Shattered Rainbows Read Free

After a moment, she said sorrowfully, "
Vaya con Dios
." Go with God. It was a Spanish farewell, even more appropriate for the dead than the living.
    After she moved away, Michael dozed again. He was vaguely aware when orderlies came and removed the body on the next pallet. Soon after, another casualty was laid in the space.
    The new arrival was delirious, mumbling over and over, "Mam, Mam, where are you?" His voice revealed that he was very young and terribly afraid.
    Michael tried to block out the wrenching pleas. He was unsuccessful, but the steadily weakening words showed that the boy was unlikely to last much longer. Poor devil.
    Another voice sounded from the foot of Michael's pallet. It was the Scottish surgeon saying, "Bring Mrs. Melbourne."
    "You sent her home yourself, Dr. Kinlock," an orderly said doubtfully. "She was fair done up."
    "She'll not forgive us if she learns that boy died like this. Go get her."
    An indefinable time later, Michael heard the soft, distinctively feminine rustle of petticoats. He opened his eyes to see the silhouette of a woman picking her way through the barn. Beside her was the doctor, carrying a lantern.
    "His name is Jem," the surgeon said in a low voice. "He's from somewhere in East Anglia. Suffolk, I think. The poor lad is gutshot and won't last much longer."
    The woman nodded. Though Michael's vision was still blurred, he thought she had the dark hair and oval face of a Spaniard. Yet her voice was that of the lady who had brought water. "Jem, lad, is that you?"
    The boy's monotonous calling for his mother stopped. With a quaver of desperate relief, he said, "Oh, Mam, Mam, I'm so glad you're here."
    "I'm sorry it took so long, Jemmie." She knelt beside the boy's pallet, then bent and kissed his cheek.
    "I knew you'd come." Jem reached clumsily for her hand. "I'm not afraid now that you're here. Please… stay with me."
    She took his hand in hers. "Don't worry, lad. I won't leave you alone."
    The surgeon hung the lantern from a nail above the boy's pallet, then
withdrew. The woman—Mrs. Melbourne—sat in the straw against the wall and drew Jem's head onto her lap. He gave a deep sigh of contentment when she stroked his hair. She began to sing a gentle lullaby. Her voice never faltered, though tears glinted on her cheeks as Jem's life slowly ebbed away.
    Michael closed his eyes, feeling better than before. Mrs. Melbourne's warmth and generous spirit were a reminder of all that was good and true. As long as earthly angels like her existed, life might be worth living.
    He drifted into sleep, her soft voice warming him like a candle defying the darkness.
    The sun was inching above the horizon when Jem drew his last, labored breath, then became still. Catherine laid him back in the straw with a grief beyond tears. He was so young.
    Her cramped legs almost failed when she got to her feet. As she leaned against the rough stone wall and waited for her muscles to recover, she glanced at the man on her left. His blanket had slipped, exposing the stained bandages swathing his broad chest.
    The air was still chilly, so she leaned down and drew the blanket up to his shoulders again. Then she laid her hand on his forehead. To her surprise, the fever had broken. When she had given him water, she would not have given a ha'penny for his chances. But he was a tall, powerful-looking fellow; perhaps he had the strength to survive his wounds. She hoped so.
    Wearily she made her way toward the door. During her years following the drum, she had learned a great deal about nursing and more than a little surgery, but she had never become inured to the sight of suffering.
    The austere landscape was peaceful after the deafening clamor of the day before. By the time she reached her tent, much of her tension was gone. Her husband, Colin, had not yet returned from duty, but her groom, Bates, was sleeping outside, guarding the captain's womenfolk.
    Tired to the bone, she ducked inside the tent. Amy's dark head