A Place in Your Heart

by Kathy Otten

  Beneath her layers of skirts and petticoats would the muscles of her gluteus maximus be round and firm from all the walking she did around the hospital or would she look as this woman did, all soft and pillowy?

  The other photographs were more risqué. A naked woman lay on a bed without a footboard, her breasts flat and slid slightly off toward either side of her chest. She wore only her black stockings, her knees drawn up. A soldier in uniform stood at the end of the mattress; his penis jutted from his unbuttoned pants.

  Charles’ corresponding body part swelled more with each moment he stared. He’d seen pornography before. In a school filled with growing boys, conversations concerning sexuality were inevitable. And though Charles had learned to satisfy his masculine needs without the services of disease-ridden prostitutes, his fantasy woman had never had a clear face. But suddenly Gracie’s image had been superimposed over every woman on every card.

  Though part of him felt like a voyeuristic cad, another part couldn’t get enough. His biological instinct to mate urged him to mollify this consuming desire before Captain Breen returned. Quickly he made up his bed and gathered the post cards for one last look before he stripped off his uniform and doused the light.

  Guilt drummed a double-time beat in his ears and screamed for him to throw the cards into the fire and watch the edges curl until the instant they were consumed by flames, but he continued staring, continued imagining.

  “Captain?” a young male voice called. “Captain…uh…you have a visitor.”

  Sonofa—Heat seared his face. He scrambled for a place to hide the French postcards.

  “Captain, are you in there?”

  “Uh, yes. Just…just give me a moment.”

  “Sir, it’s commencing to rain again, and your sister has been looking for you.”

  Sister?

  He shoved the cards under his pillow and tugged at the front of his pants. “Uh…Captain Breen isn’t here at the moment.”

  With a quick downward glance, he realized that hadn’t quite done the trick. If only there was more time…

  “I understand he is at the tent of Major DeLong.” He grabbed his long, damp uniform coat, shoved his arms in the sleeves and hastily buttoned it from the bottom up. Captain Breen’s sister could wait in here while he cooled his ardor in the rain.

  “Come in,” he said, and pushed open the door. “You may wait here if you—”

  He blinked not sure if she was real or a remnant of his fantasy. She stood outside the cabin, her small frame lost in the rubberized cloth of a gum blanket. On her head, a cavalry officer’s hat, and as she lifted her chin to meet his gaze, rain dripped from the brim. Moisture glistened across her nose and cheeks.

  “What are you doing here?” he blurted out.

  It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, as soon as the corporal frowned.

  He opened his mouth to apologize, to make amends before she lit into him for his lack of manners.

  Before he could utter a sound, she smiled.

  At him.

  This had to be a dream. Gracie McBride did not send him smiles like this. Not broad smiles filled with straight white teeth and unabashed joy.

  The kind of smiles which lit up her face and brought sparks of gold to her deep brown eyes were saved for Corporal Reid and men like Major Carlton.

  He gave his head a slight shake, denying the fantasy.

  “’Tis good to see ye, Char-Charles.”

  Gracie McBride had never used his given name before. Odd that he didn’t find more pleasure in hearing the syllables roll from her tongue.

  “Mrs. M—”

  She cut him off with a severe scowl and a slight shake of her head.

  Sister. Right. “Miss,” he hastily corrected. “Err, um Gra-Gracie.”

  Should he invite her in? A single woman alone in a man’s quarters? He could prop the door open, but it was pouring. What the hell? This wasn’t a Philadelphia drawing room.

  “It took me the better part of the day to find ye. Ye might at least offer a word of greeting.”

  “I apologize.” Sister. She was his sister. “Good afternoon, Gracie. It is lovely to see you again.” He bowed and held open door. “Do come in. May I take your er…um…wrap?”

  “Ye may.” She grinned as she stepped through the opening. Her wet skirt brushed the log frame on either side, and she stepped down onto the dug-out floor.

  “That will be all, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man saluted and turned away as Charles closed the door behind him.

  Gracie whisked off the floppy hat. She gave it a quick shake, scattering droplets across the floor then passed it to him. She lifted the dripping poncho over her head and offered it to his outstretched hand.

  “I thought ye were with the 69th Pennsylvania.”

  “I have been temporarily assigned here to replace one of two surgeons who died of illness.”

  With her garments in hand, he turned right then left, searching for a place to hang them. He finally settled on a nail in the center support post and set the hat on Foster’s trunk. Unsure if the dampness coating his palms was rain or sweat, he wiped his hands down the sides of his coat. His overcoat. He probably should remove it.

  He quickly thumbed the buttons through their holes and shrugged out of the garment before he laid it on the trunk beside Gracie’s hat.

  He’d never spoken to Gracie outside the familiar confines of the hospital and suddenly felt as nervous as he’d been at his first ball.

  Now she stood here in his private quarters watching him with a half smile on her face.

  He frowned. Did she suddenly find him amusing? Had he forgotten some formulaic piece of social etiquette? He glanced around the space. A chair. A gentleman always offers a lady a chair. “Would you like to sit?”

  He turned to grab an empty hard tack crate from the corner. When he swung back, she was perched on the edge of his bed. He stared.

  Gracie McBride was sitting in the same place he would sleep. Sitting on the blanket he would wrap around himself for warmth. Sitting in the exact spot he’d been moments ago as he perused French postcards and fantasized about running his hands over her smooth bare skin. Imagined pressing his lips to hers, sucking the thin skin at the base of her throat, running his tongue over her nipples, wondering if they would turn pebbly hard, the way he’d overheard it said between the other men at medical college.

  His face flushed with warmth. His mouth went dry. He tried to swallow but didn’t have enough saliva. Heat flooded his groin. Perhaps he should not have removed his coat.

  He dropped to sit on the wooden box. He thought to cross his legs and place his folded hands in his lap. His knees bumped hers. He leaned back. The crate wobbled. He tried to stabilize his weight, but he overcompensated and tipped over backward in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Ears burning, his cheeks on fire, he scrambled to his feet, shoved his hands behind his back, and studied the triple stitched seams in the canvas above his head, terrified if he met her gaze she’d be laughing.

  He couldn’t bear it if Gracie McBride laughed at him. If she became one of those who stopped talking when he passed by or made sport of him in whispers behind his back.

  “Doctor Ellard, I’ll have a fair crick in me neck if I have to look up at ye from this great distance. Would ye please sit down? I be feeling like a cat in a room full o’ rocking chairs.”

  He couldn’t imagine anything making Gracie McBride nervous, least of all him, but she scooted toward the head of the bed to allow him room. As he moved to join her, he realized there wouldn’t be enough space for the width of her skirt without him sitting on it.

  She must have recognized the same problem, and at the last moment, she scooted closer to the head of his bed, picking up his pillow to allow more room.

  She gasped.

  The pillow hung in mid-air. Her face instantly flamed to match the hue of her hair. She slammed the pillow down on top of the
post cards at the exact moment he lunged across to claim them.

  As he pulled back, his cheek brushed across her breast. The soft mound compressed under the fleeting pressure of his cheekbone. He dropped the cards. They scattered at her feet. Mortified, he bent forward to scoop them up before she could see. His gaze fell on the last card.

  A nude woman reclined on chaise. She gazed at the photographer as if he were her lover. Intense longing filled her eyes. The promise of a kiss hovered in the sheen of her parted lips.

  He dove for the card and shoved it among those gathered in his hand. Whirling, he tossed them all into the fireplace. When he turned back, Gracie sat perfectly still watching him with the same expression as the woman on the last card.

  He blinked, believing for a moment that he had superimposed that woman’s expression on Gracie. But as he stepped toward her, the edges of her brown eyes softened. Her chin tipped up. Her lips parted, beckoning.

  Didn’t she realize she shouldn’t look at him like this unless she desired all that had stirred to life inside him? For he ached to know her, all of her, in a way he’d never longed for anyone.

  He cleared his throat. “How is Major Carlton?”

  A shadow fell across her face, and she frowned. “Major Carlton?”

  “Yes, how does he fair getting around with only one leg? Is he adjusting well?”

  “Fine, last I saw the man. I’ve not seen him since…”

  “The John Brooks departed Washington.”

  “Ye saw me then.” A smile spread across her face and amber highlight brightened her eyes. “I’d come to wish ye well. The rails o’the boat be so crowded with men, I called for ye, but the provost guard would not let me on board.”

  Her smile faded. “Why did ye not tell me ye were leaving?”

  Relief eased the tension is his spine. Maybe Gracie McBride did not care for Major Carlton.

  Those earnest brown eyes of hers searched his face, waiting for his answer.

  “I…We…were at cross purposes, so frequently I believed…it wouldn’t matter to you if I left.”

  The way she looked at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks pink with cold, her lips moist and slightly parted. Warmth flooded his body, pooling in his groin. Desire swelled inside his pants. He placed one knee on the mattress near her hip, leaned close, and grasped her upper arms.

  She gasped but didn’t pull away.

  He lowered his forehead to rest against the cool dampness at her hairline. The tip of his nose brushed the cold skin of hers. The heat of their breath warmed the air between them.

  Her tongue darted out swiping across her lower lip, drawing him closer.

  Even as he wondered why she’d really come, he brushed his lips over hers. Their tender skin was warm and supple beneath his mouth as he pressed light nipping kisses to first her top lip then along her fuller bottom lip. As he’d done before, he explored her mouth, absorbing the texture and taste that was Gracie McBride.

  He felt the pull on either side of his waistcoat as her fingers dug into the soft wool. Longing filled her eyes and her lashes fluttered closed.

  She softened under the weight of his mouth. Kissed him back. Kissed him as if she wanted him.

  Like lightning through storm clouds, desperate longing coursed through his veins urging him to take from her all that he’d denied himself over the years.

  His hand slipped to her shoulder, brushing over the twilled cotton to tangle his fingers in the damp tendrils at the back of her neck. He cupped the fine line of her jaw, skimming his thumb over the chilled skin of her cheek.

  Her tongue twined with his, and he closed his eyes, savoring the faint taste of coffee and something uniquely Gracie. His thumb traced a line over the curve of her chin, down the line of her throat to the fabric of her collar.

  In his mind he saw the postcards, envisioned Gracie naked on the bed beneath him. How would she feel? His fingers popped the first button free, then directly beneath a second, and a third, and a fourth. No more than an inch or two of skin lay exposed beyond the hollow of her throat. How many buttons were on a woman’s dress?

  There was also a corset. Somewhere beneath her layers of clothing he knew a corset hindered access to her breasts. Were the lacings in the front or the back?

  And hoops. Although Gracie’s skirts didn’t billow and sway as she walked.

  But she did wear petticoats with ruffles—scarlet red petticoats. He’d seen that as she’d rolled around on the floor of the ward with that lazy sergeant.

  Was there perhaps a book seller in Washington with a volume diagramming the intricacies of ladies clothing?

  Gracie moaned softly against his mouth, her fingertips pressing deep into his trapezius.

  But as she’d done before, her hands slid down to the center of his chest, and she gently pushed against him.

  His heart sank at her rejection. But he was a gentleman and control was his mantra. He would never take more from her than she was willing to give.

  He eased back exhaling a soft groan. He shifted most of his weight to the foot which had remained on the floor. Searching her eyes, he waited for the rejection, the reminder that he was not her beloved William. The reminder that he would never be good enough.

  He felt a tug at the top of his shirt. A whisper of breath tickled the fine hairs at the base of his throat. When had his top shirt buttons come undone?

  Tilting her chin, she met his gaze. A secretive grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “It seems, Doctor Ellard, ye have kissed me before I had a chance to touch yer neck cloth. Though ’tis cheating I think, that ye not be wearing one.”

  Her finger lightly trailed down his skin following the length his shirt opening then slipped free the next button.

  He gulped and wrapped his hand around her small wrist, pressing her palms captive against his thudding heart.

  “Why are you here, Mrs. McBride?”

  She frowned. Her mischievous grin flattened into a tight, uncertain smile. “Doctor Colfax won’t let me change dressings or stitch wounds. He be complaining so much, Doctor Bliss thought I be needing time away from me hospital duties, so I’ve come to distribute supplies with the Sanitary Commission.”

  He searched every nuance of her expression, but shadows within the tent hid the straight forward honesty he usually found in Gracie’s eyes.

  The tiny hairs at the back of his collar rose with his sense of foreboding. He released her hand and eased back, rubbing his neck as he sat.

  “As you have said, I was not easy to find. So I ask again. Why are you here?”

  She exhaled a shuddery breath, sitting up beside him. She glanced down and fingered one of the pleats in her skirt. Pinching the fold line between her fingers, she pressed a crisp three-inch line in the black bombazine.

  “I come to…well, the hospital…the patients…they all miss ye. And I…I…”

  He studied her face, seeking some clue as to her motive. Though he would have enjoyed the experience of realizing his fantasies with her in his arms, her sudden eager response to his kiss raised doubts. “Why are you here? Is that why you kissed me? To tease me into returning to Washington so I’ll support you as you change dressings and stitch wounds?”

  “No. Not at all. I have something to say. ’Tis not an easy thing and—”

  “Why else would you kiss me? As you have on numerous occasions pointed out, I am not William.”

  She stilled, and he waited for her response to that cold truth.

  She drew a deep breath. Raising her chin, she met his gaze. “Ye are right. Ye are nothing like William. Ye’re arrogant and condescending.” She inched toward him. “Yer handwriting is barely legible, and ye tell the worst jokes I’ve heard in me life.” Somehow, she’d glided closer.

  He swallowed, reminding himself to breathe.

  “But ye are brilliant and shy and sweet in yer way.” She reached up and grasped his shirt front, tugging him close. “And ye kiss me like William never could.”

&nbs
p; Lamplight above reflected tiny amber sparks in her brown eyes.

  She threw her arms around his neck and captured his mouth with hers.

  Chapter Twelve

  After a long search in the rain, Gracie had finally found Doctor Ellard’s quarters. While he hadn’t seemed glad to see her, once she’d seen his face, she’d been helpless to hide her joy.

  The postcards had been most unexpected. She’d been disappointed when he tossed them into the fireplace, because once her initial surprise waned the photographs had actually stirred her curiosity.

  When his lips touched hers, her knees had gone trembly and weak. Fortunately, she’d been sitting on his bed, the bed where he slept. And once he’d cupped her face so gently in his hands, she was lost.

  “I come all this way to…The hospital…the patients…they all miss ye. And I…”

  For a moment the barest hint of a smile softened the normal stoicism in his expression. But mistrust immediately overshadowed that rare glimpse of the man behind the doctor.

  Whether this man was Charles or Jason, she didn’t know. What could she say? At this moment it didn’t matter. She was a woman, and she wanted him.

  She’d convinced herself she needed to find him because of the note. To learn the solution to a puzzle that had plagued her since the ear of the rabbit had torn. To perhaps give him the family he once said he’d wished for.

  But had that only been an excuse? She had no feelings for this man outside their unique doctor-nurse relationship. Did she?

  “You’ve several frown lines furrowing your brow, Mrs. McBride. What causes you to think so seriously?”

  “I…um…I’d be pleased to have ye call me Gracie.”

  Surprise brightened his eyes and softened the usual tension in the muscles of his face. He leaned close and brushed his lips across her mouth and along her jaw.

  Then he stiffened as though realizing she hadn’t answered his question.