December 1862

Adams groaned as he grappled for consciousness, and Wilkins sat down on the edge of the bed. "Feelin' any better, boy?"

His voice sounded low, even to him, "Yeah...what happened?"

"You passed out. That's the cost of sleeping on a cold floor with no blanket, and giving away most of your food."

Adams looked at his surroundings, realizing he was in a real bed, and he frowned. "Where are we?"

"My quarters."

Alarmed, Adams tried to push up off the bed. "Doctor...if Major Voss finds out about this, he'll have your head on a--"

Wilkins gently restrained the younger man. "--Take it easy, Adams, it's just for the night - and none of those guards want to tangle with Major Voss over something like this." He pulled the covers up around the young man's shoulders, "I want you to keep warm and get some rest now."

The panic remained on the young surgeon's face. "I can't stay here...I can't leave Jimmy by himself..." Adams grabbed Wilkins' shirtsleeves. "You don't know what the guards'll do to that kid if I'm not there."

He gently pried the young man's hands from his shirt. "Relax, son. I've asked Kramer to keep an eye on him, so he'll be fine. And I don't think the guards will be working you over again any time soon either, boy."

The fear in Adams' voice was palpable, "You warned them off of me, and they'll think I told you."

Wilkins didn't understand the sound of betrayal nor the dread in his young protégé's tone. "It'll be all right, Adams," he pat the man's hand, "I promise you; the guards won't cross me."

But Adams knew them better than Wilkins, and his fear escalated. "You don't know what they're capable of, sir."

Wilkins frowned. "Adams, calm down." But the terror of experience in the pale blue eyes showed the old doctor more than he had wanted to see. He swallowed hard and said, "I didn't know it had been that bad, boy." His voice turned soft and self-accusatory, "Maybe I just didn't want to know..."

"They'll kill him, Dr. Wilkins. That's what they said they'd do if I ever told you."

"No, son, they won't dare." He reached over to the table by the bed and picked up some pills and a glass of water, handing them to Adams. "Here, I want you to take these and get some sleep."

"What about Jimmy?"

"I'll make sure he's all right." Adams took the sedatives and Wilkins returned the glass to the table, but his assistant surgeon was still highly agitated. Wilkins stroked his hand over the young man's forehead soothingly. "Close your eyes, son, and go to sleep."

Feeling the pull of the drug, Adams' eyelids fluttered. "Please...don't let them hurt that boy..."

"Shhh...you just rest."

As Adams dropped into a deep sleep, Wilkins held the young surgeon's wrist, checking it against the second hand of his pocketwatch. His heart was still beating too rapidly, overworking to try and compensate for the toll the scurvy had taken on him, and the doctor wondered if he should just keep the young man in bed for a few days, as opposed to one night. He glanced down at the exhausted, pale face, finally relaxed in sleep, and Wilkins decided that an enforced bed rest would be the best thing for him. He shook his head at himself: that he had become overprotective and attached to his assistant surgeon was not in doubt; how far he would go to safeguard him was the question. And Captain John Wilkins, M.D. didn't have an answer.

He looked at his pocketwatch once more before putting it away: a quarter past one in the morning. He was late. He pulled the blanket up tightly around the young man's neck, then quietly he left the room, closing the door behind him.


Matt walked into the office and set his hat on the coat rack behind the door before closing it. "Any change?" He asked Kitty.

She looked up from her chair. "It looks like he's asleep now."

Dillon walked over to the table and stared at the old man's face. "He seems a lot calmer."

Her eyes met his, and the fear in hers made him swallow hard. "I'm scared, Matt," she said.

"I know."

"No...I mean, I'm really scared. What if he doesn't come out of this?"

"We can't think like that, Kitty. Doc's one of the strongest and most steadfast men I've ever known; if anyone can come out of whatever he's goin' through..." His voice dropped before he finished, his own fear interjecting itself.

Kitty took Dillon's hand in hers. "There must be somethin' we can do to help him, Matt. Something..."

"Right now what I'm going to do to help him is give you a break. Go on home now, Kitty, and get some rest."

"But Matt--"

He shook his head. "--No. Let me spell you." He looked into her determined eyes. "If there's one thing Doc wouldn't want, it would be for you to wear yourself down on account of him."

She glanced at the doctor, and brushed a curl from his forehead. "I know that." Her crystal eyes flicked up to Dillon's. "It's just hard to leave him like this, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. But I'll be right here with him all night. You can count on that."

Kitty leaned into Dillon and kissed his lips softly. "I'll see you in the morning, unless something changes. You will come and get me if--"

"--If there's any change, I'll get you."

"Good night, Matt."

"Good night, Kitty."

He escorted her out the door, and then he stood on the landing and watched her walk to the Longbranch. Dillon closed the door and settled into the chair by the exam table, silently observing the gentle rise and fall of Doc's chest: if only there was something more he could do.


December 1862

He marveled at the crispness of the major's uniform as the man continued to pace the length of the room in agitation, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was so used to being surrounded by filthy yankee prisoners, and less than respectable southerners, he found it was always difficult to try and adjust in the presence of a true gentleman like Major Voss.

The six foot two inch major stopped pacing and whirled on the man standing before him. "Well, are you going to make a report or am I going to wear a hole in this rug?"

"I'm thinkin' we ain't gotta--"

"--Oh for the love of God, can't you remember to wipe out that disgusting dialect when you're in here talking to me? I just cannot abide it."

His tone turned slightly acidic, "I'm sorry, major, it's sometimes difficult to overcome the part I'm having to play in the name of the Confederate States..."

Voss cleared his throat then. "No sir, it is I who should apologize; you're doing a great service to our cause, and at a great personal cost to yourself. Please, do continue."

"Yes sir. I'm yet to root out who among our ranks is the union spy, nor how he's getting information out and across the lines, but there are a few noteworthy suspects. At the top of my list remains Captain Spencer and Lieutenant Jones; they both have access to everything here at Libby Prison, and they both have family ties that cross the Mason-Dixon. Also to be considered is Corporal Weems, although he doesn't have a lot of access given his rank, but I've noticed that he tends to be less vocal than most of the guards and far less aggressive in his handling of the prisoners."

"That could speak only to the man's personal constitution..."

"True enough, major. And there's also Captain Wilkins."

"The Chief Surgeon?"

"Yes, sir. He has access to just about everything, and he seems to be more than just sympathetic when it comes to taking care of the injured blue-coats. Why he's even given his bed to his assistant surgeon because the man's come down with scurvy."

"You mean Adams?"

"Yes, major, that's the man."

"I've heard he's quite a good doctor."

"Yes, Dr. Wilkins says he has one of the most gifted pair of hands he's seen in a long time."

"I'm not sure how much stock we should put in that relationship; after all, Wilkins hasn't had the proper time to grieve the loss of his son. He's simply transferred his feelings to this young man Adams." Voss stared at him. "Am I correct that Dr. Wilkins is yet unaware of our knowledge of his son's service with the yankees?"

"No inkling, sir."

"Good, it's best we keep it that way, just in case he turns out to be more than he appears."

"Yes sir. I am concerned though, about these clandestine meetings he slips away to late at night."

Voss smiled. "His midnight rendezvous with Elizabeth Van Lew? I don't believe that's much of a threat to us. Frankly, I find Adams to be far more dangerous to us than Wilkins."

"If you mean in terms of his sway with the men, you're right, sir. Even though he's one of the younger officers, they all respect him, and generally listen to him."

"I was afraid of that...it's too bad he didn't just die when he arrived."

"I honestly thought he was going to, or I would have helped him along."

"No matter; he might be of more use to us alive, if we can get control of him."

"I think I might have a way..."

The smile on the mole's face sent a shiver up Voss' spine, and he was very thankful he wasn't Dr. Adams. "Very well, just make sure you don't spill your hand in the process."

"Adams thinks I'm a friend; he'd never suspect me."

"Very well then, you're dismissed."

And Roy Kramer turned sharply and walked out of the room.