by Diane Wylie
The stew was the best thing he had ever tasted. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the wall and savored the taste on his tongue and the wonderful warm feeling in his stomach with each mouthful. How long had it been since he had eaten a home-cooked meal? Months to be sure. He ate with relish.
* * *
Jenny picked up the dry but filthy uniform. She would clean it later as best she could. Peering at the many tears and holes in the trousers and jacket, she knew mending it would be a challenge, but she would try. Putting water in a kettle over the fire to warm, she began to put out the things that would be needed.
She kept stealing glances at the Yankee from under her lashes as she worked. David fell asleep seconds after putting the last spoonful in his mouth and sat with his back leaning against the wall, his head drooping to the side. The spoon was still clutched in his hand, resting on the floor.
The beard had grown even thicker on his sculpted cheeks. His dark brows under the bandage were relaxed as he slept. Continuing to stare unabashedly, her eyes were drawn to his full mouth. It was soft and, for the first time since she had seen him, not tight with pain or anger. He was dressed in her father’s nightshirt, which was a bit tight across his broad chest. A blanket covered the lower half of his body, but she remembered what she had seen under there. Heat rose up to her face.
Rommie settled down in front of the hearth, letting out a doggie sigh that brought her back to reality. Time was ticking away. Reluctant as she was to wake the injured man, she had to get back home before dawn came and she was missed.
“Captain Reynolds,” she called softly, bending over him, “would you like to shave and bathe before I change your bandages?”
His eyes opened slowly, blinking in confusion when he tried to focus on her. Anxiety leapt to his face, and he dropped the spoon. Putting his hands up, he rubbed his eyes then pinched the bridge of his nose. He blinked again and lowered his head, rubbing his temples.
“What is it?” she asked, concerned.
“I seem to be having trouble with my eyes.” He gave her an anxious smile. “You are somewhat blurry at the moment…actually, there are two of you.”
Jenny reached for the lamp and brought it close to his face. She watched the black of his pupils shrink in reaction to the light, but his gaze remained unfocused. “Perhaps the injury to your head is to blame. Your eyes appear to be fine. Has this happened before?”
He nodded. “Yes, ever since I was hurt my vision seems to come and go.”
She tried to sound sure and confident. “I have no doubt it will pass then as it did before. Just close your eyes and relax.”
He did as she suggested and laid his bandaged head back on the log cabin’s wall, his face weary and uncertain.
“How am I going to ride back to my men if I can’t see? I have to get back!”
Her stomach tightened at the agony in his voice. Impulsively she reached for his hand and covered his fist with her fingers, giving a reassuring squeeze to the clenched fingers. “Don’t worry, David; it may just be temporary. After all, you said it comes and goes. I know you could see me when I first came.”
At her use of his first name, he opened his eyes again but the pleasant expression he wore changed immediately. He frowned, his mouth turning down in a flat tight line.
“Still bad?”
Putting a hand over his eyes again, he closed them tightly as if he could, by sheer will power, force them to focus again. “Yes, it makes me dizzy to see double.”
She got up and went to check on the water and throw another log on the fire.
“Would you talk to me, please?” She heard him ask from behind her. “Maybe it will take my mind off my…my problems. Tell me about yourself and your plantation.”
As she turned around to look at him, a rush of emotion for the Yankee washed over Jenny. This man had been through horrors that she couldn’t even image. He was obviously a vital, intelligent man—a leader of men—strong and honorable. But here he sat, filthy and wounded on a dirt floor, unable to walk or even see well enough to take command of his men, were he even back with them…and he wanted to hear about her life.
She would oblige him. He must be lonely here all day by himself. At least she had her family with her. Perhaps the soldier just wanted to hear about something normal and sane for a while to take his mind off war and bloodshed. Moving the kettle further away from the hottest part of the flames to keep warm, she went to sit beside him. The washing could wait.
* * *
Keeping his eyes closed so the world would not tilt, David listened to the soothing Southern drawl as she talked. She told him of her strict, but loving father, her playful little half-brother, the mother who had left her too early, and her friend, little Benjamin’s mother, who had suffered the same fate. Then she began to speak of the sprawling plantation her father had inherited from his father. Her voice was full of pride as she described the buildings, their manor house, and the crops they grew.
He opened his eyes quickly when she began to talk of the land and the farming, but was forced to put a hand on the dirt floor to steady himself as dizziness hit once again. Their shoulders touched briefly before he was upright.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Jenny…do you mind if I call you ‘Jenny’?” At the tiny shake of her head, he continued, “I just wanted to hear more about how things are done here in the South. Someday I plan to buy a bit of land of my own and do some farming, maybe breed horses.” He smiled, looking in her direction but unable to see her clearly.
“That sounds like a wonderful plan. Why have you not done it before now?”
Heaving a sigh, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes again. “My father wants me to take over the newspaper. I put him off by attending Rutgers College in New Jersey then the war started, and I joined up to delay the inevitable. I was hoping to think of a way to please him and myself, but it’s hopeless.”
“Why?” Jenny seemed genuinely puzzled, “He must love you. You are his son. He has to want you to be happy.”
Opening his eyes again, he regarded her intently. “No,” he couldn’t help being brusque. “Nothing I ever do is right in his eyes unless it benefits the newspaper business. That newspaper is his true love. He lives for that rag. By my own choice I studied agriculture in school, which angered him greatly. It was just another nail in my coffin as far as he was concerned. It was one less thing for him to be proud of in his only son. He wanted me to stay home to learn the business…or at least take classes that would help when I have to run the company. When I enrolled in college, I never told him I had plans of my own, and that those plans had nothing to do with eventually taking over the paper. I had no desire to work inside at a desk day after day, and he was shamed at the thought of his son becoming a dirt farmer. Oh, the arguments we had…” He stopped, realizing he had been going on and on, baring his soul to a virtual stranger.
* * *
“Surely your mother had some influence on your father. She had to help him see that you needed to follow your heart! Here…lean toward me, now.” Jenny reached up and began to unwind the bandage from his head, ignoring the thrill that went through her at his closeness. She could feel the warmth of him and smell him—the smell of blood, mud, sweat, and…man.
“My mother, like yours, is dead.” His voice was low and quiet. “She died when I was fourteen. It has been just the two of us since then. My father…he changed after she died. He became obsessed with the newspaper. Every waking moment is devoted to it. He says it is my legacy, and he is making it great for me…but I don’t want it. I have no interest in the newspaper business—it is nothing but political gesturing. What my father’s paper reports and how they report it depends on which politician he decides to side with at the moment or which one pays him the best.”
Wringing out the cloth, Jenny pulled his bent head closer. Their legs touched while she gently washed the three-inch long gash at his hairline. It didn’t seem deep enough to warrant stitches. Strange sensa
tions began gathering inside her as she became increasingly aware of the closeness of his body to hers. Ignoring the feeling, she groped around in her skirt pocket with her left hand. Locating a bandage, she pulled it out and began to wrap the clean strip of linen gently around his head.
“I’m so sorry, but maybe you could change the paper’s policies if you took over?” She spoke softly, sensing his vulnerability.
Sad green eyes met hers when she finished with the bandage. “I would have to wait for my father to die in order for that to happen.”
“Well, I’m sure you would find a way to make things go your way.”
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Thank you for what? Thank you for listening, for the vote of confidence, for the food, for the medical attention? She wasn’t sure, but she knew now that she was strongly attracted to this man. Hoping he didn’t suspect, she gave him a bright smile.
“It looks like you can focus your eyes again. Is your vision better?”
He looked startled and put a hand up to his bandaged head.
“Yes, I can see again, just fine.” He broke into a smile, and it lit his face like magic. Jenny’s body tingled down to her toes at the sight. She wanted to make him smile again, but her mind was blank of ideas on just how to accomplish that feat. Instead, she plopped the wet cloth in his hand and pushed the basin and soap across the dirt floor to him.
“Good. Then you can shave and wash, Yank. You stink.”
As she cleaned up from the meal and fed Romulus, she began to regret her suggestion. She could barely keep her gaze averted from the spectacular vision of masculinity that sat a mere five feet from her. David had pulled the nightshirt off over his head and proceeded to shave then wash the grime and sweat from his skin. Unable to stand, he was forced to do this all sitting on the floor with the blanket still across his lap. There was no furniture in the old cabin save an old crooked table. The firelight danced over his bronzed skin that glistened with moisture. Her eyes hypnotically followed the path of the cloth over swells of muscle and the ridged taut abdomen. Quickly she turned away again, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring. Her mouth was suddenly quite dry.
“Jenny, would you mind very much helping me with this leg bandage? I think I need a new one, this one is rather…uh, soiled.”
There was a distinct hesitancy in his voice. Perhaps he had noticed the trouble she was having keeping her mind on her own tasks. She had come this far. Just because she was extremely attracted to him, she couldn’t very well refuse to help him now.
I hate to be such a bother…”
“Oh, no…you’re not. Of course…I can help. Uh…would you put a shirt on first?” Holding the shirt out in her line of vision so she couldn’t see the half-naked and very, very attractive man, she handed him a clean linen shirt that belonged to her father.
He took it and pulled it over his head. Jenny breathed again.
“Won’t your father miss his clothes?”
The shirt was on, but it too was a little tight in the shoulders and chest. The contours of his body were all too clear. What shameful thoughts you have! You should be ashamed of yourself…but…oh my, Captain Reynolds is a beautiful man. How would it feel to touch the chest or the shoulders of a man like him? Would he feel hard or soft? Perhaps…yes, both…and smooth and warm…wonderful to be sure. STOP!
“No, he has plenty,” Jenny answered with difficulty. Her throat tightened again, and her stomach was filled with dancing, fluttering butterflies. “Why don’t you lie down while I do this?”
David nodded. Taking his arm, she helped him lie down on his bed of blankets again. He closed his eyes. Turning back the blanket that covered his lower body so only his injured leg was exposed, she took scissors and began to cut away the bloody bandage.
“Mmmmm…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Slowly she pulled the bandage off the wound, pausing to soak it with warm water where it had dried and stuck. She saw his leg tense with the pain, but he made no sound. Blood ran freely from the deep wound. She pressed a dry cloth against the wound and tried to think about what Kizzie would do. This wasn’t good; she really didn’t want to cause him more pain, but she had no choice.
“David?”
“Yes?”
He sounded groggy.
“David,” she repeated.
He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. She saw that he couldn’t seem to focus his eyes again. Her hand was resting on his chest, and she could feel his heart begin racing. That wasn’t good, either. Trying to sound relaxed and nonchalant, she wanted to appear in control. “You’re still losing too much blood. I…I hate to say this, but I’m going to have to sear the bleeding vessel and stitch the wound closed.”
“Do what you have to do,” he told her firmly.
“It’s going to hurt.” She started to rise. “Let me give you some laudanum first.”
“No…no laudanum, I can’t afford to be unconscious again. There may be Rebs nearby. Just do it,” he snapped. He closed his eyes again.
* * *
She moved away to begin preparing something over by the fireplace. David didn’t open his eyes to see what. He might be a big, brave soldier, who faced down screaming hordes of Rebels, but he lost all bravery in the face of the thought of being burned, intentionally or unintentionally.
As a child he remembered vividly when he had been bad and tried to pick up the bright red glowing pieces of coal in the grate. They had been so pretty, but they had hurt him terribly. His mother had soothed his hand and his tears, while his father berated him horribly and called him “stupid.” Since then he had this fear of things hot or burning. So he kept his distance when possible.
A gentle slender hand lay warm on his chest again. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to see the red hot glowing brand she must be holding in the other hand.
“Ready?” the soft Southern voice asked.
He nodded.
Pain jolted hot and intense up his leg. Sweat popped out of every pore, and in seconds his entire body was slick with it. He clenched his fists to keep from shoving away the instrument of torture. His breath came in little gasps, and his stomach turned over. The pain gradually subsided slightly, and her hand touched his thigh, washing away the blood. It was followed by the sting and pull of the needle and thread through his flesh. The headache was almost unbearable now, and he stifled a moan. He could tell Jenny was working quickly. Her motions were smooth and practiced. She did have a talent for this type of work.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He shook his head slowly. “It is all right,” he said between clenched teeth. Briefly opening his eyes, he winked at her concerned face and forced a smile. He was rewarded with an uncertain smile in return. Finally there was a subtle easing of the pressure inside his head. The salve she spread over the wound was cool and soothing.
He sighed gratefully and studied his angel of mercy. What a beauty she was. A few silky strands of hair had come loose and fallen across her face as she bent to her work. She had a clean, graceful profile and slender, pale neck that he wanted badly to press his lips to. But he didn’t move. She was gently wrapping his leg in clean bandages now.
She pulled the blanket back into place then wiped his face and neck with a cool cloth. He closed his eyes once more, too weary now to think or speak. Her soft hand rested against his smooth-shaven cheek.
“It’s all over. Rest now, Captain Reynolds.”
And he could have sworn her lips brushed his as his troubled mind swirled away to sleep.
Chapter Seven
The barn was only about fifty feet from the cabin, although it may as well have been fifty miles. It was exhausting, but Romulus stayed with him every step of the way, looking up at him with anxious liquid eyes as David, using a broomstick for a crutch, dragged himself out to see the horse.
Napoleon turned his great head and nickered a welcome. Dropping the broomstick, he held onto the wonderf
ul sleek back, running his hand over the powerful animal. Jenny was right, the wound on the horse’s hind quarters was healing well under its coating of salve. She was a remarkable woman doing all of this for him. A stranger. An enemy. A hated Yankee here in her homeland. He had no money, nothing with which to repay her kindness.
Rubbing Napoleon’s velvety nose, David sighed. The past was past. The future was so uncertain, precarious. What did that leave but the present? And the present included one very lovely, very beautiful young woman…Jennifer Winston, the daughter of a Southern plantation owner. Wealthy. Not someone likely to match up with the son of a newspaper owner in a big Northern city. What did it matter anyway? It was very likely that there was no future for him. He could be hung for desertion or ripped to shreds by a cannonball. There were many ways to die.
Too many morbid thoughts lately. He was allowing these feelings to take over. Too self-indulgent, he reminded himself. Men will not follow an officer who wallows in self-pity. There is still a job to be done.
Retrieving his broomstick, he told Napoleon a fond goodbye and limped to the door with Romulus still at his side. Suddenly the dog stopped still, blocking his path. The hair on his neck rose, and a low growl rumbled deep in the animal’s throat. Startled, David backed up behind the doorframe and looked out cautiously. Nothing seemed unusual, the log cabin was surrounded by trees, and beyond that was open meadowland lush with gently waving grasses. He strained to listen.
The sound of men’s voices and the far off whinny of a horse drifted back to him. There were men in the area. Were they Confederate soldiers or civilians? Either one would not welcome a Yankee soldier. He waited. They passed the cabin heading west, away from the forest. The heads of their horses and their upper bodies were all that was visible above the feathery grass tops. There was no mistaking the gray and butternut uniforms the men wore. A party of eight, perhaps a Confederate scouting party…or a group of Rebel deserters, had come within yards of discovering him.