Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  It was a mild, pleasant day as she hopped onto the mule-drawn streetcar to continue her journey to the hospital. Roberta had begged her father for the use of the gelding and carriage, leaving Angus no alternative but to hitch Ol’ Tar to the rickety buckboard and take himself to work and Alaina as far as the store. From there she walked to St. Augustine’s Church where she caught the streetcar and finally swaggered past the orderly at the hospital door.

  “You’re late,” Cole commented offhandedly as he brushed past her in the hall.

  “Yeah, well, it ain’t easy to pay for a ride on the money you Yankees pinch out,” she called to his back as he strode briskly down the hall. She opened her mouth to throw another retort but quickly snapped it closed when Doctor Mitchell, the surgeon general, stepped abruptly from one of the wards. He looked at the suddenly red-faced youth, then frowned down the hall toward the tall, ignoring back of the captain.

  “Do you have a complaint, son?” the gray-haired officer asked kindly.

  Alaina tried to swallow her discomfort. “No, suh.”

  “Then I suggest you get about your duties. Several ambulances arrived during the night, and there’s some tidying up to be done. Captain Latimer is far too busy now to discuss your wages.”

  “Yes, suh,” Alaina mumbled. General Clay Mitchell was the only Yankee yet she had not dared to stand her ground with. He was a tall, barrel-chested Irishman, and though he demanded the respect of every man in the hospital, there was something kindly about the man. It just wasn’t in her to be rude to such a gentleman, even if he was a Yankee.

  Closer to the surgery rooms, cots had been set up to accommodate the new arrivals, some of which writhed and moaned with pain while others wept softly. One lay apart from the rest; he was so still Alaina could have taken him for the dead. A bandage covered his eyes, and a thin trickle of dried blood trailed from the corner of his mouth. His belly was covered with a sheet to keep the flies away from the wound that slowly turned the whiteness of the cloth to a dark, forboding red. Here was one who was so far gone the doctors had chosen to delay treating him until those soldiers with a better hope for life could be tended and perhaps saved.

  The sight made Alaina back slowly away. No more, she thought. I’ve seen enough! She fled to where she kept the cleaning equipment, determined to keep her resolve, and busied herself with scrubbing the wood floor at the end of a ward where she was sure no soldier teetered near the brink of death.

  Her promise to herself, however, was not to be kept. Even in the safe haven she had found, she began to hear the faint call of a desperate plea. She tried for some time to ignore it. Surely someone else would fulfill the man’s need. A simple task to fetch the soldier water. But not her task! Never again!

  Yet it seemed she could hear nothing else, and no one gave him water. Rallying her determination, she dipped her coarse brush into the murky liquid and began to scrub harder. But nothing could drown out the thin, weak call.

  “Blast it all!” she swore beneath her breath and jumped to her feet. She hurried down the hall to where the soldier lay, still so motionless that it frightened her. Then she saw his tongue flick weakly across parched, cracked lips.

  “Wait.” She bent beside his ear, afraid he was too deep in pain to hear her. “I’ll get you water.”

  She touched his thin hand reassuringly, then rushed off to the mess hall to find a glass. When she returned, she carefully slipped an arm beneath his head and raised him enough that he might sip the water. But suddenly she found her wrist seized.

  “Don’t!” Cole commanded sharply and, taking the glass from her, set it aside. “You’ll do him more harm than good.” He saw the bewilderment in the dirty face and gentled his tone. “You never give a gut-shot man a drink. Here, I’ll show you.”

  From a nearby cabinet he took a clean cloth, dipped it into the water and carefully wiped the dry lips. He dipped the cloth again, but this time dribbled a few drops into the soldier’s mouth. Alaina watched Cole quietly as he began to speak to the man in a tone that was strong yet cajoling.

  “This is Al. He’s going to stay with you for a while.” As she shook her head with her own desperate need to be gone far away, Cole frowned sharply, warning her to silence. “Rest easy. We’ll be able to tend your wounds in just a few moments. They’re clearing out the surgery room now.”

  Cole straightened and took Al’s thin hand into his larger one and pressed the damp cloth into her palm. “Be here when I get back. If anyone asks, it is on my order.”

  She nodded lamely.

  “Make him as comfortable as possible. It won’t be long.”

  Again she nodded and even as the captain turned away, she was reaching to the washstand for the basin and pitcher. Ever so gently she washed away the dried blood running along his cheek and, with long, cooling strokes, wiped his brow and cleaned around the bandage covering his eyes, shooing the flies that were forever gathering.

  “Al?” The faint rasp made her lean down to him.

  “Yeah, right here,” she half-whispered.

  It took an effort on the soldier’s part to utter the next word. “Thanks.”

  Alaina was suddenly glad she had taken a moment for mercy, and she bit her lips to still their trembling before she managed in her boyish vernacular, “Anytime, Yankee.”

  Cole paused in the doorway of the officer’s dayroom as the medical sergeant called his name. Sergeant Grissom hurried to catch him.

  “There be a young lady to see you, Cap’n. She’s waiting in the vestibule for ye.”

  “I haven’t time—” Cole began tersely.

  “She says it’s urgent, sir. Claims it can’t wait.”

  Cole frowned harshly. He was mystified by such a summons, but he had work to do. “Is she injured?”

  Sergeant Grissom grinned. “I would say most definitely not, Cap’n.”

  “Then is someone else injured?”

  “She did not say that, sir.”

  “Well, see if one of the other doctors is free to attend her.”

  The sergeant raised bushy eyebrows. “She said it must be you, Cap’n. And she’s been waiting near come an hour.”

  Cole sighed and pulled out his pocket watch. “I have only a moment to spare. Tell the lady I will be down directly.”

  Cole hurriedly doffed his blood-stained smock. His uniform was also marred with darkish blotches, not the proper dress to meet a lady, but there was no help for it. He hadn’t time to change. Buttoning the top of his blouse, he strode quickly down the hall.

  Roberta rose from a bench in the foyer and bestowed a brilliant smile upon Captain Latimer as he came across the vestibule toward her. “You seem surprised to see me, Captain.” She lowered her lashes demurely. “I suppose it does seem forward of me coming here like this.”

  “Indeed not, Miss Craighugh.” Cole took her hand solicitously. “I was just now told a lady was waiting. Had Sergeant Grissom mentioned how beautiful the lady was, I might have taken a moment more to prepare myself. But you must understand, I have been quite heavily detained.”

  “You need not impress me with the cause, sir.” Roberta did not try too hard to suppress a rather pretty wrinkling of her nose as she glanced daintily away from his blood-stained blouse. She was well aware of her expressions, having spent many hours practicing them in front of a mirror. “I came here hoping I could be dreadfully presumptuous, Captain.”

  “Continue, Miss Craighugh.” He smiled his consent. “Your voice is the sweetest I’ve heard all day, and I try not to question my rare moments of good fortune.”

  “You are most gallant, Captain.” Roberta tilted her wide-brimmed hat slightly so the captain could admire her fine, aristocratic profile. She knew the beauty of her long, down-turned nose and high cheekbones, the red sultry curves of her lips. “I was just passing by in my carriage when it came to me just how hard you work. No time for relaxation it would seem, or even a leisurely meal. A man does have to eat, doesn’t he, Captain? And you can hardly be blamed
for taking a few moments to do so. I know of a divine little place in the Vieux Carré where they serve the most delicious shrimp. Would you care to join me, Captain?” Though she was all smiles and coy looks, she held her breath awaiting his answer. She had secretly planned for this all week, and she would be crushed if he disappointed her now.

  “I must humbly apologize, Miss Craighugh. I have wounded left to attend to. Otherwise, I would be most anxious to enjoy your company.”

  Roberta hid her annoyance. This was no mewling schoolboy she could lead about on a string and expect him to obey her whim. She tried another ploy. “It wouldn’t be a terribly great distance for you to ride out and join us for supper this evening.”

  Cole smiled at her persistence. “What would your father say about my coming, Miss Craighugh? I have the distinct feeling he’d just as soon not have his daughter consorting with a Yankee.”

  The corners of Roberta’s mouth turned upward coquettishly. “Why, Captain Latimer, you don’t impress me as a man who bothers himself with what fathers think.”

  Cole laughed, his eyes glowing as they lightly caressed her. “On the contrary, Miss Craighugh. I do worry about what fathers may think. As to your invitation, I would rather avoid the surprise and not come unannounced.”

  “Now don’t you worry about that. I know how to handle Daddy. Dulcie is cooking up a nice bouillabaisse, and you won’t want to miss it.”

  A lazy grin twisted his handsome lips, lightening her heart. “If nothing further develops, I should be free later this evening.”

  Roberta was coolly poised despite her elation. “I shall look forward to this evening then, Captain. Now, I really must let you get back to your duties.” She waited briefly in hopes of hearing protestations, but she had to conceal her disappointment again when he glanced almost imperceptibly toward the large, standing clock in the vestibule. She laid a hand tenderly across his lean knuckles as he strolled with her toward the entry. “I’ve held you away from your work long enough, Captain. You will forgive me, won’t you? I must not know much about doctoring to imagine you can come and go as you like.”

  “I am destroyed,” Cole responded as he guided her from the door and handed her into her carriage. “But I assure you that you have made my day considerably brighter.”

  “This evening then, Captain?” she murmured demurely.

  “This evening.” Cole smiled and saluted her, then spinning on a heel ran back into the hospital without a backward glance.

  Roberta watched him go, and the thought of that lean form guiding her across a ballroom floor was almost overwhelming. And all that money! She could not suppress a delicious shudder at the thought. She rapped the back of the driver’s seat with her parasol.

  “Jedediah, take me around by Jackson Square before we go home. I haven’t been for a carriage ride in a month of Sundays.”

  As the carnage lurched into motion, Roberta raised the parasol to shield her carefully protected skin from the sun but not enough to hide her beauty from the soldiers who paused to stare.

  Chapter 6

  MAJOR Magruder was waiting for Cole at the head of the stairs, his hands clenched behind his back and his legs braced wide apart. It was obvious he had been watching. “Quite a bit of fluff you’ve picked up there, Captain Latimer.”

  “Miss Craighugh,” Cole informed him and raised an eyebrow at the man’s apparent curiosity.

  “A Southern wench, I presume.”

  “Wench, hardly! Southern, yes. Al’s cousin, and I would be more selective in what is chosen for adjectives when the lad is within hearing. He has a way of setting one back on his heels.” Cole smiled at the idea of the short, rather heavyset major nose to nose with the small, wiry Al.

  “Humph!” Magruder said. “Uppity little beggar for tidewater trash.”

  “Not tidewater trash, Major,” Cole corrected. “He comes from a farm upriver somewhere. Lost his parents in the war.”

  “You’re quick to defend the rebels,” the major sneered. “Next thing, you’ll be feeling sorry for Lee.”

  Cole faced the major squarely. “I sympathize with all men when they are hurting. It is for that reason I became a doctor. And I consider my oath most sacred.”

  “Humph!” Magruder said again and followed Cole into the day room where the younger man poured water into a basin and began to scrub his hands. “You should get some combat experience, son.” He dampened his own hands from the ewer and ran wet fingers through his graying hair while considering himself in the mirror. “Fourteen years I’ve spent in the military. Went with the army down to Mexico. Eight years a lieutenant.” He glanced aside at Cole’s rank. “And here you are a captain after two.” He leaned against the commode and folded his arms as if he were about to impart some vital wisdom to his junior. “Your fancy oaths won’t do you much good in the heat of battle with men falling all around you. You pick the ones you can do some good for, and ethics be damned. You give a swig of laudanum to the rest and put ’em in the shade. If they’re still alive when you get back to them, then you try to patch them up.”

  Cole shook his head in rejection of the advice. He was aware of his own lack of experience in the field but held strong doubts that he would accept such a callous attitude should the event present itself.

  Magruder straightened. “I was looking for you to invite you to join us.” When the captain glanced up in mild surprise, the major shrugged. “It was Mitchell’s suggestion, not mine. The rest of the doctors are going to Sazerac’s for a bit of celebration. You’ve heard of the Confederate defeat at Broad Run, haven’t you?”

  “Defeat? Humph! I’ve also heard of Old Rosey’s at Chickamauga—what would you call it—tactical retreat?”

  “We only celebrate the victories.” The major sniffed. “Before this war is over we’ll pay those damned rebs back tenfold.”

  “Only one thing is certain now.” Cole spoke through his hands as he splashed water on his face. “Whichever side wins, there’s a lot more bloodshed to come.”

  “Squeamish, Captain?” Magruder smirked, raising a brow.

  Cole reached for a towel. “No, Major. I just see it as a damned waste, that’s all.”

  “Then you refuse to celebrate with us?” Magruder waited much like a hawk for the captain’s answer.

  “Right now, I’m going to take the blinded boy into surgery and see what I can do for him. Then, if there’s anything left of the evening, I plan to join Miss Craighugh and her parents for dinner.”

  “You’re wasting your time on that boy,” Magruder chided. “He’ll be gone before another day is out. You might as well leave early and enjoy the lady’s company.”

  Cole hung the towel and took out a fresh smock. “Be that as it may, Major, I am still committed to my oath. The least I can do is try.”

  “Suit yourself, Captain, but you’ll only cause him more misery before he dies. Besides, it’s a task requiring at least two doctors—”

  An orderly pushed open the door. “We got the last one in the surgery room, Cap’n, and the chloro’ is started.”

  Cole nodded and turned to Magruder as the door swung shut. “Doctor Brooks has already agreed to assist.”

  “Brooks! That old rebel? You’ll have to watch him close. He’s more likely to slit the boy’s throat.”

  “He took the same oath I did.” Cole’s voice was firm. “And he takes it every bit as seriously as I do.” He rested a hand on the door knob and continued thoughtfully, “He’s not a rebel, you know. In fact, he lost quite a few friends when he spoke out against seccession.” He opened the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Major, I have to get on with it.”

  Magruder followed him out in a less than pleasant mood. It always aggravated him when the young fools wouldn’t listen to his advice. He caught sight of the cleaning boy through the doorway to the surgery ward, a wet rag in his hand and a worried frown on his skinny face. It sharpened Magruder’s irritation to know that good Union dollars were supporting the irresponsibility of the f
ilthy little brat. “Get on with your work,” Magruder ordered gruffly. “You’ve had enough lagging for one day.”

  Cole glanced over his shoulder at the frowning man and resisted snapping back a retort. To Al’s questioning gaze, he jerked his head, and the slim lad went hurrying off.

  “You seem to have a penchant for picking up lost strays,” Magruder smirked. “From now on, resist the temptation to bring them among us. That little beggar’s not to be trusted.”

  Cole smiled benevolently. “I don’t know about that, Major. I’ve never had any qualms about turning my back on him.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t do much damage if he tried. He’s hardly bigger than a mite.”

  “Hah!” Magruder scoffed. “The little ones do the most damage. Hit you where it hurts.”

  Cole laughed at the other’s unintended humor. “I shall keep that in mind, Major.”

  Nearly three hours passed before the stretcher bearing the blinded soldier was carried from the operating ward. “Be careful,” Cole warned the orderlies. “He has more stitches than a quilt and is far more delicate.”

  Doctor Brooks dried his hands on a towel. “Do you think you got everything?”

  Cole sighed and dragged off his bloody smock. “We’ll know soon enough. At this point, we can only hope and pray that peritonitis doesn’t set in.”

  “ ‘Twas the boy’s good fortune you were here to tend him. I’ve seen less gifted and less patient doctors in my time.”

  Cole shrugged away the compliment. “If you’re going to make the effort, you might as well do the best you can.”

  Doctor Brooks pulled out his watch and noted the time. “Nearly six. I’ll give a last check about the ward upstairs and then go fetch some vittles. I don’t suppose a young man like yourself would care to join an old fool for supper.”

  “I’ve already promised this evening to a young lady,” Cole smiled.

  Brooks chuckled. “She’ll be much better company for you than I.” The old man approached the stairs, then paused, half turning. “That cleaning boy I’ve seen flitting around here—you’re not of a mind to share him, are you?”