God, Papa… Home. The litany ran through Julia’s head protecting her from the darkness, the horror that hovered just out of sight threatening to overwhelm her. In flickering light from a sparse array of lanterns and candles, Julia worked her way through the closely packed pallets, doing what she could, always murmuring those priceless words of encouragement, We’re going home.
Her automatic bedside smile once again lit her face as she took leave of a captain. Still on her knees, she stretched her aching back before attempting to stand. She stiffened with a sudden awareness of ominous dread. Slowly, inch by inch, she looked up into the sad-eyed face of Tom Pickering. No! No…no…no. Julia opened her mouth but no words came.
“He’s alive, miss,” Tom Pickering hastened to assure her, his kindly features distorting as he bit his lip. “He’s bad but he’s alive.” Since Julia seemed unable to move, the bandsman took her firmly by the arm and led her to a sheltered corner reserved for ranking officers. Daniel was there before her, bent over his major’s still figure, carefully cutting open Nicholas’ blood-soaked jacket with a knife. As Julia and Pickering approached, Daniel turned and bellowed for a doctor.
“Nicholas!” Julia fell to her knees beside him, surprised to find him conscious, his steel gray eyes turned up to hers. Oddly, the emotion she saw was relief.
“We have business, my girl,” he declared. “Daniel? Confound it, where is he?”
“Here, Sir. I’ve brought the doctor.”
Julia was thrust aside, to hover behind a wall of bent backs, her only coherent thought a prayer.
When he finished his examination, Dr. Channing stood and guided Julia a few feet away, Daniel Runyon trailing behind. “I’m sorry, Julia, my dear but there’s little I can do. Keep him comfortable. I doubt he’ll last ’til morning.”
“But, surely, aboard ship there are surgeons who can…“
“He’ll never make it aboard ship,” Channing replied, truly sorry to be the bearer of such tidings to a longtime friend and helper. “I’m surprised he made it this far. Moving him further will surely kill him.” Unable to bear the pain in Julia’s eyes, he added, “Perhaps…if he’s left here he has a chance. A Spanish doctor? But, believe me, my dear, moving him is a guaranteed death sentence.”
As Julia blindly turned back to Nicholas, the doctor was more blunt with Daniel Runyon. “If you wish to humor her, find a local doctor but the major will slip into a coma within hours and be gone by morning. I’m sorry but I must spend my time with those who have a chance of going home.” Head bent, Channing turned and threaded his way among the pallets.
Daniel heard an agitated major once again calling his name. “Runyon, damn you, stay by when I need you!” Nicholas snapped as Daniel bent over him. “Find Wedderburn…and be quick about it. I want the thing done properly.” Laboriously, Nicholas turned his head to make sure Julia was still there.
“Wha— Sorry, Sir. Right away, Sir.” Daniel put aside his thoughts of a Spanish surgeon and went in search of the chaplain. Odd, the major had never been much of a one for religion.
“Now, listen carefully,” Nicholas whispered to Julia, sweat dotting his brow in spite of the cold January night. “I don’t know Woodworthy well.”
Julia frowned, not remembering the name. Was Nicholas delirious?
“I can’t trust him to carry out my wishes when I’m not there. So you’ll marry me. Now. At once. You’ll have proper papers saying you’re my wife and there’ll be no question about your being my heir. Understand?”
Nicholas’ voice came in slow spurts but was perfectly clear. Perfectly lucid. She was to marry him. Now. In this place where he lay dying—so close, so agonizingly close to being saved.
“There is no need, no obligation,” Julia whispered fiercely. “You do not have to do this, Nicholas.”
“I’m dying, girl. Don’t argue
Her automatic bedside smile once again lit her face as she took leave of a captain. Still on her knees, she stretched her aching back before attempting to stand. She stiffened with a sudden awareness of ominous dread. Slowly, inch by inch, she looked up into the sad-eyed face of Tom Pickering. No! No…no…no. Julia opened her mouth but no words came.
“He’s alive, miss,” Tom Pickering hastened to assure her, his kindly features distorting as he bit his lip. “He’s bad but he’s alive.” Since Julia seemed unable to move, the bandsman took her firmly by the arm and led her to a sheltered corner reserved for ranking officers. Daniel was there before her, bent over his major’s still figure, carefully cutting open Nicholas’ blood-soaked jacket with a knife. As Julia and Pickering approached, Daniel turned and bellowed for a doctor.
“Nicholas!” Julia fell to her knees beside him, surprised to find him conscious, his steel gray eyes turned up to hers. Oddly, the emotion she saw was relief.
“We have business, my girl,” he declared. “Daniel? Confound it, where is he?”
“Here, Sir. I’ve brought the doctor.”
Julia was thrust aside, to hover behind a wall of bent backs, her only coherent thought a prayer.
When he finished his examination, Dr. Channing stood and guided Julia a few feet away, Daniel Runyon trailing behind. “I’m sorry, Julia, my dear but there’s little I can do. Keep him comfortable. I doubt he’ll last ’til morning.”
“But, surely, aboard ship there are surgeons who can…“
“He’ll never make it aboard ship,” Channing replied, truly sorry to be the bearer of such tidings to a longtime friend and helper. “I’m surprised he made it this far. Moving him further will surely kill him.” Unable to bear the pain in Julia’s eyes, he added, “Perhaps…if he’s left here he has a chance. A Spanish doctor? But, believe me, my dear, moving him is a guaranteed death sentence.”
As Julia blindly turned back to Nicholas, the doctor was more blunt with Daniel Runyon. “If you wish to humor her, find a local doctor but the major will slip into a coma within hours and be gone by morning. I’m sorry but I must spend my time with those who have a chance of going home.” Head bent, Channing turned and threaded his way among the pallets.
Daniel heard an agitated major once again calling his name. “Runyon, damn you, stay by when I need you!” Nicholas snapped as Daniel bent over him. “Find Wedderburn…and be quick about it. I want the thing done properly.” Laboriously, Nicholas turned his head to make sure Julia was still there.
“Wha— Sorry, Sir. Right away, Sir.” Daniel put aside his thoughts of a Spanish surgeon and went in search of the chaplain. Odd, the major had never been much of a one for religion.
“Now, listen carefully,” Nicholas whispered to Julia, sweat dotting his brow in spite of the cold January night. “I don’t know Woodworthy well.”
Julia frowned, not remembering the name. Was Nicholas delirious?
“I can’t trust him to carry out my wishes when I’m not there. So you’ll marry me. Now. At once. You’ll have proper papers saying you’re my wife and there’ll be no question about your being my heir. Understand?”
Nicholas’ voice came in slow spurts but was perfectly clear. Perfectly lucid. She was to marry him. Now. In this place where he lay dying—so close, so agonizingly close to being saved.
“There is no need, no obligation,” Julia whispered fiercely. “You do not have to do this, Nicholas.”
“I’m dying, girl. Don’t argue
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