The door opened, and Doctor Brooks came in. Several hours had passed since the operation, and it was nearing the end of the workday. Alaina allowed him a tired smile as he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, but she drew herself up as Magruder and General Mitchell came in to check on Cole. She listened to their voices droning on without hearing the words as she waited for that time when Cole would regain consciousness, and she would be assured that all was well.
There was a dull thudding in Cole’s head as he slowly roused and an ache that pulsed in unison with it. Though the draperies were drawn, the light was far too bright for his eyes and their thin, dry, scratchy parchment lids. He recognized Al’s small shape against the far wall, but he could banish neither the stiffness from his lips nor the dullness from his brain to give her a reasonable greeting. He blinked his eyes several times and saw there were others in the room also. Doctor Brooks stood near Alaina and Magruder was, as usual, at the surgeon general’s elbow, rattling words that grated against Cole’s jangled nerves.
“It’s amazing the captain survived this ordeal,” the major observed officiously. “He was certainly lucky that Al found him and brought him back.”
“Captain, huh!” Mitchell snorted. “It will be major soon enough if I have anything to do with it. After all, it’s not every day that one of our doctors must defend his charges as well as mend them.”
Magruder’s smile drooped into hanging jowls of displeasure, but the general gave him no notice as he turned to Al.
“You saved us a most valuable man, young sir. We’ll have to see what we can do about that. I think it not improbable that I can get you some kind of commendation—perhaps a monetary reward would not be out of order.”
Magruder, now red-faced and silently raging, was unable to make any excuses for his hasty departure. He stalked to the door, and when he snatched it open, the startled dark eyes of Roberta met him. Again words failed him. Brushing brusquely past her, he strode down the hall toward the dayroom where he could be away from the mewling concern everyone seemed determined to bestow upon the captain.
Alaina, sharply aware of her own haggard and filthy state, shrank back into the corner behind Doctor Brooks as her cousin swept into the room. The woman was the epitome of high fashion. Though promptly informed of Cole’s return and his condition, her preparations had obviously been lengthy and detailed. Every tress was artfully curled into ringlets that bounced coyly as she moved. The striped taffeta gown flared over wide hoops that seemed to fill the narrow space of the room.
Giving forth a dramatic sob, Roberta flew to Cole’s bedside and, flinging herself upon his chest, began to weep sorrowfully. “My poor darling! My poor wounded darling!”
General Mitchell stepped solicitously forward, momentarily interrupting her tearful display. “Your husband’s leg has been seriously damaged, Mrs. Latimer, and still bears a fragment of the shell in it. I fear he’ll be spending a good deal of time abed to affect a proper healing.”
Collapsing upon Cole again, Roberta renewed her solicitous sobs. “Oh, darling—darling! If only you had stayed here with me—”
Cole submitted to her embrace in stoical silence until the two doctors, much embarrassed by the emotional spectacle, made their excuses and departed. Then, not surprisingly, as the door closed behind them, Roberta straightened her stance and cooled her manner sharply.
“Well, you certainly did yourself in fine.” Her tone had an undisguised sneer in it. “All for the little tramp you bedded.” Tugging off her gloves, she tossed them carelessly on the bedside table, then halted as she caught sight of the slim figure in the corner. Her face hardened to a stern glower, and there was pure venom in her voice as she mocked, “And look here! You’ve got her tucked beneath your wing again.”
She advanced upon Alaina with eyes narrowed, demanding, “What’s this I hear about you dragging my husband halfway across the state, and in a hearse, at that? If you two think you can put anything over on me—”
“I can assure you, dear Robbie,” Alaina cut in abruptly, “that we were well chaperoned. Mostly by Saul, but for a time we were escorted by enough Confederate soldiers to please even your exceptional standards. Then on the steamboat, there were plenty of bluebellies to fill the requirement.” Her own eyes took on a flinty hue. “May I be so blunt as to say that you should be thankful he’s back alive?”
“If he had listened to me in the first place, he would never have gone,” Roberta observed caustically. “We could have been in Washington by now.”
Cole rolled his head on the pillow as his dulled and confused senses tried to follow their argument. The aftereffects of the chloroform relentlessly sought to drag him back into oblivion.
Alaina gave her cousin a bland smile. “I shouldn’t wish to upset your ambitions, Robbie, but I don’t think you’ll be going to Washington anytime soon. Apparently you didn’t listen when General Mitchell tried to tell you. Your husband will have a long recuperation ahead of him, and as I’ve heard it, Magruder has volunteered to go in the captain’s place.”
“What do you mean?” Roberta became incensed. “Of course we’ll go to Washington! A doctor wounded in the line of duty—” She laughed. “Why, well be the hit of the social season, and under my guidance, Cole will probably be a general before the war is over.”
“He’s already made major—without your help,” Alaina couldn’t resist goading. “And without going to Washington.”
Roberta’s eyes narrowed with hatred. She was sure her cousin was smirking in glee. The little bitch would do anything to have Cole near her, even if he were a cripple.
With a sense of outrage, Roberta flung out an arm toward the door. “Get out of here! Your services, whatever they be, are no longer needed. I can take care of my own husband from now on. I don’t need you meddling in our affairs.”
Alaina shrugged, undismayed, and, wrapping the belt around Cole’s holster, stepped to the bed to place it beside his pillow. “Anytime you want me to hold off another bluebelly, Captain, just give me your word.”
Cole laboriously focused on the gamin’s visage, searching the features for the woman he knew was there. She was vaguely visible behind the lingering traces of stain and shaggy hair.
“Where are you going?” he asked thickly.
Alaina lifted her slim shoulders beneath the baggy coat. “Who knows?”
He gave her a faint frown and opened his mouth to question her further, but she stepped away. Briefly meeting Roberta’s glare, Alaina settled the top hat on her head, then strode to the door, throwing back a parting comment. “Hope you won’t be regretting that I brought you back this time, Captain.”
As soon as she was out the door, Alaina released a long, dismal sigh. There was something about leaving an injured man with a caustic-tempered witch that made her protective instincts come alive. But having been ordered from the room, she could hardly stay and provide Cole protection from his own wife.
In front of the hospital, she found Doctor Brooks waiting in his buggy. “I thought you might need a ride.” He patted the seat beside him. “Come on. I want to talk with you.”
She hesitated, wondering if he might again be the bearer of bad news. “It’s not anything serious this time, is it?” she asked haltingly. “I mean, the captain is going to be all right, isn’t he?”
The old doctor chuckled. “This, I think, will be more to your liking.”
Relief flooded her, and she was happy to settle her tired, aching body into the empty space beside him.
“Mrs. Hawthorne and I have come to a decision,” he announced matter-of-factly.
Alaina looked at him wonderingly. “I didn’t know you were a friend of hers.”
“We’ve known each other for a number of years, but this is the first time we’ve collaborated on our ideas.”
“From what I know of Mrs. Hawthorne,” Alaina said cautiously, “I won’t be a bit surprised if it’s something outrageous.”
A jovial chuckle came from the man as he s
tared at the road ahead. “You know her that well, eh?”
“Well enough!” In spite of her casual attitude, Alaina’s curiosity was aroused. “How do you propose to twist the Yankees’ tail this time?”
“My child, how would you like to discard those filthy garments and dress yourself as a young lady should?”
For a moment she sat stunned. Almost hesitantly she asked. “You mean wear real dresses and things?”
“And all that other paraphernalia you young ladies garb yourselves in.” He glanced aside and saw that he had ignited a spark of enthusiasm in her gray eyes. “I take it the idea meets with your approval?”
“Oh, yes! Yes!” she laughed and, sweeping off her hat, hugged it close to her bosom. “It would be so good—but are you sure? What made you decide?”
“Mrs. Hawthorne was quite firm in her belief that you would come back.” He shrugged. “Some woman’s intuition, I suppose. She sought me out, asked if I could get a job at the hospital for her niece—”
“You mean—this hospital—the Yankees’?”
Doctor Brooks nodded. “I have already inquired, and you’ll be starting Monday morning—providing you can scrub yourself pink again.”
That night, in Mrs. Hawthorne’s house, Alaina scrubbed and soaked in a large tub of hot water until the very last traces of stain were scoured from her skin. Afterward her flesh bore a rosy blush that hinted of her determination to rid herself of the darker color. Her wardrobe became the remodeled garments of Mrs. Hawthorne’s own daughter, and though plain, they boosted her spirits tremendously. She assumed the identity of one Camilla Hawthorne, Mrs. Hawthorne’s newly acquired niece. The elderly doctor had been more successful in securing her an adequate wage than the captain had been, and she was to be employed by the hospital at a very substantial salary.
Bright and early Monday morning, her heels tapped rhythmically through the hospital entrance. Her short hair had been pulled away from her face and secured beneath a rolled chignon, a switch of hair that she had purchased with the monetary reward Mitchell had spoken of. Her gown was a simple gray and, once about her labors, a starched white apron and long, elbow-length cuffs were to be added.
It encouraged her greatly to find no hint of recognition in Sergeant Grissom’s countenance as he directed her about the wards. She listened attentively, seeming to hang on to his every instruction, though she perhaps knew better than he what was to be done and where everything was kept.
It was midday when she finally managed to appease her curiosity as to Cole’s convalescence. Balancing a food tray on one hand, she rapped lightly on the door and entered at his muttered command. He half sat, half reclined against a pillow that was propped against the headboard, and was intent upon trying to shave himself. Without glancing around, he indicated the table beside the bed, knowing by the rattle of dishes what it was.
“Leave it there,” he ordered gruffly.
She complied, then paused to watch his progress as he stroked the straightedge razor along his cheek, leaving in the blade’s wake a path free of soap and whiskers—all without the aid of a mirror.
“May I be of assistance?” she murmured in an easy, but unaffected Southern drawl. The silky smoothness of her voice almost sent shivers down Cole’s spine as he remembered that same voice in a dark room on a singular night not too long ago. His head jerked around, and he found the gray eyes smiling at him with warmth.
“Alaina!” He raised himself up, ignoring the pain that pierced through him. “What are you doing here? I mean, with the tray and apron and all?” His gaze took in her feminine attire with eager appreciation. “Are you working here? Is it safe?”
“Alaina? Why, Captain, you must be delirious. My name is Camilla Hawthorne, and if you must be so forward, please remember it.”
“Are you sure it’s—I mean—I don’t think I’ve—” He cleared his throat in a half-angry manner. “Are you new here?”
“I’ve been to the city before. But this time I’m just down from Atlanta for a spell to visit my aunt. And rather than sit around twiddling my thumbs all day, Doctor Brooks suggested I might work here. It seems you have lost some of your staff lately, and since the Yankees have managed to give me a tolerable salary”—she stressed the word to gently goad him—“I’m doing fairly well.”
Understanding dawned with her meaningful gaze. “You seem to be enjoying yourself here, Miss Hawthorne.”
“Camilla, please, Captain.”
He looked at her with a doubtful eye. “I think I shall use Miss Hawthorne for a while. The formality of it tends to trip my tongue less than that familiarity.”
Her slender shoulder lifted in a brief shrug. “Suit yourself, Captain. And why shouldn’t I enjoy myself?” She took the razor from his hand and, turning his cheek, plied the blade carefully along the lean contour of his jaw. “You won’t believe it, but I have seen scrawny lads with filthy hair and dirt on their faces thick enough to scrape. I’m so glad I don’t have to live like that.”
“Hm, yes.” Cole considered her askance. “I seem to remember one like that. Filthy little beggar, he was. Always looked like he needed a good bath. Had a mouth almost as dirty as the rest of him.”
Alaina carefully applied the razor to that area just beneath his nose. “Did you ever see the rest of him, Captain?”
“Uh-huh,” he replied with certainty, somewhat wary of moving his lip beneath the sharp edge of the blade.
“And was he really as dirty as you say?”
This time his answer took longer, and though his eyes smiled, his lips remained motionless. “Huh-uh.”
She laid down the razor and gingerly dipped a towel in the basin of steaming hot water. “I would say, Captain,” she mused thoughtfully, “that there must have been other things you were just as mistaken about.”
Before he could answer, the steaming towel was dropped onto his face.
“Lie still,” she commanded, pushing his head back down on the pillow. “You’re liable to hurt yourself.”
A half angry, half pained groan emitted from the cloth, but her hands held it firmly in place until his came to snatch it away.
“You’ve done it again, wench! I swear you’d see me roasted alive!”
“Why, Captain.” She smiled sweetly into his reddened face. “It was just a lil’ bit warm. What’s all the fuss about?” With a quick flick of her skirts, she moved toward the door, calling back over her shoulder. “I’ll pick up the tray later.”
In the days that followed, Cole came to recognize the energetic click of heels as Camilla Hawthorne passed in the hall or brought his lunch with regular punctuality. It became a pleasant, but torturous moment when every second day she remained a while to shave the stubble from his face. It was a favor she bestowed upon many in the wards, and it never failed to disproportionately brighten some lucky soldier’s day. When not busy serving the meals to those who could not go for themselves, she gathered sheets, changed linens, dusted, and did light duties.
The heavier labors, for which “Al” had once been hired, were done by a new chore boy, and though the lad’s appearance was neater than Al’s had been, his accomplishments did not prove of the same merit as his predecessor. When there was time, Camilla collected letters, dispersed the mail, pausing here and there to talk with the men, sometimes reading books to them. She reveled in acting out the choicer parts of the stories, spicing them up to a delightful degree with her imagination, charm, and wit, and an unsuspected talent for mimicry.
Major Magruder was the only one who seemed puzzled by her. No one else had ever taken more than casual notice of the sprite, Al, but when the major asked her outright if he had ever seen her someplace before, she laughed warmly and countered with a question of her own. “Have you ever been in Atlanta, Major?”
It was during this time that Cole gained the official promotion to major, and this so irritated the older officer that Magruder’s thoughts turned away from the young woman and became, instead, entrapped in the resentment h
e felt for Cole.
He had no special license to that emotion, however, for Cole Latimer himself suffered from like emotions, though they were directed elsewhere. It was a matter of aggravation that a young lieutenant, who had been assigned to the surgeon’s staff, appeared heavily smitten by the attributes of Camilla Hawthorne and showed no hesitation in applying his own best qualities to a form of mild courtship. While the new major was forced to lie on his back in bed, the young officer was free to range the halls and wards at his whim. Though the object of his attention firmly rebuffed the lieutenant’s sometimes jocular advances, the man’s mobility seemed an unfair advantage. It only added to Cole’s frustration that he could make no open objection, being otherwise committed.
That commitment showed itself in its fullest feminine form when one day, a full week hence, Roberta visited at the unusually early hour of eleven in the morning and was primly seated at his bedside when Alaina brought the tray bearing his noon meal. Following her, much to Cole’s irritation, was the lieutenant carrying a basin of hot water for the ritual shaving. Alaina paused briefly at the door, surprised to see Roberta present. It was first time the woman had visited since the day of her husband’s admittance.
“Good-day, major.” Alaina proceeded as cheerily as was her custom and placed the tray on the bedside commode, giving a nod of greeting to her cousin. “Mrs. Latimer.”
Cole struggled to rise to a half sitting position in the bed, somewhat chagrined at his unshaven appearance when the other officer was crisply neat. Alaina took the basin from the lieutenant and, placing it beside the tray, made the introduction.
“Mrs. Latimer, I don’t believe you’ve met Lieutenant Appleby. He’s the new surgeon on the staff.”
Roberta graciously extended her hand, and dutifully the lieutenant bent over it in the best of the high court tradition, but quickly returned a hopeful smile to Alaina. “Would you like some help here, Miss Hawthorne?”
“I can manage well enough, Lieutenant. Thank you,” she smiled. “Perhaps you’d better return to your duties now. I’ve taken up enough of your time as it is.”