by Marie Silk
“What is it?”
“Whiskey. Make sure he takes all of it. Unfortunately, we’ll be working without anesthetic. The clinic ran out last week and there’s nowhere to get more.”
Abigail felt tears stinging her eyes, but spoke confidently, “I’ll be sure he takes all of it.”
At 5 o’clock, William was on his way out of the clinic with his medical bag and operating instruments. He heard a voice calling his name from down the street. “Hey Doc!”
William was astounded to see Jake Robinson walking out of one of the shops and seeming cheerful. He hobbled over to William while supporting himself on his cane. “I’m sorry about all that from yesterday. I know you were only trying to help. I was just scared of losing my leg!”
“I had you figured for a goner, Jake. I can’t believe the fever cleared and you don’t even seem worse for the wear.”
“No Sir, I went to see the witch like I said. She put some potion on my leg, and as you can see, it’s almost as good as new.”
“I don’t understand. You mean to tell me that a witch healed you?”
“Yes Sir. Take a look if you’d like.” Jake pulled back the bandage to reveal a thick layer of green ointment over the wound.
“I’m astonished,” William confessed. “What did the woman give you?”
Jake shrugged. “All I know is, I get to keep my leg. You can ask her if you’d like. Greta Jenkins is her name.”
“The name sounds familiar. Did she used to be the county midwife?” William asked.
“That’s the one,” Jake said confidently.
William was intrigued. “Where can I find Miss Jenkins?” He received directions from Jake and was soon driving away from Yorktown to visit the alleged witch in the woods.
At the Valentis’ farmhouse, Abigail watched the clock strike 5, then gave the bottle of whiskey to Phillip as she was instructed. “William said that you should take the whole bottle, so don’t be shy on my account. The children are safe with Mary and all you need to do now is relax,” she told him.
Phillip was embarrassed. “It seems improper to drink all this in front of a lady.”
Abigail giggled. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll just be here reading my book while we wait for William to come.”
William pulled his car over on the side of the road that Jake told him about. He climbed out of the car and began hiking up a treed hill, hoping he had come to the right place. After walking for several minutes, he could see a small log cabin in the distance. “Hello!” he called loudly. It was the safest greeting when one approached a remote house likely to be stocked with rifles. A woman emerged from the cabin and walked in his direction.
“Miss Jenkins, I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Greta interrupted. “I can guess why you’ve come, too.”
“Oh?”
“You want to tell me to stay away from your patients,” she said bitterly.
William raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No Ma’am, that’s not why I have come at all.”
The woman looked at him skeptically. “I don’t trust doctors much after what the last one did to me. He ran me out of town just to get more business for himself. I can’t show my face again because of what they called me.”
William did not know how to respond to that. “I don’t wish to bother you, Miss Jenkins. I only want to know what it was you used for Jake Robinson’s injury. I’ve never seen an infection clear so fast, and he claims it was because of a potion you used on him.”
“It’s plantain,” she muttered. “I mixed it up into an ointment for open sores. It keeps infections down.”
“Would you mind showing me how you mixed it up? I’m happy to pay.”
Instead of answering him, Greta walked back into the cabin. William hoped he had not offended her, and blew a sigh of relief when she came back out with a large pail. “Here, take the rest of it with you.”
“Thank you, Miss Jenkins. How much do you want for it?”
“I don’t want your money, Dr. Hamilton. My only condition is that you don’t tell anyone who or where you got it from. It’s for your safety as much as it is mine. I only wish Jake wasn’t such a blabbermouth.”
“Again, I thank you,” William said. Greta went back into the cabin and closed the door, indicating to William that it was time for him to leave. He carried the pail back to his car and began the long drive home.
Abigail watched the clock on the wall at the farmhouse. It was 7 o’clock, and she wondered what could be taking William so long. Phillip looked at her sleepily. “Is it time yet?” he asked.
“William should be here any moment,” she replied.
“You know the last time I saw Ethan, it was when I got this,” he slurred, pointing to his leg. “He dragged me out of the line of fire…saved my life…I’d be dead right now if he didn’t get me out of there.”
Abigail began to feel herself getting choked up. She tried to save her strength for the ordeal yet to come.
“You know what the last thing he said to me was? We were supposed to leave the trenches to a place where we were going to get shot. He stopped me before I went out there and made me promise to take care of you and Mary if he didn’t come back.”
Abigail held back painful tears. “Perhaps we can talk about this another time,” she said gently.
Phillip leaned back in his chair. “I thought he must be the happiest man in the world. I would be the happiest man in the world if I had you for a wife.”
Abigail looked at the clock again and sighed impatiently.
Phillip continued, “I know you turned me down when I asked, but I always thought how nice it would be to get married and have babies with you.”
Abigail quickly rose from her seat and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Then she opened the front door to look outside, but there was no sign of William. “I think you should try to rest now, Phillip, and…stop talking.”
“I’m sorry, did I talk too much?” he sighed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought I would have lots of babies with Sofia. She had Gabriella right after we got married. Then Donnie came along. Then, she was about to have another—” Phillip stopped talking and began crying into his hands. “But that one died with her. We could have had lots of babies if only she had lived.”
Abigail closed her eyes in relief when William came through the front door. “Thank goodness you are here. He had the bottle two hours ago. I was afraid you weren’t going to come.”
“I changed my mind about operating tonight,” William said, walking past her to Phillip. “There’s something I want to try first.” He pulled back the bandage to expose the wound, then he reached into the pail and began smearing Greta’s ointment over it.
Phillip stopped crying and began to laugh. “Thank you, Dr. Hamilton. It feels so much better now that my leg is gone. Phew! I’m sorry I had to shoot at those Germans. I hope they were no relations of yours.”
William ignored him and was about to apply a fresh bandage, but he observed that debris began to come to the surface of the wound. He removed as much as he could see, then finally wrapped the bandage around the leg. Phillip had fallen asleep in the chair and Abigail watched it all with wide eyes. William turned to her to explain. “There was still debris in his leg that was keeping it from healing. I think this ointment brought it out somehow.”
“Do you think the infection might heal after all?” she asked.
“We can only wait and see. The last thing I want to do is amputate if there is any chance of healing. I’ll have to keep watch of him through the night. If he begins to develop chills or fever, then we are back to square one.”
“Go home to Mary,” Abigail said kindly. “I know you hardly see her anymore. I will stay here and keep watch.” William gratefully left the farmhouse and Abigail returned to the sitting room to read her book. Phillip snored loudly in the chair across from her.
Abigail awoke suddenly to the sound of clanging dishes in the kitchen. It was morning, a
nd she was still in her chair with the book in her lap.
“Sorry about the noise,” Phillip said nervously. “I was just trying to make some coffee.”
“I can make the coffee,” Abigail offered. “How do you feel?”
Phillip laughed. “Well, I sure was surprised to wake up this morning to two legs instead of one. I guess the doctor never made it over last night. My leg feels fine, but my head…”
“That would be the whiskey,” Abigail smiled. “But you don’t feel chills or fever?”
“No, just a headache,” he confirmed.
William knocked on the door and entered just then. “How’s the leg?” he asked quickly.
Phillip returned to the chair in the kitchen and showed him the bandage. William had a look and breathed in relief. “Well, what do you know. It looks better already.”
Phillip laughed. “I can walk from here to the kitchen without groaning.”
“That’s just what I hoped to hear.” William then turned to Abigail with a grin. “I nearly forgot, Mary said to tell you that you had a letter in the post.”
Abigail began to tremble. “Is it from Ethan?”
“Sure looks that way—” William started to say, but Abigail had already run out the open door of the farmhouse.
Chapter 7
Abigail,
I don’t know if you are getting any of these letters, but I want you to know that I am well. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left the house. I love you more than anything and can’t wait to hold you in my arms again.
Ethan
Abigail held the letter against her heart. “He writes to say that he is well, Mary.” Tears fell down her cheeks.
Mary smiled and sat next to her. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. I’ve been so worried, and I know you have too.”
“It is the most wonderful page of paper in all the world.”
“I agree,” Mary giggled. “Perhaps we may frame it to hang on the wall.”
Abigail laughed, holding her stomach. “It feels good to laugh and be merry again. I had forgotten what it feels like!”
“Any news of when he’ll be home?” Mary asked.
“No, unfortunately,” sighed Abigail. “But how much longer can this War last? It must be nearly over by now.”
Clara entered the sitting room where Mary and Abigail were talking. The color had drained from her face. “Abigail,” she said in dismay. “There is a messenger at the front door to see you. He is from the army.”
Abigail exchanged looks with Mary and could see the worry in her face. “Oh—I wonder what it could be about.” She rose from her seat and left Mary and Clara in the sitting room.
“Did he say why he was here?” Mary asked, her eyes wide.
“He wouldn’t say to me, but you should brace yourself, Mary. I think there is only one reason the army sends a messenger to the house.”
Mary covered her heart and held her breath. She and Clara waited in the sitting room for Abigail to return. They did not see or hear her from her for several minutes, so they went downstairs and found her sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase.
“What did the messenger say?” Mary asked.
Abigail stared blankly as if in a daze. “It’s a mistake,” she told her. “He came to deliver this message, but it has to be a mistake.” She handed the paper to Mary.
Mrs. Smith,
We regret very much to inform you that your husband E.J. Smith, No. 5932 of this Company was killed in action on the night of September 5. He now lies in a soldier’s grave where he fell. We sympathize with you in your loss and honor your husband for doing his duty and giving his life for his country.
In true sympathy,
Captain T. Morris
Clara hurried to the telephone and called the clinic. “William, Mary needs you. A messenger from the army was just here—about Ethan.”
“I’ll be right there,” William’s voice answered.
Clara returned the phone to its cradle and went to see Abigail and Mary, who remained seated on the bottom steps of the staircase.
“I don’t think this letter was meant for me,” Abigail was saying. “Ethan just wrote to say that he is well…you saw it yourself. Perhaps this message was meant for another Mrs. Smith. It is a common name.”
Mary was silent as tears streamed into her lap. Abigail turned to face her. “Don’t cry, Mary. Ethan is well, I just know it. I would feel it in my heart if something happened to him. It’s a mistake…that is all.”
Clara looked between Abigail and Mary. No one knew what to say. Finally Clara cleared her throat and spoke, “William is on his way home.”
“Thank you, Clara,” Mary said mournfully. She slowly rose to her feet and went up the stairs to her room.
Abigail watched her walk away. “Poor Mary. She doesn’t realize that these mistakes happen sometimes. I’m going to the farmhouse to tell Phillip that I’ve had a letter from Ethan. He will be glad to hear that Ethan is alright.”
Clara stared at Abigail in confusion. Abigail hardly seemed to notice that Clara was standing there. She left the staircase and went out the front door on her way to the farmhouse. Phillip greeted her with a smile. “You don’t have to come help with the children today. I can manage,” he told her at the front door. “I sure do appreciate your help this week.”
“I was glad to help,” Abigail replied. “I received a letter from Ethan today. He wrote to say that he has written other letters, but this is the only one that reached me. Then an army messenger came to the door today to deliver another letter.” Abigail gave him the paper from the Captain.
“Oh,” Phillip said quietly. As soon as he read the words September 5, he froze and held his breath. In his mind, he was in the trenches again, feeling the piercing pain from the shrapnel in his leg. He heard the voice of the general barking orders to the others and the sound of artillery shells vibrated through his chest. He looked into Ethan’s face as he made him a promise, then everything went black again.
“Phillip, do you hear me?” Abigail was asking him frantically. “It’s possible that the letter is a mistake, right?”
Phillip snapped back to the present. “What did you ask?”
Abigail was frustrated as she repeated herself. “I asked if it’s possible for this letter to have reached me by accident. Perhaps they got the names switched or, I don’t know, but mistakes happen with letters like these, don’t they?”
Phillip looked at her in sorrow. “I suppose it can happen, sometimes…”
Abigail breathed in relief. “Thank you,” she said, abruptly taking the paper from his hand and leaving to return to the house. When she entered the Hall, she saw that Clara was there speaking with Sam. They both looked at her.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” Sam told her, hanging his head.
Abigail looked angrily at Clara. “You had to get my brother all worried over nothing. I’m telling you, it’s a mistake! Even Phillip agrees with me. I’m certain there is another letter on it’s way, taking back everything that was said in this one. We only have to wait for it. Go back to work, Sam, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be upstairs reading my book in the sitting room today.” Abigail stumbled up the stairs and closed the double doors to the sitting room.
Sam looked at the floor sadly. “She did the same thing when our ma died. Abby said we shouldn’t bury her until we knew for sure that she was no longer with us…but we all knew.”
Clara looked helplessly at Sam. “What should we do about her?”
“Just give her time, I guess. The news might sink in when the letter that she’s waiting for never comes.”
A week went by, but Abigail would not change her mind about the news of Ethan. Mary wore her black mourning dress and spoke to Abigail in her bedroom. “It is time for us to arrange a memorial service for Ethan, since we cannot have a proper burial for him,” Mary said quietly.
Abigail stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. “I won’t have any part
of it, Mary.”
“If you won’t think of it as being for you, then think of it as being for me. He was my brother. I want to honor him properly.”
“Such a thing would bring bad luck on us and may even kill Ethan for real,” Abigail said, then returned her gaze to the book she was reading.
Mary left the room and made her way to the farmhouse. Phillip appeared depressed when he answered the door. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Hamilton,” he said, bowing his head.
“May I come in and speak with you?” she asked. Phillip opened the door and showed her to a chair.
Mary looked at him solemnly. “I wish to arrange a memorial for my brother, but Abigail is convinced he is still alive. She will not grieve or even acknowledge that we are in mourning. When I try to talk to her about it, she answers that you told her that letter may have come by mistake.”
Phillip sighed. “She asked if it was possible, and I told her yes. I didn’t know what else to tell her right then.”
A faint look of hope crossed Mary’s face. “Please tell me the absolute truth, Mr. Valenti. Could this all be a misunderstanding, and my brother be alive and well?”
“I was with him on that day, Mrs. Hamilton,” Phillip answered emotionally.
Mary held her breath. “And?” she asked.
Phillip clenched his jaw while tears filled his eyes and he shook his head. “He’s gone.”
Mary nodded and looked down at her lap. “Mr. Valenti, I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this, but Abigail desperately needs to hear you say these words. She won’t listen to me or Clara or Sam, but she will believe you. Please come to the house and tell her.”
Phillip followed Mary back to the house where Mary led him to Abigail’s room. “Abigail, Mr. Valenti would like to speak to you.”
Abigail smiled when she saw Phillip. “You are looking well, Phillip. How is your leg?”
Mary gave Phillip a pleading look before she turned around and left down the hallway. Phillip stood inside the doorway to Abigail’s room. “The leg is getting better every day,” he told her. “I expect it will be as good as new soon enough.”