by Diane Wylie
He refused his shirt and jacket, saying they pained him too much, so she draped a blanket around his shoulders. She mounted Star and they headed south toward home with Romulus following.
As the day wore on, David’s condition worsened. They had to stop and tie him to the saddle when teeth-rattling chills set in so badly that he could no longer sit upright. He lay silently against Napoleon’s neck with every blanket wrapped around his shuddering body. Tying Napoleon’s reins to her mare, she urged the horses on.
When they stopped to water the horses, his fever had spiked again to a dangerous level. He was barely conscious and past the point of responding. She forced some water down his throat, mounted, and continued on through the gathering gloom with a desperate fear thick in her throat.
It was late when they reached the manor’s slave quarters. The night was clean, crisp, and bright with moonlight. She had taken a wide path, circumventing the manor house to reach the circle of little log cabins around the common well and central stone fire pit.
There were no welcoming candles in the windows. All was dark. Jenny guided the two horses right up to the front door of Kizzie’s cabin. Dismounting, she checked David. He was unresponsive and shivering in the grip of a severe chill again. Hurrying up to Kizzie’s door, she knocked softly and called for the old healer.
After a few moments, the wooden door creaked open just a crack, and a wizened, dark face, framed by wispy, white hair peeked out. Behind Kizzie was the little house worker, Madeline, holding a candle. Little Madeline’s face was filled with fear at this midnight intrusion.
“Mother Kizzie, Madeline! It’s me, Jenny,” she whispered.
“What is it, honey chile? What be wrong?” Kizzie asked.
“Please, Mother Kizzie, please help me. I’ve tried everything I know, and he is getting worse!”
“Who sick, yo’ Papa?”
“No, I found a soldier. He’s injured and very sick, and he’s a Union soldier. Please help him.” She pulled the old woman’s arm anxiously, leading her out into the cold and over to David. Madeline followed silently, bringing the candle.
The moonlight was bright on the figure slumped on the big horse. Kizzie turned to Madeline and took the candle from the girl. “Run, gal. Git your Daddy and Uncle Luther. Hurry now.” The young girl disappeared.
Jenny untied the rope holding David to the saddle. He didn’t stir when she spoke to him. The big, black stallion froze as still as a statue. Kizzie moved the candle close to David’s face and laid her thin brown hand on his pale cheek.
“This one be very sick. The blue sign of death be on him. He lose his life blood and let in bad sickness. Too dry. No sweat. Keeps it in. Bad sign, chile. Death close for dis here soldier man.”
A sob escaped, and the tears rolled uncontrollably down Jenny’s cheeks. “But you can help him, can’t you, Mother Kizzie?” She stroked his cheek, rough with new whiskers. It was true. His lips and the skin around his eyes were tinged with blue as if he had no red blood left in his body. Her chest was tight with terror.
Kizzie put her hand on her mistress’ shaking shoulders. “For you, my darlin’ gal, I try my best. Ah, here come the menfolk now.”
The group of slaves approached silently as ghosts in the cold night. Cordelia’s husband, Isaac, a big, kind-hearted man, led the group, followed by Luther, Madeline, Cordelia, Jebediah, and most of the inhabitants of the cabins.
Kizzie spoke first, “Isaac, you and Luther get this here soldier off his hoss and take him to my cabin. Lay him in my bed.”
Isaac looked at Jenny’s tear-stained face in surprise. “What be goin’ on, Miz Jenny?”
“Please, please do what she says, Isaac.”
Isaac shrugged his massive shoulders and motioned to Luther, his brother-in-law. The two men went to drag the soldier from the saddle when the blankets slipped off David’s shoulders and fell to the ground. A collective gasp of surprise and sympathy was heard from all assembled.
Isaac turned to Jenny. His mouth was set in a tight, grim line. Silently taking the candle from Madeline, he held the small light up to examine David’s back.
“Who be beatin’ this white man so bad, Miz Jenny?”
She looked around at all of the familiar faces, many of whom she had known all her life. Their breath was steaming in the cold night as they waited for their mistress to answer.
“Please, I need you all to help me hide this man.” She looked at Jebediah pleadingly. He was so often in the house around her father; she especially needed him to stay quiet. “His name is David Reynolds. He is a captain in the army for the North. He was captured by Southern soldiers and badly beaten for military secrets. I found him. Please let him stay with all of you. His life depends on it. It is you he is fighting this war for.”
“That be true, Miz Jenny?” Cordelia asked.
“Yes,” she nodded miserably, “it’s true. Please help him…I…I…for me, please.” How could she explain that this stranger was fighting for their freedom, while their own people in the South were fighting to preserve a way of life that included their bondage to her own father? She didn’t understand it fully herself.
“Nobody can know he is here, not my father or brother. Please, it is important…he is important…to me.”
There was silence for a heartbeat. Napoleon shifted his feet, moving his burden slightly.
Kizzie decided David’s fate. “Now we all gotsta work together and hide this here man of Miz Jenny’s so’s I kin help him get well. Yes?”
They all nodded, every man, woman, and child present. They would help. They would keep him hidden. Even if they didn’t do it for Jenny, they would cooperate for Kizzie.
Isaac and Luther pulled David down from the horse. Jenny hugged the healer, “Oh thank you, Mother Kizzie.” The old woman patted her back.
“Don’t thank me yet, honey chile. We ain’t saved his life yet.”
The two women turned and followed the men carrying the unconscious soldier into the tiny, dark cabin. They gently laid him on his back on Kizzie’s small frame bed. Immediately David arched his back and writhed in silent pain.
“Roll him on his side, Luther. His po’ back be too painful,” Kizzie said, clucking her tongue sympathetically.
Luther did as he was bid and looked up with sad eyes. “Miz Jenny, this man be powerful hot…I ain’t never touched someone so hot with so much fever befo’.”
Her voice was ragged when she replied, “Pray for him, Luther. He has been through a lot and needs our help.” She cleared her throat, tore her gaze from David, and turned to the head field hand, “Please, Isaac, would you and Jeb please unsaddle the horses, feed them, and hide them in the woods safely. My father doesn’t expect me back until day after tomorrow. As Luther knows, I am supposed to be at the Harrington Manor. Papa can’t know that I’m back.”
Luther grunted and made no comment, but Kizzie gave her mistress a sharp look as she worked. The old woman was already stripping the unconscious soldier and cutting away the bandage on his leg as she barked orders to Cordelia, Madeline, and Madeline’s brother, Nate. They scattered to bring all the oil lamps they could find, buckets of water, cloths, food, and drink. Isaac threw fresh firewood on the banked fire and rekindled the blaze.
Taking off her cloak and jacket, Jenny rolled up her sleeves. Kizzie looked up from her examination of the wound in the light of the oil lamp Nate held close.
“Miz Jenny, you should not stay here. This here man be naked now. You go lie down in Cordelia’s cabin till you can go home tomorrow.”
“No…I’m staying. Just tell me what to do. I have to learn all I can, and I have to help you, please. I-I just can’t leave him.”
Chapter Ten
Strange smells and sounds made their way through David’s dulled senses. He was burning alive. His skin was tight, and his closed eyes rolled around in dry hollows. Everything seemed to be on fire. Punishment. Yes, it was his punishment for killing men, for defying his father, for letting Jack die.<
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He moaned and struggled to escape, but incredibly strong hands were everywhere, holding him down, pressing his body deep into the cot. Then something sharp pierced his already throbbing leg, and he was helpless to hold back hoarse screams until a big hand came down over his mouth, muffling the sound.
Oddly accented voices spoke to him, but he could not comprehend their words. They had taken his clothes, forced bitter-tasting drinks between his lips, and poked at him with stiffly pointed fingers. He hurt with an all-consuming agony. It seemed as though each inch of his body throbbed with pain at every heartbeat. His heart beat slow in his laboring chest, only to race out of control minutes later. Gathering the little strength he had left, David struggled to communicate with someone. He had to let them know before it was too late.
“Please…don’t…take off…my leg…I’m…dying anyway. Please…let me die…whole man,” he finally managed to gasp to anyone listening. They had to know he would rather die in one piece than be left as half a man.
He subsided once more. The last of his strength was gone, and he had not even the ability to open his eyes to see if anyone had heard his plea. So this is what it feels like to die? It’s awful. Someone had told him once that death was peaceful. Not so.
His hand was being lifted and touched to soft lips. Drops of wetness fell on his skin. Did they sizzle? He was so hot. Maybe he was in hell.
“No! No one is going to take off your leg, and you are not going to die, do you hear me?”
It was Jenny’s voice. He knew that soft drawl but couldn’t summon the strength to answer her.
“Kizzie will save your leg and you too!” he heard her voice coming from a long distance. “You can’t die! Too many men have already died in this war! You can’t leave me…I…I need you. I love you! Don’t give up, please. For God’s sake fight, David, fight with everything you have!”
A sigh of warm air ran through him. He smiled, but his mouth didn’t respond. What were the fires of hell compared to being loved? He knew it then. Sweet truth. I love you too, my Jenny. Did he say it aloud? His mind was so very hot he couldn’t think.
A strange smelling smoke hung heavy in the air, like the smell of burning leaves. It got into his nostrils and slowed his breathing. He felt heavy, as though he were made of stone that had been sitting in the hot summer sun, slowly baking to dust. Time slowed, and he slept the sleep of the dead.
Over and over they woke him from blackness to pour a sweet liquid into his mouth. It slid down his parched throat, soothing it, and he was grateful. He had the odd impression of people standing over him, chanting in a singsong way and laying their hands on his chest and arms.
At first he was afraid. Their faces were different, foreign to him, and their language he could not understand. But then, after a very long time, his body began to feel lighter, suspended in the air. He knew what it was. Love. It was all around him, seeping into his very pores. It filled him inside and turned the dust to molten liquid. A shudder ran through him, and his body clenched.
Someone held his hand and touched his cheek. Soft fingers rubbed his cracked, dry lips with some soothing substance. Again and again cool water bathed him from forehead to toes. He could only sigh with relief at the cooling sensation.
Then there was a strange sort of talking. In that babble of low voices was one sweetly familiar voice that sent a bolt of joy through his fogged brain. It was Jenny once again. She was calling him, telling him to wake up.
Dear God, how he wanted to do what she asked! Reaching down deep inside for a tiny bit of strength, he forced open his eyes and focused on her face. He was rewarded with a wonderful smile that lit up her tired face.
“David!”
All he could manage was a wink, a weak smile, and a tiny squeeze of her hand.
“He awake, Miz Jenny?”
His gritty eyeballs moved to the voice. It was an old woman, so very old and wrinkled that she had turned the color of a walnut. She was looking at him through ancient, worried eyes. He sensed the presence of other people in the room and heard the murmur of those odd accents again.
“Not for long,” he answered in a whisper, making the old woman chuckle, and he closed his heavy eyes again.
He drifted for some time in a hot, painful haze then awoke again. There were people in the room as before. Gradually he realized that he was naked, lying on his side facing Jenny. Her beautiful blue eyes were looking at him with concern and something else. Hope…that was it, she looked very hopeful. He vaguely wondered why.
The sweet smell of honey drifted on the air. It seemed to be coming from his body, along with the pungent smell of onions and his own sweat. His entire body was awash in his own perspiration. It ran into his eyes, stinging and burning, but he could not move to wipe it away.
Tenderly, she wiped his face with a cool cloth then slowly bent down and kissed him full on his parched lips. His state of undress, in front of these people, mortified him.
“Jenny, I’m not clothed,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said smiling gently. “We needed to bathe you to bring down the fever and treat your injured back and leg with honey and onion poultices.”
Hearing giggles behind him, he sighed in relief as someone blessedly draped a blanket over his lower body. The fire within him had subsided. Slowly his mind swirled away from them into a dreamless sleep.
* * *
When David came back to his senses, he was not alone. In fact, he knew he had not been alone for many days now. How many days, he was not sure. He had been adrift in a sea of pain and sickness for so long that it was hard to get a grip on what was real and what was the result of fevered imaginings. He lay on his stomach with his eyes closed and tried to sort it out.
There had been people coming and going all the time. They spoke in accented voices and in words he couldn’t always understand. They were dark-skinned, joyful people; that much he had been able to gather. When they came to this place where he lay, there was music and lively conversation. Although he could not participate, he knew that Jenny spoke and sang with them.
Jenny. She was here every time he struggled back to a tenuous consciousness. Even if he woke for only a moment, she was here. He wondered if she ever left. She and an old woman they called Mother Kizzie were the ones who seemed to be caring for him. They bathed his fevered body, forced him to drink strange potions, held his head when he was sick, and applied endless salves, ointments, and poultices to his injured back and leg.
David listened carefully to the voices and tried to identify each one. He recognized the high-pitched voice of Madeline, the child who came. She giggled a lot. There was Isaac’s deep baritone. He thought that Isaac was Madeline’s father. The slower speech belonged to the one called Luther. There was Cordelia, the fast- speaking woman, and the thin raspy voice of Mother Kizzie. And Jenny…it was always Jenny’s soft southern drawl that flowed over him and soothed him the most.
Images of their faces were just a confused jumble that he resolved to figure out as soon as he could keep his eyes open long enough to do so. He dozed again.
It was dark inside the cabin when he awoke again. All was still and silent. The only noise he heard was that of the wind howling outside. It sounded cold and lonely. He shivered, though he was not cold under the piles of blankets. Slowly he flexed his hands and moved his legs experimentally. The injured leg sent up an answering jolt of pain, but it was tolerable. Putting his hands under his chest, he pushed himself up off the bed and slowly rolled over onto this back. It was sore but manageable.
The fire crackled and popped when the flames hit a pocket of sap. He sat up for the first time in some days. The dizziness passed quickly, and he saw a figure sitting in a chair close to the fireplace. It was Jenny, asleep, curled up with her head leaning against the back of the chair. He was profoundly moved by the realization that she was with him again. His throat closed convulsively. She cared for him, a Yankee soldier, as if he were her beloved husband. What have I done in my life
to deserve such a wondrous thing?
His breath caught in his chest. She was beautiful, angelic in sleep, even though her hair was escaping from its chignon and her dress was stained and wrinkled. Her face was relaxed, and her rosy lips were parted slightly. He wanted to kiss those lips. She was only a few feet away in this tiny cabin.
Could he walk those few feet? Everything in him yearned to go to her and touch her. Moving slowly he swung his feet over the side of the bed and put them on the cold floor. He breathed slowly and deeply. The fever was gone. It was time to get back on his feet, time to regain the strength the illness had stolen from him.
Keeping his eyes on Jenny’s wonderful face, he stood shakily and wrapped the blanket around his nakedness. Holding onto the edge of the bed, he staggered the few steps to her side like a drunken man and sank down to the floor. He sighed and leaned against the chair, wanting to touch her but reluctant to disturb her rest. He was happy just to be so close to her.
The flames danced hypnotically, drawing his tired mind to their spell. He stared deep into the flames, feeling as though he had escaped them only hours before.
A gentle hand settled on the back of his bare neck and began to massage the deep muscles of his neck and shoulders. He let his head drop to his chest and groaned in pleasure. Silently she moved the chair directly behind him and used both hands to massage his bunched muscles with strong, deft fingers.
“How are you feeling, David?” his angel whispered in his ear.
He sighed and laid his head back against her skirt-covered knees, looking at her upside down. “Tired of being sick.”
She laughed softly and smoothed the hair from his forehead. “You have been ill for a long time. It is so good to see you awake.”
David grunted and closed his eyes. “Don’t expect it to last too long. I think I’m fading already.”
