by Anita Mills
At the door, she stopped to shake the snow from her skirt, then knocked loudly. Shivering now, she waited for someone to answer.
"Mrs. Bryce!" It was Corporal Nash, the man who'd ridden in the ambulance with her and Walker.
"May I come in, sir?"
He hesitated. "It's kinda late."
"Yes, I know, but I'd like to see Captain Walker."
"Doc know you're over here?" he asked suspiciously.
"No, he and Mrs. Sprenger have already gone to bed. He seemed terribly tired at supper."
He nodded. "Plumb tuckered out."
She stepped past him and removed the shawl. "How is he now-—Captain Walker, I mean?"
"What did Doc tell you?" he countered.
"Not much," she lied. "What do you think?"
"I'm not a doctor, ma'am, I'm just a corpsman. But if I was the captain, I'd be afraid of following that leg to the grave. If it was me, I'd want it off before the danged thing killed me."
"Gangrene?"
"Looks more like blood poisoning—all streaked-like. Guess it's coming from that abscess. It was nasty, real nasty."
"He's not better, then?"
"Fever's up, and it don't look like it's going down any. Don't know whether it's that or the morphine I gave him a little while ago, but he's plumb out."
"Oh."
"But," he added, relenting, "I don't suppose it'd hurt none to look at him. Since Wright and Hansen were discharged to the barracks today, he's the only one in the infirmary right now."
"Thank you."
"I reckon I'd better cover him up some first, though."
Leaving her there, he disappeared through a door. She moved closer, getting a glimpse of the room. Kerosene lanterns flickered, sending the distorted shadows of empty beds up the wall.
When he came back, he was frowning. "Captain Walker's hotter than ever." He met her gaze soberly. "I kinda hate to wake the major up, but even if I get more sassafras down him, I don't know what he's going to sweat. He hasn't drunk enough to pass any water." As he said it, he colored in embarrassment. "Sorry, ma'am. I just meant he's not drinking."
"I understand."
He stood back to let her pass. "First bed." Following her in, he stood behind her. "Don't look good, huh?"
The ashy gray she'd seen earlier was gone, replaced by a flush that made Hap Walker look almost red under the orange glow of the lamp. She reached out to touch his forehead with cold fingertips, then looked up.
"I'd say if you don't get the fever down, he's going to convulse. He needs to drink something—anything."
"I reckon I know that, ma'am, but the captain won't swallow anything for me." He peered over her shoulder for a moment, then made up his mind. "I'm going to get Doc. If Walsh or Parker was here, I wouldn't wake him, but tonight's my night. He won't be happy about it," he added glumly.
"Wet some sheets in water first."
"Huh?"
"Cover him in wet sheets before you go."
He shook his head. "We got to keep his leg dry."
"Do you have any oil cloth? You could put that around the leg. You might have to cut it, but—"
"I want Doc to look at him first. I don't have any authority to do anything more than he ordered. And he can be downright contrary if things ain't the way he wants em."
"I'll watch Captain Walker," she volunteered. "You know the captain?"
"Yes," she lied. "We're both from the same area of Texas."
He seemed somewhat relieved by the offer. "Well, if it looks like he's going into convulsions before I get back, the wood's on that table. All you got to do is stick it in his mouth so he don't swallow his tongue or bite clean through it."
"All right."
"I'll be back as soon as I get the major up. Mrs. Sprenger'll boil some coffee to get him awake, then he'll come over."
"All right."
"You'll be okay?"
"I don't see why not."
"Then I'm going to go get him," he said again.
As the sound of his boots receded and the outer door banged shut, Annie draped her shawl over the back of a wooden chair, then dragged the seat to the bed. Sitting down, she fixed her eyes on Hap Walker's face.
"Everybody says you are too good a man to die," she said softly. "And while I don't know you, I suspect they're right. I—well, I just came to thank you for riding into Bull Calf's camp this morning. If you hadn't come through, I'd probably have died there. I'd just about given up."
It was like talking to a statue. There was no sign he heard her, only the sound of labored breathing, the rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket. He was so hot, so terribly hot. And his skin was parched from the fever.
Looking at the table, she saw a small water pitcher and a folded napkin beneath. "You've got to drink—you know that, don't you?" she asked softly.
She rose and poured water onto the napkin, soaking it. Carrying the dripping cloth back to the bed, she turned Walker's head and pulled his lower lip out, making a pocket. Using a corner of the napkin, she dribbled water into his mouth, watching him intently. His tongue moved, then his throat constricted as the water went down. Sitting down again, she patiently worked to get nearly a half cup of it into him.
Red-faced and short of breath from running in the cold, Nash came back. "Doc's going to take a look," he announced from the door. Then, "What're you doing?"
"He's drunk a little," she murmured, pleased with herself. "It takes awhile, but he can swallow when he's not hurried. Did you tell Major Sprenger I was here?"
"No. Like I said, he's a mite touchy when he gets woke up. But Mrs. Sprenger'll give him a little coffee, and then he'll be all right."
"I still think we could use wet sheets to bring this fever down. My mother used to soak my brother in a tub of water, and it usually worked, but the captain's too big for that."
"I got no orders for it," he maintained stubbornly. "Besides, I told you, Doc's coming. Uh-oh."
The hospital door opened, then Will Sprenger stamped the snow from his feet. Coming into the infirmary, he took off his cloak.
"Didn't wait for the coffee," he muttered. "If I'd have known folks got sicker at night, I'd have never gone to medical college." Then he saw Annie. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.
Fearing he was in trouble, Nash spoke up quickly. "She's a friend of Captain Walker." As the surgeon turned his scowl on him, he added lamely, "They grew up in Texas together."
"Oh? And where was that?" Sprenger asked, looking at Annie.
She knew he knew she didn't know Hap Walker. Nonetheless, she managed to say, "San Saba."
"Humph! Didn't know there was a San Saba back in the thirties."
"Actually, there's been a ranger camp there for several years—I don't know where he's from," she admitted baldly. "I may have given Mr. Nash a mistaken impression. I said Walker and I were both from Texas."
"Big place, Texas," Sprenger murmured. He took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily. "Well, I'd better take a look at him." Going around to the other side of the bed, he leaned over and listened to Walker's chest. "No pneumonia, anyway. Guess that's something." He rubbed his hands together briskly, then laid his palm on his patient's brow, holding it there for some time. His frown deepened. "He drink anything?" he asked Nash.
"She said she got something down him."
"About a half cup of water," she murmured. "I used a wet napkin."
Sprenger looked up from Walker to her, taking in the deep-set circles under her eyes, the tight, drawn skin that clung to the hollow cheeks, the fatigue revealed in every line of her face, and he relented. "Guess you didn't take the laudanum."
"No." She looked away. "I was afraid of the nightmares. I didn't want to sleep."
"Yeah." He could understand that. There was no guessing what her memory could recount if given a free rein. "Yeah." Turning his attention back to Hap Walker, he frowned again. "Damn. Thought I'd got everything cleaned up in there." He leaned over and spoke loudly, saying, "C
an you understand me? I'm going to have to cut."
Walker's eyelids moved, but did not open. "No... no... don't..."
"You don't want to die, do you?"
Hap managed to swallow. His mouth was too dry. He worked his tongue, trying to wet his lips. "Worse... things..." he whispered.
"Hap—" Sprenger hesitated, then sighed. "All right, I'll take another look first. But don't ask me to let you die. That fever's coming from somewhere."
"I gave him ten grains of quinine again after you left," Nash admitted. "And I was getting ready to go for more sassafras."
"He can't sweat," Sprenger muttered. "Guess maybe we could try a little boiled willow, sometimes that works. I sure hate taking him back to surgery."
"Do you want me to find Walsh and Parker?" Nash wanted to know.
"I'm getting too old to lift 'em anymore, so you'll have to." The surgeon reached for the blanket covering Walker. "You'd better go, Mrs. Bryce, this won't be pretty."
Her gaze dropped to Hap Walker for a long moment. "I'd like to stay, Major Sprenger," she decided. "And I've seen quite a lot of ugly things."
"I expect you have at that." Not knowing how long it would take Nash to find the other two, he nodded. "All right. In that cabinet over there, you'll find the herbals. One of 'em ought to say willow on it. Put a teaspoon of it in a cup, fill the rest with hot water, then strain it through cloth in about five minutes. Make it strong enough he doesn't have to drink a lot of it. You up to doing that?"
"Where is the water?" she asked.
"There's two pots on that stove—one's coffee, the other's water. Cups are on the metal stand next to it." As she moved away, he lifted the blanket. "Still say it looks better than it did earlier," he muttered. "Still here, Nash?"
"Getting my coat, sir."
"Anything draining?"
"He's still making pus."
"All right, go on." Retrieving the trocar from the table, he squeezed the bulb and inserted the tip into the wound. Drawing it back, he looked at the tube. "Still yellow."
"No chlor—no chlor—"
"Make you sick?"
Hap swallowed. "No."
"That's the wound?" Annie asked, looking over the major's shoulder.
"It's stitched up now. If I was to open it, it'd be pretty raw."
"The willow bark is steeping," she remembered to tell him.
"Good. Mrs. Bryce, there's a large black case in the surgery. Ought to be setting next to the tray on the stand by the operating table. Would you fetch it, please?"
When she returned with it, he spread the field kit open. "Got one thing left to try, Hap," he murmured, reaching for the scissors. "It'll hurt like hell, but it's not the saw." Going to work, he removed his earlier sutures. When he turned around, Annie was still there, watching. His first inclination was to order her away, but he had no one else to help him. "Get into my case and find the lint swabs, then look for containers marked Bromine, Potassium Permanganate, and Spirits of Turpentine. Put 'em all on that table."
Leaning forward again, he addressed Walker. "I'm giving it all I know, but if it's not better by morning, I'm going to have to take it off. Best I can do."
It looked like Hap nodded.
Rising, Sprenger went to a basin and washed his hands. He came back carrying the wash basin with him. Sitting down again, he soaped the area around the reopened wound, then dried it. "Hand me a swab, Mrs. Bryce," he said, reaching behind him. "And the bromine. Open it first, if you don't mind," he added. "But don't get any of it on you—it's caustic. Oh, and I'm going to need one of those little glass tubes—in the vial next to the one with the swabs."
As she watched, he soaped the lint tip, then plunged it into the incision, separating the tissue. Rinsing it out, he again dried the area. Inserting the pipette into the bromine, he withdrew a small amount.
"Brace yourself, Hap," he ordered, pushing the pipette into the incision. As it touched the bone, he lifted his finger, releasing it. Walker's leg jerked. "Got to burn out the infection—all I know to do now. You know, once I had to do this with a hot poker 'cause I ran out of bromine."
Without thinking, Annie grasped Hap Walker's hand. His fingers closed around hers, tightening painfully, while Major Sprenger repeated the application several times, probing the abscess and around the injured bone. By the time the surgeon sat back, her fingers were numb. He capped the bromide and handed it back to her.
"It's going to burn awhile. It eats away at the tissue like acid on a nail. But to be sure I've got everything, go ahead and give me—" Sprenger considered a moment, then told Annie, "Give me the turpentine. Sorry to add insult to injury, Hap," he murmured apologetically, pouring a little of it into the incision, "but it's a good disinfectant. Don't guess I'll use the P.P., after all. If bromine and turpentine don't get it, nothing will, anyway." He looked up at Annie. "Might as well strain the willow tea while I restitch him."
"I got Mr. Parker, but couldn't find Walsh, sir," Nash announced, bursting through the door.
"Hell, I'm done now," Sprenger muttered, covering Hap. "Might as well send him back to bed."
"But—"
"Cauterized it with bromine." Sprenger rose to return his supplies to his field kit. "If it's still draining in the morning, we'll know it didn't work." He leaned over Walker. "Doing all right, Hap?" There was no answer. "Passed out," the surgeon decided. "Just as well, but it'll make getting anything down him a damned sight harder. Think you can do it without choking him to death, Mr. Nash?"
"I'll try, sir."
"Like feeding a baby—a little at a time. You know that, don't you?"
"I ain't even got a wife," Nash reminded him.
"I can give it to him, Major," Annie offered, carrying the cup back.
"You belong in bed yourself," Sprenger told her sourly. "So you might as well walk back with me. It's Mr. Nash on duty, anyway."
"Please, I couldn't sleep."
"If you won't take the laudanum, I can give you some chamomile."
"No. I'm all right, really."
Looking past her to Nash, he ordered, "If she changes her mind, see her home, will you? Mr. Parker, you'd better get a good night's sleep in case we have to saw tomorrow."
"Any change in orders for Captain Walker, sir?" Nash inquired.
"Give the willow bark tea every two hours until morning. Quarter grain of morphine at midnight, then again about five."
"Yes, sir."
Sprenger unrolled his sleeves and reached for his coat. "Unless you need me, I'll be back around six o'clock, soldier."
After the two men left, Annie sat beside Hap Walker's bed and began dipping the napkin in the willow bark tea, dribbling it into his mouth as before. When she looked up, Nash was watching her.
"You going to stay here all night?"
"I don't know."
He appeared uncomfortable for a moment, then blurted out, "There'll be talk. I mean, you're a woman, and I'm a man, and—"
"How old are you, Mr. Nash?"
"Twenty-three, ma'am."
"I was thirty last summer." Dipping the cloth into the cup again, she returned to her task. "Come on, just a little more," she coaxed Walker.
"You aren't exactly old enough to be my mother," Nash said behind her. "And after what happened—"
She sighed. "After what happened, I expect people to talk, and there's not much I can do to stop them. What am I supposed to do—hide?"
"No, of course not. But—"
Laying the cup aside, she turned back to wipe Walker's mouth with a dry corner of the napkin. "I cannot help it that I wanted to live too much to die, sir," she said wearily. "But if it bothers you to sit here with me, you can go into the other room."
"I didn't mean me. I didn't mean J felt that way, Mrs. Bryce," he responded awkwardly. "I was thinking of you."
She felt a surge of anger. "Well, don't. I'm not a woman who thrives on pity."
"I'm sorry. It must have been very hard on you," he murmured.
She looked up
at that. "I don't mean to talk about it— now or ever," she said evenly. "To anyone."
"I wasn't trying to pry, ma'am. I just meant..." He paused, then sighed. "Well, if you're going to sit up with him, I think I'll go into the surgery and straighten things around for tomorrow. I, uh, I guess if you need any help, you'll call for me," he added lamely.
"Yes."
For more than a quarter hour after he left, she worked to get the rest of the medicine down Hap Walker. When she was done, she rose slowly and went to the window. They sky was almost cloudless now, and the snow sparkled in the moonlight. Layers of ice weighed heavily on the branches of a small tree, bending them almost to the ground. The stillness was nearly overwhelming.
She turned back to Hap, then cast a furtive glance toward the surgery. She hesitated, then deliberately walked over and closed the infirmary door. Coming back to Walker's bed, she considered him for a moment before she reached for the wash basin.
There wasn't anything that said she couldn't bathe him, after all. Telling herself resolutely that he had nothing she'd not seen before, she poured water into the pan. Wringing out the cloth Major Sprenger had used, she began wiping the wavy brown hair back from his forehead.
While he wasn't what most people would call handsome, he had an appealing face—straight nose, strong jaw, well-defined chin. And despite a faint sprinkling of silver, the tousled hair gave him an almost boyish look. That and the smile lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. She guessed he was probably between thirty-five and forty.
She lifted the blanket and unbuttoned the nightshirt, then washed his neck, throat, and chest. Her hands shook as she tugged the shirt up, exposing his lower body. She shuddered, fighting the revulsion, and forced herself to look down. Nestled in curled, brown thatch, his manhood was limp, benign. She took a deep breath. Telling herself that the only thing he had in common with Two Trees was his gender, she very carefully began washing his belly and his right leg. The injured one she didn't touch.