Gregory, Lisa (29 page)

"Get
out of those clothes!" she cried in concern, bounding out of bed.
"You'll catch pneumonia for sure."

Quickly
she pulled off his clothing. Why, he was practically blue! She wrapped a towel
around his wet head and with another vigorously rubbed him dry. Peljo appeared
like a godsend with a pot of steaming coffee. Katherine forced cup after cup of
the scalding liquid down his throat. Then she propelled him to the bed and
piled the covers on top of him, adding all the extra blankets she could find.
Climbing in beside him, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and clung to
him to warm him with her own body heat.

"Good
to me," he mumbled thickly and drifted into sleep.

When
Katherine awoke the next morning, she found the whole bed trembling with
Matthew's convulsive shivering. She felt his skin with her hand; it was hot as
fire. Quickly she dressed and hurried down to the doctor's cabin. He came to
the door, sleepy and surprised to see her there.

"Dr.
Rackingham, Matthew's caught a fever. Please come look at him. He is burning up
and has a lot of cover, but he shivers as if he were freezing!"

"All
right. Go back to your room. I shall dress and come right away."

She
scurried back to her cabin. He was no longer shivering. Now he was pushing back
his covers, mumbling incoherently that it was too hot. She pulled the covers
back over him and nervously paced the room. Where was the doctor? Why was he
taking so long? Peljo brought in their breakfast but she ignored it. Peljo went
to tell the ensign that the captain was ill and he would be in charge of the
ship. Katherine frowned. What if Hampton didn't get well? What if he died? Her
heart contracted. Dear God, they would be out here on the ocean with only an
ensign to lead them. Perhaps he could steer them toward England, but what if an
emergency arose? Oh, he had to get well! She went to the bed and looked down at
Hampton.

How
strange he looked, weak and helpless like that, his mind wandering in delirium.
He could not die, she thought staunchly. Not Matthew Hampton. Nothing so slight
as a fever could conquer him, surely. He was too strong, too obstinate. She
couldn't imagine him dying. But then, she reminded herself, she couldn't have
imagined him sick, either.

Dr.
Rackingham entered the room, with Peljo on his heels. The little man hung back
close to the door, but wouldn't leave. Katherine looked at him with pity: he
was so fond of the captain. The doctor examined Matthew, then forced some
medicine down his throat. It was a fever and chills, he announced. Matthew must
be kept covered heavily to sweat out the fever and given medicine every four
hours. He did not know how long the fever would last, but until it broke, there
must be someone by his side constantly. He proposed that he and Katherine—and
Peljo, if he wished—stand watch over him in shifts.

So
the three of them watched over him in turns all through the day. When night
came, Katherine insisted that the doctor get some sleep, and she and Peljo
continued the vigil. Matthew alternately shivered with chills and fought his
blankets as too hot. His temperature remained high and his face flushed; he
sweated profusely beneath the heavy covers, but his fever would not break. He
moaned and mumbled a great deal, often calling out names, the most frequent and
clearest of which was "Charity." Often he thrashed about in the
throes of some delirious nightmare, and Katherine or Peljo, sometimes both, had
to hold him down to keep him in the bed and with his covers pulled up. They
bathed his burning face in cool water, and now and then Peljo held him down
while Katherine forced soup or tea down his throat to keep up his strength.

Katherine
stayed glued to his side, feeling somehow that she could make him well through
sheer strength of will. She struggled with him, bathed him, force-fed him, sat
by him until her back felt as if it would break in two. She couldn't eat,
though she forced down a few reluctant mouthfuls at the doctor's insistence. It
was so important that he get well that she felt she couldn't spare any of her
concentration for any other task. Had she stopped to consider, she would have
wondered why it was so important that he get well. But she was far too
concerned with what she was doing to stop to ask herself questions. Instead she
watched him like a hawk and recited a litany of jumbled prayers, some addressed
to God and others to Matthew.

His
fever rose and with it his agitation. His voice was louder now, more tortured.
"I hate the sight of him!" his voice rang out and then dropped to a
moan, "Oh, Selina, I'm sick, so sick." Another time, he laughed and
said, "The captain'll have our hides for this. Run away." Once he
rasped, "Not Shel. Not Shelby. Oh, Davie, why not me?" And constantly
he called for Charity, plaintively, like a child.

Trying
to soothe him, Katherine would take his hand and say, "Here I am, Matthew.
Charity's here with you."

Who
was this Charity? A long-lost love? His mistress? Maybe a dead wife?

"Peljo,
who is Charity?" she asked.

"Don't
know, miss, never heard him mention the name."

Katherine
looked at him shrewdly. "You wouldn't tell me if you knew, would
you?"

He
grinned and shrugged. "That would depend on who she was."

"Franny,
you dunce!" Hampton exclaimed sharply.

Peljo
gestured toward the restless figure. "Now that one I know. Miss Fran is
his sister."

"He
doesn't seem to think much of her," Katherine said dryly. "Well,
who's Selina?"

"Dunno."

"Shelby?"

"The
captain's brother. So is Davie. Mister David's a blockade runner, but Mister
Shelby was in the cavalry. Killed at Antietam."

"How
awful." Katherine felt a little flash of pain for Matthew.

"Better
him than Mister Davie; he's the captain's favorite. Younger than him, always
tagging him around."

Katherine
suddenly realized that she could ease her curiosity somewhat through this
little man.

"Have
you known Captain Hampton long?" she queried politely, hiding her
eagerness.

"Aye,
since he was thirteen, ma'am. Rascal ran away and joined my ship as cabin boy.
Course, I knew he was a planter, even though he used another name—you could
tell by the way he talked and didn't take kindly to orders. I sort of looked
out for him, pulled him out of scrapes and the like. 'Cause I liked the look of
him—game as hell (begging your pardon, miss). He'd take on any and
everything." One bright little black eye winked at her. "Kind of like
you, ma'am."

"Like
me? Whatever do you mean?"

"Why,
you're a real scrapper, too, Miss Kate. Never mind the odds—you just start
swinging. Got him into trouble, too. But I saw to it that he made it back to
Charleston. Course, the old captain took his cane to him, but he was so
grateful to me for seeing Mister Matt got home safe that he gave me a job on
one of his ships. And once he started sailing in earnest, I been following the
lad ever since."

"Who
is this captain you talk about?"

"The
old captain? That's our captain's grandfather. Old Randall Hampton. He's a
tough old coot, and crazier'n hell (begging your pardon) about Matt."

"I
see. He—he owns a shipping line?"

"You
bet he does. Biggest one in Charleston, with an office in New Orleans, and New
York, too, before the war."

"He
owns Jackton Shipping?"

"You're
a canny one, miss. That's him, all right. His partner was Arthur Jackson. So
Jackson and Hampton—Jackton. But he bought old Jackson out."

"And
Matthew sailed for Jackton?"

"From
the time he was seventeen—when he was chucked out of William and Mary."

"He
was expelled from college?"

Peljo
beamed with pride. "And he got kicked out of The Citadel, too."

"Whatever
for?"

"Pranks.
He was always getting drunk, sneaking out at night, playing jokes. That was at
The Citadel. At William and Mary, it was something to do with a woman—anyway,
he got into a duel with another student."

"Well,
that doesn't surprise me," Katherine said with severity.

"Then
his family let him sail, which was what he wanted anyway."

"And
you've been with him since then?"

"Yes,
ma'am."

"Has
he always been like this?"

"Like
what?"

"Hard,
cruel, dangerous—"

"He
has his moments," Peljo admitted. "But there's not another I'd rather
sail under. Not even Raphael Semmes himself."

Katherine
smiled. "You're loyalty personified, Peljo."

He
looked at her intently. "Well, it's not exactly hatred you've been showing
toward him today."

"I
would do the same for any ill person," she sniffed.

"Would
you now? Well, no doubt you'll snap my head off for saying so, but I think you
have a little fondness for the captain."

"I
think you are a little touched in the head."

"And
I'll tell you the truth, Miss Kate, though he would snap my head off for it,
I've never seen his interest so captured by any other girl."

Katherine
simply raised her eyebrows in cool disbelief.

Hampton
did not improve; in fact, his fever worsened. They had difficulty keeping the
heavy coverings on his thrashing form. His skin was like fire. Peljo held him
still and Katherine forced a spoonful of medicine into his mouth. That set him
off cursing violently. Peljo retired to curl up on the floor and sleep. Katherine
sat down on the edge of the bed and began her struggle to keep him quiet and
covered.

He
looked straight at her and said fiercely, "You're a heartless bitch,
Susan. Why Shelby, of all people?"

"Be
quiet now," Katherine said soothingly. "Be still and get some
rest."

Hampton
flung back his covers and started to rise. Firmly she pushed him back down and
pulled up the blankets. Leaning down, she hissed in his face, "You listen here,
Matthew Hampton. You are going to get better. Do you hear me? Damn it, I won't
let you die. I won't let you. I am going to get even with you, and I will not
let you thwart me by dying. So shut up and be still."

He
glared at her and fell to cursing again. He began to toss and turn so much that
she knelt on the bed and held him down by pushing against his chest with both
hands, leaning all her weight into him. Finally, however, he roughly flung her
aside, sending her hurtling off the bed and onto the floor. Frantically she
awakened Peljo and the two of them managed to restrain him.

It
seemed hours to Katherine that she had held this position, firmly holding down
his ankles while Peljo pinned his torso and arms to the mattress. Her back
ached dreadfully and her fingers and arms were beginning to cramp. Suddenly she
realized that she was no longer straining against resisting muscles. He was
limp. She let go of his legs; he didn't move. She looked up at his face; it had
gone slack, dead.

"Oh,
my God!" she cried and thrust past Peljo to touch a trembling hand to his
still face.

His
cheek was wet, clammy, and much, much cooler. She simply stared at him, her
mind not comprehending, feeling his breath against her wrist. He was not dead,
she realized.

"Oh,
Peljo," she gasped. "It's broken. His fever has broken!" She
burst into tears.

Hampton
slipped into a shallow but quiet sleep, and Peljo, cheered by the change in
him, left to return to his quarters. Katherine picked up Hampton's watch, which
lay on his desk. Four-fifteen in the morning. Sighing, she tried to settle
herself comfortably in the chair; it was next to impossible. Everything about
her ached, and she wanted desperately to lie down beside him and sleep, but she
was afraid of disturbing his rest.

A
couple of hours later, a soft knock at the door aroused her. She was surprised
to find that she had actually fallen asleep. The visitor was the doctor, who
looked at Hampton, took his temperature, and declared himself satisfied with
his progress. He administered another dose of medicine, advised Katherine to
get some rest, and left. Soon her breakfast arrived and she devoured it,
suddenly realizing how little she had eaten the day before.