Fire by Night (16 page)

“A wife and three young ones. They—”

It was the last thing Julia heard. When she removed the last layer of gauze, a powerful stench hit her like a fist, knocking the breath right out of her. She tried to stand, to flee from it, but the room tilted crazily, then suddenly went black.

“Mrs. Hoffman …Mrs. Hoffman.” Julia opened her eyes to Dr. McGrath’s smirking face. She lay in a heap on the floor beside the bed and he crouched alongside her, slapping her cheeks.

“Ah, good. There you are. Let’s sit you up.” Julia’s head whirled as he lifted her to a sitting position. The smell that had so overpowered her was everywhere. She quickly covered her mouth, barely managing to choke back her lunch.

“She all right, Doc?” Private Jackson asked.

“She’s fine. If you’ll excuse us for a moment, Jackson, I’ll see that she gets some fresh air. I’ll be right back.”

Julia felt the strength in Dr. McGrath’s arms and shoulders as he hauled her to her feet. The smell that had escaped from beneath Jackson’s bandage encircled her like a living thing, pursuing her. There was no escape from it. She wanted to run from the ward before she vomited, but her legs were much too unsteady. As Dr. McGrath propelled her to the front door, she was forced to swallow the bitter mouthful a second time. When he finally flung open the creaking door, Julia desperately gulped the damp February air.

“There you go,” the doctor said cheerfully. “A few deep breaths and you’ll be on your way home. Today’s lesson was on gangrene— you can tell it by the smell. Quite distinctive, wouldn’t you say?” She hated his mocking tone. No wonder none of the nurses liked him.

“You may let go of me now,” she said, peeling his hands off her waist. “I’m all right.”

“Of course you are.” He retrieved her bonnet and cloak from his office just a few steps from the door and shoved them into her hands. “Here you go. And now I suggest you return to your mansion in …Philadelphia, wasn’t it? Wait there for your missing lieutenant.”

Julia could barely speak through her anger. “Are you saying I can’t work here?”

“I never imagined that you’d still want to.”

She drew a shaky breath and exhaled. “Yes. I would very much like to. Now that I know what gangrene smells like I’ll be better prepared for it the next time.”

“I doubt that,” he said. “Listen, I can play this little game for as long as you wish, Mrs. Hoffman.”

“I am not playing a game.”

He shook his head, his annoying smirk back in place. “I don’t believe you. I can’t think of a single plausible reason why a wealthy Philadelphia socialite would give up her servants and her diamonds and her ball gowns—and put on a ridiculous dung-colored dress, I might add—unless she was playing
some
sort of game. My guess is you’re trying to impress someone.”

Julia didn’t dare argue with him because he was right. He was trying to make her so angry she would stalk away and never return, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. Besides, she wanted to stay, despite what he’d just put her through. She longed to show him that she was serious, that her compassion was genuine.

“May I ask you something?” she said.

“What?”

“Will Private Jackson live?”

The doctor studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment until she felt herself squirm beneath his gaze. He shook his head. “No. We’ve sent for his wife. She’d better come right away if she wants to see him alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Julia said, and she was. “He seems like a nice man.”She drew another deep breath. “What time shall I come tomorrow?”

Dr. McGrath hesitated, then said, “I don’t have any openings for nurses at the moment, but we need a supervisor for the linen room.”

She was sure it was an insult, another one of his games. Julia determined to beat him at it this time. “The linen room will be fine. What time should I come?”

“Six A.M.”

“Very well, Doctor. Good day.” She turned to go.

“Mrs. Hoffman…” he called after her, “be sure to bring your own smelling salts tomorrow. The hospital doesn’t stock them, and I’d rather not have to slap your dainty little face again.”

Chapter Eight

Fairfield Hospital
February 1862

Dr. McGrath’s office was dark, deserted. The coat-tree inside his door stood empty. Julia huffed in frustration. She had risen before the sun, skipped breakfast, and walked two blocks through frozen mud and icy wind to hail a cab in order to get to the hospital by six o’clock—and Dr. McGrath wasn’t even here. If his rude behavior yesterday was an indication of his true character, she might have guessed he’d tell her to come early and then be deliberately late himself.

She stood in the hallway for a moment, debating what to do. Except for the distant sound of men coughing in the wards, the hospital was quiet. Since Julia had no idea where the linen room was or what she was supposed to do there once she found it, she decided to take a seat in the doctor’s office and wait for him. She had just removed her cloak and hat and hung them on the doctor’s coat-tree when the ward matron she’d seen yesterday came into the front hall. She was a plain-looking woman in her forties with thick dark brows and a careworn face.

“Oh …hello,” the woman said. “I thought I heard the door. I’m Eleanor Fowle. How may I help you?”

“I’m …I’m Mrs. Robert Hoffman,” she said, deciding to continue the lie. “But please, call me Julia. I’m looking for Dr. McGrath.”

“You were here yesterday, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I applied for a position as a nurse. The doctor told me that I could begin working this morning as a supervisor in the linen room.”

“The
linen
room? Are you sure?”

“That’s what he said. What time does Dr. McGrath usually arrive for his morning rounds?”

Her dark brows creased in a disgusted frown. “It all depends on how drunk he got last night.”

Julia was so surprised by the matron’s words and the blunt way in which she spoke them that she couldn’t reply.

“I’ve shocked you. I’m sorry,” Mrs. Fowle said. “But it’s the truth, and you may as well know it. He played a mean trick on you yesterday with Mr. Jackson, and the doctor is even meaner when he has a hangover—which is quite often, I’m sorry to say.”

“What about the job he offered me?” Julia asked, hearing the tremor in her voice. “Was that just a mean trick, too?”

“Well, we
are
desperate for help in the linen room, but I don’t think it’s a job you would be suited for.”

Julia felt as though the floor beneath her had given way. This had all been a joke. Dr. McGrath had no intention of hiring her as a nurse. She longed to turn around and march away from this miserable hospital, but where would she go?

“To be honest,” Mrs. Fowle continued, “I think the doctor is using the linen room the same way he used poor Mr. Jackson yesterday. He’s trying to scare you off.”

“But why not just send me away? Why all these games?”

Mrs. Fowle released a long sigh, shaking her head. “Because Dr. James McGrath is a bitter, meanspirited man. He doesn’t need any other reason than that. If you’re wise, you’ll leave before he arrives.”

The matron was right—Julia should leave. She should give up the idea of becoming a nurse and go home. It’s what everyone had been trying to tell her from the very beginning. But the thought of admitting defeat made her angry. “May I ask, Mrs. Fowle …if Dr. McGrath is so horrible, why do you stay here and work with him?”

“Because our soldiers need me,” she said without hesitating. “I came to Washington City to take care of my husband after he was wounded at Bull Run. He died from his wounds, but there were so many others who needed my help that I simply couldn’t abandon them.”

Julia felt her feet touch solid ground again. The soldiers needed her. She’d run away from them once, and she was not going to do it again. “If I did decide to stay,” she said, “if I took the job in the linen room, do you think the doctor would eventually allow me to work as a nurse? Because that’s what I really want to do—to help wounded soldiers, like you do. I applied to Miss Dix, but she told me I was too young. And in a roundabout way, she suggested that I look for a position here.”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” Mrs. Fowle said doubtfully. “I’ll put in a good word for you when there’s an opening. In the meantime, I should warn you that your job in the linen room won’t be easy.”

“I appreciate the warning, but I would still like to stay.”

Mrs. Fowle smiled for the first time. “I believe you’ve won this round, Julia. Dr. McGrath will certainly be surprised to learn of your decision. Have you eaten?”

“No, there wasn’t time. He told me to be here by six.”

“Absurd man. Come on,” she said, turning toward the ward. “The cooks always feed the nursing staff first—and it’s usually ready about now.”

Most of the patients appeared to be sleeping as Mrs. Fowle led Julia through the ward and into the hotel kitchen. She smelled bacon and coffee and heard the clatter of dishes even before she passed through the swinging kitchen door. Two other nurses were already seated at a small wooden table, and Mrs. Fowle introduced Julia to Annie Morris and Lucy Nichols, the matrons of two other wards. The women explained to Julia that they were both widows with grown sons or sons-in-law serving in the army. Mrs. Fowle told them Julia’s story, and they discussed Dr. McGrath while they ate thick, tasteless flapjacks and bacon.

“There is more than a hint of mystery surrounding that man,” Mrs. Morris said. “I understand that he once had a thriving medical practice and was quite well renowned—until he got drunk and killed a wealthy patient he was treating. There are even rumors that he spent time in prison for it.”

“He’s certainly mean enough to be an ex-convict,” Mrs. Fowle said.

“I’ve never heard anything about prison,” Mrs. Nichols said. “I was told that he became a drunk
after
his patient died. And that he’s been drinking ever since because of it.”

“I don’t suppose it matters one way or the other,” Mrs. Fowle said, shaking her head. “Regardless of his past, his drunkenness and boorish behavior are inexcusable.”

Julia took a bite of bacon. It was as tough as leather and much too salty. “If it’s common knowledge that he drinks too much,” she said, “why does the army allow him to run a hospital?”

“Oh, he’s a very skilled physician when he’s sober,”Mrs. Nichols said. “After Bull Run they needed every doctor they could get their hands on and weren’t about to turn one away. He’s a contract surgeon— which means he hasn’t actually enlisted in the army.”

“And even though he’s vulgar to the outside world,” Mrs. Morris added, “I must say that he’s wonderful with the patients. Very gentle, very kind to them.”

“I’ve been here for almost as long as he has,” Mrs. Fowle said, “and I’ve seen several wonderful nurses leave because they couldn’t tolerate his bullying. But at the same time, his hospital has one of the lowest death rates of any in the city.”

Julia’s curiosity was piqued. She wondered if she could find out the truth about the doctor’s past somehow and use it to her advantage. She already considered Dr. McGrath her enemy and would use any ammunition against him that she could in order to secure a job as a nurse. “Where is he from?” she asked.

Mrs. Fowle shrugged. “He won’t talk about himself at all—and you’ll get your head bitten off if you ask. But I’ve seen the letters he gets every week from
Mrs
. James McGrath, and the return address is New Haven, Connecticut.”

“I saw a picture of his wife and daughter in his office yesterday,” Julia said. “She looked like a lovely woman.”

“Yes, I’ve seen it, too,” Mrs. Fowle said. “But that’s another mys-tery. For as long as he’s been here, he’s never once talked about his family or gone home to visit them. The letters arrive every week like clockwork, but wouldn’t you think his wife would want to come here to live—or at least visit him? After all, that’s why many of us came, to be closer to our husbands.”

“No, think about it, Eleanor,” Mrs. Morris said. “As horrible as that man is, I’d keep my distance, too, if I were his wife. And I’d be grateful for every mile there was between us.”

“You seem like a nice young lady, Julia,” Mrs. Nichols said. “Take my advice and look for work someplace else. He only offered you this awful job to try to get rid of you.”

“But if you really need someone in the linen room,” Julia said, “and if the army is so desperate for nurses, why does Dr. McGrath deliberately drive everyone away?”

Mrs. Fowle spread her hands. “The man is a mystery, I tell you. I don’t think he knows the answer to that himself.” The other ladies nodded in agreement. “Anyway,” she said, pushing back from the table, “it’s time we returned to work. I’ll show you the linen room, but none of us will blame you if you decide to leave. It’s a terrible job. Right now most of our patients are plagued with diarrhea and dysentery. … Well, you’ll see.”

Julia did see. The hotel laundry was a cramped room in the rear of the building with a table, four large wooden tubs, a collection of flatirons, and a stove to heat the water. The shelves where the clean bedding was stored were nearly empty, and the mound of soiled sheets waiting to be washed stood as high as Julia’s head. The pile reeked so horribly of sickness and human filth that it made her eyes water. She nearly vomited her breakfast. She pulled a scented handkerchief from her pocket and held it to her nose.

“Am I supposed to scrub all these bed linens myself?” she asked.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Mrs. Fowle said. “The army will pay for four laundresses, but they all keep quitting, and no one has time to find replacements. Meanwhile, the laundry keeps piling up. Lena is the only laundress we have left, besides you. With so many patients suffering from diarrhea, we’re in an awful mess. Sorry, but I have to get back to my ward now. I’ll tell Dr. McGrath you’re here when he decides to show up. Oh, and make sure you speak softly to him. He’ll probably have a hangover.”

The first thing Julia did was open a window to let out the stench. Cold air flooded the room, but she still couldn’t keep from gagging. Then she looked around in dismay. Julia had never done laundry in her life and had no idea where or how to begin. Nathaniel’s accusation came back to haunt her once again—she was a pampered, spoiled woman.