“Very acceptable, sir,” she blurted, scarce able to believe she’d been granted a haven. Her knees were shaking like leaves.
A warm, welcoming smile transformed his face from fierce to friendly.
“Congratulations, Miss Anderson. You’ve just ‘jined the cavalry’.” He took her hand, bowed over it, then turned and strode off, whistling as he went. Dr. Eliason smiled at her, then followed him. Will hugged her tightly; she bit down a moan as her bruised body protested.
“Good girl. You did just fine.”
She couldn’t resist. “Even if a real doctor approves of my childish games?”
“Lass, if you can impress a staff surgeon enough that he goes to his general and demands—yes, he was pretty insistent—that you be able to use that skill … if you can do that, who am I to argue?”
“Staff surgeon?”
“Yes, dear. Eliason is also General Stuart’s personal physician.”
“General Stuart?” Her voice came out in a squeak.
“Even I knew that,” Travis said from the ground. “And we’ve only been down here a few days. I thought you knew.”
She shook her head. General Stuart. Deserters. Jake. Uncle Will. A Yankee named Travis Black. They all swirled together before her eyes. Her stomach gave a loud protest against its lack of food, the final blow. Her body sagged; someone caught her.
Dimly she heard the Yankee say, “She needs food and rest, sir. I think she hasn’t had much of either in a few days.”
She wanted to sit up, to say, “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.” But nothing responded. She felt herself being carried away, and her mind retreated into blackness.
3. Haven
June 27, 1862
Chicken. She smelled chicken, and her stomach rumbled through her dreams.
“Starla? Wake up, cariad.”
She opened her eyes unwillingly. I could sleep for weeks, she thought. She was in a bed for the first time in what seemed like forever. Will sat nearby with a steaming bowl in his hand.
“Where’d you find the chicken?” were the first words out of her mouth.
He laughed. “And a good morning to you too. Or more accurately, afternoon.”
Sitting up in bed, she reached wordlessly for the bowl. Between spoonfuls, she asked, “How long have I slept?”
“Well into tomorrow.” He paused. “How are you feeling?”
She placed the spoon carefully in the now empty bowl. How do I feel? Her head throbbed, her shoulders hurt, her body was caked in blood and mud and sweat. But Will was here, and Will would keep her safe. She smiled a little half smile.
“Much better. But I could use a bath.”
Will laughed again. He is always laughing, she thought. No matter how bad things look, Uncle Will can find something to laugh about.
“You could indeed. I’ve taken care of that. Just one problem—this was a bachelor’s residence. There’s nothing for you to change into.”
She surveyed her filthy dress with distaste.
His expression mirrored her own. “The only alternative is to put you in a shirt and trousers until we can get that cleaned or find other clothes. Would that bother you? It wouldn’t be proper, you know.”
“Will,” she said soberly, staring at her scratched hands, broken nails, “my being here at all is highly improper. I doubt that I can do much more to ruin my reputation. I’ll wear the trousers.”
He tapped her chin gently, then took up the bowl and left. She crawled gingerly from the bed. Oh my, but I am sore. She paced around the small bare room. Definitely a man’s house—no mirrors. No, there was one. She peered into the tiny mirror set above the washbowl, and promptly wished she hadn’t. It’s a wonder I didn’t scare off half the camp yesterday.
There was a thud at the door. “Open up, Star. My hands are full.”
She rushed to the door and looked with rapt face at the two steaming buckets he carried. “Here you are, my dear.” He set them next to the washstand. A towel and facecloth and a dish of soap were already on the stand. “There are clothes you can borrow in the wardrobe. Just give a call when you’re finished.”
The door closed with a snick behind him. She was already undoing the hooks on her dress front, anxious to be rid of the crusted fabric. She hurriedly loosened the tapes and dropped everything in a pile, lastly kicking her chemise into the pile with one bare foot.
It took her longer to wash than she’d expected. Her hair took the most time, the waist length mass was so matted and tangled. The layers of grime coating her could have grown potatoes, and much of her body was bruised and tender. She glanced down her shoulders at the fading bruises and shuddered. Resolutely, she reached out for a towel. I’m safe now. I’m safe.
After drying off carefully with the coarse towel, she pulled open the wardrobe, hauled out some clothes, and sat on the edge of the bed to figure them out.
“Two of me could fit in here,” she commented, putting on the plain homespun shirt and holding out her sleeve engulfed hands before rolling up the sleeves. The baggy gray trousers were belted as tight as she could, but still felt loose. And while Starla was not a short girl, the cuffs had to be rolled up on those too. She looked down at herself, wiggled her bare feet and shook her head. Ayup, just call me a cracker.
There was a light rap on the door. “Are you alive in there, Star?”
“Come in,” she called, trying to finger comb her hair. “Ouch!”
Will took a good look at her fussing with a particularly stubborn tangle, and chuckled.
“At least I’m clean now,” she returned.
“That you are. Don’t worry about the dress. I’ll find someone to take care of it.”
She finished her hair—as far as she was going to get without a comb anyway—and fought it into a long thick braid, tying it off with another strip torn from her poor petticoat.
“Which somehow reminds me,” she said suddenly, jerking around to face him. “How is Tr— I mean, Lieutenant Black?” Will’s face grew serious. She hurried up off the bed. “He isn’t worse, is he?”
“No, he’s fine. His leg isn’t. The surgeon— What are you looking for?”
She was searching the room frantically. “My boots. Where are my boots?”
“Easy, Star. They’re right here. I take it you want to see your patient. Don’t you think you should get some more rest?”
She shook her head emphatically, hopping up and down as she pulled on her old, battered riding boots, sans stockings. “He was already running a low fever yesterday. I need to see how bad it’s gotten.” She rushed past him, down the stairs, and came to an abrupt halt on the porch.
“What’s the matter?” Will asked, coming up behind her. She shrank close to him.
“So many men,” she whispered. Far too many. But at his concerned look she took a deep breath and followed him out into the yard. “Is it me,” she asked, looking around, “or is not as busy here today? And there are almost no horsemen.”
“Sharp girl. It isn’t. This is the tail end of General Jackson’s men. The whole Federal army’s just to our south, so Stuart’s off hassling them and keeping the roads open. We’ll travel with the infantry for a while longer. Probably head out tomorrow, after you have a chance to rest up a bit more.”
They hadn’t gone more than a few steps when a voice rang out, “Like hell you will! Get your damn Rebel hands away from me!”
She darted towards it. The Yankee sat propped up against the tree, his face flushed an angry red. A Confederate surgeon stood above him, hands on hips, lecturing.
“What is going on here?” she demanded, feeling unnaturally winded for such a little sprint.
Travis shook a fist at the surgeon. “He wants to take my leg off, that’s what’s going on! And the fool won’t take no for an answer!”
“Look here, young man. That wound is suppurating badly. If I act now, I can save most of your leg. If gangrene sets in, I can’t even guarantee your life.”
She knelt down, examining the unwr
apped leg and ignoring the two arguing above her. She didn’t need to see the sickly mustard yellow of infection to see the problem; the wound was an unhealthy purple red, swollen and hot to the touch. Pus and blood leaked from around her neat ligatures and adhesive plasters.
“Drat,” she muttered to herself. “I thought I had gotten that clean. Must have been the swamp water.” She poked at it, none too gently.
Travis let out a gasp mid rant and turned ashen.
She stood up and faced the surgeon. “Sir, if that leg is watched carefully and cleaned routinely, it could be saved, correct?”
He blinked and thought a minute. “The chances would be greater, yes. But most of us medical personnel are on our way to the frontlines, and there is no one I can spare to give that kind of attention, especially not for a prisoner. No matter what orders General Stuart left,” he said down at the lieutenant. Travis glared back.
“I have the time.”
Both men stared at her, Travis with something akin to hope, and the surgeon with something closer to disapproval. She stared back, feeling steadier than she had yesterday.
“Good, then it’s settled. Let me find my bag and I’ll get started.”
Someone pushed the heavy leather case into her hand. She turned around to see Will standing behind her, fiddling with his moustache.
She smiled briefly. “Thanks.” She knelt back down next to her Yankee—well, you might as well call him ‘my Yankee’, she thought—and opened the case. But she could still feel three pairs of eyes fixed on her. “Is something wrong?” she asked, looking at each of them in turn.
The surgeon shook his head. “Not at all, miss. Dr. Eliason said you were to have free rein with this here patient and that I was to help in any way requested. Now, I can’t spare the chloroform, but to show my goodwill, I’ll donate some fine medicinal whiskey to your cause. He’ll need it when you open up that leg.” She thought she saw him roll his eyes as he left.
“Will? I need more hot water.”
“Yes, sir.” He sketched a quick salute, but didn’t smile. What did I do wrong? she wondered, watching him leave. He always smiles.
“Interesting outfit you’re wearing, Miss Anderson. Is that the new style in Richmond?”
“Now see here—” She broke off as she got a closer look at him. He looked haggard, gray eyes fever bright and fearful, but he was still trying to smile. “I half expected you to be cursing at me, not making jokes,” she said, puzzled.
Then he really did smile. “Oh, don’t worry, Miss Anderson. I’ve gotten most of that out of my system by now. You should have heard me earlier. But I just try to keep in mind that you probably can’t help being such an ill mannered, ill tempered, bull headed Secesh girl. Seems to be a common trait of the young women down here.”
“What?!”
“Well, you are. At least in the opinion of this uncivilized Yankee.” His grin was impudent.
“Oooo, why I ought to…!” She was annoyed enough to forget her fear of him.
“Ought to what? You’ve already nearly killed me.” His voice dipped from teasing to anger, but just as quickly became light again. “I’d hate to see what could be worse than that.”
She froze, then gazed down at her hands, seeing his blood again. I’m dangerous….
A touch on her hand. She flinched. “Miss Anderson? I am sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out quite that way. I’m afraid my tongue tends to be quicker than my mind.”
“But you’re right,” she answered dully. “You wouldn’t be here if not for me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m trying to look at the bright side. For example, now I’ll get to Richmond long before the rest of the Union army does.”
She looked up at him in confusion. His eyes were serious, though his tone was not.
“What do you mean?”
“He means that when we leave to rejoin the rest of the cavalry he’ll be sent to Libby Prison. Not the healthiest of places,” Will said, carefully setting a pot of water on the ground.
Her eyes grew round with horror. “No!”
Travis shrugged, wincing as he did. “With any luck I’ll be traded back within the year. It’s war. It happens.”
Starla clutched at her uncle’s sleeve. “Will! Can’t you do something? It’s not fair! He wouldn’t be here if not for me.”
“I’m trying, but I can’t promise anything. However, I can tell you one thing for certain: if you don’t fix your new friend up now, he probably won’t last long where he’s heading.” He walked away, leaving her to stare at Travis.
“Don’t you worry none, miss. You see, this is all part of our secret plan to invade your capital. You Rebs capture the entire Union army one by one. Then, before you know it, voilà! The Yankees are finally in Richmond!”
She exploded. “Stop it! Why are you making a joke out of everything? Can’t you be serious for once?”
His face tightened. “It’s either laugh, or go mad, Miss Anderson. Which would you prefer?”
She swallowed hard and turned her attention back to the job at hand. He closed his eyes partway, as if anticipating more pain. But he was watching her through those half lidded eyes; she could feel his gaze on the back of her head while bent over him.
Twilight was approaching as Star finished. The Yankee was still oblivious to life. At least he’d been a quiet drunkard, she thought. After experiencing Isaac and Jake in a drunken rage more than once, she was extremely thankful for that fact.
Travis had balked at first, eyeing the little cream colored jug with trepidation when she presented it to him. “Trust me,” she had told him. “You’ll really need something to deaden the pain, and I’m all out of willow.” I could take care of the pain on my own, but I’ll need all my strength to work on that infection.
Muttering something about plots to get the Union army so drunk they wouldn’t know in which direction to advance, he had followed her advice. Unfortunately, he held his drink remarkably well. Not until she laid her knife to his leg to undo her stitches and let the wound drain did his eyes roll back, unconscious at last.
“I do not envy you the headache you will have when you awake, lieutenant,” she said conversationally to his inert form. She cleaned the wound as best she could with more sweetgum and boiling water. What I wouldn’t give for some wild oats, or a bit of comfrey, she thought before deciding to risk some Healing. She felt much stronger today. Breathing evenly, she stared at the offending leg, focusing in on the dark yellow cloud until it solidified slightly. This time she could manipulate it some, but she’d barely started pulling the infection out when she felt herself losing control.
“Still too tired,” she grumbled. She wasn’t the strongest of Healers to begin with, not as Papa and Grandmama had been.
She had just finished wrapping a fresh bandage around his hairy leg when several hundred infantrymen came down the road towards the house. Her head snapped up like a startled doe. Half of her screamed to hide, the other half to stay, lest Lieutenant Black be hauled off to Richmond in his comatose state. She compromised, and disappeared up a nearby oak. She was a fairly proficient tree climber, thanks to Cousin Alec, who had been a sailor, and for once she was in trousers instead of skirts. She rather liked the freedom of movement.
She found a comfortable crook in which to sit. A soft, warm breeze whispered around her; mesmerized by the dancing leaves in the fading daylight, she allowed herself to relax. The moon was rising when a voice called to her.
“Starla? Starla, where are you?”
She was half asleep and didn’t want to answer, but neither did she want to worry Will.
“Up here, Will.”
Will stopped under her branch and looked up. “You always did like climbing trees, didn’t you?”
Her answering smile could barely be seen through the darkness.
“Come on down, cariad. It’s time for supper. And you should get to bed early. You’ve had a rough couple of days, and tomorrow we get to go chasing after my g
eneral.”
She shook her head, draping herself over the limb to look down at him. “I can’t go, Will. What if they take Trav— Lieutenant Black while I’m gone? I’d not forgive myself, I wouldn’t.”
He sighed. “Don’t worry about the Yankee, Star. They won’t take him anywhere without telling me first, and I would tell you. Now, are you hungry or no?”
That chicken soup was a long time ago, her stomach reminded her. “I’m coming.” She rolled off the branch and dropped easily to the ground. “I could really grow to like these trousers,” she remarked, picking herself up and dusting them off. After draping what was left of his jacket over the sleeping lieutenant, she allowed Will to lead her back to the house.
But her steps slowed as they got closer. The house was glowing with light, and the deep sounds of masculine voices spilled from inside.
“Star?” Will asked as she stopped on the front porch.
“I can’t, Will. I can’t go in there.”
“Sit you here, Starla Shane,” he said, pulling her down on the porch steps next to him. “I think it’s time we discussed some things.”
Star sat on the rough wooden step, hunched over, chin in hands. She refused to look at him, staring instead out into the summer darkness.
“You look just like Mother did when she used to lecture me,” she said softly.
Will sighed, deeply, and stroked her hair. She tried not to flinch—this was, after all, Will.
“Listen, Starla. You can’t spend the rest of your life running and hiding. I know, I know,” he said, lifting a hand to forestall her retort. “You have been through things no woman should have to go through. You don’t have to remind me. And it will take time for you to feel safe again. I realize that. But think of it this way: what’s the worst thing you can do if a dog is growling at you?”
She thought for a moment. “Show fear,” she answered, a wondering note in her voice.
“Show fear. Run away. Keep acting this way, and you’ll continue to attract trouble. It’s the nature of beasts. And men.” He paused as she digested that thought. “Now, the way I see it is you have three choices. One, you tuck your tail between your legs, run home, and pray that Jake leaves you alone.”
An Uncivilized Yankee Page 4
