“Let him rest there for a while before you move him,” he instructed the orderly.
Doctor Brooks came to stand beside him. “You’ve done all you can, Cole. Whether he lives or dies is a decision God must make.”
“I can’t understand why—” A frown from Doctor Brooks warned him to say no more as the other’s gaze strayed behind the door. Cole turned abruptly and met the agonized gray eyes. His manner immediately gentled as he took note of the tear-streaked grime on the thin cheeks and the trembling lips.
“It’s Bobby Johnson.” His voice was soft and understanding. “He fell. Tore most of the stitches out. Half bled to death.” His clipped, disjointed sentences made him angry at himself, and he rubbed a hand across his brow in chafing frustration. “We patched him up—but I just don’t know.” He reached out to console the lad, but the small, work-roughened hand made a vicious swipe of negation as Al’s lips curled back in an unemancipated sob. Utter pain showed naked on the young face.
“Take the rest of the day—”
“No!” The half-choked word interrupted with finality. Al plucked courage from somewhere and strength came anew. She turned her back on the doctors and trudged down the hall, narrow shoulders sagging as if with the weight of the world. Buckets rattled echoingly in the hall, and a moment later the old cistern pump began to clank.
Everybody in the wards knew of the attachment that had formed between the cleaning boy and the blind soldier, although Al had yet to admit it as fact. Sympathetic eyes followed her through her duties, and when she was absent for brief spells, no one sought the urchin out. The attempts at banter were halfhearted and stilted.
Private Bobby Johnson was returned to his bed with the tenderest of care. When no other duty pressed, Doctor Latimer was to be found at the boy’s bedside. The young soldier lay motionless and pale. He showed no signs of regaining consciousness as the day wore on. Alaina was torn between a strong desire to be far away, should the worst happen, and a need to be near if he should come around. She was never far from ward 5. Though she found many reasons to check on something near the last bed on the window side, she could not watch the still form for very long and her visits were short.
Cole heard the whisper again and realized Bobby’s lips had moved slightly to shape a weak, “Who?”
“Doctor Latimer.” Cole rose from his chair and leaned closer. “How is it, Bobby?”
“Hurts!” The answer was simple. “Like fire!”
“Why—did you get up?” Cole searched for more words to clarify the question.
“Thirsty!” The boy understood. His tongue licked at cracked lips. “Like now! Couldn’t ask the major.” The hoarse whisper shook, and Cole wet the parched mouth with a moist cloth. “I had to do something for myself, just for once. Had to—act—like a man.”
Cole touched the boy’s hand. “Rest now. Don’t worry. I’ll be here.”
A wan smile was his answer, and that too faded as Bobby Johnson retreated into the blissful darkness of sleep once more.
Angry at his own helplessness, Cole turned away to find Al standing at the foot of the bed. Alaina stared at the ashen soldier with a far-off look in her eyes.
“I hope Magruder trips and falls headfirst into a privy some dark night,” she hissed.
“You can’t blame the man.” Cole sat back in his chair and tried to explain. “He couldn’t have known what would happen.”
Al seemed not to hear. A slow smile curved her lips as she added with wishful relish, “An’ I hope I’m the one who trips him!”
“Aren’t you about done for the day?” Cole asked as he swung around to face the unrepentant lad.
“I guess.” The gray eyes moved slowly to meet his.
“I’d better warn Magruder to be careful on dark nights.”
The gray eyes never wavered. “Y’all jes’ do that, Yankee.” The words were what Cole expected, but something of the old bite was missing.
“You’re slipping, Al,” Cole taunted. “I thought you hated all us Union bluebellies.”
“Go to hell, Yankee!” This time the old spirit and sting were boldly in attendance.
“I’ll be here at the hospital all night,” Cole called after the departing youth.
The comment came back loud and clear over Al’s shoulder. “Then maybe I ken get some peace fer once’t.”
For the first time that day, honest chuckles were heard in ward 5.
The next day passed much as the one before. Expectant hope that the young soldier might recover thrived in everyone’s heart. When Alaina looked in on him, his stomach was distended, making an obscene hump beneath the blanket. The stain that wet the bandages over his wound was no longer red, but black and malevolently odorous. For the most part, he lay in a stupor, partly induced by heavy draughts of laudanum, though he was given to spells of such groaning and twisting that it seemed that a great rodent gnawed at his vitals. Alaina could abide neither the sight of these spasms nor the thought that she might be elsewhere should he rouse. The hours passed with a tortured, springhalt gait. No change was noticeable in Bobby Johnson’s condition, and when a misty rain began to fall late in the afternoon, it seemed to Alaina that the whole world mourned in gray dismal grief.
The ride home was wet and cold, and Alaina sat for a long time by herself in the dark stables. In part, she had no desire to face Roberta, and in part she needed the time to come to grips with her own tangled emotions. She failed on both accounts, and it was a late hour when the distraught young woman finally sank into a troubled sleep.
It took an effort of sheer will for Alaina to draw herself from the warm bed in the cold, dark, predawn hour. Even then, it was not until she splashed her face with ice cold water from the ewer that her brain began to function. The usual application of grime, soot, and grease was accomplished amid shudders of revulsion, and it was small solace that Roberta still snored loudly when Alaina crept down the stairs. It was a further test of her will to get Ol’ Tar to move from his snug stall and venture out into the chilling, light rain that had continued throughout the night.
A full hour of her workday had passed before Alaina was free of the shivers that had started with the ride to the hospital. Bobby Johnson lay as still as death except for an occasional shudder that passed through his limp body. Cole hovered near but would answer no question and grew angry when Al pressed for a reply. The day stumbled along on leaden limbs toward the noon hour when, though her appetite decried the effort, Alaina choked down a few bites of food. It was midafternoon when she descended the stairs from the Confederate ward and caught sight of the orderlies carrying a blanket-draped litter out of ward 5 toward the gruesome, brick-lined vault that was loosely referred to as the “morgue.” She did not have to be told the news, for a quick glance into the ward confirmed her fear. Doctor Latimer sat slumped in the chair beside Bobby Johnson’s empty bed. Though the sense of loss made a gnawing pain in the pit of her stomach, Alaina’s eyes were strangely dry as she paused beside a uniformed officer who also watched the departing detail in silence. A moment later Cole Latimer came from the ward, a grim, angry frown set on his face. He brushed past the slight figure that stepped forward with upraised hand to question him, then strode down the hall and into the dayroom. Alaina slumped in misery as he disappeared from sight, then stiffened as a broad, blunt-fingered hand came to rest on her shoulder.
“I warned him, of course,” the officer stated. “He made a mistake.”
“ ‘Tain’t so!” Alaina glared up into the offending one’s face and angrily shrugged off his grasp. “Cap’n Latimer is the best surgeon here!”
“Such loyalty,” Magruder mocked. “I’m sure the captain would appreciate your comments. But I meant that the doctor has allowed himself to become too deeply involved with a case that could have had no other end.” He shrugged his shoulders to free them of concern. “I warned him.”
Alaina set her jaw and gazed down at her oversized boots. The agony would have been less for herself had she been ab
le to harden her own heart, but then she might have found herself more akin to Magruder, incapable of any of the softer emotions that made living worthwhile.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, boy?” the major suggested magnanimously.
“I’d jes’ as soon keep busy, thank ye.” Her rejection was curt.
“Suit yourself.” Major Magruder smiled thoughtfully and gazed in the direction of the dayroom. “The captain tried the same thing after receiving word that his father died, but he drove himself too far. Who knows but what it might have cost a life?”
He strode off before Alaina could give hot retort, and perhaps it was just as well there were no privies close about.
Al was unusually quiet the rest of the day. The bed in ward 5 was soon filled with another Union soldier. Somehow she could not bring herself to look in. Instead, she chose to tidy the officer’s dayroom, a much-neglected place since most of the doctors were far too busy to utilize it. She had not seen Captain Latimer since he left the ward in such a rush, and the other doctors, living as close to death as they did, did not press the lad.
Without knowledge of her secret, however, their reasoning was slightly astray. Alaina’s confusion ran far deeper than any of them guessed. She had a natural dislike of Northerners which had been focused by the war to a deep hatred. Now she knew her enemies by name and by face. They were no longer anonymous bluejackets, bright with braid and shiny buttons; they were men and boys, smiling and sad, happy or angry, laughing, joking, hurting, crying, dying, just the same as the friends she had waved good-bye to, just the same as her own beloved father and brothers. Human and with bodies that proved so terribly frail when pelted by fragments of metal. She had to rummage deep to find the memory of her hatred and deeper still to feel its stirring as of old.
Distractedly Alaina rubbed an oiled rag along the arm of a chair, trying to sort out her own feelings. She could offer no solace to the mother or wife of Bobby Johnson, but fervently hoped that someone, somewhere, had laid a kind hand on the breasts of her father and brother in their last moments. She felt the start of tears in her eyes, but sniffed them away as she heard footsteps in the hall. A young private passed the doorway, then halted and came back to peer in.
“There you are, Al. Doctor Brooks wants to see you in his office when you finish work.”
Before she could question him, the orderly was gone. Alaina gave a last quick dusting to the chair and packed her rags, mops, and buckets away. It was nearly quitting time anyway, and she might as well see what the doctor wanted. It was the first time he had ever summoned her.
The climb to the third floor was less tiresome now that the weather had cooled. Trying to gain some respite from her feeling of disloyalty, she paused a moment to banter with the soldiers in the Confederate ward, then sauntered on down the hall toward Doctor Brooks’s small office. The door was open, and she managed an urchin’s grin as she entered. The elderly man hastily rose from his chair and came across the room to meet her.
“Didja want somep’n, doc?” she asked in her rough, boyish vernacular.
He did not speak but passed behind her. Alaina heard the door close and raised an eyebrow at the click of the latch. Turning, he came back and, taking her arm, led her to a chair.
“Forget that kind of speech for now, Alaina. We’re alone, and no one can hear. Here, child, have a seat.”
Alaina complied, then watched in great confusion as the man puttered about his office. Several times he opened his mouth to speak but failed and grew angrier with each attempt. Finally he came forward, snatched a thick volume of papers from his desk, and thrust them at her. His manner was now apologetic.
“We receive these each week, Alaina. The armies exchange them by special messenger.”
Somewhat at a loss, Alaina lowered her eyes and began to read.
Confederate States of America
Compiled by:
Headquarter’s Staff
General Lee’s Army of Virginia
Subject: Casualty Report
A. Complete listing of:
1. Wounded
2. Killed
3. Missing in action
4. Deserters.
Note: This section for the Union occupied areas of
Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama.
A cold, tight feeling began to form in the pit of Alaina’s stomach. She had only one brother left! Jason! And she had seen these same reports twice before. With fearful slowness, Alaina raised her gaze until she met Doctor Brooks’s worried frown. She clenched her jaw tightly to keep it from trembling, then hastily flipped through the alphabetical listing until she came to the M’s. Her finger traced down the left hand column until she saw what she dreaded.
MACGAREN, JASON R., CAPTAIN. MISSING IN ACTION, PRESUMED DEAD. OCTOBER 4, 1863.
The rest blurred before her eyes. October the fourth! More than a month ago! Jason! Jason! Eldest child Jason! Tall, strong Jason! Beloved older brother Jason! She remembered the time when Gavin, the younger brother by three years, had put burrs under her saddle; it was Jason who had snatched her from the bucking horse. Jason! Her hero! Poor, dead Jason!
“Alaina! Alaina!” The words broke into her trauma. She realized the doctor was rubbing her hands between his own. “Are you all right, child? You are so pale!”
Wearily Alaina nodded, wondering vaguely why no tears came. She braced back in the chair, withdrawing her hand and, as if it had become something vile and tainted, pushed the volume from her lap. It fell to the floor unheeded. Her lips curled back, her nose wrinkled as if some odorous stench invaded her nostrils.
“Alaina, have hope!” Doctor Brooks commanded. “It just indicates that he’s missing, not dead. Have hope, child.”
“It’s the same!” Alaina half snarled, half sobbed. “It’s just the same as before. First, it’s missing, then later a letter saying his body is buried somewhere and he’s officially dead.”
Doctor Brooks could not deny it. He had seen too many of these reports. They were usually made before the heat of battle cooled and rarely were all the dead accounted for. He could only shake his head sorrowfully and try to comfort her, but the sobs were coming, dry and racking.
“He didn’t—really want—to leave us. It was just—the thing to do—All the men went.” Alaina tipped her head back, and the tears streamed down her face in a sudden rush. She cried out in agony as the pain of it hit her full force.
“Aaarrrgh! Damn the war! Damn the fighting! Damn the killing! When will it end? Oh, Jason! Jason!” Her head fell forward, and Alaina covered her face with her hands, sobbing freely. Doctor Brooks pressed a soft cloth into her grasp and gently patted her shoulder, wiping his own cheek with the back of his hand.
“In God’s good time, Alaina,” he murmured softly, “when men have played out their foolish charades and grown sick with the slaughter, then it will end. He gives us free choice and full rein on our lives, and we do with it what we will. I beg of you, my child, don’t blame God for man’s folly.”
Alaina leaned her head against the comforting shoulder and let her anguish flow. Doctor Brooks raised her gently from the chair and half led, half carried her to a small couch. He pressed her down upon it and sat beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder, while she wept out her grief. When her trembling finally subsided, she fell into an exhausted slumber.
The windows were dark and the hour late when Alaina opened her eyes again. Doctor Brooks rose from his desk and came to her side.
“Are you ready to go home now, child?”
Alaina rubbed her puffy, reddened eyes and nodded wearily.
“I’ll have my carriage hitched and brought around for you.”
“No!” Her reply was sudden. “No thank you, Doctor Brooks. I have Ol’ Tar. Besides”—she smiled tremulously at the old friend—“a ragamuffin lad has no place in a fine buggy.”
The doctor heaved a sigh. “As you wish, Alaina.” He studied her for a long moment before reaching out to take her hand.
“You’re a rare one, Alaina MacGaren. Many young women could not have borne what you have, and surely not with such spirit.” He straightened. “However, even a lad can get into trouble this late at night.”
“I’ll be careful,” she reassured him quietly. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window and paused, seeing her eyes swollen and red. She glanced up at the doctor and ventured a timid question. “Is Captain Latimer still here?”
“No, Cole left early this afternoon,” he replied. “Magruder accused him of letting his grief for his father interfere with his good judgment. I think the major still smarts from the leg incident. This time he openly accused Cole of being careless with Bobby Johnson’s life.”
“But that’s not true!” Alaina declared. “It was Magruder!”
“I know that, of course. Magruder had to blame someone else, though, to be sure that he was not accused himself.” The doctor waved his hand with an angry flourish. “When I last spoke with Cole, he made mention that his plans were to go out and let propriety go to hell.”
A short time later, Alaina mounted Ol’ Tar and turned him toward the river. She had no wish to return to the Craighugh residence just yet. Uncle Angus and Aunt Leala had made plans to attend a political meeting this evening, and she had no desire to contend with Roberta’s sniping comments. Instead, alone and lonely, she meandered along the water’s edge. The slow lapping of the water and the oily ripples of the Mississippi made it seem deceptively gentle. Yet it had the strength of the fall rains behind its current, and the river had been known to change its course overnight, ripping a new flow way where none had been before.
The rain had stopped some time ago, and a bright, three-quarter moon now hung high above the flitting clouds, shyly showing its face and sending a thousand tiny fragments of light shimmering across the molten surface of the river. Alaina forced her mind away from the morass that seethed with her own problems. She dismounted and sat on the bank, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her chin upon her forearm as she stared at the silent black hulks of the distant Union ships. Rage and fury roiled within her anew. Bitter tears stung her eyes.