Spring Will Come (57 page)

             
Auntie JoBelle shrugged.  “Reckon only time can tell us that.”  She came a step closer.  “How ‘bout movin’ your arms for me?”

             
Robert nodded then concentrated on forcing movement.  The two bowls of soup had restored some of his strength, but he still felt like a piece of rubber.  Slowly, he brought his right arm over the cover - then his left.  His face flushed with his accomplishment.

             
Auntie JoBelle watched him closely then grunted abruptly to indicate her approval.  “Now your legs.”  Reaching down, she pulled back the covers.

             
Robert looked down and gasped, mortified to see he was covered only with a long nightshirt.

             
Auntie JoBelle laughed.  “You ain’t got nothing I ain’t seen before, boy.  You didn’t think we was going to leave you in that filthy, ragged uniform, now do you?”

             
Robert ground his teeth in frustration, determined to concentrate on movement so this overbearing woman would pull the covers back up. 

             
“What’s going on in here?” a deep voice demanded.

             
Polly spun around.  “Auntie’s just checkin’ out Robert.  He done moved his arms real good.  Now he gonna move his legs.  Then,” she laughed, “I think she gonna quit torturing him and let him get some rest.”

             
Robert was grateful Polly understood what he was feeling, but he hated knowing Gabe was going to watch.  Humiliation washed over him in waves as Gabe edged closer.

             
“Ain’t no time like the present,” Auntie JoBelle observed.

             
Anger flashed through Robert like a fire.  He was
not
going to lie here like a helpless baby any longer.  So he was weak - he’d fought battles when he was weak.  He had been helpless long enough.  Pushing himself up with his arms, he tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed.   Horrified, he stared down at them.  Gritting his teeth, he tried again.  They lay exactly where they had moments before.  Frantic now, he willed his legs to move. 

             
“Jesus...,” Polly said softly then reached out to touch Robert’s shoulder. 

             
Robert shook her hand off and stared at his legs.  Just because he had been lying in bed so long didn’t mean his legs didn’t have to obey his commands. 
Move!
  His mind screamed.   Pain raced through his head, blurring his thoughts and vision until he collapsed on the bed with a groan of agony.  He lay there, gasping, the silence in the room choking him. 

             
Auntie JoBelle moved quickly, grabbing a wet rag to bathe his head.  “Take it easy,” she said soothingly.  “Some things just take time.”

             
The pain in Robert’s head eased just enough for him to open his eyes.  Gabe was staring at him with that mixture of pity and anger again.  But this time there was something else.  Robert struggled to identify it.  Suddenly he knew.  Gabe was looking at him with -- satisfaction.  

             
Fury surged through Robert.  Right before the darkness claimed him again, his mind acknowledged the truth.  He was paralyzed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

              “Are you ready, Carrie?”  Janie called up the stairs.

             
Carrie sighed, signed her name to the letter she had just finished then stuffed it into an envelope.  “I’m coming,” she called.  She held the letter close for just a moment, laid it on the stack of others on her desk then scooped them all up.  Mail was very unreliable since the war had started, but Carrie had to try every avenue to find Robert.  She had written letters to almost every known hospital between Maryland and Richmond.   She had received responses from only five of the fifty she had mailed letters to, but she knew it would take time.  At least she was doing something. 

             
Thomas looked up from his chair in the parlor as Carrie walked in.  “I’ll mail them today,” he said, looking at the stack in her hand.  “And you know I’ll check all the lists today.”  His eyes crinkled with sympathy and understanding. 

             
Carrie smiled then leaned down to kiss him on the cheek.  “Thank you.  Janie and I won’t be home till late.”

             
“I thought your days were getting shorter now that so many of the soldiers from Antietam are leaving the hospital,” Thomas responded in surprise.

             
“They are,” Carrie said uncomfortably.  “Janie and I are going shopping.”

             
Thomas looked at her again, his eyebrows raised.  “I see,” he murmured. 

             
Carrie gave him another quick hug then turned and left before he could ask any more questions.  She and Janie exchanged a long look as they reached the road.  “It’s getting harder now that winter is coming,” Carrie sighed.  “With the days getting so much shorter, it’s bound to be harder to come up with excuses for why we’re late.”

             
“I don’t think your father totally believed you,” Janie agreed wryly. 

             
“I just don’t think he needs to deal with another one of his difficult daughter’s activities,” Carrie protested.  “He would only worry if he knew we were going down to the black hospital twice a week.”

             
Janie shrugged.  “You know what I think.  I think you’re doing your father a disservice.  I think he deals quite well with his difficult daughter.  It seems to me he shows you nothing but respect, in spite of your differing beliefs.”

             
Carrie frowned and cast around in her mind for a way to change the subject.  Was Janie right?  Should she tell her father the truth?  An image of his lined, tense face rose up in front of her.  She shook her head.  “I’ll tell him sometime,” she said shortly, irritated more at the situation than at Janie.  “How is Morgan?” she asked, knowing any mention of his name would take Janie’s mind off of her.   Morgan, a seventeen year old from Mississippi, had been brought in after Antietam.

             
Janie smiled instantly.  “That boy is really something!”  Then she frowned.  “Not that the new doctor who arrived a few weeks ago should get any credit for the fact Morgan is still alive.”   Janie shook her head.  “No one expected that boy to live.  I surely didn’t.  When he came in with that huge gaping hole in his abdomen, I was certain he would die just like the others in my ward who hadn’t survived that type of wound for more than a few days.”

             
“He must have wanted to live very badly.”

             
Janie nodded.  “The human body is a wondrous thing.  In spite of the horror of seeing so much mutilation, it never ceases to amaze me how many of these men actually get well.  I know we have to deal with a lot of death, but so many more of them leave to go home, or back to the battlefield.”  She paused.  “Morgan’s wound is beginning to close all by itself.  He’s eating well and his spirits are high.”

             
  “You sound angry,” Carrie observed.

             
Janie sighed.  “I wish Dr. Wild was the physician in our ward.  You are so lucky.”

             
Carrie waited for her to explain.

             
“You’ve seen doctors use the moxa method?”

             
Carrie shuddered, remembering the few times she had seen it performed.  Some of the physicians at Chimborazo thought moxa a wonderful way of relieving pain.  The moxa, a wad of cotton, was applied to the skin over a painful area then torched with the assistance of bellows.  They believed the burning of the painful area relieved the pain.  Carrie would never forget the reactions of the men she had watched be treated.  At first they had remained calm, watching in fascination as the flaming cotton glowed on their body.  Then their eyes opened wide, until finally a scream ripped from their mouths as excruciating pain ripped through them.  She had been told relief followed soon after, but she had seen nothing to indicate that. 

             
“They didn’t do that to him again, did they?” she asked, horrified. 

             
“No, thank God.  But as far as I’m concerned what they did was just as bad,” Janie said grimly.  “I told you he seemed to be coming down with pneumonia.”  Carrie nodded.  “I learned a new treatment yesterday,” she said bitterly.  “They call it cupping.”

             
Carrie groaned silently.  She had read about cupping, but she let Janie talk.  She knew her friend well enough to know that talking about it would help release some of the anger. 

             
“I couldn’t believe it!”  Janie exclaimed.  “First the doctor ignited a small amount of alcohol in a cup.  Then he inverted the cup on poor Morgan’s chest.  When the doctor picked it up, there was a huge blister there.”  Her voice caught.  “Morgan was being so brave, but his eyes were so frightened.”  She gulped and continued.  “The doctor lanced the blister then put that flaming cup down on it again.”  Her eyes burned angrily.  “I couldn’t believe it!” she repeated.  “When the doctor walked away, I went after him and demanded to know what he was doing.”  Now her eyes were flashing sparks.  “He looked at me in that patronizing way and said,
‘My dear.  I realize a
woman would have a difficult time with such a procedure.  But I assure you it was for the young man’s good.  It is imperative to draw off blood to affect the cure of pneumonia.’
”  Janie snorted.  “He also said the procedure would make Morgan forget about his painful illness.  I guess it would.  How could he think about anything else but the pain after something so cruel!”  

             
Carrie reached out her hand sympathetically.  “I’m so sorry.  Cupping is a ridiculous method.  I’ve talked with Dr. Wild about it many times.  He believes many methods in use today are simply a way of attempting to deal with things the doctors aren’t able to understand.  They think doing
something
is better than doing nothing at all.”

             
“But they cause so much pain,” Janie protested.  “Have you told Dr. Wild how we treat the pneumonia patients in the black hospital?”

             
“No...,” Carrie said slowly.

             
“Afraid he’ll throw you out for not practicing proper medicine?”  Janie teased.

             
Not wanting to admit how close her friend was to the truth, Carrie just looked at Janie.  “Dr. Wild doesn’t use those types of cruel methods,” she said instead.  “He utilizes a combination of drugs, good food, and lots of water.  His patients seem to be doing well.” 

             
“What happens when the drugs run out?” Janie challenged.  “You know as well as I do that opium and quinine are getting harder to obtain.”

             
Carrie frowned.  She knew the blockade was making much needed drugs scarcer by the day.  Anger flared in her that the North would try to deprive men of medicine to relieve their suffering.  “I don’t know,” she said finally, glad to see they had reached the hospital. 

             
Carrie breathed a sigh of relief when she entered the hospital ward. 

             
“Howdy, Miss Cromwell.”

             
“You got a minute, Miss Cromwell?”

             
Carrie smiled and began moving from bed to bed.  Just as she had known it would, her work had become her salvation.  She could not think about Robert and the aching void in her heart when she was pouring out all she had to the people who needed her. 

             
“May I talk with you a minute, Miss Cromwell?”