The soldier nodded. “He fought a brave battle. Had a redcoat, a lieutenant, nigh on his tail, chasing him through the maple swamp.” He whistled low. “Sliced his leg. Clean to the bone.”
Mrs. Lightfoot moaned and pushed up from the settee. “I require air.”
“But he’ll be all right,” Esther asked, “will he not? With the surgeon tending him?”
The private rose, making room on the narrow staircase for Esther to ascend. “Like the surgeon’s wife said, steel yourself.”
Gripping the banister, Esther climbed to the second floor, growing weaker, more afraid with each step. What would she find when she knocked on his door? Could she bear to behold what ravages Hamilton had endured?
Taking a breath, she knocked softly and entered at the beckon of a mellow bass voice. “Come in.”
The room was dark and stale. On a crude, slender bedside table, a lone candle flickered against the shadows. On another table, the doctor washed his hands at a basin, dripping water as he pushed his spectacles up his nose.
“He’s sleeping.” The surgeon reached for a soiled towel. “But a friendly voice will do him well. Who might you be?”
“Esther Longfellow. A friend of Hamilton’s.”
“So, you are the Esther of his dreams.” The doctor set a chair beside the narrow bed tucked under the eaves. “He’s lost a lot of blood. But we’re encouraged by his more frequent waking moments.”
Esther sat, hands in her lap, her eyes awash with tears. She’d been warned of his condition, but no imagining could have prepared her for her bold, broad, bright Hamilton to appear so frail, so small, his pale complexion blending with the dingy white linens.
Leaning forward, she cupped her hand under his. “Hamilton, love, ’tis I, Esther.”
His hair stood on end, peppered with dried mud, and his face had not seen a razor in many days.
“What does he say?” Esther peered back at the doctor. “When he whispers my name?”
“Mostly your name. And words I can’t understand.” The doctor removed his glasses. In the candlelight, Esther observed his weariness, and that perhaps he was not as old as his burden made him seem. “They found him facedown by the maple swamp, his leg all but shorn off and saber slashes on his arm. I patched his arm sure enough, but his leg was far gone. I amputated as fast as possible, but he suffered a great deal.” The doctor raised the candle and leaned over Hamilton’s pale and broken body. “God help him. I can’t contain the bleeding.” The doctor gently touched Esther’s shoulder. “Speak to him. Pray for him.” Then he quietly slipped from the room.
“My love, what have they done to you?” Tears whispered down her cheeks. “You fought bravely, I hear. A soldier downstairs spoke well of you.” She rested her hand on his chest, taking in his heartbeat through her palm and listening to each soft inhale. “I love you. Please don’t leave me.”
Upon her word, a chill swept through the room and the candle flame flickered. Esther shivered and tucked Hamilton’s blanket under his chin.
“Your side won, dearest. Does that make you happy? To thevictors the spoils!” She brushed her tears from her cheeks. “Perhaps now Washington and his men shall put an end to this revolution, and peace will come to America. To South Carolina.” She squeezed his hand. “To you and me.”
Her eyes drifted the length of his body. Where his left leg should have been, the blanket lay collapsed.
Esther stretched to raise the cover and gasped to see to a bloody stump where Hamilton’s fine, strong leg had been.
She dropped the blanket, then whirled to the window, raising the sash, inhaling the crisp January air, quelling the bile in her throat.
“My Lord, my Lord...”
The hinges of the door squeaked open, and Mrs. Nelson entered with a clean water basin. “You should close the window, dear. He’s much too weak.”
“Yes, of course.” Esther pressed down the pane. “W-will he live? His leg, it’s so...”
“If my husband can contain the bleeding.” Mrs. Nelson exchanged the new basin for the old one. “He is an experienced physician and will do all he can, but Hamilton is at the mercy of the Almighty.”
“Then I will pray.” She returned to the chair by the bed, cupping her hand into his once more. “I will pray. Lord, have mercy.”
The doctor’s wife paused by her, hand on her shoulder. “There is a man here to see you.”
Esther glanced into her sad, sober eyes. “A colored?” Had to be Isaac or Boy.
“No, an older gentleman, fragrant with pipe smoke, graying at his temples.”
Father!
