“Put some of your weight on that cane, if you don’t mind.”
He grunted, pulling himself all the way up. His body trembled as he adjusted his stance. Looking down, she saw the injured appendage still remained off the floor. “Look, soldier, I need you to put some weight on that foot.”
“It’s Corporal.”
She snorted. “Corporal, however, regardless of title or name, please put that foot to the floor.”
Gingerly, he put it down but the heel was still in the air.
“How does it feel?”
“Not bad, nor is it great, either.”
“Yes, of course.” She tried twisting to catch a better view, noticing the chair across the room could have held her spot right now. Disgusted she missed that, she went back to trying to view him, fearing if she let him down to grab it, he’d refuse or couldn’t get up again.
“Can we try putting the heel down?”
He glared at her. She couldn’t help it. Her lips curved in a smile, because despite his determined look with a touch of anger, he was still handsome. His dark hair had a few strands that strayed into his eyes, his angler cheekbones with those sapphire blue eyes just plain held her attention. She shuddered, realizing she needed to watch his movements, not fantasize about a man who stood a traitor to her country, enslaving people for no other reason than back breaking labor he could order them to do. It was then a cold wave washed over her, drenching the attraction, almost on cue for he stepped down then.
“Argh!” He hopped the damaged foot back up. “I can’t!”
“Shhhh,” she whispered. “Stay right here.”
“What?” He teetered between the good foot and the cane.
She dragged the chair over for him to grip. Sure he was steady, she bent down, thankful crinolines were not allowed in the hospital. Reaching under the sole of his foot, she got to his heel.
“Slowly, lower.”
“No.”
She glanced up at him. “Please. I need to see—”
“That was how I fell,” he bit back. With his heel raised slightly, he added, “This feels better.”
Ada shook her head, remembering he had had a major infection and the wound was severe. Maybe she was pushing too much…
“All right. For tonight, why don’t we eat, let you rest and try again tomorrow?”
He grumbled about hunger. She nodded, anything to get him fed and rested. The truth was, the longer he was here, the bigger the trouble this would be. She needed him standing and walking. Taking a glance at him, seeing how again, he looked so handsome. Again, she shook her head, thinking his recovery had to be soon, before she strangled herself!
Chapter 16
“… I am heartily tired of hearing about what Lee is going to do. Some of you seem to think he is suddenly going to turn a double somersault, and land in our rear and on both of our flanks at the same time. Go…and try to think about what we are going to do ourselves, instead of what Lee is going to do.”
—General US Grant snapped at his officers for worrying over what Confederate General Lee would do to them.
The Battle of the Wilderness, May 5-6, 1864
Surgeon Will Leonard walked down the hallway of the hospital, papers in hand, his mind calculating how many patients remained and, of that, which were the mostly likely to be leaving. The holidays were coming and he knew it would be a dismal time for those who remained here, since many of the staff were given furloughs, the ones with sufficient time to make it home for the holidays. Even now, the dreariness crept through the windowpanes as the sun set earlier and the cold breeze of winter descended.
It was then he saw her. Ada stood from a sitting position next to a cot, her expression strained as she pulled the blankets up and over the head of the patient. Will sighed. Another one dead from a war that never seemed to end.
But what concerned him more was Ada. She looked drained and not herself, her step appeared to falter and he feared she’d fall so he raced in. Scooping his arm around her waist, he pulled her upright.
“Are you all right?” He steered her to an empty chair near the table to the side, sitting her down.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what got over me.”
He frowned, pouring her a cup of lukewarm coffee from the top of the warming stove in the center of the room. “It’s not hot,” he said, shoving the cup into her hand. “Those damn stoves weren’t made to warm wards this big.”
She sipped and gave him a smile. “It will do the trick.”
The color returned to her cheeks, only demonstrating how pale she’d been. The dark circles under her eyes worried him.
“You look exhausted.”
She snorted. “Why, good afternoon to you as well.”
“How is our patient?” His tone was barely above a whisper. No one else needed to hear but her.
She inhaled. “I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that pussing isn’t good, despite what Waxler and all you think. Fevers seem to spike during that and there is a smell one can’t escape.”
Will tightened. Again, she was questioning established logic. How many times had they squabbled over facts? This time, he’d let it pass. “I meant the one you are attending, privately,” he added softly.
Her lips tightened. “He’s slowly recovering. Even stood yesterday.”
“That is marvelous!”
She grabbed his hand, pulling him down to her level. “And fell, nearly letting the cat out of the bag, as it were. The house maid came up to see.”
“I told them he was your brother.”
Her eyes shot wide open and she shook her head. “I understand that, but when he speaks, that slavery-drawl ekes out.”
Her abhorrence of the man’s way of life, put this way, made him laugh. “Southern, my dear.”
“Yes, well, what is the next step? The inflammation was nearly gone, and will be soon. I’ve done all I can do to rid the
