The army moved north the next morning. The wagons creaked over the dirt road, filled with bandaged men and crates of supplies. Emily sat on the back of one wagon beside Thomas. The air was thick with dust and the smell of horses. Nathan rode ahead, giving orders in a calm voice that carried authority.

After hours of travel, they reached a small Virginia village surrounded by fields and thick trees. The war had scarred it—half the houses were damaged, and the church had broken windows. Still, people came out to watch the soldiers arrive, their faces wary but curious.

Emily jumped down from the wagon, helping to unload the wounded. A group of women approached, whispering as they looked at her jeans and sneakers. Their dresses were long and gray, their hair tied back. One of them finally spoke. “Where you from, miss? Those are strange clothes.”

Emily smiled carefully. “Just passing through. I help with the injured.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You talk funny too.”

Thomas stepped forward. “Leave her be, Martha. She’s saved more lives than any of us.”

The women moved away, still whispering. Emily felt their eyes on her as she worked. By sunset, she had helped set up a temporary clinic in the church. The wooden benches became beds, and the altar was turned into a table for supplies.

Nathan entered, holding a map. “We’ll stay here for a few days. The men need rest.” He paused when he saw her bandaging a young soldier’s arm. “You never stop working, do you?”

“Habit,” she said.

He studied her hands, steady and quick. “You’d have made a fine army doctor if you’d been born different.”

She smiled. “Maybe I was born in the wrong time.”

He frowned, not understanding, but said nothing.

That night, as the soldiers slept, Emily walked outside to clear her head. The village was quiet except for the sound of crickets. She sat near the old well, staring at the stars. They looked the same as home, yet everything else was different.

Behind her, someone whispered. She turned and saw two villagers watching from the shadows. One of them crossed himself. “She heals too fast,” he muttered. “Saw her stop bleeding with her hands alone.”

Emily froze. “It’s just first aid,” she said, trying to sound calm.

They backed away, fear in their eyes. “No one does that without witchcraft,” the man said before running off.

Her chest tightened. Rumors spread fast in a small town, especially during war. She rubbed the brass key around her neck. It glowed faintly again, as if warning her.

When she returned to the church, Nathan was waiting by the door. “Some villagers came to me,” he said. “They’re saying strange things about you.”

“I only helped people,” she replied.

“I know,” he said. “But fear doesn’t care about truth. Keep your head down for now.”

Emily nodded, though unease crawled inside her. For the first time since arriving, she realized she wasn’t just a stranger. To some, she was something dangerous.

Chapter 6 – The Fire and the Fear

The next morning began with tension. The village square buzzed with whispers. Children pointed at Emily, and women crossed the street when she passed. She tried to focus on work, cleaning wounds and boiling water, but she felt the weight of eyes following her.

Thomas noticed. “Don’t mind them,” he said quietly. “People fear what they don’t understand.”

Emily sighed. “I just want to help.”

“Then keep doing that. Let the rest talk themselves tired.”

But by afternoon, things got worse. A wounded man began to convulse from infection. Emily grabbed a bottle of alcohol and a clean cloth, doing what she could. She cooled his forehead and whispered encouragement. When he finally stopped shaking, his breathing steady again, a small group of villagers at the door gasped.

“She touched him and he lived,” one said. “No prayer, no doctor, just her hands.”

“It’s not magic,” Emily said firmly. “It’s medicine.”

They didn’t listen. One woman crossed herself. Another whispered, “Witch.”

Nathan entered then, sensing trouble. “What’s going on here?”

“She’s unnatural,” a man shouted. “No woman can heal like that.”

Nathan stepped forward, his voice cold. “She’s saved dozens of our men. That’s not witchcraft. That’s courage.”

The crowd hesitated but didn’t leave. Emily’s stomach twisted. She had seen fear before in patients, but this was different. This was hatred looking for a target.

That night, the wind howled outside the church. Emily sat near the fire, staring at the brass key again. The glow was gone now, dull and silent. She whispered, “Why did you bring me here?”

Thomas came in, his face pale. “Emily, one of the barns is on fire. Villagers say it’s a sign, that God’s angry. They’re blaming you.”

Her heart sank. “What? Why me?”

“Because you came from nowhere, and things started changing.”

Outside, flames painted the night sky orange. Villagers shouted, forming a crowd near the burning barn. When Emily and Thomas arrived, people turned on her instantly.

“There she is!” someone yelled. “The witch!”

“I’m not—” she started, but a rock hit the ground near her feet.

Nathan pushed through the crowd, sword drawn. “Enough! Anyone who touches her answers to me.” His voice thundered over the crackling fire.

The villagers fell silent. Emily stood behind him, her heart pounding.

Nathan glared at the crowd. “She’s under my protection. She’s a nurse, not a witch. You want to blame someone for your misfortune, blame the war.”

Slowly, the people backed away. The fire burned itself out as soldiers doused it with water.

When the crowd finally dispersed, Nathan turned to her. “You can’t stay here long. They’ll come again.”

Emily nodded, tears threatening to fall. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But fate doesn’t ask permission.”

As they walked back to the church, she looked at him in the dim light. For the first time, she saw not just a soldier but a man burdened by the same kind of loneliness she carried. And deep inside, a quiet bond began to form, fragile but undeniable, born from fire and fear.