August finished wrapping a fresh bandage over Mr. Buchanan’s leg wound. The man’s deep, even breaths gave no indication of the healing taking place within... or not. It had been a long night for the good Dr. Carter, and August moved quietly across the wooden floor as the doctor snored from a chair in the corner of the room. Though August attempted to fix his attention on the work at hand, Luther’s warning cast a shadow over his thoughts. Eleven months ago, when the train first deposited him in this tiny town, he’d craved a way out, even contemplated escape, but not now.
From the welcome morning sky rising over a wall of blue mountains to the friendly townspeople to the hushed evening birdsong and cricket calls, this place breathed of home, of life.
He stood from his place, careful to keep his movements quiet to ensure Dr. Carter’s continued rest, restoring various bottles to their places on the shelf. As he lifted the last container to its designated location, a movement outside the window caught his attention. A couple, arm-in-arm, walked down the lane toward the clinic.
He tightened his grip on the bottle in his hand. Jessica Ross looked dazzling in a pale blue frock, her large white hat tilted to one side so that only a section of her face brimmed from beneath. She smiled—a small smile with a clever twist to one side, but more than she’d offered to him.
And who was this stranger? A medium-sized fellow, lean, smartly dressed, and extremely close to August’s future bride. August’s fingers clattered over the bottles, sending one nearly toppling to the floor.
“I’m not liking the look of this head wound, August.”
August pulled his attention away from the pair in the window and back to Dr. Carter, who stood over the pale patient fighting for his life.
“Maybe, if he makes it through one more night, we shall see a change, but I dare not leave him yet.”
August glanced back over his shoulder at the pair getting closer to the clinic and his agitation burned in the pit of his stomach. But what right did he have for jealousy? Nein. He could claim no hold on her interest or her future, let alone her heart.
“I’m sorry for the prolonged anxiety, good friend.” August would not succumb to the failures in his past. God had brought him beyond those glaring accusations and supported him with acceptance beyond his flaws. “You have worked tirelessly and there may yet bear fruit from your labors.”
Dr. Carter bestowed his kind smile, a welcome balm over August’s agitation. “And there you go, as usual. Bringing sunshine into the storm.”
And yet, still left in the rain alone, it would seem. What a fool! To imagine there could be a romance between the two of them? He’d known her, through those letters, for months, but she had no idea who he was... and even more, hated him because of his Fatherland. How could he win with such an offense against him?
He shrugged off the melancholy and braced himself for the ensuing thunder with lovely blonde hair.
“Patience is certainly the miracle-worker at times, this is true. Patience and consistent care.”
And a miracle seemed the only option for Mr. Buchanan’s survival and August’s intentions for Jessica Ross. Patience and consistent care? Oh, God, help him!
The door jingled with its opening, bringing Jessica, the stranger, and a cool breeze inside. Her emerald gaze scanned the room, taking inventory, it seemed, and finally landed on him. A frown slipped the previous smile away.
“Good morning, Grandpa.” She graced August with another look and tipped her head. “Mr. Reinhold.”
August responded in kind but Dr. Carter moved across the room, wiping his hands off on his apron as he approached. “Granddaughter.” Dr. Carter turned to the stranger. “And this is?”
“Jasper Little.” Jessica continued, her welcome smile returning.
August nearly dropped another bottle. Her smile lit her entire face... entrancing. Oh, to have it land on him.
“We met over at Kimp’s. He’s only now arrived in town and I wonder if Mr. Little might not be useful to you.”
Dr. Carter exchanged a glance with August and then placed his palm to his chest. “To me?”
Something about newcomer bit into August’s optimism like a storm cloud in a blue sky, and it had to be more than a bout of jealousy at the way Mr. Little looked at Jessica.
“He assisted medics at the Front and now he’s come to follow up with Mr. Cecil Sharpe’s balladry research,” Jessica said.
“The Englishman who recorded Jane Gentry singing all those folk songs?” Dr. Carter gestured toward the wall on the same side as Sunnybank Boarding house, where the kind woman lived as proprietor and Hot Springs’ vigilant storyteller.
“Precisely.” The man spoke for the first time, stepping forward and sweeping his cap off his head. “Before the war, I was a history professor, you see, but I’m certain to have spare time as I interview some of the mountain folk. I’d be happy to offer any assistance I can.”
Mr. Little’s voice pearled with culture and the beloved accent of the English. No, he’d not be shunned or ridiculed as the Germans. All he need do was open his mouth with silver-tongued elegance and see women melt into a ridiculous swoon. August swallowed a groan. English!
“August has been a great help to me.” Dr. Carter’s smile curbed some of the edge in August’s internal monologue. “But he has a new project to see to, so this might be the perfect time to take some more help.” Dr. Carter reached out a palm to the stranger, which was when August noticed Mr. Little’s absent hand. Dr. Carter hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Little grinned and offered his left hand. “I still have one useful hand the Germans didn’t steal, Dr. Carter, and am keen to serve. The war didn’t steal my determination to do the right thing.”
The man’s gaze met August’s with like-suspicion, his lips twitching into a smile that failed to reach his dark eyes. Unruhestifter. Trouble maker. Why would this stranger hold such venom against August—a man he’d never clapped eyes on until this very moment? The pinch in his spirit twisted more tightly.
August hated intimidation. He offered his left hand and smiled his greeting, without looking away. “August Reinhold.”
The slightest hestitation caught in Mr. Little’s greeting before he grasped August’s hand. “Reinhold?” The stranger pinched August’s hand before releasing, never breaking eye contact.
Trouble.
“August has been working with me for a good eight months. One of the best assistants I’ve had since Jess left.”
“You’ve always been a supporter of free labor?” Jessica’s brow arched with a pinpoint of purpose all too clear in her entreaty.
Dr. Carter placed his hands on his hips and nodded. “I do my regular rounds on Tuesdays and Thursdays. What say you come with me Tuesday next?”
Jessica’s brow crinkled with her frown. August pinched his lips to keep his grin from sliding wide. Frontlines or not, traipsing through the wilds of Western North Carolina was not for the faint of heart. He slid Dr. Carter a glance from his periphery. The clever doctor knew how to test the sincerity and stamina of strangers. He’d taken August on the same journey when he’d first shown an interest in providing assistance—a welcome alternative to staying behind the tall fence of the camp.
“I shall be there.”
Dr. Carter’s moustache twitched, but otherwise, his expression gave nothing away—and August admired the man all the more. Clever.
With a sudden crash, the door of the clinic burst open, slamming into the wall as it swung. Afternoon light framed the silhouette of a child—a boy, probably no older than seven. A hound stood to his right, awaiting the next move.
Dr. Carter pushed between Jessica and Mr. Little to greet the lad.
“Jude Larson?”
The little boy stepped forward, his hair a shaggy batch of brown and his clothes as tattered as the shoes on his feet. The dog stayed at the threshold, a sturdy, lean animal of brown and white. “My mama needs a doctor.”
“I see.” Dr. Carter’s shoulder dropped with an unnamed weight. He ran a palm over his face. “The baby?”
The boys’ hands went to his hips, displaying more maturity than his slim size warranted. “I reckon so, and I’ve been gone too long now. Doctor Peck ain’t nowhere to be found on the outside of the fence, so I come to you.”
Dr. Carter turned to August. “Dr. Peck is up on the ridge tending a family with scarlet fever. He can’t make it back in time to help Eliza.” He moved to the cabinet and began placing items into his black bag. “I can’t leave Mr. Buchanan.”
“Somebody’s gotta come help my momma.” The lad’s voice broke with his plea.
August moved to the ready, catching Jessica’s frown in the process.
“And somebody will do just that.” Dr. Carter crossed the room to the boy and knelt to his level, cradling the boy’s shoulder with his palm. “I can’t leave my patient, Jude, but I’m sending the next best thing.”
Dr. Carter nodded his head toward Jessica. “I’m sending my granddaughter. She and your mama went to school together.”
Jessica took her cue, joining her grandfather’s side.
Jude examined her with more suspicion than any child ought to muster, his chin tilted higher. “And she’s birthed babies afore?”
“Yes, sir. She’s had practice birthing babies, but even more than that, she’s had practice taking care of wounded people.” Dr. Carter took Jude’s shoulders, meeting the boy at eye level. “And we both know your mama’s not been feeling good for a long while.”
Jude stared at Dr. Carter and offered a deliberate nod, the boy’s eyes holding a greater burden than his small body should carry. A weight of responsibility August understood. “She’s needed lots of help since Daddy died in the war.”
“And you’ve been a great help to her. Miss Jessica will take good care of your mama, and my friend here, August, will go with her.” He nodded back toward August, a wary look in his eyes steeping August’s caution. “He’ll be there to do whatever’s necessary.”
The foreboding response bit like pinpricks up August’s spine.
“But, Jude, you gotta listen to them, son. No matter what they ask you to do. Having a baby is hard business on a woman, especially a woman who’s been sick. I don’t know how much of it she can take.”
August turned a sharp eye to Jessica, and for a moment, a fragile fear wavered her exterior confidence. She looked away, back at the boy.
“But we’ll do all we can. I promise you,” Jessica said, conviction marking each word.
“I reckon you better. She was hollerin’ something awful afore I left.” The boy turned to Dr. Carter, his gaze unswerving and not fully comprehending the devastating implications in the doctor’s words. “I’ll do whatever ya’ll need me to.”
“Good lad.” Dr. Carter patted his shoulder and stood. “I need you and Scraps”—he gestured toward the dog—“to run back home as fast as you can and start up a fire.”
“But it’s hot as blazes outside.”
“True. But we’re going to need hot water to help birth the baby, and you’ll get home faster than any of us.”
The boy’s eyes widened and he backed toward the door. “I’ll be right on it, Doctor. I can make it there in no time if I don’t stop none.”
“Then get to it.”
The boy rushed from the building, Scraps on his heels. Dr. Carter released a long sigh.
“What is it?” Jessica’s question broke the silence.
Dr. Carter’s attention moved to his granddaughter. “After news of Paul came back from Europe, Eliza’s never been the same. Practically gave up on living. Growing thinner and thinner each time I saw her in town or took a turn to visit her on the ridge in Dr. Peck’s stead.”
Jessica’s face paled, her emerald gaze searching her grandfather’s face. “Surely she’d fight to live for her children’s sake. One doesn’t die from a lack of will to live.”
“You’ve been in Europe. Seen countless deaths, my girl. The lack of will is only one deciding factor in a struggle against sickness and sorrow.”
Jessica pinched her pink lips closed, a ‘spitfire’ of determination marking her soft features. She marched to the counter, continuing her grandfather’s work of packing the bag.
August ran to the shelf with the bandages and bottle of morphine.
“See here, Dr. Carter, I can assist Miss Ross instead of this—” Mr. Little curbed his words. “Mr. Reinhold. I’ve actually had medical training.”
August’s hands paused on the bandages. Dr. Carter stopped in his walk toward Jessica, and even Jessica turned to stare at Mr. Little.
“I appreciate your willingness, Mr. Little.” Dr. Carter placed his fists on his hips, studying the young man. “And I mean no offense, sir, but I don’t know you.”
“Pardon?” Mr. Little blinked as if he couldn’t comprehend the words.
“I have no doubt you’re a trustworthy sort of man, but I need to know you much better before I leave you with one of my critical patients... or my granddaughter.”
“But sir...”
“You just got off the train today, Mr. Little. Today. You’re still wearing your traveling clothes. You came here for songs and history, but you don’t know the forests and people of the Blue Ridge, and they certainly don’t know you. I need people familiar with this region and the hardships right now, but I appreciate your willingness, as I said.”
The man’s lips pinched and white fire sparked to life in the glint in his eyes. His jaw tensed. “You would allow this”—he gestured toward August—“enemy alien to go? You trust him?”
The label given to the Germans, the harshness of it, failed to wound August anymore, but the Mr. Little’s sudden fury told an unnerving tale of the man’s hatred.
Dr. Carter pointed to August, his profile as stoic and tense as Mr. Little’s. “This foreigner isn’t a stranger. I’d trust him with my life.” The moment stretched like the tautness of a drawn bowstring waiting to snap. And then Dr. Carter smiled. “Don’t worry, Mr. Little. With the hundreds of people living in the nooks and crannies of these hollows, I’m certain you’ll get plenty of opportunity to serve.” The soft words cushioned the edge in the room a little but not enough to steal the glower when Mr. Little glanced at August.
What had happened to the man besides the loss of his hand? The loss of a loved one? Whatever it was brought enough vengeance to remain volatile.
“Go. Now.” Dr. Carter turned back to August and Jessica. “And may God be with you both.”
August locked gazes with the doctor and offered an internal prayer. He was charged with taking a little boy to the bedside of his dying mother while assisting a nurse who hated him, all the while under the shadow of some German-hating Englishman? If there was ever a time for prayer, it was this moment.