun, a set of hooves rearing into blue sky. “I have to start all over again.” She sighed and scattered the blocks with her hands.
“I have to leave now, Grace. It’s my night.” She leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “You smell nice.”
“Goodbye, Mama.”
* * * *
KATHARINE HUDDLED beneath her cloak in the heavy downpour, making her way from one storefront to the next down the muddy street. As she walked, she could feel the sodden wool grow heavier, slowing her movements. She sidestepped a puddle, turning and lifting her skirts. And this was when movement behind her drew her attention.
She paused, half-turned, peering into the darkness, in time to see a shadow merge into the deeper envelope of darkness against a building. She blinked away water, lowering her eyes to better see. Cold trickles ran down her neck, finding their way beneath the layers of clothing.
She began walking again, her senses now turned behind her. Beneath the irregular patter of rain, she could hear a more deliberate set of splashes, each in time with her own footfalls. She slowed down, and heard the following steps immediately match her change in rhythm. Her hand tightened on her bag beneath her shawl. She worked the string and slipped her other hand inside, withdrawing the derringer and holding it deeply within the folds of her skirt.
Her head lowered and she began to walk faster, listening to the steps increase their own pace, following but never seeming to gain. She half-stumbled on a jutting section of boardwalk and heard the steps hesitate in an answering echo, then resume as she recovered her footing.
She stopped and turned in her tracks. Her hand tightened on the pistol as she began to take deliberate steps back the way she had come. Her eyes searched the darkness. The sound of any footsteps other than her own had passed.
“Whoever you are, you’ll find what you want back at the Prairie Queen!” she called out. The sound of her words were muffled by the unsteady beat of rain. The darkness behind her yielded nothing in answer.
She took a breath, and started to turn away. From the corner of her eye, she thought she caught a flicker of movement. She hesitated, watching and listening, but there was nothing more. She began to move again, acutely aware of her surroundings. But all she heard were her own footfalls and the sound of the rain.
When she reached the gate and greeted the guards, she thought to ask them if they would look to see whether someone had been following her. But a glance behind her made up her mind. She doubted they would have the inclination to go into the weather and darkness to investigate. And in any event, she was here now.
She made her way through the muddy grounds to the chapel. From the garrison barracks, she could hear low sounds of muted conversation and uneven snores. She returned the derringer to her purse by feel beneath her shawl as she walked. The rain had begun to lighten, and she shook her cloak before she entered the building, trying to rid some of its moisture.
“You should ask one of those boys to give you a poncho,” Jake said, as she approached.
“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” She hung her cloak close to the stove to dry, and paused there to let the warmth work its way back into her skin. She stared down at her hands to see them clasped white around her bag.
“Something wrong?” Jake asked. He swung his legs off the side of the cot and sat up.
“Someone was following me, I think. I couldn’t tell.” She turned away from the stove and saw that he was watching her.
He gestured at her bag. “Can I see that derringer?”
She tightened her grip on the bag. “No, you may not.”
He sighed. “You got a dry cap on it? You better check.”
She pulled the drawstring and reached inside for the pistol, withdrawing it carefully. She ran her thumb around the percussion cap. “I can’t tell.”
“Then change it.”
“I’ll do it later.” She returned the pistol to her bag. She untied her bonnet and removed it, shaking it before hanging it beside her cloak. She ran her fingers around her hairnet to loosen it, and shook her hair out, then reached back to wring out as much moisture as she could.
She coughed lightly as she pulled up a chair and sat down. Leaning over, she began to work at the sodden laces of her boots.
“Sit closer to that stove,” Jake advised. “Or you’ll end up a patient and not a nurse.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked, as she managed to get one boot unlaced.
“Passable.” He reached beside himself and lifted something from the folds of his blanket. He turned it in his hands while she worked on her other boot.
She glanced at him, curious. A carved wooden horse was clasped between his hands. It rose from a pedestal in a rearing stance, mane flowing back and tail flaring behind it.
“Where did you get that?” she asked.
He smiled. “I made it today. May as well whittle something, when I’m whiling away the time.”
“You have a knife?”
“Unless you tell someone.”
She paused, then nodded at the horse. “It’s very nice.”
He extended it to her. “It’s for your little girl. I hope she likes horses.”
“You don’t have to pay me anything for the clothes I gave you yesterday.”
“You didn’t have to give ‘em to me, either.” He reached forward and opened her palm and set the horse into it. “Anyway, this is for her, not for you.”
Katharine looked down at the wooden carving. A wavy grain rippled through it, casting the horse in a light dun coloration.
“Now better pull that chair closer to the stove,” he said. “If you want to get those boots dry.”
She reached for her bag and placed the carved horse carefully inside, then moved her chair nearer to the stove, stretching her legs toward it. She glanced toward him.
“Thank you, Jacob.”
* * * *
“HAVE YOU THOUGHT about withdrawing your obligation at the camp?”
Katharine looked up at her sister’s question. Her thoughts had been distracted, finding focus only for a little while in the dishes they were now cleaning. “I haven’t thought of that. Why?”
Emma smiled fondly at her younger sister. She took the dish Katharine was holding and ran a cloth around it to dry before setting it with the others. “Because I know when you’re not happy.”
Katharine wiped her hands on her apron. “It isn’t a situation that would make anyone happy. The prisoners, the guards, a handful of doctors and the nurses . . .”
“But you have a choice. The others don
’t.”
“And it’s for that reason that I’m there.”
Emma studied her, while her hands worked mechanically, lifting dishes from the rinse water and drying them. “You’ve changed since Henry died. You never used to be this way.”
Katharine smiled. “I’ve ever been consistent. Grant me that,” she said. “Perhaps I wasn’t as assertive, but that came with circumstances.”
“You know Thomas and I are happy to have you and Grace here with us. Especially for her sake.” Emma set aside her cloth and leaned back against the counter. “It’s made a difference for her, and for us as well. We’ll never have any of our own, and we enjoy her so much. But she needs you more.”
“Are you asking me to decide—”
“I’m not asking for a decision, Katharine. That has never been your problem, for as long as I have known you. I’m saying you need to consider your choices.”
“Believe me, Emma, I’ve thought many times over why I’ve made any of the choices I have made. But I will abide by them.” She pulled the sink stopper, and the water began to chug out slowly with muted gurgles, a sound like wet footsteps. She frowned slightly as she half-listened, then turned to stare at the receding rinse water as it ran down, the way the sand in an hourglass drains away the time. “I think someone has been following me.”
“Who?” Emma stepped closer, her face showing concern.
Katharine shook her head. She touched the surface of the water, feeling it bend away against her finger as it continued to fall to gravity. “It’s happened several times now.” She turned to face her sister. “When I go there after dark.”
“Maybe a sympathizer?” Emma suggested. “Someone who wants you to take a message into the camp?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe I can ask Thomas to walk with you,” Emma said, thinking out loud. “Although he doesn’t always get home until later.”
“No, I’ll be all right,” Katharine said. “I’m being careful.”
Emma wrapped her arms around Katharine, drawing her close and resting her cheek against her sister’s. “I worry about you,” she murmured. “Every day that you have to be there.”
Becomings Page 10
