The stinging smell of smoke assaulted Wyatt's nostrils the closer he came to John Fraser's home. Coughing and choking as he raced along the road, he could feel the intensity of the battle before he ever even laid eyes on it. The sound of musket fire, echoing across the western Pennsylvania hillsides, resonated deep within him - every crack, every explosion seeming to rattle him to his very core. The warmth from the fire, too, could be felt long before he even ascended the ridgeline. It would have been enough to make any man anxious for the fate that awaited him beyond these hills, but it was a fate Wyatt was determined to meet with a vengeance.
When Wyatt left Lucy and Rufus behind in that cabin, he had done so with an anxious determination to help the people who had done so much for them in their hours of need. As Lucy had not so subtly reminded him earlier, he was a soldier and he had a duty, not only to protect his team, but to also protect history…and the people in it. He would be lying, however, if he claimed that was the only reason for his unwavering resolve to charge headlong into battle.
The truth was that though Rufus' interruption filled him with a decent amount of trepidation over the situation unfolding at John Fraser's home, it had also been one of welcome relief.
Lucy had been too damn close…and undressing her was not the way he needed to end a day that had been filled with images of her naked body, countless innuendos, and too much…way too much alcohol. Hell no…that would have just been asking for trouble. What he needed was a distraction…and taking out his frustration on the French couldn't have been a more perfect one.
After chasing them through the woods like animals, nearly killing him, trying to sell Rufus into slavery, putting Lucy through absolute hell with all the abuse she was forced to endure at their hands, in short…after everything damn thing they had done to them since they landed in this century, he was more than happy for the opportunity to give them some of their own back.
But it was a hell of a lot tougher than he imagined it would be.
When he finally arrived on the scene, it was complete and total pandemonium. He was no stranger to war and had seen his fair share of chaotic battlefields, but in all his years and training as a Delta Force soldier had he ever witnessed anything quite like this. The entire British camp was engulfed in flames that were spreading rapidly to the surrounding fields and outer buildings of the farm. The unfortunate British soldiers who were caught unawares by the attack, frantically ran from the scene as fire consumed them…and this only served to spread the fire even further. Those who weren't caught up in the inferno were engaged in desperately fierce hand to hand combat even as agitated horses broke free of their hitching posts and ran freely around the property, whinnying and tossing their heads nervously as they trampled over the wounded and dying. The cries from the horses and the wounded men were nothing to the blood-curdling screams from the Native American warriors, however. Their shrill battle cry had been enough to make Wyatt's hair stand on end - but seeing them in action, mercilessly killing and hacking away at the British soldiers they ambushed from the shadows, was something he wouldn't soon forget.
Despite the horror before him, he nevertheless dove into the fray, holding his own against Frenchmen and Indian alike, soon working in tandem with British soldiers to drive a good number of the French off the property and back down to the river. It hadn't been without a few close calls, but he had emerged from the heat of battle relatively unscathed.
That is until he came back on the scene to find a whole new wave of French soldiers had descended on the farm, picking off soldiers and civilians alike attempting to put out the fires that were now consuming much of the property. Taking cover behind an overturned wagon, Wyatt found himself next to a slightly frazzled looking Colonel McKee who was rapidly firing musket shots with devastating accuracy into the bodies of their would-be attackers. "Wyatt, my lad!" he said with much surprise as he reloaded his gun, "what on Earth are you doing here? You should be with your wife."
"And miss all this fun?" Wyatt scoffed as he made a few shots of his own, "wouldn't dream of it, sir. Where the hell did these assholes come from anyway?" he spat out as he ducked to miss a musket ball aimed at him, "We just pushed a whole mess of them back down to the damn river."
"Over the fields." Colonel McKee said with a nod, "They appear to have used a flanking maneuver. I must say, they definitely had the element of surprise."
Wyatt was inclined to agree with him, though he was in no position to discuss the French battle strategy, he was out of musket shot and while he still had his own handgun, he thought that pulling it out in front of Colonel McKee would probably not be the best idea in terms of keeping their cover. Throwing down his now useless weapon, he turned to Colonel McKee, "Where does John keep his extra guns? The ones he makes?"
"The barn." came Colonel McKee's short answer, "but you'll be hard-pressed to get there without some sort of cover." he pointed out seriously, "they've got that whole area pinned down something fierce."
"Then I'll just have to be careful." Wyatt said tersely, preparing to run.
Seeing that he was serious, Colonel McKee ordered two of his men to go with Wyatt, instructing them to bring back as much ammunition as they could carry. With the promise of help, Wyatt took off as fast as his legs could carry him. Though the smoke and haze made seeing potential dangers difficult, it also made him difficult to spot. He, therefore, reached the barn with very little difficulty, handing off weapons and bags of ammunition to the men who had followed him. Once resupplied, they made their way back out and into a virtual firestorm. Musket fire exploded all around them, forcing them back into shelter of the barn as they did their best to return the volley.
Above the din of the sounds of battle, Wyatt could hear panicked screams and shouts that made his blood run cold. They weren't male…they were female…and his mind immediately went to Lucy. Peering through the smoke, Wyatt could just make out the shadows of skirted figures, cowering as they were being dragged from the kitchen…which was now ablaze with fire. Frantic, Wyatt bolted from the safety of the barn, only to find that it was not Lucy at all, but Mary Fraser and her maid, Margaret being pulled from the kitchen by John Fraser who was shouting that Mrs. Poe was still inside. "I'll get her, you get them to safety." Wyatt called as he dove in the building, finding the housekeeper cowering in the corner with a half-filled water bucket and a rag placed over her mouth, coughing and sputtering uncontrollably "Come on!" he shouted, "we need to get you out of here!"
Grabbing her by the arm, Wyatt pulled her out of the blazing building and quickly made his way to the woodshed where a bloody John Fraser had barricaded his wife and her young maid. He turned to thank Wyatt for his efforts and bravery when a ruckus erupted near the forge, drawing their attention to that side of the field.
It was Tom battling off five Frenchman as they charged towards the yard of the forge armed not with muskets, but with torches, ready to burn it to the ground. "Not again, you bastards!" John Fraser growled angrily as he took off running at high speed to aid his blacksmith, who was, at that moment, loading a musket in a desperate attempt to defend his ground.
"John, wait!" Wyatt shouted, racing after him, but John Fraser was already half-way to the battle erupting in front of the forge. Tom had taken down two Frenchman already and was battling a third when John Fraser arrived, but the torches they were carrying had caught the wooden colonnade on fire, threatening to engulf the roof. Throwing himself, into the fray, John Fraser shot with his flintlock, only to have it misfire and burn his hand, causing him to drop it as the Frenchman now turned on him. Seeing that the two French soldiers had pulled out their flintlocks, Wyatt quickly pulled out his own gun, pausing slightly as he fired two shots that dropped both of them before they even had a chance to so much as aim. Charging forward, Wyatt found John hovering over Tom, desperately attempting to rouse him as the forge rapidly burned around them. "John!" Wyatt shouted over the roaring of the flames, "we need to get the hell out of here!"
"Not without Tom!" he yelled back as the blacksmith shook his head and attempted to get to his feet, stumbling as he did so.
Desperate to get them both to safety, Wyatt rushed forth through the heavy smoke, his lungs burning from the poisonous fumes, as he attempted to help John Fraser get a disoriented Tom to his feet. The roof creaked and groaned ominously around them, but nothing would deter John Fraser from his efforts. Desperately, Wyatt got himself under Tom's arm, lifting him from the floor with a grunt, but no sooner had they made to cross over the threshold of the yard than the entire overhang, consumed in flame, collapsed upon them with a fiery crash.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Lucy, clad in her nightgown, had just finished stepping into her shoes securing a heavy shawl over her shoulders when Rufus stepped in front of the door to the cabin, blocking her intended path. Not at all dissuaded by this action, Lucy tossed her head back defiantly, "I am going to find Wyatt, Rufus." she replied haughtily though there was a touch of anxiety in her voice, "It's been hours."
"Nu-uh, no way," Rufus spat out as he shook his head emphatically, "I let you out of here and Wyatt will kick my ass from here all the way back to 2016."
"Rufus!" she gritted out in frustration as she made to move past him, but again, he positioned himself in front of the door, holding her back with one arm.
"I mean it, Lucy." he grunted as he wrestled her arm away from the handle, "Wyatt told me to keep you safe and that is exactly what I'm going to do," he gave her a meaningful glare as she threatened him, adding, "Yeah, whatever Lucy…he's a hell of a lot scarier than you."
Resigning with a heavy sigh, Lucy stomped to the far side of the room and plopped down on the bed, "He could be in trouble, Rufus." she argued nervously, "he could be hurt, shot…what if he needs our help? Huh? I really don't want to be a widow on my wedding day, you know."
"I'm sure he's fine." Rufus assured her, though the strain in his voice bespoke his own anxiety over the situation. Wyatt had been gone for a long time, though that was hardly surprising. They could hear the sounds of musket fire echoing across the fields…they saw the tell-tale signs of fire, heard the screams from the horses…but it had been at least an hour since an eerie silence had fallen over the Pennsylvania wilderness…and yet, there was still no sign of the Delta Force soldier. Rufus shrugged uneasily, "I'm sure he's just…you know…helping out with the wounded…or something."
"Or he's wounded." Lucy muttered as Rufus toyed with the now dying fire in the fireplace. Unable to stand it anymore, she darted back towards the door, this time reaching the handle before Rufus could bar her way. He did, however, grab her elbow as she made to leave, causing her to turn back to him with pleading eyes, "We have to check, Rufus…please." she begged, "I can't just sit here and do nothing."
Rufus bit his lip in thought, obviously conflicted. His mandate from Wyatt was to protect Lucy…but what if she was right? What if Wyatt did need their help? What if he was lying out there, somewhere in a field and no one thought to look for him because he was supposed to be "enjoying his wedding night?" Peering out of the window, he noted that the sky, though hazy from the remnants of smoke, was no longer an ominous shade of orange. "Okay," he nodded slowly, releasing her elbow, "fine…but I'm going with you."
Grateful for both the company and the support, Lucy breathed a sigh of relief as Rufus opened the door and ushered her out into the cool, dark night. As swiftly and silently as they could, they made their way together down the winding dirt path, over the ridge to where John Fraser's home lay beyond the fields…fields that were now a smoldering wasteland.
"Oh my God" Lucy gasped as they took in the ghastly scene of destruction before them.
Scattered flames still dotted the now scorched landscape, a grim reminder of what had been wrought by the French ambush. While John Fraser's home still loomed proudly in the distance, the dying bits of firelight cast unnerving shadows across the devastation that lay in its wake. The forge, kitchen and wash house had all but been laid to waste; their ruins stood like blackened skeletons stretching their haggard limbs towards an even darker sky. Scorched and smoking fields seemed to stretch on forever. Horses ran through the grounds, agitated and confused, tossing their heads back nervously as they wandered aimless, through the once pristine yard that was now littered with the wounded, dead or dying.
"Rufus," she gasped, her lip trembling at the sight, "there's…there's so many of them."
"Yeah." he replied thickly as he scanned the grounds, the groans from the wounded sending a chill up his spine. As Lucy let out a little whimper beside him, Rufus gripped blindly for her hand, doing his best to offer her some kind of comfort…though he was just as horrified as she was.
"Come on," she urged, her voice quavering with emotion, "Let's…let's see what we can do to help." With shaking knees, they made their way down the lane until they reached the first line of casualties. Desperately hoping she wouldn't find Wyatt among them, Lucy made her way through the lines scanning the faces of countless men…some French, some Native…but mostly British. Some of them reached out to her, tugging at her nightdress with bloodied hands as they writhed in absolute agony, while others stared off in the distance, their vision caught by something unknown and unknowable, their labored and shallow breathing signaling the rapid approach of their untimely ends.
Stumbling and tripping her way through the casualty ranks, Lucy attempted to comfort those who pleaded with her, but she was no doctor…she had no training in any of this. "I…I'm going to get you help." she promised time and time again, but out here in the wilderness, she wasn't sure what kind of help that would even be. A few field hands were offering water to those who wanted it, but beyond that, she saw very little in the way of triage. Looking to Rufus helplessly, she cried, "I…I don't know what to do…he's not here."
"Well, that's a good thing, right?" Rufus offered as he swallowed hard.
"Is it?" she cried, almost panicking now, "Where is he? Rufus, the French could have taken him, he could be out there in a field somewhere…hurt….dead…dying…"
"Hey." he soothed, gripping her arms, "Listen to me, Lucy…it's Wyatt…okay? He…"
"…always comes through." she finished for him, with a determined nod of her head. "Right…he's fine…he's fine." she muttered repeatedly as if trying to convince herself of that fact.
"Come on," Rufus urged as he spied a couple of soldiers carrying a wounded man into the house, "maybe he's inside…"
With a renewed sense of hope, Lucy followed Rufus into John Fraser's home only to find herself filled with a renewed sense of trepidation and dread from the chaotic and grisly scene inside. Blood pooled on the floorboards in the hall, seeping out from rooms that had become makeshift surgeries. Soldiers were rushing throughout the house, carrying bandages and sheets, ripping them to shreds in a frantic attempt to burgeon up their dwindling medical supplies. The sights and smells were enough to overwhelm anyone, but it was the screams of the wounded as desperate measures were undertaken to save their lives that nearly sent Lucy reeling.
Feeling her swoon, Rufus gripped her arm tightly and ushered her towards the front of the house where, it appeared, the recovering soldiers were resting, lying on the floor of the room where her wedding to Wyatt had taken place. "Heavens, child!" came Mrs. Poe's voice as Lucy looked helplessly around the room, "What on Earth are you doing here?" she exclaimed as she laid down her tray and rushed to Lucy's side. She was more frazzled than Lucy had ever seen her; her usually tight bun was now loose with strands of her greying hair haphazardly falling in strands about her shoulders. Her dress was marred with blood and gore and while Lucy didn't look much better, what with her traipsing through the ranks of the dead and dying earlier, to see the typically starched and pressed Mrs. Poe looking wholly disheveled was enough to make Lucy gape at her awkwardly as she pulled her towards an unoccupied corner of the room. "You're in a right state." she clucked as she dipped a rag in a water basin and began washing the blood and dirt from Lucy's hands, "You aren't hurt, are you?"
"No." Lucy assured her breathlessly, her eyes now darting around the room,
"Did those French ambush your place the way they did our'n?" Lucy shook her head in reply, not able to find her voice…but Mrs. Poe had no problem finding hers. With a look of sharp rebuke she shook her head and muttered, "Then there was no call for you to run out of doors dressed only in your nightgown, land sakes, child…will you never learn?"
Of all the times Lucy had suffered under the appraising and critical eye of Mrs. Poe, this proved to be the most insufferable. Already on edge, Lucy was in no mood to be the housekeeper's punching bag…especially not in a time like this. "Where's Wyatt?" she snapped, but almost immediately she felt guilty for her outburst, as Mrs. Poe, far from retorting back with another quip, offered her a sympathetic smile.
"Of course, you'd be worried." she answered softly, patting her hand gently, "You'll have to forgive this old woman, my dear…it's been a long time since I was newly married." Sighing as she dried her hands on her apron, she nudged Lucy through to the next room, motioning for Rufus to follow, "He was knocked about a bit, but he insists he's fine." she promised as she nudged her into the next room, "it was mighty surprise seeing him join the fighting, being a Quaker and all…but he saved more than a few lives tonight." she explained as she continued to usher Lucy along, "Master Fraser's included…"
Lucy wanted to ask her the specifics of Wyatt's heroics, but at the moment she hardly cared. As they crossed over the threshold of the dining room, there was Wyatt, dirty and bloodied, but very much alive, working in tandem with, whom Lucy could only suppose to be, the military surgeon over the pale and agonizing figure of John Fraser.
"What…what happened?" Lucy asked breathlessly.
"I hardly know myself." Mrs. Poe admitted quietly, "Your man was getting all of us to safety when Master Fraser saw that the French had Tom cornered in that forge of his." She shook her head, "He ran right out into harm's way to save him…and so too, did Mr. Wyatt, there." She let out a shaky sigh as she wiped her eyes on her soiled apron, "We watched as that whole place collapsed all around them, thinking the worst…but then, like a miracle, here he comes," she said nodding towards Wyatt, "dragging Master Fraser to safety, with good old Tom following right behind." Lucy exchanged an anxious glance with Rufus before Mrs. Poe added in explanation, "They all got a little singed…but Master Fraser…"
A blood-curdling scream and curse filled the room, causing Lucy's stomach to turn as John Fraser writhed in pain on the dining room table. "We've very nearly got it John." the surgeon was calling out to him soothingly, "Just a little more and we'll have it out."
The "it" he was referring to, Lucy noted for the first time as the surgeon moved slightly, was a large splintered piece of wood jutting out of his leg. Seeing this, however, proved to be too much for Lucy. She felt her knees give way and was vaguely aware of some sort of commotion around her before a strong odor assaulted her nostrils and she found herself half sitting, half laying on a chaise in the hallway with Mrs. Poe waving a small vial in front of her face.
"What the hell, Rufus?" Wyatt was arguing loudly from the doorway to the dining room, "I thought I told you to keep her away from here?"
"Have you met, Lucy?" Rufus exclaimed defensively, "You know how stubborn she is…"
"Wyatt," Lucy argued weakly, dismissing Mrs. Poe's admonitions that she sit back and rest with a wave of her hand, "we were worried…what did you expect us to do?"
"I expected you to do what I asked you to do." Wyatt gritted out as he threw his head back in frustration, "This isn't any place for…"turning towards her in annoyance, his eyes widened at the sight of blood streaks all over her nightgown, "What happened?" he asked in concern as he stepped towards her anxiously, "Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine," she dismissed, "but you're not." she noted, observing just how "singed" he actually was. The entire right side of his shirt was completely burned away, revealing blistered and bleeding skin all along his torso, "Wyatt, you're hurt…you need…."
"Dammit Lucy…" he breathed out, tired and exasperated, "You shouldn't be here." he argued, "I told you to stay at the house."
"And I told you that you can't to tell me what to do." she spat back at him, digging her heels in stubbornly. "I waited for you for hours, Wyatt. Anything could have happened to you…how was I supposed to know whether…" Tears sprang to her eyes as she gritted out in a voice thick with emotion, "I mean…we already thought you were dead once…"
"Lucy," Wyatt groaned, "I told you, I would be fine…"
Looking up at him sharply, she shook her head in disbelief, "Well, I'm sorry…but it's kind of hard to believe that when we've heard nothing from you…"
"Look, I'm sorry about that, alright?" he maintained as more injured soldiers came filing in. Seeing this, Wyatt rubbed a hand across his face, "Look, just…just go back to the house, alright? I'll be back there as soon as I can."
Rufus nodded and made to leave, but once again, Lucy dug in her heels. "No." she said with a determined scowl, "I want to help."
Wyatt let out a derisive laugh, "You got to be kidding me? Lucy, you literally just passed out."
"So?" she argued weakly, attempting, but failing, to get to her feet, "There's got to be other things I can do…right?" she asked with a hopeful look to Mrs. Poe. "Making bandages, giving out water…"
Wyatt looked wholly unconvinced, but anxious to get back to assisting himself, he finally nodded in resignation, "Fine….do whatever the hell you want" he said with a huff, "but if you pass out again…you're done." he added with a meaningful nod to Rufus, "I mean, it…if she so much as flinches, she goes straight home, you got that?"
Rufus nodded in agreement, "I got it…" he assured Wyatt who nodded and turned back into the dining room, "but it's not me you have to worry about." Rufus muttered when he was out of earshot, "It's her."
With Wyatt back assisting the military surgeon, Mrs. Poe turned to Lucy, "Come on then, dear." she urged, helping her off the couch, "There's plenty of work to go around, no sense sitting here all day." With a heave she pulled Lucy to her feet, steadying her as she wavered slightly on the spot.
It took her a few seconds to get her bearings, but once the room stopped spinning, she cast an anxious glance towards Rufus who was observing her intently. With an indignant shake of her head, she pointed an accusing finger at him and retorted, "That doesn't count."
With a doubtful sneer, Rufus scoffed, "Sure it doesn't."
"It doesn't, Rufus." she maintained, "I feel fine. I just…got up too soon, that's all."
"Whatever you say, Lucy. It's just my ass Wyatt's going to kick if anything happens to you." he murmured sarcastically.
"Rufus," Lucy maintained, "I'm fine. I promise. I wouldn't have even passed out if it weren't for…I mean, I just wasn't expecting…"
"The splinter from hell?" he offered as Lucy nodded in agreement, swallowing hard, "yeah, that makes two of us."
"Are you two going to stand around talking all night or are you going to get to work?" Mrs. Poe barked out to them from the doorway of the lounge, "There's a good number of lads here who could do with a drop of tonic…and that's not counting the poor souls outside."
Exchanging an anxious glance with Rufus, Lucy swallowed hard again, determined to prove she was made of firmer stuff as she called to the housekeeper, "We'll be right there."
Wyatt's entire body felt like it was on fire. Every move he made was excruciatingly painful, but much as he had done countless times in the field, he ignored his own discomfort and focused his attention on the bigger picture…and the bigger picture here was making things right.
It was he who had burned down that wall of Fort Duquesne, after all and it was because of that vulnerability the British soldiers ventured from Fort Cumberland and set up camp here. Wyatt was positive, given that that camp was the first area hit in this ambush, that the French only attacked them because they were tracking the British army.
But ultimately, it was because of him.
Them.
And after the kindness that John Fraser and Colonel McKee had bestowed upon them over the past few weeks, he could hardly sit by and allow them to suffer for the mistakes he had made.
Not that saving Lucy was a mistake…but maybe he could have found another way in…or maybe he could have just kept his damn mouth shut and not told Colonel McKee how he had managed to get her out of that hell hole. But it didn't matter now, did it? The French had anticipated the British strategy, made their pre-liminary hit…and well, now, the only thing that mattered was fixing it…and that's exactly what he intended to do…one bloodied soldier at a time.
He was no medic, that was for damn sure, but being in the US Army meant you got a crash course in self-aid buddy care for those all too often moments in the field where the only person you had to rely on was you…or the guy next to you. He knew the basics of first-aid and then some…could patch up a bullet wound, set a broken bone, hell, he had even delivered a baby…but musket balls and hatchet wounds were a whole different beast. Upon impact, the balls would flatten, leaving large gaping wounds…it was essentially like being hit by a small cannonball and the devastation they caused, for some, gave them no choice but to take the affected limb…if there was any limb left to save, that is. All too often, those who had been struck by musket fire were led into the house, cradling nothing but a bloody stump.
It was nothing like Wyatt had ever witnessed before.
The musket may have been inaccurate as hell, but it was devastatingly deadly.
As he worked into the night, cleaning and sewing up wounds, applying tourniquets, and treating burns, he would catch small glimpses of Lucy running in and out of rooms with fresh bandages or a pitcher of water, surprising him with how well she was handling the grisly scenes all around her. True, she looked a little pale…but given that she was absolutely not used to this, it was hardly surprising. As the night wore on, Lucy was called upon to assist the surgeon with some of the lesser wounds…small burns and grazes…freeing up Wyatt to handle the tougher scenarios. In the quiet moments in between patients, however, he would glance over to where Lucy was learning how to make a paste or a salve and smile, hardly believing that the woman who could hardly stomach seeing the bullet in his gut in 1865, could be playing nurse in a makeshift 18th century hospital.
"What on Earth could you possibly be smiling at?"
Startling, Wyatt quickly set to washing his hands in a rough basin as Rufus set down a fresh supply of boiled water. Eyeing him suspiciously, Rufus cast a quick glance to where Wyatt had been looking only to see Lucy, carefully wrapping the arm of a wounded soldier. "Uh-huh...nevermind." he said with a slight chuckle.
Pretending he didn't hear him, Wyatt dried his hands and coughed before asking, "You need me to um…help you with the rest of that water or…what?" he asked in annoyance as Rufus kept smiling at him. "Seriously, man…what?"
"You…looking at Lucy…and smiling like some lovesick creep, that's what."
"I don't know what the hell you are talking about, Rufus."
"Oh don't give me that." he hissed back at him as Wyatt crossed into another room in search of somebody…anybody else to work on, "You've been making eyes at Lucy since we got here…hell, since before we got here…don't think I don't know that you weren't out of your mind with jealousy when ol' Ian Fleming was in that Nazi castle holding her hand."
Wyatt stared daggers at Rufus as he spat out defensively, "He was an asshole. He almost got her killed. Hell, he almost got all of us killed."
"Uh-huh," Rufus nodded in total skepticism, "and the seatbelt thing, what is that?"
Wyatt stared back at him blankly, "What seatbelt thing?" he asked with a shrug.
Rufus gaped at him in disbelief, "Oh come on, Wyatt…you buckle her in every damn time we get in the Lifeboat…like she can't do it herself." Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "She's only a grown-ass woman."
"She can't do it herself," Wyatt snapped back, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation, "she can't…get the straps right." he reasoned awkwardly as Rufus looked at him, highly amused, "I'm serious." Wyatt maintained hotly, "If we waited around for Lucy to buckle herself in, there'd be no reason to even go on a damn mission, Flynn would have changed history and come back by the time she got it right."
"Okay, okay…whatever you say." Rufus gaped, "no need to get all upset."
"I'm not upset." he spat out as he began backing out of the room in an attempt to get as far away from Rufus as possible, "I just don't know why the hell you have to make a big deal about it." Before Rufus could respond, Wyatt quickly turned to find refuge on the other side of the house, only to run smack dab into Lucy.
"Watch out!" she exclaimed, but it was too late – she fell right into Wyatt…or, rather…he fell into her, the armful of bandages she was carrying falling in piles at her feet. "Sorry," she muttered, I didn't see…are…are you okay?" she asked Wyatt in concern, seeing that he was now clenching the doorway, his face contorted in agony.
"I'm fine." he gritted out through his teeth…but that was clearly a lie. It was blatantly obvious he was in pain and Lucy immediately called him on it.
"You are not fine." she admonished, "Wyatt, you need to have those burns checked."
He knew she was right, of course…but right now, especially after his conversation with Rufus, he was much more concerned with getting the hell away from the both of them. "I promise." Wyatt grunted as he allowed is hand to slip from the doorframe, "I'll put something on them before we go, alright?"
Lucy rose to her feet as Wyatt made to move past her, "That's not good enough, Wyatt. You should have put something on it right away…you could get an infection, or…"
"I'd probably get an infection anyway," Wyatt jabbed, "look around this place, Lucy…it's not exactly sanitary."
"No…and well, the medical practices are a bit…medieval," she conceded, "but, Wyatt…"
"Lucy, it's fine." he maintained as he skirted past her…knowing full well that he was not fine.
Not even by a long shot.
He had burns before and while they had hurt like hell, this…this was something different. He had been distracted from his own suffering while working on the soldiers. His guilt for being somewhat responsible for all this mess…and his concern for John Fraser's condition had allowed him to work through his own pain and focus on helping others. With those distractions gone…and now, with this unfortunate run-in with Lucy, he was very much aware of the throbbing pain in his side as he clandestinely swiped some bandages and ointment from an open medical kit and headed to the only place he figured he would find some privacy….John Fraser's wash room.
Hissing in pain, he removed his shirt, gasping as pieces of it stuck to his charred skin as he tried to pull it away from his body. He skin was dark red, nearly black in some places, with yellow pustules forming over the worse parts. He knew he needed to clean the area and then put something on to help soothe the burn, but he was pretty sure iodine wasn't going to cut it. He picked up the second bottle he swiped, "Calomel" he muttered, "What the hell is that?"
At a loss of what to do, Wyatt tried to clean his wound with soap and water, thinking that would be the next best thing….but though there was fresh water in the basin and a large bar of soap readily available for his use, try as he might, he could not quite reach all of his seared skin. Cursing, he threw down his wash rag, rubbing a hand over his face as he contemplated what to do. Stepping forward, he opened the door to the washroom slightly; he could see Lucy talking quietly to Mrs. Fraser, the doctor cleaning his instruments…and Rufus collecting an empty water bucket from the room just opposite the washroom door. "Rufus!" Wyatt hissed, "Rufus!"
Stopping mid-stoop, the time machine pilot whirled around in confusion until he saw Wyatt peering at him from the crack in the door, "What are you hiding from in there?" he asked as he stepped forward.
"Look, you gotta help me, alright? I don't want these doctors touching me…and you've helped me before…"
"Oh no." Rufus nearly shouted in panic as Wyatt shushed him, "No…uh-uh…pulling that bullet out of your gut in 1865 was the limit to my non-career in medicine. I told you then that I was never doing that again, and I meant it and if you think for one minute that I'm…holy shit, Wyatt!" he exclaimed as Wyatt pulled him into the washroom and shut the door. "I thought you said you were fine?" He eyed his blistered skin in alarm, "That…that's…"
"It's bad." Wyatt acknowledged impatiently. "Okay? I know. It's bad…but that's why I need your help."
"And what the hell am I supposed to do, huh?" Rufus exclaimed anxiously, "I don't know a damn thing about burns…I mean…what the hell do you do for something like that anyway? Ice? Where the hell do you find ice in 1754?"
"Just…just help me clean it." Wyatt pleaded, "Okay? That's all I'm asking."
Rufus glared at him, but finally offered with a resigning sigh, "Fine…but that's all I'm doing." Taking the washrag from the basin where Wyatt had dropped it, Rufus gingerly applied it to the garish scarring along Wyatt's side. He had barely touched his skin, when Wyatt gritted out in pain, causing Rufus to drop the rag in a panic, "No man….I can't…I can't do this."
"C'mon Rufus." Wyatt gasped out as he breathed through his teeth in agony, "just…"
"No." Rufus demanded, "Hell no…" he said as wrenched open the door, "I'm not a damn doctor, Wyatt! I told you after pulling that bullet out of your gut that that was te last time, and I meant it. " Stumbling after him, Wyatt tried to pull him back into the room, but it was no use, his boisterous exit had made a scene and now all eyes were on him as he stood awkwardly in the hall, gripping his ruined shirt to his chest.
"My dear man," the surgeon said, eyeing him sympathetically, "that's one nasty burn you have there…better let me have a look at it." he added, ushering a furious Wyatt into the dining room.
Eyeing Rufus murderously, Wyatt shook his head, "No…it's…it's okay…"
"Nonsense, m'boy." the surgeon replied with a scoff, "you've helped others all evening…now it's your turn." With more than a little force, he pushed Wyatt down on the table, calling for fresh candles and bandages as he peered at Wyatt's side through tiny spectacles. "This is going to need a good scrubbing…it appears there's some piece of linen seared to the outer layer of skin." he explained as he straightened up and nodded towards his assistant, "I think a good dousing of vinegar is in order, my dear."
Wyatt turned quickly to see Lucy standing over him with a mixture of horror and validation on her face. Panicking slightly, he sat up abruptly, "No…not her…"
"She's your wife, isn't she?' the surgeon cried incredulously.
Coloring, Wyatt gaped at him, "Yeah…but…but…she doesn't have the stomach for this sort of stuff." he explained weakly as Lucy rolled her eyes and went to work preparing the work station.
"Oh tosh." the surgeon replied, she's been assisting me all evening…and she's got quite the knack for it. Though I will say," he whispered to Wyatt clandestinely, "she is a bit despotic…all but demanded I wash all my instruments in boiling water…whoever heard of something so trivial?"
Wyatt chuckled to himself, finding it nothing short of hilarious that even in the 18th century Lucy had a reputation for being a bossy know it all…though in this case, he was kind of grateful for her high and mighty stubbornness.
That is, until she turned it on to him.
"Turn over, Wyatt." She ordered coolly, eyeing him with an "I told you so" look that should have filled him with a considerable amount of humility.
But it didn't.
Huffing out a breath, Wyatt flipped over onto his side, now angrier at himself than ever over waiting to have his own injuries attended to. If he had done it when he had first pulled John Fraser out of that fiery mess, he wouldn't have to be laying here, bare chested, while Lucy ran her delicate fingers along his side, tenderly picking off bits of the shirt that had seared into his skin.
Once finished with that torturous task…torturous for more reasons than one…Lucy dipped a large sponge in a vinegar solution, nodding at the doctor to brace Wyatt's arms as she applied it to his skin. The effect was immediate. Wyatt arched off the table, all but howling in pain as Lucy attempted to clean the wound. "I'm sorry, Wyatt…I know it stings…" she began weakly, but he was having none of it. The vinegar only served to make his pain that much worse and it was all the doctor could do to keep him still on the table. "Rufus!" Lucy cried as she attempted to press the sponge to him again as Wyatt writhed in pain and fought against her.
"What do you need?" he asked breathlessly, coming to her side.
"Hold him." she requested, "I can't…I can't clean his burns if he doesn't stay still." But even with the added help of Rufus, Lucy was having a difficult time…not only because he was fighting her, but because it was Wyatt…and seeing him in pain like this was more than she could handle. With tears in her eyes, she stumbled away from the table as Wyatt lay on top of it, gasping for breath and clenching his teeth through what she imagined to be unbearable pain. "Isn't there something you can give him to…to take the edge off?" she asked with pleading eyes.
The doctor stepped away, wiping his brow from the exertion, "I don't think I have much laudanum left in my stores…but we could certainly try." At that, Wyatt shot Lucy a look that made it damn clear he was not interested in trying what he knew, from every Western he ever watched with his Grandpa Sherwin, wasn't a good thing
"Laudanum?" Lucy croaked, casting an apologetic glance towards Wyatt. Swallowing hard, she nodded, "Um…okay...let's…let's try it."
"Hmm…the doctor replied as he searched through his medical bag, "Fresh out…but perhaps I still have some more in one of my other kits. I'll be back in a moment." he promised as he disappeared down the hall.
"Laudanum?!" Wyatt exclaimed with a hiss as he sat up on his elbows, "Are you freaking kidding me, Lucy?"
"What else are we supposed to do, Wyatt?" she argued weakly, "You need something for the pain…and it's not like they have any aspirin around here."
"What the hell is laudanum?" Rufus asked, confused.
"Opium." Lucy and Wyatt answered together. "Think of it like the heroin of the 17th century…highly addictive" Lucy explained as Rufus blew out a low whistle. "It was used as a type of cure-all drug…people used it for everything from headaches to depression…"
"To getting high." Wyatt grunted as he attempted to roll himself off the table. "No way in hell am I taking that stuff."
"Then you're just going to have to deal with the pain, Wyatt," Lucy gritted out in frustration, "but I can tell you right now, we haven't even started on the hard part yet…I've barely touched you."
"You've touched me plenty." Wyatt assured her, as he shot her a scathing look. "Who the hell puts vinegar on a burn? You realize that's like pouring lemon juice on a papercut, right? A very large and painful papercut." he emphasized meaningfully.
"I know…and I'm sorry…but I've diluted it as much as I can. The book says it helps pull the inflammation out and prevents infection." Lucy assured him as she produced a small medical journal from the open medical kit. "And we can't afford for any of us to get an infection. I mean, anti-biotics won't be around until 1928."
"Let me see that…" Wyatt scoffed holding his hand out for the book, "you really believe this stuff?" he asked her in a voice filled with skepticism. "My God, Lucy" he quipped as he perused through the pages, "this thing says that for an upset stomach you need to administer an enema of hot milk and oats."
"An oatmeal enema?" Rufus observed with a shudder, "Breakfast will never be the same again."
"I didn't say everything in there was a good idea," Lucy defended, "but…vinegar was used as a disinfectant of sorts in these days…I don't see how it could hurt…"
Wyatt glared at her incredulously, "Trust me." he spat out, "it hurts."
"Wyatt," Lucy sighed heavily, "We don't have much to work with here, okay? I'm doing the best that I can…if we don't do anything about your burns, you could die." Her lip trembled slightly with emotion as she fought back the tears now pooling in her eyes again. Seeing this, Wyatt let out a curse and laid back down on the table with a hand over his eyes. "We'll…we'll figure out a way through this, okay? I don't want to hurt you…and if he has laudanum, it will help. I don't think one dose…" Wyatt let out a disbelieving scoff as she pleaded, "Please, Wyatt…just take it so you can get through this…I promise, I won't let you become an addict."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Wyatt asked her incredulously as the doctor came in, shaking a small vial at them.
"You are in luck, son, I think I was able to scrape together a healthful dose from what was left in my other stores," he announced, "should be just enough to ease your suffering, young man." Casting an uneasy glance towards a desperate looking Lucy, Wyatt finally let out a resigned sigh and sat up, allowing the surgeon to administer the dose of laudanum, "There we are," the doctor declared, as Wyatt laid back down, "that should set you right in a few minutes."
Lucy exchanged a nervous glance with Rufus before the doctor ordered her to begin making a poultice, "Honey, a drop or two of lavender…." Peering over his spectacles at Wyatt's burn again, he furrowed his brow in thought, before adding, "I think we might also make an oatmeal paste to go along with that…I'll go see if the housekeeper can spare us a cup or two of oats."
"Just as long as I'm not getting an enema." Wyatt murmured the moment the doctor left the room.
"How…how are you feeling?" Lucy asked anxiously, looking at Wyatt as if he might start convulsing at any moment.
He peered at her from under the hand that was back to resting over his eyes, clearly not at all happy with the situation. "Peachy." he muttered angrily.
"You know," Lucy began, attempting to make him feel better, "as awful as laudanum is…some of the greatest minds in history used it regularly. Marcus Aurelius, Florence Nightengale, Charles Dickens…"
"Lucy Preston, are you seriously promoting recreational drug use?" Rufus quipped with a laugh, "Isn't that a little too gangster for Stanford?"
"I am not." she maintained, coloring slightly, "I just…I'm trying to make light of this whole situation. Some of the greatest imagery that ever came out of literature was because of opium." Lucy explained as both Wyatt and Rufus raised their eyebrows skyward, "You know we may never have gotten Frankenstein's monster if it hadn't been for laudanum? Almost all of the Romantic poets and writers were…"
"Addicts?" Wyatt offered glibly, casting her a sardonic glare, "I'll try to keep that in mind when I'm…"
"Tripping?" Rufus teased as Wyatt cursed and put a heavy hand over his eyes again. "Look on the bright side, man" he offered, "at least it's not like how it was in 1865, right? I mean…digging that bullet out of your gut was bad enough for me….it must have been hell for you. At least this time you have some pretty kick-ass pain-killer….and you weren't even shot." he added awkwardly as Wyatt glared at him.
"He's right, Wyatt…it could be worse." Lucy urged. "You could have been killed…or…or…"
"Impaled…like John Fraser." Rufus offered as he absent-mindedly twirled the empty laudanum vial in his hand.
Wyatt merely let out a heavy sigh, wishing the two of them would just leave him alone. It wasn't that he didn't count himself lucky for his near escape…he did. The moments he spent trapped under that fiery rubble, while flames licked at his skin, had been some of the most desperate of his life. Not just for himself…but for the people he was trying to help.
John Fraser and Tom.
Still, even after pulling John Fraser from that rubble to safety, his own welfare took a backseat to that of those around him. John's horrific injury, the countless dead and wounded lying about the vast yard…all his fault…the French had attacked because of something he had done. He had changed history and was now seeing, first-hand the devastating consequences that had come from being so damn reckless. Just as with Syria…and the Alamo…he couldn't leave good men to die…not for something he did…and while he knew there was somebody counting on him…someone who needed him…that someone wasn't there to pull him back from the brink this time. Now, as he lay on the table waiting for the laudanum to do its work, he was overcome with the one emotion that had been battling its way to the surface the second he laid eyes on Lucy in the midst of all this hell.
Shame.
He had put aside his own needs out of guilt…forgetting that he also had a duty to his team. Seeing her and Rufus, worried sick and pale, horrified at the grisly scene in John Fraser's home, he was not so subtly reminded that he had essentially forgotten them….and had almost failed them.
Again.
For Wyatt, it didn't matter whether he was impaled, shot, stabbed, or burned to a crisp…the result was the same…he had been reckless. He had given no thought as to what could have happened to Lucy or Rufus if he had been killed…he just ran headlong into danger without considering the deeper implications…and then continued to endanger himself after it was all said and done by refusing to have himself checked out. He tried to deny it, threw himself into the work of helping others, telling himself the pain wasn't that bad, but once it became clear to him that it was that bad, he knew that he had royally screwed up. His recklessness had endangered all of them. Lucy was right – he could die…and then what the hell would happen to them?
He didn't want to think about it…but seeing her worry just made it all that much worse. Which is why he didn't want her anywhere near this room.
A few minutes passed in awkward silence, Wyatt refusing to so much as glance at either Rufus or Lucy so as not to see the anxiety so evident on their faces, while they paced nervously around the room. Finally, however, the surgeon returned having procured the oats, though not with some difficulty.
"I do apologize for keeping you waiting," he explained, "in all this confusion, it was nearly impossible to find anyone with a key to the storage cabinet." He produced a small sackcloth and called Lucy over, "Now my dear…we're going to make a simple paste with this. Once we clean the wound with vinegar, we'll slather it with this paste and let it sit on the wound for….oh, a good quarter hour, at least, before we rinse and dress it with the poultice and bandages." At Lucy's confused expression, the surgeon added, "The oats will help soothe the skin from further irritation after we clean it, you see."
Nodding in understanding, Lucy began following the doctor's instructions for the paste, stirring it as he made his way towards Wyatt who was looking far more relaxed than he had been earlier. With a gentle hand, the doctor tapped Wyatt's burn gingerly, testing for a response...when he received only a slight grunt in return, he nodded to Rufus, "That looks to have taken effect…let's proceed, shall we?"
Gripping the sponge that Lucy had discarded in the small basin of vinegar and water, the surgeon went to work, skillfully cleaning away the debris from the oozing burns all along Wyatt's torso. When he reached a point where the skin had broken, Wyatt jerked in pain, prompting the doctor to call to Lucy to help them keep him on his side and calm.
Wiping her hands on a fresh towel, Lucy quickly made her way to Wyatt's side, where she noted that his eyes were somewhat glassy and unfocused. Taking a deep breath, she tentatively placed her hand on his arm in the hopes that by doing so, it would prevent him from flinching out in pain and hurting either Rufus or the surgeon. She was so focused on keeping him still and watching the progress of their work, that she didn't notice - until she moved to swipe a stray hair out of her eyes - that Wyatt was looking at her…with a dopey grin plastered on his face.
Startling slightly, she offered him an awkward smile in return as the doctor announced, "I think that's as good as we can do…now," he said to Rufus, "if you'll be so kind as to hand me that oat paste…"
"See?" Lucy muttered to Wyatt, casting him a quick glance, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"No, ma'am." he said a little too happily as the doctor began slathering his side with the poultice.
Squirming, Wyatt let out a laugh as he attempted to wriggle his arms out of Lucy's hold. "Wyatt," Lucy grunted as she struggled to keep him still, "what are you…stop wiggling so much."
Still giggling, Wyatt let out a sigh as Lucy readjusted her hold on his arms, "Just a little bit longer, okay?" she assured him as the doctor began directing Rufus to lay wide strips of muslin loosely over the paste. "You're almost done."
"Okay, Lucy." he nodded lazily, offering her another dopey grin. Feeling that there was no longer a reason or need to restrain his arms, Lucy sat back with a huff and cast Wyatt a wary glance as he continued to smile at her.
"You seem to be in a better mood." Lucy observed with an amused smile. "Maybe we need to drug you up more often."
"You have pretty eyes." he observed sluggishly, completely bypassing her observation as he turned his head to better look at her.
Lucy gaped at Wyatt, her face coloring slightly at the sight of his sappy face still grinning at her stupidly, hardly knowing how to respond. Exchanging a quick look with a highly amused Rufus, she cleared her throat, biting back a laugh as she nodded, "Thank you, Wyatt…I…I think you have pretty eyes, too."
Looking as if he had never heard anything so wonderful in his life, Wyatt beamed, "Thank you, ma'am." he replied happily, before pausing suddenly with a serious gasp, "But you don't like it when I call you ma'am."
"No." Lucy said, now flushing a deep shade of red, "It's okay, Wyatt," she murmured quietly, "you can call me ma'am if you want to."
"But nobody else?" he asked seriously, leaning forward with a whisper, "Not even Rufus?"
"That's right." Lucy nodded, pursing her lips together, desperately trying to keep herself from bursting out laughing…and she wasn't the only one. Rufus had his hand drawn up to his mouth, openly chuckling as Lucy approached him with an admonishing scowl, "Stop it, Rufus." she reproved with a hiss, poking him in the ribs, "He's drugged…we shouldn't be making light of…all of this."
"Speak for yourself," Rufus jabbed, "seeing Wyatt…bad ass Wyatt all hopped up on opium?" He shook his head and let out a soft chuckle, "I'm just sorry I don't have popcorn."
Nudging him in the ribs again, Lucy turned her attention back to the doctor who was directing her to begin applying the honey mixture to the strips of bandage, "Honey will help prevent an infection and soothe the inflamed skin…" he was explaining before a commotion sounded behind them.
She should have known better than to leave Wyatt unattended in the state that he was in. No sooner had she gotten up that he had rolled off the dining room table, apparently in pursuit of her, landing halfway on the chair she had been sitting in and halfway on the floor, looking absolutely confused as to how he got there. "Wyatt!" Lucy exclaimed, but as she made to go help him, Rufus stopped her.
"I got it, Lucy." he assured as he quickly made his way towards his hopeless friend. "Come on, buddy." Rufus quipped as he wrapped Wyatt's arm around his neck, "let's get you back where you belong."
"Where's Lucy?" Wyatt groaned as Rufus helped him back onto the table.
"She's busy." Rufus quipped, "But don't worry, I'm gonna be taking good care of you, okay?" he asked as Wyatt clumsily swung his legs back onto the table. "Just don't say anything about my eyes and we'll be good."
"What's wrong with your eyes?" Wyatt asked in confusion.
"Uh…nothing." Rufus said with an awkward frown, "I just thought you might…" he began, but after another warning look from Lucy, he shook his head and muttered, "you know what? Never mind."
"Lucy has pretty eyes." Wyatt offered with another dopey smile.
"So I heard." Rufus acknowledged with a nod, trying to look as solemn as he could…but failing miserably.
"She told me she likes my eyes." Wyatt continued with a boyish smirk.
"I heard that too." Rufus said with an exaggerated nod, clearly enjoying this far more than he knew he should.
"Do you like my eyes?"
"Let's not make this weird, Wyatt." Rufus frowned, desperately fighting back the urge to laugh. "If Lucy likes your eyes, then I guess they've got to be pretty fantastic."
Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Wyatt laid his head back down on the makeshift pillow of extra linens they had propped under his head. Before the fifteen minutes were up, he tried several more times to get off the table, but each time was prevented from doing so by Rufus, who remained dutifully by his side until finally the doctor deemed Wyatt was ready to be bandaged up.
As the doctor rinsed off the excess oat paste and patted his torso dry, Lucy carefully brought over the bandages she had prepped for dressing Wyatt's burns. "Now," he declared, "what we'll need to do is wrap each strand all the way around the torso, like so…" he demonstrated on the first one, "and when we start the next strip we hold it in place here and overlap them slightly…well…you get the idea." he added as he stepped away to allow Lucy full access to Wyatt's side.
Swallowing hard, Lucy anxiously worked to wrap the second band around, keeping her right hand tenderly holding the bandage in place as she attempted to work the strip around Wyatt's torso…which was easier said than done. Feeling slightly awkward as she worked, more so because Wyatt was gazing at her with a slack-jawed expression…Lucy cleared her throat awkwardly and offered him a nervous smile, "You still doing okay?" she asked warily.
"I'm just fine…ma'am." he responded, beaming at her again.
"Great." Lucy nodded awkwardly, before stepping back slightly, fidgeting nervously, "Rufus, you know what? This might be better if you do this…my um…my hands are all sticky."
"Aren't they supposed to be sticky?" he asked in confusion.
"Well, yes…because of the honey, but…but the bandage keeps getting stuck underneath him and I can't…I can't really lift…"
"Perhaps we should stand him up…" the doctor supplied, "Here, I'll help the young man keep him steady for you ,dear." he assured Lucy, before turning to Wyatt and inviting, "Let's get you on your feet, shall we?"
Wyatt almost sprang to his feet, causing both the doctor and Rufus to chuckle at his eagerness. "Hold on there, cowboy." Rufus quipped, "don't go jumping fences just yet. We still have to put you back together."
With Wyatt standing, it was easier, but not any less awkward than it had been with him lying down. Wrapping her arms around Wyatt's bare torso repeatedly was not exactly how Lucy had planned on spending her wedding night with him…though the irony was not lost on her. Still, he was injured and drugged…and while she knew he couldn't help it and was far from being in his right state of mind, the way he was looking at her, all dopey grins and sheepish smiles, made her legs feel just as wobbly as Wyatt's were at the moment.
Once done, she breathed out a sigh of relief only to find that they now had the added problem of getting Wyatt home. With every bed, sofa and floor space covered with the recovering wounded, they could hardly stay there…but with Wyatt in the state he was in…how would they ever make it back to their cabin?
Deciding she would go find a solution…if for any reason than to just put some distance between herself and Wyatt, Lucy left him in the care of Rufus and went in search of a way home. With Mrs. Fraser tending to her husband and Mrs. Poe tending to the many wounded with Margaret, Lucy reasoned that her best chance of finding something…or rather, someone to help her would be from any number of the uninjured soldiers currently patrolling the grounds.
With her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, Lucy stepped out into the moonlit night, shuddering as a bitter gust of wind met her head on. The scene, though still dismal, was a far cry from what it had been earlier. The wounded soldiers that had been lying haphazardly in disorganized rows were either recovering somewhere within the warmth of John Fraser's home, or comfortably resting around a few small campfires that now dotted the landscape. Those who had been killed had been moved…and Lucy could see, even in the dim light of the moon, John Fraser's field hands digging graves, off in the distance.
Not wanting to disturb the wounded, she made her way towards the barn, where she was told, the officers had set up new headquarters. She hadn't gotten very far, when she saw Tom, his arm in a sling, his head bandaged, clearing out the wreckage around the forge. Seeing her, he waved with his uninjured hand, "Evening, Miss…"
"Lucy." she offered, stepping towards him, "And you're…Tom?" she asked tentatively as he nodded in return, "I've heard a lot about you from Rufus…it's nice to finally meet you." She smiled as she waved her ringed finger at him, "I…um…hear I have you to thank for this."
"Aww…twasn't any trouble at all." he dismissed with a sheepish smile, "Like I told, Mr. Wyatt…it wouldn't be proper for you not have a ring." He frowned slightly before asking in a subdued tone, "How is he?"
"Better." Lucy assured him, "He…um…finally got himself looked at after…" her eyes scanned over the ruined building before her, "is this where it happened?"
"Yes'm." Tom replied with a nod. "Mr. Wyatt saved my life…and Mr. Fraser's too. I wouldn't be standing here right now without him." He leaned forward with a grateful smile, "I hope that will excuse him…being that it's your wedding day and all."
"Oh," Lucy startled, grateful for the darkness to hide what was bound to be an unmistakable blush in her cheeks, "No…it's…it's okay" she assured, "helping others…it's what he does best."
"Not many folks is like that." Tom nodded thoughtfully, "most is just for themselves." He grunted as he picked up another piece of smoldering log and tossed it aside, "He's a good one, your man."
Lucy smiled and offered him a small nod, hardly feeling that she could acknowledge Wyatt as her anything. Their marriage was a sham, after all…and he had made it more than abundantly clear that this was just about the job. "How…how are you?" Lucy asked kindly. "Were you hurt badly?"
"Nah." Tom said with a fierce shake of his head, "Just a shoulder that got out of joint and a couple of scraps and burns. Nothing that won't heal." He shook his head, "Master Fraser, though…"
"He's doing much better." Lucy assured him, "He um…had the…" she swallowed hard, not wanting to conjure up the mental image of his injury, "they fixed his leg." she said finally, "he's resting well, and the doctor thinks he'll make a full recovery."
"Praise Jesus." Tom replied quietly.
Lucy's eyes fell once more on the ruined building before her, eliciting a feeling of dread within her. "The…um…the forge?" she asked tentatively, "Will it…will you be able to…I mean, it's not completely lost, is it?"
"Nah," Tom replied with a shake of his head, making his way through the rubble to where the oven still stood, nearly black against the dark sky. "Most important parts are still here," he explained as he tossed debris away from the hearth, "Just got to clean the place up a bit." He turned to offer Lucy another smile, just as another harsh breeze had her gripping her shawl tighter, "Hey now, you best get back up to the house...you'll catch your death out here."
"I'm trying to find some way to get Wyatt home," she explained, "he's…he's not able to walk in his condition…I just don't know what to do…."
"Oh, that's easy," Tom said with a smile, "what you need is what them French call a travois." He nodded towards the barn, "Mr. Fraser has a fair few already done up…good for moving crops and things." he explained as they walked there together. "I can have one hitched up on old Rose…she's a good mule, won't go getting all skittish on you."
"Could you?" Lucy asked breathlessly, "That…that would be…" she nodded at him gratefully, "thank you…really."
"Least I could do" Tom replied with a shrug, "After him saving my life and all."
When Lucy arrived back at John Fraser's home with Rose and Tom, Colonel McKee welcomed them with a bow, "I'm terribly sorry that this bit of unfortunateness has sullied what had been a beautiful day." He kissed her hand and led her into the house, pausing just before the dining room door when he added, "Though I must say, your husband saved the lives of many tonight…for a Quaker, he's certainly adept."
Forgetting that Wyatt had apparently claimed he was a Quaker, Lucy let out an incredulous laugh, only to catch herself at Colonel McKee's puzzled expression. "I'm sorry…" she muttered, clearing her throat awkwardly, "I…um…yes for a Quaker, he's very adept."
Loading Wyatt onto the travois was a bit more difficult than she had anticipated. He was halfway asleep by the time she walked into the dining room and trying to convince him to walk as Rufus bore him up was getting them nowhere. Unable to carry him on his own, Rufus engaged the help of a few officers who conveyed Wyatt outside while Lucy received extra bandages and ingredients to dress Wyatt's burns. She was just about to head out herself, when Mrs. Poe stopped her, "Wait m'dear…don't go just yet…I have a few things for you, myself."
Following her to the storage room, Mrs. Poe took out an old key and fitted it into a wall cabinet. Inside were a variety of herbs and spices, all labeled in her careful hand. Retrieving an empty bottle, she poured a white powdery substance into it and explained, "I heard that doctor say they were out of laudanum…afraid that's common around here." She tightened the lid of the now filled jar and handed it over to Lucy, "This is white willow bark…it's not as strong as laudanum, but when my rheumatism is giving me fits, this does help with the pain. Just a scoop or two is all you need…with a bit of gin or water. I prefer the gin."
Touched by her thoughtfulness, Lucy made to thank her, but once again, Mrs. Poe stopped her, "And here," she said, retrieving a few books from across the room, "take these, I'm afraid you need them more than I do anymore."
Lucy glanced down at the battered books in her hand, "The Compleat Housewife" she read off as she looked at the next one, A Book of Herbal Remedies"
"Those books will give you the practical education you didn't receive" she explained in a gentle voice, "who knows," she added with a smile, "we may make a lady out of you yet."
Far from being offended by the gifts, Lucy hugged them close to her chest, grateful that she had something tangible to read and study to possibly help make her life in this century easier. "Thank you." she whispered, "I…really, thank you."
"Pishtosh," Mrs. Poe replied as she led her back into the hall, "it's nothing, my dear. Happy to help. After what your husband did tonight, it's the very least I could do."
Thanking her again, Lucy made her way to where Rufus and the soldiers had loaded Wyatt onto the travois. After some concern that Wyatt may roll off on their way back to the cabin, it was decided that Lucy would ride with him in the travois while Rufus led Rose to the cabin. Though she wasn't keen on holding onto a drugged Wyatt, she nevertheless situated herself next to him as Mrs. Poe handed her back the supplies she had received, "Take good care of him now." she said in a motherly tone, "and don't hesitate to come a calling if you need anything else."
"Th…thank you, Mrs. Poe." Lucy responded uneasily as Wyatt rolled over and nestled himself into her neck. Feeling oh so uncomfortable with this, Lucy sat up…which only made Wyatt slide down a little further…into her chest, "Um…okay…this is not what I had in mind." Lucy muttered before nudging him as roughly as she dared, "Um…Wyatt?"
"Hmmm?" he hummed sleepily.
"I'm…I'm just gonna move you a bit, okay?"
"Mmmkay, Lucy" he murmured as she, with the help of Colonel McKee and a highly amused Rufus, readjusted Wyatt's position to where he was laying somewhat sideways, his head now comfortably resting on her lap. With that mortification over, Lucy breathed out a sigh of relief, much more at ease with his current position – that is until she looked down and her heart caught in her throat. There, in the soft light of a dying moon, Wyatt's face was calm & contented as he lay there, softly dozing….and she couldn't help but smile as she softly brushed a few strands of hair off of his forehead.
"And now that he's in good hands, he can finally rest," Colonel McKee observed with a smile, "You know he wouldn't hear of bothering with his own injuries until everyone else had been looked after?" he added with a nod of his head, "He saved many lives tonight…I will never forget what he did for my dear friend, John."
"Nor I." Mrs. Poe agreed with a grateful smile, "That's a fine man you have there, lass."
Lucy proudly looked down at Wyatt, gently threading her fingers through his hair as he slept, her heart filled with gratitude that after all of this hell…he was safe. Injured, but safe. She had been so frustrated with him, angry that he hadn't thought of what she or Rufus might have done without him…angry that he hadn't gotten taken care of sooner…angry that he hadn't thought to let them know he was okay…but all of that faded away as she considered how selfless he had been…to do so much to help so many. She knew he wasn't really hers, that this sham of a marriage was just a job requirement…but in that moment, she didn't care. With an appreciative smile, she looked up at the kind and thankful faces of Colonel McKee and Mrs. Poe. Nodding, she whispered, "I know."
Notes:
They actually used vinegar to clean and soothe burns back in the 18th century...(OUCH) and they also used honey. They used other things too...like LEAD. And there were disagreements as to whether or not to use cold compresses or hot compresses, and of course, whether to blood-let or not to blood let. science/article/pii/S1743919113001076
Forensics on musket fire is pretty gruesome. They were indeed like small cannonballs and could easily take off an entire limb if it someone in the right place. It was very fortunate for many people that they were so inaccurate.
Both books that Lucy received were actual books...The Compleat Housewife was published in 1727 and lists everything from making ketchup to medicine...and I thought giving Lucy a how to book would be the perfect way to turn her into a domestic wilderness goddess - though she's still going to need a hand here and there. .
I hope you enjoyed this update. Thank you for reading and have a great day!