One Big Mistake

The front door barely even swung fully before someone threw it aside again. Jodi clenched her hand over her throat to stop the air of panic in her body, her knees painful from the tumble she did over the roughly-cut wood of the stairs.
Sitting clumsily on the stairs, she kept staring down as who she knew Mme. Wimund glowered over her.
“What in God's name is your problem?” The woman drew out. She turned and slammed the door behind her, making it rattle. “Is this how's it going to be with you?!” She demanded. “Useless and spoilt?!”
“That boy has smallpox!” Jodi stuttered. She turned to look up to Mme. Wimund, her face grim and serious. “ I s-saw the scabs.” Jodi said, “His face is a massive scab, Mme. Wimund. And I touched his blanket...that...that thing he probably slept with for a long, long time!”

“And you...” Mme. Wimund began.
“No, I never got smallpox,” Jodi pleaded. “I don't know how it even goes, the—the infection, but I know that if I got it, I'm not going to survive. I'm sorry okay? Just don't let me touch him, please.”

The white fury gradually melted away on Mme. Wimund, but her eyes were still in angry slits when she regarded her. “Anna told me you were perfectly capable...”
Jodi exhaled loudly, “I'm sorry!” She repeated, “I didn't tell anything to her, maybe she assumed or--”
Mme. Wimund grabbed her arm and tugged, “Get up.” She said.
“Look, I can help, see? I can follow orders--”
“GET UP.” Mme. Wimund growled, and she hoisted her up. She pulled one of Jodi's arm as she tried to protest, and she winced as the woman took the edge of her sleeve and tugged hard. The stiff fabric pressed hard into her skin as it bunched upwards, and for a moment Jodi worried that her only dress was going to tear.
Mme. Wimund placed a grip on her now bare shoulder, scrutinizing it. She squeezed the flesh a couple of times with a thumb and finger, her brow furrowing at the almost unmarked skin.
“You don't have it.” Mme. Wimund murmured, almost in surprise.
“Have what?” Jodi asked, bewildered.
Letting go, Mme.Wimund replied, “The mark. The hole which Anna...has.”
“The vaccine?” Jodi blurted, pulling down her sleeve. She stiffened when she realized what she just said.
Mme. Wimund's eyes fluttered at the word, frowning.
“You speak too strangely, Johanna. I very much hope you weren't being too liberal with your speech these past few weeks, especially with the girls.”
Jodi looked away, silent for once. They stood there together for a long moment, until finally did Mme. Wimund glanced at the hordes of soldiers around them, and grabbed for the door handle.
“Come back inside.”
“But--”
“You don't have to come 10 feet near that boy. But as long as I care for you, you will serve me and follow my orders.”
She touched Jodi's chin with her fingers and tilted her face upwards, forcing Jodi to look at her.
“I don't, give charity, for nothing.” She stated slowly.
It was a very logical reasoning, and Jodi could only nod in understanding. Mme. Wimund dropped her hand, and Jodi took her cue to slip back through the door.
Back in the darkness, Jodi let out a breath in relief. Every time that woman talked to her like that she was reminded of how precarious her position was. When there were far more stronger and smarter people being hungry and roughened by this place, Jodi was indeed; very, very lucky.
*************************************
He found himself in a darkened room, awoken from the sound of a female humming close to him. Blinking, he leaned onto his back and turned his head, noticing the body of a young and plump woman, sitting up against the headboard. Her ginger hair was matted and dishevelled, hiding her face as she appraised an expensive looking watch dangling from her two fingers. He looked further in silence at her still wearing her day clothes, only that her neckline had been pulled down to the waist, showing her white breasts.
Yet still she looked at home with this, humming an old song as she rubbed out a stain from the trinket.
Finally she stopped and looked at him, and when her face was finally revealed, did something akin to fear and rage came into him.
“Mareike.”
She blinked at his hissed words; but still narrowed her eyes and said, “Yes?”
He did not move. Instead he took a long breath, “That is mine.” He growled.
“I know.” She said, shrugging. “I was merely looking. A woman can't look at anything she wants?”
“Only when I watch.”
His cutting words did not affect her. For a long moment they stared at each other, her eyes glazed with a cold anger as he struggled with his own fury.
“Well.” She said, slowly. “Now you are watching.”
The Hessian threw back his blanket and lunged for her, snarling like an angry beast. But as he fell upon her no shriek came, but the touch of grass came onto him when he landed, and the dream was no more.
He gritted his teeth as his fingers dug down onto soil, his stomach quivering as the great pain returned. Rolling onto his back, he clasped his swollen wound hard, his blue eyes looking beyond the ceiling of his tent.
There was still light, and he could hear the faint blasts of the muskets of the soldiers, practising in a calm, controlled order. Soon he will have to join them.
He shut his eyes tight and pressed his fingers harder against the hole in his abdomen, raising himself up from the ground. He looked down of himself and felt the slow discharge leaking, rubbing his fingers together as he caught it in his hand.
Sighing, he turned and reached towards a sack full of glass bottles, angrily shoving the useless ones aside and grabbed for a thin brown bottle. The label was wet and unreadable, but the tell-tale smell confirmed that is was the right one when he uncorked the bottle with teeth. He tipped it over himself, all over his bare stomach, but when a thin, weak trickle trailed over him, the corners of his mouth lowered.
“Fuck.” He said. He's going to have to visit Mme. Wimund. Again.
*****************************************************

Jodi's eyes were on the bowl as she carried it to the next cot, tight-lipped and uncomfortable from the sealed-in heat of the hut. There were sweat-patches under her arms again, making her coarse dress oily and smell even worse than before. The dress was making her itch too. So as soon as she sat the bowl down on the floor, her hands scrambled to the valley between her shoulder blades and scratched them zealously. The bliss of it all made her roll back her eyes and sigh.
“Oi, chicken. 'Elp me up and I ken scratch more of these 'ard 'eh reach places.”
The patients next to him burst into a fit of aroused cackles as Jodi quickly let her arms drop. Sighing again but this time out of frustration, she plunked herself down and took the wet rag from the bowl, twisting it and wrapping it smoothly around her fingers.
“Yeah, whatever.” She muttered.
“What's that supposed 'eh mean?” He slurred, his flat features creasing in confusion.
“PLEASE take off your pants,” Jodi instructed, rising, “and stick those arms above your head and don't move. I'm DYING in here and I want to get out of this place. Don't make this hard for me, alright?”
“Ah'ight.” The man exclaimed, shucking off his breeches, “ I'm under your mercy.”
“Will here's finally getting his willy touched.” A voice jeered excitedly, prompting more cacophonies of cackles and cheers.
Jodi's eyes fell on the man's erection, tired and bored. She had been given the job to strip every wounded soldier pointed by the Madame and wash down their bodies with a cloth. Some of them didn't have to take off their breeches. Some others were already dead to start with. Sure, she was flustered and surprised when she first saw a man's fully-formed genitalia. But after, what? A dozen naked men of all age and size ? the embarrassment has long given up and gone home.
Disgust was still prevalent though. If she ever got out, the one thing she hoped to never touch again is the cold, goose-pimpled flesh of a naked corpse.
Shivering, she wrapped her fingers around the cloth even tighter and began to rub down the man's chest carefully, noting three savage-looking gashes once the filth gradually flaked away. The water wasn't even clean to start with, so the skin was still stained with the predominant color of red. Rinsing the filth away, she came back up again and to rub out the dirt on his thighs, and was trailing downwards to one of his knees, when suddenly did something wet touched her elbow.
“Ah!” She cried, jumping in revulsion. She cringed when she saw the held penis pointing at her, the patient wheezing in laughter among with the others.
She threw down the cloth. “I hope you fuckin' die from infection!” She exclaimed. The men just laughed harder. Grabbing the cloth again, she shoved it down into the water of the bowl, sloshing it all over the floor before picking it up again and marching away, where Dr. Arthur Cottage and Wimund stood together, dabbing and wrapping wounds as they talked with the soldier they were attending to. It was Arthur that spotted her scrunched-up face and raised shoulders.
“What is it now, Johanna?” He said in a tired voice.
“Nothing.” Mme. Wimund said curtly, “She is just finishing up her job, aren't you, Miss Johanna?”
“A bit hard to do the job when you're being man-handled.” Jodi replied quietly.
“Many lonely soldiers do such things to any girl. Just be quick about it and it will be over.” The older woman flicked her hand dismissively, “They won't do much harm, most of them can't walk.”
“But one of them touched me with his penis.” Jodi hissed. Arthur dropped his scissors on the floor, startled. He stared wide-eyed at her as Mme. Wimund's head shot up from her handiwork. Even the blind-eyed soldier on the bed stared.
“Miss Johanna..!” Arthur began.
“You will not say such things in my presence!” Mme. Wimund interrupted, “Good GOD, child! That is—that is the worst--”
“Look, can't I do something else?” Jodi asked, “Don't you want more bandages? More maggots? Medicines?”
“NO.” Mme. Wimund snapped, “We don't need anything else. You prepare the men for whatever needs be done, that was all I ask of you and you will do it!”
“But they--”
“DON'T.” Mme. Wimund warned “It is past the hour of 6 and I am not in the mood for whatever problem you--”
Suddenly the door broke open, letting in a much-needed air of cool breeze into the hot and stuffy room. Dr. Arthur glanced over his shoulder.
“Excuse me? Will you please shut the door?”
The man in black kicked the door closed. “Will do.” He said in his throaty voice. His face looked thinner, Jodi saw, with dark circles around his scary eyes. “May I speak to the lady of this place?”
Mme. Wimund made a bee-line so quickly that Jodi'd bet she'd almost considered jumping over the cots to get to him. Standing proud to him, her white neck bared like a strutting swan, she said haughtily.
“You may.” She took a long swept down to his chest with her eyes as the horseman bowed his head respectfully, although it seemed a rather cool gesture.
“How is your...wound?” Mme. Wimund asked.
“Not good.” The horseman scowled, “The blood coming out is not clean. I've done what you've said but I'm afraid, I now need more of this.”
He produced a bottle to show to the woman, and Jodi saw the slight movement of her shoulders, a gesture that can be read as startled. The corners of her mouth deepened when she remembered how often Mme. Wimund had to add water for many of the ointments she had to dab to the soldiers' wounds.
“Er....We'll see if we have more.” Mme. Wimund said with a smile. Turning, she made her way back to the cot of the blinded soldier for Dr. Arthur's bag.
“Madame--” Dr. Arthur exclaimed.
“Yes, Doctor?” She asked, her voice semi-sweet. “What is it?”
“I...might not have anything which he requests, my lady.” Arthur stammered, moving to grab his bag. Jodi glanced up to the horseman again, and stopped short as she felt his glare bore into her. His mouth was pressed into a thin, firm line, thankfully hiding his nasty teeth. Jodi jerked her head and gave him a questioning look. The reaction barely cracked his unforgiving expression.
“Nonsense. When is the last time you have checked, Doctor?”
“I very much assure you that I know exactly what's inside it, and I'm afraid that..”
“Ha!”
Mme. Wimund fished out a squat-looking green-bottle probably made originally for wine. Dark liquid swished in the bottom, and for once, Jodi saw the expression of worry for the first time ever on the horseman.
“Why don't you sit down somewhere and let me look at that wound.” Mme. Wimund suggested. Her eye caught the younger girl still standing among them.
“What is it, Miss Johanna? I thought I told you to get back to work.”
Jodi stiffened. “I...” She exhaled, “Madame, I'd rather...”
“Listen, you, just wipe down the other men and you can be off. Just ask Dr. Arthur and he'll escort you.”
“Thank you for asking, my lady.” Dr. Arthur said drily.The older woman pretended not to have heard. As she urged the horseman to sit, Jodi rolled her eyes and carried her bowl further past the cots, sullen and angry. She wasn't sure how to do this, she knew the smart thing was to block out anything they try to do to her. Simply keeping a blank composure and most of all, her mouth shut. But these men weren't even worth anyone's help. Sure they are vile, but also in a disgusting, pathetic way that made her cringe. A total flashback about the modern boys she had met from any typical high school.

“Does it still sting around the wound?”
Jodi ducked under a wooden beam of a bunk and stared through the gap, venting her frustrated thoughts over towards Mme. Wimund. Damn her, she should be doing this.

She had to strain to hear the horseman, his voice too low as he answered. Not even a gesture was visible. His head was lowered as if he were staring at the floor.
But Mme. Wimund still continued to fuss over him, and she soon noted how subtle her acts were. Not the way how she talked and moved towards him, which was even obvious for the often oblivious and naïve Jodi. But rather how alluring she now suddenly seemed. Her long fingers and hands now had their own grace, even taking hold of a bottle now seemed very tasteful and erotic, and the way her bombastic and harsh words had mellowed. Not sugary sweet, but gentle. As gentle as the closest friend. Jodi's mouth opened at the display.
Hot Da-amn, where can she even learn a trick like that?

************************************

He watched her make up her own concoction over the bottle, rubbing the muscles of his face as he considered the strange ingredients being mixed.
“Will all these help?” He grumbled impatiently.
“OF course.” Mme. Wimund replied. She tossed her head and smiled at him wryly, “Do you know who you're talking to?”
“Yes.” The Hessian said flatly.
“Well, there you have it.”
Mme. Wimund dropped some more ingredients with a flamboyant release of her fingers. The liquid inside fizzed, and the Hessian saw more cloves of garlic inside than he'd care to know. He looked away, checking over his shoulder for the Indian wench. No, too many bodies in the way, he noted; but he could tell the girl was nowhere from dutifully washing the invalids somewhere at the back. From the way her glance had flicked at him moments before, she still remembered him, and he saw from those brown eyes of hers that she was still afraid of him, but obviously thinks she's wily enough to keep him on check.
Still, he noted with a satisfied smile, the girl is certainly...'blossoming'. Before, she had been so skinny, awkward and pale. But now, the prolonged hours of warm daylight tinted her skin increasingly darker, and her hollow cheeks, mistakenly thought by others as just having prominent cheekbones, were filling out. Obviously the damn wench was getting the best food, but her savage blood is nonetheless starting to show.
How long would it take for the people not to care about her anymore? He wondered bemusedly.
How long until they turn against her?

“Well. If that isn't the most strangest expression I have ever seen...”
The faint smile dropped from his face as he saw his nurse standing there, smiling down on him with her arms folded casually in front of her. He bristled, noticing the visible want from her that bore into his very core.
“Forgive me.” He said, “I was just reminded of...something.”
“Oh?” The hag raised her chin coquettishly, “And what would that be?”
He shifted in his seat, clenching his jaw. His natural reaction to such simpering questions would to turn the cold shoulder, so visibly fighting the urge, he narrowed his voice into a hoarse whisper.
“What are you doing?” He said.
The woman's face instantly sobered.
“What do you think?” She demanded.
“You of higher birth, behaving so...forwardly to a man like me.” He said matter-of-factly, “If you wanted me for a fuck, you would be giving your attentions to a younger buck instead.”
Her face reddened slighly under the pale powder, but her eyes were still hard and cold.
“Oh?” She asked, “Do you think I am just playing with you?”
“Forgive me if I insulted you,” He murmured, his face shown nothing of apology.
“No.” She snapped. “I appreciate honesty. But whether or not I prefer men of experience, is not of anyone's concern. Since you would not return my advances, I will not continue them, if that puts you into better ease. Now,”
She stood up, swivelling back towards where her work lay, and grabbed the bottle with a shot of hand.
“Take your shirt off.”
The bottle landed in a bang beside him, and the Hessian flinched. He jumped onto his feet before he even realized what he was doing, forcing Mme. Wimund to back-pedal. He stood over her, almost chest-to-chest against her, his eyes glaring down at her with an intimidating, silent warning.
He'd had it with her. NO one touches him, NO one makes him strip as if he were a cheap harlot, and NO one dares to test his patience.
Mme. Wimund's face turned into an even darker shade of red, the increasing fury and outrage was showing as plain as day to him, and some part of him instantly felt regret.
“You...” She hissed.
The pain in his abdomen shot back into him. He felt the color of his face drain as he swayed dangerously. He slammed his hand against the table and steadied himself, his mind shaky from his sudden loss of control.
“Come, let me let you down on the bed...”
He felt her hands as Mme. Wimund quickly acted, hoisting him up with her arms. He tried to wrench her away, ready to snap back a protest, but the pain closed its white-knuckled grip on his throat.
“What's happening? Madame, what's happening?”
The whiny, pathetic voice hurt his ears. He made a grab for the bunk behind him as he tried to pull away, but the woman's grip was too strong...
“It's nothing.” She snapped back, “Go get the doctor and go home--”
“Oh Jesus, he's passing out! You're gonna drop him lemme--”
“GIRL, GET THE DOCTOR!”
“SHUT UP!” He roared. He tried to shove the woman away from him; as soon as his hand pressed down her shoulder she promptly let go of him, letting him crash on the bed.
“Fine.” Mme. Wimund said, her grip closed over her own injured shoulder.
Jodi stood there, stunned.
“What was wrong with him?” She exclaimed; Mme. Wimund spat angrily at his feet, then bent down to grab the things dropped from their scuffle.
“Nothing but the tearing of his wounds, I'm sure.” The woman said acidly, “Get out.”
The man was gritting his pointed teeth as he tried to raise himself up. Staring hard at the woman who coldly regarded him in return. Wimund took the bottle on the bedside table and tossed it at him. It hit him square on the gut despite of his efforts in catching it before hand. He flinched violently and clenched his hold on it. Jodi stitched her lip at the almost crushing grip he held.
“I said get out.” She said in a low voice.
If there was an animal inside that man, Jodi saw it clearly that night. As he staggered upright to his feet and loped towards the door, she saw the threat and hatred on his face as he glanced fleetingly towards the older woman. Reminding her of the way wild dogs looked whenever she crossed paths with them. Scared and hurt, but still ready to rip your face off if you got too close.
“Arthur!” Wimund barked, “Get Johanna home. We're done.”