Surrender the Wind (38 page)

He grinned. “Mr. Zachary Rourke. Zachary would be fine, and yes—I’d find it mighty agreeable. In fact, I have never seen a serving girl as pretty as you. To tell you the truth, I don’t want to just meet you. I’d like to know more of you,” he said, but the implications were obvious to Catherine. He unbuckled the girth and yanked the saddle off his horse.

“I do not think that will occur,” she told him. “However, there is charm in what you say.” Pulling back a length of her long hair, she dropped the currycomb into his stall.

Limping, Zachary bent to retrieve it, then handed her the comb. “I stand guilty as charged but beg the honor of learning everything I can about you.”

“What of your wound, Zachary?”

“Just a scratch with an Indian I encountered in the Plains. The Indian was fierce to have my scalp and I was fierce to keep it.”

Catherine laughed.

“But the pain is nothing compared to the wound of Cupid’s arrow at the moment my eyes fell upon your incomparable beauty.”

“Perhaps you should be more circumspect,” Catherine offered.

“If my manners are boorish, I apologize for them. It has been long since I’ve been home and tasted the refinement of proper etiquette.”

“How long will you be staying home from your travels?”

“As long as it takes.”

Catherine pretended not to understand. “As long as what takes?”

“As long as it takes to have you accept my proposal of marriage for I have fallen in love.”

“I see,” Catherine frowned, pretending to give his proposal some thought. “But there might be a problem.”

“Does my mother work you overlong?” Then looking at her with the currycomb in her hand he became appalled. “We have hired men to do the stable work.”

“Oh that. I enjoy being busy.”

He opened the stall door and took her hand, leading her around the gate. When he caught sight of her huge and extended abdomen his eyes grew big.

“I would say you have been quite busy.”

Catherine smothered a smile. “I’m your new sister-in-law. I married your brother, John.” She extended her hand and introduced herself. “Catherine Rourke, a pleasure and honor to meet you at last.”

He jerked his head back. “John married? That’s a revelation. When? Never mine. Is he here or is he still in that stupid war?”

Catherine swallowed a sudden lump of sadness in her throat. “He’s still in the stupid war.”

“Fool should be here for the birth of his child.”

Oh, John, how I miss being kissed and touched and held in your arms.
“You can’t blame him for I’ve chosen to keep it a secret.”

“A secret! Good lord woman, you’re ready to hatch. What are you doing out here with the horses? You could get kicked or fall on ice. I insist you go inside and go to bed.”

“I’m not ill, Zachary, I’m expecting a child.” Zachary was as bossy as his older brother. At the thought of John, her mind set to worrying again.

“I’ll wait for you to feed your horse, and then you can escort me inside, so I won’t slip on the ice,” she said to placate him. She didn’t tell him she had already walked two miles.

When he finished feeding his horse, they strolled arm in arm toward the house. A sudden violent wind roared down from the tops of the Shenandoah and Catherine paused, grateful for Zachary’s steady strength. The snow bit hard at her nose and cheeks and the tempest did not seem to cease. Winter was letting them know it still had its edge. Catherine watched, fascinated, the wind twisting and coiling the snow, obscuring the distant mountains and landscape. Suddenly the wind parted the snow in two separate veils and where it parted, Catherine noticed a horse drawn cart approach.

“Who in the world could be visiting?” Zachary asked.

Her heart sank. She dropped Zachary’s arm and started running. The snow-covered canvas on the back of the cart spoke louder than words. That was how they brought dead men home to their families. John would be riding his horse, no matter what condition he was in. Wouldn’t he? She stumbled on her skirts.
Oh God, please don’t let it be John.

She stopped, stared at the shroud with an unfocused gaze. Her hand went to her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. Cold. No movement.
It’s not true! It’s not true!
He promised her, he’d come back. He promised to keep her warm at night, to love her over and over again. He promised to grow old with her.

Her world slowed. They argued about everything, but that was what made them stronger. John had planted a fire in her heart and awakened her soul. To have him ripped from her? How could she go on?

The baby moved sharply but she ignored the pain. Why had she never told him about the baby? John would never know he would have the child he so dearly wanted. He deserved a child. He deserved to take joy in the flesh of his flesh—and death was his reward?

She swallowed. “Is he—” She couldn’t say the words.

“No Ma’am. But he’s hurt real bad and need to get him where it’s warm real quick,” shouted, Lieutenant Johnson above the wind’s fury.

She snapped to attention, recognizing Rourke’s lieutenant for the first time. Zachary and Lieutenant Johnson lifted John upstairs. Mother Rourke had a bed prepared and ordered a blazing fire in the fireplace. More quilts were added. John’s parents and Old Cyrus stood beside the bed.

Catherine’s stomach knotted. The ashen color of John’s skin was that of a dying man, like many she’d seen working in the hospital. A cold, stark fear ratcheted through her.

“John,” she called to him, closing her hand around his.

His steel-blue eyes fluttered open for the barest of seconds. “Catherine?” He breathed, and then, his eyes closed, and his head fell to the side.

“No…John…” she screamed. “No…no…” she placed her hands on his cheeks. “Stay awake…please don’t die…please, please, please…”

“Got him here as fast as possible. He was shot real bad in the leg when Grant made a move to break the siege barriers. One doctor wanted to take his leg, but I put my gun on him and ordered for Dr. Parks to be brought forward. If not for Dr. Parks, his leg would have been amputated.”

Catherine and Mother Rourke breathed a sigh of relief.

“After General Rourke was stabilized, we received special permission from General Lee to bring him home, but I’m sworn to return as soon as possible,” said the lieutenant.

Catherine removed the bandage. His skin was hot to the touch. “I’ll need boiled water and a salve to draw out the poison. And fresh bandages.” A piercing pain compressed her lower stomach and she closed her eyes until it passed.
Not now, little one. You must wait until I have your papa attended to.

“I’ll get a salve I brewed to draw out the infection and make some willow bark tea to bring down the fever.” Old Cyrus hobbled from the room.

Mother Rourke nodded to one of the maids, hovering in the hall. “Boil water and get the bandages out of the linen closet.”

Catherine swallowed her fears and panic. She had to keep a clear head and take care of her husband. John was burning up with fever…so pale and worn.
Would he make it?
Of course he would. He had to see his child born. With Mother Rourke’s help she rolled the quilts off John. For several hours, Catherine used her nursing skills. She cleansed his wound and put on the salve. Zachary helped lift John, so she could force him to drink the willow bark tea. He burned with fever. John thrashed. He sweated. He screamed. What horrible horrors he relived.

Mother Rourke took the men downstairs and had a hot dinner served to them. Then she ordered a room prepared for the lieutenant to rest before he returned, but he refused until he knew the general was better.

Again and again, Catherine bathed her husband with water, to cool him down. She pulled off the bandage, mopped the infection and put on more salve. She wound on new bandages and placed a thin sheet to cover him. Time would tell.

Hours passed. John quit thrashing, quieted. She checked the bandage and his wound lost the unhealthy dark color, finally turning pinkish. She placed the palm of her hand on his forehead. He had lost his fever. He’d make it.

The pains in Catherine’s back increased, she supposed from being on her feet so long. The pains suddenly wrapped around her front, knifing into her abdomen. She sank to her knees and clutched her abdomen.

Mother Rourke returned from downstairs and knelt beside Catherine. “I think I’m about to be a grandmother.” She helped Catherine rise. “You are going straight to bed.” She clapped her hands. “Cyrus, go get the midwife. Maybelle, boil more water and bring fresh linens. Sara, pull down the blankets in the room next to John’s. Hurry.” She performed her tasks with the logistical calculations of a general. Catherine could see where her husband earned his stripes.

John’s father, Robert ran up the stairs. Catherine screamed. Robert put her arm around his shoulder and helped her to the bed.

She reeled with another pain and she collapsed on the pillows. Mother Rourke shooed him from the room, then helped Catherine undress and put on a soft cotton gown. The pains were faster now. She couldn’t catch her breath. She clutched Mother Rourke’s hand.

“I don’t think the midwife will be here in time. Don’t worry. I’ve given birth four times and assisted in numerous deliveries. I’ll help you,” Mother Rourke soothed, but Catherine screamed from the top of her lungs.

* * *

From the fog of fever, John woke. His body felt like he’d been hammered with a railroad tie. He stretched. His leg burned. He opened his eyes. Zachary, his father, old Cyrus and Ian were there. Nothing made sense. He was conscious enough to know it wasn’t him who was doing the screaming. “Where am I?”

Another ear-splitting scream pierced the air. John snapped his head around. “What in the hell is that?”

“That is your wife,” his father smiled, running his hands through his hair. “Welcome to the land of the living.”

John did not smile. What was the matter with them? His wife needed help. He tried to get up, but Lieutenant Johnson and Zachary flew to the bedside to keep him down. “What’s wrong?” he demanded when he heard Catherine scream again.

“Your wife is having a baby.” Zachary smiled.

“A baby?”

“It’s a usual course of nature when two people get married.” His father assured him. “She didn’t want you to worry. She felt you had enough pressing things on your mind with the war. Mother sent a maid in a few seconds ago and told us all is going well.”

Another bloodcurdling scream came from the other room and his father went to check.

“Well it doesn’t sound like things are going well to me. Take me in to see my wife. Now.” John demanded.

“I’ll knock you out if you don’t keep still,” Zachary said.

Then John heard the healthy cry of his child being born, the sweetest music under the sun.

“Thank you God,” John said. “How’s Catherine?” he demanded when his father came into the room and he tried to get up again.

“Mother and child are doing fine. Congratulations son. It’s the beginning of another Rourke generation that the eyes of this old house will see raised and nurtured. How’s your injury?”

“I don’t care about my injury. I’m getting up to see my wife and child, and I don’t give a damn what anyone says even if I have to fight you all.”

“Your mother delivered the baby and she has given strict orders for you to wait until she tidies your wife and child.”

Zachary and Ian lifted John on a stretcher, making sure there was no movement to his leg. They settled him on the bed next to Catherine and everyone left to give the new family privacy. As the baby suckled at her breast, John picked up the tiny infant’s hand, letting the baby’s fingers curl over his callused finger. He ran his other hand over the infant’s downy head of black hair and marveled at the miracle that brought this new life into the world. Catherine was tired but glowing with a special love that touched his soul.

A great wind hurled itself around the house, lifting shingles and slamming shutters, and then slowly, softly settled quietly as the two gazed at one another.

“We have a son, John, a beautiful baby boy. Thank you for this blessed gift.” She bent over and kissed him. “I have demands on your convalescence. You will be still so that leg can mend. And you are staying home.”

“There’s not much left of the war, and my leg will keep me out of action.”

With tears in her eyes, Catherine whispered, “That makes two blessed gifts.”

* * *

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About the Author

Award-winning, bestselling author, Elizabeth St. Michel was born and raised in western New York where deep blue lakes and the high Allegheny Mountains were her playground. During long winters and wonderful summers her love of books was cultivated.

As a child she was blessed with a vivid imagination. Her young friends begged for the stories she spun, spellbound for hours—so she earned the title of “storyteller.” From the fleeting glimpse of childhood came adulthood with a variety of careers. The business world dawned and then marriage and motherhood, all building blocks for a storyteller to emerge as a novelist.

For her…well, it was coming home.

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Other books:

The Winds of Fate

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