Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  Dent watched her leave, then looked down at his arm. When Simon Alcott came back from his poker game, he looked at his friend. “How’s it going, Dent? Any better?”

  Dent looked up at him, his face sober and his lips tight. “I don’t know, Simon.” He looked at his arm and then back to Alcott. “I’m going to find out pretty soon if God is real or not.”

  His words made Alcott blink, and he thought at once, He’s getting delirious. But he said only, “Take it easy, Dent. You’ll be all right.”

  It was the longest and worst night of Denton Rocklin’s life. He moved from a state of half-consciousness to a coma, then came back to reality, drenched with sweat. Fragments of nightmares came, leaving him shaking with fear, and the pain in his arm grew unbearable. When morning broke, he came out of his delirium to find Mrs. Wright, a nurse, standing over him, her face filled with fear and concern.

  He croaked from a dry throat, “My arm—is it well?”

  Mrs. Wright saw that he was beside himself. “No, Lieutenant, it’s not well. You must let them amputate!”

  “No!” he said, pulling away from her. “God’s going to heal it!”

  Mrs. Wright glanced at Simon Alcott with frightened eyes. “I’m going to get some morphine, Simon. Don’t let him get up!”

  She ran to the cabinet, then came back to give Rocklin the shot. When he grew still, she asked, “What’s all this about his arm being healed?”

  Alcott shrugged. “Miss Reed was talking to him. She’s real religious. I guess she might have got him started.”

  “Well, she’s got to stop!” Mrs. Wright left the room and soon was giving Matron Huger her views. “You’ve got to speak to Miss Reed! She’s got Dent Rocklin’s hopes up, says that God’s going to heal his arm! You know that’s impossible!”

  “I asked her to speak to him, but I didn’t think this was what she was going to say.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it? We can’t have the girl upsetting him.”

  Matron Huger was silent. The pressures of the job were severe, and she still was not able to accept death in a calm, logical manner. Finally she said, “He’s not going to listen to anyone else, Mrs. Wright. He’ll probably die, but let him die believing in God.”

  Dent was aware that everyone thought he was crazy. I think so, too, he thought wryly when he saw, the morning after Raimey prayed for him, that his arm was worse than it had been. But Raimey had come to visit that day, and when he told her that he hadn’t been healed, she had said, “God is never late.”

  Somehow her serene spirit had touched Dent, and all that day and the next he had lain in a stupor on the bed, thinking of her prayer. His father came, and his grandmother, but neither of them had urged him to have the operation.

  The administration had given up, especially Dr. Baskins. The rough surgeon had said profanely, “If he’s fool enough to believe in that religious nonsense, let him die! We can use his bed!”

  Dent himself, by the end of the second day, was so racked with fever and pain that he was not aware of the talk. That afternoon, Raimey came and sat beside him. She said little, and Dent was beyond speech. But there was a comfort in her presence. Finally when it was time for her to go, he whispered, “I—remember what you said.” He had to labor to get the words out, his lips cracked with fever. “Tell me again!”

  Raimey bent over him and whispered, “I love you, Dent, and God loves you.”

  All night Dent lay there, hearing those words over and over: “I love you, Dent, and God loves you.”

  Sometime during the night, he struggled out of the black pit of unconsciousness that drew him. The moon was out and the stars glittered brightly in the sky. The room was quiet, save for the moanings and mutterings of his fellow patients. Far down the room an orderly sat at a desk, reading a book by the pale yellow light of a lamp.

  And as he lay there, only half conscious, Dent became aware that there was something growing in his mind. It was like a tiny light, from somewhere far down a dark road, so dim that it could barely be seen. It grew larger and brighter. It was not, he knew, a physical light or any light at all, but his spirit seemed to glow—there was no other way he could think of it. As the sensation grew within him, he relaxed and let his body go limp. He had kept himself so tense waiting for the next jolt of pain that he ached, and now a sense of security came to him. There was nothing else, just the sense of being cared for, of being loved.

  Then he knew that he was not alone, that there was someone in the room other than the two hundred fifty wounded men. Fear came to him and he drew his legs up, sending pain through his arm. But nothing happened, except that the same sense of peace washed back, driving away the fear.

  There was never any sort of voice, but he kept feeling that someone was reaching out to him, that he was being loved in a way he had never known. He did something then that he’d not done for years—he began to pray. And even that was strange, for he didn’t ask for anything. That was what prayer had always been to him, asking for things.

  He knew he was dying, yet he did not ask to be healed.

  Instead he asked that he might know peace. The longing for it was a sharp pain. Then, suddenly, he began to weep for the first time since he was a child. That was when he prayed for help, that whatever was in him, destroying him, would be taken away.

  Then he prayed, “I want to know what love is, God! Take anything you see in me. I don’t know what it is or how, but give me whatever I need to be the man you want me to be.”

  He dropped off to sleep then and didn’t wake up until he heard Mrs. Wright saying, “All right, Lieutenant. Let’s change this bandage and then you can have some breakfast.”

  Dent awoke instantly, his head clear. “All right, Mrs. Wright.” He sat up, and though he was weak, there was none of the thick fogginess in his mind, and his speech was clear.

  Mrs. Wright stared at him strangely, then put her hand on his forehead. “Why, your fever’s gone!”

  “I feel a lot better,” Dent said. He looked down at his arm and slowly bent it. “Arm feels lots better, too.”

  Mrs. Wright removed the bandages, which were thick with dried pus and blood. She took a damp cloth and began to dab carefully at the wound, then stopped. Dent saw her staring at his arm. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Your arm!” she cried out. “It’s clear!” Dent looked down to see the raw edges of the wound. It was still an ugly gash, but he saw that the infection was gone, as was the swelling. All the flesh was ruddy and healthy. Mrs. Wright’s hands were trembling, but she cleaned the wound, then sat there staring at it. Suddenly she put Dent’s arm back across his chest. “Don’t move! I’m going to get Dr. Baskins!”

  She went out of the room almost at a run, and Simon Alcott woke up. He sat up on his cot, rubbed his eyes, then asked,

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “My arm,” Dent said slowly. “It’s not infected.”

  Alcott shut his mouth with a distinct click, then stood up to look at Dent’s arm. He said nothing for a moment, then slowly straightened up and said in a strange, thick voice, “It’s clean!”

  He stood there, and soon the space around Dent’s cot was crowded. Dr. Baskins and Matron Huger were there and two of the orderlies—not to mention several of the patients.

  Baskins was staring at Dent’s arm, his mouth in a thin line. “See if you can bend it,” he commanded and watched as Dent obeyed. “That hurt?”

  “A little,” Dent answered, nodding.

  The surgeon pinched the flesh around the lips of the wound, and Dent flinched. Baskins stood up and stared down, his red-rimmed eyes dark with some sort of doubt. “That flesh was dead yesterday. I pinched it then, and you didn’t even know it.”

  “I feel it now,” Dent said. He looked up at the crowd and then back at his arm. “It hurts, but it’s a different kind of hurt.”

  Matron Huger stood there, lips trembling. “What do you think, Doctor?” she asked.

  The surgeon was
in some sort of struggle. He knew this man should be dying—he’d seen that type of wound with that sort of infection too many times. His reputation was on the line, for he’d proclaimed vehemently that Dent Rocklin couldn’t live unless that arm came off. Now what he saw was a wound that was serious but that was healing well. Moreover, the moribund fever that had threatened Rocklin’s life was gone.

  Baskins stood there silently, then said,” I have no explanation. This man ought to be dead.” Then he walked away with his head down, shoving his way past the patients. He went to his office and drank half a bottle of whiskey, his mind rebelling.

  As soon as the doctor left, the officers began to shout and cheer, and nothing Matron Huger did could quiet them down. Finally Simon Alcott said to her, quietly so that the others could not hear, “I guess this knocks the bottom out of what I’ve thought of religion, Matron. What do you think?”

  Matron Huger smiled at him, her eyes misty. “Simon, there are more things in heaven than you’ve ever dreamed of!”

  When Raimey came to the hospital, she was met by the matron, who said, “He’s healed, Raimey!”

  Raimey stopped dead still, and her face went white. She bit hard on her lips to stop them from trembling. “I want to see him. Take me to him, Dulcie.”

  Dent saw her as soon as she entered. “You fellows give me a minute, will you?”

  The soldiers winked at each other slyly but moved away to create some sort of privacy. Dulcie brought her mistress to him; then she, too, moved across the room away from the couple.

  “Come here, Raimey,” Dent said and struggled to throw his legs over the cot. She came close, and he reached up and pulled her down beside him with his good arm. “Did they tell you?”

  “Yes! Oh, Dent, I’m so happy!” Her face was radiant, and she leaned against him. “Tell me everything!”

  He did tell her, holding her with one arm. Finally he said, “I think I hit bottom, Raimey, and I guess that’s what God was waiting for. My arm is healed, but more than that happened.” He sat there, aware of her soft warmth. “I’ve made some kind of a new beginning, Raimey. I guess I’ll fall on my face a thousand times, but last night I gave myself to God.” He hesitated, then said, “I’m going to need lots of help.”

  “Your family will help you, Dent,” Raimey answered. “They’ll be so happy!”

  “Sure, I know that, but I’m going to need more help than they can give. I need someone who’s around all the time. It’s going to be a long-term thing, Raimey. I think it’s going to take a lifetime.” He paused, and his arm grew tighter around her. “Tell me again, Raimey?”

  “Tell you what?” she asked nervously. His arm was tight, and she was aware without seeing that every man in the room must be watching.

  “Tell me that you love me,” Dent said.

  “Oh, I—I can’t!”

  “You said you did, Raimey, and I don’t care if you say it again or not. I love you and I’ve got to have you! Will you marry me?”

  Raimey could not speak, so great was the joy that welled up in her. She turned her face to him, and a smile lifted her lips. She knew that the patients were watching and listening, but she put her arms up and offered her lips. Then she drew back and said quite loudly, “Yes, I do love you, Lieutenant Rocklin—and I will marry you!” She turned to face the men gathered around them, men with missing limbs and bandages on their heads, and said sweetly, “I hope you all heard that! He’s got to marry me now, with all of you as witnesses!”

  A cheer such as had not been heard in Chimborazo Hospital broke out, and Dent Rocklin and his bride-to-be were swarmed by the Confederate Army of the Potomac.

  CHAPTER 23

  Another Miracle

  Dent Rocklin’s recovery sent reverberations throughout the hospital, and his family came almost shouting into the ward. Clay’s visit was unforgettable. When he entered the room, Dent got to his feet, saying at once, “Sir, I’ve been wrong. Forgive me.”

  Clay blinked back tears, saying, “Dent, I think you must know nothing could give me more joy than to see you well!” The two tall men hesitated, then embraced—it was the first time Clay had held his son in his arms in almost fifteen years.

  Clay sat down, and they talked about the war and the future. Then Raimey came in. She was wearing a pink dress trimmed in blue, and her hair fell down her back in gleaming waves. “Here’s your new daughter-in-law, sir,” Dent said, rising to put his good arm around her. “I hope you approve.”

  “She’s got a job in front of her, getting you raised,” Clay said, grinning. Then he stepped to the girl. “I’ll have to welcome you with a kiss, Raimey.” He kissed her cheek, then stepped back. “When’s the wedding?”

  Dent said, “I haven’t asked her father yet. He may run me off with a gun. We may have to run away!”

  “He’s very happy, Dent,” Raimey said quickly, “and so is Mother. I’ve already told him to see Rev. Irons and reserve the church. It’ll be soon. You’ll be going back with the Grays, won’t you, Dent?”

  “Yes, when I’m able.”

  “Take plenty of time, son,” Clay said quickly. “I don’t think we are going to see much action from the Federals for months. Lincoln’s given the army to McClellan. He’s slow, I hear. Won’t move until everything suits him. Why don’t you take your bride on a long honeymoon—maybe even an ocean voyage.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful!” Raimey exclaimed. “Could we, Dent?”

  “Well, it would be expensive—”

  “Daddy’s already said he’d give us whatever we wanted for a wedding present.”

  Clay grinned. “Well, I’m glad you’re marrying into a wealthy family, son. Money comes in handy.” He picked up his hat, then left, saying, “I’ll leave you two alone. The doctor tells me you’ll be coming home in a few days, Dent. I’ll have your grandmother get your room ready.”

  When he left, Raimey said, “Now I’m going to give you a shave. Your face is like sandpaper!” They spent an hour together, making plans, and Dent said finally, “You know, Raimey, I can’t get over how things look so different. Why, I’ve been thinking about that young Yankee I shot. He’s here, you know, just upstairs.” He rubbed his chin, saying slowly, “I’ve been thinking maybe I’d go visit him. Jemmy tells me he is getting better … but, well, I don’t know, maybe he wouldn’t like me to come.”

  “I think he might,” Raimey said. “Jemmy talks about him a lot. Let me get permission from the matron, and we’ll both go.” It took only a few minutes, and she was back with Dulcie. “Come along,” she said. “The matron said it would be fine.”

  Then she said, “Dulcie, Lieutenant Rocklin can go with me. You write some more letters.”

  Dent saw the expression on Dulcie’s face, and when they were on the stairs out of hearing, he said, “Dulcie doesn’t like me much.”

  “Oh, she’s just jealous,” Raimey said. “But she’ll love you soon enough.” She squeezed his arm possessively, adding with a smile, “After all, who wouldn’t love you?”

  “I can give you a long list,” Dent said with a grimace. He reached up to touch the wound on his face. At Raimey’s insistence he had left off the bandage, and he felt vulnerable. “I’ll probably scare the poor fellow to death with this mug of mine,” he said. Putting his hand over the wound, he added, “Maybe I ought to wear some kind of a cover.”

  “No! And don’t put your hand over it,” Raimey said. “It’s a wound of honor, received in the service of your country.”

  Dent looked at her strangely. “You don’t even believe in the war, Raimey.”

  “Neither does your father,” she said at once. “But both of us love you, and we love the South. When it’s all over, we’ll still be here. Now don’t ever try to hide your face, you hear me, Dent?”

  “Yes, sir!” he said, grinning. “You sound like a tough sergeant.” Then he said, “Here we are. There’s Jemmy.” He caught the woman’s eye, and she came over to them at once. “Jemmy, do you think it would be all
right if we visited with the young fellow I put in here?”

  Jemmy was wearing the same shapeless dress and floppy bonnet that she wore every day. “Why, he’ll be plum proud to see both of you, Major Rocker.” She insisted on calling him “Rocker” and changed his rank anywhere from lieutenant to general from day to day. She turned, and the pair followed her to where a young man sat in a chair, talking with several other patients.

  “This here is General Rocker, Noel,” Jemmy said. “And this is his lady, Missus Reed. This here is Noel Kojak.”

  “Not quite a general, Private,” Dent said. He was ill at ease and added, “If you don’t want any company—”

  “Oh no, sir!” Noel exclaimed. He got to his feet painfully and put his hand out. “I’m glad to meet you. Everyone’s talking about how God healed you. Please sit down, sir—and you, Miss Reed.”

  When they were seated, Dent said, “A little different from our last meeting.”

  Noel smiled, saying, “Yes, sir. I don’t remember too much about it, except that you fellows sure did make pests of yourselves, coming up that hill!”

  They talked about the battle; then Raimey asked, “How are you, Noel? Jemmy says you’re much better.”

  “Oh yes, Miss Reed,” Noel said, nodding. “I expect I’ll be transferred pretty soon, maybe even this week. They need the bed, you see.”

  Jemmy had hovered close, but when she heard this, she turned and moved away. She didn’t notice when the pair left Noel, but came back just before noon to bring Noel’s dinner—a plate of cabbage with a piece of pork and a slice of corn bread.

  “Sure was nice of Lieutenant Rocklin to come and visit me,” he said as he ate. “Did you know, Jemmy, it was Miss Reed that prayed for him to get well? Isn’t that great!”

  “Shore is,” Jemmy said. She studied Noel, noting how his color was coming back. “Guess she’s learned how to trust in the Lord.”