Fated Memories (18 page)

“Uh, yes but how…”

“But nothing. I can’t have a woman who is carrying a child working as a nurse here in my hospital.”

“What, you’re firing me? But… but… you can’t, you can’t do that. My husband’s off fighting with General McClellan. Where will I go if I can’t stay here? How will we live?”

Kitty wanted to seize the old biddy by the throat and shake her, but she knew that would only make matters worse. “Really Mrs. Dickson? You’re going to throw a woman in her condition, whose husband is laying down his life for his country, out in the street? Are you that heartless?”

Indignant, she took a deep breath and straightened her back before answering the charge. “My job is to ensure the safe and efficient running of this hospital and I accept that responsibility with the utmost dedication. But I certainly am not heartless. I have no intention of throwing either of you out into the street although I am not wasting any more of the government’s money by resupplying you, Miss Trausch, with any more iodine. Mrs. Reiger I will see to it that you are given work to do in the kitchen where you won’t be around any of the patients. For now I want you both in your quarters until I’ve arranged your transfers. Go, now, you’re relieved of your duties here. Mr. Sloane, where is Rory? I need to inform her of the staffing change.”

Poor wide-eyed Sloane moved his mouth, but nothing came out. He knew where Rory could be found, but he didn’t want to be the one to get her in trouble for not tending to her assigned duties.

“Check the linen closet” is what Kitty called over her shoulder as she and Maggie walked off the ward en route to the cafeteria for coffee and a snack.

***

With an obvious reason for transfer, Maggie’s paperwork slid through with ease. The administrators assured Kitty she’d still be assigned somewhere in the hospital, but not in what capacity. Only that it would take a few more days to get past the red tape.

Reassignment to the kitchen turned out to be a blessing for Maggie. She’d have free access to nutritional food anytime she wanted it to keep her healthy. Also, the more mature women who worked that detail had more experience with pregnancy issues. That was a major relief for her. Maggie’s only reference points on the subject came from what she’d learned in school, and even then they focused on how to avoid the issue entirely rather than how to manage it. The good women in the kitchen took her under their collective wings with motherly words of advice and encouragement that, without Simon nearby, meant so much to her sense of security.

Maggie wasn’t free for a break until after everyone had eaten dinner and the kitchen spit-shined, so they met later at their favorite spot along the bay to talk. At long last Kitty had received her work assignment and wanted to share it with her.

“I don’t mind working in the kitchen, it’s fine. In fact, I feel more at home there since it’s so much like Sammy’s. But it’s tough being around all that food. Sometimes the sights and smells overwhelm me and I have to run out and puke. Especially those oval-shaped white things that chickens put out. Don’t say the word or I’ll hurl right here.” She’d brought along pieces of hard tack that she’d crumbled with a mallet and tossed it out to the waiting gulls along the walkway. “The women I work with say they understand, but it sure turns off the people who come to eat, to hear me barfing my guts out in the back room.”

“What about you, Kitty? Have they told you yet where you’re going and what you’ll be doing? They aren’t going to split up our living quarters are they?”

“I did get my assignment, just today in fact. And no, they’re not splitting up our living quarters. We lucked out there. I’m going back to the hospital, but they transferred me to the ward where they keep the prisoners of war, the Confederate soldiers.” Kitty held a piece of Maggie’s hard tack in her hand, turning it over and examining it as she spoke. “I kind of have mixed feelings about that, Mags. I mean, these are the guys that Simon and our friends have been fighting. Maybe one of our friends even wounded someone I’ll be taking care of, or maybe someone I’m taking care of might have wounded one of our friends. There’s no way to be certain, but it makes me uneasy. Do you know what I mean?” Smashing the hard tack against the bench, Kitty managed to break off a piece small enough to feed to the birds.

“Huh, yeah I do, that’s a sticky situation. I think you have to look at the assignment as just another soldier needing medical care. Regardless of how he got wounded or by whom. I’m sure that’s what the doctors must do.” Maggie took a break from the birds to give Kitty’s shoulders a sisterly squeeze. “You’ll see, once you get in there and start talking to them you’ll find they’re the same hurt and lonely men we’ve been taking care of all along. They’ve just worn different clothes and, for whatever reason of circumstance, stood on the other side of the line.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Wars have been fought over much less important issues than this and, as we’re well aware, will continue to be. Thanks, Mags, my little niece is so lucky to have such a smart Mom.” Kitty moved to return the hug when a glop of bird poop fell on Maggie’s hand. Maggie’s lunch spewed to the ground followed by Kitty’s.

B
right and early the next morning Kitty reported for duty at the POW ward. Although smaller in size, the ward had the same basic layout as the one she came from, only with fewer patients. One of the male attendants showed her around, explaining that they held twenty prisoners here in the general ward, some recovering from miscellaneous minor wounds, others with amputations and only one, a captain, required isolation for a festering chest wound. The organization being the same, she started by taking stock of the medication cabinet. True to her word, Mrs. Dickson had all the iodine removed from the closet and left only a meager supply of morphine and laudanum on the shelves with the lint and bandages. Kitty gathered what was left into a bucket, and started at the far end of the ward introducing herself and frugally dispensing what little medication she had. 

Maggie was right. Most of these men had a distinct Southern drawl that Kitty found interesting, but their complaints and needs were the same as the soldiers she had cared for in the amputee ward. The only difference being the fear these men harbored in their hearts. They weren’t sure yet if they’d be sent to prison camps, exchanged, paroled, or left to die of their wounds.

Although Kitty tried to be as comforting and reassuring as possible, without antibiotics, the pitiful condition of their wounds thwarted any hope in her heart that the ones who were already glassy-eyed with fever might have a chance. The best Kitty could do for them was to wash the affected areas, change their dressings and dispense what little pain medication she had to keep them comfortable. 

After washing her hands, and applying lotion to keep them from getting chapped, she steeled herself for whatever horror awaited her in the isolated captain’s room. Even so, it was impossible to prepare herself for what she saw. The captain’s feet hung over the edge of the six-foot long bed, the vague outline of his ribs showed through the blanket, and the skin visible around the beard and moustache looked pale and haggard. So weak, his eyes half open, he lay in his bed moaning with pain and fever. Kitty had presumed the attendant sitting at the desk outside the isolation room’s door to be responsible for this man’s maintenance care, but if that was the case, he’d done a damn poor job of it. She berated herself for not starting in this room first. If anyone had needed her, he did.

After moistening the dressing and peeling it away, the putrid smell of pus and necrotic tissue nauseated her. As she examined the surrounding tissue, she noticed red streaks radiating out from the wound. A foreboding sign. With the possibility of sepsis looming on the horizon, comfort care was the best treatment Kitty had for this poor man. She smoothed his dry lips with wax, helped him sip his dose of laudanum, washed the infected area and replaced his dressing with a clean one. All the while feeling so inadequate and frustrated with a medical system that refused to consider antiseptic care.

Kitty spent the rest of the morning in that room trying to reduce the fever with cold compresses and make the captain as comfortable as possible. She gave the attendant outside the door the benefit of the doubt as far as training and enlisted his aid to help her. Together they bathed the patient, trimmed and debugged his beard and change the linens on his bed. No doubt it was the most care given to the man since he’d been there. Most likely he’d still die, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go with a little dignity.

***

The stressful morning had frazzled her nerves. Kitty needed to be alone for a while, so instead of meeting Maggie after dinner as usual, she went to her quarters to rest. What she needed more though was to pound on something or someone to get all her pent up anger out. Without access to a gym or a punching bag, her pillow would have to do.

Back in her room Kitty paced the floor, a stream of curse words flowing in a low voice in case anyone nearby should hear.
What good am I doing here?
It seemed she’d been beating her head against a wall trying to convince this primitive medical system that their methods didn’t work. People were dying for no good reason and she was powerless to help them. One thing was certain, when Simon finished with the army, she never wanted to step foot in a hospital again.

She tried centering herself with yoga poses and, when that didn’t work, she tried Tai Chi. Still unable to relieve her frustration, she collapsed in her bed to cry herself out. While lying there waiting for the tears to start, Kitty spotted the package sitting on top of the wardrobe at the foot of her bed and bolted upright.
Shit! Why didn’t I think of this earlier?
 

In a flash she moved the small box to the table to open it. Inside, Kitty found the letter from Hilda Maxwell describing the contents. After Cal Jackson’s shoulder wound healed so well she had written Max’s wife thanking her for the herbs. Kitty told her how she thought they’d been instrumental in Cal’s recovery. In reply, Hilda had sent her this case full of little jars and tins of medicinal herbs with instructions on how to use them. The original plan was to save them in case any of their friends fell injured. But surely, no one cared if she tried using them on the wounded captain, right? Who knows, he’d most likely die anyway, but at least she’d be satisfied knowing she’d used every tool available to her.

Kitty took out and examined each jar and tin. After matching them up with the instructions, she found one tin marked ‘healing salve’ that the letter said to use on infected wounds. She sniffed the contents and thought she smelled rosemary, but didn’t recognize any other scent. Well, she’d seen first-hand the results Hilda’s tea had on other maladies. She’d trust that this balm would also do the trick. After adding the pouch of herbal tea mixture to the other items in her rucksack, she returned the box to the shelf. Kitty now strode back to the ward with a renewed sense of purpose and determination.
So they won’t let me use anymore iodine. No problem. Thanks to Hilda, I have my own resources.

***

Over the next two days, Kitty applied the salve and changed the dressing four times a day and helped the captain drink a cup of the herbal tea each time. That might’ve been overkill, she wasn’t sure, but she needed it to work and, if some is good, more is better, right? Debriding the black necrotic skin from the edges of the wound so the good tissue could grow together gave here the heebie-jeebies. It made her hands shake so hard she thought she’d never finish. Kitty knew it had to be done though. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she’d once found the strength to remove a bullet from Cal Jackson’s shoulder.
If I could that, I can do anything.

When Kitty arrived at his door early on the third morning, she found the captain propped up in bed with the attendant, whose name she’d learned was Foster, feeding him soup. The fever had broken during the night, leaving him still weak, but with the delirium gone, at least able to speak and take food. Gratified that he had improved enough to eat something, Kitty let Foster finish the feeding while she gathered her supplies.

Kitty sat in the chair next to the bed finally able to speak to the man she’d been hovering over for the past couple of days. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, how are you feeling?”

As he turned his head towards her, the most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen, met hers. The color reminded her of the sky on a clear summers’ day. Seeing him awake and focused for the first time, an instant and unsettling fascination with this man hit her. His longish, dark-with-a-sprinkle-of-gray hair now clean and combed, his trimmed beard darker at the chin and grayer on the sides, and those incredible eyes, stimulated urges she’d only had recently in dreams. This was a good life to save.

Even though the infection had subsided, he still struggled with pain making his slight, but noticeable, Southern drawl sound strained and husky. “They tell me you’re the one to thank for saving my life.”

“I was only doing my job.” The shyness in her own voice surprised her as she peeled the dressing from his wound to check it.

He smiled, amused at her blushing face. “Will you tell me your name? I want to be sure to get it right when I tell everyone about the wonderful nurse who saved my… ouch… my life.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’ll try to be gentler. My name is Catherine Trausch, most people call me Kitty.”

“Huh, I didn’t realize Kitty was a nickname for Catherine.”

“Well, you know, Catherine, Cat, Kitty… how about you? Everyone here calls you ‘the captain’. You must have a name.” The redness encircling the wound had disappeared and Kitty applied only a slight touch of Hilda’s salve at the edges before redressing it.

“It’s McCabe ma’am. Captain Sampson McCabe. What is that stuff you put on under the bandage? It smells like the pot roast my mother used to make.”

“Mmm, yes, I’m seasoning you before we roast you outside on the spit.” Her smirking smile settled the alarm that bloomed in those gorgeous blues. “And please, Captain McCabe, don’t call me ma’am, it makes me sound old. Make it Catherine or Kitty, whichever suits you. I like that better.”

“Okay… Catherine, if you’ll dispense with the formalities and call me Sam.”

Finished with the dressing, Kitty sat up straighter in the chair, her eyes narrowed with interest. Sam McCabe, S.M. Nah, it was too much of a coincidence. “Um, do you happen to have a middle name Sam?”

“Atticus. Sampson Atticus McCabe.” He rolled his eyes as the distasteful name fell off his tongue. 

“Nuh uh!”

“Yes I know.” He shrugged with embarrassment. “Mother thought it was clever. Not too many people catch on to it though, you’re very perceptive.”

Perceptive? She was freakin’ flabbergasted! “Well our mothers must’ve gone to the same school,” she chuckled, “because my middle name is Abigail. Catherine Abigail Trausch. C.A.T. hence, Kitty.”

Sam’s laugh turned into a grimace as the movement caused sharp pains to spread from his wound. 

“Here, let me get you a dose of morphine for the pain.”
That was dumb instead of helping the man, I made him hurt more.

Rushing back with the bottle of morphine Kitty poured the measured amount into his cup and, as she brought it to his mouth to drink, his hand closed around hers. It may have been her imagination, or static buildup, but she swore an electric charge sparked when they touched. And those damn gorgeous blue eyes boring into hers. This wasn’t fair. How the hell was she supposed to stay professional when just brushing by his hand set her on fire?
I wonder if he knows what he’s doing to me.
On purpose she gave him an extra dose of morphine to knock him out and let her take a breath.

Once he’d gone unconscious, Kitty sat back in the chair a moment, fanning herself and letting her heart rate slow.
Phew, cool your jets and take it easy there, Trausch.
This was neither the time nor the place for those kinds of feelings, and with a prisoner to boot. He may just be trying to win her over so she’d help him escape, and she was not falling for any of that crap.

The progress of his healing wound pleased and amazed her. Hilda sure knew her stuff. Kitty made a mental note to write another letter tonight telling her how well her concoction worked and send her money for another supply.

Kitty lingered at his bedside for one last moment, brushing the hair back from his face. His eyes fluttered open for a second before returning to his drug-induced stupor. “Who am I kidding? Anyone with your looks must have a wife and a half dozen kids at home waiting for him. Maybe someday I’ll find someone like you.”

***

When Kitty returned to the ward after dinner that day, three new patients had been admitted. One had a shoulder wound requiring an amputation of the arm from the shoulder joint. By sheer luck he hadn’t bled to death. Although Kitty didn’t see how he’d ever be fitted for a prosthetic with that much tissue loss. As she inspected his wound, more memories of removing the bullet from Jackson’s shoulder flashed in her mind. She tried to mask the fresh shiver that went down her spine to save the injured man’s feelings. That image may never leave her. Another soldier lost an ear to a bullet that had grazed his head, and the third had a bayonet slice a healthy gap into his thigh. It took Kitty and the attendants two hours to get them washed, re-bandaged, medicated and settled in their beds leaving less time than usual for socializing. 

Close to quitting time, Foster came to get her as Kitty tidied up the last bed. “It’s the captain, Miss Kitty. He’s asking for that tea you’ve been bringing him, but I don’t know how to make it.”

“Oh that’s okay, Foster, I’ll get it. I wanted to check in on him one more time before I leave for the day anyway.” That was a lie. She’d been avoiding his room as much as possible. He was healing well and didn’t need her as much and, to be honest, the erotic fantasies he’d stirred up were embarrassing.

Kitty stood in the doorway for a second holding the steaming brew while trying to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest.

“Catherine, I’d hoped it would be you bringing the tea. I want to talk to you if you have time. Can you sit with me for a few moments?” He reached his hand out for the cup as she approached, and again their fingers met, creating that same spark that jumped right to her heart making him smile. “If we keep sparking like this every time our hands meet, we may set each other on fire.”

So he felt the spark too. Was he aware though that she was already on fire? “After the work I did to get rid of your fever that would be a shame.” Kitty eased herself onto the chair, trying hard not to meet his eyes. “Um, did you have something specific you wanted to discuss, about your wound perhaps, or do you just want company? I mean I’m okay with whatever, either way.”
Good grief, Trausch, quit blathering.