All Through the Night

by Tara Johnson

  Her heels clicked against the street as she wove between hordes of moving people, creeping wagons, and peddlers. A cool gust of wind cut through the air and slithered up her skirt. She studied the darkening October sky and winced. Thick rain clouds hung low. The breeze had already picked up, carrying with it the odor of rotting garbage mingled with baking bread. She reached the hospital just as the first raindrop hit her cheek.

  Pushing open the heavy door, she stood inside the foyer and took note of the gleaming wood floors and sterile white-painted walls. She shook away the crimson leaves clinging to her skirt and sniffed. The sharp sting of ammonia hung in the air. She wrinkled her nose against the smell and braved a glance up and down the hallway. No one coming or going. Somewhere beyond the corridors she could hear chatter, people conversing. A low moan. More indistinguishable sounds before silence settled.

  Should she search for someone to speak with? Make her presence known? Feeling as if she were shattering some sacred, invisible barrier, she walked to the left and followed the long corridor until it turned sharply to the right. A swell of noise and activity beckoned just beyond a closed door. With a fortifying breath, she pushed open the door. It gave with a gentle swish. She stopped and stared.

  The room was large, almost cavernous. Tidy rows of beds lined each side. Men wearing Union uniforms scurried back and forth, all of them intent on some errand. Two or three matronly women clad in black walked among ill patients tucked within the confines of the cots. A man in the back corner cried out, thrashing against his blanket.

  The veil to the inner sanctum had been lifted. This was what had been withheld from her. Why should age or appearance be a qualification for compassion?

  Her presence must have been noticed, for one of the nurses approached. Her gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Why, the nurse’s pins must be jabbing her so sharply, she no doubt suffered from a headache.

  “Pardon my intrusion. I found no one in the foyer. I met some of the newly arrived wounded yesterday and wanted to check on them. How are they?”

  The elderly nurse sighed, her expression revealing shadows of fatigue. “On the whole, not well. Most have pneumonia. All of them are severely malnourished and dehydrated. Others suffer from a host of other ailments which I should not discuss if you have delicate sensibilities.”

  Cadence winced. “How dreadful. Is there anything I can do to be of service?”

  The nurse tipped her head, her brow furrowed. “Did Miss Dix send you? I’d not heard of—”

  “There’s the singer!”

  A gravelly, masculine voice interrupted their conversation. Cadence turned to see one of the patients smiling at her. The man’s cheekbones protruded sharply in his face, but his eyes were alight with pleasure. “Aren’t you the miss who rallied our spirits yesterday?”

  Cadence approached his bedside. “I am. I came today to see how you all fared.”

  “Not so well.” He coughed and cringed, his entire frame convulsing. “But better now that you’re here. Private John Carter, at your service.”

  She forced her tongue to obey. “Cadence Piper.”

  His glassy eyes studied her face, a small smile hovering over his cracked lips. “Cadence. What do ya know? Perfect name for a songbird, don’t ya think?”

  She laughed and noticed that the nurse was smiling as well.

  “Will you favor us with a song?”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Private Carter lifted his ragged voice to the other soldiers nearby. “Listen up, boys. The singer is here. You want her to share another song?”

  Weak cries peppered the air. Cadence turned to the nurse. “May I? I’ll not do it if it causes you any trouble.”

  The matron shrugged. “I don’t see it causing any harm. If anything, it will brighten their spirits.”

  Nodding, Cadence directed her focus to Private Carter. “What shall I sing?”

  He settled back against his pillow, his face pale. “Anything. Everything.”

  A hundred songs flitted through her mind, but one settled and refused to budge.

  “Rock of ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in thee;

  Let the water and the blood,

  From thy wounded side which flowed,

  Be of sin the double cure,

  Save from wrath and make me pure.”

  Private Carter sniffed. “Reminds me of my ma. Sing another verse, please.”

  “Could my tears forever flow,

  Could my zeal no languor know,

  These for sin could not atone;

  Thou must save, and thou alone.

  In my hand no price I bring;

  Simply to thy cross I cling.”

  When she’d finished that hymn, a different soldier requested another. After singing a total of four songs, the nurses asked if she would help dictate a letter for a soldier who wanted to write home. Before she realized it, her short visit turned into two hours.

  Two beautiful hours, and she’d never been more fulfilled.

  Joshua dragged his hand down his face, attempting to wipe his mind free of the look in the soldier’s eyes when he’d delivered the news. No man wanted to hear his leg must be amputated, but this soldier had resembled a wounded, panicked animal trapped in a cage.

  How many more would share the same fate in the coming months? Defeat clawed at Joshua’s mind like a vulture.

  He should try to get some rest before the surgery. Check on his other patients. Private Campbell’s chest sounded far too congested, and Private Donovan looked as if he might be suffering from scurvy.

  Slipping through the hallway, he walked into the patients’ quarters and froze.

  It was her. That singer. He could never forget her dark, glossy hair nor those blue eyes. She was leaning over a bedside, pressing a cloth to a patient’s head. The man said something and she smiled, a dimple emerging in her smooth cheek.

  Joshua studied her slim form. She wasn’t wearing black. Miss Dix hadn’t sent her. Why on earth was she here?

  An itch formed between his shoulder blades. He marched up to Nurse Meyers and blurted, “What is she doing here?”

  The elderly woman whirled to him with a start, her eyes wide. “Who?”

  He clenched his jaw. “The young miss attending Private Scoffield.”

  “Ah yes. Miss Piper. She arrived just past noon and inquired about the health of the newly arrived soldiers. Claimed she’d met them yesterday and was concerned about them. Nothing more.” Nurse Meyers’s face creased into a hundred wrinkles as she smiled. “You should have seen them when they recognized her. It was like the sun had risen. They asked her to sing.” Her eyes actually misted, for heaven’s sake. “Such an angelic sound I’ve never heard. After a time, I put her to work with other tasks. The men are loath to see her depart.”

  Private Scoffield laughed, snagging Joshua’s attention. Miss Piper squeezed his hand and stepped away.

  Was it any wonder they didn’t want her to leave? He quelled an angry retort.

  “Should I dismiss her, sir?”

  He pursed his lips. The men clearly wanted her there, but her presence breached Miss Dix’s protocol for nurses. There was enough to do without having to worry about a vain popinjay flitting through his hospital. An idea formed.

  “No need, Nurse Meyers. I shall take care of it.” Strolling to the young woman’s side, he cleared his throat. “Miss Piper?”

  She turned to him, eyes blinking. Words fled as he looked down into her upturned face. Her eyes were even bluer than he’d imagined. The color of the Potomac on a sunny day.

  “Yes? May I be of some assistance?”

  He straightened. He would not fall under her spell as the others had. He leveled a hard stare into her eyes. “You do not meet Dorothea Dix’s requirements for nurses, so enlighten me . . . how did you manage to sneak into my hospital?”

  Chapter 5

  CADENCE TOOK A STEP BACK, her breath thinning as she stared at the stranger before
her.

  He would have been handsome, strikingly so, with his strong build, chestnut hair, chocolate eyes, and chiseled jaw, save for the fierce scowl marring his expression.

  His gaze raked over her, and she fought the urge to rub her arms. Surely January’s wind held more warmth.

  “I’m waiting, Miss Piper.”

  She licked her lips, her voice suddenly uncooperative. “I—I merely stopped by to check on the soldiers I met yesterday. They asked me to sing, and—”

  “And you decided to indulge some romantic notion of being a nurse in their hour of need.”

  Heat scurried up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks. “No! I merely want to help.”

  “That’s good to know, because I have need of a nurse.”

  She clasped her hands and nodded. “I know little, but I’m happy to assist however I can.”

  “Good. Follow me.” He walked briskly through the room, motioning to two stewards on his way. “Please bring Private Sanders to surgery.”

  She struggled to keep pace with his long strides, even while her mind scrambled. Surgery? She had no experience in such things. Alarm iced her veins.

  Behind her, she could hear men grunting as they lifted the patient’s bed through the hallway. The doctor led her into a smaller room, but one much brighter with an entire wall comprised of rain-splattered windows. Watery light filtered through the glass, revealing the cloudy skies beyond. Long rows of cabinets lined the opposite wall. Tables were filled with every kind of instrument imaginable. An odd assortment of aromas hung in the air. A large stack of towels sat on a table in the corner. A long, flat table stood squarely in the middle of the room.

  “Dr. Ivy, would you like us to transfer the patient now?”

  The handsome doctor nodded at the two stewards as he pulled various bottles and instruments from the table. A cloth folded and sitting erect like a cone, long tweezers, and a . . . saw? Cadence gripped the edge of the closest table. Surely he wasn’t going to . . .

  The stewards lifted the sheets underneath Private Sanders, transferring him, bedding and all, onto the surgery table with a groan.

  The soldier’s complexion went gray. “You sure, Doc? Please. How am I gonna farm without a leg?”

  “I’m sorry, Joe. I wish there were another way, but once gangrene has set in, it’s only a matter of time before it not only takes your leg but your whole life.” He squeezed Private Sanders’s shoulder. “You’ll be amazed what you’ll be able to do once you get used to being without it.”

  The young man squeezed his eyes shut. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Dr. Ivy looked up at Cadence. “Hand me the anesthesia cloth, please.”

  Mouth dry, she studied the assortment of instruments he’d arranged closest to the table. With trembling fingers, she handed him the tented cloth. He took it without a word.

  “Chloroform.”

  Scanning the labels, she felt a surge of triumph when it only took her two seconds to locate the correct bottle.

  “Unbutton the patient’s collar.”

  She stared at him. His brown eyes flared with something akin to amusement.

  “We’re not at a garden party, Miss Piper. I assure you, he’ll not think you forward.” A wicked grin tipped his lips. “Not overly much, anyway.”

  The cad. She’d never so much as exchanged words of endearment with a man, save for familial affections with her brother or father. Unbuttoning a man’s collar seemed far too intimate.

  Dr. Ivy’s sigh sliced sharply. “Sometime today, Miss Piper.”

  Whether it was anger at him for being so infuriating or at herself for allowing him to fluster her so, she couldn’t tell, but before she knew what was happening, she watched her fingers fly over the buttons of the patient’s shirt, revealing his hair-covered chest.

  Dr. Ivy’s chuckle snapped her back. “No need to completely undress him.”

  She clamped her teeth together. Was the man always so churlish? Her gaze flickered to the patient’s, who looked away. Crimson mottled his neck.

  Dr. Ivy leaned over Joe, his expression gentle. “We’re ready. I’m going to pray, if that’s all right.”

  Joe nodded, and the surgeon closed his eyes. “God Almighty, I humbly beseech you to guide my hands. I ask that you watch over Joe. Bring him healing, quick recovery, and long life. I ask these things in the name of your dear Son, Jesus. Amen.”

  Cadence stared. Who was this man? Infuriating one minute, petitioning Providence the next. Grabbing the tented cloth, he held it over Joe’s nose and mouth before allowing drops of chloroform to saturate the tip of the cloth.

  “Breathe normally. You may feel odd, but I assure you all is well.”

  Joe’s eyes widened. “I can’t breathe!”

  Cadence reached for his hand, but he pushed her away, his fingers flailing, grasping at the air. Dr. Ivy seemed unconcerned.

  “You’re not suffocating. Chloroform feels strange, but your body is getting all the air it needs. Relax. There you go.”

  Joe’s eyelids began to droop. His body twitched sporadically. His eyes rolled back in his head before his weight sank into the operating table.

  After another few seconds, Dr. Ivy removed the cloth cone. “There. That should last awhile.”

  He pulled down the blankets covering Joe’s lower body and unwrapped his right leg. A putrid stench filled the air, so foul Cadence gagged. She barely got a glimpse of the blackened flesh before her vision swam. Nausea clawed up her throat. The world tilted. Dr. Ivy’s commanding voice swarmed through the tumult.

  “Have you seen gangrene before, Miss Piper?”

  She attempted to straighten and keep the bile in her throat down. “No, I have not.”

  He smiled tightly. “It’s not nearly as romantic as dabbing fevered brows and singing to lovesick soldiers, is it?”

  She offered no reply. She couldn’t. The smell . . . heaven help her, the smell was more than she could bear.

  He wrapped a tourniquet above the patient’s knee before grabbing a small handsaw and positioning it just below Joe’s kneecap.

  At the first sight of crimson, the room spun. Her vision narrowed to tiny pinpoints. She could no longer contain her nausea. Her knees wobbled. Dr. Ivy’s voice sounded far away.

  “Miss Piper . . .”

  A shout for the stewards, the floor rushing up to meet her, then merciful nothingness.

  “Miss Piper?”

  A baritone voice beckoned her, prodding her senses. Warm fingertips pressed against her neck. Forcing her eyes open, she gasped to find the handsome face of Dr. Ivy hovering over hers, his chocolate eyes intense. Was that compassion flickering in his gaze? He snatched his fingers from her collar as if he’d touched a burning coal. His eyes shuttered, the concern replaced with something altogether different.

  “Go home, Miss Piper. This work is not for you.”

  She pushed herself up. She was in an empty examination room. Had she missed the entire surgery?

  Lifting trembling fingers to her brow, she fought to push away the haze clouding her mind. Private Sanders. Chloroform. And then Dr. Ivy unwrapping his infected leg . . .

  She’d fainted. Made a spectacle of herself in front of not just Dr. Ivy, but the stewards as well. Humiliation, anger, frustration . . . all of it rolled through her in waves as hot tears pricked her eyes. Images blurred.

  Cupping her hand over her mouth, she stumbled from the room, searching through the maze of corridors until she found the door. She had only one destination in mind.

  Home.

  Joshua gouged the sockets of his eyes with the palms of his hands. He ought to be horsewhipped. He’d thought if he but mentioned the word surgery, Miss Piper would run home, but she’d held her ground. Not just held her ground but done her best to assist. Even when he’d shown her gangrene, she’d not succumbed as he’d wagered. Instead, she’d forged ahead with far more pluck and starch than he’d given her credit for.

  U
nease gnawed his middle. He’d only meant to scare her away. She had no business working in the hospital. She was far too attractive. Far too impressionable and innocent. His jaw cramped as he ground his teeth.

  No. He couldn’t risk it. The work was too great.

  Growling, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d never expected her to faint. Run out of the room? Yes. On all counts, Miss Piper had surprised him.

  After the stewards had taken Joe to recovery, he’d attended to her. Watched the gentle thrum of life in her slender neck, admired the curve of her cheek, the long sweep of her lashes. She was so feminine and fragile . . . too much so to be mingling among blood and disease. No, in every way it was a bad idea.

  She thought him a monster, and rightly so. Better she believe him to be a beast than allow her to destroy herself or her reputation.

  Cadence smeared away the tears that refused to stop falling as she lay on her bed. The rose-patterned wallpaper had blurred before her eyes for two hours, and still her sobs had not ceased. She stared at the embossed blossoms but saw only blood, could still smell the putrid stench of decay. Had Dr. Ivy mocked her when she’d succumbed? Surely he must have. A nurse who couldn’t endure the odor of infection . . . his derision must have been slicing. Humiliation covered her like a wet cloak.

  A soft knock sounded. Louisa’s voice drifted through the door. “Missy, you been in there a long time. You feeling okay?”

  If she said no, Louisa would insist on seeing her. If she said yes, she would wonder why she’d not yet emerged since it was past time for supper. Father was likely already home.

  Sighing, she brushed at the escaping tears. “I’m not feeling well.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  The door creaked open. Louisa’s face appeared, concern lined in her gentle features. “What’s got my lamb crying so?”