Faith (22 page)

The next day, outside the hospital tent, Faith and Honoree were saying farewell to Dr. Bryant as they prepared to leave for the boat they’d received written permission to board for the trip to New Orleans.

“Now you two take care of yourselves,” the head surgeon was saying.

Though her stomach churned with uncertainty and excitement, Faith hid a grin. Her father had told her the same thing when she and Honoree left home. “We will, Doctor. And we will return as soon as we are able.”

The head cook and the staff whom Faith had hired near Jackson gathered a little ways off, bidding them good-bye too. The head cook had taken responsibility for their tent
and other possessions till they returned. Ella stood a bit apart, looking worried.

Then Devlin Knight appeared, also carrying a valise.

Faith looked at him, sudden apprehension flaring to life. “Colonel?”

“Miss Faith,” he said, barely pausing, “let us be off to the quay.”

“What?” she gasped. “Is thee accompanying us?”

He stared at her. “So you didn’t ask the general to order me to accompany you to New Orleans?”

“No.” She watched his jaw move as if he were chewing steel.

“Well, those are my orders. I am to accompany you there and back.”

Faith absorbed this while Honoree approached them. She glanced at her friend. “Thee heard?”

“We all heard,” Honoree said with a touch of irony.

The colonel stiffened. “Shall we be off? The USS
Rattler
is waiting for us to board, I believe.”

With a few parting waves and words, Faith and Honoree fell into step with the colonel. The distance to the steamer passed in strained silence. Faith felt the weight of the colonel’s displeasure. Of course he didn’t want to leave his regiment. Of course he didn’t think she and Honoree should go to New Orleans. But they were going, and so was he. For whatever reason, General Grant had seen fit to order this.

At the dock they stared up at the USS
Rattler
. It was easy to see that the
Rattler
had once been a normal steamboat, but now tin panels with gun slots enclosed what must have been the open lower deck before the war. On the upper deck,
the bridge and cabins had also been tin-clad, but the area between the cabins and railing remained open.

The colonel asked permission to board, which was granted. They walked up the gangplank. The sailors on the upper deck stared at the two women.

The man who must be their captain
 
—if the profusion of braid on his uniform was any indication
 
—strode forward, meeting them at the top of the gangplank. He was of medium height and weight and looked ready to spit. “I’m Shipmaster Fentress. Follow me.” His tone was unwelcoming to say the least.

Faith and Honoree obeyed, trailed reluctantly by the colonel.

“Here is your cabin,” Fentress said at the door of a small room near the bridge on the upper deck. He was becoming more irritated by the moment.

“Thank thee.”

“Having females aboard a ship is bad luck,” the man snapped. “And distracting to my men. You two may walk the deck once in the morning, afternoon, and evening. Otherwise I want you to remain in your quarters. You will eat in your cabin. Is that understood?”

“Thee is the captain,” Faith said, not letting the man cow her. “Of course we will accede to thy wishes.” She said the last to remind him that they were civilians and therefore free agents.

He glared at them and turned to the colonel. “I hear that you have been ordered to accompany them for their protection in New Orleans. I will expect you to stay with them whenever they are out of their quarters.”

The colonel curtly nodded his assent.

The captain marched away, calling, “Cast off!”

Faith looked to the colonel.

“You women best go to your cabin,” the colonel said as if they were strangers. “When we are well on our way downriver, I will come and get you for your walk on deck.”

Faith bowed her head and led Honoree into the tiny cabin, which had two berths hanging on one wall, leaving just enough floor space for them to stand.

The colonel shut the door behind them.

Hearing his retreating footsteps, Faith resisted the urge to sigh and removed her bonnet. She pushed open the small window and let in a breeze. She sat down on the lower bunk.

Honoree sat beside her. “Well, we’re off.”

Leaving behind the familiar
 
—the military camp that had been their home for months
 
—hit Faith squarely. She blinked away tears. “Yes, we are.”

Honoree drew in a deep breath. “Dear Lord, help us find Shiloh or news of where she is. And keep her safe till we find her.”

Faith squeezed Honoree’s arm in agreement. “I’m going to lie down.” She rose and turned to mount the ladder attached to the bunks.

“No, you don’t. I get the fun berth.”

Faith chuckled and then shook her head. “We are not children.”

“No, but it looks like we’re going to be treated like children here, and naughty children at that.”

“Yes. The captain was not happy to see us.”
Nor the colonel.

“As long as Shipmaster Fentress gets us to New Orleans,
I can put up with that.” Honoree rose and looked out the window.

Faith stared at the bunk and realized she felt more like pacing than lying down. But the tiny cabin afforded no room to do so. She joined Honoree at the window and stared out at the lush green scenery as the ship throbbed to life and began moving with the current.

As Faith stood there, New Orleans seemed a very long way to go. How was she going to handle the colonel’s reluctant chaperonage? Perhaps she could only endure it. She shouldn’t be surprised that they were at odds. She was an abolitionist and Devlin Knight was a man still caught on the horns of slavery. And a war was no time for an ill-fated romance that would not prosper even in peacetime.

Dev waited till most of the morning was past, and then he forced himself to go to the ladies’ cabin and call for them. He knocked on the tin-clad door.

Faith opened it.

“I’m here to accompany you on your first turn around the deck.” He tried to say the words free of irritation but did not completely succeed.

Faith donned her bonnet and unlatched a parasol. “I’m afraid Honoree is not a good sailor. She is lying down.” She shut the door behind her and opened the parasol. “I’m ready to walk.”

He did not offer her his arm. They began their circuit of the upper deck.

“This is very different from the riverboats I’ve been on before,” she commented as if the journey were commonplace.

“It is my first time on a gunboat too.”

“It’s a shame to see it fitted for war. Riverboats can be so lovely. I know thee doesn’t want to be here,” she continued without missing a beat. “But I said nothing to the general about thee, certainly no request to have thee ordered to accompany me.”

“I believe you. You know my opinion that you should wait till the war is over. This is a dangerous venture. And I didn’t want to leave my men
 
—”

“Yes, especially since I heard that a Captain Jack Carroll is leading raids against Union outposts.”

“You heard that, did you?” He had too. He let loose a sound of disgust and muttered under his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

He repeated the sound. “He sent me a note.”

“What? How?”

He reached into his inner shirt pocket. The movement caused him a moment of pain. He gasped and bent slightly.

“What is it, Colonel? What’s wrong?”

F
AITH TILTED HER HEAD
to look up into the colonel’s flushed face. “Does thee have a fever?” She reached for his forehead.

He shied away like a boy.

But she managed to graze his forehead with her wrist anyway. “Thee is burning up. I thought the perspiration on thy brow was due to the heat today. Come with me.” She claimed his arm.

He gasped in obvious pain.

“It is thy arm, then?” She shook her head at him, glaring fiercely. “Thee can die from infection
 
—even from a small wound. Thee knows that,” she chided him.

He set his lips in a hard line.

She leaned close to his ear. “Does thee want me to make a scene here in front of these sailors?”

He glared at her. “What do you want me to do?”

“We will go to my cabin. I did not wish to transport my whole medicine chest, but I did bring some medical supplies with me.”

He still didn’t appear ready to acquiesce.

“Is this how thee plans to protect Honoree and me?” Her voice rose. “By lying in bed delirious with fever?”

He growled. “Very well.” He turned and marched back toward her cabin. She hurried after him.

Leaving the door open for propriety’s sake, she showed him inside. “Please sit on the lower berth.” She didn’t wait to see him obey but bent over her valise and brought out the small bag of her essential herbs and supplies. “Please take off thy jacket and shirt, Colonel.”

He grumbled but obeyed her. Still he only revealed one arm and one side of his chest, appearing embarrassed at even this degree of disrobing.

When she saw his upper arm
 
—inflamed, harsh red, swollen with obvious infection
 
—she stifled a gasp. “Why didn’t thee tell me?”

“I went to the hospital
 
—”

“Thee would have done better to come straight to me,” she reprimanded, removing her bonnet and tossing it aside. “Wherever sick people gather, contagions increase. It’s just common sense.” She began to swab the area with alcohol-soaked cotton. She heard his quick intake of breath.

Honoree climbed down the ladder from the upper berth, where she had been lying, fighting nausea. “That looks nasty.”

“I need hot water, Honoree. Will thee find the captain and ask him for permission to fetch some?”

“Oh, he’ll love having me stop in with a request for him,” Honoree said, setting her bonnet over her kerchief. “But I’ll see to it.” She left, muttering about men and foolishness.

After Faith finished cleaning the inflamed area, she
glanced at the colonel’s face. “I’m sorry that the general’s orders upset thy plans and thy sense of duty, but
 
—”

“Here.” Sounding disgusted, he handed her the note he’d been reaching for earlier. “This is what’s angered me.”

She accepted it and stepped to the window to read it. Then she turned to the colonel, frowning. “Thy cousin is an unhappy man.”

“That’s all you have to say?” the colonel grumbled.

“What else can I say? Thy cousin wants to make thee as miserable as he is. He burns with hatred and resentment. He knows he behaved dishonorably, and he hates thee because thee knows it and can testify to his father against him.”

“I would never tell my uncle.”

“Then thy cousin knows that too, and it galls him.” She handed him back the paper.

“You barely know Jack.”

“Some things are as old as time. I mentioned Jacob and Esau once before. Now let’s concentrate on dealing with thy infected wound.” She knelt on the floor with her mortar and began to grind a mixture with her pestle.

“What is this man doing in your cabin?” the shipmaster demanded from the doorway.

“I would think it is obvious to anyone,” Faith replied mildly. She’d expected this foolish question. “The colonel has an infected arm and I’m treating him.”

“You’re not a doctor,” Fentress said.

“Is there one on board?” she asked without looking at him.

“No
 
—”

“I’m a trained nurse, as is Miss Langston.” She nodded toward Honoree. “Where is my hot water?”

“I brought it,” Honoree said, pushing past the captain into the cabin. “The cook says after you finish with the colonel, will you please come and take a look at his mouth? He appears to have an abscessed tooth.”

“Of course.” Faith busied herself neatly sewing a cloth poultice and then soaking it in the hot water. Under the shipmaster’s scrutiny, she rose and pressed it to the colonel’s arm.

He sucked in air.

“I know it’s uncomfortable,” she said soothingly, “but I must draw the infection or thee could go into blood poisoning.” Then she looked over her shoulder to the captain. “Will thee ask the cook to come to me, or should I go to him?”

“I’ll send him up,” the captain said, sounding disgusted. He stalked away.

“Men,” Honoree said, heaving a loud sigh filled with irritation. “They do go on.”

Faith grinned. “We were supposed to stay safely at home while they waged war.”

“Exactly,” the colonel agreed through teeth gritted against the painful treatment.

Faith faced him. “Should I let thee lose thy arm over a small wound or let thee die of infection? Should I let other men die if I can help them?”

Then, observing his suffering, she repented of her harsh words. “Lie down before thee collapses.” She helped him recline on the berth. Then she began to sew very small poultices for the cook.

Soon the cook came, and after examination, she gave him what she’d sewn with instructions.

“You don’t think you need to draw the tooth?” the man asked.

“No, I think these will suffice. And will be much less painful.”

He left with heartfelt thanks and a promise to send up coffee and broth for the colonel.

Needing space and air, Faith set her bonnet back on and tied its ribbons, then stepped out onto the deck. She rested her forearms on the railing and drew in deep drafts of the hot, humid air. She felt sympathy for Colonel Knight over his cousin’s rude, taunting message, but she could not regret treating Jack Carroll.

She’d done what was right before the Lord, and Jack had chosen to betray the trust of his cousin. No good would come of it. She just wished the colonel could forgive himself. Then she thought of Armstrong. Colonel Knight had more than one regret stewing inside him.

And selfishly she hoped the colonel would quickly recover from his infection. He spoke the truth: this was a dangerous venture. How would they fare in New Orleans without his protection?

The day passed with Dev lying on Faith’s berth, feverish. He despised this. He hated to feel this weak, hated to have this woman caring for him. But most of all he hated the way his arm throbbed. And how his head spun when he tried to stand. Finally night fell. He brushed away a stray mosquito as it buzzed around his ear.

Faith lit a lantern and knelt beside him.

“I need someone to walk me to my cabin,” he insisted, panting in the oppressive humidity.

“We’ll see. First I need to determine if it’s time to lance the infection.”

He closed his eyes. “Do what you must.”

And she did, murmuring words about home and poetry and anything that might distract him.

He inhaled sharply when she pierced his skin, and sweat dripped down his face as he held his lower lip with his teeth against crying out.

Finally he smelled the stringent odor of alcohol and felt its cold sting on his arm. The searing burn of iodine followed and then a fresh bandage. He lay breathless.

“We’ve come to help him to his berth.” The cook, flanked by another sailor, spoke from the open door.

Dev worked his way to sitting up and then standing. The room swayed for a moment and then he staggered to the door. The cook and sailor began to help him down the passage to the cabin where he’d sleep.

“Good night, Miss Cathwell,” he said formally. Then he forced himself to walk between the two and not to fall on his face. Soon they helped him collapse into the berth in his cabin. His last thought was that he shouldn’t have shown Faith the note.
I should have just thrown it away.

Late in the afternoon two days later, Dev got up and walked outside. His arm still pained him but his fever had lessened. He’d cheated death one more time. But it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out.

He admitted to himself that he’d been foolish not to go to Faith when he had returned to camp after the skirmish. But he knew why he had avoided her. The longing to touch her soft cheek and hold her close rose in him, overwhelming, ill-advised.

“Good afternoon, Colonel.”

He turned to see Faith under a pale parasol. He tightened himself against his attraction to her. “I don’t know if I’m up to walking with you, miss.”

“But thee is standing.” The parasol cast a shadow over her face, intriguing him. “Thee can see the shipmaster has relented toward females on board, and I am allowed outside whenever I wish.”

Dev didn’t try to hide his surprise. Still feeling dry and flat as a falling leaf, he asked, “Is the cook well?”

“Yes, and a happy cook is a better cook,” she bantered. “And that makes everyone happy.”

He chuckled.

Rapid gunfire.

Faith dropped her parasol.

Dev grabbed her arm, shoved her into his cabin, and shut the door.

“What is it?”

His heart beat fast and he felt the sapping weakness again. “Probably bushwhackers onshore, taking potshots at a Union boat.” He drew his carbine.

Outside, the crew returned fire. From the engine below, a grinding and a thrust forward propelled them both backward. Dev tried to grab at the berth railing. But he careened into Faith. They lost their footing and landed on the floor.

He cried out as his arm hit something hard. The pain momentarily froze him. He lay gasping, hating this feebleness.

Faith sat up, and he found his head in her lap.

He tried to move, but the pain and the weakness defeated him. He cursed under his breath.

“Shush,” she crooned. “Thee will regain thy strength.” She pressed her wrist against his forehead. “Thee is still running a very low fever. Thy body is fighting off the infection.”

He realized he’d lost his hat when he fell. Irrationally he felt stripped of some protection, exposed. “I hate this.”

She said nothing but rested her small hands on his shoulders.

He lay still, unwilling to withdraw from her softness. It was all he could do to suppress further reaction to the ache and throbbing in his arm.

They waited, but no more gunfire came from shore. The gunboat sped on and then at last slowed to a normal speed.

“It might even have been a civilian firing on us,” Dev said, finally forcing himself to rise.

“Being away from camp and riding this calm river, I sometimes let myself forget that a war is still going on.”

Shrugging, he peered through the window. “I think it’s safe to go out again.”

She picked up her parasol and waited while he stepped out first. After a few moments he waved for her to join him.

In silence they gazed at the thickly green shore sliding past them. “Colonel, I am both apprehensive and eager to reach New Orleans,” Faith confessed. “Does that make sense?”