by Gina Danna
But he couldn’t silence the small voice that echoed would that nurse here wonder? To hell with war!
Ada worked furiously all day long. Packing a hospital, particularly one set up temporarily, was difficult. Every time, she wondered how things had been so strewn all over the place, only to discover once she thought she had everything, another drawer was opened, or box turned. What had been so organized, that she had known where to go for what, evaporated the moment the command came to pack up.
To make matters worse, she had to get the laundresses motivated and the cooks to continue their meals yet pack at the same time. Not to mention her own tasks with the patients, which reminded her of her ward in the back. The Confederates. She’d yet to see them all day and had sent Maybelle back but had yet to hear a report. Every time she’d thought she’d run in to check on them, Waxler summoned her with new orders.
“Damn Meade wants us out now!” the surgeon had groaned. “Letterman is nowhere to be found. And Meade’s convinced the Rebels will come if we don’t skedaddle.” He shook his head, then stormed off.
“Here, drink this.”
She glanced up and found Will. He held a cup for her and she frowned. “Poison or wine?”
Will snorted. “Neither. Just water. Sides, can’t have you dying on me, I mean us. You hear the news. Waxler’s fit to be tied over it all.”
She downed the liquid and realized she was thirsty. And hungry, but there was no time to break. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she peered at her friend and pushed. “How are my patients?”
“Fine, I reckon.”
“Fine?” her brows shot up. “I thought you went to see them.”
“Did. This morning. All fit as can be, considering. But you know they’ve been escorted out.”
“Out?” Shocked, she grilled him with her gaze. “None of them were in a condition to be moved abruptly.”
“Well, not sure how abruptly is was, but they were moved. Been sent to prison, I hear.”
“Prison??? Will, you know as well as I do, they’ll not survive that!”
When she started to turn to try to find Waxler, determined to find out where he’d sent them, Will caught her by her arm.
“I wouldn’t do that. Not now.”
“They’re in danger!” she argued. “That one may never walk again if he isn’t cared for properly.”
Will snorted but refused to budge out of her way. “We’ll find out later. You know, we’ve got to go!”
She hated when he was right. Biting her bottom lip, holding back, she turned and continued her mission. But she was determined to find that rebel again.
Chapter 12
“Always mystify, mislead, and surprise the enemy, if possible; and when you strike and overcome him, never let up in the pursuit so long as your men have strength to follow, for an army routed, if hotly pursued, becomes panic-stricken and can then be destroyed by half their number.”
—General Stonewall Jackson, CSA
Washington D.C., December 1863
* * *
Will Leonard smiled. To do so actually hurt, he decided, as his lips curled upward and his skin pulled with muscle ache. What had seemed a millennium since he’d truly smiled was probably no more than six months, he’d guess. But then again, most of that time had been out with the army, during a war he quickly learned to despise, yet the call to aid the wounded kept him grounded to it.
“Here, here!” he joined in with the rest of the men at his table and raised his glass of wine.
“I’d gather this is better than anything you’ve had recently.”
Will snorted. “Oh, I can’t say field rations can be held up next to roast goose, no. And true bread certainly holds its own against hardtack.”
“Truly, you were rationed hardtack? I am amazed.” Dr. McKendrick took a bite of his roast beef and grinned. “I thought, as an officer and a surgeon, you fared better.”
Will looked down at his plate, taking a view of the chinaware, the true set of silver utensils, the crystal stemware and the meat, real vegetables in a wine sauce, the bread with authentic butter and inwardly he groaned. Those men on the field, who sacrificed it all for the Union, lived off raw beef, poorly self-cooked, with hardtack, desiccated vegetables and water, of which over half of the rations were ill-prepared and kept in a manner that would send them later to him for treatment for stomach and digestive problems.
“We did, to a certain extent, but overall, rations were hard to get at times. Particularly if the rebels cut off our supply lines.” He took another swig of wine.
“Does this mean, being with us tonight at Albert’s, you’re out of the war?” the petite brown-eyed minx next to him queried. She’d placed her fingers on his sleeve to capture his eye, and she was lovely enough to make him want to give her more attention, but he was not falling for that. Too many men in this conflict had died, forcing him to write the letters of condolence to wives. That awful task made him shy away from the idea of love at this time.
“No, Mrs. Featherstone, no. We are at winter’s quarters. While the army is training, I am left to care for the sick and wounded, though in a much more comfortable setting.” He grinned.
“No doubt, being here in Washington is far more attractive than some tent in a field. Here, here!” Mr. Featherstone stated. The older, grey-haired politician was double his wife’s age, Will decided. No wonder she’d turned to him.
“I dare say, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you,” his colleague, Dr. Theodore Sattler, on his other side called.
“Teddy, any time.” Will grinned. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”
Sattler leaned closer. “You know I’m working at Fort Delaware.”
Will frowned. “The prisoner of war site?”
“Yes. Look, I have some of your sick and wounded. Not yours, really, but from the recent fight in Virginia. One in particular is a trying case.” Sattler’s face was too concerned for the night of celebration they were having, drawing Will’s attention. From what he’d faced in the last month, he shouldn’t be surprised, but the doctor inside him nudged him to find out more.
“It must be bad to bring it up here.”
“Yes, I believe it is. Will you come with me on the morrow to look?”
The trip to Fort Delaware wasn’t one Will wanted to make. His assignment over the winter was an easy one. Most of the severe cases were released and homeward bound, since they’d be unable to muster again, or dead. He was left with the sick mostly. But the walls surrounding the Fort, high and foreboding, on an island of sorts, brought the war slamming back to him and he sighed.
“Dr. Sattler, Dr. Sattler!”
As they disembarked the ferry, a young man was scurrying out to see them on the quick.
“What is wrong, Adam?”
“It’s that secesh. He’s burning high. Won’t take to lying still or taking any drink. Got the others all worked up.”
As they hurried toward the building the orderly raced back to, Will turned to his friend. “Adam, what is ailing the man?”
“He’s some damn Frenchie, probably one of those Tigers, all pent up with anger and all that. He came in with a foot wound. Didn’t look like it was bad. Pus was clear and some minor swelling, to be expected and in fact, less than most cases. But didn’t last. Turned wicked. Feared we’d have to go back in and amputate, but that’s when he turned violent. Kept yelling ‘she tole me I’d keep it’ and nonsense like that. Don’t know who he’s speaking of, but once the fever raised, figured it was his girl back home. I don’t have the equipment here to do this.” He shrugged. “They don’t give a prison much in medical supplies. Perhaps you might recall him, since he came back just nigh on a fortnight or so.”
Will’s brain was working, trying to recall. They’d had enough of the Louisiana Tigers to deal with and plenty of leg wounds. But the moment they turned the corner and the lock tumbled, opening the door, it only took one glimpse to see the man Ada had worked so valiantly o
n. Visions of that morning, when they were ordered to retreat, General Meade convinced Lee’s numbers would do his army in, despite their winning the battle, all the wounded were readied for the journey and the hospital packed. The Union patients were the top priority, and Ada had been forced to now see ‘her ward’ as she referred to the prisoner area, ready to move. When twilight fell and they loaded the end of the Federal soldiers, she had raced to the wing with the Confederates to find it vacant, those men already shipped to prisoner of war camps, though they didn’t say which one. She had stormed and demanded to know, erupting like a volcano. She argued fervently that they needed medical care and he recalled how Waxler stood solid, a gleam of satisfaction in his eye as Letterman tried to talk her off the edge of insanity. She was furious, and rightly so, Will thought, but he said nothing as well. She’d pay for her outburst, that he did know and he’d tried to block her at first but it was a losing battle.
He shook his head now, trying to re-focus on the matter before him, shoving that memory back. It didn’t change the matter that the one patient she’d fought diligently to save, this man, who in Virginia looked like he’d recover to his fullest, was now pale, glistening with fever and a gaunt look, his eyes encircled in black. His heart sank.
The secesh’s eyes locked on his. It was that moment that Will realized he didn’t even know the man’s name. He was a rebel, that was where the knowledge stopped, except for his injuries.
Will glanced down at the man’s ankle. It was swollen and red.
“You. Yank! Don’t you let them take it!” The man snapped when the orderly moved the pillow it was resting on. The motion showed in the sunlight a yellowed linen cloth and Will took that as the wound was no long spewing clear puss but yellowed.
“See what I’ve been talking about?” Adam rhetorically asked, as he pulled the bandage back. The threads stuck to the wound reluctantly gave, making the patient wince.
Will bent to take a closer look. A brief scent of it didn’t hold the morbid ribbon of decay but it did look ugly.
“Its fine,” the patient spat.
Will looked up at him. The man’s gaze was fevered. There was heat radiating from the wound. “Can you bend it? Flex?”
The man swallowed hard but obeyed quietly. The pain etched across his face but the determination controlled it, as he got the foot to move.
“Painful?”
He nodded harshly.
Will took a step back and Adam jumped right in.
“Your prognosis?”
Will shivered, and he didn’t think it started because of the temperature. “Damn, it’s cold in here!”
“It’s a prison. I’m not in charge of housekeeping,” his buddy muttered. “Just its patients.”
“Who is this rebel?”
“I’m Corporal Francois Fontaine, sir, at your service.”
Will spun and they both looked in shock. The patient had managed to prop himself upright, looking anything other than comfortable. Fever did strange things to patients, Will recalled from some medical lecture what must have been ages ago. Something about the name, though, prodded Will to ask, “So Corporal Fontaine, where do you hence?
“St. Charles Parish, Louisiana, sir. As does my father and brother.”
Will snorted. Memories started to come full color as the accident and name registered. “And, pray tell, your family planters?”
“Oui. Sugar, mostly. Plus other measures.”
He ran his fingers through his hair as Adam glared.
“Why you conversing with him? Wanna take up the slave issue with him, too? This man is a traitor. The enemy! Will, I didn’t bring you here to discuss politics, but for opinions.”
The patient, despite his feverish appearance, glared at Adam. Will, watching this scene before him about to explode, nodded at the man.
“We’ll do what we can, soldier. Dr. Sattler, if you please.” He nodded to Adam and motioned for them to leave.
Out of the room, Will paced. “First, it’s too damn cold in there for their well-being.”
“Will, they get what they deserve.”
“I can’t believe you said that. They are men.” He shook his head. He’d thought off the battlefield, the world was normal. Apparently, he was wrong, at least, in a military prison. “How can you work in that?” With a shiver, he now took in how his fellow doctor wore his entire uniform and the medical coat, layered for the temperature.
“I do the best I can.”
“You need to try harder,” he sneered.
“Then you call the Colonel about it,” Adam shot back.
He looked around his fellow-surgeon’s office. It didn’t look any warmer than his medical tent on the field. Astounding. “You really don’t have much.”
“No, I told you that. And I definitely do not have what I need, considering the number of men here. Not only do I have Confederates, but also political prisoners and Union disturbers. My hands are tied.” Adam gave him a narrow gaze and added, “Who is that prisoner to you? I saw your eyes. You know him, more than just passing through your field hospital.”
Will snorted. “Yes, I do. And it’s because of a debt owed his family, I need to get him out of here and be properly cared for, since you yourself admit to lack of equipment here to do so, considering.”
Adam jumped upright off the chair he’d taken. “You’re not going to free him!”
“No, no. I’m not, but I’m not going to let him lose that leg when I think I know someone who has worked with wounds like this, and better than I, nor let him die of gangrene here because he’s a prisoner and not deserving common care.” Will slumped into the other straight-back chair. “My father and this soldier’s family are well acquainted. His father saved mine from a debacle that would’ve ruined my family. I owe him.”
“And who do you know who can get him out?”
Will wondered that, too. “I’ll figure it out. Give a moment.”
Adam yanked a piece of stationary and started scribbling. “Here, take this. I’ve written the man’s release for better care, stating he is dying. I know we’re considered one of the better ‘hotels’ for the condemned, but the commander here is striving to show he’ll have no deaths, outside of age, on his watch. Perhaps, written by his physician, that’ll help.”
Will nodded. “Thank you.”
All he had to do was find Ada and pray she would talk to him and the patient he returned with. In more ways than one, he needed her to fix him or he’d have hell to pay.
Chapter 13
“Hello, Massa…bottom rail on top dis time.”
—Freedman soldier to his former owner, now a prison of war.
Armory Square Hospital, Washington DC
* * *
After a while, Ada believed she no longer heard the moans of the patients in the wards. The noise had turned to a low buzz to her ears. But today, their sound grew louder. With a bowl in hand and a rag over her shoulder, she stopped and looked down the row of patients and inwardly groaned. Christmas was but a week away, yet there was nothing cheerful in this building, despite the bows of evergreen that were draped from the rafters. The doctors had balked at the greenery, but she and “Dragon” Dix had argued the pine scent chased out the smell of rotting flesh and infested wounds, though the combination that she inhaled was ghastly, a present of pain encased in holiday cheer. Perhaps the surgeons had been right…
On cue, one of the patients sneezed. And sneezed again. Apparently, Lt. Fitzgibbons was not enjoying the seasonal scent. She went to his bedside first, pulling out one of the handful of handkerchiefs she shoved in her dress pocket for him.
“Here, Lieutenant.”
“I’m so sorry,” the ruddy-faced young man muttered before he blew his nose into the proffered linen. “Guessing that pine making me sneeze.”
She touched his forehead. The man had lost his foot during battle, an amputation that wasn’t done right. He’d come into the hospital with a high fever and a swollen stump, red with infection and crown
ed with the jagged point of bone jetting out of the closure. Another surgery was required and that reopening of the wound to round off the bone and make the closure right had a higher mortality rate. Thankfully, he had lived.
“Well, perhaps your reaction to the decoration is good,” she decided, daubing his face with a damp cloth. “You’re healing enough to notice it.”
He peered at her and a hint of a smile came. “So I’ll make it, you say?”
She bit her inner lip, swallowing the doctor inside her. Allowing that had been her ruining three weeks ago, thanks to Major Waxler. “That is what the surgeon says. Your fever is less and you’re not red or swollen. All good signs.” She grinned at him before she gave him a sip from his cup after she’d dropped a bit of laudanum in it for the pain.
The drug worked quickly, as she registered the placid gaze shade his eyes and his shoulders slump against the lumpy pillows. The tenseness evaporated from her as he fell asleep, not a natural one, but one vacant of pain. Slowly standing up from the edge of the bed, she picked up her rag and bowl and turned when a young boy ran up to her. He skidded to a halt, panting hard.
“Whoa, boy, what has you scurrying so?” Only reason anyone would come barreling into a hospital was a pandemic or the Confederates attacked—but this was the capital, it was too quiet for a barrage.
“I came lookin’ for Nurse Lorrance,” he gulped, then quickly added, “Ma’am.”