Lizzie and the Rebel

by Stephy Smith

  “It wasn’t Spirit. Give my regards to Mrs. Lovelace. Tell her I’ll come to check on her when I can.”

  “Well, Miss Lizzie, I better be gettin’ off this mountain before I’m the next body in your barn.” He thumbed over his shoulder.

  “Good-bye, sheriff, thanks for stopping in.” She closed the window when the sheriff disappeared around the corner of the cabin.

  At the closet, Lizzie pulled out the washtub. She filled three large Dutch ovens with snow and put them on hooks suspended from the fireplace. By the time Frank finished eating, the water was nice and warm.

  Using her wadded up apron, she poured the water into the tub. Steam filled the air as she strung a rope across the room and placed a quilt over it.

  Her outstretched arm handed Frank a bar of soap. “You’re going to scrub your head and your body.”

  “Oh no I’m not! Not in the presence of a woman.” His body stiffened. His eyes traveled down her body. She shivered at his quick glance.

  “Frank Walling, you are going to get in that tub or I will put you there myself.” She tilted her head to the side. Her smile faded from her face.

  As he stood on his good leg and leaned on the crutch, he prepared himself for a new kind of battle. “You certainly will not.”

  “I have been taking care of you for two weeks, and if you would rather me bathe you, then I can do that too. But you will be in the tub, stripped naked.” Fisted hands on her hips, she took a step toward him.

  Frank tried to back away but almost lost his balance. She jumped to catch him before he fell. Her hand went for the buttons on his shirt, and Frank slapped her hand away.

  “We can do this the hard way or the easy way,” she said.

  “We’re doing it the easy way, ‘cause it ain’t getting done.”

  Once again, she advanced on him and ripped his shirt off. Buttons flew across the cabin. He kicked her in the shin as she lowered him to the floor and pulled his pants from his legs. Her determination to win this battle brought forth heavy breathing through clenched teeth.

  Dragging him by his arms to the tub, she lifted him and tore the bandage from his leg. Frank grabbed her hair, she lowered him in the water, and he let go. She circled to the table and threw him the soap and brush, pulled the quilt shut, and sat at the table shaking after the squabble.

  Spirit slithered under the table. He lay there without twitching a muscle until the splash of water and the horrid singing came from behind the quilt. He crept to the corner by the fireplace, lay down and closed his eyes.

  Lizzie’s hands trembled and her fingers worried the edge of the reader. She wasn’t in the mood now to do any kind of studying. She crawled out the window and followed the rope to the barn where she set to work with the chores and the animals. Her swift movements seemed to quiet the built up stress from the meeting with the mule-headed Texan.

  She glanced at the door of the barn. “I have seen more on this mountain than you’ll ever know, Mr. Walling. If you think seeing you naked bothers me, well—maybe it does.”

  Her mind spun with the reality as it hit her. Why should it bother her? After all, she had brothers she’d seen naked. The only time she had seen a stranger in this state of undress drew tears to her eyes as the memory flooded back in her mind.

  Lizzie could hear the awful noise from the cabin. She was thankful she’d escaped to the barn when it started. “He’s only doing that to irritate me.” She glanced at Oro. “However, at least he’ll be clean.” She thought about cutting his hair and wondered what kind of fight would take place. One victory a day is enough.

  A hen clucked her disapproval when Lizzie slipped her cold hands beneath it to gather eggs. She milked the cow and walked back to the cabin. With ease, she lowered the eggs and milk in through the window, and crawled in herself.

  The splashes and singing had stopped. Lizzie heard the thud on the floor. She brought one of her father’s nightshirts from the closet and tossed it over the quilt.

  He wouldn’t be able to put the pants on without sitting. He yanked back the quilt, hobbled to the bed, and slumped down.

  She kept her eyes on the wound. Silence filled the cabin as cold as the snow outside. Not a word passed from either of them as she replaced the baking soda and bandage. To her surprise, he let her without argument.

  She managed a smile and met the gaze from the handsome face. Heat crossed her face as she stared at the change in his appearance. Her heart fluttered as she backed from the room without taking her eyes off him. Now is not the time to become taken with a man, much less a stubborn man, she mused.

  The forceful sense of being trapped wore on her. Not being able to ride the mountain for fresh air singed her nerves. His brilliant eyes filled her soul, which she felt he had been reading when he glared into her eyes. The thick air in the cabin stirred Lizzie’s nerves, and Frank played havoc with her heart and mind. Spirit became irritable with being cooped up inside as well.

  “I know how you feel, Spirit. Like a caged animal. I sure feel it, too.” She stroked his soft fur.

  Lizzie couldn’t wait to have her cabin to herself again. She grew tired of sharing and caring for someone after being alone for years. It was a solitary life, but it agreed with her, and she just wanted things to get back to normal.

  Tempers rose from the occupants in the cabin. The blizzard grew relentless, and the dead men still frozen in the barn left Lizzie with nowhere to go. She grew tired of being inside.

  Everything she did seemed to focus on Frank. The way his hair curled and fell on his forehead. The sweet scent of her father’s shave lather on Frank’s fresh face overtook the winter air. A twinkle in his eyes as he played with Spirit. His laughter echoing in the cabin. She hid the attraction pulling her deeper into his soul.

  Spirit had left through the window a few days before. Lizzie envied the wolf and his freedom. With Spirit on the prowl, she was left alone. The emptiness ate at her. She would rather be lonely alone than with company. Frank didn’t need to be the one to discover her feelings since she, herself, had no idea what she was feeling.

  Frank stayed in his room and began to tend to his wound himself. Lizzie placed his meals on the table, where he would hobble to eat. Words between them ceased. She held her tongue and pretended he wasn’t there. His aura filled the air and his silence crushed her to the bones.

  Retiring to her room earlier and earlier every night, exhausted, she lay on the bed only to wake the next morning as exhausted as when she had laid down. A slight cough every now and again was nothing in the winter. This year, her cough seemed worse, but she decided it was from being cooped up all winter in the cabin without much fresh air except to tend the livestock.

  Lizzie convinced herself it was exhaustion and stress leading her down the road of uncertainty. Some days she was so tired she could barely hold her eyes open. Frank was progressing; so was the intensity of the storm.

  One break in the storm and he could ride off the mountain. Then she could resume her life alone. She would miss seeing him every day. Her heart lurched as the reality hit her. How long did it take to grow accustomed to another’s presence?

  Her need to straighten the conflict between them grew. Soon, he would ride out, and she had to apologize for causing him trouble. At least when he left they could still be friends. She glanced his way, but her eyelids were heavy.

  She walked into her room, collapsed on the bed and slept. Perspiration soaked her clothes. Stripping to her undergarments, she lay on the bed and slipped into another deep sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Frank kept his eyes on the beauty when she cooked or disappeared through the tiny window. His pulse quickened if he thought she took too long to return. Every night his dreams filled with the soft-skinned woman with long black hair and most beautiful blue eyes set in her light brown face.

  Fear slammed him as he watched the color fade from her face in the last few days. The winter weather had to be the cause of her restlessness. He didn’t know why
it should affect him. Her lack of words made it clear she didn’t want him invading her space. As soon as the weather cleared, he would leave for Texas.

  Frank bolted upright from bed at the sound of broken glass. He grabbed the crutch and hobbled to the outer room. He glanced around, prepared to use the crutch as his weapon. Nothing was out of place.

  He hurried his steps to Lizzie’s room. The pounding in his chest beat in rapid thuds. His eyes fixed on the convulsing body sleeping in the bed. Frank carried the lit lantern to Lizzie’s room. Confusion from the upset table and broken lantern on the floor racked his body.

  With great caution and quietness, he walked to the bed. Lizzie’s pale skin tore at his heart. Instinctively, he reached down to wipe the sweat from her brow. Heat radiated down to her chest. He let his fingers glide down her arms to her fingertips. The fever he had seen in men in the hospitals when he had to carry one of his friends in for treatment assaulted his mind.

  “What do I do, Lizzie? What do I do?” he yelled. There was no response. His mind drew a blank and his heart thundered like blazing guns. He rubbed his beard and tried to calm his fears.

  Never during wartime had he been a part of anything quite like this. Sure, he cared for his fellow soldiers and their lives. This time, it was different. He didn’t know why, just that it was. It could be because she was a woman, and he just didn’t know how to take care of a woman.

  Think, and think hard, he told himself, making his way from the room. He pulled open the windows and filled the pots with snow. Water from the bucket was poured in and mixed to slush to bathe Lizzie’s face. Soft strokes of his hand made their way down to her chest and arms. A slight tug and he pulled the pantaloon legs up a few inches higher to bathe her legs.

  Heat and confusion crossed into his soul. How could he have forgotten how to break a fever for her, but always knew what to do when it came to helping others?

  The presence of Spirit startled him for a second. “Spirit, we need a doctor.” His voice rushed out in a panic.

  Spirit jumped through the window. Frank sat on the edge of the bed and worked to diminish the growing fever. His heart raced and he continued to collect snow. He didn’t know how long or how many times he repeated the process, but he worked throughout the night. Anxiety stirred his core as he stood over her fever-ridden body. He’d never felt more helpless in his life.

  Guilt overwhelmed his senses. His loyalty to the woman who’d saved his life gave him courage. He couldn’t give up. He owed her since she hadn’t given up on him, regardless of her silence in the last few days, which he now understood had been sickness. His cold hands cradled his face, then he smoothed his hair.

  Frank watched and weighed the price of this war. What he could lose was a life he had no choice but to claim. Her slender body torched his mind. He admired her ability to keep calm the last time she’d lanced his wound. Her words had been in a foreign language and he knew she was speaking to the spirits she believed in.

  He needed those spirits now, but didn’t know how to summon them to help save his precious Lizzie. He knew if he had to fight a bear bare-handed, he could win. Somehow, he knew if he had to go fight another war, he could hold his own. Now, with this small, helpless woman before him, his confidence waned. He wasn’t sure he would survive if she didn’t pull through.

  Late in the evening, Spirit came through the window with a group of yelling men outside. Frank rose from the bed and went to the window. Three men stood outside with guns drawn.

  Frank’s voice reached the men. “Don’t shoot. I need a doctor. Lizzie’s sick!”

  The mumbles outside grew. Two of the men disappeared into the white of the trail. One man stayed behind and walked to the window.

  “I got to have some help.”

  Mr. Garrett introduced himself and volunteered to stay behind. The other two men hurried to town to get the doc. He was the one small enough to come through the window.

  “How long has she been down?” Mr. Garrett asked.

  “Since last night. I don’t think she felt well for a few days before. The color in her face seemed off to me.” Frank lowered his head.

  “Did you come in contact with the trapper?”

  “No. I was unconscious. Lizzie moved me before he could kill me. We got to help her, and I don’t know how.”

  “The trapper had the fever. Several people in town have taken down with it. They’re dropping dead left and right.” Mr. Garrett’s words echoed in Frank’s ears. Words Frank wouldn’t accept. Words he couldn’t bear to hear.

  “She’s not going to die. You hear me? I won’t let her.”

  Frank continued to bathe Lizzie with the ice cold water. He fought to gain control of his emotions. He needed to concentrate on what he was doing instead of thinking about people dying of this disease. His sinking heart twisted with the terrible strain of losing the one sure thing he had going in his life. Even if she wasn’t talking to him, she was still his responsibility.

  Mr. Garrett supplied him with slush. He afforded himself a moment to throw a small log on the fire to keep it going until they could close the windows after the fever showed signs of breaking.

  The early morning sun filtered in the window. Spirit raised his head at the sound of men outside. The doctor’s voice called through the window. “What do we have in there?”

  Frank and Mr. Garrett rushed to the window.

  “She’s running a fever. The beginning of a rash started.” Frank glanced over his shoulder. His hands began to shake and sweat popped out on his forehead.

  “Garrett, get out of there. Sounds like she’s got the same plague that’s hit town.” Doc moved out of the way for Mr. Garrett to pass.

  Mr. Garrett was security for Frank. His insides rumbled louder than the cannons during the war. A faint drum in his chest beat out a rhythm of an unknown tune. An unbearable pain sank deep in the pit of his stomach, threatening to expel the food from it.

  Emerging from the barn, another man called to the doc. “I lit the lantern in the barn. The stove is gettin’ warm and sheriff is gonna take the soldiers to town. Zeke and Clem are gonna burn the trapper when they get to the clearin’ down the trail.”

  “I’ll be staying in the barn. Keep her skin cool and rub this on the rash.” The doctor handed Frank a bottle of liquid. “Let me know if she gets worse.”

  “Will do.” Frank reached for the bottle. He was willing to try anything to keep the angel alive, to bring her back to the feisty spirit that had wrestled him into the tub, the woman who touched his heart and filled it with more treasures than any pirate could take for booty.

  Frank shrugged off the chill in the cabin as he continued to bathe and apply liquid on Lizzie’s soft skin. Heat crossed his face as he willed his hands and gaze not to linger on one place for any length of time. His lips ached to kiss the fever and red splotches away.

  He spoke as if she could hear him. “Snap out of it, Lizzie. How can you just lay there without a sign? Fight with me; tell me how much you hate me. By golly, do something.” Tears burned his eyes. It had been four days since the nightmare had begun, and she showed no signs of recovery, but she wasn’t getting any worse.

  Beside her body, Frank sat and wondered if she’d felt this way when she found him. How could she? He scolded himself; she didn’t know anything about him. This endless wait twisted his insides and he couldn’t stop the need to heal her. To nurture her like she had for him.

  “Wake up and argue with me. Send fire from your eyes when you look at me. Give me the silent treatment. Do anything except this,” Frank begged.

  Day after day, he pleaded. The sickness wore him down. He questioned her ability to fight hard enough to bring her back. He hadn’t had the chance to thank her for what she had done for him and his cousins.

  “Are you doing this to torture me? Well, you’ve won. If I had half a mind, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Doc appeared at the window for his morning report. Frank passed a cup of coffee to Doc an
d cooked the eggs Doc brought from the barn. He cooked up slices of bacon for the two of them. His fragile mind filled with anger, doubt, and old-fashioned confusion. He threw the extra bacon in a pot and set it to boil on the stove.

  “Come on, Doc, isn’t there anything else we can do?” Frank rubbed his hands through his hair and sucked in a deep breath.

  “This looks better than the folks in town,” Doc said with a sad smile. “They’ve been dying within a matter of two days, if that helps. I know it’s rough. I don’t think she’s in pain.”

  “She isn’t showing any pain. I’m not a good care giver like she is.” Frank glanced toward the room. “She kind of did what was natural. You know, as a mother would do. I hate to admit it, Doc, but my mind is still in the war. You see someone hurt or sick and walk off as if you didn’t see them. Then I look at that helpless woman in there and kick myself for wanting to run away.”

  “That’s understandable, Frank. We all do what we have to. In war, we’re pushed to move on and forget about the past things we seen.” A faraway look gleamed in Doc’s eyes. His brows furrowed and his cheeks gave a quick shudder.

  “You were there?”

  “Hadn’t been back for long. I saw more death as an army surgeon than I ever wanted to see. The screaming from the men still haunts me. Day after day, scream after scream, I wanted to run many times. I cry myself to sleep some nights.” His head lowered. “Don’t seem like it’ll ever end for me. These people here, well they make me feel complete again.”

  “I woke up in a Union prison hospital when the war ended. I didn’t get to see the doctor when they kicked us out of there. I had been shot in the leg. My cousins found me on their way home and brought me to this mountain where Lizzie found us.”

  “I suppose the doctors were the same as us Confederate doctors were. You did the best you could, nothing more, nothing less. It didn’t matter after a while what uniform they wore. You helped the next person on the table. When I came home…” His voice stopped as the tears filled his eyes.