by Al Lacy
Walton smiled. “You’re a great bunch. If I had my way, every one of you would be given a medal of honor from Congress. All right. You’re dismissed.”
As the meeting broke up and the day staff went to work, every preparation possible was made so they would be ready when the train brought in the ninety-three wounded men.
The train arrived in Frederick just before noon. Several army wagons were at the depot to take the wounded Union soldiers to Memorial Hospital.
Medical carts and stretchers were employed to bring the patients into the hospital from the wagons. Some of the wounded men were taken directly to the military ward, while the greater number was hurried to the surgical unit. There, the staff physicians did quick examinations to determine the order in which the amputations and surgeries should be done. Nurses and their assistants in the military ward went to work to patch up the men who were less seriously wounded.
By three o’clock in the afternoon, men who had had surgery and amputations were being brought into the crowded ward and placed in beds made available by other patients being placed on cots.
One young officer was lifted from a medical cart and placed on a bed, while a nurse and her assistant stood by. The officer was still unconscious from the morphine which had been administered before his surgery. One of the attendants handed the nurse the wounded officer’s chart, then he and his partner hurried away with the cart to pick up another patient.
“Loretta, you go ahead and make him comfortable. I’ll look over his chart,” Millie Ross said.
“All right, Millie,” said Loretta. She adjusted the pillow under the patient’s head, then moved around the bed, tucking sheets and covers close around his body. When she was finished, she studied the pale face of the unconscious soldier for a moment, then turned to Millie. “The surgery was on his lower back?”
Millie looked up. “Yes. The surgeons had to take a piece of shrapnel out. It says here that it was quite large, but no serious damage was done to the spine.”
Loretta nodded. “That’s good. At least he will walk again. How many severed spines have we seen from what cannonballs have done to our soldiers?”
“A lot of them. And bayonets too.”
“Yes. And how horrible it is to have to stand by when they are told that they will never walk again.”
Millie looked at the unconscious young officer with compassion. “He’s going to be here a good while for recuperation, but at least he won’t have to live the rest of his life paralyzed.”
Another medical cart was seen coming through the door.
Millie raised her hand to get the attendants’ attention, and pointed to a vacant bed further down the line. They nodded, acknowledging that they understood. Millie hung the chart at the foot of the young officer’s bed. “Okay, Loretta. We’ll let this one rest. I’ll come back and check on him after we take care of this next patient.”
Some thirty minutes later, Millie hung the chart of the big husky Union sergeant on the foot of the bed. The sergeant was already beginning to come out of his unconsciousness. “Loretta,” said Millie, “you stay with him. I’ll go check on our young officer over here.”
Loretta was dabbing a wet cloth on the sergeant’s forehead. She nodded. Millie turned and moved along the line of beds, looking at each patient as she passed them. One of them called out, “Hello, Millie! Why don’t you come and hold my hand? It really hurts.”
She smiled, waved him off, and moved up to the bed of the young officer, who now had his bleary eyes open and was looking around.
Millie bent over him. “Lieutenant, can you see me?”
He ran his tongue over his lips and tried to focus on her face.
Millie could tell he was still quite disoriented from the morphine. “Are you thirsty, Lieutenant?”
He licked his lips again and nodded.
She picked up the cup that was on the small table beside his bed and poured it half full from the water pitcher. She placed one hand behind his head and carefully lifted it as she put the cup to his lips. “Just sip it slowly.”
When he had sipped all the water he wanted for the moment, Millie set the cup on the table. “You can have more when you’re ready.”
He tried to smile while still attempting to focus on her face. He could barely make out her features, but what he could see told him that she was very pleasant to look at. Her voice was so soft and sweet. He wondered if he was dreaming.
She picked up a cloth, dipped it in water, wrung it out a little, and placed it on his forehead. He told himself he wasn’t dreaming. The coolness he felt was real. “Wh-where am I?”
Millie leaned down close. “You’re in Memorial Hospital, Frederick, Maryland.”
“Oh. Now I remember. The train …”
“Yes. The train brought you here. Your chart says you are Lieutenant Nathan Conrad of the Seventh Pennsylvania Artillery Division, and that the surgeon had to take a large piece of shrapnel out of your lower back.”
Nate Conrad ran his tongue over his lips again. “Yes. Nurse?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
He worked his jaw for a few seconds. “How—bad?”
“Do you mean, will you walk again?”
He closed his eyes. “Y-yes.”
“There was no serious damage to your spine. You will walk again.”
His eyes opened and a smile curved his lips. “Oh. Wonderful. I won’t be a cripple.”
“No. You—”
Suddenly, Lieutenant Nate Conrad’s eyes closed and his body relaxed. Millie smiled. He was under the influence of the morphine again. She removed the cloth from his forehead, laid it on the table, and smiled down at him. “You rest now, Lieutenant. I’ll check on you later.”
She started to walk away, then paused for a moment, and fixed her eyes on the sleeping face. There is something special about this one, she thought. Then giving herself a mental shake, she left his bedside to attend the mountain of duties still awaiting her attention.
During the next hour and a half Millie stayed busy with other patients, but twice sent Loretta to check on Lieutenant Nathan Conrad. The first time Loretta returned, she reported that the lieutenant was still asleep. The second time, she drew up beside Millie, who was taking a wounded soldier’s temperature, and said softly, “He’s coming out of it, Millie.”
The redhead turned and looked across the ward and focused on Nate Conrad’s bed. He was rolling his head back and forth slowly, and rubbing his eyes.
Looking at her assistant, Millie said, “You finish up here, Loretta. I’d better go see about him.”
When Millie drew up beside Nate’s bed, he was mumbling something that didn’t make sense and still rubbing his eyes. Millie took hold of his hands to stop the rubbing and looked down into his eyes. They were glassy and unfocused.
Millie had started her nursing career just after the Civil War began in the spring of 1861. She had become quite used to the muttering of wounded soldiers who were awakening from under the influence of anesthetics. They seldom made any sense.
After a few minutes, the patient went quiet again and slipped back into his deep sleep.
An hour later, she went to the lieutenant’s bed and found him awake, but still a bit disoriented. She had to tell him once again where he was and assure him that he would walk again. His pain was severe, so after feeding him what broth she could get down him, she administered a strong dose of laudanum.
Millie rested the lieutenant’s head back on the pillow, placed the cup on the table, and tucked the covers up under his chin.
He looked at her with dull eyes, then tried to adjust his position in the bed. Sudden pain shot through his back. He grimaced and said something once more that didn’t make sense.
She smiled and spoke softly. “No more talking now, Lieutenant. Lie still and let the laudanum do its job. The laudanum will help you to rest. By the time you wake up in the morning, I’ll be here for another shift.”
His eyes drifted closed before the last words left the lovely nu
rse’s mouth.
When Millie’s twelve-hour shift was about over, she made it a point to stop at Lieutenant Nathan Conrad’s bed once more. He was sleeping soundly.
That evening in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, Jenny Linden entered the parlor, made her way to the rocking chair, and kissed her mother’s cheek. She placed the day’s edition of the Harrisburg Journal in her hands. “You can read while I go start supper, Mama.”
Myrna looked up at her daughter with fearful eyes. “Is there anything in the paper about more battles?”
“Not this time. There’s one small article on the first page about a couple of skirmishes, but none that involved Papa’s unit or Nate’s.”
Myrna sighed. “That’s good news.”
Jenny let a frown crease her brow. “I have to tell you something, Mama.”
“What?”
“We had a man try to rob the store today.”
“Oh? Try, you say. But he was unsuccessful.”
“He was unsuccessful.”
“No one was hurt, I hope.”
“No.”
“Tell me about it.”
Jenny gave her mother a detailed account of the attempted robbery, including how she had knocked the robber out with the ax handle. She finished by saying, “Mama, the policemen who came to the store and took the robber to jail told me that Chief Wymore will be coming to the house to talk to me sometime this evening.”
“Do you know why?”
“Not really. I guess he just wants to hear the story directly from me. You go ahead and read your paper. I’ll let you know when you can come and set the table.”
Supper was over, the kitchen was cleaned up, the dishes were done, and mother and daughter were busy with their reading in the parlor when there was a knock at the door.
Jenny closed her novel, laid it on the table beside the sofa, and rose to her feet. “That will be Chief Leonard Wymore.”
She dashed into the hall and hurried to the door. When she opened it, she saw a middle-aged man with a well-trimmed mustache that matched his salt-and-pepper hair. The badge on his chest reflected the light from the lantern that burned in the vestibule. He removed his hat. “Miss Jenny Linden?”
“Yes, Chief Wymore. I’ve been expecting you. Please come in.”
The chief stepped inside. Jenny closed the door, took his hat, hung it on a peg by the closet, and led him into the parlor. She introduced him to her mother, explained that her father was a Union captain in the War, then they sat down on the sofa.
Wymore smiled at Jenny. “Miss Linden, I want to tell you that I very much appreciate the courageous thing you did to foil the robbery. The Hendersons appreciate it too, I assure you.”
Jenny smiled in return. “They have already expressed it, sir. This robber … was he already wanted by the law?”
“I’ll say he was. His name is Rufus Hickam. He was in Sing Sing Prison in Ossining, New York, for armed robbery. He broke out four weeks ago and has been on the run. When he gets out of the hospital, he will be returned to the prison with an addition to his original fifteen-year sentence.”
Jenny’s eyebrows arched. “Hospital?”
“Didn’t the officers tell you they were taking him to the hospital?”
“No. He was still unconscious when they carried him out of the store to the police wagon. His head was bleeding some, but one of the officers had tied the robber’s handkerchief around his head. I figured they were taking him to the jail.”
“Well, Hickam is in the hospital, handcuffed to his bed with an officer sitting just outside his room. I stopped by the hospital on my way over here to look in on him. The doctor who stitched up the gash in Hickam’s head said he had been struck in the head three times. Did you have a hard time rendering him unconscious?”
Jenny shook her head. “No. I knocked him out with the first blow. He had stuffed the money in his pockets. I had to empty them out. By the time Emma and I were putting the money in the metal cash box that goes in the safe, that no-good was coming to. So I hit him a second time and knocked him out again.”
“So why did you hit him the third time?”
Jenny’s features tinted. Her eyes were like pinpoints as she said levelly, “Did Emma tell you what that low-down skunk did to her?”
“You mean the slap in the face?”
“Yes.” Her features darkened and her eyes flashed. “I was so mad at that dirty beast for slapping Emma, I cracked him over the head one more time, just for good measure!”
“Oh, I see.”
“Chief Wymore,” spoke up Myrna, “my Jenny has a bit of a flinty temper.”
Wymore nodded. A grin curved his lips. “Well, Mrs. Linden, sometimes a little bit of temper can be a good thing.” He turned to Jenny. “I commend you, Miss Linden, for having the courage to take on Rufus Hickam and thwart the robbery, but—”
“But what, Chief?” Jenny’s eyes still had a fiery quality. “That criminal had no business striking Emma. He had that third blow coming.”
“I know you had to have been strung out emotionally, Miss Linden, but you could have cracked Hickam’s skull with that third blow and killed him. If you had, you’d be facing manslaughter charges. I’m glad Hickam is still alive, and that the doctors say he will live. I really would’ve hated to arrest you if he had died. You need to keep a check on that temper. It could get you in real trouble.”
Jenny’s lips were pulled into a thin line. “I’m glad I didn’t kill him, Chief, but on the other hand, he shouldn’t have robbed Emma, nor should he have slapped her. In my anger, I was only getting even for what he did to her.”
Wymore shrugged, rose to his feet, and stood over Myrna. “It was nice to have met you, Mrs. Linden. And I hope this war is over soon so your husband can come home.”
Myrna’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Chief Wymore. It was nice to have met you, too.”
Jenny walked the chief to the door, and as he stepped out onto the porch, he turned and smiled. “I’ll say this for you, little lady: if I was in trouble, I sure wouldn’t mind having you there to help me. Hickam won’t be able to hide the fact that he was foiled by a woman. It’s going to be in the newspapers. They’ll know about it at the prison before he gets back there. He’s going to have a tough time living it down.”
Jenny shrugged. “Ask me if I care.”
The chief rubbed the back of his neck. “Good-bye, Miss Linden.”
“Good-bye, Chief Wymore. Thanks for coming by.”
When Jenny entered the parlor and sat down on the sofa once more, Myrna said, “The chief is right, honey. You need to keep a check on that temper. You really shouldn’t have hit that robber in the head when he was already down and out.”
Jenny squared her jaw. “If he didn’t want his skull cracked, he should have stayed out of Henderson’s store.”
On Sunday morning at Memorial Hospital in Frederick, Maryland, Millie Ross spent a few minutes with Dr. Gary Medford—who had done Lieutenant Nathan Conrad’s surgery—then moved into the ward to begin her day’s work and headed straight for Conrad’s bed. As she drew up, she saw that he was awake.
He looked up at her, his eyes much clearer than they had been the day before. He managed a tiny smile. “Hello.”
“Hello yourself, Lieutenant. You’re looking a little better.”
“I feel a little better, ma’am.”
“Do you remember me?”
“Oh yes. You’re my main nurse on the day shift. You were so kind to me, and I really appreciate it.”
“Is your back hurting?”
“I have some pain, but it’s much better than yesterday. One of the night nurses gave me some more laudanum three or four hours ago.”
“You were so groggy from the morphine yesterday. I wasn’t sure if you would remember any part of it.”
Nate frowned. “I probably can’t remember a whole lot of it, but I do remember you and your kind bedside manner. However, there is one important thing I can’t seem to recall.”
>
“And that is?”
“Your name.”
Millie smiled. “I can tell you why you can’t recall it.”
“Yes?”
“I never told you it.”
“Oh. Well, a man should know his nurse’s name.”
“It’s Mildred Ross, Lieutenant.”
At that instant, Loretta appeared. “Well, Millie, I see our patient is awake and clear-eyed.”
“Yes,” said Millie, glancing at her then back at Nate. “Lieutenant Conrad surprises me. He remembers more from yesterday than I figured he would. And he’s feeling a little better.”
Loretta looked at the patient. “That’s good, Lieutenant. I’m glad there is improvement. Are you hungry?”
Nate nodded slowly. “I am.”
Loretta turned to Millie. “I’ll go get him some porridge and some coffee.”
“All right. In the meantime, I’ll check his bandages.”
Loretta hurried away.
Millie picked up his chart from where it hung at the end of the bed and glanced at it. “I see it was at 4:15 that you were given the laudanum. As soon as you’ve had your breakfast, Lieutenant, I’ll give you another dose. I’ll also check your temperature and your pulse at that time. Now, can you roll on your side so I can look at the bandages?”
“I think so.”
Millie helped him roll onto his side, found the bandages intact and that there was no excessive bleeding. She helped him roll onto his back once again and tucked the sheet and covers around him. “Everything is looking good.”
Not as good-looking as you, he thought, then said aloud, “I’m glad for that. I remember how relieved I was when you told me yesterday that my spine wasn’t seriously damaged and that I would walk again.”
Millie smiled. “You amaze me, Lieutenant. I’m surprised that you recall so much. You really had a big dose of morphine for your surgery. Sometimes it totally fogs the mind for several hours.”
“Maybe it was because I had such a nice nurse.”
Millie’s face tinted. “You are so kind.”
There was a brief silence, then Nate said, “Miss Ross, is Frederick your home?”
“Yes. My parents are both deceased. I live in an apartment with two other nurses about my age.”