Boyd slumped in the chair he sat in. “There is no strength in it at all.”
“It needs to be worked with. That is what the doctor said. The strength will come if ye work it enough and in the right way.”
“What is the right way?”
“Ye should be asking the doctor about that. He will ken what it needs.”
Boyd sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Do you think Abigail might have an idea?”
“Lass kens a lot that surprises me so she might do. Ye want me to bring her round? Or we can go to see her in a few hours. She is helping the doctor right now.”
“Ah, he did say she was good. He even said she could be a doctor as she has the instinct if people let her. Did you know she talks to every Reb brought into the infirmary or captured? She asks after her brother.”
“She told me. She hasnae gotten the answers she seeks yet.”
“Do you think she ever will?” Boyd asked.
“I dinnae ken how she can find out anything. Armies are too big and spread all over the country. There were a lot of men coerced into the army or dragged in. Too many, I think, for anyone to recall one fellow. No one is going to recall one young man out of hundreds.”
“No, most likely not.”
“She’ll find him when he wanders back home.”
“If he wanders back home.”
“Nay, we will think when. Dinnae want to tempt fate.”
“Certainly don’t,” Boyd muttered, staring at his limp arm.
“Laddie, ye still have the limb. Many a field doctor would have lopped it off.”
“Why?” Boyd reached for his wounded arm, absently rubbing at it.
“Infection, the way some limbs can wither if unused, and who kens what else. Ye still have the arm. Let that be enough for now. And I think ye havenae given up all hope yet. Ye are rubbing it just like the doc and Abbie said ye should. Really, give it time.” Matthew moved his seat closer. “Now, how about we try some of the lifting that they did suggest.”
“Don’t understand why one should work a dead arm,” Boyd complained as Matthew wrapped a sandbag around his arm just below his elbow and tied it on.
“Keeps it from withering, I suspicion. Let’s see if we can lift the arm up.”
Matthew only got it lifted up once and Boyd moaned, sweat breaking out on his brow. “Not ready for that then.” He started just gently lifting Boyd’s forearm up until the boy regained his composure. “Keep it simple. The upper arm obviously needs more time to heal.”
“Do you think that is why I can’t move it?”
“Could be. Too soon to ken that, but this is good, too.”
After a half hour Matthew took the weight off. He looked at Boyd. The younger man look exhausted and it puzzled him. If there was no feeling in the arm, why would it being moved tire him out? Then he reminded himself the wound had been a bad one.
“Are ye staying here at the infirmary or coming back to where we’re bunking?”
“I think I am staying here a little longer.”
“Probably best until lifting that arm doesnae make ye nearly go down. Weel, I will wander by tomorrow. For now I am going to see Abigail. She must be back at the Beaton house by now.”
“How is she doing? Getting along fine at that house?”
“Aye, but I have the feeling young Abigail is one who can make her way anywhere.” Matthew smiled when Boyd laughed. “Perhaps this time she and I will go walking to get away from all the women and will not get shot at.”
As he left the infirmary, Matthew hoped the young man’s arm would heal. It would almost be better to have lost the arm than to go on with it hanging uselessly at one’s side. He suspected Boyd might not agree. Despite how despondent he got over the problem, it was obvious that Boyd still clung to the hope that it would get better, which was a possibility. Matthew would do his best to say nothing that might crush that hope.
He had had enough of the war. It was undoubtedly selfish and unpatriotic but he was worn to the bone. He missed his home and family until it was a continuing ache in his very bones. He decided what he needed was to see Abigail, then groaned. When his body tightened at the mere thought of her, it was past time for him to do some hard thinking about the woman and their future.
He rapped on the Beaton house door and Mrs. Beaton answered. If he did not already know the woman he would have been cowed by the scowl on her face. Instead he asked for Abigail and was told to wait in the parlor. He hoped it would not take too long to get her and went to sit on the settee.
*
“The lieutenant is here again.”
Abbie gave a start and looked up from the book she was reading. “Where is he?”
“In the parlor. Waiting. Looks like Julia is resting so you do not have to keep watch for a while.”
Glancing at her friend, Abbie had to agree. Julia was finally having a good rest. She’d given her a tiny drop of the medicine and it was doing the job. Abbie hoped it was not going to hurt the child in any way. She checked her hair, tightened the ribbon on it, then brushed her skirts down and followed Mrs. Beaton down the stairs.
Matthew stood up as she came into the room and smiled at her. Abbie sighed quietly because that was always a fine thing to see. “Afternoon, Matthew.”
He stepped close and kissed her hand. “I was wondering if ye would care to go for a walk.”
Glancing at the sun beaming through the window, Abbie nodded. “Yes, I think that would suit me very well.”
He took her by the arm and led her out into the hall, idly wondering why Mrs. Beaton was lurking around. After helping Abbie into her coat, he smiled at Mrs. Beaton and led Abbie out the door. He heard the door shut behind them with a sharp click and wondered why the woman was in such a sour mood.
“Is something wrong with Mrs. Beaton?” he asked.
“No. She is just in a bit of a snit about Julia having a child.”
“Weel, not much can be done to change that.”
“I know. I am just hoping she gets over it. After all, Julia is married.”
Enjoying the quiet of the day, Abbie barely noticed when he abruptly turned into an alley between two deserted houses. “Why are we in here again?”
“Privacy,” he said as he walked her back until she was pinned between him and a wall. “We so rarely have any.”
Before she could respond to that truth, he was kissing her. It was not long before her tongue joined his in the play and she tightened her hold on him, loving the feel of his warm, hard body against hers. The way he rubbed his hands up and down her back, skimming her sides, fired her blood. When he ended the kiss even she recognized the sound she made as one of protest.
He took her hand while she was still reeling from his kiss and led her into the house she had just leaned against. “I should have recognized that move, sir.”
“I shall have to come up with a new one. Cannae tolerate being predictable.”
She bit back a laugh. “They are lucky this house has not been burnt down.”
“It is empty. Fire is usually set to drive people out.”