Patriot's Pride

by Penelope Marzec

  His eyes narrowed as he peered at Margaret. “I am the doctor. You are a passenger.” His tone infuriated her.

  “I don’t know any of your patients or how they’ve fared in your care,” she challenged.

  He lowered his eyes but not before she caught the bitter affliction in his expression. His skin appeared pale, though the poor lighting in the vessel might be to blame. Still, she suspected her words hit a mark and apprehension chilled her.

  Had his patients suffered horribly? She swallowed hard and twisted her hands. She had witnessed the cruel and ineffectual treatments inflicted upon the ill by doctors.

  Doctor Fortune asked for assistance in moving Mrs. Ulery to the infirmary. “The limb must be kept in a stable position until it can be set and bandaged properly.”

  “I have a new whalebone corset in my trunk,” Margaret offered. “If you slide it under her arm, it will protect the limb.”

  Some in the crowd snickered, while several of the women deemed the suggestion highly inappropriate.

  The doctor turned to measure Margaret with his cool appraisal. “Bring it to me. It should work.”

  Margaret stepped carefully around the fallen widow and returned to the cabin, where she opened her trunk again. The new corset had been a gift from her sister, Agnes. It smelled of fresh lavender. If she closed her eyes, Margaret would envision butterflies flitting about the scented blooms.

  “You’ll need this, for you may be dining with royalty,” Agnes had laughed.

  Margaret was supposed to visit the dowager duchess, her brother-in-law’s mother, but she hoped they might simply share some tea in the garden, or talk in another informal space, for Margaret had no fine things to wear. If the king happened by chance to pass by her, he would undoubtedly think her nothing more than a servant.

  The corset proved an excellent tool to cradle the widow’s arm. Margaret followed the injured woman to the infirmary and insisted upon staying with her through the procedure.

  Doctor Fortune eyed her with suspicion. “It is likely you will faint.”

  “You need not worry. I was raised on a farm and assisted in many procedures with ailing animals.” Margaret glared at him. “Including the removal of a musket ball from a pig’s hindquarters.”

  “Did the pig recover?” He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

  “He lived for many years afterward.” Other people had dogs or cats for pets. She’d had Jonas. When Frances died, it was as if Jonas understood her sorrow and did his best to cheer her. With Jonas’s passing, she was completely bereft.

  Doctor Fortune opened a cabinet and took out a roll of bandages. “A wound caused by a lead ball becomes infected after the removal of the metal and any fragments.”

  “We treated the lesion with vinegar, yarrow, and a special drawing salve.” She had brought a small crock with the concoction in her trunk.

  “Humph.” He did not appear convinced.

  “Please, allow her to stay with me.” Mrs. Ulery pleaded with pale, white lips as pain etched lines in her face.

  “She must not interfere.” His voice hardened as he glared at Margaret.

  She set her mouth in annoyance. He had been kind to her when the hat knocked her in the head. Now he behaved as if he were the lord of his own domain—and as if no one should cross him. She straightened her back, unfazed by his attitude. If he did not use the appropriate procedures necessary to heal the older woman, she planned to intercede. Taking a deep breath, she held the widow’s hand. “He must straighten the bone to set it properly, but that will hurt.”

  Mrs. Ulery cast a frantic glance at the doctor. “I can’t endure much pain.”

  He poured an amber liquid into a glass. “Drink this.”

  Mrs. Ulery took a sip and smiled wanly. “Oh. I’m rather fond of whiskey.”

  Margaret blinked in surprise as the woman downed the strong spirit in the same manner most people swallowed cold water.

  A man with a startling stock of fiery red hair rushed into the room. “I came as soon as I received your summons.”

  Doctor Fortune nodded. “Well, Oliver, are you familiar with handling broken arms?”

  “On many a sailor—as I’ve been a ship’s carpenter now for nearly ten years. Set broken legs, too. Found broken backs and broken heads a difficulty, though.” He chuckled.

  Margaret shuddered. She remembered seeing the young carpenter sitting next to Cecelia as she sang on deck. He had listened to her with rapt attention. Would he be gentle with Mrs. Ulery?

  “A woman’s arm is less bound by rigid sinews and more pliable as a rule,” the doctor noted. “Do you need to take a measurement or are a suitable number of wooden strips available of roughly the same length?”

  Oliver pulled out a tape and placed it against Mrs. Ulery’s broken limb. “I have some already cut as would be a good size for her.”

  “Excellent. Bring them quickly and we’ll reduce the fracture.” Doctor Fortune’s manner in giving orders was cool, with little emotion.

  Margaret shot him a hostile glare. Where was his compassion? Why didn’t he offer some kind words to her suffering companion?

  The carpenter dashed away but soon returned with the necessary splints. Mrs. Ulery bit down on a thick piece of braided leather. As the two men took hold of Mrs. Ulery, Margaret held her free hand. The men yanked at the broken arm. The poor woman screamed. Margaret prayed silently.

  The arm went into line without undue manipulation. Margaret’s tense muscles relaxed a bit, but this was a dreadful beginning for the journey. Her eyes misted, but she forced herself to be strong for Mrs. Ulery. She prayed the older woman’s arm would heal without any complications.

  “I’d say that went well.” The carpenter grinned.

  “Indeed, it did. I appreciate your assistance. We worked together like a hand in glove.” The doctor appeared pleased with himself.

  Margaret hated the smug look on his face.

  “May I request another glass of whiskey,” Mrs. Ulery begged as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Margaret poured the whiskey into a glass since the doctor and carpenter were occupied placing splints beside the arm and encasing everything with cloth. Finally, they fashioned a sling and adjusted it to cradle the arm as comfortably as possible. Oliver left to attend to other tasks.

  The full effect of the whiskey took hold and Mrs. Ulery was unable to stand. She sat on the chair with a dazed expression on her face. Margaret stared at the woman in dismay.

  “The arm will take many weeks to heal,” the doctor warned. “With disuse, the muscles tend to grow weak and flaccid.”

  “I’m goin’ to be on this boat for a month, soes it won’t matter…much,” Mrs. Ulery’s words slurred as she hiccupped. “Floatin’ around like a duck in a pond. Margaret’ll wash over me. Won’t you dearie? Though I ‘spose I was to wash over you...”

  Margaret patted the woman’s hand. Mrs. Ulery had had a cup too much, but she did not blame her. “It works both ways, I’m sure. We must take care of each other.”

  Mrs. Ulery leaned back, closed her eyes, and promptly started to snore.

  Margaret wrung her hands. “We can’t allow her to sleep in that position.”

  “I shall give orders for men to carry her to her cabin.” The doctor rolled the sleeves of his shirt down. Margaret caught a glimpse of his muscled forearms before he covered them up. Why did he possess such fine sinews, she wondered? He was not a laborer.

  “It is fortunate the bone did not break through the skin,” he stated. “Though a considerable amount of swelling will result from the fracture, I can alleviate it with leeches.”

  “No!” she protested. “Those are abominable creatures.”

  “I am a surgeon.” He donned his jacket as he spoke. “If you interfere with the treatment of Mrs. Ulery, you will be placed in the brig.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Since he stood six feet one inch tall and towered over women, they never gave Derrick Fortune any trouble. With one
stern look, he intimidated them. However, Miss Margaret McGowan didn’t flinch. She met his fierceness with a glance as sharp as a sliver of broken glass. This astonished him, for she was no more than a slip of a woman. Her tiny waist measured less than the span of his hands.

  “If you are a surgeon, you know what happens with extensive blood loss,” she hissed through her teeth. “Mrs. Ulery is my traveling companion, and I will tend to her whether you like it or not, using skills I learned as a child. My remedies are far more efficacious than those of any doctor I’ve met. My Christian duty is to care for her, which includes protecting her from questionable methods of treatment.”

  He ground his teeth in vexation. He had attended lectures given by the most renowned physicians of the day. She was another Bible-spouting believer who cared not a whit about science. There were plenty like her. He knew prayer wasn’t the answer. Knowledge gained by the methodical study of the human body held the key.

  “How do you propose to reduce the swelling, which will most assuredly occur?” He forced himself to ask the question without sarcasm.

  “Keeping the broken limb elevated and applying cold cloths soaked in witch hazel.”

  He barely heard her words, for he focused instead on her eyes which were the color of mercury—quicksilver. Changeable, flashing and endlessly fascinating.

  He blinked. Had she hypnotized him?

  He lowered his gaze and stared at the strips of cloth binding the wooden splints about Mrs. Ulery’s arm. “Leeches are effective and involve no effort on my part.”

  “I am not afraid of work.” Her stance brooked no compromise.

  He struggled with his self-control. “Yes, you milk cows all day and remove musket balls from pigs.” He believed his unkind remark would be sufficient to drive her from his presence. He did not need a woman around who unsettled him as she did.

  She didn’t get mad and take off in a huff. She crossed her arms and her lips quirked upward as if she found his mean-spirited statement rather amusing. “I maintain a business baking bread and sweet buns for the inns near Leedsville.”

  “Pardon me for not noticing your industriousness.” Heat burned on his cheeks. “Nevertheless, I must insist you keep to your place if you wish this to be a pleasant voyage.”

  Immediately, those quicksilver eyes of hers flashed in a bright blaze of temper. “I will not be dismissed, and do not think you can threaten me with imprisonment. I will care for Mrs. Ulery with far more diligence than a jar full of your leeches.” The room grew warmer from the vehemence of her ire.

  He clamped his jaw together. The woman brought him to the end of his patience, but before he blurted out a more threatening invective, the ship lurched again. She was propelled into his arms. At first startled, he discovered her nearness caused his heart to beat erratically, which is what had happened when he had caught her on the deck, preventing her fall. Her small form thrust against his chest set every nerve drumming with excitement. She tilted her head back and her cap fell off, revealing a lustrous mass of gold with thin strands as bright as the precious, yellow metal. Unlike the cold and lifeless mineral, each fine filament was silky and warm to the touch.

  “I-I can stand on my own,” she sputtered.

  “You would have fallen…” With reluctance, he let her go. His annoyance had fully dissipated and his hands hung stiffly at his side, longing only to wrap her in his arms once more.

  Mrs. Ulery snored loudly, reminding him of her presence. The violent movement of the ship had not affected her since the placement of the chair kept her wedged into a corner.

  “I—I never imagined an ocean voyage would be so—so uneven.” Margaret held onto the edge of the table and bent to retrieve her cap.

  His reflexes were faster. He scooped the white head covering off the floor and handed it to her.

  “Why…thank you.” A hint of breathlessness lingered in her tone.

  He realized he, too, experienced a marked shortness of breath. Was the motion of the ship affecting them? He frowned in confusion. He had never suffered from seasickness before this.

  “I—I—it is a pity we are tossed about by violent waves,” he stammered, a most unusual reaction for him. No, it isn’t. I enjoyed holding you, if only for a moment.

  She twisted her hair into a knot and covered the glorious gold with the dreadful cap, tucking in all the strands until not one was visible. “I realize the movement of the ship is affected by the sea. Such a small conveyance in this great ocean is at the mercy of the Lord.”

  Irked again by her belief, he wanted to blurt out that God had nothing to do with the ship. Instead, he decided to use reason. “The Prosperity was well-built and is well-maintained. My father owns it and one other. He examines every seam himself.”

  “Your father cannot calm the sea.” The corners of her small mouth turned downward.

  “Nor will the God you rely upon,” he retorted. He’d learned his lesson, the hard way. The Almighty did not save Julian. Death—or life—was random.

  “I trust in the Lord to comfort me in any storm,” she stated with cool and remote dignity. “But thank you for catching me…again.”

  She turned to leave as if she was dismissing him, which vexed him further.

  “You should not fear the ocean,” he called after her. “Despite the disturbing motions of the ship in the sea, no medicine is as restorative as an ocean voyage for the body.”

  She swung back to face him with her penetrating gaze. “Are you on this voyage to cure an illness?”

  Ice twisted around his heart. Still, he answered with calm. “I am traveling to England to study under John Hunter, the most esteemed surgeon in the world.” Though his tale of woe went deeper, he did not intend to divulge the truth to her. Her life was simple. His was not.

  “I never heard of him.” She shrugged.

  Perhaps his smile was patronizing, but he did not feel sorry about it. What would a milkmaid know of a great man? “I attended lectures at the College of Medicine in Philadelphia, which is where I learned of him and the advances he has made in the field of surgery, along with his studies in anatomy. I had thought of being a physician at first, but during the war I took up surgery, as did many of the instructors and students.”

  “What company were you with?” she asked, though not in a belligerent manner. Her words seemed soft and hushed.

  Silence grew as a sharp pang of anguish threatened him. Simply the thought of the past stirred up bitter memories. He took a deep breath and locked up his emotions in the cold vault of his heart.

  “The Fourth Company, under Capt. John Byrne, from the Walnut and Chestnut ward in Philadelphia.”

  “Oh.” Her lashes fluttered down over her cheeks.

  “I treated hundreds of men.” However, he had lost the one he wanted to save most of all. “I strove to be quick with the saw. In an average of fifteen seconds, I sliced through the bone of the thigh.” Many of those he treated suffered from infections. The majority of them, including Julian, died from sepsis. Surgery often became a death sentence.

  Her skin paled and she turned away. “Please ask the men who move Mrs. Ulery to be gentle.” She walked out without saying another word.

  He narrowed his eyes. He should not be bothered by her, and yet he was. She wore plain clothing—simple, devoid of any style, but she possessed a sort of radiance. Was it the color of her hair, or her eyes, or simply the glow of health on her cheeks?

  “She knows nothing of science,” he grumbled beneath his breath as he put away the bandages. His conscience niggled him. What do I know of science? He hated to admit the truth. He did not doubt that, in time, they would solve some of the mysteries with intense study, since much progress had already been made. He trusted the solutions only waited for diligent experiments and careful analysis.

  The ship shuddered and plunged downward until it hit the surface of the water with a disturbing jolt. A cold sweat broke out on his brow as his stomach grew queasy. He took out a stoppered bottle of vineg
ar and poured a small quantity onto his handkerchief. Sniffing the pungent aroma did not remove his unease. He thought of downing a hefty amount of whiskey, but he had turned to hard spirits in the past and discovered liquor often made matters worse.

  His father had explained the body’s need to focus on an orientation point in heaving seas. Remembering the warning, he headed upstairs to the waist of the ship to stand on deck and look at the horizon.

  On his way, he asked Oliver to find some able-bodied men to move Mrs. Ulery. The carpenter, who had already been struck by the beauty of the blind Miss Cavendish, was only too happy to comply, since he might dally with her for a few minutes while moving the older woman to the cabin.

  Once on deck, Derrick gazed in wonder at the sky. Not a single cloud marred the piercing blue. The sun shone brightly, but the fierce wind churned up the sea and the ship crashed into one huge wave after another. He clung to a railing to steady himself.

  His churning stomach settled, and though the ever-present anxiety remained, the bracing air refreshed him. How would he endure the long voyage? Until now, he’d spent no more than a week or so on a ship. As the ship’s doctor, he had one of the best cabins aboard, second only to the captain’s quarters. However, the infirmary, well below the waterline on the orlop deck, was dank and dark.

  He told himself it amounted to a minor inconvenience. He had set a course for his life and he must accomplish the task. Otherwise, he did not see a reason for his existence. Without his goal, life had no meaning. During the war, he had survived the cold, the mud, and appalling little for rations. On this ship, he had a comfortable berth, and his father had assured him of a well-stocked larder.

  Focused on his own thoughts, he paid no heed to the comings and goings of others on the deck until a plaintive cry sounded on his left. He turned to watch as the wind carried away Miss McGowan’s cap. She fumbled and tried to catch it, but it sailed off into the ocean. She leaned over the rail and moaned as it floated off on the waves. Her unfettered hair, whipped by the gusts, waved free and golden as a field of wheat. The sight mesmerized him.