by Janet Dailey
"If you're lookin' fer the surgeon, he's restin'. If it ain't serious, go see one of the assistant surgeons in the tent outside." He started to turn away, then swung back, brightening a little. "Or if you come t' help—"
"We came to see Major Parmelee," Susannah said, hurriedly averting her gaze from the greenish yellow pile of pus-soaked bandages in the basin.
"The major? He's down this way. Follow me, and I'll show you where he's at." He took off to lead the way.
"How is he?" Temple asked.
"Good, considering," the orderly tossed the answer over his shoulder.
"Considering what?" Susannah wanted to know.
"His arm—they didn't have to—" Temple began.
"Amputate?" he finished the question. "Naw. The doc did a piece of work saving it. But that ball sure tore the he—tore the dickens out of his arm. Chewed up a bunch of muscle, it did. Even if it heals up right, I ain't sure how much use he'll have of it, but he's got his arm." He stopped and used the basin to gesture at a partitioning screen. "He's in the cot on the other side. His striker's there, lookin' after him."
At the orderly's less than heartening prognosis, Susannah glanced at Temple. A crippled arm—the anxiety of it was there in her sister's eyes.
"It could be worse, Temple," she offered in a low voice.
"I know." Temple swept her skirts to one side and stepped around the isolating partition. Susannah followed.
A summer breeze drifted through the opened window to the right of the hospital cot, its dusty freshness providing a respite from the rank odors that permeated the rest of the ward. A Negro private rose quickly from the straight-back chair situated close to the cot, his bright glance darting from Temple to Susannah.
"I was jus' feedin' the major some soup. He ate nearly all of it" He set the bowl and spoon on a wooden box under the window. "Nobody said the major was gonna be havin' visitors. If you's jus' gives me a minute, I be gettin' the major fixed up here." He returned to the cot and swept away the cloth he had tucked under the major's chin. Taking a corner of it, he gently wiped around his mouth. "The major be some tuckered out from eatin' all that soup, but he be gettin' stronger every day now."
In Susannah's opinion, the man on the cot looked anything but strong. His eyes were closed; his face, pale as chalk; his breathing, shallow; and his left shoulder and arm, swaddled in bandages.
"Major." The private leaned over the cot and placed a hand on the undamaged right shoulder. "Major, suh, you gots visitors. Some ladies to see ya, suh."
His head moved slightly, his eyelids fluttering open. "Johnson," came the weak, but unmistakable voice of Jed Parmelee.
"Yes, suh, it's me, suh. You gots visitors."
"Visitors?" Jed licked his dry lips and shifted his head a fraction on the hard pillow, his dull glance searching. "Who . . .Diane?"
Temple moved to the opposite side of the cot and laid a hand on his right arm, a determined smile on her lips. "No, it's me, Jed. Temple."
"Temple." His eyes brightened, life and light springing into them. It was a reassuring sight. "Been worried about... you."
"We have been worried about you," she countered. "Shadrach told us you have been wounded."
His head moved in a faint nod even as his mouth curved in a slow smile. "Arm. Told that sawbones . . . had to save it. Needed two arms to waltz with . . . beautiful lady."
"He be ramblin' a bit, Miss," the private inserted quickly. "They give him morphia for the pain. Sometime he don't make no sense."
"This time, he is." Temple's voice softened with remembrance.
"First time, Temple," Jed spoke with slow care. "Remember . . . showed you. . . ."
"Yes, you taught me how to waltz a long time ago."
He nodded his head. "Do it again . . . war ends . . . soon now." His bright gaze swung to his striker. "Tell . . . news."
"Yes suh, Major," the man replied, then looked at Temple, his expression aglow with excitement. "We jus' found out— the same day the major wuz fighting them rebels at Cabin Creek, over in Pennsylvania, Gen'ral Meade wuz whippin' old Bobby Lee at a place called Gettysburg. An' the very next day, Gen'ral Grant tooks Vicksburg. The No'th gots the whole Mississippi River in its hands now an' cut the South right in half. The war be over soon foh sure."
"Let us pray that it is." But Susannah found it difficult to be as positive.
Frowning, Jed Parmelee raised his head an inch. “Who—”
"Susannah is here with me," Temple explained.
The lines faded from his forehead as his hand lifted, fingers curling. "Susannah."
She moved closer to the cot, her fingers reaching to take his right hand. "My mother sends her regards, Major. She's with Reverend Cole. She said she would come see you before we left."
"Diane . . . tell her not to worry. I'll . . . be fine.''
"I'll write a letter and tell her I've seen you and assure her that you're on the road to recovery.''
"Please." It came put in a whisper, his eyelids growing heavy with fatigue.
"Be best if the major rests a bit," his striker suggested. "Talking wearies him some."
"Of course." Temple bent closer. "You sleep now, Jed. We'll come back another day when you're stronger." His mouth twitched in a near smile as his eyes drifted closed, his breath evening out. Temple straightened. "Thank you, Private."
"Johnson, ma'am. Private Johnson," he said, and moved quickly to escort them from the partitioned area. "Don't be worry in' 'bout how puny the major looks. The way he be eatin' he'll get his color in jig time. An' the next time you come, the major be up and about."
"I hope so," Temple murmured none too certainly.
"Don't be a-frettin' 'bout him none. I looks after him. The major, he be a good man."
"A very good man," Susannah agreed. "Thank you, Private Johnson."
"Yes'm."
Outside the hospital, Susannah paused, a sick feeling in her heart. "Did you take a good look at his arm, Temple? He'll never regain the use of it."
"But he lives. What is the loss of an arm when it could have been his life?" Her eyes blazed with a light that was too hot, too bright. In that instant, it was obvious Temple was not thinking of Jed Parmelee, but of The Blade and her ever-growing fear that the war would take him from her.
There were no words of reassurance Susannah could offer. In silence they crossed the compound, threading their way through the crush of army vehicles, soldiers, and refugees to the sutlery where they met up with Eliza and Sorrel.
"How is Jed?" Eliza wasted no time on preliminaries.
"Weak, but lucid. He didn't appear feverish at all" Temple replied. "It's been five days since he was wounded. I think the danger of complications has passed."
"That is good news."
"Where's Phoebe?" Temple looked around for her maidservant.
"She's still fussing over Ike—to his utter embarrassment." A smile edged the comers of Eliza's mouth.
"And scolding Shadrach for running off and leaving Granny El," Sorrel added, then paused, her eyes aglow with excitement. "I saw Alex. He was amazed at how much I've grown up. He said I was turning into a beautiful young lady. Mama, he looked so handsome in his uniform."
"I'm certain he did."
"Do you know what else he told me?" Sorrel declared, making a lightning switch to wide-eyed and solemn. "He said the rebels are massing across the river, that you can see their tents from the top of the buildings here at the fort. They're that close."
Temple whipped around to stare in that direction, straining to see the distant bank through the people and buildings that blocked her view. "So near," she murmured, and Susannah knew she was referring to her husband and son, not the presence of the rebel troops.
"Alex said you can see their campfires at night scattered all over. He said the whole rebel army is gathering over there, and our Union spies say they're getting ready to attack the fort, that there's six thousand or more of them. Everybody is afraid because we don't have enough soldiers t
o fight that many. They've asked for reinforcements, but they don't know if they'll get here in time. Everybody could be killed."
Susannah pressed her lips together, irritated with Alex for alarming Sorrel with rumor and speculation. "He should never have told you such things."
"I'm glad he did." Sorrel stiffened at the implied criticism of her cousin. "I hate the rebels. I wish they were all dead."
Temple swung back around. "You shouldn't say what you don't mean, Sorrel. If you want to wish for something, wish for the war to end, but don't wish for the death of all the rebels—because you'll be wishing for the death of your father and brother. And you don't want that."
Sorrel flung up her head in sudden and angry defiance. "They don't care what happens to us, so why should I care what happens to them? Look what they've done. Look at the homes they've burned, the people they've killed, the food and crops they've destroyed. People are sick and starving because of them. They deserve to die for what they've done."
The instant Sorrel uttered her bitter and vindictive denunciation, Temple lashed out, her hand striking Sorrel's cheek with a resounding slap. "Don't you say that." She grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. "Don't you ever say that again, do you hear? The Confederates are not responsible for all the destruction and devastation around here. The Yankees have done their share of looting and burning, too—and the bushwhackers. If you want to blame something for the misery and suffering, blame the war. Blame the war!”
When she started to give Sorrel another shake, Eliza stepped in. 'Temple, no," she softly reproved.
All in one motion, Temple released her daughter and swung away, her body taut and trembling. "How on earth did I raise such a child? How did she get this way? Alex, Alex, Alex," she said in a low, angry voice. "He is all she ever talks about— and it should be Lije. It should be Lije."
Sorrel glared at her, still stiff and smarting from her mother's physical and verbal slap. "I am not a child anymore to be talked about as if I weren't here. I have feelings, too!"
"Of course, you do." Susannah moved quickly to Sorrel's side, sliding an arm around her waist and steering her a few steps away. "But so does your mother."
"I don't care what she feels."
"Now you are talking like a child," Susannah admonished. "Sorrel, you are old enough to understand how thoughtless and cruel it was for you to say you wished your father and brother were dead. You don't really want them to die, do you?"
"No," she admitted in a small, subdued voice, eyes downcast.
"You hurt your mother very deeply when you said that. There is enough pain and suffering already without you adding more."
"I know. But Alex said—"
Susannah stopped her. "It doesn't matter what Alex said. You must learn to think for yourself."
"He wouldn't lie to me," Sorrel insisted.
"But he might not know the whole truth."
Behind her, Susannah heard Temple offer a fervent "I pray to God that Jed is right and the war ends soon."
Susannah added a silent prayer of her own.
18
Fort Gibson
Cherokee Nation
July 11, 1863
Three days later Jed Parmelee recovered sufficiently to move out of the hospital ward to his own quarters on the post. His soldier-servant Private Johnson opened the door when Temple and Susannah came to see him the following day.
The striker broke into an instant smile. "The sight of you is sure goin' to cheer the major's heart."
"How is he?" Temple studied the Negro's face, watching for the smallest reaction.
"See foh yo'seff." He swung the door open wide, ushering them into the main room's half-shade.
Jed sat in a chair, a blanket draped over his legs despite the day's heat. His uniform blouse was loosely buttoned, revealing the bandages that strapped his left arm to his side, creating an unnatural bulk around his middle. His face still had that drawn look of pain, but much of his color had returned, just as his striker had predicted.
The instant he saw them, Jed gripped the arm of his chair with his good right hand and pushed himself upright, paling slightly with effort and swaying for an unsteady second.
"Jed, no. Don't." Temple rushed forward, certain he would fall.
But he took the gloved hand she would have used to guide him back onto his chair and raised it to his lips. "I am quite capable of standing, Temple. This wound has stolen much of my strength, but it has not made an invalid of me."
She smiled in relief. "I'm glad to see that, but I hope you will humor me by taking your seat again."
"Of course." Jed released her hand and offered no objection when she took his arm, supporting him as he lowered himself into the chair. "Please, have a seat as well." He gestured to the worn sofa against the wall, the only other piece of furniture in the room except his chair and the wooden crate beside it "Our comfort is Spartan here, but it's better than what the hospital offered."
"Definitely." Susannah sat on the sofa next to Temple and automatically arranged the smooth fall of her skirts. "I wrote Diane that you were doing well, but it's clear I'll have to write again and tell her how much you've improved."
"I have started three letters to her myself." Jed rubbed his hand over the bulge his bandaged arm made under his blouse. "The doctor tells me it's unlikely I'll regain the use of it, but one-armed officers have served in the army before." He paused, lost in the privacy of his thoughts for a moment before he roused himself. "Johnson, fix some tea for the ladies. And bring a plate of that shortbread you made."
"Yes, sun. Right away, sun." The striker left the room, disappearing into the back quarters.
"I hadn't expected you to visit again so soon," Jed said, then frowned in sudden concern. "Are the roads safe for you to travel?"
"We were well protected," Susannah assured him, smiling easily. "From the moment we turned onto the Texas Road, we were within hailing distance of a full regiment of Union soldiers. They marched into the fort right behind us."
"It must be General Blunt with reinforcements," Jed said in satisfaction. "God willing, we'll go on the offensive now and hit those Johnny Rebs before they can regroup." Temple stiffened at the impatience in his voice, the hint of irritation that it might not happen. He caught her faint movement and immediately sighed his regret. "My apologies, Temple. I didn't think."
"That is not quite true. You did think—like a soldier, which is what you are." She sat with unnatural stillness, her hands folded in her lap.
"Still . . . with the war and all"—he chose his words with care, making reference to The Blade and Lije—"I would have understood if you hadn't come to see me."
Temple shook her head. "This war has torn apart too many families, severed too many relationships. I would hate to see our friendship become another victim of it."
"So would I." Jed nodded slowly. "So would I."
There were voices outside the door and the scuffle of footsteps. The latch clicked and the door swung open. Major Adam Clark, the army physician Susannah had met with Diane at Fort Scott, walked in, a carpetbag tucked under one arm, a valise gripped in his other hand. He turned back to look at someone behind him.
"Here we are." He stepped aside as Diane swept through the doorway, a hand tugging at her bonnet strings, a film of travel dust dulling the coffee brown color of her dress.
"Thank you, Adam." She reached up to pull off her bonnet and saw Jed in the chair. She faltered an instant, relief leaping into her eyes, the lines of tension smoothing from her face. "Well, Father, how wonderful to see you sitting in that chair." All smiles, she pulled off her bonnet and glided to him, her glance flicking to Temple and Susannah. "And entertaining guests, too, I see." Bending, she kissed his cheek, then straightened. "I didn't expect to find you two here, but I'm glad you are. It's good to see you again, Susannah."
"It's good to see you, too, Diane," she said, and meant it.
There was the smallest hesitation, the smallest hint of tension when
Diane turned to extend a greeting to Temple, the woman who would have been her mother-in-law. "How are you, Mrs. Stuart?" she inquired, none too certain of her reception.
"I will be much better when you call me Temple, as you always did," she replied gently.
Diane's smile was quick and full of gratitude. "How are you, Temple?"
"That's much better."
She glanced back at her escort as Adam Clark set her bags down. 'Temple, I'd like you to meet Major Adam Clark, the physician assigned to General Blunt's regiment. This is Mrs. Stuart, Adam, and I know you remember meeting Susannah at Fort Scott."
"I do indeed," he confirmed, nodding to them. "Ladies."
"How are you, Major Clark?" Susannah searched for some indication that the relationship between Diane and the doctor had progressed beyond friendship. She didn't see one, but she knew it wasn't from lack of desire on the part of Adam Clark.
"Fine, thank you." His attention swung to Jed as he examined him with a clinical eye. "It's good to see you up and about, Major Parmelee."
"It certainly is," Diane chimed in, then directed her question to Temple and Susannah. "So tell me, has Father been behaving himself?"
Before they could reply, Jed caught Diane's hand to keep her by his chair. "Diane, what are you doing here?"
"What a silly question," she chided, still smiling. "I came to see how you were. You surely didn't think I would stay at Fort Scott after I was informed you were badly wounded. I half-expected to find you at death's door. I'm delighted to be wrong."
Jed dismissed her concern with an impatient shake of his head. "But how did you get here?"
"General Blunt was kind enough to escort me"—she paused, her eyes taking on an impish glow—"though, naturally, he was unaware of it. The minute I learned the general was marching to Fort Gibson, I threw some things in my bags and arranged to travel with a refugee family who planned to follow closely on the army's heels for protection."
"You are very resourceful," Jed said with pride.
"The daughter of an army officer has to be," Diane said with a laugh, then sent a brief, searching glance to the back quarters. "Where is Johnson? He is still with you, isn't he?"