A Place in Your Heart

by Kathy Otten

  Two books lay stacked in the bottom. On top, The Paragon of Alphabets. She lifted it out to read the title of the second. The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. A children’s book and the novel of a lonely man on a deserted island.

  She turned to the fly-leaf of Robinson Crusoe.

  21 October, 1840

  Happy Birthday Grandson #10

  Many happy returns.

  October twenty-first would see Charles turning thirty-three this fall. Could Sergeant Baker have been mistaken in his belief that his nephew Jason would be no older than thirty?

  She set the book aside and opened the alphabet book, the pages warped as though the book had once been wet. On a random page the words, Tabitha Timid. A young girl in a pink dress stood at the edge of a bridge, afraid to cross. Another page showed Wandering Willy, his walking stick in one hand, his bundle of clothes in the other.

  Gracie turned to the beginning of the book.

  25 December, 1836

  Happy Christmas, my Sweet Boy.

  All my love,

  Mother

  She did some quick calculations, pressing her thumb to the pad of each finger as she counted. Charles would have been six. Jason would have been around three. Was this the mother whose voice he heard in his head?

  She returned his possessions to the box. He’d kept the rabbit all these years. Had the toy been his best friend?

  He was right, she hadn’t known the man, but she should have. He’d been right here all along.

  ****

  She headed to the ward to find him, officially not on duty until tomorrow morning. She hadn’t seen him since the field hospital, but she’d returned with the Sanitary Commission a day behind the evacuation of the wounded.

  While she had no idea where he was staying, she assumed he’d be by to check on Robbie and maybe talk to his uncle.

  Sitting in a chair beside Robbie, Sergeant Baker looked much better than the last time she’d seen him. “And how is Robbie this morning?”

  “He was awake for a while. Had some beef tea and his bed changed. The doctor, young Jason came by to check on him.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Nothing much. Made some notes on a card and muttered something about a paper.” The sergeant frowned. “Not much of a talker, is he?”

  “No, ’tis very focused on his patients.”

  “Reckon he’s more sociable when he ain’t working.”

  Gracie almost said no, then asked instead. “Do ye know where he’s staying? I’ve something to discuss with him.”

  “Said he was going back to the National. He was looking a bit peaked.”

  “Thank ye,” she said and hurried down the aisle.

  Tom Halleck jumped up from his seat behind the table. “Mrs. McBride. It’s good to have you back.”

  “Aye, I’ve had enough o’ battlefield nursing to last me a lifetime. Ye can look for me on the ward tomorrow, but first can ye tell me how to get to the National?”

  ****

  Life didn’t give out too many second chances. She’d be a fool to let this one slip away.

  She knocked on the wide, white door with the gold number five forty-seven. She’d had to tell the desk clerk there was a hospital emergency before he’d reveal the room number for Charles Ellard. As it turned out, the room was in Foster Harrison’s name, and she hoped as she knocked again that the old man wouldn’t answer the door.

  The knob turned, the door pulled inward.

  He stood in front of her shirtless, except for the wrapping of a clean white bandage over his chest, and his blue uniform trousers.

  Her fingers flew to her mouth, too late to silence her soft gasp. Her gaze dropped to his feet, bare and oddly intimate.

  “Gracie?”

  “How are ye feeling?” She spotted it then, grasped in the fingers of his lowered hand, a clear glass with a splash of amber liquid.

  “Still reeling from the turmoil that is now my life. Thank you.” He raised the glass and downed the contents.

  He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. The door closed behind her, and she turned as he refilled his glass from the bottle on the table. “I begin to understand the reason the Irish soldier went back for his flask.”

  Around the bottle were medical tomes and papers. His report on Pyemia and Surgical Fevers.

  “I made my grandfather cry.”

  He scrubbed his hand over his face and heaved a weighted sigh.

  She couldn’t imagine the old man with the walking stick ever crying, but…

  “I have never seen him cry.” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes tight for a moment.

  Gracie wandered to the window. “Did he tell ye how ye came to live with him?”

  “Apparently the cook found me.”

  Below the bustle of the street mindlessly gave her something to watch as Jason haltingly repeated the story his grandfather had told.

  “Now he’s all but tripping over himself to try and please me.”

  Gracie turned. At least he hadn’t yet drunk the whiskey in the glass.

  “He had my trunk sent up from Falmouth.” He waved at the books and papers and the rabbit sitting on the table beside the chair where Gracie stood.

  “Had to see Bunzy and the note for himself.”

  Gracie reached out to pick up the toy. Lightly, she ran her fingers over the short fuzz of the long ears.

  “He’s been all over Washington today, contacting people, sending telegrams, as though trying to atone for some great sin.”

  He lifted a telegram from the corner of the table on which were piled his books and papers. Walking over, he passed it to her.

  She set the rabbit on the seat of the wing chair and took the paper.

  Jason downed his drink, set the empty glass on the bedside table and lowered himself to sit on the side of the mattress.

  “He must have called in a favor with the editor of the Philadelphia Inquirer.”

  From Article Twelve August 1837 Stop

  Unidentified Man Killed Market St By Runaway Freight Wagon Stop

  Hope This Helps Stop

  Gracie joined him on the bed and passed back the telegram.

  He stared at the blunt words one more time and tossed the paper toward the end table where it hovered for a moment then fluttered to the carpet.

  “I surmise this is the root of my nervous attacks.”

  “Ye must have seen yer da killed. A terrible thing for a young lad.”

  “Explains my aversion to head wounds.”

  “Aye, and thanks to God’s saving grace, yer grandfather found ye.”

  “He did save me from growing up in an orphanage.”

  “And he saw to it ye had books and fine schooling to feed that great mind o’ yers. Without him ye’d not be a doctor.”

  “That’s what he’s doing now.” Jason fell back across the coverlet and draped his arm over his eyes.

  “Who be doing what?” She squeezed her fingers together in her lap to keep from running her hand over the part of his chest visible around the bandage.

  “My grandfather. He’s calling in favors, sending telegrams, attempting to have Jefferson Medical College issue me a new diploma.”

  “’Tis a good thing, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do ye not sound happy?”

  “Chaos, Mrs. McBride. You do recall my feelings on the subject? Instead of calm, my life is in turmoil. I’m exhausted, and my back hurts.”

  “Then why are ye lying on it?”

  “I don’t know.” He lifted his arm from his eyes, laying it across his chest. “I realize I frequently ask you this question, but why are you here?”

  She shifted and turned slightly to better face him. She drew a fortifying breath. “Me mother always says, ‘Ye never miss the water ’til the well runs dry.’ ”

  He turned his head and searched her face.

  Her heart beat a little faster. She bit d
own on her lip, waiting.

  “Are you saying you miss me?”

  “Aye, I miss ye, Jason Reid.”

  He remained so still, his face so impassive, she had no way to guess what he thought.

  Rolling toward her, onto his side, he propped his head in his hand. “What do you miss?”

  “I miss yer voice. I miss the sound o’ yer boot heels hitting the floor o’ the ward. The way yer long legs make a pause between each step. I miss the quiet way ye have about ye as ye care for the men. I miss trying to make out the letters o’ that scrawl ye call handwriting.”

  “Is that it?”

  She jumped to her feet and whirled to face him. Her arms crossed in front of her. “Are ye so vain ye need more—”

  “Gracie, wait.” He grabbed her skirt and pulled. Her knees bumped the edge of his bed, and she fell forward. The spring of the mattress kept her from bruising her face.

  Jason grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back close to his chest. “Who do you miss?” he whispered in her ear.

  She shivered. Gooseflesh raced up her arms and tightened the nipples of her breasts. Wanting to see his face, she lifted his arm off and scooted from the bed to quickly remove her shoes.

  Jason shifted his position so he lay fully on the bed.

  She crawled up beside him. “’Tis better now. I can see yer face without needing to tip me head back.”

  She reached out and lightly ran her finger down the length of his nose. “The bump ye have here.” She touched his chin. “Yer scar.” She traced an eyebrow.

  His eyes dilated.

  “Yer clear blue eyes.”

  Her finger trailed down from his temple along the stubble of his jaw. “I miss the way ye call me Mrs. McBride when ye be annoyed with me and the way ye call me Gracie when ye want me.

  “I even miss yer jokes, though I do not know why.”

  “They were from a book.” He pointed toward the battered army trunk under the table. “I assumed they were chosen for publication because they were humorous.”

  “’Tis like a flower. They all be beautiful, but every person be having a favorite. ’Tis sweet that ye keep trying to find mine.” She smiled, a slow, she hoped, seductive smile. Grasping his hand, she raised it to her mouth. Pressing her lips to the smooth skin of his palm, she kissed him.

  “I care for ye, Jason Reid. Deeply.” When he didn’t pull away, she kissed him again. Turning his hand, she placed tiny, nipping kisses along the knuckle of each finger.

  She raised her gaze to his face. When had he moved so close? The blue of his eyes darkened and doubt furrowed his brow.

  “What of William? You said you could care for no other as much as he.”

  “’Tis what I believed. Until I took time to really look at the man, Jason Reid.” She brought her other hand up to wrap both her hands around his, unwilling to lose the warmth, the tenuous connection between them.

  “The man who holds me when I cry. The man who kisses like a charging army claiming a hill.”

  She lay her hand on his chest. His heart beat softly beneath her palm. Her fingertips trailed over his bandage down his abdomen to the buttons of his trousers.

  He lowered his gaze to her hand then captured her hand with his. His slight huff of breath whispered with a mix of desire and uncertainty.

  Gracie glanced down and smiled at the swelling mound of his cock beneath the fabric of his trousers. She lifted her gaze to his.

  “Nothing between yer skin and mine but me dress, chemise, and petticoat.”

  His Adam’s apple shifted up and down.

  “And yer britches.”

  The thin skin at the base of his throat thrummed with the quick beat of his pulse.

  “Is it red?”

  “Me petticoat?” She grinned. “I’m thinking ye need to look for yerself.”

  His hand reached down and raised the hem of her skirt.

  “Wait. What o’ yer grandfather? When will he be coming back?”

  “He was only gone a few minutes before you arrived. He’ll probably have dinner with one of his senator friends before he returns. Don’t worry, I can be quick.”

  “Not the words a lass be wanting to hear from her lover.” She popped the first button at the top of his trousers.

  His fingers sifted through the layers of ruffles.

  “Why red?”

  “All I be wearing for years is mourning blacks and grays. I love colors. I’ve green and blue petticoats too.”

  “How do you feel about lavender?”

  “Are ye picking out me petticoats now?”

  A faint blush swept across his cheek bones. She slipped free another button then took a moment to run her hand up and down his length.

  “No. A dre…” He groaned. “A dress.” Rolling over her, he pinned her beneath him and captured her mouth with his. His hand slipped beneath her petticoat and touched her ankle. Slowly his hand moved higher, over her calf to the ruffle at the bottom of her drawers. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric to the tender skin behind her knee.

  A soft whimper escaped her throat.

  She arched against him. Her fingers working free the last of his buttons then untied the string of his drawers. Hooking her thumbs over the waist of his trousers and drawers, she slid them past his hips.

  Eager to touch, she ran her fingertips lightly over his hips and firm muscles of his ass. His hip bones were far too prominent, but she’d lost weight herself since she’d come here. Sliding one hand up his back, she slipped her other hand between their bodies and grasped the solid heat of his length.

  His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

  “Don’t.” He pulled her hand away. “Not if you want this to last.”

  Aching to feel her body next to his, she reached up and helped him work free the twelve buttons of her bodice.

  He pressed kisses to the base of her neck. Nipping and sucking.

  She pushed at his shoulders. “Let me up. ’Twill be easier for me to remove the rest o’ me clothes.”

  With a groan, he rolled off her.

  Gracie scooted off the bed. She slipped her arms from the sleeves of her bodice and lay it over the back of the wing chair.

  “I never imagined watching a woman remove her clothes.”

  Jason kicked off his pants, letting them fall to the floor. His erection jutted at attention from the dark hair covering his groin. “It’s erotic. Better if you remove your corset.”

  She grinned as she reached behind her to undo the hooks of her skirt. “I do not wear one.”

  Gracie let her skirt drop to the floor. Slowly, she stepped out of it then picked it up and draped it over the chair.

  “You don’t?”

  “Me bosom be having little to support.”

  He gulped.

  “And ’tis hard to wear leaning over beds, changing dressings and linens.” She unfastened her red petticoat with its black embroidered ruffles and let it fall to the floor.

  He shifted and groaned.

  “I’ve no crinoline, for nurses cannot be wearing them in the hospital.”

  She stepped to the bed and lifted her lacy camisole over her head. She let the fabric brush over his thigh as she turned and tossed it in the direction of the chair.

  “Gracie.” Her name caught in his throat so she could barely hear it.

  She propped her foot on the bed near his hip and rolled her stocking slowly down her leg and pulled it off her foot. She did the same with her next stocking then tossed them on top of her petticoat.

  “Do ye want me to keep going?”

  “Yes.” His hands curled into the coverlet clutching fistfuls of fabric. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you naked.”

  She reached beneath the length of her chemise and untied her drawers, letting them fall to her feet. The whisper of the cotton over her skin, sent shivers across her flesh and a warmth to her lower abdomen. Her muscles clenched.

  Before she climaxed with her own orgasm, she pulled her chemise over her he
ad and stood naked beside the bed.

  “Oh God, Gracie, you’re so beautiful.” He reached out. “Come here.”

  She climbed on the bed and slowly crawled up the length of him.

  With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled to the other side of the bed, ending with Gracie beneath him. He rained kisses across her face and down her neck as he ran his hand over her shoulder, down her arm, over her hip and belly, up to her breast. Kneading the soft flesh, her nipples peaked, begging for more. His rough, whiskers scratched her face, but she’d discovered pleasure in that aggressive, take-charge essence that was him.

  She whimpered and squirmed against him. His erection pressed again her core. Moisture leaked from the tip of his cock.

  She clutched his shoulders and tugged him closer, unable to get enough.

  Reaching low, she grasped the warmth of his stiffened shaft and guided him to her entrance, moist and ready.

  He groaned and pushed into her.

  Whimpering, she arched against him then eased back, craving the rhythm of two bodies joined and moving as one.

  He responded to her, his thrusts naturally matching her parry as though they’d done this for a life time.

  Tension built in Gracie’s core, her muscles tensed, her toes curled and her back arched, freezing for one infinite moment before spasm after spasm rocked through her body.

  “God, oh God, Jason!” Her fingers dug into his back, careful not to touch the bandaged area of his shoulder.

  He pushed into her again and stiffened. A soft groan was the only sound to let her know he’d been caught in his own waves of pleasure.

  He started to roll off her, but she wrapped her arms around him. “Stay.”

  “I love you, Gracie.” He murmured against her shoulder as she ran her hands over his back.

  He gradually slipped from inside her and dozed for a short time.

  They made love again and later lay twined in each other’s arms, Gracie, lying with her head on his chest.

  “I have compromised you, Mrs. McBride.”

  She lifted her head and smiled sliding her fingers through the fine hair above the bandage wrapping.

  “I fear ye be the one ’twas compromised.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, since I was the virgin.”