Tear In Time

by Petersen, Christopher David

  Hearing this message, David stopped short in the middle of the road. It took less than a second for him to collect his thoughts and respond. “Doc, I’m just a physician, not a military man. I'm afraid to die. I just don't have that kind of courage.”

  “What is courage but acting on what is right? In essence, your duty,” Dr. Morgan retorted immediately.

  “What is right?” David questioned incredulously, “Doc, I was out there killing people today. It is completely contradictory to my oath as a doctor. What’s more, I was wounded. On top of that, I actually pretended like I knew what I was doing out there and changed the strategy of the commanders. I probably caused more harm than good.” With his head bowed and his voice softened, he finished, “I feel like a menace. I don’t belong here.”

  Dr. Morgan took a small step forward, gently placed his hand on David's shoulder, and spoke, “You demonstrated remarkable leadership under fire today, son. Reorganizing the men to sustain their firing proved very effective; so much so that others down the line also adopted this strategy. Your leadership probably prevented the Confederates from breaking through. You saved lives and prevented almost certain capture. You may not realize this, but you were not a doctor out there today. You were a military man acting out your duty to save the lives of your men.”

  David raised his head and gave the old doctor an appreciative stare as he thought about the previous statement. Nodding slightly in acknowledgment, David's face suddenly became confused. Now slowly shaking his head, he questioned the old doctor.

  “Wait a minute. Doc, you weren't on the battlefield today. How do you know what I did out there? Did you speak to someone?” David asked.

  “I overheard some of the men discussing the battle as I was working on the wounded,” Dr. Morgan replied simply.

  “Talking about me? What did they say?” David asked, now surprised and intrigued.

  “By all accounts, I'd say they were mightily impressed with your leadership,” Dr. Morgan replied back quickly. “Under fire, they claimed you had a cool head and fired judiciously, even after you were wounded. As I said, the steady firing turned back the enemy.” Now staring directly into David's eyes, he finished, “Far from a menace by anyone’s calculations.”

  Taking a step back, David paced in a small circle trying to rationalize the old doctor’s report of his actions. A moment later, with the graphic images of the battle still fresh in his mind, David blurted out, “Cool head? Doc, I was scared out of my mind.”

  Cool and steady, Dr. Morgan replied in a comforting tone, “Everyone has moments of fear, son. You would be mentally unfit if you did not. Don't let your lack of experience betray your judgment.”

  Once again, the old doctor stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on David's shoulder. He continued, “I know this time period is difficult for you, David. By your description of things, what I take for granted you consider primitive, so in addition to learning to live in an unfamiliar and difficult world, you must do so under violent conditions – most certainly the root of your ambivalence – but as long as you are in this time period, you can do good; good for your country, good for your countrymen. You have already unwittingly acted on duty. Let your duty be your guide.” Now staring directly into David's eyes for effect, he finished, “As that common farmer said, 'In duty, you will find the strength that keeps you on the righteous path.’ That common farmer did not give up. You should not either.”

  David felt the truth and wisdom of the old doctor's message deep within his conscience. Hearing Dr. Morgan's soothing tone and listening to his insightful words calmed his mind, and allowed him to reflect back on his moments during the previous march, where duty kept his fear under control as he rode through the violent thunderstorm. Somehow he had forgotten that quiet oath he had made and, with his head bowed, felt a moment of shame as he now forced himself to realign his philosophies.

  Slowly, he began to feel a warm contentment as he embraced his commitment to duty, a feeling common amongst the men of this time period, a feeling that created an unbreakable bond that allowed them to stand and fight in the face of death, as they all had done today, just as the common farmer had done in the past.

  David thought about the words from the common farmer. They were profound and inspiring. He wondered if the men he fought beside today had heard these same words before.

  “Doc, who was this common farmer anyway?” David asked.

  “George Washington,” Dr. Morgan stated proudly.

  “George Washington? THE George Washington? First president of our country George Washington? David exclaimed.

  “The one and only,” Dr. Morgan replied.

  David was suddenly taken aback. He had not expected this answer, and stood speechless for a moment. By all accounts, George Washington was one the bravest men he ever heard of. His successes in battle were legendary, but nowhere was it ever written that he was afraid. David now realized that George Washington was a regular man, prone to fear just as anyone else, and his successes were built on his duty. The same duty that helped David through the violent thunderstorm, and the same duty that helped the Union line stand bravely and succeed in the face of almost certain death and capture.

  “Wow! Hard to believe the 'Father of our Country' was afraid of anything. So duty kept him focused when he was scared? Man, that's impressive,” David said, still astonished by this new piece of information.

  “Inspiring,” Dr. Morgan corrected with an insinuating smile.

  “Hmm, yes, very inspiring,” David replied back with his own reassuring smile.

  “So I may presuppose that you will be joining me for dinner this evening?” the old doctor asked.

  “Well, what kind of man would I be if I turned tail and ran after that kind of story? Besides, now that I'm thinking more clearly, where would I go if I did leave?” David replied with an appreciative smile. Extending his hand, he continued, “Thanks for the help, doc. I owe you one.”

  As Dr. Morgan shook David's hand, a confused look came over his face. “One what?” He asked.

  “It's just a figure of speech,” David replied.

  Dr. Morgan nodded simply, then retracted his hand. Without another word spoken, the two turned and walked back toward Dr. Morgan's grazing horse and the waiting wounded in need of treatment. Walking side by side, the scuffle of their footsteps was the only sound between the two as both reflected on their previous dialogue.

  The two reached Dr. Morgan's horse and prepared to mount two on one horse. As David watched the old doctor climb up into the saddle, he asked, “So your dad worked on George Washington, eh? What did he say about him? What stood out in his mind the most about the ‘father of our country’?”

  Reaching for the reins, Dr. Morgan immediately replied without hesitation, “He had a propensity toward exceptionally foul and unrepentant flatulence.”

  At first, David wasn't sure if he heard the old doctor correctly, but replaying his words in his mind, there was no question of what he heard. David's stomach twitched. As the corners of his mouth began to turn up, he forced them back down. David felt the makings of a laugh approaching and struggled to contain it, as he was not sure how Dr. Morgan would react. He did not want to insult the old doctor, but subject matter of this nature was just too overpowering for David's self-control. Slowly and steadily, he felt it: the involuntary muscle spasms that signal an oncoming laughing spell. David bit his lip and pushed his fingernails into his palms, hoping that the pain would derail his impending laughter. It was not to be. Like a broken dam, David let out a bellowous, uncontained laugh, bringing tears to his eyes and almost losing his breath.

  “The guy was a farter?” David roared, throwing impropriety to the wind.

  With a straight face and even tone, Dr. Morgan replied, “I hear tell he could clean out a tavern faster than rats on a sinking ship. Not the sort of thing becoming of such royalty, I admit, but I suppose every man fights his own demons.”

  “And unrepentant no less.” David ad
ded.

  At that, both men joined in, each other’s laughter propelling the other to newer heights. David was bent over his knees. Tears dripped from his eyes and pooled on the dirt below him. The old doctor wasn't faring much better, as he struggled to stay atop his horse as his body writhed in the saddle.

  As the laughter died down a bit, Dr. Morgan extended his hand to David, offering him a lift up on top of the horse. Still chuckling, David step forward, placed his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself up behind the old doctor.

  Still laughing, Dr. Morgan reiterated once more, “Yep, foul and unrepentant.”

  “I suppose being father of your country affords you certain liberties,” David replied, still chuckling.

  “I suppose,” Dr. Morgan added.

  With a snap of the reins he sent his horse off on a trot, and the two settled in for the short ride back to camp, their spirits now somewhat renewed.

  TT: Chapter 7

  August 12th 1862

  The cool evening air carried with it the varied scents from across the valley. With each inhalation, the essence of wildflowers, dried grasses, corn fields, as well as rich fertile soil went mostly undetected. Sitting by their campfires, the Union soldiers stared into the burning embers and allowed the cool, crisp air to heal their tortured minds. As the warm, gentle touch from the flames brushed against the soldiers’ skin, it quieted their minds and cleansed them of their ill memories, clearing the way for reparation and reconciliation. The absence of the customary clamor signaled the catharsis occurring within.

  Nearly three days after the harried retreat from Cedar Mountain, David, Dr. Morgan and the other doctors finally completed the last of their surgeries. On the edge of complete physical collapse, David sat by the fire’s edge and leaned again a small boulder. The hardships and tragedies of the previous day’s events flashed repeatedly through his mind, and David, like others, used the healing powers of the fire to help him make peace with the violent and disturbing images.

  “We did well, David,” Dr. Morgan said as he sipped his coffee from across the fire.

  “I can't believe we worked for nearly forty-eight hours with nothing more than a catnap. I think I did more surgeries in the past two days than the whole of my entire medical career, and that includes pulling the wings off flies as a kid,” David replied, still able to joke through his exhaustion.

  “Hmm, an auspicious start to be sure,” Dr. Morgan replied, slightly disturbed by David's revelation.

  “Doc, I'm kidding! It was just a little joke. I never pulled the wings off flies as a child,” David retorted at the sight of Doc's change in demeanor. David paused a moment for effect, then added, “It wasn't until medical school that I learned to do that surgically.”

  “My God, man. You mean to tell me that the study of medicine now includes the dissection of fly wings? Amazing, simply amazing. What will they think of next?” Dr. Morgan returned energetically, paused a moment in thought, then continued, “Although I'm not sure I see the connection between the human anatomy and the common insect.”

  “Doc, there isn't one. I was joking again,” David said, now chuckling at how far the joke had gone.

  Dr. Morgan stared at David for a moment. All expression was gone from his face as he processed the previous exchange. Finally, as David laughed, he too understood the humor and joined in.

  “I owe you one,” Dr. Morgan replied smiling, using the 20th Century saying he remembered David using.

  David smirked at Doc's keen memory and proper usage as he converted the term from literal to sarcasm.

  Suddenly, a flaming ember expanded and released its stored gases, creating a loud ‘pop’ from deep within the fire. With a jolt, David ducked as if evading incoming fire.

  “Wow, I must be more tired than I thought. For a minute there, I thought that was rifle fire,” David said, now straightening himself up.

  “It's not exhaustion, David. It's instinct. Interesting that after such a short time, yours is sharpened so keenly,” Dr. Morgan remarked.

  “Hmm,” David replied simply.

  Quickly his mind fast-forwarded through the images of the previous day’s events: the cannon fire, the artillery and rifle fire, but most of all, the wounded. David had lost count of the hundreds of men they had treated over the previous couple of days, and wondered about their recoveries.

  “Doc, what kind of treatment do you think the wounded will receive at the hospitals?” David asked.

  “Hard to say,” Dr. Morgan replied as he thought about the question. “There were quite a lot of them that received no benefit of sterilization.”

  “I know; that's my worry. We ran out of supplies about halfway through. We now have to rely on the hospitals for aggressive care. They're going to have to change and cleanse the wounds several times a day just to stay ahead of advanced infection,” David said, the concern obvious in his tone.

  “I've been to the regimental hospitals, David, and I can assure you that the best we can hope for is substandard care. It's just a function of the number of wounded to the staff, I'm afraid,” Dr. Morgan said.

  “I lost count of the numbers. Any idea of how many we worked on?” David asked.

  “I'd say around a couple thousand men. I can give you an exact figure tomorrow if you'd like, after I submit my report to command,” Dr. Morgan offered.

  “Thanks, that'd be great,” David replied, “Boy, two thousand men in just a couple of days. That has got to be some kind of record....”

  Just then, David stopped in mid-thought. Off in the distance, both men heard the familiar gallop from General Jim Negley's horse. David glanced across the fire and tried to read the expression on Dr. Morgan's face. By the light of the campfire, he could see an anxious look on the old doctor’s face, just as he had seen before the battle of Cedar Mountain.

  “Doc, what is it? Are we in trouble again?” David asked anxiously.

  “I don't know, son. He's pushing his horse pretty hard and at this late hour. Hmm, can't be good,” Dr. Morgan replied without taking his eyes from the direction of the sound.

  “Crap, now what?” David exclaimed in frustration. “We haven't even rested from the last crisis.”

  “War has no timetable, David. We must move when opportunity presents itself; although I must say that before we are able to perform another stitch, we both will need some rest,” Dr. Morgan said, trying to ease David's mind.

  “Man, he looks like he's riding hard,” David said, focusing more on Gen. Negley than on Dr. Morgan's previous comment. “What could be so important?” he finished rhetorically.

  As Gen. Negley neared their campfire, he hauled back on the reins and began to slow his horse to a trot. David could see the intensity of the general's face, which only heightened his own anxiety. Dr. Morgan stood now and prepared to greet his old friend. He dusted off his pants and jacket, and as Gen. Negley came to a stop, the two old friends tipped their hats to each other.

  “Evening, Jim,” Dr. Morgan called out. “What brings you out on this fine evening? Don't you have some paperwork to finish? I hadn't figured you for a loafer,” he finished with friendly sarcasm.

  “Jeb, let me at least dismount before you take the saber to me,” Gen. Negley replied as he stepped down off his horse. “Anyhow, I ain’t here for lallygagging.” Suddenly, the general stopped in his tracks and stared at the campfire. A strange gleam beamed from his eyes. “Say, Jeb, you wouldn't be able to spare an old friend a taste of that coffee, would you?”

  “Help yourself,” Dr. Morgan replied. Now sitting, he continued, “So, Jim, are you bearing bad news again?”

  Gen. Negley closed his eyes and took a few long sips of his coffee. Satisfied by the flavor, he turned to his old friend and asked, “Jeb, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra cigar just lying around here, would you?”

  Smiling now, and drawing a hand-rolled cigar from inside his coat, Dr. Morgan replied, “Jim, with all those resources at your disposal, you come to me for coffee and cigars?”r />
  “You’re one of my resources,” Gen. Negley replied back quickly, then snatched the cigar from Dr. Morgan’s hand irreverently.

  “Hmm, maybe it is I who should be coming to you for resources,” Dr. Morgan joked.

  “I’m just the general. I don’t have anything; only knowledge. You’d have to go consult my other resources for anything tangible,” he replied, now pretending to really enjoy his newly obtained articles.

  “Spoken like a true politician,” Dr. Morgan said, ending the playful banter. “Now, Jim, you rode here like your britches were on fire. What exactly are your intentions? Certainly not that you’re running for public office.”

  Gen. Negley carefully lit his cigar with an ember he dragged from the fire, took a deep puff and exhaled. Turning to Dr. Morgan he replied, “We’re moving out at daybreak.”