The south ward was empty, save the five patients from the day before.
“My, my. Quite a different scene from yesterday.”
Waterman did not reply but stood at the foot of Private Howerton’s bed with clipboard in hand for instructions.
“Private Howerton, how do you like your view?”
“It’s nice, ma’am. Thank you.”
“How do you feel?”
His smile was lazy, his eyes hooded. “Much better since you’ve been here.”
Ignoring the soreness in my own shoulder, I removed Howerton’s bandages. “Why are bedridden men such determined flirts, Waterman?”
“I have never had a bedridden man flirt with me, Doctor.”
I raised my eyebrows at Howerton. “I can’t understand why, Waterman.”
“Neither can I, ma’am.”
Jonah Howerton smiled. He stared out the window opposite as I examined his leg. “When I got here the creek was covered with trees.”
“Was it?” The smell of the infection spreading up his thigh was overpowering.
“I helped cut ’em all down. To build the enlisted quarters. We had to move farther upstream to find wood.”
“Is it dangerous being so far away from the fort?”
“Nah,” Howerton said. “Never saw an Indian. More like to hurt yourself with an ax than from an arrow.”
“Is that what happened to your leg?”
He nodded. “My Pa’s gonna be mad it was a damn tree took my leg and not an Indian arrow.”
“I am sure he’ll be glad to have you home no matter how your injury occurred.”
Howerton shook his head. “You don’t know my Pa. It’s bad, ain’t it?”
I nodded.
Howerton swallowed and stared at the ceiling. Tears pooled in his eyes and his mouth twitched in his effort to keep from crying. “Lumberjackin’s my family trade. That’s why I was on the detail. Angered my pa somethin’ fierce when I joined the army. I didn’ wanna be a lumberjack, see? I can’t go home a half a man from a lumberjackin’ injury.”
I hesitated. Private Howerton would never leave the hospital. Amputating his stump at the hip was pointless. The infection had spread and I suspected it was in his blood. His time on earth could be counted in hours, not days.
“I can’t face my father. I’d rather die.”
A soft voice spoke up from behind me. “What’s this I hear, Private Howerton?”
A young woman not more than twenty years old stood next to Corporal Waterman, holding a small Bible in her hands. Unlike the romantic heroines populating literature whose nondescript features added up to a beautiful countenance, the young woman’s face was a cacophony of striking features resulting in a homely, unattractive appearance. Her long thick eyelashes almost touched the perfectly arched eyebrows that framed wide-set hazel eyes. Her Roman nose beaked toward her small, bow-shaped mouth. A pale, round face was supported by a defined jaw and small chin, all of which rested precariously on a long, swanlike neck.
“Hello, Mrs. Strong,” Howerton said, his face showing more animation than I had seen. “Wondered if you’d given up on me.”
“Nonsense.” It was plain to me from the girl’s pallid complexion and bright eyes she was ill. “I apologize for being late.” She turned to me. “I am Alice Strong. My husband is Private Howerton’s commanding officer. Since he is on patrol and unable to check on Jonah, I have undertaken the privilege of sitting with the private each day. Do you object?”
“Not at all. I am Laura Elliston.”
“Yes, I know.” The girl took my proffered hand and squeezed it with more strength than her demeanor suggested.
I pulled her a little away from the private’s bed and said in a low voice, “Private Howerton does not have long to live.”
“I suspected as much.”
“You are ill.”
She shook her head. “I am fine.” I had said the same lie too many times in the past few days to believe her. I admired the girl. She came to sit by the bed of a dying man despite her own infirmary. “Letters to loved ones might be a good idea,” I said, glancing at Howerton.
She nodded. “I’m glad I came to sit with him.”
When she moved away I put my hand on her arm. “Please come see me later.”
She did not reply, but sat down next to Howerton’s bed. “What would you like for me to read today?”
“You know, ma’am.”
“Jonah it is.”
Waterman stood next to me. “Give him as much laudanum as we can spare,” I said. “It won’t be long, I’m sure.”
The examinations of the other men were achieved in short order and we moved onto the north ward to check on the black soldier, Jethro.
A different Negro woman sat next to the dying man’s bed, sewing scraps of material together. Jethro’s face was drawn and ashy, his eyes vacant.
I checked his pulse, which was faint and thready. “You must drink something, soldier,” I said. I looked at the woman sitting by the bed. She stood and poured some water into a tin cup.
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. It goes right through me.”
“Yes, I know, but if you do not…”
“I’m know I’m gonna die, ma’am.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m ready.”
I put his hand down and patted it. I nodded at the nurse. “I will check in on you later today.” I heard her entreat Jethro to drink as I left.
I walked past the office and into the dispensary. I noted the gaping holes in the rows of the various powders and medicines lined on the shelves of a wooden cabinet. A large, scrupulously clean worktable sat in the middle of the room and took up most of the space. A scale and weights sat atop it, waiting to be used. “You do an excellent job of organization, Corporal Waterman.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Where are the rest of the medicines?”
“This is all we have.”
“I find that difficult to believe.”
“We’re chronically short on supplies out here, not only with medicine, but with everything. You saw we’re using blankets to cover the windows.”
“Yes.”
“We had nothing to use in the winter.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Ma’am?”
“Why do you think you are short supplied? Chronically?”
“Dr. Elliston, I have no idea,” Waterman replied, a bit of exasperation showing through. “I follow the orders I’m given. I requisition what we need and organize what the Army gives us, whether it’s sufficient to our needs or not. I do the best with what I’m given.”
“Just like a good soldier does.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Hmm.” I stared at the shelves. “Do you happen to have a cane or a crutch? I need one for Captain Kindle.”
“Yes, ma’am. In the storeroom upstairs. I’ll get it for you.”
“No, I can get it. Thank you.” I turned at the door. “Give Jethro thirty drops of laudanum.”
“So much?”
“I thought you followed orders. Or does that only apply when men are giving the orders and they relate to a white man?”
Waterman’s face reddened. “No, ma’am. I was thinking, respectfully, that much might not be prudent given his dehydrated state.”
“You are right. But he will die in a day, maybe two. I want to make him as comfortable as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I sighed. “It seems to be my primary function here, helping people die comfortably.”
* * *
The second floor of the administration block was a mirror of the four rooms downstairs. Three were used for storage and one was the death room, though not for much longer. The stairs leading up were narrow; I could imagine how inconvenient it was to maneuver a body upstairs on the canvas stretcher and downstairs in a coffin.
Three storage rooms were being used but one would have been sufficient fo
r all items, with room left over. Waterman had obviously organized the three rooms in anticipation of them one day being fully stocked. I found a cane easily, though it was too short even for me; it would be useless for Kindle.
With only five patients and Waterman’s levelheaded organization and leadership taking care of the menial tasks of ordering supplies and managing the soldier orderlies and laundresses, there was little for me to do. I decided to take the long way back to Kindle’s quarters and give myself a tour of the fort.
I exited through the rear of the hospital, walked past the under-construction death house to Lost Creek, the fort’s natural western boundary. All that remained on the banks of the creek were outcroppings of rocks and saplings, which gave a clear view of the prairie beyond and the town a half mile distant. Behind the hospital, the creek widened into a still pool, fed from the north by a rushing, graduated waterfall surrounded by a natural wall of rocks. I passed a soldier hauling two buckets of water as I walked down the creek bank to the edge of the pool. I felt a pure solitude, and despite everything I had been through, a surprising measure of contentment. I closed my eyes and inhaled, letting the sound of the water and birdsong fill my senses.
The soft nickering of a horse broke my reverie. Across the creek, partially hidden by the rock outcropping, a tall man stood next to a gray horse. His hat was pulled low, obscuring the part of his face not covered by a full, unkempt beard. Though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew his hard gaze was directed at me. My previously comforting solitude turned oppressive, threatening. The man before me became the specter of the savage on the plains, rooting me to the ground as if I’d been planted there millennia before. We stared at each other across the expanse of the creek, each unmoving, until he tipped his hat and it dawned on me he knew me and wanted to frighten me.
A chorus of laughter floated down from the creek bank behind me. Three women, with woven baskets overflowing with uniforms, descended the bank. Their laughter died when they saw me.
“Sorry, ma’am,” one said. “Were you taking a dip?”
“A what?”
“Bathing, ma’am.”
“No, I…” I motioned to the man across the creek. When my gaze followed my hand it rested on nothing. “Where did he go?”
“Who?”
“There was a man, standing there with a horse.”
“I didn’t see no man,” the woman said.
“A gray horse. He had a full beard,” I added, as if giving details would make him appear again.
“Maybe it’s Cotter Black,” a redheaded woman said in mocking tones, and playfully shoved the youngest of the three women. The young girl’s eyes widened.
“Shut it, Adella. Don’t go putting notions in her shallow brain,” the oldest woman said.
“Who’s Cotter Black?”
“Only the worst killer in Texas,” the young woman said.
“Don’t listen to Ruth,” the oldest-looking woman said. “She believes every story these men tell her. The more outrageous the better.”
“Everyone says he rides a big gray horse. Was the horse big?” Ruth asked.
“It was gray.”
“He paralyzed you with his eyes, didn’t he? They say he can do that.”
“Good God. See what you’ve done, Adella?”
The redheaded woman grinned. “Sorry, Mary. It’s just too easy.”
Mary shook her head and changed the subject. “Are you the new doctor, then?”
“I am.”
“A woman doctor. I’ve seen it all.”
“’T’aint no different from a midwife, I suspect,” said Ruth.
“No, it is rather different,” I said.
“She’s arrogant like a doctor,” said Adella, “I’ll give her that.”
“I heard you saved Captain Kindle’s life,” Mary said.
I shrugged. “He has not died yet, at least.”
“So you think he’s gonna?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Have you seen him naked?” Adella asked. “I’ve always wanted to see him as the Lord made him. He’s a fine-looking man, and that’s a fact.”
“You ain’t ever gonna see him, neither,” Mary said. “You ain’t his type and even if you was, he wouldn’t be interested in your dirty snatch.”
I coughed, not hiding my shock at their language very well. “You are laundresses, I presume.”
“Aye, we’re laundresses,” Mary said.
“With lots of boyfriends,” Ruth added.
“If one of our boyfriends happens to drop a coin or two on the floor.” Adella shrugged.
“There ain’t been much lost coin lately,” Mary said. “Payroll hain’t come in a long while.”
“Do you get examined? For diseases?” I asked.
“By who? Welch? He’d be as like to molest us and call it ‘examinin’’ and be on his way, but not afore tellin’ us he’ll have to come back next week to make sure, then demandin’ payment.”
“I’ll examine you,” I said.
Adella narrowed her eyes and said, “What do you want in return?”
“Nothing. At least, there’s nothing I need at the moment.”
“But we’ll owe you.”
“Not necessarily. If you aren’t comfortable with me examining you gratis, think of an affordable way to pay me. It doesn’t have to be money. You do not have to pay me. It is entirely up to you.”
“Why would you do something for nothing?”
“Don’t bother, Adella. She don’t have no intention of seeing us,” Mary said.
“Certainly I do. Why wouldn’t I? Is now a good time?”
“Sure,” Mary said. “This laundry can wait.”
“You do the laundry in this pool?”
“No, we carry laundry around for the fun of it,” Mary said. “What’s your name?”
“Laura Elliston. Come with me.”
I led the three of them into hospital. A soldier carrying a bucket covered with a towel walked past us to the creek. “One minute,” I said to the women, and walked over to the soldier.
“Private?” The soldier stopped and put his bucket down, exhaled, and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“Ma’am?”
I coughed when I stopped in front of the soldier. “Is that from the hospital latrine?” I asked, pointing to the bucket.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You are dumping it in the creek? Behind the hospital?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Our drinking water comes from there, as well?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please tell me you use a different bucket.”
“I clean it out first.”
I waved my hands. “No.” I placed my fist against my nose and mouth to stave off the queasiness from the stench wafting up from the bucket. “Dump it downstream from the pond, please.”
“But, with all this rain, the shit washes away real quick.”
I shook my head. “I don’t care. Dump it downstream. Get a clean bucket, one that hasn’t been used for feces, and haul your water. First, take it to the cook and have him boil it.”
He walked off without responding. I doubted he would follow my orders at all.
I motioned to the laundresses and lead them around to the front of the hospital. “Two of you can wait outside on the front porch while I see the other. Who would like to go first?”
“I will!” Ruth said.
“This way,” I corrected when she walked toward the enlisted men’s ward.
“But that’s where the niggers go!”
“This is also where the private rooms are.” I led her into the room Kindle had recently occupied and motioned to the cot. “Sit there. I’ll be right back.”
I found Waterman measuring medicine. “We have a problem.”
“Ma’am?”
“The creek. We’re dumping our waste into the pool where we get water.”
“We don’t have a problem with dysentery, no more than other ailments
.”
“With more soldiers coming daily, we might. Have the cook boil the water we give patients. And find an unsoiled bucket we can use to haul water.”
I returned to Ruth. She sat on the cot, knocking her feet together in boredom. I washed my hands in the basin. “When was your last menses?”
Ruth shrugged.
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Fourteen!” She looked much older. “Have you started menses?”
“If you mean am I a woman, yes.” Ruth was obviously proud of this.
“Does it come regularly?”
“My curse? No.”
Though sure of the answer, I asked anyway. “Do you have relations with men?”
“’Course I do. I’m the most popular girl.”
I can imagine, I thought. The coarseness of her demeanor, her uneducated speech, and her brown crooked teeth (which she tried to hide with close-mouthed smiles) did little to diminish her beauty.
“Do the men wear a sheath?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t look at me when she answered.
I took her pulse, felt her neck, and looked in her mouth and throat.
“Lie back.”
With my stethoscope I listened to her lungs and heart. When I pressed her abdomen, it was hard.
“You’re pregnant. About four months along, I guess. Did you know?”
She nodded. “I been terrible sick o’ the morning. It’s been hard keepin’ it from my ma.”
“Your mother?”
“Mary. Please don’t tell her. She’s gon’ to be some mad. She tells me every time, ‘Ruth, use the sheath,’ and I do. Honest, I do. But, he didn’ wanna and he’s so smart and handsome, I couldn’ say no!”
“Is this the only time you did not use a sheath?”
“I never do with him. He don’ like it.”
I sighed and helped her sit up. “Is he a soldier at the fort?”
She nodded and tried to hide a smile. Immaturity and infatuation won out. “He’s an officer and he…”
I held up my hand. “I don’t want to know.” With the mood I had been in the past few days I had no doubt I would confront the man and give him my unvarnished opinion of his actions. I didn’t need to alienate the Army, my only option for leaving Fort Richardson safely.
“You won’t be able to hide this from your mother forever, you know.”
Sawbones Page 16
