One cot lay in the middle of the room. Boxes surrounded it, there was little light, and the air was stifling.
Will stepped in front of Sarah as she held back. She didn’t know whether or not she wanted to see what was lying in the bed. Will leaned over and stared at the creature swathed in bandages and blankets.
“A girl,” Will said, “A child.”
“A little older,” Tallmadge said grimly and Doctor Young nodded.
“What happened to her?” Will asked.
“We’re not certain,” Tallmadge said. “She was found in the woods by one of our patrols investigating rumors of an attack on a settlement. She was stumbling around the ruins, naked, burned and bleeding.”
“Dear God,” said Franklin, “The poor child.”
Tallmadge continued. “The patrol located the settlement and found a stack of charred bodies in what might have been a barn. They had been butchered and burned, reduced to a pile of blackened bones and grease. The girl was able to say that her name was Winifred Haskill and that horrible looking white men had destroyed her home. Then she collapsed and hasn’t spoken since then. The men in the patrol weren’t certain she’d live long enough to make it here, but she surprised them.”
Eyes turned to the doctor who added solemnly, “She turns and moans, but she hasn’t said anything that makes sense. It may be that her brain has been affected. She did endure a savage blow to the head.”
“And what do you plan to do about her?” Will asked.
“She is wrapped in bandages because of a multitude of scratches and bruises, including one large cut on her head where someone may have tried to scalp her. I have applied salves to her burns, which, while looking horrible, aren’t serious. Otherwise, her body is that of a healthy young woman. I took a cup of blood from her this morning, and plan to purge her in a little while. A cleansing of the bowels often helps the mind think correctly.”
Will took one of the girl’s thin, pale arms and lifted it. “I don’t think she has much left to purge or bleed.”
Sarah looked at him and held back a smile. It was exactly what she was thinking.
“I believe I understand my medicine, Major,” Doctor Young sniffed.
“But do you understand women’s medicine?” Sarah injected and enjoyed the confusion on the doctor’s face. “Not only are our bodies different, but the way women use them is different from those of men. Tell me, how many babies have you delivered? How many cases of serious menstrual bleeding have you treated? Or tumors of the breast? Oh yes, how many women have you examined when they were naked?”
Doctor Young was flustered, and seemed embarrassed that such would be discussed in mixed company. “None at all,” he admitted.
“Then let me propose a solution to this dilemma,” she said, suddenly aware that Abigail Adams had entered the room and was standing behind her, nodding grimly. “Remand her to my care and I will treat her, woman to woman.”
“And I will assist,” said Abigail.
The doctor bowed and Sarah sensed his relief. “I accept your collective wisdom.”
“And where will you treat her?” asked Franklin. The look of dismay on his face said he already knew the answer.
“She will sleep in my room,” said Sarah, “and I will sleep on a cot.”
“And I will be there every day to help,” Abigail said and patted Franklin on the cheek, “so you will not lose out on the skills of your precious and indispensable clerk. I am certain that other women in the camp, such as Mistress Greene and Mistress Morgan will be more than willing to aid us.”
Daniel Morgan and his wife, along with several dozen riflemen, had recently arrived. Even though he too was ill, Morgan was a welcome addition to the list of general officers.
Doctor Young managed a smile. “I am thoroughly delighted as well as outranked.”
They took a cot from the hospital and transported the unconscious Winifred the short distance to Franklin’s quarters. Abigail Adams walked alongside the cot and gazed sadly on the injured young woman. Sarah walked behind, with Will.
“The doctor meant well,” she said.
“Doctors are bloody useless unless they can stitch a cut or fix a broken bone,” Will said. “When they start to think, they become dangerous because they feel they know so much and they truly don’t.”
Sarah slipped her arm in his. It seemed so natural and comfortable. “Now when are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. I should be back in no more than six weeks.”
“Will you be seeing young Lieutenant Wells?”
His mission was not public knowledge, but why not tell her? “I expect to meet with him somewhere near Detroit. Why?”
“Because my silly cousin Faith is fond of him and wants him safely back.”
“Do you want me safely back?” Will asked.
Sarah smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Very much so, Will Drake.”
* * *
From Fort Washington to Detroit was about three hundred miles. A lean and strong woodsman could stride out at four miles per hour for ten hours a day, which meant that he could make the trip in less than two grueling weeks.
Unfortunately, Will was still not in as good a shape as he once had been, and the route taken was not a straight line conducive to quick journeys. It took him several days to even begin to be able to sustain the long, loping stride of a true woodsman. Then he forced himself and the others to make up lost time. Their goal was the farm of a man named Jean Leduc.
Leduc’s farm stood directly across the river from Detroit. Like others, he owned a strip of the riverfront where he docked a small boat and a canoe. His actual farmland ran in a narrow band inland and well into the woods. From his cabin and barn, anyone could see much of what was going on across the river in Detroit, half a mile away.
Jean Leduc was a small, thin man about fifty. His hair was wild and scraggly and his eyes burned with hatred for the British. They had killed his brother on the Plains of Abraham in 1757 and wounded Jean in the same battle, which caused him to walk with a limp.
His left hand was mangled. He’d been briefly captured by Joseph Brant’s Iroquois, and a squaw had happily chewed parts of it off while he screamed in agony. This had greatly amused the Iroquois braves.
Leduc had no great love for the upstart Americans, either, but decided that anyone who wanted to kill British soldiers was the lesser of evils. At least the Americans alleged to tolerate Catholics, while the British often persecuted them. He had to admit, however, that the British had left his coreligionists in Quebec pretty much alone.
When Will arrived at the farm, he made sure he did so after crossing the river at night and downstream from the British fort and town. There were few people around, but why advertise his presence until and if it became necessary.
Leduc greeted him without much warmth and made him get into a barn where he waited with a surprised Owen Wells.
“Is this our prison, Owen?”
“No sir,” Wells grinned. “It’s just Leduc’s way of showing us this is his place and he’s in charge. It also means he’ll help us but he doesn’t love us. Although he doesn’t want too much attention drawn to us, he’s not really worried.”
And that was the beauty of the operation. As a semi-cripple, Leduc was always hiring men to help work his farm. Thus, the presence of one, two, or even three men was not unusual. Nor was it strange that they were generally transients who never stayed long. Leduc had a reputation as a bad-tempered Frenchman and a selfish bastard who frequently tried to cheat his help out of their wages.
They went to the barn’s second floor loft and looked out across the river onto Detroit. A number of distant buildings had lamps or candles glowing faintly through the night. They were close enough to see people walking around, and the superb Royal Navy telescope given him by Tallmadge brought them into even more detail. Outside the fort, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of campfires twinkled and flickered and showed the dim shapes of a multitude of white tents. It was an impressive display of British might. More than a score of flatboats or barges were arrayed along the riverside and others were under construction.