by Diane Wylie
The night was a typical clear and cool Virginia fall night. No wind hid the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the hard-packed dirt road so she moved off the road to the softer grass. Full moonlight bathed every tree and rock in its silvery glow. But these landmarks were unnecessary; she knew the way from having spent her childhood roaming the acres of farmlands, lush meadows, and dappled forests spreading out in all directions from the manor house.
Mother Kizzie had been wonderful when Jenny went to see the old woman in the slave quarters. The sun had just begun to slide down to the horizon. All of the slaves had been returning from the fields to their cabins. They sang sweet songs as they moved like dark shadows from all directions toward the welcoming warmth of the cook fires.
Jennifer had been greeted with respect and, from some of the slaves, with affection. She was well known among them. It had taken her years to earn their trust and to convince Kizzie to allow her to learn the mysterious ways of the old conjure woman. There was still much to learn, but Kizzie had taught her enough of the healing arts to allow her to be useful to anyone who was sick or hurt.
Kizzie had asked no questions of her young mistress, just gathered up the things she needed from her many bottles and jars. Her brown, wrinkled hands were deft and sure as she reached decisively for each item, bundled them into a cloth, and handed them over. The little woman stood a full head shorter than Jenny, but she was larger than life among even the biggest field hands. No one challenged Mother Kizzie.
“Gal, you jus’ be careful what yo’ do. This be dangerous work fo’ a body and fo’ yo’ woman’s heart, too,” Kizzie had laid her hand on Jenny’s arm and looked her straight in the face to make sure she understood.
The old woman, as usual, seemed to possess more much more insight than the average person. She just knew everything that went on. Jenny had smiled at the slave and reached her hand out to touch her thin shoulder in return. “I understand, Kizzie dear. I’ll be careful; you have taught me well. This is something I have to do. You do understand?”
Kizzie had merely nodded solemnly, turned, and walked away without a word.
Drawing up to the old cabin an hour later, Jenny heard a soft whinny from the great black stallion she had left inside the building. She didn’t want to leave the animal inside, but she didn’t have a chance to hide him in her need to care for his master. Tonight she would get the horse outside and into the small, ramshackle barn behind the cabin. A movement at the window caught her attention. Romulus leaped out, landed gracefully on the ground, and rushed to meet her and Star, his tail wagging joyfully.
“You did a good job staying here, Romulus. How is he tonight?” she asked, patting the wiggling animal. The dog licked her hand in response and together they went inside the dark cabin.
“Captain, Captain Reynolds,” she called softly, pushing open the creaky old door. The coolness inside made her shiver and pull her cloak closer around her. She saw the lump that must be the man, lying on the floor right where she had left him. His dark blue uniform was still spread out to dry near the now extinguished fire.
There was no response from the pale figure. Jenny’s heart beat faster against her chest. Suppose he had died in the night? Did she give him too much laudanum? Did the bleeding start again? Could he have bled to death? He was pale and ghostly the night before, drained of life’s precious fluid already. Fear ran hot and swift through her. The black stallion, tied to a beam near a back wall, blew a welcome through his nose. Ignoring the horse, she dropped the saddlebags and hurried over to the soldier.
“Captain Reynolds?” she called again. “It’s Jenny from last night.”
Then she saw the faint moonlight from the open door glint off the barrel of the gun. It wavered, and the gun fell to the floor with a dull thump. She knelt down beside him and pried his long, cold fingers from the pistol as it lay on the floor.
“Sorry…” he whispered, “…didn’t know it was you.”
The sound of his voice, hoarse and low as it was, sent a shiver of mingled relief and excitement running down her spine. Thank God, he is still alive.
“Who else would it be?” she snapped, irritated at her own reaction to him. “How did you get your gun?”
His beautiful green eyes were open in his pale face, but they were dull with fatigue and pain. “It took some effort, but I found it. I hope you understand that I need to keep the gun with me. I’m still south of enemy lines.” He smiled at her faintly. “Thank you for leaving the dog. He was good company.” Romulus came over and gave the soldier a gentle lick on his still outstretched hand.
“Well, I’ll make sure I leave the gun close to you when I leave later.” Jenny tried not to be so brusque with the man, but suddenly she was nervous and clumsy and annoyed at him for being so nice and so handsome, even with the bandage around his head.
Bustling about, she pulled out a few more blankets from her bag and covered him with them. Then she covered the two open windows with the oiled skins she had brought with her. It kept the cold out somewhat, although it was not as effective as the glass they had in the manor house windows. Then she lit the lantern and started a fire in the cold fireplace. She could feel his eyes on her as she worked and tried not to look at him.
* * *
David watched as Jenny put the gun out of harm’s way and went to work. He longed to stand up and assist this woman who would brave the dark of two cold nights to come out and help a total stranger. But it had taken every ounce of strength to crawl out and find his gun when he had finally awakened earlier this morning. Twice he had to stop his search and put his head down to keep from passing out. He barely managed to crawl back under the blankets, shivering like some pathetic creature before falling back into a deep sleep with the dog pressed warmly against his cold, aching body.
Sometime during the day he had forced himself to drink some of the water she had left him. But eating any of her food had been beyond him. Even now his stomach rolled with nausea. The injured leg burned and throbbed incessantly. His head ached, and his vision blurred repeatedly. After a few minutes he could watch her no longer and fell asleep again.
It seemed only moments passed before he woke to the sound of a soft Southern voice calling his name. A slender arm slipped behind his shoulders and pushed a wonderfully soft pillow under his pounding head.
“Wake up now, Captain Reynolds, you have to eat something.”
At first he was disoriented and confused. The voice came from somewhere at his level but behind him. Then he realized that she was sitting on the floor, supporting his head on the pillow in her lap.
“Sir,” she insisted, “you must eat, or you’ll surely die.”
He supposed she meant to scare him into submission, but he needed no such urging. He had seen worse ways to die, which actually made starvation seem a merciful option. But David didn’t want to die or starve; he wished to survive and return to the fighting. Apparently she had grown impatient with him because a spoon forced its way between his cracked lips. Gratefully he swallowed the warm broth, coughing slightly as his unused throat muscles worked begrudgingly.
He put out a hand for the spoon so he could feed himself, but in spite of his best efforts, his hand trembled and spilled most of the liquid. Gently, she took his hand in hers and guided it between the bowl and his mouth until together they managed to get the soup inside his stomach, followed by a cup of sweet, hot cider. Nothing had ever tasted so wonderful.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“I’ll leave you with some bread and cider. Tomorrow I’ll bring something more substantial.” Jenny slid out from under the pillow and lowered his head and the pillow gently to the floor again.
Impulsively he reached out and grabbed her hand before she could move away. It was so soft and warm in his cold hand. Slowly he raised her fingertips to his lips and brushed a quick kiss over their exquisite femininity. “Thank you, Miss, for everything you’ve done, but you must leave now. It is not right for you to be here helpin
g your enemy. Please, go now.”
Her blue eyes narrowed, and she stiffened slightly. Then she extracted her hand easily from his weak grip only to place it lightly on his whiskered cheek. The gesture was so full of compassion it almost brought tears to his eyes, and he closed them wearily. He had not been so cared for since he was a child. How he wished his mother was here with him now to soothe his hurts. A twenty-three year old man, wishing for his dead mother…it was laughable. Except he was too far gone to laugh.
He opened his eyes to see her shaking her head firmly before saying, “No, I would not leave you here alone like this to die. How did you get so far from the fighting when I found you? You were miles away. Are you a deserter?”
She sat down beside him and listened, the fire at her back touching her hair with a golden glow. David saw through a haze of exhaustion how still she became and how she leaned toward him to catch every word he whispered, as if what he had to say was the most important thing in the world instead of the words of an insignificant enemy soldier.
“No, I did not desert my company; that is why it is so important that I return as soon as possible. There are some that would be most anxious to see me discredited as a deserter and traitor. My father runs a newspaper in Philadelphia, and he has had far too much to say about too many high-ranking officers in the Federal army. As a consequence, my every move is held up for criticism. I have to get back as soon as I can.”
He changed the subject in case she tried to object. “My horse, I cannot understand why my horse, Napoleon, ran off with me when I was hit. He has been trained to stand his ground and does not normally fear the sounds of battle.”
He stopped and raised himself up on his elbows with effort looking for the horse. “Where is Napoleon? Was he in the cabin earlier?” David rubbed a hand across his eyes and fell back onto the blankets again exhausted. “Perhaps I was imagining it. My vision fails me sometimes.”
* * *
Jenny frowned. Perhaps the injury to his head had done some damage she could not see. It happened sometimes. She might be forced to speak to Kizzie or even Doctor Smith about this if his symptoms worsened. Please, God, she prayed, let him recover. What would she do with a Yankee soldier who was all but blind? Oh, if I only knew more about treating injuries, maybe I could help him better.
“No, you were not imagining it. The horse was in here. I took him to the old barn to feed him and tend his wound while you were sleeping. I did not have the opportunity to see to him last night.”
She picked up his hand lying on the blanket. It was cleaner since she had washed it, but it was cold even now. She rubbed the big calloused hand briskly between hers, trying to bring some warmth into him, ignoring the odd sensation that swept through her stomach upon touching him.
The man struggled up again, and she dropped his hand. The blanket pooled in his lap, exposing his well-muscled, very masculine chest at the top of the unbuttoned nightshirt.
“Napoleon is hurt?”
Placing her hands on his shoulders, she gently pushed him back on the pillow. She could see the raw worry in his eyes. “It was just a scratch. Don’t worry; he’ll be fine. As I told you before, I’ve some experience in the practice of the healing arts.”
“And you don’t mind using your knowledge to help animals?” He looked surprised.
“Not at all…you really care about that horse, don’t you? Napoleon is such an odd name for a horse. You must have admired the Frenchman to name your horse after him.”
He smiled faintly, and she saw how much even that small attempt lit up his handsome face. “I raised that brute from a newborn foal to be a cavalry horse; he is a fighter, just like his namesake. He is my hope for the future. Someday I wish to own a farm, and he’ll sire my stable. He saved my life…and so did you.”
The Captain’s voice was barely audible now. His heavy-lidded green eyes slid closed again. He was asleep.
Romulus settled down next to David’s side on the blankets and looked up at Jenny with solemn eyes. She knelt down beside the dog and patted the big, shaggy head. “That’s my good boy, Rommie. I will bring you and the soldier something better to eat when I come again. In the meantime…” She produced a large slice of ham from the saddlebag, “…here is something for you.” Glancing at the sleeping man, she added, “I didn’t think he was ready for meat yet, so it’s yours, sweetie.”
Wagging his tail, the dog began to eat with one eye on her and the other on his food.
Gently, she slid her hands under David’s bandaged head, looking for wetness. No more bleeding here. Then she lifted a corner of the pile of blankets, hoping not to wake the Yankee. The bandage wrapped around the man’s thigh was stained with blood, but it didn’t appear to be an unexpected amount. She would change it before she left, deciding to let him sleep for now.
She knew she should just cover him again quickly, but the temptation to look was too great. Men’s bodies were largely unfamiliar to her, despite her help with the slaves. Kizzie never allowed her to see a naked man. Whenever a man’s body had to be exposed, she was pushed out of the room. When Jenny had undressed David the night before, she had been in too much of a hurry to appreciate the sight. He was in such dire need of warmth that she had covered his nakedness quickly. Now the room was warm with the brightly blazing fire, and he seemed to be in a deep slumber.
A thrill of strange, forbidden excitement filled her as she ran her eyes over his muscular form. He looked every inch like one of those marble Greek statues she had seen in the museum in Atlanta. The swell and curve of each visible muscle was well defined. Blood rushed to her face leaving her hot, almost feverish.
Her hands tingled with the desire to touch him and to lift that nightshirt even further. She longed to feel the smooth skin of his chest, to run her hands over those muscular thighs and shoulders. Finally she dropped the blanket back over him then froze, mortified, when he stirred. Mumbling incoherently, the soldier turned his head back and forth restlessly.
“Shhh, hush now. You’re safe now,” she whispered, watching his sleeping face. “You’ll be fine, Captain David Reynolds.” Unable to resist reaching out to him, she gently ran her hand over his cheek, feeling the bristle of his dark beard. So far there was no sign of fever. Immediately his tensed body relaxed once more. The corners of his mouth twitched up ever so slightly then relaxed again.
Chapter Six
By the third night David was awake and waiting for Jenny. He watched her light the oil lamp from his position propped up against the wall of the cabin, his injured leg straight out in front of him.
“Hello. How are you feeling?” she asked, walking over and bending to rub Rommie’s ears. The dog sat protectively beside him, making no move to greet his mistress.
“Much better, thanks to you, Miss Winston.” He smiled at her, his beautiful Good Samaritan, dressed tonight in sensible homespun clothing.
“Well, you’re welcome, Captain Reynolds. I’ve brought you and Romulus some more food.” She lifted the bundle and showed it to him. The brown dog immediately got up and moved to Jenny’s side. “Oh, so now you want to change sides since I have the food.” She laughed.
To David, the sound of her laughter was just like turning on the sunshine inside him. He was brighter and happier—he even momentarily forgot he was behind enemy lines with a hole in his leg and a throbbing head. He had been too preoccupied with survival before to notice how attractive his rescuer was.
Jennifer Winston had hair the color of honey. It was pulled back in a chignon, but he could still tell it was thick and luxurious. She had large, thickly lashed blue eyes set off by a set of nicely arched, honey-colored brows.
She swept off her cloak and headed for the fireplace, and he was glad he had been able to contribute even a small amount by keeping the fire going. The drafty old cabin was as warm as it could be when she arrived. From his seat on the packed dirt floor, he could see that she appeared to be tall with a trim, but shapely figure. Yes, her curves were in all the righ
t places. She was pretty enough to make even a man in pain be happy he still had the gift of sight—blurry though it might be at times.
Soon the delicious smell of rabbit stew filled the air, making his stomach growl loudly.
Jenny laughed again. “I can tell you’re hungry, Captain Reynolds, and that is a very good sign.”
“Is it?”
“Most certainly.” She came and placed a generous bowl of hot stew, lumpy with meat, carrots, and potatoes, on his lap. “Do you need some help, or can you manage this alone?”
David stared at her, fascinated by the tilt of her head and how the firelight danced in her shining eyes. He had never met a woman before that…that did what? He wasn’t sure exactly how Jennifer Winston made him feel, but he knew he was drawn to her in some indefinable way. Without taking his eyes off her, he reached for the spoon offered to him.
“I think I can manage it.” Now at least part of the question of how she made him feel was answered. Thank God she had already dropped a cloth under the bowl before setting it down on his lap. The touch of her hand when he took the spoon had an immediate effect on the part of his anatomy under the cloth. An effect he didn’t want a fine lady like Jennifer Winston to see.
Suddenly he realized how bad he must look and smell. Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he found the beginnings of a full beard. He had not shaved since the morning of the battle at Mine Run nor had he bathed. This was not unusual for any member of the army; but then again, they didn’t normally meet beautiful young women. He sniffed himself surreptitiously. Memories of Jenny tenderly washing the blood from his face and wounds made him even more uncomfortable as his arousal increased. He grimaced unconsciously.
“Are you all right, Captain?”
She must have been watching him.
“Fine. Fine. Thank you.” He picked up the spoon and began to eat, suddenly embarrassed.
