The smoke from the barrel of my gun left a jagged path as I lowered my trembling arm.
“Ma’am?”
A young cavalry officer sat on a blown horse right outside the line of wreckage. His wispy mustache hung limp with sweat. Dirt coated his baby face, though it did not camouflage his concern.
“Lieutenant Kindle.”
“Are there any survivors?”
“No. Only me. Ten dead. The four children have been taken, as was Anna.” I choked on her name. I turned away to regain my composure. I picked up the bucket and walked toward the river.
“Where are you going?”
“To get water.”
The river was farther away than I remembered. I trailed my hand over the tops of the tall prairie grass, trying to forget the scene behind me, but finding no solace in the beauty around me.
The jingle of bit and creak of saddle signaled the man’s arrival. “Ma’am.” The voice was deep, confident in the way men in command are, but with an underlying gentleness I didn’t expect. Gentleness and pity would break my composure. I kept walking.
“I need to get water.”
I heard the soldier dismount his horse and limp through the grass toward me. “My men will do that.” He grasped the handle of my bucket and tugged so I would stop. I could smell the mud of the riverbank, see the tufts of cottonwood chaff floating in the air, hear the frogs croaking as if the world had not just ended, as if this were any other day.
He pulled the bucket from my hand. “You’ve done enough.”
I rounded on him. “Done enough? I didn’t do anything. Save anyone. They’re dead, while I am still here, as useless as I’ve always been accused of being.”
He studied me out of one eye, half in profile, as if trying to place me, or understand me. I was familiar enough with the puzzled expression of doubting men to predict where this conversation was heading. I did not have the energy or the brazenness to argue with the men who had saved my life.
“I apologize.”
“I wish we’d arrived sooner.”
I looked down at my bloodstained hands and noticed a broken stick protruding from the man’s thigh.
“Is that—?”
“An arrow? Yes. I hoped you could help me with it.”
“Right. I’m—”
My introduction died on my lips when he looked at me full on for the first time. The long red scar running down the left side of his clean-shaven face was too distinctive to be denied. When my eyes met his, I knew beyond a doubt the officer I helped at Antietam stood before me.
“I—”
“I’ve also been shot in the shoulder.”
“Let me see.” I stepped forward and raised my trembling hands. I grasped them into fists to still them.
“You aren’t well.”
“I’m fine.” I lifted my hands in surrender. Thank God they did not shake. “Would you like to unbutton your coat?”
He unbuttoned with his right hand and winced when he tried to take it off with his left. I pushed his hand away as I pulled the coat open at the shoulder. I slipped my forefingers through the bloodstained hole in his shirt and pulled, exposing the wound.
I slipped my right hand beneath his coat to his back and probed around the wound with my left. The man stiffened. “It didn’t quite make it through,” I said. Blood seeped from the wound, but would be easily staunched with a tight bandage.
I stared at the arrow in his leg and wondered how in the hell I was going to remove it.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
I focused on my wagon and blotted out the activity around me, the officer’s orders to bury the dead. I climbed into my wagon. Clothes spilled out of Maureen’s trunk, and our box of kitchen wares had been ransacked, but my medical trunk and bag were untouched at the front of the wagon. I picked my way through the clothes on the floor and retrieved my medical bag. “Do you need my help removing your coat?”
He unbuckled his holster and handed it to me. Together, we removed his navy wool coat. His scrutiny was unnerving. I hoped he did not recognize me. If he did, would he have known my name?
I doused a square of cloth with whisky and cleaned around the wound. “A pressure bandage should suffice until I can take the bullet out.” I mumbled to myself as I worked.
“General Sherman mentioned you.”
I pulled the bandage tight around his back and across his chest. “Does that hurt?” I asked.
“No.”
I smiled and continued to wrap. “You are a poor liar—” I paused and looked at him questioningly. I did not know his name.
“Kindle. Captain William Kindle.”
“Lieutenant Kindle’s uncle.” I tied off his bandage. “That will do for the moment.” I was trying to avoid the wreckage of the wagon train and to avoid Kindle’s penetrating gaze, which left me few places to focus. I dropped my head to assess the arrow protruding from his thigh. “Now for your leg. There isn’t much blood, which concerns me.”
“You’re afraid the arrow is plugging its own hole.”
“Yes.” I eyed his suspenders. “I need a tourniquet.”
“By all means.”
I looped the suspenders loosely around his knee, moved them up above the arrow and tied them off. “Sit here.”
He sat on the back of the wagon while I climbed inside. Images flashed through my mind: Frau Schlek’s gaping stomach, her husband’s head caked with blood and dirt, Maureen’s mutilated face. My back to Kindle, I covered my mouth and fought against nausea. Could I do this? I had to, needed to. He was grievously injured. If I didn’t help him, I was sure he would die. I dropped my hand from my mouth. I couldn’t live with myself if another person died today due to my cowardice. I pulled a bottle of whisky from my medical trunk and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He removed the cork and took a swig. His sun-weathered face was noticeably paler than it had been moments before, setting off the redness of the scar. He finished taking a drink and caught me staring. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said nothing.
“Are you light-headed?”
“A little.”
So am I, I thought. “Maybe you should lie back.”
“No.”
“As you wish.” I cut his pants around the wound to clear the field. I cleaned the leg around the arrow with the whisky-soaked cloth.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Not much call to remove arrows in…London. Have you?”
“Once or twice.”
“What would you recommend?”
“You have to cut the arrow out.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip.
“Do you have the tools necessary? I have a knife in my boot, if not.”
“No, I have the tools.”
“Is there a problem?”
I looked up from his leg. I didn’t want to admit to him my idea had been to yank the arrow out, check the bleeding, and assess my options. “No.”
Lieutenant Beau Kindle came around the wagon.
“There are no other survivors,” Beau said. He looked at me. “Are you sure they took Anna?”
I nodded.
Ester and Amos’s voices echoed in my head. The sights, sounds, and smells around me validated their stories of the Comanche, but about what happened to abducted women they had always remained silent. A shake of the head and, “Better to be dead” was all anyone ever said.
“Should I form a party to go after them?” Beau asked.
“We cannot,” Captain Kindle said.
“Sir, we must.”
“We don’t have the men. We must bury the dead. There is a storm on the way, and it will be dark soon.”
“Sir, allow me to take some men and follow the war party.”
“Did West Point teach you how to track Indians, Lieutenant?”
“No, but one of your men…”
“No one in this group can track a band of running Indians. You need a scout, which we do not have.”
“Uncle…”
“In the Army, you are a lieutenant under my command, not my nephew. You will address me as Captain or I will have you reassigned to a clerking position in Saint Louis. If you argue with my orders again, I will have you court-martialed. Do you understand, Lieutenant Kindle?”
The young man’s face was red, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Washington.”
“Yes, suh.” A large Negro soldier stood a few feet away.
“What’s the situation?”
“There’s two animals fit to pull a wagon. This is the only wagon standing, though we can probably salvage another. The rest are busted.”
“Do we have any horses that aren’t blown?”
“Yours and mine, suh.”
“Lieutenant Kindle, take Corporal Oakes to the fort immediately and relay our predicament to the commander. Inform him of the abductions. Tell him we will wait here for reinforcements.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man saluted, turned on his heel a bit too precisely, and left.
The shaking in my hands had moved to my legs. Try as I might, I could not keep them from trembling beneath me. I climbed into the wagon and sat down in the guise of readying my instruments to perform surgery on Captain Kindle’s leg. Sitting did not help. My entire body shook as if overcome by chills. Already Maureen’s pleasant countenance was being replaced in my memory by her death mask. I heard my name being screamed through the din of battle and saw myself cowering in the buffalo wallow while, one hundred yards away, an Indian chopped Maureen’s face apart to silence her.
Far away I heard the discussion of burying the dead. Sergeant Washington and his men had placed the bodies in a broken wagon bed they would lower into a large grave en masse.
“Doctor?” Captain Kindle’s voice was full of concern.
I took a deep breath and stood. I grasped the metal rib of the wagon cover and placed a protective hand over my roiling stomach, swallowing the urge to vomit. I needed to concentrate, to push my personal tragedy and guilt to the back of my mind and focus on Captain Kindle’s wound. I turned around and faced my patient. “How are you feeling, Captain?”
“Fine.” His color was worse.
I tossed a crate onto the ground and climbed out of the wagon. I set the crate upright and asked Kindle to sit. “I need to determine if a vein was nicked.”
Kindle sat. It would be so easy to yank the arrow out and deal with the clear wound.
As if reading my mind, he explained. “The arrowhead is attached to the shaft with animal sinew. It softens in the body and loosens the arrowhead. You’ll yank the shaft out and will have to search for the head.”
“How far are we from Fort Richardson?”
“Ten miles.” He looked at the darkening sky. “With a storm coming.”
Over my shoulder I noticed the clouds gathering in the west for the first time. Thanks to the many hours spent in Jonasz Golik’s basement, I knew I could complete the operation without incident. However, performing the surgery in our current circumstances, in the middle of the prairie, with a storm gathering on the horizon, was not ideal.
Captain Kindle watched me without a word. I called for the nearest soldier.
“Please find two barrels and place the side of a wagon across them. It will have to do for an operating table. I also need someone to make a fire and boil water. Quickly, now. I do not want to attempt this in the rain.”
The soldier looked toward Captain Kindle, eyes wide, waiting for direction.
“Do as she orders.”
When the soldier was gone I said to Kindle, “You’re in luck. I have chloroform.”
“I don’t want chloroform.”
“I didn’t ask you what you wanted.”
“Nevertheless, I do not want to be unconscious.”
He was still studying me when Lieutenant Kindle and Corporal Oakes rode up to take their leave. Beau Kindle took in the soldiers preparing the table with confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Preparing to operate on your uncle’s leg.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Would you rather do it in my stead?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Lieutenant,” Captain Kindle barked. “Keep a civil tongue in your head.”
Beau Kindle dismounted and spoke in a low, controlled voice. “Captain, forgetting the fact we don’t know what her skills as a surgeon are, do you think it wise to put your life in the hands of a woman who has been through this?” He gestured at the wreckage.
“No. But, I see no other choice.”
Despite the captain’s rousing endorsement, I endeavored to put Lieutenant Kindle’s mind at ease. “I understand your concerns, Lieutenant. You have no reason to believe I am up to the task. Rest assured, your uncle’s well-being is as important to me as it is to you.”
I willed my hand not to shake and placed it on Lieutenant Kindle’s arm. “Please, go quickly to Fort Richardson. Bring the post doctor back if you must. I will do what I can to make Captain Kindle comfortable until you arrive.” I gave Lieutenant Kindle the most modest, feminine smile I could muster.
“You’re wasting daylight, Lieutenant. You have your orders,” Captain Kindle said.
Somewhat placated, Beau Kindle saluted, remounted his horse, and kicked it into a gallop. Corporal Oakes saluted, turned his horse, and followed.
The smile dropped from my face. “What would you have me do, Captain?”
Captain Kindle was slumped against the side of the wagon, visibly in pain. “Sorry?”
“Would you have me operate on you or make you comfortable until you arrive at Fort Richardson, where your leg will inevitably be amputated?”
He did not reply. I moved in front of him. “Captain?” His eyes met mine. They were full of pain, as I remembered them. “Trust me.”
After a long, unsettling pause, he nodded.
I motioned for the soldiers to place the makeshift litter near the wagon.
“My leg is numb.”
“It is because we have stopped the blood flow.” I blotted his perspiring face with a clean, soft cloth. “I will take good care of you.”
I threaded two needles, my shaking hands making the task more difficult than usual. I turned slightly away from Kindle, enough to hide my tremors but not so far as to ignite his suspicion. Trembling hands would do little to burnish Kindle’s nascent trust in me. I knew my mind and hands would settle when the time came. Until then, I needed a distraction.
“How long have you been in the Army?”
“Twenty years.”
“Indeed?” I poured carbolic acid into an iron skillet full of water and dropped my instruments in it along with the two threaded needles. “You aren’t old enough to be a twenty-year veteran.”
“West Point when I was eighteen. How long have you been a doctor?” he asked with great difficulty.
“Officially? Four years. I assisted my father for many years prior.” I glanced at him. “Don’t think you will get me to tell you my age, Captain.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking.”
“Sergeant Washington, can you help him?”
Washington and a private tried to move Kindle to the table. He held up his hand to stay them. “I do not need help.”
The wind increased, bringing with it the metallic scent of the oncoming thunderstorm. Thin tendrils of lightning flashed across the distant sky. A rumble of thunder followed.
Sergeant Washington and the private looked at each other with concern on their faces. Washington glanced at me and quickly looked away. I pulled him aside.
“How much time do we have, Sergeant?”
“Ten minutes before the storm. Maybe fifteen, ma’am.”
“Would you please have a couple of your men clear a space on the floor of my wagon for the Captain to lie on? They can take everything but the trunks outside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
While Washington directed the men, I turned my attention back to Kindle. He sat on the edge of the table, light-headed and woozy.
“Time to lie down, Captain.”
“Cut around the wound, follow the shaft down with your finger to find the arrowhead.” I folded his coat and put it under his head.
“Anything else?”
“Pray it’s not in the bone.”
“Private,” I said to the nearest soldier, “would you please bring me a pan of warm water? Sergeant Washington, get another soldier and go wash your hands in the remaining warm water with this.” I handed him a bar of carbolic soap. “Do not touch anything to dry your hands. I will give you a clean cloth when you return.”
I washed my hands and when the three men returned, I handed the skillet of acid-soaked instruments to a small soldier standing nearby. I positioned him and Washington at the head of the table and foot of the table, respectively. “Captain, do you have any orders you would like to give your men before you go under?”
“Sergeant Washington, will the bodies be buried before the storm comes?” Captain Kindle asked.
“Yes, suh.”
“You know what to do?”
“Yes, suh.”
Kindle nodded. “I leave the regiment in your hands.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Captain,” I said. “You’ll be with us again in no time.”
I was laying a cloth soaked with chloroform over his nose and mouth when Kindle stayed my hand. “I don’t know your name,” he said.
“Call me Laura.” His brows furrowed in puzzlement and concentration. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Trust me, Captain. I want you to live as much as you do.”
“Precisely what I want to hear from my doctor.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be here when you wake,” I said, and placed the chloroform-soaked cloth over his nose.