Daniel's Desire (2 page)

Dear God, what’s wrong with the woman?

“Where’s your ma?”

Daniel followed Chandler down a short dark hallway. The boy gestured to the open door with his head. Daniel stepped in and his breath hitched.

A woman lay on a large bed, dark circles under her closed eyes. He would have pronounced her already dead if not for the very slight movement of her chest and the deep flush of fever on her skin. He moved to the bed and picked up her hand. Her eyes remained closed, her pulse weak, but steady.

He turned toward Chandler, who now held the gun at his side, his sister and brother huddled against him. “Can I remove the sheet to look at where she’s hurt?”

The boy gave him a curt nod.

Daniel lifted the sheet and almost lost the little bit of the meal he’d had a few hours ago. The woman had an infected gash on her leg. The wound had been partially stitched and bloody pus oozed from it, dripping onto the stained sheet below. He laid the back of his hand against her forehead. She burned with fever.

Maybe he wouldn’t be able to save her leg, but he had to try. He could cauterize it, but since the wound showed no sign of gangrene, the better procedure would be to clean the cut and re-stitch it. Suturing would be easier on the woman than searing her skin. First, he would have to cut away the dead skin edging the wound.

“Can you fix her?” Amelia’s small voice ripped into his gut.

Truth, or false assurances? God, they were all so young.

Daniel walked to where the children stood in the doorway and got down on one knee. “I can try, Amelia, and I will try very hard. But you must do something for me.” He looked at Chandler and Jace. “All of you. You must pray very hard.”

Three small heads bobbed. Apparently, the children were no strangers to prayer.

He rose. “Chandler, where does your ma keep her medical things?”

The child laid the gun on a table, led him to the mudroom, and pointed to a shelf. “She keeps everything up there.”

“Thanks. I want you to heat some water on the stove for me. Do you have a fire going?”

The boy squared his shoulders. “I can start one.”

“Good. Next I want you to find me a pair of scissors and an old sheet, or some kind of clean rags I can rip up for a bandage.”

“What can I do?” Amelia leaned her head back, almost falling over backwards to meet his eyes.

“You can help us get things ready. Then, I’ll need you to be very, very brave and take your little brother to the parlor and wait there with him while I see to your mama’s leg. Can you do that?”

“Will Chandler be with you?”

“Yes. I need his help, but it’s important for you two to stay in the parlor.”

Her little chin quivered, and he knelt in front of her again. “I know you want to stay with your mama, but you need to be a brave, big girl and take care of Jace.”

She wiped tears from her eyes, but whispered, “All right.”

Even having Chandler in the room would be difficult with the work Daniel had to do, but he needed a second pair of hands, no matter how young.

“Chandler, what happened to your mama’s leg?” Daniel entered the kitchen, his hands filled with herbs, medicines and salves from the woman’s medical supplies.

“She was chopping wood and the axe slipped and cut her leg.”

Daniel winced at the pain the poor woman must have endured. “How long ago?”

“Day before yesterday.”

A mild sense of relief swept through him. At least she wasn’t so far gone there wouldn’t be any chance of saving her, and the leg.

“I’ll have to use a needle and some thread to sew up your mama’s cut. Where are her sewing things?”

“I know.” Amelia had followed him into the kitchen, and with a big smile at being able to help, she pointed to a shelf in the kitchen to the left of the stove. “Mama keeps her needles and stuff up there.”

“Thank you, little lady.”

She blushed and ducked her head. Her fingers slid into her mouth.

“What’s your mama’s name?” Although the woman would be far better off if she didn’t awaken, he’d like to use her name if she did. Cutting away the ineffective stitches and dead skin, cleaning a festering wound, and then sewing it up was enough to fell a large man. What would the process do to the delicate woman in the next room? If he didn’t, however, she would lose her leg, and most likely her life.

Amelia removed her fingers from her mouth and furrowed her brows in such a way Daniel almost chuckled. “Mama’s name is Mama.”

Chandler entered the room. “Her real name is Rosemarie. Rosemarie Wilson.” He held up a worn petticoat. “Mama’s skirt is all I could find to make bandages.”

“That’s fine. See if you can tear it into strips for me.”

Daniel poured a portion of the heated water into a large bowl next to the sink. He scooped out soft soap from the container next to the water pump, and using the bowl of hot water and soap, scrubbed his hands, then rinsed them with cool water from the pump.

He turned, shaking his wet hands. Three young faces all stared at him, wide-eyed and terrified.

Dear God. She’s their only parent.

Taking a deep breath, he smiled at Amelia. “Stay here with your brother. And remember to say some prayers while we’re gone.”

She ran to Daniel and clutched his leg. “I’m scared. I don’t want Mama to die.” Then she burst into tears.

He reached down and lifted her in his arms. “Remember when we talked about you being really brave for your brother?”

She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the heels of her hands.

“Now is when you have to do that. All right?”

Amelia bit her lower lip and ducked her head. He set her back on her feet and nudged her toward the parlor. “Take Jace in there. We’ll call you when we’re done, and you can come see your mama.”

The little girl stiffened her slender shoulders and took her brother by the hand. “Come on, Jace. We’ll say prayers like Mama taught us.”

Daniel returned to the sink and again washed his hands. Then picking up the supplies, he handed a few to a very pale Chandler. “Let’s go.”

Time spent as a prison medic, viewing limbs cut off, and men dying miserable deaths had not prepared Daniel for bending over Mrs. Wilson’s bed as she writhed in agony while he worked on her leg.

Chandler left the room twice to empty his stomach, and again Daniel regretted the need to have the child in the room, watching his mother in such pain. Several times his own stomach rebelled to such a degree he almost joined the boy outside.

What in heaven’s name would he do if the woman died? He couldn’t walk away from three small orphans. On the other hand, Union soldiers were mostly likely searching for him right now. He pushed that thought from his mind and concentrated on his patient.

If he had some chloroform, he could spare her the torture of cutting away dead skin and dousing the cut with whiskey. She refused the liquor he wanted her to drink, but snapped in two a piece of wood he gave her to hold between her teeth. Rosemarie Wilson was one damn strong woman. Mercifully, she passed out as he put in the first stitch.

Once the wound was sewn up and Mrs. Wilson comfortable as possible under the circumstances, Daniel left the stuffy room and headed to the front door. He ran his sleeve over his forehead and lowered his aching body to the porch. His lungs expanded, taking in large gulps of fresh air, his nostrils breathing in the scent of Indiana dirt in winter. A fresh and clean odor, mixed with the scent of manure and hay.

Goose bumps rose on his skin as cold air blew against his sweat-soaked shirt. He shivered, but kept his place on the porch. The refreshing air wafting over him took away some of the sour smell still surrounding him.

Indiana air, the sharpness so different from the sultry breezes of Virginia. A place he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever live in again. Where he was born and raised, planned to stay his whole life, working his horse farm, and eventually passing it down to his son. Then the war came and everything changed.

Soon the cold sent him back into the scant warmth of the house.

Amelia and Jace lay curled together on the cold floor, like a couple of kittens. Chandler chose to stay with his mama, but even before Daniel had left the room, the boy’s soft snores brought a smile to his lips. Daniel rested his hands at his waist and regarded the two younger Wilson children. They would freeze before morning.

Wandering around a stranger’s house felt a bit odd. He found the children’s bedroom, with one bed and a small cot pushed against opposite walls. Apparently, the boys shared the bed, and Amelia slept in the cot. He returned to the parlor and lifted the little girl. She opened one sleepy eye and yawned, then stuck her fingers into her mouth. Her soft, warm body rolled toward him and she rubbed her face against his shirt. He placed her in the cot and removed her shoes, then drew up the plaid quilt over the little body now coiled into a ball. Then he returned to the parlor and did the same for Jace.

As tired as he was, he had to see to Mrs. Wilson. Her dry skin had burned with fever when he’d left her a short while ago. Returning to the kitchen, he splashed cool water into a pan, grabbed the last of the torn petticoat, and entered the bedroom. Chandler had fallen over, his thin body, all spindly arms and legs, splayed over the chair. Daniel gathered him in his arms, and carried him across the hall, then placed him in the bed with Jace before returning to Rosemarie’s bedroom.

Moonlight cast the room in silver shadows. The woman slept in a fitful, fever-induced slumber. Every once in a while she would moan, her brow furrowed. He drew the sheet down, exposing the pale skin above her chemise and below her drawers. With her leg now wrapped in clean cloths, no evidence of fresh blood or pus stained the makeshift bandage. Tomorrow, he would remove the dirty sheet she lay on and replace it with a fresh one.

Tomorrow?

No. He’d done his duty. When the sun rose, he would instruct Chandler on how to take care of his mama and be on his way. Daniel took a big risk sticking around.

As he bathed her soft skin with the cool water, he considered this woman’s predicament. Alone with three children, with no one to help her work the farm, how would she keep them all from starving? His gut clenched, but he shoved the picture from his mind. The family would be fine. A lot of women in both the North and South were keeping home and hearth together while their men folk fought.

How many of them are laid up with a seriously injured leg?

“Hans?” The raspy whisper jarred him from his thoughts.

“No.”

A lone tear leaked from her eye and slid down her flushed cheek. “Leg hurts.” She thrashed on the bed, tossing her head back and forth. “So hot.”

Daniel reached for the glass of cold water on the small table next to the bed, and raising her head, held the liquid to her parched lips. “Drink.”

She took a few sips, then turned her head away. He settled her back on the pillow and her eyes opened. Glazed with fever and pain, she studied him. “Who are you?”

“A friend.”

Her body tensed and her eyes widened. “My children?”

“Sound asleep in their beds. You need to rest.”

Her gaze roamed from his face to his dirty, torn uniform. “You a Reb?” Her lips curled as she spit out the words.

“Yes, but I’m not going to hurt you or your family. I want to help.”

Two more tears tracked down her cheeks, then she closed her eyes and returned to sleep as he continued to wipe her down with the cool water.

• • •

Daniel waved his hand in front of his face to chase away the insect tickling him. As it returned, he waved once more. This insect must have been huge because it began to shake his shoulder.

“Mister, why are you sleeping in my mama’s bed?”

His eyes popped open and met the gaze of two pale blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. He sat up, and ran his hand down his face. Amelia stood in front of him, holding Jace’s hand. And Daniel was, indeed, in Rosemarie Wilson’s bed.

The pan with the water he’d been cooling her with sat on the floor. He must have set it there before he fell asleep, but had no memory of it. Never in his life had he been so tired he didn’t remember his movements.

“Good morning, Miss Amelia,” he said.

“Is my mama all better now?” With the trust of a child, she climbed onto the bed and settled on his lap. Jace imitated his sister and sat alongside him.

“Not yet, but I think maybe later today she’ll start to feel a bit better.”

“How’s Ma?” Chandler stood in the open doorway, rubbing his eyes.

“She’s sleeping right now.” He laid his palm on her forehead. “Her fever seems a little lower, and that’s good.”

Jace pulled on his shirt sleeve. “I’m hungwy.”

Three sets of blue eyes gazed at him, the only adult in the room not unconscious. “Well, let’s go into the kitchen and have some breakfast.”

“I can fix breakfast.” Chandler’s eyes narrowed. The boy had recovered his distrust of the stranger in his ma’s room.

“No, Chandler.” Amelia turned to Daniel. “All he cooks is oatmeal. I hate oatmeal.”

His experience with children pretty much non-existent, Daniel drew on childhood battles with his brother, Stephen, to attempt a compromise. “Maybe Chandler can make oatmeal, and we’ll find something to go with it.” He stood and lifted Jace off the bed. “I think we should leave your ma to rest.”

Amelia placed her small hand in his large one as they walked to the kitchen. Her hand felt so light and delicate, it tickled his palm. A few days ago, he’d used these large hands to dig his way out of prison, and today he played nursemaid.

He hadn’t paid much attention to the house last night. In addition to the darkness, his concern for the woman blocked everything else from his mind. Now as he looked around the room, his stomach dropped. After only a few days with their mama laid up, the place was a mess.

Dirty dishes accumulated dangerously alongside the sink where he’d placed them when he pumped water. More dishes sat on the table, with crusting oatmeal in the bottom and sides of the bowls. Milk had splashed and dried on the floor, and a river of molasses flowed across the table.