The Fire Within

As she washed him, she couldn’t help but notice how well built he was. Even relaxed, his muscles were strong and firm, and his hands were large and capable. There was a virility about him that reminded her of the pumas that occasionally wandered near the settlement. He might be equally dangerous. Megan wondered if her father would shoot a man in his condition, and decided it wasn’t worth taking a chance. After working this hard to save him, she wasn’t going to lose him now.

After hesitating, she cut off the other leg of his underlinen. Short pants on such a large man looked odd, but she couldn’t get him clean with them on and she was reluctant to cut them off completely. She tore up a sheet to make fresh bandages and went into the kitchen to make a poultice of herbs to place on the wounds. Then she bandaged him again. By shoving and pulling, she managed to get the soiled slicker out from under him. The quilt hadn’t fared badly so she left him lying on it and pulled another one over him.

“I’ll be back,” she said in case he could hear her. “I have some butchering to do.”

Although she was already tired, she went back to the clearing and finished the job she had gone there to do. She beat her family to the scene by minutes.

“I was hoping you’d know to come get some meat,” Jane Llewellyn called from one of the other carcasses. “This will taste just like beef once it’s cured.”

“Not to me it won’t. I hate doing this.” Megan wondered what her mother would say if she had any idea what she had been doing only minutes before.

“We won,” Bridget said as she helped Jane with the horse. “Papa saw the Yankees running for all they were worth and our boys chasing after them. I wonder if Patrick was one of them.”

“If our Patrick, or Seth for that matter, were within a mile of here, he’d come see us all,” Jane said. “He’s likely in the next state.”

“I sure hope he’s safe.” Bridget looked over at the stained grass. “You think he’s safe, Megan?”

“Sure he is. We would have heard if he wasn’t.” Megan tried to sound positive for her sister’s benefit. There was no one to send word to her prisoner’s family that he was alive. It was odd to think she had a Yankee prisoner at her house. At the time she hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Be sure and wash this meat before you hang it up to dry,” Jane reminded Megan. “It’s not like butchering a hog where we hang it off the ground to dress it out. You can’t keep it clean like this.”

“I know, Mama.” She glanced around the clearing. Some of the other women from the settlement were arriving and gathering meat for themselves. Megan hoped they would be able to get enough to feed them through the winter. “Once mine is fully smoked, I’m going to hide it in the woods. I’m not taking any chances on losing this, too.”

“Those Yankees will take anything,” Bridget said angrily. “Can you imagine our soldiers stealing from people that don’t have enough to eat as it is? They wouldn’t ever!”

Megan wasn’t sure this was true so she didn’t comment. She had been hungry often since the war started and she didn’t think a soldier would be all that particular if there was food for the taking. Bridget just couldn’t bear to think Patrick would do such a thing. And, knowing Patrick as well as she did, Megan wasn’t sure that he would. Patrick was as good a man as the Hollow had ever produced.

“Hurry and get through, Bridget. The soldiers might come back and we don’t want trouble from them.”

“They’re long gone from here,” Megan said quickly. “There’s no reason for them to come back.” She wondered if that was true. She didn’t know all that much about soldiers, but wouldn’t someone come looking for a missing officer? But, she reasoned, their side wouldn’t know he was missing and the other would assume he had been killed or captured. Maybe no one would come looking for him at all.

When she had all her tow sacks full, Megan started carrying them to the smokehouse. On each trip the grade seemed steeper. The other women had finished, by the time she made the last trip, and a few of their husbands or sons had come to help them carry the bounty home.

As her mother had taught her, Megan washed the meat, then packed it in salt. Fortunately they still had salt in the settlement. She had heard of a family beyond Raintree that ran out of salt and had to scoop dirt off the smokehouse floor to pack around the meat. The dirt had salt in it from other curings but she couldn’t see how the meat would ever lose its gritty flavor.

She hung the meat onto the iron hooks that were suspended from the ceiling, then brought some hickory wood from the woodpile. Taking care not to make the fire too large, she started one burning in the pit in the center of the tall building. Stepping out into the fresh air, she saw the room fill with silver smoke, then she shut the door and latched it against marauding animals.

When she went into the house, she stripped off her clothes and bathed by the cabinet. Putting on a wrapper, she went in to see about the soldier.

He lay just as she had left him, but she could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He wasn’t dead. Every hour he lived through put him that much closer to his recovery, assuming the wounds didn’t turn septic. His skin was hot to the touch so Megan got a bowl of water and a cloth and sponged his forehead. A fever wasn’t unlikely in such a situation and she wasn’t worried. All the same, she sponged him until he was cool to her touch.

She sat in the ladder-back chair and studied him. He was a big man and almost filled the bed. What would he be like when he awoke? It suddenly occurred to her that she was quite isolated from the others and that he might be dangerous if he wasn’t unconscious. She shook her head in her own answer. He had lost too much blood. It would be a while before he would give anyone much trouble.

After a while she went into the kitchen and lit a lamp. The glow filled the cabin and turned the log walls to warm gold. She started a fire in the fireplace and soon the chill was gone. Since she had left the bedroom door open, she knew the man would be warm enough even if he kicked off the cover. The cabin wasn’t that large.

Megan frowned slightly. The cabin wasn’t large at all. Where was she going to sleep? The soldier was on the only bed. She went to the back room and opened the door. It was used to store the things she didn’t need every day. The mattress from Seth’s bedroom was tied into a roll in one corner. He had brought it to the cabin before he knew her family was stuffing them a mattress as a wedding gift. His family hadn’t needed it back so it was still here.

Going to it, Megan hauled it into the middle of the room and untied the cords that bound it. The mattress unrolled at her feet. The ticking was stained from rain that had blown in Seth’s window years before and it was old, but it was a bed of sorts. Certainly it would be more comfortable than the floor.

Megan got her gown from the hook in the bedroom and took it to the back room. Closing the door, she put on the gown and blew out the lamp before opening the door and sitting on the mattress. Unconscious or not, she didn’t trust the soldier and she kept her skinning knife close beside her. She pulled one of the extra quilts onto the mattress and listened to see if the soldier was stirring. There was no sound. She unpinned her hair and let it tumble around her as she sat there in the gloom. Still listening, she braided it into a thick dark-red plait before lying on the bed.

From the main room, the fireplace sent dancing light over the walls and floors. This was the first time since she had moved here that Megan hadn’t slept alone in the cabin. She wished it were Seth in the next room and not some stranger. Although she tried not to worry about Seth, she couldn’t help but worry at night when she had nothing else to occupy her mind. Was he safe? It was probably too much to hope that he was warm and comfortable. She had seen too many tattered Confederate uniforms to believe Seth’s was in better shape. Living outside was too hard on clothes.

At least she had a smokehouse full of meat. She gazed up at the shadowy rafters above her and planned where to hide it once it was cured.

Chapter Two

Megan knew it was important to keep her prisoner clean if he were to heal without complications. Why this was so, she couldn’t have said, but she had observed from cuts and scrapes she had received herself that cleanliness was important. If it was true for an everyday scrape, it should be doubly true for bullet and sword wounds.

She took a pan of hot water into the bedroom and stared down at the man. She had never in her life seen a naked man. The night she and Seth had made love in the clearing hardly counted, since the moon had given no light to speak of and he had kept his unbuttoned shirt on the entire time. She stepped nearer the soldier. She had to do what was necessary.

Not giving herself time to think, Megan pulled the covers back and sat on the side of the bed. He looked powerful even in repose and he was more handsome than she remembered from the day before. A day’s growth of beard darkened his jaw but did nothing to impair his looks. His hair was black and thick. She remembered his eyes had been a silvery gray.

Megan drew in a deep breath to give herself courage and bent to cut the underlinen down the side seams. Once they were washed, she could resew them, but she wasn’t sure how she would manage to put them back on him. As she pulled the cloth away, she couldn’t help but look at him. He was beautifully made, like the Greek statues she had seen in books. As she looked, he stirred and she hurriedly dipped the cloth in the wash water.

She washed him as well as she could without moving him. Beneath her fingers his skin was warm and supple, his muscles strong. She had also never seen a man with tanned skin all the way to his waist. Her father and the other men in the settlement never removed their shirts outside so only their hands and faces tanned. The brown of his skin for some reason made the man seem even more virile. She found herself imagining him chopping wood without his shirt, his muscles bunching and releasing. The thought made her blush and she tried to put it out of her mind. She wasn’t entirely successful.

Carefully, she removed the soiled bandages and dropped them on the floor with the underlinen. After they were boiled clean, she could use them again. She was glad to see neither of the wounds bled, though the edges were puffed and reddened. Was that normal in a severe wound? There was no one she dared to ask.

After she had cleaned the wounds as well as she could, she put fresh bandages on them, tied them into place and covered him with the quilt. To her surprise, she found her hands shaking. He affected her more than she thought possible. There was an element of danger about him even as he lay unconscious. She wondered what would happen when he finally woke up.

Megan lifted her head. Someone was coming. She could hear them running through the brush and into the yard. Hastily she left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. By the time she reached the main room, Bridget had run into the cabin and stopped in the middle of the room. She was out of breath and the freckles stood out on her pale skin. Her bright red hair was in a tangle all about her face.

Megan glanced at the door to her bedroom. It was closed and the soldier still hadn’t gained consciousness. Nevertheless, she ushered Bridget back onto the porch. “What’s wrong? Is Papa having one of those spells with his heart?”

Her sister shook her head. “It’s Seth!”

“Seth is at the settlement? He’s home?” Megan was a bit surprised that the news didn’t lift her spirits any more than it did. “I’ll get my shawl.”

“No, no, Megan. Listen to me for a minute.” Bridget put her hand on Megan’s arm to stop her. “It’s a letter, not Seth in person. He’s in a Yankee prison.”

Megan’s heart plummeted. “A prison?”

“He was captured last month. The letter only arrived today. He’s not injured or sick. Just scared.”

Megan sat on the ladder-back chair on the porch. A cold wind was blowing but she didn’t feel it. “Seth has always been afraid of being locked up. Remember how he was that time he was locked up in Raintree for getting drunk and breaking the chairs in that saloon? He hates being locked up.” Now that the news was sinking in, she was near tears.

“I think you should come to the house with me. Seth’s parents are there and you can read the letter yourself.”

“Yes. I’ll do that. Let me get my shawl.” She left Bridget on the porch and ran back inside.

In the bedroom she frowned at the soldier lying on her bed. It wasn’t fair that he was being carefully tended and doctored and Seth was in some prison. It made no difference that Seth wasn’t wounded or sick. She had heard about Yankee prisons and they were infamous for brutality and bad living conditions. She tried not to think about that. Throwing her heavy wool shawl about her shoulders, she hurried back to Bridget.

They ran most of the way to the settlement and were out of breath when they entered the house. The old, familiar smells enveloped Megan. Jane’s house always smelled of cooking and the strong lye soap she made every summer. The main room was crowded with the Brennans there. As usual, Aaron Brennan was pacing furiously and Sarah Ann Brennan sat stoically silent.

“Those damn Yankees have my oldest boy,” Aaron was saying in a loud voice. “There’s no telling what they’re doing to him.”

“Now don’t get so riled up,” Samuel Llewellyn said in a calming voice. “We don’t know Seth is being mistreated. He doesn’t say anything about it in his letter.”

“Those Yankees are capable of anything! Anything at all!”

Sarah Ann bent her head and sobbed as silently as possible. Jane went to her and put her arm around the woman. Sarah Ann leaned her head on Jane’s shoulder. Megan knew that the woman would get no comforting from her husband. It was well-known around the settlement that Aaron wasn’t kind to her. Megan also went to the crying woman and touched her other shoulder. Sarah Ann looked up, her small eyes red and swollen already. She patted Megan’s hand with the pudgy fist that held her soggy handkerchief.

“May I see the letter?” Megan asked. Aaron handed it to her with only a glance in her direction. He had always maintained that girls shouldn’t be allowed to read.

Megan managed to interpret Seth’s scrawling hand. He had never learned to spell properly but she could make out the words. “He’s being held just outside Corbin in Kentucky. Where is that?”

“It’s in the southern part, not far from the state line.” Samuel was watching her. “I’m real sorry, Megan.”

She managed a weak smile. “At least he’s out of the fighting. Had you thought of that, Mrs. Brennan? Seth can’t get shot in a prison.”

Sarah Ann looked up at her hopefully and the cane-bottomed chair creaked as she shifted her weight to sit straighter. “That’s true, ain’t it? He won’t be in no more battles if he’s fastened up in prison. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Aaron continued pacing, though there was barely enough room to move about. “We got to get him out!”

“Now be reasonable, Aaron. How are we supposed to get Seth out of a Yankee prison in Kentucky? Neither one of us even knows how to get there.”

“We could ask along the way. We know it’s north of here.”

Megan became thoughtful. They couldn’t hope to break him out of prison, but couldn’t they trade for him? Trade a Union captain, for instance?

“I wish I had me a Yankee here now,” Aaron growled. “I’d kill him before he knew which end was up.”

“So would I,” Samuel said. “They’re no good, the lot of them. Shoot first and ask questions later, that’s what I’d do.”

“Had you thought that our Seth is safer in prison?” Sarah Ann asked, still clinging to her only hope. “Had you, Aaron?”

“Shut up and let me think.” Aaron stomped to the other side of the room and Bridget shifted out of his way.

“Seth is safer in prison, ain’t he, Jane?” Sarah Ann persisted.

Jane glanced at Megan. “Yes, I’m sure he is.”

Megan looked across the room at Bridget. Her sister stood in the shadows, twisting her narrow gold wedding band. She knew Bridget was worrying about Patrick. Bridget worried about him almost constantly, even when there wasn’t bad news pertaining to the war. Their eyes met and Megan said, “Patrick’s all right.”

Bridget nodded but her eyes still looked haunted. Megan knew what she was thinking. If this could happen to Seth, it could happen to Patrick, and if Seth had been captured in battle that meant Patrick had been fighting, too. He could be dead or wounded and word just hadn’t reached them yet.

“Patrick ain’t got nothing to do with this!” Aaron said angrily to Megan. “This here’s about your man! You’d think you’d at least shed a tear for him!”

“She’s never cried easy,” Jane said quickly. “You know that, Aaron. Megan almost never cries.”

“I’m as worried about him as you are,” Megan told Aaron. “You have all had time to think about it, and it’s still sinking in to me.”

“I can’t leave my oldest to rot in some stinking Yankee prison,” Aaron repeated to Samuel.

Megan opened her mouth to tell them about the Yankee captain at her house, but she remembered what both men had said about shooting a Yankee on sight. Even if they didn’t shoot him, they certainly wouldn’t let her give him any degree of comfort or medicine. In the settlement, they lived by an eye for an eye. If the soldier wasn’t tended, he might die and she wouldn’t have any bargaining power. Megan kept quiet.

For the next hour the Brennans sat in the close quarters of the Llewellyn cabin and poured out their anger and grief. Sarah Ann cried until her eyes were mere slits in the puffiness of her face, and Aaron roared until he was hoarse. As word spread through the settlement, others came to offer their sympathy or righteous anger. Brother Grady, along with his mousy wife, Elvira, and their herd of children, arrived with a plate of steaming food for Sarah Ann and Aaron’s supper, as though Seth were dead and not merely imprisoned. Sarah Ann accepted it gratefully.

As soon as she gracefully could, Megan escaped to the peace and quiet of her own cabin. She was glad it was up the mountain and less accessible to the others. She had her own way of grieving and it didn’t involve a public display of tears.

For a long time she sat in the main room of her house, rocking in the uneven chair and thinking what this could mean. It was common knowledge that sickness ran rampant in prisons and that the food the men ate was no better than slop. Seth might never get out. The war had been expected to be of short duration, but it had already lasted four years and could go on until there were no men left to fight. She couldn’t depend on it ending quickly and Seth being released.

Her eyes drifted toward the closed door to her bedroom. She heard a small sound in there, as if the soldier were regaining consciousness. He would be her best bet for getting Seth back. Wouldn’t the Union army prefer to have one of their officers back than keep a Confederate private who would rather be home instead of fighting? Surely by now all the fight had gone out of Seth. It took whiskey to make him really cantankerous.

She heard the sound again. She stood and crossed the room to get the squirrel gun she kept behind the door in case of intruders. She was going to nurse the soldier back to health, no matter what it took.

When Caleb opened his eyes, he was looking at the barrel of a shotgun. He blinked, trying to make sense of it. A glance told him he was lying in a strange cabin. Holding the gun unwaveringly was one of the prettiest women he had seen since leaving Pollard’s Crossing, Ohio.

“How do you feel?” she asked, not lowering the gun.

“I hurt like... I hurt.” Caleb had been brought up from birth not to use strong language in front of ladies and he automatically censored what he had been about to say. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my cabin, Mr....”

“My name is Captain Caleb Morgan.” Speaking made him hurt from head to toe. “Who are you?”

“I’m Megan Llewellyn.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Where do you hurt worse?”

“Everywhere. Could you put that gun down? I’m not going anywhere.”

She lowered the barrel. He tried to focus his eyes in spite of the pain. She was a small woman, not much taller than the rifle she carried. The light coming from the only window gave red highlights to her dark hair, and her skin was milky white. Her brown eyes glared at him as if she had a personal vendetta against him. Under different circumstances he would have found her extremely attractive.

Caleb lifted the quilt and looked down. He was naked under the covers and there were bandages on his right thigh and upper left arm. Reflexively he pulled the quilt up to cover himself. She didn’t seem to care that he was showing more skin than was decent. “How did I get here?” He was having trouble remembering what happened before he lost consciousness. Hadn’t he been in a battle?

“I brought you. You were shot in the leg and there’s a cut on your arm. I guess they didn’t find you when they came after the dead and wounded. You were in the woods by your horse.”

“Surely you didn’t carry me here all by yourself.”

“Yes, I did. You helped some.”

“I don’t remember it at all.” He tried to shift to a more comfortable position and she quickly raised the rifle again. “Will you calm down? I couldn’t hurt you if I wanted to.” He pulled himself up to a half-sitting position, ignoring the pain that racked him. “Where’s your husband?”

“I’m not married.”

“Your parents, then. Surely you don’t live here alone.”

“Yes, I do. My parents and sister live downhill from here in the settlement.”

“Why would you live here all alone, as young as you are? Are you a widow?”

“I was promised to marry Seth Brennan, but he enlisted before the wedding. I’m living here to take care of our house until he comes home.”

“I see.” Caleb couldn’t have cared less about these details; he only wanted to put her at her ease so she would stop pointing the rifle at him. At this range, she would kill him with one shot.

“No, sir, I don’t believe you do. Seth was captured and is in a Yankee prison. I plan to trade you for him and get him back.”

“I see.”

“Stop saying that. I figure they would rather have you back than keep Seth. You’re a captain and he’s just a private.”

“That makes sense. Could you put that rifle away before it goes off? There won’t be much to trade if you pull that trigger.” He touched the bandage on his arm. “How badly am I wounded?”

“Bad enough to be unconscious since yesterday. Don’t pull on that bandage.”

“I don’t suppose this settlement of yours has a doctor, does it?”

“No, we take care of our own. I know how to make poultices and change bandages. Just don’t try running away. You wouldn’t get far on that leg.”

“I’m not in the mood to run anywhere. Where is my uniform?”

“I’ve got it soaking. You can’t wear it like it is. And I hid your boots so you may as well decide to stay put.”

“Why would I want to leave? You’ve already said that you’ll trade me for your fiancé.” He watched her carefully. If he could get her to let her guard down, he might be able to escape. His boots wouldn’t be that hard to find in a cabin no larger than this one must be. As for his uniform being wet, he had worn it wet every time it rained.

“I guess that makes sense.” She put her head to one side as if she were trying to decide if she should believe him. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded. He wasn’t, but he knew he would need to get his strength back if he was going to escape.

“I’ll be back after I fix you something to eat.” She turned and left the room.

Caleb waited until she was out of sight, then tried to swing his legs out of bed. Pain shot through him and he suppressed a groan. Carefully he pushed the quilt aside and probed the bandage on his leg. He was hurt more than he had thought. There was no way he could walk on his leg. He couldn’t even get out of bed. He refused to think that the bullet might have shattered the bone. If it had, he might never walk again. He lay back and closed his eyes.