Faith

by Lyn Cote

  “What is it, Colonel? What’s wrong?”

  FAITH TILTED HER HEAD to look up into the colonel’s flushed face. “Does thee have a fever?” She reached for his forehead.

  He shied away like a boy.

  But she managed to graze his forehead with her wrist anyway. “Thee is burning up. I thought the perspiration on thy brow was due to the heat today. Come with me.” She claimed his arm.

  He gasped in obvious pain.

  “It is thy arm, then?” She shook her head at him, glaring fiercely. “Thee can die from infection—even from a small wound. Thee knows that,” she chided him.

  He set his lips in a hard line.

  She leaned close to his ear. “Does thee want me to make a scene here in front of these sailors?”

  He glared at her. “What do you want me to do?”

  “We will go to my cabin. I did not wish to transport my whole medicine chest, but I did bring some medical supplies with me.”

  He still didn’t appear ready to acquiesce.

  “Is this how thee plans to protect Honoree and me?” Her voice rose. “By lying in bed delirious with fever?”

  He growled. “Very well.” He turned and marched back toward her cabin. She hurried after him.

  Leaving the door open for propriety’s sake, she showed him inside. “Please sit on the lower berth.” She didn’t wait to see him obey but bent over her valise and brought out the small bag of her essential herbs and supplies. “Please take off thy jacket and shirt, Colonel.”

  He grumbled but obeyed her. Still he only revealed one arm and one side of his chest, appearing embarrassed at even this degree of disrobing.

  When she saw his upper arm—inflamed, harsh red, swollen with obvious infection—she stifled a gasp. “Why didn’t thee tell me?”

  “I went to the hospital—”

  “Thee would have done better to come straight to me,” she reprimanded, removing her bonnet and tossing it aside. “Wherever sick people gather, contagions increase. It’s just common sense.” She began to swab the area with alcohol-soaked cotton. She heard his quick intake of breath.

  Honoree climbed down the ladder from the upper berth, where she had been lying, fighting nausea. “That looks nasty.”

  “I need hot water, Honoree. Will thee find the captain and ask him for permission to fetch some?”

  “Oh, he’ll love having me stop in with a request for him,” Honoree said, setting her bonnet over her kerchief. “But I’ll see to it.” She left, muttering about men and foolishness.

  After Faith finished cleaning the inflamed area, she glanced at the colonel’s face. “I’m sorry that the general’s orders upset thy plans and thy sense of duty, but—”

  “Here.” Sounding disgusted, he handed her the note he’d been reaching for earlier. “This is what’s angered me.”

  She accepted it and stepped to the window to read it. Then she turned to the colonel, frowning. “Thy cousin is an unhappy man.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” the colonel grumbled.

  “What else can I say? Thy cousin wants to make thee as miserable as he is. He burns with hatred and resentment. He knows he behaved dishonorably, and he hates thee because thee knows it and can testify to his father against him.”

  “I would never tell my uncle.”

  “Then thy cousin knows that too, and it galls him.” She handed him back the paper.

  “You barely know Jack.”

  “Some things are as old as time. I mentioned Jacob and Esau once before. Now let’s concentrate on dealing with thy infected wound.” She knelt on the floor with her mortar and began to grind a mixture with her pestle.

  “What is this man doing in your cabin?” the shipmaster demanded from the doorway.

  “I would think it is obvious to anyone,” Faith replied mildly. She’d expected this foolish question. “The colonel has an infected arm and I’m treating him.”

  “You’re not a doctor,” Fentress said.

  “Is there one on board?” she asked without looking at him.

  “No—”

  “I’m a trained nurse, as is Miss Langston.” She nodded toward Honoree. “Where is my hot water?”

  “I brought it,” Honoree said, pushing past the captain into the cabin. “The cook says after you finish with the colonel, will you please come and take a look at his mouth? He appears to have an abscessed tooth.”

  “Of course.” Faith busied herself neatly sewing a cloth poultice and then soaking it in the hot water. Under the shipmaster’s scrutiny, she rose and pressed it to the colonel’s arm.

  He sucked in air.

  “I know it’s uncomfortable,” she said soothingly, “but I must draw the infection or thee could go into blood poisoning.” Then she looked over her shoulder to the captain. “Will thee ask the cook to come to me, or should I go to him?”

  “I’ll send him up,” the captain said, sounding disgusted. He stalked away.

  “Men,” Honoree said, heaving a loud sigh filled with irritation. “They do go on.”

  Faith grinned. “We were supposed to stay safely at home while they waged war.”

  “Exactly,” the colonel agreed through teeth gritted against the painful treatment.

  Faith faced him. “Should I let thee lose thy arm over a small wound or let thee die of infection? Should I let other men die if I can help them?”

  Then, observing his suffering, she repented of her harsh words. “Lie down before thee collapses.” She helped him recline on the berth. Then she began to sew very small poultices for the cook.

  Soon the cook came, and after examination, she gave him what she’d sewn with instructions.

  “You don’t think you need to draw the tooth?” the man asked.

  “No, I think these will suffice. And will be much less painful.”

  He left with heartfelt thanks and a promise to send up coffee and broth for the colonel.

  Needing space and air, Faith set her bonnet back on and tied its ribbons, then stepped out onto the deck. She rested her forearms on the railing and drew in deep drafts of the hot, humid air. She felt sympathy for Colonel Knight over his cousin’s rude, taunting message, but she could not regret treating Jack Carroll.

  She’d done what was right before the Lord, and Jack had chosen to betray the trust of his cousin. No good would come of it. She just wished the colonel could forgive himself. Then she thought of Armstrong. Colonel Knight had more than one regret stewing inside him.

  And selfishly she hoped the colonel would quickly recover from his infection. He spoke the truth: this was a dangerous venture. How would they fare in New Orleans without his protection?

  The day passed with Dev lying on Faith’s berth, feverish. He despised this. He hated to feel this weak, hated to have this woman caring for him. But most of all he hated the way his arm throbbed. And how his head spun when he tried to stand. Finally night fell. He brushed away a stray mosquito as it buzzed around his ear.

  Faith lit a lantern and knelt beside him.

  “I need someone to walk me to my cabin,” he insisted, panting in the oppressive humidity.

  “We’ll see. First I need to determine if it’s time to lance the infection.”

  He closed his eyes. “Do what you must.”

  And she did, murmuring words about home and poetry and anything that might distract him.

  He inhaled sharply when she pierced his skin, and sweat dripped down his face as he held his lower lip with his teeth against crying out.

  Finally he smelled the stringent odor of alcohol and felt its cold sting on his arm. The searing burn of iodine followed and then a fresh bandage. He lay breathless.

  “We’ve come to help him to his berth.” The cook, flanked by another sailor, spoke from the open door.

  Dev worked his way to sitting up and then standing. The room swayed for a moment and then he staggered to the door. The cook and sailor began to help him down the passage to the cabin where he’d sleep.

 
“Good night, Miss Cathwell,” he said formally. Then he forced himself to walk between the two and not to fall on his face. Soon they helped him collapse into the berth in his cabin. His last thought was that he shouldn’t have shown Faith the note. I should have just thrown it away.

  Late in the afternoon two days later, Dev got up and walked outside. His arm still pained him but his fever had lessened. He’d cheated death one more time. But it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out.

  He admitted to himself that he’d been foolish not to go to Faith when he had returned to camp after the skirmish. But he knew why he had avoided her. The longing to touch her soft cheek and hold her close rose in him, overwhelming, ill-advised.

  “Good afternoon, Colonel.”

  He turned to see Faith under a pale parasol. He tightened himself against his attraction to her. “I don’t know if I’m up to walking with you, miss.”

  “But thee is standing.” The parasol cast a shadow over her face, intriguing him. “Thee can see the shipmaster has relented toward females on board, and I am allowed outside whenever I wish.”

  Dev didn’t try to hide his surprise. Still feeling dry and flat as a falling leaf, he asked, “Is the cook well?”

  “Yes, and a happy cook is a better cook,” she bantered. “And that makes everyone happy.”

  He chuckled.

  Rapid gunfire.

  Faith dropped her parasol.

  Dev grabbed her arm, shoved her into his cabin, and shut the door.

  “What is it?”

  His heart beat fast and he felt the sapping weakness again. “Probably bushwhackers onshore, taking potshots at a Union boat.” He drew his carbine.

  Outside, the crew returned fire. From the engine below, a grinding and a thrust forward propelled them both backward. Dev tried to grab at the berth railing. But he careened into Faith. They lost their footing and landed on the floor.

  He cried out as his arm hit something hard. The pain momentarily froze him. He lay gasping, hating this feebleness.

  Faith sat up, and he found his head in her lap.

  He tried to move, but the pain and the weakness defeated him. He cursed under his breath.

  “Shush,” she crooned. “Thee will regain thy strength.” She pressed her wrist against his forehead. “Thee is still running a very low fever. Thy body is fighting off the infection.”

  He realized he’d lost his hat when he fell. Irrationally he felt stripped of some protection, exposed. “I hate this.”

  She said nothing but rested her small hands on his shoulders.

  He lay still, unwilling to withdraw from her softness. It was all he could do to suppress further reaction to the ache and throbbing in his arm.

  They waited, but no more gunfire came from shore. The gunboat sped on and then at last slowed to a normal speed.

  “It might even have been a civilian firing on us,” Dev said, finally forcing himself to rise.

  “Being away from camp and riding this calm river, I sometimes let myself forget that a war is still going on.”

  Shrugging, he peered through the window. “I think it’s safe to go out again.”

  She picked up her parasol and waited while he stepped out first. After a few moments he waved for her to join him.

  In silence they gazed at the thickly green shore sliding past them. “Colonel, I am both apprehensive and eager to reach New Orleans,” Faith confessed. “Does that make sense?”

  He nodded. “Perfect sense.” His lack of energy dogged him. “I can walk you a little way before I must lie down again.”

  So they walked.

  “Before we left camp,” Dev said, trying to lift her spirits, or both their spirits, “I received a package from my mother. She sent me a book.”

  “From thy favorite bookstore on Saratoga Street?” Faith followed his lead, turning away from the war, away from their quest to New Orleans.

  “Yes, Robert Burns’s Poems and Songs.”

  “Why that book?”

  “I think she thought it would be a change of pace for me, a needed one.”

  Faith looked up, beaming suddenly. “My mother sent me more stockings.”

  He laughed out loud. “Mine did too!”

  She was glad to hear him laugh. They must not forget how to laugh. The war would end … someday. She wondered if he ever thought of Armstrong and then dismissed the question. Of course he did, just as Shiloh was never far from her mind. It wasn’t possible to forget. What could she do to help these two men reconcile? Anything? Nothing?

  NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  In the sky the smoke from thousands of kitchen chimneys provided the first sign of their nearing New Orleans, a city of over one hundred fifty thousand, rivaling the population of Cincinnati, which Faith knew so well. As the boat sped along, she and Honoree stood on the upper deck, watching the smoke become clearer. The nearer they got, the more impatient she felt to be onshore and going about finding Shiloh.

  They turned a bend in the river and caught the first glimpse of the city. Honoree clutched Faith’s hand. “I’m not getting my hopes up. She might be anywhere by now.”

  “Yes. But we know where to ask about her here. I’m sure the auction house kept records of … transactions.”

  Honoree’s nails bit into Faith’s skin. It was terrible to face that Shiloh had been sold like a head of cattle. A sudden flush of anger filled Faith. She prayed for God’s peace, but the anger stung and didn’t ebb.

  “It won’t be long now.” The colonel appeared beside them at the rail. Still a bit drawn, he had mostly recovered from his fever and could move his arm normally. But he’d lost weight.

  Soon the steamboat joined many other gunboats docked at the quay in the busy harbor of New Orleans.

  The shipmaster stopped the three of them as they prepared to walk down the gangplank. “Our stay here will not be more than today and tomorrow,” he said more politely than he’d spoken to them when first they boarded. “I am here to pick up supplies, and then I will head upriver again.”

  Faith curtsied. She understood Grant needed supplies before the army could head east to defeat Lee. Or she thought that was what the general intended to do.

  “Please try to take care of your business today,” the shipmaster continued. “I want to debark tomorrow unless some hitch comes up.”

  “Yes, sir,” the colonel replied for them. He helped her and then Honoree step onto land. Faith swayed a little and he caught her elbow to steady her.

  “I need to get my equilibrium again,” she said brightly.

  Honoree also accepted his steadying grasp.

  They were soon walking up the crowded street, looking for a cab. Before long, they came upon a carriage. “Need a ride, gentleman?” The black driver stood in the shade near his horse.

  Faith reluctantly decided her best course of action was to let the colonel—a man and an officer—do the talking for them. She and Honoree traded discreet glances, agreeing to this.

  “Yes. We want to go to the auction house where slaves were sold,” the colonel said.

  The driver halted in midstep. “They not selling any more slaves now that the Union Army come. And Lincoln sent out his proclamation. I’m free.”

  “We are looking for a kidnapped free woman of color,” the colonel continued.

  The man looked shocked. “Oh yes, sir, I know right where you want ta go. The St. Louis Hotel, not far from here—corner of St. Louis and Chartres.” The driver waved them into his carriage, climbed up on the seat, and slapped the reins.

  They bumped over the cobblestone street along the waterfront. Before long, they came to a large, elegant limestone hotel in the classic Federalist style. The colonel helped the two women down. Faith noted that he appeared surprised at the imposing hotel as a venue for slave auctions. “This is where the auctions took place?” he asked.

  The carriage driver nodded, his face set in grim lines. He then asked if they wanted him to wait.

  “Yes, please,”
the colonel replied. He led Faith and Honoree inside the hotel lobby.

  The well-dressed clerk, an older man with slicked-back silver curls against his dark skin, greeted them with politeness but regarded them dubiously. “We are full up with Union officers, sir,” he explained.

  “We don’t want a room. We are wanting to see the records of the slave auctions that took place here.”

  The man looked confused.

  “We are seeking my sister,” Honoree spoke up.

  The clerk’s expression became uncomfortable. “I’ll have you conducted to the auction office. We are still in the business of selling whenever anybody has anything to sell. Though this isn’t an auction day, the auction master is in.” The man waved at a young boy who was standing nearby. “Please show these women and this gentleman to Monsieur Dupont in his office.”

  The young boy with light skin and big brown eyes led them along a hallway and into a spacious, ornately gilded rotunda with a large chandelier. She’d read about this place in Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The grand setting jarred Faith. Why would they build this grand hall for such a sordid purpose?

  “This where the auctions take place,” the boy said. “I guess slave auctions won’t be happenin’ anymore.” He looked at them hopefully.

  “Not as long as the Union controls New Orleans,” the colonel replied.

  The boy nodded and brought them through the rotunda to a hallway with one small office on each side. “Monsieur Dupont, these people here to see you,” he called. The boy waved them inside the office to the right and then departed.

  Sickly white and bent, Monsieur Dupont looked older than the clerk at the front desk. He rose with arthritic slowness, eyeing them suspiciously. “How may I be of assistance?”

  Faith looked to the colonel. He would no doubt get more information from this man, especially since the colonel spoke with a Maryland accent.

  Colonel Knight stepped forward. “We are trying to locate a slave whom we believe was sold at an auction here before the war.”

  “In mid-1858,” Faith murmured.

  “Yes,” the colonel continued. “She’s very beautiful with light skin, golden-brown hair, and large green eyes.”