Wild legacy Page 10

  Sergeant Danby sent them frequent smiles, as did the other soldiers, but apparently under orders, none approached them wanting to chat. Knowing they would have to tell nothing but lies if anyone did, they weren't a bit sorry to have no one but themselves for company. "I came to find Falcon," Belle whispered, "but I might as well have stayed home if we're trapped in Camden."

  "The plan to gather herbs is a good one," Dominique offered reassuringly. "We'll be gone perhaps an hour the first time, maybe three the next. Then we'll simply disappear as easily as we did from home. We have experience fending for ourselves now, Belle, and we can put it to good use. Falcon will be proud of you. You'll see."

  Belle glanced up to find Leland Beck watching them. At least they were fully clothed this time, but she did not like having their privacy violated a second time under any circumstances. "I hope they're not more men like Lieutenant Beck in Camden," she revealed softly, "as it would make our stay even more difficult."

  "There will be good men there, too," Dominique reminded her. "Maybe all the wounded will have recovered by the time we arrive and we'll be able to travel to a camp closer to Charleston. Let's hope that's the case."

  Belle had yet to have an opportunity to dispose of her map and finally confided her worry in Dominique. "I can't walk up to their fire and burn it, and while I could bury it, I don't want to be without it if we do get away."

  "When we get away," Dominique stressed. "Why would they search our gear a second time? Just leave the map where it is and we'll have a use for it. I didn't sleep well last night. Did you?"

  "I haven't slept well since we left home. I heard something moving through the underbrush. Perhaps it was a rac-

  coon or opossum, but I couldn't be certain it wasn't Lieutenant Beck sneaking up on us in the darkness."

  "He wouldn't dare," Dominique argued.

  "If he would watch us bathe, I'd not put it past him." She hated the man and all he stood for. Fatigued from the tension of having British companions as much as the length of the day, she was filled with a painful longing for the love she had tasted too briefly. "Do you suppose Falcon could be near here? He's probably no more than a day or two ahead of us, and he might have reached Camden in time to fight."

  "Is Camden on your map?"

  "Yes. But it's much farther west than I intended for us to go."

  "Then Falcon would probably not have gone there, either. Keep your wits about you, Belle. This isn't the time to be daydreaming about Falcon when a single slip might reveal who we are. We ought to embroider our tale a bit should anyone ask more questions than Beck. Let's say we're from Norfolk, and that our father was a captain who was lost at sea. Then our poor mother died of a broken heart. That's believable, don't you think?"

  "I don't think we ought to say they're dead. That's like wishing that they were."

  "It is not, and besides I've already done it. James is a good name for a father. What do you want to name Mother?"

  Not eager to comply with Dominique's request, Belle was about to argue, then decided the damage had already been done when the lie had first been told to Beck. "Our names are French, so shouldn't she have a French name as well? Perhaps Marie?"

  "Perfect." Dominique was very pleased with their efforts and encouraged Belle to continue. "What about Father's ship? Do you have a name for her?"

  Belle looked up at the sky. The stars were just beginning

  to appear, and she took comfort in the fact she had seen the very same lovely patterns at home. "Summer Sky" she murmured to herself, and then to Dominique. "Our dear father would have navigated by the stars and adored the long summer nights."

  "Oh, yes. He was wonderfully romantic." Dominique reached for her shawl. "It's no wonder Mother pined away without him. Now let's go to sleep as we're sure to need all of our strength tomorrow."

  Hovering between sleep and fleeting wakefulness, Belle felt rather than saw someone watching them. She sat up and clutched her shawl, but no one was stirring in the camp. The fire had burned down low and cast flickering shadows across the sleeping men. The man standing guard added more wood, then walked the perimeter of the small encampment with a slow, shuffling stride.

  An owl hooted in the distance, and crickets whose sound was identical to those beneath her window at home chirped in noisy profusion. She reached out to warn Dominique, but her sister was already sleeping soundly. Not wanting to wake her without a good reason, she withdrew her hand. She waited, fearing the lieutenant was spying on them again, his cold gray eyes menacing them from the shadows but in the darkness she had no proof.

  Belle had every reason to be nervous and yet she forced herself to lie back down and wait for sleep to come. There was a soft, rustling sound in the trees—the wind perhaps, or opossums hungry for tender leaves on a warm night. The longer she listened, the more alive the forest became with soft whispers and faint moans. Several of the soldiers snored, and their rattling rhythms mixed with the forest creatures' calls. She counted the stars, and gradually her tension drained away. At last she breathed a weary sigh, and surrendered to the night.

  * * *

  Camden was the oldest inland community in South Carolina. Founded on the eastern bank of the Wateree River in 1733 by the trader Joseph Kershaw, it had been occupied by the British since June. Lord Cornwallis had taken Mr. Kershaw's beautiful new mansion for his headquarters. Rather than escorting them to the elegant Greek Revival structure, Lieutenant Beck took his charges across the now scarred cotton fields to a farmhouse surrounded by rows of tents set up to quarter the wounded. Eager to be rid of the troublesome girls, he grabbed the arm of the first physician he saw and gladly handed them over.

  Stephen Perry was a robust young man with pale brows and bright green eyes. Although balding, he had long since given up the practice of wearing wigs. In his shirtsleeves, he wore a weary frown and an apron speckled with dried blood. "You've come at a good time," he greeted them. "Those we couldn't save have all died, and those still too weak to leave their cots will be grateful for any kindness. I hope the sight of a missing arm or leg won't sicken you."

  Neither Belle nor Dominique had given any thought to how severe the soldiers' battle injuries might be. They exchanged a frightened glance and assured him it would not. "We've brought our own herbs, sir, and can speed the healing of most wounds."

  The doctor hesitated a long moment as he pondered the wisdom of their offer, but after asking them a few questions he shrugged away his doubts. "Your remedies won't harm them so go ahead, but should any of the soldiers refuse your attentions, don't force their acceptance."

  "No, certainly not," Belle assured him.

  "Come with me then, and I'll get you a couple of aprons. We've relieved the farmer of his home for the time being, but I'm using the parlor for my surgery, and have the weakest of my patients quartered inside. I imagine we can find a tent for you, though."

  "A tent will be more than adequate," Belle replied. She

  and Dominique waited at the back door while the doctor went to fetch their aprons. "I think it's a good thing we did not arrive sooner as I could not have borne watching him amputate limbs."

  "Oh, please," Dominique moaned.
  "I'm afraid I'm beginning to feel sick already," she whispered.

  "I've felt sick to my stomach ever since we met Lieutenant Beck," Belle replied. When Dr. Perry returned with the aprons and squares of cotton to serve as kerchiefs, she managed a smile as she donned hers, but it was faint.

  "Come on inside," Perry invited. "Our surgeons' mates are exhausted, and if you can relieve a couple for a shift,
they can get some much needed sleep. I'll not expect you to do anything more than observe the wounded and make certain they rest comfortably today. A sweet smile will do wonders for most of them."

  Belle hoped that under the circumstances, finding a pleasant expression would not be an impossible task, and followed him inside. After gazing out over the long rows of tents surrounding the farmhouse, Dominique gathered the courage to go up the steps, too. The sickly sweet odor of death assailed the sisters as they came through the door, and when they were shown into the farmer's bedroom, now crowded with cots, the first thing they did was to throw open the windows to clear away the stale air.

  Eight men were quartered there. One was a gray-haired veteran who had lost his right leg above the knee, and the

  others were all as young or younger than Sergeant Danby. They suffered from a gruesome collection of wounds that had left them unconscious, or semiconscious at best. Draped with soiled sheets, they were a pitiful sight indeed.

  "Who's doing the laundry?" Belle asked the physician.

  "I have men doing what they can," he replied.

  "Well, obviously it isn't nearly enough," Dominique countered. "I'll start water boiling if it isn't already, and see that these men have a change of linen as quickly as it can be arranged." She had thought tending wounded men would involve little more than dispensing herbal remedies. Faced with the harsh reality of the situation, she was eager to escape in what was surely a worthwhile and necessary task.

  Rather than being insulted, the British surgeon broke into a wide smile. "Bless you, my dear, for we've sorely needed a woman to run the laundry."

  "Will you be all right here?" Dominique asked her sister.

  Belle felt fully competent to watch the men sleep, and nodded. "Yes. Go ahead, I'll get along fine." Dr. Perry left with Dominique, and Belle went to the closest window to draw a deep breath of fresh air. She rested her hands on the sill and leaned out until she felt strong enough to survey her patients more closely.

  Two had chest wounds and were wrapped in such thick bandages she doubted they could move should they wake, but she paused a few minutes to hold each man's hand in a loving clasp. Had Falcon been severely wounded she would have wanted someone to tend him with more than merely adequate care, and keeping that thought in mind, she walked among the others and caressed their stubbled cheeks and spoke encouragingly. She returned to the window often, however.

  Falcon had described how brutally the British had treated the good citizens of South Carolina, but now seeing the evidence in the ravaged fields, she understood a great deal more than she had then. She wondered if the farmer who

  had owned this modest home had been shuffled off to a prison camp, and supposed that he had. When he was able to return, she doubted he would be able to rid the dwelling of the stench of war, and hoped he would burn it to the ground and build another.

  Dominique found the young men responsible for the laundry lounging beside their kettles rather than stoking the fires beneath them, while a small mountain of dirty sheets lay beside them untouched. "This is a fine way to treat your wounded," she scolded. "Would you want to lay wrapped in filthy sheets? I think not. Now get to work to boil the water. There's plenty of sunlight left to dry as many sheets as you can wash before supper."

  The men scrambled to their feet, and believing Dominique must actually possess the authority that rang so clearly in her voice, got to work. She circled them with an anxious stride, cajoling here, prodding there, until the lines they had strung were drooping with freshly laundered sheets, then deciding what they required were more lines, she set them to work stringing more.

  Dominique didn't see Belle until suppertime when she carried her plate inside. "I've already eaten," she whispered, for truly she had not believed she could swallow a bite inside that little room. "How are you getting along?"

  Belle sat down on the windowsill to eat what looked more like vegetable soup than stew. "None of my patients has given me a bit of trouble. In fact, none has been awake more than a minute or two and then I've given them a drink of water and a few kind words and they've gone right back to sleep. We'll have to change their dressings before we can apply a poultice or salve and I don't wish to disturb them. How did things go with the laundry?"

  Dominique described her progress, then apologized. "Just give me a day or two to get used to being here, then I'll stay with you. Dr. Perry found us a tent, and I've put our belongings inside. The cots are none too comfortable, but

  should be better than sleeping on the ground. We're at the end of the row, nearest the house."

  "Have you seen anything more of Lieutenant Beck?"

  "No, thank God, but he would not be quartered near the wounded. This is the perfect place to hide, Belle, as no one is around who is not either too badly injured or too tired to take note of us. We can come and go as we please, too, so it will not be impossible to get away."

  "Hush," Belle warned. "One of these men may overhear. They all look asleep, but some could just be resting with their eyes closed."

  "Yes, of course. I'll be more careful."

  Dominique remained with her sister until a surgeon's mate arrived to watch the men for the night. Their tent was barely tall enough to permit them to stand in the center, but wanting only a place to lie down, they weren't bothered by the lack of space and hurried to undress. Dominique kept her fears she might not find the courage to tend the wounded to herself, and Belle hid her guilt over tending their enemies rather than their own brave men, but neither spent a comfortable night.

  Hunter lost all hope of rescuing Belle and Dominique when they entered Camden. From what he had been able to observe on the trail, the girls weren't prisoners. He wondered what story they had told, but knowing Dominique's flair for the dramatic, he assumed it had been colorful. They had been taken to a field hospital rather than a prison camp, so obviously they had succeeded in their desire to nurse the wounded, but he considered it a catastrophe that they would be serving the wrong army.

  He had met too many pompous British officers before the war to fear the pair were in any real danger from their lot, but he was badly torn about leaving them. He turned toward home with a heavy heart, sorry that he had to abandon his

  pretty nieces, but after being away for nearly two weeks, he felt he owed their parents a report. Then perhaps he would return and watch over them from afar, but for tonight, he could do no more that include them in his prayers.

  Belle and Dominique were drawn into the hospital's routine so smoothly that within a few days' time they were trusted to supply far better care than the hastily trained surgeons' mates. Several of the men Belle had first tended recovered sufficiently to leave the farmhouse for the surrounding tents, and the burden of care for those remaining no longer overwhelmed her. After the treatment she recommended proved to be more efficacious than that which Perry was able to provide from his medical stores, the surgeon allowed her to tend several of the men on her own.

  Once Dominique had organized the laundry to run more efficiently, she joined Belle in caring for the wounded still lodged in the house; her smiles were worth as much as her herbal salves. She did indeed write a few letters, but fearing she would only betray herself with a diary, made no personal record of her days. She was kept so busy that there was no time to plot an escape, but with the wounded growing stronger every day and their need for constant care diminishing, she hoped it would soon be possible.

  Fear prevented them from growing overly fond of their charges, and whenever they left the farmhouse, they wore their white cotton kerchieves pulled low not only to shade their faces, but also to discourage the attentions of the other men in the camp. They never saw Lord Cornwallis, nor did they wish to, but the knowledge that so formidable an enemy was nearby was a constant torment. As Dominique had once proposed, they were indeed playing parts, but because they believed them to be temporary, they played them with admirable compassion.

  Then one evening, soldiers rode up to the farmho
use in

  a ramshackle wagon and in a great commotion of shouts and curses, demanded immediate attention for a fallen officer. Dominique was at the door in an instant to silence the unruly crowd. Before calling for a physician, she walked around to peer into the bed of the wagon to observe the man's injuries. When she recognized him, she grew faint and had to grab for the warped side of the cart to remain on her feet.

  A scant three weeks earlier she had actually wanted to see Sean O'Keefe again, but not here where one word from him would send them straight to a prison camp, if not worse. Then she realized in his present state he was unlikely to give them away. He had been shot in the left shoulder, and not only was his red coat marred with a dark stain, his white breeches were also drenched in blood. She backed away as the soldiers lowered the tailgate and began to lift Sean.

  "Be careful," she cried. "Where was he shot? Was there another battle nearby?"

  "No, ma'am," one of the soldiers called out. "A Colonial rogue shot him from ambush. The bastards aim for the officers, then flee. We caught only a glimpse of a sorrel hide as he rode off, but we'll not let him get away."

  Hunter had a sorrel stallion and Dominique's first thought was of him; then she remembered Falcon rode a similar mount. "Watch his head," she warned as they carried Sean up the steps. She had never witnessed any of Dr. Perry's surgery, nor did she wish to, but she followed Sean right into the parlor where Dr. Perry met them. He had made an operating table out of long planks propped upon barrels but it provided a steadier surface than the farmer's dining room table.

  As soon as Sean was placed on the makeshift table, Perry began shouting orders and promptly cleared the soldiers from the room. One of his mates was there to assist him,

  but Dominique hovered at the foot of the table. "Do you think he'll survive?" she asked breathlessly.

  Perry tossed Sean's bloody coat on the floor and ripped open his badly stained shirt. After a quick examination of the wound, he looked up. "The bullet went right through so that saves me the trouble of digging it out. It looks high enough to have missed his lungs, but he's lost a great deal of blood. Do you know him?"