Kary, Elizabeth (32 page)

Mary
Ann Bickerdyke motioned the man with a wagon-load of boxes to the rear of the
tent before answering. "I'm Mother Bickerdyke, I reckon. What can I do for
you?"

Somehow
Hayes had never made the connection between the woman in search of "her
boys" at Fort Donelson months before and the almost legendary figure Leigh
had spoken of so often when she returned from Cairo. In the light of that
discovery, Hayes was almost afraid to voice his question, for if Leigh was not
here with this woman she respected, the woman Leigh credited with turning her
into a military nurse, he would not find her anywhere.

"Please,
Mother Bickerdyke," he asked almost reluctantly, "is Leigh Pennington
here with you?"

The
woman studied the tall man before she gave her answer, wondering at the lines
of exhaustion in his face and the haunted expression in his red-rimmed eyes.
"She's around the back of the tent catching up on a bit of sleep."

Hayes
wavered for a moment with relief and fatigue. "I won't wake her, I promise
you. I just need to see her for a minute to be sure—to be sure she's safe."

"You
look as if you could use a bit of sleep yourself," Mother Bickerdyke
called after him as Hayes stumbled away.

The
area behind the hospital tent was piled head-high with supplies and medicines,
and it was a few minutes before Hayes could penetrate the maze of boxes to find
Leigh, sound asleep in their very midst. Curled up on two crates of blankets
pressed into service for her bed, with a battered, lumpy carpetbag serving as a
pillow and her green wool cloak tucked around her for warmth, she looked cozy
and comfortable. Her hair was bound in a long heavy braid that curved across
her shoulder like a wide, red road flowing over verdant hills, and her hand lay
beneath her cheek in a pose that was both childlike and seductive.

For
a long time Hayes stood staring, overwhelmed by relief that she was safe,
smothered by feelings of love and exasperation. He was furious at the worry
she'd caused him, euphoric at finding her safe. He wanted desperately to hug
her tight and feel the contours of her body mold to his, but he knew he would
not disturb her. From the shadows that lay beneath the rusty fan of lashes and
the translucent pallor of her skin, he could see how tired she was.

Slowly
he slid to the ground at the foot of her bed, and of their own volition his fingers
closed around the hem of her cloak, tightening over the warm, soft wool as if
it were the essence of the woman herself. He was exhausted, worn beyond
weariness by the efforts of the last days, the things he had experienced and
seen. There was a need for comfort in him that had begun the terrible afternoon
he had taken human life and had grown the morning he learned Leigh was here at
Shiloh instead of safe at home. It had swelled to almost unimaginable
proportions during his night with Justin, watching someone he loved die. Now it
beat within his veins, insistent and compelling.

Even
in sleep Leigh seemed to sense his need, and though he had been careful not to
disturb her, Leigh's eyes fluttered open. "Hayes?" she murmured, a
frown of confusion between her graceful brows. "Hayes, what are you doing
here?"

He
was breathing hard with the force of emotions, trembling, but not with cold.
Before he could answer, she recognized his pain and instinctively sought to
assuage it. Without another word she sat up and drew Hayes to her, offering him
the closeness he craved.

His
head came to rest heavily against her shoulder, his face turned into the warm,
smooth haven of her throat. Leigh was at last beside him, and that alone
brought relief.

He
felt her hands move over him soothingly, stroking his back, his arms and hair.
Her sweet, orange and spice scent wove through his senses, pleasant and
familiar, bringing a comfort of its own. Her arms cradled him close, tenderly
enfolding him, and she rocked him gently while she crooned a litany of
senseless endearments against his ear.

His
arms came around her too, crushing her close, and with greedy desperation he
drank in all she had to give. To him her serenity was an anodyne for war: a
cure for disillusionment, a remedy for loss, a tonic for weariness, a balm for
his tired spirit. Beside Leigh Pennington, soothed and petted in her arms,
Hayes found contentment: contentment based in the love he felt for this woman,
contentment based in her compassion and gentle strength.

Gradually
the strain of worry and grief overwhelmed Hayes, and Leigh eased him down on
the boxes where she had made her bed. And though he tried to protest, she made
him lie still, holding his hand and stroking his brow until he slept. For a very
long time Leigh sat silently watching over him.

***

April 14, 1862—Savannah, Tennessee

"You
look lovely, Delia, simply lovely," Leigh assured the girl who primped
before a scrap of looking glass in the small canvas tent behind the hospital.
"I've never seen a more beautiful bride."

"Oh,
Leigh, do you really think so?" Delia patted her hair nervously. "I
had always hoped that when I married it would be in a proper church with
colored-glass windows and an organ playing. And there I'd be, dressed in a gown
of silk and lace."

Leigh
nodded with understanding. That was the kind of wedding every girl dreamed of,
but Delia was giving up those dreams to marry Nathan Travis in a glade in the
woods. Delia's gown was only the dark, drab nurse's garb she wore every day,
but the wild flowers twined in her silvery hair and the expression in her eyes
transformed her into something very special. "With or without all that,
Delia, you are beautiful. You simply have to look at Nathan, and you
glow."

It
was true. Since Nathan Travis had arrived in the camp two days before, Delia
had been glowing, and so for that matter had Travis. The love he felt for Delia
softened the severity of his imposing features and brought a light to his eyes.
Love made his angular face almost handsome and mellowed his taciturn manner. It
was an amazing transformation, one Leigh would not have believed if she had not
seen it with her own eyes.

When
Delia stepped away from the mirror, Leigh took a moment to see to her own
attire, straightening the white lace collar at her throat and smoothing the
skirt of her own dark gown. Delia had insisted that she pin flowers in her hair
to match the bouquet she would carry as maid of honor, and the delicate pale
pink blossoms tucked behind her ear were the perfect foil for the heavy
mahogany-red braid wound around her head.

From
somewhere in the distance came the wheeze of an ancient violin, the signal that
the bridal procession was beginning. Leigh took a long moment to hug Delia and
whisper wishes for her happiness before they went to join the wedding party
forming up outside the tent.

Nathan
Travis was waiting when Delia flung back the flap, and the expression on his
face was that of a man enchanted by his bride. For a moment Leigh studied him,
wondering what it was that had brought this quiet, serious man and her
ebullient friend together. Surely there was no similarity of personality or
outlook to bind them, nor had they had much time to become acquainted. Yet they
were daring to marry in a time of grave uncertainty. There was danger from the
war on every side: from bullets flying in the midst of a fight to the fevers
that ran through the military camps, claiming soldier and nurse alike. What
Delia and Nathan Travis shared might be snuffed out in an instant; yet with an
optimism that touched Leigh's heart, they were embarking on a lifelong journey
together. Leigh's gaze lingered on the tall, wiry groom, noticing how the white
sling on his wounded arm contrasted sharply with his somber broadcloth suit.
Did Nathan's mysterious injury have anything to do with Delia's sudden decision
to marry him? Had Delia decided to savor what happiness she could in spite of
what tomorrow might bring? Were the feelings Delia and Nathan shared enough to
guarantee their happiness? Would Leigh herself have had the courage to marry
Lucas before he went away to war if he had asked her?

Delia
and Nathan's was clearly a marriage based in love, and in spite of her own
skepticism about the state of matrimony, Leigh wished only the best for her
friend and the man she had chosen for a husband.

With
a smile that seemed to shine from the depths of her soul, Delia stepped forward
to place her hand on Nathan's arm, and behind him Hayes Banister advanced to
offer his arm to Leigh. Hayes's unexplained appearance at the hospital nearly a
week before still troubled Leigh. What business did Hayes have here in the
aftermath of battle? And if he had come to Shiloh with the hospital ships, why
was he staying on preparing the wounded for transport when the more likely
place for him to be was with the ships ferrying the casualties north? Leigh
could not bring herself to ask him those questions, and Hayes had not
volunteered any answers. She only knew that his presence was a threat to her
peace of mind.

Now
he stood before her waiting, one elbow cocked in her direction, a challenging
light in his eyes. As she drew nearer, awareness of Hayes rushed over her like
a breaking wave: his warmth intruding on her senses, the essence of his body
invading the air she breathed, the force of his personality overwhelming her.
He delighted, unsettled, and terrified her. Fighting the urge to flee, she
stepped up beside him and primly placed her hand in the crook of his arm.

They
made their way down a slight rise and through a canopy of old trees to a wooded
glade where a parson waited. Gathered there beneath the old bowed elms, amid
the clusters of wild flowers that bloomed beneath them, were other nurses and
as many of the patients as could safely make the journey down the path to the
clearing in the woods.

As
one of the wounded soldiers scraped out the last notes of a hymn on his violin,
they took their places, waiting for the minister to intone the old familiar
words of celebration and welcome: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered
here..."

From
beneath her lowered lashes, Leigh watched Nathan and Delia. Never, she admitted
reluctantly, had she loved Lucas as these two loved each other: fiercely,
unstintingly, without any regard for the future. She had agreed to marry Lucas
because she had been secure in the life they had planned, content in the role
she would play as his wife. Yet Nathan and Delia had something more, something
Leigh viewed with a strange kind of envy.

Leigh
gradually became aware of Mother Bickerdyke's penetrating stare upon her and glanced
around to smile at her. But as she met the older woman's eyes, they shifted to
where Hayes Banister was standing. In spite of Leigh's best resolves to ignore
his presence, her own gaze rose to follow Mother Bickerdyke's to the tall,
brown-haired man who stood straight and proud just beyond the bridegroom. It
was impossible to gauge Hayes's expression, but the line between his brows and
the narrowing of his mouth gave the hint that he was troubled. Then, abruptly,
he raised his eyes to lock with Leigh's, his blue-gray gaze holding her
captive, delving deeply into the well of her secret feelings. Leigh tried to
look away, but she was mesmerized, caught in the multifaceted pools of clear
aquamarine.

The
phrases of the wedding ceremony eddied around her: ancient, sacred vows of love
and commitment. The words took on a new meaning as she stared across the
clearing at Hayes Banister, until they lay like a bond of truth between them.
They became tender, gentle words with a power of their own for comfort and forgiveness;
special, healing words with the strength to banish anger and guilt. Tears crept
down Leigh's face as she listened, watching Hayes intently, and she sensed that
he was as touched and shaken by the vows as she. Then the benediction rang out
through the clearing, and Leigh was able to look away at last.

The
wedding celebration filled the rest of the day, and the wounded as well as the
nurses and doctors welcomed the opportunity to celebrate the happy occasion
after so much sadness and death. Somewhere someone had commandeered a pig, and
it had been left roasting on a spit all the night before. Dried fruit from the
sanitary stores had been stewed for the occasion, and there were pickles, fresh
bread, and even a bit of wedding cake Mother Bickerdyke had made. Some of the
men had found a crate of whiskey that had been earmarked for medicinal
purposes, and it was certain that by nightfall none of those dosing themselves
freely would be feeling any pain. One of the less seriously wounded men played
the harmonica, and he blended his talents with the fiddler who had played
earlier in the day. There was music for dancing, and even Mother Bickerdyke
took a turn with the groom and then each of the Army doctors, putting aside her
animosity toward the surgeons until another day.

Leigh
danced as often as any of the nurses, but Hayes did not come near her until
Nathan and Delia had gone to bed. They were to spend their wedding night in the
Cherry Mansion, where General Grant had made his headquarters until the day before.

"Leigh,"
Hayes asked softly, coming to her from the shadows, "will you dance this
dance with me?"

"If
you like," she replied, strangely uneasy at the thought of being held
close in his arms.

The
song the musicians played was a sad, lilting melody that added a strange
poignancy to their dance. For a time they moved in silence, their hands clasped
gingerly, their feet stepping carefully in time, but gradually they were caught
up in the music and began to move as one. Leigh closed her eyes and let the man
beside her guide her, remembering the other times when she and Hayes had
danced. How sure and strong his hands were upon her body, how gently and yet
masterfully he led her through a turn. They might have been in the most
fashionable ballroom, clothed in the most sumptuous fashions, instead of here
in this wilderness clearing, caught up in the savagery of war. For a few
minutes she let herself forget all that had happened between them, all that had
set them apart. They were nothing more than a man and a woman: he tender and
compassionate and she so much in need of his strength. She did not even resist
when he led her from the circle of other dancers, down the path to the clearing
in the woods. It seemed so right to be here with Hayes, so good to be alone with
him at last.