Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  “What did you do?” Tears rolled down Carrie’s face as well.

  “What could I do? I sat there holding the wound. As long as I held it, he would be okay.” Sobs began to rack Janie’s body then. “I held it for such a long time. Finally, Jimmy looked at me and said, ‘It’s okay, Miss Winthrop. I’m ready to go.’ Janie gasped and clutched at Carrie’s hand. “He knew, Carrie. He knew he was about to die... I held on as long as I could...”

  Carrie listened, sympathy and horror clouding her mind. What would she have done? Could she ever have brought herself to let go?

  “I passed out,” Janie said helplessly. “When I came to, Jimmy was dead,” she cried brokenly then collapsed into Carrie’s arms.

  Knowing that no words could ease the pain and despair in her friend’s heart, Carrie held her tightly and stroked her head gently. Her own heart struggled with both rage and sorrow. Carrie’s rampaging emotions, combined with sixteen-hour days at the hospital, had left her almost empty. The steady flow of hideously wounded soldiers, many of them lost to death, was tearing at the very core of her being. She understood Janie’s pain.

  Janie finally gave one last gulping sob and straightened. “Thank you,” she said thickly, her eyes swollen from the torrent of tears. “I guess I needed that.”

  “No one can stay strong all the time in the midst of such madness,” Carrie said gently. “I’ve wondered how you managed to for so long.”

  Janie laughed shakily. “My mama always said my head was the hardest substance known to mankind. I guess she was right.”

  Carrie looked at her thoughtfully. “As long as our hearts don’t become the hardest substance known to mankind, we might make it.”

  “I guess I was trying to numb my heart to the pain as well,” Janie admitted. “But it was all a pretense. Every soldier who is carried through that door rips at my heart. I guess that’s just the way it’s going to be.

  Carrie was waiting in the parlor when her father came in looking haggard and weary but with a shine in his eyes.

  “They’re on the run!” Thomas stated.

  “Tell me about it,” Carrie invited. The only way she kept up on what was going on was through her father. Part of her wanted to block everything out, but she knew she needed to stay informed. She had to know what was happening in her crazy world.

  “McClellan is withdrawing his troops. Lee is going after them.”

  “If they’re leaving, why not just let them go?”

  Her father frowned. “An undefeated army will return.”

  “But you just said they were retreating. That would indicate a defeat.”

  “I suppose defeat is the wrong word. Lee is out to destroy the Army of the Potomac. He doesn’t want them to be able to rise from the ashes of their former glory.”

  Destroy... Carrie mulled over the word. The idea of destroying an army seemed so sterile-- until one remembered an army was made up of men. How many men would have to die before destruction was complete? She decided to keep her thoughts to herself. She knew her father’s hope revolved around the bold actions Lee was taking to rid Richmond of the threat of invasion.

  Lee, understanding his opponent well, had elected not to wait for McClellan’s attack. While his enemy had been digging in, preparing for a long siege that would bring the capital to its knees, Lee had been laying out his plans for a bold offensive campaign. Finally, on June 25, he had been ready. That McClellan had been shocked by the Confederacy’s boldness was affirmed when he signaled a retreat after the very first day of battle. Lee had pushed after him, forcing the Federals to fight as they struggled to escape a net that grew tighter every day. Richmond cheered their general’s bravery and daring, but no one knew better than Richmonders what his exploits were costing.

  “Did you check the lists for me today?” Carrie asked quietly, deciding to change the subject.

  Thomas nodded. “Robert’s name wasn’t on there. I have every reason to believe he is fine, fighting hard with his men.”

  Carrie nodded, relieved, but she didn’t share her father’s confidence. It was impossible to keep track of the wounded pouring into their city. At last count there were over ten thousand crowding every available space. Even the grounds around Chimborazo Hospital were covered with men lying on mats – waiting for a bed to open.

  Thomas broke into her thoughts. “I did read something today I think you should know.” He hesitated.

  Carrie looked up quickly at the tone of her father’s voice. It was obvious he wasn’t sure how she would respond to the news. “What is it?”

  “I saw the list for soldiers killed in action. Ike Adams was on it.”

  Carrie gasped and leaned forward. “Ike Adams?” she breathed, her heart pounding with -- what? “I thought overseers were exempt from fighting.”

  “He was no longer an overseer. He was a slave hunter. Conscription claimed him.”

  “And then death claimed him...”

  Thomas nodded grimly. “I can’t say I’m sorry. Not after he betrayed you.” His face whitened. “When I think of what could have happened to you...”

  “But it didn’t,” Carrie said quickly. Then she grew thoughtful. “I suppose I should say I’m not glad he’s dead. But to be honest, I am. He not only tried to hurt me -- he hurt a lot of people I care about deeply.” She didn’t mention Rose and Moses’ names. Her father had forgiven her for allowing so many of his people to go free, but there was no reason to throw it in his face. “I feel sorry for his wife and kids.”

  “Don’t bother,” Thomas said abruptly. “I ran into Eulalia the other day on my way to the Capitol. I stopped and talked with her for several minutes. Adams deserted his family months ago - left them to survive on their own.”

  Carrie frowned. She had been angry with Adams for so long, but now that he was dead she felt a sort of sympathy for a man who would waste his life in hatred and then throw away the one redeeming thing he possessed. “He was a miserable man. I would not wish that on anyone for all of eternity.”

  Thomas snorted. “I’m afraid I have not one noble thought in my head for a man such as him. He deserves whatever he gets. I, for one, feel nothing but relief that he is gone.”

  Carrie sat silently for a few minutes, absorbing the reality that Adams was dead – that he could no longer pose a threat to her. Not to her. Or Rose. Or Moses. A slow smile spread across her face. “I’m not feeling particularly noble right now either,” she said.

  As Thomas chatted on about other things, Carrie continued to think about Adams. Suddenly, words Old Sarah had said about Adams flashed into her mind. “Why, dat be one man who ain’t got nothin’ but hate poison in his blood. But dere ain’t been no one born dat be dat way from the start. No, somethin’ done put dat poison in him. We prob’ly won’t never know what put it dere, but it been put dere sure ‘nuff. You gots to pity a man like dat. Now, I be hatin’ the things he be doing just as much as anybody else, but it won’t be doing my heart no good to be hatin’ him. Dat won’t do nothin’ but put poison in my own blood. No -- I reckon I’ll just keep on pitying dat poor empty shell of a man.”

  Old Sarah, who had more reason to hate than most people, had found room in her heart to pity the man who had tried to rape her daughter. Thomas’ voice settled into a background drone as Carrie searched her heart until she found what she was looking for. A tiny kernel of pity. Slowly, as she contemplated the misery of the man who had been her enemy, the kernel of pity took root and began to grow - crowding out the bitterness. She wouldn’t allow bitterness to overtake her. Letting hatred grow would only make her exactly like Ike Adams – a sad, pitiful person. Carrie smiled to herself as she realized Sarah, even though she was dead, had taught her yet another valuable lesson.

  “Carrie. Carrie, did you hear what I said?”

  Carrie jumped.

  Thomas was looking at her with deep concern. “Are you all right, dear? I’m afraid I have kept you up way too long. Why don’t you go on up to bed?”

  Carrie n
odded, hugged her father and retreated to her room. She wanted time to think about the new revelation born in her heart.

  The sun was already causing a steamy mist to hover over the ground when Carrie walked up the hill to the hospital. She liked the mornings best. For the last week, they had proven to be the only time of the day that was quiet. If the familiar pattern repeated itself, the sounds of battle would soon destroy the deceptive peace.

  Today was going to be the hottest day of the summer so far. It was barely eight o’clock, but there were already rivulets of sweat streaming down her back. Wiping the sweat from her face, she fought down the yearning she had to be home on the river with a cool breeze flowing over her. Suddenly she stopped just short of the hospital bridge, stared east for several long moments, and then closed her eyes.

  Into her mind sprung a picture of her special place. It felt like a lifetime since she had last retreated to the tiny clearing on the James. It came to life in her mind in minute detail. She felt she could reach out and touch the water gently lapping at the banks, carrying its load of sediment to deposit into the Chesapeake Bay. The low hanging branches of her oak tree offered protection from the searing sun while a gentle breeze caused the wildflowers to sway lazily. Waiting for her was her special log where she always thought out her problems.

  The rattle of wagon wheels captured her attention, and the picture dissolved. When she opened her eyes, she saw an ambulance rolling up the hill bringing another load of wounded soldiers. Carrie shook her head and pushed on. The world was still full of trouble, yet somehow she had been given a brief respite. She hoped it would carry her through another long day.

  The scene at the hospital was chaos. Long into the night, wagons had continued to roll in, bringing the newly wounded from the battlefield. Carrie tightened her lips and hurried into her ward, once again thankful Dr. McCaw had insisted on adequate ventilation. Even though the heat of the day was already intensifying the odor of infection and putrefaction, there was at least a tiny breeze flowing in the ample windows. Her ward was on the outer ring of buildings within the compound. Pity swelled in her for the soldiers who had no benefit of a small breeze. Careful to tread lightly on the gritty sand they used for cleaning the floors, Carrie hurried toward the newest patient.

  “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 hi
m.”

  “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.