A Necessary Woman Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for A. E. Easterlin

  A Necessary Woman

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “You think a man and woman should come together for a warm bed, a tender touch, to make babies, and it should be enough of a reason to marry? What of love?”

  Jake took a while to consider, but when he answered the candid expression in his eyes took Suzanna’s breath away. “You’re talking about infatuation. Or romance. I have little experience with either. Nothing wrong with romance, except that it tends to fade like flowers wilt at the end of a long, hot summer. To my way of thinking, love—the real kind of love—grows over time. It comes with living a life shared over good times and bad. Lots of folks mistake that first quick rush of attraction for love. Not that it doesn’t have its place, mind you. But if you’re talking about a durable kind of love—that comes with time, with trust proved often, with surviving the challenge of years.”

  She had to admit his answer impressed her. He wasn’t as shallow as he appeared. Not at all. His words had the ring of thought and truth and conviction.

  “That’s true, Jake. But a woman has a need to feel loved and cherished. If you fail to add that to the mix, the long-lasting love you describe won’t grow, and the marriage will prove to be little more than a lesson in endurance, resulting in regret and unhappiness. Be careful not to discount the importance of romance—for a woman or a man. It’s the connecting stitch in the tapestry of a life well lived.”

  Praise for A. E. Easterlin

  Her previous release, SONATA BY MOONLIGHT, a Contemporary Romance, received four stars on Amazon and five stars on Goodreads.

  Watch for another Contemporary Romance from this author: A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC.

  A Necessary Woman

  by

  A. E. Easterlin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Necessary Woman

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by A. Elayne Cox

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Cactus Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0742-8

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0743-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  My heartfelt thanks to Rhonda Penders,

  at The Wild Rose Press,

  for allowing me to be a part of this unique group

  of writers.

  And to Nan Swanson, my esteemed editor:

  you are absolutely the best.

  As always, my fond gratitude

  to the local chapter of the RWA

  —the Florida Romance Writers—

  you keep the fires burning.

  To my family and friends—I love you.

  And to my readers,

  thank you for spending your valuable time with me—

  I hope you enjoyed the company.

  ~*~

  Finally, to my husband—

  you have always been my hero.

  Chapter One

  Another day like the last one, with no end in sight. So many wounded to care for, no time, and nothing but fetid air, injury, and disease all around.

  “Suzanna!” Dr. Hilliard yelled across the chaos of the small, claustrophobic room. The stench of blood and festered flesh choked her. But the men needed her, so she swallowed and knelt beside the next one and wiped his fevered brow. The flush of fever and delirium indicated the soldier wouldn’t last the afternoon, and she wanted to make him as comfortable as possible.

  The battle must be close—ten new patients in the last hour waited for treatment while they roiled in agony and begged for help. Fighting back the bile rising in her throat, she hurried to the operating table. When would this madness ever end?

  “I’ll be back soon,” she promised the soldiers reaching out for comfort as she navigated the narrow space between the cots. “We’ll be with you as quickly as we can. I promise.”

  Dr. Julian Hilliard hovered over a barely conscious man, his leg mangled beyond recognition. Cold dread knotted in the pit of her stomach, and she met the compassionate glance of the doctor. There would be no saving this man’s leg. Lacking time, resources, and better options for treatment, the good doctor would do what so many others did during battles—take a limb to save a life. Her heart clenched as she watched the defeated expression on the doctor’s face, and the horror on the dirty face of the soldier. Such was the tapestry of war.

  Leaning into the soldier’s line of sight, she clasped his hand and squeezed. Resignation and fear clouded his eyes. He knew. Suzanna forced a smile and offered a dose of courage.

  “Hold on, sir. I will not leave you.”

  “He’s going to take my leg, isn’t he?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sorry—it’s too badly damaged.” Giving him a scant sip of water, she handed him a strip of leather. He’d need something to bite on. At least as long as he remained conscious.

  Dr. Hilliard washed his hands, took a deep breath, then cleansed the surgical area. Glancing at Suzanna, he nodded. It was time.

  “Are you ready for this, son?” the doctor asked, poised to begin the horrendous procedure. “I’ve got no ether to ease your way, but you’ll die from gangrene if we don’t take the leg.”

  The brave man swallowed, and his body began to shake. “Got any whiskey?”

  Suzanna reached in the pocket of her apron for her father’s flask and silently asked the doctor’s permission. After his answering nod, she slipped a supporting arm beneath the man’s shoulders and poured a small amount of the amber spirit into his mouth. It would do nothing for the pain, but it would calm his nerves.

  Dr. Hilliard stared into the wild blue eyes of the shivering man and raised his scalpel. The sharp blade made contact with his quivering flesh, and Suzanna braced for the sound that would haunt her dreams forever as his bloodcurdling screams overwhelmed the moaning and groaning of others who lay waiting their turn.

  One by one, the men turned their heads away from the soldier’s cries, aware his fate could be theirs.

  They could be next.

  ****

  Four Years Later

  Suzanna laughed out loud as
she twirled, unadulterated joy filling her entire being. For the first time in so very long, she was filled to the brim with relief, joy, and hope.

  She whirled until her head grew light, and her heart beat so fast she thought she would surely faint. Petticoats and skirts billowed around her as her gaze drank in the restored beauty of the room and she rode a carousel of whirling images.

  The room had been completely transformed—dais, pews, the old hickory cross behind the lectern… Arms uplifted in a gesture of thanks, she laughed aloud, and the echoes reverberated through the empty sanctuary of the First Presbyterian Church. Hands clasped in front of her, she prayed life could now return to normal. Oh, she knew it would take time, but at least—at last—it was a beginning.

  The twirling ceased, and she fought to steady her body as the ringing in her ears and dizziness in her brain slowed until she could finally think. The great conflict was finally over—the Civil War, the War Between the States—whatever one wanted to label it. Her world—her life and the lives of so many others—forever changed with the battle at Gettysburg.

  Survival tasted bittersweet on her tongue, spoiled by the loss of so many she’d loved, not only her parents but her fiancé and many, many friends. Thank God it was over—all but the grieving. All but the healing.

  The old sanctuary looked just as it had in the past, during the years of her youth, when life had stretched out before her with all its possibilities. She was grateful the old building was no longer a place of illness, death, or dying. The makeshift hospital and its cots and suffering men were now gone. Suzanna smiled, admiring the hallowed walls gleaming anew, freshly whitewashed and free from the stains of the past. Fresh. Clean. New. Shining with the spirit of hope for a better purpose.

  For the last five years, Suzanna and two other volunteers had worked side by side with Dr. Hilliard in this very room, caring for wounded veterans of the brutal battles that took place near their location. When Lee surrendered to Grant, all those who could ride, walk, or crawl home had done so. She and the good doctor had done all they could to salvage what remained of torn human flesh and broken minds even then. Thank goodness there would be no more bullet wounds, dysentery, amputations, or midnight vigils for ill or dying soldiers in the converted sanctuary.

  The next time she came to this place it would be to worship, not to nurse.

  She closed the door behind her and stared down the steps into the patient blue eyes of Dr. Julian P. Hilliard, her mentor and, to Suzanna’s great dismay, would-be suitor.

  Caught off guard at his unexpected appearance, she hesitated, gathering her wits. Suzanna valued his friendship—but had no interest in allowing him to court her.

  “What are you doing here, Doctor?” she asked, her tone friendly in spite of her ambivalent feelings. “The new preacher from Georgia won’t be here for two more weeks, and you’re too early for Sunday services.”

  Dr. Hilliard grinned boyishly, put one foot up on the bottom step of the entryway, and held out his hand to Suzanna. “I saw you walking toward the church and wondered what you were doing.” He nodded toward the sanctuary. “Force of habit, or did you want to make sure the workers did their job to your satisfaction?”

  Her cheeks grew warm at his teasing. With an answering smile, she stepped down and placed her hand in his. “You know me too well, Dr. Hilliard. To answer your question, a little of both.”

  Lines crinkled from the corners of his eyes. “Well?”

  She glanced at the whitewashed doors. “The town did a very nice job. We should be ready for Sunday services and the opening of school with no more delay.”

  He laughed out loud and wrapped his fingers around hers as he assisted her down the steps.

  Why, oh, why can’t I love him? He’s here. He’s alive, and he wants me.

  Something held her back. She should be grateful there was a nice man who was interested in her, and she wanted a man in her life. Needed a man in her life. Jason was gone forever. Another love like his was not likely to come along. If she refused Julian, likely she would live the rest of her life alone, because the war had stolen most of the men of marriageable age.

  “Can one old friend walk another old friend home from church?” he asked, the sun shining in his bright blue eyes.

  “Of course, Dr. Hilliard. As long as you are the old friend.” Suzanna emphasized the word friend. Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, she afforded him a cautious glimpse of affection.

  Julian gazed down at her expression. “Good heavens, Suzanna. We’ve known each other for ten years, and worked at each other’s elbow for the last five. After what we’ve experienced, we should have no formalities between us. Don’t you think you could call me Julian? I doubt even the gossips and biddies would find fault with us calling each other by our Christian names.”

  “You’re probably right…Julian.” She laughed. He was a good man, and she liked him. They walked in companionable silence, enjoying the morning and each other’s company. When they reached her small house at the end of Main Street, Suzanna paused. “Please, take a seat, Julian.” Being careful not to encourage him romantically but wanting to maintain their friendship, she cocked her head and nodded at the welcoming old swing on her front porch. Surely she could safely offer a friend some refreshments.

  “I have some lemonade inside. Sugar and lemons are a rare delicacy now, and I won’t venture a guess as to how the mercantile got hold of them. You won’t want to pass up my offer.”

  “Mr. Adams is sweet on you. He’d do anything to garner your attention.”

  “He’d do anything to garner a mother for those rambunctious twins of his,” she commented wryly.

  “You don’t like children?”

  “More than anything. I just don’t care to marry Mr. Adams to become a mother.”

  Gallantly assisting her to the porch, Julian followed her up the three narrow steps and sat, relaxing against the sturdy supporting slats of her swing. His long arms made their way to the back frame, and he cast her an expectant gaze. “Lemonade sounds wonderful. You are, as always, most kind, Suzanna.”

  “Yes, well, make yourself at home, and I’ll be back shortly.” She watched as he settled in. Long legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles. Assured, at ease, and looking altogether too comfortable on her porch and in her presence.

  She’d have to put a stop to this before either of them got hurt.

  With two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade on a tray, she nodded as he jumped up to hold the door for her. She set the tray on a small table near the swing, handed him a glass of the cool, tart drink, and joined him on the swing, sitting to face him from the other side.

  Julian took a sip and smiled at her with resolute determination.

  Oh, no. Please don’t.

  Suzanna dreaded what was coming, but there was nothing to do but face it head on. It would hurt less if she nipped this in the bud. A moment of indecision temporarily flashed through her mind. Was she doing the right thing?

  Yes. It was the right thing—the only thing. As nice as he was, as kind, as attractive, she didn’t love him. Best let him spit it out and move on.

  She straightened her shoulders and resolutely met his gaze. “I know that look. I’ve seen it often enough. You’ve something on your mind. Torture yourself no further—let’s hear what you have to say.”

  “Ever one to get to the point, eh, Suzanna? All right.” The doctor took a deep breath and set his lemonade aside. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on his knees, then sat up and took a deep breath. The rickety old swing dipped when he scooted closer and took her hand in his.

  “We’ve grown close during our time working together at the hospital, and now that we don’t see each other every day, I find I miss you—greatly. I’ve missed the sound of your voice, the smile on your face—my day just doesn’t seem complete without you in it. I worry about you, Suzanna. A beautiful woman alone with all the turmoil, the criminals and carpetbaggers filtering into the area. I’m privy to your
circumstances—you have friends but no family here. And these are not the best of times in the south. Have you given any thought about what you’re going to do now that the war is over?”

  Her heart turned over. In many ways, he was right—safety was a concern for her, and a husband would certainly afford her protection in these perilous times, but was that enough to warrant marrying on the basis of friendship rather than love?

  Didn’t she deserve love? Hadn’t she always done everything expected of her for everyone around her? Been a friend to those needing friendship? Been a servant to those needing help? Was it so much to ask for a lover who fired her blood, a home to offer her security, and children to enrich her days?

  “Yes, of course I’ve been thinking about the future.”

  “Marry me, Suzanna. Marry me and let me give you all the things you deserve. Let me give you a home and my protection. What I’m trying to say, and doing a very poor job of it, is that I’ve become very fond of you. I value your beauty, your kindness, your generosity. I can’t stop thinking we could do so much good together, you and I.”

  Distressed, Suzanna stared at him. “Julian, please. Go no further. I appreciate what you’re attempting to say, believe me, but the truth is we don’t love each other. And shouldn’t that be the most important thing? We respect each other and like each other, yes, but I’m not sure that’s enough. And I’m not sure I’m ready to let a good friendship…”

  Julian’s head dropped in disappointment. “Please, don’t say more. Your answer is no. May I ask if there’s someone else?”

  Suzanna gently withdrew her hand. With a soft and rueful laugh, she replied, “Hardly. Who is left that might be calling on me? Mr. Adams and his twins? Or perhaps Joe Watkins, the apothecary? You know there is not. Perhaps, after Jason, I simply am not ready to pursue a relationship with another man. Or I need to take some time for myself, to live free of responsibility—at least for a while. Our hearts have been heavy and sad for so very long, is it so hard to understand that I want to breathe again, to laugh, before learning to love again? I’m sorry, Julian. I don’t mean to hurt you. I wish I could feel differently.”