“My canteen is in the boat with clean water. You can have all of it if you wait here. I will be back.”
“Where are you going?” Matthew asked, his gravelly voice strained with each word. His mind screamed with questions. Piercing pain reminded him he lived.Perhaps being reminded I am alive is what I need, but the pain is not what I would have chosen.
“To my boat. It is hidden. I must secure it before trying to put you in it. Your injuries are such that we must go to my home in order for me to help. I will be back. I promise. Stay quiet,” she ordered softly. “I will not leave you here to die.”
A few minutes later, she was back and helped him up. “They are returning. We must hurry.”
Chapter Two
Bethany Phillips hadsorely miscalculated the time needed to gather the last of the winter vegetables and herbs when she left home that morning. Usually, the chore took twenty minutes once she landed at the Villeré Plantation. The plantation had the best gardens around, and Major Villeré, its owner, had encouraged her to take as she needed.
Troops, both British and American, had gathered around the mouth of the Mississippi for weeks, raising tensions and making everyone nervous. Without warning, the British had overrun the plantation, taking the men guarding it by surprise. It had become a makeshift headquarters with bivouacking in the house and on the grounds.
Skirmishes between the forces had occurred repeatedly, and as a result, General Andrew Jackson placed everything under martial law—adding to the isolation and wariness everyone felt.
Still, she had rationalized her visit to the plantation. She needed more herbs to carry her through the winter. The garden was secluded, and Bethany had planned to slip in and out without being noticed, certain the British encamped there would be asleep.
Instead, she found herself with a wounded British officer—and a handsome one, at that.British and an officer. Her penchant for finding trouble was well-established. When she was twelve, two neighbor boys had swum close, not realizing she was fishing. Taking the opportunity to spy on them, she had laid down her fishing pole and climbed a tree. However, the tree limb she chose had failed to hold her weight. It cracked and sent her into the creek. Tobias Smith, the oldest boy, had rescued her and brought her home. And he had never let her forget she owed him. He reminded her each time she went into the Trading Post, his family’s business.
Bethany would have to keep the man hidden until he healed and could leave. If discovered, she could face treason charges. It would be hard to explain his presence. Bethany should be afraid. She regarded herself as having sound judgment and common sense, yet she had shown little good judgment that morning. She waited for a sense of foreboding or fear overtaking her but felt nothing, even knowing she stood as much a chance of getting in trouble with the Americans as she did with the British. He needed help, and the least she could do was provide it. She had seen too much senseless bloodshed, and saving a life was worth the risk.
She glanced down at the soldier sleeping on the floor of her small boat. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, assuring herself he still lived. The musket ball in his side had to come out. Hopefully, it had stayed in one piece and had not splintered, buried itself in the bone, or worse, an organ. Her grandmère had spoken often about that complication; she had come across it many times. Bethany herself had not performed surgery but had assisted Grandmère twice and possessed copies of her grandmother’s remedy recipes to guide her. Grandmère was visiting her sister, Bethany’s great-aunt Theodosia, who was sick and needed her. Based on her letters, she should be back soon. She wished Grandmère was back already, so she would not be alone with him.
That he could not open his eyes worried her.What if he is blind?“No,” she said aloud. “His eyes just have debris or dirt in them.” Sorrow filled her as she thought about his challenges. She only had herself to count on with this. No physician would be available should she need help. Mentally, she laid out the surgical area she would use in the house. It would have to be the kitchen table. And brandy. She needed lots of brandy.
If only I had found him before the burial crew arrived on the battlefield. He might not have lost as much blood.Those men were more like thieves. She had watched two men plunder pockets as they stripped the dead from their uniforms. It was barbaric. She had heard what happened to the dead soldiers but seeing it still shocked her.
“I’m not sure how you escaped losing your clothing,” she whispered in his direction, “but I am glad.” Perhaps it held information about his family. Bethany would search his pockets and send word to them, praying her efforts would aid him in making it home.
Dandie curled up next to him. There was no man in Bethany’s life, and those she had met, even in town, were greeted with a growl from her pet. Yet Dandie liked this one. Her pup had even attempted to soothe him by licking his face. She felt grateful for Dandie, recalling how the dog had heard the man’s groan and had run onto the battlefield to find him.
Her dog was all she had. The gangly little white terrier had been a gift from Mama two years before and had been her only salvation when Mama had died from consumption the previous winter. Even Grandmère’s magic herbs had failed to help. A familiar pain gripped her heart. She prayed her grandmother’s medicine could help this man.
“You like him, Dandie?” she whispered to her pup.
The dog’s head popped up and she smiled, parting her shiny black lips to show a perfect under-bite, her row of small white teeth displayed like an upside-down grin, with a crooked lower fang. She gave a wag, thumping her tail on the floor of the boat. It was a cheery smile. She put her furry head down and nudged his sleeping one.
Is she trying to tell me something? Has he become worse?
Bethany mused as she kept her skiff toward the center of the river. Her bag of produce and herbs sat at her feet with her canteen. “The major will not appreciate what they did to his home,” she said out loud to no one in particular. “We may get winter vegetables again, but it will be a while.” She looked at the soldier.Who is he?
Her dock came into sight, and she rowed the boat up to it, wrapping the rope around the cleat and placing the bag of vegetables on the deck. Getting out, she grabbed the rope from the cleat and pulled it toward the shore.
“We are home,” she said, peering through the brush on the riverbank. Her house appeared as she had left it. It was a common enough style. A one-story gray wooden house, it had a wide front. Windows lined the walls on the front and back, giving good airflow through the house on warmer days. A wraparound porch surrounded the entrance. She had fastened the outside shutters of deep green from the inside. Squinting, she spotted the stick she had carefully set above the door.Good.It was still there, and the windows looked untouched. Relief flooded through her.
Dandie licked the man’s face, rousing him from his slumber. He smiled, trying to evade the dog’s long tongue. Bethany noticed his smile immediately; it was a kind smile. His eyes fluttered, but remained closed. Perhaps her small egg cup would help flush the debris out of his eyes if she could open them.
His square, chiseled jaw and strong nose gave her the feeling he belonged to the British aristocracy. His dark brown wavy locks barely touched the top of his regimental collar. He was the most handsome man she recalled seeing.
I bet his eyes are blue.
Silly woman! I need to save him, or I will never know the color of his eyes.
“Sir, we are at my dock now.” She shook the boat to wake him. “I pulled the boat as far up on the sand as I could. It may be a little rocky as you stand. Go slow and reach for my hand.” She stretched her arm out to him.
“I will endeavor to stand.” He grimaced, holding on to his side and easing himself up. His bleeding had increased again.
“Careful. Take one step at a time until you feel my hand,” she urged. She needed to come out later and throw a bucket of water over where he had been lying to wash the blood out of the boat, in case someone came upon it.
