Читать книгу The Memory House - Linda Goodnight - Страница 11

5

Peach Orchard Farm

1864

“Lizzy, help me.” The stench of blood and gunpowder strong in her nostrils, Charlotte called to her maid above the unholy clamor echoing through the farmhouse.

The groans and cries of distressed men tore at her compassion and frightened the children into hiding, a mercy, Charlotte thought, to spare them this horror.

Chaos reigned over Peach Orchard Farm while Captain Gadsden shouted orders and men dragged themselves and each other into her house.

With the wounded sprawled on the bare floors of her parlor and dining room, Charlotte pulled sheets from storage and ripped them into long strips. She’d been dismayed at the lack of medical supplies carried by a warring army. Indeed, the bulk of bandages and medicine came from the Portlands’ belongings, not the military.

Lizzy, her dark, deft fingers quick and strong, took up a sheet. “You tend that one. I’ll make the bandages.”

Grateful for her maid’s able assistance, Charlotte poured a basin half-full of water Cook had heated on the stove and knelt beside one of the many men lying on the dining room floor. He wasn’t the first she’d tended during the long wait to see the single, harried surgeon.

“What’s your name?” she said, as she slid scissors under his fragmented shirtsleeve.

Through gritted teeth, the man managed, “Joshua Bates. Will I die?”

Charlotte’s hand paused as she gazed down at the ghastly wound laying bare the bone. The wound alone wouldn’t kill him, but infection was the enemy, as she well knew from her mother’s missions of mercy in the slums of London.

“Only a flesh wound.” At the masculine voice, Charlotte gazed up at Captain Gadsden as he dropped to one knee beside his fallen soldier. They exchanged looks and she saw that he no more believed his words than she did. He placed a hand across the man’s sweaty brow. “You fought bravely today, Private.”

Bates, his face as bleached as new muslin, hissed when Charlotte carefully dabbed at the jagged flesh. A river of blood flowed out. “Would you give him a drink of whiskey, please?”

The captain didn’t hesitate. He held the other man’s head and slowly poured in the numbing liquor while she pressed a bandage into the bullet hole and wrapped a strip of sheet round and round the arm, tying it off with a knot.

“That should stop the bleeding.” She prayed it would, for prayer was the only other help she could give him.

“Have you nursing experience, ma’am?” the captain asked, recapping the bottle of whiskey. Edgar would not be pleased at the loss of his liquor cabinet, the medicine he took for his crippled foot and other ailments.

“My mother cared for the sick. She taught me.” Though nothing of this grisly nature.

Satisfied that she’d done all she could for Bates until the surgeon had more time, she rinsed her hands in the basin and moved on to the next soldier. The captain remained for another moment at Bates’s side. She heard snippets of their soft conversation and from the corner of her eye saw the officer remove a paper from the soldier’s breast pocket, read it and put it back. With another murmured word, he moved to the next man.

From the far side of the room, a man screamed. Charlotte jerked and sloshed water before spinning toward the cry. In three strides Captain Gadsden was there. Together with the help of Lizzy and a soldier with a bloody ear, they pressed the hysterical man back to the floor.

“He ain’t bleeding nowhere,” Lizzy said.

The man’s head thrashed from side to side, his shaggy ginger beard making a swish-swish against his blue shirt. He mumbled disconnected sentences, random words. “Get the bucket. They’re coming. Donald! Donald!”

At the last, he began to keen in a high-pitched wail.

“Is he blind?” Captain Gadsden passed a hand over the staring eyes. No reaction.

Charlotte knelt beside the man, full of pity. “Shh. Shh. You’re safe.”

The young soldier grappled for Charlotte’s hand and bore down hard enough to cause pain. She flinched but didn’t pull away.

“Sally? Sally?”

Dismayed, Charlotte looked to the captain, kneeling on the opposite side. A dozen men in different degrees of distress watched the painful episode.

“Is Sally his wife?”

“Yes.”

“Brain fever, Miss Charlotte,” Lizzy said. “His mind is gone.”

“Captain!” someone called from the doorway. “Come quickly, sir.”

The poor captain appeared torn. So many needs. So many voices calling for him.

There were too many strangers in her house.

“I’ll tend to this man, Captain. Lizzy, is there a potion that would soothe him?”

In caution, Lizzy’s dark eyes cut between her and the captain and the other listeners in the room. Not everyone approved of the maid’s medicines. “I’ll see what I got.”

She scurried from the room just as Charlotte’s husband burst in from outside. He gazed around the scene, bewildered, but quickly settled on Charlotte. In a cold, irate voice, he demanded, “Mrs. Portland!”

Charlotte rose to her knees. “Edgar, please. This man is—”

“In my study. Now!” And he stormed through the parlor with little regard to the sick and injured beneath his feet.

* * *

Charlotte jumped as her husband slammed the study door and strode to his desk. Hands on the wood, he leaned toward her. His face was florid, his mouth tight with anger.

“Have you no decency?”

Charlotte waited with her hands in the folds of her dress. She knew better than to argue.

Edgar slammed his fist onto the desk. In spite of her efforts not to, Charlotte jumped again.

“Speak when I speak to you!”

Her chin came up. “There are wounded men in our house, Edgar, whether we want them or not. It seems indecent not to help them.”

“I don’t want them here.”

“Nor do I, but there is little we can do to stop them. Isn’t cooperating better than being shot?”

“Cooperating? Is that what you call wallowing on the floor with a Yankee?”

“The soldier was out of his head. He didn’t know what he was doing.” She took a step toward him, one hand outstretched in a plea. Edgar always responded better when she asked. “Please allow me this ministry. Tending the sick is the Christian thing to do.”

His face worked for several tense seconds before he cursed and spun toward the narrow window, showing her his back. “Go on, then. Go coddle your Yankees.”

Charlotte waited two beats of time, her knees shaking and her stomach twisted in knots. “Thank you.”

Edgar whirled and shouted, “I said go, woman!”

With what dignity she could muster, Charlotte slipped out the door and was shocked to see the young captain in the hallway.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked quietly.

Heat burned her cheeks. Humiliated but grateful for the kindness, Charlotte nodded.

Moving closer, the captain murmured, “We’ve put you in a difficult situation. I apologize.”

Charlotte glanced toward the closed study, fearful that Edgar would exit the room and cause another scene.

Captain Gadsden took her arm and led her a few feet down the hall. “Could I fetch you a glass of water?”

Her cheeks burned hotter. “I’m fine.”

With a tilt of his head, he released her and started to walk away.

“Captain.”

He turned, holding her with gentle eyes, his head tilted to one side.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The moment stood still while she and the handsome captain stared at each other in the dim hallway. The floor seemed to shift beneath Charlotte’s feet. Her ears buzzed and she had the strongest urge to reach out to him, this complete stranger who’d offered her more kindness than her own husband.

She sucked in a quick breath, shocked at her thoughts, and hurried back to the groaning soldiers.