Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  Thomas was still staring at her with a dazed expression on his face.

  Carrie wasn’t done. “I’m proud Rose is my aunt. She is also my closest friend. It wouldn’t matter to me whether she was purple or green. She happens to be black - she also happens to be white. I miss her.” A sudden wave of compassion surged through her. “You should be proud of her, too, Father. She is a beautiful, intelligent young woman.”

  Silence fell on the room as Thomas continued to stare at her.

  Carrie gazed back at him, her emotions spent. She supposed she should be sorry for yelling at him, but she wasn’t. She had merely spoken the truth. The shock of hearing Robert was missing had vanquished the last of her self-control.

  Thomas finally spoke, his face still ashen. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said slowly. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. His face twisted in a look Carrie couldn’t discern.

  “Father...” she said imploringly.

  Thomas shook his head. “I - I guess I never saw it before. Rose - she was just one of my slaves. A product of my father’s passion. I never really thought of her as my – half-sister,” he said haltingly. “But, I suppose, she is.” His voice was surprised. He shook his head, understanding slowly dawning in his eyes. “It has been so easy to see her as less than human - just another slave.” Suddenly he groaned. “My father lives in her, too. She is just as much a person as I am.”

  Carrie sat quietly, watching her father. She recognized the pangs of self-discovery.

  Thomas sank down heavily onto the chair next to her dressing table and stared at himself in the mirror. “I’ve been such a fool,” he whispered. Then he straightened. “But I’m still a Southern plantation owner,” he said in a low, fierce voice.

  Carrie knew better than to say anything. This was a battle her father would have to fight himself. Just like she’d had to. She ached for him. She had fought habits and beliefs from eighteen years of prejudice - he would have to fight over forty. Forty years of deeply ingrained prejudice and ignorance.

  Thomas turned away from the mirror. “Thank you,” he said heavily. “I think.” He managed a small smile.

  Carrie stayed seated on the floor but smiled back.

  Once more silence descended on the room. All Carrie could hear was the sound of the clock ticking, mingled with the background sounds of the city. A breeze fluttered in, making her curtains sway gently. A fly buzzed around her head then darted out the window. Suddenly all she wanted was to curl up in a ball on her bed and dream the world away. The wild rampaging of her emotions had left her completely spent. Somewhere in the last chaotic moments, the beginnings of peace had edged their way into her heart. She made no attempt to understand it - she simply accepted it. Anything was better than the black hopelessness and despair that had captured her. She did not know Robert was dead. Until she did, she would hang on to hope.

  “Are you as tired as I am?”

  Carrie looked up at her father. “Yes,” she said simply.

  Thomas stood and held out his arms. “Come here,” he commanded gently.

  Carrie stood and moved into his arms, laying her head against his chest as he pulled her close. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry I got so angry.” Carrie could feel Thomas shaking his head.

  “Don’t be.” He laughed shortly. “Your father is just like you. Sometimes it takes a brick to make a dent in my head - or my heart for that matter.” He pushed Carrie away from him and looked down. “Don’t expect me to change overnight. I have a lot to think about. A lot of strongly held beliefs to challenge.” He paused. “I’m not sure what side I will come down on.”

  Carrie just gave him another hug. She knew her father was honest. He would examine his beliefs honestly. She was confident the truth would win in time. There was no need to say anymore.

  She changed the subject. “How often do reports about the soldiers come in?” she asked quietly.

  “Twice a day. I’ll check every one.”

  Carrie nodded. “I have to go to the hospital. Would you like to eat something with me before I go?”

  “Certainly.”

  Carrie almost smiled at the relief in her father’s voice. She hooked her arm through his. “Well, I think that emotional storm is over. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be more. I’m a woman, you know. I’m entitled.”

  Thomas chuckled. “So you are. So you are.”

  Carrie almost breathed a sigh of relief as she hurried up the hill to the hospital and watched the first of a long line of ambulance wagons turn into the yard. Her work at the hospital had become her salvation. Now, it would have to be even more so. All the way up the hill she had prayed silently for Robert. Her father had been right. She didn’t know for sure whether he was dead or alive. As long as there was a chance, she had to think of him as alive.

  Carrie was swept up into mad activity as soon as she stepped into her ward.

  Dr. Wild appeared at her side. “There is a new wagon coming in. Will you help me?”

  “Certainly.” Carrie’s admiration and respect for Dr. Wild had grown with each passing day. He was an excellent doctor, but it was his compassion that never ceased to amaze her. There were endless drains on his time and energy, but he always seemed to have a smile and an encouraging word for each soldier he worked on. She had watched frustration cloud his face when any of his patients died. Too many of the Chimborazo doctors saw their patients as just another body in the count. Dr. Wild saw each one as a person to care about.

  “I think we’re going to see conditions worse than we have so far,” Dr. Wild said as they strode across the yard.

  Carrie looked at him startled. “I’m not sure things could get worse.”

  “Oh, yes, they can,” he replied grimly. “These men were injured three or four days ago. Field surgeons and doctors are able to do only the bare minimum to keep them alive. The patients we have received so far were fresh from the battlefield.”

  Just then they arrived at the first wagon. Carrie looked down and felt nausea grip her throat. The man staring up at her had several wounds crudely wrapped, his eyes glazed with the raging fever of infection. His bandages were loosely wrapped, providing little barrier against the swarm of maggots crawling over and under the linen.

  “Get this man into the ward,” she called to one of the attendants. “Take the bandages off and clean his wounds. I want every one of the maggots gone.”

  “Help me with this one, Carrie,” Dr. Wild called.

  Carrie dashed to his side then simply stared. “Hobbs!” she whispered.

  “You know this man?” Dr. Wild asked sharply.

  “He is one of the men in Robert’s unit.” She had long ago told him all about Robert and their wedding plans. “They are very close.”

  “It looks like he’s going to lose his leg. I don’t think it’s possible to save it.”

  Carrie grimaced, glad Hobbs was unconscious. She looked at his leg closely, reluctantly agreeing with Dr. Wild’s assessment. His right leg had caught several shell fragments, shattering the bone in several places and ripping the skin. “If only he had gotten treatment sooner.”

  “We’ll be lucky if we can save his life,” Dr. Wild said grimly.

  Just then Hobbs’ eyes fluttered open. “Leg hurts,” he muttered. He fought to focus his eyes. They widened slightly. “Miss Carrie...?”

  Carrie reached for his grimy hand and held it tightly. “Yes, Hobbs. It’s me. We’re going to take good care of you.” She fought her desire to bombard him with questions. Surely he knew what had happened to Robert. She knew they were never far from each other on the battlefield. She held her tongue as she watched the ravages of pain settle on his young, tortured face.

  He opened his eyes again. “My leg...?”

  Carrie knew what he was asking. “Dr. Wild will do the best he can,” she said reassuringly.”

  Hobbs’ face twisted. “Promise me -- don’t let them
-- take leg,” he finally gasped.

  Carrie stared at him, wishing he would lapse into unconsciousness again. How could she make a promise like that? If they didn’t take his leg, he would probably die. Hard reality reminded her he had little chance to live even if they didn’t. It was obvious infection had settled in and was destroying his body - sapping his life slowly but surely.

  “Promise...” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  Carrie glanced up at Dr. Wild.

  He stepped up next to her. “I promise you, Hobbs,” he said firmly. He smiled and reached out to take Hobbs’ other hand. “We won’t take your leg.”

  Hobbs gave a gasp of relief then went slack.

  Dr. Wild looked up at Carrie. “Sometimes hope is all that will take them through the operation. This man has little chance of living. If knowing he can keep his leg will give him the will to fight, then he’ll keep his leg.” He frowned darkly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t look good. I don’t think we can save him without fixing the leg.”

  Carrie stared down at Hobbs, tears filling her eyes. “He helped me escape the plantation,” she murmured. “Robert loves him very much.” That was suddenly the most important thing. “We have to save him,” she said fiercely.

  Dr. Wild reached out and touched her arm. “We’ll do all we can. Hopefully Robert will be able to visit him soon.”

  “Robert is missing in action,” Carrie said flatly. “My father saw his name on the list today.”

  There was a brief silence. “I’m so sorry.”

  Carrie pushed aside the emotion threatening to overwhelm her again. “Thank you,” she said briskly, knowing Dr. Wild would understand. She couldn’t afford to think of that now – if she grieved over Robert all day, she wouldn’t be able to give these soldiers the care they deserved. The care she hoped Robert was getting somewhere. She would look after Hobbs as if he were Robert. Gazing at his unconscious form, an idea sprang into her mind.

  “What are you thinking?” Dr. Wild demanded. “I’ve seen that look before.”

  Carrie struggled to pull her thoughts together. “It’s something I read this spring. A way we might save his leg…” She hesitated, not sure she should even say what she was thinking.

  “Go on.”

  “Instead of taking the leg, we could just cut out the part of the bone that has been destroyed,” she said slowly. “Then we bandage it and allow the bone to fuse together.”

  “That would make his right leg several inches shorter than his left,” Dr. Wild said slowly.

  “Yes, but at least he would still have a leg. And if you can take the infected part out, it might give the rest of his body a chance to recover.”

  “If we can take the infected part out,” Dr. Wild corrected.

  “We?” Carrie echoed. She had never before assisted in surgery.

  “Any other doctor here would laugh at me for even attempting such a thing. You’ll have to help me. Do you still have the book detailing the operation?”

  Carrie shook her head. “I had to leave it behind on the plantation.”

  “Do you remember it well?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll operate as soon as the others are tended to then,” he said firmly, a slight smile on his lips. “We’ll give this man the best chance we can.”

  Carrie nodded, excitement and dread mingling together. She had dreamed of one day being in the surgery room. She would only be assisting, of course, but at least she would be there.

  Hobbs had to wait while other patients were tended to. Reality demanded they first care for the soldiers with a good chance of making it. Finally, two hours later, Hobbs was carried on a stretcher to the operating table.

  “You know how to administer the anesthesia?” Dr. Wild asked.

  Carrie nodded, reaching for the chloroform. She was thankful there was still plenty available. She knew many doctors operated on unconscious patients without it. Carrie had always wondered what happened if patients awoke in the middle of the operation. She was thankful she wouldn’t have to make such a discovery with Hobbs. Dr. Wild carefully cut away the rest of Hobbs pants around the shattered bone. Carrie managed to keep herself from groaning at the sight of the splintered bone, its jagged edges pressing into red, inflamed tissue. How had Hobbs stood such agony for three days? Carrie set her lips firmly and bent down to assist Dr. Wild.

  Carrie had no idea how much time had passed when she finished wrapping Hobbs’ leg and stepped back.

  “Excellent job, Miss Cromwell.”

  Carrie smiled. “It was incredible to watch. I can only hope I have the skill you possess one day.”

  “I have no doubt you will,” Dr. Wild said firmly. Then he looked down at Hobbs. “I’d give him less than a thirty percent chance to make it. We’ve done all we can.”

  Carrie laid her hand on Hobbs’ arm. “I believe he’ll make it,” she said firmly. Why else would he have been in the first wagon she stepped up to? In spite of the situation, she smiled.

  “What is it you find humorous?”

  “Not humorous really,” Carrie replied. “Earlier today I was doubting the existence of God. Doubting whether he really cared. He has ways of reminding us.”

  A sudden shout grabbed Dr. Wild’s attention. “Looks like we have more work to do.”

  Carrie gave a final look at Hobbs then turned quickly to join the doctor. There was no more she could do until Hobbs regained consciousness. If he did.

  “How is Hobbs?” Thomas asked, taking a sip of coffee as he settled down at his place at the dinner table.

  Carrie shook her head wearily. “He is still unconscious.” She stared at the plate in front of her. Would she ever get used to eating dinner at ten o’clock at night? The only positive thing about it was that the other people living in the house had eaten by then. At least she and her father were alone. Janie was still at the hospital.

  Her mind traveled back to the carefully scheduled meals on Cromwell. Her mother had insisted that dinner always be served promptly at five o’clock. Only an act of God could change it. There was usually someone there to share it with them. Carrie loved the dining room with its large bay windows overlooking the horse pastures. Pushing aside the memories, Carrie managed to keep from sighing. It seemed like another lifetime - surely another person had experienced that.

  “You saw the list again today?” she asked bluntly.

  “Yes. Robert is still listed as missing in action.”

  Carrie stared down at her plate, biting her lip.

  “General Lee has pulled his men out of Maryland.”

  Carrie nodded, glad her father wasn’t going to talk about Robert. “I see.” She didn’t know what else to say. It was impossible to feel an interest in the army. She hated the war beyond her wildest imagination. Would it ever end?

  “General Lee is a hard man to discourage,” Thomas said admiringly. “He set out to defeat the Army of the Potomac on Northern soil. Evidently even the shock of Antietam has not made him abandon his goal.”

  “Why should he?” Carrie blurted. “He still has thousands of men left to be slaughtered,” she said bitterly.

  Thomas looked at her compassionately but didn’t respond. He took another long drink of coffee. “To his way of thinking, it was McClellan’s army that just brushed the edge of disaster - not his.”

  Carrie took a spoonful of soup, her anger dissipating. Let her father talk. It did him good, and she didn’t really care.

  “He actually thought he might continue to press the offensive, but he just wired Davis that the army is too weak. Thousands are deserting, heading for their homes,” Thomas said in disgust.

  More power to them, Carrie thought. Who in their right mind would want to continue to fight when all around them their friends were being killed and mutilated? Suddenly it was all too much again. The long day had camouflaged her pain, but it had done nothing to numb it. Pushing aside her plate, she shoved her chair back and stood. “I’m very tired. I’m going to bed.” />
  “Carrie - wait,” Thomas said contritely. “I’m sorry. I know you couldn’t care less about General Lee and his army. I’m just talking - avoiding what I really need to say.”

  Carrie settled back into her chair and looked at her father expectantly. The silence stretched out as her father fidgeted with his spoon.

  Thomas’ eyes finally settled on her, and he began. “About what happened this morning…I needed to tell you - about my father. My father - well - we weren’t alike. He was...” Thomas paused. “He felt differently about our slaves. He thought they were there just for his pleasure.”

  Carrie listened closely, knowing her father was sorting through his thoughts as he talked.

  “I still think it’s our ordained duty to have slaves, but I think it is our responsibility to care for them, not just use them selfishly.”

  Carrie remained silent but wondered what it would take for her father to see that the very act of slavery was a selfish use of humanity.

  “Your grandfather was a proud man. Carving Cromwell Plantation out of the wilderness was a very difficult thing. It was a great accomplishment.” Thomas stared off into space. “It was almost as if it used all the greatness he had in him. At the end he was a bitter, tired old man. I believe he felt as if all his work had been for nothing.”

  “How could he feel that way?” Carrie protested. “Cromwell Plantation is a very successful, beautiful plantation.”

  “Yes,” Thomas agreed. “But,” he continued thoughtfully, “I believe my father lost himself in the creation of Cromwell Plantation. He poured all of himself into creating something. There was nothing left for him.”

  “You mean he was so busy doing things, he lost contact with his own heart and soul.”

  Thomas gazed at her, startled. “That’s exactly what I mean. How did you...?”

  “It was something Robert told me the night he asked me to marry him,” Carrie said quietly.

  Silence fell on the room for a few minutes as both of them lost themselves in their thoughts.

  “I felt horrible about what my father did to Sarah,” Thomas continued. “I didn’t know what to do.” He paused. “I know now I did the wrong thing. It is my responsibility to care for my slaves. Sending John away - giving away Rose’s brother - they were selfish acts. I’m so sorry.”