Weathering Captain Storm

by Charles, Jane

  As nighttime fell, the French retreated, the Prussian army in pursuit, leaving behind devastation.

  Nathaniel stood amongst the fallen. So many bodies of soldiers and horses littered the ground that he couldn’t take it all in. Early in the fighting, he passed Major Soares, who lay with his throat slashed so deeply that his head was barely attached. While Nathaniel felt the sympathy and loss of so many of his countrymen, when he viewed Soares, all he thought was that Mary was now free.

  The battle was over and the French were on the run. He prayed this was the end but feared to hope that they were finally done with Napoleon.

  * * *

  It was as if a floodgate of men and blood had been opened once the first of the injured arrived. More than she’d ever seen from any battle before. Or maybe she just didn’t remember it being this bad since she’d not encountered this since before Napoleon had been sent away.

  She and Mary worked to make the men as comfortable as they could while dressing wounds that were too minor for the surgeons to care about but bad enough to keep a soldier from battle. The doctors were too busy saving lives, often taking off limbs, while others waited, often screaming out in agony. Those with head wounds were separated as there wasn’t much that could be done. They’d either survive or die.

  Twenty-four hours after Isabella had danced at the ball, she finally found a bit of rest. It did not last long, because the injured kept coming. Mary worked nearby, and they took turns, moving among the men, offering what comfort they could. Other wives and camp followers joined, but there was so little help they could offer and so many in need that it was almost crippling.

  The days ran into each other, and if not for the sun rising and setting, Isabella would have lost all sense of time. Besides the wounded, they took meals and beverages to the doctors, who took far too few breaks, and only when they were near collapse. Orlando worked nonstop until Isabella practically drug him from the tent and forced him to sit, eat, and sleep. It didn’t last long, and soon her brother was back attending the most seriously wounded.

  By the afternoon of the eighteenth, the wounded once again began pouring from the battlefield. She watched from the distance as a soldier grasped Mary’s hand, speaking earnestly. She nodded, disappeared, and returned only a short time later dressed in a clean gown, and the darkest one she owned.

  Major Soares had fallen. Mary was now a widow. Yet, her friend did not stop to mourn her husband, but continued nursing those she could. Isabella tried not to think about Bertram or where he was or what could happen to him.

  Between the moans of agony, screams of pain, the stench of blood and death, some soldiers spoke quietly of the number of men who lay dead and dying on the blood covered ground that had already been saturated from the rain, the earth turning a dark red, churned up from the horses, foot soldiers, and cannon balls.

  They came by the dozens. The hundreds. Left where they’d been placed. Others lie where they’d fallen upon reaching the medical tents. The injured stretched for as far as she could see.

  Mary came to stand beside her. They grasped hands and looked out. Too overwhelmed to know where to go next. Who to help next.

  A young medical assistant tossed removed limbs upon the burning pile, and she had to turn away from the insufferable stench of burning flesh. Tears in her eyes, she ran. Men clutched at her skirts, calling out for help. It was too much. There were too many. She couldn’t help them all. She was beyond helping anyone.

  “Isabella!” Mary called, rushing to her.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” She ordered and grasped Isabella by the shoulders. “Think of Bertram. What if he were one of these? How would ye feel is someone who could help ran, leavin’ him alone?”

  Isabella looked out again at the wounded. “Where to begin again?”

  “With the first one ye see that you can help.”

  Swallowing her tears, and straightening her shoulders, Isabella went back to work, nursing those she could, long into the night and next morning. The battle was over, but her work was far from done.

  Orlando found her as the sun was rising on the morning of the nineteenth. As her eyes met his, she knew.

  “No!” she cried.

  Without words, Orlando held his arms out to her, and Isabella collapsed into them.

  “He fought bravely, they said.”

  “I’d prefer he was a coward and ran,” Isabella cried into her brother’s chest.

  “Nonsense, Izzy. This is all Bertram wanted. To be a soldier. He knew the risks.”

  “I still would wish for my brother.”

  “Me too.”

  Soon, a hand was on her shoulder, and Isabella turned to find Mary there to give her comfort. They should be comforting each other. Mary had lost her husband and Isabella her brother. But they weren’t alone. Thousands of people had lost a loved one over the last few days, and as of this moment, she couldn’t begin to guess the number, though any number was far too high.

  “I want to go home.”

  Chapter 12

  After assuring his brother, Benjamin, of his health, Nathaniel began his search for Isabella the next day. He found her by mid-morning, among the injured, as he expected. He’d learned of her brother, Bertram’s death, but was unsure if the news had reached her yet.

  He found her kneeling beside a dying soldier. No longer could he tell what color her dress had been because it was now caked in dirt and blood. The apron she usually wore was white, but as it was with the dress, the original color had long been disguised by her work with the wounded. The once brilliant red hair that had been bright beneath the lights of the chandeliers in Lady Richmond’s ballroom but a few days earlier was mussed, falling from where it had been once confined behind her head--dead, dull, and lifeless. Even her hands and face weren’t without the stains of war.

  Isabella reached forward, her hand over the soldier’s face as she closed his eyes. She sat there a moment, her head bowed in what Nathaniel assumed was a final prayer, and then she stood.

  Turning, she faced him. Her face was stark, pale, with circles beneath her once warm grey, but now nearly lifeless, eyes.

  He took a step forward.

  “I am too busy to speak right now.”

  Isabella tried to push past him.

  “Wait?” he reached out, taking her hand in his.

  Her grey eyes hardened. “Unless you’re here to help, Captain Storm, I need you to leave.” She pulled her hand away. “It’s best that we never speak again.”

  The cold, hard tone of her voice slammed into his chest. “Never?” What had changed since the Richmond’s ball, besides the damned battle?

  “Good day.”

  With that, she walked away, not looking back.

  Nate rushed after her. This was not the reunion he’d dreamed about or hoped for. “Isabella, wait!” he called.

  What had changed between them? They danced. The memory of her kiss and body pressed against him had carried him through the battles. And now, she just walked away, as if she felt nothing for him.

  She stopped, but didn’t turn and he hurried forward and stepped in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I thought you were my friend.” It was almost as if she were accusing him.

  “I wish to be more.”

  Her eyes hardened, and she took a deep breath. “I do not. Please leave me, Captain Storm, and forget we ever met.”

  “What of the ball?” He gently grasped her arms. “Your kisses?” The very ones that had kept him warm, urged him on, reminding him what he had to live for.

  “You were going into battle. It was the only right thing to do.”

  Her words were a stab to his heart. That’s what the light skirts did. Gave a man a good time before they marched because they might just be going to their death. One last fond memory before a bullet found their heart.

  Isabella pulled away from him. “The injured need me.” With that, she turned and marched awa
y from him.

  That was it? She felt nothing? Perhaps a friendship at one time, but after his declaration, she was ready to put as much distance between them as possible, much like Napoleon was trying to do as he ran back to Paris.

  She might turn her back on him now, but he was far from through with Isabella.

  He needed to give her time. She must be exhausted from the last days, and on top of that, she’d lost her brother. Now was not the time to pursue her. But when this was all done and they’d both had time to rest, he’d find her again. They would talk, and surely she’d have a change of heart. Those kisses were too warm to be a simple sendoff into battle. Her arms had clung to him, her body had pressed against his, as if she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and Nate refused to believe he’d imagined her response to him.

  * * *

  “I must leave soon,” Mary said as she took a sip of the coffee.

  Isabella did the same. The drinks had grown cold waiting for them. They hadn’t sat down in hours, but they needed a break and some sustenance. Not that the porridge they’d been offered was all that appetizing. In fact, she wasn’t hungry in the least, but she needed to eat to keep up her strength.

  Oh, how she wished she were numb, but working was the only thing that kept her mind occupied. If she stopped, she might curl up and cry, never stopping. She’d lost Bertram, her dear baby brother. The light of the family, with his huge heart and tender soul.

  And, she’d rejected Nate. It nearly killed her to do so, but it had to be done. He didn’t understand and never would. It was easier this way, and she was a coward, because the only alternative was to admit her heart and her love, but then she’d also be required to tell him the truth. Isabella knew she couldn’t survive his rejection of her, which would be the only outcome because the brother of an earl would never marry the bastard of a whore.

  “I just need to determine exactly how I’m going’ ta go about that,” Mary said, oblivious to Isabella’s inner turmoil.

  First Bertram, then Nate, and now Mary would leave her too. A wife was allowed only three days to remain after her husband died, and then she lost all rations and entitlements unless she remarried. Isabella never had any to begin with, but made do with the assistance from Orlando.

  “I wish I could go with you,” Isabella finally said. She knew she should remain and help. She and Mary were both needed, but she couldn’t do it anymore. She’d seen enough death, maiming, and bloodshed to last her several lifetimes, and if she never experienced the result of a battle again, she’d be quite happy. And, she couldn’t risk seeing Nate again. What if he still pursued her? Would she have the strength to reject him again, or would she foolishly give into her desires to be with him?

  Isabella glanced up as a few of the Gordon Highlanders stopped before her and Mary.

  “We’re verra sorry for yer loss, Mrs. Soares,” the lieutenant said then turned to Isabella. “And the loss of yer brother, Miss Valentine.”

  Both women murmured a thank you.

  “I could not help but overhear.” His cheeks turned a bit pink as if he were embarrassed to admit he’d been listening. “We are for home, and it would be a great honor to escort ye, Mrs. Soares.”

  Mary visibly relaxed, as if this was the one problem she faced, and not the scores of wounded soldiers. “Thank ye very much.” She stood. “If I might have time to gather my things?”

  “Take as much time as ye need.”

  The lieutenant then turned to Isabella. “We’d be honored to offer escort to ye, as well, if ye truly wish ta leave.”

  She glanced to the surgery tents, the wounded, and tears filled her eyes. She wanted home. She desperately needed to go home.

  “Doctor Valentine will not be free for days,” another pointed out. “But if ye wish to stay.”

  “No!” Isabella blurted out. “Let me tell my brother…I need to take word of our brother’s death home.”

  Chapter 13

  Nathaniel lost count of the number of soldiers he and his men had buried through the day, or the number of bodies in each grave. It was impossible to give each man his own, or to see them marked properly. It wasn’t right that this was how it should end for a soldier who gave his all for King and Country. The priests and vicars from the nearby villages came through, murmuring prayers over the graves and moving on to the next.

  The deaths and destruction weighed heavily on Nathaniel, but he did what was necessary, then returned to his room to bathe, eat a hearty meal, and change into fresh clothing. A full day had passed since he’d seen Isabella, and though she probably remained busy, he could not stay away from her. Besides, he needed to see to Mary as well. She’d need to return home. Her time was up as a widow, unless she remarried, and Nathaniel couldn’t imagine her becoming a bride again. At least not so soon after losing her husband.

  As Benjamin was returning to England today, he would be the perfect escort. In his mind, the two suited each other, and traveling as far as Scotland would give them time to know one another.

  Though he and Benjamin searched the various hospitals, Nathaniel could not find Isabella or Mary in any of them. It was possible the two were resting, but also highly doubtful. They rarely rested, and when they did, it was in short spurts, onlyenough to renew their energy so they could continue.

  Finally, he spotted Dr. Valentine step out of a surgical tent and stretch. From his posture, the doctor was exhausted, and with good reason. They’d been treating the wounded for days and still, men lay on litters awaiting their turn.

  While Ben waited for him, Nathaniel made his way to Dr. Valentine.

  “I’ve been looking for Miss Valentine. Do you know where she might be?”

  Sadness filled the man’s eyes. “She’s gone.”

  His heart stopped. Not gone as in dead? What had happened?

  “She left this morning with Mrs. Soares to return home.”

  Nathaniel blew out a breath of relief. “How? Who took her?”

  “Some Gordon Highlanders offered escort.” He shook his head. “Isabella couldn’t do this anymore.” He gestured to the injured surrounding them. “After receiving word of Bertram, the fight simply left her, I’m afraid.”

  At least he knew she was safe. As soon as he was free, he’d go after her. “I understand you are from Hampshire.”

  Dr. Valentine frowned. “That is all you will learn, Captain Storm.”

  “Why?”

  “She doesn’t wish to ever see you again.”

  Surely it was the shock of the battle and losing her brother. When she recovered, as best as she could, she’d have a change of heart. She had to.

  “Do not contact my sister,” Dr. Valentine added. “Give her peace and leave her alone.”

  “But…”

  “You will stay away from Isabella.” The doctor’s words were harsh.

  “What if I’m in love with her?”

  Sadness filled the doctor’s grey eyes, so much like Isabella’s. “Then I am sorry for you. She does not share your affection. In fact, she was greatly saddened by your declaration.”

  “If I could only talk to her again. Just once.” As much as he hated to beg, which is what he felt he was doing, Nate couldn’t help himself as the idea of never seeing Isabella again nearly caused him to panic.

  “She thought of you as a friend, not a suitor. Leave her be and forget she ever existed.”

  “But…”

  “Enough! Stay away from my sister. I’ve sent word to my brothers. If you ever come near her again, you will be dealt with.” The doctor placed a comforting hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Forget Isabella. She’s not for you. In fact, you don’t even know her. Not like you think you do.” He shook his head and pulled away.

  * * *

  Isabella not only mourned Bertram, but Nate as well. He might as well be dead to her too. Her heart was bruised, battered, and unlikely to recover. She wasn’t sure she wanted to recover but just to crawl into her bed once she returned home and never emerge.
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br />   She, Orlando, and Bertram were to have returned home together, and the family would be whole once more. They’d never be whole again, and Isabella wasn’t certain she’d ever recover from the loss of her baby brother. Not that Bertram was a baby, but he’d been a sincere, loving, and sensitive young man, always wanting to do what was right. Someone so kind should not have been taken from this ugly world. He was a light that shined, but he never would again.

  And, layered on top of the pain of losing Bertram was the heartbreak of never seeing Nate again. This was for the best. She told herself over and over that it was, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t want to see him one last time. To feel his lips against hers and his arms about her. Their hearts pressed together, beating as one.

  Yes, she’d loved, so deeply, and she should be grateful for that. Happy even. She never expected to experience what she’d enjoyed with Nate, and she should be grateful. But Isabella couldn’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier to have never experienced love in the first place because she’d never have known what she was missing.

  The carriage stopped outside of the vicarage, and the driver jumped down and opened the door. She stepped outside and Mary followed. Together they approached the house, her home. So familiar, but almost foreign after having been away for so long.

  The door of the vicarage opened, and her aunt stepped out. A smile burst on her face as she rushed toward Isabella, calling behind her. Soon, her sisters gathered around, each hugging her. Then Isabella stepped aside and introduced Mary. Her Uncle embraced his niece and escorted her inside while Aunt Mary remained outside, searching behind Isabella.

  “Your brothers?” She asked.

  “Orlando needed to remain with the injured.” She couldn’t bring herself to mention Bertram. It was too soon, too raw, and she didn’t want to deliver the same pain to her family.