Surrender to the Fury

by Connie Mason

“Yes, Sergeant, what about Captain Drummond?”

  “He led us at Jonesboro, Mrs. Trevor,” Jones said, choosing his words carefully. Every man in Nick’s company knew of the curious relationship between the widow Trevor and their captain. “We were part of General Howard’s forces, intending to join up at Atlanta later with the rest of Sherman’s army.”

  “Then he’s all right!” she said, elated.

  “I … well, that is … I’m not sure.”

  “What!”

  “Lieutenant Dill saw him fall in battle.”

  “And you left him?” Aimee was aghast. “How could you do such a thing?” Suddenly she froze. “He’s not dead, is he?”

  Beside her, Brand began to wail, bringing Savannah rushing from the house.

  “What is it? What’s wrong with Brand?”

  “It’s all right, darling,” Aimee said, taking the child in her arms. Truth to tell, she wanted to cry herself. To Savannah she said, “Lieutenant Dill saw Nick fall in battle. Please take Brand inside while I speak further with Sergeant Jones. Lieutenant Dill is wounded. Boil some water and prepare instruments to take the bullet out of his thigh. When they’re ready, bring them upstairs.”

  Brand put up a fuss, but when Aimee assured him that no one said Nick was dead, he went quietly with Savannah.

  She didn’t question Jones again until he had carried Dill upstairs and placed him in bed. “Now, Sergeant, tell me all you know about Captain Drummond.”

  “I don’t know much, Mrs. Trevor. Lieutenant Dill was the one who saw him fall.”

  “Why didn’t you look for him?”

  “I did, but you can’t imagine the carnage out there around Jonesboro. I even checked the field hospital, but he hadn’t been brought in.”

  Suddenly Dill opened his eyes and gasped out words that sent Aimee’s heart plummeting. “I was nearby when he fell from his mount. From the looks of him, the wound was mortal. I’m sorry, Mrs. Trevor. I wasn’t able to get to him before I took a bullet myself, but Sergeant Jones walked through the dead and wounded without finding him.”

  “If he’s not on the battlefield, what could have happened to him?” Aimee asked.

  His eyes downcast, Jones said, “We think he was picked up by a burying detail before I could find him and shipped out with the dead.”

  “No, I don’t believe you!” Aimee cried. She couldn’t believe that Nick was dead.

  Just then Savannah arrived with the boiling water and a sharp knife which would serve as a scalpel to remove the bullet from Dill’s thigh. There was no ether. Dill was given a piece of wood to bite on, and Sergeant Jones held him down while Savannah probed for the bullet. After the first few minutes Dill passed out, making it easier on all concerned. Though he had lost a considerable amount of blood, he was strong and likely to recover. The bullet was lodged against the thigh bone, and once it was removed, Jones magically produced a small bottle of whiskey from inside his jacket and offered it to disinfect the wound. One of Aimee’s petticoats provided the bandage. Afterward, Aimee spoke privately with Jones.

  “Savannah thinks Lieutenant Dill will recover.”

  “When the lieutenant is himself again, I’m sure he’ll thank you.”

  “I’m not looking for thanks, Sergeant,” Aimee said brusquely. “I want your help.” While they had been working over Dill, Aimee had come to a decision. It might not be a wise decision, but she had to take action.

  “Help, ma’am?”

  “What are your plans, Sergeant?”

  “As soon as Lieutenant Dill is able to travel, I intend to take him back to the field hospital, where he’ll be sent to a northern hospital to recover.”

  “He won’t be fit to travel for several days.”

  Jones looked puzzled. “I realize that.”

  “Take me to Jonesboro, Sergeant; I want to look for Captain Drummond.”

  Jones looked astounded. “I can’t do that, Mrs. Trevor; it’s too dangerous.”

  “The battle is over, isn’t it?”

  “The battle is over, but the war goes on.”

  “If you don’t take me, I’ll go alone. Don’t you understand? Nick could be lying wounded out there somewhere.”

  “No, you don’t understand, Mrs. Trevor. There’s still fighting in the area. Atlanta has fallen, but Hood’s army is out there regrouping. We may run into some of his men anywhere between here and Jonesboro.”

  “You can’t stop me,” Aimee said defiantly. The stubborn tilt of her chin made Jones realize she’d do exactly what she said whether or not he accompanied her. For the sake of his dead captain, who he knew harbored tender feelings for the widow, he decided to honor her request.

  “Very well, Mrs. Trevor, I’ll take you. But first you must promise that if we don’t find the captain’s body on the battlefield, you’ll return home without a fuss.”

  “I promise,” Aimee said, having no intention of keeping her word. Once in Jonesboro, she wouldn’t be content until she found Nick alive or had definite proof of his death. Even if she had to go to Atlanta, she’d learn what happened to the man who had stolen her heart without her realizing it. Intuition told her that Nick was alive and needed her. Other than that, she couldn’t explain the urgent need that drove her to attempt such a dangerous journey.

  They left early the next morning. It wasn’t a long trip. Tall Oaks was actually closer to Jonesboro than to Atlanta, but traveling by wagon was considerably slower than by horseback. If a wagon weren’t necessary to transport Nick back to Tall Oaks should they locate him, she would have insisted on the faster mode of travel. And to her credit, Aimee never considered the possibility that Nick was dead. It was late afternoon when they reached Jonesboro.

  “Shall we go to the field hospital first, Mrs. Trevor?” Jones asked as they approached the juncture of the railroads where the battle was fought.

  “No, take me to the battlefield,” Aimee answered without hesitation.

  They had arrived too late. Most of the Federal wounded had already been gathered by medical orderlies and taken to the hospital. Only a few wounded remained amid the many Reb and Federal casualties. The stench was appalling, but Aimee was undaunted, merely covering her nose with her handkerchief and proceeding forward. She walked among the dead, forcing herself to look into their bloated faces, asking Sergeant Jones to turn over a man when she couldn’t see his face. She thought of all the mothers who would never see their sons again, and sweethearts waiting for lovers who would never return from war.

  As an eerie dusk settled over the ravaged land, Sergeant Jones suggested they leave.

  “Maybe he was brought to the field hospital after I left,” he said hopefully. “It’s getting dark; there’s nowhere else to look out here.”

  Aimee stared around her, seeing the carnage, the destruction, and fearing Jones was right. They had been searching for hours, and Nick wasn’t among the dead. “Very well,” she acquiesced wearily. “Take me to the hospital; we’ll continue to look there.”

  A thorough search of the field hospital proved just as fruitless. Nick wasn’t among the wounded, nor was there any record of him having been brought in with the dead.

  “Shall we return home now, Mrs. Trevor?”

  Aimee couldn’t say yes. Something deep inside her refused to surrender to the inevitable. “No, not yet. Please, Sergeant Jones, take me back to the battlefield. I have a feeling that Nick is alive and needs me.”

  Jones shook his head. “For a Reb, you sure have a strange way of showing your hatred for the enemy.” He recalled hearing Aimee say she hated Nick on more than one occasion.

  “I—I don’t hate Nick,” Aimee said in a strangled voice. “You—don’t understand about us. I don’t even understand myself. I just know that I have to keep looking.”

  Aimee looked so distraught, Jones didn’t have the heart to deny her. “We’ve still an hour or two before dark. But if we find nothing by then, we’re going back to Tall Oaks.”

  Aimee nodded miserably.


  She felt like a scavenger as she and Jones walked among the dead again. She peered closely into faces stiffened by death, and vomited into the dirt time and again from the sight of maimed bodies and blank eyes. She prayed constantly even though these men were already in the hands of God. They encountered an orderly with a pair of stretcher bearers and learned little beyond the fact that nearly all the wounded had already been carried to the field hospital.

  “We’ve inspected every body left on the battlefield, Mrs. Trevor.” Jones’s voice was filled with pity.

  Unable to talk, Aimee merely nodded. Admitting defeat was the most difficult thing she had ever done. Resolutely she turned to follow Jones from the battlefield. Abruptly she stopped, her eyes mysteriously drawn to the forest a short distance beyond the railroad tracks.

  “Sergeant Jones, wait. Has anyone searched the woods?”

  Jones spun around to stare at her. “It’s unlikely any men, either dead or wounded, remain in the forest.”

  “Unlikely but not impossible,” Aimee persisted.

  “I reckon not,” Jones grumbled, “if you put it that way.” That’s all Aimee needed to hear. “Where are you going, Mrs. Trevor?”

  “Call it intuition, call it foolishness,” Aimee threw over her shoulder, “but I’m not leaving here until I search the woods.”

  Jones raced to catch up with her. “You promised, Mrs. Trevor. Why torture yourself? It’s nearly too dark to see, let alone search for bodies. Why can’t you accept it that Captain Drummond is dead?”

  “Because he’s not!” Aimee said, turning on him ferociously. “Go back if you wish, but I’m remaining until I’ve searched the woods.”

  “Deliver me from stubborn females,” Jones muttered to himself as he followed Aimee into the dense cover of trees. “I’ve heard love makes people daft, and now I know it’s true.”

  Nothing Jones said could dissuade Aimee from venturing deeper into the woods. Neither darkness, the threat of unknown danger, nor Sergeant Jones’s dire predictions called a halt to her frantic search through the forest. Exhaustion finally forced her to leave—and Jones’s threat to pick her up and carry her back to the wagon.

  If anyone had asked her later, Aimee couldn’t have said what had made her turn to the right and stumble into a small clearing. She saw Scout first, his muzzle lowered, calmly grazing on the succulent grass that grew in abundance. As if recognizing her, he raised his head and snorted in welcome. Aimee opened her mouth and shouted Jones’s name.

  Assuming Aimee was close behind him, Jones spun on his heel. He was shocked to find her nowhere in sight. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in a small clearing to the right of you. Come quickly!” He was beside her almost instantly.

  “What is it?”

  “Isn’t that Scout?”

  Due to the encroaching darkness, it was difficult to tell, but Jones was nearly certain the stallion belonged to his captain. “Looks like him, right enough.”

  “If Scout is here, then Nick can’t be far away.”

  For the first time since Aimee had insisted upon this ill-fated search, Jones became excited. Thank God she had insisted upon not giving up. They both began a search of the clearing, scrabbling on the ground so as not to miss a single clue. They found him at the far edge, partially concealed by a bush. He looked dead.

  “No!” Aimee screamed when she saw the ominous blotch of blood congealing on the ground beneath him.

  “He’s still alive, Mrs. Trevor,” Jones said in a voice that held little hope for his survival. He carefully peeled open the flaps of Nick’s jacket, wincing at the grievous wound in the center of his chest. “If he isn’t seen to immediately, he’ll die.”

  “Can we take him to Tall Oaks?”

  “No time,” Jones grunted. “The field hospital is closer. Can you hold him on Scout if I lift him up before you in the saddle?”

  Aimee nodded, unable to speak. Her mouth went dry with fear. What if she had given up when Sergeant Jones insisted they leave? Nick would surely have died out here all by himself with no one to help him. Scout made no objection when Jones lifted her aboard his broad back. Then he pranced impatiently, seeming to understand the gravity of the situation as Jones carefully lifted Nick and sat him in the saddle before Aimee. It was all Aimee could do to hold his limp body in place. Still unconscious, he moaned once, then fell silent.

  Grasping the reins, Jones led Scout out of the forest. When they reached the wagon, he removed Nick from Aimee’s arms and lay him down in the wagon bed. Aimee scrambled up beside him, holding his hand and whispering that she wouldn’t allow him to die, that she had something important to tell him concerning Brand.

  The field hospital was in chaos. Not only were the wounded from Jonesboro being treated in the makeshift arena, but those from around Atlanta as well. The wounded, both Federal and Confederate, lay in rows outside the operating tent waiting to be treated in order of the seriousness of their wounds. Those with no hope for survival were set apart and made as comfortable as possible until the end. Jones summoned an overworked orderly while Aimee sat in the wagon holding Nick. Jones held a lantern high in the air as the orderly examined Nick. Aimee was so distraught, she didn’t see the look the two men exchanged over her head.

  “Take him over there, Sergeant,” the orderly directed. He pointed to a group of wounded lying apart from the others. “He’ll be made comfortable until …” His words fell off.

  Suddenly Aimee seemed to come alive. “He needs help immediately! Can’t you see how serious his wound is? I demand that a doctor treat him immediately.”

  “The doctors are working as fast as they can, ma’am,” the orderly said kindly. “There are other men just as seriously wounded as the captain.”

  “I don’t care about other men; it’s Nick I’m concerned with. Don’t you understand? He’ll die without immediate attention.”

  “Mrs. Trevor, I think what the orderly is trying to say is that it may already be too late for the captain.”

  Aimee sent him a look so filled with venom, he drew back. “What kind of place is this? I thought doctors saved lives. There’s a wounded man here; now, save him.”

  “What’s the trouble out here?”

  “Sorry, Major Bellows, but this lady is insisting you treat this wounded man before the others.”

  “Are you the doctor?” Aimee asked, ready to do battle with anyone in order to get help for Nick.

  “I am.”

  “I brought a man who desperately needs your help. We found him in the woods. If you don’t treat him immediately, it will be too late.”

  “See here, young lady, the orderly decides in which order the men will be seen. You’ll have to abide by his wishes. But if it will ease your mind, I’ll have a look at him.” He climbed into the wagon, made a cursory examination, and came to the same conclusion the orderly had. His face was sad as he said, “There are men whose chances of survival are far greater. It’s those men I must concentrate on. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you God?” Aimee cried, utterly shattered by the doctor’s words. “I won’t allow it!”

  Her next move so startled the three men bending over Nick’s nearly lifeless body that they seemed to react in slow motion. Her face was set in grim lines as she grabbed Jones’s gun from his holster and pointed it at the doctor. “I can play God, too.”

  “Mrs. Trevor, put the gun down.” This came from Jones, who felt responsible for this shameful display.

  “Not until the doctor treats Nick.” She waved the gun from side to side, her finger poised on the trigger. “I’ve used a gun before, you know.”

  Aimee was so distraught that each man thought her perfectly capable of firing. Owing to the darkness and state of upheaval around them, no one noticed the desperate scene being played inside the wagon bed. Suddenly the doctor came to a decision. Arguing with a maniacal woman wasn’t saving lives, and there were still many to save this night.

  “Carry him inside.”

  “Are
you sure, Doctor?” the orderly asked.

  The doctor nodded brusquely and leaped from the wagon. Aimee followed, the gun, hidden in the folds of her skirt, still trained on him. But the doctor, having already made up his mind to treat Nick, paid little heed. He was all business now, snapping orders to his assistants while they readied the operating table for yet another patient. Besides, if he had a woman as concerned for him as this woman appeared to be about the wounded captain, he’d consider himself lucky. Few men were blessed with the kind of selfless love exhibited by the beautiful woman who was willing to kill to see her man cared for.

  Standing at the rear of the operating tent, Aimee observed the operation from a distance that allowed her to keep tabs on the proceedings without actually witnessing the doctor’s skilled hands probing Nick’s torn flesh. The operation seemed to go on forever. At one point Sergeant Jones entered the tent and removed the gun from her limp fingers. He urged her to accompany him outside for a brief respite, but she refused. If Nick was in danger of dying, she wanted to know.

  Two hours later, the doctor stepped back and glanced over at Aimee for the first time since he began the operation. “It’s done; he’s in God’s hands now.”

  “How serious is it?”

  “There was considerable damage to the lungs. The bullet tore a hole the size of a walnut in fragile tissue. I removed the bullet and repaired everything that was damaged. He may live if he doesn’t die from infection. It’s difficult to keep a wound as grievous as this sterile in the crude conditions of a field hospital. Of course, he’ll be sent North to recuperate if he survives the next several days.”

  Aimee moved then to Nick’s side. He looked pale as death and so still, she feared he had expired while the doctor spoke. The doctor noted her worried look and tried to reassure her.

  “He’s not dead, just pale from loss of blood. Is the captain your husband?”

  Aimee considered her answer carefully. “Captain Drummond is the father of my son.”

  There was no time to question her further, for already Nick was being carried out of the operating tent and replaced by another wounded man. Aimee turned and followed the stretcher. Sergeant Jones fell into step behind her.