Off To War (War Between The States)
Page 15
Jerking the covers back, he saw the stump that was once his leg. His head spun, as did the world around him. He couldn't seem to focus on anything. Screaming for the nurse, he fought to breathe. This must be some kind of nightmare. So he didn't care who heard him or whom he might disturb. It wasn't long before a nurse was by his side.
Her hands were on his arms. “Calm yourself, soldier.” She attempted to lay him back on his pillows.
He resisted her, his nightshirt becoming damp with sweat. “My leg! My leg!” was all he could say.
The woman called for another nurse to grab something. Whatever she said was indistinguishable to him. He fought more and more to just breathe. And there was a pain in his chest. Was he going to have a heart attack? He tried to jerk away from the nurse's hands while she attempted yet again to hold him down. Out of nowhere, another set of hands appeared, this time with a cloth over his nose and mouth.
“Just breathe,” the nurse yelled above his screams. “You are safe.”
“My leg!” he continued to wail as whatever the sweet smell on the cloth was calmed him.
The hands that worked to hold him eased their grip.
“I know this is difficult,” the first nurse said, maneuvering so that her face was mere inches from his.
He no longer had any fight in him. No, he felt numb, sedate, and his limbs became heavy.
“Your leg became gangrenous. It would have killed you,” she went on to explain.
Jacob, even in the midst of his nightmare, knew that he'd had this one before. But he never remembered the calming drugs or the kindness of the nurses. In his earlier nightmares, there had been sneers and saws. He had been able to feel a lot more sensations too. His heart began to beat hard and fast. And his breathing quickened.
The nurse held the cloth to his face again and he breathed in the sweet scented medicine again. Then he was dragged toward the darkness of sleep again. Wait! If he was being pulled into sleep, that must mean this wasn't a nightmare, that his leg was truly gone. He had only a few seconds of realization before the darkness overcame him again.
* * *
The sun shone on Charlotte Taylor as she walked down the street. It was but a few blocks from her door to the home of her dear friend. Despite the brightness of the sun shining down on the earth, her heart was sad. She had made this trip on many occasions, most with her whole family in tow. That thought tugged at her heart.
Her son. He was so far away, perhaps never to return home. Now, Charlotte, you mustn't think like that! She allowed her attention to be drawn to the homes that she passed. They were so neatly placed on the block. Lining up with perfect symmetry, they fit together. If only life could be so neat and orderly.
As she arrived at the house she had come to know so well, she took a deep breath before mounting the few stairs that would take her to the front door. She rang the bell. It wasn't long before a maidservant answered the door.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Taylor. Let me take that wrap for you.” The maidservant moved out of her way so she could step inside. Then the maid's hands were on her wrap, lifting its weight from her shoulders.
The maidservant then led Charlotte down the hall to the parlor. The house seemed particularly quiet today, Charlotte noted as they moved through the home that was as familiar to her as her own. Soon enough, they were at the door to the family parlor and the maid waved her in.
“I'll let Mrs. Thompson know that you are here.”
Charlotte nodded, moving into the space and taking a seat on the settee within. Her eyes wandered over the space. Kept up well, everything was in its place. But there were no disturbed books. No sewing projects out. It seemed as if no one had inhabited this parlor in quite some time. Odd, Abigail often enjoyed hours in here. What could it mean?
Though she expected to wait mere minutes before she was face to face with her dear friend, the minutes ticked by until nearly a half hour had passed. Charlotte had all but decided to call for the maid when she heard the sound of someone in the hall. Was the maid coming to dismiss her? But when the door opened, it was Abigail come to greet her.
A small smile was plastered onto her face. Charlotte knew her well enough to know that this could not be as genuine as the sadness in her eyes. Abigail appeared as if she had dressed in a hurry. Had she just dressed when Charlotte came to call?
Closer inspection of her friend's features yielded more clues. Unmistakable dark circles under her friend’s eyes were quite telling. Whether they were from crying or lack of sleep, Charlotte did not know. But her overall appearance was enough to stir great concern within Charlotte. She made no effort to disguise it.
Charlotte was on her feet in a moment, taking steps toward her friend. “Are you quite well?”
Moving into the parlor and waving off her friend, Abigail took a seat on her favorite chair catty corner to the settee. “Yes, I'm well. Why do you ask?”
Why did she insist on hiding? On behaving as if this were any other social visit on any other day? Charlotte watched her, confused by her behavior. It was a far cry from the behavior of friends who had no secrets and shared everything. Was Abigail so proud that she wouldn't talk about whatever bothered her? Was Charlotte so fearful that she wouldn't push? No, she cared too much about her friend.
“Abigail, you look as if you've been through a lot these last days,” she said, moving to a seat closer to her friend, leaning toward her.
Charlotte was pleased her friend didn't draw away from her touch. But she didn't open up either. She sat, her mouth a thin line, holding firm to her hard exterior. One look in Abigail's eyes, glistening over with unshed tears, told her there may be a crack in that brave exterior.
“Tell me, friend. You know you can trust me.” Charlotte reached out to touch Abigail's hands that lay in her lap, twisting a handkerchief.
As soon as their hands made contact, Abigail burst into tears and the words began to pour out of her. “I have kept to my room. Since we received word about Elizabeth, I can't seem to function. It's all I can do to get out of bed each day.”
Charlotte attempted to move closer to her friend, placing a hand on Abigail's shoulder. She and her own husband had received word not too long ago about John, that he had been captured and was believed to be a prisoner in a Confederate camp.
“There, there,” Charlotte soothed. “It's perfectly understandable.”
“But look at you!” Abigail blotted at her tears with her handkerchief. “Your son is a prisoner of war, and you're out and about calling on friends.”
Charlotte rubbed Abigail’s arm in hopes of reassuring her. “No, not calling on friends. Calling on one friend. A dear friend. One who can empathize with what I'm going through.” She felt tears welling in her own eyes.
Abigail nodded and let her gaze fall back down on her handkerchief in her lap. That did seem to bring her some comfort.
“No one expects you to be able to hold it together. Especially with the news you received. Least of all me.”
Abigail’s eyes shifted toward her friend. She startled at seeing the tears in Charlotte's eyes.
But Charlotte offered her a smile.
“Thank you,” Abigail said, her voice quiet. “You are a dear friend to me.”
Charlotte nodded, wiping at a tear that had escaped. “A dear friend who just wants to help any way I can. Just tell me how.”
“Sit with me for a while?” Her eyes were hopeful.
Charlotte nodded. “That, I can do.”
* * *
When Elizabeth awoke, it was to a hospital full of wounded and dying soldiers. The battle was over, but in here, another battle waged on. She went through her morning routine and began her day as any nurse would—making rounds.
Bringing the soldiers their rations, she checked wound dressings and redressed any as needed. Elizabeth also alerted the doctors to any cases that seemed worse than the day before. And she took the time to sit with anyone who dealt poorly with the reality of his wound or treatment.
By the time one round finished, it was noon. Elizabeth prepared to pass around lunch rations, but Dr. Wilson dismissed her. He told her there were others who could do this work, and that he wanted her to rest. With the weight of the last few days on her, she did not argue.
As she stopped her work, she noticed that the captive doctor, John, was in the hospital as he had promised, doing his part to help the wounded men. A guard with a gun stood inside the hospital tent keeping a watchful eye on him. This made Elizabeth uneasy, but it had to be she supposed. John was their prisoner, but they did need the extra doctor.
The prisoner seemed to feel her eyes on him because he turned and met her gaze. When he smiled at her, a part of her warmed at the sympathy in his eyes for her. Had he been watching her all morning? From the look in his eyes, she wagered he had. She returned his smile, but turned away when she thought better of it. And again she wondered what Matthew would think of her.
They hadn't seen each other since he had proposed yesterday. She didn't want him to think she didn't care anymore. The thought crossed her mind to find him, but a weariness took over and she went to her cot. As she lay down and sleep overcame her, she was visited in her dreams by another memory coming to the surface…
“Teacher's pet! Teacher's pet!” The boys, Elizabeth's schoolmates, taunted her as she left the school building. She had received the highest mark on a test in their grade level. And the teacher had made much ado about it as many of the students had done poorly on the test.
Hugging her books to her chest, she pretended it didn't bother her, but these boys had a way of getting her goat. Why did they have to single her out so?
A couple of the boys ran ahead of her and stopped short. She almost bumped into them.
“We found a pet for the teacher's pet,” one of the boys said, holding up a mouse by its tail.
Elizabeth jumped back as the small rodent dangled, squealing to be freed.
“Stop it, Freddie!” she said, “Let it go.”
“Maybe we should let it go in your hair,” another boy said, laughing as he came up alongside Elizabeth and tugged at her blonde locks.
Elizabeth gasped and backed away from the semicircle of boys, not realizing she backed into an alley.
The boys chased her farther in the narrow crossway.
Elizabeth turned and ran, trying to fight tears, making it difficult to see. One second she was running, the next her foot swept from under her and she tripped and fell. Pain throbbed through her leg as she hit the ground hard. Her books were around her and her dress was dirtied, but she didn't care. All she cared about was her ankle. She had hurt it badly.
“Now, what are you going to do, teacher's pet?” Freddie said, stopping in front of her, dangling the mouse in her face.
The other boys were around him in an instant. There was no escape.
Then someone broke through the boys and stood between her and the others. “I think you've done enough and you should leave her alone.”
It was John!
“What are you gonna do? Snitch?” the boy that spoke sounded less certain.
There were three of them, but John stood a good head taller than any of them.
“Maybe I'll knock you into next Sunday,” John threatened, raising his fists.
“C'mon, guys,” one of the boys said. “She's already down in the dirt anyway.”
The boys turned and slowly retreated.
Only then did John shift his focus toward Elizabeth.
“Thank you,” she said, with tear-streaked face.
“No problem. I can't stand those hooligans. Are you all right?” There was a genuine concern in his eyes she had never known from him. He had always been so aloof.
“No, it's my ankle. I hurt it when I fell.”
“Let me see,” he crouched in front of her, massaging her foot, moving it this way and that.
“Ow!” she exclaimed when his ministrations hurt.
“I don't think it's broken, just sprained. Here…” he took his jacket off and tore his shirt sleeve at the shoulder.
“What are you doing? You can't walk around with no sleeve.” Her eyes were wide.
He put his jacket back on, and winked. “See, no one will ever know.”
“Except your mom.” Her voice was harsher than she liked, but she had never been coached on how to act when she had just been saved from certain death by someone who had never seemed to care two snits about her.
“Trust me. She'll understand. Do you have any pencils?”
“Yes,” she reached into her bag and pulled them out.
He put the two pencils on either side of her ankle and used his sleeve to wrap it. “There, you should be able to hobble on it to get to the clinic.”
She nodded, unsure of what else to say.
John gathered his books and hers then he reached down to help her up. His hand felt warm, a pleasant sensation. But she pulled her hand back as soon as she was on her feet. He worked to steady her, positioning himself on her injured side and serving as a human crutch to get her to the clinic.
It was a short walk, but it took some time to get there with her hobbling along. And she wished away the time. His closeness proved bothersome to her. She was all too glad when they arrived and he settled her in a chair in the waiting room.
The receptionist must have spotted them and summoned her father, as it wasn't long before he rushed into the waiting room.
“Lizzie! Are you well?” His eyes darkened.
“Yes, Father, I fell.” She fought fresh tears upon hearing her father's tender voice.
Dr. Thompson got down on one knee in front of her and examined her splinted ankle. “Who wrapped this?”
“I did, sir,” John spoke up.
“You did a good job, young man.” Dr. Thompson offered John a big smile. “As good as any nurse. And I must commend you on your creative use of supplies.”
“Thank you, sir. I also checked for broken bones. I don't think there are any.” John's voice was more confident.
Elizabeth's father unwrapped her ankle and began his own examination. “I concur. We'll just need to get you back to an exam room and redress it with proper bandages. Not that the sleeve wasn't a smart wrap in a pinch. How did you injure it, Elizabeth?”
“I tripped on my way home from school,” she lied, praying John wouldn't give her away.
John tossed her a look.
“We'll have to be more careful, won't we?” His admonishment held but the tiniest hint of a scold.
“Yes, Father.” Elizabeth just wished for this whole ordeal to be over with.
Father lifted her easily into his arms. Turning back to John, he said, “Would you like to come back and watch me wrap the ankle?”
John nodded, eyes wide.
The trio made their way back to the colder exam room where he would see to his patients. Father placed Elizabeth on the examination table, laying her out so he had easy access to her ankle. Turning to gather his supplies, he talked through the nuances of wrapping an ankle with John while he went through the process.
The two were down by Elizabeth's feet and her father's back was turned to her such that she wasn't in the best position to hear him. And as they manipulated her ankle to just the right angle, she busied herself trying not to cry out. She was relieved when it was done and her father helped her sit up again.
“Now, Elizabeth,” her father said, turning toward her. “I want you to stay off of that foot as much as possible. Let me get you a crutch to help you get around. John, would you be so kind as to see Elizabeth home?”
“Of course, sir.” John's chest puffed out
. He seemed ready to take on any task the doctor requested of him.
In short order, they stood in front of the clinic, crutch in place, and ready to start the long walk home. John moved to start walking and Elizabeth did what she could to keep pace with him.
“Thanks for making those boys leave me alone.” Elizabeth broke the silence.
“You're welcome. They're just rabble-rousers, Elizabeth. Don't let them bother you.”
She nodded. “You did a good job with my ankle today. How did you know how to do that?”
“I read a lot in my father's books and I listen to him. I want to be a doctor someday.”
“I wish I could be a doctor, too.” There was an edge of sadness to her voice.
“Maybe someday you can be.” He looked over at her. She had never realized how nice his eyes were.
She looked away. “Women can't be doctors, John, that's silly.”
“Maybe one day it won't be silly.” His voice was serious.
Elizabeth became quiet and thoughtful. When John said it, it didn't sound impossible. If he believed it, maybe she should too. That would be nice.
“What else do you like to do?” She suddenly wanted to learn more about John.
“When I'm not reading medical books, I like to look at the stars.” His voice became more timid then, almost as if he were afraid to share.
“Me, too!” Her response caused his eyes to light up. “My father got me a book about constellations. Maybe we can look at them sometime.”
“That would be fun.” There was that confidence she had come to associate with him. She liked that about him. He wasn't like other boys his age. No, he wasn't interested in pulling pigtails; he was interested in stars and doctor things.
They walked in silence for a little while.
“John?” She decided to break into the silence.
“Yeah?”
“Why weren't you this easy to talk to before?”
“I don't make friends easily. My mom says it's because I'm so focused on becoming a doctor. I'm always reading or listening to my dad or other doctors.” His face colored a little as he spoke.