“Got to get her out of here!” he muttered. Knowing he had no choice, he picked her up and carried her to the wagon. It was difficult, but he managed to get into the wagon and put her into the bunk he slept in. He tied her fast so that she could not fall out, then jumped out and untied the team. Leaping to the seat, he drove away from the battlefield and half an hour later was on the road that was already filling up with wounded men staggering back toward Corinth.
The sounds of the battle came to him, muted by distance, but an hour later they were very faint. He stopped the wagon twice to go back and check on the wounded girl. She was pale and unconscious, but he noted with relief that the bleeding seemed to be stopped.
Finally he found a small stream that crossed the road, and he turned the team to follow it. The ground was level, and soon he was out of sight of the main road. He pulled up under some chestnut trees, jumped down, tied the horses, and got Frankie out of the wagon.
As he was laying her down, her eyes opened. “How do you feel, Frankie?” Paul asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
A weak smile crossed her face. “Not—very good…,” she whispered, then closed her eyes and was unconscious again. Paul was filled with fear, for he thought she was either dead or dying. He leaped to the wagon, pulled blankets out, and made a bed. As he gently placed her on it, she stirred and licked her lips, which he saw were very dry. He got a cup, then scooped some of the water from the creek and tasted it. It was cool and sweet. Going to sit beside her, he lifted her head and held the cup to her lips.
Frankie’s eyelids fluttered, and she began to drink. When she was through, she whispered, “That was so good!”
All that afternoon and into the night, Bristol nursed the wounded girl. As he removed the blood-soaked bandages and replaced them with fresh dressing, he found himself praying—something he hadn’t done since he was a small boy. All night long he kept close watch, and he felt his heart tighten when Frankie developed a fever. Her skin grew so hot that he was alarmed, and finally he resorted to the remedy his mother had used on him when he was a child. He got a bucket of cool creek water and soaked a sheet in it. Then he carried Frankie to the wagon and removed her heavy boots and clothing. When he placed the wet sheet over her fevered body, she began to shiver and opened her eyes.
“What’s wrong with me, Paul?” she whispered, delirium and fear in her eyes.
“Hush, now.” His voice was low and soothing, his eyes gentle. “You’ve been wounded and have a fever, but you’ll be all right.” He saw her eyes focus on him, and as he watched, he saw the fear leave. His throat tightened painfully at her trust in him, and it was a few moments before he could speak. “I’ll take care of you, Frankie,” he vowed. “And remember, Mother’s praying for you.”
It took two hours, but by dawn the fever was broken. Exhausted, Paul pulled a blanket over Frankie and went and slumped down on a box beside her. She was sleeping a normal sleep, and he lay down on the bare wood of the wagon floor and dropped off to sleep as if he’d been drugged.
“Paul?”
At the sound of Frankie’s voice, he awoke instantly and got stiffly to his feet. Leaning over her, he asked, “How do you feel?”
“Can I have some water, please?”
Paul got some fresh water and watched as she drank it. She gave him the cup back, and he frowned at how frail she looked. Dark circles gave her green eyes a sunken look, and she winced with pain when she moved. She reached up and touched the bandage on her chest, then let her hand fall. “I feel better. Last night I was burning up, wasn’t I?”
“Yes. The fever was pretty high.” He reached out and pushed her hair back from her forehead. “You gave me a pretty bad scare, Frankie. But you’ll be all right now. I think we’ll move away from here—if you can stand the ride. Federals probably will be headed this way pretty soon, and I’d hate to see us wind up in a Yankee prison.”
Frankie closed her eyes, then said, “Yes, let’s go.”
Paul got out of the back of the wagon, then climbed into the seat. He drove steadily all morning, stopping often to check Frankie’s condition and give her plenty of water. He made some soup at noon and was pleased that it seemed to do her good. Encouraged, he ate ravenously. That night he camped just outside a small town, and Frankie asked if she could go outside. “It’s so stuffy in here. Let me sleep on the ground.”
He fixed her a bed beneath the wagon, put her in it, then made a fire and heated more soup. She ate some and drank a lot of water. “I can’t seem to get enough,” she said, giving him the cup.
“It’s that way with a wound, so I hear.” He cleaned the dishes, then went to feed the horses. Coming back, he sat down close to her, saying, “I want to get you home, but it’s a long way.
We’ll have to take it easy. I’ll send a wire to my folks and tell them we’re all right but won’t be home for a while. Want me to send anyone a wire?”
“No, there’s no need for that,” she said but wouldn’t meet Paul’s eyes. She seemed preoccupied, though not depressed or in great pain.
“Are you all right, Frankie?” he asked, concerned.
She looked up at him, and he saw by the flickering firelight that her face was relaxed. “Yes, I’m all right. But something happened to me.” She was propped up in a sitting position, back braced against one of the wheels, and she reached up and brushed her hair away from her face. “Last night when the fever was so high, I kept having a dream.”
“A bad dream?”
She smiled then and shook her head. “No, a good one. I dreamed about Sol Levy. It wasn’t like any dream I’ve ever had, Paul. You didn’t know him, but he was the most wonderful man!” She spoke quietly, telling Paul about the man who had done so much for her. Then she said in a voice of wonder, “I heard him talk to so many soldiers about becoming Christians. It was all he cared about, really, to see men get saved. And when my fever was so high I thought I was going to burn up, I seemed to see him and to hear him talking.”
“What did he say?” Paul asked, leaning forward with intense interest.
“He said, ‘It’s time for you, daughter.’ He always called me that, and he always said that the time would come for me to be saved. I never believed it, though. Not until I had the dream.”
Paul watched her curiously. Her face had a restful look to it, despite the strain of the sickness. She seemed somehow—different. He could not put his finger on it, but felt it had something to do with the wall that she’d kept around herself ever since he’d known her. It had been an almost palpable barrier, so that no matter how she smiled, he’d never felt close to her. Now that barrier was gone, and he wondered at the change in her.
“Sol said it was time for me to call on God,” she continued. “To ask Jesus to save me.” She closed her eyes, thinking about it, then opened them and smiled. “And I did. It wasn’t hard, not like I always thought it would be. I just sort of…gave up. I was so tired and sick, and there was nothing I could do. So I asked God to forgive me in the name of Jesus, and as soon as I did that, Paul, I knew I wasn’t going to die.” She looked at him then, and her eyes seemed to glow. “And ever since then, I…I’ve had this wonderful peace! It’s like I’m free, somehow…and I’m not afraid anymore.”
“Afraid? Of whom?”
“Of myself, of who and what I am…and of…others…” Her voice trailed off wearily. She wanted to go on, to explain to him that the Lord had come in and taken away her deepest fear—the fear of loving, and being loved by, a man—but she was just too tired. Later…, she thought. I’ll tell him later.
Paul stared at her, not able to speak for a moment. Something had happened to the girl, no question about that. Probably just the strain. But he could not shake off the feeling that it went much deeper than that. Finally he said, “I’m glad for you, Frankie. And my mother will be very glad, indeed.”
He could see from her face how weary she was, so he made her lie down. As she dropped off to sleep, she reached up toward him. When he took he
r hand, she held it to her cheek and closed her eyes. “Don’t leave me, Paul,” she muttered with a sigh.
For a long time he sat there holding her hand, studying her face, and wondering what would happen to her. She was so different. Finally he laid her hand under her blanket, then went to roll up in his own blankets. He was bone tired, but thought of the past two days, his mind so hazy he could hardly piece the events together. It was a long way to Virginia, but they would make it. They would get home, back to his mother and father, back to Marie, back to…
Luci DeSpain. Paul frowned. Luci would be there, of course, waiting to talk about their wedding. But he would have to see to Frankie, too—make sure she’d be taken care of. And he’d have to give the pictures to the War Department, to the president. And he’d have to decide what he was going to do next. Suddenly the future seemed to rise up, with a thousand tasks ready to press down on him. He closed his eyes, and finally sleep came. He forgot the bloody battlefield and dreamed of Hartsworth…and a woman with laughing green eyes.
The darkness closed in on the two sleepers, and the stars looked down, glittering like jewels. The woods were silent, and except for the sound of the small stream, a holy quietness fell over the little glade.
PART FOUR
The Awakening—May 1862
CHAPTER 18
A WOMAN’S JEALOUSY
Luci DeSpain arrived at Hartsworth just after one o’clock in the afternoon. She had heard from her father that Paul Bristol had returned from Tennessee and at once had rousted out one of the slaves to drive her to the Bristol plantation. When she arrived, she was met at the front door by one of the maids, who said, “Miz Bristol up takin’ care of Miss Frankie, in de blue room.”
Luci ascended the stairs and knocked at the door. When Marianne’s voice called out, “Come in,” she stepped inside. There she saw Paul’s young assistant sitting on a straight-backed chair with Marianne standing beside her, a bandage in her hand.
“Why, Luci,” Marianne said with obvious surprise. “Paul’s gone to your place to see you.”
Luci had been angry since hearing that Bristol was back—he had not come to her at once. Now she swallowed the bitter words that had been rising to her lips and managed to smile. “Oh, I guess I missed him,” she said lamely. Then she stared at the young woman sitting on the chair. “I hope you’re better, Miss Aimes. Paul wrote me about your wound.”
Frankie looked up at Marianne with a smile. “I’m fine, Miss DeSpain,” she said easily. “My nurse won’t let me do much, though.”
Luci had expected the girl to look pale and washed out, but there was no sign of sickness in the rosy cheeks and clear eyes she saw before her. Frankie was wearing a petticoat, and the wound high up on her chest was clearly healing well.
“She’s a healthy girl,” Marianne said with a smile, noting Luci’s stare at the small puckered wound. “And Paul’s a good nurse. He drove back from Shiloh very slowly and was careful to change the bandages. Look, the scar on the back is even smaller than the one in front.”
Luci came to peer at the wound on Frankie’s back, which was, indeed, healing well. “I didn’t know Paul was a nurse,” she remarked. “I suppose the doctors took good care of you?”
“Oh, they didn’t have time for a little thing like this,” Frankie said at once. “Men were dying everywhere. Paul had to do it all.” Her face glowed, and she smiled at Paul’s mother. “He said once all he did was try to think of what you would do, and then try to do the same.”
Marianne laughed, then said, “Well, let me see about this.” She studied the wound. “I think we’d better keep a light bandage on for a day or two.” Skillfully she secured the bandages, wrapping a thin strip of cotton cloth over the girl’s shoulder, then around her chest. “If that bullet had been much lower,” she remarked, “it would have hit the lung. But the worst evidence you’ll have now are two small scars, front and back.” She stepped back and said without thinking, “But they’ll only show with ball gowns and party dresses that are cut low—”
All three women were aware of the sudden silence, and all three were thinking of the last party dress Frankie had worn. Luci flushed, but it was Frankie who eased the moment. “Oh, I don’t go to many parties,” she said, “but when I do, I’ll put one of those beauty marks on the scar.”
The stiffness went out of the atmosphere, and Luci said quickly, “Well, I’m glad to see you’re recovering so well.” She hesitated, then asked, “I imagine you’ve had enough of battlefields. You won’t go back with Paul when he leaves for another assignment, will you?”
Frankie looked at the girl, aware that the question was not as simple as it seemed—and her eyes widened with sudden comprehension. Luci DeSpain was jealous! Though Frankie was far from adept in the manners of courtship—she had never taken any interest in such things—she was very quick at reading people. Now she saw the slight tension at the corners of Luci’s lips and the resentful glint in her eyes…and was disturbed. She didn’t want to make trouble for Paul.
Choosing her words carefully, Frankie said, “Oh, I don’t think we’ll be leaving, Miss DeSpain. McClellan’s on his way here. Paul says we can get all the pictures of battles right around Richmond.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Luci said. Then she looked at Marianne. “I’ll wait for Paul if I may. I assume he’ll come back here when he finds out I’m not at home.”
“Of course, Luci. Would you like to sit down and visit with Frankie for a while?” There was a mischievous streak in Marianne that sometimes surfaced. She well knew that Luci would rather do anything other than sit and talk with this young woman, but she just couldn’t keep herself from asking.
To Luci’s credit, she did manage to keep a pleasant smile on her face as she said quickly, “Oh no! I’d just be in the way. I’ll just go get Blossom to fix me some tea.”
Luci turned, and as she left the room, Frankie rose and picked up the blue robe that Marianne had provided for her. Slipping into it, she said, “I can’t get over it…how different I feel about Luci now.” She moved carefully as she fastened the buttons, her eyes thoughtful. “After the ball, I hated her worse than I ever hated anybody, I think. But now that’s all gone.”
“It may come back,” Marianne warned. “You’ve let Jesus Christ come into your heart, Frankie, but there are some difficult times ahead.” She smiled pensively, adding, “I thought when I became a Christian that I’d never have any problems with anger or bitterness, but I soon found out differently.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked at the younger woman. “If a person likes chocolate cake before they’re saved, they’ll like chocolate cake after they’re saved.”
Frankie frowned. “But—I don’t hate her like I did!”
“No, and that’s a sign that God is doing a work in your heart. But if you find one day that some of that ugly feeling has crept back, don’t panic. You’re like a baby, Frankie. We all are when we first come into the kingdom. And every day you’ll be growing, learning how to please and worship God. But I’ve seen so many who slipped back into bad feelings or habits after they were saved, and they thought they’d lost God. The truth is, we don’t lose God when we fail, no more than we lose our parents because we fail them.”
Frankie looked up quickly at that. “You’re thinking about Paul, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I always think about him.”
“He was so gentle with me, like I was a baby. I was just about as helpless as one! I tried to get him to drive faster, but he said it might hurt me.” She looked out the window, the memory putting a thoughtful expression into her eyes. “I couldn’t even hold my head up to drink, Marianne. He had to do it. I’ve never been sick, and…it shamed me, somehow. But he did everything so kindly that I didn’t mind after a while.”
“Paul’s always prided himself on being a man’s man,” Marianne said. “But he’s always had a tender heart. Oh, he tries to cover it up—he’s like my father in that. Why, I remember a time when Paul was a boy, oh, no more
than seven or eight, I think. One of his dogs died, and he tried to keep the tears back, but I saw them. When he knew I’d seen, he grew very gruff. ‘Got something in my eye!’ he said.” She smiled tenderly. “But I knew better.”
“Men don’t cry, do they?”
“Not often, and it’s not good that they don’t!” Marianne sniffed, and a disdainful look swept over her face. “Look at the Bible. King David cried, and Prince Jonathan, and they were the two greatest soldiers of Israel. If they can cry, I can’t see why our men should be ashamed to do so. I suppose it all comes from our English blood…keep a stiff upper lip, never let anyone see you show emotion…what nonsense!”
“Well, I showed plenty of emotion when I got shot and while I was sick. I guess Paul thinks I’m a crybaby. And I wouldn’t blame him.”
Marianne gave her a level look. “He thinks you’re quite a woman. He told me that most women would have gone to pieces if they had to go through what you did, but you bore it all with calm and courage.”
A flush came to Frankie’s cheeks, and she said, “Miss DeSpain doesn’t like it, my going around the country with Paul. She doesn’t think it looks right.” She turned to Marianne, her lips drawn tight. “Do you think it’s wrong?”
“No!” Marianne wanted to say more but held the words back. After a few moments, she said, “I only hope she doesn’t start in on Paul again. He’s polite and likes to let her have her way, but Luci will soon find out something about Paul Bristol. When he does set his foot down, he can make the heavens ring!”
Marianne’s hope that Luci would not speak of her displeasure about Frankie to Paul was to go unfulfilled.
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 23