Sounds of vigorous activity, clanging of metal, and voices of men could be heard from the yard below, but the hush inside the room was almost church like. Sam looked around, wondering where he was. Judging by the nasal British voices that shouted commands in the yard below, this could only be one place, the worst possible place he could have ended up. Sam tried to rise, but the sharp pain in his belly was like a hot poker that was being twisted this way and that to inflict the most damage. He lay back, breathing heavily and sweating despite the freshness of the air, gingerly poking at his wound. It had been cleaned and dressed, but Sam had no recollection of it. Someone had removed his clothes and dressed him in a nightshirt which reached almost to his knees and smelled pleasantly of soap and fresh air.
Sam licked his lips, desperate for a sip of water. His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. He reached for a cup on the low table beside his bed, drinking gratefully once he actually managed to get it without causing himself undue pain. How did he get here? Sam lay still, allowing his heartbeat to return to normal. Even the act of reaching for the cup had left him drained and shaky. Sam closed his eyes, his face tense with concentration. He could remember everything that happened up to the time Finn helped him out of the boat, but after that, he drew a blank. He hoped that Finn had gotten Abbie safely to the farm, but he had no way of knowing that they hadn’t been ambushed as they made their way across Staten Island. The place was crawling with British soldiers, who must have come across him on one of their patrols. The uniform had been the only thing that stood between Sam and a sure death, but it had also landed him among the enemy, making an attempt at escape difficult, especially in his weakened condition.
Sam tried to outline his options, but his mind refused to cooperate, getting fuzzier by the moment, his limbs growing heavier. He must have fallen asleep because the next time he opened his eyes it was already getting darker, the last glimmer of daylight leaching from the sky and a single candle burning on the table beside his cot. A short man with bushy whiskers was standing over him, his hand on Sam’s head, his face full of concern.
“How are you feeling?” the man asked, smiling down at Sam. “I’m so glad to see you finally awake.”
“I’m better, thank you,” Sam answered carefully. “Where am I exactly?” He already knew, but he wanted to hear it nonetheless.
“Oh, you’re at Fort Flagstaff. A patrol came across you in the woods by the beach and brought you here. I’m Doctor Freeman. I don’t suppose you remember much of what happened?”
“No,” Sam mumbled. The less said the better.
“They found you just in time. I daresay you would have died had you been left out there much longer. You were bleeding quite heavily. You seem to have gotten lucky twice,” he said, beaming at Sam, his eyes large behind his round spectacles.
“In what way, Doctor?”
“Your wound is painful, but not fatal,” replied the doctor, taking Sam’s pulse.
“I’m very relieved to hear that.” Maybe he could make his escape tomorrow, or even tonight, although the gates of the fort were likely locked for the night, making it more difficult to get out undetected.
“What I mean to say is that if the bayonet entered your abdomen a little to the left, it would have perforated your intestine, which would have resulted in eventual death. As it is, it didn’t damage any vital organs. You should be on your feet in a few days. I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.” The doctor smiled at Sam benignly, obviously happy for his patient’s good fortune.
“It’s Corporal Patrick Johnson, sir.” How long would it take them to learn that Corporal P. Johnson didn’t exist? Sam wondered, calculating his chances.
“A pleasure to meet you, Corporal Johnson.” Doctor Freeman let go of Sam’s wrist and pulled back the coverlet and nightshirt to examine the wound. He seemed satisfied and replaced the blanket, patting it into place absentmindedly.
“I can give you a few drops of laudanum to help you sleep if you are in great pain, but it’s up to you. I think you’ve had quite more than enough already. You were in terrible pain when the patrol brought you in, so I took the liberty of giving you some laudanum before cleaning and dressing your wound to spare you unnecessary pain.”
“Thank you, Doctor Freeman,” Sam began, but the doctor just waved his hand dismissively.
“Think nothing of it, my boy. That’s what I’m here for. Your improved health is thanks enough.” The doctor became distracted as a young woman walked into the room, carrying something on a tray. She was slight and graceful, with warm, brown eyes much like Doctor Freeman’s. The doctor’s face lit up as she came closer, a look of deep affection on his homely face.
“And who is this Angel of Mercy?” Sam asked, smiling up at her. She looked away shyly; her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, visible even in the feeble light of the candle.
“That’s my daughter, Susanna. She insists on helping me take care of the patients. What did you bring, my dear?”
“I heard you talking to our patient and thought that he must be hungry. I brought some porridge and milk.” She set the tray down on the table, making Sam’s mouth water. He hated porridge, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and would have been equally excited about anything she had to offer that would fill his empty belly.
“Very thoughtful of you, my dear, very thoughtful. I was just about to suggest some food myself. I think Mr. Johnson might require some help eating though. Would you be so kind?” Doctor Freeman looked at his daughter with undisguised pride as she sat on the side of the bed, reaching for the bowl and spoon.
“I’ll check on you in a little while, Corporal,” the doctor said before walking over to the far side of the room to check on his other patient.
Susanna held out a spoonful of porridge to Sam, who obediently opened his mouth, enjoying the taste of the warm mush. She’d put some butter and honey into it, just as his mother did, making it slightly more palatable. Her blush faded, but she still looked self-conscious, her eyes barely meeting his as he studied her openly.
“How long have I been here?” Sam asked, accepting another mouthful.
“Nearly three days now. You were unconscious when the patrol first brought you in, but you became delirious later, calling for Abbie over and over. Is she your wife?” Susanna asked shyly. Sam suddenly realized that she was older than he initially thought. He assumed she was just out of the schoolroom, but on closer inspection, she had to be around twenty-five. He let his gaze slide to her left hand, but there was no wedding ring on her finger.
“Abbie is my si… — fiancée,” Sam replied, looking away from Susanna. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he was now trapped at a British fort, the only way out being as a deserter of an army he never joined. He would need help, and if Susanna believed that he was trying to get to the woman he loved, she might be more willing to assist him.
“Is she in England?” Susanna asked, giving Sam a drink of milk before continuing to feed him the porridge. He noticed that despite her warm smile, her eyes were awfully sad, making him wonder what her life was like at a British fort helping her father. Had she come willingly, or as an unmarried woman, did she have no choice in accompanying him?
“No, she’s here. As a matter of fact, I was taking her to her aunt in Richmond town when we were set upon by the rebels. I tried to fight them off, but I was vastly outnumbered. I have no idea where she is, or if she’s safe,” Sam whispered. “I need to find her.” He felt like an awful cad, seeing the distress in her eyes, but at the moment, she was his only hope of escape. He hoped she was gullible enough to believe his story, but he couldn’t think of anything else that would explain his presence on Staten Island and his wound.
“Oh, how awful. I do hope she’s all right. You are not in any condition to leave yet, but once you are better, I’m sure your commanding officer will give you leave to go look for her. You must love her very much.” Susanna replaced the bowl and cup on the tray, reluctantly rising to h
er feet. Sam would have liked more time to cultivate Susanna’s friendship, but he didn’t have that luxury. He had to get out of the fort, and he had to do it very soon. He reached out and took Susanna by the hand, forcing her to look at him.
“I do love her. Susanna, you have to help me. I can’t wait until I recover and get leave. I must go tomorrow. Abbie could be out there, frightened and alone. They might have taken her and done her an injury.” Sam could see a look of indecision on Susanna’s face. She would help him with just the right amount of persuasion.
“You can’t just walk out of here, Corporal. That would be paramount to desertion, and you know what the penalty for that is. You must report to a ranking officer here at the fort and ask for his help. He can send a messenger to your garrison and get a letter from your commander.” Susanna gently extracted her hand, picking up the tray and holding it against her chest in an effort to put some distance between them.
“Susanna, please. I can’t wait. What would you think if your fiancé left you alone and unprotected? Surely, a woman of your compassion and sensitivity can understand my predicament.” Sam gave her a pleading look, hoping he was wearing her down.
“I don’t have a fiancé, Mr. Johnson, but I suppose I see your point. You don’t think she got to her aunt’s house?”
“You see, even if she did, I still have to get to her,” Sam improvised. He glanced away, trying to look embarrassed. “She just found out she’s with child, so I must marry her right away before her family finds out. I must do the right thing, don’t you see?” He looked up at her, begging her to understand. She seemed disappointed for a moment, as if shocked by the fact that he might have gotten a woman he wasn’t married to with child, but then her mind turned to his fiancée.
“All right, Corporal, I will help you leave here if you promise to come back as soon as you’ve found and married your Abbie. Do we have a deal?” She looked so earnest that Sam loathed himself for lying to her, but he had no choice. He had to get out of this fort before anyone realized he was an imposter. If an officer marched in here asking questions, he was finished. His only choice was to escape before anyone had a chance to question him. If found out, he’d hang.
“How can we do it?” Sam asked eagerly.
“There are some local farmers who make deliveries to the fort. They bring meat and produce several times a week. There are a lot of men here, and they need to be fed. I don’t normally interact with the locals, but I know one man. He brought his son here two weeks ago. The boy fell out of a tree and needed to be stitched up. I helped my father do it. He wanted to pay, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. He was happy to help. I think he wouldn’t refuse me if I asked him for a favor. He should be here tomorrow morning. You would need some civilian clothes, and I would need to distract my father long enough to allow you to walk out of here. I’ll speak to Mr. Miller tomorrow and let you know. In the meantime, get your rest. I will pray for you and your fiancée tonight,” she said as if that would take care of everything.
Miss Freeman awkwardly touched his shoulder, obviously moved by compassion for him, making Sam feel even worse. He’d been known to tell a lie or two to get out of a scrape, but this woman didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of. Sam sighed and tried to go to sleep. Recriminations would have to wait till later. Right now, his only goal was to get the hell out of the enemy fort.
Chapter 57
Sam woke up sometime in the middle of the night; at least he thought it was the middle of the night. He was terribly hot, but the heat was coming from somewhere inside, consuming him like a raging inferno. That’s what it must feel like to be burned alive, he thought before throwing off the blanket and gulping lungfuls of air in an effort to cool down. Sam gingerly felt his side, yanking his hand away. Even the slightest touch sent waves of excruciating pain throughout his entire torso, setting his guts aflame. He wished he could call out, but his mouth felt like cotton wool. He’d been feeling much better when he fell asleep after talking to Susanna. She was going to help him escape, and now he’d and ruined everything.
Sam tried to shift positions, but even the slightest movement resulted in unbearable pain, causing him to cry out. The man in the other bed looked up, concern on his face. “Are you all right, soldier?” he asked.
“Can you call Doctor Freeman, please,” croaked Sam. “Something is wrong.”
“Of course, just hold on.” The man got out of bed laboriously, grunting with effort. Sam barely noticed that his right leg ended just below the knee, the bandage covered with pus and dried-up blood as he used a pair of crutches to limp to the door.
Sam looked up to see his mother coming toward him, a reassuring smile on her face. She was saying something, but he couldn’t quite make it out. It didn’t matter, she was there, and everything would be all right, just as it had been when he was a little boy and had taken ill. She always nursed him back to health. She hadn’t been able to save Luke though, his mind protested as he remembered his brother. Abbie had been heartbroken after Luke died, taking to her bed and refusing to eat for days. Where was Abbie? Sam looked around, almost expecting to see Abbie appear out of thin air, but she never materialized. His mother seemed to vanish as well, leaving him all alone and in pain. Sam’s brain felt terribly muddled and the room swam before his eyes, making him dizzy and forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. Where was everyone?
Sam wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It might have been five minutes or five hours, but Doctor Freeman appeared at last, still wearing his nightshirt, which was tucked into his trousers. His hair was standing up on end, but his face was alert and full of concern. Susanna was right behind him, a long braid snaking down her shoulder from under her cap, her shoulders covered with a shawl. She held a candle as her father pulled aside the blanket and pulled up Sam’s shirt. Another time he might have been embarrassed to be naked in front of a woman he barely knew, but the delirium chased all shame away.
“Just bear with me, Corporal. I’ll just take off the dressing and see what’s going on.” He peeled off the dressing very gently, finally exposing the wound. Sam heard Susanna’s intake of breath, but kept his eyes shut having finally gotten a handle on the dizziness.
“It’s festered,” the doctor said quietly, “quite badly. I don’t know what caused it. I cleaned it most carefully before stitching it up.” Sam’s eyes flew open, the meaning of the words sinking into his fevered brain. Doctor Freeman scratched his head, his eyes huge behind the glasses.
“Will I die, Doctor?” Sam asked. He preferred to know the truth.
“Not if I can help it, son, but you won’t be rejoining your regiment for some time to come. Susanna, we must operate immediately. Any delay will cause the infection to spread. Please get me all the necessary instruments and ask two soldiers to come in here. I’ll need to move Corporal Johnson to an operating table where I can work with greater ease.”
Sam could see the other patient peering over Susanna’s shoulder, his face full of curiosity. “That looks awful,” he said before Susanna shooed him back to his own bed. After that, everything was a blur. Two uniformed men came in and lifted Sam off the cot, placing him on a high table in a different room. Susanna was laying out instruments while Doctor Freeman consulted a medical text, which to Sam didn’t seem like a very good omen. The sun was just beginning to rise, filling the room with a rosy glow that moved across the walls, casting a pink pall over them and chasing away the shadows of the night. Waves of heat rolled over Sam as he tried unsuccessfully to push aside the blanket, which Susanna kept replacing.
“Daylight will be most helpful,” Doctor Freeman said, glancing toward the window. “Much better than working by candlelight, I say.”
“What are you going to do, Doctor?” Sam stammered, although he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. The doctor stopped what he was doing and looked over at Sam, coming to stand where Sam could easily see him.
“I’m going to reopen the wound and clean it out once again. I might have to shav
e away some of the infected flesh until I’m satisfied that all the putrefaction has been removed. I will then clean it with wine, and pour boiling turpentine into the wound before applying a salve and dressing it once again. I’m sorry, Patrick. It won’t be pleasant, but it must be done. If I’m successful, it will save your life.”
“And if you’re not?”
“If I’m not, then the infection will spread and eventually enter your bloodstream, resulting in death. I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Doctor Freeman took Sam’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I need you to be brave for me.”
Sam tried to answer, but he had a lump in his throat the size of a brick. He just nodded, returning the pressure of the doctor’s hand. “Do what you must,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out. He closed his eyes when he saw Doctor Freeman pick up a small knife that was about to be used on his tender flesh.
“Susanna, give him something to bite on so he doesn’t bite off his tongue, and then I need you to stand on the other side and sponge off the blood and pus. You there,” he turned to one of the soldiers still hovering in the doorway. Hold this metal container over the candle until it boils. There’s no sense lighting a fire just to boil a bit of turpentine. Let me know when it’s ready.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, holding the little pot over the candle very carefully and throwing looks of pity at Sam, who was still shivering with fever.
Sam sucked in his breath as Doctor Freeman touched his abdomen, ready to begin the procedure. He knew it would hurt, but the pain that tore through him was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was white hot and all encompassing, but most of all relentless. Sam tried to hold on, but he felt a merciful blackness enveloping him, and he welcomed it with open arms, unable to take the pain any longer.
A Game of Shadows Page 24