That night, all of the hands slept in the barn, except for Bobbi and Gunny. They and Mac didn't sleep that night. As soon as it was dark, Bobbi hung a lantern on the front porch of the house, and she sat and sewed with Mac, while Gunny read aloud. And they waited. At half past midnight, there came three soft knocks at the front door.

Mac silently rose to her feet, and walked swiftly to the door. "Who is it?" she called.

"Conductor Turner for Stationmaster Mackenzie," came a strained, deep male voice.

Mac opened the door, and standing before was a tall black man flanked by four fugitive slaves. They looked like a family: a father, mother, son and daughter. They were all underdressed for the weather and terribly skinny, and the little girl was crying. But Mac hardly noticed them at all, for Turner was holding up a Union soldier, whose shoulder of his blue uniform was drenched in blood. He looked as though he'd be taller then Turner, but he was barely able to remain standing. His dark hair contrasted with the awful, pasty white of his skin.

"Get him inside," Mac urged and she held the door open. Turner hurried into the house almost carrying the injured man, and the fugitive family followed. From behind them, Mac called out orders, "Gunny, take care of the family. Get them situated. Bobbi, bring me clean bandages, hot water, and my kit."

Sturgis carried the man into the parlor and lay him on the couch. The soldier groaned in pain. Mac knelt next to him, and began to remove his uniform jacket, but he lifted his good arm and tried to stop her.

"It's alright," she reassured him, "I'm going to help you. What's your name, soldier?"

He looked frightened, but as he looked into her strong brown eyes, he seemed to relax. "Lieutenant Harmon Rabb, JR, United States Army."

"Well, Mr. Rabb."

"Harm," he said painfully.

Mac smiled softly and brushed his hair of his forehead, "Harm, then. Lie still, and I'll take care of you. Understand?"

Harm closed his eyes against the pain in his shoulder, but he managed a weak nod.

"Where did you find him, Sturgis?" she quietly asked the tall black man who'd identified himself as the conductor.

"He was stumbling through the bayou near the battle," he told her as he raised the lieutenant so Mac could slide the jacket off him completely. Bobbi appeared with the bandages and a basin of hot water. She placed them on the floor next to Mac, and left to retrieve the kit. "How bad is he?" Sturgis asked apprehensively.

"We'll find out," Mac said as she ripped open his bloodstained shirt. "Hold him down," she ordered Sturgis, and then she cupped Harm's dirty cheek in her hand, and said as gently as she could, "This may hurt a bit." Then, she dipped one of the bandages in the steaming hot water, rung it out and then she wiped his shoulder and chest so she could see the wound. Harm drew a ragged breath, and more sweat glistened on his forehead. "It's a gunshot wound," Mac said. She passed the bandage to Sturgis, and told him, "Push this onto the wound to stop the bleeding. Bobbi, hurry with my kit."

Bobbi hurried into the room at that moment carrying a large letterbox and an apron over her arm. Mac motioned her to set it next to the couch where the Harm lay. As Bobbi opened the box and organized its supplies, Mac removed her heavy woolen outer shirt, and rolled up the long sleeves of her white cotton undershirt. Bobbi tied the apron around Mac's waist and they went to work.

"What are you going to do?" Sturgis asked.

"I'm going to get the bullet out and then bandage him up," Mac said as she opened a bottle of whiskey that had come from the box. She poured a little of it onto her hands and rubbed them together.

"You're wasting good drink," Sturgis complained.

"No, it cleans the hands," she said, as she poured a generous amount onto Harm's shoulder, and he cried out in pain. "Sturgis light the lamps, I need more light."

In the new light, Mac could see that his striking blue eyes were pained and scared. Bobbi went to stand by his head. She gently stroked his forehead.

"Bobbi, take this cloth and hold it over his mouth and nose," Mac ordered, and Bobbi did so, "Now, take this, and drip it slowly into the cloth, just one drop per minute, enough to lightly soak the cloth, but not enough for it to drip through."

"What is it, ma'am?" Bobbi asked.

"It's chloroform," Mac said, "It's going to make him sleep and not feel. Watch his breathing, if it slows or stops tell me."

Bobbi swallowed hard and nodded. Sturgis looked at Mac in amazement. "How do you know what to do?" he asked.

Mac was dipping a pair of long metal pliers into the whiskey bottle. "My father was a doctor; I watched and worked with him before he died," she said. She looked down at Harm, whose eyes had begun to droop, and when they finally closed, Mac squared her own shoulders, steeling herself for what she was about to do, "Let's see if we can save you."

With that she stuck the metal pliers into the wound and began to probe for the bullet. It took nearly ten minutes of searching, and even using her bare fingers in the wound to find it. When she finally pulled the bullet out, her hands and apron were covered in blood.

"He's extremely lucky," she said examining the little metal ball, "This looks like a left over ball from the Revolution, someone must have been using an antique musket. If it had been a modern ball, it would have done much more damage."

She placed the ball into a small vile in the medical kit. She retrieved a clean bandage and soaked it in the hot water, to which she had added some whiskey. She then began to clean out the wound and the area around it. Finally, she flushed the wound clean by pouring a pitcher of hot water over it.

Gunny came into the room, just as Mac pulled a needle and thread out of the box, she didn't even look up and see that he was there. Like she had with the pliers, she washed the needle in whiskey before threading it. Then, she stitched the wound shut. "Bobbi, you can take the cloth off his face now," she said wearily, as she replaced the needle and thread in the kit.

She picked up more bandages, and she folded one into a neat square and pressed it firmly onto his soldier. Bobbi held it there, as Mac unrolled another bandage and wrapped it up over his shoulder, down around his chest, and secured it tightly. She sat back on her heels and looked over the bandaged soldier, and nodded.

"Sturgis, will you help me carry him upstairs," she asked, rising to her feet.

"No, I'll help carry him," Gunny said, and Mac finally noticed his presence, "The family's been taken care of. Besides, I don't think you could carry him, ma'am."

Mac smiled tiredly and nodded. "Bobbi, show them into the West room," she said, "I'll pick up here."

Bobbi nodded, and Sturgis and Tiner lifted Harm- Tiner at his feet and Sturgis at his head. They followed Bobbi up the stairs and disappeared down the hallway. Mac knelt back down next to the letterbox, but before she picked anything up, she washed her hands in the now red water in the basin. She dried them on a clean part of her apron. Then, she picked up the bottle of chloroform, sealed it and placed it back into the box. She wrapped up the bandages she hadn't used, and then when all was put away, she closed the box, and looked at the couch where Harm had lain.

The soft blue fabric was stained crimson and the stain was spreading because of the water that had leaked onto it. On floor beside the couch, Mac noticed the Harm's discarded uniform jacket; it, too, was drenched in blood. So much blood, from a single man, she thought, and that which she had kept within herself finally broke free. Two fat tears rolled down her soft cheeks.

"Ma'am, he's resting now," Bobbi said from behind her.

Mac quickly brushed her tears away with the back of her hand. When she turned to face Bobbi, her eyes were dry. "Thank you, Bobbi," she said, "We'll have to take turns sitting with him. Would you mind taking the first shift?"

"Not at all, Mac," Bobbi reassured her, "Will he make it?"

Mac shook her head, "If he makes it through the night, he has a good chance. I'll be in the kitchen. Come and get me if he wakes."

"What are you going to be doing in the kitchen at this hour?" Bobbi asked sternly.

"I'll be making a poultice for the wound," Mac told her.

"Okay, but you ought to sleep some," Bobbi said as she patted her on the arm, and as she turned to leave the stopped and said, "You did an amazing thing tonight, Sarah."

Mac looked gratefully at Bobbi, and then she bent down and picked up the letterbox. She carried it into the kitchen, reopened it and set to work.