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  Daniel returned to the sink and again washed his hands. Then picking up the supplies, he handed a few to a very pale Chandler. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Two

  Daniel ran his sleeve over his forehead, lowered his aching body to the front porch step, and leaned his tired head on the railing. He took in large gulps of fresh air, breathing in the scent of Indiana dirt in winter. A fresh and clean odor, mixed with the scent of manure and hay.

  Two hours of bending over Mrs. Wilson’s bed, watching her writhe in agony as he worked, had just about done him in. Twice, Chandler left the room to empty his stomach, and only the hell Daniel had endured at Camp Morton kept him from doing the same.

  Mercifully, the woman passed out as he put in the first stitch. If only he’d had some chloroform, he could have spared her the torture of cutting away the dead skin and dousing the cut with whiskey. She’d refused the liquor he’d wanted her to drink, but snapped in two a piece of wood he’d given her to hold between her teeth. Rosemarie Wilson was one damn strong woman.

  Goose bumps rose on his skin as cold air blew against his sweat-soaked shirt. He shivered, but kept his place on the porch. The fresh air wafting over him took away some of the sour smell still in his nostrils.

  He inhaled deeply, the Indiana air a sharp contrast to the sultry breezes of Virginia. Eventually, the cold sent him back into the scant warmth of the house.

  Amelia and Jace lay curled together on the cold floor, like a couple of kittens. Chandler chose to stay with his mama, but even before Daniel had left the room, the boy’s soft snores brought a smile to his lips. Daniel placed his hands on his hips and regarded the two younger Wilson children. They would freeze before morning.

  Wandering around a stranger’s house felt a bit odd. He found the children’s bedroom, with one bed and a small cot pushed against opposite walls. Apparently the boys shared the bed, and Amelia slept in the cot. He returned to the parlor, and lifted the little girl. She opened one sleepy eye and yawned, then stuck her fingers into her mouth. Her soft, warm body rolled toward him and she rubbed her face against his shirt. He placed her in the cot and removed her shoes, then drew up the plaid quilt over the little body now coiled into a ball. Then he returned to the parlor and did the same for Jace.

  As tired as he was, he had to see to Mrs. Wilson. Her dry skin had burned with fever when he’d left her a short while ago. Returning to the kitchen, he splashed cool water into a pan, grabbed the last of the torn petticoat, and entered the bedroom. Chandler had fallen over, his thin body, all spindly arms and legs, splayed over the chair. Daniel gathered him in his arms, and carried him across the hall, then placed him in the bed with Jace before returning to Rosemarie’s bedroom.

  Moonlight cast the room in silver shadows. The woman slept in a deep, fever-induced slumber. Every once in a while she would moan, her brow furrowed. He drew the sheet down, exposing the pale skin above her chemise and below her drawers. With her leg now wrapped in clean cloths, no evidence of fresh blood or pus stained the makeshift bandage. Tomorrow, he would remove the dirty sheet she lay on and replace it with a fresh one.

  Tomorrow?

  No. He’d done his duty. When the sun rose, he would instruct Chandler on how to take care of his mama and be on his way. Daniel took a big risk sticking around.

  As he bathed her soft skin with the cool water, he considered this woman’s predicament. Alone with three children, with no one to help her work the farm, how would she keep them all from starving? His gut clenched, but he shoved the picture from his mind. The family would be fine. A lot of women in both the North and South were keeping home and hearth together while their menfolk fought.

  How many of them are laid up with a seriously injured leg?

  “Hans?” The raspy whisper jarred him from his thoughts.

  “No.”

  A lone tear leaked from her eye and slid down her flushed cheek. “Leg hurts.” She thrashed on the bed, tossing her head back and forth. “So hot.”

  Daniel reached for the glass of cold water on the small table next to the bed, and raising her head, held the liquid to her parched lips. “Drink.”

  She took a few sips, then turned her head away. He settled her back on the pillow, and her eyes opened. Glazed with fever and pain, she regarded him. “Who are you?”

  “A friend.”

  Her body tensed and her eyes widened. “My children?”

  “Sound asleep in their beds. You need to rest.”

  Her gaze roamed from his face to his dirty, torn uniform. “You a Reb?” Her lips curled as she spit out the words.

  “Yes, but I’m not going to hurt you or your family. I want to help.”

  Two more tears tracked down her cheeks, then she closed her eyes and returned to a deep sleep as he continued to wipe her down with the cool water.

  

  Daniel waved his hand in front of his face to chase away the insect tickling him. As it returned, he waved once more. This insect must have been huge because it began to shake his shoulder.

  “Mister, why are you sleeping in my ma’s bed?”

  His eyes popped open and met the gaze of two pale blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. He sat up, and ran his hand down his face. Amelia stood in front of him, holding Jace’s hand. And Daniel was, indeed, in Rosemarie Wilson’s bed.

  The pan with the water he’d been cooling her with sat on the floor. He must have set it there before he fell asleep, but had no memory of it. Never in his life had he been so tired he didn’t remember his movements.

  “Good morning, Miss Amelia,” he said.

  “Is my ma all better now?” With the trust of a child, she climbed onto the bed and settled on his lap. Jace imitated his sister, and sat alongside him.

  “Not yet, but I think maybe later today she’ll start to feel a bit better.”

  “How’s ma?” Chandler stood in the open doorway, rubbing his eyes.

  “She’s sleeping right now.” He laid his palm on her forehead. “Her fever seems a little lower, and that’s good.”

  Jace pulled on his shirt sleeve. “I’m hungwy.”

  Three sets of blue eyes gazed at him, who was the only adult in the room not unconscious. “Well, let’s go into the kitchen and have some breakfast.”

  “I can fix breakfast.” Chandler’s eyes narrowed. The boy had recovered his distrust of the stranger in his ma’s room.

  “No, Chandler.” Amelia turned to Daniel. “All he cooks is oatmeal. I hate oatmeal.”

  His experience with children pretty much non-existent, Daniel drew on childhood battles with his brother, Stephen, to attempt a compromise. “Maybe Chandler can make oatmeal, and we’ll find something to go with it.” He stood and lifted Jace off the bed. “I think we should leave your ma to rest.”

  Amelia placed her small hand in his large one as they walked to the kitchen. Her hand felt so light and delicate, it tickled his palm. Two weeks ago he’d used these large hands to dig his way out of prison, and today he played nursemaid to three children.

  He hadn’t paid much attention to the house last night. In addition to the darkness, his concern for the woman blocked everything else from his mind. Now as he looked around the kitchen, his stomach dropped. After only a few days with their mama laid up, the place was a mess.

  Dirty dishes tilted dangerously alongside the sink where he’d placed them when he pumped water. More dishes sat on the table, with crusting oatmeal in the bottom and sides of the bowls. Milk had splashed and dried on the floor, and a river of molasses flowed across the table.

  “I tried to clean up, but Amelia and Jace kept crying and trying to get to Ma.” Chandler’s face flushed, his stance belligerent.

  “It’s all right, son. If we all work together, the kitchen will be clean in no time, then we’ll have breakfast.”

  “But not oatmeal.” Amelia stuck her fingers in her mouth and shook her head.

  Daniel brought in the last of the wood from the box behind the house. He started a
fire in the stove to provide warmth to the small house.

  With all of them contributing−although Jace caused more problems than help−they got the room in order. Daniel found a few eggs in a bowl on the near-empty pantry shelf, scrambled them up and added that to the breakfast of oatmeal. Then he sliced the last of a loaf of bread and slapped a jar of honey alongside it.

  So much for his plans to leave at first light. Food supplies were low, the woman in the next room could still die, and three children all sat, looking at him expectantly. He pinched the bridge of his nose with, as his other hand slipped into his pocket where he fingered the ring, its inner rim etched with the words Honorem et Officium− Honor and Duty. The motto of the McCoy family, drilled into his head since childhood.

  The ring had been in his family for generations. Passed from father to son, Daniel had received it from his papa on his deathbed. Honor in his dealings with others, and duty to those in need. And the Wilsons were definitely in need.

  “Chandler, can you and Amelia clean up from breakfast while I look around? I’d like to see what food supplies your mama has.”

  “Everything’s gone,” Amelia piped up. “Damn Rebels took ‘em all.”

  Daniel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out with laughter. Apparently the little girl mimicked her mama.

  “Ma said no cussin’, Amelia.” Chandler poked his sister in the arm.

  “Ouch.” Her eyes filled with tears and her chin trembled as she rubbed her arm.

  Time for a diversion.

  Daniel clapped his hands. “Amelia, instead of helping Chandler, I’m going to give you a job to help your mama.”

  “You will?” Her eyes grew big as she climbed from her chair.

  “Yes. Come with me.”

  “Me, too.” Jace joined his sister as they walked the short hallway, then entered Mrs. Wilson’s bedroom.

  Daniel retrieved the pan from the floor, then returned to the kitchen to fill it with water.

  In his absence, the two children had climbed on their mama’s bed. Jace rubbed his chubby hand up and down Mrs. Wilson’s arm, and Amelia patted her head. The woman slept on.

  Daniel checked her forehead. The fever had risen again. “Amelia, I want you to carefully wring out this cloth.” He held up the piece of petticoat from the night before. “Then run it over your mama’s face and arms. Can you do that?”

  She slipped her fingers into her mouth and nodded.

  “You need to be very careful about her sore. Don’t touch it, or wet her leg, okay?

  The bed would probably be soaked when he returned, but he needed to change the sheet, anyway. Daniel watched for a few minutes as Amelia cooled her mama’s body, amazed at how carefully the little girl dealt with the water. Very little actually dripped from the cloth. Jace watched his sister’s every move.

  Satisfied the little ones would be occupied for a time, Daniel grabbed a large heavy coat on a hook by the back door and headed out.

  The weathered barn, where he’d hoped to sleep and be on his way, stood empty. With the number of stalls Mr. Wilson had built, there must have been three or four horses at one time. And most likely a milk cow. Now the entire building remained vacant, dust motes rising in the air as his boots kicked up the hay scattered on the floor of the structure.

  The smokehouse also held nothing, however, two fat hens occupied the chicken coop. They must’ve been hidden in the woods when the damn Rebs took everything. He smiled. Even he had started to think of his comrades that way. He’d been on raids before his capture, but never would he leave a family with so little.

  The garden would have been picked clean before the winter frost had set in. Hopefully, Mrs. Wilson had put up the vegetables before the raid. A grove of apple trees, their bare branches outlined by the blue sky, led to a cluster of pear trees. The farm had been healthy and productive at one time.

  He wandered toward a large elm tree to where a wooden cross had been stuck in the ground.

  Hans Wilson, b. May 22, 1821, d. November 11, 1864.

  The head of the family had died a little over three months ago. When had the raid taken place? He’d heard rumors in prison that General Lee, and his army were holed up near the Virginia railroad station at Petersburg for over two hundred days. Would he have sent raiders this far north for supplies? As soon as he was able to leave, Daniel would make his way south, and join Lee’s army. This could very well be the final push of the war. A war that had dragged on way too long.

  He stopped and stared over the barren countryside. The fighting couldn’t continue much longer. The Confederates had been the underdog from the start. Daniel hadn’t remember seeing a single factory producing guns or ammunition anywhere in the south. Additionally, the southern railroads were small and not interconnected. But the main detriment was the South’s reliance on tobacco and cotton, producing very little food to supply an entire army.

  It seemed all the Rebs had was arrogance and pride.

  Daniel sighed and returned to the problem at hand. One thing for certain, if he left now, the Wilson family would starve. As dangerous as his presence here continued to be, honor demanded he stay until assured of their well-being.

  The first order of business remained food, followed by enough wood to keep the family warm for the rest of the winter. He headed to the back of the house to check the root cellar, which he’d heard all northern farmhouses had. A thorough search revealed a heavy wooden door built into the side of a small hill a short distance from the house.

  The wood creaked and groaned as he pried the door open. A small oil lamp sat on the floor at the entrance, but he had no flint to light it. By opening the door all the way, the sun rays from outside allowed him to at least peer into the small room. Shelves lined the hard-packed dirt walls.

  Praise the Lord, something the damn Rebs had missed.

  Jars of fruits and vegetables sat in all their tempting glory. Daniel moved into the center of the room, his hands on his hips, as he surveyed his find. Corn, peas, green beans, tomatoes, applesauce, and pears. Numerous baskets on the floor held potatoes, carrots, squash, and dried apples. Onions and various herbs hung from hooks in the ceiling. This bounty must be how the family had survived since the husband died.

  He emptied the contents of a half-filled basket of potatoes, and placed a jar of applesauce and a few potatoes, carrots, and an onion in it. One good shove with his shoulder, and the door closed. Juggling the jar and vegetables, he carried them to the kitchen.

  Chandler sat at the wooden table cleaning the shotgun so recently pointed at Daniel’s chest.

  “How would you like to go hunting with me?” Daniel set the food down, keeping his eye on the gun and the boy’s movements.

  Chandler shrugged.

  “We could get some fresh meat for the family.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to him. “You know, Chandler, as the man of the family now, it’s your job to make sure the family eats.”

  “I know that,” he groused.

  “Any luck?”

  Chandler shook his head. Then he looked up at Daniel, the hostility gone, replaced by a child’s fear. “Things were easier when Pa was here. I wanted him to teach me to hunt, but he always said, ‘next year.’”

  Daniel’s heart twisted. What a burden for such a young boy.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll check on your mama, and then once she’s cleaned up and I’m sure she’s doing all right, you and I will hunt up some dinner.”

  “Both of us?”

  “Yes, son, both of us. You go ahead and finish your chore, and I’ll check on your mama.”

  Daniel stood and stretched, wincing when he got a whiff of himself. A bath was definitely in order sometime soon. “Where does your mama keep the clean sheets?”

  “I’ll show you.” Chandler jumped up from his seat, and hurried to a cabinet in the parlor. “Here.” He pulled out a sheet, and brought it to Daniel.

  “Maybe a clean pillow slip, too?”

  The boy returne
d to the cabinet, and rifled around a bit before emerging with a white pillow slip, blue and purple embroidery carefully stitched along the hem.

  “Thank you. Now you put that gun together, and once I take care of your mama, I’ll be back and we’ll go hunting.”

  “What about Jace and Amelia?”

  “I think as long as they stay in your mama’s room, they’ll be all right until we return.”

  Gathering the sheet and pillow slip to his chest, Daniel headed down the hallway toward the bedroom where his patient lay.

  The woman must have been awake, because a soft female voice reached his ears, along with the bright chatter of Amelia. Smiling, he entered the doorway.

  Mrs. Wilson lay flat on her back, her two youngest children flanking either side. Her deep blue eyes glittered with anger. She rose up on one elbow, and with a shaky hand she raised a pistol, cocked, and aimed at his chest, just as he cleared the doorway.

  “Get the hell out of my house, Reb.”

  Chapter Three

  “Don’t shoot him, he’s my friend.” Amelia climbed off her mother’s bed and ran to Daniel, wrapping her thin arms around his leg.

  Once again, Daniel faced a gun pointed at his chest. He raised one hand as he laid the sheets and pillowslip on the chair next to the door. “Mrs. Wilson, my name is Lt. Daniel McCoy, and I’m not here to harm you or your family.”

  Her lips curled in a sneer. “That’s what the last band of Confederate thieves said before they took every animal and bit of food they could find.” She winced with pain as she changed positions. “If you don’t figure starving a family is not doing them harm, then be on your way before I blow a hole in you.”

  He slowly lowered his hands, but kept them at his sides, palms facing outward. “Ma’am, I arrived yesterday in search of a drink of water and a place to bed down for the night. You and your children were in a bad way.”

  “In a bad way thanks to the Rebels.” She attempted to steady the pistol with her other hand. “Amelia, move away from him.”

  “No, Mama. He made your leg all better. Now you won’t die.” The little girl released one arm from his thigh and stuck her fingers in her mouth.