Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  Carrie examined him. She guessed him to be in his mid-forties, brawny from outdoor work, his gapped teeth stained with tobacco. The bold look in his eyes made her nervous. It was obvious he had been drinking.

  He continued speaking. “You know there’s laws against anti-government activities. We figure you’re helping them niggers go free when you’re down there in the hospital. The boys and I figured we’d better do our patriotic duty and make sure that didn’t happen anymore.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Carrie snapped, her anger rising. “The people I treat are sick. They’re not going anywhere. Besides, almost all those people are already free.”

  “The people you did treat,” another man remarked casually, stepping forward as he held up a large stick. “We ain’t got no mind to hurt anyone, so I reckon you just better turn around and go on back to your rich daddy. It don’t sit too well with us to watch a white lady helping them heathens.”

  Carrie’s blood was boiling as she cast about in her mind for a way to get through.

  “What’s going on here?” a sharp voice boomed from behind her.

  Carrie spun around and looked at the well-dressed man standing on the sidewalk about ten feet away. “These men are blocking the road,” she said crisply to hide her relief. “They refuse to move.”

  The stranger eyed the motley crowd of men for a few minutes then slowly raised a pearled revolver. “I think the lady wants to get through, gentlemen,” he drawled dangerously. “You best be moving on.” His voice left no room for argument.

  The men stationed in front of the carriage growled and began to move forward.

  “I said move on!” the stranger barked, pulling back the hammer on his gun. “I’d hate to see some of you fellows shot. I happen to be sympathetic to what you’re feeling, but this isn’t the way to handle it.” He paused for a long moment. “Now move!”

  The group turned, scowling and muttering under their breath. The man who had threatened her with the stick whirled back around. “We’ll be keeping an eye out for you, Miss Cromwell. Don’t think this is over.”

  Carrie held her breath as they eased away. When the ruffians were several hundred feet from the carriage, she turned to the man who had rescued them. “Thank you,” she said quietly, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart.

  “Don’t bother,” the man snapped. “Does your father know you are doing this, Miss Cromwell?”

  Carrie could only stare at him, her heart sinking.

  “I thought not. Thomas Cromwell would have enough sense not to let his daughter do what you’re doing. I stopped that crowd this time, Miss Cromwell. I won’t be around next time. Even if I were, I wouldn’t step in again. If you want to take your life in your own hands by treating black people, you will have to be responsible for your own foolishness. I rescued you this time because of the high regard I hold for your father. I find my high regard is somewhat mixed with pity now.” He stopped and glared at her. “I’ve heard the rumors about your activities with black people. You are in the South, Miss Cromwell. Don’t forget it.” Having delivered his final word, he spun on his heel and stalked off.

  Carrie slowly sank back to her seat and stared after him. “Well.”

  “You be wanting to go back to the house now?” Spencer asked in a shaky voice.

  Carrie looked at Janie for a long moment then turned back to Spencer, confident she and her friend were in agreement. “Certainly not,” she said crisply. “We’re going to the hospital.”

  Spencer whirled to look at her, his gaze a mixture of admiration and fear. “You heard what them men said?”

  “Are you willing to let those people lie in that hospital without adequate medical attention?” Carrie asked steadily.

  Spencer paused a long minute then slowly shook his head. “I reckon not, Miss Carrie.” Picking up the reins, he urged the horse down the hill.

  Carrie sat down across from Janie, the two exchanging a long look. Were they being foolish? Would those men be waiting farther down the hill? Carrie tried to push aside her fears, but the question remained. Was she being courageous to move forward in the face of her fears - or foolish? She sat ramrod straight, determined not to peer around as they continued to roll down the hill. If the men were watching, she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her nervousness.

  She did not breath easily again until she and Janie were striding in the door of the hospital. Resolutely, she pushed away the image of what might happen when they left to return home that night.

  “Thank God we made it,” Janie said softly. It was the first words she had spoken since before the encounter.

  Carrie looked at her closely. Janie was trembling, her breathing uneven.

  “Are you girls all right?” Pastor Anthony asked, striding forward. “You look shaken.”

  Carrie smiled weakly. “There are some people who don’t approve of our work here.” Trying to sound casual, she told him what had happened.

  “They accosted two women in broad daylight? What cowards!” Pastor Anthony exclaimed angrily. Then he sobered. “I will see you home tonight myself.”

  Carrie didn’t argue with him. The idea of having another man in the carriage was very appealing.

  “Thank you,” Janie said warmly. “I’ve been wondering how we were going to get home. Those fellows were just a little intimidating,” she said, laughing shakily. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes, but she brushed them away impatiently. “Just a delayed reaction,” she insisted. “Let’s get to work.”

  Carrie turned to Pastor Anthony. “I have a friend coming down tonight. His name is Dr. Wild.”

  “The doctor you work with at the hospital?” Pastor Anthony asked in surprise. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Of course not,” Carrie said reassuringly then told him of Dr. Wild’s interest in the herbs. “I’m glad he’s coming. I would like him to look at a couple of wounds some of the men suffered working at the Iron Works. They aren’t healing as well as I had hoped.”

  Pastor Anthony nodded. “I’ll be happy to meet him.” He paused. “I have someone coming I would like you to meet as well - my son.”

  It was Carrie’s turn to be surprised. “I didn’t know you had a son!”

  “His name is Jeremy. He’s twenty years old.” Carrie tried to mask her curiosity, but Pastor Anthony saw through it. He smiled slightly. “His mother died when he was just three years old. I’ve raised him myself. He’s a wonderful boy.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Carrie said warmly.

  “And so am I,” Janie added graciously. “If he’s anything like his father, he is a wonderful man indeed.”

  “Jeremy is a businessman here in the city. He’s in finance. His skills were in such demand he was saved from having to go to war. I’m very grateful.”

  “And you must be very proud,” Carrie added. Just then someone called her name from across the building. She moved away and began making her rounds. Instantly caught up in the needs of her patients, she let the earlier confrontation fade from her mind.

  There were about thirty patients in the hospital. Only the most serious cases were kept here now that cold weather had set in. Pastor Anthony had managed to scrounge enough wood from somewhere to petition off a smaller portion of the building to drop the ceiling and make it easier to heat. Some of the patients were still on the floor, but most had beds, pieced together from scraps of wood children from the church had brought it. The beds were quite crude, but they kept the invalids off the floor. That’s all Carrie cared about.

  Dr. Wild found her in one of the back corners, where she talked with a lady suffering from pneumonia. “Quite a place you have here,” he said cheerfully.

  Carrie looked up quickly to see whether there was any mockery in his eyes. He looked back at her steadily. “We’ve come a long way,” she said, smiling. She had decided to act as if they were in any hospital in the city. She would make no apologies for the crudeness of the facilities. Patients were getting b
etter. That’s what counted. She turned to her patient. “Mrs. Banning. This is Dr. Wild. I work with him up at Chimborazo.”

  “You be real lucky then, Dr. Wild. Miss Carrie here be like a angel. I come in here knocking on death’s door. I reckon, though, that the Lord gonna be calling me home another time. I’s feeling a heap better thanks to her.”

  “I know exactly how lucky I am, Mrs. Banning,” Dr. Wild said sincerely. “What has been keeping you here?”

  “Why, I had me a rip-roaring case of pneumonia. Couldn’t hardly breathe!” she exclaimed, bending double as a hacking cough seized her.

  “That’s enough talking, Mrs. Banning.” Carrie reached into her deep apron pocket and pulled out a bottle. “I fixed you some more cough syrup. Some coughing is good for you - it will help clear the phlegm from your lungs - but too much will irritate your throat. I want you to take some of this every two hours. We’ll see about you going home in a couple of days.”

  Dr. Wild was watching her closely when she turned around. “What was in your cough syrup?”

  “Hyssop,” she said promptly. “I make it by mixing hyssop, aniseed, honey, and water. It is very effective. If the cough is extremely troubling, I mix pounded garlic in milk. My patients don’t like the taste, but they can’t argue with the results.”

  Dr. Wild nodded intently. “And what did you use to treat her pneumonia?”

  “Two things,” Carrie replied. “I gave her heavy doses of straight garlic, along with the garlic and milk mixture. I also used a warm infusion of white horehound sweetened with honey.”

  Dr. Wild stared at her in amazement. “Where did you learn all this?”

  “Most of it I learned from one of my father’s slaves. I became interested when my mother was quite ill. My mother died, but I’m convinced her last days were easier because of the herbs. Unfortunately, I didn’t begin the treatments in time.”

  “You believe she would have lived if you had?”

  Carrie shrugged. “I don’t know. She had been very sick for several days before she received any treatment at all. Modern medicine simply had nothing to offer her. There is a chance the herbs would have helped.”

  “Yet you use drugs,” Dr. Wild commented thoughtfully.

  “Of course,” Carrie agreed instantly. “Many of them are very effective. But when they’re not available, you can always find the herbs. Sometimes I think the herbs work better.”

  “And you learned all of this from a slave? Is she still alive?”

  Carrie shook her head regretfully. “Sarah died last year. I miss her greatly. She was like a second mother to me.” Instantly she looked to see whether there was any scorn in Dr. Wild’s eyes – she saw only sympathy.

  “I’m sorry.” Then he turned back to the herbs. “What if a patient had diarrhea? What would you use?”

  “There are several effective herbs,” Carrie responded. “I might use blackberry root or persimmon bark. I’ve also used rose geranium tea. If the case is very mild, I often treat it with meadowsweet plants or purple loosestrife.”

  “Fever?”

  “Jimsonweed or dogwood bark.”

  “Gangrene?”

  “Thankfully, I’ve had no cases of gangrene here, but if I did, I would make a poultice out of charcoal, carrot seeds, and flaxseeds.”

  “Any tricks up your sleeve for maggots,” Dr. Wild teased.

  “A salve made from the inner bark of common elder,” Carrie said, smiling. She was rather enjoying their game.

  “You’re kidding! A slave woman taught you about maggots?”

  Carrie laughed outright. “I said Sarah taught me almost everything I know. The use of herbs is not new. They’ve been around for centuries - long before there were drugs. I was so intrigued by what Sarah taught me, I have continued to read and study. There is an abundance of literature,” she said teasingly.

  Dr. Wild laughed. “All right, I guess I’m caught. My professors were so in love with the new drugs they never taught much about herbs. I wish to God they had. I predict that by the end of this war most Southern doctors will have access to little else.”

  Carrie was relieved by his reaction. She was fully aware of the medicinal value of herbs. She knew, too, that many doctors turned their noses up at them.

  Dr. Wild took a deep breath. “Will you teach me?”

  Carrie thought swiftly then nodded. “Hands on experience is the best teacher you know.”

  Dr. Wild laughed loudly. “Meaning I would learn best if I were working with you here in the hospital?”

  Carrie was amazed at her own daring. “Just one night a week,” she bargained. “The rest I will teach you at Chimborazo.”

  “You have a deal.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Carrie exclaimed. “We have a couple of cases here now that I would appreciate your opinion on.”

  “You know I’m going to want to put all this stuff in writing,” Dr. Wild challenged.

  “I thought you might,” Carrie agreed. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a long sheet of paper and produced a pencil. “No time like the present to get started.” She grinned then motioned with her head. “I’d like you to take a look at Joseph. He has a very nasty break. I’ve set it, but I think it might need surgery. I’d like your opinion.”

  The next hour passed rapidly. Carrie gasped when she looked down at her watch. “Oh, my goodness. I have to be going. My father will be worried sick if I don’t get home soon.” She turned toward the door to find Janie.

  Just then Pastor Anthony appeared, a young man her age at his side. “Carrie, I know we only have a few minutes before we leave, but I wanted you to meet my son.”

  Carrie moved forward. “Hello, Jeremy,” she said graciously. It was easy to see why Pastor Anthony was proud of him. Jeremy was almost six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. His wavy blond hair was cut short, accentuating his high cheekbones and blue eyes. His dark tan defined someone who loved the outdoors.

  “Hello, Miss Cromwell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turned to Dr. Wild. “And you must be the doctor my father was telling me about.”

  “Miss Cromwell is the doctor here,” Pastor Anthony corrected.

  “You’re a doctor?” Jeremy asked Carrie in astonishment.

  “Not technically,” Carrie admitted easily. “But none of my patients have asked for my credentials so far. I also work at Chimborazo. I’m a lowly hospital assistant to this man who is a real doctor.”

  “One I couldn’t do without!” Dr. Wild added. He stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jeremy. I’ve heard about you. I understand you’re a whiz at finances.”

  Jeremy shrugged modestly. “I enjoy my work.”

  “We need to be going,” Pastor Anthony said regretfully.

  Carrie gathered her things, called good-bye to her patients, and climbed into the carriage with Janie and Pastor Anthony. Dr. Wild followed closely in his own carriage. The ride home was uneventful, the streets unusually quiet.

  “Are you going to tell me what you’ve been thinking about ever since we left the hospital?” Janie demanded, pulling the covers up to her chin.

  Carrie looked at her for several moments. “It’s odd,” she finally said then fell silent.

  “There are a lot of odd things,” Janie finally said in exasperation. “Would you be so kind as to fill me in on what odd thing you’re referring to?”

  Carrie smiled slightly. “Jeremy. I could swear I’ve seen him before.” She paused. “Yet I know I’ve never met him.” Finally she shook her head and sighed. “I’m not going to figure it out tonight. He probably just looks like someone I’ve seen before.”

  Carrie reached up to turn off the lantern then rolled over to stare into the darkness. She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d seen Jeremy before somewhere.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Carrie was up with the sun the next morning. She could hear her father moving around in his room as she knocked on his door. “Good morning,” she calle
d.

  “What are you doing up so early?” Thomas asked in surprise when he opened the door.

  “I wanted to talk to you before you left for the Capitol,” Carrie replied, walking in and settling onto the edge of the bed.

  Thomas sat down in the chair next to his fireplace, which was sending off cozy warmth into the chilly room. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

  Now that Carrie was here, she didn’t know what to say. She had rehearsed it in her mind a thousand times before she drifted off to sleep the night before. It was then she had realized she’d made a mistake in not telling her father. “I need to talk to you about something I’ve been doing.” She stopped, unsure of how to continue. When she looked up, her father was gazing at her steadily. There was something in his eyes... “You know already,” she murmured, her heart sinking.

  “If you are referring to your work in the black hospital - yes, I know about it,” Thomas agreed then sighed. “Why couldn’t you tell me?”

  Carrie cringed at the hurt she saw in his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I thought I was protecting you. I realized last night I was wrong not to have told you from the beginning. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “And you didn’t want me to tell you that you couldn’t go,” he said flatly.

  Carrie didn’t bother trying to deny her father’s charge.

  Thomas shook his head heavily. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

  Regret tore through Carrie’s heart. Jumping up, she moved over and sank down on her knees to stare up into her father’s face. “I’m so sorry.” Suddenly she saw it clearly. She had fallen into the habit of lying to her father when she was helping his slaves escape the plantation. It had become almost second nature to her. Even now, it was easier not to tell him what she was doing. But she also realized she was depriving him of the opportunity to face his own prejudices by hiding her actions. “Will you please forgive me?” she said contritely.

  Thomas nodded then grew stern. “You have to promise me never to lie to me again. I’d rather be worried sick about you than think you don’t trust me. I realize this war is crazy, but we’re family - we have to be able to depend on each other.”