Magic in Her Eyes

by Donna Dalton

  The way her muscles smarted, she wasn’t about to argue. Besides, the injured soldier’s welfare took precedence over keeping Lieutenant Booth at arm’s length. She slid over the side and into his grasp. He handed her to the ground, and she hurried to the unmoving soldier.

  His sides rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He was alive. But not unscathed. A small puddle of red stained the ground near his temple.

  She dropped to her knees. “Help me roll him over so I can see how badly he’s hurt.”

  The lieutenant removed his hat and squatted beside her. Together they turned Private Greene onto his back. Blood oozed from a two-inch gash slashing his temple. A blood-stained rock submerged in the ground appeared to be the perpetrator.

  She rubbed her knuckles over the soldier’s breastbone, a technique she’d observed Doctor Winters employ to rouse one of the field hands who had been kicked unconscious by a mule. “Private Greene, can you hear me? Open your eyes.”

  Eyelids fluttered open. He blinked and blinked again. Dazed brown eyes rolled and tumbled until they finally managed to settle on her.

  “Wh-what happened?”

  “One of the wagon wheels broke loose,” she said. “The force threw you from the wagon.”

  “The children… Are they…?” A strangled cough choked off his words.

  What a considerate man. Thinking of the children before himself. She undid the top button of his jacket to ease his breathing. “The children are just fine. You, on the other hand, hit your head on a rock. There’s a good-sized gash that will need bandaging, possibly stitching.”

  He grimaced and reached for his head. Meredith stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Don’t. You’ll only make it bleed more.”

  His face sagged, and he dropped his hand with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I should have been more careful. Should have slowed the mules or gotten down and led them past the deeper ruts.”

  “You were only following orders to maintain a quick pace. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. Now lie still and let us see to your wound.” The lieutenant unwound a yellow handkerchief from his neck. “This should do for a bandage until we can get him to the doctor. Are you squeamish around blood, Miss Talbot? Do you want me to take care of the bandaging?”

  “I can do it. You just hold his head steady while I wrap.” On a cattle farm, there was almost a daily incident of some sort of injury. She had helped the local physician dress many a gash, some deep enough to expose bone. She had long ago gotten over any squeamishness.

  Lieutenant Booth handed her the neckerchief and then shifted until he crouched above Private Greene. He cradled the soldier’s head and slowly lifted. His gentleness and concern surprised her. He seemed to be more of the type who would require his men to bite down and bear their pain.

  She placed the handkerchief over the gash and began wrapping the tails around the soldier’s head. Her fingers brushed the lieutenant’s as she maneuvered around his hands. Flutters danced up her arm. Her head reeled as if she’d stolen sips of her father’s favorite corn whiskey. Blood might not make her lightheaded, but touching the lieutenant definitely did.

  “Remarkable.”

  Lieutenant Booth’s whispered remark wafted over her. She tied off the bandage ends and looked up. “What is?”

  His gaze surged over her, slow and sensual, like the waves of a lake caressing the shoreline. More quivers spilled down her spine. Undoubtedly he was gifted with the ability to mesmerize. She was firmly under his sway.

  Footfalls approached, and the moment burst like a fragile soap bubble.

  “Lieutenant,” one of the other soldiers called out. “We inspected the wagon. It looks like the front axle snapped and sheared off that wheel.”

  “Is it repairable?”

  The soldier shook his head. “Not without smithy tools and a lot more daylight.”

  Private Greene tried to rise up on his elbows. “Let me help, sir. I’ll be all right. It’s just a little bump on the head. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  The lieutenant restrained him with a hand to his shoulder. “That’s no little bump, Private. You stay right here and rest. That’s an order.”

  Private Greene mumbled a dejected “yes, sir,” and wobbled back to the ground. Her heart went out to the wounded soldier. She knew all about wanting to help, but being physically incapable of doing so. Several months ago, she’d been bedridden with a twisted ankle and was unable to assist Mildred with the children when they came down with the croup. Watching her aunt work herself to near exhaustion and unable to ease her burden had been very frustrating.

  Something brushed her arm, jarring her back to the present. Lieutenant Booth leaned close as he reached for his hat. He was so near his heat breached her dress and warmed her skin. Her mouth went dry, and her heart started racing. What was it about this man that had her reacting so intensely to a mere touch?

  He rolled away and pushed upright, taking his unnerving heat with him. She busied herself with cleaning her bloodied fingers on the grass. If only she could wipe away her reactions so easily.

  “Let’s get those mules unhitched, Private Briggs,” the lieutenant said, his voice even and steady and showing no evidence being affected by their intimate closeness. “There’s no sense in keeping them harnessed to a crippled wagon.”

  As the soldier left to carry out his orders, Meredith rose to her feet. Worry for the children and for Private Greene overrode any annoyance she held for herself.

  “What are we going to do, Lieutenant?”

  “We walk.”

  “To the fort? It’s almost dusk.” The horizon stewed with thick, black clouds. “And that storm is drawing uncomfortably close.”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “But the children…it’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s even more dangerous if we stay out here. There’s no protection from the elements or from—” He broke off with a scowl.

  “Say it. You mean there’s no protection from the renegades.” She clamped hands on her hips, anchoring herself against the ache to pummel his chest. His dogged campaign to move her and the children to the fort had placed them in this perilous predicament. “I knew this would be a fool’s errand. I knew it.”

  He opened his mouth to respond but instead of speaking, he shifted his attention to a point beyond her. A muffled clattering spanked the air. Someone was coming. She spun on her heels. In the distance, a mule-drawn farm wagon rounded a bend in the road and headed toward them. A weight lifted from her shoulders. It was Mr. Hoggard and Mrs. Clement returning from Mineral. Thank the Lord. Maybe this debacle could be salvaged after all.

  She climbed out of the ditch and moved to the middle of the road. The children crowded around her as Mr. Hoggard pulled the mule to a stop.

  Mrs. Clement scrambled off the seat, fast for a woman of her girth. A frown plowed through her plump cheeks. “Oh dearie me. ’Twas anyone hurt?”

  “Just the driver,” Meredith said. “He was tossed from the wagon when the axle broke and hit his head. I applied a makeshift bandage to the gash until he can see a doctor. The bleeding has stopped for now.”

  “’Tis fortunate it wasna worse. Why are you and the children out here with these soldiers anyhow?”

  Why indeed. It was a question she’d been asking herself ever since the soldiers had appeared on the orphanage doorstep.

  The lieutenant stepped beside her. “I’m Lieutenant Booth, ma’am. My commander suggested we move everyone in the outlying homesteads to Fort Dent until the rogue Indians are contained. Since our wagon is out of commission, we’ll need to use yours to haul everyone the rest of the way to the fort.”

  Lightning flashed, followed by a boom of thunder that rumbled across the boiling sky. Mr. Hoggard shook his head. “That storm is just about on us, Lieutenant. We won’t make it to the fort before it hits. Best to go back to Seaton House and wait until morning.”

  Chapter Three

  Rain thrummed on the darkened window panes, loud a
nd incessant, demanding to enter. A flash lit the parlor, and then came a resounding clap of thunder that rattled the wall hangings and the nerves.

  Becky ran over and burrowed in Meredith’s skirts. “I don’t like this storm,” the child whined. “It’s too loud.”

  Meredith rested a hand on the girl’s head. “It will be all right, Becky. It’s just nature’s way of releasing pent-up energy.”

  Becky peeked from beneath the folds. “Like when Robbie races around the yard after lesson time is over?”

  “Exactly so. There’s nothing to fear. How is your arm? Did the cold compress help any?”

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” The girl eased out of her hiding spot and wiggled her arm. “See, I can move it without hurting.”

  “Good.” She handed the girl a corner of the blanket she’d retrieved from the linen closet. “Then help me spread this near the hearth so everyone can get warm and dry.”

  There hadn’t been enough room in the smaller farm wagon to haul the children, the dry goods, and the wounded soldier. Their luggage had to be left behind. Unfortunately, the storm unleashed before they could make it to Seaton House. Everyone had gotten soaked. With no spare clothing to change into, they had to remain in their wet garments. God willing, no one would become ill from being damp and chilled.

  “I’m hungry,” Robbie wailed. “When are we going to eat?”

  Not even close to being ill. “Very soon. Mrs. Clement is slicing bread and cheese for supper.” She smoothed the blanket onto the floor. “We’ll have our own little picnic right here in the parlor.”

  “Goody.” Anna plopped down in the middle. “I like picnics.”

  Becky released her corner of the blanket and joined Anna, her fear of the storm apparently appeased. “We should play a game. How about The Minister’s Cat? I like that one.”

  The suggestion of an indoor picnic was definitely a winner. Maybe they could get through the night without any mishaps. “That’s a good idea, Becky. All of you find a spot on the blanket and play Minister’s Cat while I help Mrs. Clement.”

  As the children settled on the blanket, Meredith left the parlor. Halfway down the hall, a boom of thunder roared through the house, making her jump. She’d never been nervous around storms, but this one seemed especially fierce. She hoped it wasn’t a sign of bad things to come.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Clement stood at the work table, carving bread and setting the pieces on a platter already stacked with sliced cheese. The crocheted hairpiece at her nape sagged with the weight of wet braids. A damp towel draped her shoulders. Her skirt and blouse were dark with rain water. Instead of changing, the housekeeper had seen to the children’s needs first. There was no one more dedicated than Ida Clement.

  Mildred had taken in the destitute widow when both their husbands perished in the same mining accident. They had been together ever since. While the only gift Mrs. Clement exhibited was her outstanding cooking ability, she knew the secrets of Seaton House and held them close. An immigrant from the Scottish Highlands, she understood that the survival of the family, or clan as she called them, depended on loyalty and trust.

  Meredith unhooked an apron from a wall peg and tied it around her waist. “Why don’t you change out of those wet clothes, Mrs. Clement? I can finish up here.”

  The housekeeper didn’t miss a beat with her slicing. “No need, dearie. I’m almost done. Just have to pour the milk Mr. Hoggard brought in from the barn.”

  “Let me do that for you.” She crossed to the table and picked up the pitcher of milk. “I’m surprised Mr. Hoggard was able to get a drop from Bessy, considering the fierceness of that storm. It seems to have the children on edge. I can’t imagine how the animals are faring.”

  “Mr. Hoggard has a way with people and with animals. Always has.”

  Before retiring and coming to work for Mildred, Joseph Hoggard had ministered God’s word to a tiny parish in Kentucky. His gift was of the heavenly sort—full of kindness and understanding. Never judgmental. From her first day at Seaton House, he’d accepted her into his flock.

  “I wish I could handle the children with as much ease and confidence as he does.” She poured milk into the glasses arranged on a serving tray. “Every time I think I have them in hand, it all goes awry.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yerself. Ye are doing a wonderful job. Mrs. Campbell would be proud.”

  Proud? She wouldn’t go that far. Her aunt had welcomed her into the close-knit family at the orphanage and worked tirelessly to help her understand and govern her visions. For all the good that did. She’d be more likely to jump over a mountain as to control her gift.

  “I worry that I’m not making the right decision about moving everyone to Fort Dent. What if I put the children in more danger by exposing them to those who are less understanding? The little ones are so young. They just don’t realize the consequences of exposing their abilities.”

  “I dinna see any way around it. The threat from the Indians is much more immediate and far more deadly.”

  “I suppose you are right.” She poured milk into the last of the glasses. “But I still worry.”

  “As would any caring person.”

  A sharp clap of thunder rapped the air. Pots hanging on the overhead rack rattled against one another. Her hand shook, and milk spilled from the porcelain lip. A white puddle spread across the tabletop like blood from a wound.

  Meredith thumped the pitcher onto the table. “Good heavens. Now look what I’ve done.”

  Mrs. Clement snatched up the wiping cloth quicker than a duck jumping on a June bug. “Dinna fash yerself. ’Tis just a little spilt milk.”

  Her heart sagged. “Is this an omen, Mrs. Clement? Should I take greater care with the children as I should have with pouring the milk?”

  “An omen?” The housekeeper shook her head as she mopped up the spill. “My Henry used to say, ‘There are no such things as omens. Destiny is too wise or too cruel to send heralds.’ Just trust in yer heart, dearie. It won’t lead you astray.”

  “Your Henry sounds like a fascinating man. I wish I could have known him.”

  “I wish ye could have, too. The man was bigger than a bear, but gentle as a lamb. He was the love of my life, even if he were an Englishman.”

  “When did you know he was the one?”

  The housekeeper’s mouth curled up at the corners, the smile snuggling into pink, rounded cheeks. Her gaze took on a soft, dreamy look. This was a woman who had loved and had been loved.

  “I knew when he put a smile not only on my face but also on my heart. I wanted to spend every waking moment by his side.” Mrs. Clement heaved a sigh and cocked her head. “Is there someone special who has ye wondering about such a thing?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh no. I was simply curious about Mr. Clement. Nothing more.”

  “Yer certain? I’ve seen the way ye look at the handsome lieutenant.” Gray eyebrows arched in speculation. “Henry put that same glow on my face.”

  Rooster’s teeth. Clearly she wasn’t as adept at containing her emotions as she thought. “I’m certain. I have no interest in Lieutenant Booth. Besides, he emphatically stated the army is his life.”

  Mrs. Clement merely broadened her smile and gathered the platter of cheese and bread. “Let’s go feed the wee darlings, shall we? Before they start gnawing on the furniture.”

  Yes, let’s. The conversation had strayed well beyond comfortable. Meredith picked up the tray of glasses and followed the housekeeper to the parlor.

  The storm seemed to have abated, the lightning and thunder coming less frequently and less sharply. Expectant faces greeted them as they entered the parlor. They set the trays on the blanket amid a chorus of excited chirps. Robbie reached for a slice of bread, and Meredith stilled him with a harsh look. He pulled his hands back and adopted a pious pose, head tucked and hands folded. The little imp.

  “Whose turn is it? Nel?” At the girl’s nod, she added, “Go on then.”

  As
Nel delivered the blessing, a shuffling noise sounded in the doorway. Lieutenant Booth filled the opening, hat in hand, studying her with those prowling eyes. Her insides heated with a warmth that had nothing to do with the blazing fire. She yanked her gaze away and murmured an earnest “amen” with the others. She’d need all the heavenly help she could get to keep her thoughts virtuous.

  As the children dove into the food, her feet moved toward the lieutenant as if being impelled by Gabe’s mental machinations. A quick glance confirmed the boy was occupied with stuffing his mouth with bread and cheese.

  She laced her fingers together in front of her, mimicking Robbie’s pious pose. “Good evening, Lieutenant. How is Private Greene? Did you get him settled into the boys’ bedroom?”

  “He’s doing fine. I appreciate you making room for him. I’m sure Mrs. Clement’s tonic and a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed will help speed his recovery.”

  It was actually one of Maddie’s tonics, but he didn’t need to know who had brewed the elixir. It would only prompt questions she couldn’t answer. “We’re happy to help. Besides, the boys will consider bunking in the parlor an adventure.”

  “I imagine they will.”

  She motioned to the blanket. “Would you like to join us for supper? It’s just bread and cheese, but there’s plenty.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll find something later. Just came to let you know my troopers and I will be keeping watch on the house. Didn’t want you or the children to become frightened if you hear noises during the night.”

  Troopers, not soldiers. She’d remember to refer to them that way from now on. “I’ll be sure to let everyone know. We’ll leave out some food in case you or your men get hungry during your patrols.”

  A frown pleated his brow. “You might want to reconsider leaving out any food.”

  “Why?”

  He stepped around her. “Because you have a mouse.”

  He darted into the parlor, stomping the floor as he moved. A gray ball of fur squealed and scurried just out of reach. Robbie shrieked and shot from the blanket.