The wagon driver shouted “Whoa!” and looked back with terrified eyes as the stranger holding Sophie got to his knees. “You all right, mister? Is the little girl okay?”
“She’s fine.” The stranger waved the man off. “Go on. I’ll be all right.”
The wagon driver shook his head and drove off.
“Sophie!” Clarissa ran to the site, kneeling down to take Sophie from the stranger’s arms. “Look what you’ve done because you let go of Mommy’s hand! This poor man is hurt now!”
Sophie began crying, and the man who’d saved her got to a sitting position. “Don’t do that!” he told Clarissa rather gruffly. “Don’t blame the child. An accident is an accident.”
“I’m so sorry!” Clarissa told him. “And it is Sophie’s fault!”
A man passing by stopped to help the stranger up, and the man limped to a street lamp where he grabbed hold for support.
“You are hurt!” Clarissa said, setting Sophie on her feet and ordering the still-crying girl to stay put.
“It’s just a war wound that’s not quite healed,” he said.
“Let me get a cab and take you to the hospital.”
“Never mind. My horse isn’t far. Besides, I just got out of the hospital a few days ago.”
Clarissa could see the pain in his eyes. “Please.”
He shook his head. “No. No more hospitals.”
“Then tell me where your horse is. I’ll go get it for you and call a cab to take you to the house where I stay. Sophie can ride with you and I’ll follow on your horse. It isn’t far. I’m a nurse. My name is Clarissa Graham. I can take a look at your leg and rebandage it, or whatever else it needs.”
Clarissa could tell by the way the man closed his eyes and sighed that he was embarrassed at his condition. He stood a good six feet tall and had a rugged look that told her he preferred to fend for himself. Under his Union blue greatcoat she saw scarlet trim on a short jacket, which she knew meant he was part of an artillery unit and probably an officer, although because he wore a plain black hat rather than the common small kepi with an insignia on it, she couldn’t be sure what his station might be.
“Please let me help you,” she urged again. “It’s the least I can do after what’s happened.”
He met her gaze, and a quick surge of something unexplainable swept through Clarissa, something she hadn’t felt since the first time she looked into Chad Graham’s unnerving green eyes. This man’s were a striking blue, almost too dark, as though some kind of cloud hung somewhere behind them. She’d not realized until just now how handsome he was, in spite of several days growth of beard.
“I’ll let you help me if you promise to tell that little girl what happened was not her fault,” he told her. “I can’t tolerate a child being blamed for an accident.”
Clarissa thought what a strange request that was. “All right.” She knelt down to Sophie and wiped tears from her pudgy cheeks. “It’s all right, darling. You just scared Mommy, that’s all. Sometimes when we’re scared we yell and say the wrong things.” She kissed her cheek. “Just tell this man you’re sorry you ran into the street without looking.”
Sniffing, Sophie craned her neck to look up at the tall stranger. “I’m sowwy, Mistoo,” she told him, still having trouble with her r’s.
He managed a smile. “It’s okay, honey. What’s your name?”
“Sophie. What’s yours?”
The man looked from her to Clarissa. “Dawson Clements—Lieutenant Dawson Clements—of the Second Illinois Light Artillery Battery, now retired from the army. I, uh, I really don’t want to put you out—”
“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do.”
“Well, ma’am, I’m afraid I’ll take you up on the offer. The leg is hurting pretty good.”
“Wait right here then.” Clarissa looked at Sophie. “And you stay right here by Mr. Clements.” She stepped off the curb and waved down a one-horse cab coming toward them from farther up the street, hoping Carolyn and Michael wouldn’t mind her bringing home a stranger.
Chapter Four
Carolyn and Michael appeared almost comical as they scurried around the house following Clarissa’s orders after she arrived with a limping Dawson Clements. Because the fair-haired, brown-eyed Carolyn was actually taller and more robust than Michael, a short, slender, quiet man with black hair and deep brown eyes, they seemed mismatched physically, but Clarissa could think of no other couple more devoted to each other than these friends who’d been so good to her, especially since her divorce. If only her own marriage could have been so happy and perfect.
Little Lena, one year older than Sophie, had her father’s dark hair and eyes, quite the contrast to Sophie’s orange-red hair and pale blue eyes. The current excitement in the house kept the girls glued nearby, staring at the tall stranger who’d come unexpectedly into their midst.
Carolyn gave Michael orders for towels and whiskey and hot water while Dawson sat down in a kitchen chair. He winced with pain as he obeyed Clarissa’s order and let her help put his wounded right leg up on an opposite chair. She pushed up his pant leg to see the entire calf of his leg was wrapped in bandages showing stains from both old and fresh blood.
“Oh, my!” She looked at Dawson with a frown. “How long has it been since this was changed?”
He shrugged. “Five, six days, something like that.”
“Didn’t they tell you how important it was to keep the wound clean? If it gets infected, you could lose your leg.”
He sighed. “I am well aware of that. I’ve seen piles of legs and arms lying outside of hospital tents at a friendly battleground called Shiloh.”
They all gasped. “We’ve heard about Shiloh,” Carolyn said with an air of sad respect.
“Nevertheless, why haven’t you kept treating this wound?” Clarissa asked.
“Look, Mrs.—Graham, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the one who insisted I come here. Don’t be scolding me for not changing this thing. I don’t have a friend or relative to my name, so there’s no one to care whether I lose a leg or not. I was told at the hospital that they’d done all they could do and that it should be all right, so what more could I do? I’ve been traveling through the camps outside of town talking to families who’ve lost their homes because of this senseless war and I haven’t had time to tend to the leg. I haven’t even had a bath or a shave for days. Just clean it up if you must and I’ll be on my way.”
His abruptness made Clarissa bristle. “I don’t know of one person, man or woman, who wouldn’t do everything they possibly could to keep from losing a limb, so don’t try to tell me you don’t care. Whatever you’re angry about, you needn’t take it out on me.” She began cutting off the bandages with scissors Michael handed her.
“Here’s some hot water,” Carolyn said, bringing over a pan of water. “Michael, did you get those towels?”
“Right now, dear.” Michael hurried into a back room and emerged seconds later with several towels and washrags.
“I’ll get some clean bandages,” Carolyn told Clarissa.
Clarissa glanced at Sophie and Lena. “You girls had better go and play.”
Sophie’s