by Gina Danna
“I had to borrow yours, because I’d never get that leg part around my foot.”
She gave him a narrow glance. “My knife? You rummaged through my medical bag for this?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Horror hit her as she stared at the raw leather. “That is not a knife for common use. It is a surgical instrument.” She closed her eyes. Cutting through the boot no doubt dulled a tool that lives could depend on. In fact, operations like she’d done for his leg…She bit her bottom lip in pure frustration.
“I’ll replace it, if it’s that important. But I needed to get my foot into my boot, to test my theory, and I couldn’t even fathom attempting to do so with all that constriction.”
She peered at him and wanted to snort. “You’ll get me a replacement? I was unaware the Confederate army paid so well. No wonder you all won’t stop fighting.” She paused. The damage was done. She’d worry about it tomorrow. “Let’s get it off you and see how you look.”
It took a bit of finagling to get the leather shoe off, with him spouting off in French—she’d bet two to one it was a swear word. The bare limb was exposed and with care, she moved it slightly, quickly examining it.
“I am surprised, sir. It’s a little warm to the touch and only slightly swollen. Tender, still?”
With a rigid jawline, her patient nodded. It was more than tender, she decided, since he was silent verbally. She grabbed the pillow off the bed and put it under his foot to elevate it.
“Whatever made you do this, again?”
He settled down a bit. “I noticed it didn’t hurt if I put more on the ball of my foot, so figured if my heel was off the ground, I might be able to move.”
Pretty good assessment, she nodded. She pulled a long strip of linen out of her medical bag and doused it in the water in the basin, soaking it thoroughly, then put it close to the window, which she propped open. The cold air whipped in, and she shivered. Stepping back, she stoked the fire in the fireplace, thankful it had been lit and used its heat to warm up.
Ada was also aware he was watching her.
“I’m sorry I ruined your medical equipment. I didn’t do so with malice in mind.”
On that, she laughed lightly. “No, on that, I believe you.” She walked back to grab the now ice cold linen and went to him, wrapping his ankle in it.
He flinched at the first touch, even moving the injured foot, which caused a deeper groan. “Ouch! I said I was sorry!”
“Apology accepted, but I’m still wrapping your ankle.” She drew the linen around and continued. “I want to bring the swelling down. There, see, it’s not that bad.”
“Then bind your own!” he snapped back.
She ignored him. “You may have a point, that is, on using that small heel on your boot. Though, you’ve destroyed the shoe overall.”
“I’ll replace it.”
“That’d mean returning you to your side. Last I recall, you are a prisoner in Yankeeland.” She giggled at her twist on the word Yankee.
“You goin’ shoot me if I leave?”
Now she harrumphed and rolled back on her heels, crossing her arms. “Go ahead. You wouldn’t make it out the door.”
He grimaced with a snarl.
Knock, knock.
Ada jumped. Gathering her wits, she went to the door, slightly opening it. “Yes?”
Mrs. Turner laughed. “Had the boys bring up a tub and water. Looked like your husband was right, missy. You look plum tired. Nothing like a hot bath to make ya new again.” She glanced past Ada and winked at Francois. “Evenin’, Mr. Fontaine. Brought it up, just liked you asked.”
“Merci, Mademoiselle Turner. Greatly appreciated.”
Ada watched the older woman blush. “You be needin’ anything else, you let Mary know, now.”
The ‘boys’ were strapping young lads, one carrying a tin tub, the other two buckets of hot water. After they set their goods down near the fireplace, they darted out for three more buckets, dumping each in the tub.
“Thank you, Mrs. Turner. We thank you. Now, good night.” She shushed the landlady out the doorway and shut it fast. The steam of the hot water was inviting, she did have to admit that. The desire to crawl in it elevated, until her patient spoke.
“See now, perhaps to make up for the knife?”
Mesmerized by the tub and the longing to take advantage of it, she almost didn’t hear him. But when it registered in her mind, all thoughts of a bath fled.
“Not likely,” she said, walking around the room, picking up her cloak and gloves to put away.
“You need to take a bath.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Doc, you look close to death. You’re pale as a ghost, which is whiter than most consider acceptable. Far from porcelain,” he argued. “Your eyes have dark pockets, you’re skinnier than a whippet and look close to falling down. You work all day at that hospital, only to come here and nurse me. No, you need to take a bath.”
She ran her fingertips across the top of the water. It was warm and so inviting…then it hit her, not only was he right, but the other issue was him. He was here. In the bed in the room where the tub was. Despite her longing to climb in, there was no way to block him from watching her. He was too attractive, even injured, even as the enemy, even as a slaveholder. The last made up her mind.
“Perhaps, but you are here and that forgoes the bath.”
“Stubborn woman!”
That made her smile. “My father said the same thing when I told him I wanted to be a doctor.”
“I promise not to look.”
She shot him a shocked glance. He held a straight face, except for the twinkle in his eyes. Her will was being torn between wanting to soak to wanting to thrown a book at him. She toyed with the idea of taking the partition that stood to the side and putting it between him and the bath but…
“Oh, for all the saints!” He leapt off the bed, scooped her up and dropped her in the tub.
Probably not the wisest of moves on his part, Francois admitted immediately. First, his doctor screamed in surprise, the water splashing up everywhere, soaking her and his front. Second, the impulsiveness wasn’t the best, as he put weight on the healing foot and nearly caused him to collapse. But he couldn’t take her whimpering glance at the tub any longer. Things had gotten way too out of hand when the war touched immediate moments like this, over desiring to bath or not. He’d pay the price for this, in more ways than one, as he inched back to the bed, looking downward in a feint attempt to keep his word and not look.
“What have you done?” She stood in the tub, drenched like a soaked rat.
“I helped you make up your mind.”
She growled.
Maneuvering his foot back up took more guts than he had at the moment. Easing it back up, he sank into the mattress. It was then he was hit by her bodice. The half damp wool garment slammed into the side of his head before it fell to the floor.
He peaked at her. All the splashing he’d heard as he lifted his leg up had been her disrobing. Now, she sat in the tub in her chemise, her head resting on the back rim. The coiled hair, bound so neatly in the knot at the nape of her neck, unraveled, halfway draping over the tub, the other in the water. She looked like a nymph, seductive in her undergarments while in the water and elusive in that she refused to look his way.
Part of him stirred in ways he hoped it wouldn’t. Had he been that long without a woman’s touch? Apparently…
Suddenly, she laughed. It caught him off guard and frowned.
“Now what’s so funny?”
“That you found it a necessity to throw me, your doctor, into the water, probably setting your recovery back further, and just lay there, in pain, eyes shut to keep your promise.” She giggled again. “It all seems rather inappropriate, since you instigated this with Mrs. Turner.”
Now he looked at her. “You’re wrong on one thing. I did look, after you threw your dress at me. Uncalled for, I might add.”
“Uncalle
d for? You’re the one who made it soaking. It’ll take days to dry.”
He cringed at that. She was right. “That may be, but you need a good soaking. Cleanses the soul.”
The smile that came to her lips radiated heat all over the room. Well, at least on him. Enough, she eased the ache in his heel.
“I have my doubts on that, soldier.” She stretched her arms at the water’s surface, making her chemise billow in the water. “I thought most of you refined Southerners were officers.”
Despite the throb in his ankle, he couldn’t tear his gaze off her neckline and the white in the water. “I joined late, as it were.”
“A poor decision, I’d say.”
“No, it was the right one.” As much as it pained him, he stood, hobbling to one side and grabbed the long linen cloth off the end of the bed. “Thinkin’ it be time for you to get out. That water is chillin’ and I don’t want my physician to come down with consumption or such.”
She shivered almost on command. That unnerved him. So did her acquiescence to his request. She grabbed the edge of the tub and slowly stood. It was like a siren, luring him to his death, for as she stood, the cotton chemise clung to her body, detailing every line, every curve. It plastered to her chest, allowing him to see the tight nipples of her full bosom. She leaned back to squeeze the water out of her hair, the motion thrust those beauties towards him and without a thought, he bent forward and suckled one through the cloth. His teeth skimmed the nub before he pulled it into his mouth. It was heaven!
Ada caught her breath. Her first reaction should be to soundly beat him, but the tingles in her breast screamed please!
She’d never bathed in the presence of a man. So his reaction wasn’t what she was thinking. In her mind, she was covered, she just hadn’t considered the water-soaked material would glue to her form. She had no one to yell at but herself for being so displayed, though she had to admit, his tugging at her nipple set off fires in her belly. A low flame that churned, begging for more.
Then, he pulled back, catching her totally off guard.
“Mon Dieu, I apologize.” He quickly wrapped her in the towel and stepped back, collapsing again on the mattress.
Ada pulled the sheet tighter around her, trying to cope with the excitement that quickly stopped when he let her go. She was cold, now that she was out of the water, but her insides were still inflamed and taking longer to chill. One thing was for certain—her undergarments were too cold and she’d catch a chill shortly. That man was a menace, of that she was sure!
She yanked her gown and wrapper and stepped behind the partition to change. Peering through the gathered cotton that filled the openings of the tri-fold piece, she saw him on the bed, foot again on the pillow and his eyes shut.
And then, he snored.
Chapter 17
“General Grant is not going to retreat. He will move his army to Spotsylvania. I am so sure of his next move that I have already made arrangements…so that we may meet him there.”
—General Robert E Lee to his staff, May 1864
Dr. William Leonard shook his head at the hospital steward, who quickly pulled his box of supplies back. Will reached down and closed the young soldier’s dulled eyes. The boy was too young to fight and it irritated him more and more that the recruiters took whoever came in. The only smart ones he knew of were the substitutes, who took the money for signing up to fight for a richer man and then vanished to start it all over again. Those men avoided the Grim Reaper, at least for a while.
But then there were the young ones, like this poor soul, who signed on for a cause and a chance to make money, to be clothed and fed. According to the record, he was seventeen. And it would be another dismal letter for Will to add to the list to do, so the boy’s parents would know.
“Mail call!”
Will turned and found a former patient, a private, who still served, but now as a courier after losing three fingers on his right hand at Gettysburg, making him unable to fire a rifle. At least as a mail carrier, he could bring better news, to those who got parcels…
“Dr. Leonard!”
He grabbed his envelope and saw the one in the boy’s hand for Ada. “I can take Nurse Ada her letter as well.”
The boy nodded and went on his way. Will looked at the envelope and secretly prayed that malcontent who held Ada’s heart was not the writer. Part of him wanted to burn it, just in case it was, but he didn’t. He went in search of her and found her, sitting at a bed, her eyes drooping as she attempted to write a letter for the boy on the cot. Of course, the boy was gone and she had probably taken his last words. He prayed she had before she’d drifted off.
“Ada,” he whispered in her ear.
She jumped, knocking her pencil stub and paper to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “Will, why are you scaring me so?”
“Ada, your patient is gone.”
“I know. Poor soul. Pneumonia stole his life away, and at such a sweet young age,” she mourned. “I had just jotted his last words down, for his mother, when he passed.” She wiped her eyes.
He reached to pick up the letter. At least one he didn’t have to do, he thought absently, then mentally chided himself for the thought. He motioned to the orderly to come and take care of the boy.
“You have a letter.”
Instantly, her face lit up. “Oh, how nice!”
“And Dr. Waxler has called for you.”
Her shoulders steeled, as if she was a warrior ready for battle. “Of course, he did.”
“Ada, be careful. I still hope he hasn’t heard of our friend,” he added in a low tone.
On that, she snorted. “I’ve no fear all is good. What I reckoned he heard was of my newly acquired husband.”
Will snapped upright. “Husband?”
“My landlady has been led to believe that creature is my spouse.”
“I told her—”
“I know what you said.” She stood, flattening her navy wool skirt. “But he introduced himself to her, in his very Southern ways, swaying her off with sweet little nothings, and told her outright we were husband and wife.” After making sure her apron was straight, she glared at him.
“You owe me, Will. Never forget that.”
“I think you are being a touch out of line, Dr. Waxler.”
Waxler grinned. He’d waited a long time for this meeting. The fact that Dorothea Dix was there would not take the enjoyment out of this.
“We are in shortage of nurses. There is no rule to rid us of one that is perfectly suited for the position.”
“She claims to be a physician. She’s practiced under my command, without any clearance from me. I will not tolerate this further. Perhaps you should lower your demands and recruit from a broader base.”
Dix sat prim and proper on the chair in the office, her hair pulled back and tied tightly in a bun. Her own face worn and tired from working the last three years for the war effort, but surely she had to know when she’d gone too far, Waxler thought.
“I have worked diligently, sir, to aid you and the Medical Corp during this trying and distressful war, worry for better care of the wounded my top priority. I have the President’s approval and my own experience that surely outranks your narrow-minded thoughts over a nurse who is overly qualified for the position. And, perhaps, you might learn a thing or two, from a woman like her.”
Waxler bit back the grumble desperate to escape his lips. No point making this one mad as well. While Ada might be missed at first, Dix’s departure would not go well, so he constrained his contempt and tried to formulate an approach that could bring the Old Dragon around to his way of thinking.
Willard Bliss, surgeon with the Third Michigan Infantry, appointed superintendent at Washington D.C’s Armory Square Hospital, was present, at Waxler’s request. The surgeon sat off to the side, rummaging through reports and keeping to himself. Waxler hoped the superintendent would keep his mouth shut and let him do all the talking. Alas, only time would tell.
Ada entered. Waxler had to admit, she presented herself well. She adhered to the rules Dix had for the nurses—she had on a plain, unadorned navy wool dress with a corded petticoat underneath and not the crinoline as that was outlawed by Dix. She wore no jewelry and her hair was pulled back into a pinned coiled braid. Her apron was only slightly marred from use, not a surprise this late in the day. Her manners were excellent, except when he needed her to keep her place. Like when the wounded arrived…
“Nurse Ada, please come, take a seat,” Dix suggested, her tone not warm but not cold either.
Even without a crinoline, Ada seemed to float to the chair and sat gently. “I understand you needed to speak to me?”
“Yes, well, let us cut to the chase, shall we?” Waxler started, the need to mix niceties seemed a bit much at this time. “You have broken the rules of nursing. You have acted as a practicing physician, upset the wards, acted as surgeon and refused to accept your position.”
The color drained from her face. “I do beg your pardon, Dr. Waxler, but I am a physician and have the credentials to prove it.”
“A degree from some utopian school and a list of female patients do not qualify you to operate on our men! Nor is it approved by the Federal government.” He started to pace. “You have usurped my rules, operated against orders and acted as if you are better than any other surgeon here!” The last words sank into his thinking and he quickly turned toward Bliss. “Except for you, sir.”
Bliss looked up, running his fingers through his hair. He didn’t make a remark, didn’t even show much of an expression. The bland overture only infuriated Waxler more. He needed support from this buffoon from Michigan, not indifference!
“What do you have to say, Miss Lorrance?” Dix queried.