Wild legacy (12 page)

"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 farmhouse 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?"