Tear In Time

by Petersen, Christopher David

  "What's nonsense, Jeb?" Gen. Negley asked, overhearing the old doctor’s remark.

  "Nothing, Jim. I'm just rambling as old men sometimes do," Dr. Morgan replied. He took a sip of the jar and considered David's claim once more.

  Led by oil lamp, David and his guide made their way across the clearing to his canvas tent. Pitched with rope and a couple of wooden poles, a sheet of canvas hung, suspended in the middle and open at both ends. It was a long way off from the North Face tent he had used while camping with friends along the Appalachian mountain range. David peered inside and felt a wave of relief as he saw a sturdy wooden cot prepared for his night’s sleep. As he inhaled, he could smell the strong, musty scent of mildew and aged canvas. He bent over and entered the tent. Placing his hands over the blanket, he pressed down to judge the comfort quality.

  "Hmm, not bad," he said to himself.

  "Pardon, sir?" asked the private, only hearing mumbles.

  "Sorry, I'm just talking to myself," David replied.

  "Will that be all, sir?" the private asked, but there was no answer.

  He called to David once more, "Sir? Will that be all for this evening?" but still there was no answer from David.

  Bringing the lighted oil lamp to the entrance of the tent, he saw David lying on his back, sound asleep, still clutching his picture. The young private left for a moment, then returned with a dark green woolen blanket. He took the broken, framed picture from David's hands and placed it on the ground below his head. He then draped the blanket over David and returned to his duties with the wounded. As David slept soundly, a short distance away others were not as fortunate. Writhing in pain, the wounded soldiers could be overheard moaning as they struggled for a moment of rest: a moment that never seemed to come.

  ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

  The morning dawned with a blue, cloudless sky. As the sun began to rise, its rays warmed the open clearing that cradled the Union soldiers. Streaking through the birch trees, the beams of light penetrated the soldiers’ tents, sending the foul stench of wet canvas and mold into their nostrils, abruptly waking the light sleepers. Shortly after, the chatter of morning songbirds, cacophonous and loud, gave their gentle nudge and woke the remaining soldiers from their much needed night’s rest. Fighting nature’s call for their morning relief, all soldiers sprung to their feet as morning reveille sounded the day's start. Soon after, the essence of burning wood filled the air as plumes of heavy smoke drifted high above the campfires that warmed the morning's thick black coffee. The congratulatory sounds of praise and laughter could be heard as the tired soldiers discussed the previous day’s winning battle. While standing around the open flames, slowly breaking off the morning’s chill, the subtle moans of pain could be distinguished from the makeshift infirmary a short distance away.

  "Good morning, lad," Dr. Morgan said in an elevated tone.

  Without a reply, he repeated his greeting, "Good morning, David."

  Looking down through the opening of the tent, Dr. Morgan watched as David inhaled deeply, slowly coming out of his sleep. Dr. Morgan took a half-step to his right, blocking out the sun's rays that shown in David's eyes, causing him to squint severely as he began to wake.

  "Well, well, good morning, Dr. Warner," Dr. Morgan said loudly. "I trust your sleep was satisfactory?" he asked rhetorically.

  David's eyes popped open. In a moment of confusion, he struggled to remember the events of the previous day. Looking up, he saw the silhouette of Dr. Morgan as the sun shined from behind him, blackening out his face.

  "Wow, what time is it?" David asked, forgetting about his own watch.

  "Nine o'clock sharp. Considering the long day you had yesterday, I told the boys to let you sleep," the old doctor replied.

  "I feel completely wiped out," David said, yawning.

  "What do you mean by wiped out?" Dr. Morgan asked, looking confused.

  "Exhausted… I feel like I've been run over," David continued.

  "Hmm. Well, you did perform most of the surgeries yesterday. I'm not surprised," Dr. Morgan sympathized, then added, "On the topic of surgeries, I'm pleased to inform you that the boys you worked on are doing well."

  "Well? How well?" David replied, snapping to an upright position.

  "I'd say very well. No infection yet as far as I can observe," Dr. Morgan replied.

  "All?" David asked suspiciously.

  "Every one of them. Darnedest thing I've ever seen," Dr. Morgan replied, elated.

  David leapt to his feet and came out of the tent directly. Anxiously, he asked, "Can you show me the wounded?"

  "David, is there something wrong?" the old doctor asked, now himself a bit suspicious.

  "I know I was diligent about cleanliness, but I expected at least half the men to exhibit some form of infection. This is most unusual," David replied as he followed Dr. Morgan.

  As they entered the area set up as the infirmary, David and Dr. Morgan reviewed the wounded. As David had anticipated, signs of infection had begun to show in many of the patients. He detected the telltale signs by the deep reddening areas beyond the stitches. In addition, skin surrounding the wounds was hot to the touch. Some had elevated fevers and still others had swollen and enlarged lymph glands.

  David turned to Dr. Morgan and sadly stated his findings. "Doctor, I'm afraid about a quarter of the men are showing signs of infection. Certainly better results than what I had anticipated, but serious nonetheless. I might be able to help some of the infections with topical ointments, if I can locate the correct ingredients."

  "David, there isn't any pus. The wounds do not smell foul. Are you sure?" Dr. Morgan asked, confused at how David had arrived at his answer.

  "Pus is an indication of advanced infection. We really don't want to get there if we can prevent it," David replied.

  "No pus? I was under the impression that a laudable amount was a good sign of healing," Dr. Morgan questioned.

  "That's actually not true. Years from now, when germs and disease are better understood, that theory will be abandoned. Practices of prevention and better treatment will be developed over time, where infection will be completely controlled by a variety of drugs," David elaborated.

  Dr. Morgan looked at him strangely and David knew he didn't believe him. Quickly he added, "Doctor, I know this is hard to accept, but I believe in time I will convince you of everything I am saying. For now I'd like to try a few remedies to help stave off some of the infection topically. I would need a large quantity of tea or marigolds, if you can find them. I've read about preventive ointments and salves that can be produced from simple household ingredients," David mentioned, trying to keep the topic moving in a positive direction.

  "I can have some of the boys search for the marigolds. In the meantime, I'll get you some tea," Dr. Morgan answered, motioning David to follow him, then added “By the way, how quickly can you make this salve?”

  “I'd say in about a day or so,” David replied.

  The old doctor stopped in his tracks. “David, we have orders to move out by noon. The wounded will be transported to the nearest hospital for recovery thereafter. I thought you knew. Can you make something quicker?”

  David fell silent. He felt cheated by time once more. Without some form of preventative treatment, his patients would most assuredly have serious complication due to infection.

  “Is there nothing we can do? Can you ask the general for more time?” David rationalized.

  “I'm sorry, David. We have our orders that account for thousands of men. Eighty or so wounded men just aren’t enough reason to hold up a war,” the doctor answered, feeling a bit callous as he spoke.

  As David stood silent and thought about the injustice, he accepted the doctor’s explanation, coming to grips with the realities of war.

  Finally, he spoke. “There is nothing else I can do for them. Send instructions to the hospital to change the bandages every day and wash the infected areas with a fifty-fifty alcohol and water solution.”

 
; “I will draft the order myself. I only hope they will follow it.” Dr. Morgan replied.

  “Me too... me too,” David answered in kind.

  ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

  David stood at the back of the operating wagon and examined the surgical tools he would now have to adapt to. Limited and crude, he realized they were woefully inadequate, and if he was going to be of any real value, he would need to have certain instruments made specially for him. He took inventory of the tools and made a mental list of the ones he would consult with Dr. Morgan about later. Engrossed in his work, he hadn't noticed the old doctor approaching.

  "Everything in order?" Dr. Morgan asked, startling David for a split second.

  "Actually, I was taking another inventory of your tools. I believe I could greatly enhance the quality and outcome of our surgeries if I can have a few instruments made," David replied.

  "Really? New instruments? Huh, I'd be very interested to hear about those," Dr. Morgan replied.

  He then handed David a tin cup of black coffee, some hardtack crackers, and a small ration of cold beef as well as other items.

  “I took the liberty of finding you a few things; some food, a uniform and such. Until we get to the regimental commissary, I’m afraid I can’t offer you that much in the way of accommodations,” the old doctor said apologetically.

  David thanked him for the cup of coffee and took a sip. He swirled the black liquid around in his mouth as he contemplated the flavor.

  “Huh, tastes the same. This is very good,” David complimented.

  He then tried to bite into the hardtack, nearly breaking a tooth in the process. Dr. Morgan watched David in curiosity as he finally broke the hard cracker into bits with the end of a surgical saw and tasted a bland crumb. His face lost expression from disappointment. Trying not to insult the old doctor, he forced a pleasant smile on his face.

  “You’re not really enjoying that pile of sawdust, are you?” Dr. Morgan asked.

  Realizing the old doctor was seeing through his rouse, he came clean, giving the old doctor his honest opinion.

  “Doc, I won’t lie to you. I’d shoot the cook if I had a rifle.” David joked, hoping the old doctor enjoyed his sense of humor.

  “Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t be giving you this rifle,” Dr. Morgan replied back dryly, as he pulled a Springfield sharpshooter’s rifle from behind the surgical wagon’s buckboard.

  David swallowed hard. He had never shot a gun in his life, and the thought of firing on someone with the intent to kill seemed unfathomable. He spent a good portion of his life saving men. This went against everything he stood for.

  “David, you look like you’ve seen a spirit. You have shot a rifle before, haven’t you?” Dr. Morgan asked, now taken aback.

  “Truthfully, no, sir,” David replied, unable to take his eyes off the bayonet fixed to the end of the barrel.

  “Hmm, this could be a dilemma. I'm going to have to teach you to shoot. That is, if you want to stay alive in this war,” Dr. Morgan said in a serious tone.

  “Are doctors required to fight too?” David asked sincerely.

  “Not generally, but there are times when we have no other option. How are you with knives?” Dr. Morgan inquired.

  “If you mean how am I in a knife fight, I’d say terrible. I’ve never been in one, although I have studied fencing while in college,” David said, now becoming a bit nervous with the thought that he might have to defend himself.

  “Well, no matter. I’ll give instruction in both,” the old doctor replied, matter-of-factly.

  David nibbled on the sour tasting cold beef and sucked on the cracker a bit to soften it before trying to chew. Dr. Morgan handed him the rifle, then reached to the buckboard to retrieve a dirty blue uniform.

  “I believe this will fit you fine. I’m a pretty good judge after working on the human body all these years. Here, try it on,” Dr. Morgan said, handing David the uniform.

  “Right here? You want me to undress right here?” David asked, a little embarrassed.

  “Are you shy about something, lad?” the old doctor asked, mildly amused.

  “Well, no. It’s just that…”

  With a knowing smirk toward the old doctor, David looked around once more, then began to undress. Moments later he was buttoning up the front of his uniform.

  “Very good fit,” Dr. Morgan said, proud of his judgment.

  “Sir, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but this uniform has a hole in it. A really large hole in it. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say it was a bullet hole,” David speculated, as he stuck his finger inside the uniform and out the hole in the bellybutton region.

  “It’s all I could find for you,” Dr. Morgan replied, a little saddened by David’s complaint. He then added, “It is a lieutenant’s uniform. I even got the general’s approval for you to wear it,” He said, hoping the added incentive would help David to overlook the morbidity of the situation.

  “I’m sorry, doc. This is a wonderful uniform. I really appreciate your effort. Thank you,” David said, smiling.

  He knew the old doctor did his best, and the least he could do was to show appreciation. Besides, he also knew he’d be changing into a new uniform when they reached the commissary. It was a small inconvenience in the grand scheme of things.

  “I’d say the only thing missing is some facial hair. A well grown beard and you’d look like a gentleman.” Dr. Morgan replied proudly, receiving a slight grin from David.

  As David ate his breakfast, the two discussed the march toward Virginia. They then made their way over to David’s tent to pack what little belongings he had. Dr. Morgan had found a haversack while in his search for suitable clothes for David. Inside, it was half filled with some coffee, sugar, hardtack, salt pork, some tobacco and a pencil. David looked inside and his heart sank. He couldn’t believe the meager rations he would have to survive on. He rolled up his scrubs and stuffed them into the bag, then tied his sneakers to the outside, as Dr. Morgan had furnished him with a pair of standard issue black leather shoes, again requisitioned from one ’no longer’ in need of them.

  Dr. Morgan bent down and picked up the picture David had brought from the future. Handing it to David, he glanced at it momentarily, then placed it in David’s hands. Suddenly, the image registered in his mind.

  “Hold up a moment, David,” Dr. Morgan said. “Could I view that photograph one more time?”

  “You haven’t seen this picture, doctor?” David asked, surprised.

  He handed the picture back to Dr Morgan and added, “See anyone in the picture that looks familiar?”

  Dr. Morgan looked at the picture. With his eyes widening, he glanced back up at David, then back down at the picture. David could see a slight tremor in the old doctor’s hands. With the tent rolled and packed, the cot sat exposed. Dr. Morgan slowly sat down on the open cot and stared at the picture.

  “Son, where did you get this?” Dr. Morgan asked slowly, mesmerized by the photo.

  “Do you want to hear the truth, or do you want me to lie?” David replied, trying to make light of Dr. Morgan’s discovery.

  “I’m not sure,” Dr. Morgan replied nervously. “The truth,” he added.

  “That photo was hanging in the elevator of the hospital. I was holding it when I stepped from my time period into your time period,” David answered.

  He could see the old doctor struggling with what he was hearing.

  David added, “Doc, it's no parlor trick. That photo's real.”

  David was about to add to his explanation when Dr. Morgan cut him off.

  “David, I know it's real,” Dr. Morgan stated softly, almost embarrassed by the words.

  “Huh? What do you mean 'you know it's real'?” David asked, anticipation building inside.

  “I have never sat for a photograph – ever.” Dr Morgan emphasized. He showed the picture to David and continued, “This photograph is taken during this war. Look at the uniforms. Look especially at the surrounding birch trees
. Any of this look familiar to you?” the old doctor asked, as if he had to convince David of the authenticity.

  David looked at the photo, then all around him. The birch trees, the grassy clearing, the medical wagon: all were very similar to the photo. Looking back at the photo, he knew it would be taken fairly close by.

  Looking directly at Dr. Morgan, David said, “It kind of looks like we'll be back here sometime in the future to take that photo, doesn't it?

  A wave of relief overcame David as he realized there would be no doubt of their return.

  A bewildered expression crossed Dr. Morgan’s face. Shaking his head, he said, “I can't believe this. This just isn't possible. Am I dreaming? How can this be real?” he asked rhetorically.