by Zina Abbott
Captain Garrett hired her—a paying job—to take care of his patients. He called them our patients. It would also help her financially. Why was he being so good to her after initially berating her for coming?
He has a son. Where is he? How old is he? How old is Capt. Garrett? Older than her by several years, but how many?
He would take her to Fort Hays. She might find work as a matron at the Fort Hays hospital. Days before, he said he was at Fort Hays only long enough to help with the cholera outbreak, the one that resulted in the matron job being available. However, he was returning to Fort Larned.
Did she want to be at Fort Hays if he was leaving for someplace else?
By the time Penelope reached for the doorknob, the only answer she knew was, no, she did not want to work at Fort Hays if the captain lived and worked someplace else. She did not want him to leave her behind at Monument Station. As she entered the room and picked up Jeremy to comfort him, she knew she already missed Marcus Garrett.
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Chapter 20
~o0o~
From Smoky Hill Springs Station to Fort Monument, Kansas
October 7, 1867
M arcus had not felt this restless in years. It had been less than three days since he left Monument Station, but he itched to get back there. He would like to believe the reason for his impatience centered around the injured men on which he had performed surgery. He did wish to know how they fared. However, deep down inside, he knew that was not the reason. He had been able to think of little else than his lovely assistant, the hospital matron in whose care he left his patients. He longed to see her again. In addition, while absent from her and able to think more clearly, he made a decision.
The Smoky Hill Springs Station, more primitive than Monument Station, offered surgery conditions more akin to what had been available during the War Between the States. The entire affair was a round dugout with a sod roof supported by timber logs. Aside from narrow gun ports cut into the wall at intervals, the fireplace and lanterns supplied the only light.
Like Monument Station, a deep rifle pit lined with stone blocks circled the main building. When his men returned from caring for the mules, they told him the corrals and the structure for storing hay and grain for the livestock were both dugouts—completely underground. They were spaced some distance apart and connected by tunnels. At three strategic places along these tunnels, open rifle pits had been constructed. They were large enough for two men to comfortably stand guard and fight off an attack.
Marcus had taken the time to walk outside to see the closest rifle pit. Although it was dug deep into the earth, thick log posts supported a roof made of a large, flat stone. Through the foot-high opening between the stone roof and the ground, the men kept watch and, when necessary, fired their weapons.
Marcus’s recall of Cpl. Chester’s enlightenment regarding the defensive rifle pits prompted a one-sided grin. Later the first night, after he found a fairly secluded spot to sit and relax after treating the three cavalrymen, Cpl. Chester walked over and sat a few feet from him.
Turning to him, the corporal spoke in a low voice. “Captain, you see them black flags all over the ground out there? They tells the Indians there’s no quarter given and none expected.” He shuddered. “They know we don’t take no prisoners. No wonder they fight so hard and treat us so poorly if they catch us alive.”
Not wishing to stir up a hornet’s nest among the cavalry soldiers in the building, Marcus leaned his head toward the corporal and kept his voice soft. “Truth of the matter is, Corporal, it tends to work both ways. As much as whites complain about how the Indians treat their captives, many Americans treat the Indians with just as much brutality, if not worse. I don’t know how long it will go on like this before we can work out a lasting peace. I don’t think it will be soon.”
The two minor injuries he treated while at Smoky Hill Springs Station had not required much attention. After cleaning and providing a few, well-placed stitches, those soldiers had not needed his care beyond the first twenty-four hours.
The third soldier was a different matter. The bullet he caught settled deep in his shoulder and required surgery. To care for this soldier, he stayed a day longer than he originally hoped. However, he checked the wound earlier that morning and it showed signs of healing. He noted that the man’s fever, which had finally broken the night before, had not returned. He felt it safe to give the soldier instructions on how to care for his own wound until he returned to Fort Wallace where the post surgeon there could follow up.
As he thought about the bandages, Marcus shook his head. Thank you, Mrs. Humphry, for the bird’s-eye diapers. I needed them. As he recalled giving the wounded private strips torn from a diaper without revealing the bandage’s prior purpose, he laughed under his breath.
Once the men learned his assignment was Fort Larned, they offered opinions that the military road going to Fort Zarah and points south remained fairly quiet. The Cheyenne, joined by the Arapaho and Sioux, concentrated on the Smoky Hill River Valley because they feared what would happen to them once the railroad arrived.
Although Marcus felt reassured that his return journey to Fort Larned promised to be less eventful than the past week had been, he still needed to arrive at Monument Station safely. From there, it was his responsibility to get his escort and the wounded to Fort Hays in one piece. Most importantly, he needed to protect Mrs. Humphry and her son who would travel with them.
It turned out to be providential that he remained at Smoky Hill Springs Station the extra day. That morning, after two days of no reports regarding incidences in the area, Capt. Conyngham had allowed the stagecoach with five men from the 38th Infantry, riding either inside or on top, to serve as escort, to continue its journey. They were instructed to join up with the escort patrol from Fort Wallace comprised of the 7th Cavalry at Smoky Hill Springs. The men detailed to Fort Monument were to return with Marcus. That was why, in addition to his driver, he now traveled with nine infantrymen, carbines loaded and ready, lining the benches of his ambulance.
However, much to his consternation, before he left, he found one of his patients, Alonzo Pierce, on the stagecoach. The man sat in the corner on the shotgun messenger side of the forward-facing bench. His body slumped, and his uninjured arm pressed against the side of the coach. He wore his coat sleeve on one arm and the other hung loose over the wounded area.
Marcus recognized the source of the fabric Penelope used to fashion a sling to both support and protect the healing wrist and forearm. “Mr. Pierce, what are you doing traveling? You had major surgery, sir. I can’t believe Mrs. Humphry released you.”
When Marcus spoke his name, Alonzo Pierce fought to open his eyes. “Gave her no choice. My daughter…Denver. Must go…” His eyes drifted shut.
Mr. Turner answered Marcus’s question. “Mrs. Humphry tried her best to talk him out of leaving, Doc, but he refused to wait until the next coach. Seeing he wouldn’t listen to her, she checked and cleaned his wound one last time. Said if we saw you, to ask you to check him over again. She gave him a weak dose of laudanum and enough willow bark to make several cups of tea.”
Marcus turned to the man and thanked him. It was the same passenger who bragged about having made the trip the year before. Marcus climbed inside the coach. He slid the arm out of the sling and unwrapped the bandage. On the surface, the wound was healing well. However, he knew how deep he had been required to cut into the muscle to remove the bullet. Mr. Pierce had several weeks of recovery ahead of him. He turned to the man who assumed the role of Mr. Pierce’s spokesman. “Once Mr. Pierce is more alert, please tell him, when he reaches Denver, to get to a physician as soon as he can. No matter what, he’s not to use this hand for the next two weeks. Mr. Pierce needs as much rest as possible until he’s fully healed.”
“I’ll tell him. Driver already said no more than him and one other passenger on that bench. The two soldiers from Monument Sta
tion who sat inside the coach to guard the stage both stayed on the center bench so no one would bump his bad arm.” The man squirmed to settle his spine against his seat. “As long as we don’t get held back again, we should be in Denver in two or three days.”
After Marcus dabbed the wound one last time with carbolic acid solution and replaced the bandage, he resettled Mr. Pierce’s arm inside the sling. When the coach departed the station, he shook his head. I hope he makes it to his daughter’s.
In addition to the passengers already aboard, the coach now carried the soldier that had kept him busy fighting infection up until that morning. His other two patients declared themselves well enough to mount their horses.
As the dust from the departing coach, the supply train, and the mounted escort settled, Marcus studied the sky. With all his patients gone, as much as he would have loved to return to Monument Station while it was still morning, he chose to wait until after the noon meal. Once the sun passed its zenith, they would have its rays at their backs. If they came under attack, he preferred to avoid having both the men and the mules be blinded by riding into the sunlight.
Now, off to the left, the sight of Monument Rocks growing closer drew Marcus’s attention. They would arrive at the station soon. He hoped it would not take too long to unload the gear he needed from the ambulance and get himself settled. He hoped to speak to Penelope Humphry before supper was served.
As he recalled the conversation with Capt. Conyngham just before he left, Marcus pursed his lips and scrunched his brow together. It took place after Penelope went upstairs to care for her son. The commander commended him for suggesting she fill the vacant hospital matron position. Then he speculated about a possible outcome for her. “I’ve met Steward Polly. As I recall, he’s a young man, about the right age for Mrs. Humphry. I know he’s still grieving for his late wife. But, most men who have been married are not happy living alone. If you can encourage him to hire her, it probably won’t take long for him to decide to offer her marriage.”
As he listened to Capt. Conyngham’s speculation, Marcus acknowledged that marriage to the widower who ran the Fort Hays hospital would be a possible solution for Mrs. Humphry. It would also benefit both the steward and the hospital. However, the thought left him cold. He departed Fort Monument two days ago feeling unsettled. Only after he was away from the station, and he found time to reflect on the situation, had he realized why the prospect of Penelope Humphry marrying Steward Polly did not set well with him.
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Chapter 21
~o0o~
A s she placed the last of the latest batch of bandages she laundered and folded into the medical crate the cook provided her, Penelope stood as she heard a wagon and a team approach the front of the station. She listened as it pulled into the trench that surrounded the building. It could be a coach. At breakfast, the stationmaster mentioned, as long as things settled down along the route, he expected one coming from the east soon. She felt the rate of her breathing increase and her heart beat against her breastbone, because she did not want what she heard to be a stagecoach.
Please let it be the ambulance. When Marcus and the others had not returned by the previous evening, as he told her before he left he hoped to do, she worried he and his men had been attacked.
A shouted announcement from of one of the orderlies standing next to the front window confirmed her wish had been granted. The captain is back. Please let him and his men be well.
The orderly, his teeth gleaming in contrast to his dark skin, smiled as he turned to her. “They all sitting upright, Mrs. Humphry, including the doctor and five men they sent with the coach this morning.”
“Thank you, Private.” She sighed with relief. She restrained herself from running to the window with the hope of seeing for herself. What is the matter with me? I’ll see the captain soon enough.
Penelope checked on her three remaining patients one last time. On the pretext of checking to see if the cook still had broth, she hurried to speak with him. It’s because I hope Capt. Garrett will come through the kitchen, and I’ll be able to see him as soon as he enters.
After confirming a small amount of broth remained, Penelope stood out of the cook’s way next to the door leading into the dining area. She listened to the sounds of men working with the livestock, others conversing as they climbed from the wagon, and the process of generally settling in after being gone for several days.
Penelope knew she should leave the kitchen and go upstairs to see if Jeremy woke from his nap. If she stayed, she should offer to help set the table for the evening meal. She should offer to roll out the biscuit dough the cook just placed on a floured board. Instead, she waited for the first glimpse of him—only to assure herself that he returned uninjured—or so she told herself. She dared not admit she desired to be with him in order to fill the void of longing that existed within her ever since he left two days before. That would be unseemly. She was his assistant. They had only known each other a few days. She shook her head. Why did each thought of him send waves of giddiness through her like the ones she experienced with her son’s father before her first love left for the war?
The door opened, and Marcus Garrett filled the frame. His hand still on the latch, Penelope watched his face appear to light up as his gaze caught sight of her. No, that is merely road dust making his eyes water. She wondered if the happiness she felt inside reflected in her eyes. “Welcome back, Captain. Did all go well?”
“It did, Mrs. Humphry. As well as can be expected. Fortunately, we traveled uninterrupted both directions. I can also report the stagecoach that left here arrived at the next station without incident.”
Penelope closed her eyes and exhaled. “I’m pleased to hear that. I worried about Mr. Pierce. I could not convince him to stay and wait for a later coach.”
“That’s what he told me. I would have preferred he wait. I did check him, and he seemed to be healing well. I left instructions with his fellow travelers. I hope he follows my advice about seeing a physician after he arrives in Denver.” He paused. “Mrs. Humphry, you took excellent care of him while I was gone.”
“I’m relieved you were able to check on him.” Penelope smiled at his praise. She stepped aside and motioned toward the door leading to the dining area. “Sorry to detain you, Captain. I’m sure you’ll want to rest and check on your patients.”
“Supper be ready before you know it, Captain, soon as I get these biscuits baked.”
An eyebrow raised, Marcus turned to the cook. “Biscuits? You have biscuits, Corporal?”
“Yes, sir. Used the last of the flour you gave Capt. Conyngham and rendered fat from the buffalo your men brought back.” He shrugged. “Buffalo fat’s not as good as lard, but it will do. I’ll spread the last of the jam on them, too, sir—real thin, so it will stretch.” He stopped and turned to Marcus with a grin. “We’re celebrating, sir. Mrs. Humphry’s boy fourteen months old today.”
Marcus turned to Penelope. “Congratulations.” He addressed the cook. “After almost three days of standard Army rations, that sounds good, Corporal. By chance, are there enough biscuits with jam for you to give one each to the five men on my ambulance escort squad? I’d like to reward them for a job well done. I’ll do without mine, if that will help.”
“There’ll be enough, Captain. They’ll like the gesture, especially since they missed out on buffalo steaks. Send them here to the kitchen when they’re finish with the mules, and I’ll have their biscuits ready. And, sir? Tell them, keep their mouths shut, or I’ll have others here wanting biscuits, too.” He shook his head. “Can’t hardly get flour or fatback and the like.”
“As soon as I drop my things inside, I’ll go tell the men. I hope the stationmaster will allow me to use his room again to wash up before supper. And, Corporal? Since I believe Lt. Ezekiel is your subsistence officer, with his permission, when I return to Fort Hays, I’ll strongly suggest to the officer over sub
sistence there that they need to send more out to the small forts like Monument. I’ll also suggest, since your post is too small to merit a sutler’s store, they need to provide a few niceties—like jams and jellies. It should make life out here a little more bearable.”
The cook grinned and nodded. “Be appreciated, Captain.”
As Penelope followed Marcus into the next room, she marveled over his character. As stern and opinionated as he could be at times, she appreciated his sense of fairness. Based on what little she had seen and heard in her life, she doubt few officers would think to show appreciation for the men serving under him the way Marcus did, especially when the enlisted men were black. When I searched the matrimonial advertisements, why could I not have found someone like him? Why not him? Her eyes welled up with tears as a new bout of discouragement threatened.
Penelope shook her head. No. I cannot dwell on that. I must find a way to move forward.
After Penelope brought Jeremy downstairs, she discovered Marcus, dust washed from his face and his hair freshly combed, checking on the injured men. She kept her back turned while the orderly she now knew to be Pvt. Samuels held up a blanket to create a privacy screen while Marcus checked Sgt. Mulroney’s leg. After they finished, she walked over to join the men. She smiled at Marcus. “Did I perform my duties adequately, Captain?”
“Perfectly, Matron Humphry. In fact, Sgt. Mulroney, here, claims you performed wonders when you mended his clothing.”
Pvt. Samuels bobbed his head several times. “Yes, suh. She washed all the men’s clothes. Got almost all the blood stain out, too. She patched them together like new.”
Penelope dropped her gaze and laughed. “It was not that difficult. I washed the men’s laundry along with the bandages. I didn’t have enough thread with me and had to beg thread from several others. However, I was able to at least patch and mend the men’s clothes so they should last until they are able to replace them.” She turned to Marcus. “I must confess, a few of your bandages are several inches shorter than they were when you left. I snipped off some of the ends to patch holes.”