Finally the men lying on the cots began to laugh, and Mrs. Pember’s cheeks began to glow. She’d never been bested in such a contest, but her stern glare had not fazed the soldier, who was now twisting his neck like an owl.
“What’s the matter with you?” the matron demanded. “Haven’t you ever seen a woman before?”
“Jerusalem!” the soldier whispered in a slow Texas drawl, keeping his eyes fixed on Mrs. Pember. “I never did see such a nice one. Why, you’re as pretty as a pair of red shoes with green strings!”
The compliment almost destroyed Mrs. Pember’s dignity, and she wheeled and almost fled from the ward.
Rooney stared at her dumbfounded, for she had admired the woman’s strong spirit. She had seen Mrs. Pember stand up to officers who tried to humiliate her and send them away feeling the barbs of her speech. But the Texan had done what they had failed to do, and Rooney said to the soldier, “You sure did get a good look at Miz Pember.”
“Wal, now,” he breathed, still staring at the door through which the matron had fled for refuge. “I been to six battles, three county fairs, and two snake stompings, but I ain’t never seen nothin’ like her!”
Rooney expected Mrs. Pember to comment on the Texan, but she never referred to it. It pleased Rooney to know that this woman she admired so much could be—well, just a woman after all!
Lowell awoke with a terrible headache and a tongue that felt like a piece of raw rope that had been soaked in tar. His lips were so dry that when he tried to lick them, they felt rough even to his swollen tongue.
Dimly he was aware that there were a large number of men in the long room, and as he lay there trying to sort it all out, he remembered the battle.
I’ve been shot!
Fear ran along his nerves, and he checked his limbs, noting with a weak relief that he had the usual number. Then he tried to sit up, and vivid slashing pain caught him across the back. It was as if a whip made of fire had been brought across his shoulders, bringing an involuntary cry of pain from his throat.
“Now you don’t be moving so much.” Cool hands were on his forehead, and Lowell peered up to see the face of a young woman.
“Where…is this place?” he gasped.
“Chimborazo Hospital. Now let me help you sit up, and you can have a drink.”
Her strong hands lifted Lowell to a sitting position; then a glass of water was placed at his lips. Grasping at the glass, he downed it thirstily, then begged, “More—please!”
“You can have all you want,” the young woman said. As she held another full glass to his lips, she said, “Be thankful you don’t have a belly wound. They can’t have water, just a wet cloth on their lips.”
The water, tepid as it was, seemed to Lowell the best thing he’d ever tasted. “Thanks, miss,” he whispered. “That was sure good!”
“You feel like lettin’ me bandage your wound?” The girl, Lowell saw, was very young—and pretty, too!
“Are you a nurse?”
“No, just a helper, but the doctor wants your bandage changed. He said to clean the wound out, too.”
“I guess you’d better do it,” Lowell said, nodding. He was wearing a shirt that she pulled from him very gently. Her hands were cool and very steady as she removed the old bandage. “Is it bad?”
“No, not bad,” she assured him. “Bullet plowed a sort of ditch across your shoulders. I’ll bet it hurt when you got shot.”
“Not so much at first,” Lowell said, remembering. “Kind of knocked me out—but it got to hurting later. I think the doctor gave me some medicine to make me sleep.”
“Laudanum, I’d reckon. Say if I hurt you.”
Light as her hands were, the raw flesh was painful. Lowell endured it, however, and once when she had to bend over to bring the bandage under his arm, he was startled when her firm body pressed against his side. Quickly he looked at her, noting the curly hair and the clear eyes, as well as the smoothness of her cheeks. After seeing little but rough, bearded men for days, the girl looked like an angel.
“What’s your name?” Lowell asked as she helped him put on a clean shirt. “I’m Lowell Rocklin.”
“My name is Rooney Smith,” she said. Looking down at him, she said, “Your pa, he was here earlier. Guess you didn’t know it, though.”
“Father was here?” Lowell remembered a little then of how his father had brought him and Mark back to Richmond in a wagon. And then he demanded, “My uncle Mark—is he here, too?”
“Well…yes.”
Noting her hesitancy, he was afraid to ask, but he had to know. “How is he?”
“He’s alive,” Rooney said slowly. “The doctors, they operated on him again after they brought him here. I heard one of them tell your pa he didn’t have much hope for your uncle.”
Lowell sank back on the bed, his eyes cloudy. “He can’t die!” he muttered.
Rooney looked down on him with pity. She’d seen so many die, yet she had not become hardened to it. Each death was a fresh grief to her, and she knew that the young man on the cot was suffering.
“He’s real dear to you, your uncle?”
“Yes, he is.” Lowell looked up at her, somehow anxious to talk and to explain how he felt. “He’s always been good to me, and he’s had a bad life.”
“He married? Got children?”
“No. He never married.” Lowell lay there silently, then said, “I guess that’s why he always seemed so…well, sort of left out, you know? A man’s not whole all by himself.”
Lowell’s statement came as a surprise to the girl. Her lips grew tight as she thought, then she nodded. “That’s nice, Private Rocklin,” she whispered. “I guess none of us are much without somebody to love.”
She turned suddenly and disappeared before Lowell could thank her. He had no idea of the time and could only lie there until the sun rose. All around him he could hear the slight cries of pain as men moved on their beds, and he wondered if one of them was Mark. He made up his mind to talk to the doctor the first chance.
Father—he’ll know about Mark, he thought. I’ll bet he’ll be back tomorrow. Then he thought of the young woman, wondering who she was. She sure knows how to treat a fellow gentle. The thought stayed with him, and he found himself looking forward to seeing her in the clear light of day.
She looks pretty in this dark, he thought sleepily, but she’s probably real homely in daylight.
Clay came down between the two lines of beds, turning to speak to the patients. He’d gotten to know many of them during the five days he’d been coming to visit Lowell and Mark, and he paused long enough to stop beside a bed that bore a young soldier with both legs cut off above the knee. “Brought you that book I told you about, Thad,” he said, smiling. “See how you like it.”
“Thanks, Captain.” There was no light in the young soldier’s eyes, and he put the book down, then closed his eyes.
Clay hesitated, then said, “I’ll see you later—before I leave.” He felt helpless in cases like this—but always made the attempt. Shaking off the gloom that had come to him, he went to the section where Mark’s bed was located and found Matron Pember there, speaking with one of the doctors.
“Oh, this is Captain Rocklin,” Mrs. Pember said. “This is Dr. Jarvis, Captain. He’s just been looking at your uncle’s wound.”
Clay glanced down and saw that Mark was awake. His face was sunken, and his eyes, always so brilliant, were dull and had no luster. “How are you, Mark?” Clay asked quietly.
“All right.” Mark’s voice was a hoarse whisper, and he had a fever that was dragging his vitality from him day by day.
Dr. Jarvis motioned with his head, and Clay followed him down the hall, saying, “Be back soon, Mark.”
Dr. Birney Jarvis was a small man with pale green eyes. He stood there silently, dry washing his hands, then shrugged, saying, “Your uncle is in poor condition. The operation was almost too much for him. None of us expected him to survive it, but we had to try.”
; “Did you get all the metal out, Doctor?”
“Can’t say.” There was a clipped brevity in the doctor’s voice, and he seemed almost unconcerned about his patient. Probably got too many of them, Clay thought. And he’s seen a lot of them die. Clay judged the man’s mannerisms and attitude, and a strong feeling came over him. He disliked and distrusted this man. There was no evidence or proof, but Clay knew that Jarvis would be of no help to Mark, and Clay determined right there to have another physician look at him.
“Our family doctor told me he’d come and see my uncle. Would that be all right, Doctor?”
“If you feel we’re not competent, I suppose you can do so.”
Clay tried to mollify the man, for he’d be over Mark’s case and in a position to do him damage. “It’s not that, sir, but Dr. Maxwell has taken care of all us Rocklins for a long time. Even if he couldn’t do anything medically, it might make my uncle feel better to see him.”
“Do as you please,” Jarvis said coolly. “He’s not going to make it in any case.”
“The Lord can raise him up.”
Jarvis sneered at that. “Then you’d better have the Lord come and take over the case.”
Clay held a tight rein on his temper, saying only, “Thank you, Doctor,” then turned and walked back to Mark’s bedside. He found Mrs. Pember still there and drew her aside. “What’s wrong with Dr. Jarvis? He’s not at all concerned about my uncle.”
“I can’t comment on that, Captain,” Mrs. Pember answered. “All I can say is that we’ll do our best for Mark Rocklin.”
“I know you’ll do that. I’ve been meaning to compliment you on your excellent treatment of the men. I’m very grateful to you. My son is doing very well.”
“Why, yes, he is. He’ll be released soon.” She looked across at Mark and shook her head. “I’m afraid we’ll have your uncle with us for some time.”
Clay talked with Mrs. Pember, then sat down and spent two hours with Mark. The sick man could not talk much, but it seemed to comfort him to have Clay there. Finally he took his leave, promising to return the next day and to bring Susanna with him.
Leaving the ward, he moved to the next building, where he found Lowell sitting up in a chair and talking with the pretty young woman Clay had noticed before. When Lowell introduced her, he said, “If my son gives you any trouble, Miss Smith, you tell me. I’ve had to paddle him before.”
“You sure did!” Lowell agreed. He turned to Rooney, who was staring at his father. “Don’t cross him, Rooney. He’s a bad man!”
Clay saw that Lowell was in excellent spirits, and before he left he said, “Miss Smith, thank you for taking such good care of my boy. He’s very special to me.”
Rooney almost said, “To me, too,” but choked it back. “He’s doin’ real good, sir.”
After Clay left, Rooney said, “Your pa is sure a handsome man!” A mischief came to her, and she added, “Too bad you didn’t take after him.”
Lowell looked down at his hand. “You’re right. My brothers, David and Dent, look just like him. I’m the runt of the family.”
Rooney was shocked at his answer and put her hand on his. “Don’t be foolish!” she said quietly. “God makes us like He wants us.”
Lowell looked up quickly. “You believe that?”
“Yes, I do.”
Lowell shook his head. “I’m glad, Rooney. I hope you always do.”
Rooney changed the subject quickly. “When will you be going back to the army?”
“Not for quite a while—maybe a month. Once I get out of here, I have a special assignment to work on for General Longstreet.” He shifted on the chair and muttered, “Never could stand to be still. Wish I hadn’t caught that bullet.” He saw her eyes go to Billy Reynolds, who had no legs, and flushed. “Shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered. “It’s just that I get restless.”
“What is it? A spy mission or something like that?”
“Well, I’m going to make a balloon.” He saw her look of surprise and quickly related General Longstreet’s offer. He grew excited as he spoke—but when he finally finished, he lapsed into a gloom that drew his shoulders down. “Aw, I’m just dreaming. Since I’ve been lying here, I’ve realized that it can’t be done.”
“Why not? Don’t you know how to make one of those things?”
“Oh, I could figure it all out,” Lowell said quickly. “The trouble is there’s nothing to make the canopy—the big balloon itself—out of. The Federals have lots of silk, but there’s none in the South that I know of. That’s all I need, Rooney—just a few scraps of silk!”
Rooney stared at him in disbelief. “Why, that’s not right, Lowell! There’s lots of silk right here in Richmond.”
Lowell stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What in the world—”
“Silk dresses, silly!” she said, laughing aloud. “There must be hundreds of silk dresses in this town.”
“Silk dresses? Why—” Lowell’s eyes grew round, and he whistled. “Why, that’s right, isn’t it, Rooney!”
“Sure it is. Could you use silk dresses to make your balloon, Lowell?”
“I don’t see why not—but…”
“What is it?”
“How would I get the dresses?” Lowell stared at her blankly. “I can’t go around asking women to give me their dresses! I’d get shot by a jealous husband.”
Rooney smiled, and her eyes were brighter than Lowell had ever seen them. “I can get them for you.”
Lowell’s face grew very intent as excitement built up in him. “Would you do that, Rooney?” He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it hard and not even conscious of it. “Why, we could do it—you and me!”
Rooney was very conscious of his hand holding hers. She had spent so much of her life fending off men that it felt strange to receive a touch from this young soldier without feeling fear.
She smiled, her dark blue eyes shining as she said, “We’ll do it together, Lowell! We’ll make a balloon together!”
CHAPTER 6
A VISIT TO GRACEFIELD
As Lowell turned the carriage into the long sweeping drive lined with massive oaks, Rooney’s heart seemed to contract. Every day he was in the hospital, Lowell had insisted that she visit his family, and after making every excuse, Rooney finally conceded. So the day Lowell was released, he rented a carriage and then drove up in front of Chimborazo to pick up his new assistant.
Now as the horses drew up in front of the tall white house with massive white columns spanning the front and side, she wished heartily she’d never let him talk her into coming. She’d evaded all his inquiries concerning her home and family, inventing a story that involved an imaginary family in Natchez, Mississippi, and an aging and ailing aunt in Richmond whom she’d come to nurse. Lowell had hinted broadly that he’d be pleased to visit her at home, but she told him “Aunt Lillian” was too ill for any excitement—even a visitor.
Now as Lowell leaped to the ground and handed the lines to a tall black man, she wanted to cry out, “Take me back to town!” However, it was too late for that. Lowell reached up, and she had no choice but to let him help her to the ground.
“Come on, Rooney,” Lowell said happily. “I’m anxious for you to meet my family.” He was wearing a fine gray suit, for his uniform was too tight for comfort on his wound. His hazel eyes were gleaming, and his brown hair fell across his forehead, making him look very handsome and youthful. Holding to her arm, he said, “You’re going to love my grandmother—everybody does.”
Rooney was too frightened to answer. If his hand had not firmly grasped her arm, she felt that she would have whirled and dashed out into the woods that flanked the house. As they reached the top of the steps, the massive front door opened, and a heavy, white-haired black man greeted them.
“Marse Lowell!” The affection in the slave’s voice was evident, and he seemed to have trouble speaking. Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat, saying roughly, “Whut you mean gettin’ yo’self shot
and scarin’ Miz Susanna half to death! Ort to be ashamed!”
Lowell laughed and stepped forward to give the man a hard hug. “Don’t you start fussing at me, Zander! I’ll get plenty of that from Grandmother.” Turning to the girl, he said, “This is Miss Rooney Smith, a new friend of mine. And this is Zander, Rooney. He and his wife, Dorrie, are the real bosses here!”
“I’m glad to know you, Zander.”
“You come in now, Miz Rooney,” the butler said, smiling. “Miz Susanna, she out in the scuppernong arbor.”
“Have Dorrie fix the blue bedroom for Miss Rooney, will you, Zander?”
Lowell passed into the house with the girl in tow. She had time only for an awed glance at a spacious foyer and a broad stairway that divided the lower part of the house. She caught a glimpse through a door of walls lined with books, and across the hallway, maids were cleaning the largest room she’d ever seen in a house. “That’s our ballroom, Rooney,” Lowell remarked. “Maybe we’ll have a ball before I have to go. You like balls, don’t you?”
The only dancing Rooney had ever seen was of the crude dance hall variety, so she only murmured, “They’re very nice.” She followed him out a side door and saw a building made up of white lath and covered with green vines. “There’s my grandmother,” Lowell said, and Rooney saw the woman who was moving among the flowers that surrounded the arbor.
“Lowell!”
Susanna Rocklin lifted her head to catch sight of the couple and put down a basket, coming to them at once with her arms outstretched. She embraced Lowell, kissed him firmly, then turned to examine the young woman. “And who is this you’ve brought to see us?”
“This is Rooney Smith,” Lowell said. “She’s going to help me build a balloon to fight the Yankees with.”
Susanna smiled and put her hand out to Rooney, saying, “I’m so glad you’ve come, my dear. Clay’s told me all about your kindness to Lowell and Mark.”
As Rooney responded with her eyes lowered, Susanna studied her carefully. Her visits to Chimborazo had been in the afternoons, so she had never met the young woman, but she’d heard much about Rooney Smith! Not only Clay but Mark had sung her praises. And Lowell! Well, he’d talked of her with such excitement that Susanna had been very curious. “Lowell interested in a young woman? That’s something new!” she had remarked to Clay.
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 66