Daniel's Desire (3 page)

“I tried to clean up, but Amelia and Jace kept crying and trying to get to Ma.” Chandler’s face flushed, his stance belligerent.

“It’s all right, son. If we all work together, the kitchen will be clean in no time, then we’ll have breakfast.”

“But not oatmeal.” Amelia stuck her fingers in her mouth and shook her head.

Daniel brought in the last of the wood from the woodbox behind the house. He started a fire in the stove to provide warmth to the small house.

With all of them contributing — although Jace caused more problems than help — they got the room in order. Daniel found a few eggs in a bowl on the near-empty pantry shelf, scrambled them up and added that to the breakfast of oatmeal. Then he sliced the last of a loaf of bread and slapped a jar of honey alongside it.

So much for his plans to leave at first light. Food supplies were low, the woman in the next room could still die, and three children all sat looking at him expectantly. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, as his other hand slipped into his pocket where he fingered the ring, its inner rim etched with the words
Honorem et Officium
—
Honor and Duty. The motto of the McCoy family, drilled into his head since childhood.

The ring had been in his family for generations. Passed from father to son, Daniel had received it from his papa on his deathbed. Honor in dealings with others, and duty to those in need. And the Wilsons were definitely in need.

“Chandler, can you and Amelia clean up from breakfast while I look around? I’d like to see what food supplies your mama has.”

“Everything’s gone,” Amelia piped up. “Damn Rebels took ’em all.”

Daniel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out with laughter. Apparently the little girl mimicked her mama.

“Ma said no cussin’, Amelia.” Chandler poked his sister in the arm.

“Ouch.” Her eyes filled with tears and her chin trembled as she rubbed her arm. “That hurt.”

Time for a diversion.

Daniel clapped his hands. “Amelia, instead of helping Chandler, I’m going to give you a job to help your mama.”

“You will?” Her eyes grew big as she climbed from her chair.

“Yes. Come with me.”

“Me, too.” Jace joined his sister as they walked the short hallway, then entered Mrs. Wilson’s bedroom.

Daniel retrieved the pan from the floor, then returned to the kitchen to fill it with water.

In his absence, the two children had climbed on their mama’s bed. Jace rubbed his chubby hand up and down Mrs. Wilson’s arm, and Amelia patted her head. The woman slept on.

Daniel checked her forehead. The fever had risen again. “Amelia, I want you to carefully wring out this cloth.” He held up the piece of petticoat from the night before. “Then run it over your mama’s face and arms. Can you do that?”

She slipped her fingers into her mouth and nodded.

“Me, too.” Jace countered.

“You need to be very careful about her sore. Don’t touch it, or wet her leg, okay?”

The bed would probably be soaked when he returned, but he needed to change the sheet anyway. Daniel watched for a few minutes as Amelia cooled her mama’s body, amazed at how carefully the little girl dealt with the water. Very little actually dripped from the cloth. Jace watched his sister’s every move.

Satisfied the little ones would be occupied for a time, Daniel grabbed a large heavy coat on a hook by the back door and headed out.

The weathered barn he’d hoped to sleep in — and be on his way — stood empty. With the number of stalls Mr. Wilson had built, there must have been three or four horses at one time. And most likely a milk cow. Now the entire building remained vacant, dust motes rising in the air as his boots kicked up the hay scattered on the floor.

The smokehouse also held nothing, but two fat hens occupied the chicken coop. They must’ve been hidden in the woods when the
damn Rebs
took everything. He smiled. Even he had started to think of his comrades that way. He’d been on raids before his capture, but never would he leave a family with nothing.

Mrs. Wilson would have picked the garden clean ahead of the winter frost. Hopefully, she’d been a thrifty housewife and put up the vegetables before the raid. A grove of apple trees, their bare branches outlined by the blue sky, led to a cluster of pear trees. The farm had been healthy and productive at one time.

He wandered toward a large elm tree to where a wooden cross had been stuck in the ground.

Hans Wilson, b. May 22, 1821, d. November 11, 1864.

The head of the family had died a little over three months ago. When had the raid taken place? He’d heard rumors in prison that General Lee and his army had been holed up near the Virginia railroad station of Petersburg for over two hundred days. Would he have sent raiders this far north for supplies? As soon as he was able to leave, Daniel would make his way south, and join Lee’s army. This could very well be the final push of the war. A war that had dragged on far too long.

He stopped and stared over the barren countryside. The fighting couldn’t continue much longer. The Confederates had been the underdog from the start. Daniel didn’t remember seeing a single factory producing guns or ammunition anywhere in the South. Additionally, the southern railroads were small and not interconnected. But the main detriment was the South’s reliance on tobacco and cotton, producing very little food to supply an entire army.

Daniel sighed and returned to the problem at hand. One thing for certain, if he left now, the Wilson family could starve. As dangerous as his presence here continued to be, honor demanded he stay until assured of their well-being.

The first order of business remained food, followed by enough wood to keep the family warm for the rest of the winter. He headed to the back of the house to check the root cellar, which he’d heard all northern farmhouses had. A thorough search revealed a heavy wooden door built into the side of a small hill a short distance from the house.

The wood creaked and groaned as he pried the door open. A small oil lamp sat on the floor at the entrance, but he had no flint to light it. By opening the door all the way, the scant light from outdoors allowed him to at least peer into the small room. Shelves lined the hard-packed dirt walls.

Praise the Lord, something the damn Rebs had missed.

Jars of fruits and vegetables sat in all their tempting glory. Daniel moved into the center of the room, his hands on his hips, as he surveyed his find. Corn, peas, green beans, tomatoes, applesauce, and pears. Baskets on the floor held potatoes, carrots, squash, and dried apples. Onions and various herbs hung from hooks in the ceiling. This bounty must be how the family had survived since the husband died.

He emptied the contents of a half-filled basket of potatoes, and placed a jar of applesauce and a few potatoes, carrots, and an onion in it. One good shove with his shoulder, and the door closed. Juggling the jar and vegetables, he carried them to the kitchen.

Chandler sat at the wooden table cleaning the shotgun so recently pointed at Daniel’s chest.

“How would you like to go hunting with me?” Daniel set the food down, keeping his eye on the gun, and the boy’s movements.

Chandler shrugged.

“We could get some fresh meat for the family.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to him. “You know, Chandler, as the man of the family now, it’s your job to make sure the family eats.”

“I know that,” he groused.

“Any luck?”

Chandler shook his head. Then he looked up at Daniel, the hostility gone, replaced by a child’s fear. “Things were easier when Pa was here. I wanted him to teach me to hunt, but he always said, ‘next year.’”

Daniel’s heart twisted. What a burden for such a young boy.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll check on your mama, and then once she’s cleaned up and I’m sure she’s doing all right, you and I will hunt up some dinner.”

“Both of us?”

“Yes, both of us. You go ahead and finish your chore, and I’ll check on your mama.”

Daniel stood and stretched, wincing when he got a whiff of himself. A bath was definitely in order sometime soon. “Where does your mama keep the clean sheets?”

“I’ll show you.” Chandler jumped up from his seat, and hurried to a cabinet in the parlor. “Here.” He pulled out a sheet, and brought it to Daniel.

“Maybe a clean pillowslip, too?”

The boy returned to the cabinet, and rifled around a bit before emerging with a white pillowslip, blue and purple embroidery carefully stitched along the hem.

“Thank you. Now you put that gun together, and once I take care of your mama, I’ll be back and we’ll go hunting.”

“What about Jace and Amelia?”

“I think as long as they stay in the room with your mama, they’ll be all right until we return.”

Gathering the sheet and pillowslip to his chest, Daniel headed down the hallway toward the bedroom where his patient lay.

The woman must have been awake, because the soothing sound of a soft female voice reached his ears, along with Amelia’s bright chatter. Smiling, he entered the doorway.

Mrs. Wilson lay flat on her back, her two youngest children flanking either side. Her deep blue eyes glittered with anger. She rose up on one elbow, and with a shaky hand, she raised a pistol, cocked, and aimed at his chest, just as he cleared the doorway.

“Get the hell out of my house, Reb.”

“Don’t shoot him, he’s my friend.” Amelia climbed off her mother’s bed and ran to Daniel, wrapping one arm around his leg, her fingers tucked into her mouth.

Once again, Daniel faced a gun pointed at his chest. He raised one hand as he laid the sheets and pillowslip on the chair next to the door. “Mrs. Wilson, my name is Lt. Daniel McCoy, and I’m not here to harm you or your family.”

Her lips curled in a sneer. “That’s what the last band of Confederate thieves said before they took every animal and bit of food they could find.” She winced with pain as she changed positions. “If you don’t figure starving a family is not doing them harm, then be on your way before I blow a hole in you.”

He slowly lowered his hands, but kept them at his sides, palms facing outward. “Ma’am, I arrived yesterday in search of a drink of water and a place to bed down for the night. You and your children were in a bad way.”

“In a bad way thanks to the Rebels.” She attempted to steady the pistol with her other hand. “Amelia, move away from him.”

“No, Mama. He made your leg all better. Now you won’t die.” The little girl removed her fingers from her mouth, and wrapped her other arm around his thigh.

He kept his eye on the pistol shaking in the woman’s hands. “I wasn’t part of that raid, and I only want to help you before I’m on my way.”

Losing the battle with the weight of the gun, Rosemarie dropped it to her side and closed her eyes. “Amelia tells me you’re the one that fixed my leg.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She opened her eyes, and two tears slid from their depths down her cheeks. “Thank you.” The sound barely a whisper.

Daniel sucked in a deep breath and moved farther into the room, Amelia still attached to his leg. “I promise I’ll only be here long enough to see you back on your feet.” He nodded toward her leg. “You have a nasty cut there, and it will be some time before you’re able to get around.”

She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “How is it you know so much, Reb?”

He bit back a grin at the name she continued to call him. “I worked as a medic in prison.”

Her eyes widened, and she hugged Jace to her side. “Prison? Amelia, come back here. Now.”

“Not regular prison,” he hurried on. “The Yankees captured me, and sent me to Camp Morton in Indianapolis until a couple of days ago when I escaped.” Rosemarie collapsed against the pillow, all animation gone from her face. “Do what you have to, and go.”

“I intended to change your sheet and check your bandage. Can I move you to the parlor while I do that?”

She shifted to rise and let out a low keening sound.

“No. Don’t move by yourself.” Daniel strode to the bed, took the gun from her lap, and placed the weapon high on the shelf over her bed. Placing his arms underneath, he lifted her and the blanket at the same time.

The woman’s face lost all color. She bit her lip and moaned softly against his chest. Mixed with the smell of the medicine he’d used, her faint scent of lemon swirled around him. Still warm from fever, her heat seeped through his worn shirt to his skin. He tried not to jar her as he moved to the parlor, where he gently laid her on the settee.

Amelia stood next to her mama, her eyes wide as she watched him.

“Amelia, can you fetch the blankets from the beds in your room, then bring them here?”

The child hurried away, brown curls bouncing down her back.

“As soon as I cut more wood, we’ll have a fire. Right now I’ll add the extra blankets and clean up your bed.”

Rosemarie reached for his hand as he turned. “Why are you doing this? We’re nobody to you. You’re a Reb.”

Deep blue eyes surrounded by thick dark eyelashes peered up at him, causing his thoughts to vanish. He mentally shook himself and eased his lips into a soft smile. “I’m a man first. And you need looking after.” He took the blankets from Amelia’s hands and settled them around Rosemarie. Assured she would stay as warm as possible under the circumstances, he left the two children sitting near her.

• • •

Rosemarie’s gaze followed the stranger as he left the room. The man named Daniel McCoy, an escaped prisoner of war.

I can’t believe things have gotten so bad I’m relying on the enemy to take care of me and my children.

No, not her enemy. Not her war, either. Hans had been adamant he would not leave his land to fight the Rebs, a bunch of devil-worshiping slaveholders, as he called them.

The throbbing in her leg reminded her why she needed to keep her anger at the Reb in check. She was laid up, and he certainly looked as if he could handle the chores. Although Hans had been a large man, this Reb would’ve dwarfed him. Broad shoulders, muscular arms, and the massive chest straining his filthy uniform left no doubt as to his ability to chop wood, plow a field, or swing a hammer. His dark brown hair hung to his chin, and his unshaven face gave him the look of a large bear. The entire time he spoke with her, he continued to push wayward strands of hair behind his ears.