Northern Light Read Free Page B

eyes once again. She shook her head to remove the image and chastised herself for harboring such a thought about a Yankee.

3
    Mama urged them to hurry and get to the sailor. Margaret would have rather stopped to enjoy the beautiful setting sun. But that wasn’t going to happen. Just one more thing she could blame that Yankee for.
    Papa led Celia through the tall grass until they reached the dunes. He pulled on the mule’s harness. “Margaret, come up front so you can tell us which way to go.”
    She scanned the water’s edge and noticed her pail shining in the setting sun. His body had to be nearby…she remembered dropping the pail. It didn’t seem that he had been so far away when she found him earlier. It was no wonder she was so out of breath when she arrived back at the house.
    She pointed out the direction to Papa, and he nudged the old mule forward, her bray indicating her opposition to the idea. “I’m sorry, girl; I know you don’t like walking on the sand. Just a little further now.” Her papa was sweet to everyone…even an ornery old mule.
    The man was still half out of the water.
    “Be careful, Mama. He grabbed my wrist.” Margaret kept her distance. “And he might have a gun too.”
    Mama knelt by his side, inspecting his wounds. Margaret kept her distance after the scare he gave her earlier. At the frightful memory she crossed her arms tightly around her waist. Her wrist stung with her tight grip. “And remember…he might have a gun too.”
    Mama reared back and gasped as a fiddler crab ran across the sailor’s torso.
    Papa knelt in the sand on the other side of the body. He brushed the little crab off the man’s chest with a chuckle and searched his clothing. “Don’t worry. He’s unarmed.” Papa looked up at her. “He was probably sent ashore to look for food and this happened.” Papa stood guard, rifle in hand.
    Mama knew a lot about medicine because her papa, Grandpa Brannon, had been a doctor. She had even trained to become a nurse until she met Papa and everything changed…the first time she looked into Papa’s eyes. She’d told the story often enough to her daughters.
    “Is he alive?” Margaret asked.
    Mama lowered her head to the man’s face, and then looked at Papa. “He’s still breathing, but not very strong. These wounds are pretty bad, Jeb. It’s hard to tell how much blood he’s lost with him being in the water. I’m not sure he’ll make it.” Mama looked at the man. “So young too.”
    Margaret found it difficult to care whether the man lived or died. What if this Yankee was the one who killed her Jeffrey? Why should her parents risk their lives and the lives of their children to help a blue belly? Sometimes her folks did things she couldn’t for the life of her understand. And this was one of those times.
    Papa lifted the man and dragged him out of the water.
    “Be careful, Jeb. He’s starting to come around.”
    From the agonizing groans, his pain must have been excruciating. She turned away, disgusted by the blood oozing from his wounds, mixing with the wet sand.
    “Margaret, come give us a hand. I don’t think me and Papa can lift him by ourselves.”
    She whipped her head around and glared at Mama. What could the woman possibly be thinking? “I’m not going to touch that filthy Yankee!”
    “Margaret Frances Logan…get your hind end over here and help us load this young man into the wagon. If we don’t get him back to the house, he has about as much chance as a candle in a windstorm of surviving.”
    Margaret felt the blood leave her face. “You’re taking him to our home?”
    “Well, what on earth did you think we would do with him?” Mama looked at Margaret as if she’d grown an extra head.
    “I don’t know, bandage him up…leave him here…take him to Fort Greene. But take him to our house? Please, Papa!”
    Her papa stood but remained silent. He wasn’t likely to take her side. Meddling in the affairs of women isn’t a pastime smart