The Rough Rider

by Gilbert, Morris

  Gail was startled. “You mean, there’ll be no more fighting?”

  “Oh, there’ll be a few skirmishes here and there, but the Spaniards are whipped. It’s just a matter of mopping up now.”

  “I’m so glad!” Gail said, leaning forward, clasping her hands together on the table. “Thank God it’s over!” Then she shook her head with a slight gesture. “It isn’t over really. This is a terrible country, Aaron. It’s a perfect hotbed of malaria, and there is no ground whatever in which to camp. With the lack of sanitation, we’re going to have all kinds of sickness spread. It has already started—men are dropping in their tracks almost as if they were hit by bullets. I heard that General Shafter has cabled the States at once, wanting to immediately transport the troops back to the United States. He said if it’s not done, the death rate will be appalling.”

  She looked at Aaron’s strained face, then said slowly, “You’re worried about Lewis.”

  “Will he ever be able to walk again?” The question was abrupt, and he shot it at her almost in a harsh fashion.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can know. With that kind of wound it’s almost impossible to tell.”

  “Has he moved his legs at all?” Aaron asked almost plaintively. He reached out to her as if for assistance. She took his hand and he held on to it. “He’s got to walk, Gail! He’s got to! God wouldn’t let it happen—God wouldn’t let him be a cripple the rest of his life.”

  “I’m praying every day. And Deborah and Dr. Burns are too,” Gail said quietly. She saw the pain make sharp points in Aaron’s eyes, and she wanted badly to say, “And God wants you, too. . . .” but she knew this was not the time. He was holding her hand so tightly that it hurt, but she allowed her hand to remain in his grasp till finally he loosed it. Softly she drew it back and said, “Come on—he’ll want to see you.”

  “I don’t think I can take it, Gail.”

  “Yes, you can. He needs you now, Aaron. He needs all of us.” She reached out, took his arm, and pulled him to his feet. When he rose, she said quietly, “We mustn’t let him see any doubt or fear.”

  “That’s all right for you,” Aaron said. “You have faith in God, but I don’t.”

  “I think you do,” Gail answered slowly. “All your life you’ve known about Jesus. You’ve told me what wonderful Christians your mother and father are, and you’ve told me about Jubal, how he believed so strongly in God.”

  “And he died, didn’t he?” The answer was bitter and Aaron shook his head, saying, “And what if Lewis never walks again?”

  “Then he won’t walk. That’s hard, but his fate is in God’s hands. He’s trusting Jesus Christ.” Gail had not meant to say this to try to force her faith upon Aaron, but now she saw a vulnerability in the planes of his face. The battle had not broken him, but the plight of his brother had done something to him. He seemed almost weak as he stood there, and she waited for one moment, then said, “Come—we’ll go talk to him.”

  As if walking in a stupor, Aaron allowed Gail to lead him to the hospital. When they found Lewis, Aaron was surprised to see that he was sitting propped up in a cot.

  “Hello, Aaron! I’m glad to see you! Are you all right?”

  “Sure—I’m fine!” Aaron said, forcing a cheerful grin. “How are you?”

  “Oh, doing well.” He looked down at his legs and said, “Still waiting for the feeling to come back in the old legs, but that will come!”

  “Sure it will!” Aaron said quickly. “It’s just a matter of time.” He sat down and talked to Lewis a little about the unit back at San Juan Hill. After half an hour, he rose and said, “I’m going to go try to find a bath.”

  “Are you going back to the troops?”

  “No, the colonel said to get you back home as soon as possible. I’m taking you back to the States on the first ship that leaves here.”

  “Well, you must have some influence,” said Lewis in surprise.

  “No, Roosevelt saw you pull the lieutenant out from underneath the firing. He said you’ll receive a Congressional Medal of Honor for that, or he’ll have somebody scalped.” He reached over and put his hand on Lewis’s shoulder. “You’re a pretty important chap; at least Teddy Roosevelt thinks so.”

  For one moment, Lewis listened, then he shook his head and said softly, “Well, it’ll be good to get home again, won’t it?”

  “Sure.” Aaron smiled, adding, “You won’t have a good-looking nurse like Deborah to take care of you, I’d guess. Gail tells me she’s pampered you.”

  “I guess she has at that.” The two men talked, then Aaron left, and later that morning when Deborah came by with a basin of water, Lewis sat up. “I can shave myself, Deborah.”

  “You’d cut your throat,” she said, a slight smile turning at the corners of her mouth.

  Deborah had appeared early in his confinement with a basin of hot water, a bar of shaving soap, and a straight razor. She’d announced that he looked like a bum under a bridge, and had proceeded to administer a shave. She’d been surprisingly good at it, and now as she sat down and tied a towel around his neck, she said, “Aaron had good news.”

  “Yes, the war’s over—or so he says.” He sat quietly as she lathered the brush and applied the rich white lather to his stubbled face. It gave him a luxurious feeling, and he closed his eyes, muttering, “If you ever leave the nursing profession, you can open up a barber shop.”

  The idea amused Deborah, and she laughed. “Maybe I will. Would you bring all your friends in for a shave and a haircut?” She was a witty girl, and kept him amused as she moved the razor carefully over his skin. “Do your lip tight—” she commanded, and the razor moved swiftly across his upper lip.

  Lewis was suddenly aware of the nearness of the young woman. Her hand was resting on his shoulder, and her smooth face was very close. She had bathed, and he could smell the fragrance of the soap on her skin. She was so intent on what she was doing that he could study her without fear of offending. Her skin, he saw, was smooth and clear, tanned a delicate shade of brown. A row of tiny freckles adorned the bridge of her nose; her lips were full and evenly pressed together as she concentrated.

  Without thinking, Lewis said, “You know, you’re a fine-looking woman, Deborah—ouch!” He lifted his hand, touched his cheek, and then stared at the tiny spot of blood.

  “If you wouldn’t talk, you wouldn’t get cut,” Deborah scolded. His compliment had brought a glow to her smooth cheeks, and as she dabbed alcohol on the cut, Lewis saw that she was disturbed.

  “I always talk without thinking,” he shrugged. “But I just told the truth. You are nice looking. I’ve always thought so.”

  “You’re just trying to get some extra favors from your nurse.”

  Seeing that she was really embarrassed, Lewis suddenly reached out and took her free hand. “No, I’m not—and I’ve got to tell you how much I owe you, Deborah.”

  Deborah was acutely aware of his hand holding hers. She looked at him and smiled. “I’m your nurse. I’ve just done my job.”

  “You’ve done more than that,” Lewis murmured. He held her hand and his eyes were serious. “I was in a pretty deep hole, Deborah. Dr. Burns says you saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Maybe not—but I want to.” Lewis grinned, looking suddenly very boyish. “I like owing you my life. When we get home and I get on my feet, I’ll find some way of showing how much I appreciate your help.” A thought came to him, and he said eagerly, “Maybe you and Alice and I can go out and celebrate together!”

  Deborah pulled her hand free, then wiped the soap from his face. “Maybe we will,” she said evenly. She rose and took the shaving things away without another word. Lewis sat watching her, a puzzled expression on his face. He thought of what he had said, but nothing in his remarks seemed offensive. He lay down on the bunk, thinking of home and of Alice Cates—and from time to time he thought of how soft Deborah’s hands had
been on his face.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  After the Battle

  “You’re going home! Start getting your things ready.” Gail and Deborah turned to stare at Dr. Burns, who had just come in almost at a run.

  “Are you sure, Dr. Burns?” Deborah asked.

  “Yes! I’ve been talking with one of the officers. If we waited for the wheels of the military to turn, he said all of us could die here. But Roosevelt got tired of waiting around and got the job done!”

  “How did he do that? He’s just a colonel, isn’t he?” Gail inquired.

  “The way it came to me, General Shafter couldn’t get the government to do anything, so he had Roosevelt write a letter to the President. But he allowed it to leak to the papers back home. When President McKinley read it, so the story goes, he wanted to fire everybody! But the upshot of it all is that we’re loading on the transport right away! We ought to be home in ten days.”

  “Well, I’m ready to go home, and I think everybody else is too,” Deborah said. “It seems that all I hear now are the bugles blowing taps over the dead.” There was a sadness in her voice as she thought of all the courageous young men who had come to fight an enemy, but were struck dead instead by malaria, yellowjack, or high fever. The new cases of fever among the soldiers—mostly yellowjack—had reached epidemic proportions. In all, more than three thousand men were sick, mostly suffering from the dreaded malaria, but with growing numbers of yellow fever cases showing up.

  “I’m going to tell Lewis!” Deborah said at once.

  She left the room at a quick pace, and Dr. Burns looked after her thoughtfully. “She’s grown very fond of Lewis, hasn’t she?”

  “Yes, she has. I suppose when you put as much of yourself into saving someone’s life as she did in saving his, it happens.”

  “Well, he’s a fine young man, but I’m not too optimistic—from a medical point of view—about his recovery. That bullet wound was pretty serious. He may never walk again.” There was a sadness in his blue eyes as he allowed the thought to run across his mind. He was the sort of physician who felt too deeply for his patients. Then he shook his shoulders and said, “I suppose we’ll all be glad to get out of this place.”

  “I thought we might be here much longer,” Gail nodded. “But I won’t be sorry to be back home.”

  That was the feeling among everyone, it seemed. When Aaron heard the news, he went at once to the hospital to tell Lewis.

  He found Lewis sitting up in bed, propped up against some pillows. He had a notepad on his lap, which he put down when Aaron came in.

  “Well, we’ll be on our way pretty soon. I’ll be glad to get out of Cuba!”

  “I was writing to the folks,” Lewis said. “But it looks like we might beat the letter home now.”

  “Go on and write the letter,” Aaron said. “You never know how these things will go. We found out once already how it is with this army. Remember, we sat on a crowded ship with lousy food for a week before we left Tampa.”

  Aaron sat down for a while and talked to Lewis about their imminent departure. He didn’t mention Lewis’s disability, for he could say nothing positive about it. Lewis had recovered from the fever, and his face had a healthy look about it, despite the weight he had lost. Even though Lewis had survived, Aaron had been depressed over his brother’s condition. After a few minutes, he just sat there in silence, not knowing what to talk about. He was glad when Deborah came in with a tray of food, and he rose and said, “Well, I’ll be going. Take good care of this fellow, Deborah!”

  “I’ll do that,” Deborah smiled. Aaron left and she said, “Are you ready to eat?”

  “Sure!” Lewis said at once. He moved the note pad aside, and she placed the tray on his lap. Then sitting down beside him, she took out a lace handkerchief and began to dab her forehead. “It’s warm! But we’ll be leaving, so we can endure it for a little while longer, I suppose.”

  Lewis picked at his food, eating slowly without much appetite. He talked less now than he had before he had been wounded. In the days since he was brought to the hospital, he had grown unusually quiet. It was not that he was saddened, but the paralysis in his legs seemed to have taken away part of the effervescent quality that had bubbled over before. He had lost some of his zest for life, and from some of the things he had said, Deborah sensed more of a soberness about him.

  Lewis took a bite of bread, chewed on it thoughtfully, then swallowed it. “Not going to be long before we’re home,” he said, as though she had not spoken. “I’m glad this war is over and we’re leaving this place.” He hesitated, then said, “Things turned out a little bit different than what I had expected.”

  Deborah knew he was referring to his injury and said quietly, “We’re trusting God to heal you, Lewis.”

  A smile turned his lips up and he shook his head. “You never give up, do you?”

  “Why, I don’t find in the Word that we’re supposed to give up. The Bible says to ‘run with patience the race that’s set before us.’ ”

  “Why do you think these things happen?” asked Lewis.

  “Wiser people than I haven’t been able to answer that.” Without thinking about it, Deborah picked up her handkerchief,

  reached over, dabbed at a morsel of food on his face, then flushed slightly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “My mother always did it,” Lewis said, smiling at her. “I always was a messy eater.” He studied her carefully, then continued to speak. “I guess we all wonder why bad things happen to good people. Job wondered about it, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did. He spent a lot of time trying to convince God that He was mistaken. I used to not like that book much; seemed like it was one long argument. But I’ve been reading it more lately.”

  “In the end, Job and his friends never did figure out why Job had so many troubles. That was because they could only see one side of the problem. They didn’t know that God had allowed the devil to try Job’s patience.”

  “No, that’s true, we don’t know.” She saw a faint look of surprise cause Lewis to lift his eyebrows. “That’s part of the problem—we don’t know why these things happen—and most of the time I suppose we never will.”

  “God never did tell Job why He allowed him to lose his family and be sick.”

  “That’s right, and I remember the last part of the book where Job just gave up and said, ‘Whatever you say, God, whatever you do, it’s all because you’re God.’ ” Deborah leaned forward, her face intense. She had an inquisitive mind and now she said carefully, “I think that’s the only theology any of us can have. Once we decide that Jesus Christ is Lord of all this universe, and that He made all the earth and the planets, then we can leave everything in His control. He’s aware of it!”

  Lewis suddenly said, “You know, I just thought of something! When I was young my mother had a little box, and every time something bad happened or a difficulty would come along, she’d write it down on a piece of paper and put it in that box. I asked her one time why she did that. I never will forget what she said.” A smile creased his lips and he ran his hand through his light brown hair. “She said when the devil would come to her and remind her of the problem, she’d just say, ‘Why, devil, that’s in the Jesus box. You’ll have to go talk to Him about it. I gave it all to Him.’ ”

  “I love that,” Deborah said. She smiled and her eyes crinkled. They always did when she smiled. The story pleased her, and she sat there thinking of it silently. She had a way of taking a statement, thinking on it, and then letting it sink into her spirit. Lewis knew somehow it would surface sooner or later.

  They talked for half an hour, and then Lewis fell silent. “What are you thinking about?” Deborah asked.

  “Oh, nothing, really.” He sat there, staring down at his lower body, then looked up at her, a shadow in his eyes. “I was thinking about Alice. She won’t be expecting me to come home like this.”

  “She’ll be proud of you, just like all of us are,” Debor
ah said evenly. She left the room then with the tray, and there was a frown on her face. Somehow, she knew that Lewis was troubled at what Alice would think of him more than he would admit, but there was nothing she could say to him.

  ****

  Two days later, the troops eagerly boarded the transports and left Cuba. Unlike most military matters, the affair had gone swiftly. Aaron had appeared with a wheelchair and had wheeled Lewis to the steamship Miami. He pushed him up the gangplank and found the captain—a bluff, hearty man with a weather-beaten face—waiting for them at the top. “Well,” he said, a smile half hidden under his moustache, “you’re early!”

  Aaron said, “I wouldn’t want to miss this boat. My name’s Aaron Winslow—this is my brother, Lewis.”

  The name meant something to the captain. He looked at Lewis and stuck out his hand. “Congratulations! I got a note from Colonel Roosevelt. He said to take very good care of you, that you were an honored guest on my ship.”

  Lewis flushed and said, “Why, I can’t imagine why. I was just one of the troops.”

  “Mr. Roosevelt doesn’t think so! From what I hear, the colonel was impressed by what he saw during the battle at San Juan Hill.”

  Somehow, Roosevelt had found time from his duties to write a note to the captain of the Miami. He had even come by the hospital to visit the sick men, and had spent fifteen minutes talking to Lewis. Roosevelt had met Mark Winslow, and as soon as he found out that Mark was Lewis’s uncle, he said, “I’ll be seeing you when we get back to New York.”

  Lewis smiled. “You’ll be too busy getting ready to be the new governor, Colonel.”

  Roosevelt was taken aback at Lewis’s statement. “Why, I’m not even a candidate.”

  Aaron, who knew more about politics than Lewis and had listened to some of the talk between the other correspondents, said, “I’m afraid you’re going to be a candidate this time, Colonel. And if I’m a resident long enough, you’ll have my vote.”

  Roosevelt was pleased at the man’s vote of confidence, and had left the two men with a warm admiration for their commander.