Cass stepped into the dim light and stared at the man on the bed. How could this be Zach? His face, arms, and chest were bandaged. A blanket covered the rest of his body. Ropes were wrapped around his wrist and attached to the bed post behind him, holding his arms stretched over his head. “Why is he tied like that?”
“It’s to prevent him from harming himself,” Sister Lucia said. “If he was free, he would tear at his skin.”
Cass reached for his bandaged arm.
“Don’t touch him!” Sister Lucia raised her glove-covered hands. “The bandages are medicated for the burns.”
Sister Lucia’s shout startled her, and Cass jerked her arm away from the nun and brushed her bare forearm against the oily bandages.
Zach screamed. “I’m on fire! Help, I’m burning up.” He struggled against the ropes and thrashed his legs and hips side to side to break free.
“Zach, Zach,” Cass called. “It’s me. Harry and Ethan are here. We’ve come to help.”
He opened his sour apple green eyes wide with pain and fear. Swollen lips exposed between the bandages covering his face moved in hoarse words. “I’m going mad.” He screamed. “My flesh is on fire. Stop it!” He fought the restraints.
“Do something,” Cass pleaded.
Sister Lucia took a spoonful of powder from a glass bottle and mixed it with honey in a bowl. She placed a spoonful of the mixture on his lips. “Take this.”
“What are you giving him?”
“Opium and honey. It eases the pain.” The nun offered him the remainder of the mixture and a drink of water.
Zach relaxed as the opium dulled his senses.
Ethan touched her shoulder. “We better let him rest.”
Unable to speak without bursting into tears, Cass nodded. She followed the boys out of the room.
Mrs. Graves had waited outside. “Poor Mister Ravenswood.”
Seymour joined them in the hall. “Now you understand why I didn’t want you to see him.”
“He needs us more than ever,” Cass said. “I’m a nurse. I can help.”
“Sister Lucia will ask for your help if she needs it,” he said. “Treatments for burns can be painful, and you are too emotionally attached to Zachary to care for his injuries.”
Cass straightened her shoulders. “Do I look hysterical?”
Instead of answering, Seymour turned to Mrs. Graves. “Supper will be at six o’clock. Have the table set for five.”
Mrs. Graves looked around. “A hive?”
“Five.” Seymour showed her the fingers of his hand. “Sister Lucia will be joining us.”
“She always takes her meals in her room,” Mrs. Graves announced.
“Not tonight.” He waited until Mrs. Graves left. “Sister Lucia has been spending her evenings in prayer. Things have been stressful with Elijah Ravenswood’s death and Zachary’s unfortunate condition.”
“Then she should welcome my help,” Cass said.
Seymour’s stern visage revealed no emotions. “I hope you won’t be tempted to visit your friend without Sister Lucia or my supervision.” He strode away, his coattails flapping behind him like a bat in flight.
Ethan raised an eyebrow and stared at Cass. “His orders fell on deaf ears, and I don’t mean Mrs. Graves’.”
“He wants us gone, which is why we’re staying.” Cass headed for her room.
“What can you do for Zach?” Harry asked.
Cass paused. “I have some herbs and poultices for burns. They would be better than dosing him with opium.”
“Some wounded men became addicted to that stuff,” Harry said. “Do you think Zach is?”
“Not yet, but if a patient is on it long enough, they can’t stop using it,” Cass said. “Hospitals had to guard the supplies of opium, laudanum, and morphine to prevent patients from breaking in and stealing it.”
Ethan touched her cheek. “Are you sure you’re all right, Cousin?”
Tears were hot, brimming on her lower lashes, but she hadn’t cried in front of anyone. She would if she didn’t leave them. She nodded, turned, and disappeared into her room.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alone, Cass leaned against the closed door and allowed hot tears to burn wet trails on her cold cheeks. “Zach, poor Zach.” She went to her bag and removed a small photo album and flipped through pages of her family until she reached the one of Zach taken at Matthew Brady’s studio. She traced the outline of his uniform and studied his handsome face. She didn’t need Madame Cherie to tell her what to do. She was determined to help Zach through this dark time in his life. And no matter how badly he was scarred and deformed, she would stand by him. She loved him.
She lifted her bell-shaped sleeve and examined her arm where it had brushed against Zach’s bandaged arm. What sort of burn medicine couldn’t be touched? She removed the wide belt holding the thin summer bodice in place and untied the matching skirt. Both were soaked. She wrung the excessive water out over a tin tub and spread them across the dressing screen hiding the washstand and chamber pot.
She removed her shoes and stockings. The bottom of her crinoline and petticoat were damp. She had a spare petticoat, but she would have to wear the bell-shaped crinoline underneath her formal gown for supper.
After pouring water from the pitcher into a bowl, she washed her tear-streaked face. She would need to be strong for Zach.
She removed her best dress from her travel bag. The green silk she had worn to Ford’s Theater was wrinkled, but she didn’t have time to heat an iron. She had chosen the gown for Zach’s enjoyment in spite of the tragedy of Lincoln’s assassination associated with it. She had hoped for an opportunity for Zach to hold her in his arms for a dance. Now, that might never happen. What wicked force kept preventing her and Zach from pursuing their romance and ultimate happiness?
She put the gown over a chair and chose another. It wasn’t as nice, but the lavender gown with white trim would be appropriate for the evening. Dry stockings and a pair of dress slippers took away the chill in the air. She undid her braids, brushed the long dark tresses, and arranged her hair in a chignon at the base of her neck. The loose style would allow her thick hair to dry. She unpacked the remaining items in her bag and opened the window to dispel the staleness hanging in the air. When was the last time the room had been occupied?
She removed a lacy shawl from her bag and draped it around her shoulders and tucked it across her bosom. She didn’t like the way Seymour had stared at her wet dress clinging to her body.
Someone knocked. She opened the door. Ethan and Harry had changed into their Sunday best. Whether in their uniforms, work clothes, or formal wear, she had no reason to be ashamed of their company. “You look handsome.”
Both men offered their arms. She paused by Zach’s door.
“He’s quiet,” Ethan said. “Let him sleep for now.”
She nodded in agreement. She would tend to Zach when Seymour and Sister Lucia were otherwise occupied. They descended the staircase.
The grand dining hall had been designed for entertaining a large number of guests. A long mahogany table reflected the chandelier’s lights in its polished surface. Seymour sat at the head of the table with Sister Lucia seated to his right. Cass was placed to his left with Harry next to her and Ethan next to the nun.
Mrs. Graves placed a bottle of vinegar and oil on the table after placing bowls of fresh garden greens in front of each guest. She placed a large basket of freshly baked bread in front of Seymour. A sweet aroma rose with the steam. Sister Lucia grabbed a thick slice. She reached for a crock with her knife and harvested a dab of creamy butter.
Harry lifted his clasped hands. “I hope you don’t mind if I say grace?”
She placed her knife coated with butter and the bread slice on her plate. “Of course not.” She bowed her head.
Harry prayed, and they ate.
Supper consisted of thick beef slices au jus, potatoes, and raw celery and carrots. Cass picked at her food, her thoughts on Zach up
stairs.
The storm continued outside with flashes of lightning outlining the intricate leaded glass in the top panels of the tall windows. The patterns burst into colorful images. A knight on a charging horse decorated the window opposite her. “That’s beautiful.”
“Gabriel Ravenswood was obsessed with the medieval period,” Seymour remarked.
“Gabriel?” Harry asked.
“Zachary’s great-grandfather. He built Ravens Roost complete with drafts and strange noises. I hope the storm doesn’t keep you awake.”
“I like storms,” Cass said.
“I don’t,” Harry interrupted. “Sounds too much like a battle.”
“If you have any nightmares, you’re sleeping on the floor,” Ethan said. “I don’t need you thrashing about next to me. I still have bruises from sharing a tent.”
“I enjoy when the storm ends, and the sunshine breaks through the clouds,” Cass said. “Especially if there’s a rainbow. It’s symbolic of the promise that good triumphs over evil.”
“You are young or you wouldn’t believe in such foolish idealism,” Sister Lucia said.
“That’s an odd remark from a nun.”
The woman stared across the table. “I have seen much in life to make me doubt man, but I have never lost faith in God.”
“A lot of nuns took care of the wounded during the war,” Ethan said. “Did you?”
“I was given the gift of medicine.” Sister Lucia met the gaze of Seymour. “I took care of the men who requested my skills.”
Ethan reached for the last slice of bread. “Zach was lucky you were here when he was burned.”
“Indeed. Men with such severe burns often die from them.”
Cass inhaled. She couldn’t read the nun’s expression. Was her remark meant to prepare her if Zach’s conditioned worsened or a boast of her skill?
“If the weather clears, I’ll have my hired man repair your buggy, and you can be on your way,” Seymour said.
“We would prefer to stay at Ravens Roost,” Cass said, not inviting argument. “Zach promised we could have our choice of horses before the buyers bid.”
“You plan on purchasing a horse?”
“Three or four horses,” Ethan corrected. “You haven’t canceled the sale because of the fire, have you?”
“No. The sale is Saturday.”
“Did you lose any horses besides the mares and foals?” Cass asked.
“No, but losing the mares is a huge loss,” Seymour said. “Without the foals, the future of Ravenswood is in jeopardy.”
“Then Zach should welcome our money,” Ethan said. “And I guarantee he won’t mind his friends staying to help him recover.”
“Physically and financially,” Cass added.
Seymour clenched his jaw but didn’t argue. “I’ll have one of my men show you the horses when the weather clears.”
Supper ended efficiently, and Mrs. Graves provided lit candles against the darkness the storm had brought. Seymour and Sister Lucia led the way upstairs but turned left at the landing.
Cass bid them goodnight. They disappeared down the dark hall, a single candle disappearing into one room and then the last light going into an adjoining room. She turned to Ethan and Harry. “Did anyone think it odd Sister Lucia didn’t say grace?”
Harry led the way to their rooms. “She was ready to bite into her bread.”
“There’s a lot of different orders for nuns,” Ethan said, “but all of them pray.”
“She doesn’t wear a cross or carry a rosary, either,” Harry added. “Plenty of nuns took care of the wounded, and they always had their hardware handy to pray over a dying soldier.”
“I could smell perfume, and it wasn’t lilac like you wear,” Ethan said to Cass. “And it looked like powder on her face.”
“Maybe she’s hiding scars,” Harry said.
“She’s hiding something.” Cass stopped at their door. “Then we agree to help Zach.”
“Of course.” Ethan looked at Harry. “But what are we going to do?”
“We’ve already taken the first step,” she said. “We’re staying here until we have some answers.”
****
Zach couldn’t remember when he had been awake or how long he had been asleep. The days and nights had blended into a timeless struggle against the torturous pain. As soon as his head cleared, the torment would begin. The urge to scratch and dig at whatever was burning on his skin would build beyond endurance. He struggled against the ropes preventing his hands to find release, and he would scream for help. Voices, questions, and the mixture of bitter powder with sweet honey eased his anguish and allowed him to drift into a cloudy twilight. He had dreamed of Cass. She had floated before him in a halo of light, reaching for him, calling his name, but it had been an illusion.
Cass wasn’t here. She was safe at home, away from the dangers of Ravenswood. Someone had hit him over the head. Or had it been a timber from the burning barn? His memories had melded into a confusing jumble of events. He was burned. His skin was aflame with blazing pain. He tugged against the ropes. The itching was driving him mad. He cried out as the irritation increased to an unbearable level.
The door opened, and two people entered. Seymour placed a candle on the small table beside the bed. Next to him was a nun. Sister Lucia. He had seen her before. She gave him medicine to stop his pain. “Help me!” Zach thrashed about. “My arms are on fire. I’m burning!”
He rolled toward Seymour.
“Don’t let him touch you!” Sister Lucia shrieked.
Seymour jerked away.
“I soaked the bandages thoroughly. You don’t want to come in contact with them.” Sister Lucia grabbed a bottle and spoon. He relaxed in anticipation of the medicine that would take him away from the torture.
Seymour stopped her. “Not until he tells me what I need to know.”
“He should be lucid enough to answer your questions.”
“Are you in pain, Zachary?”
Why was he asking such a foolish question? The unreachable prickling was maddening. Zach struggled against the ropes, but he couldn’t reach the bandages to scratch away the incessant itching. “Help me.”
“Sister Lucia will give you the opium, Zachary, if you answer my questions.”
“What do you want to know?”
Seymour’s shadow blocked the light. “Tell me where you’ve hidden the titles to the horses.”
The titles? He had asked the question before. He had answered honestly. “They’re in the safe.”
“I looked. They’re not in the safe.” Seymour was angry.
“Yes, they are.”
“I can’t make the pain go away if you lie to me, you stubborn boy. Where have you hidden the papers?”
“In the safe! In the safe!” Why didn’t Seymour believe him?
“He’ll wake the others,” Sister Lucia warned.
“Tell me the truth, or she won’t give you the medicine.”
Zach fought the ropes, banging his hands on the headboard. “Give it to me, or I’ll die!”
“He’s awakened someone,” Sister Lucia said.
Seymour moved toward the door. “Give him the opium.”
A woman’s voice at the door sounded like Cass. But that was impossible. Lucia blocked the view. “You need to tell him where the papers are if you know what is best for you.”
She waved the spoon before him. He opened his mouth and begged for the medicine. She gave him a glass of water to wash it down. He closed his eyes and let the dullness take control of his body and mind as he sunk into dark painless oblivion.
****
The sun was shining in the morning. Cass washed her face and brushed her hair to rid it of any tangles. She braided three sections on each side of her head and pinned them into buns in a style favored by her German grandmother.
She chose a lightweight day dress and began the arduous task of dressing. Lacing a corset without the aid of one of her sisters wasn’t impossible, but it r
equired pulling the laces behind her until the form-fitting frame was snug. Without the proper undergarments, the sheer fabric of her summer gown would be immodest. She secured the corset cover and slipped the yellow flowered gown over her petticoat and arranged the wide straps over her shoulders and across the bodice. A black belt hooked in front to secure the straps.
She slipped on her boots. The ground would be wet, and she planned to explore Ravenswood and view a few horses. But first she would check on Zach. She had been awakened by his screams and opened the door to gain entry, but Seymour had blocked her path. After listening for them to leave, she had entered the bedroom, but Zach was asleep. She had returned to her bed and a fitful sleep.
Zach’s room was well lit with the morning sun streaming through the open curtains. His personal belongings were placed on the dresser and included her framed photograph next to a stack of letters she had written to him while he was marching through Georgia and the Carolinas. Seymour had mentioned her as the woman in the photograph.
She examined her letters. Had Seymour read them? They were private. Her words of life in Ohio must have seemed dull compared to the battles Zach encountered as he marched across the South. But he had saved her correspondence, their battered edges testimony to their value.
“The papers are in the safe,” he muttered. “Give me some medicine for the pain.” He snorted and fell asleep.
“You poor baby. Her arm brushed against the oily bandages, but she didn’t jerk away. Whatever the medicine, it couldn’t harm her.
His hair was bleached from the sun and fell over the bandages covering his face. She brushed the long locks back. The silky strands slid through her fingers.
The bandages on his face were dry. Why weren’t they medicated? His eyelids were intact, and his long lashes contrasted against a strip of cloth across his nose and cheeks. How badly was he scarred? He had been extremely handsome with his penetrating green eyes and soft, tender smile. Could she hide her repulsion if the fire horribly disfigured him?
The door opened, and Mrs. Graves backed into the room with a tray in her hands. She turned and gasped. “Oh, it’s you, Miss Beecher. I was afraid it was Sister Lucia.”
Impending Love and Madness Page 18