The Thorn Healer

by Pepper D. Basham

  He brought his forehead to touch hers and she traced the sharp contours of his cheek with her fingers. “This is disastrous, you know?”

  “I find it rather perfect,” came his quick reply.

  She kissed his smile and took her time memorizing his face. “I don’t know how I’ll go back to having a fence between us every day. Not after... this.”

  “I have an idea.” He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a paper tied with twine. “It is a poor compromise in comparison to your kiss, but perhaps it will provide some solace and comfort in the separation we must bear?”

  Would she ever understand his thoughtfulness? His love overwhelmed her in senses, heart, and soul. She’d done nothing to deserve such pure affections, but here August was, loving her in an immeasurable, incomparable way.

  “Letters?” She took his offering and slipped it into the pocket of her skirt.

  “I have many I’ve written to you but never given.”

  “You wrote me letters you never sent?”

  He nodded, his thumb smoothing over her chin. “My heart was full of you. I had to find relief in some way. And you were not ready for my letters.”

  “You... you are just wonderful, aren’t you?” She shook her head, unable to pull any more words from her overflowing emotions. She sighed into him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him close, wordlessly attempting to add depth to her admission. “Can’t we stay here forever, away from everything outside?”

  He rested his cheek against her hair and surrounded her with his embrace. She closed her eyes, reveling in the cocoon of his arms and resting in this new yet unmatched love. She knew the answer to her question. Others depended on both of them, but here, nestled in the sweet rest and incandescent beauty of his embrace, her restless heart found a home.

  The outside world swelled with uncertainty and fear.

  A knock at the door invaded their retreat, dousing the moment. Jess gripped August closer and found his lips again, determined to keep his taste, his touch, fastened within her memory for the unpredictable weeks ahead.

  August drew back first, honorable man that he was, and pressed his lips to her forehead in gentle benediction. “You have my heart, Mause. It is yours, no matter what happens beyond today or tomorrow. I will not seek it back.”

  She buried her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. “It’s a fair trade. One heart for another.”

  He cupped her face and touched his lips to hers in a gentle promise. “A very good trade.”

  Another knock sounded from the door. “He told me he would give me three knocks for warning before he reached in to drag you out.”

  She pressed her good ear against his chest, listening to his rumbling voice and failing to tame her smile. “I wouldn’t tell him, of course, but he’s a secret romantic.” Jess looked up, keeping her arms around his sturdy frame. “Do you think he’ll ever work up the courage to tell your sister how he feels?”

  August’s delicious lips tilted. “He has to. He lost the wager twice now.” His eyebrow peaked. “If we count every kiss, then he is in immeasurable debt.”

  She chuckled. “The wager?”

  August’s spun a loose strand of her hair through his fingers. “He couldn’t believe your heart would ever soften to me, so he made the wager that the day you kiss me, is the day—”

  “He would admit his feelings to Anna?” Jess gave his arm a gentle slap. “How dare you use me in a wager, August Reinhold?”

  “It was a high-stakes bargain. Lots of soft hearts but hard heads in the gamble.”

  “And how were you so certain you’d win?”

  He searched her face with those probing eyes of his, his smile tipping in his adorable heart-fluttering way. “I was hopeful.”

  “Hope is a good thing, I hear.”

  “Yes, a very good thing.”

  A third knock sounded and Jess loosened her grasp, taking his lead. She stepped back and touched his face. “Keep safe, my dear alien.”

  He laughed at the endearment and caught her hand on his cheek, bringing her palm to his lips. “Alien is better than Mause, yes?”

  “They’re both equally detestable and perfect, don’t you think?”

  “Perfect, yes.” He squeezed her fingers as the gap between then distanced. “You keep safe, and those children.”

  She nodded, relinquishing her hold on his hand. Emotions scratched at her words, her heart. She wouldn’t succumb to them. “I will do my best, with God’s help.” She pinched the tears back with a grin. “And, my dear alien, you’re not allowed to die, you understand?”

  “I’m not?” His quick response edged with humor.

  “No. I’ve not beaten you at badminton yet.”

  She pushed open the door, followed by his laughter, a sound she hoped to hear for a very long time to come.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  August 9, 1918

  My dear Jessica,

  I claim you as mine on this paper, so it must be the truth. Isn’t that so? Your sweet lips have sealed my fate forever. I can go nowhere else for my heart. It is caught and I will not take it back, my Mause. No matter if a fence or an ocean separates us, my heart is yours to do with as you will.

  If I attempted to bottle these emotions, I might internally explode, so I pour out my thoughts on this page and cloak it with enough sentimentality and romantic verbiage to make you laugh, at the least, and speak to your heart, at best. Do you like?

  Our meeting did not start as I’d hoped. Your pain bound you to caution and suspicion, but blessed be to God that hope and perseverance sought to cover your wounds with this love I wished to offer you. Now, my feelings have only intensified at your glorious reciprocity. It is much more enjoyable to participate in a romance when the partner responds with similar enthusiasm. In fact, your participation proved so potent, I see no way out of my current situation than to enforce your immediate promise to marry me. Yes, that will do.

  Would you end my misery? You alone are the nurse who can bring about the correct solution for my malady, Mause.

  Your cousin says that men do not speak of such romantic nonsense, but I cannot cease. My heart overflows. I write of love and hopes and futures, because you belong with me in each. Through your grandparents’ letters, I became enamored with your strength, resilience, and devotion to your family, and have only become more devoted in my admiration since knowing you in flesh and breath.

  Now that I have touched you, kissed you, and felt your passions burn for me, I am amazed at God’s perfection in this glorious pairing. Oh, for you to turn that devotion to me? There are not enough pens, nor sufficient ink, nein, not even words, to express my gratitude to the Almighty for this chance to win your heart. You are, to me, vibrancy, truth, and courage.

  I dreamed with caution before. I dream with purpose and steady hope now, because you care for me. Know this. I love you as you are and as you will become.

  Yours,

  The Alien

  “Have you talked to her yet?” August’s whisper sliced into the darkness of the cloudy night. Slips of moonlight filtered through charcoal clouds leaving a tapered gray hue against the countryside and an occasional glistening on the murky waters of the French Broad.

  Cliff pinned his lips so tight they turned white enough for August to make out in the shadowed evening.

  “You don’t like her?”

  Cliff sliced him a glare. “Of course I like her.”

  “Then why do you wait? I don’t understand this.”

  Cliff sighed back against the tree behind which he hid from someone’s approach. “It’s not so easy to trust your heart again after you’ve helplessly watched someone you love ripped from your arms.”

  “So it is better to keep your arms empty and your heart lonely?”

  Cliff leaned his head back against the tree. “It’s getting harder each day. Anna Fischer is the type of woman who doesn’t go unnoticed, that’s for sure.”

  “Which is why
you should make your intentions known, friend. Would you rather her be ripped from your arms by another man?”

  Cliff sat up straighter. “What other man?”

  Ah, an idea formed with the pinch of a smile. “Who is that man with the ginger hair? I can’t—”

  “Joel Martin?” Cliff leaned closer, his finger jabbing the air. “He’s a bootlegger and bum. There’s no way he’d have patience with sweet Sylvie, let alone be a good example for her.”

  August shrugged, as if the notion hadn’t occurred to him. This game provided a perfect distraction for passing the long night and hopefully spurred his reluctant friend into action. He’d seen the longing looks Cliff sent to his sister. The humorous fumbling about in her presence. The protectiveness and gentleness.

  “That pharmacist’s assistant, what was his name?”

  “Reed Parker?” Cliff nearly stood to his feel for that one. “He’s outlived two wives and courted half the county. Don’t you care about your sister’s life at all?”

  “I know she’s lonely for a man to love her.” August stared up at the night sky, searching for some more inspiration. “She’s not getting younger, you know. Maybe her hair is fading too.”

  “You need to get your eyes checked, August. Her hair is fine. Just fine.” Then his friend paused. “Oh, I see what you’re doing.” He released a quiet laugh. “Clever, Reinhold. Real clever.”

  “And it proved the point, yes? Do not be a coward, Cliff. Life is short. Do you not see it all around you?” August shook his fist toward Cliff. “Take it. Live it. Do you regret loving your wife even though you have hurt from her loss?”

  Cliff’s silence gave a resounding answer.

  “You are my friend. She is my sister. I know your hearts would find homes with each other.”

  “Men don’t talk like that, August. You’re always saying things men might think, but they don’t say.”

  “Then perhaps—” A murmur of voices wafted on the breeze from the river.

  August drew to immediate attention behind his own tree, using the nearby bush as camouflage to peer from his hiding spot. Two figures appeared from the direction of the repaired bridge, each moving with cautious steps in and out of the shadows.

  The taller of the two carried something in his hand. A pail, perhaps.

  Cliff slid to his feet, keeping his body behind the tree, so August followed suit. The men’s voices remained too low to make out words, but the cadence of one perked August’s memory. He knew the voice, but couldn’t place the face, the name. Was it Jasper’s without the faux English accent?

  Cliff motioned for August to get ready. August knew how to fight, and his schoolboy skills had only improved during his few months aboard the Vanderland, but Cliff had brought the pistol as a precaution.

  The shorter man walked to the well and began to push at the large metal lid while the taller one waited, shifting his attention from the camp to the river behind him, their faces shrouded in some sort of black cloth. Just as the metal lid began to screech loose, Cliff gave the signal.

  They both rushed forward, one after each figure. August tackled the startled man from behind, knocking him to the ground. The man’s elbow jabbed into August’s ribs, sending blinding pain shooting through his middle, but he secured his hold, pinning the man’s face into the ground. A strong scent of whisky accompanied the man’s groan and the faintest hint of moonlight gleamed like a spotlight on his culprit, but the handkerchief covering the bottom half of the man’s face kept his identity uncertain. Dark eyes. Lighter hair.

  An explosion of sound blasted from August’s left. The other struggling pair split as one stumbled to his feet and the other slumped to the ground. The dark figure ran toward the bridge. Heat fled from August’s body.

  Cliff.

  August released his hold and ran to Cliff’s side as the other man limped along after his cohort. The pale moonlight glinted off of Cliff’s distorted and pale features.

  “Cliff.”

  “My chest. I think.” His words crimped with pain. “Get me to my uncle.”

  ***

  The sound of a motor and flash of car headlamps drew Jess’ attention to the window. Lantern light illuminated her clock. Three a.m. It had to be a medical emergency. She’d just gotten Faith back to sleep after her feeding, so it only took seconds for her to grab her robe and race down the stairs. She gave ‘the knock’ on her grandfather’s door as she passed. Years of the routine, living among doctors, had its economy.

  She lit a lantern at the end of the stairs and completed the path to the front door just as a frantic knock resounded through the sleeping house. Her breath caught as August’s face materialized at the door in her lamplight. She’d spent Faith’s feeding time rereading his exquisite letter, so filled with him. Usually, such effusion of romance left her squirming in discomfort, but from him? She drank in the beautiful combination of wit and tenderness, her own little secret delight.

  “August?” His gaze searched hers and her pulse skittered into a gallop. “What is it?”

  “Cliff has been shot.”

  Her mind filtered through the information, attempting to consume this impossibility. Cliff? Shot? But the faces of the other men confirmed August’s concern, and as they moved the body through the door and she saw her cousin’s pale face, her body kicked into motion.

  “Follow me to the dining room.” She rushed ahead and grabbed the cloth her grandfather kept in the sideboard for such occasions as this, separating her heart from her trembling emotions as she worked. Focus on the task at hand, not Cliff’s pallor.

  She spread the sheet, stained with its previous uses, over the table. “Place him here.” Her attention focused on August.

  The men lumbered forward, sliding Cliff’s lifeless body onto the table. He lay too quiet. Too still. Grandfather rushed into the room, his robe hanging loose around his striped pajamas, and made a quick assessment of the surroundings. “What happened?”

  “We were on watch for someone who might try to contaminate the water supply,” August explained.

  “Scissors,” Grandpa ordered and Jess complied immediately, grimacing at the wide-spread stain of blood over the top left portion of Cliff’s shirt. The cloth slid apart.

  “A gunshot wound?” Grandfather looked at her, and they both turned to August.

  “Cliff and I were keeping guard on the south well when two men came, their faces hidden behind cloth. There was a struggle in the darkness, and Cliff was shot.”

  Jess applied pressure to the wound as her father pulled supplies from the closet in the next room. Cliff had lost a lot of blood and continued to lose more from where the bullet lodged in his shoulder. They needed to perform surgery. Jess tensed. And even then, with so much loss, the prognosis looked grim.

  Grandfather returned with an unexpected array of tubing and containers. “A blood transfusion?”

  “The trip here on the bumpy road encouraged more blood loss, and we still have surgery to do to remove the bullet.” He pushed the items on the sideboard to make room for the medical equipment. “It’s not an option.”

  “We don’t have Cliff’s blood type and we’ve already used all of the preserved blood from the clinic.”

  “We will not lose another person in our family if we can help it.” The determination in his stare silenced her and evoked a sudden clarity. Her grandfather’s grief, swathed with as much pain as hers, buried beneath faith’s strength and experience’s temperance, but was still there, held within the tension of his jaw.

  “What must I do?”

  August’s voice pierced the conversation and Jessica pinched her eyes closed before facing him. August. Of course. He was the anonymous and universal blood donor.

  “Jake and Martin,” Grandfather addressed the other guards instead of answering. “Go back to the camp and tell your commander that August is required to stay. He will be under my care. You understand?”

  “Commander Ames won’t like—”

  “It is
not up for discussion. I will speak to the commander myself tomorrow, but for now, August is staying here.”

  Jake backed down, the local boy well aware of the futility in his argument at the out-of-character display in the doctor’s tone. He nodded and left the house with Martin at his heels.

  “We need three people to complete a direct line transfusion, Grandpa. This will take hours, and Granny’s going to have to watch after the children.” Jess shook her head, keeping her hands pressed tight against Cliff’s back. “We don’t have time to get Amy.”

  “Anna could help,” August offered, moving toward the door.

  Does she faint at the sight of blood?” Grandpa waved toward Granny as she emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of hot water. “We’ll need two cots on the floor—”

  “No,” August answered. “She has some experience. She took care of our mother during her illness.”

  “Good.”

  “Bring Sylvie to my bed so she’ll be close if she needs something.”

  August looked from Jess to Cliff and then ran from the house.

  Jess’ stomach twisted in knots. Cliff lay unresponsive and August offered his blood, a procedure with its own myriad of risks. Why did she feel as if she was constantly giving up the people she loved to the hand of God?

  My love is strong. Sufficient.

  Her threadbare faith gripped the promise with both fists. There was nothing else she could do but trust His love. Trust His care. She was powerless to exact any change beyond her medical skills. Only God could manage the intricacies of the future. She had to let go of one more thing... again.

  “Help me turn him over so we can extract the bullet.” Grandpa gestured toward Cliff, and though cumbersome, they succeeded in getting him turned as gently as possible. “You’ve had more experience with bullets than I have. I want you to remove it while I prep for the transfusion.”

  Jess nodded, examining the wound. “It’s lodged in his scapula or upper rib, I think. Thank God the bone stopped the bullet from tearing through his lung.”