Storm of Love - A Historical Romance Set during the American Revolutionary War (12 page)

              Part of him, his survival instinct he supposed, almost made him scream for help. He was out of eyesight, but he knew the people back at the outpost could hear him if he called. Then again, he decided, it was better this way. When he had left he’d had no intentions of dying, and he didn't wish to die now, but if that was what was in store for him, he would take it. After all, what did he have to live for anymore?
              His head pounded and he could see the candles in the outpost through the trees in the distance. Trying desperately to get back to his feet, he felt his side scream at him, and his shoulder gave way under him. Facedown in the grass and dirt, he was looking toward the outpost.
              The cool ground beneath him was somehow calming, even though he knew he was very likely in the place in which he was going to die. Allowing himself to resist struggling, he simply gazed toward the outpost, wondering what was going on inside, wondering if they had noticed he was gone.
              Trying once more to get up, he put his right hand beneath him and, once again, fell down. This time, as he looked toward the glowing lights, they began to fade. He was losing consciousness, slowly at first, and then everything went black.

16
Hope

Tears stung Abigail's eyes as she lay in bed clutching her father’s pocket watch. She opened it and closed it again, looking at her father’s picture. It was a drawing, yes, but such a good one that it was truly like looking into his eyes. What would he have said to her then? What advice would he have given her?
              When Edward had told her that the man he had killed was her father, she had been enraged. She felt betrayed. This person she had loved, had given her heart to, had let inside her soul, had taken everything from her. How could he have done it?
              But the more she thought about it, the more she began to doubt herself. Maybe she was being too harsh. After all, there was no way he could have known that the man he had killed, the one who had haunted his dreams, was her father until seeing his picture. And even when he did realize it, he could have kept it to himself. He didn't have to tell her. So why did he?
              She reasoned that the only motivation Edward could have had for being so honest with her was that he truly cared for her and couldn't lie to her. He could have said nothing. Surely he knew the reaction she was likely have when he told her what he had realized. So why did he tell her? Because he had no other choice. Because his moral compass wouldn't allow him to go in any direction other than honesty when it came to her.
              Over and over again she replayed his telling of her father's last moments. Or at least his last moments with Edward. The calm he described sounded just like her father. He wouldn't have panicked about dying for such a noble cause. In fact, he would have been proud to do it. Not that he went into the war hoping to die—nobody did—but he knew the risk and was probably not at all surprised when his time came.
              But what stuck with her the most, what stayed in her mind, was how Edward had described the way his heart had changed after his short talk with her father. Her father had always hoped to influence everyone around him to fight for freedom. It didn't seem unrealistic to her at all that her father would have been happy to have the British join their side. After all, they were British once, too. It wasn't until moving to the colonies that they had begun to realize the fallacy of a nation governing a body of people an ocean away.
              And if someone wanted to come over to their side? To dream of freedom, as well? Then all the better. Her father would have been so proud to know that he had influenced someone so greatly. So why was she so angry?
              In reality, she knew it was the war that killed her father more than anything else. It was the people across the ocean who had decided that instead of simply allowing them to be free, they would have to fight for that freedom. Edward would never have been there in the first place were it not for that. And didn't Abigail herself kill people during the battle? Surely one of them could have been someone's father. But it was part of battle.
              Dawn had broken through the window and rays of sun had reached through to greet her before she had stopped thinking about the events of the previous night. But she knew she had been wrong. It was no more Edward's fault that her father was dead than anyone else's, and how could she be hateful toward someone who was so sincere in his desire to change? She still loved Edward more than anything, and she didn't want to lose yet another person she loved so dearly. It was settled. She would apologize to Edward when she got the chance but try beforehand to convey to him that it was okay, that she wasn't angry, that everything was all right between them, if she could.
              Dressing quickly in her nurse's garb, she went around the corner by the main table—and stopped dead in her tracks. The bed area where Edward had been lying the previous night was empty and he was nowhere to be found. A few nurses who had risen early were huddled in a corner speaking hurriedly and with concerned faces. Doc was speaking to another assistant to the side when he saw Abigail and smiled.
              His face fell when he saw Abigail's expression, and she knew it must have been fairly obvious that she was distressed at Edward's space being open. He couldn't have died; it wasn't possible. Just hours earlier she had seen him and he…everything was…surely not…
              She approached Doc.
              "Doc, what happened to the man who was just here?" she said, trying to sound professional, desperately attempting to keep the concern out of her voice.
              "Nobody knows. He was here several hours ago when we all went down for the night, and when we awoke he wasn't here. Nobody is sure what became of him. S'pose he left during the night for some reason or other."
              "Was he well enough to leave?"
              "Not by a long shot, no, not at all. Thought maybe he'd be outside layin' with the others, maybe the wood got too difficult to lay on, but nobody's seen him."
              Abigail swallowed hard, still trying to hide the fact that she knew Edward. Doc was no fool, though, and he looked around to ensure they were out of earshot of the other nurses before quietly saying, "D'you know 'im?"
              She nodded. "Yes, I know him. We…he and I…it…" How could she even begin to tell the story?
              Doc chuckled. "No need to 'splain, I understand, things work out funny sometimes. So…you've no idea where he'd be?"
              "We argued. You see…He was on the other side…He's British…But then he killed one of our people in battle and the conversation he had with the man changed him. I met him in the woods while I was escaping into the army and he was leaving his. He had told me about the man, but it wasn't until last night—he asked about my locket and…"
              Doc's expression turned from that of someone who was listening to a nice love story to that of someone who was hearing a ghost story in several seconds as the realization dawned on him.
              "Abby, it wasn't!"
              She nodded. "It was my father he killed. He didn't realize it until he saw the drawing. I was unfair to him, Doc. I told him some ugly things. I said things to him I shouldn't have. I was just shocked…I didn't…But now…"
              Somehow Doc seemed to put her broken story together and understood why she was so upset.
              "Well, Abby, where do you think he'd go? You know him better than any of us."
              "I don't know, Doc. I don't know why he'd leave at all. Unless he felt somehow that it was better than contending with me. Perhaps guilt made him…"
              And halfway through her sentence she realized where he must have gone. The same place he went the first time something changed his life. The same place he fled to the last time he didn't understand how to handle something. He would have fled into the woods.
              She ran outside and looked toward the road, then toward the woods.
If I had been injured,
she thought,
what path would I have taken? Where would I have gone?
Straight. Straight along the side of the building and then out into the…
              Her eyes squinted as she saw something just beyond the tree line. A white shirt. A white shirt like the one she had given Edward from her father's clothing. There was no reason for anything white to be on the ground in that direction. Whether or not it was Edward, it had to be someone. Someone was lying on the ground in need of help, and she knew in her heart that it was Edward.
              Tears streamed down her face and she took off, running barefoot across the field and screaming Edward's name.
              "Edward! Edward! Is that you?"
              It felt as though she had been running forever, as though she couldn't get there soon enough, but as soon as she arrived within ten feet of the body on the ground, she knew it was him. She began sobbing uncontrollably, all the emotion she had kept inside until that point releasing like the waters behind a dam that had suddenly broken, and she fell hard to her knees next to him, shaking him to wake him.
              "Edward! Edward, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Edward please wake up. Please wake up."
              She looked toward the outpost and saw Doc coming behind her, much more slowly than she had, of course, and in his awkward, spider-like stance, but he was coming to help Edward.
              Suddenly, a moan escaped Edward's lips, startling Abigail and then immediately flooding her with relief. At least he was alive.
              Edward began to roll over and she saw how badly injured he was, that the stitches had been pulled, and how much blood he was lying in. The entire left side of his body and right arm was soaked in blood. His eyes opened slowly and she looked into them with eagerness, hoping he could speak somehow.
              "Edward! You're alive. Edward, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean what I said, I know there was no way you could have known and you didn't have to tell me but you did tell me and I…"
              The words poured out of her mouth like a river in spring after the winter snow has melted, rushing faster and faster, until he slowly raised his arm and put two fingers to her lips, smiling that half-smile of his that she loved so much.
              "Abigail…"
              Whatever he had intended to say, he couldn't find the energy to say it, but she didn't need him to. It was his way of saying that it was okay. Their secret way of communicating that seemed to be just between them. The language of love that needed no words to send a message.
              "I'm so sorry, Edward. I'm so sorry. I love you."
              His eyes filled with tears and she reached down to wipe them away, falling against him, his arms wrapping around hers. She sobbed openly, not caring who saw, not caring who knew. He gently squeezed her shoulder as if to calm her, to tell her it was going to be okay.
              Before Doc and the nurses carried him back to the outpost to be treated, he looked at her and said "I'm sorry," but she told him not to worry. She didn't want him burdened with guilt that was not his. She knew there was no way he could possibly have known the future, known that he would meet her, or even known that a few moments after he fired that shot, the man he killed would change the course of his life forever.
              The only thing that mattered to Abigail was that Edward would live. She didn't know what her life would be like if he didn't. She had already lost so much and couldn't bear to lose someone else so close to her, someone who had captured her heart.
              She followed him and the nurses and Doc back to the outpost and waited by his bedside as they worked on him, helping as she could. She knew she had limited skills, but Doc seemed to trust her with many of the important tasks. Stitching here and mending there, she lent her hand where she could so that the man she so desperately loved could be saved. But somehow she felt dread inside her heart.

Many hours passed before she was able to rest, but finally, after about six hours of working, they had stabilized Edward's condition. He had lost so much blood, and he kept losing it, but somehow they had managed to reverse the injury's path and keep him from dying. It was all she wanted. She didn't know why he had left, but all she cared about was that he was safe.
              The day had gone by slowly, and she had felt much distress over it, not knowing if he would live or die. But now it was nighttime again, just twenty-four short hours after she had been so harsh toward him. She would not leave his bedside that night. She would not abandon him again. Much of the day she had blamed herself for his condition. Without her attitude toward him, he would never have felt the need to leave, never have gotten up, would have stayed there and been perfectly okay.
              But she supposed it was a second chance to stay by his bedside, to tend to his needs. Somehow, she could still be with him and help him where she had failed to the night before. As she was pondering these things, holding his hands in hers, she felt a squeeze on her hand and looked up toward Edward’s face. He was awake again. He smiled his classic half-smile and she wanted to fall into his arms, but she knew it would only injure him further.
              "Edward," she whispered, "oh Edward, I'm so happy you're awake. Are you all right?"
              He nodded slowly. "Yes, I think so. I don't…I don't really remember much from today, just…just you finding me." Tears filled his eyes and she wiped them away.
              "It's okay. You're okay now."
              They looked at each other, knowing everything the other felt without having to speak, but words still felt necessary.
              "I'm so sorry, Abigail. You can't know how pained I am to know how I've hurt you. I wanted to go, to leave, so that you could find some peace. I thought that all I would bring you would be heartache, and I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear it."
              Abigail brushed tears from her eyes. "No, Edward, it was my fault. I was so harsh toward you. I was just upset and angry and I took it out on you. There was no way you could possibly have known…no way that…Well, there was just no need for me to be so harsh. I'm sorry, Edward. I said horrible things and I didn't mean them. You know that, right?"
              He nodded. "I do. But I understand, too."
              "I know you do, but still. Just…promise me you won't leave again. I already lost one person in my life I loved greatly. I can't lose you as well. Please, just stay."
              "I promise, Abigail. I won't leave you again. I promise."