Kary, Elizabeth (8 page)

"It's
one thing to nurse a sick relative or friend," he argued, "but quite
another to care for strangers."

Tears
gathered in her eyes again, whether in remorse or frustration she could not
say. And though her argument had failed to move him, Lucas had never been able
to resist her tears. After a moment he put his arms around her and pulled her
close. He did not want to part in anger either, but he meant to have the last
word.

"Very
well, Leigh. Do what you must, for, as you say, I will be in no position to
stop you. But if you persist in this, you do it without my permission or
sanction."

Reluctantly
she nodded.

They
stood for a few seconds without speaking until Lucas turned her face to his.
With the fingers of his left hand he skimmed her cheek, brushing aside the
tendrils of silky hair with a tenderness that spoke more eloquently than words
of his love and concern for her. Something deep inside her chest melted at his
touch, and she was unbearably sorry for turning their last minutes together
into a confrontation. Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers in a sweet,
undemanding kiss. His lips were warm and smooth, soft with a longing he could
not express. Leigh accepted the proof of his deep affection for her, and with
newfound forwardness that belied her natural reserve she twined her arms around
his neck and opened her mouth invitingly. She felt his momentary surprise
before a spark of response shot through him, and he tightened his arms around
her as his kiss became demanding and greedy. Compliantly she came against him,
arching to mold her body to the hard contours of his. As she clung closer
still, Leigh knew she was driving him beyond the well-defined strictures of
propriety, but she did not care. With a thrill of pleasure she heard his
breathing accelerate and felt the racing of his heart as he took liberties with
her that no Southern gentleman should.

Even
as his excitement grew, Lucas did not understand the reasons for the change in
her. Whether it was because of his imminent departure or the tenor of the
times, he did not pause to question. He only knew that Leigh was filling him
with a delight that was nearly too sweet to be borne.

And
as Leigh abandoned herself to Lucas, she waited with sharp anticipation for the
delicious, newly discovered sensations to claim her, as she was sure they
would. But there was no melting helplessness in response to his kisses, no
dissolution of will in Lucas's embrace. It was undeniably pleasant to be held and
kissed by this man, but something was missing, something that had come so
easily, so naturally with Hayes Banister. With bitter disappointment Leigh
realized that though she could accept and respond to Lucas's warm affection,
she was untouched by his passion. Before the treacherous thought was fully
formed, she closed her mind to it, straining closer and closer to her fiancé in
active denial of the burgeoning insight.

After
a time Lucas raised his head, and she saw the raging gold light of desire deep
in his eyes. "Oh, Leigh," he murmured, "Leigh. I never knew—I
never suspected that there was such—such fire in you. I love you, Leigh. I love
you. I'm more sure of that at this moment than I have ever been before. If only
there were time to make you my wife before I go—"

"And
I love you, Lucas!" she cried out as if the fervor of her words could
nullify the gnawing doubt she felt at her lack of response. And in her
desperation the statement was as much a disclaimer of her traitorous feelings
as a vow.

Lucas
swept her into his arms one last time and kissed her with that same barely
restrained intensity, but she was untouched by the tempest within him. Finally
they drew apart, he with aching regret and she with something akin to relief.

"Bran
must be waiting," he whispered against her hair. And a moment later when
they opened the door to the foyer, Brandon and Althea were indeed waiting,
talking together quietly. There was a final round of hugs and kisses, and then
the Hale brothers were gamboling down the walk to where Plato, their
manservant, was holding their horses. They waved their hats in farewell, but
the gesture spoke less of the sadness of parting and more of an impatience to
begin their new adventure. With tears on their cheeks, Leigh and Althea watched
them go, afraid for the Hales' safety but a little envious of their freedom as
well. When they were out of sight, the women returned to the house feeling
empty and abandoned.

In
the silent foyer Althea laid a comforting hand on her daughter's arm.
"Don't worry, Leigh," she offered in consolation. "Lucas will be
back soon. Bran said it wouldn't take more than a month or two to convince the
Union to let the seceding states go their own way."

"I
pray he's right," the young woman replied, "but I fear he's
not."

"You
mustn't say such things!" her mother admonished in a whisper.

"This
war has been years in the making, Mother, and I doubt it will be settled in a
few skirmishes." Leigh's eyes were dry as she spoke, but her voice was
thick with unshed tears. A knot of black despair fed on her sudden pessimism,
and the lingering doubt in Lucas's farewell sapped her strength. But Leigh
stirred herself in spite of it, knowing that there was more comfort in action
than in the bleakness of her own thoughts.

"I
think I'll go next door and see how Felicity is faring. This parting can't have
been easy for her either, and Bran did ask me to look in on her."

"Why
don't you invite her for supper?" Althea called after her daughter.

Leigh
followed the route she had traveled since childhood: down the side steps,
through the rose arbor, and across the grass to the solid brick town house that
adjoined the Penningtons' larger one. She found Felicity Hale in the small
yellow silting room off the long main hall, perched at the edge of her favorite
slipper chair, her embroidery hanging lax in her gnarled fingers. When Leigh
entered, the woman glanced up, her wan face worn with new lines of care and her
soft hazel eyes already dark with loneliness. Without a word the younger woman
came to kneel beside her, and they bent together under the weight of their fear
for Lucas and Bran. For a very long time the two women held each other in
silence, and though they found comfort in the contact, it could not dispel
their dread of what the future might bring.

***

May 13, 1861

Saturday
and Sunday, May 11 and 12, were terrifying days in St. Louis as the riots that
began with the taking of Camp Jackson spread to other areas of the city,
causing more death and destruction. Seven men were killed on the steps of the
old Presbyterian church on Walnut Street, and rumors of violence were rampant.
While most St. Louisans cowered in their homes, others fled south or west to
escape the threat of the mobs that roamed the city. Monday brought renewed
order, and by ten o'clock Leigh was in the Tenth Street waiting room of one of
the city's most prominent physicians. A longtime colleague of her
grandfather's, Dr. Phillips surely would know how she could go about
volunteering her services as a nurse.

"Well,
Leigh, how good it is to see you," the portly, middle-aged man greeted
her. "And how are your parents these days?" For a few minutes they
exchanged pleasantries before Phillips inquired about the purpose of her visit.

"I've
come to ask your help and advice, Dr. Phillips," Leigh began steadily,
though her fingers were laced tight around the handkerchief in her lap.
"As you know, I worked for several years in my grandfather's medical
practice before he died, and as his assistant I learned a great deal about
caring for the sick."

Phillips
pulled thoughtfully on his immaculately kept beard and nodded. "Yes, Simon
told me on several occasions how well you were doing and how pleased he was by
your concern for his patients. You had a rare opportunity to learn your skills
from one of the best doctors this city's ever had. But just what is it I can do
to help you, Leigh?" His expression of respect for her grandfather brought
tears to Leigh's eyes, and she had to blink them away before she could answer.

"Well,
sir, I thought that with the onset of war there is bound to be a need for
people to tend the sick and wounded soldiers. Since I already have my medical
training, I was hoping you could tell me how to offer my services as a
nurse."

Shocked
silence filled the examining room as Phillips sat speechless at what she
proposed. "As a nurse?" he echoed at last. "Surely you can't be
serious, my dear! A nurse, indeed. You're a gently reared young woman, Leigh,
not some common drab from the almshouse or the gutter, forced to work in a
hospital or starve. Only those unfortunates and the good Catholic sisters, of
course, nurse the ill. Why should someone with your advantages volunteer to do
such a thing?"

"Isn't
it a woman's Christian duty to care for the sick?" she countered evenly,
calm and confident now in the face of his opposition.

"Yes,
it is, but working in a hospital full of wounded men would hardly be the same
as tending an old auntie with the croup!" Phillips paused, pulling his
beard with new vigor, trying to think of any rationale that would deter the
granddaughter of one of his dearest friends from considering this foolish
course. In the pause Leigh found herself comparing his argument to the one
Lucas had voiced; somehow she had expected Dr. Phillips to be more enlightened
and open-minded than her fiancé had been. "Besides, Leigh," Phillips
went on after a few moments, "the Army has never made provisions for women
on its nursing staff. Nor is the Medical Department any more prepared for this
war than the rest of the service."

"Then
wouldn't volunteers with medical training be welcome, sir, regardless of their
gender?" There was a note of zeal in her voice as she went on. "At
the rate things are going, it won't be long before full-scale battles are
joined, and then the wounded are bound to need someone to look after them.
Surely this is a time when we must all work together to provide for the men who
are going to defend their countries."

Phillips
frowned, unimpressed by her fervor. "I daresay there will be plenty for
you to do once the war starts in earnest. It's been barely a month since Fort
Sumter fell, and in time women will no doubt get together to roll bandages,
scrape lint, and knit socks."

"Any
idiot can scrape lint and roll bandages!" Leigh cried passionately.
"And my knitting is barely adequate."

"It
would improve," Phillips prophesied, his round, florid face getting redder
as he met her continued opposition.

"That's
not the point!" Leigh argued. "The skills I have can save lives. I
know how to treat a high fever and change a dressing. I can even set a broken
bone, if need be."

Phillips
threw up his hands in a gesture of resignation, then changed his tack.
"How old are you, Leigh?" he asked.

"Twenty-two."

"And
are you married?"

"Dr.
Phillips, you know very well—" Leigh began to protest.

"Are
you married?" he repeated.

"No,
not yet," she conceded.

"And
do men find you attractive?"

The
question flustered Leigh, and she shrugged self consciously. "I suppose
they do, but what—"

Phillips
looked smug, as if he'd made his point. "No matter how good your
credentials, Leigh, those three things will keep you from the position you seem
so intent on having. There's not a doctor alive who would let a young,
beautiful, unmarried girl near a ward full of sick men.

"Even
I wouldn't take you on, but it's for your own sake that I'd refuse. In any
hospital, much less a military hospital, there would be—" he groped for
the right words— "indelicacies unfit for a maiden's eyes. Leigh, listen to
me as you would to your own grandfather. Even if it were possible to find the
kind of nursing position you want, the horror of it would be more than you
could bear."

Leigh
drew herself up straighter in her chair. "I thank you for your concern,
Doctor," she snapped, "but I have never been squeamish."

Phillips
watched her resolute face and saw his words were making no impression. The
stubborn chit would not be deterred. But then neither would she find the kind
of position she was seeking, and he was silently thankful for her sake.

"What
do your parents say about your nursing?" he finally asked.

"I
haven't told them," she admitted less defiantly. "And Lucas
Hale?"

"Lucas
has gone south; it doesn't matter what he says." Dr. Phillips blew a deep
breath and continued to pull at his beard. He had known Leigh Pennington all
her life, and her bullheadedness was not new to him. He was just thankful that
his son John had gotten over his infatuation with this redheaded pepperpot
before he'd gone so far as to ask her to marry him. Phillips sat back in his
chair and eyed his young visitor with mingled irritation and respect. No matter
how inappropriate or harebrained her intentions, the girl did have spunk. If
she'd only been a man, she'd make a damned fine doctor. "Well, Leigh, take
my advice, since that's what you claim to have come for. Forget about nursing
wounded soldiers. There are a hundred other ways to make yourself useful in
this crisis. The surgeons who'll be tending the wounded won't want or need
girls like you fluttering over their patients. I'm sorry, but that's the truth,
plain and simple. Accept it if you can, or go talk to someone else, but in the
end you'll find there's no place for you in a military hospital. Now if you'll
excuse me, I have patients to see."