In Search of Mercy

By Gail Harbour

From the quiet hills of New England to the battlefields of an uncivil war that pitted the North against the South , In Search of Mercy tells the story of the young and incisive Sephrina, protg of her much-loved uncle, Dr. Nathan Benson.

The Bensons family is riddled with the deception of untold truths. As their secrets unravel, each is challenged to examine motives and to delve into fixed perceptions about unconditional truth, unquestioned love and absolute forgiveness.

The lusty Sarah brings laughter to the worst of situations as she savors life and endures the grueling physical and emotional ordeals of a battlefield nurse.

Sephrina and Sarah provide each other with that comfortable balance achieved only by childhood friendsthat special friendship that fortifies them in the love of the men they cherish and the bond with the women who challenge and inspire them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 24, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440153709

Gail Harbour

Gail Harbour, RNC, BSN lives and laughs with her husband Gary, their six children and grandchildren in the beautiful state of Vermont. She has had several professional nursing articles published and engaged in this fun project to test the existence of her right brain.

Book preview

Chapter I

Sephrina filled her cheeks with air and through pursed lips forcefully exhaled until her shoulders and head nearly folded into her breasts. She repeated this twice more in the exact manner she’d been taught to chase away life’s bitters. That was Dr. Nathan Benson’s phrase for evil-spirited sensations of all sorts, including - but not limited to - anger, frustration and, in general, that sense of ill temper that mysteriously plagues everyone from time to time. This tension reliever was one of the earliest childhood lessons he had taught her and it had become second nature. Her life’s bitters triggered the cheek-filling, lip-pursing, shoulder-slumping action as naturally as joy triggered smiling; but this was the first time in her young life that Sephrina had confronted an overwhelming sense of personal failure – and a very serious one.

So, Uncle Nathan, you’ve saved the day yet again, but your stupid little breathing trick isn’t doing a thing to save me. She proceeded to kick the hard dirt and pound a fist into the weathered wall of the small wood-frame New England farmhouse. Feeling some relief, she uncurled her fingers to give the unyielding building one last slap. She studied the dark, thin lines of blood hardened on her delicate oval nails. The sight of it eased her into a disconnected reverie. I thought I’d washed them clean. Stupid hands. What would Aunt Lettie say if she could see them now? Well, she never will. Not now, not ever like this. ‘Aloe and glycerin the treatment for beautiful ladies with beautiful hands.’ Aunt Lettie will never share my bloody hands. In all of our years together the most we will ever share is her secret mixture of aloe and glycerin. Maybe I should stick to having beautiful hands as my ultimate goal in life, she thought as a wave of self-contempt washed over her.

The mewling sounds of the newborn snapped her back from her moment’s indulgence in self-pity. She spun to the open door with a quick prayer that Uncle Nathan hadn’t seen her silly display.

Phew! Seph turned to the nearby bucket to wash and clean what were probably the most delicate and smooth hands in the whole county. The cold water sent a chill through her body, as did the words she whispered to herself, I almost lost a mother.

If Uncle Nathan hadn’t the perfect timing to arrive when he did, Bertha would have bled to death. You stay in bed for at least two days, Bertha Alden, and I don’t want any excuses.

She heard the command through the screen - Uncle Nathan’s voice of authority. Sephrina had practiced speaking in deeper tones, though she doubted her ability to ever completely mimic her uncle’s talent of snagging the undivided attention of their stubborn New England patients.

Come on in, my girl, he boomed, as his six-foot frame bent slightly to accommodate the screen door that he held open for her. Aunt Lettie will be waiting in the window, and we’ll be eating another cold supper. His broad smile showed that he had little concern for the food temperature as he ushered her into the small room. Seph clucked over the babe and hugged the new mother, perhaps a bit too tightly.

Sephrina climbed into the carriage and took up the reins. Uncle Nathan grinned as she automatically assumed the role of driver. He had no qualms about her ability to handle the horse. He had no doubts about anything she took on. He threw his well-worn bag into the back and double-checked the tether that secured his own gray to the rear. He’d barely gotten seated before Seph nudged the roan into motion. His grin faded a bit as he looked to the taut, perfect profile of the young woman beside him.

Lovely babe, wouldn’t you say, Seph? he prodded as he settled into the cushioned seat. The soft leather was a well-deserved luxury that he had provided for Seph and himself.

A real beauty. Her closed lips widened into a horizontal slash that he assumed was meant to be a smile. He shook his head in confusion, having expected her to be radiant with her first solo attendance at a birthing.

The silence was discomforting. He initiated his very own humming version of Yankee Doodle. It had long been his habit to fill the silence this way. His deep subconscious knowledge of the tune allowed him to continue with totally unrelated thoughts, even as the melody filled the air.

Time and space. Whatever’s bothering you will come into focus when you’re ready, so there’s not much for me to say now. How many years? Nineteen - no twenty. For that long, I’ve watched you grow from babe to woman. From tree climber to near-doctor. My daughter, my niece, no matter. My own or not - no father, uncle, mother or other could have loved or tended you more dearly. Who wouldn’t? Just look at you. The vision of an angel."

The muted tones of the sunset reflected off the gold in her brown hair, creating a glow about her head that would have influenced even a stranger to draw the comparison to an angel.

After a mile or so of quiet, broken only by the plodding noises of the horses and the gentle on-and-off humming of Uncle Nathan, Sephrina snorted out a sort of sigh that seemed to unleash the whirlwind of thoughts that had been spinning round in her head. Blessed hell, Uncle Nathan. Say what you’re thinking. It’s what I’m thinking. Bertha almost died. She would have if I was the only person she had to depend upon. I never should have gone alone. She was so tired from all that pushing. The blood just kept oozing. I didn’t know what to do. She was growing weaker right before my eyes, and I didn’t know what to do. Thank God you came along. I should’ve waited for you. What would all those children do without a mother? And me soothing her with silly words and not having a clue as to how to stop the bleeding. It was awful. Who did I think I was to imagine I could have done it alone? Never, ever again, she sighed long and softly.

Then suddenly, she was done, as quickly as she’d begun. Nathan had to listen carefully to get the drift of where she was coming from and where she was going. It wasn’t like her to ramble, but by the time she stopped, he thought he had the gist of her problem.

Ah, I see now. Pull the horse up, Seph. His soft bass voice demanded a response.

What? We’re already late for dinner.

I said, ‘pull over.’ And she did.

The hot tears that stung her eyes only made her feel more vulnerable, more furious, more frustrated.

Look at me, Seph. His own face fell with a little sadness as he cupped her fragile chin in his hand. His free hand pulled out a handkerchief, and he dabbed her eyes.

I can do it myself. And she took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose loudly enough to stir the nesting birds. Uncle Nate smiled.

It’s not funny. None of this is funny. Bertha almost died because of me. Dammit, Uncle Nathan. Maybe I’m just not right for this work.

His smile faded as she spoke. His eyes shifted above her to the murky sky and he rubbed the back of his neck as he considered the weight of her words. His voice was gruff with emotion, his words carefully chosen and slowly spoken. If you never listen to another word I say, Seph, please listen to me now. Of all the lessons I’ve given you on mending bones, delivering babies, sewing up flesh … I guess I’ve missed the most important of all - how to survive. Not how our patients survive - how we survive.

But, Uncle Nate, it isn’t anything you did or didn’t do. It’s what I didn’t, couldn’t do.

Seph, you did all that you could do, all that you knew how to do. You kept Bertha quiet and still and at ease. That probably saved her life. All that I’d taught you about how to stop bleeding had to do with tourniquets. You couldn’t very well put a tourniquet around her belly, now, could you? He smiled, but she did not. She shrugged in a helpless, hopeless type of way.

"Oh, Sephrina, my girl. I know there’s nothing funny about what almost happened today, but Bertha and her beautiful baby are fine after all. And this moment is about more than what you failed to do or what I failed to teach you, so let’s stop feeling sorry for ourselves and move on."

Sephrina stared at the soft leather reins she rubbed between her fingers, but she did not miss a word-soft or stern-that her uncle spoke.

You had a tough day. All right. I understand. But the only good that ever comes from a tough day is what we learn from it. You’re the best student anyone could dream of because you know how to listen. The ability to listen is a gift, you know. It goes a long way toward healing our patients. And sometimes we need to listen to each other to heal our own wounds.

"I am listening to you. I always listen to you. I’m just not sure I understand. Maybe I do, some. I just don’t think I could bare it if she’d died."

He shifted a little for comfort and to stall a minute to gather just the right words. The rugged country doctor struggled with his own conflicts around dying as he scanned the surrounding dull purple Berkshire Mountains before he captured her soft green-gray eyes with his own.

I tried to spare you the death scenes, the losses. I mentioned the deaths, perhaps too casually. It was, I suppose, naïve of me to think that that was enough to prepare you. Friends and neighbors who had only me to depend on have died in my arms. He swallowed as though he were revisiting a particularly painful moment. It isn’t easy to put into words. The scheme of life and the ravages of illness and death - I don’t pretend to understand it. I suspect I never will.

Seph reached up and touched his cheek with the back of her hand. He took her long, soft fingers in both hands as he continued and offered her a wisp of a fleeting smile.

Let’s rethink today. What was good and what was not-so-good. Then, we just let it go.

I’ll try. And speaking of going, we’d better get moving. She turned her attention to the horses and urged them back onto the path.

Let’s start at the beginning and end with what really was a very happy ending.

You are a wise man, Uncle Nathan. You know how I love happy endings.

Lets get down to business then. He cleared his throat in a mock professorial manner. You were wrong to say you shouldn’t’ve gone, he went on. "You were wrong to say you should have waited. If you hadn’t responded when little Archie came pounding on our door, Bertha may well have lost that little babe and died herself in the process. You saved the baby, no question. Your very presence and calmness probably saved Bertha until I could get there. And you were right to know your limitations and to send me the message." He arched his thick brows and crinkled his forehead, awaiting the acknowledgment of understanding, as he’d done daily for so many years, in so many lessons.

I suppose.

You suppose? What part of this don’t you understand? You only just ‘suppose’? That’s not good enough.

She shrugged and sighed.

How many babies have we delivered together, Seph?

Nine. I’ve assisted with nine.

If you think about it, it’s only in these past two years that I’ve been able to talk these women into even letting you assist me. It’s taken a long time. How many babies have you delivered with just my supervision?

Two. Jasper Spencer and Marinda Watson.

C’mon Seph. We both know, that’s not a lot of experience.

In other parts of the world, delivering babies was strictly a female occupation, but here in Barnsborough, Massachusetts, it was a task delegated solely the town doctor.

There’s so much to learn. How will I ever get it all?

Well, you won’t know it all, not ever. And if you wait until you do, you will never practice medicine. Why do you think we call it ‘practice’? People make jokes about it, but it’s true. It’s a practice. You can’t let fear stand in your way, keep you from answering calls. Fear of what you don’t know. Fear of what you can’t do.

It can’t be that simple. Just a ‘practice.’ It can’t be.

Hell, Seph, were that the case, I’d never make a call. That would be the only failure, not answering the call. Be careful of pride. It’s ugly, and it’s dangerous. Part of your problem today was pride. You don’t know it all, and you never will. People live, and people die. Sometimes we’re just there at those life-and-death moments, and our presence is all we have to give.

Nathan paused as a flood of memories washed over him-memories he’d refused to engage, yet never quite managed to altogether bury.

Sure, he continued quickly, "we develop some skills and techniques that might make their journey a little easier to bear. Sometimes we make things better. But we never, ever save people. We don’t save them- and neither do we cause them to die."

He was pleased to see that her sea-green eyes were dry and that the furrow from her brow was gone. Just one more thing, then, I promise to be done with this philosophical dissertation. I believe, I truly do, that people live and people cease to live by a plan written by a Power we’ll never realize. Sure, some of our colleagues will try to convince the world otherwise, but don’t be fooled by the proud and the ugly.

When he saw the slight twitch of a smile on her full lips, he faced forward and relaxed. He was confident that his message had been received.

You’re right. Of course, you always are. She shook her head in mock disgust.

Not so, my dear; but I love that you believe it.

It was my pride. It stung-not knowing what to do. And it was fear. She clucked at the horses and adjusted her cloak as she shivered in the early evening air. I thought she might die and I would have to just watch it happen. I do get what you’re saying. I’ve seen you do it. I just never thought about how hard it must be - just ‘to be there’ when that’s all you have left to offer- your presence.

He nodded in agreement but remained silent.

You really believe I’m strong enough to do this?

I know it to be true.

I don’t know, Uncle Nathan. I just don’t know.

I know, and you do too, Seph. You’re going to be the best of the best.

But I still need to know how to stop the bleeding, at least how to try to stop it. You’ve got to help me with that as soon as possible, right?

Absolutely. He put his arm around her shoulder for a quick squeeze. He almost ruffled her hair, but in time he reminded himself that the child he hugged had long since become a woman.

Here’s a deal for you. We keep on with your lessons, but you must promise never, ever to blame yourself for the outcome of trying to help someone. Just do the best you can.

She laughed at his attempt to scold and crossed her heart with her right hand.

I promise.

I’m serious, Seph. Don’t ever blame yourself. We are only human. We all make mistakes.

Her smile faded from her face and from her eyes as she glanced at his solemn face. I swear. I swear on my mother’s grave.

Another nod. Silence between them.

Nathan took the reins from her kid-gloved hands, clicked at the horses and told his niece to rest a bit.

How strange she chose to evoke her mother’s name for the promise. Just forget it. Just coincidence. He filled the air around them with full, rich tones of Yankee Doodle. Nathan’s song of patriotism soon dwindled into a mindless hum. He cogitated over the current political mess. Lincoln had been sworn in just last month. Buchanan sat in the White House doing nothing; just waiting out his term while South Carolina had already seceded from the United States of America. Others would follow. Of this he was certain. He cast a quick sideways glance at Seph. She looked content. Deep in thought, but content. He just couldn’t bring himself to bridge the conversation with her. He couldn’t accept the possibility of a real rebellion, maybe even a war that would affect all of their lives. If I can spare her this anxiety, I will. I will speak of it only when or if I learn that war is inevitable.

Sephrina had nestled into her hooded cloak. She rethought the survival skills she learned today. She envisioned herself in Uncle Nathan’s study, surrounded by walls lined with old medical books and current journals. So cozy, so warm.

She thought about Joshua. How did he manage to put up with her? How long would he wait for an answer to his proposal? She knew that she was not ready. She needed so much more time in the study. Josh, she knew, was ready to take a wife. He hadn’t been shy about making his needs known to her many times, on many occasions. For the hundredth time, she considered the cost of a compromise-a way to meet each other’s needs. I do love him, but…

The chill of the frosty evening and the smell of fresh mud brought her back to the present. How she loved the smell of rich, dark spring mud. Messy roads to some. But for her, the sweet fragrance held the mysterious promise of earth’s new life. With a near-smile, Sephrina relaxed deeper into her woolen wrap with the thought that today, March 30, 1861, was Baby Alden’s birthday.

Lettie Benson, outlined in the window by the lantern’s glow, appeared frail, almost ghost-like, as her family approached.

Neither Sephrina nor Nathan worried about the possibility that she might be angry with them. They were confident that supper had been carefully laid on the table an hour before and that even if it was cold, Lettie would not have touched the food until they arrived. She did not get angry, ever. She never showed sadness, and she never showed joy.

Sephrina paused on the porch steps and waited while Uncle Nathan tended Fantail and Old Gal in the barn. Aunt Lettie couldn’t see her from her position, but Seph could see her. Such a silent approach to life. No, Aunt Lettie did not approach life. She just let it sweep over her.

She remembered her aunt’s advice about how to take care of her hands. It seemed so long ago that she’d accepted the aloe and glycerin mixture with sincere gratitude. She remembered in her childhood how Aunt Let visited with the neighbors after Sunday church, visits that had long-since disintegrated into murmurs of courteous greetings.

Sephrina had completed an in-depth study of melancholia. She knew it could be age-related, but from instinct, she knew that, with her aunt, it was more than that. Treatment was nonexistent, and Seph was puzzled and frustrated over her aunt’s chronic depression, given the near-perfect life provided for them by Uncle Nathan.

And now her refusals of medical care. She had obviously lost weight and grown pale over the winter months. The tension had been heavy, as Uncle Nathan cajoled, reasoned and at times ordered the stoic Lettie to go with him to Boston for an evaluation. Her Aunt Lettie was the only person Seph ever knew to blatantly ignore Dr. Nathan Benson’s medical instructions.

Chapter II

The sweet fragrance of lilacs had replaced the earthiness of the March mud and the freshness of the April rains. The sun had grown warmer as the short days of winter stretched out into late spring.

Joshua and Sephrina strolled arm in arm through the well-worn orchard paths, both enjoying the casual bumping and brushing of their bodies. Seph smiled and nodded, but in truth, she was in no mood to listen to his droning on and on about the misbehavior of some distant states. It just didn’t fit into this day – not that, in her opinion, talk of the South fit into any day in New England life. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and imagined the apple blossoms in full bloom. It was not possible to remain annoyed on such a perfect day. She forced her attention back to his voice.

… Lincoln said in his inaugural address that if those Southern rebels try to take over any more federal property, he will do whatever must be done, and he’s kept his word so far. He tried to protect Fort Sumter. Ten states – think about it, Seph. Ten have seceded from the Union. They’ve got to be stopped.

So have you. But you just go on and on. As bad as Uncle Nathan. I listen to it every day after dinner. Is there no escape?

Without a pause in his step, he adjusted their arm-in-arm positioning, as his bicep flexed and brushed against her breast. Oh my. She did not hear one word as she concentrated on the firmness of that bicep. She saw him, naked from the waist up, working the horses at his father’s livery. She imagined those arms around her, gently stealing her breath away. Oh my. She slid her arm from his, took his hand and distanced herself by one pace. Determined to improve her concentration, she looked up at him as he spoke. The early May sun shone through his dark hair, a bit wild and unruly because of its natural waves and the gentle breeze of spring. He was tanned and flushed – animated by his own conversation.

Seph was also flushed, animated from her own one-sided mental conversation. You, Josh, are so beautiful, and you know we’ve belonged together since we held hands at the church picnic six years ago. Maybe I’m not ready for marriage, but I’m ready for more than hand holding. I’ve done my research and I know that this is the safe time of month. No marriage for me, not yet. And certainly no pregnancy, not yet. But you, Josh, you will be all mine today – here in this place with the sun shining down on us. This is the day I have chosen. She shifted her eyes up toward his troubled face. So you’ve got to get through this war obsession, and I would prefer sooner rather than later.

… one man dead and five wounded, she heard as she pulled herself back to his voice. Our president can’t just sit back and take that. He paused to take a breath. He had not for one moment suspected her lack of attention.

‘…dead and wounded…’ Her face, serene and smiling from her reverie, tightened with concern.

But, Josh, Uncle Nathan said there were no casualties … that Beauregard allowed the federal troops to return peacefully to Washington.

He did. But not before blood was shed. They say one of the guns used to fire the surrender misfired and killed a soldier-five wounded and one dead, he repeated. Private Daniel Hought, by name. It’s more than rumor once they put a name to the dead man. … It’s blood shed for sure – accident or not – caused by the rebels trying to steal federal property.

They walked in silence for a while. The apple blossoms were still very fragile but held the promise of bearing rich fruit. Seph had a vision of a primal Adam who morphed into Josh. And she wanted to be Eve. She shivered a little as she felt a wash of guilt over her desire to be wrapped in his arms. Josh was consumed with fear for their country. He needs a friend now, maybe a lover later.

Josh, isn’t it true that President Lincoln has called up volunteers for only ninety days? Isn’t that the plan, to end this in ninety days? That’s what Uncle Nathan’s friends in Washington City have been predicting.

That was true. But now the call is for 75,000 soldiers. Most thought the rebellion would be squelched in that time, but the ninety days have passed, Seph. Seven Southern states had seceded before Sumter. Three more have joined the Confederacy since. They have a lot to lose; their whole way of life could crumble.

Sometimes I think I understand and at other times it doesn’t make any sense to me at all, Josh.

I know that feeling, Seph. But as I understand it, their whole economy is based on their cotton crops, and those crops can’t be harvested without slavery. They’re serious, well organized. It’s said they can’t afford not to fight.

They had walked full circle and stood above the creek, which was bank-full from the spring rains. The little town surrounded the orchard, as if to offer the protection of a good chaperone. In truth, generations of young Barnsborough couples had courted in this very place, well protected by the dense cluster of its very old trees.

Let’s sit awhile, Seph. There’s something I want to talk over with you.

In one fluid move, his white linen shirt was over his head and on the ground to protect her gown from the fragile green of the new grass.

She saw him now, as she had many times before, pounding metal on metal, his shoulders bulging and rippling, glowing with sweat. She saw sparks and smelled the heat, though they were far from the livery.

What is wrong with me, for heaven’s sake?

She lowered herself to the ground with a thud and hoped he didn’t notice the thumping of the cornflower-blue bodice of her dress.

He eased his tall, athletic frame into the grass beside her. You’re looking a little overheated, Seph. Not too much sun today, I hope?

Dense, dense. Josh, you are so dense sometimes.

No, not too much sun. It’s a glorious day to be out here.

You are more beautiful today than I’ve ever seen you. He took her hands into his own, as large and callused as hers were fine and soft.

He continued haltingly, but with the surety of a man in love. Fancy words did not come easily to this young man. Your eyes are more blue than green today. They seem to capture the color of the sky and your dress. His eyes drifted to the scoop of her neckline and the swell of her breast.

Seph made a quick mental apology for her thoughts of his denseness and breathlessly awaited his next move. Though not shy by nature, she cast her eyes toward her hands as he kissed them and placed them gently into the folds of her skirt, as though preparing a bed for their entwined fingers.

Her breath caught in her throat. She moistened her lips with her tongue, removed one hand from his clasp, hesitated ever so slightly as she, quite by accident, brushed his thigh and then flipped a wisp of golden-brown hair from her forehead.

Nothing happened. Silence. Seph gazed across the creek and tried to think of what to say or do that would subtly prompt him to take the next step. She wasn’t a romantic by nature, but she yearned now for just the right words, just the moves that they might both remember into their old age. For this moment would be theirs alone forever. She felt Josh’s eyes on her face.

I’m going, Seph. His voice was nothing more than a harsh whisper.

She hesitated before she spoke. What? Now I am the dense one. She met his eyes to read their meaning but was unable to interpret the smolder of blue. Passion? Sadness? With a slight crinkling of her forehead and raising of one eyebrow, she repeated, You’re going?

He held her gaze and nodded.

She wrinkled her nose, tilted her head to one side and for the second time that day, thought, What is the matter with me?

Going where, exactly.

To Washington – where else? He shook his head in disbelief. Seph, I’ve been talking about it all day. I didn’t know exactly how to tell you. I thought you were listening.

Listening – yes, of course I was listening, she said, knowing that she probably had not heard everything she should have.

She waited for him to say more, to clarify his meaning, but he only stared in silence.

You mean Washington City, right? When she spoke, her tone was business-like, and her words made no sense to him.

He nodded and frowned at her-really frowned.

Well, all right. Just what will you do in Washington City?

He sprang to his feet and strode a few paces from her. To volunteer. To fight, of course. What else would I do there?

Sephrina slowly rose-stalling for time and comprehension-before she faced him. You’re serious, aren’t you?

He pulled his eyes from hers, looked down and scuffed the toe of his riding boot into the ground. What don’t you understand, Seph? he mumbled.

But she did not hear him. She didn’t care that he was angry. After so many years she knew his anger was as fleeting as it was rare.

Josh, have you lost your senses? You’ll be away all summer. What will I do without you? What will your father do without you? How will he manage the livery and the farm?

Even as she protested, she could see by the set of his jaw that his decision was final. Her heart sank into her diaphragm. Joshua Morris, the love of her young life, was going away, a world away, leaving her behind. Her sinking sadness flashed into anger.

I’m sorry, Seph. I have to do this.

Seph swirled away from him to regain control. She refused to let anger dictate her thoughts or her words. She let her eyes drink in the peaceful orchard and her ears absorb the swish of the creek. She inhaled a deep breath and blew it out through closed lips until her shoulders collapsed into her chest. Another of life’s bitters. Away anger. Away self-pity. Her voice was steady when she spoke.

Many are saying – you said so yourself – that it will soon be over. You’re not trained. You are not a soldier.

No one is. That’s why we’re called volunteers. I can shoot and I can ride. I’ll be able to hold my own against the rebels.

As he spoke, he had moved so close to her that she could feel the warmth from his bare chest. Without warning, he pulled her to him, urgently, not roughly. She turned and rested her face against his muscular torso.

She felt the rhythmic thump of his heart and wanted to hold this moment forever. She willed herself to pull back just enough to look into his eyes. Josh, Washington City is so far away. This is Massachusetts. It’s not your fight. Let them handle the problem in the city. Please don’t go. This was as close to begging as she’d ever experienced, and the words hadn’t come easily.

Her moist eyes had changed from blue-green to gray, and he pulled her back to his chest to avoid the plea he saw there. He spoke into her hair. It’s our nation, our country. It is my fight, Seph, and I fear that before it’s over, it will be everyone’s fight.

He snuggled his nose into her hair and breathed in the fragrance of rainwater. I’m leaving in the morning for Boston, then going on by train. He gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt, felt the warmth of her breasts against him, the touch of her tears mixing with the sweat of his bare chest.

They stood perfectly still, frozen in time. Seph’s small hand eased from his shoulder to her face to wipe the tears that she did not want him to see. With her hand still covering part of her face, she took a slow step back. Josh’s right hand held her fast about the waist. She reached the tips of her fingers to his face and traced the smile lines, gifts from the sun, present even now, though he was not smiling. With their eyes locked, she forced the fingers of both hands into his thick hair. Raising herself to the tips of her toes, she pulled his face close, and her lips sought his with a hunger she’d never known before. He lifted her off the ground in a grip that was demanding, softened only by the melting of their lips together. Her lips parted beneath the gentle probing of his tongue. Heat flooded through her pelvis, and she felt consumed by a pleasure not described in any medical text she’d ever read.

What power pulled her from his embrace she would never know. She only knew that she would not give herself to Josh on this day. She would not share this special moment with the sadness of a farewell. Josh, put me down, please.

He set her down immediately, responding to the firmness in her voice. He stretched to take her hands, even as she stepped away.

I’m sorry, Josh. As much as I want you, it can’t be like this. I’m not sure why. It just can’t.

As he reached for her, she spun away and began to run toward town. She stopped about fifty feet away, smiled and waved as she shouted, We’ll be eating apples here in September before we know it, and you will tell me all about your adventures

She tried to run on, but had to turn one last time. When she thought she was far enough that he couldn’t see her tears she called to him. Apples in September, Josh. Don’t forget. I will miss you everyday, Joshua Morris.

Joshua stood, stone-like, for a minute or two as he watched her disappear through the trees.

He was ready to explode with love and passion for the woman he’d wanted since before he could remember what it was to want. He would carry the vision of her to Washington City, though he’d never understand why she left him there alone in the orchard. She hadn’t really said good-bye. She hadn’t even wished him well.

Josh was almost certain that his heart was breaking, but the anatomical part he could not ignore was the pulsating of his manhood, thickened, he was certain, to the size of an apple tree trunk. He peeled off his boots and breeches and ran straight into the icy spring waters of the creek. He wanted to wash it all away – the physical throbbing in his groin and the insidious doubt about the wisdom of leaving Sephrina Benson even for one day.

Chapter III

Sephrina and Uncle Nathan settled in the study after dinner, according their usual custom. It was a place of comfort, much appreciated after a day of bumping along in