“That’ll be enough, Jesse,” Matron Huger said sharply. “I’ll have more cots brought in at once.” Her eyes pinned him where he stood as she added, “The night cans in Ward B were not emptied this morning. Would you take care of that at once?”
Branch, a skinny man of thirty-five with a scraggly beard, nodded quickly. “I’ll see to it, Matron.” He had been insolent to Mrs. Huger when she first came, but when she mentioned that he was the proper age for enlisting in the army, he had suddenly become quite cooperative. Now he said, “Well, we got to have some more help, ma’am, especially with the Yankees. Most of the ladies who come to help won’t have nothin’ to do with them.”
“I’ll see what can be done.” The matron dismissed the orderly abruptly and rose to go to the medicine chest. She was making a list of the contents, worrying over the scarcity of drugs, when a knock sounded.
“Yes?” she called, and Jesse Branch stuck his head inside.
“Old woman out here, Matron. Says she wants to help.”
“Send her in, orderly.” Closing the chest door and locking it with a brass key from the small bunch that hung around her waist, Mrs. Huger moved across the room to her desk. Any volunteers were welcome, for there were few funds to pay for help. The women of Richmond had volunteered eagerly enough for a few days after the battle, but time had put a stop to that. People got excited for a time when tragedy struck, but emptying bedpans or changing the dressing on raw stumps quickly dispelled most of the “glamour” of the work in a hospital.
A woman entered, and the matron allowed a quick flash of disappointment to show in the pressure of her lips. She had been half hoping that the woman would be intelligent enough to carry some responsibility, but that did not seem to be the case. “Good morning. I’m Matron Huger,” she said politely. “How may I help you?”
The woman who entered was not young, and she certainly did not look as though she had enough intelligence to do anything difficult. She was wearing a shapeless cotton dress, which was faded from countless washings and not particularly clean. A pair of rough man’s brogans made a clumping on the floor as she walked, and her dirty hand held tightly to a burlap feed sack.
Lord knows how we’d ever get those nails clean enough to change a dressing, the matron thought. Brown stains spotted the front of the woman’s dress—the residue of the snuff that made a pouch of the lower lip. A gum twig was stuck in the middle of the woman’s mouth, and she shifted it enough to say in mushy tones, “Howdee. I come to hep with the sodjers.”
“That’s very good of you,” Matron Huger said, nodding. “What’s your name?”
A dry cackle escaped from the snuff-stained lips. “I’m Jemima,” she said. Her face was difficult to see, for she wore a limp bonnet with a large hood pulled down over her eyes. She nodded vigorously, causing an iron gray lock of dirty hair to drop over her forehead. Shoving it back with a dirty forefinger, she added, “Everybody call me Jemmy.”
I don’t suppose she needs clean hands to empty bedpans, Matron Huger thought, and she said, “We can use help, Jemmy, but it’s hard, dirty work, you understand?”
Jemmy looked around and, finding no spittoon, walked to the window and sent an amber stream onto the yellow roses outside. “Wal, missus, I ain’t had nothin’ but that since I wuz a younker,” she said, moving back from the window in a strange sidling motion. “I reckon I better tell you, missus, I got a boy on t’other side.”
“A Union soldier?”
“Aye, missus. Went off to fight with the Yankees.” Jemmy nodded sadly, and her eyes seemed strangely bright to Matron Huger but were mostly hidden beneath the brim of the bonnet.
“I got to thinkin’ mebbe I ort to hep some of them Yankee fellers who got here. One of ‘em might have heered of my Lonnie. He’s the onliest chile I got left. Cholera took the rest of ‘em.”
Quickly Matron Huger seized the opportunity, saying, “We need help with the cleaning. Could you come in and help with that?”
“Yes, missus. I got me a job washing dishes at a big hotel, but I can come in when I ain’t workin’ at that.”
“That’s fine, Jemmy. Now let me fill out a form for you—or can you write?”
“No, missus.”
“Well, I’ll do it for you, Jemmy.” Quickly she filled out the basics, then wrote something on a slip of paper. “This is your pass to get into the building, Jemmy. Just give it to the guard each time you come. Don’t lose it. Now when do you want to start?”
“Now as good a time as any, missus.”
“Good! Come along—and you should call me Matron, Jemmy.”
The two of them left the office, Jemmy following the matron with her strange gait. “Are you crippled, Jemmy?” the matron inquired.
“Oh no, Matron! Got my foot gnawed by a hog when I wuz a creeper, but it don’t hurt none.”
The matron led the woman through a large open room filled with beds, all occupied by wounded men. There was a fetid odor, but not as bad as it had been when Matron Huger had arrived. “These are Southern men,” she explained.
When they passed out of that room, there was a hallway crossing at right angles, and a guard with a musket sat in a chair beside a stairway. “Private, this is Jemmy. She’ll be coming every day to help. Her pass will be checked at the front gate, but you check it, as well.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that.”
The old woman had some difficulty climbing the stairs, Matron Huger noted, but when they reached the top, she did not seem out of breath. Another door opened off the end of a short hall, and when the two stepped inside, Jemmy looked around at the ward. It was one large room with a sloping ceiling, the bare rafters showing and dormer windows on one side admitting light and air. The cots, most of them occupied, were arranged in rows. “We have fifty-two men in this ward,” the Matron said and nodded to a short woman dressed in white. “Mrs. Keller, this is Jemmy. She’s going to help with the cleaning in your ward.”
Mrs. Keller was a woman of fifty, and her small black eyes lit up at Matron Huger’s words. “Well, thank God! We need all the help we can get.” She peered at Jemmy over her steel-rimmed spectacles and looked doubtful, but only added, “I’m glad to have you, Jemmy. These poor boys need a lot of care. When will you start?”
“Oh, I’m ready now, missus!”
In a short time Jemmy was moving down between the lines of cots, mopping with an unexpected vigor. The two women watched her from the far side of the room, and Matron Huger shook her head. “I wish I could get you more nursing help, Mrs. Keller. I’ll try.”
“Well, if Jemmy can mop the floor and empty bedpans, maybe take water to the men, it’ll free me for other things.”
Matron Huger smiled with a gentleness that usually remained hidden. “Molly, I don’t know what I’d do without you! You’re the only one who’s been faithful to stay with these men.”
Then she looked at Jemmy, who was chatting with a soldier who had lost an arm and had a bandage around his head. “She looks dreadful, doesn’t she? Try to get her cleaned up. She’s a country woman. I expect she’s done a little primitive nursing. Maybe you can teach her to change bandages.”
“I’ll scrub her down myself, Matron!” Mrs. Keller exclaimed. The matron left, and Mrs. Keller kept an eye on the new volunteer for an hour. She was pleased to note that the woman did a good job on the floors, changing the water frequently, and also that she spoke to many of the men. When the job was finished, Jemmy came to ask, “Whut now, missus?”
“Call me Mrs. Keller, Jemmy. My, you did a good job on those floors!” She praised the woman carefully, then said, “Would you see that each man has fresh water? Here’s the water barrel. Just fill this pitcher and fill each man’s glass.” She hesitated, then said carefully, “Maybe you’d like to wash your hands first. We keep a basin and soap for ourselves back in my office.” She led Jemmy to the small room, which served as the supply room, as well.
Mrs. Keller watched as Jemmy washed, wanting to say something
about the snuff but not daring to do so. I’ll work on it, she thought as Jemmy took a pitcher and moved down the lines of cots. Can’t afford to offend her. She looks rough, but I don’t think the boys will mind. Mrs. Keller was a motherly woman who thought of the soldiers as boys, as in fact many of them were. She had never had children of her own, and the hospital ward had become an outlet for the very real mothering instinct that ran in her.
All morning she kept an eye on her new helper, and at noon, she said to Matron Huger, “Jemmy’s going to be a great help. She’s not feeble at all. These hill women are often deceptive.
Some of them work until they’re ninety. I know the hospital can’t afford to pay her, but I’d like to give her a little something.”
“A new dress or a good used one would help. Let’s see if we can make her look a little less haglike.”
But though they tried, Jemmy was firm in her refusal of new clothing. “I reckon these will do,” she’d said so firmly that Mrs. Keller dared not insist. She had not, however, objected to soap and water, so that afternoon she got a basic lesson in changing bandages—and had been exceptionally deft at the business.
Mrs. Keller’s gratitude was boundless, and she said, “Jemmy, you’re an angel!”
Jemmy cackled and wiggled the gum snuff stick wickedly. “Never knowed no angels to dip snuff,” she said. “Ain’t no wings sproutin’, neither.”
By midafternoon, the work was so far ahead of schedule that Mrs. Keller asked, “Jemmy, would you give the boys fresh water? Then you should go home. I don’t want to wear you out on your first day.”
“Yes, missus.” Jemmy filled the pitcher and made her way around the room. One of the soldiers, who had both legs amputated at the knee, looked at her out of a pair of hopeless black eyes. Jemmy poured his water, then said, “Now looky at this! You ain’t et yore chicken!”
“Not hungry.”
Jemmy picked up the chicken and thrust it at the young man. “I get ferlin’ mad when I see food go to waste! Now you eat that, or I’ll take a switch to you!”
Several of the men who were listening laughed, and a tall fellow in the next bed said, “Better eat it, Ned! You’d be shamed forever if it got back home about how you got a switching in the hospital.”
The one named Ned glared at him but grabbed the piece of chicken and began gnawing at it.
“There’s a good feller!” Jemmy said with a nod. She moved along, then refilled the pitcher and moved down the line of cots directly under the windows. “Well, you done woke up, I see.” She stopped to fill the glass, then asked, “Whut’s yore name, sodjer?”
“Noel.”
“Noel? Now that’s a right purty name.” Jemmy picked up the glass and said, “Kin you set up and take a drink?”
Noel looked up at the woman, confused. “Who are you? I never saw you before.”
“I’m Jemmy. Come to hep you Yankee fellers git well. Now lemme hep you set up. You got a bad belly?”
“My—side!” Noel gasped, the pain shooting through him as he tried to sit up. “Had a bullet in me …. Doctor took it out, but—” He fell back, sweat on his forehead. “Can’t do it.”
“Wal, it don’t matter.” Jemmy moved across the room, pulled a chair beside the bed, and sat down. Picking up the water and a spoon from the table, she filled the spoon, then placed it on Noel’s lips. He took the water thirstily, but after she had repeated the act several times, he said, “I’m taking too long.”
“I ain’t in no hurry,” Jemmy said placidly.
She ladled the water carefully until he said, “That’s fine. It was so good!”
“Water the best thing to drink they is.” Jemmy nodded. She filled the glass again but did not rise. Her back was to the window, so all Noel could see was the outline of her face. When she didn’t move, he felt uncomfortable, feeling that she was studying him. “I—I guess you must feel funny, taking care of an enemy soldier, don’t you?”
“Not got much feelings about it, young feller. A sick man ain’t a Yankee nor a Rebel, I don’t reckon. Jus’ a man.” Suddenly she rose, went to the end of the room, then came back with a basin of water and a cloth. She dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it out, then began bathing Noel’s face.
He lay there quietly—the cool water was the most delightful thing he’d ever felt. He’d had a fever for days, and his face seemed stretched tight. Now the coolness of the water seemed to soak into his body, and he dropped off to sleep. When he awoke, he looked around, finding Pat watching him. Pat’s arm was in a sling, but he was able to sit up and even walk around. “Got yourself a nurse, didn’t you?” He grinned.
Noel nodded. “I thought I dreamed it.”
“She’s a nice old lady.” Pat nodded. “Dirty as a pig, but it’ll be good to have somebody who cares in this place.”
Deborah entered her room in the run-down boardinghouse, sighing wearily. She had left the hotel, taking the cheapest room she could find. She knew that if she went into a respectable hotel in her disguise, she’d become conspicuous. So she’d found a room that was just one step above staying on the streets, where nobody would notice her as she came in. All she would have to do was keep still and pay her rent.
She removed the shapeless dress and washed her mouth out, but she could not get rid of the terrible taste of snuff. I think Jemmy’s going to decide to give up snuff, she thought, smiling grimly. She examined her hair, pleased to find that the dye had not run. Then she washed as well as she could, thinking of how her plan had gone. She had played an old crone once in a school play and now found she remembered the skill well.
Getting into bed, she pondered her plan, which was nothing less than to get Noel and Pat out of the hospital and back to the North. Ordinarily she would have been up all night worrying about it, but tonight she simply began praising God for who He was rather than for what He was going to do for her. As before, the Comforter was there, and the presence of Jesus was more real than she could ever have dreamed. The praises came to her lips freely, and she went to sleep with them in her heart.
CHAPTER 19
DEBORAH MAKES A CALL
When August came to scorch Richmond, the city was still tingling with the thrill of the victory at Manassas. For Dent Rocklin, however, as he lay on his cot in the hospital, there was nothing to cheer his spirit. His face was still puffed and swollen from the rough stitching at the field hospital; it was not healing as well as it should. Dr. Baskins had followed the customary practice of the day in keeping it bandaged. The dressing was changed, but on Thursday when he came by and examined Dent, he was not happy.
“Some infection in the face wound,” he said, peering closely at Dent’s cheek. “We’ll keep the bandages on for another week or so.” Then he unwound the bandages from Dent’s arm, and when he had finished his examination, he shook his head. “Lieutenant, you’ve got to be reasonable. The cut destroyed too many muscles and ligaments. Even if we got this infection cured—which I don’t think is possible—you’d never have the use of your hand.”
“No amputation.” Dent lay back, his eyes bright with fever. He had gone over this with Baskins often, and there was an adamant set to his face as he lay there. “Either I’ll have two arms or I’ll be dead.”
Baskins stared at him helplessly. He was a heavy drinker, and the veins on his nose were inflamed. However, he was a good doctor and had talked with both Dent’s father and his grandfather, urging them to convince the patient that he must have the arm amputated. Neither of them had been of any help, and now he slapped his thigh angrily. “You Rocklins are as stubborn as mules! Well, I can’t force you to be sensible. But I’m washing my hands of you!”
As the doctor moved away, muttering to himself about fools, Matron Huger came to replace the bandage on Dent’s arm. She bound the wrapping expertly, then stood looking down at him. “The doctor is right, Lieutenant. Your arm is lost. I wish you’d reconsider.” Her gray eyes could be hard as agates, but now they were soft. She tried to be objective, to
keep herself at a distance from the men—it hurt too much when they died. But for some reason, she had let her emotions get in the way of her head where Dent Rocklin was concerned.
His eyes were sunk back in his head, and his lips were cracked, the result of the fever brought on by the infection of his wounds. His eyes were bright with fever, and there was a smoky anger in them, too. “If I don’t make it, you’ll have an extra bed for some fellow who can be of some use.”
Matron Huger started to protest, but there was such a rebellious set to his lips that she knew persuasion was fruitless. “We’ve got some fish today. Try to eat all you can.”
He said nothing and dropped off into a restless sleep. All afternoon he tossed on his cot, the pain from his arm not allowing him to sleep soundly. Finally he heard the clatter of dishes and opened his eyes, aware that the evening meal was being served. He had a raging thirst and struggled into a sitting position, then threw the cover back and sat up on the cot. His head reeled and he swayed uncertainly, closing his eyes until the weakness passed.
Four orderlies were moving down the rows serving the men, and the room was filled with the hum of talk. The cot next to Dent was empty, the captain from Tennessee having died the previous day. The man had been in a coma since being brought in and had died without ever speaking another word. The officer on Dent’s right, a cheerful second lieutenant from the tidewater, glanced at Dent but continued to speak with the man across the aisle from him. His name was Simon Alcott, and he had tried to be friendly with Dent. But after getting practically no response, he had given up.
The smell of fish came to Dent, along with the sharp tang of fresh coffee. He sat there with his head bowed, staring at his wounded arm, so lost in thought that he started slightly when a voice said, “Here now, young feller.” He glanced upward and was surprised at the sight of the old woman who stood there with a tin plate and a cup of steaming coffee. “Looky here, now,” she said in a nasal voice, “nice catfish today.”
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 59