The Baby Found at Dawn (Preview)

Prologue

1863

Gettysburg

Nothing made sense anymore. Levi was vaguely aware that he was moving, trees and sky blurring far above his head. He lifted an arm, marveling at the way the light glinted through his spread fingers. 

He was lucky to have fingers left at all. His other arm was a bloody stump. 

No, that wasn’t true. He had both of his arms. He was thinking of that other man, the one who’d lain in the mud beside him, eyes glazing over and face whitening as the life bled out of him. He wasn’t entirely sure whether the screams he could hear were real or whether his fading mind conjured them up. Did it matter who was who anymore? They were all just a jumble of arms, legs, and torsos, like toys discarded by some monstrous child. 

For some reason, this seemed funny, and Levi chuckled aloud. 

“He’s alive, then, at least,” came a disembodied voice from above his head. 

“Thank God. I was getting tired of just carrying bodies around.”

Levi blinked, squinting up into the sun. Of course, he was being carried on a stretcher, with one man at his head and another at his feet. That explained the movement, at least. It explained why he couldn’t smell the copper tang of blood and gore as strongly as before and why they appeared to be going uphill, away from the mire and horror of the battlefield. 

“Where are we going?” he managed, and apparently, he spoke well enough to be understood. 

“Medical tents,” one of the men responded, not even glancing down at Levi. “You’re in good enough shape to be saved. Lucky you, eh?”

Levi said nothing for a moment, trying to force thoughts through his aching, groggy head. He didn’t dare risk a look down at his body – not that his pounding head and blurry vision would allow him to look – but he was fairly sure all of his limbs were there. 

What injury did he have? 

The answer came quickly when he shifted enough to send a hot, shooting pain through his right leg. He groaned aloud, pain making him see double. The stretcher-bearers didn’t even look down. 

They’ve seen a great deal worse, I imagine. 

His vision blurred a little more, and he was vaguely aware of voices and clamor approaching. The overwhelming smell of blood and misery was the last thing he noticed before he slipped into unconsciousness. 

***

“He’s not doing well.”

“I know, I know. What would you have me do, Nurse? We have too few supplies and too many patients. Watch over him as best you can and keep me updated on his condition. Is the wound festering?”

“No, I have kept it as clean as I can. I have been reading a medical journal claiming proper hygiene …”

“Yes, yes, Nurse, that’s quite enough. You may read what you like in your own time, but let’s keep things professional here, yes? You do have a taste for odd Far Eastern ideas, I must say. How is the patient’s fever?”

“Still high, Doctor. He has not opened his eyes since he arrived.”

“Perhaps he never will.”

There was a little silence after that. 

Levi tried to open his eyes, but his face seemed oddly hot and swollen, his eyes crusted together. The headache was worse than ever. He soon gave up. The voices, one male and one female, were not familiar to him, and he could only hear them over the noise and shouting because they were directly beside his bed. 

When had he been transferred from the stretcher to this pallet bed? Where was he? 

A medical tent, most likely, he thought. The sound of footsteps receded from his bedside, but Levi couldn’t shake the idea that somebody was still there. 

Foolish. Of course, people are still there. There are dozens of people probably within touching distance. 

Still, he opened his mouth and tried to speak. He’d intended to ask where he was, but all that came out was a dry rasp. 

“You must be thirsty,” came a female voice. “Here. Take slow, small sips.”

A strong hand slid behind his head, lifting him from the pillow, and the cool rim of a cup was placed at his lips. Despite the warning, Levi gulped frantically at the water inside, spluttering and half-choking. It was warm and had likely been sitting out for hours. Still, it was water, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The cup was removed sooner than he would have liked, and his head was eased back onto the pillow. 

“Steady on,” came the soothing voice again. “We have plenty of clean water. You won’t go thirsty, I promise. You should sleep now.”

Levi swallowed dryly. The water wasn’t enough, but he could already feel it sloshing around in his empty stomach and guessed that any more would lead to him vomiting it up again. 

“Am I … am I going to die?”

“I won’t let you die.”

That was the last thing Levi heard before he slipped into unconsciousness again. 

***

Later, Levi would learn that he had spent close to a week in the medical tent, drifting in and out of consciousness, close to death. The time had passed oddly, lasting an eternity, and yet gone in a blink. 

Now and then, he would be awakened by a cool hand on his brow. 

“You must drink,” came the now-familiar voice of the nurse, time and time again. Or “You must eat–come, it’s just a little bit of oatmeal. Just one bite.”

He never quite had the strength to sit up or to open his eyes properly. He tried more than once, but the light seemed blinding, and he could never see more of the nurse than a vaguely female head and shoulders leaning over him, haloed with a painfully bright light. 

And then, quite abruptly, his eyes shot open one crisp morning, and he knew that he wasn’t going to die. 

Levi turned over, still squinting in the light. The heat and swelling in his face had gone down, it seemed, and he could open his eyes and look around. 

He was indeed in a medical tent, but it seemed much less busy than before. 

Because many of the patients have died, he thought and shuddered. The surviving patients were in various states of recovery, some asleep, some sitting up or at least awake, talking amongst themselves. Crisp, white-suited nurses strode here and there, serious and efficient. 

His limbs felt like jelly, but he was able to lift the blanket draped over his torso to take a look at himself. A thick white bandage was wrapped around his leg, and he could feel another bandage at the back of his head. 

“You’re awake,” came a voice, and he found himself blinking up at a harried-looking man, bespectacled and younger than Levi might have expected. “I am Doctor Smith. We thought you would die, you know. You had a head injury that we didn’t notice right away and got a rather nasty fever. You’ll live, though, with just a few scars. You’re lucky.”

“I am lucky,” Levi managed. His voice seemed strained and unused, and he was desperate for a drink of water. The doctor didn’t seem to think of that, though, and only made a few notes in a notebook. 

“You were very feverish, as I said. You called out for your parents, and somebody called … Catherine?” He flashed a knowing smile down at Levi. “Your sweetheart, perhaps?”

Levi closed his eyes. “My sister.”

“I see. Well, how are you feeling?”

“Weak as a kitten.”

“That’s to be expected. You seem strong, though. You’ll recover. Another few days, and we’ll have to move you along – we need the beds. Gettysburg will be remembered in the history books for a long time, I think.”

“Let’s hope it’s for the right reasons,” Levi managed. The doctor shot him an odd look but said nothing. He turned as if to go, and Levi spoke again. “What about the nurse?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “What nurse? There are countless nurses here.”

“No, the one who took care of me. It was always the same woman; I remember that much. Without her, I think I would have died. I don’t know her name and want to thank her properly.”

The doctor scratched his head with the tip of his pencil. “Well, how old was she? What did she look like?”

“I didn’t get a good look at her.”

“Then I can’t help you. I have no idea who you’re talking about. Do you think I know the names of all these nurses?”

Levi bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to inform the doctor that it was the nurse who had saved his life, not him. 

“I think you had a conversation with her, close enough for me to hear. You said something about Far Eastern journals or something like that?”

The doctor’s face lit up. “Ahh, yes! I know the nurse you are referring to. She’s a nice girl but has the oddest ideas. I’m afraid she’s been moved to another unit.”

Levi deflated. “Oh. Well, I wanted to thank her.”

“What for? She was only doing her job. I don’t mean to offend you, but I daresay she’s forgotten all about you already.”

That stung. Oh, Levi knew fine well it was true – the nurse had probably saved more lives than she could ever remember – but still, it hurt to be reminded of how unimportant he was. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he managed at last. The doctor flashed him a quick, pitying smile. 

“Don’t worry. You won’t be the first man to develop a powerful fancy for one of the nurses. Some of them are quite pretty girls, and of course, they’re good at alleviating pain and discomfort, which goes a long way towards goodwill.”

“It’s not like that,” Levi answered, peeved. “She saved my life. At the very least, she deserves a proper thanks. I didn’t even see what she looked like.”

“Hmm. Well, as I said, she isn’t in this unit anymore, and I have no idea where she is now. My apologies.”

“It’s fine,” Levi mumbled. It was, of course, not fine, but he was too tired to argue. It was only after the doctor shrugged and moved away that it occurred to him that he could have asked for her name and sent her a note. 

Perhaps it was best that he didn’t. The doctor was right – why should she even remember him? 

He relaxed into his single pillow, staring up at the canvas ceiling. Pain throbbed in various parts of his body, and the wound in his leg itched as healing wounds often did. 

It’s going to take a long time to recover from this, he thought. Not just the injuries. 

Now that he was conscious, he could think a little more clearly. Memories were crowding in. Memories of blood and gore and mud and screaming, of men begging for help that was not going to come, of horses screaming and guns firing until nobody could hear a thing beyond the ringing in their ears. 

No. Don’t think about that. Think about home. Think about Ma and Pa and Catherine and the ranch. Think about that. He closed his eyes. 

I can’t wait to get home. 

Chapter One 

1866 

A Train Headed West

“We’re not being followed, Lil. You can relax now,” Clara said, settling back against the hard wooden seats. 

Liliane said nothing. Clara always had the habit of looking on the bright side of life. That was fine, but sometimes, it was better to consider the worst-case scenario. 

Still, the fear had been receding as they steadily left Philadelphia behind. Maybe everything was going to be okay after all. 

Aunt Margo sat opposite the two girls, her bulk taking up most of the seat. Of course, she wasn’t Liliane’s aunt, but they’d told everybody who would listen that she and Clara were sisters, traveling with their aunt, and it was easier to stick to that story. Of course, there were some problems – Clara and Liliane could not have looked more different. Liliane was fair, with dark blonde hair, brown eyes that did not match her coloring, and she was strong from her years of nursing. She had been complimented on her looks enough times to consider herself beautiful, although that was generally something that got in the way more often than it helped. 

Clara, on the other hand, was tall, skinny, and dark, with extremely beautiful green-gold eyes, and the widest mouth Liliane had ever seen on a person. She had been described as homely, and Liliane always took exception to that sort of comment. 

Still, plenty of sisters didn’t resemble each other very much, and Liliane didn’t think they made too odd of a trio. Besides, the name on Liliane’s ticket was Kacey Smith, just in case. 

“We’re passing into Indiana now,” Aunt Margo said. “Soon be there.”

Soon be there. Their journey had taken weeks, and for most of that time, Liliane had been terrified of discovery, of being followed, of being dragged back by her hair to face whatever justice would be meted out. 

It’s not justice. I’m innocent. 

Still, she could still hear the shouts and screams in the back of her mind. 

“It’s your fault, Liliane Monroe! It’s all your fault! If it weren’t for you, my baby boy would be alive right now!”

She shivered, squeezing her eyes closed. 

A hand touched her knuckles, and she opened her eyes to see Clara looking at her a little worriedly. 

“Hey. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Clara. Honest, I’m fine. Enough about me, though. You must be getting pretty nervous. This is the first time you’ve met him in person, right?”

Clara smiled faintly. “Yeah, although we described each other in our letters. We won’t get married right away, just to be sure we really like each other. I’m … I’m looking forward to meeting him. You know how I always wanted to get married, and he said he does, too. It’s perfect, really. I don’t know why you didn’t consider it for yourself. Don’t you want to get married?”

Liliane swallowed hard. “No, I don’t think so. Not after … not after Daniel.”

There was an awkward pause after that. Clara exchanged a knowing look with her aunt, but they carefully didn’t mention the almost-engagement. 

“There’s lots of men who want wives,” Clara said carefully. “Good men, I mean, out where there aren’t many women. You could get yourself a good husband easily. Why don’t you try it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see myself as a mail-order bride, I’m afraid. I’m sure it’ll work out for you – you’re kind, sweet, and good-natured; any man would be lucky to have you. I’m a little pricklier than that.”

“Ah, that’s the nurse in you,” Clara remarked, nudging her friend with a grin. “You’re too used to telling folks what to do.”

Liliane gave a snort. “You’re right there. Too bad I’m not right a little more often.”

Clara’s hand tightened on Liliane’s. “Don’t talk like that. What happened to that little boy wasn’t your fault.”

“How can you be so sure? I’m not sure anymore. It’s … I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, I do,” Clara said firmly. “I know you. You didn’t nurse all those children before the war and all those soldiers during it, only to be responsible for the death of a baby back home. Have a little faith in yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” Liliane echoed. She wasn’t sure she could believe it, but it was clear that Clara did. It was nice to be around someone who had faith in her. 

Aunt Margo leaned forward, patting Liliane on the knee. “Chin up, huh, honey? Maybe when we’re settled, we can find you a nice rancher to marry, like Clara. Maybe one of Mr. Green’s friends.”

“Maybe,” Liliane echoed faintly. 

Of course, she didn’t want to marry some man she’d never met before. Clara and her rancher had courted for about a year through their letters, having met through a Wife Wanted ad in the newspaper. Nebraska and Philadelphia were too far away for a visit, so Mr. Green eventually asked Clara to marry him and paid for her passage to come up to Nebraska. He even paid for Aunt Margo to come so that Clara wouldn’t have to face a bunch of strangers and a new life alone. 

Liliane’s invitation was very last-minute, understandably. She’d paid for her own passage, and Mr. Green had no idea she was coming. Still, it was better than staying in Philadelphia or striking out on her own. 

Where would she even go? She had no one left, nowhere left to go. 

Just as Liliane’s thoughts were spiraling into despair, the train abruptly screeched to a hideous, grinding halt. Poor Aunt Margo was launched out of her seat onto the two girls. People shrieked in alarm in the carriage, tumbling forward and sliding down the aisle. 

When the train finally stopped, instant silence hit the carriage before the chaos broke out. 

“What’s going on?”

“Why have we stopped?”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I hurt my leg!”

“What’s happened?”

Liliane got shakily to her feet, glancing up and down the carriage to see if anyone was hurt. The other travelers seemed to be mostly okay, with just a few scrapes and bumps and a little dented pride. Out the windows, she could see nothing but hills and trees. There was no train station here. 

A shiver of unease rolled down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. It was a similar feeling to the way she’d felt during the war, just as the wagons rolled into the camp, laden with injured and dying men. As if something inside her was warning her all is not well. Something terrible is coming. 

The carriage door – which should have been chained shut during their travel – was yanked open. 

A pair of men leaped into the carriage, wearing wide-brimmed black hats and brown scarves over their faces. They were armed with two pistols each. A woman screamed at the back of the carriage. 

“This is a robbery,” one of the men snarled. “Do as you’re told, give up your valuables, and everything will be okay. Everybody off the train. Now!”

Liliane blinked hard as if that might make the scene in front of her change. The other passengers began scrambling to their feet, muttering fearfully, inching towards the exit. The masked men glowered at them all, waving the pistols pointedly. The crowd pushed Liliane along the aisle and out into the hot air and sunshine. 

Already, passengers were crowded alongside the train, which steamed and ticked in the heat. The ground was dusty and hard-packed, hot air radiating upwards. Immediately, sweat broke out at Liliane’s temples and underneath the high collar of her gown. 

More masked men were waiting for them out there, corralling the passengers into tight circles, shouting and waving their pistols threateningly. She estimated that about half a dozen masked men were swaying around, loud and taking up as much space as possible. 

There’s only a few of them and many of us, Liliane thought. The odds are in our favor. 

Still, that didn’t mean anything. A good chunk of the passengers were children, and more were older men and women. There were still a good number of strong, able-bodied people among the passengers, enough to overpower the robbers, but the fact remained that the robbers had pistols, and the passengers had none. 

Numbers aren’t everything. 

Liliane found Aunt Margo and Clara again, both pale and frightened, and the three women hung onto each other. 

“We don’t have any valuables,” Clara whispered. “Nothing worth taking, at least. Will they be angry?”

“I don’t know, Clara,” Liliane responded honestly enough. “Let’s just stay quiet and hope they let us go on our way soon enough.”

What were the odds of that, though? The men were all hiding their faces, a sure sign that they intended to leave witnesses, but what if there was a slip? What if one of the men accidentally revealed his face? What then? 

At the back of the group, two men glanced uneasily at each other, exchanged a nod, and then turned and sprinted towards the nearest stretch of woodland. 

One of the masked men gave a shout, firing off a few rounds from his pistol. They all missed, and the two escaped men plunged into the scrubland. 

A couple more robbers hurried over, and Liliane heard sharp words exchanged. 

“Leave them. By the time they make it to the town, we’ll be long gone,” said one of the men, with a voice of authority. The other two robbers exchanged uneasy looks. 

“But, Reno …”

“Shut up! Just concentrate on getting the valuables off the passengers. The rest of us will go through the bags in the luggage hold. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The men split up, with the one called Reno striding off towards the head of the train, where the passengers’ things had been piled up into a huge mountain. 

Two of the robbers were left behind. Liliane hastily dropped her eyes as one of the men glanced over the passengers, hoping they wouldn’t guess she’d overheard their conversation. 

“Okay, listen up!” he yelled suddenly, making Clara jump. “Line up. I want all your valuables – wallets, purses, earrings, necklaces, rings, all of it. The quicker you hand it over, the sooner you’re all on your way. Got it?”

The other robber aimed his pistol threateningly at the passengers, who reluctantly began taking out wallets and stripping off jewelry. 

Clara and Liliane had nothing but Aunt Margo … Liliane glanced uneasily at the older woman, who was fingering her wedding ring. It was a fairly simple ring, just a band of gold she’d worn since she was eighteen. Even though she’d been widowed for a decade now, she still wore it every single day. 

“Just give it to them, Aunt Margo,” Clara whispered, and Liliane heard the fear in her friend’s voice. “It’s easier.”

“Your Uncle Eddie saved up for months to buy this for me. He always said that he’d get me something better when we had better times, but this was all I ever wanted. It means something to me, Clara.”

“I know, I know, but they’ll kill you. They might even cut off your finger.”

Liliane briefly considered how she would treat an amputated finger. Tourniquet, hot water, stitches. Fast work. Clean work, it had to be, or else infection would set in, and a lost finger might end up as a lost hand, a lost arm, a lost life. 

The robbers were working their way down the line toward them. 

“Please, Aunt Margo!” Clara begged, real fear in her voice now. Aunt Margo bit her lip and began to tug at the ring. 

It wouldn’t come off. Her hands, twisted by arthritis, had swollen knuckle joints that simply wouldn’t allow her to slide off the ring. 

Suddenly, one of the robbers was in front of them, eyes cold and angry above his mask. 

“What’s up, old lady?” 

“I … I can’t get it off,” Aunt Margo gasped. “I’m so sorry. Look, it won’t come.”

“It’s not worth much,” Clara pleaded. “Truly, it’s not. We’ve got money in our bags; won’t that be enough?”

“You’d better give me the ring now, or else!” the robber threatened, fumbling at his belt. Liliane already knew what he was reaching for before she saw the glint of a blade. 

It was funny how the strangest things could jolt a memory. She found herself back in the medical tent, facing down the hugest man she’d ever seen. He seemed to be about six and a half feet tall and built like a bull. He was quite clearly dying. Untreated wounds had festered, and the gangrene was inching towards his heart. She wasn’t entirely sure how he was on his feet, but on his feet he was. 

She could remember the silvery glint of the scalpel in his hand, the way his arm shook, the crazy glint in his eye. He was already gone, really, but that wasn’t the trouble. She could hear the fear in the doctor’s voice when he spoke. 

“Take it easy, son. Why don’t you lie back down, and we’ll make you more comfortable, okay?”

“Nah,” the man hissed, swaying on his feet. He was oblivious to the nurses creeping up behind him, their deceptively strong arms hidden under baggy uniforms. A syringe of something sat cold in Liliane’s hand, ready to ease the man into sleep. 

“Everybody underestimates the nurses,” one of the older nurses had said after, smiling tightly down at the unconscious giant. “They generally regret it.”

“That’s long enough,” the robber snarled, jerking Liliane back to the present. He grabbed Aunt Margo’s hand, twisting her finger up and lifted the blade. Clara shrieked, tugging her aunt’s arm. Aunt Margo, already half-frozen with fear, only widened her eyes and said nothing. 

Liliane sighed, pulled back her right arm, and drove her fist into the robber’s face.