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Updated: May 21, 2025
But the spy was to watch the window of Calhoun’s room, and was concealed in a corn-field opposite the house. If he had watched the back instead of the front of the house, he would have seen some strange doings. Margaret Goodsen was told that as Calhoun was so well, she could lie down in an adjoining room. If he needed anything, he could ring a little bell which stood on a table by his side.
For two weeks Calhoun hovered between life and death; but at last his rugged constitution conquered. During this time Joyce was unremitting in her attention. “I must save him for the sake of Mark,” she would say, “I cannot bear to have his blood on Mark’s hands.” In speaking to Joyce’s aunt, Matilda Goodsen said: “The poor child will hardly let me do anything; she wants to do it all.”
Only the best of nursing will bring him through.” “That he shall have,” said Joyce. “I have sent for Margaret Goodsen. You know she is an army nurse, and knows all about wounded men.” “Yes, Margaret is good, none better,” replied the Doctor. All through that night Joyce sat by the bedside of Calhoun cooling his fevered brow, giving him refreshing drinks. He talked almost continually to himself.
Thus one of the greatest obstacles to the carrying out of Joyce’s plans was out of the way. She could easily manage Miss Goodsen. Joyce’s only confidant was the faithful Abe, who obeyed her without question. In his eyes Missy Joyce could do nothing wrong. He had been drilled by Joyce until he knew just what to do.
Little did Mr. Crawford think what the outcome of the affair would be. Contrary to her aunt’s protest, Joyce insisted on taking most of the care of Calhoun during the day. Margaret Goodsen was all the help she needed. She had engaged a competent man to care for him nights. Had not Mark told her to save the life of the man he had shot, if possible?
Miss Goodsen was closely questioned. She had looked in once during the night. The Lieutenant was awake, but said he was comfortable and wanted nothing. She then went to sleep and did not awake until morning. She found Joyce in her room, who was overcome when told that her patient was gone. She had not heard the slightest sound during the night. Doctor Hopkins was summoned.
Miss Goodsen, in her excitement did not notice that Joyce was fully dressed. “The wounded Rebel, Lieutenant Pennington,” she fairly shrieked. “Oh! what shall I do? What shall I do?” and she wrung her hands in her distress. Joyce ran to Calhoun’s room; sure enough it was empty. “Stop your noise,” she said, sharply, to Miss Goodsen. “If any one is to blame, I am. They will do nothing with you.
After a violent paroxysm of sobbing, she grew calmer, and tired nature asserted itself, and she fell asleep. It was yet early morning when she was aroused by a cry from Miss Goodsen, and that lady came rushing into her room, wringing her hands and crying, “He is gone! He is gone!” “Who is gone?” asked Joyce, springing up as if in amazement.
The story of Joyce’s capture of a raider had travelled far and wide, and the Major had already heard of it. “So you captured a prisoner, did you, Puss?” he exclaimed, kissing her, as she threw herself in his arms. “Is he a regular brigand, and bearded like a pard?” “No, no, he is young, almost a boy,” she answered. “Margaret Goodsen is taking care of him now.
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