The Witch's Compromise

By Leigh Ann Edwards

A death-bed secret throws her life into turmoil…

Before unearthing a mystical book, skilled Civil War nurse Ainsley Byrne was focused on treating patients and keeping her magic hidden. Now, her life’s upended by a prophecy that foretells her unusual destiny. How can someone travel through time? When Ainsley encounters two witches with enlightening answers, it only leaves her more uncertain. And then there’s the handsome, dark-haired English surgeon whose entrancing smile and amusing charm prove irresistible. But Ainsley senses he’s well-entangled in the mystery now divining her life.

Caldwell Prescott’s been sent to 1863 Gettysburg as an army surgeon. However, even with a major battle imminent, his true assignment’s far more complicated and dangerous. Trying not to change history and escaping being killed is difficult enough, but avoiding falling in love with a beautiful nurse who’s believed to be a powerful witch might prove impossible. Tasked with discovering her supernatural abilities and finding the missing book, above all, Cal‘s purpose here is to protect her. But who’ll protect him and his heart when she discovers the truth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Apr 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781953647979

Book preview

Acknowledgments for The Witch’s Compromise

As always, I have so many people to thank for ensuring this latest book, The Witch’s Compromise, has been released.

To the fantastic team at Tule Publishing, Jane Porter, Meghan Farrell, Nikki Babri, Cyndi Parent and Lee Hyat, I am again indebted to you for everything you do in allowing me to continue pursuing my love of writing.

To my terrific team of editors, I can’t thank you enough. Rachel Jackson, Helena Newton and Marlene Roberts, you’re all amazingly talented.

To Christian at Covers by Christian, thank you for another stunning cover.

I’d also like to acknowledge and thank William Harris for his incite and information on Civil War History and suggesting the best references.

Thanks to Alicia Fox for continuing to take time from her busy schedule to help with my website design.

To my husband, Mark my daughters, Katrina and Jerilyn, son-in-laws, Roy and Shane and grandkids, Darien, Daniella, Grayson and Novak, extended family, Kerry, Tannis, Grant and Matt and my cousins and dear friends too many to mention lest someone get omitted, I truly appreciate all the different ways you support me. To my readers, I’m really delighted you continue to enjoy my books and recommend them to others. It makes me happy to keep writing!

Chapter One

Early May 1863

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Ainsley Byrne closed her eyes, leaned back on her elbows and slowly fluttered her legs in the cool water of Rock Creek. She listened to the water flowing peacefully, reveled in the sunshine, soft breeze and richness of the earthy scents, knowing these quiet moments may soon end. Rumors had been circulating of General Robert E. Lee and his Confederate Army moving north.

Ainsley and her mother, Maeve, were war nurses. Ainsley had been compelled to help soldiers since they’d attended the wounded and dying at the First Battle of Bull Run near Manassas when they’d lived there. Unfortunately, their present hard-nosed supervisor, Nurse Edith Edmund, followed the regulations of Dorothea Dix, the superintendent of army nurses. War nurses were to be mid-thirties or older, matronly and usually married. As war progressed rules relaxed, but Nurse Edmund wouldn’t budge. Ainsley and the other younger nurses at this field hospital were permitted to do little more than stock supplies. Ainsley had been a healer her entire life, now being unable to assist was incredibly frustrating.

Ainsley! Ainsley! an exhilarated voice called.

Excitable about nearly everything, it was hard to say what prompted her friend Betha’s present elation. Ainsley wished she had a little of her enthusiasm. She opened her eyes to Betha’s lovely, freckled face and wispy reddish-blonde hair as she dropped unceremoniously beside her.

"You must come meet the new doctor, Ainsley. He’s absolutely gorgeous; probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. He’s tall with broad shoulders and a great build. He has dark hair, not black, but nearly. And his eyes! Not quite blue, not quite green, they’re utterly captivating. You should hear his amazing accent. I think he’s English."

Betha reached for her hand but Ainsley shook her head.

You think every man you meet is the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, Betha. Besides, why would anyone with Irish blood think someone from England is appealing when they’re largely responsible for so many Irish people starving or having to leave their home? I’ll not go gawk at some undoubtedly stodgy old doctor. If we did go look now, he’ll know you’ve been fawning over him.

Betha laughed at that. She laughed so easily, Ainsley sometimes wanted to be Betha—even with her overly dramatic, amusing ways.

He’s not old; I doubt he’s over thirty. He’s got a great laugh and you should see his smile.

"An Englishman who laughs and smiles, that would be rare."

Ainsley, you can’t despise all Englishmen because of Reg…

You’re never to mention him! Ainsley interrupted, waggling her finger in warning.

"What he did was unforgivable, but you can’t fault every English person because of him or what happened in Ireland. You and I haven’t even seen Ireland."

We’re still Irish. We haven’t seen Ireland only because Mama had a premonition of the great hunger and left before it happened, Ainsley said.

I’m glad she convinced my mama to go with her or we’d never have met.

I’m glad, too, Betha. So, what’s this new doctor’s name? Ainsley didn’t want Betha to think she wasn’t interested in her news.

Dr. Prescott, Betha gushed. Don’t you dare say that sounds stuffy!

Fine, I won’t, Ainsley said smiling again, but her smile disappeared when she heard a familiar voice.

"What’s she doing here?" Betha asked.

Probably introducing herself to the new doctor, Ainsley said.

Likely. Betha frowned.

If anyone could make Betha frown, it was Maribelle Virginia Hartley. Her family once owned an immense plantation in Virginia. Ainsley and her mother had been healers and midwives there; Betha and her mother, Cara, house servants.

Occasionally Ainsley attempted to be empathetic of Maribelle. Her life had been drastically changed, too, but she treated Ainsley and Betha as inferiors, still in her service. Maribelle lived in a less grand home now. The beautiful mansion on the plantation had burned to the ground. Ainsley didn’t like to dwell on that night for many reasons.

Maribelle continued to wear her fancy gowns with wide hoops and crinolines and colorful ribbons in her hair, though her family wouldn’t be considered rich southern folk any longer. Ainsley glanced at her own plain dark dress, grateful for the color. She could sit on the grass or dirt and never worry it would appear soiled.

That water looks refreshing, a masculine voice said.

He definitely had an English accent, but northern English. In truth, he sounded a bit Irish. Ainsley prided herself on being able to distinguish accents. She turned to see Betha had described him accurately. He was tall with dark, wavy collar-length hair and blue-green eyes. He was smiling and his voice was cheerful.

Afraid of insects and crawling animals, Maribelle hung back.

Do you mind if I join you, ladies? the man asked.

Suit yourself, Ainsley said. We don’t own the creek.

Betha looked mortified, but giggled nervously.

This is my friend, Ainsley, the smartest, most efficient nurse. She and her mama are healers. Ainsley knows absolutely everything about diseases, injuries and healing with herbs.

That’s very impressive. Most medications are botanicals; therefore knowledge of herbs is essential. I’m Cal Prescott, he said sitting down next to Ainsley, a bit too close in her opinion.

That can’t be your name, Ainsley said.

Pardon me? he replied, his expression perplexed.

I’ve never heard of an Englishman with only two names. You’re not Calvert Charles Henry George James Edward Richard Stanhope Prescott the Third, Earl of Northumberland?

He chuckled easily at that. She liked the sound of his laugh and how his eyes crinkled appealingly at the corners, revealing his mirth. She attempted not to smile, but was unsuccessful.

You’ve aptly named nearly the whole English monarchy. It’s Caldwell, not Calvert, but I go by Cal…and no, I don’t have so many names.

I’m Ainsley Brigid Byrne, she replied, briefly shaking his hand. If they were going to be working together it was best to have good rapport. She tried to ignore the unusual warm sensation as their hands touched.

Nurse Kelly said I should come meet you. I think you’re the only nurse I haven’t met.

I thought you’d just arrived, Ainsley said.

Earlier today. The other nurses seemed more eager to welcome me.

You’re from the north of England, Ainsley said.

You have a good ear. Aye, Northumberland, but I spent most of my childhood with my Irish grandparents. I’ve been told I picked up some of their manner of speaking.

You lived in Ireland? she asked, immediately intrigued.

I lived with them in England.

Were your grandparents forced to leave Ireland?

They moved by choice. But I have compassion for the atrocity of the famine and what occurred there. I’ve journeyed to Ireland a few times.

I’ve never been to Ireland, Ainsley admitted. I want to go someday.

You sound Irish, he said pulling off his boots and socks and putting his feet in the water.

My mama’s Irish. She journeyed here before the great hunger, where a good many people in Ireland had to eat grass and watch their babies starve.

You have great empathy for your mother’s people, Dr. Prescott said. Empathy’s an admirable trait in a nurse. Although it does cause a good amount of heartache during such troubling times as this war.

Ainsley only nodded.

The water’s delightful, he said gazing too observantly at Ainsley’s long legs bared to her knees with bloomers and gown pulled up. Is it deep enough for swimming?

It is, but you must beware of hellbenders and timber rattlesnakes, Ainsley warned.

Wouldn’t hellbenders only come out at night?

Most people new to Pennsylvania haven’t heard of the large salamanders. Yes, they’re nocturnal and not dangerous unless you’re caught between two males fighting.

Wouldn’t rattlesnakes more likely be found in the grass?

Probably, Ainsley said.

Trying to scare me off, Irish?

Just giving you fair warning. Ainsley fought another smile. Why did this man make her smile so damn easily?

I’m going to chance going in the water, Dr. Prescott said.

He stood, undid the first three buttons on his dark blue Union Army shirt, pulled it over his head and tossed it on the ground near Ainsley. She could smell the enticing masculine scent, not the unpleasant odor of unwashed male, but musky and appealing.

Ainsley feared he might actually remove his trousers, too, but he only rolled them to his knees, walked out, submerged and swam under the water.

Oh! My! Lord! Betha slowly enunciated. Did you see that?

No, I’m suddenly blind, Ainsley smiled and Betha giggled.

Still think he’s old and stodgy?

Not old or stodgy, but clearly a show-off.

He can show off all he wants, Betha said with a wide-eyed grin.

Ainsley had to admit, the man looked really good. His tanned, muscular shoulders and back looked like he’d done physical labor. His stomach wasn’t only firm, but also rippled and his arse was undeniably well formed, too. The pale scars on his back indicated he hadn’t always been a doctor. She wasn’t about to remain here to observe him coming out of the water with wet, tight-fitting trousers. At twenty-one years old, Ainsley had already sworn off men.

You ladies aren’t joining me? he asked after propelling himself from the creek like a bloody merman. Wiping the water from his alluring eyes, he shook his hair and Ainsley glowered as droplets sprayed on her.

Could we, Ainsley? Betha excitedly asked.

You go right ahead, Betha.

Ainsley, please come swim, Betha pleaded.

Nurse Edmund wouldn’t permit us to swim in these gowns only lent to us…certainly not in the company of the exhibitionist new doctor.

"I think you’re stodgy, Ainsley. You used to be fearless and fun-loving. How long will you let the past make you cynical?"

I don’t intentionally do that.

You’re strikingly beautiful, tall with the most enviable form, Ainsley. If I were you, I’d remove that gown and swim in shift and bloomers…or naked maybe.

Ainsley gave her a disapproving look even knowing Betha was joking.

"Betha, I’d never be allowed to do any nursing duties if anyone saw."

I know, Betha sighed.

You’re really staying at the water’s edge on this warm day? Dr. Prescott called to them…his masculine voice undeniably appealing.

Swimming in a gown isn’t advisable, Dr. Prescott. Sure you’d have to save me from drowning, Betha said. Ainsley could swim the creek a hundred times; she’s such a strong swimmer.

You needn’t sing my praises, Betha, or push me toward him or any other man, Ainsley whispered.

You might as well join a nunnery, Ainsley Byrne.

I just might consider it. But for now, I’m going back to roll bandages. Maybe I’ll impress Nurse Edmund enough she’ll let me set up cots. Ainsley made a face.

I can’t stay here alone with him, Betha said.

Ainsley heard voices.

You won’t be alone. Evidently Dr. Prescott’s drawn a crowd.

Every female in the vicinity must have heard of the handsome new doctor’s arrival. Women young, old, married, widowed and single started toward the water, including Maribelle with her fancy gold gown. Apparently attracting the new doctor’s attention was worth possibly encountering creepy crawlers.

With so many men away fighting, women far outnumbered men. Even men not as young or attractive as Dr. Caldwell Prescott were highly sought after. He’d be treated to home-cooked meals, baked goods galore and surely more intimate offerings, too.

Ainsley picked up her shoes and stockings, waved to Betha and walked barefoot along the creek. Sitting upon a flat boulder some distance away, she glanced at the scar on her ankle, cringing at the memory it provoked. Regrettably many memories included Gavin, the man she’d thought she’d marry.

Thunder rumbled above, reflecting her unpleasant thoughts. Being struck by lightning wouldn’t be the best way to welcome the new doctor when he was in the water. She pulled up her stocking, put on her shoes and walked to the supply tent.

Chapter Two

Ainsley was awakened by the train whistle. A train approaching after dark could only mean injured soldiers were being transported. Men wounded during the most recent battle at Chancellorsville, Virginia, were likely being sent here. She pulled her gown over her shift and hurriedly tied back her hair. Still fumbling with her shoes, she shook Betha.

A train’s arrived.

At night? Betha sleepily replied.

I’m going to see if I might assist.

She won’t permit it, Ainsley.

I’ll do what I can.

* *

Ainsley appreciated her keen sense of smell when the scents were jasmine and magnolias, a fresh rainfall or Mama’s delicious cooking. Now she was affronted by the strong choking smell of coal that powered the railroad engine as well as the fetid odors of dried blood, stale sweat and festering wounds.

All three doctors and some nurses were already here. Injured soldiers were being escorted or lifted from the train. Nurse Edmund directed the wounded to medical and surgical tents.

A man with a pallid complexion and an arm in a sling stepped down from the train. Ainsley offered him her arm and he attempted a smile. She led him to the lines of men, soldiers in their dark blue uniforms on stretchers—legs, arms and heads bandaged.

I need to sit, he said.

Come with me. What’s your name, soldier?

I’m Joseph Hammond, ma’am.

Ma’am! That makes me feel ancient, Joseph. I’m Nurse Byrne but call me Ainsley.

He leaned harder on her. She recognized he’d soon faint. As she eased him to the ground, he nearly pulled her with him, then he rolled over and vomited. She consolingly patted his shoulder, then offered him a rag.

I apologize, he said.

For spewing? That’s not something anyone can control. Sit here, I’ll get some water.

My hand’s cold. That’s better than being numb, but it’s quite cold.

Ainsley looked for a doctor, but all were busy. The older nurses had their hands full, too. She spotted Dr. Prescott assisting a man covered in blood and violently convulsing.

Let me take a look, Joseph.

She removed the sling and unwrapped the bandages, discovering they were wound too tight. His hand was cold. Ainsley observed the deep, ragged gash from shoulder to elbow. Crudely stitched, the sutures had started to open.

The doctor didn’t have much time to mend the wound? Ainsley said.

Never saw a doctor; the medic stitched and wrapped it. I was lucky to be able to walk. There’s likely still soldiers on that field.

Chancellorsville? she asked.

He nodded, wearing the haunted battle-weary look she’d come to know. The medic probably had as much experience as many doctors. Some had undergone the preferred two years of medical school but most hadn’t seen a gunshot wound or performed surgery before the war. Some briefly trained with a physician or had money and family name to ensure they’d been declared doctors. Apparently it seemed a noble profession for those who didn’t want to become soldiers.

In the beginning, men from the north and south hurried to enlist. Some believed in the cause. Others expected glory and excitement, perhaps wanted to escape the monotony of farm life. When war waged on, the Confederates began conscription. The Union was drafting men, too, but many people on both sides were opposed to this practice. Even in the north the disagreement and collective anger of being forced to go to war was often directed at the freed slaves.

Joseph moaned, effectively distracting Ainsley from her thoughts. The wound was deep, liable to become purulent and dangerously close to the artery near his shoulder. Probably caused by a bayonet or saber—they critically maimed or killed as aptly as rifles and cannons.

You’ll need a doctor. I’m not permitted to offer direct care.

Why? You seem to know what you’re doing.

I’m considered too young and I’m not married.

That seems irrelevant to treating soldiers.

I don’t make the rules, but mostly attempt to abide by them. Hold your arm still, Joseph. I’ll find a doctor. It’s a bit chaotic just now.

He nodded and Ainsley searched for someone to assist. The other nurses were all occupied. The man who’d been convulsing earlier had expired. Several bodies were already lined up; most probably died on the train. She saw Dr. Prescott again, his coat and face sprayed with blood. He smiled at her even during the tumult.

Nurse Byrne, I need you to come with me.

I’m not permitted to care for patients.

Permitted or not, I need you. He took her arm and led her to the surgical tent.

Wait, she said. Taking a cloth from the supply cart, she quickly wiped his face.

It may be trivial, but injured men might prefer doctors to look less like the wounded.

Empathetic and wise, he said with a quick grin.

The tent reeked of foulness: blood, vomit, urine and excrement. Men called out for their mothers, but also other names—perhaps wives or sweethearts. Some lay pale and quiet, likely in shock. One surgeon was performing an amputation. Nurse Edmund assisted and two older nurses, including Ainsley’s mother, attended other men.

Ainsley saw the tin tubs. By day’s end they could be filled with amputated extremities. Many might have been saved if dealt with earlier, but they’d probably become gangrenous. Often the only hope of saving lives was to take limbs. Ainsley’s mother calmed a man while a doctor administered chloroform.

Dr. Prescott nudged her. You can do this, Irish.

She nodded as he showed her to a young man with curly brown hair and the pale complexion of someone in pain who’d experienced profound trauma.

Hold his hand; talk to him. Let him see your calm, smiling face.

She clasped the man’s hand as Dr. Prescott administered medication. Ainsley observed the gut wound, aware the man wouldn’t live and unsure how he’d lived this long. Sometimes doctors didn’t offer dying men pain medicine. Dr. Prescott clearly had a compassionate heart. Ainsley looked into the soldier’s frightened eyes. He was younger than her, probably by a few years.

What’s your name, soldier?

Ben Walker, he managed.

You’re from Virginia, Ben, Ainsley said.

Williamsburg. He nodded, gripping her hand so tightly it hurt.

I lived in Virginia, too, near Manassas.

Were you there during the battles?

I was, Ainsley said.

I was too young for the first, but I fought at the second, lost my brother there.

I’m very sorry, Ainsley replied.

I expect I’ll see him again soon, he said.

It’ll be a wonderful reunion when you do, Ben.

Do you miss Virginia? he asked, his words beginning to slur.

Very much.

What do you miss most?

Things as grand as the beautiful blue mountains and as small as butterfly weeds covered in fluttering butterflies, Ainsley said.

Ben nodded. I miss my granny and her cooking.

What was your favorite food? Ainsley asked.

Her gingerbread cake, he whispered.

Mmmm, can’t you just taste it, Ben? Ainsley asked. Still warm, drizzled in honey or brown sugar sauce.

He smiled contentedly before his hand went limp. She waited, checked for a pulse and sighed. She closed his vacant eyes, placed his hands on his chest and pulled the sheet over his face.

Dr. Prescott was wielding a surgical saw but nodded appreciatively as she walked by. Stepping outside, she was relieved to inhale the fresh night air. Ainsley hurried back to Joseph. Even by lantern light, he looked paler.

The doctors are still busy, Joseph.

I’m cold and very tired. I couldn’t sleep on the train with so many calling out in pain.

He sounded weak and his teeth chattered. She gave him water then looked at his wound again. He needed a blanket. Rushing back to the surgery tent, she took some bandages from the already nearly empty supply wagon. Ainsley went back inside, whispered an apology to Ben, covered his face with a cloth, took the bedsheet and hurried back to Joseph. He’d worriedly begun to bleed again.

Am I going to die, Ainsley? Joseph asked.

If I can prevent it, I promise I will.

Ainsley placed bandages on the wound. He was shivering so badly, it would surely tear the wound open completely.

I’m s-s-so cold, he stammered.

Ainsley lifted the bedsheet, gently pressed on his wound, and lay beside him, her head on his chest and her arm around him.

You’re lovely and warm. Your hair smells really nice, Joseph said.

You must be kept warm so your shivering doesn’t open the wound.

I suppose making love’s out of the question? Joseph whispered.

If you maintain those thoughts, I don’t foresee you dying tonight.

* *

Nurse Byrne! The stern voice was disapproving.

Ainsley began to move, however, Joseph’s hand was entangled in her bound hair. Now it messily trailed down. She looked up at her mother, Nurse Edmund, Betha and Dr. Prescott.

This is most inappropriate, Nurse Byrne, Nurse Edmund scolded.

I don’t imagine the soldier objected, Dr. Prescott said.

Joseph stirred. Ainsley? he weakly called.

You know this man? Nurse Edmund asked.

We met last night, Ainsley said, cringing a little.

You lie with men to comfort them?

That could hardly be considered lying with him, Edith, Maeve scoffed.

That would have popped his stitches straightaway, Dr. Prescott said as he smirked.

Nurse Kelly, you may leave, Nurse Edmund said to Betha.

Betha clearly wanted to stay, but wouldn’t defy the strict supervisor. She worriedly glanced at Ainsley and then left.

Joseph’s bandages were wound too tight. Bleeding and shivering, he had to be kept warm. If the wound near the brachial artery had ruptured, I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop the bleeding. You must look at Joseph’s wound, Dr. Prescott, Ainsley said.

Nurse Byrne, nurses are never to boldly direct doctors. You’ve already overstepped what you’re permitted to do.

What is Nurse Byrne permitted to do? Dr. Prescott asked.

She and the younger, more attractive and typically more easily disconcerted nurses aren’t to be near the men other than occasionally offering food and water. It’s not beneficial.

Beneficial? I’d suggest saving lives is beneficial. Being old or ugly is your requirement for nurses tending to wounds?

Dr. Prescott, that’s highly objectionable, Nurse Edmund stated, her nose in the air.

You’d prefer it if Nurse Byrne stood by and let this soldier die? She offered a dying man consolation last night and probably saved this man’s arm, if not his life, apparently without being able to extend medical assistance. Imagine the lives she might save if she could actually help. Obviously she has extensive knowledge of anatomy, which is uncommon and meritorious.

Ainsley’s mother smiled with pride.

My daughter’s confronted illnesses, wounds and death her whole life. She bravely went to the battlefield to attend the soldiers during the Battle of Bull Run, one of the first battles of this war, Edith. It’s why she signed up to be a nurse. She finds it difficult to stand by when she’s always been a healer.

If rules are bent to accommodate your daughter, all young women will think they’re permitted.

Do you believe attractive young women can’t be intelligent or skilled? Dr. Prescott asked.

That isn’t it, Nurse Edmund curtly replied.

You must explain, then, Dr. Prescott said crossing his arms.

Younger women are a distraction to the soldiers.

The men welcome a distraction from death and despair, he argued.

"You don’t understand, Dr. Prescott. Following policy when time allows, in assessing injuries, soldiers are completely stripped of clothing. For obvious reasons young unmarried women shouldn’t be given that task.

When men are recovering, youthful attractive women create an altogether inappropriate distraction. Men sometimes behave unbecomingly with young nurses who incite fundamental instincts in the bedridden men who have no means to alleviate their avidity, Nurse Edmund said.

"I’d wager the young nurses could dissuade them with a bedpan over the head. Surely a few untimely erections can’t be the cause of letting men die or remain in discomfort when these young nurses could be of vital assistance. Since you brought up the topic, I assure you, when men have been without a woman for any length of time, age or beauty’s rarely a consideration…and provided the men maintain one hand, they’ll find a way to ease those fundamental instincts."

Nurse Edmund’s face turned a shade of red Ainsley hadn’t seen before. Maeve couldn’t suppress her laughter and Nurse Edmund promptly marched away.

I’m goin’ to like havin’ you here, Dr. Prescott, Maeve said. You tell it like it is with a refreshin’ dash of humor.

This is my mama, Nurse Maeve Byrne.

Luckily beauty’s only discriminated against in young women or we’d be forced to do without your expertise as well, Dr. Prescott said to Maeve.

Talented, skilled and charmin’. You’ll be sufferin’ the attention of every woman north of Virginia, Dr. Prescott.

He only grinned.

I’ll see to that wound now, Joseph, Dr. Prescott said. Easy does it. With the wound near the brachial artery—Nurse Byrne was correct—any movement could see it opened. An erection would be the least of our worries.

Dr. Prescott helped Joseph to his feet.

You’re not coming with us, Nurse Byrne? Dr. Prescott looked at Ainsley.

I’d better not. Nurse Edmund’s liable to disallow me from even rolling bandages.

You leave her to me. He winked.

It’s likely best Ainsley keeps her distance for a bit, Maeve said.

Ainsley knew it wasn’t Nurse Edmund who Mama thought she should stay away from.

I’ll come visit when I can, Ainsley whispered to Joseph.

See you later, Irish, Dr. Prescott said.

Chapter Three

"Betha, you’re behaving strangely."

I’m not, Betha said, but wouldn’t meet Ainsley’s eyes.

Betha? What are you hiding?

She pulled something from her pocket and gingerly passed it to Ainsley.

It’s a letter.

I can see that. Where did you get it?

A medic said an injured Confederate soldier asked him to give it to Nurse Ainsley Byrne if he found her.

Ainsley saw the bold A.B. on the envelope. I don’t want it. Toss it in the fire.

Ainsley, you must see what he’s written. You loved him once.

I thought I loved him when I thought I knew him. Clearly I didn’t.

What if he’s badly hurt, maybe dying?

He’s already dead to me.

Ainsley, you can’t mean that. You’re not cold-hearted. We were once all such good friends.

Then you read it.

It’s not meant for my eyes, Ainsley. I’ll give it to your mama then.

She’d definitely toss it in the fire.

Take it, Ainsley. Maybe someday you’ll want to read it.

Maybe someday I’ll want to be trampled by a herd of bison or stand in line of a blasting cannon, too.

You must still care, Ainsley, or you wouldn’t remain impassioned.

She took the letter, ripped it in half, again and again, before tossing the pieces in the air.

Ainsley, Betha said, looking like she’d soon cry.

Ainsley hurried from the tent she shared with Betha and two other younger nurses. Gavin Anderson was a point of contention between her and Betha. They had all been friends, but Ainsley and Gavin had been more than friends. He’d hurt, betrayed and humiliated her. If the letter was an apology, she didn’t want it. Betha didn’t know the whole truth, but wouldn’t learn that from her.

Ainsley needed a cup of tea and wanted to bathe. She’d go to Mama’s. The small stone cottage in the woods was her refuge. When they’d arrived here, they’d found the abandoned cottage. Mama said it was meant to be. The locals stayed away believing it was haunted. Ainsley and her mama knew it was haunted, but weren’t put off. As witches, they were capable of seeing more than ghosts.

* *

Ainsley knocked. The door opened to Mama’s smiling face and she pulled her into her arms.

Girlio, you needn’t knock.

I thought you might be with a man. Ainsley grinned.

Oh pfff. I don’t have time for a man.

I wasn’t sure you’d be back with so many soldiers needing assistance.

Edith Edmund has rules for mature nurses, too. Without sleep we’ll be no good to anyone. But let me guess, you’ve come home to bathe?

Aye.

It’s lucky we found that battered old bathtub and that you bathe more than most or I might only see you at camp.

I do miss you, Mama, and I’d love a cup of tea.

They stepped inside.

It’s nice to have you home. You don’t have to stay at camp with those uncomfortable cots and no home-cooked food. Stay here anytime.

Betha stays with her family sometimes. Her wee twin brothers are amusing. I’m glad they’re happy.

As am I. Cara’s my oldest friend and John’s a good man. He probably didn’t think the accident with the plow was lucky, but it’s ensured he’s not gone to war. Fate’s odd in what it sends our way. What seems a curse can sometimes be a blessing…and vice versa.

I wish you’d find someone to take care of you, Mama.

I’d have to find someone exceptional to give up my independence, Ainsley.

Aren’t you lonely, Mama? You haven’t kept a man’s company since we moved north.

I don’t need a man. Our magic ensures we aren’t as helpless as some women.

Yet we can’t permit anyone to discover we’re witches.

"People must suspect with all the rumors. At least we’re only shunned or feared, not burned at the stake or