“A boy who carried a gun.” Baldwin lifted his right leg and obscenely waved the stump around. “Old enough to do this.”
“Enough, soldier. Sit there and sip your tea.”
He raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, lying down on his pallet and turning his back to her.
But as she worked in the ward that morning Lieutenant Baldwin returned to watching the unconscious boy like a cat waits at a mouse hole. Uneasy, she sought out Major Logan in the amputation tent. His face lit at the sight of her, and her heart gave an answering thump. “Kate.”
“I need to speak with you,” she said, trying to ignore the flash of joy that rose up at his smile.
“Certainly. Give me a minute to finish here,” he said, returning to his patient.
She nodded and walked away until the stench of blood diminished. After a wet, rainy winter, the creamy white flowers of Solomon’s seal nodded in the damp places under the trees, along with airy Queen Anne’s lace and orange jewelweed. A mockingbird sang nearby, and she counted the number of his songs and trills. How difficult to reconcile that in the midst of this green and fertile beauty, men were bleeding and dying a few feet away.
“Kate.” He’d taken off his bloody apron and washed his hands. A shock of his black hair had fallen over his forehead, and her heart tripped faster. “You needed to see me?”
“Yes,” she said, smoothing her skirt as she always did when nerves threatened to overcome her. “One of the patients brought in this morning is a Confederate, the boy with the head wound.”
Logan frowned. “Unfortunate.”
“And Lieutenant Baldwin knows. He wants to cause trouble. Can you have him sent somewhere else?”
“I can try. Or we could send the Reb back to his own side.”
She shook her head. “He’s too sick to be moved.”
Logan nodded. “So be it. I’ll have Baldwin transferred out.”
“Thank you.”
“How are you holding up?” His blue eyes were concerned. “It’s been so chaotic.”
“Yes.” She felt the welcome warmth of the sun on her face and sighed. “I wonder sometimes if this war will ever be over. I can barely remember my life before it started.” Which wasn’t entirely true. The excruciating memory of what she had done to Henry never left her.
“It will end. We’re moving toward it now. When it’s over …” He gazed at her with such intensity she had to look away from the promise there, her breath coming faster.
“I need to get back.” She turned to go.
“I’ll wait,” he said.
A tremor went through her, but she didn’t turn, afraid of what her face might reveal. She couldn’t allow herself to give him any hope.
Bless Major Logan. He transferred Baldwin out that afternoon. The rebel boy hadn’t recovered consciousness, but Kate breathed easier knowing Baldwin had left.
She had taken some supper and returned to the hospital later that evening, writing letters home for the men by lantern light, when a demanding voice cut through the quiet ward.
“Lemme by.” Supported by another soldier, Lieutenant Baldwin limped toward her, a crutch in one hand and a revolver in the other. His collaborator carried a heavy coil of rope looped around his shoulder, and both hard faces were set like rock, grim and relentless.
Baldwin jerked his head toward the Confederate boy in the corner. “We’re here to take the Reb.”
Kate stood and shook her head. “This isn’t the way, Lieutenant. He’s already dying.” Slowly she inched her way toward the boy. “There’s no need to hasten his end by violent means. Hasn’t enough been done to each of you?”
Baldwin shook his head. “We’re takin’ him, ma’am, so get out of the way.”
The edge of the cot bumped her knees. “You’ll have to go through me first.” She lifted her chin. “And if I can’t persuade your hardened hearts, then perhaps this will.” She pulled the Colt Baby Dragoon from her pocket.
“I’ve treated you with love and respect,” she said firmly, leveling the Colt at Baldwin, “and I would hate to see my good work mean naught to you. But if you intend to murder this boy in cold blood, you’ll have to kill me, too.”
Behind Baldwin, Major Logan had entered the ward. He shook his head at her and crept toward them on cat feet.
Baldwin hesitated then raised his revolver and took aim, giving Major Logan enough time to tackle the two men as Baldwin pulled the trigger.
Misfire.
Baldwin’s crutch skittered off under a cot. Logan kicked the smoking gun out of the stunned Baldwin’s hand and scrambled to his feet. Baldwin’s accomplice threw off the rope and took off running. Logan tackled him to the floor amid the general pandemonium among the men and dragged him outside. Two of the wounded men had gotten out of their beds to restrain Baldwin as three sentries entered the ward to arrest him.
Kate returned the Colt to her pocket with trembling hands. She could have been killed. And for the first time since Henry had died, she wanted to live.
After Lieutenant Baldwin and his accomplice had been locked in the temporary stockade, Major Logan marched back to the hospital tent. This was it. He was going to have it out with her one way or another. If she refused him, well…he didn’t want to think about that.
When he entered the tent, there she was, ministering to the men as if nothing had happened. Anger rose up inside him like a boiling flame. He came up behind her. “Kate,” he said tersely. “Come with me. Now, please.”
She nodded and put aside the book she had been reading to one of the men.
“Come outside.”
Silently she complied. Once outside, she stood and looked up at him with a tranquil expression, which outraged him.
“Kate,” he barked, gripping her arms and giving her a shake. “Don’t you care if you live or die?” He shook her again, hard. “And even if you don’t care, let me tell you something, I do!”
Her eyes widened, and he thought her icy reserve had been broken as her breathing quickened. “Here’s the thing, Kate. I love you. I love you! Do you hear me?”
Now his breathing grew ragged, and his fingers tightened on her arms. He kissed her, warm and urgent, and he didn’t stop for a long moment.
She wrenched out of his grasp. “You won’t love me when you find out who I really am.”
“I doubt that,” he said quietly. Her shoulders shook and she looked wildly about, as if deciding whether to bolt. “Tell me then.”
She moved closer to the lantern light and steeled herself. This would be the last time he looked at her with unabashed love and longing on his handsome face. What she was about to tell him would destroy it.
“My husband didn’t want to join the army,” she said harshly. “He was a meek and gentle man who loved his farm and his books. When war was declared, he thought it would blow over quickly. He didn’t believe the South could stay away from the Union for long.”
He stood silent, a shadow in the night.
“We’d only been married two years. In those two years, I lost two babies. When the war began, I was still angry over those losses. Henry didn’t know how to console me, so he retreated to his study and his books. And that made me angrier.”
Her voice shook, and he made an instinctive move toward her.
“No!” she cried, waving her hands to ward him away. “You have to know the truth. Why I’m here.” Angrily she brushed away the welling tears. “Most of our friends and family joined the Union Army. I waited for him to do the same. When it didn’t happen—” She stopped, choking, as the flood of memories arose. “I told him he was a coward who didn’t deserve to live!”
Her chest heaved with wracking sobs. “He left the house that night and joined the Union forces in Tennessee.” She turned away. “I didn’t see him again until he arrived on the Paducah train, near death.” She fell to her knees and wept.
“Kate,” he said gently, touching her shoulder.
She wrenc
hed away. “Are you blind? I goaded him into it, and now he’s dead. Dead! It’s all my fault.” She managed to get to her feet, pushing him away when he tried to help her. “That’s why I came. I had to atone for what I’d done.”
“Kate, someone has already made atonement for you. You don’t have to do it yourself.”
“You know what the worst thing was?” She pushed her hair out of her face. “He still loved me. And forgave me.”
“So, it is well then.”
She shook her head. “It will never be well,” she whispered. “Because I can’t forgive myself.” She bowed her head. “And the most terrible thing of all is…I love you. And now that you know what I’ve done, I’ll lose that, too.”
He pulled her into his arms. “You’re wrong, Kate. Look at me.”
She met his gaze. The look of love and compassion mingled on his face brought a fresh rush of tears.
“You’re forgiven, Kate, as I have been forgiven. This is a second chance for you. For us.” He took her face in his hands. “All these long months with no light shining through the clouds,” he kissed her lips softly, “you’ve been my beacon of hope in a dark and weary world.”
She couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t possible. “Can you still love me…with…all that you know about me? What I’ve done?”
He grinned, and her heart came alive with a painful thump. “I can. And that’s why, by all that’s holy, I want you to stop taking these dangerous chances!” He reached for her hands and got down on one knee. “And I’m not going to wait another moment. Kate, will you marry me?”
Her head felt incredibly light as the vise of darkness clamped around her heart dissolved. She had been forgiven. Thank You, Lord, her heart cried out.
She collapsed onto his knee and he tightened his arms around her. She laid her cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and realized she had been set free. “Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes!”
Renee Yancy is a history and archaeology buff who works as an RN when she isn’t writing historical novels. She has visited Ireland, Scotland, and England to stand in the places her ancient historical characters lived. She lives in Kentucky with her husband, two dogs, and her ninety-five-year-old mother-in-law. Check out her blog at www.reneeyancy.blogspot.com or visit her website: www.reneeyancy.com.
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