Read Charlene Sands for Free Online

Judging from the desperate sound of the ranch hand’s voice and the fact that old Wes probably hadn’t moved faster in the past decade, Lily knew something was definitely up. And it wasn’t good.
    “Where’d Uncle Wes go in such a fast hurry, Miss Lily?”
    “I’m not sure, Bethann. Maybe, there’s a problem with one of the animals,” Lily said, hoping it was true.
    “Where’s Papa anyhows?”
    A sudden sharp pang of realization seized Lily. When the clock chimed four, she knew the trouble had to be about Tyler. He hadn’t come home. She closed her eyes, silently praying for Bethann’s sake, he wasn’t the reason for all the commotion. But in her heart, she knew differently.
    “Your papa’ll be here shortly, Bethann,” Letty Sue said, oblivious to the problem and to Bethann’s distress. “My, it’s stuffy in here. Won’t you take a walk with me?” She held out her hand for Bethann.
    Bethann looked at Lily. With a nod she said, “You go on. I promise to come get you when your papa gets back. Maybe you can take Letty Sue down to the creek. But don’t get too close to the water.”
    Letty Sue’s eyes focused on her mother. “Momma?”
    “Don’t mind if I do,” Joellen replied, bringing herself up from the parlor chair. “I could use some fresh air, too, darling.”
    Lily waved as she watched them trek behind the house.
    Wes came in minutes later. “Where’s Bethann?”
    Lily didn’t like the anxious look on Wes’s face. “She’s out taking a walk with Joellen and Letty Sue.”
    He let out an audible sigh and shook his head. “That’s good, I reckon. Tyler’s been shot real bad. Don’t want the child seeing her pa that way.”
    “Shot!” Lily took a quick, sharp breath. “What happened?”
    “Don’t rightly know. He come home slumped acrossed his horse. Good thing that ole cattle pony a his knew where his oats come from. I sent Randy on out for the doc.”
    “I think I’d better take a look. Doc Ramsey may not get here in time.”
    Wes eyed her warily. “You know about doctorin’?”
    “Some. Now, we’re wasting time. Take me to Mr. Kincaide.”
    The bunkhouse was dimly lit, but as soon as Lily walked in, her eyes riveted to the crimson streak of blood oozing from Tyler’s shoulder. His shirt was saturated and the vital juices were beginning to seep onto the narrow cot. Lily rushed to his side.
    He was unconscious and so very still. She bent her head down to listen and heard his faint breathing. “First, we’ve got to stop the bleeding. Then we’ll clean him up and get him into the house. Wes, please get me some fresh linens and a pitcher of water.”
    Lily chewed on her lower lip, evoking a memory of the wounded rebel soldiers her father had patched up during the war. She’d been very young, but she’d never forgotten them.
    “Butternuts” her father said they were called. The Confederate gray uniforms in short supply, these men wore dyed cinnamon-hued wool made from butternut extract. The dye might have faded from wear, but the name endured—soldiers who’d given their last breath for the Confederacy.
    She’d helped her father tend them; bringing in water, cleaning the wounds, changing their bandages, until the only cloths left in the house were the few clothes they’d salvaged and the ones on their backs. She’d brought spoonfuls of cush, a weakened stew, to their trembling mouths while her mother had hummed the tune to “Dixie,” lulling them into peaceful oblivion. Lily remembered the men whose lives they’d saved, but more so, she was haunted by the stark faces of the frightened boys who’d died. Lily shook the memory clear. Tyler couldn’t die. He couldn’t. Bethann needed him.
    But there was so much blood.
    Gingerly, she unbuttoned his shirt. She heard him groan when she lifted him slightly to peel away the garment.
    Wes hurriedly placed the items on the table next to the bed. Lily tore several small strips and dipped them into the water. She washed away