A Faded Redcoat

IV. Witch Hazel

"Where are we going?" Asked Cornelius as he grew paler every second. All the color seemed to have drained from his face in a matter of minutes. It was like someone put his worst fear right in front of his face and told him to stare at it for an hour.

Cathleen was not at all happy about their destination, all because they were going to her grand house to patch up the rebel and send him on his way. The latter she hoped to come sooner rather than later. Yes, part of her wanted to help heal the boy and care for him. That side was of humanity. But the other side was of revenge. She wanted to just leave him to deal with it on his own, and maybe even let him die, but that part was far too small to ever actually reflect onto her actions.

"My house, I'm afraid," she deadpanned to his question with a blunt tone.

"And I assume your family is just as adamant in their absurd beliefs as you are. Joy." He reciprocated her curt reply with the same amount of dullness. He had met a great deal of many of women in his life, and never had he ever wanted to gag someone so much. She could say the same, however, because in all her life of high class manners, she hadn't even thought of a man acting such as this. She rolled her eyes at him, but made sure that he had seen it. He scoffed and just shook his head. They carriage stopped with a lurch and Cornelius winced and clutched his shoulder. And for a second, Cathleen felt a pang of sympathy for the battered boy.

Mr. John made his way around to the door and opened it with such force, it made the already anxious girl clutch the fabric of her dress in her hands and slightly gape. Mr. John grabbed the poor boy's legs and carefully lifted him up bridal style. He was a fit man with a great amount of muscle, although lifting this soldier up proved to be difficult for him. Cornelius grimaced, but didn't dare make a noise. No, he was much too proud for that. As Mr. John carried him into the barn, Cathleen made her way to the house with a quick pace.

"Ms. Atwood-" Mr. John was interrupted by Cornelius wiggling out of his grip and stumbling onto the ground. The now even dirtier boy managed to get up from the help of Mr. John and wobbled over to a blank faced Cathleen. He slowly climbed up the steps, silently admiring the wood work on the handles. He thought for a second. Really thought.

What good would I be to the cause if I'm dead?  Besides, I wouldn't mind exacting revenge on the filthy lobster back that shot me anyhow.

"Please, miss I...I don't wish to die," he pleaded whole heartedly. She could sense the wobbliness in his voice as he swayed lightly on the extravagant porch. "Please."

She hesitated for a moment and weighed her options.

"Come quickly," she demanded. Cathleen was in a state of shock to say the least, but didn't want any man's blood to be on her delicate hands. She thought he was arrogant beyond belief and the fact that he pleaded with her, meant more than she would actually be willing to tell. She led him and Mr. John to the barn.

"Lie down there," Cathleen said to Cornelius. It was a cleared spot without hay, which she thought might be uncomfortable for him while she had to get the bullet out. That's what she feared the most, getting the bullet out. However, she was sure Cornelius was five times more worried than she was. Surprisingly, he was calmer than before and almost looked at ease. "Mr. John, do you have the tools to, er... treat him?"

"Yes, I'll be back shortly," he raised up and left in an almost sprint. He was so agile for his age, both teens had to admire that.

There was an awkward silence between the two polar opposites. Cornelius wanted to thank her, but he was unsure since he had to beg her. He decided he would thank her after she had finish and he was alright. Well, he hoped he was alright. He thought she deserved a thanks if he lived.

"So how old are you?" Cathleen asked with genuine curiosity in her eyes. She guessed he was around her age, about seventeen to twenty, but she wanted to pass time with a question rather than sit in silence.

"Eighteen, almost nineteen," he spoke in a near whisper. "and what of yourself?"

"I recently turned seventeen," she answered also in a whisper. She didn't realize she had done it, be he had. He wondered if she actually felt pity for him. He thought maybe it was just the feeling someone had whenever they were around near death.

"Found it!" Mr. John came bursting through the door breathing heavily and sweating bullets. Cathleen instinctively jumped up to her feet from her formerly sitting position and barely managed to catch herself from falling face first into a pile of hay.

"Clumsy, are we?" Cornelius taunted with a slight smirk. He knew exactly how to push her buttons and that little moment- small, but existent- where she thought he may be tolerable, was washed away like a written word in the sand and her waves of anger distorting the letters.

"Many would choose clumsiness opposed to arrogance, Mr. Hadley," she remarked as she sat back down with the newly found medical kit. She took a good look at all the utensils inside. She knew how to use all of them, thank God. Taking a knife out, she cleansed it lightly with some water that was in the case. Then she made an incision in Cornelius where the bullet wound already was. It pained her to hear him let out a short scream that held so much agony already. Blood poured out of the wound onto the surrounding ground mixing the colors of an earthy brown and deep red. Continuing her work, she grabbed the grooved forceps and placed them in her right hand as she pushed the knife into the now larger hole. Cornelius let out another blood curling shout until he eventually passed out. Cathleen then found the bullet in his shoulder and placed the blade underneath it. Using the forceps, she took a hold of the musket ball and gently lifted it out of his blood soaked body. Mr. John handed her Witch Hazel to decrease infection and fight inflammation. She pressured the wound to stop the bleeding and once it had almost quit, she began stitching as best she could. She wrapped gauze around and tied it off with a tight piece of cloth. The only thing they had to worry about now was if Cornelius would ever wake up.