Time passed and she squinted ahead, but between the fog and the darkness, she couldn’t see Captain Prescott or any of the others. She stopped, listening, but the night was silent. She didn’t even see footprints. An eerie confusion came over her. Was she even moving in the right direction? Had she veered off course? If she had, they would never find her, and she would likely wander over the iced river in the wrong direction until she froze. Or until she fell through the ice. She clutched the stick and imagined the deep water, dark beneath her feet; she was separated from it by only a few inches of ice. She could feel apprehension building and tried to distract herself by thinking of a paper by John Dalton she’d read, on the composition of water. One molecule of water has two hydrogen atoms covalently bonded to a single oxygen atom. But it did nothing to calm her.
Panic took hold, and Abigail began to shake. She whirled around, looking for the others, but saw nothing. She kept turning until she was no longer sure which direction she’d been going. She started in the direction she thought was right but then turned, thinking she’d been mistaken. Dread filled her mind, and her heart started beating rapidly as she searched the darkness for . . . anything. Her impulse was to run, but a rational part of her mind knew that was not the answer. “Captain,” she called out, her voice sounding small and hoarse. She coughed and tried again. “Captain Prescott! Where are you?”
“Abigail?” The relief at hearing his voice lasted merely for an instant. She couldn’t tell which direction it came from.
“Captain, I’m lost.” A sob choked in her throat as she tried to draw in a breath. “Captain?”
“Abigail, I’m coming. Stay where you are.”
Another sob broke out, and the stick fell from her trembling hands, making a clattering sound on the ice.
An instant later, Captain Prescott ran out of the fog. Abigail’s relief at seeing him was so overwhelming that her legs went soft, and she swayed.
He caught her in his arms and held her as she broke down into a bout of weeping.
Abigail felt utterly ridiculous sobbing against the man’s chest. She was making wet, embarrassing noises and shaking uncontrollably but couldn’t stop herself. The panic that had taken over her seemed to need to expel itself through blubbering and facial seepage.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a hitching voice once she had enough control to speak. “I just . . .”
Captain Prescott rubbed her back and held her tighter. “No need to apologize.”
She shook her head, drawing back and wiping her mittens over her wet cheeks. “I . . . I couldn’t see . . . anything.”
“I know.”
Her face was cold as tears froze, making her eyelids and nose sting. Since her mittens were wet, she used the inside of her cloak to rub her eyes and the captain’s wet coat.
Once her mind started to clear, she realized they were still standing together, their combined weight pressing down on the ice, increasing the weight-per-square-inch ratio.
She stepped back and crouched down to pick up the stick. Her hands were still shaking, and it slipped, hitting the ice and rolling away. “Oh, Captain Prescott, I am a terrible soldier.”
He laughed and grabbed the stick, handing it to her. “You are a fine soldier.” He held her hand, walking beside her. “I’ve heard no complaints from you this entire campaign, even though I’m certain marching through deep snow in skirts isn’t easy.” His hand tightened and he pulled her forward. “Come, we’re nearly to the other side.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Abigail said. “And how do you know which way to go?”
“I’m the captain, remember? It’s my job to know.”
His smile flashed again, and seeing it, Abigail’s worries disappeared. She trusted this man, trusted him to keep her safe, to lead her through the darkness. Her relief was so welcome that she let her fear fall away and just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, fully confident that Captain Prescott would lead her to shore.
Chapter 6
Emmett held on tightly to Abigail’s mitten-covered hand. He could still feel her shaking, and he was anxious to get her to shore where she could sit and recover. And if he was to be honest, he’d not mind a minute to collect himself as well. Hearing her frantic cry through the dark fog had awakened a fear inside him that he hadn’t felt before. His first thoughts were that she’d fallen through the ice or been attacked. He’d imagined wolves or fierce Indian braves assailing her, and in that instant, the only thing that had mattered was finding her and making certain she was unharmed.
And when he had, her weeping and shaking had nearly been his undoing. He wished to take her away from all of this, to put her somewhere warm and safe where fear and war and danger would never reach her. Her gasping breaths had made him worry that she might fall unconscious or grow hysterical, and he’d done the only thing he’d known to work when Lydia had been afraid: held her and waited for the episode to run its course. And surprisingly, it had worked.
The incident had left him shaken. He’d have run into any danger without preparation, and it was unlike him to forget years of training and sprint toward the unknown. Of course he would have risked his life to rescue any of his men. He worried for those in his command, took his charge seriously. He was responsible for them. But this was something more. Something that ran deeper, and he didn’t know exactly what it meant or how he was to interpret it. Instead of dwelling on unfamiliar emotions, he focused on what he did know. Abigail needed to be kept safe. The idea that she could have been hurt or lost still had his nerves on edge.
He glanced back and saw that she was watching her feet, still holding onto the stick and following him blindly with something like childlike trust. He considered her reaction when she’d been lost in the dark. She hadn’t called for help, she’d called for him. Although she’d only known him a few days, she had confidence in his ability to save her. The knowledge settled around his heart, warm and soft like one of Granny’s striped stockings, and it also increased his feeling of responsibility when it came to her protection.
Miss Abigail Tidwell was the most complicated person he thought he’d ever known. The woman’s leisure reading consisted of scientific analyses, yet her decisions were made out of compassion. She could suture a wound, bake bread, cure infection, milk a cow, knit socks, and recite the mineral composition of inorganic solids. But she’d become afraid in the dark fog.
A pity they would only spend a few days together. Emmett found Abigail to be fascinating. And he didn’t think he could say that about many women of his acquaintance. Most of the young ladies his father and stepmother introduced him to were dull or insincere. Abigail was neither.
They reached the riverbank and found Jasper and Barney waiting. If either man thought it strange to see their captain holding hands with the doctor, they didn’t show it. Jasper erased their footprints then led them into the forest. He motioned with a raised finger to his lips for them to remain silent. Apparently he’d spotted evidences of enemies on the island. Emmett would never fail to be impressed by the man’s ability to track as well as keep them from being tracked in rough terrain.
Emmett motioned to him that they needed to halt, and Jasper nodded, scouting ahead until he found a darkly shadowed spot on a rocky hill where a sentry could watch as they rested. Barney brushed snow from a boulder and set the quilt he’d been carrying down, motioning for Abigail to sit.
She did so, slumping forward to rest her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees. Emmett wanted to sit beside her and put a comforting arm around her, but he refrained, knowing he needed to speak to Jasper.
He moved away from Barney and Abigail, climbing up the hill to where Jasper stood watch. “How far?”
“Maybe five miles,” Jasper replied.
At the rate they were traveling, Emmett thought they would be walking at least two or three more hours. Their journey days earlier to reconnoiter the area around Fort Malden had been a slow one, with no roads to follow and w
ith detours around any area that might have held enemy scouts. But this trip required speed. He was frustrated that his own energy was flagging and the pain in his side becoming more intense.
“Ten minutes more,” Emmett said. “Then we press on.”
Jasper nodded.
Emmett climbed back down the hill and found Abigail digging through her bag. She pulled out something that he couldn’t see in the darkness and held it toward him. When he took it, he saw it was a rolled pair of stockings.
“For your hands,” Abigail said. “Your fingers will get frost burn in this cold.”
Emmett thought his hand had stayed plenty warm with hers wrapped in it. For a moment, he thought of arguing that he needed his hands free to shoot, but his cold fingers won out, and he pulled the socks on. He guessed he’d have to wait until daylight to see what colors they were.
“They’re warm, aren’t they, Captain?” Barney said, opening and closing his sock-clad fingers like he was animating a puppet.
Emmett nodded. “We’ll continue in a few minutes.”
“Here, Mr. Hopkins. Will you take these socks to Mr. Webb?” Abigail handed him another pair.
Once Barney left, Emmett sat on the quilt beside her. “How are you, Abigail?”
“Much better. I’m so sorry, Captain. The dark and the cold . . . I don’t know why I went to pieces.”
He clutched her hand with his, the grasp clumsy between sock and mitten, but under the circumstances it was the best he could do.
She responded by squeezing his fingers. “I know you are putting on a brave face, but you are in pain. I can give you something to ease it.”
“We haven’t time,” he said. “And I need my senses alert.”
She scooted around to face him, and her knees bumped his. “You must promise to rest once we reach the camp.”
“I will rest.”
“No. Promise it. You are still very seriously injured. All your healing will be undone if you don’t take care of yourself.”
“I promise to rest once we reach the camp.”
The answer seemed to mollify her, and she relaxed.
Emmett knew she was right. He was pushing himself too hard, and he could feel his strength waning. But what other choice did he have? He needed to get these men and himself safely out of the enemy’s territory and bring Miss Tidwell to Luke as soon as possible. They might even now be too late.
Once their reprieve was over, they continued through the heavy forest of Grosse Ile. The moonlight was completely blocked by fog, making the night nearly full dark. Emmett kept a firm hold on Abigail’s hand the entire way. After an hour, they reached the west side of the island and started across the ice. They reached the bank of the Michigan Territory without incident, and he felt relief, like a clamp inside him had been let loose. The others seemed to move lighter as well. This close to Fort Detroit, Emmett knew the threat of an enemy attack wasn’t fully alleviated, but it was much lower.
Abigail stumbled, and he glanced at her. In the dark, she was little more than a silhouette, but he could tell she was flagging.
“We’re nearly there, Abigail.”
She didn’t respond but continued plodding along, her pace slowing until he was pulling instead of just walking beside her. She must be exhausted.
“Miss Tidwell, in what igneous rock compound might I find gem-quality tourmaline?”
She lifted her head. “Pegmatite.”
“Ah, so you’re awake. I wondered.”
“Have you found gem-quality tourmaline?” she asked. Her voice sounded sleepy.
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Pity, that.”
Emmett decided to keep her talking. It was a distraction from his own pain and helped her to move faster. “So tell me, Miss Tidwell, how is it that you possess such vast scientific knowledge?”
“I wouldn’t consider it vast. My pursuits are quite specific.”
“Geology and medicine?”
“You saw my books.”
“I did. And it makes me curious. I’ve never met a woman with such interests.”
“You are the first person I’ve met who’s shared my passion for geology,” she said. “When I was a child, I gathered rocks that caught my attention, and I was lucky that my father indulged my hobby instead of discouraging it. He brought me books about mineral compositions from Edinburgh and Baltimore when he returned from attending medical lectures.”
“I see. And how did you develop your interest and skill in medicine?”
“That is more complicated,” she said slowly. “And more personal.”
Though he couldn’t see her, he could feel the caution in her words. And it fueled his curiosity. “Will you tell me?”
She was quiet for a long moment, and he wondered if he’d caused her offense. He was about to say something to change the topic when she spoke.
“When I was ten years old, my father accompanied my brother, Isaac, to England to purchase a commission at the Royal Military Academy. Mother and I stayed behind. She didn’t like to be away from my grandmother.”
“Because she was nearly blind?”
“Yes.” She drew closer to him, and he wondered if she noticed. “While we were working in the garden, Mother scratched her leg on a broken piece of the fence. It bled a bit but didn’t bother her at the time. However, a week later, it had developed into a festering wound. She took a fever and died within a few days.”
“I’m sorry, Abigail.”
She squeezed his hand. “When Father returned weeks later, he was heartbroken, as you can imagine. He loved her very much. But I was . . . inconsolable. I’d retreated to a dark place in my mind. I didn’t eat or sleep, and I lost interest in everything—even my rocks. I felt guilty and angry with myself for not knowing how to help her.” Her voice was unsteady. She cleared her throat.
“But you must have known it wasn’t your fault,” Emmett protested. “You were only a child.”
“I know it now, but at the time . . .” She cleared her throat again. “So Father taught me. He brought me along when he attended patients and read to me from his medical books. Learning about medicine healed me, I suppose. It sounds silly to say it. But it gave me power where before I’d felt helpless.”
“Your father sounds like a wise man,” Emmett said, amazed by the man’s insight into helping his grieving daughter. “My father behaved quite differently when my mother died.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked.
Voices came from ahead, and Emmett pushed Abigail behind him, pulling the sock off his hand and lifting the musket.
Jasper stepped from the trees holding a torch. He was followed by Murphy.
“We’ve arrived,” Emmett said, lowering the weapon. “Miss Tidwell, Private Thaddeus Murphy.” He motioned with a tip of his head. “Miss Tidwell is a doctor.”
Murphy’s wrinkled face slacked in relief. By the flicker of torchlight, Emmett could see him run a hand through his gray hair.
Barney hurried past, and Emmett and Abigail followed. In a clearing, they found a fire between two small shelters made of branches. Emmett recognized Jasper’s handiwork. The group hadn’t brought tents on their reconnaissance mission but with Jasper’s help had bivouacked comfortably in the forest. The man was unbelievably skilled in wilderness survival. Both of the lean-tos were open on one side, facing the fire to trap the heat. A pole, about four feet tall, separated the opening into two halves.
Barney pulled a branch from the fire, using it as a torch, and crouched down, illuminating the inside of one of the shelters.
Abigail released Emmett’s hand and followed, kneeling on the frozen ground and pulling off her mittens. She scooted inside to examine the patient.
Emmett followed, crouching behind her, and watched as Abigail lifted up Luke’s arm. “Bring the light closer if you please, Mr. Hopkins.”
Barney complied and the flickering light showed the slender young man, looking pale and drenched in sweat. “Will you have
to amputate, miss?”
“I hope not,” Abigail said. “That solution is mandatory in a crowded field tent full of injured soldiers with only few surgeons to tend to them. But we have time to put all of our focus on one.” She bent close and smelled the wound.
Even Emmett could see Luke’s condition was grave. His clothes and hair were wet in the biting cold, yet he did not shiver. The skin of his arm was shiny, pulled tight by swelling, and red with infection. The wound was discolored, with thick pus crusted around it. He could tell the bone was broken by the way the arm above the wrist was bent at an odd angle.
When Abigail felt Luke’s head, the boy’s eyes flew wide, and he raved incoherently.
She brushed back his hair, placing a hand on his cheek. “Hush, Luke. Be calm, all will be well soon.”
“Ma?” Luke’s eyes were unfocused. He moaned and moved his head from side to side.
Emmett’s instinct was to pull Abigail away before the boy unknowingly injured her.
She continued to stroke his cheek and hair, speaking in a gentle voice until Luke calmed.
“He will get well, won’t he, Miss Tidwell?” Barney asked.
“I will do everything I can.” She patted Barney’s arm then twisted around to where Murphy stood behind Emmett. “How long has he had the fever?” she asked.
“A few hours,” Murphy said. “He’s been yelling out but doesn’t know what he’s saying. I put a damp cloth on his forehead to try to cool him.”
“You did just right, sir.” Abigail opened her medical bag and started rummaging around inside it. “His temperature is quite high, and the bones will have to be reset, but first, we must draw out the infection. That is the cause of the fever.” She set a mortar and pestle on the ground, along with some vials and bottles. “I will prepare a poultice. And we must clean the injury. Scrape off the decayed tissue and discharge.” She picked up a small dark-colored bottle. “It will be quite painful, but this will allow him to sleep through the worst of it.”
My Dearest Enemy Page 5