Christine Dorsey (7 page)

Jake wasn’t certain whether she was referring to him or the board, but by the expression on her face when she looked at him, he guessed her sympathy lay more with the board.

“Oh, I give up.” Samantha sat back on her heels. “Will, run and get me the knife. He’s got this thing so wound up I can’t untie it.”

“My apologies,” Jake murmured sarcastically as he watched the boy, Will, run out of the barn.

The woman shot him a look out of her blue eyes that had Jake wondering how he’d ever thought they were gentle. Then her gaze drifted to his chest and she clamped her lips together. “Would you look what else you’ve done? Your wound is bleeding again.”

Jake shifted his head around and tucked his chin down to do her bidding. No wonder the thing hurt like hell. But it had hurt the whole time he’d tried to get himself untied, and it hadn’t stopped him.

She stood, looking around, then tore off a strip of bedding hanging off the stall divider. Folding it, she sat down on her heels and pressed it against his shoulder. Jake sucked air in through his teeth.

“What
were
you trying to do?” She leaned into her hand to stanch the flow of blood, biting her bottom lip when he winced.

“Get loose,” he snapped, then continued because she didn’t seem to think that enough of an explanation. “I don’t like being tied up, especially with the caliber of visitors you have around here. And maybe I—damnit would you watch what you’re doing—thought you needed some saving,” Jake finished through clenched teeth.

“Saving?” Samantha couldn’t help laughing. “That’s real funny, Captain Morgan.”

Funny? He hadn’t found anything amusing since he’d been here—wherever “here” was. And he didn’t think she had either. He looked up, not intending to remind her of what had happened—and how he’d seen her shaking when she’d come into the barn. But she met his stare with such defiance he forged ahead. “You weren’t laughing much earlier ... when those men were here.”

“No,” she agreed. “And I wasn’t laughing last week when it was you.”

“When what was me?” But she ignored him. Will had come back with the knife and she bent over him, intent on hacking through the twisted twine. Jake stared at the top of her head, thinking how familiar this seemed—her bending over him. But then she’d taken care of him so it was to be expected.

“Me what?” he repeated angrily. “What in the hell kind of woman are you to tie a wounded man up because he used to be in the Confederate Army? That’s what you told the boy, isn’t it?” Her lack of response angered him, made him struggle to lean on an elbow. “Well, isn’t it what you told him? Don’t you know the war’s over? Or are you just too damn stubborn to admit it?”

She punctuated her order to hush by jabbing the knife toward him. Jake hushed—for the moment.

He watched her, trying to tap down his anger, as she sawed through the twine. Her hair was a golden color, combed back from a center part and braided into a long thick rope. There were bits of dirt and grass in it, some fell on his chest as she worked, but her hair smelled clean. He took a deep breath, trying to place the scent, but he couldn’t. He just knew it was softer and prettier than soap.

Lydia had always smelled good. Jake smiled at the thought. Her perfume had been imported from Paris, and costly. But he’d never complained.

Jake studied the woman as she cut through the rope then began picking the slivers of string from his wrist. He doubted she sent off to any foreign country for her fragrance.

“Your name’s Samantha, right?”

She glanced up, her eyes meeting his for only a moment. “Yes.”

“I remember you telling me that.”

Did he also recall finding her with his daguerreotype? Samantha glanced toward her brother, who leaned against a post watching Captain Morgan intently. “Will, I dropped a gun earlier, not far from the barn door. Go find it for me and take it in the house, please.”

“Aw, Sam...”

“Just do it, Will.”

“He your big brother?” Jake asked after Will shuffled from the stable. She was wrapping his wrist now, and Jake clenched his teeth to keep from crying out when she tied it off with less than a gentle touch. He decided questioning her while she had the upper hand wasn’t very smart. Jake thought she wasn’t going to answer him but she did, after settling down beside him. “Will’s my younger brother. As any fool can plainly see.”

Jake sucked in his breath as she pried off the soiled, blood-soaked bandage from his chest. He thought she’d been lying about an older brother; now he wasn’t sure. But if there was a man around here someplace, why hadn’t he done something earlier when those men were taunting her?

She settled back on her heels, examining him critically. “This doesn’t look too bad,” she sighed before rewrapping his wound with clean bandaging. “But try not to tear it open again.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t tied me up,” Jake said reasonably.

She stared at him a moment, then pushed to her feet, brushing straw off the front of her bedraggled nightdress. “I’ll send Will out with something for you to eat.” She started toward the door.

“Wait a minute!” Jake pushed up to his elbow again. “Why
did
you tie me?” She glanced over her shoulder, the heavy braid of hair hanging down her back, but she didn’t pause and she didn’t answer. “Wait!” Jake repeated. “I’m Jacob Morgan and I—”

“I know
who
you are, and
what
you are.” This time she stopped and faced him, her blue eyes angry. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you out there”—she motioned toward the door—“for the wolves to feast on. All I want from you is to get well enough to ride that horse out of here, and leave us alone.”

Her words, so embittered and impassioned, left Jake momentarily speechless. The war had filled a lot of people with hatred, but he rarely witnessed it firsthand—the results of that hatred, yes. The killing and maiming, but not the raw, “look them in the eye and spit on them if you could” kind he saw now from this woman. She hated him, all right. She may be ministering to his wound. She may have fallen asleep in his arms. But she hated him.

Jake fell back against the pillow. Was all this because he’d worn a Confederate uniform? He stretched beneath the prickly blanket. He sure wasn’t wearing it now. He was as naked as a jaybird. Jake wondered idly if the woman, Samantha, had anything to do with that, then got annoyed with himself for thinking such thoughts. But annoyed or not, he couldn’t blot out the image of her taking off his pants and then lying down beside him. And he fell into a fitful sleep.

Jake jerked awake, feeling someone was watching him. He shifted, staring up into a slice of sun shining through the window cut through the sod, and saw the boy, Will. He leaned against the stall boards, a piece of straw stuck between his teeth, studying Jake as if he were a butterfly pinned to a board.

“I brought you some gruel,” he said, motioning toward a pottery bowl he’d placed near Jake, using a turned-over pail as a table.

“Thanks.” Jake moved, trying to ignore the pain as he reached for the bowl. Just the thought of food made his stomach growl. But before he could manage a sitting position, Will hunkered down in the straw, the bowl cradled in one hand, a pewter spoon in the other.

“Sam said I wasn’t to get close to you but I don’t think she wants you starving to death.”

Jake wasn’t too sure of that, but he gratefully accepted the gruel Will spooned out. It was warm, and sweetened with fresh milk. “What’s she think I’m going to do to you,” Jake asked between bites.

“Nothing, I suppose, or she’d a tied you up again. You ain’t going to do nothing, are you?”

“Even if I wanted to, there’s not much I could do like this.” Jake took a deep breath. “Your sister realize the war’s over?”

“Ain’t us keeping things going.” Will scraped the bottom of the bowl. “But then I don’t need to tell the likes of you that.”

Jake’s hand stayed the spoon inches from his mouth. “What are you talking about, ‘the likes of me’?”

The spoon plunked into the bowl. “I gotta get going now. Sam’s waiting for me to help with the garden.”

“No you don’t.” Despite the pain in his upper chest and the expression of fear on Will’s face, Jake grabbed a handful of the boy’s shirt and pulled him down in the straw. The pottery bowl landed on the straw-covered floor with a soft thud. “I want some answers. What do you mean, ‘the likes of me’?”

Will’s chin jutted out at an angle that reminded Jake of his sister. He didn’t answer.

“Is it because I was in the Confederate Army? Is that what has you people so riled up?” Jake tightened his fingers in the cloth to fight a wave of dizziness.

“Like you said, mister. The war’s over.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m wondering what’s going on here.” He leaned back, releasing Will’s shirt. “A strong dislike I could understand.” Jake paused. “You have anyone killed in the war?”

Will realized the Rebel no longer held him, and thought about bolting, but didn’t. The man lying on the blanket seemed sincerely interested. “My brother was killed at the second Bull Run.”

“I’m sorry.”

Will’s chin jutted out again. “Were you there?”

“At Manassas in ’62? No.” That had been the second summer of the war and he’d been home in Richmond, burying his wife and son. Jake looked back at the boy. “You thinking it might have been me that killed your brother?”

Will colored because he had been thinking exactly that. And even he knew how unlikely the chances of that were.

“Well, I wasn’t there,” Jake repeated. He’d rejoined Lee’s army for their march into Maryland—not because of any burning desire to support the cause, but because he’d become numb after the death of his wife and son. He’d hoped helping others, doctoring, would give him some purpose. It hadn’t. And now three years later he still floundered around without direction. The only difference was, now he didn’t care.

Will seemed to take him at his word because he sat down, drawing his bony knees up under his chin. His bare feet were crossed. “Ain’t you got no home?”

“What?” Jake had been fighting the memories again, and the boy’s question hadn’t registered.

“I was just, wondering why you’d take up with the likes of Landis Moore, except that maybe you don’t have no home to go back to. Least ways that’s what Sam said.”

“She did, did she?” Jake twisted around till he leaned against his saddle. His eyes narrowed as he studied Will a moment. “Landis Moore the fellow that was here this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“He an ex-Confederate soldier? That why you think I’m with him?” Will shrugged so Jake continued. “Well, we Southerners aren’t all alike, no more than you Yankees. And if what I heard this morning is any indication, Landis Moore isn’t someone I’d like to know even if we did serve on the same side.”

“You ain’t riding with Landis Moore?” Will’s voice cracked on the last word.

“Boy, I’m not riding with anyone. Just passing through on my way to Texas.”

“Texas!” Will’s pale blue eyes lit up. “You’re going to Texas?”

“I suppose. Once this heals up, and I have enough strength to sit a horse again.” Jake wished he could summon up a fraction of the enthusiasm Will had for his destination. The truth was he decided only recently to head for Texas. He couldn’t stay in Virginia. He tried, but the memories were too strong there. And he didn’t know where in the hell else to go.

Will skittered up closer to him, obviously forgetting his sister’s warning to keep his distance. “I been thinking about going to Texas.” His face fell. “But Sam won’t even hear of it. She says there’s nothing for us there and at least we have the farm here.” He shook his head. “And there’s no way I can leave her here all by herself.”

“A man has to face up to his responsibilities.” So much for her contention that she had an older brother on the farm.

Will grinned. He liked that the soldier, even if he was a Rebel, had called him a man. Sam was too often treating him like a little boy. “You got any responsibilities, mister?”

Jake swallowed. “Not a one.”

They both looked toward the door when they heard Will’s name being called. “I better go.” Will scrambled to his feet, scooping up the bowl and spoon. “There’s some water in that canteen if you want it.” Will used his foot to scoot it over closer to Captain Morgan.

“Wait a minute. Who shot me? What’s going on here?” Jake called out his questions but not one of them was answered as the boy loped through the door.

“About time,” Samantha said as Will rushed from the barn, nearly colliding with his sister. She was carrying two pails of water toward the garden. Will felt guilty for staying with the stranger so long and making her do his share of the work. She smiled when he took one bucket from her. “I thought maybe I was going to have to come in there and rescue you.”

“Naw. He didn’t try nothing.”

“Anything.” Samantha didn’t look up, just began scooping water over the plants they’d managed to save from Landis Moore’s men. “I imagine he’s too weak to do us much harm.”

Will wasn’t sure about that. The Rebel had seemed pretty strong when he’d grabbed him. But he agreed with his sister before adding, “Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt us.”

Samantha glanced over at Will. She wiped a damp curl off her forehead and arched her back. “Did he tell you that?”

Will trickled water down over the pumpkin leaves then remembered his sister said to wet the roots. “Yeah,” he shrugged. “He did.”

“Well, he’d be the first of Landis Moore’s men to feel that way.” Samantha moved the pail along.

“Says he’s not one of Moore’s men.”

“Sounds like you and that Rebel had yourselves a right long talk, Will.” Samantha crossed her arms. “I only asked you to take him some gruel.”

Will kept working, thinking to make up for the time he’d wasted.

“I don’t want you talking to him anymore.” Of course the easiest way for her to make sure he didn’t was to take care of Captain Morgan herself. But she didn’t want to do that, and she didn’t want to face up to why that was. “Did you hear me, Will?”

“Yeah. But I believe him!”

Samantha looked up at the sky and sighed. “Then what
was
he doing here, Will?”