Surrender to the Fury (22 page)

Unable to talk, Aimee merely nodded. Admitting defeat was the most difficult thing she had ever done. Resolutely she turned to follow Jones from the battlefield. Abruptly she stopped, her eyes mysteriously drawn to the forest a short distance beyond the railroad tracks.

“Sergeant Jones, wait. Has anyone searched the woods?”

Jones spun around to stare at her. “It’s unlikely any men, either dead or wounded, remain in the forest.”

“Unlikely but not impossible,” Aimee persisted.

“I reckon not,” Jones grumbled, “if you put it that way.” That’s all Aimee needed to hear. “Where are you going, Mrs. Trevor?”

“Call it intuition, call it foolishness,” Aimee threw over her shoulder, “but I’m not leaving here until I search the woods.”

Jones raced to catch up with her. “You promised, Mrs. Trevor. Why torture yourself? It’s nearly too dark to see, let alone search for bodies. Why can’t you accept it that Captain Drummond is dead?”

“Because he’s not!” Aimee said, turning on him ferociously. “Go back if you wish, but I’m remaining until I’ve searched the woods.”

“Deliver me from stubborn females,” Jones muttered to himself as he followed Aimee into the dense cover of trees. “I’ve heard love makes people daft, and now I know it’s true.”

Nothing Jones said could dissuade Aimee from venturing deeper into the woods. Neither darkness, the threat of unknown danger, nor Sergeant Jones’s dire predictions called a halt to her frantic search through the forest. Exhaustion finally forced her to leave—and Jones’s threat to pick her up and carry her back to the wagon.

If anyone had asked her later, Aimee couldn’t have said what had made her turn to the right and stumble into a small clearing. She saw Scout first, his muzzle lowered, calmly grazing on the succulent grass that grew in abundance. As if recognizing her, he raised his head and snorted in welcome. Aimee opened her mouth and shouted Jones’s name.

Assuming Aimee was close behind him, Jones spun on his heel. He was shocked to find her nowhere in sight. “Where are you?”

“I’m in a small clearing to the right of you. Come quickly!” He was beside her almost instantly.

“What is it?”

“Isn’t that Scout?”

Due to the encroaching darkness, it was difficult to tell, but Jones was nearly certain the stallion belonged to his captain. “Looks like him, right enough.”

“If Scout is here, then Nick can’t be far away.”

For the first time since Aimee had insisted upon this ill-fated search, Jones became excited. Thank God she had insisted upon not giving up. They both began a search of the clearing, scrabbling on the ground so as not to miss a single clue. They found him at the far edge, partially concealed by a bush. He looked dead.

“No!” Aimee screamed when she saw the ominous blotch of blood congealing on the ground beneath him.

“He’s still alive, Mrs. Trevor,” Jones said in a voice that held little hope for his survival. He carefully peeled open the flaps of Nick’s jacket, wincing at the grievous wound in the center of his chest. “If he isn’t seen to immediately, he’ll die.”

“Can we take him to Tall Oaks?”

“No time,” Jones grunted. “The field hospital is closer. Can you hold him on Scout if I lift him up before you in the saddle?”

Aimee nodded, unable to speak. Her mouth went dry with fear. What if she had given up when Sergeant Jones insisted they leave? Nick would surely have died out here all by himself with no one to help him. Scout made no objection when Jones lifted her aboard his broad back. Then he pranced impatiently, seeming to understand the gravity of the situation as Jones carefully lifted Nick and sat him in the saddle before Aimee. It was all Aimee could do to hold his limp body in
place. Still unconscious, he moaned once, then fell silent.

Grasping the reins, Jones led Scout out of the forest. When they reached the wagon, he removed Nick from Aimee’s arms and lay him down in the wagon bed. Aimee scrambled up beside him, holding his hand and whispering that she wouldn’t allow him to die, that she had something important to tell him concerning Brand.

The field hospital was in chaos. Not only were the wounded from Jonesboro being treated in the makeshift arena, but those from around Atlanta as well. The wounded, both Federal and Confederate, lay in rows outside the operating tent waiting to be treated in order of the seriousness of their wounds. Those with no hope for survival were set apart and made as comfortable as possible until the end. Jones summoned an overworked orderly while Aimee sat in the wagon holding Nick. Jones held a lantern high in the air as the orderly examined Nick. Aimee was so distraught, she didn’t see the look the two men exchanged over her head.

“Take him over there, Sergeant,” the orderly directed. He pointed to a group of wounded lying apart from the others. “He’ll be made comfortable until …” His words fell off.

Suddenly Aimee seemed to come alive. “He needs help immediately! Can’t you see how serious his wound is? I demand that a doctor treat him immediately.”

“The doctors are working as fast as they can, ma’am,” the orderly said kindly. “There are other men just as seriously wounded as the captain.”

“I don’t care about other men; it’s Nick I’m concerned
with. Don’t you understand? He’ll die without immediate attention.”

“Mrs. Trevor, I think what the orderly is trying to say is that it may already be too late for the captain.”

Aimee sent him a look so filled with venom, he drew back. “What kind of place is this? I thought doctors saved lives. There’s a wounded man here; now, save him.”

“What’s the trouble out here?”

“Sorry, Major Bellows, but this lady is insisting you treat this wounded man before the others.”

“Are you the doctor?” Aimee asked, ready to do battle with anyone in order to get help for Nick.

“I am.”

“I brought a man who desperately needs your help. We found him in the woods. If you don’t treat him immediately, it will be too late.”

“See here, young lady, the orderly decides in which order the men will be seen. You’ll have to abide by his wishes. But if it will ease your mind, I’ll have a look at him.” He climbed into the wagon, made a cursory examination, and came to the same conclusion the orderly had. His face was sad as he said, “There are men whose chances of survival are far greater. It’s those men I must concentrate on. I’m sorry.”

“Are you God?” Aimee cried, utterly shattered by the doctor’s words. “I won’t allow it!”

Her next move so startled the three men bending over Nick’s nearly lifeless body that they seemed to react in slow motion. Her face was set in grim lines as she grabbed Jones’s gun from his holster and pointed it at the doctor. “I can play God, too.”

“Mrs. Trevor, put the gun down.” This came from Jones, who felt responsible for this shameful display.

“Not until the doctor treats Nick.” She waved the gun from side to side, her finger poised on the trigger. “I’ve used a gun before, you know.”

Aimee was so distraught that each man thought her perfectly capable of firing. Owing to the darkness and state of upheaval around them, no one noticed the desperate scene being played inside the wagon bed. Suddenly the doctor came to a decision. Arguing with a maniacal woman wasn’t saving lives, and there were still many to save this night.

“Carry him inside.”

“Are you sure, Doctor?” the orderly asked.

The doctor nodded brusquely and leaped from the wagon. Aimee followed, the gun, hidden in the folds of her skirt, still trained on him. But the doctor, having already made up his mind to treat Nick, paid little heed. He was all business now, snapping orders to his assistants while they readied the operating table for yet another patient. Besides, if he had a woman as concerned for him as this woman appeared to be about the wounded captain, he’d consider himself lucky. Few men were blessed with the kind of selfless love exhibited by the beautiful woman who was willing to kill to see her man cared for.

Standing at the rear of the operating tent, Aimee observed the operation from a distance that allowed her to keep tabs on the proceedings without actually witnessing the doctor’s skilled hands probing Nick’s torn flesh. The operation seemed to go on forever. At one point Sergeant Jones entered
the tent and removed the gun from her limp fingers. He urged her to accompany him outside for a brief respite, but she refused. If Nick was in danger of dying, she wanted to know.

Two hours later, the doctor stepped back and glanced over at Aimee for the first time since he began the operation. “It’s done; he’s in God’s hands now.”

“How serious is it?”

“There was considerable damage to the lungs. The bullet tore a hole the size of a walnut in fragile tissue. I removed the bullet and repaired everything that was damaged. He may live if he doesn’t die from infection. It’s difficult to keep a wound as grievous as this sterile in the crude conditions of a field hospital. Of course, he’ll be sent North to recuperate if he survives the next several days.”

Aimee moved then to Nick’s side. He looked pale as death and so still, she feared he had expired while the doctor spoke. The doctor noted her worried look and tried to reassure her.

“He’s not dead, just pale from loss of blood. Is the captain your husband?”

Aimee considered her answer carefully. “Captain Drummond is the father of my son.”

There was no time to question her further, for already Nick was being carried out of the operating tent and replaced by another wounded man. Aimee turned and followed the stretcher. Sergeant Jones fell into step behind her.

“I’ve found a place for you to sleep, Mrs. Trevor. One of the orderlies offered his tent since he’ll be on duty tonight.”

“I’m staying with Nick.”

“You’re too exhausted to be of any help tonight.”
Did the woman never take anyone’s advice? Jones wondered. No wonder she clashed wills with his captain constantly.

“Nevertheless, I’m staying with Nick.”

Jones sighed and ended the argument. She may not be tired enough to sleep, but he certainly was.

Aimee sat the night beside Nick’s cot in a large tent containing several other wounded men. Only one orderly was on duty, and he welcomed her assistance. Not only was she on hand should Nick need her, but she answered more than one sick man who cried out in the night for water or just plain comfort. Nick regained consciousness just once during those long hours, and she was beside him instantly, offering water. When he opened his eyes and saw her, his eyes cleared for a brief moment.

“Aimee? Where am I?”

“In a hospital, Nick. You were wounded at Jonesboro.”

His brow furrowed in painful concentration. “Scout. The last thing I recalled was Scout dragging me into the forest.”

“So that’s how you got there. Sergeant Jones and I found you the next day.”

“I don’t understand. What are you …” The effort was too great for his fragile condition. His thought was disrupted and he drifted back into the dark, fuzzy void of unconsciousness.

Aimee hovered over him, wringing her hands. “Oh, Nick, please don’t die.”

Suddenly he opened his eyes again and whispered, “Don’t leave me.”

N
ick clung to life with a tenacity that amazed even the doctor. Dr. Bellows felt strongly that Nick’s will to live was due entirely to the lovely blonde who showered him with tender care. Aimee rarely left Nick’s side. Sergeant Jones had returned to duty, leaving her virtually friendless in the Federal field hospital. But her compassion for both Yankee and Confederate soldiers being treated for wounds by Union doctors soon earned her their respect. To Nick she was his guardian angel, beside him during his brief lucid moments, comforting him when pain took his senses from him.

Dr. Bellows couldn’t help but be impressed by the young widow’s obvious devotion to the Yank captain. By now he had learned most of Aimee’s history from Sergeant Jones before he had left. And though Jones’s knowledge was far from complete, it was enough for Bellows to know that no woman would devote herself so selflessly to a man unless she loved him. Thus when Aimee asked if it was possible to take Nick back to Tall Oaks, where she could care for him in the comfort of her own home, Bellows readily agreed.

“I think he can travel if you take it easy, Mrs. Trevor,” Major Bellows said. “Captain Drummond is still grievously ill, but as you can see, we are overcrowded here and it’s unlikely to improve. Besides, I’m not certain he would survive if we ship him north at this time.”

“What about Lieutenant Dill? Did Sergeant Jones tell you he’s at Tall Oaks right now recuperating from a wound?”

“He told me. He said Tall Oaks isn’t all that far from the field hospital. Before long we’ll be moving to Atlanta to a more permanent facility. When we do, I’ll send someone after both Lieutenant Dill and Captain Drummond. Meanwhile, when I send my report to headquarters, I’ll mention that both men have been wounded and are recovering at Tall Oaks plantation.”

“Thank you, Doctor; you won’t regret this,” Aimee said gratefully. “I left my son at Tall Oaks over a week ago, and I’m sure he’s growing anxious.”

“Can you handle the wagon by yourself?”

“I can manage,” Aimee assured him.

“Then if Captain Drummond fares well today, you can leave tomorrow. I may be extending my authority in this, but I feel it’s in the captain’s best interest to allow him to go with you. Don’t prove me wrong, Mrs. Trevor. You did say Drummond is the father of your son, didn’t you?”

Aimee flushed a dull red. “It’s a long story, but I didn’t lie. I have a five-year-old son fathered by Captain Drummond. He’ll come to no harm at my hands.”

Bellows nodded, satisfied. “I’ll send along medicines
necessary to his treatment. Do you have sufficient food at Tall Oaks?”

Aimee hated to admit that food was scarce for fear the good doctor wouldn’t allow her to take Nick home with her, but she realized she couldn’t lie about something as important as nourishment for Nick. “There is little left at Tall Oaks but for the end of summer’s bounty from our small garden.”