Dream Weaver (36 page)

She worked alone on the parade ground with only the wounded to witness her agony, their groans a poignant backdrop to her efforts. She labored against time, fearing a fresh onslaught of arrows. Each minute was crucial. How long before the Indians resumed their attack? Would they renew their attack?

Worst of all, Christian couldn't go much longer without oxygen.

"Help me!" a young soldier cried, writhing on the ground, blood pouring from a head wound. "Someone please help me!" He screamed, "Mama, papa!"

Any minute now, the Indians would resume their attack, loosening more deadly arrows. Soon, the howitzers would answer with their deadly fire.

Afraid to hope but desperately needing to believe, Gwen thought she saw a slight rise and fall of Christian's chest, a faint color returning to his cheeks. But she had to keep up the pressure. Please, please, she silently prayed. God, please let him live.

He coughed then, the most beautiful sound in the world. He blinked his eyes open and looked around, a dazed expression on his face.

Convinced the danger had passed, Gwen slid from his chest and sat on the ground next to him, knees drawn up to her chest, her skirt draped across her ankles. She reached for his hand, consumed with the need to touch his skin.

"Wh--what happened?" Frowning, Christian tried to brace himself on his elbow but slowly sank back down. His gaze covered the fort, where women and children tended to wounded fathers and husbands, where cackling chickens and barking dogs added a horrible dimension to the turmoil, where the wounded moaned in misery.

Gwen bowed her head to thank God for Christian's miraculous restoration. Her husband. He looked so wonderful, so alive, she caught her breath at the sight of him, at the color returning to his face, the steady rise and fall of his chest. His face revealing his exhaustion, caution hampered her happiness. She might lose him yet!

Afraid to tell him he'd actually been dead for a few minutes, Gwen groped for words. "Darling, it..." She swallowed and started again. "It seems you fainted. You were unconscious for a short while."

"Fainted?" With love-filled eyes, Christian gave her a long, steady look. "More than that, I think...much more." He lifted a hand to touch her face, then let it drop again, resting it on his chest. "Later, I shall tell you," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Tell me what? she wanted to ask, but wrenched her thoughts back to the present crisis, concern for him overriding every other consideration. Fearing the arrow wound might yet cause trouble, she resolved to hide her worries, to smile and act normal for his sake. As soon as they got back to their room, she'd wash the injury thoroughly and apply French brandy as a disinfectant. And when would they get back? she agonized, frantically looking around for the orderlies.

Now given the luxury of introspection, she wondered if fate had preordained her actions when she'd fallen against Christian, thus saving him from an arrow through the heart. She'd never know, but it was enough to have her lover, her soulmate, breathing beside her, his face the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

"Can't stay here all day." Christian started to rise, but she placed a gentle restraining hand on his chest.

"Darling, you'd better take it easy. To tell the truth, you had me worried. Please lie back down, just rest." She blinked her eyes, trying to stop the tears. Her body shook with relief. She felt drained of all energy, as if she'd just recovered from a long illness.

"Rest?" He chuckled as he struggled to push himself to his feet. With a groan, he sank back down and briefly closed his eyes, then opened them again. "It looks as if you're right, Dr. Norgard."

"Where are the orderlies?" she cried, her head turning in all directions. Christian should be in his room now, not lying out here in the open, vulnerable to more attacks.

"The orderlies?" He squeezed her hand. "Busy with the wounded, I doubt not."

"You're right," she said, sighing. "My mom always told me I should learn to be patient." She stretched her legs out, trying to find a comfortable position, mindful that talk would help pass the time. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?" she said.

Christian smiled, looking up at her. "You may have mentioned it now and then. And I love you. I can never tell you how much." Stretched out flat, he lay with one hand on his chest, the other wrapped around hers, his head tipped toward her.

How wonderful to see him like this, the same Christian, her dear husband. Fresh tears rolled down her face, blurring her vision.

"Please don't cry," he said, cupping her face in his strong hands. Easing her down against his hard chest, he enfolded her in his arms and raised a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, his fingers as light as air on her skin. She stayed in his embrace for countless seconds while his heart beat strong and steady next to hers.

"But now..." Christian held her slightly away from him, his expression sober. "The wounded--where are they?"

"In the hospital."

"And Captain Ecuyer?"

"I suppose he's there, too. His squire accompanied him. I'll see about the wounded as soon as we get you to bed."

"'Tis not a task for a lady!"

She raised her head, looking down at him. "But I've been working in the smallpox hospital."

"Aye, but this is different. There may be...amputations."

"Don't worry about me," she said, surprised she could accept that reality, she, who'd always feared violence.

Wanting to divert Christian from his anxieties and her own, she asked, "After this siege is over, do you have any plans for inoculating the settlers?"

Christian sighed. "Indeed, I have a plentiful supply of pus from the smallpox sufferers in the hospital." His mouth tightened. "'Tis sad those unfortunate people had to bear that ordeal--and look how many died--but 'twould be more unfortunate if the suffering and dying did not serve a higher purpose."

Gwen squeezed his hand. "You're right, sweetheart. And I think they would have wanted it that way, also."

He nodded. "So, yes, after I have recovered and after Bouquet saves the fort, I want nothing more than to minister to the people in every way. That includes preventing smallpox."

 
"But now we have to concentrate on getting you well," she said, "your usual wonderful, competent self again."

"And the sooner, the better...at least, as far as getting well again." He smiled. "Don't know about the 'wonderful' part." He started to rise. "I've lain here long enough."

She placed her hand on his chest again. "No, darling, please listen to me. You can't just get up and go about your duties now. Take my word for it. You have to rest for at least a week. I'll check on the patients, instruct the orderlies in what they should do, although I suppose they're managing okay by themselves."

She raised the hem of her dress to dab it across his shining forehead. "Jeez, it's hot," she murmured, glancing up at the sun as it made its westward trek across a clear blue sky.

He quirked a wry smile. "Rest at least a week you say, doctor? I shall go mad if I have to stay in bed that long."

"But honey, there's still a lot you can do, like reading your medical books and other literature. And doesn't Lieutenant Caldwell have a chess set? It's not as if you have to languish in bed with nothing to do."

"Very well," Christian said with a tired sigh. "I fear you have the right of it."

Gwen caught sight of two orderlies and motioned them over. "Dr. Norgard needs your help."

Stretcher held between them, the orderlies rushed over. "We're sorry we couldn't get to you sooner, doctor. One of the officers was bleeding badly, and we feared we'd lose him."

"How does he fare?" Christian asked, frowning. "And the soldier with the stomach wound?"

"The officer is recovered, doctor," an orderly said. "The soldier wounded in the stomach--we must wait and see. We removed the arrow." Both helpers lifted Christian onto the stretcher, then proceeded across the field.

"Good," Christian breathed. "I'm glad to hear about the officer. And I hope the other one recovers."

Gwen walked alongside him, holding his hand. "Now you can rest in your own room."

"Indeed, rest sounds like a splendid idea." He gave her an endearing smile. "Later, I have such a wonderful story to tell you..."

Chapter Twenty-five

Several days after Christian's heart attack, Gwen perched on the edge of their bed and took his hand in hers, glorying in his warmth, the touch of his skin. How she loved this man; to think she'd almost lost him!

"Things have been quiet at the fort," she said, not daring to hope. "Haven't heard any firing for days."

Gazing up at her, Christian managed a grim smile. "Dear wife, have you forgotten so soon? We've had quiet periods before, but the Indians always renewed their attacks." He sighed. "I fear 'tis the case now, too."

"But no one has seen the Indians for days. It's as if they disappeared."

"God, no!" Christian bolted upright in bed, his face taut with terror. "Gone to meet Bouquet's army, that's why we haven't seen them!" Sinking back down, he raked his hand through his hair. "Let us hope--"

"Dear God, Christian! What if the Indians defeat Bouquet? Then
Fort
Pitt
..." She turned away, fear turning her stomach to ice.

Christian reached over to caress her cheek, as if ashamed of his outburst. "Colonel Bouquet is a capable officer, and we must pray that he vanquishes the Indians. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise,
Fort
Pitt
will be wide open," Gwen finished for him, "ready for the taking!"

* * *

Working against time, frustrated by the dense woods, Daniel Chamberlain rode eastward across the province to join Bouquet's ragtag army. Weary and discouraged, he arrived at the
Carlisle
encampment in the center of the state weeks later.

Astride his bay, Daniel rode with the officers the next day as the army plunged through the forest, the soldiers marching behind them. He agonized over Christian and Gwen. What if Bouquet didn't reach
Fort
Pitt
in time to prevent the Indians from destroying the fort? What if Christian and Gwen were taken prisoner? God, he prayed, please keep my dear friends safe.

The thick green gloom of the silent woods closed around them, dark and fraught with menace. Towering trees and dense foliage concealed innumerable hiding places, ample opportunities for ambush.

* * *

By the blazing August sun, Bouquet's army pushed through the shadowy foliage, nearing Bushy Run, a small settlement in the western part of the province. Daniel assumed a calm demeanor, never wanting to reveal his fear, not only for himself and Bouquet's army, but for the settlers at
Fort
Pitt
who depended on them. If the Indians defeated Bouquet...Daniel shook his head. He wouldn't think about the possibility of defeat. By tomorrow--

Hideous war whoops from the woods mingled with the sharp rattle of rifle fire.

Indians!

Soldiers jerked in terror, their faces blanched with fear. Perfectly disciplined, they quickly recovered and prepared to fire their muskets.

After sliding off his horse and sending the mare to the rear, Daniel braced himself behind a tree in a thicket of dark foliage. Working with feverish haste, he loaded his rifle, then took aim. As his eyes searched the thick woods, he observed a dark figure amongst the far trees. He released the trigger. Had he hit his target? He didn't know! A sickening memory flashed through his mind--Braddock's defeat in '55, when a motley army of French and Indians had hidden behind the trees and defeated the much more powerful British army.

Recollections of his loving wife, Rebecca, and his dear, sweet children, spurred him on. He couldn't leave them. He must return home. With renewed determination, he reloaded his rifle, looking for another target.

The battle raged throughout the sizzling hot day. Soaked with perspiration, Daniel looked all around him, never knowing where the Indians would attack from. Bone-tired weariness dragged him down, but fear kept him alert.

The Indians lurked everywhere, firing their deadly rifles at the British soldiers, each time popping up from unexpected positions. Smoke clouded the air, spiraling upwards from the dense cluster of trees. The chatter of rifle fire continued throughout the endless day. Naked forms painted red and black, with grotesque white or green circles about their eyes and mouth, the warriors reminded Daniel of demons.

Soon the Indians surrounded the soldiers, fire and death halloos coming from the front and rear. Daniel raised a shaky hand and wiped it across his damp forehead. How in God's name could the soldiers escape this trap?