The McCoy Brothers Boxed Set

by Callie Hutton

  The wood creaked and groaned as he pried the door open. A small oil lamp sat on the floor at the entrance, but he had no flint to light it. By opening the door all the way, the sun rays from outside allowed him to at least peer into the small room. Shelves lined the hard-packed dirt walls.

  Praise the Lord, something the damn Rebs had missed.

  Jars of fruits and vegetables sat in all their tempting glory. Daniel moved into the center of the room, his hands on his hips, as he surveyed his find. Corn, peas, green beans, tomatoes, applesauce, and pears. Numerous baskets on the floor held potatoes, carrots, squash, and dried apples. Onions and various herbs hung from hooks in the ceiling. This bounty must be how the family had survived since the husband died.

  He emptied the contents of a half-filled basket of potatoes, and placed a jar of applesauce and a few potatoes, carrots, and an onion in it. One good shove with his shoulder, and the door closed. Juggling the jar and vegetables, he carried them to the kitchen.

  Chandler sat at the wooden table cleaning the shotgun so recently pointed at Daniel’s chest.

  “How would you like to go hunting with me?” Daniel set the food down, keeping his eye on the gun and the boy’s movements.

  Chandler shrugged.

  “We could get some fresh meat for the family.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to him. “You know, Chandler, as the man of the family now, it’s your job to make sure the family eats.”

  “I know that,” he groused.

  “Any luck?”

  Chandler shook his head. Then he looked up at Daniel, the hostility gone, replaced by a child’s fear. “Things were easier when Pa was here. I wanted him to teach me to hunt, but he always said, ‘next year.’”

  Daniel’s heart twisted. What a burden for such a young boy.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll check on your mama, and then once she’s cleaned up and I’m sure she’s doing all right, you and I will hunt up some dinner.”

  “Both of us?”

  “Yes, son, both of us. You go ahead and finish your chore, and I’ll check on your mama.”

  Daniel stood and stretched, wincing when he got a whiff of himself. A bath was definitely in order sometime soon. “Where does your mama keep the clean sheets?”

  “I’ll show you.” Chandler jumped up from his seat, and hurried to a cabinet in the parlor. “Here.” He pulled out a sheet, and brought it to Daniel.

  “Maybe a clean pillow slip, too?”

  The boy returned to the cabinet, and rifled around a bit before emerging with a white pillow slip, blue and purple embroidery carefully stitched along the hem.

  “Thank you. Now you put that gun together, and once I take care of your mama, I’ll be back and we’ll go hunting.”

  “What about Jace and Amelia?”

  “I think as long as they stay in your mama’s room, they’ll be all right until we return.”

  Gathering the sheet and pillow slip to his chest, Daniel headed down the hallway toward the bedroom where his patient lay.

  The woman must have been awake, because a soft female voice reached his ears, along with the bright chatter of Amelia. Smiling, he entered the doorway.

  Mrs. Wilson lay flat on her back, her two youngest children flanking either side. Her deep blue eyes glittered with anger. She rose up on one elbow, and with a shaky hand she raised a pistol, cocked, and aimed at his chest, just as he cleared the doorway.

  “Get the hell out of my house, Reb.”

  3

  “Don’t shoot him, he’s my friend.” Amelia climbed off her mother’s bed and ran to Daniel, wrapping her thin arms around his leg.

  Once again, Daniel faced a gun pointed at his chest. He raised one hand as he laid the sheets and pillowslip on the chair next to the door. “Mrs. Wilson, my name is Lt. Daniel McCoy, and I’m not here to harm you or your family.”

  Her lips curled in a sneer. “That’s what the last band of Confederate thieves said before they took every animal and bit of food they could find.” She winced with pain as she changed positions. “If you don’t figure starving a family is not doing them harm, then be on your way before I blow a hole in you.”

  He slowly lowered his hands, but kept them at his sides, palms facing outward. “Ma’am, I arrived yesterday in search of a drink of water and a place to bed down for the night. You and your children were in a bad way.”

  “In a bad way thanks to the Rebels.” She attempted to steady the pistol with her other hand. “Amelia, move away from him.”

  “No, Mama. He made your leg all better. Now you won’t die.” The little girl released one arm from his thigh and stuck her fingers in her mouth.

  He kept his eye on the pistol shaking in the woman’s hands. “I wasn’t part of that raid, and I only want to help you before I’m on my way.”

  Losing the battle with the weight of the gun, Rosemarie dropped it to her side and closed her eyes. “Amelia tells me you’re the one that fixed my leg.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She opened her eyes, and two tears slid from their depths down her cheeks. “Thank you.” The sound barely a whisper.

  Daniel sucked in a deep breath and moved farther into the room. He knew how much those two words cost her. Mrs. Wilson was not the sort of woman who wanted to be beholding to anyone.

  “I promise I’ll only be here long enough to see you back on your feet.” He nodded toward her leg. “You have a nasty cut there, and it will be some time before you’re able to get around.”

  She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “How is it you know so much about injuries, Reb?”

  He bit back a grin at the name she continued to call him. “I worked as a medic in prison.”

  Her eyes widened, and she hugged Jace to her side. “Prison? Amelia, come back here. Now.”

  “Not regular prison,” he hurried on. “The Yankees captured me, and sent me to Camp Morton in Indianapolis until a couple of weeks ago when I escaped.”

  Rosemarie collapsed against the pillow, all animation gone from her face. “Do what you have to, and go.”

  “I intended to change your sheet and check your bandage. Can I move you to the parlor while I do that?”

  She shifted to rise, and let out a low keening sound.

  “No. Don’t move by yourself.” Daniel strode across the room, took the gun from her side, and placed the weapon high on the shelf over her bed. Sliding his arms underneath her body, he lifted her and the blanket at the same time.

  The woman’s face lost all color. She bit her lip and moaned softly against his chest. Mixed with the smell of the medicine he’d used, her faint scent of lemon swirled around him. Still warm from fever, her heat seeped through his worn shirt to his skin. He tried not to jar her as he moved to the parlor, where he gently laid her on the settee.

  Amelia stood next to her mama, her eyes wide as she watched him.

  “Amelia, can you fetch the blankets from the beds in your room, then bring them here to your mama?”

  The child hurried away, brown curls bouncing down her back.

  “As soon as I cut more wood, we’ll have a fire. Right now I’ll add the extra blankets and clean up your bed.”

  Rosemarie reached for his hand as he turned. “Why are you doing this? We’re nobody to you. You’re a Reb.”

  “I’m a man first. And you need looking after.” He took the blankets from Amelia’s hands and settled them around Rosemarie. Assured she would stay as warm as possible under the circumstances, he left the two children sitting near her.

  Rosemarie’s gaze followed the stranger as he left the room. A Rebel named Daniel McCoy, an escaped prisoner of war.

  I can’t believe things have gotten so bad I’m relying on the enemy to take care of me and my children.

  No, not her enemy. Not her war, either. Hans had been adamant he would not leave his land to fight the Rebs, a bunch of devil-worshiping slave holders, as he called them.

  The throbbing in her leg reminded her why she need
ed to keep her anger at the Reb in check. She was laid up, and he certainly looked as if he could handle the chores. Although Hans had been a large man, this Reb was bigger. Though most likely on the thin side because of his stint as a prisoner, his broad shoulders and large chest straining his filthy uniform left no doubt as to his ability to chop wood, plow a field, or swing a hammer. His dark brown hair hung to his chin, and his unshaven face gave him the look of a large bear. The entire time he spoke with her, he continued to push wayward strands of hair behind his ears.

  His most remarkable feature, hazel eyes flecked with gold, radiated warmth and trust.

  Ha. As if any Reb could be trusted.

  No matter. She had no choice but to trust him. He’d saved her life, and hopefully, her leg as well. As grateful as she felt, her discomfort at his presence would not ease until she saw his back for the last time.

  “Mama, why are you mad at my friend?” Amelia’s blue eyes met hers.

  “I’m not mad at him, honey. I think he’s a very nice man for taking care of me while I’m sick.”

  “I know.” Her eyes widened as she nodded. “And he made scrambled eggs so I didn’t have to eat oatmeal.”

  Rosemarie smiled. She doubted Hans would have made scrambled eggs to keep the little girl happy. Although a hard worker and good provider, there had been nothing soft in her dead husband’s nature. Definitely of the ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ ilk, the only time his hands touched their children was when he spanked them. Not that he spanked them often. Good children by nature, they required little discipline. After the child’s experience with men, Rosemarie found it amazing that Amelia seemed to accept the Reb so easily. It had been said that a child can sense goodness in a person.

  “Mama, me and Mr. McCoy are going hunting today.” Chandler entered the parlor, his eyes alight with wonder.

  Rosemarie frowned. “Your papa didn’t think you were old enough to hunt yet.”

  Chandler nodded. “I know, but Mr. McCoy said as the man of the family now, I have to make sure everyone eats.” He drew himself up, a sense of pride in his smile.

  “That’s right, son. You need to help your family with your pa gone.” Daniel ruffled the boy’s hair as he passed, and headed to the sofa. “Your bed is ready now, ma’am.”

  Once settled on the fresh sheet, a growing need in her lower parts had Rosemarie shifting on the bed.

  Daniel watched her, his large hands on his hips. “Is your leg hurting? If I slip a pillow under it, the pain might ease a bit.”

  How to tell this stranger she needed the chamber pot? “Um, yes my leg hurts, but there’s something else.”

  He waited for her to continue, his eyebrows raised.

  “I, ah.” She stiffened, and hitched her chin. “I need the chamber pot.”

  Daniel’s lip twitched, but he quickly re-arranged his features. “Oh. Yes. I’m sorry. Where is it?”

  She closed her eyes, wishing he would leave. “Under the bed.”

  He pulled out the pink and white flowered lidded bowl and handed the container to her. “I’ll send Chandler in to help you.”

  Rosemarie took care of her business, and winced with pain as she climbed back into bed with her son’s help. Chandler left her as she settled in.

  A wave of exhaustion washed over her as she rested her head on the pillow. No matter how embarrassed she was, she had to let the Reb stay a day or so. She was tired. So very tired. Her eyes drifted closed

  Several minutes after Chandler had returned from assisting his mother, Daniel tapped on the bedroom door. No answer. He opened the door, and peeked into the room. Rosemarie lay on the bed, eyes closed, her chest moving softly up and down. He moved closer and rested his hand on her forehead. The fever had returned, along with a slight flush to her cheeks.

  “Is Ma okay?” Chandler stood outside the door, the rifle clutched in his hands.

  “She’s sleeping right now. Where are your brother and sister?”

  “They’re asleep on the settee in the parlor.” He laid the gun on the floor. “Should I carry them in here to sleep with Ma?”

  “No. Having them all together might seem like a good way to keep warm, but I’m afraid they might roll into your ma and hurt her leg.”

  “Ma keeps some extra blankets in there.” He pointed to a long maple chest at the foot of Rosemarie’s bed.

  “Good. Fetch a couple of blankets to cover Amelia and Jace. Then you and I are going hunting.”

  Chandler raced to do as he asked.

  Daniel covered Rosemarie, and studied her for a moment. So delicate, how in hell could she keep the farm going alone? Despite her paleness and the dark circles under her eyes, Rosemarie was a pretty woman.

  A rosebud mouth, high cheekbones, and dark lashes rested against her fever-flushed cheeks. The long braid of brown and gold silky hair had loosened. Wouldn’t she be surprised to have him offer to brush and re-braid her hair? He’d oftentimes done that for his mother when she suffered one of her headaches.

  His mind drifted to the memory of Maggie McCoy, his mother, and how overcome with anger he’d been when he visited his family’s horse ranch a couple of years ago. His regiment’s march through Virginia had given him the opportunity to stop by his homestead.

  He was stunned to learn his mother had sold the McCoy land−his birthright. He’d tracked her down to a decrepit boarding house where she was living out her last days, suffering from consumption. It didn’t take much for him to forgive her when she’d explained how with both sons gone, she had to sell the land to pay the taxes. The tiny bit left from the sale barely kept a roof over her head and food in her stomach.

  Realizing what little thought he and his brother had given their mother’s welfare when they’d both rushed off to war, he was consumed with guilt.

  He’d held her hand, and kissed her dry cheek before returning to the battle. Knowing it was the last time he’d see her, he left her bedside with tears standing in his eyes. His land had been sold, his mother hovered near death, and his brother was fighting with the enemy. It had taken weeks of interminable marches and battles in bitter cold to numb his spirit to the losses he’d suffered.

  He shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and joined Chandler, who waited impatiently on the porch. They headed down the steps, the rifle clutched in Daniel’s hand.

  Once behind the cleared area of the house and the grove of pear and apple trees, they entered a heavily wooded section. Thick branches from large elm and oak trees blocked the meager winter sun.

  “What kind of animals are we huntin’?” Chandler skipped alongside him, his warm breath visible in the cold air.

  “Since it’s late in the day, I think we’ll be lucky to get a couple of rabbits.” He smiled at the boy. “Do you like rabbit stew?”

  “Yes, sir. Mama fixes that a lot. Pa used to bring home heaps of rabbits.”

  “What else did he hunt?”

  “Deer, mostly. Once he shot a pig, but Ma said it probably belonged to Mr. Macey, and got mad when Pa wouldn’t return it.”

  Daniel smiled at the bit of family gossip. What had Hans Wilson been like? Based on what he’d calculated from the man’s grave marker, he’d been forty-three when he died. Even with the haggard look from her illness, Rosemarie had to be no more than twenty-four or five.

  Chandler turned and walked backwards, skipping along as only a child could do. “Mr. McCoy, why do you have slaves?”

  “I don’t have slaves, never did.”

  “Pa said all Rebs had slaves, and beat and starved them.”

  Daniel grabbed the boy’s shoulder before he walked into a small birch tree. “Not all southerners have slaves. My family owned a horse ranch in Virginia for many years, and we never had even one slave.”

  “You calling my pa a liar?” Chandler’s back stiffened.

  Daniel sighed and squatted in front of the boy. “No, not a liar, but misinformed.”

  Chandler’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”

/>   Daniel took his hat off, ran his fingers through his hair, then settled it back on his head. “Some people in the south have slaves, mostly those who have large plantations.”

  Chandler’s brows drew together. “What’s a plantation?”

  “Like a farm, but very big. Most people in the south don’t have slaves, don’t want them, and couldn’t afford to buy one if they wanted to.” He placed his hand on the child’s shoulder and rose. “The Confederacy is not fighting for slaves, although that’s part of it. We’re fighting for state’s rights.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means we don’t want the Federal government, the people in Washington, telling us in Virginia how to live, what to do.”

  “You a teacher, Mr. McCoy?”

  Daniel smiled. “No.”

  Chandler shrugged. “You sure sound like one.”

  Side by side, they continued on for a while, the cold air reddening their cheeks. Chandler glanced up at Daniel. “Do you miss your pa, and your horse ranch?”

  Daniel shrugged and turned to the boy. “My pa’s dead. So’s my ma. And with me and my brother gone off to war, she had to sell the horse farm.”

  Chandler digested the information, then said, “Does that make you feel sad?”

  He smiled at the concern on the young boy’s face. “Yes. I do feel sad. But a man has to move on when things don’t go the way he wants.”

  “I have an idea,” Chandler said, his eyes lighting up. “You can stay here with us, and take care of Ma and our farm.”

  Daniel winced at the hope in the boy’s eyes. “Staying here does sound like a good idea, son, but we’re in the middle of a war, and I have to return to my regiment. Once your ma is feeling better, I’ll have to leave.”

  “My pa said he wouldn’t leave his family to fight a bunch of slave-loving Rebs.”

  Daniel chuckled and shook his head. “Well, your pa had a family to provide for. I don’t.”

  “We can be your family.” The words came out soft and hesitant, his young eyes filled with hope.

  Before he could answer, Chandler tugged on Daniel’s cuff. Then he pointed off in the distance. “Rabbits.”