Wild Innocence (9 page)

Her father looked up when she hesitated. “Rachel?”

“Yes, Father.” She quickly reached for the instruments she needed.

John Dempsey instructed his daughter how to lift the edges of the wound and hold them aside. It wasn't easy. Rachel flinched when a moan escaped the Indian brave during her first attempt to touch metal to flesh. She had to be careful not to damage the surrounding bruised flesh further.

“I'm hurting him!” she exclaimed, quickly pulling away.

“You are not hurting him, Rachel,” her father said patiently. “His injury is.”

“But I'm touching his wound!”

John narrowed his gaze upon his daughter's face. “Would you like me to send for Amelia?” he asked with a definite challenge in his tone.

Rachel shook her head. She wanted to help Black Hawk. She wanted to assist her father. “Please show me what to do again.”

With a nod of satisfaction, John patiently explained what he wanted her to do one more time.

What followed, Rachel decided, were the most nerve-wracking, terrifying moments of her life ... more terrifying than when Black Hawk had grabbed her from behind and held a knife to her throat. She was frightened then, it was true; but her terror had subsided soon afterward. She didn't know why, except that perhaps there had been something about the brave that had eased her fear. She'd found herself being angry with him instead of afraid.

Now, with the sight of him lying there, it wasn't anger she felt. She ached for him. She was concerned for him. If there was any kind of terror she felt, it was the fear that he wouldn't get well, that she wouldn't be able to argue with him again.

It took all of Rachel's concentration and strength to keep her hands steady while her father extracted the bullet, cleaned the wound, then stitched the opening closed.

“He can't be moved far. He'll have to stay in the other room,” John Dempsey said.

Rachel nodded. “I'll check the bed.” She glanced toward the door to the waiting area. “Will you talk with his friends?”

Her father inclined his head. “He'll need constant care during the next few days. Are you up to it?”

“Yes,” Rachel said without hesitation. She eyed Black Hawk with concern. “What happened? Did they say?”

“There wasn't much time for conversation.” John placed his hand on the doorknob. “I'll ask them now.”

“Will they want to take him?”

“Probably, but I—or perhaps Daniel—will have to convince them otherwise.”

“I'll wait until you're done talking with Black Hawk's friends before I check on his bed,” Rachel said softly.

“Fine. I'll be right back. Call me immediately if there is any change.”

Black Hawk seemed to be resting quietly. When her father left, Rachel went to the brave's side and studied him. He looked so vulnerable lying there with his battered face. His skin appeared dark next to the white bandage binding his shoulder. He was sleeping, but she could see lines of tension in his features that suggested he was in pain.

Hesitantly, she touched his brow, and was concerned by how warm he felt. The air was cool for a summer's night. Black Hawk's heat had to be related to his injury.

Had her father noticed that Black Hawk was warm to the touch? Was the brave taking a fever?

The thought of staying in the next room with him during the early hours of the morning made her skin tingle.
He'll sleep through the night. I'll not have to do much for him. He'll rest and wake up better ... or at least until Father takes over his care.

Her gaze wandered down the Indian's length, and Rachel felt her pulse race. He was bronzed, smooth, and muscled; she couldn't help but admire his masculine form.

Rachel flushed as her thoughts took a new direction ... as she remembered her dream and the kiss. Flustered, she turned away and put some distance between her and the sleeping man.

She tried to summon up an image of Jordan and to recall why Jordan had appealed to her, but her thoughts remained focused on the man in the bed behind her.

Hurry back, Father,
she thought.
I need a moment to compose myself.
The strain of assisting her father as he'd extracted the bullet from Black Hawk's shoulder had taken its toll on her. That was why she felt so rattled, she told herself. A
few moments alone will make me feel better and help me think clearly again.

The night was silent, but for the even sound of Black Hawk's breathing. Rachel sat at the brave's bedside, checking on him frequently as she painstakingly worked on a letter to her aunt. She had gotten word to Miranda, through Daniel, that she would have the missive ready for their departure tomorrow morning.
This morning,
she thought. She turned her attention back to her letter, biting her lip as she reread some of what she'd written.

It's much different here, Aunt Bess. There is a wild beauty about the land that is breathtaking.
She picked up her pen and continued to write ...

Black Hawk groaned, and Rachel put down the letter and rose to check him. He thrashed out, frightening her. She caught his hand, and was shocked by how hot he felt. He quieted, and she felt his forehead, then was upset to realize that he had taken a full-blown fever.

She mustn't panic. When she'd first mentioned the possibility to her father, he'd assured her that a fever would most likely occur. If it did, she was to give Black Hawk a special medicine her father had prepared for him.

Rachel tried to remember where in the surgery the medicine was stored, and she contemplated waking her father.

“Wake me if he worsens,” John Dempsey had told her. “If he convulses, come and get me immediately; otherwise, give him this medicine and bathe him with cool water.”

She suddenly remembered where her father had put the draught he'd prepared earlier for Black Hawk. Rachel decided she wouldn't wake her father, unless she absolutely had to. She would prove to her father that she could handle this. She didn't want him displeased with her. She didn't want to be sent home to Baltimore.

The medicine was on the middle shelf in the hutch of her father's cabinet. She withdrew the small glass bottle, prepared a broth as instructed earlier by the doctor, then she added the elixir to the broth.

When she returned to Black Hawk, the brave was sleeping fitfully. She stared at his swollen face and wondered how she was going to get the medicine into the patient.

As Rachel held the cup and debated what to do, Black Hawk stirred and opened his eyes. His gaze was glazed; Rachel didn't think he was aware of his surroundings. He shifted, then moaned when the movement caused him pain.

Rachel set the medicine on a table, then slipped her arm under the brave's shoulder to help him to sit. He cried out, but she managed to hold him steady. Her heart thumping wildly, Rachel grabbed the medicine cup and held it before his lips.

“Drink it, Black Hawk,” she urged him. She pressed the cup to his mouth. “Please open up and drink this!”

She rubbed the cup rim over his mouth. “Open, please!” She sighed with relief when his lips parted. She quickly pressed him to drink the contents, grinning when he instinctively sipped and swallowed. He grimaced and turned his head, but Rachel held him firmly, encouraging him with soft words to finish all of the medicine. When the cup was empty, Rachel carefully laid her patient back against the pillow.

“Father said it will help your fever and your pain,” she told him softly, although she knew he couldn't hear. He didn't respond. The simple act of drinking had exhausted him.

She placed a hand on his forehead, frowned, then went for a basin of cool water and some linen towels. Rachel took one of the towels, folded it into a square pad, then dipped it into the water. She squeezed the excess water out and placed the wet compress on Black Hawk's forehead.

The sight of his bruised and battered body upset her. What monster had done this? After speaking with the brave's friends, her father had learned that Black Hawk had been ambushed by white men, who'd then beaten him and shot him as he fought back.

Her insides melted with sympathy for him.
You could have been killed, Black Hawk!
Her gaze lowered past his shoulder to his stomach, and she felt herself blush as she continued to look further down. Earlier, she'd laid a blanket about his waist In his restlessness and her attempt to get the medicine into him, the blanket had fallen. Rachel bent and retrieved it from the edge of the bed, carefully placing it over him from shoulder to feet.

Her thoughts took a strange direction as she saw not her patient, but the man who'd made her feel a wild thrill when they'd shared a meal at her sister's table.

Rachel scurried back to her seat.
I must be so tired I'm getting addled,
she thought. What else could account for this odd fascination she had for the Ojibwa brave?

With an occasional glance at Black Hawk, she tried to write again, but soon gave up the idea of finishing her aunt's letter and stared at the Indian brave.

 

 

His shoulder burned. It felt as if someone had placed a hot arrowhead against his flesh. Black Hawk grimaced as he awakened. The slightest movement caused him pain. He relaxed and lay still, hoping for the searing heat to subside, but it continued to throb and hurt him.

He couldn't think clearly. Where was he? He opened his eyes, then gasped. His face hurt; he closed his eyes. He realized then that his cheek was swollen; he had barely been able to open his right eye.

He tried to open his left eye only, but any amount of facial movement was difficult. He braced himself for more pain and leveled himself upward. He cried out with the pain in his shoulder, and suddenly there was someone there to help him. He heard a sharp feminine exclamation followed by the soft voice of concern. He felt a cool touch and detected the sweet fragrance of lilacs.

His savior laid him down again, but with pillows beneath his head to prop him up slightly. With the pain subsided and his breathing slowed, Black Hawk peeked out from beneath partially shut eyelids. And saw a white woman. Rachel Dempsey.

“Are you all right?” she asked, sounding worried. “No! Never mind, don't talk! You'll only hurt yourself.”

Her concern touched him. His slight smile turned into a grimace. He bolstered himself with courage, then opened his eyes wider to study Rachel further.

“How did I get here?” he asked in a rasping whisper.

Rachel stared at him, frowning, until understanding flickered in her green eyes. “Your friends brought you. They said that some white men ambushed you.”

He closed his eyes as memory returned to him. “Soldiers.”

“In the U.S. Army?” She sounded outraged.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His eyes opened, and he stared at her. “I do not know.”

“That's terrible!”

“Yes.” There was a brief pause. “Was anyone else hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she quickly assured him. “Just you.”

“Your father cared for me?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He viewed her again from beneath lowered lids. “You watched over me,” he guessed.

She looked away. “Just a little.”

But he decided by her behavior that she'd been taking care of him and the experience had been a new one for her.

She swung back to gaze at him with a suddenness that startled him. “Black Hawk, are you in terrible pain?”

“It is bearable.”
Just,
he thought.

“My father made a special medicine for you. It's been hours since you've had some. Can you drink?”

Had he already had some of the white doctor's medicine? He didn't remember taking it. “Yes, I can drink.”

Rachel looked relieved. “I'll get some for you.” She turned to hurry away.

“Rach-el.”

She halted and glanced back. “Thank you for your help,” he said huskily.

She turned a bright becoming shade of red. Finally, she nodded. “I-I'll be right back,” she mumbled; then she was gone.

Black Hawk was left alone in the room with his injuries.

 

 

“How are you feeling?” John Dempsey asked his patient.

“I am healing,” Black Hawk said.

The doctor smiled. “Good.”

The brave flinched as John began to cut away his shoulder bandage. Rachel noticed that Black Hawk didn't cry out when her father pulled the fabric away from the wound, although the action must have hurt him. She watched with increasing sympathy as her father removed the bandage and began to examine the site of the injury.

“It seems to be mending fine,” Dr. Dempsey announced. “I'll need to prepare a salve for it; then I'll have Rachel bandage you up again.”

“Me?” she asked, nervous at the prospect.

Her father smiled at her. “The worst is over, daughter. You'll do fine.”

She nodded, then went to the Indian's side and carefully eyed Black Hawk's shoulder. “Comfrey and wild plum?”

John Dempsey looked surprised. “Why, yes. I didn't know you'd paid such close attention.”

Rachel glanced at her father and grinned. Then, she returned her attention back to the injury.

The doctor turned to his patient. “As soon as we've used the poultice, Rachel will bathe you and give you clean clothes.”

Rachel tensed and looked up. “Is it necess—”

“Thank you,” Black Hawk said, interrupting Rachel's reply. “I would appreciate a bath. I am tired of the smell of death.”

As he spoke, Rachel had transferred her attention from her father to Black Hawk. He looked weak and tired, and she felt a surge of compassion. She would help him in any way she could ...
but give him a bath?
He glanced at her, and she quickly looked away.

“Rachel, can you make the poultice?” her father asked.

“Certainly, Father.” She was grateful for the excuse to escape.

She left without waiting to see if he would need her to do anything else. She didn't want Black Hawk to witness her embarrassment at the idea of bathing him ... although, no doubt, he'd guess later when the time came ... unless she managed to keep control of her composure.

 

 

The poultice had been applied and reapplied. The afternoon was late, and Rachel knew that she could no longer stall bath time. With a sigh of resignation, Rachel went to the kitchen to warm up some water. She gathered the soap, towels, and basin that she would need.

Black Hawk had his eyes closed when she entered. She had just decided that his bath could wait a little longer... when the Ojibwa stirred, his eyelashes fluttered open, and he looked at her. He caught sight of the bath supplies, then tried to pull himself up to sit. He winced, but managed to rise up on his pillow and lean back against the headboard.

“How are you feeling?” Rachel pretended a nonchalance she was far from feeling as she set down the basin, soap, and clean towels on the table by the bed. Her hands trembled as she fiddled with the soap and towels.

When he didn't answer her, Rachel glanced at him with concern. The brave stared at her blankly. “Black Hawk?”

He seemed to rouse himself from a stupor. “You have come to check my injury?”

She nodded.
And to give you a bath,
she thought. Why, Father? Couldn't you suspect how difficult this would be?

Is this a test? To see if I can handle every job that is handed my way? That must be what it is,
she decided. Her father was testing her to see if she should stay. Rachel drew herself up. She would pass this test, no matter how uncomfortable she felt bathing a half-naked man. She would not give her father a reason to send her home.

“Are you hungry?” she asked Black Hawk. So far, he hadn't eaten, and Rachel was concerned. It had been two days since he'd awakened. And although he'd spent many hours sleeping while he healed, she thought that he should have an appetite.

“I can eat.”

She met his gaze. “You can?”

He nodded. His facial swelling had gone down some. The swollen area near his one eye was back to normal, except for the dark discoloration left by the reduction in swelling. She could see the whole of his dark eyes now. The intensity of his gaze as he studied her made her feel fluttery inside.

“Shall I make you some broth?” she asked, suddenly glad of the reprieve from bath time.

He shook his head, and her stomach flip-flopped. “You have meat?” he asked.

She blinked. “You want meat?”

Black Hawk studied the woman before him and nodded. “I would like some meat. You have venison?” He watched her eyelashes dip and rise.

“I think so.”

He smiled, and the effort didn't hurt so much now. “Good. I will have meat and
okanakosimaan.”

“Okanakosimaan?
”

“It is a vegetable,” he said. “What you call squash?”