Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he whispered, reaching for Carrie’s hand. “I sure appreciate what you did.”

  Carrie nodded and squeezed his hand. “Good luck,” she said tenderly.

  The long morning passed slowly. Around two o’clock the familiar sounds of battle wafted in the open windows. Carrie sighed in resignation and continued working. Her heart felt bruised from her encounter with the doctor that morning. Questioning had revealed his identity to be a Dr. Dole from Mississippi. From all she could tell, he was a competent doctor. Sternly, she tried to push away the hurt she felt. It had been clear from the beginning that being a doctor was going to be a long, hard, uphill battle – especially in the South. If she let every obstacle she came up against hurt her, she would soon be immobilized.

  As the day wore on, heat and humidity draped a blanket of misery over the hospital. Black flies swarmed over everything, creating misery for patients and staff alike. Cries for water could be heard everywhere. Men, already dehydrated from dysentery and typhoid fever contracted after drinking bad water in the camps, could not get enough liquid. Carrie prayed for a storm to bring relief to the tortured men.

  The sun was setting when Carrie stepped outside for a few minutes. Hunger pains stabbed at her, but she chose to ignore them. All she wanted was a few minutes of fresh air. Or at least a change from the stale, reeking odors of the ward. Moving to the edge of the clearing, she stared down at the river and the boats crowding it. Fatigue washed over her as she ran her hands down her face then stopped to stare at them in disgust. She washed her hands often, but there was no way to keep blood and dirt from becoming embedded in them.

  “Ma’am?”

  Carrie spun as a weak cry sounded behind her, her eyes widening in horrow. An ambulance wagon had been parked under an overhanging tree to guard it from the sun. Black flies were crawling everywhere. Quickly she sprang to the side of the wagon.

  “Can you help us, ma’am?”

  “The doctor will be here in a few minutes,” she said soothingly.

  The soldier grimaced. “I sure hope so. We been out here for a bunch of hours. Not sure how many.” His voice was rough with pain, his eyes bright with fever.

  “A bunch of hours?” Carrrie gasped, looking around frantically. “What did they tell you?”

  “Just that they were real busy but would get to us as soon as they could. I think they were trying to find somewhere to put us. I guess things are pretty full.”

  Carrie stared at him, trying to think. “I’ll be right back,” she said abruptly. She quickly found a doctor and told him her dilemma. His face crinkled in sympathy, but he merely shook his head. “I’m on my way into surgery, miss.”

  “But surely those men don’t have to just lie outside in that wagon,” she protested. “Have they been forgotten?”

  The doctor shrugged, fatigue lining his face. “I don’t think so, but I don’t really know. We’re all doing the best we can,” he said wearily. “Someone will get to them. That wagon isn’t so bad. At least they’re not crammed into a ward.”

  “But what about their wounds? What if one of them dies?”

  The doctor nodded grimly. “Then the poor beggar will probably be better off.” His face softened. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t help now. Ask someone else.” Having said all he was going to, he moved on.

  Carrie looked around desperately, wondering what to do. Several more attempts netted the same result. No one was available. Finally she made her way back to the wagon.

  “Is someone coming, ma’am?” The question this time came from another one of the men who was cradling a badly shattered arm, his face twisted in agony.

  “I’m sure someone will be here soon,” she said, trying to sound encouraging. “In the meantime, I’ve brought you some water.” Hands reached forward eagerly. Carrie gave them their fill then looked off toward the hospital, willing someone to notice and come help. The sky turned a darker blue as the sun slipped low beneath the horizon.

  “Are we going to be out here all night, ma’am?”

  Carrie just shook her head, but she had no idea whether she was telling the truth. Her earlier look into the wagon had told her there was much she could do to help. She didn’t know the full extent of their injuries, but surely she could alleviate some of their suffering. As she contemplated the possibility, it was as if a great fog settled on her mind.

  Somewhere, in the midst of all the fatigue and pain, Carrie had begun to doubt herself. Anyone who gets lost in the fog rarely even notices its encroachment. It comes on gradually, the sum total of many small uncertainties which hardly seem worth a second thought. There is a little patch of mist here, another patch farther over. There is a slow thickening of the haze along the horizon as the sky turns gray and sags lower toward the trees. Sunlight fades out imperceptibly - until suddenly there is fog everywhere, blanketing everything within its reach. The noises coming from the shrouded landscape are unidentifiable, confusing, and full of menace. Carrie was losing herself in the fog. Little doubts had crept in, had grown, waiting for some quick shock to jar all of them into one disastrous uncertainty.

  Carrie trembled as the doubts rampaged through her mind. She had been so sure she had helped that young soldier earlier that morning. He had died several hours after surgery. The doctor - striding through in the afternoon - had stared at her as if it were her fault. Maybe it was. Maybe she was never meant to be a doctor. Maybe she could not really help people. Doubts assailed her, threatening to crush her confidence and will.

  The young spokesman for the group persisted, his voice weaker this time. “Are you sure someone is coming?”

  Carrie turned to look into his eyes again. In his eyes she saw hope, a hope that refused to die even in the midst of horror and pain. Time seemed to stand still as the frail hope seemed to reach out for her, seeking a way into her own heart. Struggling to conquer her fears, Carrie let his hope become hers. Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She might not save these men. She might even make things worse. But at least they would know someone cared. At least they would not die alone and frightened in a wagon.

  “I’m going to help you,” she said firmly. “I don’t know when anyone will be coming.” She stepped closer. “Will you let me help you?” Her voice was strong now.

  The soldier nodded gratefully. “Yes, ma’am! Anything you can do would be much appreciated.”

  Carrie asked pointed questions, discovering that between the four men there were two broken legs, a broken arm, eight bullet wounds, and two cases of dysentery. Two of the men had raging fevers. One was completely unresponsive even though he was conscious. She thought longingly of the herbs at home, knowing she could not just waltz into the hospital to request medicine. “I’ll be right back.”

  Chaos continued to reign as more wagons rolled up the hill. No one even noticed when she grabbed bandages, a pail of water, light blankets, and splints. She hoped she looked like she was just carrying them to a ward. In minutes she was back at the wagon. Tossing the supplies inside, she climbed into the wagon with the men and set to work.

  She started with the man who had called her over. “What’s your name?”

  “Angus McFarley, ma’am.”

  “Well, Angus McFarley, we need to get some of these wounds cleaned up.” Carrie dipped a bandage in water and then gently washed the grime and dirt away from the bullet wounds. She winced at the red flesh, signs of infection, already surrounding the wounds. It did no good to wish for powdered charcoal and turpentine spirits to treat the wounds. That would have to be done by someone with access to the medicine. In the meantime, she could make sure they were clean.

  Once the wounds were clean and wrapped, she turned to his leg. By its awkward angle, she knew it was badly broken. She probed gently with her fingers to ascertain the kind of break. “It feels like a clean break, Mr. McFarley. I can set it for you, but we’ll have to straighten it first.” She paused, looking at him squarely. “I can do it, or you can wait for a doctor.”


  Angus returned her look evenly. “Well, ma’am, I have to tell you I’ve never had a woman doctoring on me before, but you’ve done a fine job so far. There’s no telling how long I’ll have to wait for a doctor. I trust you. I reckon you better go ahead.”

  Carrie nodded crisply and repositioned herself in the wagon. If she was going to get tossed out of the hospital, she might as well go out with a bang of glory. She had just grabbed hold of his foot and braced her back against the side of the wagon when a voice exploded in her ear.

  “What the devil is going on here?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Carrie didn’t even look up. “I would say it’s rather obvious that I’m getting ready to set a leg.” With a mighty heave, she pulled with all her strength. She heard a satisfying snap at just the same moment Angus cried out in pain. Only then did she look up. “Would you like to help me splint it -- doctor?” She almost groaned when she saw the surgeon’s insignia on the young doctor’s shirt, but she had known when she began that she would probably be discovered and tossed from the hospital. It was a risk she had chosen to take. At least now the remaining men would get the attention they needed.

  “You seem to know what you’re doing. I’ll watch.”

  Carrie glanced up in amazement then tightened her lips and went to work. He was probably waiting for her to make a mistake. Well, he was going to be disappointed. Positioning the splint carefully, she wrapped bandages around it until it was secure. Only when she was certain the bone wouldn’t shift did she settle back. “They’ll set it in plaster of paris later. This will do for now.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Angus said fervently, smiling through his pain. “What can you do for the other fellows?”

  Carrie sat quietly, waiting for the watching doctor to speak. When he said nothing, she decided to press on. This may have been her only chance to treat patients until this war was over and she could go north to medical school. She would not waste time wondering what some doctor was thinking.

  “Those two with the dysentery – they got it real bad, ma’am. They’ve been real sick - running a real high fever. Can you do something?”

  “I’m afraid not, Angus. Not without the proper medicine. I’m afraid all I can do is make them more comfortable until they reach the hospital.”

  “What kind of medicine would you be prescribing?”

  Carrie finally turned and took her first good look at the doctor. Grudgingly, she had to admit she liked what she saw. A thick thatch of red hair framed a pair of lively green eyes. Even with his face lined with fatigue and covered with grime, she knew he liked to laugh. “I hope you’re asking because you intend to help these men,” she snapped crisply and then answered his question. “I would try a powder composed of five grains of the mercury and chalk of the pharmacopoeia, six grains of Dover’s powder, and two grains of sulphate of quina. It should be administered several times a day until they begin to recover.”

  “I’ll get it,” he said with a smile. “You set the other leg.” Turning, he walked quickly back to the hospital.

  Carrie suppressed her amazement and went back to work. She would figure it all out later. Right now she had work to do. Her hands were tender but strong as she probed the leg of the man who was completely unresponsive. Somehow he was managing to keep his eyes open, but they were the eyes of a staring zombie. The pain of his fractured leg, combined with two bullet wounds and dysentery, had overwhelmed him. Carrie’s heart swelled with sympathy, but her head was clear. Her examination revealed his leg was badly fractured, a jagged, splintered break that would not respond well to setting. It would be too easy for a piece of bone to cut into muscle or blood vessels. She straightened the leg as best she could, then placed a splint around it, and wrapped it carefully. It would take a skillful surgeon to save his life. With the workload they were under now, he would no doubt lose his leg. Even under the best of circumstances, it would be difficult to save.

  She had just finished the bandaging when the young doctor once more appeared at her side. He watched her quietly for a few moments as she carefully cleaned the soldier’s wounds, picking out the maggots that had already begun to breed there.

  “Would you like some help?” he finally asked in an admiring voice.

  “Yes. Thank you,” she said in surprise. “Did you get the medicine?” When he nodded, she smiled in relief. “This soldier needs some. So does the one leaning against the back. He has two bullet wounds in his left arm. They look pretty bad.”

  The two worked silently until all the men had been treated and stabilized the best conditions would allow. Carrie had just settled back against the wagon when a group of men with stretchers moved toward the wagon.

  “I told them we should be done about this time. They are here to take the men into the hospital. I arranged some beds for them.”

  Carrie’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Thank you, Doctor...?”

  “My name is Dr. Wild. Michael Wild.” He managed a tired smile. “And you are?”

  “Carrie Cromwell.” Stepping out of the wagon, Carrie moved to the side to make room for the men approaching the wagon. They looked at the blood splatters on her dress with surprise, but no one said anything.

  Except for Angus McFarley. “Thank you, ma’am. You make a mighty fine doctor.”

  Carrie smiled at him gently. “Thank you, Angus. I hope you get well soon.” Then they were all gone. She looked up at the sky, surprised to see the first stars beginning to twinkle. A dark bank of clouds rested on the horizon. Carrie hoped it meant rain.

  “Where did you learn how to do all that?” Dr. Wild asked quietly.

  “I learned some of it from my mother. Some from a slave on our family plantation, and some from medical books.”

  “How did you know about the medicine for dysentery? That’s a fairly recent discovery. Not even all the doctors here know it.”

  Carrie shrugged, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction. “Most things can be learned by reading.”

  “Yes..,” Dr. Wild said thoughtfully. “For those who care enough to want to know. You obviously care a great deal.”

  Carrie decided to be honest. She was much too tired to play games. “I want to be a doctor, Dr. Wild,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes. “I realize what most of the country thinks of women in medicine. I know especially what the South thinks of women in medicine. That doesn’t change the fact I’m going to be a doctor. People will just have to get used to it,” she added bluntly.

  She was astonished when Dr. Wild threw back his head and laughed. “I like you, Carrie Cromwell. You remind me of a friend of mine. Her name is Ann Preston.” “Ann Preston?” Carrie gasped. “Why she is a professor of physiology at The Female Medical College of Philadelphia. She has had a tremendous impact on the school since graduating from there in 1852.”

  “Right on all counts.”

  Carrie felt herself relax. She may still be dismissed from her work, but it probably was not going to be by Dr. Wild. “You went to school in the North?” she asked eagerly.

  “They had the best schools in the country at the time. I practiced medicine in Raleigh, North Carolina until the war started. Dr. McCaw asked me to join him here.” Dr. Wild leaned back against the wagon and stretched his arms over his head. “Once this war is over, I hope to never again have to treat the kinds of things I’ve had to treat here,” he said brusquely.

  “I’ve never seen anything so horrible,” Carrie stated. “It breaks my heart to know Americans are mutilating other Americans.”

  “Do I detect a lack of sympathy for our noble cause?”

  Carrie paused. She knew many Southern citizens had been jailed for their anti-war feelings. “Let’s just say I’m very sorry there are powerful men willing to sacrifice the lives of so many fine men to fulfill their own selfish aims.”

  Even in the darkness, she could see the surprise on the doctor’s face. Maybe it was the shroud of night giving her such boldness. More likely, it was because sh
e was much too tired to care.

  “You’re a woman who speaks her mind, Miss Carrie Cromwell.”

  “Guilty on all counts,” she said with a tired laugh. Suddenly all she wanted was to go home. “Now, if you don’t mind, Dr. Wild, if you are going to throw me off the hospital grounds and tell me never to come back, I wish you would go ahead and do it.”

  This time Dr. Wild laughed out loud. “Why would I do that?”

  Carrie told him the story of what had happened that morning.

  “And yet you still treated those men?”

  “I couldn’t let them suffer any longer. I decided I was willing to take the consequences.”

  “Even if the consequence is moving to another ward?”

  Carrie looked at him closely, but the darkness made his face indistinguishable. “What are you talking about?”

  Dr. Wild was all seriousness now. “Miss Cromwell, this war is going to go on for a long time, I’m afraid. The medical community is simply going to have to lose its distaste for women in medicine. They’ll be forced to when there are no longer males to do the job. I prefer to think of myself as a little more progressive than the rest of the men around me. My years in the North helped give me that advantage.” He paused. “I intend to request you be moved into my ward. I could use your help.”

  Carrie sat silently, too stunned by this course of events to know what to say.

  “You won’t, of course, be able to operate as a full doctor. But you will find you have many liberties, while still working under my orders. I believe there are a great many men operating as doctors who are a mockery to their profession. I would welcome you as an addition to my staff.”

  “Thank you,” Carrie finally stammered.

  “You’ll do it then?” Dr. Wild sounded relieved.

  It was almost laughable to think she would turn down such an opportunity. “I would love to, Dr. Wild. Thank you,” she repeated.