Queen of Swords
Page 75

Pakenham seemed not to hear Keane at all. “You performed a miracle or two for us in Spain, Kit. Are you willing to try again?”
It was in the very bones of a man like Pakenham, the ability to instill courage and purpose.
“Yes, sir,” said Kit.
“We need that powder.”
“Then I will bring it, sir. Or I will die in the attempt.”
Chapter 56
To her father, Hannah said, “I’m tired of ladies coming by trying to catch a glimpse of you. Silly hens, all of them.”
He was cleaning his rifle in the courtyard, and she was pretending to help him. It was that or go back into the clinic, and the sight of her father was too new and precious to pass up.
Her father laughed to hear her complain. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my vanity.”
“But it makes no sense.”
“Folks need distraction with the English hunkered down so close by, and they’ll take it where they can get it. Later on they won’t even remember our names, and all the war stories will be about their own sons and husbands. It’s the way of things.”
“You sound like Elizabeth,” Hannah told him.
He cocked his head. “Does that surprise you? Cain’t live with a woman all these years without some of her ways rubbing off. Someday you’ll find that out for yourself.”
It was as close as he came to raising the topic of Ben Savard. Of course it hadn’t escaped him that Hannah shared Ben’s apartment, but he wouldn’t push for her confidence and she wasn’t ready to talk about Ben yet. She didn’t think she’d ever be ready. The day she would have to leave Ben was coming, but to hear her father tell her that was more than she could bear.
That night he came in past midnight, but she woke immediately. Hannah looked forward to these long conversations in the dark. During the day she imagined telling him about the things people said to her, and what he would say in response. Often he responded with questions instead of answers, another way that he reminded her of Runs-from-Bears.
“Today,” Hannah told Ben, “a Mrs. Turner asked me if it was true that my father was President Washington’s godson.”
“Well, that’s just funny,” Ben said. “You have to see it that way.”
They were in bed, his arm draped across her belly. “Why do you let it get under your skin? Do you even know?”
She did know, at least in part, but that was another subject she didn’t want to raise. Instead she caught sight of the rifle leaning against the wall where Ben had left it. Her brother Daniel’s rifle. Nathaniel Bonner had given it to Ben for his use.
“My father thinks a lot of you,” she said.
“Hannah, the bed’s hardly big enough for the two of us. Let’s leave your father out of it.”
She raised up on one elbow and grinned at him. “You do like my father.”
“I do,” Ben said, running a hand up her belly. “But I don’t particularly want the man looking over my shoulder just now.”
“Because you’re going to—”
“Yes,” Ben said, flipping her over. “Because I am going to.”
The next morning, well before sunrise, Ben paused at the door on the way out. The air was chill enough to make his breath hang in clouds.
He said, “There may be some real fighting today. The English have been gearing up for something big.”
Hannah sat up in bed and wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you think you’ll need me?” She hadn’t been called back to the little field hospital yet, and she had begun to wonder why.
He glanced over his shoulder as if there might be an answer in the shadows. Finally he said, “I’m hoping not, but I’ll come by if things go bad.” And still he didn’t go.
Hannah waited for him to come out and say what it was that was sticking in his throat. The light from the candle danced on his face, caught the color of his eyes and the curve of a cheekbone.
“I want you to tell me about your brother Daniel,” he said finally. “If I’m going to be using his rifle, I want to know why, how he came to give it up.”
It was something she never spoke about, but she found she was pleased to be asked.
“Tonight,” she said. “I’ll tell you his story tonight.”
Ben’s mouth curled up at one corner. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Though there had been few serious wounds thus far in the on-again, off-again war being fought on the plantations to the south, there were enough visitors to the main clinic to keep everyone busy throughout the day.
At one point Hannah found herself examining a young lady of some nineteen years, a friend of Rachel’s, who had fallen from her pony on the Levee Road, wrenching her knee and tearing her silk stockings.
“I was visiting my fiancé at the army camp,” Mlle. Girot explained to Hannah. “But the fighting started again and we had to leave, all of us.”
“You make a habit of calling in at the army camp?” Hannah was amused by the idea of ladies making social calls to a battlefield. “You bring a picnic supper, and table linen?”
The young woman had the good sense not to be offended by this light teasing. “It seemed safe enough,” she said. “And the gentlemen were so glad to see us. The food in the camp is disgusting.”
“And your family doctor—”
Mlle. Girot ducked her head. “Dr. Kerr is engaged by Major General Jackson, and has no time to see his usual patients. And Rachel has spoken so highly of you.” She managed a shaky smile.