“Are you light-headed?”
“A little.”
So am I, I thought. “Maybe you should lie back.”
“No.”
“As you wish.” I cut his pants around the wound to clear the field. I cleaned the leg around the arrow with the whisky-soaked cloth.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Not much call to remove arrows in…London. Have you?”
“Once or twice.”
“What would you recommend?”
“You have to cut the arrow out.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip.
“Do you have the tools necessary? I have a knife in my boot, if not.”
“No, I have the tools.”
“Is there a problem?”
I looked up from his leg. I didn’t want to admit to him my idea had been to yank the arrow out, check the bleeding, and assess my options. “No.”
Lieutenant Beau Kindle came around the wagon.
“There are no other survivors,” Beau said. He looked at me. “Are you sure they took Anna?”
I nodded.
Ester and Amos’s voices echoed in my head. The sights, sounds, and smells around me validated their stories of the Comanche, but about what happened to abducted women they had always remained silent. A shake of the head and, “Better to be dead” was all anyone ever said.
“Should I form a party to go after them?” Beau asked.
“We cannot,” Captain Kindle said.
“Sir, we must.”
“We don’t have the men. We must bury the dead. There is a storm on the way, and it will be dark soon.”
“Sir, allow me to take some men and follow the war party.”
“Did West Point teach you how to track Indians, Lieutenant?”
“No, but one of your men…”
“No one in this group can track a band of running Indians. You need a scout, which we do not have.”
“Uncle…”
“In the Army, you are a lieutenant under my command, not my nephew. You will address me as Captain or I will have you reassigned to a clerking position in Saint Louis. If you argue with my orders again, I will have you court-martialed. Do you understand, Lieutenant Kindle?”
The young man’s face was red, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Washington.”
“Yes, suh.” A large Negro soldier stood a few feet away.
“What’s the situation?”
“There’s two animals fit to pull a wagon. This is the only wagon standing, though we can probably salvage another. The rest are busted.”
“Do we have any horses that aren’t blown?”
“Yours and mine, suh.”
“Lieutenant Kindle, take Corporal Oakes to the fort immediately and relay our predicament to the commander. Inform him of the abductions. Tell him we will wait here for reinforcements.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man saluted, turned on his heel a bit too precisely, and left.
The shaking in my hands had moved to my legs. Try as I might, I could not keep them from trembling beneath me. I climbed into the wagon and sat down in the guise of readying my instruments to perform surgery on Captain Kindle’s leg. Sitting did not help. My entire body shook as if overcome by chills. Already Maureen’s pleasant countenance was being replaced in my memory by her death mask. I heard my name being screamed through the din of battle and saw myself cowering in the buffalo wallow while, one hundred yards away, an Indian chopped Maureen’s face apart to silence her.
Far away I heard the discussion of burying the dead. Sergeant Washington and his men had placed the bodies in a broken wagon bed they would lower into a large grave en masse.
“Doctor?” Captain Kindle’s voice was full of concern.
I took a deep breath and stood. I grasped the metal rib of the wagon cover and placed a protective hand over my roiling stomach, swallowing the urge to vomit. I needed to concentrate, to push my personal tragedy and guilt to the back of my mind and focus on Captain Kindle’s wound. I turned around and faced my patient. “How are you feeling, Captain?”
“Fine.” His color was worse.
I tossed a crate onto the ground and climbed out of the wagon. I set the crate upright and asked Kindle to sit. “I need to determine if a vein was nicked.”
Kindle sat. It would be so easy to yank the arrow out and deal with the clear wound.
As if reading my mind, he explained. “The arrowhead is attached to the shaft with animal sinew. It softens in the body and loosens the arrowhead. You’ll yank the shaft out and will have to search for the head.”
“How far are we from Fort Richardson?”
“Ten miles.” He looked at the darkening sky. “With a storm coming.”
Over my shoulder I noticed the clouds gathering in the west for the first time. Thanks to the many hours spent in Jonasz Golik’s basement, I knew I could complete the operation without incident. However, performing the surgery in our current circumstances, in the middle of the prairie, with a storm gathering on the horizon, was not ideal.
Captain Kindle watched me without a word. I called for the nearest soldier.
“Please find two barrels and place the side of a wagon across them. It will have to do for an operating table. I also need someone to make a fire and boil water. Quickly, now. I do not want to attempt this in the rain.”
The soldier looked toward Captain Kindle, eyes wide, waiting for direction.
“Do as she orders.”
When the soldier was gone I said to Kindle, “You’re in luck. I have chloroform.”
“I don’t want chloroform.”
“I didn’t ask you what you wanted.”
“Nevertheless, I do not want to be unconscious.”
He was still studying me when Lieutenant Kindle and Corporal Oakes rode up to take their leave. Beau Kindle took in the soldiers preparing the table with confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Preparing to operate on your uncle’s leg.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Would you rather do it in my stead?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Lieutenant,” Captain Kindle barked. “Keep a civil tongue in your head.”
Beau Kindle dismounted and spoke in a low, controlled voice. “Captain, forgetting the fact we don’t know what her skills as a surgeon are, do you think it wise to put your life in the hands of a woman who has been through this?” He gestured at the wreckage.
“No. But, I see no other choice.”
Despite the captain’s rousing endorsement, I endeavored to put Lieutenant Kindle’s mind at ease. “I understand your concerns, Lieutenant. You have no reason to believe I am up to the task. Rest assured, your uncle’s well-being is as important to me as it is to you.”
I willed my hand not to shake and placed it on Lieutenant Kindle’s arm. “Please, go quickly to Fort Richardson. Bring the post doctor back if you must. I will do what I can to make Captain Kindle comfortable until you arrive.” I gave Lieutenant Kindle the most modest, feminine smile I could muster.
“You’re wasting daylight, Lieutenant. You have your orders,” Captain Kindle said.
Somewhat placated, Beau Kindle saluted, remounted his horse, and kicked it into a gallop. Corporal Oakes saluted, turned his horse, and followed.
The smile dropped from my face. “What would you have me do, Captain?”
Captain Kindle was slumped against the side of the wagon, visibly in pain. “Sorry?”
“Would you have me operate on you or make you comfortable until you arrive at Fort Richardson, where your leg will inevitably be amputated?”
He did not reply. I moved in front of him. “Captain?” His eyes met mine. They were full of pain, as I remembered them. “Trust me.”
After a long, unsettling pause, he nodded.
I motioned for the soldiers to place the makeshift litter near the wagon.
“My leg is numb.”
“It is becau
se we have stopped the blood flow.” I blotted his perspiring face with a clean, soft cloth. “I will take good care of you.”
I threaded two needles, my shaking hands making the task more difficult than usual. I turned slightly away from Kindle, enough to hide my tremors but not so far as to ignite his suspicion. Trembling hands would do little to burnish Kindle’s nascent trust in me. I knew my mind and hands would settle when the time came. Until then, I needed a distraction.
“How long have you been in the Army?”
“Twenty years.”
“Indeed?” I poured carbolic acid into an iron skillet full of water and dropped my instruments in it along with the two threaded needles. “You aren’t old enough to be a twenty-year veteran.”
“West Point when I was eighteen. How long have you been a doctor?” he asked with great difficulty.
“Officially? Four years. I assisted my father for many years prior.” I glanced at him. “Don’t think you will get me to tell you my age, Captain.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking.”
“Sergeant Washington, can you help him?”
Washington and a private tried to move Kindle to the table. He held up his hand to stay them. “I do not need help.”
The wind increased, bringing with it the metallic scent of the oncoming thunderstorm. Thin tendrils of lightning flashed across the distant sky. A rumble of thunder followed.
Sergeant Washington and the private looked at each other with concern on their faces. Washington glanced at me and quickly looked away. I pulled him aside.
“How much time do we have, Sergeant?”
“Ten minutes before the storm. Maybe fifteen, ma’am.”
“Would you please have a couple of your men clear a space on the floor of my wagon for the Captain to lie on? They can take everything but the trunks outside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
While Washington directed the men, I turned my attention back to Kindle. He sat on the edge of the table, light-headed and woozy.
“Time to lie down, Captain.”
“Cut around the wound, follow the shaft down with your finger to find the arrowhead.” I folded his coat and put it under his head.
“Anything else?”
“Pray it’s not in the bone.”
“Private,” I said to the nearest soldier, “would you please bring me a pan of warm water? Sergeant Washington, get another soldier and go wash your hands in the remaining warm water with this.” I handed him a bar of carbolic soap. “Do not touch anything to dry your hands. I will give you a clean cloth when you return.”
I washed my hands and when the three men returned, I handed the skillet of acid-soaked instruments to a small soldier standing nearby. I positioned him and Washington at the head of the table and foot of the table, respectively. “Captain, do you have any orders you would like to give your men before you go under?”
“Sergeant Washington, will the bodies be buried before the storm comes?” Captain Kindle asked.
“Yes, suh.”
“You know what to do?”
“Yes, suh.”
Kindle nodded. “I leave the regiment in your hands.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Captain,” I said. “You’ll be with us again in no time.”
I was laying a cloth soaked with chloroform over his nose and mouth when Kindle stayed my hand. “I don’t know your name,” he said.
“Call me Laura.” His brows furrowed in puzzlement and concentration. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Trust me, Captain. I want you to live as much as you do.”
“Precisely what I want to hear from my doctor.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be here when you wake,” I said, and placed the chloroform-soaked cloth over his nose.
CHAPTER TEN
The reverberations of a thousand cannons shook the ground. I covered my head as the earth swayed underneath me. The barn creaked and groaned, instruments rattled on their trays, bottles of medicine clinked against one another as the rumbling sunk into the blood-soaked Maryland mud. Rain pinged on the metal roof, slowly at first, then increasing until the individual notes transformed into a long symphonic chord.
Where was my father? It was long past time for him to have returned from the field. I should have never let him go. I should have gone in his stead.
I groped in the darkness, touching trunks, crates, canvas, a blanket, and finally, the bandaged chest of a man. A flash of lightning illuminated my surroundings and I jerked back.
I sat up, shaking. I was not in Smith’s Barn near Antietam Creek but in a covered wagon on the plains of Texas. The wind rocked the schooner, threatening to topple us. Across from me, the wagon’s smooth canvas cover was pushing against the thin ribs supporting it. I worried the cover was not secure enough and tried to remember if we had untied it for any reason during our journey. With a snap, the canvas blew out like a sail, just holding together with the sudden change of wind direction. Wet canvas slapped me on the back.
Lightning illuminated the scene again and I caught a glimpse of Captain Kindle, unconscious on the floor of the wagon. His bandages were still secure and his face was devoid of color, save the long red scar across the left side of his face.
I groped for his hand and pressed my fingers against his wrist. His pulse was weak but steady. I couldn’t remember where I had placed my stethoscope nor could I see around me to search. Through touch, I placed my ear on Kindle’s chest and listened to him take deep, clear breaths. I sat back, as content as I could hope to be in the current situation, and waited for the next flash of lightning.
Where were the other soldiers? Were they in the abandoned wagons or sitting on the plains, under oilcloth, their backs to the storm? Had they been through so many storms there was no fear in their hearts? Or was the fear of a storm inconsequential compared to the fear of being captured and killed by the Indians?
I thought of Anna and the children. What were they enduring this violent night? Were the Indians abusing Anna at this moment? Had they used her and killed her like some broken doll? What about the children? Surely they wouldn’t…I shook the image from my mind. I could not allow my thoughts to wander there. No. It would not happen. Even savages wouldn’t do that.
I covered my head with my arms. What did I know? Look at what they had done to Maureen. To Cornelius. They cut a baby from a mother’s stomach and burned Amos alive. How could I dare give these Indians the benefit of the doubt? They had proven correct every horrible assertion about their nature with the brutality of their attack.
Maureen. I tried to get the image of her wasted face from my mind. I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands until they burned, but the image of her jawless face still did not leave. Grotesque and bloody, it morphed into gaping grin, mocking me, mocking the idea I would ever be free of this day and my complicity in the outcome. My actions, traced from an impetuous decision in childhood to my cowering in a buffalo wallow, irrevocably led her to the most heinous of deaths, to the death she most feared.
* * *
It was dawn and I was alone. The air in the schooner was heavy and gray with diffused light. I rose to call out to Maureen when the sight of a small bloodstain on the bed of the wagon stopped me. Kindle. He was gone.
Dizziness washed over me as I stood and forced me to sit back down. Every part of my body ached and I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself in a blanket and lose myself in a long forgetful sleep. Sounds from outside the schooner prompted me to move again, but more slowly. I needed to find Kindle. He was my patient, his well-being my responsibility.
Rain poured from the sky like water from a pitcher. Thunder rumbled across the flat featureless landscape. Gray flashes of lightning punctured the waterlogged sky. Overnight, the loamy soil had transformed into a quagmire of deep red mud. A few soldiers roamed around the wreckage. I searched the scene for Kindle from the cover of my wagon and realized the soldiers
were not aimlessly roaming, waiting for help to arrive.
“You!” I yelled. A young soldier looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise. He looked around him, wondering if I was addressing him or someone else. I jumped out of the wagon and struggled through the sludge to confront him. “You put that back!” I jerked a box of Cornelius’s cigars from his hand and held them to my chest. “These aren’t yours, young man!”
“Ma’am?”
“I said these aren’t yours!”
“Are dey yours, ma’am?”
“They most certainly are not! They are Cornelius’s. Everything in this wagon is his and you are not to touch it!” I looked around at the soldiers looting the wagons of the dead. A few of the soldiers put back what they had in their hands, others shook their heads and resumed their search. Sergeant Washington appeared in front of me.
“Is there something I can do for you, ma’am?”
“You can tell these men to stop stealing!”
Sergeant Washington’s gaze was steady, but he didn’t respond.
“Well? Are you going to tell them to stop?”
A voice from behind me replied, “No.”
I wheeled around to see Kindle walking toward me using a stick as a cane with one arm, the other arm in the hasty sling of torn cloth I had made the night before. His complexion was still pale but some of his natural color had returned. His eyes were shadowed by the cavalry hat he wore and disguised further by the rain pouring from its brim.
“What are you doing walking around on your leg? You’re bleeding again.”
“Yes, I know.” He addressed Sergeant Washington. “Find a hat for the doctor.”
Still clutching the cigars to my chest I futilely ran my hand across my hair, which was plastered to my head. I was too angry to care.
Kindle stepped in front of me and lowered his voice. “Believe me, I don’t want to be walking on this leg any more than you want me to. But I must show a brave face in front of my men, so keep your admonishments to a low growl, please.”
I lowered my voice. “Speaking of your men, they are stealing the possessions of the dead.”
“Looting is a military tradition.”
“Looting your vanquished enemies, yes. I didn’t know white settlers were the enemies of the Army. Or are all whites the enemies of your Negros?”
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