Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  Thomas sat silently for a long moment. His voice was heavy with both sorrow and defiance when he finally spoke. “I realize the cost of this war is high. But it is a cost that must be paid.”

  Carrie said nothing, but she knew her face spoke volumes.

  “The great objective of the Confederate states is to bring the war to a successful close. Every other consideration must yield to that; surely you see that!” Thomas said sharply. His voice softened as he continued. “Without victory we can hope to enjoy nothing we possess, and nothing we do possess will be worth anything without it.”

  Carrie had never wanted the war to start in the first place. Now that it was here she was simply trying to do her best to make a difference and alleviate a small part of the suffering. Yes, she wanted the war to end because it would mean the end of the suffering, but... “People once thought the war would never come to pass. They were sure the North would never come down here to fight. Then they were sure one taste of the Confederate might would send them running home with their tails tucked between their legs. What are these people saying now?” she asked softly. “What do they say when they see the thousands of wounded men filling our city?”

  Thomas hesitated, but his voice was still defiant when he answered her. “The South has been forced by the North into all-out war. We didn’t want it, but now that it’s here we will fight it. Victory is all that matters. No price can be too high. No matter what changes we are forced to accept, they simply must be accepted.”

  Carrie gazed at him. “They brought in a woman last night,” she said finally. “She was wounded while trying to help tend the men on the battlefield - shot in the back. They don’t know if she’ll make it.” She paused for a long moment. “What if that had been me, Father? Would that price have been too high?”

  Thomas shifted under her steady look, but his face did not soften. “I hope to God I never have to pay such a price. I’m glad you’re safe in the hospital.”

  “Is that why you’re willing to pay the price? Because no one you really love - no part of your family can be hurt by the war? Does that make the price easier?” Carrie demanded, aware of the bitterness in her voice. She knew what price she might have to pay. She was all too aware that Robert might even now be dead, or lying wounded in a hospital bed.

  “You know that’s not true!” Thomas responded sharply. Then he grimaced and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I know you’re worried about Robert. I am, too.” He paused. “War is simply a horrible thing. But can’t you see this is a war that simply must be won? Can’t you see that right is on the side of the South?” he pleaded. “We are fighting for a just cause,” he finished firmly.

  Carrie was quiet for several minutes. The silence in the room seemed to grow, her father’s questions flowing around her, taunting her to find an answer. Finally she looked up at her father. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “But tied up in the just cause is slavery. Thousands of our country’s best are suffering and dying to maintain the slavery of millions of others. Where is the justice in that?” she finished quietly.

  “Would you rather the South lost?” Thomas demanded. “That our way of life be destroyed? That all these deaths be in vain?”

  “I already think these deaths are all in vain!” Carrie snapped. “There is no reason for a sixteen-year-old boy to have to live the rest of his life without an arm and a leg.” Other hot words surged to her lips, but she bit them back, aware her sorrow, pain, and fatigue were seeking a release in anger. Her country was already divided. She knew families were being split apart by differing loyalties. Now it was her turn to reach out to touch her father’s arm. “Father, I don’t want to fight. I love you.” She gazed at his angry face as she implored. “Our country is at war. I know there are things we disagree about, but we can’t let the war destroy us as well.”

  Thomas’ face softened. “You’re right, Carrie. Somehow we will deal with the differences between us.”

  “It’s your fault, you know. You made me this way,” Carrie teased, trying to interject a lighter note.

  Thomas managed a slight smile. “Because I let you grow into a stubborn, strong-willed young lady. Would that I could do it all again!”

  Carrie leaned forward. “Would you do it differently this time?”

  “Not a bit,” Thomas responded immediately. “I raised my daughter to think for herself - to be her own person. Granted, I never thought we would come down on different sides of such a volatile issue...” his voice trailed off. Then he shook his head. “I love you the way you are, Carrie. Just do me a favor,” he said with an attempt at humor. “Don’t go fight for the Union. We would never win this war.”

  Carrie stood and moved to where he sat then leaned down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a fierce hug. She was stunned by the tension and fatigue she felt radiating from his body. “I love you,” she said tenderly. “Now, tell me what is happening in our city.” She could only hope that talking would release some of the tension he was holding. It was at times like this she could imagine how much her father must miss her mother. He had talked to her about so many things. She had been so good at making him laugh - at making the lines of worry disappear from around his eyes. Carrie had watched the life ebb from his eyes when he had lost his beloved Abigail. How she wished her mother were here now! She would know how to help him through these times.

  Thomas sighed. “From what I can tell, which is not much at this point, we were able to push back McClellan’s troops. It is too soon to have the whole story, but it seems it was a miracle even that much happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “General Johnston issued orders that were never received or were hopelessly misunderstood. Whole regiments never even saw the battlefield because they didn’t understand where they were supposed to be. From all we can tell, McClellan’s troops far outnumber our own. We have no idea why he didn’t just sweep down and take the city.”

  “Robert told me General Lee said McClellan is overly cautious.”

  “It may be all that saved us,” her father said grimly.

  “What does President Davis think about what’s going on?”

  Thomas shrugged. “The last I heard our President didn’t even know there was going to be a battle until he heard the gunfire. Evidently neither he nor Lee had been advised of a design to attack the enemy. Once he heard the gunshots, our President rode out to the battlefield. I was told General Lee had to order him back from the front before he got shot.”

  “President Davis used to be an army officer himself, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. And old habits die young.”

  “Did he go back?”

  “Yes, but not before helping rally the troops.”

  “One of the soldiers who came in last night told me they pushed the Union troops back.”

  Thomas nodded. “They did. But we paid a high price for it.”

  “Matron Pember said somewhere around 5,000 were killed or injured.”

  “Including General Johnston,” Thomas said grimly.

  “General Johnston!” Carrie exclaimed. “What happened?”

  “I don’t really know. All I do know is that he was severely wounded and will be out of service indefinitely.”

  “Who is leading our troops?”

  “General Smith.”

  Carrie studied her father. “You don’t sound pleased.”

  Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know much about the man. I’ve simply heard our President is not overly impressed with him. It could just be talk. One thing for sure,” he said heavily, “Smith will have his chance to prove himself. There is sure to be more fighting today.”

  Carrie nodded and drank the last bit of her tea. “The sky is getting light. I’m going back to the hospital.”

  “So early? You’ve only had a few hours of sleep.”

  Carrie shrugged. “I suppose you’ve had more,” she said wryly and then managed a small laugh at her father’s rueful expression. “I thought as much.
There are thousands of wounded men in our city. Sleep seems to lose some of its importance.” She was reaching for the final morsel of her biscuit when a loud boom penetrated the morning air. “Father!” She ignored the teacup that went clattering to the floor as she jumped up from the table and sprang to the window.

  “It’s begun again.” Thomas said solemnly as he stood close beside her and stared out. “I have to leave now. They will need me at the Capitol.” His face was hard as he turned to gather his papers. Then he turned back. “Take care of yourself, Carrie.”

  Carrie stared at him, certain there was more he wasn’t saying. Their conversation from a week ago played through her mind. She knew that if the city fell, the government would flee before the Union occupied it. They would move to another location and continue the fight. Her father had begged her to go with him if he was forced to evacuate with the rest of the government. She had refused. She still believed her place was here in Richmond. She would face whatever came. Both of them had cried when she told him her decision. Carrie simply knew she must stay - she belonged here - and she must be where Robert could find her.

  Carrie wrapped her father in a big hug. “I love you. And I’m very proud of you.” She forced a smile, not willing to believe Richmond would fall.

  Thomas laid his hand on her face for a long moment and then kissed her cheek gently. “I love you, too.”

  The sound of cannon and gunfire followed Carrie as she hurried up the hill toward the hospital, her fatigue forgotten. Somehow, in spite of the already crowded condition of the city, there must be more room made to accommodate the fresh flow of wounded from the newest battle raging. Richmond was indeed discovering the price it would pay for offering itself to be the capital of the Confederacy. The shadows of glory and honor were quickly ebbing into the deep darkness of reality and responsibility. Laughter and confidence were disappearing beneath the moans and cries of the wounded. Grim determination had already replaced casual lightheartedness. The whole city was at war.

  When Carrie reached the top of the hill, she saw there were still wagons with men waiting in them. She shuddered as she realized they had been there all night – alone with their pain and fear. As she walked quickly down the wide street surrounding the 150 buildings, she gazed out over the sight. People were everywhere, hurrying in and out of buildings. Stretchers were being carried; food was being delivered. She could smell the smoke from the bakeries as they worked to produce thousands of loaves of bread a day. Soon the aroma of fresh bread would spread through the air, competing with the odor of soup made in the boilers taken from the tobacco factories down the hill. And, of course, the brewery was turning out beer as fast as it could.

  Rounding the corner, Carrie stopped suddenly and held her hand against her mouth, trying to control the gagging reflex in her throat. She wanted to scream her horror at the pile of severed hands, legs, and arms piled outside one of the surgical buildings. Already the mound was attracting swarms of flies as it cast off its deathly odor. Carrie closed her eyes tightly and forced her legs to carry her past the awful scene. These buildings were full of young men who desperately needed medical help. Somehow she must block out her own feelings of helpless horror and give them hope.

  Almost running when she finally reached her ward, Carrie took one deep breath and ducked into the building. Immediately she was thankful Dr. McCaw had insisted on plenty of ventilation for all of the buildings. Even so, the air was thick and heavy.

  “Howdy, Miss Cromwell.”

  “Good morning, Johnny,” Carrie said brightly. “And how are we doing this morning?” She took special care not to stare at Johnny’s bandaged stump. Instead she concentrated on his eyes. They were still bright with fever, but he was at least alert.

  “Oh, I’m all right, I reckon. My arm hurts right much.”

  “I’m sure it does.” Carrie spoke soothingly as she reached for a water pitcher, filled his glass, and held it to his lips. “Drink plenty of water,” she urged. “It will help wash that fever right out of your body.”

  “Tastes right good, Miss Cromwell. I’m real thankful for what everyone is doing.”

  “It’s the least we can do, Johnny. We just want you to get well.”

  Johnny smiled weakly then managed a real grin. “You heard how we pushed them Yankees back?”

  “I certainly did,” Carrie assured him. “Y’all did a fine job.

  Johnny seemed eager to tell his story. “The fighting was mighty fierce, Miss Cromwell. Why, most of the time me and my unit was fighting down there in that swamp. When we first got to fighting, that water was up to our knees. I even saw a snake or two slither by. I reckoned they were trying to get away from all that noise.”

  Carrie shuddered as she listened.

  “When I done got shot, I reckoned I was just going to slip down into that water and drown. Then one of the boys came by and propped me up against one of them stumps. I guess my mama’s prayers was answered sure enough ‘cause I didn’t catch no more bullets. I guess I passed out at some point, ‘cause the next thing I knew I was in one of them ambulance wagons heading this way.”

  Carrie tried to force out of her mind the picture of Robert fighting in conditions like that. The only way she knew how to deal with the not knowing was to give all she could to the men surrounding her. Gently she washed Johnny’s face and hands. “Drink some more water, Johnny.”

  “What you trying to do, Miss Cromwell? Drown me?”

  Carrie laughed, a genuine laugh, as Johnny looked at her suspiciously. “The water is good for you. You don’t want that fever to take you, do you? Drink as much as you can. I promise it will help.”

  Johnny still looked at her suspiciously, but he drained the glass she offered him.

  “I sure would like some of that water, ma’am.”

  Carrie turned quickly and met the eyes of a young man two beds down. “Why, of course!” She filled a glass with water and hurried to him. “What’s your name?”

  “Alexander Bedford, ma’am.”

  Carrie looked at him closely. She was almost certain she had seen him before, but the dirt and strain on his face made it hard to tell.

  “I’m from Bedford Plantation about fifty miles down the river.”

  “Of course! My father, Thomas Cromwell, knows yours.”

  “And I know who you are, Miss Cromwell. I was there two years ago when that gray Thoroughbred of yours beat Nathan Blackwell.”

  “I think the man riding my horse, Granite, would like to take some of the credit for that,” Carrie said with a laugh. The tournament at Blackwell Plantation, when Robert had ridden Granite to victory, seemed an eternity ago. It had been a time of lighthearted fun, when her largest concern was whether Robert would capture enough of the rings to be declared winner in the competition. She forced herself back to the present. “How badly wounded are you?”

  “Well, I suppose I’m luckier than most. I caught a couple of balls in my left leg, but they decided to leave it on after I objected most strenuously to their suggestion of taking it off,” Alexander said indignantly. Then his voice dropped. “I realize they may still have to take it, but as long as there is a chance...”

  Carrie laid her hand on his arm. “I know the doctors will work as hard as they can to save it.”

  Alexander nodded. “Yes. Of course, they will.” Then his eyes filled with pain. “I have so little to complain about. My best friend... Mark. He - he didn’t make it. I watched him die. A bullet hit him in the head...” He gulped as his face twisted in agony. “At least he went quick. I don’t think he even felt it.” His eyes darkened as he traveled back to the horrors of the day before. “Men were falling all around me. I barely managed to drag myself behind some trees after I got shot. There were about five hundred of us who took part in that charge. Less than half of us made it out.”

  Carrie listened, white-faced, as Alexander told his story. It was a wonder he was alive. How long would he have to deal with the horrors of his memories? “I’m so sorry,
” she whispered.

  Alexander shook his head and looked at her as if he were surprised to see her there. “I’m sorry, Miss Cromwell. I shouldn’t be burdening you with stories like that. You’re a lady.”

  “A southern lady, Mr. Bedford. Which means we’re all in this together,” Carrie responded crisply. “You drink that water; then I’ll pour you another glass.”

  Alexander laughed then nodded his head toward Johnny. “I think you’re right. She’s trying to drown us.”

  Carrie laughed with him and then moved down the line of soldiers and talked with each one, while she was dispensing water, fluffing pillows, straightening linen, and doing anything else she could to try to make them more comfortable. Sickness and pain seldom made sense, no matter what the cause. Somehow, since she had come to the hospital that morning, she had realized she could waste energy with anger and frustration, or simply accept what was and do the best she could to make a difference. If she wanted to be a doctor, she was going to spend her whole life surrounded by senseless pain and suffering. She would have to deal with it.

  Sometime during that long morning, the sounds of battle ceased. Carrie had heard story after story of both valor and suffering. In the same voices, she heard both pride and agony. In the same eyes, she saw both courage and fear. In the same faces, she saw both determination and lonely homesickness. And in her own heart, she was finding the way to deal with her fear and questioning about Robert. As long as she gave wholeheartedly to the men filling the ward, she had no time to consider her own situation. She would always see Robert’s face on every gurney and hear Robert’s voice with every request for water. Although her fear that it might actually be him one day was terrifying, the comfort of helping those like him was the one redeeming factor. Instinctively, she knew the hospital would be her saving grace through the long months, and possibly years, ahead.