Chapter 9

Dr. Notson arrived at eight, by which time Amanda had dressed in one of the calico gowns she wore to work on the hospital wards and pinned her hair up behind her head again. Notson commended Amanda for her excellent job of treating and bandaging the wound, and ordered Matthew to take sick leave until the end of the week.

"You can come back to limited duty on Saturday, Major, but not before then; you'll be in the office, pushing papers and reading reports for another week after that, and then, if the wound has healed properly, I'll release you to full duty. Mrs. Bishop, I'll give you the name of a good friend, a surgeon at the army hospital in Philadelphia, whom you can call upon should any problems arise."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Just keep the wound clean and bandaged, and limit movement. You can travel, but keep your arm in a sling, Major, to relieve stress on the muscles. Mrs. Bishop will know how to fix one for you."

He packed up his medical bag and said, "If you'll come with me, ma'am, I'll give you the information you need to contact my friend."

"Of course. I'll be back soon, Matthew."

She returned less than five minutes later to find Matthew on his feet and looking around the room. "Where are my clothes?" he asked.

"The trousers are downstairs being sponged and pressed, I've mended the tear in your sleeve so that it will do until you can have another one tailored, and I've sent Tom over to Mrs. Marston's to pack your bags. The train to Philadelphia doesn't leave until two o'clock, so you may as well get back into bed."

"I don't want get back into bed."

"Very well, then, don't."

She turned and started out of the room.

"Amanda?"

She turned around again. "Yes, Matthew?"

"Am I acting like a baby again?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. Amanda, last night scared the hell out of me, not for me, but the thought that what I've gotten you into could cost you your life."

"Matthew, I could have refused to accept that message you gave me in the depot that day, or delivered it to Mr. Lincoln and refused to do anything else. No doubt that would have been the 'sensible' thing to do; certainly, most people would have thought so."

"Thank God you didn't, or I'd be a rotting corpse right now."

"Then can we accept that everything in life has risks? Children die of fevers, women die in childbirth…. Nothing is guaranteed. My two confinements were fairly easy, Matthew, but I had friends, other officers' wives, who didn't survive childbirth. Nothing is guaranteed."

"No. No, it's not. We can only do our best and hope and pray that we'll live to a ripe old age, despite all the risks."

"Yes. I'll go down and see if Molly's finished with your uniform; at least you'll be able to put your trousers back on."

"No hurry. I'm tired; I'm going back to bed. Sit with me until I fall asleep?"

"Of course."

When Matthew woke up again, his bladder was full, his stomach was rumbling, and his second-best uniform, along with a clean shirt, was hanging on the wardrobe door, sponged, pressed, and in the case of the blouse, so skillfully repaired that he could hardly tell it had ever been damaged. "Amanda," he said. "What that woman can do with a needle and thread is simply astounding."

He got up and used the commode and walked over to the washstand to look at his face. One look had him walking over to open the door, step into the hallway, and call out, "Corporal McGuire, are you in the house?"

"Right here, sir!" Tom said from the foot of the stairs. "What are your orders, Major?"

"I need hot water and my shaving things. I look like one of Quantrill's raiders right now, and no respectable lady will want to be seen with me."

Tom chuckled. " Molly's got hot water on the stove right now, Major. I'll bring it right up. Your brush and razor are in the bag in the room, but I'm guessin' you'll be needin' a bit of help?"

"Since I'm left-handed, yes, I will. Oh, and is there enough hot water for a bath?"

"There can be, sir."

"Then bring up the tub; I want that too."

An hour later, bathed, shaved, and even barbered – his hair had been getting a bit long and Tom was a wizard with a pair of scissors – Matthew went downstairs in full uniform, right down to the repaired blouse. Amanda came through from the dining room wearing a deep hunter green gown in fine merino wool, the touches of black braid at the hem, cuffs and waist her only concession to mourning. She met him at the foot of the stairs and said, "Dinner is ready, and we don't have to leave for the depot for another hour and a half. I'm so glad to see you up and about, Matthew."

"You did a wonderful job on this uniform. Is that another of your remodeled half-mourning gowns?"

"No, this one was Molly Thornton's; she and Harry lost an infant grandchild a couple of years ago, and she offered it to me. All it needed were a few nips and tucks and it fits perfectly."

"It certainly does," he said admiring how it reduced her waist to nothing and emphasized the fullness of her bosom. "Shall we go in to dinner, my sweet?"

Tom and Molly served the meal and withdrew tactfully; Matthew tucked into the roast beef served with carrots and potatoes, savored the first bite, and said, "Molly McGuire is a gem."

"Indeed she is."

"Is there any news on the investigation?"

"Some. As we suspected, the man was there for some time, hidden in the trees near the house across the street, which has been vacant for over a year since the owners went south."

"Was the man living in the house?"

"No, the soldiers broke in and looked, but found no evidence of occupancy. The house belongs to a family named Buchanan; we never met them because they'd left for Virginia before we ever came here in early 1861, but they would almost certainly have moved in the same circles as the Rosemont family."

"So Orton Rosemont, who supposedly went south with his mother, is now Harry's prime suspect?"

"Yes. He's wanted for questioning, but finding him in this town, if he's even still in this town with so many southern sympathizers here, well…."

"We're back to needles in haystacks again. Has he considered Daniel Macklin?"

"Daniel?" she said in surprise.

"He knows where you live, and he was not happy when you told him you weren't going to marry him, Amanda."

"Yes, but attempted murder?"

"It has to be considered. We have to drive right past the War Department to get to the depot; we'll go a bit early so I can stop and have a word with him."