Carla Kelly Page 12

  “No, Elinore, that’s not it. Oh, for heaven’s sake look at me!”

  She turned around quickly, surprised at his impatience. It was not a quality she knew in him. “Sir, I…”

  He waved his hand to stop her. “Never mind. It’s just that you’ve become afflicted with the chief malady among the staff at Number Eight.” He leaned against the trestle that held the chief surgeon, his hand resting familiarly on his mentor’s arm. “I was trained in Milan to think and think again.” He ran his hand lightly over Sheffield’s arm, as if trying to massage him into life. “My maestro told me, ‘Signore, if you do not trust your treatment, and keep trusting it, you might as well wash windows.’ So I say to you, my dear, welcome to the club.”

  She let out her breath in a small sigh, relieved that at least he did not accuse her. She did not want to look at Jenks again, so she kept her eyes on Jesse as he gave the chief surgeon a final pat and came closer to her in the small space of the chapel. He looked toward the small altar. “I confess to you—and isn’t this a good place?—that I wish I could do an autopsy on Jenks. I’d give a lot to look at his lungs.” He turned his head toward her, and she could see all the effort that took. “Now what do you think of me?”

  Don’t blunder here, Elinore, she thought. You’re in enough trouble. “I would call you a surgeon,” she replied simply. “And…and I think Sonia Ramos would, too.”

  She could tell by the flicker in his eyes that he didn’t expect that answer. He was a moment in replying. “Thank you for reminding me of her. I needed that right now.”

  Shy again, she was spared the embarrassment of a reply when Harper entered the chapel. “Ready, sir?” he asked.

  Jesse nodded.

  “The others?” Elinore asked.

  “They are well, considering. The only one suffering any pain is Dan O’Leary,” Jess replied. “He thinks he failed me with Sonia Ramos. I told him, of course he did not, and that it was the very devil of a presentation, but I suppose he must agonize for a while over it.” He looked at the young priest, who still stood in silence. “Our friend here also has a good touch. We will leave our patients with him and Dan tonight.” He smiled at Harper. “And, of course, Private Wilkie, who has from somewhere already procured an entire ham. What a thieving rascal he is.”

  She couldn’t help but smile, even in that place of the forever-silent men.

  “Well, never mind. He may actually prove useful. The older priest—I believe he is called Father Esteban—tells us we have been directed to return to the Ramos house. Come, Elinore, start me in motion.”

  She touched his arm, and he began to move. She got no farther than Sheffield’s body, where she paused again. “I loved him,” she said.

  “You were loved, too,” he replied. “He told me once—I think it was after Talavera, when we were groggy from amputating—that you were the daughter he wished he and Millie had found the time to conceive.” He went to the body himself, and tugged out a gold chain around Sheffield’s neck. “Look here. He did not give you back all your beads. We’ll leave it with him.”

  She eyed the one blue bead on the chain, and burst into tears again. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, which felt gritty across her face, and could think of nothing to say.

  With Harper grasping Jesse’s arm, they left the small chapel, their footsteps echoing in the empty space of the larger chapel. Jesse made them stop in the middle, where he made the sign of the cross as he faced the altar. Elinore had never seen him do that before. He must have known she was staring at him, because he managed a smile in her direction. “Elinore, I am a terrible Catholic. I admit it, but you’ll agree that we’re alive because of someone’s grace.”

  Father Esteban led them back to the Ramos house. “You will stay here tonight,” he told them. “Tomorrow we will bury the men, and then you will have to leave. I do not know where the French are, but someone from this village will be watching to warn us.”

  The servants had prepared a pallet in a small room off the kitchen for Harper, but he insisted on placing it in the hall at the top of the stairs. Jesse tried to object, but Harper wouldn’t hear of it. “I am a soldier, Captain,” he replied.

  “That will come as a surprise to your commanding officer, once we reach Portugal,” Jesse said, but offered no more objections. He opened the door to Sonia’s room and stood there a moment. Elinore joined him, letting out a small sigh to see Sonia asleep with her hand under her cheek. Her baby slept in a cradle beside the bed.

  “Beautiful,” Jesse said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. “Thank God there was some redemption in this sorry day. Is there a patron saint for idiots?”

  “Do you think it is the same one for army surgeons?” she joked, and was rewarded with a lopsided smile and a little jab in her ribs.

  Father Esteban motioned them toward another doorway. “Here you are. Senora Ramos’ mother is already asleep, but she told me to make sure you came back here. I will be here early. We must bury your dead as soon as possible.” He put his fingers to his lips and started for the stairs.

  Elinore stopped him, coming close. “Father, perhaps this is a delicate question, but is there a father for Sonia’s baby?”

  He smiled at her. “Of course! There have not been too many immaculate conceptions in Spain in recent years.”

  Jesse laughed out loud. “Father, I thought I was the only heretic here!”

  “War has made a heretic of me,” the priest said simply. He made a small sign of the cross on Jesse’s forehead. “Go to sleep. In the morning we will conduct our sad business, and I have a favor to ask you. No. No. The asking can wait. You need to sleep now. Take him, senora.” He turned to go, then looked back when he was at the stairs. “Senora, you are to leave your dress outside the door tonight. The maid will clean it.”

  “I will be so grateful,” Elinore said. “But you have not answered my question. Where is the baby’s father?”

  “He rides with the guerillas.” Father Esteban shrugged. “Beyond that, I cannot say. Good night to you both.”

  She had no time to be shy over being alone with her husband, or even time to inventory her vast storehouse of guilt over the death of the alcalde and the ruin of his daughter. Jesse had already removed his shoes. Eyes closed, he unbuttoned his shirt and shucked it onto the floor. He tried to unbutton his trousers, and finally just stood by the bed, his arms at his sides, defeated by exhaustion. Elinore unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down. He rested his hand on her shoulder while he stepped out of his pants.

  More amused than shy now, Elinore gave him a little push and watched him sag onto the bed, wearing his smallclothes. The coverlets had been turned down. There was only one pillow, but it was wide, plump and inviting. With a sigh he rested his head on the pillow and tried to swing his legs onto the mattress. When he had no success, Elinore obliged him. He was asleep before she raised the blanket to cover him.

  Elinore removed her apron, dress and petticoats and set them outside the door. For good measure, she put her muddy shoes outside, too. Turn them all into beautiful clothes, she thought…I would not mind that. She had no brush, so she pulled out her few remaining pins and ran her fingers through her hair, all the while looking around the room and wondering where she could sleep. The room was small, with nothing but a bed, a chair, a rug, and a tiny altar in one corner. The fire had glowed itself down to embers now, and the cedar fragrance was an unbelievable comfort to her tired brain.

  She was starting to shiver, standing there in her shimmy. There was nowhere to sleep but the bed. After a long moment, she crawled under the covers with him, giving him a timid push to move him closer to the other side, and then a firm one when he seemed not to respond. She lay as still as she could, but her feet were cold, and the mattress an old one. She felt herself sliding toward her husband, whose only reaction was to haul her in tight against him and keep her there with one arm.

  He was warm, but not feverish, she decided. Elinore relaxed and then
cautiously moved her cold feet against his legs. He uttered some objection in a language she didn’t recognize, but his complaint didn’t cause him to pull away. His arm draped over her seemed heavy at first, and unnatural, and then warm and oddly comforting. As she sank deeper into the mattress, Elinore found herself faced with a new emotion, one she had not expected to feel in this tangled, terrible day. I am tired and I must be wrong, she thought as her eyes closed. We are in a dreadful situation. How is it that I feel safe?

  Jesse woke hours later, not because of any pain of his own, but because of some instinct he had acquired beginning with his university days in Milan. Moonlight poured in the window. Elinore lay close to him, with her hair spread across the pillow they shared. She had curled herself into solid sleep, conforming her body to his, and resting the bottoms of her feet against his shins. He smiled, thinking of worse fates for himself in the years ahead than to be her personal warming pan.

  His arm rested across her side, his elbow comfortable between that juncture of her waist and hip. He raised up slightly and smiled again. Her one hand that he could see was relaxed in sleep, the fingers curling over the thumb like a baby’s hand. It was light enough in the room to see the veins in her wrist. He admired the lovely swell of her breasts. Oh, Hippocrates, was ever anatomy so well represented? he asked himself. I know better than most men that she is a conglomerate of skin, blood, tissue, bones, muscles and nerves, but only look how nicely arranged.

  He got up slowly, hoping not to disturb her, and trying to keep his head as level as possible. To his relief, she did not waken, but flopped onto her other side. Her shimmy rode up to her hips, and he enjoyed the view. Cautiously, he touched his temple. The swelling had gone down a little. He felt the laceration, crusted over now. Hippocrates, I am disinclined to suture myself. Perhaps Daniel can do the honors in the morning, or perhaps I can get by with a well-placed plaster. Very well, sir; call me a coward.

  He groped under the bed for the crock and relieved himself as quietly as he could. In the silent room it sounded to him like Angel Falls in Venezuela, but Elinore did not stir. He found his trousers then and pulled them on. He considered the shirt, but did not think Sonia Ramos would object to his smallclothes.

  He nearly stumbled over Harper in the hall. The private sat up, more alert than Jess would have thought possible in a man so unfamiliar with the art of warfare, no matter how long his particular enlistment. “Go back to sleep, Private. I am going to check on Senora Ramos.”

  The door was open slightly, and he peered inside. Sonia still lay on her side, but the baby was curled close to her now, nursing with steady pulls. A man sat on the stool close to her bed, one hand resting on the baby’s head and the other on Sonia’s head. He looked around, then stood up quickly. Sonia opened her eyes and spoke to him. Jess recognized the word for surgeon, and the man sat down again.

  He wanted to ask him how he got past Harper, then noticed the open window. He walked to the window and looked down. A horse was tethered below, tied to a tree that must have served as Senor Ramos’ route. Why is this, he wondered.

  “We have all become careful,” the man said, as if in answer to his thoughts.

  Jess nodded. “Your English is so good.”

  Ramos shrugged. “If you English in your arrogance will not learn Spanish, what am I to do?”

  There is much truth to that, Jesse thought, considering his brother officers who merely raised their voices and spoke slower, and then wondered why nothing happened. “Indeed,” he murmured. “I believe you are right.”

  The man kissed Sonia, and rose, only to kneel before Jesse, take his hand, and kiss it. “Thank you for the lives of my wife and daughter.”

  As startled as he was, Jess had the good sense not to jerk back his hand. He helped Ramos to his feet, then put his hands on the other man’s arms. “I am glad I was here to help,” he said simply. “If I have learned anything from war, it is to cherish life.”

  “I am in your debt.”

  Jesse shook his head. “I was only doing what I promised Hippocrates I would do.”

  “Then, he is a good man, too. Please tell him for me,” Ramos said fervently.

  You hear that, Hippocrates? Another ringing endorsement. “I will.” He turned to Sonia, who indicated that he put the baby back in her cradle. He took the infant from her with pleasure, enjoying the way babies newly birthed contracted into a small space, even though they had the world to stretch out in now. He held her close to his chest for a moment, feeling the steady rhythm of her. “You were determined to live, weren’t you, my dear?” he asked, and then put her on her side in the cradle. He wanted to hold her longer, because he liked that utterly unique fragrance of newborns, but it was late.

  He turned back to Sonia. “Con su permiso,” almost exhausted his Spanish, but she understood his motions, and lay on her back. He kneaded her abdomen gently, pleased that her womb was already contracting. “Esta bien, senora,” concluded his repertoire.

  He started for the door, but Ramos stopped him. “I think you should know that the rather elegant horse hitched to your wagon is the favorite mount of Souham himself,” he said, naming the general who had assumed command after Marmont was injured at Salamanca. “Look in the saddlebags and then consider the wisdom of keeping the horse.”

  “How do you…” he began, then considered the nature of Ramos’ current trade. “Perhaps I shall do that in the morning, senor. Go with God.”

  He left them together then, and went back to his own bed, to stand a while on the chilly tiles to admire Elinore, whose shimmy had slipped entirely off her shoulder and exposed one lovely breast. When he thought he could trust himself, he climbed in beside her, and had the pleasure of putting his cold feet on her legs. She mumbled something and settled against him in such a way that he thought it best to turn his back to her.

  He contemplated the variety of things he wanted to do with his wife, and allowed himself the luxury of imagining a week or two with time to devote to her alone. Time! He had never had any, not since the University of Milan declared him a surgeon and he plighted his troth with the Medical Corps. I wonder what it would be like to have time, he asked himself. It is your fault, Hippocrates. I cannot fathom such a turn of events. He slept.

  Chapter Nine

  Elinore woke to find Jesse gone. She lay still, disinclined to move, then inched over into the spot he had vacated. It was still warm. She wondered if she had dreamed of Jesse running his hand over her hip in the night, and felt her face go red at the thought of it, especially considering that her shimmy had worked its way up to her waist. Well, what of it? she asked herself. I think we have more serious matters to deal with today.

  She inched over a little farther, and heard paper crinkle. She moved away and picked up a note he must have left on the bed. “My dear, please join me in the chapel after you look in on Sonia Ramos,” she read to herself. “Her husband was here last night. I suppose London ladies would swoon to see a real guerilla, but frankly, he appeared to be in need of a bath.” She laughed, pleased to know that he still possessed a sense of humor. “Perhaps that is just me, though. You know I am the division officer of hygiene.”

  Indeed you are, she thought as she got up. She pulled her shimmy over her head so she could wash as much of herself as she could in the basin of water that he had obviously already used. She looked closer. At least there were no whiskers in the basin. I do have my standards of hygiene, too, Captain, she thought.

  The water, though used, was still warm. Someone had thoughtfully provided a cup of soft soap, which smelled of summer herbs. She washed quickly, dried herself on a slightly damp towel, pulled on her wrinkled shimmy again, and looked outside the door to see if a miracle had taken place.

  She was not disappointed. Even though it was her same dress and useful apron, they were clean. Her lace-up shoes were still sturdy and brown, but minus the mud. And blessing of blessings, some kind soul in the Ramos household had left her a comb. She dressed and did her ha
ir up in a tidy knot on her head, using a bit of string she salvaged from the medical satchel with plasters and bandages she carried.

  Elinore opened the window to look out on a morning where the sun shone, even though the brisk air reminded her that it was November. She sat on the sill for a moment, wondering how it would feel to stay in one place from now until the end of her life. She tried to think of life in Scotland as the wife of a respected surgeon, living in a large house, then discarded the idea because she could not imagine such a turn of events. All my life I have followed the drum, she reminded herself. I have lived in tents, and ruined buildings, argued with bill collectors for my mother and father, and spent very little time acquiring any useful female skills. I know I am not what is known as an accomplished lady. I would be a fool to think that anywhere I lived, people would not be able to tell this at once. Can I converse on genteel topics at dinner parties? No. Do I have even an inkling what is fashionable in London or Paris right now? No. What about lofty intellectual skills? None I am aware of.

  But there was a worse matter that goaded at her heart as she looked across the Spanish landscape she knew so well. Perhaps the captain truly does blame me for what happened to the alcalde and his daughter, she thought as the horror of yesterday returned full measure. If I had agreed to Major Bones’ demands, the alcalde would still be alive, his daughter undisturbed, and the chief surgeon would not be lying so still in the church. She wrapped her arms tighter about herself to ward off the chill of her thoughts, even as another part of her brain clamored for attention. Be fair, Elinore, she thought. If you had gone with Major Bones, you would be ruined. The retreat would have gone smoothly for Number Eight, but there likely would have been no stop at Santos. Sonia Ramos and her baby would have died in agony. Be fair and admit to yourself that you have no way of knowing what good or evil can rise out of any situation.