War of Hearts, A Historical Romance

by Lynn Hubbard

  The blaring rays from the sun reflected off the snowdrifts and caused her to squint her eyes to protect them. Sarah’s feet felt leaden as she trudged on the muddy ground. She was in the back of the procession with the other women. Trailing behind the supply wagons, she kept her head down as she slogged along. She wished she could make sure it was only mud she was walking through.

  It was not long until the heavy wagons became bogged down in the muck. It would take a miracle to free them. The procession slowed and then stopped. Sarah was apprehensive. She did not know what lay ahead today or in her future.

  They heard voices floating back and she could make out one word ‘Cornwallis’. Fear wrapped its hand around her, and she felt an ominous chill. Even she was familiar with his reputation for winning battles. Cornwallis had not sailed for England after all. He was here, in the flesh. The sound of cannon fire exploded, and all hell broke loose. She took cover in the thick trees with the other women.

  Time seemed to stand still, and she held her breath, her world erupting once again. The cannon bursts were ear shattering, and she flinched with each shot. The ground shook, and Sarah was showered with icicles that fell from the tree branches. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it would explode in her chest. The wind brought the smell of gunpowder, and she could taste the acrid smoke when she breathed.

  The men at the front retreated across the small bridge at the creek. She could glimpse General Washington sitting astride his unmistakable horse, Blueskin. The horse was so light in coloration it appeared to be white. He looked brilliantly valiant while he sat next to the bridge, making sure his men escaped the barrage of gunfire from the British. His mere presence was a huge boost to the ailing army’s morale. She watched, awed, as he sat bravely ignoring the bullets whizzing past.

  Dusk was falling, and the fighting ended, both parties were regrouping. Sarah spotted Silas' red hair from afar as she went to collect firewood. She relaxed a bit, knowing he was safe. She put her faith in Washington’s abilities. Any General who would put himself at the front of the line to encourage his men was worthy of her trust.

  They had a thin soup for supper; you really couldn’t even call it a broth. She took a sip, watching the sunset paint colors across the sky. The night grew cold, and she pulled her shawl around her tighter. The cold pulled at her to sleep, but her head was too full of worry. A shadow whispered to them to gather up and move quietly. To leave the fires burning. Their miracle had come.

  The ground had frozen enough by midnight to allow passage of the wagons and the army snuck off through the night. However, they were not retreating; just the opposite. Taking a narrow dirt road, they made their way toward Princeton to attack.

  As dawn broke, Sarah could make out the entire Continental Army marching in front of her. The brave men who were willingly marching, possibly to their deaths, for their belief in the cause of freedom.

  These men, who were once farmers, merchants, school teachers, and blacksmiths, were now a single unit. An army with a purpose. They marched for their family, their friends and their country. It was a sight to behold, and Sarah felt gladness in her heart to be a part of it all. When the guns exploded again, it was not fear she felt, but pride.

  As they neared Princeton, the volley of gunfire was unending; however, she could see Washington, unmistakable, in the thick of it. It was difficult to make out the others. The battle ended quickly, and she was amused by the few British who scattered like field mice to escape capture. They retreated past her on their way to Trenton and beyond.

  Her smile faded as she took in the field of dead men. She was relieved to see that most of them spouted British Colors, but not all. The Continental Army was great; nonetheless she pushed herself amongst them looking for Silas. Not seeing him, she began calling his name. A bit timidly at first and then franticly. There was no answer. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked over at her friend Margaret.

  “We will find him,” she promised.

  Sarah nodded, stepping onto the field. The blood from the men turned to ice when it hit the frozen ground. The scene was out of her own nightmares as she waded amongst the dead. They turned over dozens of bodies in their search. A few of the men who were wounded called out to her for help.

  Sarah’s heart was torn between assisting them and searching for Silas. Unable to ignore their pleas, she went to them and rendered what little aid she could until they were carried off. The sun glinted off of brilliant red hair as it rose in the sky. She cried out to Margaret, who hurried over.

  Silas was lying face down in the snow. Dropping to her knees, she used all of her strength to turn him over. A cry escaped through her lips at his sightless eyes staring forward. Her brother had died on Jersey soil. Not too far from where he had been born. Sarah took a deep shuddering breath, feeling her heart break.

  She gently took her fingers and closed his eyes. Tearfully she said her goodbyes as she looked upon him for the last time. Her eyes rested on his boots last, and she couldn’t help but to think of the man from the other day. The one with his feet wrapped in rags. Her mind set, she squared her shoulders and moved down yanking them off. Holding them to her chest as a shield, she and Margaret turned to follow the marching army north to Morristown.

  Life at Morristown was difficult for Sarah; to cover her pain she worked hard setting up camp with the other women. Since there was no longer a reason for her to be there, like Margaret, she worked extra hard. The endless pile of mending and laundry was daunting. Even though she received pay, she found no solace in it. The mindless work gave plenty of time for her thoughts to turn to her brother. She missed him so.

  She had gifted his shoes to the first man in need. Tears stung her eyes at the memory. With winter swirling around them, she gave much thought to her future. A future filled with piles of socks was not a pleasant thought.

  She had family in Georgia, her mother’s sister Eliza lived there. It would be a daunting trip in the best of times. During war, it was nearly impossible to travel without being accosted.

  Lost in her thoughts she barely realized when she pricked her finger. Her hands were so cold she had not felt it. Her body was as frozen as her heart. With a heavy sigh, she went back to her mending.

  Margaret was a great comfort to her during those trying days. However, it was not enough. On her way back from delivering clean laundry to a tent, Sarah wandered past the makeshift hospital. She could hear the screams of a patient and something awoke inside of her.

  She had not been able to save her brother, but perhaps she could help save others. Remembering how the men were soothed when she sung at Christmas she took a cautious step toward the entrance to the barn. She stood at the doorway watching the physician with a bloody saw in his hand, hacking away at a man’s leg.

  With nothing to numb the pain, his suffering was great. Sarah entered the gloom and stood at the man’s head, reaching out for his hand. Leaning down next to his ear, she whispered words of comfort and encouragement. The man quieted down to listen and was silent until the treatment was over.

  Shaking from his ordeal, he spoke cautiously. “Are you an angel?”

  “No, I’m a friend.”

  His eyes closed, and he went still. Sarah panicked thinking his life had left him at last.

  “He’s just resting. He will heal much quicker now. Excuse my manors, I am Dr. Radcliff, but please call me Robert,” the man replied.

  “Miss Fanum; what happened to him?” she asked, her relief seeping into her voice.

  “He lost his leg in Princeton; it wasn’t healing. To save his life, we had to remove the rest.”

  Sarah looked down at the man on the blood soaked cot. He looked so young to her, barely a child. She prayed he would survive.

  “What will happen to him now?”

  “When he’s strong enough, he’ll be sent back home.”

  Her eyes glanced around the large barn at the rows and rows of makeshift beds, each one with an ill or injured soldier.
r />   “There are so many.”

  “And more come each day. The army pays well for nurses. I would accept all the help I can get.”

  “A nurse?”

  “We have a shortage, as you can imagine. The able men are needed in the field. You are strong. You have a calling.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m anything but strong.”

  Dr. Radcliff chuckled. “Do you know how many men have fainted from less than you have witnessed today? I need you; they need you.” Her eyes followed the movement as his hand swept over the barn full of weary soldiers.

  Sarah looked around uncertainly. “How many nurses do you need?”

  “As many as you can bring me.”

  Sarah returned back to Margaret with a lighter step. The older woman lifted her eyebrow at her approach.

  “I am not sure why you’re cheery, but I am glad for it.”

  “I was offered a position with pay.”

  Margaret’s smile faded and her eyes darkened. “I know darning socks is for naught, but at least it is respectable!”

  Sarah’s cheeks turned pink, the meaning of Margaret’s words sinking in. “Margaret! It is nothing of the sort! I was offered a position in the hospital. As a nurse, and I think you should sign on as well.”

  “A nurse? Have you gone daft? Heart wrenching and back breaking work that is, let me tell ya.”

  “I know, but there are so many men who need help. You took such good care of Homer, ‘til the very last.”

  “Wasn’t good enough was it?”

  “I wasn’t able to be there for Silas, but I can be there for these men. I need to matter. You said it yourself; you stayed with the army to help them win. They can defeat the British much sooner with healthy men than lame.”

  Margaret sighed and sat down on a stool. Her eyes took in the huge pile of laundry before they lifted to meet Sarah’s. “Looks like you finally found your spirit. And who I am to rebuke that?”

  “You will join me?”

  “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

  Sarah and Margaret registered as nurses the next day. They now officially worked for the Continental Army. They were given monthly pay as well as rations.

  Margaret was right; the work was disheartening at times. What kept her going was knowing that she brought hope and peace to men in their darkest time. She spent countless hours reading stories to soothe them, and writing letters home on behalf of those who could not.

  Sarah learned much during that winter. She had lost her entire family due to this war for independence. However, in her loss she had gained a deeper appreciation for life. What Silas had fought and died for was freedom. Her freedom. She would rise to the occasion and carry the flag in his stead. Sarah’s future was still unknown; however she was no longer afraid.

  Chapter 3 Bitterness of Winter

  Blood showered upon her face. Sarah ignored it and moved to put pressure on the gaping wound; she hoped to diminish the flow in the process. As the doctor began to saw through the bone, a grating sound filled the air. It was made more horrible by the shrieks of the man on the table.

  Her arms burned, using all her strength to subdue him, so the doctor could work. Soon, the limb was free and the man gasped for breath as the pain subsided. The doctor folded the flesh over the gaping hole and Sarah carried the lifeless limb to the open window, and tossed it outside to the growing pile.

  Once upon a time, this would have disturbed her greatly. However, being an army nurse had hardened her heart to many things. War was hell, and she was in the midst of it.

  A hand touched her shoulder and she turned to look into kind eyes. “Go rest for a spell. You look exhausted,” her friend Margaret intoned. She glanced around the room at the others needing treatment. There was no rest for them as they waited for the blade.

  Even though it had been months with no fighting, the bitterness of winter was taking its toll. Due to lack of sufficient shelter and clothing many men had been afflicted with frostbite. The blackened appendages had to be removed to give them a chance at life.

  The next soldier was in better shape and Sarah’s thoughts wandered while she massaged his feet. Winter had always been her favorite time of year, and living in New Jersey, they could be fierce. The crops had been harvested, food had been stored, and there was not much to do once the snow came. She recalled bundling up to care for the livestock, and admonishing her mother for making her wear a scarf. The rough wool always itched her neck.

  “Seems to be a fair amount of sickness in camp,” the man stated in a gruff voice, looking around.

  “No, more than yesterday,” Sarah replied, wondering if the man was ignorant or just making conversation.

  “Would you say about half?” he inquired further.

  Sarah’s hands stilled. She looked down at his feet, noticing not only were they not that damaged from the frost, but thick and hardy as well. Uneasiness came over her, her glance taking in the man’s gently worn clothing. It had been a while since she had seen a man who wasn’t half naked, much less one that was fully clothed with boots and all.

  “No, I wouldn’t say half. Your feet are worse than I first thought; wait here while I fetch the doctor.”

  “No need, I feel better already.” The man sat up, reaching for his boots. Not taking time to put them on, he grabbed them and ran for the door, with Sarah shouting after him.

  A scuffle ensued when an injured man blocked his path, and he was soon wrestled to the ground. Ignoring her own safety, Sarah knelt over him and searched his pockets. Finding nothing of value she grabbed his boots, thrusting a hand deep inside she felt an edge of paper and pulled it out. The man had ceased struggling, and silence filled the room as she unfolded it. Her heart beat quickly in her chest, as a crude sketch of Valley Forge appeared.

  A spy. The map was plucked from her fingers as the man was dragged off to pay for his sins.

  Sarah sat in disbelief and a large hand touched her shoulder. “Well done.”

  She looked up at Robert. “What will become of him?”

  “He will be questioned, and punished if found guilty. What gave him away?”

  “He wasn’t dressed in rags,” Sarah mumbled, looking around at the weary soldiers. She had agonized over her brother Silas’ death for months. However, she was thankful he never had to experience the torment of these men. Silas had been gone a year but right now, it felt like fifty. Sarah had seen so much suffering, and it wore heavily on her heart.

  Chapter 4 The Trouble with Tories

  Tristan stood by the roaring fire, sipping his brandy. It was an especially cold night, and he was thankful for the warmth. Looking above the fireplace mantel he regarded the family portrait painted oh so long ago.

  He was just a boy then, about a head shorter than his brother; they stood diligently by their mother’s chair. He remembered that day well. He had received the switch for not staying still, so the artist painted a smaller version of Robert and topped it off with Tristan’s head.

  His parents should be back in London by now; he had even sent them on his best ship, to make sure. He was expecting notice any day stating exactly that. Like many of their neighbors, they left New York once the fighting started. He was slated to go with them, but changed his mind. He did not want to be an Ocean away from his only sibling.

  He was taken by surprise when Robert gave up his medical practice and went to join the Rebels. However, he was not nearly as surprised as Theodora, Robert’s wife. The bawdy woman showed up on their doorstep screeching to high heaven when Robert left. Perhaps that is why he fled?

  Why he had chosen to join a side destined to lose was beyond Tristan’s grasp. Alas, he had made sure that Theodora was on the ship to London as well.

  His mother bore several children; only him and Robert survived to adulthood. Perhaps that is why Robert went into Medicine in the first place.

  Tristan, like his father, was a businessman. They had a fleet of ships, which carried goods across the ocean. Of course,
times have been trying with this dreadful war afoot. Several have been taken over by Privateers, might as well be pirates, since they behave as such.

  He heard footsteps and a deep chuckle behind him. Forcing a small smile, he nodded to the Colonel as he entered with his henchmen. Colonel Hill was longtime friend of his father’s. He had offered him, and his staff, boarding for as long as they needed after their previous lodging burned to the ground during the Great Fire.

  The fire swept through New York and took out about a quarter of the City. It was blamed on the Rebels, but seeing how much his British Guests smoked, Tristan had other suspicions.

  The fire roared up the chimney and the wind howled outside. His thoughts were again pulled to Robert. He hoped he was safe, wherever he was.

  ***

  Sarah pulled her coat tightly around her before stepping outside. Not that it mattered; the screaming wind went right through, and chilled her to the bone. Her jaws ached from clenching them tightly to stop them from chattering. Pulling aside her tent flap she entered quickly. Turning in the small space, she grasped the trailing ends and tied them shut.

  The canvas did little to block out the chill, but she was grateful for what protection she did have. The men had built cabins for the hospitals and were working on shelter for all. However, wood was as scarce as food these days. What they did gather was used for kindling the fires.

  She quickly removed her outer garments and climbed into her bed to get some rest before her next shift.

  She was startled awake by a commotion outside. She sat up quickly, surprised to see it was morning and grabbed for her coat when Margaret stopped her.

  “Leave it to the men.”

  “Leave what?”

  “They’re hangin’ your spy.”

  “What?” Sarah asked running outside, flinging her coat on as she went. Cheers erupted, and she came to a dead halt with her heart pounding. It was too late. Her mind was assaulted by thoughts, perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he had just been curious or a bit dim witted.