The Thorn Healer

by Pepper D. Basham

  August steadied his gaze, refusing to bend beneath the glare, and then turned the corner into the Lower Lawn gate of the camp.

  “In for the evening, August?” Cliff’s voice drew him from his thoughts.

  The man, about August’s height, stepped from behind the guard office and met August at the bottom of the steps to the small building.

  “It’s been a long day, my friend.”

  Cliff placed a comforting palm on August’s shoulder. “You’re wearing the weariness in your face. My cousin beat you down?”

  August chuckled, appreciating the welcome bond he’d developed with the camp guard. “More related to the sadness in my work with your cousin than your cousin herself.” Though the entire Jasper Little scene still irritated his worry. “Eliza Larson died in childbirth today.”

  Cliff’s broad shoulder bent with his sigh. “I’m sorry to hear it. I went to school with her husband. Good, hardworking fella. What about his young’un?”

  August raised two fingers. “The baby daughter survived. They are with your cousin.”

  Cliff’s mouth dropped. “Jessica?”

  August’s weary grin sloped in response to Cliff’s astonishment. “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s evidence enough of Eliza Larson’s state of mind. Leaving two children in the hands of my cousin who has been fairly terrified of children ever since she watched two brothers nearly drown?” Cliff shook his head. “Seriously, August, the woman ain’t held a baby since then unless under duress.”

  Which explained a great deal of her behavior from the time she wrapped the baby in a worn-out blanket, somewhat nervously, to the tension as she walked. It still didn’t explain her increased fear as they descended the mountainside, but certainly seemed to add to it.

  “Why?”

  “Those two brothers were boys she’d helped tutor in school. Took to them something fierce. Doc almost lost one of the boys—lips turned plumb blue.” Cliff shook his head. “You don’t know her like me, friend, but she’s more protective than any mama bear I’ve ever seen. Her family. Friends.” Cliff released a low whistle. “She might act like the devil may care, but she holds a depth of feeling on the inside nobody sees.”

  “Then the children should be in good hands, yes?”

  Cliff’s eyebrow snagged with the corner of his lips. “Good? Well, I reckon good and capable are two different things, ain’t they?” A cloud shadowed Cliff’s features. “Childbirth takes more women in this part of the world than the war would ever steal the menfolk.”

  August allowed the silence to settle and Cliff’s gaze to return to the present before speaking. “Your wife?”

  The brawny man cleared his throat and set his palms against his hips. “And the babe. A daughter.”

  August touched the man’s shoulder, a prayer of comfort in his mind. “I’m sorry, friend.”

  “It was three years ago, but some days... when I learn of another situation, the years disappear and I’m back in my house, holding my wife and praying for a miracle.”

  Grief held a curious dagger, striking at the most unexpected times in unlikely ways. Oh, yes, August knew. And during these times of war and change, death stalked as close as a breath, touching each home with its chilling grasp. Cliff Carter embodied a certain breed of mountain man. Intimidating in size and strength, but underneath the rough edges beat a tender heart. A faithful heart.

  August grinned. Cliff Carter was cut from the same mold as August’s grandfather.

  August glanced ahead of him across the massive lawn framed in by a few barracks. At least his kinsmen preserved some of the beauty of the inn’s landscaping by leaving the massive holly trees and oaks in the front lawn and keeping the larger portion of the grassy area free for activity.

  “General Ames visited today.”

  August looked up and pushed back his straw hat to get a better view of his friend’s face, the implication clear. If the government sent Ames, something was getting ready to happen.

  “He’s come to inspect the camp, look over policies.”

  Warmth rushed back into August’s body and he relaxed his shoulders with a sigh. “Routine, yes?”

  “Yes.” Cliff grinned, but his face quickly sobered. “But, August, there’s talk of a change. I don’t think it’s going to be much longer.”

  ***

  Silence blanketed Jessica’s early morning steps as she held onto the stair railing. As she reached the bottom step, her grandmother’s quiet shuffling greeted her from the kitchen. Jessica’s head ached from lack of sleep, from the weariness of warring against ghosts and nightmares—faces of dying men, horrors mixed with mud and blood.

  She ran a palm over her face and quelled another shiver. How could she have expected life to return to normal after all she’d seen? Shadows haunted her as rabid as death, and they’d followed her home. Home. The one place she thought she’d find peace... but it had deserted her, just as God had done. Leaving her to battle alone.

  She fisted the railing and reigned in the tears, gripping her anger in an iron hold. She knew how to fight.

  A lantern lit the dim kitchen. Grandmother sat by the window, a bundle of blankets in her arms, but as Jessica drew closer, she realized her grandmother held a baby. Jess stopped her forward motion, memories from the previous day flooding back through her mind in full, excruciating clarity. Eliza. The children.

  Jess blinked down at the baby. Her baby? Surely not. She couldn’t take care of a baby—or a grieving little boy.

  “August sent some supplies from town I’d asked for. Some bottles and things.” Her grandmother’s voice soothed gently into the silence. “Told me about Eliza.”

  Jess stepped closer, peering down at the infant with the same caution she’d experienced around every baby. The tiny mouth moved on the bottle nipple and the quietest of swallowing sounds created a wispy pattern. How could someone so small terrify her so much?

  Granny looked up in examination. “Blake told the preacher and he’s been spreading the word. I’m sure the Marshalls and Painters will see to the wake.”

  “And the children?”

  “I fixed Jude up in David’s old room. He thought he’d entered Paradise itself from the look on his little face when he crawled in that big bed.”

  Jess rubbed her eyes, half to wake up and half to keep the residual tears from spilling. She slid into the chair opposite her grandmother, her heart still pumping with a sudden flight response. She her arms around her shoulders, warding off the chill of the storm and her nibbling insecurities. “You’ll take care of them, won’t you?”

  Granny’s brow tilted before she looked back down at the baby. “I’ll help you take care of ‘em, but they’re not my young’uns.” Her gaze pinned Jess to her chair. “They’re yours now.”

  Her grandmother’s words locked with a finality Jess repelled. She knew nothing about taking care of children, especially newborns. How on earth could anyone think it was a good idea, especially her grandmother?

  “What happened yesterday? To you?”

  Jess leaned her face into her palms, avoiding those searching eyes. “It’s more proof why I’m not fit to be a mother.” She sighed back into the chair and swallowed past her tightening throat. “I... I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes, I’m seized by this... terror I can’t control. What you saw?” She pointed to the front door to provide a memory cue. “What you saw was a good response. I caught myself in time to be alone for the... episode.” Her voice cracked as another sweep of warmth surged into her cheeks. Sheer panic still spiked the pulse in her throat at the thought of the storm. The thunder. The swelling fear. “I... I can’t stop it, Granny.”

  Granny stared at her, her gaze penetrating deep. Jess had no idea what her granny deciphered, but whatever it was somehow meant placing that fragile little baby into Jess’ unsuspecting arms. Clearly, her grandmother failed to listen well.

  “What are you doing?” Jess whispered, her entire body stiffening from the effort to hold the
small and moving parcel.

  Granny pushed the bottle into Jess’ free hand. “I’m fixin’ breakfast.”

  With that, she turned and walked right out the back door toward the barn and chicken coop. Jess wanted to run after her and trade. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down at the little face, the round eyes staring right back at her almost as if she questioned Jess’ ability too.

  “You should be terrified right now,” Jess whispered. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  The baby’s tiny mouth moved with a breath, so small and fragile like everything else about her, but otherwise, she didn’t seem too afraid. Jess lowered the bottle into the tiny rosebud mouth and the little one took hold of the nipple, knowing exactly what to do.

  Tension rolled off Jess’ shoulders. Okay, so far so good. The swallowing pattern returned, a consistent, peaceful sound. Small fingers reached up and took hold of Jess’ braid, squeezing, then releasing, in time with her suckle.

  A sweet warmth, like nothing she’d ever known, spilled over scars and scrapes around her heart. Tenderness squeezed against her tension, taunting her to release a hold on the fear engrained in every breath she took.

  She touched the baby’s little cheek. “Afraid I’ll go somewhere and take that bottle with me?”

  The baby’s eyes drooped lower in response.

  “I guess not.” Jess chuckled, her voice loosening its hold on the little one’s name. “Faith.”

  If there was a God, he wasn’t all-knowing, otherwise he’d never entrusted something so fragile and... precious to a woman with enough ghosts to impress Old Man Langston and his tall tales. But as the tenderness spread through Jess’ chest and the little baby fell into a sleep Jess envied, Jess embraced her promise.

  If God wasn’t going to help these children, then she certainly would.

  Chapter Eight

  “I think the baby is sick.”

  Jess rushed into the backyard, holding a crying Faith wrapped in nothing but a towel. Her grandmother’s head turned away from a plant she nursed in the kitchen garden. “I... I think we need to take her to Grandpa.”

  Granny stood and stretched out her back, not nearly as panicked as she ought to be. “You’re a nurse. What do you think’s wrong?”

  Jess stepped closer to ensure Granny heard her over the crying. “She’s... she’s sick to her stomach, I think.”

  Granny’s gray and gold brow rose. “How can you tell?”

  “Her stool... its...” Jessica cringed. “Yellow and... much more than it should be.”

  “She’s been takin’ a lot of milk, and you added a little water to it last night, didn’t you?”

  Jess pointed back toward the house which held the offensive diaper. “That much... stuff should not come from something so small. She has to be sick. She’s going to dehydrate from that much loss.”

  To Jess’ complete astonishment, her granny started laughing. And no light laugh, either. She placed a palm to her stomach and held her head back, barely catching a breath between another burst of amusement. Jess failed to find any amusement in the fact that this little baby in her care was probably going to become dehydrated and possibly die by the time her grandmother stopped laughing.

  “I don’t see how this is funny, Granny.” Jess gave a gentle bounce to the bundle in her arms, soothing the cry away. What a technique! She’d remember it for later. Bouncing the baby soothed her.

  “Oh, honey, to be so smart at nursing, you sure do have a lot to learn about mothering.”

  “One of the reasons why I was trying to steer clear of it.” Jess narrowed her eyes with every intention of showing her grandmother exactly what she thought of that statement, but her granny only chuckled at the desired blow.

  “You’ve always liked challenges. I reckon this’n will be the hardest one yet.”

  All Jess needed was to feel even more helpless than she already did, but she growled and turned back toward the house. Clearly, she’d come to the wrong person for compassion.

  “You’re going to be fine, girl. There ain’t one baby I know in these parts that’s bested her mama yet.” Her granny’s voice dissolved into another fit of chuckles and Jess marched up the steps into the house without looking back.

  “Your granny isn’t very nice right now, Faith,” Jess murmured down into the little face. “And I don’t think either one of us should talk to her for the rest of the day, regardless of what kind of cake she makes.”

  Jess finished cleaning up Faith’s mess, took much too long to get the little thing into a gown and diaper, then ignored her granny again as she fumbled through fixing Faith’s bottle. When she finally placed a drowsy baby down on Jess’ large bed, it was mid-morning, and Jess’ body ached like she’d tended patients all day. How could that even be possible? She leaned back into the rocking chair for just a moment and breathed out a sigh, the tension in her muscles uncurling. Her thoughts smoothed into a foggy blanket, the rocking motion lulling a mindless rhythm accentuated by the gentle hum of Faith’s breath.

  A cry shook Jess from her slumber. She shot to her feet and blinked the room into focus. Her room... and a crying baby? Another cry shocked her brain into motion and lit memories from the previous day back to the present. She stepped to the bedside and squinted against the afternoon light pouring cheery warmth through the window. Afternoon? She’d slept through to afternoon? As her memories from the previous day clashed with her present, a cool rush of fear zipped through her entire body.

  Jude!

  Her breath caught in a whimper. She scooped a squirming Faith up from the bed and made an uneven march down the stairs to the kitchen. Perfect. She hadn’t even been a mother for twenty-four hours, and she’d already lost a child.

  She turned the corner of the stairs and moved into the kitchen, bouncing a whimpering baby in her arms. How could she possibly get a bottle ready and look for a missing boy?

  “Whoa, now. Where’s the fire?”

  She looked to her granny and then scanned the room. “Jude! I haven’t seen him all morning. Not even a full day and I’ve already failed at motherhood.”

  “Don’t worry, girl, you’ll get plenty of practice at failin’ much worse.” She moved to the stovetop and poured tap water from the new system into the pot for boiling. Only cold water, unlike her brother’s home at Beacon House in Ednesbury, England. But running water was much better than what she’d grown up with in Hot Springs—a well and nearby creek.

  Jess’ shoulder slumped. “Where did all of that grandmotherly encouragement go?”

  “It’s camouflaged behind hard work at the moment.” Her granny grinned, pouring milk into a glass bottle and setting it in the pot of water on the stove. “Don’t worry, I reckon it’ll resurrect when you really need it.”

  “Aren’t you at all worried that I misplaced a seven-year-old?”

  Her granny’s chuckle fueled Jess’ scowl. “I sent him off with Cliff and August to Eliza’s. They’re helpin’ Preacher Russell with diggin’ the grave since Eliza didn’t have no family.”

  Jess’ panic vanished at the sound of August’s name. One hand flew to her hip and the jostling of poor, hungry baby Faith came to a complete stop. “You sent Jude with the German?”

  Her granny turned from her pot on the stove and shot a gray-slitted look that sent a chill over Jessica’s skin. “Jessica Ross, I know you’ve been through heartache and grief. Hurts no one should know, but you’re not the only one who’s known their share of pain.” Granny’s brow edged sharp. “You’re trying to be angry at the whole country of Germany when more than half of them men in that camp are civilians, including August the German.”

  Granny folded her arms and continued to stare. Faith lost all of her patience and burst out into a pitiful cry. Jess had the slightest inclination to join her. Granny’s fury sent the bravest, craziest, or most stubborn, cowering.

  “Place your finger in that baby’s mouth for a minute before she gets so worked up she won’t eat.”
<
br />   Jess complied and Faith began sucking on the little finger with surprising suction. Poor little thing. Jess groaned. She’d lost one child and left another to starve. Stellar mothering skills.

  “And stop doubting yourself.” The bite in Granny’s voice drew Jess’ attention back to her face. “If God’s given you these young’uns, he’s gonna make sure you can take care of them.”

  He hadn’t done very much to help her out recently. Why should she expect it now?

  “Can you watch Faith for me?”

  Granny’s eyes narrowed again but she nodded, taking the fussing bundle into her arms and turning back to the bottle on the stove. “And exactly what you are you plotting?”

  “Nothing.” Jess started braiding her hair as she walked to the door. “Just going to check on Jude and collect any clothes or keepsakes from the house for these children.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, girl.” Granny’s voice paused Jessica’s exit at the back door. She half-turned, bracing herself for some deep-meaning words of wisdom waiting to pounce guilt on her again. “August Reinhold is a kind, generous person. You ain’t gonna find whatever meanness you’re looking for in that boy.”

  Jess took a deep breath, keeping her rebuttal behind clenched teeth. If her granny had seen the atrocities, experienced the utter betrayal Jessica knew from the battlefield, she wouldn’t be so quick to see the blessed goodness of these blond-headed foreigners. And now, a poor little boy... She swallowed down a lump. Her poor little boy was at the mercy of the foreigner and her gregarious cousin? Jess quickened her steps to the door. “I certainly hope you’re right, Granny.”

  As Jessica passed her parent’s rock cottage, a woman exited the red-painted front door. Her hair, a rich caramel color, crowned her head in a mass of intricate braids, like none Jess had ever seen. She offered a tentative smile, her eyes a gleaming pool of periwinkle, familiar in a way that forced Jessica to scratch the back of her mind for a memory to match.