Staying the Course

Disclaimers: Right, I don't own anything. The inspiration for this story (aside from Heath Ledger lol) was two other stories "Ceisd mo Cridhe (Darling of my heart)" by heathethanoshkosh and A Little Twist of Fate by Nids. Both of them are fantastic and if you enjoy this one, I can almost guarantee that you will enjoy theirs. To Nids and heathethanoshkosh I loved both of your stories and will continue reading them. Rating: If you watched the movie you can definitely read this. 14 to put an age on it.

***

"Miss? Miss we've found another one for you."

Turning away from the wounded soldier in front of her, the young woman acknowledged the messenger before she finished checking her patient's wounds. With a final gentle smile she stood and started for the parlour. From the tone of James' voice this new one was a lost cause. Then again, most of them were.

"Ma'am?" Startled, she whipped around, her shock falling away as she realized it was only the private she had been tending.

"Yes soldier?" Over the moans of pain and the hopeless crying the soft lilt of her voice carried far.

"Thank you." Pain flashed across his face as he reached up a hand. Tucking her skirts beneath her, she knelt down next to him, taking his hand in her two as he spoke. "I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to say this again, but- thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"For not letting me die alone, in a field. For not looking at what colour coat I was wearing before giving me aid. For so many thing."

A lone tear slipped down her cheek as she clutched the man's hand. "Sir please don't fear. I know you are in a lot of pain but there is no doubt in my mind that you will live. In a few days I am sure you will be marching off again to fight in your war and I hope you will return here if you need aid. The colour of your coat matters little when you are bleeding to death on my doorstep. Loyalist or Continental you are welcome to stay as long as you need and should you wish to stay and aid us, you will be met with much gratitude. Additional aid is always a boon when you are trying to help soldiers. They always seem to find it necessary to get themselves cut up. Perhaps one day you will explain it to me." She finished in a half-amused tone.

He grinned weakly. "Perhaps I shall."

"One of the other girls will be around if you need help, rest now."

Sighing contentedly, he shut his eyes, settling against the rough wooden boards of the porch. Without pausing another moment the young lady swept up her skirts and strode toward the parlour.

"Oh my goodness." The man lying on the covered table that served as her working area was whiter than fresh snow, made ever more evident by the vibrant red of the blood that stained his tunic-styled shirt. "Where was he found?"

"Out by the old East house. It's been burned to the ground, no signs of the family. There's about twenty-five dead men out there, I checked 'em all myself. Thought this one was gone too but he broke outta the shock for a second and whispered a name all soft like 'fore he passed out again. Now Miss Catherine, I don't want you to get your hopes up 'bout this one. He's pretty far gone."

Catherine nodded grimly, mind already set on the task before her. Going through the supplies she would need, she turned to the slim black woman at her side.

"Amy we will need hot water and bandages, as much as can be spared. A new needle if you can find one and some strong thread. Hurry please, we don't have much time. James," she motioned the messenger over. "I may need your help. But first what was the name he whispered? It may be important."

"I think it was Ann miss."

"Thank you. Alright get some food and some rest while I examine the damage. If I need you I'll have Amy summon you."

Nodding, James left Catherine alone with the nearly dead man. Heaving a forlorn sigh she got to work.

The central wound was in his abdomen, and it was his good luck it had not pierced through to his back. As it was, his intestines had been gashed to all hell, and if they weren't stitched soon he would bleed to death. It was amazing he hadn't already, but James had undoubtedly done what he could for the man before he brought him in. As she worked Catherine kept up a steady stream of conversation, barely allowing herself to stop talking.

"James, the messenger who brought you in doesn't think you'll live through the hour, much less the night. I do so love to prove James wrong. If I am to do this I must ask for your help. I think you'll make it, but then again, I always think they'll make it. Perhaps it is wrong of me to try to bring God's children back to this world when they are so close to entering Paradise. It's just that something in me tells me to keep fighting for them, just as they keep fighting for their respective causes.

"You've been fighting for a long time, haven't you?" She asked, having just uncovered a scar that ran straight across his left side. "You've certainly been cut up before. Why must war be the only way? Why must we fight for the freedom God gave us?"

Behind her, Amy returned, placing bandages and a large bowl of steaming water within her reach. One look at the size of the wound and Amy raced off again, in search of a needle and thread.

Catherine continued. "You spoke a name when James found you. I believe it was Ann. Is she why you fight? Or is it something else? Something deeper? Perhaps you believe only in the cause, in the freedom. For a man to sacrifice his life, or at least be willing to his passion must be great. If only I had been born a man, how I long to truly fight for our freedom. I suppose then, that all this running off to war isn't really that much of a mystery to me."

"Miss?" Amy had entered the room once again, needle, thread and brandy in hand. "Why do you talk to them?" Her deep dark eyes were curious, even as she took in the sight of the dying man. "Every time I see you working with one of those boys I see you talkin' to 'em. Why?"

Catherine smiled weakly. "So they have something to hold onto. Something to anchor them to life. And. I suppose. so I don't have to think about the possibility of loosing one of them. It always seems like I'm doing the right thing when they live." She held out her hand for the thread, quickly reeling off a sufficient length. "Sterilize the needle for me please." She stated, rather then asked as she wiped the newly pooled blood away. "Then get some rest if no one needs you right away. It's been a long day."

"And you Miss Catherine?"

"I'll get some sleep when I can."

"But Miss, you've been awake since sunup and you haven't stopped once 'cept for a moment at midday to eat a morsel. Shouldn't you,"

Catherine silenced her with a quick look, holding out her hand once more for the needle.

"Yes Miss." Amy was nearly to the door when Catherine spoke again.

"Thank you Amy. I could not have gotten through the day without you."

With a small nod, even though Catherine wasn't looking, Amy disappeared into the gloom of the hallway. Catherine focused once more on her patient, threading the needle and knotting the end.

"You will be alright. Before my father left he told me to give care to those that needed it and to save as many as I could. He told me, 'War is an evil thing Catherine, it is the beast that brings out the worst in a man. War is the vessel driven with the held back anger and fury that most would never know they had. They will need you.' Not a man that has reached me has died yet. I suppose it is more to their credit then to mine. Please don't be the first. You must hang on. Please hang on."

Catherine fell silent as she worked, her stitches small, the flow of blood slowly stopping. The grandfather clock in the corner slowly ticked off the seconds and nearing midnight her candle sputtered out, leaving her with only the glow of the fire to light her work. By the time the last stitch was tied off her patient looked no better, save for the fact that he no longer had a gaping hole in his stomach.

Hour passed hour and still he slept on as Catherine kept watch over him. It was only well after dawn's first rays had crept over the eastern border that his eyes began to flutter open.

"Ann? Ann where are you?"

Startled, Catherine leapt to her feet, rushing to his side. The man struggled against her hands, trying in vain to sit up.

"No, no lie still. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you awake, you had me worried for awhile there. Perhaps while you remain awake, which likely will not be for long, we can send a message off to your commanding officer."

His dark brown eyes gazed up at her unwarily. "You. aren't Ann."

With her customary gentle smile she shook her head. "No sir, my name is Catherine St. Stevens. Who might you be?"

"Gabriel Martin."

"Good, you can remember your name, that's good. And this Ann. Is she your wife?"

Gabriel's eyes closed, and he laid his head back. Understanding Catherine didn't press the subject. Instead, she left his side for the first time in hours, searching for Amy.

"How are the rest of the men?"

"None dead, though some of 'em came close. You've done a lot of good here Miss. And what of this new one? He must've woken up or you wouldn't have left his side."

Catherine's face clouded over at the mention of her newest patient. "I don't know. Yes he has woken up, but it appears he just lost his wife. I don't know how much he wants to live. Those are the ones you must struggle with the most."

Amy looked Catherine over, taking in the circles under her eyes and the droop of her shoulders. "And you Miss? Did you sleep at all?"

"Oh Amy, you know I never do. If he settles in well enough I'll sleep for an hour or so later on."

"Good morning Miss."

Catherine turned around at the strange voice, her face lighting up with true delight as she saw behind her the private who had been sure he would die yesterday evening.

"Alive I see!"

He smiled shyly, a blush turning his ears red. "Mostly 'cause of you Miss. I wanted to thank you again."

"That's not necessary."

"I know. But I wanted to. And I'd like to finally introduce myself. I am Steven Baldric, a private serving under Captain Burwell of the Continental Army." Steven lifted her hand to his mouth, bestowing it with a chaste kiss.

"I am Catherine St. Stevens. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Ma'am, I realize that I cannot return to the army quite yet, but I would like to try and help out some. What can I do?"

Amy stepped forward, cutting off any response Catherine might have had. Amused, she held back her indignant response.

"Mister Baldric I can't say I know what it feels like to get shot, but I imagine it ain't pretty. So whyn't you do us a favour and keep an eye on our new arrival so's Miss Catherine here can get some rest?"

He nodded and tipped his hat. "Just point me in the right direction, I'd be glad to be of some use."

Amy gave Catherine a satisfied smirk that dared her to renege her proposal.

"Very well, I suppose I could use a short rest. Before I go however, I would like to send James off with a message to Gabriel's contingent. Would you send him in please? Steven, if you would follow me."

She swept into the house, Steven following dutifully behind her. Gabriel's eyes were open again, and he took in the room around him with a careful stare.

"Hello again Gabriel. This is Steven Baldric, he will be staying with you while I rest. Is that alright with you?"

"I don't care."

Worry tightening her features Catherine's ever present smile slipped. "Very well. Before I go, I would like for you to dictate a letter to send off to your commanding officer."

"As you wish."

Frowning she left the room in search of parchment and a quill. While she was gone, Steven pulled a chair over so he could sit by Gabriel.

"Hello, Gabriel was it? I'm Steven Baldric, just call me Baldric."

Gabriel didn't answer so Baldric continued. "That Catherine is an amazing woman isn't she? Doesn't care what side you fight for just gives you help. I've never met anyone like that before."

"I have."

Baldric looked up at him. "Really, who?"

"My father. A battle erupted literally on our front lawn and all the wounded were offered our care. When the Green Dragoons arrived to pick up their wounded they found the dispatches I carried. They killed my brother. All he tried to do was save me." Gabriel turned his head away, lost in the nightmarish memory that plagued him.

Baldric blanched. "I'm sorry."

Gabriel continued to stare at the wall, "You had no way of knowing."

Silence reigned after Gabriel spoke, and it remained until Catherine returned. She looked at the two brooding men and began to wish she had not so readily accepted Amy's idea. Collecting her wits, she continued on her intended path. Settling herself on the floor next to Gabriel she filled the nib of her quill with ink.

"Who should it be addressed to?"

"Colonel Benjamin Martin."

Baldric leapt to his feet. "You serve with Benjamin Martin?"

"Yes."

"May I shake your hand?"

"Why?"

"Benjamin Martin and his militia have become legends to the regulars. Or at least the ones serving under Captain Burwell. Our Captain is often telling us of your conquests to boost the morale. To think you have met the Ghost!" Baldric's face was alight with amazement.

Gabriel gave a short snort of laughter. "Well if he arrives here do me a favour. Don't tell him. If he gets a high opinion of himself he'll be impossible to live with after the war."

"You're his son?!"

Clearing her throat and grabbing their attention Catherine cut short the conversation. "If you two don't mind I'd like to finish this letter. Unlike some of you, I have not slept all night."

"Yes ma'am."

"Yes ma'am."

"And for heavens sake stop calling me ma'am! I am, without a doubt, younger then the two of you. Gabriel, begin."

Without further prompting Gabriel dictated, "To Colonel Benjamin Martin. Dear Father, I am alive and currently attaining care at the manor of Ms. Catherine St. Stevens. I am sorry for my impulsive and foolish behaviour and even more so to know you believed me dead. This is much more I wish to say, but don't quite know how. I'm so sorry. I will stop now as I am dictation to Ms. St. Stevens and she is tired from tending to me last night. Your loving son, Gabriel. Will that do?"

Catherine smiled. "Yes, I believe it will do just fine. James will have it in your father's hands by nightfall. Will you please sign your name?"

"Why?"

"As proof that it is really you since I wrote the letter itself."

Grimacing, Gabriel motioned Baldric over. "Help me sit up will you?"

"Just a little!" Catherine protested, handing Gabriel the quill. His signature was messy but it was his own. As Baldric was helping him lie back down James joined them.

"Amy said you wanted to see me Miss."

"Yes. This is a letter for Colonel Benjamin Martin. Await a response or bring Mister Martin back. Understand?"

"Yes Miss."

"I'm sorry, I know you do. I'm just a little tired."

"I heard that." Smiling happily Amy stepped in. "Mister Gabriel it sure is nice to see you awake. This young thing has taken it into her mind to save each and every one of you poor fellows. Didn't sleep a wink last night after you were brought in. Come Miss, it's off to bed with you."

Catherine smiled tiredly, covering her mouth as she yawned. "Take care. And if anything should happen."

"You will be awoken immediately, now go!"

With a wave Catherine disappeared up the stairs and James gathered what information he could from the exhausted Gabriel before he set out for the ruin of Cowpens.

***

Blue faded to black as an inky twilight took reign of the sky. Near the ruin of Cowpens continental tents stretched as far as the eye could see, a white ocean against the darkness of the coming night. Here and there soldiers passed each other, exchanging murmured greetings and pleasantries. In makeshift barns horses settled and the entire camp seemed unreal as anxious anticipation flowed among it's occupants- mingled with a palpable hope. Yes, the hope was almost tangible as a young black man rode in alone, the message he carried burning like fire in his pocket. But even the messenger couldn't fathom the importance of that particular message.

James stopped by a group of men on the outskirts of the camp, dressed not in the blue uniform of the Rebels, but as simple farmers.

'Militia.' James thought as he reined his horse in. 'Maybe the ones I'm looking for.'

"Excuse me." He called to the sombre group. "I'm looking for a Mister Benjamin Martin, could you tell me where he might be found?"

A sharp-eyed man with tousled blond curls stepped into the light. "'e is indisposed. What is the message?" His accent distinctly French, James thought back to the brief conversation he had had with Gabriel about Benjamin's militia.

"Would you happen to be Jean?"

"'ow did you know my name?"

James grinned widely. "Whyn't you take me to see Mister Benjamin first? I have some news about his son he might want to have."

"His son is dead." The voice arose from the deepest shadows beneath the tree, no body coming forward to face this stranger. "Gabriel's gone."

"That so?" James questioned amusedly. "Well it just so happens I got me a letter in my pocket from the person who saved him, saying otherwise. So whyn't you let me deliver it to the poor man? I can imagine he's sufferin' something awful."

Jean nodded at the smiling black man atop the exhausted horse. "I will take you to him. But be aware, if you speak lies I will take great pleasure in your death."

James returned his nod, smile determinedly remaining in place.

Jean led the way, James's horse ambling along behind him and the rest of the militia following purposely. Their journey was short and outside the tent where Benjamin Martin supposedly rested his men shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Inside a horribly bitter conversation was taking place.

"Harry I have to go back! I. I left him, I don't know what I was. what was I thinking?! Oh god, he's dead." The man's voice cracked, sobs drowning out his words.

"Benjamin you were literally dragged from his side. You didn't even know you were riding until you arrived here. You must not blame yourself."

Benjamin's cries softened enough so he was once again able to talk. "I let him die. I let him. Oh God, why him? Why couldn't it have been me? Not Gabriel, please not Gabriel."

"Benjamin this war needs you, your men need you. Nothing you can do will bring your sons back. Stay the course. Stay with us and don't let their sacrifices go to waste. In a few days you will have the chance to avenge their deaths and help change the course of this war."

"Fight your own war. I am small matter to it. Let me go and be with my family before this war kills them too."

Jean parted the tent flap as James dismounted. Clearing his throat and alerting the two men to their presence, Jean motioned James in.

"Colonel. This man, he says he has a message from Gabriel."

Benjamin stared at the two newcomers in shock, his mouth opening and closing without a word.

James stepped forward, holding the letter out in front of him. "Sir I understand that you believed your son was dead, but I saw him myself, just before I rode out. He was dictating this letter to Miss Catherine." Benjamin's gaze fell to the white paper with the red wax seal in this man's hand. "I found him myself, took him for dead as well, but he opened his eyes a moment and spoke the name Ann clear as day. He's half a days ride from here. If we ride straight that is."

"That's not. Is it possible?"

James grinned encouragingly. "Doesn't seem like it could be does it? Miss Catherine's saved about thirty men so far, some of them worse off then Gabriel was. I don't know what she does, but she just keeps on doing it."

Harry Burwell interrupted Benjamin's stammered response. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about a woman named Catherine St. Stevens would you?"

"Why yes I am sir. Have you met her?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but she has taken care of some of my men, one's I would have given up for dead. They say she has never lost a man she's tried to save. Helps indiscriminately, Redcoats, Continentals, Militia. Apparently she's a patriot however."

Benjamin stared at James, his red-rimmed eyes void of any spark of life. "Why should I believe you?"

"I have a letter." He replied, passing the hastily sealed paper over to Benjamin.

After a cursory glance Benjamin returned his accusatory glare back at James. "It's not Gabriel's handwriting."

"No. He dictated it to Miss Catherine. She made him sign it himself though. She thought you'd need proof. My orders are to return with a reply or to bring you back with me. It's your decision."

Benjamin traced the signature with his index finger, a look of pure amazement etched on his face. "How soon can we leave?"

"If I can be lent a fresh horse, as soon as you're ready."

He looked up at the black man standing before him. "Take me to my son."

***