An Uncivilized Yankee Read online

  “I can’t call Fire, Will. And even if I did have the family Gift with it, I couldn’t.”

  “Didn’t think of that.” As he kindled the fire, he said quietly, “I think an explanation is in order, Star.”

  She didn’t look at him, instead reaching out to check the Yankee’s brow for fever and unconsciously brushing an errant lock of brown hair out of his face. His eyelids twitched, but he didn’t seem to be awake.

  “Why aren’t you back at Woodhaven, where you belong?” Will pressed.

  Taking a shuddering breath, she let it out slowly.

  “Jake.”

  Will’s demeanor changed instantly from annoyed to attentive.

  “I had no choice but to leave! I tried to stay, as Heaven is my witness I did, if only to watch over Dani. But it just got worse and worse.” The words came out in a torrent. “Jake was drafted back in April, but Uncle Isaac decided to go in his stead. What was I supposed to do? You know what control Aunt Eliza has over Jake. The words were bad enough; he’s always been like that. But he got more … insistent, more physical, especially after my birthday. Said I was eighteen, plenty old enough to be getting married. He tried….”

  She broke off, eyes closed, body rigid. His hand gripping her arm, so hard she still had bruises, the other pawing her, his weight bearing her into the wall, down onto the dusty floor. Can’t move, can’t scream, can’t breathe, breathe….

  Will’s voice murmuring from far away: “Oh, no, not again.”

  “He tried more than once—I couldn’t avoid him every time. The last time he cornered me in the stable. Said that I needed taming. That Bancroft men took what they wanted. That I would be, that Woodhaven would be his. Were rightfully his. I used … I gave pain instead of taking it. Then Iris broke her door down, attacked him before he could do anything more. He ran. I had already hidden some stuff away nearby. I left right then. That was about a fortnight ago, I guess.”

  She paused, tried to drag herself back to the present, and forced her eyes open to look at her uncle. His face was very blank. Only a twitching muscle in his cheek betrayed his anger.

  “All I could think was, if I could just get away, I’d be safe. There’s no one else I could have gone to, except maybe Aunt Becky and Uncle Peter. But Boston is too far, and behind Yankee lines, so I came to you. It wasn’t too hard at first; I just took the old plank road into Fredericksburg. I suppose I should have taken a train from there, but I couldn’t bear to. So I followed the railroad tracks south. I knew they’d eventually take me to Richmond, and that’s where you were last. But it took a lot longer than I thought. Ran out of food and money a couple days ago. Then I got lost. Somewhere near Hanover Junction, I think. Anyway, I was lost, and hungry, and not a little scared.” She stopped, coughing.

  “Is that when your Yankee friend here found you?” Will asked softly.

  She shook her head. “If only it were so. Despite my lovely attitude, Lieutenant Black’s been nothing but a gentleman towards me. I would have much preferred to meet him first. No, early this morning, I guess it was, I crossed paths with a trio of very friendly local soldiers. Said they’d been trapped behind enemy lines and were trying to get back to their unit.”

  “Deserters?”

  “Deserters. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, as usual. I didn’t want to go with them, but they really didn’t give me any choice in the matter. They figured Iris and I were too valuable a find to let go of that easily.” She glanced down at her torn dress as if from a great distance. Everything felt so distant. “They could tell how much Iris was worth just by looking at her. Even I would fetch a good price in certain sections of Richmond, they said. I disagreed, rather violently, but I didn’t have enough energy to do much about it. The last thing I remembered was taking a bite out of one of them, right before he hit me. I woke up with Lieutenant Black. He’d been out scouting and came to my rescue. My one piece of luck this fine and lovely week.”

  “So he rescued you and…?”

  “And was trying to keep me safe back there when he was wounded.”

  Will worried his moustache with his lips, thinking. He got heavily to his feet. “You really didn’t have a choice, did you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Just you stay here. I think I need to go find the general.” He took Iris’ reins and led her off.

  Star closed her eyes again. Tired, so tired. When was the last time I had any rest? Memories she’d been holding at bay were seeping back into her mind. She licked her lips—a taste of salt. The small sound of boiling water came to her attention. Ah, there was something she could focus on.

  She opened her eyes, dried the tears on her remaining sleeve. I really must fix that, she thought distractedly, then undid the saddlebag and took out a large leather case. She traced the embossed name lovingly. How I still miss you, Papa. The tears threatened again. Lifting her chin and sniffing, she opened the case. Inside showed a doctor’s dichotomy. On one side were the modern instruments of a surgeon: knives, probes, clamps, needles. The other side contained the ancient tools of a Healer—bags and vials of carefully labeled herbs and other plants.

  Which first, shoulder or leg? Leg. Will take longer. She focused on the leg, saw a writhing tangle of colors. Argh! Even if I did have the strength, I’ve still not figured out how to reset bones. So, I do this the hard way.

  She wrestled with his boot for a moment, blood dribbling out as she did, then ripped open his pant leg up past the knee. The shinbone had snapped and twisted, pale bone gleamed through the blood and flesh. The boot must have kept the bone semi stabilized. She grabbed a few sponges, a knife, and a needle, and dropped them in the pot along with a couple of balls of sweetgum resin. Maybe most surgeons didn’t believe that using clean tools made any difference, but Papa had said cleanliness did more for his patients than his Gift did, and Papa’s words were gospel.

  Reaching into the pot with a pair of long handled tongs, she pulled out a sopping sponge.

  “What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that?”

  Starla jerked and dropped the hot sponge, soaking her dress front. The Yankee was fully conscious and glaring at her, face flushed, lower lip bloody where he’d bitten it.

  She threw the sponge back into the boiling water, then reached out to feel his forehead again. Far too warm, with an unhealthy orange aura. He batted her hand away with his good arm.

  Her lips tightened, and she answered coolly, “You have a compound fracture of the right tibia, which needs to be cleaned, set, and splinted. After that, there is a rather large piece missing from your left bicep that should be taken care of. And both should be done before that fever of yours gets any worse. Now, if you’d prefer to wait for the next available Yankee surgeon, that is your choice. Otherwise, let me help.”

  “Like you helped earlier?” he snarled.

  She blushed at the deserved thrust. “May I least try do something right for a change?”

  He looked at her, gray eyes tracking across her face. What are you looking for? Something in his expression altered, became less stormy.

  “You know what you’re doing.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Aye.” He relaxed imperceptibly at her confident tone.

  “And I really don’t have any alternative, do I?”

  She allowed a tiny smile. “Not really.”

  He took a deep breath. “Then go ahead, I suppose.”

  She plucked the sponge back out and turned her attention to his leg.

  “Just … would you mind … could you at least talk to me? Damn! Pardon my language, miss, but….” He gritted his teeth as she gently dabbed at the blood and the mud that had seeped in. “But a man needs some distraction when his leg’s all snapped like kindling. If it won’t, you know, impede your work.”

  She nodded. “I can do that. And Lieutenant Black?”

  “Yessss?” The word came out in a hiss of pain.

  She bit her lip sharply and focused down on his leg so a
s to avoid his bright eyed gaze. “I am dreadfully sorry. For this, and everything. I’m not usually so ill mannered.”

  “Just to uncivilized Yankees?”

  “I’m going to regret I ever said that, aren’t I?”

  “If I survive, yes.” He managed a slight laugh. She stopped and stared at him in disbelief. He was ashen with pain, already fever flushed in patches. There was blood oozing from his shoulder and leg, and he was now a prisoner of war, but there was a wry grin on his face. Despite everything that had gone wrong this long, awful day. He must be in shock.

  “Tell me something, Miss Anderson. Just out of curiosity, where did you pick up this little … um…?” He shuddered involuntarily as she probed a bit too deeply.

  “Game, as my uncle calls it?”

  A half-swallowed oath and a nod.

  She hesitated. Uncle Isaac had always flown into a fury at the mention of her Gift. Would others? Better safe than sorry, I suppose. “My father was a physician. I was always fascinated by his work. As soon as I was able, I started to read his books. And then I begged him to take me on his house calls. He took me on a few, just enough to keep me happy. Mother didn’t approve. Said that kind of medicine was not for ladies. But Papa was pleased with my interest. And Grandmama too. Said Healing ran in our family, and it didn’t matter if I was a girl.”

  She paused, examining his leg more closely, trying to see some rhyme or reason to the twisted colors. “One day what was supposed to be a routine visit turned out to be a goring. Nasty, it was. But I insisted on helping. Papa couldn’t really argue—I was the only other one who knew enough to help. Everyone there was impressed. After that, even Mother stopped protesting, as much….”

  Her voice trailed off. She forced herself back to the present.

  “Hold on, lieutenant. I need you to try to relax. I’m going to pull here and—”

  He let out a strangled cry and fainted again.

  “Well, I suppose that’s one way to relax,” she said, watching the steady rise and fall of his broad chest for a minute before continuing. Good. The break itself was fairly clean, no fragments or splintering, and the bone had slid back beneath the skin. She scanned the wound again. The threads had stopped moving about and now lay in a loose weave. Seems to be in place. Once she had some strength back she’d try to tighten it up some, help it to heal a little faster. That much she knew how to do.

  “It’s probably just as well that you can’t feel this,” she told the silent body as she fished the needle out of the cooling water. “Mother always wanted me to work harder on my needlework. Although I know this is not quite what she had in mind.”

  After dressing and splinting the leg, she turned her attention to his arm. She struggled with the jacket buttons for only a few seconds before letting out an annoyed growl. Rolling the limp body to one side, she slit the jacket up the back and peeled it off of him that way. Faced with yet more buttons on his shirt, she didn’t even bother trying.

  “Waste of time,” she muttered, and cut the sleeve off completely.

  A few minutes of sponging revealed a lesser injury than she had originally thought. The ball had torn a long strip out of the flesh, but had not damaged much of the muscle, and none of the bone.

  However, the stain across his side wasn’t from the arm as she had assumed. So in the end she had to unbutton the shirt after all to clean and bandage the bloody furrow plowed across his ribs.

  “You’re a lucky man, Lieutenant Black,” she said as she patted the last bit of sticking plaster in place. “For being shot, anyway.” She pulled the shirt closed, buttoning just the top few buttons to keep it shut.

  Pain arced down her back. How long have I been kneeling like this? she wondered. She got up, stretched, and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye.

  “Not bad,” she said, allowing a slight smile.

  “I agree. A very nice job.”

  She whirled around. Behind her stood a short dapper man in a long gray frock coat and green sash, watching her intently.

  “Tho’ I must admit, I’m rather at a loss as to why Major Lewis’ niece is taking such pains over a prisoner,” he said, bright little bird eyes peering at her over his spectacles.

  Star flinched internally. It was bad enough her folly had wounded an innocent man. Well, as innocent as a Yankee could get anyway. But to have to admit her shortcomings over and over….

  A sudden thought occurred to her.

  “Tell me, sir, why are you here, with the army?” She was surprised at how calm she sounded.

  The man looked startled. “Why, it is my duty to defend my home. My honor demands it.”

  “Sir, this man has saved my life twice today, at considerable cost to himself. It is my duty to do all that I can to help him. My honor demands it. Wouldn’t you agree?” She stood a little straighter, praying that her trembling wasn’t visible, and that she wouldn’t collapse again.

  He stared at her, then smiled. “Indeed I do, Miss Anderson.” He bowed. “Dr. Talcott Eliason, at your service.”

  Talcott Eliason? Should I have heard that name before?

  “You’re Gifted, aren’t you?”

  She nodded, somewhat warily.

  “I thought so—there’s a look you Healers get when working. And you’ve got some good training behind you too. A damn, pardon me, a great deal better than most of my assistants. Who taught you?”

  Now she was completely bewildered. “My father. Dr. Richard Anderson. He was a Healer too.”

  “Can’t say I’ve heard of him.”

  “He’s dead. Major Lewis is my only family now. That’s why I’m here.” Well, the only family that matters at this point.

  “Is that so? Hmmm….” He looked thoughtful. “Please excuse me, Miss Anderson. I’ll be back.”

  That’s fine, Starla thought. I’m not feeling too steady as it is. She sat on the ground quickly, the dizziness returning as she did. Head in hands, she tried to gain some sort of control over her seething thoughts. Goodness, what else can happen today?

  “Are you all right, Miss Anderson?”

  She looked up. It was the Yankee, leaning on his good arm and peering over at her. She shifted away slightly, then found a tentative smile and said, “Hello again. Did you have a nice nap?”

  “Not really,” he returned dryly. “Feels like the farrier decided to use me for an anvil. Quite unkind of him, don’t you agree?”

  Her mouth twitched. “Indeed I do, lieutenant.”

  “Travis,” he said firmly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Please call me Travis. I know it’s not entirely proper, but you can chalk that up to me being an uncivilized Yankee.”

  Grudgingly, she nodded. Propriety had been tossed away the minute she headed south to Richmond. Besides, with as much as she owed him, she could at least do that….

  Don’t do it, Star. You know better than to be friendly to any man, especially not this one.

  But she simply said, “I will. And you may call me Starla, or Star. If you promise not to laugh again.”

  Travis opened his mouth, but she lifted a hand for silence—a trio of men was heading towards them. There was Uncle Will and the surgeon, but she did not recognize the third.

  Will gestured at her. “Here she is. Ask her for yourself.”

  She rose slowly to her feet, wobbling ever so slightly as she did.

  He came up to her, a burly man with a flamboyant auburn beard and enough gold braid that she knew he must be some high ranking officer.

  “Miss Anderson, Major Lewis here has told me of your problem. If you wouldn’t mind, however, I’d like to ask you a few questions of my own. May I?”

  She drew a deep breath. “Yes, of course, sir.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I just turned eighteen, in May.”

  “And you live with your aunt and uncle?”

  No, the leeches live with me. “The Bancrofts, yes, sir.”

  He asked her a few more questions. She must
have given the right answers, because Will stood behind him, smiling encouragement. But her head felt like it was wrapped in cotton.

  “Was it this morning you met up with the deserters?”

  She swayed abruptly, memory smashing its way through her numbed senses.

  “What’dya think, Len? Think we could get twenty dollars for her?”

  “Maybe more. Let’s see if she’s as well bred as her horse.”

  A hammy fist yanking on her dress, tearing the worn fabric as if it were paper.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, gathered her breath to scream.

  The Yankee’s angry voice broke into the nightmare.

  “Yes, sir, it was this morning. I was the one who found her. And I would ask you, sir, to stop this line of questioning immediately. Can’t you see that Miss Anderson isn’t well?”

  To the rescue again, Lieutenant Black? she thought, forcing her eyes open.

  The officer looked at her with sudden concern in his blue eyes. “I do beg your pardon. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken,” she whispered weakly. He motioned the others forward.

  “You see, Miss Anderson, your uncle has asked me to allow you to remain here, under his protection. Under normal circumstances there is no way I would even consider such a request. Most of my men may be gentlemen, but an army is no place for a young lady; the cavalry, even less so. But where else could we send you, where you would be safe? As I debated this dilemma, Dr. Eliason here came up and demanded that I find some way of keeping you as an assistant. He insists that a Healer—regardless of gender—would be an enormous asset to my staff.”

  She looked at the surgeon in shock.

  “Now, it is always a wise thing, I’ve found, to listen to one’s physician, and I agree with his assessment. I had already made my decision when I came out here, but felt I should ask you a few questions all the same.”

  Testing me, she thought. Can he hear lies like Will? “I understand, sir.”

  “Since it seems you have no other place of safety for the present, you may stay with your uncle. And, as you are able, you are to work with the medical staff. Is that acceptable?”