The Secret Bliss of Calliope Ipswich by Marcia Lynn McClure Page A

on his right cheek, she knew there was far too much blood pouring over his forehead and dripping off the tip of his nose to be from that wound.
    “I just bumped my head a little,” he answered , however, wiping blood from his forehead with the back of his hand—as if it were no more than a little perspiration.
    “Bumped your head?” Calliope squealed with horror. “You’re bleeding to death! We have to get you to the doctor in town, Mr. Gates!”
    Hurriedly, Calliope sat up, pulled up the hem of her sopping wet skirt, and tore a length of ruffled cotton from her petticoat.
    As tears began to stream over her cheeks , she whimpered, “I almost killed you! Maybe I did! You still might bleed to death! I can’t believe I—”
    “I’m fine, Miss Calliope,” Rowdy interrupted , however. “It’s just a scratch. Head wounds bleed like hell. It ain’t as bad as it looks. I promise.”
    “Hold this against it,” Calliope wept, handing him the length of sopping petticoat ruffle. “It won’t absorb the blood , but push hard on the wound, and it might slow down the bleeding until we can get you into town.”
    “What in tarnation?” Fox hollered as he and the other men from the mill hurried across the narrow bridge that spanned the millpond just behind the mill. “Calliope? Is that you?” he shouted.
    “Mr. Gates has been terribly hurt, Fox!” Calliope called. “Someone run into town and bring Doctor Gregory! Hurry!”
    “I’m fine,” Rowdy hollered up, however. “But come down and help me get Miss Ipswich back to town.”
    It didn’t take long for Fox, Dex, and Tate to reach the place where Calliope and Rowdy sat on the bank of the pond. Blood was still streaming from Rowdy’s face and head when they arrived.
    “What the hell happened?” Fox asked angrily as he helped Calliope to her feet.
    “I-I was walking along the higher bank…and the ground started to give way,” she stammered. “Mr. Gates saved my life! But now he’s bleeding to death, and we have to get him to town.”
    “I ain’t bleedin’ to death,” Rowdy grumbled.
    Dex and Tate exchanged glances a moment, however, and then Dex said, “Well, from the looks of it, I beg to differ on that, Rowdy.”
    “Me too,” Tate agreed. “We best get you into town to the doctor.”
    “Are you all right, Calliope?” Fox pressed Calliope, even so.
    “I’m fine!” she nearly shouted. “Nothing hurts but my pride. Just get Mr. Gates to town, Fox …please!”
    “I can walk it,” Rowdy said, struggling to his feet. But as more blood gushed from the wound at the back of his head, he stumbled a bit.
    Dex and Tate both reached out to help steady Rowdy.
    “You’re losin’ blood mighty fast, Rowdy,” Dex needlessly stated.
    “You best let us get you back to the mill and mounted on your horse,” Tate suggested.
    “I’ll run up ahead and bring Rowdy’s horse down to meet us,” Fox said. He dashed up the incline toward the mill.
    Tate and Dex each draped one of Rowdy’s large, muscular arms across their shoulders. “Let’s get you back up to the hill here, Rowdy,” Dex said.
    The problem was that , since none of the men assisting Rowdy was wearing his shirt, blood from the wound at Rowdy’s head was still streaming over his face and shoulders, causing his body to be very slick and difficult to move.
    Lifting her skirt hem once more, Calliope tore a very long strip of fabric from it. “Just a minute,” she called to Dex and Tate. The y stopped, and Calliope used the wet strip of fabric to bind Rowdy’s head wound. She wrapped the cotton around his head and forehead, and though the wound still seeped blood, she secured it tightly, with enough pressure to slow the bleeding.
    “You sure you’re all right, Miss Calliope?” Rowdy asked as Dex and Tate helped him stumble toward the mill.
    “I’m fine,” Calliope assured him as renewed tears streamed over her cheeks.
    As she watched Fox coming down the hill with Rowdy’s