“I got it from Thomas.”
“You?”
Thomas shrugged. “I thought it might come in useful. And it did.”
Devin noticed then that Thomas was eyeing Ethan with more than a little bit of wariness. “Baker, have you ever stitched a man?”
He nodded. “I have.”
“More than once?”
“Yes, sir. Many a time.” Darting a sidelong glance his way, Thomas continued. “There weren’t a lot of physicians wandering around the slums sewing up nicks and scrapes. We took care of our own.”
Ethan looked affronted. “It isn’t my fault I grew up in different circumstances.”
“Of course not, sir,” Thomas said.
Devin made a sudden decision. “Baker, I want you to sew up my arm.”
While the sergeant nodded, not looking the least bit intimidated by the length of the jagged cut, Ethan threw up his hands.
He was offended. “Do you not trust me?”
“In a word? No.”
Devin shifted, holding his arm in a stiff way. “I’d be obliged if we could simply get this over with, Baker. We can discuss your experience at a later time.”
“Yes, sir.” Holding out a hand to Ethan, Baker said, “I’ll take a thread. And light a candle for me, if you please.”
“Why?” Ethan asked suspiciously.
“I need to put the needle through a flame first.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, Kelly,” Devin said through clenched teeth. His arm really was starting to burn. And the anticipation? He had never imagined himself to be nervous about anything involving an injury, but the men’s bickering was beginning to take its toll.
As if Kelly had come to the same conclusion, he handed the needle and thread to Thomas, lit one of their precious candles, and held it steady while the sergeant held the needle over the flame.
A moment later, Baker sat down next to him, gestured for his arm, and lifted the bloody rag. The wound was still oozing, though the edges of the cut looked a little less fragile.
After examining the wound and the amount of thread on the needle, Thomas spoke. “I think I’m going to start in the center, sir. There’s a sizable hole there, you see.”
Devin was starting to feel he had no desire to discuss the wound another second. “No need to describe what I can already feel, Sergeant. Just begin, if you please.”
“Yes, sir.” And then, without another second’s hesitation, Thomas pinched the aforementioned gaping section together and inserted the needle.
It stung. Stung like a mess of fire ants had descended on his arm. He clenched his teeth to prevent his body from flinching as the needle continued through his skin. There was no way he wanted Ethan to start holding down his arm.
“Huh,” Kelly said. “You really do know what you’re doing.”
“Weren’t no reason to lie,” Baker said easily as he continued his work.
Devin held still as the door opened and more men entered. Seeing what was happening, they all walked over, peering at Devin’s arm and admiring Baker’s work.
“Looks like we can set you up your own dress shop when we get out of here,” General McCoy said to Baker. “Those are some impressive stitches. I reckon that wound is going to heal real nicely. One day it will hardly have more than a fine line visible.”
“Thank you, sir,” Baker said as he did something painful. Devin turned his head to see Baker slice the thread with the tip of a knife someone held out for him.
“We done?” Devin said.
McCoy laughed. “You sound a little peaked, Captain. The sight of blood bothering you?”
Since they’d all seen more blood on the battlefield than any of them had ever thought possible, Devin grinned. “I guess so. Or maybe I’ve been sitting here worrying about my scar. I’ve got to get a wife one day, you know. Don’t want to scare her off.”
“Women like their men scarred and marred,” Ethan joked. “Makes them think we are invincible.”
“I’m sure all the women I court are going to be real impressed with my gardening accident,” Devin joked. “Makes me sound like a real hero.”
“Don’t worry yourself,” Bushnell interjected from the back of the room. “Kelly is right. Men’s scars don’t matter. Only the women’s do.”
The statement was so outrageous, Devin looked over at the colonel, just to get a sense of how he looked. And there he was, standing tall and smug, full of blustery pride. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, sir. What do you mean?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, Captain,” he replied, each word sounding like a lazy drawl. “Only that a man with a scar can still look attractive while a woman isn’t so lucky. All she’ll look is marked.”
“Anyone who survives an injury is to be respected, no?” Ethan asked, his voice sounding frigid.
“Perhaps … unless the woman isn’t the kind to be respected anyway.”
A couple of the men surrounding him laughed nervously, but Devin stared up at Bushnell curiously. The comment was both in poor taste and rather odd.
Beside him, Baker pursed his lips as he ran the needle over the flame again. It was obvious that Thomas Baker knew what Bushnell was referring to and didn’t approve.
“Colonel Bushnell, you sound knowledgeable on the subject. Do you know something in particular about women and scarring?” Kelly asked.
There was an edge to his voice. It also had a cadence to it Devin recognized as a warning. Whenever Kelly was particularly offended, his tone didn’t just turn haughty. He started pulling out all his fancy vocabulary.
But Bushnell didn’t look offended or caught off guard in the slightest. “Not especially. Only that their scars detract from their beauty.”
“Because they had the misfortune to be cut?” General McCoy asked.
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused offense,” Bushnell said. “I sometimes forget some of you are so fainthearted.”
“That should do it, Captain,” Baker said.
Looking down at his arm, Devin realized Thomas had, indeed, already finished. There on his arm were eighteen perfectly executed stitches. His flesh was neatly closed. He tested them, moving his arm this way and that. “You did a fine job, Thomas. Thank you.”
“It was nothing, Cap.” Looking bleak, he added, “As the colonel said, men seem to be able to handle cuts easier than women.”
Of course, that wasn’t exactly what the man had said.
But Devin had to agree with what Baker said. Men were tougher. They were built and conditioned to stand pain.
But of course, his father had taught him to protect women. Look after them. Not comment upon the state of their scars.
26
The sound of the cup crashing to the floor should have spurred all of them to action, but Julianne couldn’t seem to move a muscle. Devin, sitting next to her in an overstuffed chair, looked frozen.
That sweet little Lizbeth looked crushed, as if she regretted revealing a dark secret she had promised to take to her grave. Ethan Kelly looked even worse. Devastated.
Julianne understood how he felt. Even after enduring taunts and whispers for years, she’d never felt more unworthy or empty than she did at that very minute. After all, she’d allowed Daniel Bushnell to keep her in comfort even though she knew he was married. She’d allowed him into her bed even though she knew it was sinful. While she would never categorize those experiences as pleasant—he had certainly never raped her. He had beat her, but not this.
No, it seemed he had only done such things to innocent women when he raided their homes.
Feeling sick, bile rose in her throat. How long would it take before Ethan told Lizbeth about her being Bushnell’s kept woman? And surely a gentleman like Devin Monroe would at last see the error of his ways and never associate with her again.
And Lizbeth? Well, that poor woman would probably go out of her way to avoid her at all costs. Julianne wouldn’t blame her one bit.
“I beg your pardon for my clumsiness
,” Ethan said, breaking the strained silence. After reaching for a neatly folded cloth on the serving tray, he knelt on the floor and started picking up the shards. “I, uh … I fear I must be more tired than I thought.”
Julianne knelt to help. Taking the cloth from his grip, she sopped up the coffee as he dropped the pieces of fine-bone china on a tray. Each one made a delicate ping as it landed on the silver, providing the only sound in the room.
After cleaning up as much of the coffee as she was able, Julianne reached for the tray. “I’ll go see if I can get a maid to help me clean this up. I’ll have her fetch you a fresh cup as well, Major.”
“No, I can do that,” Lizbeth said. “This … this was my fault, anyway.”
“How can you say such a thing?” the major bit out.
“I shouldn’t have shared what I did. Especially not right now. Captain Monroe is injured.”
“You didn’t offend me, miss.”
But instead of looking reassured, Lizbeth appeared more agitated. “I’m sure I, uh, spoke out of turn. What happened is in the past. It’s best forgotten.”
“I, for one, am glad you spoke so freely,” Devin said, his voice scratchy with suppressed emotion. “The truth is a far better ally than enemy.”
Julianne had never heard that statement, but she supposed it was true—if one had nothing to hide. Not knowing where to look, she shifted uncomfortably.
Just as Lizbeth was making her way to the door, Devin’s voice rang out. “Miss Barclay? I would be very grateful if you could fetch us another cup, and perhaps more coffee too. And, Julianne, if you wouldn’t mind, please go with her.”
“I don’t mind at all.” She knew what his request was. A thinly veiled plea for the two of them to vacate the room and give the men some privacy. She didn’t care what the reasoning was behind it, however. She was grateful for the reprieve.
Lizbeth opened the door. “I’ll inform the cook you’ll need something with more sustenance as well, Captain,” she said before departing.
When Julianne closed the heavy door behind them, she exhaled. “That was brave of you. Are you all right?”
Lizbeth lifted a shoulder. “I had never intended to tell anyone exactly how I got that scar. It just slipped out. My cousin knows a man cut me in the war, but nothing else.”
“Maybe God decided it was time for your story to be told.”
“Do you really think so? I wonder if that was the case. I saw Ethan’s, I mean Major Kelly’s expression. He looked angry.”
“Of course he was. No one wants to think of you being hurt.” She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. She felt as if she were balancing on a shaky tightrope. Any minute she was certain to fall and either injure herself or someone else.
Luckily, Lizbeth didn’t seem to notice anything untoward. “I suppose not.” Leading the way down the hall, she said, “As I told you, I worked here as a maid—until last week when I had my last encounter with Bushnell. My cousin and her husband are the managers.”
“It’s nice that you have family nearby.”
“To be honest, of late I haven’t been sure if it was a blessing or a curse.”
“Are they difficult?”
“Not like you might be imagining. It’s just that my cousin knows how I used to be, you see. She can’t seem to equate it with the person I am now.”
Julianne smiled wryly. “Ah. Now I understand. But you shouldn’t worry about that. What you are forgetting, I think, is that we all used to be different people. Time and experience change us. It can’t be helped.”
Opening a door partly hidden by a screen, Lizbeth said, “I’m going to try to keep that in mind right now. And keep you beside me, as well. Between the two of us, we should be able to persuade Cook to make the captain a real breakfast.”
“That should be no problem. I’ve persuaded a great number of people to do a great number of things. I’m rather good at it.”
“I’ll watch and learn then, Miss Van Fleet. I could stand to have a few more things come my way.”
The moment the door closed, Devin motioned Ethan to his side. “Help me sit up better, would you? I feel like an invalid, lounging in this chair in front of the women.”
Ethan didn’t bother disputing the notion that he wasn’t an invalid. He placed his arms under Devin’s arms and pulled him up. “Better?”
“Yeah.” After taking a sip of coffee, he met Ethan’s gaze. “Did you have any inkling about this?”
“Of course not. I would have shot him in his chamber if I had.” With effort, Ethan tamped down the dozen swear words and threats rumbling around in his head. His anger wouldn’t serve any purpose, especially since he imagined Devin was no doubt thinking of some kind of retribution that didn’t involve bloodshed.
After relating the details of his encounter with Bushnell at Julianne’s home, Devin said, “I want to kill him.”
Huh. It seemed he had been mistaken.
Weighing his next words carefully, Ethan said, “Any special way you want to go about doing that?”
Devin grunted. “You mean besides picking up my Colt, tracking him down, and firing two shots into his chest? No.”
“Ah.” This conversation was becoming increasingly full of surprises.
“What? And don’t look at me that way, as though you are attempting to figure me out. Of course you must feel the same way.”
“I do. But I’m wise enough not to act on it.”
“We need to. Justice hasn’t been served.”
“First we need to figure out where he is,” Ethan said. “I couldn’t locate him when I returned from your place a few days ago. No one seems to know where he’s gone. When you feel better, we should start combing other inns and hotels in the area. I think he preys on women who are alone or have no one to fight for them. That was certainly the case with Lizbeth.”
“We can’t conduct such a search on our own.”
Ethan knew that, but he didn’t want Devin to get too agitated either. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure out something.”
“Ethan, go to the telegraph office and send for Truax and Baker. We need their help.”
“I know we need help searching, but let’s wait. I can handle Bushnell.” Plus, it was his right. Bushnell had scarred Lizbeth. Violated her. For that, the man would pay, and Ethan wanted to be sure he would be the one to make him.
“If it was a matter of you gunning down the man in cold blood, I would agree. But we need a plan to make sure no one discovers what we do.”
An itch of foreboding flooded him. It was one thing to kill a man in battle. Or in self-defense. Maybe it was even understandable to seek vengeance when emotions were high and a man could be excused for letting his need to protect get the best of him. But to methodically seek vengeance in a cool and calculated way? Well, he didn’t need to confer with a pastor to know that was a sin.
Devin was staring at him with those ice-blue eyes of his. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m hesitant to get them involved.”
“Why? Didn’t we promise we’d help each other? Haven’t we done that for them?”
“Yes. Of course. But Robert was fighting a nasty web of lies about Phillip Markham.”
“He was also intent on making things right for Miranda.”
“And Baker, well, he was fighting a gang of men threatening the woman who freed him from jail.”
Ethan shook his head. “Make no mistake about his motives, Ethan. He wanted to help her not because she’d freed him. It was because he loved her.”
Thinking about rough, jaded Thomas and how he’d gazed at Laurel with such tenderness, Ethan swallowed hard. Thomas Baker was easily the scrappiest of them all. He was rough around the edges and had a temper that could be ignited faster than a stick of dynamite. “Yes. That is true. However …”
“However what?”
“Is love involved now? I’m not sure.”
“I am.”
Devin was sure Ethan had fallen in love with Li
zbeth?
“I don’t know if I’ve fallen in love.”
“Who said I was talking about you?”
Ethan wanted to ask if he was sure he understood what Devin meant … until he got up to answer a knock at the door and saw who was there.
Things might eventually get better. But not yet. Certainly not anytime soon.
27
Miss Van Fleet and Lizbeth stood in the back of the kitchens while Bertha, the cook, prepared a simple but substantial breakfast.
Lizbeth had asked for food for the men, but, as she always did, Bertha seemed to have a sixth sense about what was needed and set her staff to creating breakfast for four. She’d been grateful for the kindness, as well as the excuse to stand in the back of the noisy kitchens and pull herself together.
Of course, she didn’t try to fool herself into thinking she was going to accomplish that goal anytime soon. She felt shattered inside. Embarrassed too. For some reason, admitting her most closely guarded secret had given her body permission to relive those terrible hours all over again. Though a part of her felt it had been bound to happen sooner or later, she would have given everything she had to relive Bushnell’s abuse in the far future, preferably when she was alone.
It certainly would have helped the major, Captain Monroe, and Miss Van Fleet. They’d looked shocked and disturbed. Especially Julianne. Lizbeth couldn’t blame her. She was soiled, at least to most people of good breeding and class, of which Julianne surely was.
It didn’t matter that Lizbeth had been hurt by a soldier, that she was as much a victim of the war as the men littering the streets without limbs or disfigured from their injuries. Society had a different view of women who had been attacked and survived. They assumed they had allowed men liberties. That’s why she’d never told anyone.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Miss Van Fleet whispered.
“I beg your pardon?”
Compassion warmed her gaze. “If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand, but I thought you might want to talk about it with another woman.”
Talk about it? About how she’d been bleeding and hurt and alone for days … until yet another band of soldiers came through to take what few belongings she had left? About how they’d stared at the angry cut on her face and had known? Surely they’d known. But still they’d looted and grabbed until there hadn’t been anything left.
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