Kary, Elizabeth (54 page)

With
an assurance she did not feel, she stepped closer and began to cut away the
layers of bloodstained clothing.

As
Hayes's body was laid bare, Leigh could see the film of gray-black powder that
had penetrated his coat and shirt and the wad of unprocessed cotton that Nathan
had pressed into the wound to stop the bleeding. The jagged hole was on the
left side of his chest, several inches above the arch of his ribs.

"The
ball missed his liver and kidney, so we just might pull him through," she
said almost to herself.

"We
won't know what his chances are until we get it out, will we?" Nathan
asked.

Leigh
glanced up and shook her head. "No, but removing it is going to be
dangerous. Once we open that wound, it's going to hemorrhage, and I don't know
how much more blood Hayes can stand to lose."

Nathan
acknowledged her words. "But isn't it worse to let him lie there and do
nothing?"

It
was an argument Leigh could neither refute nor deny.

She
drew a long breath. "I'll need as many bandages as you can muster,"
she began softly, speaking to no one in particular, yet knowing her orders
would be scrupulously obeyed. "I want all but Nathan and Frank to clear
the room. And tell the pilot that he will have to hold the boat as steady as
possible once I begin fishing for that ball."

While
the crew jumped to do her bidding, Leigh took her grandfather's surgical
instruments from the medical kit. Instinctively following the procedures he had
used, Leigh placed the utensils in a kettle that was kept boiling on the wood
stove in the corner of the salon. Then she scrubbed her hands and doused them
with whiskey.

"He
was shot at close range," she observed softly, as she returned to sponge
the blood and powder from around the wound.

"With
a dueling pistol," Nathan confirmed.

Leigh
glanced up at the admission but asked no questions. "We'll have to watch
for wadding in the wound then, too."

When
the instruments and bandages were ready, Leigh administered just enough
chloroform to insure that Hayes would not stir as she worked over him, then
began to probe for the ball lodged somewhere in his chest.

As
she worked, Leigh tried not to think about the man before her: tried to blot
out the memories of the passion they had shared only hours before, tried not to
hear the echo of the tender words they had whispered in the dark. She loved
this man fiercely and completely. She loved his vitality, his humor, his
tenderness and understanding. She wanted to spend the rest of her life at his
side. No matter how serious his injury, she could not let Hayes die.

Then
Leigh succeeded in forcing the thoughts away, concentrating on the task before
her. With more skill than she knew she possessed, she used the techniques she
had seen in operating rooms in St. Louis and in the hospital tents after
Shiloh. She forced her untrained fingers to perform procedures she had only
observed, to manipulate instruments she had only seen in others' hands. Once,
as the
Barbara Dean
rode the wash of some larger vessel, Leigh froze,
her face parchment-pale.

"I
can't do this, Nathan," she whispered desperately. "I can't take out
the ball."

"You
must do it, Leigh," he told her. Across the table Travis glared at her,
his black eyes smoldering like live coals and his expression fierce.
"There is no one else who can."

But
at last the ordeal was over, and Leigh dressed the wound, sprinkling it first
with powdered morphine for the pain and then with a bit of alum to control the
bleeding. She bound Hayes tightly to immobilize his broken ribs, then
supervised the men as they carried him to his own cabin on the deck above.

With
the ball removed there was little to do but wait, and as the riverboat plodded
north, Hayes lay lost in unconsciousness. On the second day a fever came upon
him, and Leigh was beside herself with worry. Was this a natural result of the
wound beginning to heal, or was it a harbinger of some putrefaction that would
take her husband's life?

As
the blaze raging within him grew in intensity, it seemed to invade the peaceful
world where Hayes had retreated until he tossed and mumbled senseless,
half-formed phrases. Diligently Leigh bathed his burning body, cleaned his
wound, changed his dressings, and forced trickles of water down his throat to
offset the wasting effect of the fever.

Far
away in his private hell, Hayes seemed to know Leigh was beside him. Her name
was constantly on his lips: as a request, a question, a plea. The sound of her
voice and the touch of her hand seemed to be all that brought him peace, and
because no one else seemed able to soothe him, Leigh never left his side.

The
evening before they were to make St. Louis Hayes's fever began to spiral. He
stirred restlessly beneath the restraining covers, twisting and babbling a
senseless litany. Even Leigh's presence could not calm him, and the cool cloths
were no longer adequate to battle the inferno that was threatening to take his
life. At a fuel stop one of the crewmen managed to secure some ice, and Nathan watched
skeptically as Leigh packed it against her husband's burning body.

For
a time nothing seemed to help, and then well after midnight Hayes's breathing
seemed to ease, and his skin was damp and cooler. The fever had broken at last.

Tears
seeped from between Leigh's downcast lashes as she knelt beside the bed
clutching her husband's hand between both of hers. Then, slowly she became
aware that Hayes's pale, heavy-lidded eyes had fluttered open, and he was
watching her.

"Don't
cry, Leigh," he whispered gently. "Please don't cry. I didn't mean to
hurt you."

She
smoothed the damp hair back from his temples, hardly able to speak for the
emotion clogging her throat. "It's all right, Hayes," she croaked.
"Really it is. Everything's all right as long as you're going to get
well."

"I
had to go into Vicksburg," he continued fitfully, though she could see how
quickly his strength was waning. "I thought the boy was my son even though
Monica would never admit it, and I had to be sure..." In spite of his best
resolves to complete the explanation, Hayes's words faded into silence as sleep
overwhelmed him.

Leigh
rose from beside the bed, tenderly tucked the quilts around his shoulders, and
stood watching her husband for a very long time. Foremost in her mind was
gratitude that, as close as he had come to death, Hayes's life had somehow been
spared. He was still pale and gaunt from the loss of blood and the fever, and
it would be weeks before he was himself again. But Hayes was going to live, and
for that she was profoundly thankful.

But
even as she stood watching over him, Leigh was haunted by the words he had
spoken before he slept. She had assumed that his wound had occurred on some
mysterious assignment for Pincheon and the Union, but now other possibilities
began to intrude. Did Hayes indeed have a son in Vicksburg? And who was this
woman Monica? What was she to Hayes? Before, concern over his condition had
overruled all other considerations, but now that Leigh knew her husband would
live, she began to wonder about the rest. With his half-conscious apology
swirling in her brain and a growing knot of apprehension in her middle, she
went to find out how Hayes had been shot.

When
she opened the door to the cabin on the deck below, Nathan Travis was sprawled
fully dressed on the bed. But at the sound of her entrance, he came instantly
awake, grim and blurry-eyed.

"He's
dead?" he demanded, fully prepared to offer Leigh comfort.

"Oh,
no, Nathan! He's better, much better. Hayes is going to live."

Travis
sagged back against the pillows in relief. "Thank God," he murmured.
"Thank God for that!"

"Yes,
thank God!"

"I'm
glad you came and woke me," Travis said as he rubbed his eyes. "I
didn't mean to fall asleep when you might have needed me."

"It's
all right, Nathan," she assured him, dropping into a chair by the side of
the bunk. "You've certainly earned a few hours' rest. You've sat with
Hayes nearly as much as I have these last few days."

Nathan
gave her a derisive frown. "I'm glad you came to tell me he was
better."

"Well,
to be truthful the change in Hayes's condition is not the only reason I'm
here," Leigh confessed. "I wanted to know how Hayes was
wounded."

"Why?"
The word had an uncooperative sound.

"Hayes
was awake for a few moments, and while he was, he said something about going to
Vicksburg because of his son."

Nathan
sat up a little straighter, bracing his shoulders against the wall at the head
of the bed. "You're sure he wasn't still delirious?"

Leigh
met his eyes levelly. "I think you know as well as I do that he wasn't.
The other day I didn't press you to tell me what happened because while Hayes's
life was in danger it didn't matter. But now that I'm sure he will recover, I
want to know the truth."

For
a long moment Nathan sat watching her, seeing the determined set to her mouth
and the vulnerability in her eyes. How would Leigh react when she found out why
Hayes had gone to Vicksburg? Was she prepared to hear about a part of her
husband's life he had never seen fit to share? Could he make Leigh see that no
matter what had happened in the past, neither Monica nor Charles meant more to
his friend than a debt of honor? And how would Leigh respond when she learned
who had shot her husband?

"We
went into the city to try to rescue some people Hayes used to know,"
Nathan began with obvious reluctance, swinging his long legs over the side of
the bed and rising to pace the length of the narrow cabin.

"A
woman named Monica?" Leigh suggested quietly, sensing that Nathan was
trying to protect her, yet seeking complete disclosure instead.

"Yes,
the woman's name was Monica," he confirmed, frowning. "She was
Hayes's mistress years ago when he was a pilot on the river."

"And
you were to rescue her son too, weren't you? Hayes's son?"

Leigh
already knew too much to allow for polite evasions. Travis faced her squarely.
"Hayes has never been sure if the boy is his, but he went into the city to
get him and his mother to safety anyway."

There
was a terrible, rigid twist to the line of Leigh's mouth that spoke more
eloquently than words of the pain and confusion his revelations were causing.

"Leigh,
I know how it looks, but don't you sell Hayes short," Nathan went on.
"Can't you understand what a man might be willing to do for the sake of
his flesh and blood? Don't you know what that kind of bond can mean?"

Leigh
sat staring at her hands, clenched together in her lap. "I am well aware
how precious a life can be, Nathan, and I know I'd gladly give my own for the
sake of those I love."

Her
hurt was a palpable thing he could sense radiating from every rigid line of her
body. And while he wished to offer her comfort, he knew there was no way to
change what she was feeling. "Hayes is an honorable man, Leigh, and it was
honor that took him to Vicksburg, not anything else."

There
was anguish in her eyes when she raised them to his face. "Not love,
Nathan? Are you sure he didn't do it for love?"

"He
loves you, Leigh. Hayes loves you very much." They were stark, bare words,
the unvarnished truth, but Leigh seemed unable to believe them and accept the
balm he had meant the words to be.

"Does
he love me, Nathan?" There was desperation in her voice: a desperate need
to believe warring with a stubborn reservation that would not let her accept
his assurance of Hayes's loyalty.

Nathan
didn't know what else to say to her.

Leigh's
face was pale and intent as she pressed onward. "And did he succeed?"
she asked softly. "Hayes nearly died trying to get his mistress and her
son out of Vicksburg. Did he get them well beyond Grant's reach before he was
wounded?"

Leigh
had demanded honesty, and Nathan couldn't find a reason to lie to her now.
"No, Leigh," he told her solemnly, "Hayes didn't succeed. Monica
shot him, shot him down like an enemy or an intruder in her house."

"Why?"
Leigh whispered when the shock of his disclosure began to ebb.

"You'll
have to ask Hayes that," Nathan answered grimly. "I had been waiting
outside, and by the time I heard the gunfire, it was already too late. Hayes
had been wounded, and all I cared about was getting him out of there before
some Reb came to investigate the noise." He grew grimmer still, and his
eyes blazed with latent anger. "That woman didn't say a thing to me the
whole time I was trying to see to Hayes. She just stood there with the smoking
pistol in one hand, holding the child against her with the other."

Leigh
came slowly to her feet, calm and self-contained though, Travis could guess at
the turmoil within her. "I don't want to hear more, Nathan," she said
weakly. "I've already made you tell me more than was wise."

"Hayes
only did what he had to do, Leigh," Travis reiterated, reaching out to her
as she moved past him toward the door.