Spring Will Come (21 page)

             
“Hello, soldier.”

             
“Hello, ma’am.”

             
Carrie was relieved to hear the answer come back so clearly.  She examined him carefully.  From the waist up, with the exception of filth and mud, he seemed to be unharmed. 

             
He seemed to read her mind.  “Lieutenant Cabby Marsh, ma’am.  One of those Yankees managed to catch my knee with his Minie ball.  I still got it, though,” he grinned.  “It may never work again, but I kind of like being able to look at it.”

             
Carrie was surprised at her next question but couldn’t fight the compulsion to ask.  “Do you by any chance know Lieutenant Robert Borden?  I know it’s improbable, but...”

             
“Lieutenant Borden?  Why, of course, I know him,” Cabby said with a wide smile.  “Why, my family’s plantation is just a few miles upriver from Robert’s.  I’ve known him all my life.”

             
Carrie was delighted but needed to know more.  “Have you seen him – I mean, recently?  Do you know if he... if he...”  She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. 

             
Cabby grinned up at her.  “As of yesterday afternoon your lieutenant was just fine, Miss Cromwell.”

             
“You know who I am?”

             
“Certainly.  Robert talks about you at night when things have calmed down a little and we’re trying to get our strength up for the next battle.  I’d have known you anywhere.  When he found me wounded on the field, he told me he hoped I ended up in Chimborazo with the prettiest nurse there.  I guess I did.”

             
Carrie laughed, with her mind racing.  Robert had still been alive yesterday.  Just that little bit of news was like a healing balm spreading over her raw nerves.  “Thank you, Cabby.  That’s wonderful news.”

             
A low moan swung her attention to the next bed.  Her eyes widened as she took in the pool of blood forming on the bed.   In an instant she was at the soldier’s side, her eyes examining the wound.

             
“The poor fellow caught a ball in his side,” Cabby informed her.  “They stopped the bleeding earlier, but it looks like it’s not going to cooperate.”

             
Carrie set her lips then headed for the head nurse.  “We have a man bleeding over here.  He needs attention.”

             
“Everyone needs attention,” the nurse snapped, not unkindly, his tired eyes reflecting the strain he was under.  “All the doctors are busy now.”  When Carrie opened her mouth to protest, he added, “I’ll get someone there as quick as I can.”

             
Carrie returned to the soldier and pressed a glass of water into his hand.  “Help is on the way,” she said gently. 

             
“That’s real nice of you, ma’am.  I don’t reckon I’ve ever had anything hurt quite as much as this ball in my side.  It’s making a right smart burning.”  He stared for a long moment at the blood pooling under his side.  “Am I going to bleed to death?” he asked in a casually deceptive tone. 

             
“Of course not!”  Carrie answered quickly.  Yet, she wasn’t so sure.  She knew how busy the doctors were.  She had no idea how long it would take for someone to come help this soldier.  Resentment chaffed at her as she strained against the restrictions she had been given.  She was to offer absolutely no medical help.  Her job was to provide comfort and companionship.  But how was she to provide comfort to a man who was dying right in front of her eyes?  That he would die if help didn’t arrive soon was obvious.  His breath was coming in shallow gasps, and his face was turning a chalky gray.  A light touch on his clammy arm confirmed her suspicion that shock was rapidly setting in.   Another quick look at the door told her assistance was not imminent.

             
“You can help him; can’t you, Miss Cromwell?”

             
Carrie turned to look at Cabby.

             
“Robert told me you are going to be a doctor.  Why don’t you help him?”

             
“I’m not supposed to,” Carrie responded through gritted teeth.

             
“I don’t suppose rules have as much priority as life,” he replied calmly, challenging her with his eyes to defy authority.

             
Carrie stared at him for just a moment, glanced down at the dying man, and then sprang into action.  Dashing to the table beside the door, she grabbed a handful of linen and sped back to the bed.  The soldier offered no protest as she pulled down the sheet and inspected his wound.  The two-inch gaping hole was deep and vicious looking.  “Have they taken the ball out yet?”  When the soldier shook his head, she said gently, “The pressure is going to hurt badly, but we have to stop the bleeding.”

             
“Do what you have to, ma’am,” he said weakly.

             
Carrie folded the linen quickly into a thick pad, placed it directly over the wound, and then applied an even pressure.   “Can you hold it there for just a moment?”  When he complied, she sprang to a nearby shelf and grabbed several blankets.  “I know it’s hot, soldier, but your body temperature needs to be brought back up.”  Quickly she tucked the blankets in as much as she could without covering the wound.   Then she moved back to his side and continued her pressure on the wound. 

             
Carrie lost track of how long she had sat there, or how many times she changed the compress after it had become soaked with blood.   Finally the bandage she held against his injury didn’t immediately turn bright crimson.  Anxiously, she looked at the soldier’s face.  He was beginning to regain some color, and his breathing had become more even. 

             
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” 

             
Carrie started at the sound of the harsh voice over her head. 

             
“I do believe I’m the doctor in this unit.  Had you somehow forgotten?”

             
Carrie flushed but spoke quietly.  “No, sir.  This soldier has a wound that was bleeding badly from a Minie ball.  It needed to be stopped.”

             
“I don’t see anything to indicate you are a doctor, Miss...”

             
“Miss Cromwell.  No, sir.  I’m not a doctor.  But I couldn’t see letting a man die because everyone was too busy to tend to him.” 

             
“You thought a man would die from a little bleeding?” the doctor asked in an amused voice.

             
“People die from shock and loss of blood,” Carrie responded firmly, her temper beginning to boil.

             
The doctor, one she hadn’t seen before, regarded her with a patronizing air.  “My dear, I’m sure you think your hours in the hospital have equipped you with medical information.”  His voice hardened.  “We have enough to do around here without women meddling where they don’t belong.  I never wanted women in the hospital anyway, but it seems there was no choice.”

             
Carrie opened her mouth to speak, but he ignored her.

             
“I’m going to let this go this once.  But I don’t ever want to hear of your trying to play doctor again.  If I do, I’m afraid your services will no longer be welcome here.”

             
Carrie flushed hotly, but before she could say anything, a sharp voice came from behind her. 

             
“See here,
Doctor
.  Miss Cromwell was acting out of care and compassion.  She believed the man was bleeding to death.  He looks so much better since she controlled the bleeding that I believe she was right.”

             
The doctor turned to Cabby angrily.  “Thank you for your input, soldier, but it’s not needed.  Medicine is no place for women.  I don’t really suppose you would want a woman whose sensibilities had been so tainted as that, would you? Surely you would not want a woman to treat your wounds,” he stated pompously, very sure Cabby would agree with him.

             
“I wouldn’t mind any woman who had enough sense to save my life – as a wife
or
a doctor,” Cabby retorted.

             
The doctor snorted and turned his back on him.  He renewed his attack on Carrie.  “I mean what I said.  Any more medical attention and you’re out of here.  Am I understood?”

             
Carrie nodded, struggling to stem the tide of angry words waiting to erupt from her mouth.  She couldn’t trust herself to be civil, so she chose to remain silent. 

             
The doctor nodded sternly, satisfied he had made his point, leaned forward to inspect the wounded soldier, and then stalked out.  Minutes later the young soldier was on a stretcher and headed for surgery to remove the ball. 

             
“Thank you, ma’am,” he whispered, reaching for Carrie’s hand.   “I sure appreciate what you did.”

             
Carrie nodded and squeezed his hand.  “Good luck,” she said tenderly. 

             
The long morning passed slowly.  Around two o’clock the familiar sounds of battle wafted in the open windows.  Carrie sighed in resignation and continued working.  Her heart felt bruised from her encounter with the doctor that morning.  Questioning had revealed his identity to be a Dr. Dole from Mississippi.  From all she could tell, he was a competent doctor.  Sternly, she tried to push away the hurt she felt.  It had been clear from the beginning that being a doctor was going to be a long, hard, uphill battle – especially in the South.  If she let every obstacle she came up against hurt her, she would soon be immobilized. 

             
As the day wore on, heat and humidity draped a blanket of misery over the hospital. Black flies swarmed over everything, creating misery for patients and staff alike.   Cries for water could be heard everywhere.  Men, already dehydrated from dysentery and typhoid fever contracted after drinking bad water in the camps, could not get enough liquid. Carrie prayed for a storm to bring relief to the tortured men.               

             
The sun was setting when Carrie stepped outside for a few minutes.  Hunger pains stabbed at her, but she chose to ignore them.  All she wanted was a few minutes of fresh air.  Or at least a change from the stale, reeking odors of the ward.  Moving to the edge of the clearing, she stared down at the river and the boats crowding it.  Fatigue washed over her as she ran her hands down her face then stopped to stare at them in disgust.  She washed her hands often, but there was no way to keep blood and dirt from becoming embedded in them. 

             
“Ma’am?”

             
Carrie spun as a weak cry sounded behind her, her eyes widening in horrow.  An ambulance wagon had been parked under an overhanging tree to guard it from the sun.  Black flies were crawling everywhere.   Quickly she sprang to the side of the wagon. 

             
“Can you help us, ma’am?”

             
“The doctor will be here in a few minutes,” she said soothingly.

             
The soldier grimaced.  “I sure hope so.  We been out here for a bunch of hours.  Not sure how many.”  His voice was rough with pain, his eyes bright with fever.

             
“A bunch of hours?” Carrrie gasped, looking around frantically.  “What did they tell you?”

             
“Just that they were real busy but would get to us as soon as they could.  I think they were trying to find somewhere to put us.  I guess things are pretty full.”

             
Carrie stared at him, trying to think.  “I’ll be right back,” she said abruptly.   She quickly found a doctor and told him her dilemma.  His face crinkled in sympathy, but he merely shook his head.  “I’m on my way into surgery, miss.”

             
“But surely those men don’t have to just lie outside in that wagon,” she protested.  “Have they been forgotten?”

             
The doctor shrugged, fatigue lining his face.  “I don’t think so, but I don’t really know.  We’re all doing the best we can,” he said wearily.  “Someone will get to them.  That wagon isn’t so bad.  At least they’re not crammed into a ward.”

             
“But what about their wounds?  What if one of them dies?”

             
The doctor nodded grimly.  “Then the poor beggar will probably be better off.”  His face softened.  “I’m sorry, ma’am.  I can’t help now.  Ask someone else.”  Having said all he was going to, he moved on. 

             
Carrie looked around desperately, wondering what to do.  Several more attempts netted the same result.  No one was available.  Finally she made her way back to the wagon. 

             
“Is someone coming, ma’am?”  The question this time came from another one of the men who was cradling a badly shattered arm, his face twisted in agony.