A Place in Your Heart Page 4

  Sweet Mary Jesus, did he know nothing of Doctor Ellard’s temperament?

  Doctor Ellard’s gaze narrowed on the young man. “And who deemed them unnecessary? You?”

  As he strode toward him, the other doctors parted like the Red Sea before Moses.

  Doctor Ellard reached out, wrapped his long fingers around the man’s neck cloth, then turned and dragged him like a recalcitrant puppy on a leash back to Major Carlton and gave the cadet a shove. The young man stumbled back against the bed and dropped heavily onto the mattress.

  “Have you ever been to a field hospital, cadet?”

  Weakly the man shook his head.

  “No? Then ask Major Carlton here what it’s like, or any of these men. Because until you’ve operated with only the instruments in your field pack, your fingers stiff from cold, smelled the powder and the blood, seen a man torn in half by cannonade or witnessed what a Minié ball does to bone, I’ll thank you to keep your Goddamn opinions about field surgeons to yourself.”

  A blast of Artic wind seemed to blow through the ward, freezing everyone in place. The patients lay in their beds or sat in chairs, unmoving and silent. All eyes fixed on Doctor Ellard as he stepped around the end of the bed and resumed his summary of the next patient.

  “Dysentery, recovering slowly.” He moved on. The group scuffed along behind him. “Perforating gunshot wound of the abdomen…”

  The medical cadet rose from the bed, adjusted his clothing, and with his gaze fixed on the floor scurried down the aisle to the back of the group.

  “Holy mother of—”

  Gracie swung toward the familiar voice behind her.

  Red-faced, Robbie stammered, “Uh, I—s-sorry, ma’am.”

  Gracie smiled. “I thought ye’d be out enjoying yer day off.”

  “I am, ma’am. But boy, that Cap’n Ellard, ain’t he somethin’? I thought sure he’d deliver a real facer to that fellow.” He made two fists and feigned a couple of punches. “Cap’n Ellard would’a showed him, just like he done that officer at Aquia Creek who wouldn’t send down stoves to for the wounded after Fredericksburg.” His voice lit with the eagerness of a boy in the schoolyard.

  Gracie sighed with a shake of her head. And men wondered how this war came to be.

  “Robbie, is there something ye be needing?”

  “Yeah, I come to tell ya that the Sisters of Charity brung a melodeon to C and Sister Mary says to come. They’s gonna have a hymn sing at two o’clock.”

  “A melodeon. What a fine thing.” She flashed him a smile. “We’ll come for certain.”

  Robbie gestured toward the tall cupboard against the wall behind them. “Last week I seen there was a fiddle on the shelf an’ I wondered could I borrow it for a while?”

  “I did not know ye played.”

  He followed as she stepped toward the cabinet.

  “I’m from Broken Creek Hollow, Virginia. I got kin all over the state, and when we get together all we do is play music. I can fiddle and play banjo and spoons.”

  She withdrew her key and opened the cabinet.

  “Now that Doctor Ellard said I can use my arm, I reckon I’d like to practice up some.”

  She shoved aside several jars and rolls of lint. “Here it is.” She carefully lifted out the violin and passed it back.

  His eyes widened like a lad on Christmas morn, and he took it from her hand. “Do you play an instrument?”

  “No, but I can sing a ballad or two.” She grabbed the bow and passed it to him. “And I can kick up me heels to an Irish jig, balancing a cup o’ water on me head, and not spill a drop.”

  He laughed. The full-throated sound carried through the ward, and without even a glance in Doctor Ellard’s direction, she felt his narrow-eyed censure.

  “Off with ye now, Robbie Reid.” She waved her hands at him in a shooing motion. “Rosin up yer bow, for I be eager to hear ye play.”

  He grinned, then swung around and dashed toward the door at the end of the ward.

  The doctors continued their inspection, traveling down the opposite row of patients. Several minutes later, they moved outside and onto the next building filled with sick and wounded.

  Gracie and the new attendants set up for Sunday dinner, then Harvey and Micah left to pick up the special diets.

  At one o’clock the visitors drifted in. A local reverend came to read from the scriptures and pray with the men. Some patients had family staying in Washington, and as they arrived Gracie made sure to invite them to the hymn sing. Two ladies from one of the relief societies brought the patients a box of puzzles and games.

  Gracie took one of the puzzles and sat beside Gilbert. He wasn’t interested in trying it himself but seemed content to listen as Gracie shared stories of her childhood while she struggled to transfer a disk from a loop of cord hanging from one side of a small wooden yoke, onto the second loop. After several minutes Gilbert fell asleep. However, believing she almost had the puzzle solved, Gracie continued to pull, flip, and push at the simple looking contraption.

  As the hour approached two o’clock, she was forced to leave the yoke and rings on the small table beside Gilbert’s bed and help the attendants ready any patient who wished to attend the singing.

  Major Carlton wanted to go, and Gracie pushed his wheeled chair down the boardwalk to Ward C.

  “Have ye anyone coming to take ye home?” Gracie asked as they slowly bumped along.

  “My brother Sam is coming this week.”

  “Ye must be happy to finally see yer family again.”

  He gave a noncommittal grunt and shrugged. After a long moment he said, “I understand there is to be a lecture at the Smithsonian on Tuesday evening.”

  “Would ye like me to take ye over?”

  Again he said nothing, then, “I would like you to accompany me,” he whispered.

  She stopped pushing and stepped to the side of the chair. She didn’t really want to go with him, but he sounded so unsure she feared he’d be too hurt by her rejection to ask someone else. He was leaving in a few days anyway.

  “And do ye know what the lecture is about?”

  “Glaciers.”

  “Glaciers?” She smiled. “Oh it sounds grand. I’d be proud to go with ye, Major.”

  His smile was hesitant, but he did smile, and suddenly she was glad she’d agreed to go.

  “Please, call me Win. It’s short for Winfield. And it’s what all my family and friends call me.”

  “Then ye must call me Gracie.”

  His smile broadened. “I’d be honored, Gracie. Shall we go in?”

  In front of the small piano, rows of chairs had been placed for the patients, while everyone else stood. Gracie accepted a hymn book from Sister Mary. Standing beside Major Carlton’s chair, Gracie held the book low and turned to the page for the first hymn.

  Her voice started out soft, but as she grew more confident with the melody, her high, clear notes soon lifted to the rafters.

  Robbie was in his element, and she was awed by the joy which radiated from his heart to the strings. He even improvised during the pauses and bridges in the music, making each song his own.

  Eventually the group drifted away from the spirituals and joined together in a rousing chorus of the Battle Hymn of the Republic. From there Sister Mary asked for requests, and the rest of the afternoon flew by.

  Invigorated, Gracie found herself humming Irish folk songs through the five o’clock pass of medications, through the evening meal, and through rounds at nine with the night orderlies.

  Before heading to her own bed, she stopped again to bid goodnight to Gilbert.

  “You sound like an angel,” he said as she sat on the edge of his bed.

  “Me brothers and sisters tell me I screech like a stomped-on cat.”

  A small smile momentarily brightened his pale face. “Can you sing for me tomorrow?”

  “Aye. Think of your favorite songs tonight, and I’ll sing for ye when I bring yer breakfast.”

  H
e nodded as she brushed back his bangs, resisting the urge to kiss him good night. Doctor Ellard’s words echoed in her head. Private Franklin is a soldier, and I will treat him no differently than any other soldier in my care.

  With a final good night, she headed to her small sleeping area at the end of the ward.

  When she first arrived, she’d shared a corner of Ward A with Sister Mary and two other lady nurses. Because the hospital had not been built to accommodate female nurses, they’d had to sleep in small partitioned areas at the end of each ward. Leticia, one of the laundry girls who slept in the corner of E, hadn’t been comfortable so close to the men, and when she mentioned her fear of being ravished, Gracie petitioned Doctor Bliss for an order allowing them to switch.

  Recent rumor claimed that three hundred dollars had been donated to build a separate house on the grounds for all the lady nurses, but until the weather permitted its construction, Gracie was content to stay near her patients.

  Exhausted, as usual, she burrowed under her covers, and no sooner had her head hit the pillow than the sharp blasts of a bugle blared out the quick-beat notes for reveille.

  She groaned. Six o’clock came much too early. Though it was tempting to pull the blankets back over her head, she tossed them aside. She hurried through her toilet and tidied her space.

  Pulling on her cloak, she stepped outside, greeted by the darkness and another layer of snow. It hardly seemed possible that April would be upon them in less than two weeks. As she hurried to join the other nurses for breakfast, she tried to decide if March was supposed to go out like a lion or like a lamb.

  She wrapped her cinnamon and raisin muffin in a clean handkerchief and slipped it into her pocket. Gilbert had taken less than half of the beef tea she offered him last night. If she soaked the muffin in a bit of milk, maybe she could tempt him into eating.

  Humming to herself, she returned to her ward, hung up her cloak, and tied on her apron. Though she gotten good at walking on her tip-toes, her leather soles still tapped against the wood floor as she hurried up the aisle.

  “Gilbert, I’ve a fine surpri—” She stopped.

  Cold washed through her body. She stood stupidly in place staring at the empty bed as though she’d never seen one before. The red embroidered blanket was gone. In its place across the mattress, lay one of utilitarian gray, the ends tucked in neatly at the corners. A crisp starched sheet folded down like a shirt cuff over the end and a fluffed white pillow sat where Gilbert’s head was supposed to be.

  She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip to keep the sob at the back of her throat from escaping. How could she not have known? How could she have slept through the footsteps of the night attendants when they carried Gilbert past her room, the glow of their lamp illuminating the ceiling above the partition?

  “I’m sorry, Gracie.”

  The major had come up beside her. She should have been happy to see him upright supported by a crutch, but at that moment there was only intense pain in the center of her chest, as if the bone pressed into her heart.

  “He must have died in his sleep,” the major continued. “That’s something anyway.”

  ****

  “Gracie he’s gone.” Callum stopped half way down the stairs.

  Gasping for her next ragged breath, she looked up searching her oldest brother’s pale face. Wind drove the rain through the open front door behind her.

  “No. I found another doctor. He’s coming. He said he’ll try.” She pointed without turning, into the darkness behind her. Her heart should be slowing its rhythm now, not swelling painfully behind her breast bone.

  “Gracie…”

  “No.” She gathered her skirts high and hit the first tread.

  Callum turned, pressing his back tight to the wall as she raced past.

  At the top of the stairs, she whirled to the left, into the bedroom she shared with William.

  He lay as though sleeping, his lips slightly parted, except soft snores didn’t rumble in his throat. His chest didn’t rise and fall. He was too still, too pale.

  “Where have you been?” Michael rose from the chair on the other side of the bed. Accusation tightened his words, tears filled his eyes. “He was asking for ye.”

  “A doctor,” she said stupidly, tugging free the ribbons of her bonnet and yanking it from her head.

  He stepped around the footboard. He swiped at his eyes and shook his head. “’Twas too late. William knew it, too. Gracie ye cannot fix everything. William needed ye, and ye were not here.”

  ****

  She managed a slight nod for Major Carlton, afraid if she opened her mouth to speak she’d start crying. Her throat tightened, and she swung away and hurried through the door at the end of the ward.

  She gathered her skirts with both hands and ran. Off the covered breezeway into the slop of snow and mud churned up by horses, wagons, and ambulances, she slipped and slid past the wards and out buildings, studiously avoiding even a glance toward the dead house, until her mad dash was cut short by the back fence.

  She grasped the wooden pickets, squeezing tight, and gazed past the open ground to the dome of the Capitol building which rose above the distant tangle of barren tree branches. The yawning hole of the unfinished dome made the building look like its own casualty of war, as though it had been ripped through by a massive artillery shell.

  A light rain-snow-mix fell around her, melting on her cheeks, mixing with the tears that spilled from her eyes and dripped from her jaw.

  She cried for all of them. For Michael and Callum, who would never come home or tease her again. For Gilbert, who was just a little boy and should never have seen the face of war.

  And her tears fell for William. She’d loved him with all her heart. She should have been there for him when he lay dying, calling her name in the night. Instead, she’d been trying to find one more doctor who might find a way to save him.

  She purged it all with each breath-stealing sob, washed it from the corners of her mind where she stored painful things, until the dark sky lightened to gray and there were no more tears.

  She hadn’t heard him come up behind her, but she felt him with that odd sense that had developed over nearly a month together.

  “Ye’ve no need to lurk back there like a leprechaun waiting to do mischief.”

  A soft snort huffed at the back of her ear, as the heavy weight of his coat dropped around her shoulders. The warmth of him enveloped her, and she closed her eyes, pressing her chin against her own shoulder, pretending it was William’s coat, that it was the warmth of his body which chased away the cold.

  She rubbed her cheek against the fabric and bumped the rigid corner on the shoulder strap of his captain’s insignia. Damp wool and cigar, not pipe, wafted from the fabric. With a sigh she opened her eyes and raised her head. William was gone. There was only—

  “Come now, Mrs. McBride you can’t cry over all of them.”

  She sniffed but didn’t turn around. “Do not tell me who to cry for.”

  “You knew that soldier was dying.”

  “Gilbert ’twas no more than a lad, far from home and afraid.”

  She turned and looked up at him through disheveled strands of hair that stuck to her forehead and cheeks. “I should o’been there to hold his hand, to pray for him, to comfort him so he would not have to die alone in the dark.”

  She swiped a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth. “But ’tis not something ye understand, is it Doctor Ellard? Ye with yer cold heart and icy ways. Ye think ’tis wrong for me to care, but patients be more than wounds and illnesses. They be people. If ye cannot concern yerself with the feelings of yer own brethren, then ’tis ye who will one day die alone in the dark.”

  She shrugged off his frock coat and thrust it against him. Without waiting to see if it fell to the ground, she snatched up her skirt and marched briskly back toward the ward.

  Chapter Three

  Snow continued to fall. Each large flake so unique, its lacy pattern c
ould be seen for all but the briefest of moments before it dissolved against the muddy ground.

  Charles leaned over and picked up his coat. Her cutting words had stabbed him like an icicle to his heart. The wound hurt more than he wanted to acknowledge, even to himself. He gave his coat a shake and raised it to his nose.

  He inhaled, hoping to catch a whiff of her, but all he smelled was stale cigar and wet wool. Shrugging into the garment, he slowly buttoned.

  He’d wanted to kiss her again. With the wild bits of hair stuck to her face, the dull auburn was the only bit of color in a dreary landscape of gray, white, and brown. His fingers had tingled with the urge to brush her hair aside, slip to the back of her neck, cupping her face while his thumb brushed over the porcelain skin of her cheek.

  Then she’d spoken, and cold doused that impulse right down to his groin.

  Taking a deep breath, he walked back to the wards. Deciding to put some space between himself and Gracie McBride he began his rounds in Ward F.

  With the armies still in winter camp, the hospital received only a few patients here and there, mostly dysentery, typhoid, measles, and illness too severe for the hospital at Falmouth.

  Arriving in E, he began at bed seven with his orderly Corporal Timon taking notes. Mrs. McBride was busy at the opposite end of the ward, the gangly puppy Corporal Reid trotting along behind her.

  There was another one to whom she’d grown excessively attached. If something happened to Reid would she again run off alone to cry her heart out? How many times could she endure that kind of pain before something inside her died?

  When he finished rounds, he dismissed Timon and approached her table. She continued to write without looking up, no doubt deliberately ignoring him.

  He handed her the patient cards.

  “Thank ye, Doctor.” She accepted them but didn’t meet his gaze. Instead she resumed her list as if it were a vital set of surgical instructions.

  He easily read the upside down words.

  Take extra newspapers to K