My Dearest Enemy

by Jennifer Moore

  She grinned and started toward the lean-to. “I should see to Luke first.”

  Emmett stepped in front of her, blocking her in the space between the flat rock and the fire. “I checked on him not half an hour ago. He’s sleeping well, breathing deeply, and his fever is gone.”

  Abigail looked past him, but he didn’t move.

  “Even the doctor must take care of herself.”

  “But—”

  “Eat.”

  She very prettily raised a brow. “That clean-shaved face has gone to your head, sir. Now you’re barking orders.”

  “I am the captain, remember?” He raised his own brow and smiled to show her he was teasing.

  She looked down at the stew and took the bowl from him, sitting on the rock. “I suppose it can wait a bit.”

  Emmett brought spoons and two slices of bread and sat beside her.

  “And how are your wounds, Captain?”

  “The sleep did wonders for my pain.” He took a bite of the rabbit stew, delighted beyond belief at the turnips and potatoes they’d found in the Tidwells’ root cellar. One thing a soldier’s diet lacked was variety.

  “This is very good,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

  “There’s plenty, so eat all you’d like.”

  “Thank you.”

  The pair ate in silence save for the songs of birds that Emmett couldn’t identify. Finches, perhaps. He smiled at the cheerful noise. Only days earlier, he’d thought this forest to be cold and wearisome as his company trudged along. It was amazing what fresh bread, vegetables, and warm socks could do for the group’s morale. He’d actually thought he heard Jasper whistling this morning, though the sound stopped as soon as Emmett got near.

  He glanced to the side. Was it really the fresh provisions that caused such a change in his attitude? He doubted it. A warm breakfast in a snowy forest on a sunny morning was pleasant, but the company of a beautiful woman made the surroundings sparkle like a drawing in a picture book. He leaned back his head to feel the sun on his face.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten breakfast outside before,” she said. “And I’ve certainly never slept in the forest.”

  Emmett glanced at her. “And now that you’ve done both, what is your conclusion?”

  “I think food tastes better in the cold air. And people sleep deeper when they’re physically wearied.” She pulled her brows together as if she were contemplating. “But, I do not think many realize it.”

  “You are right about that. The amount of complaining I hear on a daily basis from the men in my company would lead a person to think there is nothing worse than sleeping out of doors or eating in the cool air.”

  Abigail set down her bowl and stood, moving around to his other side, motioning for him to remove his coat and lift his shirt. “And how many men are in your company?”

  “When I left the regiment at Frenchtown, there were just over a hundred men in my command.” He felt his expression grow grim. “Typhoid fever has significantly reduced the number, and I imagine there will be even less when I return.”

  Abigail reached around him, unwrapping the bandage. “I’m sorry, Captain. It must be dreadful to watch your men die.”

  He winced, both at her words and at the cold air hitting his skin. “More than I can say. I feel responsible for them. So many are volunteers, and of course all left behind a home and family. Murphy has a wife and daughter in Pennsylvania; Barney and Luke’s aging parents are managing the farm in Ohio by themselves.”

  She inspected the arrow wound and the wound on his arm. “You’re healing nicely. I think I will leave off the bandages. Soon we can remove the sutures.” She sat back on the rock and wadded up the strips while he returned his shirt and coat. “What of your home and family, Captain Prescott? You were telling me about your father yesterday before we arrived.”

  “Ah yes, the Honorable Beauregard Emmett Prescott III.” He heard the cynicism in his voice but didn’t apologize for it.

  Abigail looked surprised but didn’t comment. She turned herself more fully toward him, waiting for him to continue. And so he did.

  “You told me how your father helped you after your mother died. He praised you, showed you what you were capable of, loved you as you mourned. Upon my mother’s death, my father did exactly the opposite.”

  The very edges of Abigail’s eyes tightened. “How old were you?”

  “My mother died when I was eight,” Emmett said. “But her sickness began when I was born. Something happened during the birth, and she never recovered. You’d understand that better than I.”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Mother was always ill. I hardly remember a time when she was not either in her bed or sitting in a chair covered in blankets. She didn’t have the energy for parties or visitors and spent much of the time sleeping.”

  Abigail took his hand. “I’m sorry. It must have been very difficult.”

  He gave a small snort. “It wasn’t difficult for me. Mother doted on me. She read to me, devised treasure hunts, watched me play. I was her entire world.”

  Abigail smiled. “She sounds lovely.”

  “She was. Of course, a boy thinks his mother the most beautiful woman in the world. But mine truly was. She was gentle, her voice soft and always kind . . .”

  He allowed his voice to trail off as memories flowed through his thoughts.

  Abigail squeezed his hand gently. Her expression was soft, and he found himself wanting to tell her everything. Perhaps he felt safe sharing with her because in a few days she’d be off to Detroit and he’d continue fighting. They’d likely never see one another again. His stomach felt heavy at the thought.

  “Like I said,” he continued. “Mother doted on me, and my father and brother resented it, though at the time I didn’t realize it.” Emmett let out a heavy breath. “Once she died, my father completely cut me off, focusing all of his attention on my perfect brother, Beau. He is, of course, in line to inherit the plantation.

  “Father and Beau blamed me for Mother’s death. Comments about how Beau performed so much better in school, remarks about my failings, disapproval, criticism, sarcasm, all of it turned my home into a place I couldn’t bear to be. If it weren’t for Lydia . . .”

  “And what of your stepmother? What kind of person is she?” Abigail pulled his hand onto her own lap, holding onto it with both of hers.

  “Emeline is pleasant and much younger than my father. She is never unkind, but she does not love me.”

  “Lydia loves you.”

  “She does.” He forced himself to smile, feeling foolish for confessing so much. He sounded like a petulant child, whining about his upbringing. He wondered what Abigail was thinking. Did she think him resentful? Perhaps he should have left out some of the details. Especially the parts that sounded like complaining. “I realize now that Father was hurting, and he didn’t know where to direct his frustration.” He hoped that made him sound less sulky.

  Abigail scowled. “But that is no excuse for treating a child as he did. Not when you were mourning, too. I am so sorry, Emmett. I wish . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  He wondered what she’d meant to say. She wished she’d been there for him? She wished things had been different? And she’d called him Emmett. Did she realize it? Or had it just slipped out? He’d called her by her given name nearly since the day they’d met. But until now, she’d never done the same.

  He was still turning over the implications of this new development when she gave a tug on his hand. “So after university, you joined the army to escape your home?”

  “To some extent. I think there will always be a part of me that wants to impress my father. To be a hero and prove that I’m more than the spoiled child who was the cause of Mother’s death.”

  “Emmett, you did not cause your mother’s death. And you’ve no need to prove anything to anyone.” She squeezed his fingers, holding his gaze with a serious expression. “You are a hero.�
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  He gave a wry smile. “Well, so far I’ve spent five years stationed at Fort McHenry training, drilling, and performing sentry duty. Since the war began, I’ve marched for months through muddy mosquito-infested swamplands and frozen marshes, led my company into an Indian ambush, and was imprisoned in a young lady’s barn. Not quite the honorable tour of duty I’d dreamed of.”

  “That is not it at all.” Abigail’s expression relaxed, and she scooted closer to him. “You honed your skills through five years of practice, led a hundred men on a campaign through the wilderness, enduring horrible conditions and sickness. You survived an Indian attack and kept your entire reconnaissance company alive.” She pulled on his hand and leaned forward until he looked up at her. “You’re a hero, Emmett. No matter what anyone tells you.” Her eyes were intense, holding his gaze as if willing him to accept her words. After a moment she relaxed and a small smile pulled at her lips. “They don’t give those gold shoulder decorations to just anyone, you know.”

  Emmett felt sheepish. Not only from her praise, but by the way he’d bared his soul, acting as if he’d been seeking admiration. He’d intended to simply tell the story, not whine and complain until she rewarded him with a compliment. “Abigail, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Captain! Abigail!” Barney’s voice interrupted, and they both turned toward him.

  He crawled out of the shelter, a smile on his round face. “Luke is awake.”

  ***

  That night, Emmett found himself ending the day in exactly the same way he’d begun it. He shifted on the rock, glancing between the three shelters and listening to the sounds of the forest over the crackling of the fire. Somewhere distant, a wolf howled. He heard an owl, and occasionally clumps of snow fell from trees. The chirping birds that had so gladly welcomed the sun were silent. The night was much colder than the previous had been.

  He heard a rustle as Abigail shifted. She’d moved often during the hour he’d been awake, and he thought she must not be sleeping well.

  His day had been one of the most enjoyable he could remember. The men were cheerful as they performed their tasks. Weapons had been cleaned and oiled, clothes washed, food prepared, and none had found reason to complain, which was a miracle in itself. They’d all been pleased to see Luke awake. The boy joined them for nearly an hour at the campfire and even ate some stew before Abigail insisted he return to the shelter and rest. While the others had been happy with his quick recovery, she was much more cautious, reminding him not to overexert himself lest his fever return.

  The boy had been content to be fussed over and, truly, who could blame him?

  The noise came again from Abigail’s shelter, and after a moment she emerged. She held a blanket tightly around her shoulders and moved to the fire.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake the others.

  “I am just so cold,” she said. She shivered and buried her face in the blanket.

  “Come along.” Emmett took her arm and led her toward the flat rock. He sat on the earth before it, stretching his legs out toward the fire and pulled Abigail down beside him. Opening his own blanket wide, he wrapped it around both of them, nestling her beneath his arm. He should have been ashamed of his boldness, but under the circumstances, survival outweighed propriety.

  Abigail continued to shiver, and he tightened his arm around her. Though he didn’t particularly care for a soldier’s close quarters when it came to sleeping space, being packed uncomfortably into a tent had one advantage. It had likely saved all of their lives by storing body heat.

  “Better?” he asked once her shivering stopped.

  She nodded against his chest then settled in more comfortably.

  He leaned his cheek on her head, and after a bit, her breathing deepened. Emmett closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the doctor nestled against him, and decided he didn’t so much mind close quarters after all.

  Chapter 9

  Abigail blinked herself awake, surprised to see the sun had risen. She was still curled up with Emmett, and when she lifted her head, he smiled.

  “Good morning.”

  Abigail could feel his chest rumble as he spoke. Her cheeks flamed red. Why she should be so embarrassed, she didn’t know. Cozying so close with the captain had simply been a matter of sharing body heat. She sat up, drawing away. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you, miss.” Murphy poured coffee into a mug and brought it to her.

  “We worried you intended to sleep all day,” Emmett said. He extracted his arm from behind her and stood, leaving the blankets draped over her shoulders. “Excuse me, but I need to take over for my corporal.” He handed an empty mug to Murphy and stretched his shoulder. He smiled at Abigail, picked up a rifle, and left the camp.

  Abigail thought his shoulder must be cramped from remaining in the same position for hours. Her embarrassment grew. “Jasper’s still on sentry duty? He was on duty when I went to sleep.”

  Murphy nodded. “I relieved him, and so did Barney.”

  She’d slept longer than she’d realized. “He took an extra shift so Captain Prescott didn’t wake me.” Abigail felt foolish. “I’m sorry.”

  “He was glad to do it, miss.”

  “Abigail,” she said.

  Murphy dipped his head in assent. She liked this solemn man. He came around to sit on the rock, and she stood, brushed off her skirts, and sat beside him.

  “You are all very kind to me, and to Captain Prescott. He acts like he’s healed, but he needs to be careful not to overexert himself. Thank you for allowing him to rest.”

  “He’s a fine man. The finest officer in the United States Army, and that’s no exaggeration.” Murphy’s mouth was set in a line, and he gave a swift nod as if he’d just stated an irrefutable fact.

  Abigail smiled at his devotion, blowing over the dark liquid before she took a sip. “I agree. He is a fine man. As are those in his command. You all do seem to get on very well.”

  “Miss—Abigail, did you wonder why the four of us were chosen to accompany Captain Prescott on this mission?”

  Abigail hadn’t even thought about it. She wasn’t certain what exactly the mission was—some sort of scouting assignment, she assumed. But now that she considered, she realized that, aside from Jasper, the group was not exactly a stealthy band of reconnoiterers. “Why were you chosen? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Our regiment falls under Brigadier-General James Winchester. We’ve been plagued for weeks by dysentery, typhoid fever, and a slew of other diseases while marching into Michigan Territory. Men are falling ill and dying every day. Luke there,” he nodded toward where the boy slept. “He’s the youngest in Captain Prescott’s command, the smallest. And I’m the oldest. Captain knows I’ve a malady of the lungs. If I were to take ill in a soldier’s camp . . .”

  He shrugged as if the rest of the sentiment didn’t need saying.

  “Jasper, of course, has invaluable skills for a mission like this, and Barney won’t leave his brother. But with the entire army to choose from, Captain selected the two weakest in his regiment, in hopes of keeping us from falling ill.”

  Abigail was touched by the man’s words, and she wondered if Captain Prescott knew how highly his men thought of him. He may not think himself to be a hero, but Murphy certainly did. And she did as well.

  Jasper entered the camp, and Abigail rose. She took a blanket from her shoulder and offered it to him. “Mr. Webb, I must thank you for your consideration for me. I know a soldier prefers his sleep to taking another shift on sentry duty.”

  Jasper shrugged. “I don’t mind,” he mumbled.

  “Truly, I am grateful,” she said.

  “Jasper doesn’t need sleep.” Barney’s voice interrupted them. He crawled out of his shelter, scratching his hair until it stuck up all around his head. “He’s stronger than a regular man. He fought a bear, you know.”

  Abigail opened her eyes wide. “You fought a bear?” />
  “Wasn’t by choice.” Jasper shrugged again.

  “Go on, show her the claw scars,” Barney said.

  “She doesn’t want to see—”

  “Actually, I would like to see them,” Abigail broke in. “If you feel comfortable showing me.” Of course she was interested in seeing the scars. What student of medicine wouldn’t be?

  Jasper gave her a curious look but turned around, removed his coat, and hitched up his shirt to reveal five long streaks crossing his back from his shoulder to his hip.

  Abigail moved closer, fascinated. The gashes hadn’t been treated or sutured, she could tell right away. Some parts bunched up, thick with scar tissue, and others had healed badly, stretched wide. She touched one gash that had gone particularly deep. “Oh, my. How did you ever survive this?”

  Jasper dropped down his shirt and turned. “Wasn’t as bad as it looks.”

  “It must have hurt terribly,” Abigail said.

  “Tell her what happened to the old bear, Jasper,” Barney said.

  Jasper darted a look at him then pulled the hat from his head and held it toward Abigail.

  She took it, feeling the thick fur it was made from. “You killed this bear?” The head was enormous, even without its lower jaw.

  A smile tugged at Jasper’s mouth. “Yep.”

  “Killed it with a hunting knife,” Murphy said from the other side of the fire.

  Abigail didn’t believe it was possible. She’d seen bears in Upper Canada. Luckily none had ever attacked, but she’d only ever heard of them being killed by a bullet, or several. Getting close enough to use a knife on a bear was suicide. Especially one of this size. “You are all teasing me, aren’t you?”

  “Nope.” Jasper’s twitching mouth resembled a near-smile.

  “Corporal Webb, I’ve never heard of . . . I . . .” She truly didn’t know what to say. She wagged a finger at him, scolding. “You must be more careful in the future.”