“Asa Boone was my hospital orderly in the last year of the war. We all called him Kentucky. Strong but compassionate, he proved willing to undertake the kinds of duties most people recoil from. There are men alive today because of his care and dedication. Since we were both from South Carolina, we decided to travel home together. After a couple of days on the road, I left him to set up our campsite, while I rode into the neighboring town to pick up fresh clothes and supplies. I returned after nightfall to find him tied to a tree and being mistreated by three men. Asa Boone spent three years in the war treating the weak, the suffering and the dying with tender kindness, and these animals were inflicting the kind of pain and humiliation few people can imagine and none should have to endure.”
“My God.” She clasped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes watered. When she lowered her fingers her lips were pinched and it was with visible effort that she spoke. “I had no idea such things happened. That poor man. What action did you take against the fiends who were doing that to him?”
“I killed them. All of them.”
This time her eyes went completely round in shock at his cold, unmerciful statement, and her jaw dropped. No doubt at that moment she considered him a fiend as well.
Perhaps she was right, yet Buck felt no remorse, no shame or guilt for what he’d done. Continuing to gaze across the deep waters Asa had found so inviting, he remained mute, daring not to add that, given a chance, he’d do it again—and without compunction.
He wasn’t surprised when she turned away from him, considering the horrors he’d described. In the empty, pulsing silence that followed, they both stared out to sea. What she said then, however, did surprise him.
“You remind me of my father. You’re both willing to go to whatever lengths are necessary to protect the people you love.”
Love. When had he last heard that word attributed to him? It was gratifying to hear, especially from this woman, but it was also humbling and intimidating. He cleared his throat.
“You do me too much honor. I took revenge on my friend’s enemies and I’ve tended his physical wounds. But I don’t know how to help him heal from the torments those savages inflicted. Perhaps when he gets home to his father and is back in familiar surroundings, doing what he loves, farming, he’ll be able to put all this behind him. I hope so.”
“Where is his home?”
“Portland Plantation near Savannah. His father’s the overseer there.”
Sarah froze. “Did you say Portland Plantation?”
Her tone had Buck pivoting to face her. “Is something wrong?”
She hesitated for moment. “You probably haven’t seen a newspaper in some time, so you wouldn’t know. Portland was directly in the line of Sherman’s march. When the owners refused to abandon the place, his troops encircled it, ran off the slaves, and rounded up the white people. They strung up the men. I don’t like to think what might have happened to the women. The Yankees then burned the buildings. People who’ve been by there since report nothing left but charred chimneys and blood-soaked weeds.”
“My God! Does the death and destruction ever end? I knew that devil had ravaged the countryside, but it never crossed my mind that Asa’s home might’ve been in the path of destruction.”
And Jasmine? Buck wondered. Was our plantation a victim as well?
“Fortunately they spared Charleston,” Sarah went on, “or my parents and I wouldn’t have a home either.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, but . . .” Buck shook his head. “How am I going to tell Asa the home he’s longing to return to is no more, that his father’s dead? This isn’t the time for him to find out his poppa might’ve been hanged by marauders.”
“The poor man. He’s already been through so much.”
“I won’t abandon him,” Buck declared categorically, “but taking him to Columbia with me is out of the question. He can’t tolerate a long trip on horseback or carriage, not until his back heals—and his mind. But I don’t know anyone in Charleston to leave him with.”
Sarah put her hand on Buck’s forearm. “Maybe we can return the favor you’re doing us, doctor. Let me talk to Momma. If there’s a way to help your friend, she’ll find it. She loves solving problems. In the meantime, if I may offer a suggestion—”
“Of course. I welcome your advice.”
She spoke softly, caringly. “Encourage him to talk about what he’s feeling. Men don’t like to do that. They accept bodily pain as part of physical healing. Well, emotional pain is part of mental healing. Sympathy from a good listener can work wonders. Ask any mother.”
Chapter SEVEN
As the harbor pilot guided the Shenandoah past the battered ramparts of Fort Sumter and steered toward the Cooper River docks on the Charleston peninsula, Buck tended to Asa’s wounds. His back was healing well.
“Asa,” he said, knowing he was about to inflict another emotional blow, “I was talking with Mrs. Drexel, and she tells me that although Sherman spared Savannah and Charleston, he wreaked a lot of havoc in the rest of South Carolina. She tells me Portland Plantation was in his path and didn’t do well.”
Asa’s posture stiffened. “What do you mean, didn’t do well?”
Buck hesitated, but there was no easy way to say it. “It was totally destroyed.”
The man sitting on the lower bunk didn’t flinch. His voice was even. “And my father?”
“Apparently all the men at Portland were killed. I’m sorry.”
Tears coursed down the young man’s face but he didn’t make a sound.
After several minutes, Buck said, “I’ve agreed to take Mrs. Drexel and her parents with me to Columbia so her father can see a physician there. As your friend I’d welcome your company, but as your doctor I think the trip would be too arduous and would delay your healing. I promise you, however, I’m not going anywhere until I’ve made arrangements for you.”
Asa’s face was stern, his voice flat. “I don’t have any friends in Charleston.”
“Tonight you and I’ll stay at the Isaac Hayne Hotel. Mrs. Drexel’s mother’s apparently acquainted with nearly everyone in town. She’s going to arrange for a place for you to stay while I’m away.”
“I’m not a child,” he objected angrily.
“No, you’re not, Asa. You’re a man. If the arrangements Sarah’s mother offers aren’t acceptable, I’ll stay here with you. They can go to Columbia on their own. You’re my first priority as my patient and as my friend.”
A moment passed. Asa’s watery eyes shifted. “How long will you be gone?” Clearly he didn’t want to be left alone.
“A week. Not more than two. If you need to contact me, I’ll give you the address of an old family friend in Columbia, Augustus Grayson. He’s the bank president there.”
Asa nodded and they returned to the deck. Buck stood at the rail and searched for Sarah and her family in the file of passengers beginning to leave the ship.
“My God!” His head jerked involuntarily.
A small man with shoulder-length red hair partially covering a rough bandage on his neck was descending the gangplank of an adjacent steamer. Buck stared with unbelieving eyes.
The redheaded man? His brother’s killer? Here in South Carolina? Was he really seeing him? Surely there was more than one male with red hair in the world. Or was this another hallucination?
As the figure melted into the crowd, Buck swore. The sniper he’d vowed to kill was escaping!