The Better Angels: Hearts Touched by Fire, Book 4

“Monsieur, I believe you better pay your rather long tab and find another place to hide. Those bluebellies been ramblin’ to the girls about another round of arrests for any secesh.”
Randolph snorted. “They done gone through here a parcel ago, ma chère. We all lay low.”
“It was just a warning, sir.” She winked at Francois, the hint deep. He dug into his waistcoat pocket and took her hand, pressing the gold coin into her palm.
“I think that’ll cover anything you deem I owe.”
LaJoyce smiled broadly, tucking the coin into her bosom. “I ain’t joking about the blue coats.” She caressed his cheek with her fingers. “Prison wouldn’t sit well with you. So go.”
He finished his drink and put the glass down, swooping his hat up. “You heard her Randolph. Let’s be on our way.” His friend hollered but Francois only pasted a smile on his face as he kissed LaJoyce good-bye.
She was right. Louisiana was suffocating in blue. He needed to find the war. Alcohol hadn’t deadened the pain in his chest so the next solution was to fight. God help him….
Virginia, October 1863
For October, the temperature was way too warm and inside the tent, the temperature continued to climb. No memories of Pennsylvania or New York were ever this hot in the fall. Ada Lorrance swallowed, stiffening as another drop of perspiration dripped down her back in a river that had dampened her chemise and her corset and dress since the morning parted to noontime. Not only was she perspiring under the heat, she was thirsty to the point of anger and refused to give in to snapping at the next orderly for doing a job they didn’t want to do nor were trained to do while suffering the same as she. Blinking and hoping the droplet on her brow didn’t fall into her eyes, she took note that her charge was finally resting on his cot. She prayed gratitude to God for the man’s slumber and the escape of his pain and took the damp rag in her fist, to stand up. Despite the corset stays, her back was tight and the change in her position from sit to stand caused a chain reaction of cracks down her vertebrae, the pressure released in a combination of pain and relief. She was convinced that stool she sat on would break her back one day.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a cool tin cup was shoved into her grasp.
“Here, drink this.”
She frowned but the whisper of cold from the metal gave her a respite from the heat and gladly she held it. The liquid inside was marred in color by the dark shade of the inside of the tin.
“Its not poison,” the man hissed. “Though God knows, it’d be a blessin’.”
She laughed but took a sip. It was tepid water with raspberry vinegar and honey laced through it. It was the perfect blend for a hot and humid Virginia day.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t be,” the man guffawed. “When Major Winslow finds his favorite refresher is low, there’ll be someone’s butt to pay.”
“And I’d bet Doctor Leonard will be no where to be found when that man throws another tantrum.” Ada laughed. She’d known Will Leonard for years, growing up with him in Philadelphia and schooling later. Will had a penchant for deviousness to make one’s skin itch but it was never spiteful, and besides, Winslow’s short temper and foul language made him one of the most disliked officer in the Union army despite his wealth that brought commodities to camp, like the supplies to make an elixir like this.
Will shrugged but a grin tugged at his lips, making her laugh harder.
“I think I’ll take a walk,” she stated, trying to calm the inner voice that screamed for her to run, but the issue was, run from what? The wounded or Will? She didn’t wait but caught his nod as she sneaked out of the tent.
The air was hot and muggy, the sun bright and blinding but the stench of sweat, vomit and urine was lacking. She inhaled deeply, a refreshing moment as she walked toward the stream. Further from the camp, fewer soldiers lingered at the water’s edge and the horses were yards away, so she found a spot, among the grass and sank to the ground. She closed her eyes, letting the moment of peace seep into her. Peace in a world of hate and bloodshed. The reasons for the war she pushed to the back of her mind, refusing to let it crowd her thoughts because she saw the result of it in the medical tent almost daily.
She yanked her handkerchief from her pocket and bent, plunging it in the water, dampening it to bring it to her forehead and squeezed. The cool water poured over her eyes and cheeks, down over her jawline to her neck and the bodice below. The worn cotton absorbed all and it clung to her skin, the slight layering of it and the chemise beneath gave her a breath of coolness that nothing outside of jumping into the stream could clear. Was that a slight breeze cooling her? She closed her eyes and settled in the quiet.
Her mind cleared so she squeezed the rag again, the water dribbling down her neck and into her bodice. The touch of the liquid reminded her of his touch, the gentleness of his fingertips and the burning path it left on her emotions, sending errant messages to her body. Slowly, as the memories budded, images appeared. She was back to home, in Pennsylvania, before the war. Back to a time she could never forget…
Spring was in the air, light breeze drifting through the open window of his bedroom. The lighter-weight warm-weather cotton drapes stirred and the birds chirped a May song. It was peaceful and her heart swelled with pride and love at the man lying next to her. He smiled, his infectious grin made her insides bubble, despite the dire consequence of the afternoon.