The Saintly Buccaneer Read Free Page B

horrible pattern. The blanket flew back, and Dr. Williams entered hastily, but even as he reached out, Billy took a deep breath, held it for a brief moment, and then his body went limp, the rattling cough raking against Charity’s nerves.
    “He’s gone,” the doctor said. He took the thin hands, folded them over the boy’s chest, and dropped the blanket over the worn face. He pulled Charity to her feet and led her out of the space. She almost stumbled over a sleeping man, but Dr. Williams caught her with a surprising strength and helped her to the only open space in the room—a small cubicle where he kept his meager supplies and slept when he could on a cot made of saplings and rawhide. She was so blinded by tears she could see nothing, but suddenly felt Dr. Williams jerk to an abrupt halt. “Why, General Washington—I didn’t know you were here.”
    Charity brushed the tears from her eyes and looked up to see two men standing in the open space. One was a thin man wearing a blue uniform greatcoat with black facing and silk scarf; the other, a very large man, over six feet. Charity looked at him with startled interest.
    The general had a large nose, gray eyes, and deep pockmarks on his long face. He had very large hands, she saw, giving an impression of tremendous strength, though his eyes and voice betrayed a great weariness.
    “How many, Doctor?”
    “Well, not as bad as it might be—but we just this moment lost Billy.”
    “Billy Sills?” The gray eyes fell, and the big man stood there silently. Finally he raised his head, and Charity saw the pain etched across his face. “He was from my state. I know his parents, Colonel Hamilton. They are fine people.”
    This, she gathered, was Alexander Hamilton, the general’s most trusted aide. “It’s hard, Your Excellency.” His voice was sharp and clipped, but he seemed almost boyish with violet eyes and lashes long and thick like a girl’s. “It never gets easy, does it?”
    Dr. Williams interjected, “This is Miss Charity Alden, Your Excellency. She came to see her brother—but she’s been a great source of encouragement to all the men.”
    “We are in your debt, Miss Alden,” the general returned, his gray eyes weighing her. As he took her hand in his, hers seemed lost in the massive grip. For a moment she felt the power of the man; then he released her hand, saying, “I hope your brother is doing well?”
    “Not very well, sir.” She bit her lip and added, “One of your Virginia men has taken us in—Nathan Winslow.”
    “That’s Adam’s son, isn’t it?” Hamilton asked.
    “Yes. I had to send Adam on a mission.” Turning to Charity, Washington nodded, “Miss Alden, I pray that our merciful God will spare your brother. And we are grateful for your kindness to our poor men. Let me help you.”
    She put her arms into the coat he held for her, then said as she turned to go, “I’m—sorry about Billy.”
    “I’m sorry, too—for all of them.”
    She left the hospital quickly, and as she made her way back to the cabin, she wondered why the boy’s death had affected her so deeply. The presence of Washington had taken the pain away momentarily, but now it swept back as the whining wind that purled around the evergreens and sent scuds of new snow everywhere reminded her of his cries.
    What if Curtis should die like Billy?
    The question came again and again, and by the time she got to the hut, she was so filled with fear for him that she did not even feel the cold.
    Julie was sitting beside Curtis as she entered, and looking up she said, “He’s been asking for you, Charity. See if you can get him to take a little broth.”
    “Why, sure I can, can’t I, Curtis?” she asked with a forced heartiness. Taking the cup from Julie, she sat down and began to cajole him into swallowing a little of the broth. “I could always make you eat, couldn’t I? Remember when you had measles, and I took care of you?”
    A faint smile touched his pale lips.