War of Hearts, A Historical Romance (3 page)

Shaking from his ordeal, he spoke
cautiously. “Are you an angel?”

“No, I’m a friend.”

His eyes closed, and he went still. Sarah
panicked thinking his life had left him at last.

“He’s just resting. He will heal much
quicker now. Excuse my manors, I am Dr. Radcliff, but please call
me Robert,” the man replied.

“Miss Fanum; what happened to him?” she
asked, her relief seeping into her voice.

“He lost his leg in Princeton; it wasn’t
healing. To save his life, we had to remove the rest.”

Sarah looked down at the man on the blood
soaked cot. He looked so young to her, barely a child. She prayed
he would survive.

“What will happen to him now?”

“When he’s strong enough, he’ll be sent back
home.”

Her eyes glanced around the large barn at
the rows and rows of makeshift beds, each one with an ill or
injured soldier.

“There are so many.”

“And more come each day. The army pays well
for nurses. I would accept all the help I can get.”

“A nurse?”

“We have a shortage, as you can imagine. The
able men are needed in the field. You are strong. You have a
calling.”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m anything but
strong.”

Dr. Radcliff chuckled. “Do you know how many
men have fainted from less than you have witnessed today? I need
you; they need you.” Her eyes followed the movement as his hand
swept over the barn full of weary soldiers.

Sarah looked around uncertainly. “How many
nurses do you need?”

“As many as you can bring me.”

Sarah returned back to Margaret with a
lighter step. The older woman lifted her eyebrow at her
approach.

“I am not sure why you’re cheery, but I am
glad for it.”

“I was offered a position with pay.”

Margaret’s smile faded and her eyes
darkened. “I know darning socks is for naught, but at least it is
respectable!”

Sarah’s cheeks turned pink, the meaning of
Margaret’s words sinking in. “Margaret! It is nothing of the sort!
I was offered a position in the hospital. As a nurse, and I think
you should sign on as well.”

“A nurse? Have you gone daft? Heart
wrenching and back breaking work that is, let me tell ya.”

“I know, but there are so many men who need
help. You took such good care of Homer, ‘til the very last.”

“Wasn’t good enough was it?”

“I wasn’t able to be there for Silas, but I
can be there for these men. I need to matter. You said it yourself;
you stayed with the army to help them win. They can defeat the
British much sooner with healthy men than lame.”

Margaret sighed and sat down on a stool. Her
eyes took in the huge pile of laundry before they lifted to meet
Sarah’s. “Looks like you finally found your spirit. And who I am to
rebuke that?”

“You will join me?”

“Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

Sarah and Margaret registered as nurses the
next day. They now officially worked for the Continental Army. They
were given monthly pay as well as rations.

Margaret was right; the work was
disheartening at times. What kept her going was knowing that she
brought hope and peace to men in their darkest time. She spent
countless hours reading stories to soothe them, and writing letters
home on behalf of those who could not.

Sarah learned much during that winter. She
had lost her entire family due to this war for independence.
However, in her loss she had gained a deeper appreciation for life.
What Silas had fought and died for was freedom. Her freedom. She
would rise to the occasion and carry the flag in his stead. Sarah’s
future was still unknown; however she was no longer afraid.

Blood showered upon her face. Sarah ignored
it and moved to put pressure on the gaping wound; she hoped to
diminish the flow in the process. As the doctor began to saw
through the bone, a grating sound filled the air. It was made more
horrible by the shrieks of the man on the table.

Her arms burned, using all her strength to
subdue him, so the doctor could work. Soon, the limb was free and
the man gasped for breath as the pain subsided. The doctor folded
the flesh over the gaping hole and Sarah carried the lifeless limb
to the open window, and tossed it outside to the growing pile.

Once upon a time, this would have disturbed
her greatly. However, being an army nurse had hardened her heart to
many things. War was hell, and she was in the midst of it.

A hand touched her shoulder and she turned
to look into kind eyes.
“
Go rest for a
spell. You look exhausted,
”
her friend
Margaret intoned. She glanced around the room at the others needing
treatment. There was no rest for them as they waited for the
blade.

Even though it had been months with no
fighting, the bitterness of winter was taking its toll. Due to lack
of sufficient shelter and clothing many men had been afflicted with
frostbite. The blackened appendages had to be removed to give them
a chance at life.

The next soldier was in better shape and
Sarah’s thoughts wandered while she massaged his feet. Winter had
always been her favorite time of year, and living in New Jersey,
they could be fierce. The crops had been harvested, food had been
stored, and there was not much to do once the snow came. She
recalled bundling up to care for the livestock, and admonishing her
mother for making her wear a scarf. The rough wool always itched
her neck.

“Seems to be a fair amount of sickness in
camp,
”
the man stated in a gruff voice,
looking around.

“No, more than yesterday,
”
Sarah replied, wondering if the man was ignorant or
just making conversation.

“Would you say about half?
”
he inquired further.

Sarah’s hands stilled. She looked down at
his feet, noticing not only were they not that damaged from the
frost, but thick and hardy as well. Uneasiness came over her, her
glance taking in the man’s gently worn clothing. It had been a
while since she had seen a man who wasn’t half naked, much less one
that was fully clothed with boots and all.

“No, I wouldn’t say half. Your feet are
worse than I first thought; wait here while I fetch the
doctor.
”

“No need, I feel better already.
”
The man sat up, reaching for his boots. Not taking
time to put them on, he grabbed them and ran for the door, with
Sarah shouting after him.

A scuffle ensued when an injured man blocked
his path, and he was soon wrestled to the ground. Ignoring her own
safety, Sarah knelt over him and searched his pockets. Finding
nothing of value she grabbed his boots, thrusting a hand deep
inside she felt an edge of paper and pulled it out. The man had
ceased struggling, and silence filled the room as she unfolded it.
Her heart beat quickly in her chest, as a crude sketch of Valley
Forge appeared.

A spy. The map was plucked from her fingers
as the man was dragged off to pay for his sins.

Sarah sat in disbelief and a large hand
touched her shoulder.
“
Well
done.
”

She looked up at Robert.
“
What will become of him?
”

“He will be questioned, and punished if
found guilty. What gave him away?
”

“He wasn’t dressed in rags,
”
Sarah mumbled, looking around at the weary soldiers.
She had agonized over her brother Silas’ death for months. However,
she was thankful he never had to experience the torment of these
men. Silas had been gone a year but right now, it felt like fifty.
Sarah had seen so much suffering, and it wore heavily on her
heart.

Tristan stood by the roaring fire, sipping
his brandy. It was an especially cold night, and he was thankful
for the warmth. Looking above the fireplace mantel he regarded the
family portrait painted oh so long ago.

He was just a boy then, about a head shorter
than his brother; they stood diligently by their mother’s chair. He
remembered that day well. He had received the switch for not
staying still, so the artist painted a smaller version of Robert
and topped it off with Tristan’s head.

His parents should be back in London by now;
he had even sent them on his best ship, to make sure. He was
expecting notice any day stating exactly that. Like many of their
neighbors, they left New York once the fighting started. He was
slated to go with them, but changed his mind. He did not want to be
an Ocean away from his only sibling.

He was taken by surprise when Robert gave up
his medical practice and went to join the Rebels. However, he was
not nearly as surprised as Theodora, Robert’s wife. The bawdy woman
showed up on their doorstep screeching to high heaven when Robert
left. Perhaps that is why he fled?

Why he had chosen to join a side destined to
lose was beyond Tristan’s grasp. Alas, he had made sure that
Theodora was on the ship to London as well.

His mother bore several children; only him
and Robert survived to adulthood. Perhaps that is why Robert went
into Medicine in the first place.

Tristan, like his father, was a businessman.
They had a fleet of ships, which carried goods across the ocean. Of
course, times have been trying with this dreadful war afoot.
Several have been taken over by Privateers, might as well be
pirates, since they behave as such.

He heard footsteps and a deep chuckle behind
him. Forcing a small smile, he nodded to the Colonel as he entered
with his henchmen. Colonel Hill was longtime friend of his
father’s. He had offered him, and his staff, boarding for as long
as they needed after their previous lodging burned to the ground
during the Great Fire.

The fire swept through New York and took out
about a quarter of the City. It was blamed on the Rebels, but
seeing how much his British Guests smoked, Tristan had other
suspicions.

The fire roared up the chimney and the wind
howled outside. His thoughts were again pulled to Robert. He hoped
he was safe, wherever he was.

***

Sarah pulled her coat tightly around her
before stepping outside. Not that it mattered; the screaming wind
went right through, and chilled her to the bone. Her jaws ached
from clenching them tightly to stop them from chattering. Pulling
aside her tent flap she entered quickly. Turning in the small
space, she grasped the trailing ends and tied them shut.

The canvas did little to block out the
chill, but she was grateful for what protection she did have. The
men had built cabins for the hospitals and were working on shelter
for all. However, wood was as scarce as food these days. What they
did gather was used for kindling the fires.

She quickly removed her outer garments and
climbed into her bed to get some rest before her next shift.

She was startled awake by a commotion
outside. She sat up quickly, surprised to see it was morning and
grabbed for her coat when Margaret stopped her.

“Leave it to the men.”

“Leave what?”

“They’re hangin’ your spy.”

“What?” Sarah asked running outside,
flinging her coat on as she went. Cheers erupted, and she came to a
dead halt with her heart pounding. It was too late. Her mind was
assaulted by thoughts, perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he had
just been curious or a bit dim witted.

Margaret caught up to her and patted her
shoulder. From their spot, all they could make out was the taunt
rope swinging slightly in the morning breeze.

The crowd parted and General Washington
himself walked past. His eyes lit on Sarah and he nodded to her
before heading to his quarters.

“You should be proud; he got what he had
coming.”

Sarah nodded, but Margaret’s words did
little to dispel the doubt in Sarah’s heart. Needing comfort, she
headed to the Hospital.

Dr. Radcliff was checking the frostbite
patient from yesterday. His coloring seemed to be better and Sarah
was relieved.

“Have you been here all night?” she asked
Robert.

“Might as well have been.”

A soldier entered the room and headed toward
her. “Ma’am, the General would like a word with you.”

Sarah looked perplexed “With me?”

“Come along.”

Sarah looked frantically over at Robert,
whom looked uneasy as well. When he did not respond, she turned and
followed the soldier to Washington’s cabin. He motioned for her to
enter, and when she did, she was surprised to find that he was
alone.

He was busy writing and Sarah stood
awkwardly, unsure of the protocol when meeting a man of his
stature. She watched his impeccable script flowing over the pages,
only pausing periodically to dip his quill. He stopped suddenly and
looked up.

“Do you read?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And write as well?”

“Yes, my brother taught me.” At the mention
of her brother, her heart ached, but was a bit easier than
before.

“Excellent, have a seat.”

Sarah sat on the chair he indicated. He
returned to his work and with a flourish, signed the document.

“As you know we are in great need of
supplies. I have been given information recently where we can
procure some.”

“That is good news isn’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

Bundling his cloak about him, Tristan headed
outside. He could find better company at the local tavern. There
were few people on the street. Most had sought shelter from the
night. Even the soldiers had relaxed a bit, he passed one with his
cheeks red from either drink or the wind, he could not be sure. He
was guarding one of his neighbor’s houses; one that had left the
country.

What was worth guarding on a night like
this? The rebels were far away, and from news of it, half dead at
that. His brother again flitted across his mind, and he pulled his
coat tighter to ward off the chill. Reaching the tavern he chose a
seat at the bar. A whiskey was placed in front of him in a pewter
cup. He hefted it to his lips and gulped. The burning reminded him
that he was alive. He heard a lilt of laughter and turned his head
toward the sound. The girl was barely of age, if that. He watched
for a second, ‘til she trotted off on a gentleman’s arm.