Spring Will Come (6 page)

             
Carrie watched as the two women clasped hands and stared off into the distance.  Suddenly she turned and strode rapidly back in the direction she had come.  Standing on the hill and staring was going to do no one any good.  What was going to happen was going to happen.  There was nothing she could do to change it.  Experience had already taught her what the result would be, however.  The place she could do some good was the hospital.  She knew the flow of wounded would start flooding in before the day was over. 

             
Janie looked up in relief as Carrie stuck her head in the door.  “I knew I could count on you to come,” she said simply.  “We need help preparing beds for the wounded.”

             
Carrie nodded sharply and turned toward her assigned ward.   She completely lost track of time as she moved from bed to bed, covering them with fresh sheets, laying out bandages, and filling pitchers with water.  As she worked, she tried to keep up the spirits of the wounded soldiers chaffing in their helplessness. 

             
“The firing done stopped!”  Samuel called.  “I reckon that means our boys let them have it!”

             
“We don’t know what it means,” Walker replied.  “It could mean we’re about to have Yankee nurses.”

             
Carrie opened her mouth to reply, but the renewed sound of shelling intruded into the brief silence, saving her from having to think of something cheerful to say. 

             
“They’re after them again!” Samuel cried.  “Give it to ‘em fellows!”

             
Carrie couldn’t help noticing the looks of relief on some of the faces surrounding her.  These boys had seen the horrors of battle first hand.  They were not eager to be pulled back into the carnage again.  For now, the hospital was a haven of safety for them. 

             
When Carrie had finished in her own ward, she hurried into the buildings that until now had been empty.  There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that by the end of the fight for their city, all the wards would be full.  Her arms and shoulders ached as she made bed after bed.  Resolutely, she ignored the pain - it was nothing to be considered when she thought of what the soldiers were experiencing.  For just a moment, red hot anger flared in her that men determined to have their own ways were willing to send other men to suffer and die in such a horrible manner.  Fatigue soon deadened the anger.  She moved mechanically from bed to bed and wondered what face would soon be lying on the pillow she fluffed. 

             
Carrie wasn’t sure when she noticed the firing had stopped.  Instead of the constant rumble of cannon and guns, there was silence.  But it was not a silence that offered peace.  It was a heavy, like calm before a great storm.  The soldiers had done their job for the day.  Now it was up to the citizens of Richmond to do theirs.  She still had no idea who had won the battle.  Were Union troops moving into the city even now?  She would find out soon enough.  Right now she had a job to do.

             
Carrie had finished in one ward and was moving with several other women to another when the sound of wagons drawing up the hill gained their attention.  The women exchanged knowing looks.  “It’s our turn,” Carrie said simply.   Ahead of her, she saw the rush of medical personnel hurrying to meet the first of the ambulance wagons pulling into the hospital yard.  Resisting the urge to examine faces for any sign of the man she loved, Carrie walked quickly back to her assigned ward.

             
Changes had been made there during the time she’d been gone.  All the remaining soldiers were Virginians.  The ones from other states had been moved to other designated wards.  The anticipated number of patients deemed it necessary to group the injured in such a way to make it easier for family members to find their loved ones.  Carrie had been told of the changes, but it still was hard to lose the patients she had grown so fond of. 

             
She sighed heavily and moved to straighten the newly empty beds.  Then she straightened and hunched her shoulders, trying to work out some of the soreness.  Her work for the day was really just about to begin.  In just a matter of minutes, a broken mass of humanity would begin pouring through the door.  She could greet them with fatigue and self-pity, or she could cast aside her own cares to be able to give to them whole-heartedly. 

             
“God, make me your instrument to the ones you bring to this ward.”

             
Carrie had barely uttered the words before the first of the stretchers was carried in.  She knew from the briefing they had received earlier that many of the soldiers would have to wait for medical attention.  The women’s job was just to make them as comfortable as possible until one of the doctors could get to them.  Carrie watched the first man being carried in and barely managed to suppress her groan.  She tightened her lips and hurried forward. 

             
It was almost impossible to discern anything about the soldier.  She could tell he was fairly young, but the mud and black powder from the guns encased his entire body.  His shirt, crusted with blood, stuck to his body in some places and gaped away with holes at others.  Someone had wrapped a course bandage around the soldier’s head, but it, too, was a crusty brown from dried blood and was matted to his forehead.  The broken bone of one arm protruded through the skin, causing it to twist on the stretcher at an awkward angle.  In spite of it all, he was conscious.  

             
As soon as the stretcher carriers deposited him on the bed, Carrie leaned over him.  “Hello, soldier.”

             
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said weakly.

             
“You’re going to be just fine.  We’re going to take good care of you.”

             
“I appreciate it,” he managed as he grimaced with pain.

             
Carrie dipped her cloth in water and began to gently bathe his face.  Now that the crisis was here she was oddly calm, steely determination and compassion flowing through her body.  “What is your name, soldier?”

             
“Johnny... Johnny Whitestone.”

             
“Well, Johnny Whitestone, I’m just going to try to clean you up a little bit.  It may be a little while before the doctors can get to you, but they will see you just as soon as they can.”

             
“Yes, ma’am.  There ain’t no big hurry.  There’s other fellows hurt lots worse than me.”

             
His accent identified him.  “Are you from the mountains, Johnny?”  Carrie knew talking would keep his mind off the pain that would be rushing in soon.  Once the adrenalin of the battlefield ebbed away, there would be nothing but searing pain to take its place. 

             
“Yes, ma’am.  From up around Charlottesville.”

             
“This your first battle?”

             
“No, ma’am.  I been fighting ever since Manassas.  I guess I’m luckier than most.  This is the first time I’ve got hurt.”  He paused for a moment, and then his face brightened.  “We stopped ‘em, ma’am.  We pushed them Yankees back.  I reckon our capital will be safe a while longer.” 

             
Carrie continued to wash away the grime from his face.  She could tell the effort of talking was taking its toll.  “Just lay back, Johnny.  The doctor will get to you soon.”  She longed to take the bandage off his head and tend to the wound underneath before infection had more of a chance to set in, but she knew she didn’t dare.

             
“I be right thirsty...”  Johnny muttered. 

             
Carrie touched his forehead – his eyes were already taking on that familiar fever-glazed look.  Steadying his shoulders, she helped prop him up then lifted a glass to his lips.  His broken arm shifted, causing him to cry out in pain.  She watched his face harden with determination as he gulped some water and then settled back against the pillow. 

             
“Thank you...”

             
“Miss Cromwell!”

             
Carrie looked up sharply, squeezed Johnny’s had, and then sprang for the door as another stretcher entered the ward.  There were three other women working with her, so every fourth patient was hers to care for. 

             
“Hello, soldier...”  Her words died on her lips.  The man they were carrying in was seemingly lifeless.  The bandaged stumps of his right arm and leg were bright with blood.  Thankfully he was unconscious.  The reality of his situation would be a brutal presence soon enough.  Carrie tightened her lips and went to work.  At least he would have a clean face when he woke up.  As she gently wiped his filthy face with a warm, soapy cloth, she prayed.  Prayed he would not give up hope when he came to and realized what had happened.  Prayed infection would not set in and sap the fragile life that even now hung by a thread. 

             
The hours blurred as the ward quickly filled with men in all conditions.  Carrie had no idea what time it was when she was able to make her way back to Johnny Whitestone.  She had seen him taken from the ward and also carried back in, attended by one of the male nurses.   He was just coming around from the anesthesia. 

             
“Hello, Johnny,” she said cheerfully.

             
“They took my arm, Miss Cromwell,” he said dully, his pain-glazed eyes searching hers for some understanding of what had just happened to him. 

             
Carrie laid her hand on his shoulder.  She would never understand the cruelty of a world in which a young man in the prime of life could wake up without an arm.  “So they did, Johnny.  Now you will have to use all your energy to get well.”  She fought to make her voice encouraging. 

             
Johnny just stared at her.  “I’m a blacksmith, ma’am.”  His voice wavered as confusion filled his eyes.  “Least I used to be.  Don’t reckon I’ll be one now.”

             
Sudden tears slipped from Carrie’s eyes as she smoothed the hair back from his forehead.  “You’ve got to take one day at a time, Johnny.  First we’ve got to get you well.  God saw you through that battle.  He’s not going to stop taking care of you.”

             
Johnny seemed to drink in her words.  After a long moment, he said, “My mama told me she would be praying for me every day.  I sure hope she’s praying...” 

             
“I’m sure she is, Johnny,” Carrie said tenderly.  “What you need now is sleep.  Close your eyes and try to get some rest.”

             
Exhausted blue eyes stared at her a moment more with a look that said he was afraid to go to sleep, afraid he might never wake up.  Finally his body won the battle.  The blue eyes flickered shut, and moments later the haggard face was lax with sleep.  Carrie watched him and prayed he would sleep a long time.  He had only pain waiting for him when he woke up. 

             
As Carrie watched him, she became aware for the first time how achingly tired she was.  Her shoulder, not entirely healed, throbbed.  She shook her head and tried to push aside the pain. 

             
“Miss Cromwell?”

             
Carrie lifted her head toward the voice.  She managed a smile when she saw it was Matron Pember.

             
“It’s two o’clock in the morning, Miss Cromwell.  All the other women have gone home.  You must get some rest.”

             
Carrie stared at her.  Had she been in the hospital for twelve hours?  “The patients...” she murmured. 

             
“The patients are resting.  They will need you again when they wake up in the morning.  You’ll be no good to them without some rest.”

             
Carrie smiled.  “I’m not sure you’re the one to be talking about rest.”

             
“I’m on my way to get some right this minute.  Will you walk with me to my quarters?  I will have one of the men see you down the hill to your father’s house.”

             
“Where is Janie?”

             
“She left a couple of hours ago.  She looked in here for you but didn’t see you.  She assumed you had gone home.”

             
Carrie nodded and fell in beside the matron.  “How bad is it?” she asked as they walked across the yard. 

             
“Bad,” Matron Pember responded bluntly.  “Every hospital is filled to capacity.  Wounded soldiers are filling warehouses, homes, and hotels.  I have been told even the sidewalks are full of men waiting for a bed and a doctor.”

             
Carrie shuddered.

             
“The number I’m hearing is about five thousand,” she continued grimly.

             
“Five thousand men!” Carrie gasped.

             
“Dead and wounded.  It’s hard to get an exact number of Confederate casualties.  It will take some time.  We’ve taken in quite a few Northern soldiers as well.”