by Megan Besing
He rinsed his hands in the basin of water he’d set beside him and walked to the group. “I’ve done all I can.”
The men rose and made their way to their injured friend. The chloroform was just beginning to wear off, for the patient seemed groggy. Touching the snowy white bandage, the leader carefully examined Luke’s work. Phoebe held her breath, praying he was satisfied enough to take his companions and leave.
Seemingly pleased, he spoke to Luke, motioning toward the west. Then he turned his attention to her. After a long moment under his intense observation, he reached into the front of his shirt, pulled out a braided leather necklace with a large turquoise stone dangling from it, and handed it to her.
She glanced from the necklace to the giver to Luke, uncertain what to do.
“He’s returning your generosity,” Luke said, putting his arm around her waist. “It would offend him if you refused it.”
Surprised by the kind gesture, she accepted the gift. “Thank you.”
The man spoke in his own language then said to Luke, “Good woman.”
Luke nodded his thanks.
The men each took hold of the stretcher and departed. Luke and Phoebe watched them until they disappeared into the woods.
When they were out of sight, Phoebe glanced down to the necklace. “Will they return?”
“I don’t think so,” Luke said, his hand still resting on her hip. “From the little I could understand, they live in the mountains west of here.” He tightened his hold on her. “I’m very proud of you.”
His praise sent a tingling sensation racing through her.
They walked toward the cabin. “How about we check on the Mathews?” he said, opening the door for her. “Then we could take a picnic lunch to the lake. I’d say we’ve earned it after a morning like this.”
Phoebe was only too happy to agree.
“Looks like a storm is coming,” Luke said to himself. He studied the sky above the lake. Where white puffs of cotton had floated aimlessly a few hours ago, dark, ominous clouds blotted out the warm sunshine, and a cool breeze held the scent of rain. He glanced at Phoebe curled on the blanket, dozing on their impromptu lazy afternoon. He hated to wake her, since he’d thoroughly enjoyed the uninterrupted opportunity to drink in her lovely features without her being aware.
She gave a sleepy sigh before her eyes slowly opened. “I can’t believe I went to sleep.” Rising to a sitting position, she offered an embarrassed grin. “You’ve probably been ready to return home for ages.”
“Not at all,” Luke said, admiring the rosy blush on her cheeks. “The view held me captive.”
They hurried to pack their picnic items as the wind picked up. Ulysses and Dolly tugged at their leads, eager to get to their warm stable. Luke hoisted Phoebe into the saddle, wrapping the blanket around her for protection, then vaulted onto Ulysses. They’d only traveled a short distance when the heavens opened with a torrent of rain. He chided himself for lingering at the lake.
When the cabin came into view, Luke practically flew from the saddle to help Phoebe dismount. She was shivering as he carried her through the door. “I’ll get a fire going then tend the animals.”
“No,” she said, seeming to shrink farther into the wet blanket. “Get them out of the weather. I’ll be fine until you get back.”
Luke rushed outside and quickly had the mules unsaddled and happily munching on fresh hay. The rain hadn’t let up, and he received another drenching as he ran for the cabin. He found Phoebe kneeling before the fireplace, the smell of smoke evidence of her failed attempts to light the kindling.
“Let me do that,” he said. In a matter of minutes, he had a good-sized blaze going. He turned to his wife, who continued to tremble with sporadic shivers. “You best get out of those wet things. We wouldn’t want you taking sick.”
“At least…I’m married…to a doctor,” she said, her teeth chattering as she scooted closer to the fire.
Luke chuckled and rose. “Then you’d best heed the doctor’s orders.” He retrieved a towel from the washstand and draped it over her hair, patting gently to absorb the excess moisture. Her long braid dripped water, and he carefully squeezed it with the towel.
All the while, he was keenly aware of everything about her. Her creamy skin dotted with raindrops. The rise and fall of her chest as her breath grew more rapid. When she looked up to him with large, luminous eyes, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her upturned mouth.
Warm. Soft. Sweet. Everything he knew she would be. He dropped the towel and let his hands cup her face, drawing her deeper into the kiss. When he felt her respond, he pulled her into an embrace, his desire for his wife filling every inch of him.
All too soon, however, she stiffened and pulled away. He caught a glimpse of her flushed cheeks as she turned her back to him. “I–I’m so cold.”
Disappointment washed over him. The warmth of a marital bed seemed the perfect solution to her chill, but he’d promised to give her time. After all, they had their entire lives to live as husband and wife. “I’ll check the mules while you change. A cup of hot tea would help you warm up, too.”
She sent him a shy look over her shoulder. “Thank you, Luke.”
He dashed back into the downpour, a smile firmly in place despite the nasty turn in the weather. His wife’s rebuff wouldn’t discourage him. He just had to be patient.
It was only a matter of time before Phoebe Wagner Preston would be his true wife.
Chapter 9
Phoebe awoke the next morning to bright sunshine dancing across the colorful quilt, the cabin silent. She vaguely remembered Luke whispering to her while it was still dark, informing her that he was going hunting. Over a pot of vegetable stew the previous night, she’d offhandedly remarked how nice it would be to have some venison. As though her wish were his command, Luke determined he’d do his best to track down a deer today.
Stretching, she rose and completed her morning toilette, her husband occupying her thoughts. Their kiss, especially, had her mind awhirl. The tenderness of his touch. The strength of his arms around her. It felt so wonderful to be in his warm embrace with the foul weather outside and a toasty fire within. She’d almost let herself be carried away by the passion of the moment, until, that is, memories of Danny’s kisses stole in, bringing with them a sense of betrayal.
She glanced out the window to the beautiful day and sighed. Last night she’d lain awake long after Luke’s even breathing told her he was asleep. Although it was too dark to see him, his nearness filled her with the kind of contentment she hadn’t experienced since Danny died. The love she and Danny had shared could never be replaced, but she was Luke’s wife now. She couldn’t deny her attraction to her husband. Not only was he strong and handsome, but his compassion for others moved her deeply, to the point she knew she could fall in love with him if she allowed herself.
But what of their differences regarding the war? She had yet to tell him about Danny or her father’s murder. Could he forgive her for withholding the truth from him, before and after their wedding?
“Tell him today,” the Lord seemed to whisper.
The gold band on her finger caught her eye. She knew what she had to do.
Taking her Bible from the shelf, she removed Danny’s letter and read the precious words one last time. Bittersweet memories of their days together flooded her mind and heart. She would always love him, but it was time to let him go.
With determination, she walked to the fireplace. Low flames licked the stack of logs Luke left burning so the cabin would be warm and cozy when she awoke. Pressing the letter to her heart, she closed her eyes. “Good-bye, Danny.”
As she knelt to toss the missive into the fire, the door opened.
“Good morning,” Luke said, smiling when he came in and leaned his rifle against the wall.
Quickly, she tucked the letter back into the Bible and set the book on the table. Now wasn’t the time to explain about Danny. “Good morning. You were up early.”
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Luke closed the door and removed his coat, hanging it on a peg. “Yes, but unfortunately I didn’t see any traces of deer. I’ll need to take Ulysses and head east. The terrain isn’t so mountainous, which offers better grazing for the herds of mule deer.”
“You needn’t go to so much trouble,” she said. “We have plenty of supplies.”
He came to her and lifted her hand to his warm lips. “My bride wants venison, so venison she shall have.”
His mouth lingered close to her skin, and his warm breath sent a flutter racing through her. She wondered if he might kiss her again, recognizing the hope that rose in her at the possibility. Her response, she knew, would be so very different than yesterday’s.
As though sensing the change in her, Luke closed the gap between them. He moistened his lips, searching her face. “Phoebe?”
She held her breath, her eyes fixed on his. Could she give herself to this man? The way a wife gives herself to her husband?
Her heart throbbed in answer.
He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “Phoebe, I—”
A noise came from outside, followed by, “Doc! Doc, you home?” Someone pounded on the portal.
Luke closed his eyes, emitting what sounded like a growl. Tickled by his obvious frustration, Phoebe quickly moved away, lest he see her grinning and think she was happy about the interruption. Little did he know her disappointment matched his.
When Luke flung the door open, a ragged-looking young man stood in the yard. “Doc, you gotta come to the mining camp. It’s my brother. He’s awful sick and burning up with fever.”
Phoebe heard the Southern drawl in the man’s voice. When she peeked over Luke’s shoulder to the visitor, she found him to be not much older than herself with worry in his blue eyes. But it was the dirty, gray jacket he wore that captured her attention. There was no mistaking the Confederate uniform.
Her husband’s back stiffened. “I can’t help you.” His terse reply shocked her. When he moved to close the door, the young man braced it open.
“Please, Doc,” he said. “James is the only family I got left. I can pay you. We got lucky and found some gold before he took sick.”
“I said I won’t help you.”
Phoebe stared at Luke, confused by his hard refusal. “Why ever not?”
He turned to look at her, a dark scowl in place of the gentle passion she’d seen only a few moments ago. “Because he’s a Rebel,” he spat. “I won’t help the very men responsible for the deaths I witnessed. For the shattered bodies I had to try to put back together. Who knows how many Union lives this man and his brother destroyed.” He turned back to the stranger, whose face had gone pale. “You’ll find no help here.”
Luke slammed the door with so much force the cabin shook. Phoebe gaped at him, stunned. Gone was the compassionate doctor who’d tended an Apache warrior and a free Negro woman. In his place stood an angry, resentful man.
“Luke,” she said, searching for the right words, “the war is over. Men on both sides did terrible things. We must put the past behind us and move forward. You’re a doctor. Helping that man’s brother is the right and honorable thing to do.”
“You speak to me of honor? Of forgetting?” His mouth formed an ugly snarl. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the carnage left by Rebels like that man and his brother. I did. Those are images I will never forget. Or forgive.”
Anger of her own welled up and spilled over. “My father was murdered by Unionists, all because he offered aid to wounded Confederate soldiers when the war arrived in Missouri. They didn’t care that he’d tended dozens of Union soldiers, as well. Instead of being grateful for his help, they beat him, tied him up, and dragged him through the streets where they left him to die. So you see, Dr. Preston”—her voice rose as a hot tear fell from her lashes—“you aren’t the only one who has suffered.”
With angry strides, she moved around him and yanked her coat from the peg by the door. “If you won’t help that man’s brother, I will.”
Phoebe left the cabin, slamming the door with as much force as Luke had moments before. Thankfully the stranger hadn’t gone far. The poor fellow stood beside his mule a short distance from the cabin, seemingly not knowing what to do next.
“Sir,” she called. “I’ll help you. I’m not a doctor, but I’ve assisted my father and husband with patients.”
Relief washed over his face. “Thank you, ma’am.”
While Phoebe saddled Dolly, she prayed Luke would relent and come with her. But when she rode out of the yard, the cabin door remained closed. Headed into the mountains, she couldn’t shut out the fear that Luke’s heart would be closed too, once he learned of her Confederate ties.
Luke stared into the smoldering fire, brooding from where he’d sat since Phoebe stormed from the cabin an hour ago. His anger had ebbed, with frustration and a dozen questions taking its place.
Why couldn’t she understand his reasons for not treating the sick Reb?
Why would Unionists kill her father?
He’d been surprised to learn the circumstances of Dr. Wagner’s death. Sadly, the man would be alive today had he refused to treat Confederate soldiers.
But even as Luke thought this, a stab of guilt pierced him. When he’d become a doctor, he hadn’t done so in order to deny treatment to those needing it. He’d prided himself on offering medical help to Negroes and whites alike before the battles began. But war changed a man. He’d witnessed so much death and destruction, all at the hands of the Rebels, that he simply could not and would not give one of them assistance.
Yet the look of disappointment in Phoebe’s eyes when he refused to help the Reb inflicted a pain far greater than any war memory could. What must she think of him? And what kind of husband allowed his wife to ride off with a stranger to a mining camp, of all places? He may resent helping the sick man, but he should’ve never allowed his wife to go off without him.
An urgency brought him to his feet. Phoebe needed him. Grabbing his medical bag from the table, he accidentally knocked her Bible to the floor. A paper fell out when he bent to retrieve the book. Glancing at it, he saw it was a letter. Not one to read someone else’s mail, he was about to return it to the pages of the book when the salutation caught his attention.
My darling Phoebe.
His blood ran cold as his eyes involuntarily scanned the neat script of a love letter, written to his wife from the Confederate soldier she’d planned to marry when the war ended.
Anger at her betrayal washed over him like a raging mountain river.
What a fool! He, a Union doctor, had fallen in love with a Confederate sympathizer. The author of the letter surely must have died in the war, leaving her at the mercy of a lonely, foolish Yankee. No wonder she rebuffed his attempts to woo her.
His breath came in hard gasps. Dark, ominous images crept in, flashing across his mind. Cries of fallen soldiers. Screams from the men under his knife. Blood everywhere.
Luke squeezed his eyes closed. “No! God, no!”
The letter fell to the floor.
Chapter 10
After seeing to Dolly’s care, Phoebe approached the cabin with trepidation. Their long trek up and down the mountain to tend the sick miner had worn them both out, but her worry over Luke and what he’d say had her nerves raw.
All morning she’d hoped he would come riding into the mining camp, give her that smile she’d come to adore, and say he was sorry for his poor behavior. But he hadn’t come, and she’d had to tend the sick man herself. Thankfully, with cider vinegar bartered from an old miner who wanted her to look at his bad tooth, along with cool compresses and lots of water, the man’s fever loosened its grip. Paul, the brother who’d come for help, gave her a good-sized gold nugget for her trouble. She contemplated refusing it, but in the end decided she might be in need of money should Luke toss her out for her blatant defiance.
Breathing a prayer for courage, she reached for the latch. The door swung open, revealing an empty
cabin. Luke wasn’t there. Belatedly, she realized Ulysses hadn’t been in the lean-to. She’d been so focused on the confrontation she anticipated, she hadn’t noticed the big animal’s absence.
She had no idea where Luke had gone or when he would return. What should she do to keep her mind occupied while she waited? A glance toward her kitchen supplies gave her an idea. Perhaps she could whip up something sweet as a sort of peace offering. Surely they could talk things out over a delicious slice of molasses cake.
With a plan in mind, she started for the shelves but noticed a paper lying on the plank floor. Her heart nearly stopped when she recognized Danny’s letter. Picking it up, she glanced to where her Bible rested on the table. Had the missive simply fallen out? More importantly, had Luke seen it?
Knowing now was the time to finish what she’d started that morning, she hurried to the fireplace. A few red embers were all that remained of the fire, but they would suffice. She placed a light kiss on Danny’s signature then carefully set the paper on the hot coals. It flamed and was gone in moments.
With the door to the past closed for good, Phoebe determined to do everything she could to salvage her marriage. She wanted a life with Luke and prayed the damage she’d done today would heal.
The cake batter was nearly finished when she heard someone outside. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation, and she moved to greet her husband.
But it wasn’t Luke.
“Reverend Whitaker,” she said, masking her disappointment at finding the parson in her yard. A glance at the darkening sky told her another storm was approaching. “You’re welcome to come inside, but Luke isn’t home. I hope he’ll return soon as it looks like we might receive more rain.”
Her polite banter was met with a troubled frown.
“Is something wrong, Reverend?”
“I am afraid so, Phoebe.”
His somber tone set her heart pounding. “Luke?”
Reverend Whitaker nodded. “He’s safe, but he’s at the church in a very bad state of mind.”