The Christmas Ball
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
by
Susan Macatee
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Christmas Ball
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Susan Macatee
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Tina Lynn Stout
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First American Rose Edition, 2012
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-356-6
Published in the United States of America
ERIN’S REBEL
:
Finalist, paranormal category,
Ancient City Romance Authors
2010 Reader’s Choice Award
“I love historical romances and Susan Macatee did a beautiful job with this one.”
~Night Owl Reviews (4.5 Hearts)
“I loved the author’s gentle hand with detail, her convincing touch with romance, and the twists and turns that she creates before a thoroughly satisfying ending…This book’s well worth keeping on my shelf.”
~WRDF Reviews
“Recommended read for paranormal and historical romance readers or if you simply enjoy a good love story.”
~ParaNormal Romance
“Rich in history and mystery.”
~TwoLips Reviews (4 Lips)
~*~
CONFEDERATE ROSE
:
First Place, historical category,
First Coast Romance Writers
2010 Beacon Contest for Published Authors;
Second Place, historical category,
2010 New England Reader’s Choice
Bean Pot Award
“If you like romance wrapped in the conflicts of the Civil War you will definitely enjoy this book.”
~You Gotta Read Reviews
“
CONFEDERATE ROSE
is a magnificent work of fiction…I highly recommend this charming historical.”
~Blue Ribbons Reviews at Romance Junction
(4 Ribbons)
Dedication
To the brave women who disguised themselves
as males to fight for their country
during the American Civil War.
Chapter One
December 13, 1862
Sara Brewster lifted the pan of bloodied water and moved on to the next man needing attention. The cots were packed so close together in the large canvas tent, she had a hard time sliding between them. Her trousers, however, proved a godsend. The other women, in gowns and petticoats, had a much more difficult time of it.
She set her pan on a small table by a soldier. The poor soul moaned in pain. His grimy hair, plastered to his head, made it impossible to detect the color. She removed his coat and vest, grimacing at the blood covering the front of his shirt. Gingerly, so as not to cause undue discomfort, she lifted the shirt and studied the gaping wound. She’d have to get Doc Ellison over here fast. In the meantime, she squeezed out excess moisture from her rag and pressed it against the wound to staunch the freely flowing blood.
His eyes popped open. When he focused, he rasped, “Am I kilt, son?”
“Can’t say for sure. Doc will have to take a look.” She studied the soldier’s clean-shaven face blackened with dirt. He was Nathan Combs, a member of her company. “Tell me, how bad is it out there?”
“Hell,” he sputtered. “The Rebs have the high ground and they just keep firing down on us. And the cold...” He shuddered. “I couldn’t feel much of anything until they brought me in here.”
“Maybe that was for the best. The cold may have kept you from bleeding to death out on the field. I’ll get the doc so he can take a look.”
“I much appreciate it, son.” Combs’ eyes glazed over and he turned his face away.
Sara moved cautiously through the overcrowded tent trying not to jostle wounded patients. Doctor Ellison stood at the back of the tent conferring with a woman nurse, whose honey-colored hair was arranged in a bun at the nape of her neck.
Miss Marshall turned, light brown eyes drifting over Sara’s form, dismissing her as unworthy of more than a passing appraisal.
“Doc,” Sara said. “I have a wounded man...gut shot. I think you should have a look.”
Ellison nodded to the nurse. “I’ll be right back.” He raised a hand. “Lead on, Private.”
She turned and led him to Combs. As the doctor bent to probe the wound, she studied his handsome face. A dark brown, well-tended beard framed his angular jaw, and the thick, wavy hair touching his collar always seemed to have an errant lock grazing his forehead that she longed to smooth back. His intense hazel eyes set her pulse racing as he examined the man’s wound. How would it feel to have him studying her so intently? She warmed at the thought. Unfortunately, when he glanced at her, all he saw was a boy.
She’d joined the army disguised as a man by the name of George Brewster. Although she’d spent time on the battlefield, she was now assigned as a hospital steward. Working closely beside Doctor Ellison made her wish she wasn’t in uniform, but dressed in a gown, her curls long and flowing. She’d watched the doctor gaze at a few of the women volunteers appreciatively and often wished he looked at her that way.
After he completed his examination, Doc turned to Sara, “I need to get that ball out immediately. If you could bring my instruments up here and a clean pan of water, I’ll get started. Thank you for bringing him to my attention, he may have died otherwise.”
“He’ll be all right?”
“Can’t say for sure, but at least he’ll have a chance.” Doc Ellison smiled.
Sara feared she’d swoon. She’d longed to have him smile at her that way, but it didn’t mean a thing so long as he thought her to be a boy. She made her way to the back of the tent, where Miss Marshall sorted instruments.
“I need to bring those up to Doc.”
“I’ll do it.” Miss Marshall glanced to the front of the tent where Doc hovered over the patient.
Sara clenched her fists and scowled. “He ordered
me
to do it.”
The nurse smirked. “I wouldn’t want to put you out, Private.”
“It’s my job.” Sara gathered the instruments Doc needed and placed them on a tray. She then found a pan and filled it with fresh water from the barrel on tap.
The woman turned back to her chore of sorting. “Suit yourself.”
She made her way back to Doc and set the tray with the instruments and pan on a small table near the wounded man.
“Thank you, Private.” Ellison flashed that smile again.
Her face flushed. “If you need any more help, I’ll be glad to assist.”
“Of course. If you could hold him down while I dig out the ball, that would be a big help.”
“Sure, Doc.” She smiled. Just being close to him was a thrill. If only she could show him the soldier he thought of as a boy was really a woman.
Hours later, toward dawn, she realized she should have been dead on her feet, but the wounded required constant attention. These men were her comrades and she’d do anything in her power to help, even if it meant giving up sleep. They’d do the same for her.
One of the officers entered the tent. “Who’s in charge here?”
“I am, sir,” Ellison called from the back of the tent.
Sara glanced between Captain Werth and the doctor, as Doc made his way to the entrance. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
“We need men to carry wounded from the field.”
“Has the battle ended?”
The captain scratched his full beard. “There may still be some sniper shooting, but we need to get those wounded off that field. The temperature was damn cold last night. Some of them may have already frozen to death.”
“I understand,” Ellison said. “I’ll choose a few stewards to assist you.” He frowned when his glance settled on Sara.
“I’ll be glad to help in any way I can,” she said.
“Very well.” He glanced around the tent, hand picking three other soldiers.
The captain signaled the men to follow him. As she moved to obey, Ellison rested a hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her body.
“Take care, son. And bring back as many as you safely can.”
“Sure, Doc.” After a glance at his face, she moved away to follow the captain outside.
****
Kirk Ellison watched the soldiers march off behind the captain. He sighed and closed the tent flap. When Private Brewster had been assigned as a hospital steward, he’d taken the lad under his wing. He seemed too young and vulnerable to be in the army, should have been home on the farm helping his parents tend crops. Kirk had taken it upon himself to see to it that Brewster was permanently assigned hospital duty to keep him off the battlefield. He would hate to see the boy injured or killed.
A nurse, one of the volunteers from Maryland, approached gathering her skirts to keep them from being caught on the edges of the tables and cots.
“Will you be needing me to put fresh sheets on the empty cots, Doctor?”
“Yes, I fear more casualties are about to arrive. Maybe more than we can handle.”
The woman nodded. “I’ll do as many as I can.” As she turned away, he eyed her petite form and golden hair. Since he’d started his training at medical school, he hadn’t had much time for social pursuits. The young ladies he’d courted when he’d been apprenticed in Philadelphia, before going away to the university, had been mere diversions. But he had no dearth of young women showing interest in an unattached doctor, just didn’t have the time to pursue any type of courting with the demands the army put on his time.
He, another doctor and a few of the women nurses, readied the cots for new casualties. He cleaned his instruments and finally had time to sit and take the cup of tea a nurse handed him. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. Last year, both armies had ceased hostilities over the winter months, but it seemed the fighting would go on this year right through Christmas. He doubted he’d get a furlough this year like he did over the holidays last year to pay a visit to his family in Washington, D.C. His father had passed on and his mother now lived with his married sister, Mary. He would have liked to visit them this Christmas, but the way things were progressing, he doubted he’d see them at all.
While he waited, he wondered how long it would take for the men to collect the casualties. He feared if the Rebs hadn’t ceased their fire, it would all be for naught. And, although he shouldn’t show favoritism, he’d hated to send the young private close to the action when there was a chance of him being injured. Unfortunately, he could do nothing but wait.
****
Dawn was fast approaching as Sara and the men with her scurried to secure as many wounded as they could before full daylight. She had no doubt the Rebels would resume fire then and all of them would be lost. She fingered the pistol tucked into the belt of her coat. She’d been in the ranks in previous battles and was skilled in both rifle and pistol. She’d defend herself if she had to.
“Over here,” one of the men called. She glanced up to find a corporal motioning to her. He had a stretcher lying beside a prone man. Noting the lightening sky, she scurried over to help. They had to hurry.
The corporal glanced up. “Can you lift his legs, while I grab his shoulders?”
She nodded and positioned herself by the wounded man’s feet. Fearing he was one of her friends, she tried not to look at the soldier’s face. The corporal slid his hands under the wounded man’s shoulders. She grasped his ankles.
“Heave to,” the corporal ordered.
Lifting together, they moved the soldier over to the stretcher. She squatted before the handles of the stretcher, waiting for the corporal to order her to lift.
He nodded, grasping the handles at the soldier’s head. She took a deep breath and lifted her end. As she struggled to straighten her legs to carry the man off the field to the waiting ambulance, a piercing pain hit her in the upper thigh. Gasping, she dropped her end of the litter and crumpled to the ground grasping her leg.
“Sniper,” the corporal yelled as he dove for the ground.
Sara lifted her pistol and fired off a few shots. The corporal did the same. After a few minutes, the other soldiers with them approached, crawling on their elbows.