The River Nymph (25 page)

Clint blinked again, certain he was losing his mind. But no, there she lay up to the tips of her lush breasts in a tub of
bubbles, her hair pinned on her head, which lay against the back of the big copper bathtub. Deelie was sound asleep. He had
watched her on deck with the wounded men, working herself to exhaustion every day. Small wonder she slept so soundly. His
mouth went dry as he studied her beautiful face in the faint golden glow from the lantern.

Every fiber of his being urged him to kneel by the side of that tub and beg her to forgive him, to let him make love to her
…to take him back into her heart once more. His jaw clenched when he gritted his teeth in denial. He could not be that
selfish. She deserved better. After allowing himself one lingering, painful last look, he slipped silently from the room.
Clint knew the image he carried of her so innocently sleeping would remain with him for the rest of his life. If it was all
he had left of his time with Delilah Raymond, he would treasure this memory.

“No! Please, no! Don’t do it. I’d rather die…please…” The voice of the sobbing man on the table faded, as did his
desperate thrashing. The poison of his wound robbed him of strength for the moment.

Delilah trembled, almost biting through her lip as she examined the red streaks starting to snake up the young corporal’s
lower leg toward his knee. She had seen firsthand what happened after the streaks reached the large arteries at the top of
a man’s thigh. Blood poisoning…and certain death. She turned to Luellen, who stood across from her. The two women walked
out of earshot, leaving the moaning man with two soldiers standing beside the table they’d placed him on after Delilah had
checked the dressing on his shattered leg that morning and discovered his critical condition.

“Yew know whut’s gotta be done,” was all the older woman said.

“Yes.” Delilah’s voice was a harsh whisper. “I’ve assisted doctors in military hospitals when they performed amputations a
few times, but I’ve never done one! And we have so little ether—what if he awakens during the cutting?” She shuddered, recalling
one time when soldiers had been ordered to hold down their comrade while the surgeon sawed without anesthetic because they
had run out. “I…I don’t know how fast I can get through this—or even if I’ll know how to stop the bleeding once I do.”

“But he’ll die fer sure if’n yew don’t take the lag.” It was not a question. Luellen had seen enough blood poisoning to know
what the red streaks meant.

“If only one of the forts we’ve passed had a surgeon,” Delilah said. But the campaign mounted in retaliation for Custer’s
death had sent every doctor along their route out into the field with the army. “And Yankton’s another day away.” She’d been
monitoring the soldier’s injury since he was brought aboard.

Corporal Pierce wouldn’t last another day.

Delilah headed toward the wheelhouse. When she explained the situation to Captain Dubois, he sounded the shrill whistle signaling
that they were pulling to shore for an emergency. As the rumbling steam engines quieted in the lapping water, she returned
to the main deck for the ordeal ahead.

Swallowing for courage, she explained to Luellen aboutsterilizing the instruments she would need. But when she told Sergeant
Finn what had to be done, he and the two men behind him turned distinctly green and looked away.

“I niver watched ’em cut on one of me boys, ma’am. But I’ve heard their screamin’, that I have.” He paused, as if gathering
courage. “I’ll help…if ye can’t find another to volunteer. I could order one of me men—”

“No, I can’t have someone pass out in the middle of the operation. Actually, it would be best to have two strong men to hold
him steady while Mrs. Colter administers the ether and I…” she swallowed, “I do the surgery.” Delilah was grateful the
wound was below the knee. She was not sure she possessed enough physical strength to use a bone saw on a femur. At least this
would be the smaller tibia and fibula bones in the lower leg. But the procedures to stop the bleeding during and after blurred
in her mind.

Please don’t let me kill him!
“I need another man to assist us.” She looked past the sergeant to the privates, both of whom backed up as if she were thrusting
a live rattler at them. “Please,” she entreated as Pierce moaned. She swept the crowd, soldiers, passengers and crew, searching
desperately for a volunteer. Heads shook and men looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“Aw, hell, I’ll do it.” Clint emerged from the side of the boiler, where he’d been silently watching the scene play out.

“He’s a damned Reb. Why’d he help one of us live?” a private said from the back of the crowd.

“If I don’t, ’pears to me he’ll die for sure,” Daniels drawled, then looked at the grizzled sergeant. “Well, Finn, looks as
if we’ll be on the same side this time ’round.”

The two men took each other’s measure. Sergeant Finn nodded. “If ye’ll be standin’ it, so will I.”

They looked at Delilah, who nodded. “I’m grateful to both of you.” She turned to Luellen. “Have Beth and Sadie bring the kettles
of boiling water with the instruments. Then I’ll show you how to use the ether.”

“How much of that do you have?” Clint asked her in a quiet voice when the cook walked away.

“Not as much as I’d like. That’s why I need strong men to hold him steady…just in case…”

His hands gripped her arms and he gave her a tiny smile of encouragement. “You can do this, Deelie. I know you can. We’ll
back you. Just dose him up good with laudanum before we start. It might make the ether last longer.”

“I’ve already given him quite a bit….” She hesitated, knowing they would need it for him later—and for other patients
who were also in terrible pain.

“We’ll be in Yankton tomorrow. There’s a doc there named Morrow. I know he’ll have laudanum for sale.”

She looked up into his eyes, gathering strength from his touch. “All right. Then let us begin.”

Clint watched her walk resolutely over to the corporal and speak soothingly to him, giving him another dose of the narcotic.
After Luellen’s kitchen helpers brought the pots of boiled water filled with instruments, both girls fled, as had most of
the others in the crowd. Delilah laid out a clean white cloth and extracted the tools she would use, lining them up as she
watched Corporal Pierce’s eyelids close.

Daniels was certain when she paused and closed her eyes that she was trying desperately to envision the surgeries she’d seen
during the war. He’d seen a few himself. Not something anyone wanted to recall voluntarily. He studied Finn and found the
sergeant looking steadier than he had a few moments earlier. The tough Irishman would do all right. He had to admit to a grudging
admiration for the bluebelly’s grit—and decency. After Finn and his men had subdued him in that bar in Fort Benton, the sergeant
could’ve let the soldiers bust him up, but he hadn’t.

When everything was ready, Delilah examined Pierce, who was dozing from the effects of the laudanum. But when she began bathing
the area above his smashed leg with alcohol, he awakened and began sobbing incoherently. She nodded to Luellen, who stood
at Pierce’s head.

“Jest yew lay back now, n’ everthin’ll be right as rain,” she crooned, stroking his soft brown hair as she let a few drops
ofthe clear liquid fall through the folded thicknesses of gauze. Then she laid it gently over his nostrils and cupped his
jaw. When he tried to move, the sergeant leaned over his upper body while Clint secured his uninjured leg to the table, then
held the one to be cut for Delilah.

“You can do it, Deelie. Get it done, now,” he whispered with conviction.

He watched as she worked, amazed at her steady hands and deft fingers. Those same smooth, white hands that had flipped cards
with such skill now held a man’s life in their grip. Gory with blood, she worked as swiftly as she could, plying the crude
instruments the doctor at Fort Abraham Lincoln had given her. Old and well used, they had doubtless been replaced for the
campaign ahead. Of course, the army wouldn’t be wasting any healing arts on the
savages
they pursued.

Just as she was cauterizing the bleeding stump, Pierce suddenly jerked to consciousness and began to moan and thrash.

“I run out ’o ether,” Luellen said, cradling the boy’s head in her hands. Both Finn and Daniels increased their hold on him,
steadying his body.

“Dose him with more laudanum,” Delilah ordered the cook, then hurried on with her awful task.

When it was finally complete, she inspected her work, noting the amount of blood lost—more than she would have liked—but far
less than she’d seen men lose and still survive. “I’ll give him more laudanum in an hour,” she said, dropping her tools back
into the pot, whose water was now pink from blood. “Sergeant, please dispose of that,” she said. Without a word he wrapped
what was left of the ruined lower leg in some bloody cloth and carried it to the starboard side of the boat. He tossed it
into the rushing brown water, where it quickly vanished.

She stepped back and swayed on her feet, then forced herself to stand upright. “As soon as he’s still, tie him securely to
the table so he can’t move much. It could start the bleeding again,” she said to Luellen. Clint continued to hold the semiconscious
Pierce while she covered his lower body with a clean white sheet.

Clint released the corporal’s leg when he felt the muscles go slack as the drug did its work. Finn returned, watching Luellen
complete the task she’d been given. The sergeant looked across at Delilah. “Ma’am, did ye ever consider be-comin’ a doc? ’Tis
that fine ye’d be at it.”

She shook her head. “God, no. I’ve seen enough already to last a dozen lifetimes, but I do thank you for your help.”

“Corporal Pierce is me own soldier. Me own responsibility. ’Tis the Reb here we both should be thankin’.”

But when they turned to where Daniels had been standing, he was no longer there.

“Where in the divil?” Finn muttered.

Delilah thought of Clint swimming across the river and vanishing into the brush along the riverbanks, but Luellen said calmly,
“He jest hightailed it up the steps ta the hurricane deck. If yew hurry, yew kin catch up ta him.” She looked at Delilah.

Without a word, Delilah peeled off her bloody apron and dashed toward the stairs. None of the soldiers was paying attention.
Everyone had returned to look in on Pierce now that the worst was over.

Clint wouldn’t run away now…would he?

Chapter Twenty

Delilah
found him standing on the hurricane deck, staring out at the landscape of distant purple hills and rocky ground covered with
dense sage. She had never seen another human being look so alone. Hesitantly, she stepped to the railing and looked up at
his face. In profile it appeared chiseled from granite, so striking and bold, yet desolate. “Thank you for what you did down
there,” she said, aching to touch him but not quite daring.

“Someone had to help.” He shrugged, still not looking at her.

She smiled softly and touched his arm. “Even if it meant working with a ‘bluebelly’?”

He turned then, and bestowed one of his old grins on her. “Finn isn’t a bad sort…for a bluebelly. And that kid…
I saw too many like him in the war, on both sides. Left to die by their so-called leaders, who don’t give a damn what happens
to them.”

“Yes, so did I,” she replied quietly.

Clint could read a wealth of suffering in her eyes. “You know, Reb and Yank aside, we’re kinda alike in some ways.”

“We both hate war,” she said hopefully.

He nodded. “That’s the truth. A man oughta have the right to pick his day to die, not have some idiot general do it for him.”

“And you want to die?”

He resumed gazing out at the vast, rolling hills beyond the river. “Sometimes.” Then he looked back at her. “Other times,
I’m not so sure.”

She studied him for a moment, knowing her heart must appear in her eyes. “Dare I ask if I have anything to dowith that?”

He placed two fingers beneath her stubborn little chin and tipped it up, giving her a lopsided smile. “Cat Eyes, you’ve given
me nothing but trouble from the first time I met you…but—”

A shrill whistle from the wheelhouse drowned them out as the captain gave the order to pull out into the current and resume
their trip downriver. The spell was broken. Clint lowered his hand and stepped back. “I promised Zeke Ha-gadorn a chance to
win back some matchsticks before he goes on duty.”

She stood and watched him saunter down the stairs. Delilah would’ve given anything to hear what he was going to say after
that pregnant
but…

Perhaps because of that interrupted conversation, Clint avoided Delilah, keeping busy overseeing the crew on wood stops and
breaking up fights between bored roustabouts. She, too, was consumed by nursing duties. Corporal Pierce rested fretfully,
but no further signs of blood poisoning or other infection appeared on his leg. They lost another half day when a badly gutshot
man died and had to be turned over to the army at Fort Randall for burial.

As soon as they pulled into Yankton, Delilah rushed to the telegraph office and wired Fort Benton. Horace had left her an
incredible message. He’d sold their cargo for a good deal more than they’d anticipated and taken a packet for St. Louis. He
promised to greet his niece at the levee with a bank deposit note for over forty thousand dollars—and that did not include
the profit from the whiskey sale! She rushed back to the boat and found Clint with the first engineer, inspecting one of the
boilers after two crewmen had shoveled out the river muck.

Giddy with excitement, she threw herself into his arms as he turned toward the sound of her running footsteps and cry. “Clint!
We did it! We did it—forty-two-thousand-dollarsprofit on the cargo!” She did not mention the substantial sum the whiskey had
brought.

His eyes crinkled at the corners and he grinned broadly as he swung her around in a circle. “Your uncle missed his callin’.
Horace Mathers should’ve been a drummer. That’s more than I figured we’d make, Deelie.”

Laughing and yelling with joy, they kissed without consciously intending it. When she would have kissed him again, he gently
pulled back and released her. As she slid slowly down his body with her eyes gleaming bright green in the sunlight, everyone
on deck watched them, some with a mixture of chuckles and cheers, others with knowing smirks. They all could see the owners
had feelings for each other.

Clint cursed to himself as she backed away a step. Damnation, she wanted to be a respectable businesswoman in the city. The
passengers and crew would spread gossip as soon as their feet hit the St. Louis levee. Now she looked hurt, her bubbling joy
turned to resigned sadness. “You’re rich now, Mrs. Raymond,” he said softly. “An independent woman, free to make her own way
in life. Let society be damned.”

With that puzzling pronouncement, he walked away as crewmen and passengers slapped him on the back and offered congratulations
to both of them. Delilah smiled determinedly and accepted good wishes from everyone crowding around her.
I’m rich. I’m independent. I’m free.
She had everything she had ever wanted since the war took it all away. Then why was she so blessed miserable?

Damn Clinton Daniels to perdition. She would find a way to win him back once they were home…

When the St. Louis levee came into view, the men on deck began to cheer, but the rows of side-wheelers and stern-wheelers
lining the waterfront, backed by big brick warehouses stretching up the hill, were not their first destination. Everyone knew
the
Nymph
had to discharge its precious cargo of wounded cavalrymen at Jefferson Barracks, where some of the army’s finest doctors waited
to treat them in preparationfor a trip to Washington, D.C. The old army post was situated several miles south of the city
on a scenic bluff of gold sandstone surrounded by trees and rolling hills.

Sergeant Finn watched the shoreline as the fort came into view. “It’s a debt we’ll niver be able to repay ye…the kindness
of a woman’s touch for these wounded men, ma’am,” he said to Delilah and Luellen, giving each an awkward but gallant bow and
kissing their hands with proper formality.

“The army will pay us, but the most important thing is that these men make as full a recovery as possible,” Delilah said as
soldiers filed past her with litters to carry off their comrades.

“We only done whut any good Christian would’a done,” Luellen averred, her cheeks a bit pink when the grizzled Irishman took
her work-roughened hand and kissed the back of it.

Delilah had seen the two of them speaking together often during the voyage and smiled to herself. “Will you be stationed here
in St. Louis now, Sergeant?” she asked for her friend.

“That I won’t be knowin’ ’til the army gives me orders. But if there be a way on the Lord’s green earth to make it back to
St. Louis, I’ll visit ye. Th’ barracks has a rail line straight to the city, don’t ye know?”

Delilah noted with satisfaction that he directed his reply to the Widow Colter, whose address he must already have. As he
strutted down the gangplank and saluted the commander, she said to Luellen, “A fine figure of a man, is himself.”

Luellen snorted. “Yer Irish accent ain’t thet good, but I reckon I agree with ye though.” She smiled broadly now.

The commandant of the barracks sent his aide aboard with more paperwork for Delilah and Clint to sign. “The army is greatly
in your debt,” he said with a brisk salute.

“Just so the debt’s repaid in Yankee dollars, then we’ll be square,” Clint drawled.

Delilah could see the tension between the young lieutenant and Clint. “Please forgive my business partner, sir. Every time
he sees a blue uniform, I fear it brings out thevery worst in him.” She gave the sandy-haired young man a blinding smile.

Clint watched the shave-tail melt under her charm.
The
woman’s a witch. She could make a blind man see, just listenin’ to
her voice.
While Deelie and the bluebelly talked, he slipped quietly up the stairs.

When the men Delilah and Luellen had nursed for several weeks were carried down the gangplank, the two women bade each one
farewell and wished him good fortune in the future. Corporal Pierce, looking considerably better than he had immediately after
his ordeal, clutched Delilah’s hand with both of his own.

“You saved my life, ma’am. I’m sorry I was so ungrateful before, but I been thinking about what I’ll do once I’m out of the
army. My father’s got a cabinetmaker’s shop up in Hannibal. He always wanted me to come in with him. Now I reckon I will.”
He managed a weak smile. “He can even make me a wooden leg to get ’round on. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.
Thank you.”

Delilah fought back tears and the lump in her throat and said, “You will do just fine, I’m certain.” She was immensely relieved
that he had come out of his depressed state and had family to help him rebuild his life.

The wounded soldiers, green youths and battle-scarred veterans alike, were shyly grateful to their nurses and thanked them
profusely. A full military color guard had been turned out to honor the heroes of the Little Big Horn and a band played the
Seventh’s fight song, “Garry Owen.”

“Lots of pomp and glory. I hope the poor devils live long enough to forget what they’ve been through,”Clint said softly as
the last of them disappeared from view over a rolling hill.

Delilah had not heard his return over the babel of voices and music. “You still carry scars—and I don’t just mean the ones
I’ve seen on your body. The nightmares will end—if you’ll just let go, Clint.”

He snorted. “You can’t amputate my head, darlin’. There are some things even you can’t heal.”

“No,
I
can’t…but
you
can,” she replied stubbornly. “It’s why you’ve been avoiding me—because of your precious guilt. While I’ve been nursing wounded
soldiers, you’ve been nursing your wounded soul.”

“Maybe so…or maybe I just want better for you, Deelie.” He turned away and strode down the deck, leaving her alone to
ponder what he had said. And not said.

The ten-mile trip up the Mississippi back to St. Louis took another day. As soon as they pulled into a berth on the levee,
Delilah and Clint were the first to disembark, searching the melee for Horace.

“Surely he must’ve heard that we steamed by yesterday,” she said, looking for his tall, thin figure but not seeing it.

“I’ll head up to the Eagle Boat mercantile and see when his packet came in,” Clint said. “You wait here.”

She had a twinge of unease as he hailed a hack and climbed in. Where was Uncle Horace? Deciding she was just being a worrier,
Delilah returned to her cabin to pack. They would be able to afford a decent hotel now, and the thought of moving off the
constantly rocking steamer and sleeping in a real bed sounded like heaven to her. Perhaps her uncle had already secured them
rooms at one of the city’s best. With that comforting thought, she set to work.

But an hour later, Clint knocked on her door. “Bad news, Deelie,” he said grimly when she opened it.

“What’s happened?” she said, grasping his arm. “Has my uncle been injured or—”

“No. He just hasn’t arrived yet. A half-dozen packet boats from upriver have left off passengers over the past week, but he
wasn’t on any of them.” Seeing the stricken look on her face, he added,“Don’t fret. Those little boats sometimes break down
and fall behind schedule, just like big steamers. Maybe he’ll arrive tomorrow. Meanwhile, the captain’s invited us to his
home for dinner tonight. You get gussied up and I’ll be back to collect you in a couple of hours.”

With visions of Horace’s packet smashed on rocks or asawyer in the swift Missouri current, Delilah had little desire to eat,
but she nodded woodenly. “I’ll be ready.” At least it would be good to see Mrs. Dubois again, and to meet their daughter,
who would be home from boarding school now. When she opened the door almost three hours later, Delilah emitted a small gasp
of delight upon seeing the transformation in Clint. “You’ve gone to a barber,” she said approvingly as her eyes swept over
his freshly shaved face. The ragged shoulder-length hair was once more trimmed with clearly delineated sideburns. Her eyes
swept down from his ruffled white shirt and perfectly tailored dark blue suit to the polished black boots on his feet.

“Do I look civilized enough, Deelie?” he asked, raising his scarred eyebrow mockingly.

He looked good enough to eat, but she wasn’t about to tell the handsome devil that. “I’m happy the old Clinton Daniels has
returned,” she said as she took his proffered arm.

He looked at her and gave her that, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth grin. “Deelie, you set too much stock on outer appearance.
You can’t know what I’m like inside.”

She returned his smile with a dazzling one of her own, pushing her worry about Horace to the back of her mind for now. Clint
was back; Lightning Hand had been banished. “I believe your outer transformation signifies an inner one, too.” Before he could
remonstrate, she said, “Let’s enjoy an evening of celebration with Captain Dubois and his family upon completion of another
safe trip from the wilds of the upper Missouri.”

They both knew that the escape from Montana Territory had more to do with his problems than with the captain’s perfect record.
Clint merely nodded and escorted her to the hurricane deck and down the stairs. As he helped her into the carriage he’d hired
before returning to the levee, he feasted on her loveliness. She wore a copper-colored silk gown that molded to her upper
body and flattered her sun-kissed skin and the more pronounced reddish highlights in her hair. When she raised her skirt to
step up, he could admire aglimpse of slender ankle and foot encased in a matching high-heeled slipper. Hell, even if she hadn’t
known a club from a diamond, any man would lose his shirt to her in a card game!
And his heart…

Their dinner with the captain and his family proved delightful. But on the carriage ride back to the boat, Delilah could not
help returning to the worry gnawing at her ever since they had learned Horace was not in St. Louis.

“He was carrying a great deal of money. You don’t suppose one of the crew—”

“Jacques handpicked those men. He’s worked with them for years and is a passin’ good judge of character. No, no one’s robbed
him and left him for dead, Deelie,” Clint said soothingly.

She could see a worried look on his face in the bright moonlight. In spite of his reassuring words, something was wrong. “You
say one thing, but I detect something else. Surely you don’t believe my uncle would steal our money?”