by Betty Bolte
"I must try to save the wee one." She kneeled beside the mass of puppies and carefully lifted the struggling pup. Holding the little body, she sensed a heartbeat more than felt one. Perhaps the warmth of her hands would help revive it. Cuddling the little creature to her, she cleaned its nostrils hoping to increase its ability to breathe. Massaging its side, she tried to stimulate the tiny heart to keep beating, to pump life into the ever more limp body. After several minutes, she checked again for signs of life.
"I've failed." Samantha held the dead puppy close as tears dripped onto its still shoulder. "The poor thing."
"What have we here?" Trent stood framed by the afternoon light in the door of the stable. "Thistle with pups?"
Damnation. She hadn't seen Trent since the sensational kiss and the disastrous realization she loved him, craved him, and he chose this particular moment to make an appearance? To witness her failure in caring for her own dog's tiny pups? Providence would not give her a break no matter how hard she strove.
"You're just in time." Emily motioned for him to join the trio attending the dog. "Thistle has delivered six puppies, but unfortunately two did not survive."
"There is nothing to be done now." Samantha flicked a glance between Emily and Trent.
"May I?" After Samantha's reluctant nod, Trent retrieved the dead puppy from Samantha's trembling hands to examine the body. "I trust you did everything possible to save this little creature."
Shudders rippled across her shoulders, shaking loose the self-doubt and anguish she'd locked inside. "It made no difference. Two of her offspring died in front of me." She focused on Trent, a frown on her face. "I could not save them."
"We each have limits to our abilities, my dear." Trent bent to lay the pup alongside the other still body. Then he turned to address Samantha. "God or Mother Nature determined they were not strong enough to survive in this world of ours, and so took them home to heaven. It's not your fault. Do not cry."
When his thumb brushed away a tear from her cheek, she sucked in a breath at the touch of his calloused skin over sensitive flesh. Fighting the urge to lean into his hand, she sniffled and pulled a handkerchief from where she'd tucked it up her sleeve. She wiped her damp cheeks and contemplated the sincerity on his face. "Mayhap you were right to suggest I give up my practice. After seeing my failure, I'm beginning to agree with your conclusion."
"I did not come to argue with you. Amy told me she'd helped you pack this morning, and Frank mentioned that Emily planned to fetch you. He said I might find you here, so I came to seek your opinion on a possible treatment for our friend." Trent captured her hand and raised it to plant a kiss on the back. "You're distraught and out of sorts. No one can blame you for feeling that way, what with the need to vacate your house posthaste on top of the loss of the pups. We can discuss the matter at another time."
She withdrew her hand from his grasp and shrugged. Everything she thought she knew had been wrong. With the loss of her garden and the loss of the puppies, her ability to heal any creature of any illness stood in question. "Do what you will. My attempts have failed in that regard as much as in this."
"Tomorrow you'll feel differently." Emily wrapped an arm about Samantha's waist, a bracing comfort. "Jasmine, will you please see to Thistle and her brood's comfort, while I escort my friend inside for a pot of tea?"
"Yes, Miss." Jasmine bobbed her head and began tidying up the area.
Forlorn, Samantha watched the dark haired slip of a woman sweep up the scattered straw into a pile. Her inner resolve to be strong and stoic wavered in the face of repeated deaths on her watch. The two tiny white and tan spotted bodies lay side by side, as though merely asleep. Knowing not all animals lived did nothing to assuage the feeling of failure, a dead weight in the pit of her stomach.
"I'll take care of the..." Trent motioned for Samantha to do as Emily suggested. "Go ahead, but save me some tea if you've a mind. That wind slices right through a body. I'll be along in due course."
Samantha nodded, grateful for his consideration in not baldly stating what he'd do with the two dead puppies. She hoped he'd bury them under a lovely shady tree. Burying her disgrace at the same time. A part of her desired to shake off the doubt, put behind her the instances leading to the chasm of uncertainty in her heart. Then again, when a person cannot succeed in their chosen endeavors, it behooves them to admit as much and then pursue a different objective. Benjamin's situation lingered in her mind, a cankerous reminder of her failure. Another disgrace. On top of losing her home and garden. All leading to the biggest question in her mind. What would she do if forced by circumstances to not be a midwife and healer?
* * *
Early the next morning, Samantha forced herself from the comfort of a warm bed and donned a dark green wool dress. Goodness but she'd rather stay abed than face yet another round of challenges and ultimate failure. Green was her favorite color, reminding her of the deep coolness of the forest and the promise held in the tiny plants poking their first shoots through the spring earth. Green bolstered her mood. She buttoned her dress and overlaid it with a fresh apron. Despite her misgivings, obligations beckoned to her. Wallowing in her own doubt could not continue if she had any hope of tending to other ills and needs. Indeed, visiting Benjamin to judge his condition was at the top of her list of tasks. Immediately after checking on Thistle and her little ones. Wrapping her cloak about her shoulders, she slipped out of the cool house into the cold December morning sunlight.
She shivered in spite of the heavy fabric hanging from shoulders to ankles. Briskly striding to the barn, she tugged open the heavy door far enough to fit through. She made her way down the clean swept aisle to stand and grin at the happy family. Thistle thumped her tail in greeting, while four little bodies lined up at her belly with mouths sucking noisily. The cute little ears hugged the small heads, stubs of tails rigid in their earnest feeding. Each of the puppies appeared robust. Fortunately. She didn't believe she could accept yet another difficult illness or, worse, death. At least Thistle's family continued to thrive. Satisfied, Samantha turned and hurried back out of the building.
She strode down the street, the brisk pace helping warm her. Few others ventured out on the street so early in the morning. The sun had barely cleared the horizon when she climbed the steps to Benjamin's quarters. Knocking three times, she let herself in. Amy rose from a chair by the fire where she'd been stirring something in a steaming kettle, porridge from the scent wafting to meet Samantha at the door.
"What brings you here this morning?" Amy wiped her hands on the well-used apron tied about her waist. "I hadn't expected to see you today."
"You seem surprised." Samantha untied her cloak and then removed it, draping it over one arm.
Amy shook her head. "The sun is barely shining through the windows and here you are. Come, I've made a fresh pot of tea. Have some to ward off the chilly morning."
"After I look in on Benjamin." Samantha dropped the cloak over the back of a chair, received a nod of agreement from Amy, and then strode into the patient's bedroom.
Standing by the bed, she examined Benjamin's sleeping features. His brow showed signs of distress, while his thin lips wore a blue tinge. The cuts on his right arm from the frequent bleedings stood in stark contrast to the pallid flesh. Her latest application of ointment had been almost entirely absorbed, leaving a faint glistening over the recalcitrant bullet hole which refused to heal.
She stood there for a long time, thinking and considering the wound and the various treatments she and Trent had tried over the past several weeks. All to no avail. They'd kept the wound open, not even covered with a cloth, in order to allow for the flesh to heal. The ointments she'd applied had healed so many others, why did it not do so for Benjamin? Peering closer at the remnants of the ointment, she prayed for its success as she pondered her next daring move. How would Trent react to her intended effort to break Benjamin's fever once and for all?
The kitchen door opened and closed, and then a famil
iar male voice spoke quietly in the other room. She couldn't make out his words, but the tenor of his voice carried into where Samantha stood. The voice hushed and then footsteps approached. She squared her shoulders, anticipating Trent's arrival beside her. Dreading the moment he'd open his mouth, begin asking questions she couldn't answer, even as his footsteps drew closer and then stopped. Sighing, she glanced at him and then focused on Benjamin, who opened his eyes when Trent cleared his throat.
"How do you feel today?" Trent laid a hand on Benjamin's forehead and frowned. "Something has been preventing our treatment from doing its job. Let us try another purge and see if it will finally augment balancing your humors into alignment so you'll improve."
"I'd prefer to delay switching to a different approach until after he is no longer feverish. That will enable us to see what is working and what is not, rather than changing more than one element of his treatment at the same time. Something is impeding his healing."
"That's a good point." Trent put his medical bag on a side table and crossed his arms, a slight smile on his face. "Do you have any idea as to what it might be based on the condition of his wound?"
What could be blocking the effectiveness of the ointment? She went over the various ingredients she'd used in her salves, but no one item could have worked against the intended purpose. But what if some combination of them or sequential application might have blocked the healing properties from working? What if... Samantha froze, a sudden realization making her queasy. Why hadn't she seen it sooner? She crossed her arms to stop the tremors of despair starting as ripples and then rocking her to the core. With all her heart, she wished she didn't have to say the next words. "It's likely my ointment."
Trent looked at her with worried eyes. "Your ointment? The one you've insisted must be applied twice a day?"
Mute in the face of his annoyance, she nodded. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Do not say anything more." Trent shook his head, chagrin mingling with the disappointment in his expression. He paced away from the bed, one hand repeatedly dragging across the stubble on his chin. "This is my fault. I cannot believe you managed to persuade me for so long to go against my better judgment."
"I believe it may be the combinations of ointments working against us. But I've never seen such a response before. I'll clean it off and we'll most likely see improvement." Turning away from his censure but unable to ignore her own, Samantha ran to the pitcher resting on the side table and poured water in the basin. Grabbing a cloth from a pile at hand, she hurried back to Benjamin and began to bathe the ointment from his arm. Benjamin gazed past her while she worked, then suddenly his eyes rolled up and his lids descended. Oh no! "Trent! Hurry."
Samantha retreated several steps, clinging to the linen square like it could save her life. Or Benjamin's.
Trent appeared at her side in a flash. "Ben? Can you hear me?" He gently jostled Benjamin, and then repeated the motion harder when he received no response. "Ben?"
After several more attempts, Trent lifted one of Benjamin's eyelids to peer at his eye. Pinning her with a hard stare, Trent shook his head as his frown deepened. "Now see what you've caused? He's unconscious and nonresponsive."
Amy bounded into the room, eyes wild and frightened. "What? What has happened?"
Trent stepped aside so Amy could kneel at Benjamin's side. She clutched one of his hands to her chest, peering closely at her betrothed. "Ben? Honey? Do not leave me!" Her words blurred into stabbing sobs, great gulps so painful as to threaten to tear the woman in two.
Samantha wrapped her arms around her waist, crying along with Amy. What had she done? Her pride had prevented her from facing facts. She had no business being a healer. No business trying to cure any one of anything. No business calling herself a friend to any one. She sobbed quietly, the death of her practice as frightening as losing her parents, her house, and her friend. Samantha tried, but failed, to stem the wave of anguish combined with grief battering its way through her.
Amy raised tear-drenched eyes to stare at her. "Is he going to be all right? What's going on?"
"I-I'm sorry." Samantha blinked and swiped at her own tears coursing down her cheeks. What more could she say? "I was wrong."
Trent opened his large black bag and rummaged inside. "Yet another reason why my hospital is needed. Everyone knows not to trust the potions and powders of old women like your mother."
"My mother had nothing to do with this." No, Samantha was the one to blame. Benjamin would die all because of her pride. Her obstinacy. She'd hindered Trent's better methods. She'd insisted on her ways as the right answer. She'd followed in her mother's footsteps and killed someone. Or almost. Same thing. Her mother had been suspected of permitting several women to succumb to illness during or after the delivery of their child. Samantha proved no better.
"But your mother may have had a hand in Emily's mother's death?" Amy struggled to her feet and propped fists on each hip. "And of Elizabeth's? Quite a coincidence she attended both of them and they both died." Fear lurked in Amy's eyes. Her reaction was entirely understandable as she faced the distinct possibility of losing the man she loved.
"I do not know the particulars of either of those ladies' deaths." Samantha folded her arms as much to hold her composure together as to provide a protective barrier to the onslaught of anger and grief aimed in her direction. "I suspected my mother may have complicated the situation in some way, but I could never prove her involvement."
Trent raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. "Indeed? And you claim to follow her ways?"
His declaration confirmed in her mind that no matter what else happened, no matter how hard she tried to correct her error, to improve her education, she could never be close to Trent. He would never trust her judgment. All the outstanding kisses or gentlest of caresses could never make him believe in her abilities again. Despite her newly discovered love of the man regarding her with serious eyes, she must do what she'd longed to do before. Flee. Run. Escape. After all that had transpired, no one would stop her.
"I understand. I'll be going then." Silently, she prepared to vacate the room, intent on retrieving her cloak and letting herself out. Avoiding those judgmental eyes. She gathered her bag and hugged it to her as she raised her eyes to peek at Amy bending over Benjamin and then slid her gaze to Trent's stern expression.
"Yes, that's the best thing you can do." He shook his head slowly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Go."
The command, delivered in a deep baritone shaking with disappointment, shattered her confidence. She gulped back the sob pressing against her throat. She turned and made her escape, trotting from the bedroom into the common room. She glanced back at the empty doorway, a sob slipping through her defenses. He'd not followed her, not attempted to comfort her. She was left to fend for herself, alone on yet another level of her existence. Grabbing her cloak, she bolted through the door into the cold winter day.
Chapter 10
Laughter and chatter greeted Samantha as she reluctantly followed Emily up the stairs to the upper parlor of Amy's home later in the afternoon. Keeping her balance proved challenging as she held her skirt with one hand and clutched a large bag stuffed with unfinished shirts and sewing materials in the other. She had almost refused to venture out of her new home after the events at Benjamin's earlier in the morning. Her mood did not bode well for her to be fitting company. Nevertheless, during a light noon meal, Emily had convinced her to accompany her to the weekly sewing circle. Stitching shirts posed no threat to any one's welfare and may even benefit someone, so she'd agreed.
Easing onto her usual seat by the fireplace, she laid out pins, needles, scissors, and thread on a small square table. Emily made her way across to her waiting loom, set up earlier through the efforts of Richard and Solomon under the direction of Jasmine. The three servants had perfected the routine over the past year, quickly and efficiently assembling and breaking down the heavy apparatus and carting it to and from the Sullivan home. Th
e amiable strength of the two men served the needs of the family well, and from what she'd witnessed, they seemed happy enough in their situation. Still, she prayed for the day they'd realize freedom.
Samantha threaded a hand needle with bleached thread. Around her, ladies discussed the approaching withdrawal of the British troops. Amy ambled among the spinning wheels, loom, and long skirts, finally settling on a chair near Emily. Let them converse without her. Evelyn must be relieving Amy from sitting by Benjamin, or surely Amy wouldn't have left his side. Guilt washed across her back making her shiver. She'd been unsuccessful in her endeavor to help the man. Pressing her lips together to prevent any sound or cry from escaping, Samantha focused on her stitches, precise and even. Best to keep her thoughts to herself and her eyes on the task at hand.
"Did you hear about Tabitha Cook's revelation?"
Surprised by the conspiratorial tone in the woman's voice, Samantha looked up to determine who spoke. Catherine Manning sat in a whitewashed wooden rocking chair, keeping the seat in motion with the slow flexing of a satin-slippered foot. Elegantly yet simply dressed in a canary day dress with a dark green apron and matching kerchief about her neck, Catherine waited for a reply with mirth in her eyes.
"Nicholas Cook's daughter?" Emily tossed the shuttle back and forth on the loom without pause. "What of her?"
"She's been racing his horses behind his back." Catherine lifted a brow and then sniffed. "Seems he disapproved of her riding astride, as well he should. Proper young ladies would not disgrace themselves in such a fashion."
Amy laughed out loud, and then sobered as the other ladies regarded her with slight frowns drawing their brows together. "My apologies, but my father taught me to ride astride as well."
"My dear girl, surely you do not indulge in so crude an activity?" Darlene Walters leveled a disapproving stare at Amy, who gazed steadily back.