by Betty Bolte
As the redcoats had charged, firing volley after volley into the American line, cheering and huzzahing their way up the low rise, a shot pierced Edward's heart. Before Samantha could even cry out at the blood spreading across the front of his shirt, a British bayonet stabbed through her leg. The sound of Edward's lifeless body hitting the ground was obliterated by her scream of pain combined with grief, and then sweet oblivion swept over her as she fainted. She had never fainted before, for any reason. But she remained glad she had that day. Simply put, if she hadn't, she'd be dead. When she awoke, only bodies surrounded her. She dragged herself behind the nearby tree, knowing she must not be discovered dressed as a man fighting or face reprimand and then sent home in disgrace. Better to hide and tend to her wounds, both the physical gash in her upper thigh and the rent in her heart at the death of her husband.
She'd spent several weeks with Little Running Bear, observing and absorbing his techniques and methods. She'd scrutinized the way he interacted with his patients, employing both physical and mystical means to accomplish the healing of wounds and diseases. He had many astonishing ways she'd noted in her book. She gasped when a sudden thought popped into her head. Little Running Bear had his own process for ridding a patient of a fever.
A tap on the library door startled her. She spun to find Evelyn poised on the lintel, her homespun gown clean but showing signs of wear from the forced evacuation of her home. That morning had been nearly as scary as the day Samantha became a widow. The worst aspect of her loss remained the secrecy surrounding her marriage which led to her inability to mourn in public. Her grief continued to regularly depress her spirits, but it also helped her to commiserate with her patients when they lost a loved one.
"We are ready to go." Evelyn motioned to her slave, Belinda, standing behind her, holding the squirming swaddled infant. "I'm sure Amy will enjoy a visit with you upon our arrival."
Shaking off her morbid reminiscences, Samantha forced a smile. "Let me retrieve my cloak and we shall be off."
Minutes later the threesome strolled along the unusually busy streets toward the Abernathy home. The rumors of an imminent embarkation by the British onto the hundreds of waiting ships tugging at their anchors in the harbor set off a frenzy of activity in town. Any day, the blasted Britons would set sail for other lands, taking with them the acts of violence against the Americans as well as any free blacks who wished to take a chance on their personal freedom elsewhere. The problem, of course, came from the fact that no guarantees had been issued of their freedom and no assurance given that those blacks who took the opportunity were indeed free to take such a chance.
They turned down Church Street and made their way past the impressive French Huguenot Church, with its soaring spires and arched windows. The original immigrants had arrived in Charles Town in 1680, as a result of King Louis XIV revoking the Edict of Nantes which forced Protestants out of France. Over the ensuing century, many of the Huguenots had become wealthy plantation owners and merchants. Though despite their riches, they likely struggled along with the rest of the citizens of South Carolina in the grips of the soaring inflation the war had caused.
"Dr. Chalmers' theory that these filthy streets are the source for diseases hasn't gained much traction with the state government." Samantha shook her head as the doctor's residence came into view. The dirt and sand street they traversed, like all of the city's thoroughfares, ran with emptied chamber pots and refuse from the homes and businesses along the road.
"I do not find it surprising his concept should meet with resistance." Evelyn gripped a large covered basket containing victuals from the Abernathy larder with both hands. "Precocious ideas such as his are always met with caution."
"Still, he suggested the connection nearly twelve years ago and has yet to provide evidence to support his claim," Samantha said. "I wonder if he ever will find a way to do so."
"I hear he partnered with Dr. Lining to better understand the dreaded yellow fever." Evelyn shifted the heft of the basket as they turned onto Broad, heading west and away from the rising sun. "Let's hope he has more success with that endeavor."
"I do hope they can locate the source of the illness and then a way to prevent its spread. So many have died from the contagion." The warmth of the sunshine on Samantha's back helped ward off the December morning's chill.
As they strolled past the many buildings and houses along Broad, she pondered when she might have chance to visit the Apothecary farther along, a block or two past the Abernathy home. Her supplies of certain hard to find ingredients, such as syrup of white poppies, copperas, and dittany, had dwindled to an alarmingly low amount. Additionally, she loved venturing inside the shop, particularly since it was one of the oldest houses in the city. Its high pitched gable roof and dormer windows complemented the cypress walls to perfection.
When they approached the two-story Abernathy home off of Broad Street, the front door flung open. Amy, attired in a blue-gray day dress with a wide white collar and lacy kerchief tucked into the bodice, rushed down the steps and threw her arms around Evelyn.
"Welcome home, my dear sister!" Amy kissed both of Evelyn's cheeks amid laughter and tears. "I've prepared your room for you and your little one. Let me see the sweet child."
"I'm glad to be home, so thank you." Evelyn returned Amy's long embrace.
Finally, Amy broke free and then took little Jim from Belinda, gushing over her nephew, while Samantha, Evelyn, and Belinda stood by, chuckling at her enthusiasm. After several minutes, Amy ushered everyone into the house. Amy's mother, Lucille Abernathy, met them in the front hall, her hazelnut gown brushing the wood floor with each stride.
"Evelyn, my dear, I'm so glad you've come home." Lucille hugged her daughter before transferring the wriggling and cooing baby from Amy's grasp into her own capable arms. "We'll take good care of you both."
"Thank you, Mother." Evelyn grinned as her mother rocked Jim side to side.
No doubt existed in Samantha's mind that Evelyn and Jim would fine succor and support in the family home. The Abernathy home exuded love and contentment. A sense of security pervaded the house, stemming directly from the devotion shared among the inhabitants.
"Come have some of Samantha's fine herbal tea and cakes to celebrate." Amy led the way into the formal parlor at the front of the house. "I do not know what we'd have done without your teas, Samantha."
"I'm sure you'd find another beverage." Samantha chose an elegant Queen Anne chair with an intricately embroidered cushion. "If nothing else, you likely would have settled for chocolate or even coffee."
She fancied the fine furniture of the parlor, the place for receiving guests. Mayhap one day she might afford such beautiful furnishings. From the furniture to the oriental carpets to the display of crystal bottles filled with colorful liquors, the parlor intimated the refinement and success of the Abernathy household. Amy settled beside Evelyn on a high-backed settee, their skirts smashed together from their close proximity. Lucille occupied a matching chair flanking the fireplace where she could reach the tea service on the low table situated within range of the seating. She began pouring the fragrant tea and handing around the cups.
"I'm so excited to have you here," Amy said, squeezing Evelyn's hand. She accepted the cup and saucer from her mother and then looked at Evelyn. "Though I despise the reasons for the necessity, of course."
Evelyn smiled wistfully at her sister. "Walter, may he rest in peace, died defending his home and his family. I'll never forget his actions."
Nor would Samantha. Including his abusive treatment of his wife, and possibly poisoning her as well. She had no proof of the latter, but she'd always wonder. With a nod of thanks, she took the tea cup and saucer from Lucille.
"Samantha, how is Benjamin faring?" Lucille peered at her. "Better, I trust."
"Unfortunately, no. Which reminds me of a favor I wish to beg of you." Samantha sipped her tea, the hot liquid warming her. "I cannot stay by his side as I have other patients I must see t
o as well. Amy, I wonder if I might trouble you to keep a close eye on his condition, and inform me of any change?"
"Of course. What shall I do, though?" Amy placed her cup and saucer on the low table. "Sit by his side and read to him?"
"He may enjoy your efforts if you elect to do so. However, his quarters reek of masculine neglect." Samantha lifted a brow, looking in Amy's direction. "I believe some feminine touches are in order to soften the harsh environment and make him more comfortable."
Amy chuckled as a sly smile spread across her lips. "Indeed. I believe I can assist in making his abode helpful to his recovery."
"Very good." Samantha sipped her tea and then smiled at Amy. "I believe Benjamin will be the better for your attention."
"You must make him well soon." Amy's smile sobered, the sparkle in her eyes dimming. "After all, Emily and I are planning quite a wonderful marriage ceremony at Frank's lovely house. We wouldn't want Benjamin to not be in attendance for his own wedding."
"Of course." The wedding. She'd nearly forgotten. Or rather, more pressing concerns had shoved the thought far beneath other priorities. She inwardly groaned. Now she must show the requisite interest. "How are your plans progressing?"
"We've begun making over our best gowns for the occasion." Amy patted her lap with both hands. "Emily is such a wonder with her embroidery. She'll make both of our gowns the talk of the season. Which is her intent so that her deuced shop might be a success despite her father's objections."
Samantha recalled her own parents' objections to her marriage to Edward. Their protests led to the need for the secret ceremony by the frontier minister rather than by the rector in Charles Town for everyone to witness. She'd never told any one about the marriage. Not her parents nor her friends. She and Edward had promised to keep the event between them until they found an appropriate time to share the news with friends and family. Before only God and the officiator, they had joined their lives as one, standing in a secluded glade bathed in dappled sunshine. She'd thought it the most perfect setting, but now as she contemplated the ceremony ahead for her friends, she rather envied them the public celebration. How wonderful it would be to share the happiness surrounding the blessed event.
"Is she still going on about her accessories shop?" Lucille shook her head. "I shall have to speak to her about such foolishness."
"I don't believe it foolish for a woman to look out for herself." Samantha studied Lucille, her head tilted to one side. Did the woman really have so little faith in her niece's talents and capabilities? "We should be able to provide for ourselves in the event no man is willing or able to do so."
"I dare say Emily shall not find herself in such a position, as long as Frank is alive and well." A tight smile eased onto Lucille's lips as she glanced at Amy and then met Samantha's eyes once more.
"That is my exact point." Samantha leaned forward, clasping her hands together in her lap. "What would become of her if, God forbid, something befell Frank so he could not provide for her welfare? Would she be forced to rely upon family in order to survive?"
"Are you demeaning my need to move home?" Evelyn asked quietly.
Abashed, Samantha sat back and gazed at Evelyn. "My sincere apology to you. I meant no offense. Of course you should seek assistance after the birth of your baby and then losing your husband all in a few days span. But in the long run, after the period of mourning is completed, what will you do?"
Evelyn sat rigidly on the settee, pulling slightly away from her sister. "I cannot answer your query at this moment, as the wounds are too fresh upon my heart. But believe me when I tell you that I shall not sit by and languish."
Samantha bowed her head, chagrined at the idea she'd injured her newly adopted sister Evelyn in any way, and then glanced at Amy. "I fear my blunt words have offended, so I will beg you to excuse me."
"You do not need to leave, my friend." Amy reached out a hand to grip Samantha's forearm. "I wish to tell you more about the upcoming nuptials. We have some fine ideas for the feast and the entertainment for the Twelfth Night festivities."
The idea of delving deeper into the particulars for the happy occasion made Samantha's stomach turn over in a most unpleasant manner. She should have shared her past wedding and widowhood with Emily and Amy. For some inexplicable reason, revealing the event had no longer seemed important after Edward died. Essentially, as far as any other person knew, she was unmarried. Hiding her grief did not lessen its impact upon her, but it did prevent others from chastising her for ignoring her parents' wishes. Perhaps if she'd listened to their preferences she would not be a widow, but she also would not have known the love of her husband. Amy's elated expression as she held fast to Samantha's arm made her feel all the more guilt at not revealing the entire truth. Chagrined at the secret between them, one which close friends normally would share in, Samantha clasped her hands and pressed the palms tight together in a futile attempt to calm her agitation. Amy released her arm and sat back, a frown settled on her face.
"I'm certain your plans will yield a beautiful event." Samantha stood and smoothed her gown into place. "I would cherish hearing more about them, but please keep the pleasure of the conversation for another visit. I'll see myself out, if you'll allow me."
Moments later, after more remonstrations to stay followed by quick hugs and Amy's repeated promises to visit Benjamin, Samantha stood on the street, trying to catch her breath and decide which direction to turn. Home or to visit Benjamin? Drawn in both directions, she looked first one way and then the other. She sighed as she admitted to herself which destination beckoned more urgently. Knowing Amy planned to see him posthaste, she sauntered toward home to face the pending decisions lurking in the shadows there, awaiting her return.
* * *
Samantha rushed into Benjamin's apartment the next morning, not bothering to pause and knock. The door banged closed behind her. A fire burned in the fireplace, the black kettle steaming on the hook. She sniffed. Soup most likely. The rest of the room showed marks of a woman's touch. Amy must have taken her advice. Nothing looked amiss. Why had Amy summoned her? She strode toward the bedroom. "Amy? Where are you?"
"Oh, thank God, Samantha." Amy ran through the door to grab hold of Samantha's arm and drag her back toward the bedroom. "His skin is red, and there's a strong smelling pus oozing from his wound. Hurry!"
Samantha went to Benjamin where he rested on the bed. His black hair lay plastered against his scalp. Dark circles emphasized his closed eyelids, blocking out the early morning daylight streaming through the windows. A quick inspection of the wound site confirmed Amy's description.
"Get me some hot water and a clean rag, and hurry." Samantha checked Benjamin's temperature, worried when he felt even warmer than her last visit. "Benjamin?"
He blinked awake, and she nearly gasped at how faded his vibrant blue eyes had become. How distant and unfocused they seemed. She simply had to figure out a means to make this man well or he'd die. She wouldn't be able to face Amy if her methods failed to save him.
"How do you feel?" She smoothed his damp hair back from his face. The contrast from how he looked a few weeks before to the man lying weak and sweaty on the mussed bed shocked her. Only a few times in her life had she seen the threat of a grim death so plainly evident in a person's features. No, she wouldn't permit him to die. She'd do all in her power to prevent such an end to his brave life after he'd risked all for his country.
Amy arrived carrying a bowl with steaming water and a clean cloth. Samantha indicated for her to place them on the little table. Amy did as directed and then stepped to the end of the bed, worry creasing her face.
"Worse." Benjamin stretched his head and neck from side to side. The lone word came out with pain lingering on the edges.
"Did you drink the tea?" The pot rested on the night table. She hefted it, relieved to find it empty. "Let me make more tea after I clean your wound."
"Trent?" Benjamin grimaced and shifted on the bed. "Is he.... coming?"
"I sent for him," Amy said, gripping the footboard. "He should arrive momentarily."
Samantha stiffened at the name, as though he could be conjured by merely saying the word. Even without his physical presence, she detected her own pulse increase. She quashed the response with a silent rebuke to herself. "I'm sure he'll visit soon. Now hold still."
Efficiently, she cleaned away the drying paste with firm but gentle strokes of the rag. Stifling her reaction to the quantity of pus, she was relieved when she did not see any more dying skin. While the oozing created concern in her breast, the pus was better than gangrene any day.
The outer door opened and then closed. Footsteps sounded on the wood floor, drawing closer with each beat. Anticipation increased her pulse, and made her breath hitch. Samantha concentrated on her task though entirely aware of the man drawing closer with each racing heartbeat.
"Thank goodness. Trent is here." Amy released the wood footboard and strode from the room.
Did he have to show up at that precise moment, when she had exposed the wound to the air and his scrutiny? Her fingers shook as she dipped the cloth into the bowl.
"Wait, let me see the injury." Trent appeared at the open door and moved quickly toward the bed.
Samantha's senses tingled when he stopped beside her to examine Benjamin. "He's a bit warmer than yesterday, which worries me, but the edge of the wound appears healthy."
"Yes, but his health has not improved." Trent regarded her silently before shaking his head. "You do see that he is extremely ill and the wound is resisting that foul unguent you've been applying so religiously."
"I know he's ill, but I believe my salve is reversing the gangrene's hold. It's his fever that worries me even more. I have some ideas on that, but for now step back so I can tend to him."
He studied her for several long moments before slowly nodding. "Only because you have already begun to clean the wound will I agree for you to continue. But I'm watching to make sure you do not hurt him further." Trent reluctantly shifted to stand closer to Amy, though he leaned forward so he could do as he had warned.