A Nurse for Mitch Page 2

  “No,” Henrietta gasped. “Miz Lydia, ya should’ve left him. Them men are trash.”

  Lydia set her cup down. “Last night, Samuel told me he’d seen this man before, but he wasn’t like the others.”

  “What does Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson think of that man bein’ here?”

  “My uncle said the man could stay, but when he awakens, we must take him to the hospital.”

  “Well, I pray for his quick recovery, then.”

  Lydia didn’t dare mention that the man’s injury was a bullet wound. She didn’t need the housekeeper in hysterics. “So do I.” She patted the woman’s arm and moved past her, leaving the kitchen.

  The few little naps she’d taken during the night were not enough, and she feared she might not be able to keep awake for her shift tonight. She’d definitely have to dunk her head in the cold water of the creek out back in order to wake up enough to do her job. She’d never been one to drink more than one cup of coffee.

  As she headed toward the guest bedroom which happened to be on the first floor of her uncle’s two-story home, footsteps pounded on the stairs. Lydia glanced up to see her younger sister, Olivia, hurrying down. Olivia was nearly eighteen, and she wanted to be a nurse, just like her older sister. It made Lydia’s heart swell with happiness that her sister would want to follow in her footsteps.

  “Lydia!” Olivia jumped the last two steps to land in front of her. “I heard we have an injured man in the guest bedroom. Can I go see him?”

  Excitement lit up Olivia’s face, making her grayish-brown eyes sparkle. Sometimes Lydia wondered if her sister’s enthusiasm came from wanting to be a nurse, or because she enjoyed flirting outrageously with the men.

  Holding up a hand, Lydia stopped her sister. “He’s not awake, and until that happens, you can not go in there.”

  Olivia pouted, flipping a curled lock of light brown hair over her shoulder. “You are no fun, Lydia.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you realize this is the most excitement we’ve had in this house since—”

  “Yes, I know,” Lydia quickly replied, not wanting to think about what her sister was referring to. It was exactly two years ago this month when Adam Finch had proposed, and her family celebrated here at the house. Then, one week later, Adam enlisted in the army. She still heard from him from time to time, but he was busy doing President Johnson’s business in Washington. Thinking about Adam only reminded her about her near spinster status, and especially, how much she missed him.

  “I promise,” Lydia said before Olivia could add anything else, “to keep you abreast on the injured patient.”

  Olivia straightened her shoulders and nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Continuing on her way to the guest room, Lydia hoped the patient was awake. She needed answers about his identity. It was difficult not to jump to conclusions when seeing a gunshot wound in a patient, and she really needed to know if she’d unintentionally endangered her family.

  She walked into the room. The window was open to let the summer’s warm air inside. She had tried to clean up the room last night, in hopes that the stale stench of blood wouldn’t be noticeable. Someone had even brought in a vase with fresh flowers. If she had to guess who’d done this, she would think it was Olivia, sneaking in the room even though she acted like she hadn’t. Aunt Bea wouldn’t dare step into the room knowing there was a stranger in here. Surprisingly enough, Aunt Bea hadn’t chastised Lydia for not taking the injured man to the hospital. Then again, Lydia hadn’t seen her aunt yet this morning, so there was still time.

  Taking soft steps, she moved to the bed. The man was lying on his side. Pillows were propped behind him to keep his injured shoulder elevated. Last night as she cleaned the wound, she was tempted to go digging for the bullet that was still lodged somewhere in his arm, but she didn’t dare. She wasn’t a doctor.

  The bandage over his wound hadn’t bled. That was a good sign.

  During her examination of him last night while Uncle Albert and Samuel were still in the room, she had determined he had some bruised ribs. The man’s body flinched when she had touched his bruises. Thankfully, she couldn’t detect any more broken bones on him.

  Uncle Albert had instructed her to leave the room so that they could change the man’s clothes and get him wearing something clean. Now, as she studied the stranger’s face, she realized her uncle and Samuel must have tried to wash him, as well. Indeed, the man had been filthy when they brought him in. The lower half of his face was still covered with a long beard, he looked as though he might be a handsome man. His bare chest and arms appeared thin, but she could tell that he’d once been a well-built man. Somehow, he’d lost a lot of weight, and she wondered what his circumstances could have been to make him this way.

  A moan rattled from the man’s throat, and he rolled his head on the pillow. One side of his face had been scratched up. Of course, that probably happened when she hit him with the carriage. She concentrated on his eyes, praying he’d come awake now.

  She moved to the bottom of the bed and wrapped her fingers around the bed frame. Her heartbeat quickened and she prepared herself for their first meeting. She hoped he wasn’t an outlaw, but then if he was, she would have helped with his capture.

  The man’s eyes opened, and he blinked a couple of times. His gaze moved around the room slowly. His muscles stiffened. She suspected he was trying to gain his bearings and remember what happened to him.

  His gaze stopped on her. She held her breath, waiting for his response. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

  “Where am I?” he cleared his throat. “Am I in Heaven?”

  * * * *

  Not only couldn’t he remember what had happened to put him in this place, but he really didn’t know what this place was. The room was bright and welcoming to his sore eyes. But, the vision of loveliness standing at the foot of the bed, wearing a lavender dress as her dark brown hair encased her perfectly-shaped face, he thought for sure he’d died. However, it was the fiery pain in his shoulder, and the way his ribs hurt when he breathed, that let him know he might be in purgatory, instead.

  The woman shook her head. “This isn’t Heaven. You’re in my uncle’s home. I’m a nurse and I’ll be taking care of you because of the accident.”

  His head pounded as he tried to think of what she might be referring to, but all that was in his head was fog. The pain shooting through him wasn’t making matters any better, either. “What accident?”

  Her forehead creased. “You ran out in front of my buggy and I hit you. I didn’t mean to and I’m very sorry. I brought you here as fast as I could to stop the bleeding.”

  “Bleeding?” He tried to move his left arm, but the pain increased. He glanced over his shoulder, noticing for the first time the white bandage around his shoulder… and that he wore no shirt.

  Closing his eyes, he groaned. Now he remembered… well, sort of. He had been traveling for many miles and many days and had no idea where he was. He was weak and dizzy from going so long without food. He remembered staggering out onto a road and being hit by something very hard. At least he had remembered that part of his life. It was too bad that he couldn’t remember much more.

  “Sir? What is your name?” she asked.

  Name? That was the very reason he’d traveled from one town to the next these past few months, trying to see if anyone recognized him. He had no memory at all. Was it so much to ask that he at least remember his name?

  “I wish I knew,” he muttered sadly.

  The first thing he remembered was waking up near a stream, bleeding from his shoulder. He was cold and hungry, and obviously, severely injured. He had no idea how he got that way, or for that matter, anything else about his past. The realization of not knowing anything was worse than he could have ever imagined.

  “Who are you?” he wondered.

  “I’m Lydia Simmons. Albert Wilkinson is my uncle, and he owns this farm. You’re resting in his house.”

  He slowly shook his
head. “I don’t think I’ve heard of your uncle, or his farm. What town is this?”

  Her gaze narrowed on him. “Laramie, Wyoming.”

  “Wyoming? How did I get here?”

  She took a step around the edge of the bed. “Are you telling me you don’t remember anything?”

  He closed his eyes and breathed through the pain, trying to open the recesses of his memory. Nothing. “That’s right. I don’t have any recollection of my past.”

  “You don’t even know your own name?”

  He rubbed his forehead. There had to be some sort of recollection – something to let him know who he was. But, every time he tried to remember, the throbbing in his head turned his stomach and nearly had him passing out. Staying focused wouldn’t happen yet.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her pretty face again. She was closer to him now. Seeing her concern made him relax. She’d told him she was a nurse. That, too, made him relax.

  Suddenly, an unrecognizable voice sprang to his memory. A woman was calling out a name… “I think,” he said hesitantly, “that my name is Mitch.”

  She stopped and her eyes widened. “Mitch is your name?”

  “I… think.” Groaning he turned and buried his face in the clean-smelling pillow. How long had it been since he’d smelled something so fresh? “All I remember,” he continued, turning to look at her again, “is that I’ve been wandering around for months, trying to find my memories.”

  “Are you telling me that you just woke up one day and couldn’t remember anything?”

  “Yes.” He scanned her face. She had pretty blue eyes with specks of gray, and he still thought her face was angelic. Her thick, brown hair hung long over her shoulders, but the sides by her ears were pulled back with combs. Whether he was in Heaven or not, he was sure close. She had the cutest thin nose, and her lips were full and raspberry colored, and heart shaped. There was an adorable little dimple on her right cheek that showed itself every so often.

  “If you cannot remember anything,” she asked, “then how do you know Mitch is your name?”

  “My memory heard someone saying it, and… the name feels familiar to me.”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Does the name Peter Mitchell sound familiar at all?”

  THREE

  Lydia stared at the stranger for the longest time, spellbound by his story. Yet, she didn’t know if he was the deserter Captain Lewis and Mr. Heath had talked about or not. It surprised her how nice looking he really was, even with his bushy beard. Once he had opened his eyes, they were a beautiful green color. She had never seen eyes that shade. Could he really be the man Captain Lewis warned her about?

  The noise of dishes clattering outside the bedroom door pulled Lydia out of her trance, and she quickly moved to the door and opened it. Henrietta entered, carrying a tray of what appeared to be a bowl of broth and a cup of herbal tea.

  “Well, it looks like our patient is awake now.” She grinned big. “My name is Henrietta. I’ll help ya until ya start feelin’ better.”

  Mitch stared blankly at the round woman, and slowly, his mouth stretched into a grin. One side was higher than the other. Of course, Lydia knew most people’s reactions when meeting the cheerful housekeeper.

  He struggled, but he finally sat upright. “It is nice to meet you, Henrietta. My name is Mitch.”

  Lydia had thought his eyes were pretty before, but when he smiled, they put her under some odd spell, along with Henrietta, and Lydia was suddenly struck dumb. His smile enhanced his handsome features ten times over.

  “Are you hungry?” Lydia asked, taking the tray from Henrietta and setting it on Mitch’s lap.

  “Yes, I’m famished.” He picked up the broth and sipped, before looking back at Lydia. “At least I remember that.” Another grin touched his face before he continued drinking the broth.

  “Ya don’t remember?” Henrietta asked.

  “We think he’s lost his memory,” Lydia answered for him.

  The housekeeper gasped. “Well, I may not know who ya are or where ya came from, but I do know one thing. Ye were once a Yankee solider.”

  Lydia inhaled sharply. Why in the world would Henrietta say that?

  Mitch lowered the bowl from his mouth. “Why would you think I’m a Yankee soldier?”

  “‘Cause of yer boots.” Henrietta pointed to the boots near the end of the bed where Uncle Albert had placed them after removing them from the stranger’s feet. “Those are Yankee soldiers’ boots.”

  Lydia couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized that before now. Her gaze jumped to the man’s ragged clothes hanging over the chair near the hearth. Although his clothes were ragged and worn, she could now see they were the uniform belonging to a Union solider.

  Mitch sat silent for a few moments, staring at the empty bowl still in his hands. Finally, he raised his gaze to the housekeeper. “Is that good or bad?”

  Henrietta let out a loud laugh. “If ya don’t know the difference, then ye’ve lost yer memory for sure. And if ya don’t know the difference between the two, that’s fine by me.”

  Lydia covered her hand over her mouth, hiding her smile. Henrietta had been born and raised in Georgia, but because she was the housekeeper for Uncle Albert, the woman had learned during the war not to talk about where she was born.

  “As soon as he has strength,” Lydia said, “I’ll need to take him to the hospital for the doctor to look him over.”

  “Well, then this broth ain’t going to do much good.” Henrietta moved to Mitch and took the empty bowl away. “I’ll be back lickity-split with some solid food.” She bustled to the door, but then stopped and peeked at him again over her shoulder. “But y’all better put on a shirt before I get back. Miz Lydia here shouldn’t have to see a half-naked man in her own home.”

  Embarrassment swept through Lydia, and she wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. She was happy to know that Henrietta thought of Lydia as her daughter, but sometimes the woman just didn’t know when to keep her thoughts from spilling out of her mouth.

  “Let me assist you with that.” She moved to the chair where his clothes were hung. They were damp, which meant that Henrietta must have washed them some time last night.

  “Thank you, Miss Simmons… It is Miss, isn’t it?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Yes. I’m not married.” She moved to a drawer to see if there was a man’s nightshirt folded and placed inside. If not, she didn’t know what to cover Mitch’s muscular chest with.

  “I hope I’m not out of place for saying this, but how can a beautiful woman like yourself be unattached? Aren’t there any men in this town called Laramie?”

  Another blush warmed her cheeks again. She really wished she could maintain composure. She was above this schoolgirl emotion. “Yes. There are several available men, but I’m not looking. I’m actually engaged.”

  “Oh.” His expression was one of disappointment. “When is the wedding?”

  She pulled out another drawer when not finding anything in the first one. “When he is finished with his assignments. He is in the army, and he’s currently stationed in Washington, helping President Johnson.”

  Apparently, this room was not stocked with men’s nightshirts. She turned toward him and caught his heart-warming smile. No longer did he look disappointed. Instead, his green eyes twinkled, and there was a little color in his cheeks.

  Lydia held her breath. She’d seen this before, where patients fall in love with their doctors – or nurses – just because they are caring for them. Yet, she just told him she was engaged. Then again, Adam Finch was not here to defend himself.

  “Well, I can’t seem to find a shirt for you,” she walked toward him, “so we might just have to wrap you in a blanket until we find some covering for your chest.”

  She picked up a nearby blanket and moved behind him to drape it over his shoulders. The fresh bright red stain on his bandage caught her attention. Why was it bleedi
ng?

  “Oh, dear.” She dropped the blanket on the chair and hurried to where she’d kept the bandages.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You’ve started bleeding.”

  She came back to him and helped him to lie on his right shoulder again, keeping the injury up to where she could work on it. With scissors, she snipped away the bloody bandage and tried cleaning the wound again. There hadn’t been a blood stain when she first looked at it not too long ago, but then he’d awakened and… sat up.

  Releasing a sigh, she shook her head, continuing to dab the wound, but blood kept oozing out. “Mitch, this is going to hurt a little, but I need to add pressure to stop the bleeding.”

  “Do what you must.”

  “If it becomes too painful, just bite the pillow.”

  He let out a small chuckle. “Bite the pillow? That doesn’t sound like much fun at all.”

  She pressed her palms on the wound, and a low moan shook his chest. Hurting her patients was the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn’t have him bleeding to death, either. “Stay still.”

  “I’m… trying,” he said in a tight voice.

  Lydia continued to swab around the wound, and soon, the blood flow eased up. She breathed easier now, knowing this was working. But now the problem was, why was movement increasing the blood flow? He definitely couldn’t go to the hospital today – not until he healed.

  After a few minutes, she was able to rewrap his shoulder with fresh bandages. Placing one hand on his bandaged shoulder and the other hand on his bare chest, she very slowly moved him back on the bed. She placed a few pillows behind him to prop him up slightly.

  His face was pale, which she suspected it would be, and yet when he looked at her, his gaze was warm. She really needed to stop admiring his green eyes, and especially stop monitoring his feelings as his orbs changed colors.