Kary, Elizabeth (27 page)

Hayes
nodded in greeting and continued. "I couldn't help but overhear that you
were discussing the conversion of a riverboat to a floating hospital, and I
thought that as a naval engineer I might be able to help."

"The
hospital ship does seem to be a likely idea," Yeatman said
enthusiastically "don't you think? The railroad cars we converted last
summer have proved to be quite effective."

"Indeed
I do," Hayes agreed, "but the idea was suggested to me some months
ago by a young lady working in one of the St. Louis hospitals. Will you permit
me to bring the plans I drew then to the Sanitary Commission offices? Perhaps
they will offer some suggestions you have not yet considered, or you could
advise me how to alter the drawings to make them more feasible. Either way, I'm
offering my services, if you want them."

"That's
very generous of you, Mr. Banister," Forman broke in. "We'd welcome
your advice."

"There's
one thing I'd like to suggest," Hayes continued casually, though a dimple
crept into one cheek. "You might talk to some of the Sanitary Commission
nurses before you put your plans into motion. Women familiar with the problems
of caring for the injured might well be able to make practical suggestions we
men would overlook."

Yeatman
considered the younger man for a long moment. "That idea does have merit,
Mr. Banister. Do you have someone particular in mind?"

Hayes's
eyes twinkled, and a self-satisfied smile curled his generous mouth.
"Well," he began with counterfeit reluctance, "Leigh Pennington
first gave me the idea for a hospital ship, so it only seems right that she
should be consulted."

"Very
well, Mr. Banister, Miss Pennington will be among the nurses we include on our
committee. I know Dr. Hodgen thinks highly of her, and she has proved herself
very competent in her care of the men at City General Hospital."

Banister's
smile became a grin, and he felt more light-hearted than he had since the night
Leigh had staunchly refused to marry him. "Good, Mr. Yeatman, good. But
will you do me the favor of not mentioning my name when you ask her?"

"Of
course, Banister, if you say so," Yeatman agreed, though he eyed the
younger man curiously.

"I
do, Mr. Yeatman. Yes, indeed, I do."

February 26, 1862—St. Louis, Missouri

Automatically
elevating the hem of her gown the prescribed, ladylike two inches to keep the
flowing black fabric out of the mud, Leigh Pennington crossed the busy St.
Louis levee. The sun had finally broken through the overcast after a day of
gloom, and the sketchy gray clouds that hung just above the horizon were tipped
copper by the intensity of the slanting, yellow-gold light. As she teetered
over the uneven cobblestones toward the line of riverboats that nuzzled along
the waterfront, James Yeatman came striding toward her.

"Good
heavens. Leigh," the trim, middle-aged man admonished, "you should
have waited at the edge of the road for someone to come and help you."

"I'm
quite used to doing for myself these days," she answered as she looped her
hand gratefully through his elbow, "though it's nice to have someone to
lean on now and then. Is that the
City of Louisiana?"

In
the scant two weeks since Forts Donelson and Henry had fallen to Grant's
combined land and river forces, nearly ten thousand wounded men had been
brought to northern hospitals, transported on troop ships that had neither
staff, supplies, nor facilities to see to their needs. Now the Western Sanitary
Commission was making arrangements to charter and refurbish the
City of
Louisiana
as a hospital ship for removal of the wounded from battles that
would be fought to reclaim the Mississippi Valley for the Union.

The
boat that lay before them at the edge of the river was a handsome craft,
typical of the luxury packets that had plied their trade on the river prior to
the war. Painted crisp, clean white, the upper decks dripped cobwebs of
gingerbread from every upright, and brilliantly colored glass sparkled in the
skylights that overlooked the salon. Yet, in spite of the lacy ornamentation
and its opulent details, the boat's long, graceful lines spoke of speed and
maneuverability.

The
City of Louisiana
was a beautiful boat, but it had seen much less than
its usual service since the war began. In its heyday the main deck would have
been crowded with roustabouts, slaves, and common folk; with cargo and
livestock; with huge stacks of wood or mounds of coal awaiting sacrifice to the
riverboat's engines for the sake of greater speed. Above it rose the promenade
deck with accommodations for more affluent passengers. Here men would have
passed their time between St. Louis and Keokuk gaming and talking in the
packet's saloon, while the ladies gathered farther toward the stern in the
plush, carpeted sitting room decorated for their pleasure. This long central
salon was generally flanked by cabins, outfitted with bunks and washstands,
where passengers would retire for the night. Above that was the Texas deck, the
crew's domain, where the captain, mates, and pilots had their quarters.
Overseeing it all was the pilothouse, the nerve center of the ship, where life
and death decisions were made a dozen times a day.

Leigh
had given the concept of a hospital ship a good deal of thought since the night
she had discussed it with Hayes Banister, and it was gratifying to know that
the
City of Louisiana
would be transformed into the kind of vessel she
had envisioned. What's more, she was surprised and delighted that she had been
asked to make suggestions for refurbishing it. She had gambled her reputation
and respectability for the chance to help the sick, and she interpreted this
invitation as vindication for the sacrifices she had made. She had proved
herself as a military nurse, and the acceptance this committee appointment
represented meant far more to her than anyone knew.

As
Yeatman escorted her up the gangway, they greeted the rest of the committee:
Mrs. King and Mrs. Foster from the Ladies Union Aide Society, as well as Mr.
Forman and Dr. Thompson from the Sanitary Commission. Leigh was the youngest
person in attendance, and she was proud they had considered her ideas valuable.
Not long before, she had been denied a chance to prove her skill at military
nursing by the very people who were seeking out her opinion now. Her presence
here was a great victory, but one she was well bred enough to celebrate in
silence.

Once
they were assembled, Yeatman led the way upstairs, reassuring the committee about
the boat's soundness and mechanical condition as they went. On the promenade
deck, they entered what had once been a well-appointed salon. It was all but
empty now, except for a long table near the front windows and the few bentwood
chairs gathered around it. Leaving the others by the door, Leigh walked the
length of the room. The late afternoon sun streaming through the stained-glass
transoms at the roofline cast rich, jewel-toned shapes across the floor, and
two rows of gaudily painted doors stood like sentries guarding the staterooms
beyond. Those staterooms could be pressed into service for the use of the
nurses and doctors assigned to the boat, Leigh decided as she eyed them, and
for isolating the more serious cases being carried north. Already in her mind's
eye she could see neat rows of cots running the length of the room and
efficient, well-trained nurses moving between them. Yes, the
City of
Louisiana
did look promising indeed, and outfitted properly it could carry
close to five hundred men.

Smiling
her approval, Leigh turned back to the group that had gathered around the
table, but the smile froze on her lips as she recognized the man who had joined
them.

It
had been well over a month since Leigh had refused Hayes Banister's marriage
proposal, and in that time she had done her best to force both it and Hayes
from her mind. She still believed that no good could come from an allegiance
between them, an allegiance based on illicit passion and betrayal, and she had
been determined to avoid him, lest he find a way to convince her otherwise.

She
had not wanted to see Hayes and had deliberately denied herself his friendship.
Yet when she heard he had gone into battle with the ironclads, dread had stolen
through her, a dread that miraculously evaporated at the sight of him across
the room.

Of
course she was glad to find him well and strong, she told herself defensively,
especially when she saw such horrendously wounded men in her nursing. But in
spite of her silent admonitions and her wordless denials, a starburst of relief
and welcome sparked within her and moved with tingling pleasure through her
blood. Her eyes drank in the sight of him, noting the way the blue broadcloth
coat strained taut across his shoulders as he reached to unroll one of the
drawings, the way the sunshine highlighted the sinewy strength of his hands.
Then he turned from the table to where she stood.

"Leigh,
how good it is to see you," he greeted her, his cool, aquamarine eyes
filled with satisfaction.

She
studied his expression for a moment before comprehension began to dawn, and
then the pride she had felt at being selected as one of the committee to plan
the hospital ship gave way to a sharp twist of disappointment. It was suddenly
obvious why she was here; Hayes Banister had arranged it. Her merit as a
military nurse had nothing to do with her selection; she had not won anyone's
respect with the good she had been able to do at the hospital. She was aboard
the
City of Louisiana
only because Hayes Banister wanted her to be. With
that realization, her disappointment and hurt pride became controlled, but
brilliantly glowing, anger.

Seeing
her reaction but at a loss to explain it, Hayes raised one hand to gesture
graciously toward the table. "I hope you'll be pleased by the plans I drew
for the hospital ship you suggested."

Fixing
him with an icy stare, Leigh crossed the floor to stand beside him. On the
table was a diagram of the promenade deck of the
City of Louisiana
with
the space meticulously divided and labeled.

"This
will be the surgery," Hayes pointed out, as if speaking to her alone.
"I located it in the front of the salon to take advantage of the best
light and ventilation. And these forward cabins will be used to prepare the
wounded."

A
ripple of surprise and pleasure moved through Leigh in spite of her anger. It
was just as she had pictured the ship herself. Behind her she heard the other
members of the committee murmuring in agreement.

"This
area behind the operating room will be a large general ward with as many cots
as we can conveniently fit. Some of the staterooms could be removed to provide
for even more beds," Hayes continued. "The section at the rear of the
salon will be turned into a dispensary, and I've indicated the location of more
bathroom facilities, complete with hot and cold running water."

"What
about the kitchen?" one of the women asked. "We will need to have tea
and soup prepared at all times in addition to the regular meals we'll cook
there."

"Then
I think the kitchen area might need to be enlarged," Hayes answered
thoughtfully. "If that's the case, I suggest we enclose these areas on the
afterdeck."

Leigh
was frankly impressed by what he proposed and was pleased that it so closely
paralleled the ideas they had discussed months before. "Where will the
nurses and doctors stay?" she asked.

"Since
a hospital ship won't employ a full crew, I thought the Texas deck could be
pressed into service for the staff. The rooms are small, but they won't be used
for much more than sleeping. It might also be welcome to have the staff's
accommodations somewhat removed from the ward areas."

"Where
will the sanitary stores be transported, Mr. Banister?" Yeatman asked.
"There will be times when the
City of Louisiana
will need to carry
far more than she can use herself."

"Those
supplies would be stored on the main deck, much as cargo was stored before the
war. I think it's safe to say that the
City of Louisiana
can transport
whatever additional supplies you need for the wounded."

For
the next hour they talked, making changes in the plans, suggesting
modifications, and discussing problems. Hayes adjusted the drawings as they
talked or made notes along the margins in a bold, legible hand.

Finally
James Yeatman spoke. "And how long will it take you to finish the
modifications we've decided on?"

Hayes
was silent for a moment as he studied the drawings. "If we start tomorrow,
I think I could promise you completion by mid-March. Few of the changes we've
discussed are structural, so the work should go quickly."

"And
the cost?" he persisted. Hayes named a figure, and Yeatman nodded.
"Then we should be able to have the entire project completed for about
three thousand dollars. Very well, Mr. Banister, get on with the work, and let
us know as soon as we can begin to bring beds and supplies aboard. Now, if you
will excuse me, I need to stop by City General Hospital before supper."

"Leigh,
would you like a ride home in my carriage?" Mr. Forman asked as the group
began to break up.