It was the first time he and Katherine had been together since their picnic in 1861.
Patrick and Katherine sat facing each other on the couch in front of the fireplace of Patrick’s parents’ home. “I see my father lying helpless with a broken hip on that icy bridge. It is a dreadful image. He was so strong, so smart, and always in charge. For him to be mortally injured by a horse accident is just unimaginable. When we broke horses, none could throw him. He always taught me to jump free if a horse was going down.”
“The wooden bridge was very icy, Patrick. With his broken hip, Jeffrey couldn’t get up or move off the bridge. He shot the injured horse so it wouldn’t kick him with its flailing legs. The horse fell into the icy creek below. I am sure it all happened very fast.”
“Maybe the horse suffered the least. My father is unable to get out of bed. Skin sores that are infected. He was the one I was fighting for in this war.” Tears ran down Patrick’s cheeks.
“I can cry with you, my darling. You know my mother is gone, but I’ve never told you how painful it was. I was only thirteen.” Katherine told Patrick all of it: the draining sores, the putrid smells, the weight loss, the weakness. “Her own body ate her alive.”
Patrick locked on Katherine’s deep blue eyes, a film of tears dulling her sparkle. Her auburn hair and those blue eyes stirred his passions. A familiar churning in his stomach unnerved his calm—the same churning he had when he fantasized about being with her. Involuntarily his eyes left hers and shifted to his desire.
Katherine felt his passionate gaze burn into her breasts. For two years he was her last thought as she put her head on her pillow. How many nights did she lay awake with desire? Should she? Could she bear two more years of longing? What if he were killed and their love went unfulfilled? Her proud refusal would become a lifetime regret. A much worse guilt than giving herself to him before marriage.
She slid her shoulder-high, short-sleeved bodice off her right arm and then off her left. Her camisole fell off with her bodice. She wore no corset. Her breasts were bared and Patrick thought she was like an alabaster statuette, but her mouth was open and she was breathing heavily. He realized this was his dream. She was seducing him. Sliding across the couch, Patrick’s open mouth met hers and their tongues touched. The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound in the room until both began moaning softly. When Patrick returned to war they were engaged.
“Hey, wake up, Captain!” Doctor Thomas Franklin shook Patrick vigorously by his shoulder. “Wake up.” As Patrick turned his head to see the surgeon, Franklin continued. “It’s like this, Captain. You have a broken bone in the thigh and have lost a lot of blood. I’m going to amputate your leg. Do you understand me, Captain?”
“No! You cannot amputate my leg!” Patrick ignored his pain and lifted himself on his elbows to look the surgeon in the eye. He was shocked to realize the man was no older than he. It further eroded his confidence.
“You have no choice,” Franklin answered rather weakly. He didn’t want to admit he knew no other operation. Six months out of medical school, he had learned all he knew about surgery in the field of battle. He went to medical school from the farm at the age of nineteen, having quit school after eighth grade. He grew to like surgery when they castrated calves. His father paid twenty-five dollars, nearly all their savings, to pay for his son’s admittance to a medical school in St. Louis. The course of study was nine months long and Franklin never saw a patient nor an operation.
“I do have a choice. It is my leg. I am from a prominent family in Philadelphia and if you don’t listen to me, I’ll have you court-martialed. Just take the ball out!”
The finality of Patrick’s decision scared the young doctor. No patient ever countered his orders. “Yes, sir.
Patrick and Katherine sat facing each other on the couch in front of the fireplace of Patrick’s parents’ home. “I see my father lying helpless with a broken hip on that icy bridge. It is a dreadful image. He was so strong, so smart, and always in charge. For him to be mortally injured by a horse accident is just unimaginable. When we broke horses, none could throw him. He always taught me to jump free if a horse was going down.”
“The wooden bridge was very icy, Patrick. With his broken hip, Jeffrey couldn’t get up or move off the bridge. He shot the injured horse so it wouldn’t kick him with its flailing legs. The horse fell into the icy creek below. I am sure it all happened very fast.”
“Maybe the horse suffered the least. My father is unable to get out of bed. Skin sores that are infected. He was the one I was fighting for in this war.” Tears ran down Patrick’s cheeks.
“I can cry with you, my darling. You know my mother is gone, but I’ve never told you how painful it was. I was only thirteen.” Katherine told Patrick all of it: the draining sores, the putrid smells, the weight loss, the weakness. “Her own body ate her alive.”
Patrick locked on Katherine’s deep blue eyes, a film of tears dulling her sparkle. Her auburn hair and those blue eyes stirred his passions. A familiar churning in his stomach unnerved his calm—the same churning he had when he fantasized about being with her. Involuntarily his eyes left hers and shifted to his desire.
Katherine felt his passionate gaze burn into her breasts. For two years he was her last thought as she put her head on her pillow. How many nights did she lay awake with desire? Should she? Could she bear two more years of longing? What if he were killed and their love went unfulfilled? Her proud refusal would become a lifetime regret. A much worse guilt than giving herself to him before marriage.
She slid her shoulder-high, short-sleeved bodice off her right arm and then off her left. Her camisole fell off with her bodice. She wore no corset. Her breasts were bared and Patrick thought she was like an alabaster statuette, but her mouth was open and she was breathing heavily. He realized this was his dream. She was seducing him. Sliding across the couch, Patrick’s open mouth met hers and their tongues touched. The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound in the room until both began moaning softly. When Patrick returned to war they were engaged.
“Hey, wake up, Captain!” Doctor Thomas Franklin shook Patrick vigorously by his shoulder. “Wake up.” As Patrick turned his head to see the surgeon, Franklin continued. “It’s like this, Captain. You have a broken bone in the thigh and have lost a lot of blood. I’m going to amputate your leg. Do you understand me, Captain?”
“No! You cannot amputate my leg!” Patrick ignored his pain and lifted himself on his elbows to look the surgeon in the eye. He was shocked to realize the man was no older than he. It further eroded his confidence.
“You have no choice,” Franklin answered rather weakly. He didn’t want to admit he knew no other operation. Six months out of medical school, he had learned all he knew about surgery in the field of battle. He went to medical school from the farm at the age of nineteen, having quit school after eighth grade. He grew to like surgery when they castrated calves. His father paid twenty-five dollars, nearly all their savings, to pay for his son’s admittance to a medical school in St. Louis. The course of study was nine months long and Franklin never saw a patient nor an operation.
“I do have a choice. It is my leg. I am from a prominent family in Philadelphia and if you don’t listen to me, I’ll have you court-martialed. Just take the ball out!”
The finality of Patrick’s decision scared the young doctor. No patient ever countered his orders. “Yes, sir.
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