Seaswept Abandon (The McClellans Series, Book 2) Author's Cut Edition Read online

  The fighting was fevered. The British soon rallied from their startled confusion and met their enemy at close quarters with fixed bayonets. Jericho, like all the men on both sides, hardened himself to the fact that in order to survive he must wound or kill, and wielded his bayonet with unerring accuracy.

  At the outset of this mission Jericho had known he wanted to survive it. The man the others called Saint Smith had ceased to exist. Jericho's reckless disregard for his life had ended when he had seen Rahab in the Raleigh. Even though he had tried to prepare himself for the news that she was lost to him, it had still stunned him that she could have forgotten. The depth of his hurt brought home the truth, and it was then he realized he had been given a second chance with her. He could approach her later with no fear that she would be repelled by his past ill treatment of her. And no redcoat was going to take the opportunity away from him.

  The man beside Jericho had fallen to his knees, and Jericho's blood chilled when he glanced down and saw it was Noah. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the glint of a bayonet poised to strike Noah's chest. With his own weapon, he pushed the bayonet upward so it thrust harmlessly in the air and at the same time kicked Noah squarely in the shoulder so he rolled out of the way. Before he could strike again or regain his balance, Jericho was attacked on his blind side.

  A bayonet's sharp point pierced his thigh, was withdrawn quickly, and stabbed into him again at another angle. This time when it was withdrawn his blood mixed with the blood of the victims before him. Jericho swore gutturally with the pain of the wound and swung the butt of his musket down and backward to club his attacker in the belly. The sound of harshly expelled breath behind him let him know his aim was true. Jericho wavered slightly on his feet as his leg threatened to give way and earth crumbled beneath him. Rain diluted the blood that stained his breeches in an ever widening patch, and crimson droplets struck the toes of his boots. Vaguely he realized Noah was on his feet again and capably defending himself against another advance.

  That was all right, then. Noah was uninjured. It seemed very important to know that as he lost consciousness.

  * * *

  "Am I dreaming?" Jericho asked haltingly. His throat was dry and his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. "Is it over?" A curious hush had descended all around him, and he struggled to his elbows to find the cause of it. It was no longer night, and he was no longer in the field of battle. A gentle hand on his shoulder attempted to get him to lie down again, but he would have none of it. On all sides of him lay other wounded, each straining in turn to hear something so sweet that they shared Jericho's belief they were dreaming.

  In the distance, beyond the expectant silence of the camp, a British drummer boy beat out the call to parley. Cornwallis was ready to talk about the terms of surrender.

  "For you it is, Mr. Smith," Rae said quietly. "Soon, perhaps, for everyone. Now lie back. You are in no condition to enter into the negotiations."

  Jericho's vision cleared at the edges and he found himself staring into Rahab's serene green eyes. "You? What are—" His question was interrupted as Rae touched a wet cloth to his parched lips and bathed his fevered face. She held a flask of water to his lips and encouraged him to take some drink, then pulled it away before he had his fill.

  "You may have more when you've shown you can hold that down." She lowered Jericho's head to the ground and slipped her arm from beneath him.

  "What are you doing here? This is no place for a woman."

  "What nonsense, Mr. Smith," she said briskly, dismissing the subject. "Anyway, I shan't be here for long. I only arrived this morning with Gareth. Noah and Salem have requested that we take you to the landing, where you can get proper care. Given the condition of that dreadful limb of yours, it seems to be one of their better ideas."

  "Noah is well? He wasn't hurt?"

  Rae blinked hard at the sudden welling of tears and busied herself folding the bandages in her lap. "He is unharmed, at much cost to yourself. He says you saved his life."

  Jericho was uncomfortable with Rae's gratitude, and in his foggy state of mind he could not think why she called him Mr. Smith. His aching leg throbbed with unrelenting regularity and made it difficult for him to think. "I recall a very painful ride on Noah's shoulders. It must have been he who brought me back last night, so we are quite even."

  "It was not last night," Rae corrected him. "It was three days ago, and Noah will not feel his debt has ended until you are well again. Gareth is bringing a litter to carry you to the wagon. Then we are leaving for the landing. Mama has had a room prepared for you and there will be no getting out of it. You can wipe that mutinous look right off your face." Seeing that he was in no mood to oblige her, Rae put her bandages to one side and picked up the animal-skin flask again, tipping it against his lips as she raised his head slightly.

  Jericho cursed how easily she kept him from speaking his wishes and drank deeply. When he finished he would tell her that he refused to go. If Cornwallis was going to surrender he wanted to witness it, and what the McClellans wanted for him be damned.

  Rae lowered Jericho's head once more and wiped the corner of his lips where the water had spilled when he had passed out again. She lifted the damp cloth to her own eyes and impatiently wiped away the tears that blurred her vision.

  Noah had warned her not to come when he had gone to Gareth for help in moving their friend. Jericho was badly injured, and there was nothing in her experience that would prepare her for the hundreds of wounded men she would see in the camp. But she was not a piece of fluff, Rae had told her brothers, and she was not one to faint at the sight of blood. Now, looking around her at the men laid out in even rows on the ground, she was not so certain. It tore at her that she was inadequate to the task of helping them all. Glancing at Jericho's still face one more time, assured by the shallow breaths he took. Rae left her bandages and flask behind and hurried from the area.

  Salem caught her by the shoulders and steadied her as she barreled into him. Beside him Noah and Gareth carried the litter. "Are you all right, Rae?"

  She nodded. "Please, let's get him from here quickly. There are so many who need... I had not thought... Is there nothing we can do for them?"

  Salem pulled Rae close and hugged her fiercely. "Most are not as seriously injured as Jericho." He did not say that those who had been were already dead, but Rae understood that was the case. "Many will not come because they want to see the surrender march. Did you hear the drums?"

  "Yes. Jericho heard them also. He wants to stay."

  "He would," Noah said grimly. "The trouble is it could take days before the terms are hammered out, and by then—"

  "Noah!" Gareth growled sharply, seeing Rahab's pale face. "That's quite enough. Rahab, you will wait over by the wagon while we put Jericho on the litter. You were right when you said we must move him quickly."

  Two days later, as Jericho continued to fight for his life in a sunlit bedchamber at the landing, the garrison from York marched in orderly units between rows of sharply turned-out French troops and proud, but not so neatly uniformed, patriots. The British laid down their arms while their drummers played, "The World Turned Upside Down," and speculation was rampant among the troops on both sides that perhaps this was indeed the end of it all.

  Unaware of what was taking place some miles away, Rae sat in a chair beside Jericho's bed and read and reread the same passage from the first of Tom Paine's Crisis papers: "What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: It is dearness only that gives everything its value."

  Surely Jericho Smith had paid dearly indeed. Must his suffering know no end? The thought was a hollow echo in her head as she recalled the grave pronouncement of the doctor who had come at her father's request earlier in the day. Jericho's life might be won at the cost of his leg. Rae knew it was what her father had suspected when he sent a servant for the doctor, but Rae had yet to come to terms with it. She remembered Jericho's easy grace, his agile movements as he climbed, walked, or ran.
Would he hate them for saving his life each time he took an ungainly step, or would it be enough that he could walk at all?

  Rae came out of her reverie, startled to feel a hand on her arm. She looked up to see her sister's concerned face.

  "I think it's time you rested," Leah said quietly. An ash blond braid circled her head like a golden halo. Her complexion was smooth, her features delicate.

  Rae shook her head. "If Jericho wakes and sees you, he will surely think he has met one of the Maker's angels."

  Leah's whisper became a bit louder and more earnest. "He'll feel a sight worse if he wakes and sees you. The devil's handmaiden, if ever there was one. You need to be in your own bed, and if you won't go willingly it's only a matter of time before ol' Jacob and Papa are carrying you out."

  There was more than a little truth to Leah's heated speech. Rae had been feeling light headed, and the last time Jericho had moved restlessly, trying to tear the bandages from his thigh, she had not been able to restrain him herself. Luckily Charity had been in the hallway and had helped her, but her mother's entreaties that she needed to leave the sickroom were not enough for Rae. Apparently Charity had called for reinforcements. If she ignored Leah, then Ashley would be sent. Her mother was not above sending in Darlene, who was now staying with them until her child was born.

  The landing was nothing if not accommodating as the children began to return home. Gareth was already here with his wife, and everyone expected that Salem and Noah would return soon. Sighing, Rae got to her feet and left Leah alone with Jericho. She was not proof against them all, and no doubt Charity would use them to secure rest for her daughter.

  There was no change in Jericho's condition when Leah was relieved by Ashley some hours later. "I've just given him a small dose of laudanum with his drink," she told Ashley. "His eyes were glazed with pain, though he tried to talk in spite of it. I could not make out a thing he said. Do you think he'll lose his leg?"

  "I will continue to pray it does not happen," Ashley said, sadness dulling her eyes. "Go on. I'll call if I need help." Jericho's stillness disturbed her and brought back uneasy memories of the time when Salem had been nearly as ill. She understood Rae's adamant fight to stay by his side when it was apparent to all she had no energy left.

  * * *

  When Jericho woke it was dark. A single candle had been lit on the bedside table and it created diffuse shadows on the wall. Someone, he could not make out who, moved from the chair on his left and hovered over him. A cool hand touched his heated brow, and when it would have been removed he stayed it with a surprisingly firm grip.

  "No... more... la-laud..." he rasped, unable to complete the word as the heat and pain in his leg seemed to shoot up his spine to his brain. Unintentionally he squeezed the wrist he held more tightly.

  Rae stilled her urge to cry out as her fingers went numb and her flesh was bruised. "But the pain. You need it for the pain."

  He shook his head wildly. "Lisss—sen to me." Thank God it was Rae and not the other one. Leah had drowned out his words with gibberish she supposed to be soothing, and had forced laudanum down his throat. Rae would understand him. She knew him better than anyone. Or she had. Did it matter anymore, he wondered as he struggled for coherency. His thoughts leapfrogged out of control while his free hand beat a tattoo into the soft mattress. "Poultice. In—deee—an..."

  "What? In the what?" Rae bent her ear closer to his mouth and her voice was harsh with frustration. "I can't understand—"

  Jericho repeated himself, his voice the merest thread of sound. "Indian. Black... mud... pack... herbs. Don' wan' to lose my leg... Unner-stan?"

  She understood the last part only too well. It was the first part of his message she was having difficulty with. "I won't let anyone touch your leg. What sort of herbs? What must I do?"

  "Goo' girl," he slurred. "Knew you... unner-stan." His brow furrowed beneath Rae's hand as he concentrated to carefully pronounce the things he required. Rae repeated each item in turn, and the brief release of pressure about her wrist was the manner in which he told her she had heard correctly.

  It was a strange combination of things Jericho had requested, Rae thought, but the poultice they had been using on his leg had failed to draw out the poison. The doctor had told them it was too late for that sort of remedy and Charity had abandoned it. Now Jericho was begging for another. Had he any idea what he was asking for?

  Rae hesitated only long enough to shake out her fingers as Jericho released her hand. She was out the door in a flurry of skirts and down the grand staircase so quickly that her feet barely touched every second step. The house was eerily quiet, at odds with Rae's frantic, driven activity. In the kitchen she laid a small fire in the hearth and set a copper kettle over it to warm. Taking a lantern from the wall, she lighted it, then grabbed a wooden bucket and headed for her mother's garden. She scooped handfuls of fertile Virginia soil into the bucket and ran to the pump to mix it with just enough water to make a thick black plaster. From the garden she plucked the herbs Jericho had asked for and dropped them into her pocket. A trip to the nearby woods was necessary to gather the remaining plants and bark scrapings. When she returned to the kitchen she was out of breath, but triumphant.

  The mud sizzled as she poured it into the hot copper pot. She stirred it a few times and left it to bubble on its own while she attended to the greenery in her pocket. The plants she had collected were laid out on a butcher block table, and she took the stem or leaf, sometimes the root, as Jericho had specified, and ground them together in a mortar. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of the ingredients, Rae scraped the pestle so none of the medicine was lost. From the pantry she took a piece of cheesecloth and laid it flat on the table, then spooned some of the hot mud plaster on top of it. She added the green, malodorous paste from the mortar and kneaded the mixture as if it were bread dough, blowing on her fingers occasionally to ease the burning. When she was certain the herbs had spread to every part of the mud, she gathered the corners of the cheesecloth, tied them, and carried her precious bundle to Jericho's bedchamber.

  In the short time she had been gone he had thrown off his bedcovers, and his nightshirt had ridden up to his hips. Remembering that modesty had never been his strong suit, Rae merely shook her head and covered him, except for his injury. Knowing it was bound to be painful, she pressed the cheesecloth pack as lightly as she could to the wound. Still, his body jerked in response.

  "Rahab, what are you about?" her mother demanded from the doorway. Charity was dressed in a sky blue robe only slightly lighter than the color of her eyes. Her coffee-colored hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over her left shoulder, and a ruffled cap sat slightly askew on her head. Behind her Robert peered into the room, his hands braced on either side of the door frame. He was much taller than his wife, darker, and though his deep green eyes were known to sparkle with good humor, this was not the way of it now. Robert positively glowered over Charity's head. "We heard you moving about," Charity continued as she stepped into the bedchamber. "We couldn't imagine..."

  Rae did not think her father's dark looks were because he had been awakened from a sound sleep. No doubt he did not like the idea of his unmarried daughter wrestling with a masculine leg when there were servants who could be called to do this work. "Mama. Papa. I've made another poultice for Mr. Smith."

  "We can smell it," Robert said bluntly, pushing away from the door. He carried himself with a certain regal stature that called attention to his height rather than his limp. He followed Charity's lead and stopped beside the bed, watching Rae's sure fingers as she kept the steaming poultice in place over Jericho's wound. His expression softened as he realized the uselessness of scolding her for not ringing for help. He could hardly fault her self-reliance when he had brought her up to have just that. "I've not smelled anything like it before. What is in it?"

  Rae told him.

  "Where did you learn to make such a thing?"

  "Mr. Smith told me how to do it. Indian, I th
ink he said it was."

  Robert nodded. "Salem once mentioned to me that he thought Smith had spent some time with the Seminole. How did he find the strength to speak of it?"

  "It was difficult for him, to be sure. But he seemed to know he is in danger of losing his leg and he begged me to help him, Papa. I couldn't refuse him."

  "I would be more shocked if you had." Robert rolled up the sleeve of his maroon dressing gown. "Here, let me hold that for a while. I know what it is to fear losing a limb. I want to help. You and your mother can prepare more poultices."

  "Perhaps I should wake a few of the servants," Rae said.

  Robert looked appalled. "What? And let it be said I don't have the stamina of my daughter? Fie on you, girl! Take yourself and your mother off to the kitchen."

  Throughout the night the trio worked tirelessly, and by morning their efforts began to show the first signs of being rewarded. The inflammation surrounding the wound had lessened considerably, and Jericho's breathing was no longer labored. Shortly after daybreak Ashley and Leah shooed all three of them from the room and continued what they had begun. By noon Jericho's fever was broken, there was a hint of healthy pink skin around the two stab wounds, and his thigh was no longer hot to the touch.

  A servant was again dispatched for the doctor, and when he arrived at dusk, carrying the saws to remove the leg in his black satchel, he declared the change nothing less than a wonderwork. Until then Rae had been afraid to hope, but at the physician's words her heart leapt and thudded joyfully in her breast. Because the doctor announced his good news while the family was seated at the dinner table, there was no concealing from them the light of love that flooded her eyes.

  Rae's secret, which had been guarded by Ashley, Darlene, and Gareth was out. Cheeks flaming, Rae lowered her eyes to her empty plate and her hands twisted the linen napkin in her lap. There was an uncomfortable silence that lasted until Charity extended an invitation to the physician to dine with them. Rae sighed gratefully as the spell was broken and voices clamored for someone to please pass the sweet potatoes, the glazed biscuits, the sausages. As food was handed around the table Rae took her fair share, mindful that while her family had entered into a spirited dinner conversation, there were watchful eyes all around her ready to place some significance on her appetite or lack of it.