Storm of Love - A Historical Romance Set during the American Revolutionary War (7 page)

              He dragged out the word relaxation with the sneer of a villain. The crowd rang out in laughter. The brute chimed in again.
              "Ey, yeah, Jordan, how's about I go first and you go next and we'll take our turns, she seems to be not so badly injured, I'm sure she would be good for a go."
              Abigail spit in his face and it was everything Edward could do not to applaud.
              The scrawny man reached out and touched her leg, moving it up toward her crotch.
              "Ey, yeah, Mike, I think you got a real deal there."
              Abigail jerked her leg away from him and slapped him across the face.
              Just as Mike, the brute, raised his hand to strike Abigail, Washington caught it in mid-swing with his own hand and twisted it behind Mike's back, reducing him instantly to a whimpering pile of muscle.
              "What has gotten into you men?" demanded Washington.
              "We got a lady among us, sir."
              Washington stopped and peered down at Abigail, who was frightened but strong, her facial expression a mixture of admiration for the General, fear of the men, and indignation that she couldn't get up and fight with the rest of them and keep going. He examined her with his eyes, not in the way the other men had, but with curiosity, as though trying to figure out what species she was and what her motives could be.
              "This is not how men of mine treat a woman," he said calmly but with stern reproach for the men, keeping his eyes on Abigail.
              "But sir, she been fightin' alongside us lyin' to us abou—" Washington cut him off.
              "Yes, Spencer, fighting alongside you, fighting for freedom with you, under a disguise, to be sure, and I will handle that issue on my own. But you men are perverse and a disgrace to everything we stand for as an army, as men, and as Americans. Get back to your stations, help someone out, or go to sleep. Surely you are all heat crazed and need your rest."
              The men grumbled and dispersed and Washington gave them a searing glare as they did so. Then his gaze quickly returned back to Abigail, though he was speaking to the doctor to his right.
              "Dr. Parish, get this young lady to the nearest medical center and arrange for her to stay with Sam Dodson's wife in the next town over. She can take care of her there and we can arrange for her dismissal from the army…honorably."
              "But sir," Abigail started to say, "I appreciate your concern, and your grace, but please just let me fi—" Washington held up a hand, cutting her off.
              "I'm sorry, ma'am, but this is no place for a woman, though you have served your country well in this battle alone. I have no doubt of your aptitude for battle, you have proved that today, but for being dishonest, and more so for your own…" he paused and made a disgusted gesture toward the men who had just left "…protection, I find it necessary to dismiss you."
              Abigail lay back on the ground and nodded.
Good girl,
thought Edward. Now he could fight, he could go on, knowing that Abigail would be safe.

He turned around and headed toward the battlefield to see if anyone needed help, but everyone seemed already passed on, asleep, or in no mood to talk to anyone, so he went over to the tree—their tree. He could see now that there was no reason to hide his going there: Abigail was gone.
              As night fell, he leaned against the tree and imagined that Abigail was with him. He could almost feel her leaning against him, her head on his chest, her lips against his. But, opening his eyes, he realized again that he was alone. Relieved that he no longer had to worry about her safety on the battlefield but deeply saddened by her departure, he felt conflicted. The images of the faces of the men he had once fought with but whose lives he had taken in battle ran across his mind like a scroll. He didn't know what to feel. He still felt more for the man—the one man who had changed everything, the man whose eyes he had looked into, who begged him for mercy before he shot him—than he did for the people he had fought with.
              If nothing else, it gave him the comfort that he had made the right choice. But still. The image of that man haunted him, and he wished it hadn't come to this with his former friends.
              As he was about to drift off, he felt the muzzle of a gun at his neck and his eyes shot open. He looked up slowly and realized it was General Washington, his eyes narrowed, his face set and stern.
              "Sir?" said Edward.
              "Come with me," said General Washington. "I want to have a chat with you. Brigadier."
              As two of Washington's men hoisted Edward to his feet, he felt his heart sink and fear overcome him.

10
Wounded

Abigail opened her eyes and realized that she was at the clinical quarters, which were more of an outpost than an actual doctor's station. She expected as much. After all, this was a battlefield, not a health center. As her eyes adjusted to the light, they focused on a cloud in the sky. There was only one. It was a beautiful day, and the sun on her face felt wonderful. She took a mental inventory of her body to make sure everything felt right. Her shoulder was still in pain, and as she tried to lift herself from the mat she was lying on—it felt like bamboo or straw, with perhaps a cotton sheet over it—she felt a searing pain in her left leg, like an iron had been stuck into a wound.
              She cried out, and immediately three faces were over her. Two were women whose eyes seemed extremely concerned, the other a man whose face showed an expression of concern mixed with…was it admiration? The women looked similar to one another, and it crossed Abigail's mind that they might be sisters. They both had white, bonnet-like caps and long dresses, pure white skin with rosy cheeks, and thin statures. One woman had blue eyes, the other brown. The man was tall and thin with pointed features and gentle eyes, bright blue. Shocks of white hair came from under his cap, and he was very clearly the doctor.
              "What happened?" she asked, as the details of her arrival at the outpost were not yet clear in her mind. The two sister nurses looked at each other nervously, as though neither of them wanted to speak. The doctor, who had previously peered down at her through glasses, took his glasses off and looked at her with cautious eyes.
              "Well, miss, it appears you got yourself wrapped up in the battle somehow and took a good blow to the leg and a shot to the shoulder." He gave her the kind of look a father would give his child when kindly reprimanding them for stealing cookies out of the cookie jar.
              Suddenly, the events of the previous day came swiftly to the front of her memory. Trying to sit up straight and look around, she pulled her shoulder and was forced back onto the mat by pain.
              "Careful…careful, miss," said the doctor.
              "I'm supposed to stay with the wife of Sam Dodson," she murmured, remembering that she had been dismissed from the army. Bitterness crept into her voice but also a hint of gratitude. She knew General Washington could have just as easily punished her with a far harsher sentence than simply providing her shelter and not allowing her to return to the army.
              "Yes, miss," the doctor replied, "we have already arranged for you to stay there once we get you back on your feet. You took quite the beating out there. Can't say I understand the yearnin's of a woman to be out there firin' guns and such, but…"
              He trailed off and looked toward the ground, as though he was thinking very hard about something and simultaneously trying to figure out what to say and how to word it.
              When he looked back up, Abigail thought she could almost see a hint of tears, but not from sadness. Perhaps from a sense of pride, as a father might have in his daughter. Perhaps something else.
              "But you know what," he continued, "I can understand a citizen wantin' to go stand up fer their country and I know…I know that's what ye were doin'. And I have to commend you, miss. Woman or man, you love your country, and we are all of us citizens of this new but great nation. We'll win it, y'know…God's on our side."
              Abigail was touched by the doctor’s small speech. The last thing she expected was for anyone to understand what she had done and why—least of all a man.
              The two other women who were standing there beside her looked at each other nervously and then at the ground. One of them, the blue-eyed girl, lifted her head and looked at Abigail, patting her hand gently, which was resting on her stomach.
              "It was real brave of you, miss," she said. "Real brave."
              The other girl managed to look up from her shoes, which had become ever so interesting in the past five minutes, and nodded, smiling at her.
              Tears of gratitude stung Abigail's eyes. All she could manage to do was smile weakly and look back and forth at the three individuals standing around her. Finally, she said "Thank you."
              Almost as quickly as this sentimentality had come on, it left, and the doctor and who she assumed were his nurses went back to work and to the matter at hand, which seemed to be her leg. This led her to believe that perhaps the shoulder injury wasn't all that bad, but for everything she could feel, it was equally as painful.
              Edward crossed her mind, and she couldn't make him leave it. As the doctor and nurses tended to her wounds, she let herself go back to the tree where she and Edward had spent so many nights and wondered where he was right at that moment. As she was being carried away from the battlefield, she had caught a glimpse of him as he was turning his back toward her and walking toward the front lines again.
At least
, she thought,
he survived up until this point
.
              At some point, Abigail drifted off to sleep, and when she awoke the sun was beginning to set. Finally, she was able to sit up slowly and look around. The outpost was very much in the wilderness, very similar to the location from which she had come. In a clearing of trees, a wooden cabin of sorts, though not as stable as one, had been erected for the purpose of treating battle injuries. While most individuals were treated outside, the cabin was there to store supplies and for the doctors and nurses to prepare treatments.
              A constant stream of nurses bustled in and out of the cabin, but there seemed to be only two doctors. Tall trees towered over her and directed her eyes to the sky, which had gone from bright blue to shades of purple and pink at the sunset hour. She was on the same cotton mat on the ground, and that mat was on top of another made of bamboo or some other tough fiber.
              The doctor noticed that Abigail had sat up and rushed over in an awkward fashion to her side, kneeling down.
              "Careful, miss, don't want to be gettin' up too fast."
              She smiled in response. "Thank you, doctor. Will I be staying here another night?"
              The doctor turned his lips into a one-sided expression showing that he was making some serious considerations. He checked a few things, looked under a few bandages—they must have been applied while she slept—and made a few notes. Then, still considering, he looked at her and smiled broadly, so broadly that it pushed his glasses up on his face a bit.
              "I believe you might, miss. Not sure where else to send ye. You got a home?"

             
"Not one I'm inclined to return to, sir, no," she replied.
              "Well, I suppose ye can rest up here, get back to yourself, and perhaps…perhaps I could use some help. I can't pay ye, but there's no chance the General's takin' you back to the army."
              Abigail pondered this and thought that she might actually like to stay there. It felt peaceful even when it was chaotic and bustling, and she didn't know quite why, but the prospect of staying made her happy.
              "I need no pay, doctor. I'd be more than honored to help you here. It would mean so much to me. Thank you," she said.
              He looked at her and smiled in a grandfatherly fashion over his glasses, nodding his agreement. The night around them was cool and crisp, but not unpleasant. She knew it was only a matter of time before things got hectic again, and she was taking in this night of peace. Though injured and bruised, she felt a sense of calm in that outpost. Perhaps it was because of the medical presence, or perhaps it was because it was the one place in the world where she was finally herself again. Maybe it was just the crickets softly chirping in the woods surrounding them and the dim light of the torches. But something about the place made her feel calm.
              "What is your name, miss?" said the doctor with curiosity.
              "Oh…it's Abigail. Abigail Warren," she said.
              The doctor's eyes grew and then returned quickly to their previous state, as though he was trying to cover up his initial reaction. It wasn't quick enough, though. She had caught it. Suddenly, she started to understand why this place might make her feel so at peace, why she felt so at home and so accepted. This was where her father must have been brought after he had been injured in battle. This must have been where her father died.
              "Did you know my father?" she asked the doctor, and his expression was that of one whose mind has just been read by a fortune teller or who has just seen an incredible magic show.
              "You're Dr. Warren's daughter, yes?"
              "Yes. Did you know him?"
              The doctor grew quiet for a moment and directed his face toward the ground. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with one hand in an almost circular motion, then returned his spectacles to their proper place on his nose. His right hand went to the back of his head, nervously patting down his hair, which wasn't disturbed in the slightest.
              "I knew your father, yes," said the doctor, without looking up.
              A moment of silence passed between them, and Abigail slowly sat up.
              "I know you did everything you could. War is bloody, and death is certain for some."
              He raised his eyes to meet hers and looked as though he had just been pardoned from death row. His eyes filled with tears, and though he struggled to maintain composure, the tears in their rebellion spilled over and ran like raindrops down his age-worn face.
              "I tried to save him. He was a doctor, one of us, and I couldn't save him."
              The old man's bottom lip quivered as he expressed, like a parishioner in a confessional, the regret and guilt he had been carrying for far too long. Abigail felt compassion for him, losing his fellow doctor and colleague and being unable to help. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he hugged her, causing one of her wounds to sting, but she didn't let the pain show. She hugged him back and whispered in his ear, "Thank you."
              "For what?" he asked as he pulled away from the hug and looked at her curiously.
              "For trying to save my father's life. And for saving mine."
              The doctor seemed to have found his sense of composure again and sniffed his nose, looking to the side and then up at Abigail, saying, "It's nothing at all, miss. It's what I am employed to do and it's my life's work, my passion, though sometimes it is difficult and painful."
              Abigail smiled, though her eyes were tearful, and she nodded understandingly. She hadn't thought before of what it would be like to be a doctor in a place like this. Not very far from the battlefield, the injuries the doctor witnessed on a continual basis must have been severe and traumatizing. She wasn't sure she could perform the same duties and keep her sanity intact, but there she was about to do just that. Something about working for the doctor was comforting somehow, though, and she felt that this was where she was meant to be.
              "General Washington has secured a place for me with Mrs. Dodson, I believe, but I'm not sure I can keep quarters in someone else's home doing nothing. Would it be possible to send word to her that her generosity is appreciated but no longer needed?" Abigail asked cautiously, fearing that the doctor would order her to Mrs. Dodson's at once.
              He winked at her. "Of course, my dear. You don't strike me as a needle and thread type of gal, eh?" He winked again and chuckled to himself. Abigail smiled and blushed a little. She was glad to know that the lanterns around the outpost likely concealed her slight embarrassment.
              "That is very true, I'm afraid," she said, almost apologetically.
              "No reason to be apologetic. Everyone is made for some purpose. Some women were made to stitch clothing. Others were made to stitch skin. Perhaps you are in the latter group."
              Abigail laughed quietly at this, and the doctor's eyes sparkled. Perhaps he felt he owed her something for having known her father, or perhaps he just saw her as a kindred spirit, but whatever the reason for his allowing her to stay, she was happy about it and wasn't going to ask.
              "Do you need any help with anything right now?" Abigail asked.
              "I need you to rest tonight. You're not quite healed yet. I may need ye in the mornin', though. I hear there may be another battle comin'."
              The words immediately brought Edward to Abigail's mind and she became concerned. She tried not to show it. How could she possibly explain it to the doctor? How could she tell him about the British soldier turned American patriot who was so traumatized by…by something…that he decided to switch sides after escaping through the woods? Nobody would understand or believe her. Sometimes she wondered whether even her own father would have believed her. Then again, she knew he would. He always believed in people's ability to do right and choose right and change.
              "I suppose I'll need my rest, then," she said with a smile.

             
After the doctor had walked away to other patients, she lay back and stared up at the starry sky. Crickets were chirping calmly in the woods, seemingly oblivious to the battles happening all around them throughout the day. The nighttime in general seemed to disregard the day. It was always peaceful, quiet, and then with the breaking of dawn chaos was imminent and bloodshed could happen at any time.
              Many of the other patients around Abigail were moaning or snoring, but so quietly that it barely bothered her at all. She thought of Edward, wondered where he was, what he was doing, whether he had been injured or found out since the last time she saw him turning away from her on the battlefield after their clash with the British.
              She missed the tree and wondered if he still went there. It made her smile to think that maybe he did, that maybe he was imagining being with her right now, that he was whispering forbidden sentiments into the sky for her to hear. And perhaps her heart had heard them and that was why she was missing him so strongly. Regardless of the reasons, her longing was undeniable.
              In the darkness she remembered his lips against hers, his hands on her hips, her arms around his neck. Having those moments with him was the one thing that held her together through the rest of the day, even now that had been taken from her. Somehow she had to continue. Somehow she had to ignore the fact that she didn't know anything about his wellbeing or whereabouts and that there was little she could do to find out.
              As thoughts continued to flood her mind, she tried desperately to sleep, knowing that the peace of the night was not guaranteed to last. Her shoulder still stung and it was difficult to move, but it felt better than it had that morning when she first awoke. Her leg felt better, but it was still sensitive. An overall throbbing feeling still raced through her body, and she realized how badly injured she had really been.
              Behind her she could hear the door of the cabin swing open and shut again and again as nurses and the two doctors went in and out, fetching medicine and supplies and tending to the wounded all around her. In total, about two hundred people were there, men of course, who had been injured in surrounding battles. How the staff kept up with any of them she had no idea, but they took care of everyone as there was need, and, while they had an urgent sense about their duties, they didn't seem to be too worried or frantic. In fact, they were almost calm as they tended to their duties, tireless in their service to those who had fought so hard for freedom. She knew that some alive now would be gone by the morning.
              As she tried to force her mind to quiet and stop the stream of thoughts that kept her awake, she finally felt sleepy. In her final moments awake, she thought of Edward and prayed he was safe.