Dulcie's Gift. Ruth Langan
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His first impression had been wrong. They were not dead. But barely alive, from the looks of them.
“I’ll help you to shore.”
As he reached for her, Dulcie realized with a shock that his left hand was missing. Instinctively she recoiled from his touch.
At her reaction, Cal went still.
It was an awkward, shattering moment. One that set both their faces to flame, hers in embarrassment, his in anger. Then, moving quickly to cover her feelings, Dulcie swept past him.
“I can manage, thank you.” She was mortified by her reaction. Though it had been purely reflexive, it jarred her sense of fairness. After all, this stranger had already lost his hand. He should not have to suffer a loss of others’ civility, as well. Nevertheless, she couldn’t think of any way to make amends. “But if you would help the others…”
She scrambled over the edge of the boat and was nearly swamped by waves. Cal watched, making no effort to assist her, as the current tugged at her already soaked gown, dragging her to her knees before she managed to find her footing.
His eyes narrowed. He’d be damned if he’d offer his help a second time. Still, he kept careful watch to see that she made it to shore.
As soon as she dropped safely into the grass, he turned away and lifted out a small child who had begun to cry. When he’d carried the child to the grass, he returned to the boat again and again until all had been deposited on land. Assured now that everyone was alive, he called to Dulcie, who lay, breathing heavily, “I’ll go now.”
“Go?” She lifted her head in alarm, a challenge in her eyes.
As patiently as if he were addressing a child he said, “I have to go back to the barn and hitch the team if I’m to take all of you to safety.”
“Oh.” She turned her head, but not before he recognized the look of relief.
So, he thought as he trudged away, she’d expected to be abandoned. It was a typical reaction in the aftermath of the chaos that had swept the land. But it was not his problem, he reminded himself. There wasn’t a soul left in these parts who hadn’t been affected by the damnable war. And he certainly couldn’t heal all the wounds. Hell, he couldn’t even heal himself.
Leaning a shoulder into the heavy door, he entered the barn and breathed in the scents of warm dry hay, moist earth and dung. Scents that had been with him since his childhood on this island. Even now, all these years later, they soothed his troubled spirit.
Speaking softly to the horses, he hitched the team to the wagon, then hurried to the house for needed supplies.
When he returned a short time later, he found Dulcie kneeling in the midst of the others, soothing tears, calming fears. Most of them had managed to sit up. But two figures had not moved—the injured young woman and child.
“Which is the most seriously wounded?” Cal asked.
“Fiona.” Dulcie knelt beside the slender figure and pressed her hand to Fiona’s forehead. A low moan issued, but the woman’s eyes remained closed.
Cal dropped to his knees beside her.
“A wave nearly swamped our boat. My friend was tossed about and hit her head as she fell. It was the last time she moved.”
Cal lifted the young woman and placed her gently in the back of the wagon, which was strewn-with an assortment of quilts and feather pillows.
“Clara was also thrown backward, and she’s lost quite a bit of blood,” Dulcie said, indicating the child lying in the grass.
Cal wrapped the child’s arm in clean linen, then placed her beside Fiona. When he turned, Dulcie was urging the other children to their feet.
“Climb into the wagon,” she called, and the little ones did as she bade, moving slowly, as though in a daze.
As Cal attempted to help Dulcie into the back of the wagon, she nearly slipped in the mud. At once he brought his other arm up to steady her.
The contact jolted them both.
Dulcie froze, unable to move, unable even to breathe, as his arm encircled her waist. Shock sliced through her, leaving her dazed. For a moment his face lowered to her, and she felt the warmth of his breath across her temple. Tiny sensations skittered along her spine.
Cal, too, seemed mesmerized by the touch of her. His hand lingered at her waist. Feelings long buried seemed to push their way to the surface of his mind, triggering half-remembered pleasures. He’d forgotten how soft a woman was. How warm her breath, how sweet her scent.
From behind came a little boy’s innocent remark. “Sir, did you lose your hand in the war?”
At once the mood was shattered. Cal’s mouth pressed into a grim, tight line.
“Hush, Nathaniel,” Dulcie admonished.
But the damage had been done. Without a word Cal lifted Dulcie into the back of the wagon, then bent to the boy. When all were settled, he circled around and climbed into the driver’s seat. With a crack of the whip, the team leaned into the harness and the wagon rolled through the mud with slow, lurching movements.
The little girls were weeping, and Dulcie drew them into her embrace, murmuring words of comfort.
“Look there. See?” She pointed to the darkened outline of the barn looming out of the curtain of rain. “Soon you’ll be snug and dry and warm.”
The horses continued past the barn toward another, larger structure. As they rolled closer, Dulcie made out a graceful old two-story house, with wooden shutters drawn over the windows against the storm. A veranda encircled both stories, the upper one supported by stately columns of pillars.
Though one wing of the house was gutted and appeared to have been burned, the main body of the building was intact.
This was even better than Dulcie had hoped for. It would have been enough to seek shelter in the barn. But a house! She gave a sigh of relief.
When the wagon jolted to a halt, the back door was opened wide. Light from a fireplace spilled into the growing darkness, illuminating several tall figures that stepped through the doorway onto the veranda. As the figures came down the steps to lend a hand, Dulcie realized they were young men no older than the driver. And like the driver, tight-lipped and unsmiling.
The women and children were helped from the wagon and led or carried inside to a room with wooden pegs along the wall that held an assortment of woolen cloaks. Along one wall stood a row of mud-spattered work boots of various sizes. Down the hall could be glimpsed a cozy parlor, where candles flickered in sconces along the wall, adding their warmth and light to the blaze in the fireplace.
“We must get these wet things off.” A tall, sturdy woman strode into the room with an armload of blankets. Dark hair, shot with silver, framed a handsome face set in stern lines.
“Are you strong enough to assist me with these children?” she called to Dulcie.
“Of course.”
Though Dulcie’s head was spinning from all that had happened, she bent to her task with cool determination. After she stripped off the children’s wet clothes, the woman wrapped them in warm, soft blankets. Each child was then handed off to one of the men and carried to the parlor. There the little ones curled up in front of the fire, and the youngest promptly fell asleep.
“This one is badly injured,” Dulcie whispered. She and the woman worked together, gently removing the torn clothing from Clara and wrapping her tiny figure in a blanket.
The child was handed to Cal, who disappeared through a doorway.
When the children had been taken care of, Dulcie and the woman moved to either side of fifteen-year-old Starlight. At Dulcie’s urging, the girl shed her soaked garments and gratefully accepted the blanket from her hostess. Then she was sent to join the children by the fire.
Finally