The Velvet Shadow (31 page)

“A private from Company M. He took a patient away, and doctored him down by the water’s edge. I don’t know much about medicine, sir, but it looked for all the world like he did surgery.” The man’s brow furrowed. “And it’s the strangest thing, sir, but I think he did a sight better than Dr. Gulick. They say he saved one man’s leg, and
another fellow’s arm.”

As wide awake as if he’d just drunk a pot of pure, strong coffee, Alden stepped forward and gripped the man’s shirt. “Think carefully, Private. This other doctor—does he have red hair? And is he a small man?”

It was an odd question, but the soldier’s face melted in relief. “Yes sir! You know him then! So it’s all right? I wasn’t sure if I should obey, but he told me to get supplies from the medical wagon, so I did. He seemed to know what he was doing.”

Alden released the man, touched his hand to his forehead, then took a quick breath of utter astonishment. It was utterly unthinkable, but not impossible. Flanna O’Connor had never been one to back down from her ambitions, and her driving ambition the last time they talked had involved going home…as an army doctor.

“Is that all, sir?” The private wavered before him.

“No.” Alden wiped his hand over his face, then exhaled. “Take me to the place where you left this other doctor. I’d like to have a word with him.”

T
he private who served as one of Gulick’s assistants pointed toward a small crowd that had gathered by the creek. Alden dismissed the soldier, then walked silently forward, the events of the last twenty-four hours whirling in his mind like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. What Alden feared couldn’t be true—but how else could he explain the uneasiness that gnawed at his gut?

Around the makeshift surgery a crowd of eager soldiers had volunteered their lanterns, mess equipment, and blankets to comfort the wounded. Inside the circle of soldiers, Sergeant Marvin tended a small fire where water boiled in a split canteen. Right next to the fire, the self-appointed doctor knelt next to a man sitting on a canvas tarp. Two other men lay on blankets on the far side of the fire, and, as the private had reported, one had a bandaged leg, the other a bandaged arm. Unlike Gulick’s workplace, there were no severed limbs here.

Watching in complete and utter surprise, Alden recognized the peculiar elements of this man’s medical practice—the fire, the pans of water, the clean implements. Like Flanna, this doctor worked slowly and steadily, using instruments that had been boiled. Alden narrowed his eyes, staring at the young soldier’s slender form. Were that cap to come off the doctor’s head, Aden was almost certain he’d find a mass of coppery hair marked by a single white streak.

He crossed his arms, facing his undeniable and dreadful suspicions. Somehow, at some point, could Flanna O’Connor have made
her way to Washington and Ball’s Bluff? The thought jagged through him like a thunderbolt.

“I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” he heard the doctor tell the present patient, a man who’d taken a Minié ball in the arm. “I’ve cleaned the wound and removed the bullet, but the bone is shattered. You’ll need to go to a hospital to have it set.”

“They won’t take my arm off, will they?” the man asked, his eyes frankly pleading. “I mean, if you can help me keep it—”

“It must remain clean.” The doctor gently lowered the man’s bandaged limb to his side. “You tell the hospital doctors to change your bandage every day, to wash their hands and their instruments. It’s what the Bible commands.”

Alden shivered with a vivid recollection. Flanna had said the same thing about the latrines…and so had O’Neil less than a week ago. Could it be possible? Had she been right under Alden’s nose for
weeks?

“Enough of this,” he called, his voice grating in the gray gloom. He shouldered his way through the men until he stood before the doctor. Scarcely aware of his own voice, he mumbled, “Are you finished here?”

“Yes.” The doctor brushed his hands on his jacket and stood, but did not lift his gaze to meet Alden’s. “Please, don’t misunderstand, Major, I meant no harm.” The voice was dusky, fragile, and shaking. Flanna’s voice…or had his wistful imagination deceived him? “But Gulick takes the shortest way when he doesn’t have to. These men will need their limbs.”

Desperate to settle the question, Alden glanced around at the curious observers. “Get along, all of you,” he ordered, placing his hands on his hips. “Take these wounded men back to their companies and make them comfortable. This soldier has finished for the night.”

He waited for a moment as the observers hastened to aid the wounded, then the group began to disperse. Alden cleared his throat when a pair of men lingered by the fire. “Is there some problem? I ordered you to get back to your company.”

“Private O’Connor is one of our messmates.” Alden recognized the man who spoke—William Sheahan, the veteran. “He’s plumb tuckered, and I thought I’d show him where we’re bedding down.”

Alden’s last doubts blew away at the mention of the private’s name.
O’Connor?
Flanna would have the audacity…and the honesty…to enlist under her family name.

Tamping down his emotions, Alden gestured toward the retreating men. “I need a word with this soldier. Now you two get along with the others. I’ll take care of Private O’Connor.”

Sheahan’s brows drew downward in a frown, but he and his companion left, leaving Alden alone with the little private. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if perhaps he’d taken leave of his senses. This Private O’Connor
had
to be Flanna, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of her being here, bearing up under all they’d endured in the long march and the tragedy by the river. He’d been heartsick even at the thought of
Roger
climbing up that cliff. If he had known Flanna was among the men, he’d have moved heaven and earth to stop her.

“Major Haynes?” Flanna’s voice was lower, huskier than it had been when she spoke to the men. “If I’ve done wrong, I’ll gladly endure the consequences, but if not, let me go. There are others I could help.”

Alden rubbed a hand over his face, considering his options. The thought of genteel Flanna O’Connor living among Union troops was so absurd he actually began to laugh, though his emotions stood a good distance away from real humor.

“How long,” his voice cracked as he looked at her, “did you think you could get away with it? Didn’t you realize you were bound to eventually encounter me or Roger? We would know you, Flanna, no matter what you chose to wear.”

She lifted her head then, her green eyes peering out from deep wells like caves of bone. He saw a tiny flicker of shock widen her eyes and panic tighten the corners of her mouth, then her features relaxed. “How did you know?” Her voice was her own again, dusky and cultured.

“It’s not every day that a private begins to operate on his fellows—and does well enough that the others actually bring their messmates
to him.” He folded his arms. “Still, I wasn’t certain until I saw this.” He nodded toward the pan of water in the fire. “You did the same thing when you operated on Private Fraser.”

“Private Fraser?” She looked away toward the rippling creek, her eyes clouding as if with memories. “And how is that soldier faring?”

Alden shook his head. “I’m sorry. According to the captain of Company B, Henry Fraser drowned yesterday.”

A change came over Flanna’s features, a sudden shock of sick realization. She swayed on her feet, and Alden stepped forward to steady her.

“Oh, did I do wrong?” She sagged against his arms. “I should have said something! That poor girl should never have—I should never have—oh, Alden!”

She lifted her face, and through the dark shadow cast by her soldier’s cap he saw tears running down her cheeks.

“There, don’t fret.” He patted her shoulder as he pulled her close. She had to be utterly exhausted; no wonder she babbled things that made no sense. “You are a brave girl, Flanna, and you’ve done a great deal of good today.”

“I couldn’t—do—enough.” She gulped in air as her tears began to flow in earnest. “Up there on the hill, I couldn’t do anything! Men were dropping around me, and I couldn’t shoot, I couldn’t help them, I couldn’t do anything but run!”

“Hush now.” He pulled her into the circle of his arms, and felt strangely comforted as she slipped her arms about his waist and leaned against him. “You’re with me now, and I’ll take care of you.”

She didn’t answer, but pressed her face to his chest and wept in long, gulping sobs that shook her shoulders and dampened his coat. Not caring about anything else, Alden held her close and forgot about the war, about his brother, about everything but the courageous woman in his arms.

Time enough to think about those things tomorrow.

Flanna awoke to a smattering of birdcalls and the sound of men’s voices. The sun had risen and life bustled outside the canvas wall.

Awareness hit her like a punch in the stomach and she sat up, realizing that she was not where she ought to be. She was in a large round tent, away from her messmates, and the sun had already risen to the level of the treetops. She’d slept through reveille—and no one had attempted to wake her.

“Morning, Miss Flanna.”

She turned. Charity sat cross-legged on a blanket behind her, her dark face wreathed in a smile. “Glad to see you’re finally waking up.”

Flanna pressed her hand to her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “What—what day is it?”

Charity pushed a cup of coffee toward her mistress. “It’s Wednesday, far as I can tell. October 23.”

Flanna took the cup. “And we went up the mountain—”

“Two days ago.” Charity gave her a compassionate look. “Major Haynes found me and told me he knew what you was trying to do. He put you to bed here in this tent and gave orders that no one was to disturb you, no matter what. He even has a guard standing outside the door.”

Flanna sipped the coffee and tried to focus her clouded thoughts. “Did he seem angry?”

Charity snorted softly. “I thought he would be, but no. He told me to let you sleep as long as you wanted, then I was to come and get him so he can talk to you.”

“Don’t go yet.” Flanna lifted her knees and rested an elbow upon them, propping her head on her hand. What would Alden do now? He’d have her put out of the army, of course. He was military through and through, and this deception flew in the face of every last regulation. He’d probably scold her, just to fulfill his duty, and he’d make her put on a dress as soon as he could requisition one. He’d probably forbid her any contact with her messmates, even with O’Neil, who had become as close as a brother.

But he hadn’t seemed angry when he confronted her. Flanna didn’t know how he found her, but in some way she had felt relieved to enter his arms and surrender the burden she’d been carrying. She wasn’t
meant to be a soldier. She wasn’t meant to doctor men either; so many things had been forced upon her. But the reason for her charade was as valid as ever, and she wouldn’t let Alden expose her if it meant she’d have to return to Boston. She’d just have to find a way to convince him to let her go home. But how?

“Charity,” she whispered, lowering the cold coffee cup to the ground, “what are we to do now? Virginia is so close—”

“Land’s sake, Miss Flanna!” Charity’s voice rang with reproach. “You ain’t thinking of running away now, are you? Those woods are full of soldiers, and they’ll shoot you before you even see them. Don’t forget about that line of dead men laid out on the ground the other night. I’m not aiming to be one of them, and neither should you.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Flanna crossed her arms on her knees and lowered her head, wanting to block out the sights and sounds of the war.

Charity was right; she couldn’t run. Her original idea of slipping away into the woods seemed totally foolish, for she had seen how fire could flash from those trees and cut men into pieces. In a blue uniform, even in civilian man’s clothes, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Are you ready for me to fetch the major?”

Flanna nodded without lifting her head. Charity scooted forward and hurried out of the tent.

Flanna looked up and propped her head on her hand. Alden Haynes would have a plan, of course, and she would have no choice but to follow it, at least until she could think of something on her own. But until they returned to camp, she would have to remain in uniform as part of the army.