Samantha's Secret (A More Perfect Union Series Book 3) Read online

  "Benjamin, how fare you this morning?" Trent strode closer to Benjamin, his black leather bag in hand. He pressed his lips together, as though to prevent himself from letting slip his true opinion.

  "I'm feeling no better than yesterday or the day before." Benjamin pulled the light quilt up, clenching the hem with both hands. "How fare you?"

  "I am fine, thanks for asking. However, I'm deeply concerned for your welfare." Trent dropped his bag to the wood floor and regarded Samantha. "Your estimation of his condition?"

  His attention weighed on her, sparked a visceral response in her chest that spread throughout her body. A response she would ignore. "Weaker, still a touch feverish. The skin appeared to be resisting my ointments, so I've applied a stronger one."

  Lines appeared between his eyes at her words. "Resisting? How so?"

  "Possibly the first signs of gangrene on the lower edge of the wound." The spark of fear in his expression mirrored her own. She paused, considering her next words with care. "We may want to remove the dead flesh."

  Trent drew a breath and let it out in a rush. "My father recommends amputation when gangrene sets in. The sooner it is accomplished the better the prognosis for the patient."

  "Amputate?" Benjamin inhaled sharply and frowned. "No."

  Trent nodded, a grim expression blanketing his features. "I'm afraid we have no means with which to stop the progression of the disease other than cut it out, or off."

  Benjamin without an arm? Granted the wound was in the shoulder, but the closest location for the cut to be made would be at the joint. What if it spread in the opposite direction? Toward his head rather than down his arm? She'd assisted at amputations, and hoped to never witness one again. Most patients fainted with the first few strokes of the saw, but only after the agony rendered them senseless. Samantha shivered, imagining the trauma and pain followed by the horrendous recovery. What would he do after such a dangerous and life-changing surgery?

  "I shall not permit such an act." Samantha marched to face Trent. "You cannot do such a terrible thing to my friend."

  "Not even to save his life?" Trent bent to search in his bag, rummaging among metallic and leather items hidden from view. He withdrew a thin bladed hand saw, checked its sharpness, and then peered at Samantha. "Do not allow emotion to guide your decision."

  The points of the saw glinted in the morning light. Samantha swallowed the cry of dismay that the sight of the tool speared through her very soul. More appropriate for butchering than saving a man's life.

  "Trent, you must hear me." Benjamin shook his head, his lank, sweaty, black hair slapping his pallid cheeks. His eyes remained on the blade Trent held in the air. "No amputation. Not even to save my life. What kind of life would I have left without my arm?"

  "Miss Amy may well disagree, preferring you alive." Trent considered Benjamin's set jaw. "What would you have me do? I must proceed."

  "Nay, I say." Benjamin swallowed hard and clutched the quilt until he fairly mangled the colorful spread. "I'd rather die than be a partial man, handicapped for the remainder of my days. What kind of provider would I be in that state?" He glared at Trent, holding him still with the intensity of his expression.

  Trent grunted and shook his head slowly as he wrapped the blade in an oiled cloth and slipped the saw back into the confines of the leather bag. "Very well, but do not say I didn't warn you. I consulted my father, as he knows best in these matters with all his doctoring experience."

  "Nay, he does not." Samantha confronted Trent, standing too close for her peace of mind, but close enough to ensure he fully comprehended her position on the subject. "Gangrene is not always fatal. Not if it's caught early. I've turned it before."

  "See, she's had a different result than your father." Benjamin sank against the headboard again, hope flaring in his bloodshot eyes. "Listen to her. For now, I am exhausted. Help me recline so I may sleep."

  Trent stepped closer and helped ease Benjamin down into a prone position. "Rest easy, friend. We shall resolve your condition soon."

  Samantha dragged the covers over him with a final reminder to drink all of the tea. "I shall return tomorrow to check on you."

  When she turned to gather her belongings, Trent stopped her with a hand on her arm. The depth of his concern shook her almost as much as the sensations flooding her brain. "Come talk with me."

  She nodded, desperate for him to release her arm so her thoughts would untangle. After his hand fell away, she dragged in a silent breath and slowly exhaled. Calm eased through her, replacing the turmoil. She strolled after him into the common room where the cheery fire had burned away the earlier chill.

  He paused by the table, placing his black bag on the wood surface. He considered her for a moment. "You do know we may have no choice but to cut off his arm should the decay spread."

  The shock of his words made her mouth fall open. Anger mixed with a sense of betrayal flared fast and hot, searing her chest, at the implication of his statement. "You promised to not do so. More to the point, I promised to not allow you to do so."

  "Do not think for one moment I would allow my friend to die over his pride." Trent's brows drew down, a flash of pain dimming the vibrancy of his crystal blue eyes. "I may not have known him as long as you and your friends, but his friendship means a great deal to me."

  "Your friendship may be tested." She studied him, noted the tension in his shoulders, the grief hinted at in his eyes. Sensing his anguish, she relaxed her defensive posture. He surely wouldn't perform the surgery against his friend's wishes. As a doctor, he must honor his patient's desires, even if he did not agree. "Let us leave him to rest and the ointment to do its job."

  Trent raked a hand through shoulder-length sandy hair—why on Earth didn't he keep it tied up so it wouldn't tempt her?—and picked up his bag. "Very well. But know this, my dear..."

  She raised a brow at the daring endearment falling easily from his lips. "Yes?"

  "I have only his best interests in mind. Not yours."

  "As do I." What did he think, mayhap she cared more about herself than for her patient? Sure, her reputation stood to be helped or hindered by the outcome, judged on the success or failure of her ways, but Benjamin's health remained her primary concern. If need be, she'd bow to Trent's methods in order to best serve Benjamin. Of course, that wouldn't be necessary. "I shall do all in my power to ensure a full recovery."

  Trent motioned to the door with a swipe of his free hand. "Shall we?"

  Samantha headed toward the exit at the same time Trent moved to grasp the latch. She collided with him, bumping off his tall solid frame much like a billiard ball striking the padded edge of the table. His hand steadied her until she'd recovered her balance, but her senses reeled at the onslaught of sensation his light touch ignited. She really must rein in the errant response. Swallowing, she stepped sideways, breaking his contact.

  "My apologies, Miss Samantha." He bowed and straightened, eyes twinkling with mirth.

  She chuckled nervously and smoothed her skirt with one hand, gripping her bag in the other. Something devilish and unnerving lurked in his gaze and she looked away. "I should have waited for you to open the door. It is my fault."

  "I believe we were in too big a hurry. Shall we try again?" He strode over to the door, pulling it open and then ushering her through without further incident.

  They descended the flight of stairs and then made their way to Bay Street and its flurry of midmorning activity passing by. Several carriages and a host of people flowed before them. The increased pace of the town reflected the hope and relief of the people as true freedom from oppression loomed on the horizon like the sun rising to greet the dawn.

  "Good day, Miss Samantha. Until tomorrow." He tipped his hat and sauntered away in the general direction of the Exchange, his wide smile lingering in her mind's eye.

  With each step he took, she breathed easier and her senses returned to normal. At the same time, her heart sank when she realized normal no longer app
ealed when compared to the heady heights his touch evoked. Fiddlesticks.

  * * *

  "Milk or sugar?" Emily waited for Samantha's response, the silver spoon hovering over the steaming tea cup.

  The Sullivans' parlor had become a second home to Samantha over the past year. She perused the familiar opulent furnishings surrounding her. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined the far wall, the shelves fairly groaning under the weight of the many books and decorative objects they held. Heavy drapes covered the two front windows flanking a stack of ornate trunks. After the Britons left, taking their suspicious, prying eyes with them, perhaps the drapes would be opened more often. Oriental carpets lay beneath the cherry and mahogany chairs and settee. A merry blaze filled the fireplace, its pops and hisses comforting in the lulls of their conversation. Amber and garnet port filled cut glass decanters on the small table between the chairs.

  The same port used to make their vow to remain unmarried back in October. Of course, her friends made the promise to protect their broken hearts, but those vows had been destined to be dashed against the rocks. Both Emily and Amy cared too much and too deeply for their men to remain spinsters. Samantha's vow, however, held firm. It must. She'd loved with all she had once, and would never subject her heart to such a grievous pain again. On the low table in front of her, a matching pair of silver plates holding biscuits and dried fruit reflected the flickering firelight along with her frown. She cleared her expression and regarded her friend. Emily served in the role of hostess with easy grace, her countenance curious at the prolonged delay before Samantha answered her question.

  "A little of each, please." Samantha took the proffered cup and saucer, anxious for the tea's calming influence. She sniffed the pleasing aroma and sipped, the hot sweet liquid settling her frayed emotions. So many questions and worries floated in her mind, both puzzling and disturbing. She decided to ask the most benign question haunting her thoughts. "How does Frank feel about the controversy sparked by the mysterious Penny Marsh's essays? Why does he dare print them?"

  Emily's cup wobbled in the saucer as she gripped it with both hands. The liquid sloshed out, casting drops of tea onto her nut brown dress. She set the saucer on the table and then dabbed the damp spots with a lace-edged linen napkin. Satisfied, she gracefully lifted the saucer again before slowly focusing on Samantha. "I assume he would not publish them if he did not feel they have merit. Why do you ask?"

  "I suspect I know the author's true identity." Samantha sipped her tea, detecting a nervous edge to her friend's actions. "She lives here in town, unless I am mistaken."

  Emily's eyes looked everywhere but at Samantha while the cup clinked against the saucer. Her lips parted, to say something or in surprise. Her gaze slid to Samantha, eyes wide. "You think so?"

  "I've suspected for some time you are Penny Marsh." Samantha lifted her cup in salute. "I applaud your talents as much as your views and audacity."

  "Thank you." Pink appeared on Emily's cheeks as she focused on Samantha. "How did you guess?"

  Samantha chuckled and shook her head, long black curls brushing her shoulders. "Little slips of the tongue and pieces of paper exchanging hands. The number of nights you've had little sleep."

  "So obvious?" Emily flinched, though a sly smile eased onto her lips. "Surely Father does not know."

  "As far as I am aware, he does not." Samantha sipped her tea, grateful for the revival of her spirits. "Will you tell him?"

  Emily gaped, panic etched in her expression. "No. Never. He'd forbid me to lower myself to publish anything. Then he'd remove my quill and paper. Please, do not breathe a word to him."

  "Do not fret." She raised and lowered a hand, palm down, several times. "I won't say a word. When does the next one appear?"

  "In tomorrow's paper." Emily relaxed from her panicked posture. "It's a demand for equal opportunities for all children. Frank thought it rather fine."

  A grin spread on Samantha's face. "Anything you do, Emily, I'm sure he approves. He's besotted."

  Emily's blush deepened. "And I with him."

  Samantha nodded once. With their marriage only a month away, their feelings for each other should only grow stronger. "Have you and Amy decided where to hold the joint ceremony?"

  Emily poured more tea into her cup, stirred in a half spoon of sugar, and then laid the tiny spoon on the saucer with a delicate tink. "Frank graciously offered his entire house for the event. The redecorating will be completed before Christmas. The parlor is going to be entirely rearranged to allow for the mass of guests and flowers I anticipate."

  "At least the Britons relinquished the property back into his hands. It's better than losing everything to their avarice." Samantha lowered the saucer to rest on one knee. "Although they stripped out everything of value, he retained ownership."

  "I certainly agree with you." Emily set her saucer on the table and folded her hands in her lap. "When the Britons eventually evacuate the town—as soon as there is adequate fair weather I understand—we can relax a bit on that particular score."

  Their departure could not occur soon enough. Samantha took a long drink and then placed her empty cup and saucer alongside Emily's. "So many changes loom before us. Each family will be faced with challenging and difficult choices. One of my patients is even considering leaving town along with the British."

  "I'm not surprised. Many loyalists will flee from the anticipated persecution by the patriots." Emily relaxed against the back of the settee and leveled a cool stare at Samantha. "You have a loyalist for a patient? Are you not worried about payment and perhaps even treachery?"

  "Political leanings do not enter into the conversation when someone is in need of my talents." At least, not that she'd witnessed. Emily's point may prove a valuable insight, however. She'd be on her guard for such retaliations. "Besides, I did not say they are loyalists."

  Emily inclined her head in apology. "Granted. At least we have nothing to fear with regard to retribution, being patriots, I mean."

  Unease flowed into Samantha's heart. The image of her parents turning away from her toast to the country's future, followed by the tense exchange in the parlor regarding the role of family in times of crisis, flashed in her memory. "Indeed."

  The back door banged shut, interrupting their conversation. Heavy footsteps pounded down the hall. Samantha raised a brow and angled her head as she regarded Emily. "Your father?"

  Emily's quick besotted grin and head bob suggested Frank most likely had arrived as well. Samantha returned the smile, happy Emily had found her heart's desire. She didn't begrudge her friends falling in love and marrying, but she would never again permit herself to succumb to a man's affections. Even if she imprudently reacted to his company.

  "Emily? Where are you?" Joshua Sullivan filled the door with his broad shoulders and imposing height. "Ah, there you are, my dear."

  Frank followed Captain Sullivan into the parlor. "Good day, Miss Samantha."

  "Frank. Captain." Samantha nodded to each in greeting.

  Frank sought out Emily, striding quickly to her side to kiss her hand. "Good afternoon, Em. How fare you?"

  "I'm well, thank you." Emily blushed and lowered her hand to motion to the tea service. "Would you care for a cup of Samantha's fine blend of tea?" At his nod, she addressed the captain. "Father?"

  "Of course." Captain Sullivan dropped onto one of the imported cherry wood chairs, stretching his booted feet before him. "I'm pleased to see you, Miss Samantha."

  "Likewise, Captain." Samantha smoothed her skirts with both hands and then rested one on her injured thigh. She longed to massage where it ached but did not want to draw attention to her ongoing recovery. Trent's earlier comment regarding the failure of her ointment to heal her own wound still rankled, and worse made her wonder if he were correct in his judgment.

  Frank occupied the other chair closest to Emily. Emily poured and served their tea, adding the preferred amounts of sugar and milk for her companions from long experience.

&nb
sp; "I'm sure we didn't mean to interrupt your conversation, ladies." Frank lifted the cup, wrapping his long fingers around the porcelain. "What were you discussing when we arrived?"

  Samantha shifted to ease the throbbing in her leg. "How loyalists will be treated after the Britons leave."

  "The list continues to grow of the British sympathizers' real and personal property in town which will be subject to confiscation the day the patriots retake control of Charles Town." Captain Sullivan raised his cup and drank the steaming liquid before pinning his steady gaze on Samantha. "I'm sorry to say your father's property was added to the list as of this morning."

  "Excuse me?" She couldn't possibly have heard him correctly. Dismay clogged her throat. "Father's property is to be auctioned along with the rest? That cannot possibly be correct."

  "My deepest regrets, Miss Samantha, but your father openly declared himself a loyalist." The captain shrugged one shoulder. "I cannot fathom his logic, but the result of his decision means he'll lose everything he worked for over the last decade. The state passed the Act of Confiscation unanimously, and that means they will claim his house and his business, as well as all its contents at the time of their appropriation by the state. I'm afraid you will all need to find another place to live."

  "But Samantha?" Emily leaned forward in her angst. "Where will you go? Please do not tell me you'd leave. You cannot. Not now."

  "This is such a surprise I do not know what to think or how to react." Samantha had never considered the possibility of being forced from her home. Sure, her folks may leave her in town alone, but to have all of the property taken from her by the state she loved? The very idea sparked outrage simmering in her stomach. "I won't move. I can't. My garden forms the basis of my practice."