Memphis

by Sara Orwig

  Tomorrow she needed to go to the paper. It was time to get out the weekly edition, yet she hated to leave the major. She pushed his curls away from his forehead, remembering how forceful he had been at their first encounter.

  Three nights later as she dozed in the rocker, she stirred and opened her eyes. Major O’Brien groaned.

  “Desirée?”

  Sophia stared at him in consternation. Amity, Desirée—how many women did the man have in his life? She stood up and moved to the bed, picking up the cold, wet cloth to wipe his forehead. “I’m here, Major O’Brien,” she said softly. “You’ll be all right.”

  “Water …”

  She climbed onto the bed and pulled the major up against her, holding the cup to his lips. His head was against her shoulder, his shoulder pressing her soft breasts as he drank. He turned his head. He was inches away as his eyes focused on her and her breath caught. His gaze was clear and searching.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Chapter 3

  She felt on fire with embarrassment and was acutely aware of him pressed against her; she was dressed only in her white cotton nightgown and an ocher linen wrapper. The wrapper was open and her hair cascaded over her shoulders.

  “I’m Sophia Merrick,” she said, trying to lower him to the bed and disentangle herself. His hand caught her forearm.

  “Where am I?” he asked, dazed.

  “At my house in Memphis.”

  As he stared at her intently, her cheeks flooded with warmth. Searching and intimate, his gaze made her aware of his hand holding her, his proximity, her knee touching his hip. The silence of the room was broken only by the steady tick of the clock in the hall beyond the closed door.

  Her heart beat faster, and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Continuing to gaze at her, he caught locks of her hair in his hand, letting the curls slide between his fingers.

  “Thank you for getting us here,” he whispered.

  So he remembered. The fever was broken and his mind was clear.

  “You shouldn’t have been on that battlefield.” His voice was deep and as compelling as his gaze. He reached up to touch her jaw with a faint brush of his fingers.

  “I was there for a purpose. And I was trying to get away and go home when I got caught in the battle. None of the Yankees expected an attack.” She lowered him to the pillows and she slid off the bed while he reached beneath the covers.

  “I have my arms and legs,” he said. “Will. How’s Will?”

  “He’s going to be all right,” she answered, pulling her wrapper around her and tying the sash, aware that he was watching her. “I haven’t seen Will yet, because he’s been sleeping when I’ve called on the Stantons, but Hannah Lou, his sister, said he’s going to survive.”

  “How’d I get here?” he inquired.

  “The hospital was full, and Will’s mother has twenty-five wounded men now, so I brought you home with me. I have three patients here, counting you.”

  “Thank you,” he said solemnly, staring at her with a slight frown. “So you really are Southern.”

  “Yes. I told you I was.”

  “Your family allowed you to—”

  “My brothers are away fighting. I don’t have any other family.”

  “I don’t remember everything. We were in a barn?”

  “Yes. I found a wagon and brought you both home.”

  “You saved my life,” he said, in a tone of voice that made her wonder what he thought. He seemed full of disapproval of her being at the battlefield.

  “I hope so. Doctor Perkins is going to be happy to see you coherent.” She wondered if she sounded coherent. Major O’Brien was a disturbing man.

  His gaze swept over her again and he reached out to pick up a long strand of her hair, tugging it through his fingers. “You look better this way. How long have you been sitting with me?” Beneath the covers he was naked, and only his chest was uncovered, but to her consternation, he didn’t seem to notice or care. And he didn’t sound like a man who had been at the brink of death for days. His voice sounded stronger with every word.

  She felt flustered by his question. “You’ve been here over a week.”

  His brows arched. “A week?” He closed his eyes a moment and then looked at her again. “I’d like some water.”

  “Of course,” she said, reaching for the half-filled cup and starting to climb up on the high bed beside him until she looked into his eyes. Before he had never been fully conscious, but now alert green eyes stared at her and she hesitated. Taking a deep breath she climbed up and slid her arm beneath him. She felt his muscles tighten as he raised up. He moved against her, his shoulder touching hers, and she was conscious again of the thin layer of her gown and wrapper between them. His body was warm, solid.

  She held him while he drank. Contented, he placed his hand over hers on the cup. In seconds he sank against her, his weight a heavy pressure on her breast and shoulder. She looked down at him to protest.

  His eyes were closed and he had lapsed into sleep again. She set down the cup and eased him to the bed. “You and Will are going to survive,” she said softly, pulling the sheet up over his bare chest, more conscious than ever of each brush of her hands over him.

  He was quiet enough now, looking pale, disheveled. How could he look so faint and weak when he was unconscious or asleep and the moment his eyes opened, he seemed to command the world? she wondered.

  “Get well, Major. You can go home to your Amity and your Desirée.”

  Was he on the mend? Jubal said sometimes men rallied and then were gone within the next hour. Sophia reached out to touch his curls, embarrassed, yet unable to resist, because he would never know. He was handsome when he was asleep. Awake, he was too disturbing. She looked at his mouth and wondered how it would feel to be kissed. She didn’t expect to marry because she had never had the social life her friends did. Helping Papa and her brothers with the paper seemed all she would ever do and most of the time she didn’t want anything else, but sometimes she wondered about men. What was it like to dance and flirt and kiss? Hannah Lou loved men and loved to dance and flirt with them. Curious, Sophia reached out slowly and touched Major O’Brien’s jaw, feeling the crisp stubble of his new beard.

  Self-consciously she continued to let her fingers drift over his cheek, his hair. She drew a deep breath and stepped back, turning to leave the room.

  The next day Mazie promised to look in on him every few minutes and when she couldn’t, Henry would.

  Greeting neighbors in their yards or on porches, Sophia walked the mile down Washington to Main Street to the small brick building that was the office of The River Weekly. Three doors from the office she saw Mrs. Ferguson and Mrs. Macon approach, a servant following, holding a parasol over their heads to shield them from the morning sun. Sophia walked faster. If only she could get to the office before they reached her.

  “Sophia! Sophia Merrick!” Sophia heard Harriet Ferguson’s shrill voice and removed the key from the door and turned reluctantly.

  “We hear from Clairice Stanton that you have taken in our dear wounded. Now I hope you let Mazie and Uncle Henry tend those men.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Clairice said you went to the battlefield and you wore a Yankee uniform and picked up her precious Will and three other injured men. While it was fortunate for Will, that was highly improper, Sophia,” she admonished.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If your brothers were here, even they wouldn’t have approved of such conduct.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said, accustomed to Harriet Ferguson’s lectures.

  “In spite of your unconventional upbringing, your father did teach you about right and wrong. Your father stood for all that is proper and tasteful and he preached and fought for temperance. I know you and your brothers are thoroughly taught about the evils of gambling and drink.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replied politely.

  “Those poor wounded boys at your h
ouse. Thank heavens you can trust our men to be gentlemen. The South’s finest are fighting in this dreadful war.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she repeated. If Mrs. Ferguson spent three minutes with Major O’Brien she would revise her notion of gentlemen soldiers. “It’s nice to see you both. You’ll read about Will in the next issue of the paper.”

  “Sophia, it’s scandalous for you to come down to this office and run the paper like a man!”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I promised Papa I would keep the paper going and I’m the only one home to print the Weekly with my brothers away fighting. Good morning, ladies.” She stepped inside and closed the door, thankful to escape.

  She pulled on the leather apron and opened the case, her hands moving over the typefaces as she assembled the type into lines on a composing stick. The first story was an editorial about the dangers of the homemade brews beginning to take the place of regular whiskey. One good thing to come out of the blockade—whiskey is becoming as scarce as coffee, she thought.

  Memphis was a river city and attracted all kinds of people from up and down the Mississippi. The saloons and gambling houses were in abundance. Her father had relentlessly preached against whiskey and cards and wrote about their evils in his paper. According to Papa, alcohol and a railroad had killed Grandpa Merrick who left a saloon and stumbled onto the tracks and passed out Before dawn he was hit by the train.

  She glanced around, thinking about Papa and her brothers. It was quiet and empty in the offices that used to be filled with her father’s deep voice and John’s even deeper voice while Amos and Morris were often in heated arguments. She could see Amos’s thick golden hair as he bent over the press, hear John lecturing him on waste. John was the most frugal and most particular of all of them, even Papa. Brown-haired, handsome with blue eyes, John couldn’t bear to see a scrap of paper go to waste. She gazed out the window at the busy office of a cotton factor across the street. Cotton prices were soaring as the crop became more scarce. She missed her brothers badly.

  In the middle of the day she left to call on two businesses that placed ads in her paper. Miss Perdue’s Dress Shop and Allardice’s Regimental Badges took ads for the next month.

  By the time she returned home, she had missed Dr. Perkins. Sophia looked in at Major O’Brien who was asleep. When she went upstairs, she met Lieutenant Landerson in the hallway. To her surprise he was dressed and carrying a small bundle, hobbling along with the aid of a cane. “Should you be up and around?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, smoothing his straight black hair above his forehead. “Doctor Perkins said I can go home to my wife for a time and then I’ll rejoin my regiment. He’s written a letter for me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said, thinking about her brothers. “I’m sorry you’re hurt. I didn’t mean that—”

  He smiled. “I know what you meant, and it was almost worth getting shot to get to go home. Even for a short time.” His smile faded and he frowned. “The war is going to be long.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked, surprised. “Most people expected fighting to end in a few more months.”

  “That’s what anyone would say who fought near Shiloh Church. I didn’t think Bluecoats would fight like that.” His features softened as he smiled. “Miss Merrick, thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

  “You’re welcome. I didn’t do anything except give you a roof over your head. I hope someone will do the same for my brothers.”

  “I’m sure they will. I’ll be going. Henry said to stop by the kitchen and they’d have a bag of food for me to carry along.”

  “You do that. Are you going on foot?”

  “Only as far as the train depot. Doctor Perkins said there will be a supply train through here later, and I can catch it to Vicksburg.”

  “I’ll tell Henry to take you to the depot in the carriage.”

  “Thank you, Miss Merrick, and thank you for all your care. I hope your brothers are home soon.”

  She watched him go down the stairs and felt a twinge of hurt for him and for her brothers, saying a prayer that they were all right and would come home to her.

  She went to look at Sergeant Mulligan and saw he was asleep. She moved beside the bed and looked down at him, straightening the covers, brushing his brown hair away from his broad face. Why could she touch him without feeling as if she were picking up a burning stick, the reaction she had to Major O’Brien? Sergeant Mulligan’s home was Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and he wrote his parents daily; Sophia posted the letters for him. Too soon he would be well enough to go back to battle.

  That night she sat down in the rocker and leaned back. Major O’Brien had slept all evening, and she wondered if he were slipping back into unconsciousness. With one small lamp burning, she rocked lightly, watching him.

  Hours later she opened her eyes to find him struggling to sit up.

  “If you want a drink, I’ll get it for you,” she said, coming to her feet and reaching for the cup of water.

  “Help me sit up. I want to get up.”

  “Doctor Perkins said you won’t be able to get out of bed for another week—” she said.

  “Dammit, help me up. I’ll be as weak as a kitten.”

  She doubted he would be that weak even as close to death as he had been. She placed the cup on the table and moved beside the bed to pull him up, blushing as she grasped his bare body and tugged. He made a sharp intake of breath and grunted.

  “You hurt. Why don’t you be still?” she asked.

  “I won’t have a muscle left if I don’t move.” He held her shoulder with his good hand until he sat up and she propped pillows behind him. He groaned as he shifted and closed his eyes.

  “Lord, I feel as if I’m made of jelly.”

  “Doctor Perkins will be shocked tomorrow. You’re a stubborn man, Major,” she said, intensely aware of his bare chest, the sheet that rode dangerously low around his hips. He shifted and looked at her.

  “I have a call of nature. Help me get to my feet, so I can get to the privy.”

  “I’ll get Henry. He takes care of you when—” She stopped and blushed.

  “Who’s Henry? Your husband?”

  “Heaven’s no! I’m not married,” she blurted. “Henry’s a servant. He’s been with our family since Papa was a boy.”

  “Just help me get to my feet,” he insisted.

  “I don’t think you should until—” He gave her a glaring look that made her bite off her words.

  “If you’ll move my legs off the bed, I can get up.”

  “You may start your wound bleeding again.”

  “Miss—?”

  “Merrick.”

  “Will you help me?” he asked, exasperated.

  She took a deep breath and pushed the sheet off his feet, taking care to keep his middle covered. “Sir,” she said, her face on fire, “you’re not wearing anything. Let me get you a shirt.”

  “Damned if I know why they put wounded soldiers with maiden ladies. A shirt isn’t going to cover what you want covered,” he said, his voice sounding stronger with every sentence. “And I can’t get into a shirt with my bad arm.”

  “You’re with a maiden lady, because I’m the only person who’ll have you!” she snapped. “I’m getting Henry.” She fled the room.

  “Miss Merrick! Dammit.”

  She hurried down the hall and into the cool night air to the second cabin behind the house. “Why do I have to have a man who is stubborn and ungentlemanly? Major O’Brien is a rogue, a mule, a varmint, a—” She rushed to the door of the cabin. She knocked and waited.

  “Yes’m, Miss Sophia,” Henry said, thrusting his head around the door that was open only a fraction. “Something happened?”

  “Henry, Major O’Brien is conscious and wants help. You have to come.”

  “Yes’m. I’ll be right there.” The door closed, and she descended the steps. Feeling relieved she crossed the yard, the grass rustling against her slippers. Light spilled from the downstairs bed
room and the window was thrown high. As she walked toward the house, she could see Major O’Brien sitting on the side of the bed. She had seen his body before, and it never failed to make her burn with embarrassment. Now as he sat on the bed in the lighted room, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His good arm was tight with muscle, his chest covered in dark thick curls. He must have gone without his shirt often, because his skin was paler below his waist. It made a heat kindle low within her to look at him and she knew she shouldn’t, yet she couldn’t pull her gaze away from his strong body.

  As she watched, he held the bedpost and stood up, the sheet clutched in front of him in one hand. She felt rooted to the ground. With her face burning, her gaze drifted down over his body, to his slender hips, his round, firm buttocks. He swayed and fell.

  She gasped and ran for the house, racing down the hall, wondering how badly he was hurt. She rushed into the room as he straightened and turned. On his feet again, he was naked except for his bandages. His lean body was trimmed to slabs of hard muscle; the mat of brown curls on his chest tapered down in a narrow line over his flat stomach. Her gaze swept down the length of him and up.

  “Oh! I thought you fell!”

  He yanked the sheet in front of him and wrapped it around himself awkwardly with one hand. “I did fall. Sorry if I gave you a shock, but I guess if you’ve been nursing me, you’re accustomed to this.”

  She wasn’t accustomed to anything about him. And it was bad enough when he was unconscious in bed. Standing facing her, completely naked, he was a fiery jolt to her system. Why did he disturb her so? The other two wounded men didn’t. She could talk to them, bathe their wounds without a qualm, but they wore clothes; one was married, and she felt as if she were with her brothers when she was with them. Major O’Brien, on the other hand, made her self-conscious and acutely aware of him.

  “Come help me take a few steps and then you can leave me alone. I want to get to me washstand.”

  “Henry is coming,” she said, her voice sounding breathless, her cheeks still feeling on fire.

  “Dammit, come here. All I want is support. I can’t stand much longer. My head is spinning like water in a whirlpool.”