Genie’s face lit with motherly pride as she embraced her daughter. “Carolyn, dear, how are you?”
“I’m wonderful, Mama. I received a letter from Alfred today. He is in Tennessee of all places or at least he was almost two months ago when the letter was sent. He’s been promoted to 1st lieutenant!”
“Oh, Carolyn that is wonderful news.”
“I hope so.” Carolyn’s light blue eyes flicked the wooden cart.
“Carolyn.” Genie gave Marissa a reassuring smile. “I would like you to meet your cousin.”
“Cousin?” Carolyn looked in surprise from her mother to Marissa sitting quietly inside the cart.
“Yes,” Genie said firmly. “This is Marissa. She came from Atlanta the other day to stay with me.”
Carolyn smiled warmly at Marissa, but turned back to her mother. “I didn’t realize we had any family in Atlanta.”
“I’m afraid my sister and I were estranged for many years. Marissa sought me out after her recent death.”
Carolyn gave her mother a dubious look, but turned to Marissa with open arms. “Marissa, it is wonderful to meet you. I am your cousin, Carolyn Reed.” Marissa liked Carolyn instantly, finding her mannerisms much like her mother’s. Looking puckishly from Marissa to Genie, Carolyn demanded, “Are you ready to go shopping?”
Genie rolled her eyes. “We’re not here to go shopping, Carolyn, we’re taking Marissa to the hospital.”
“The hospital?”
“Yes, she’s going to work there.”
“Oh.” The young woman turned a curious expression to her “cousin” but didn’t question further.
Piling onto the narrow splintered seat of the cart Marissa found herself sandwiched between Genie and the unforgiving corner of a rail. So much for the leather interior of my brand new Chevy.
Staring at the crush of the city around her she felt totally lost. It was like drowning on dry land or suffocating with lungs full of air. She wanted to scream for rescue but who would hear? Still, she continued to gaze, enthralled at the passing store fronts, wondering if she looked as out of place as she felt. What she knew of this era was severely limited to high school history class and watching westerns on TV—probably most of that knowledge could be credited to television—and in spite of her earlier comparison, this was anything but Gone With the Wind.
“What do you say, Marissa?”
Carolyn’s voice pulled her from the dredges of her mind. “I’m sorry. What?”
“The Confederate officers are having a ball in a few weeks and now that you’re in town you simply must come with us. I already made a new dress for the occasion. Today I had planned to buy a bit of ribbon and lace.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Marissa replied with a miserable attempt at enthusiasm. She did not want to consider still being here in a few weeks. “Although I don’t have anything to wear.”
Carolyn’s eyes glowed at the prospect. “Don’t you worry, dear cousin. I have more clothes than I could wear in three lifetimes. I’ll make you the most ravishing belle at the ball.”
“In that case, I feel compelled to warn you that I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Again, not to worry.” Carolyn grinned. “I can fix that as well.”
It was bizarre but on more than one occasion Marissa caught sight of a short balding man staring at her through the crowd. At first she didn’t think much of it, but after the third time his black beady eyes locked on hers she grew a little unsettled. But when she turned to ask Genie or Carolyn about him the man melted into the crowd. As if life couldn’t get any worse the last thing she needed was to attract a stalker.
Eventually the cart rattled to a stop before a massive three story brick building—the hospital—and nerves assailed Marissa. Getting a job was without doubt a disaster waiting to happen. She had less than no idea what to expect of medicine in this era, and it would only take time and effort away from getting home.
Together the three women exited the old cart and entered the arched doors of the hospital, Marissa lagging a step behind.
“Good day, Dr. Langston,” Genie drawled sweetly.
Marissa’s gaze instantly honed in on Craig’s towering form. He turned toward Genie’s voice, as did the young dark-haired woman he’d been speaking with.
Marissa stared. Oh, fate was a cruel, bitter entity indeed. The woman clinging so lovingly to Craig Langston’s arm was Marne. Or at least her double. Maybe a multiple-great grandmother? Marissa stood frozen as the whole of her world began to tilt.
With curls as deep as the night and dimples that made her smile dazzling, this woman could have been Marne’s mirror image. The only difference was the eyes. While Marne’s had been blue-green this girls eyes appeared violet, almost purple in the bright light of the entry. Taking in the willowy figure Marissa experienced an all too familiar ripping at the seams of her soul.
* * *
Grateful for the interruption, Craig greeted the newcomers politely. “Good morning, Mrs. Harris, Mrs. Reed, Miss McClafferty.” He deftly extricated his arm from the claw-like grip the ever-determined Kirsten had on it. “I’ve been expecting you.” Amazing he thought. He’d felt Marissa’s presence, known she was there without looking. The sensation was so profound he was taken aback, but a quickening in his chest had alerted him to her even before she’d passed through the door. To Marissa he continued, “I’ve already discussed your working here with Major Bernstein and he thought it would be fine to give you a try. Lord knows we need the help.
“Unfortunately we’ll have to pay you in Confederate currency, which, as you know, is almost completely worthless.” His voice dropped a fraction. “To be perfectly honest I can’t promise we’ll be able to pay you regularly at all. A payroll shipment due a few days ago never came in.”
“Whatever the hospital can manage is fine,” Marissa said. “I’m just happy to do my part.”
“Oh, I’m certain of that.” Kirsten’s tinkling laugh drew everyone’s attention to her—as she’d no doubt planned. Craig knew Kirsten was only happy when all focus was upon her. “Craig, darling, aren’t you going to introduce me?” Once more, she tucked her daintily gloved hand into his elbow. He couldn’t remove it without appearing rude.
He cleared his throat. “Of course. Do excuse my rudeness. I’m completely forgetting my manners. “Marissa,” his eyes fixed on her oddly tight-lipped face, “This is Miss Kirsten Jamison. Kirsten, Miss Marissa McClafferty, who has come from Atlanta to stay Mrs. Harris, her aunt, whom you already know.” Once more, he slipped his arm free of Kirsten’s grip.
“Now,” he added, smiling at Marissa, “if I haven’t scared you away, may I give you a tour of the hospital?”
“I... Yes. Of course, Doctor.” He wondered at the toneless voice, at the way her eyes avoided his direct gaze. She seemed... different, somehow today. Was it the thought of working with him as her superior that made her act so strangely?
He turned back to Kirsten, whose presence she had never explained. She frequently dropped in to visit, and good manners forced him to acquiesce unless he was in surgery. “Good day, Kirsten. Please give my best to your mother.”
“Oh.” The brunette pouted. “May I not take the tour as well?”
“No,” Craig said brusquely. “Miss McClafferty is not here on a social visit, but to learn if she is willing to work among the patients.” He nodded politely and once more said, quite firmly, “Good day, Kirsten,” before turning completely away from her.
* * *
Marissa made a concerted effort to breathe normally and nod politely as the Brunette’s gaze raked her from head to toe, then appeared to dismiss her as of no consequence. Kirsten fluttered her lashes at Craig and murmured a sweet farewell to him, one that suggested without words she’d be seeing him again in a very short time.
Marissa wanted to smack the woman, even as she sashayed
away, skirts swinging. Stop it, she ordered herself. You are here to concentrate on the hospital.
Hospital?
The term, in her opinion, scarcely applied. The building consisted of three large over-filled wards, one on each floor. On the first floor, a room toward the back served as an operating room. There were a few small offices for the physicians and officers, and a couple of even smaller rooms where the doctors on duty could catch a few hours of sleep. With all the windows tightly closed, and filthy, a more desolate place she’d never seen. But it wasn’t just the forlorn misery pervading every corner of the building, but the smell.
Death.
Death had a very distinct odor, one Marissa could never quite describe but never failed to recognize, and this “hospital” reeked of it.
“This place is beyond belief,” she said, sweeping her eyes across the first ward. “Completely unacceptable.”
“Excuse me?” Craig sounded more than a little incredulous.
“This,” she gestured broadly to the room, “is totally unsatisfactory. When is the last time the floor has been so much as swept, let alone washed? Is this the dark ages? Do you use a common axe for surgery or even bother cleansing or anesthetizing your patients before operating?”
“Well, forgive me if this isn’t London proper or wherever the hell your father studied but we do the best we can with what we have.”
“The best you can? I doubt that. Has it escaped your attention Doctor that this man has a raging infection and debridement is necessary to treat his wounds?” She jabbed a finger toward an orderly in the process of changing a dressing, and a thick layer of purulent slough was easily visible even from her vantage point a few feet away.
“Debridement?” Captain Langston’s tone rose. “Are you mad? That is a protective layer over the wound, created by the body!”
“Protective layer!” she exclaimed, eyes flashing, “That is staph! An infection, Doctor.” She turned away. “Oh, my God, I am in the dark ages,” she groaned, mostly to herself. “How could I forget that Penicillin won’t be invented for another sixty, or so years?”
“Marissa,” Genie laid a restraining hand on her elbow. “I thin—”
Marissa sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry, Genie,” she whispered. “I forgot myself.” Louder, she added, “But would you just look at the filthy state of this room? Old bandages lying all over the floor, no doubt infested with bacteria to spread infection.” Marissa shuddered. “You call this a hospital, Dr. Langston? Why have these orderlies not been instructed to clean this place up? Don’t they—and you—know that cleanliness is key to preventing infection?”
“My orderlies have other duties.” Blue eyes flared with outrage. “They are not charwomen!”
“Neither am I, but I’ll be here first thing in the morning to start.”
“Start?” Craig spat angrily. “I don’t think I want you working here.”
“Too bad. You hired me and now you’re stuck with me.” Their eyes locked, sparking with challenge.
“Fine,” Craig barked. “But I won’t tolerate another outburst like this and I will not have you questioning my medical judgment in front of the patients.”
Marissa just narrowed her eyes. It would be a cold day in hell before she kept quiet about the deplorable conditions of this hospital, but there were other means of getting what she wanted. Nurses had methods of steering obstinate doctors to their way of thinking. Craig Langston would never know what hit him.
* * *
The hour was late when Marissa ventured from the porch to the yard to amble leisurely with her thoughts. In truth she was hiding. Genie had not so gently lectured her about the need to control her temper and avoid another outburst like the one that afternoon.
“When Dr. Langston says they’re doing the best they can with what they have he means it,” Genie had said. “And you’d be wise not to draw attention to yourself by referring to things which do not yet exist. Penicillin, Marissa, really!”
She cringed, more than a little chagrined by the memory, but Genie was right, and if she wanted to blend in—which really she didn’t, but had to for the time being—she would have to be more careful. She should probably apologize to Craig, but she really hated to apologize, especially when she was in the right. Well... at least she wasn’t technically wrong, or wouldn’t be wrong in about fifty years. That must count for something.
Sighing heavily she rotated her head to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. Tomorrow was going to be a disaster. She really should just put her foot down, refuse to take the job and put all time and energy into going back to the future. Back to the future—how cliché. But a little voice at the back of her mind, her conscience, the same streak of good Samaritanism that had made her stop to help those kids on the road, which had landed her here in the first place, just couldn’t let her leave those wounded souls. She’d made the mistake of meeting the gaze of the patient with the horrible wound. His gray eyes had held such deep pain, they belied the youthful features that told her he could not be more than fifteen.
How could she not care?
Too cold to continue avoiding the other occupant of the farmhouse out-of-doors Marissa turned to wander back to the house when a glint of light caught her eye.
God! Those damn haunted woods never failed to put her heart in her throat!
But realization dawned that it was not silly superstition causing her fear but the illuminated form of a man digging in the woods. A ghost? Or more realistically a lantern flickering through the mist, but… The old legend burned in her mind. Breaking into a run, Marissa fell flat on her face when Genie’s old rooster began to crow. Piling the heavy layers of her skirts over an arm, she clambered breathlessly up the stairs and into the house.
“Genie!” Marissa sucked air into her lungs and rushed across the sitting room to the window facing the woods. “There’s a ghost,” she gasped. “In the woods! Look!”
“A ghost?” Genie rose in surprise, peering through the window at the poorly lit figure in the woods. “That’s no ghost. It’s a man. How long has he been digging out there?”
“I don’t know.” Marissa’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I just noticed the light of his lantern and came right in to tell you.” Even as the words left her mouth the lantern light began to move and disappeared into the depths of the thicket. “You don’t think that could be a gho—”
Genie raised a dismissive hand before Marissa could finish the thought. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Do you know how to handle a gun?”
“Yes,” Marissa replied without hesitation.
“Good.” Genie crossed the room and bolted the door. “We’ll keep Jim’s hunting rifles close tonight and it may be a good idea to stay in town with Carolyn for a few days.”
“Is there a sheriff we can talk to tomorrow?” Marissa swallowed the nerves wrapped securely about her windpipe.
Genie nodded before ushering her charge off to bed, advising a good night’s sleep.
I wish I could sleep, Marissa thought, twisting and turning, tangling the covers. If she wasn’t haunted by visions of being murdered in the dark of night she was haunted by visions of the hospital’s miserable occupants. The huge gray eyes of that one boy… He, especially, haunted her.
Tiring of the futile quest for sleep Marissa left her bed long before sunrise. It was raining again. Flipping the lid of the old steamer trunk she began sifting through the contents in search of suitable clothing. What did one wear to work in a 19th century hospital? Longingly she fingered the scrubs—her only link to the future—tucked carefully into the side of the trunk. The airy, easily washable garments would have been exceedingly preferable to the heavy gowns she was required to wear. What a stir she would cause if she did show at the hospital wearing her ER scrubs. Then Craig Langston would really have a reason to fire her on the spot… Tempting.
In the end she
donned a simple brown skirt and tan blouse.
After a quick breakfast, and a few chores, they embarked on the exceedingly muddy trek to Charleston. Just before leaving, Genie instructed Grace and Fredrick to report any sign of trespassers. Thus reminded, Marissa couldn’t help but glance nervously over her shoulder at the spooky woods from time to time. Fortunately Genie’s insistence that she learn to handle the cart served as a more than sufficient distractor.
“Next time you’re driving,” Marissa grumbled, stretching fingers sore from clutching the reigns.
“Nonsense.” Genie replied breezily. “You’re doing just fine and eventually you will need to do this by yourself.”
Once they reached the hospital Genie bustled into a corner room and returned carrying a basket filled with pens, ink, writing paper, and books. After assuring Marissa that she would be fine, she set off to assist the sick and injured men with reading, writing and whatever else they might need that did not immediately deal with blood or gore.
Fine indeed, Marissa thought grumpily, taking a moment to gain her bearings and then set off in search of Dr. Langston. When a quick survey of the facility failed to reveal any sign of him, she inquired after his whereabouts with another man in gray. “Excuse me, sir I was looking for Captain Langston.”
The man looked at her in surprise then grinned appreciatively. “I say, Miss, are you sure it’s Captain Langston you’re looking for? I would be more than happy help you out.”
Ignoring the man’s flirtatious gaze Marissa plastered a polite smile on her face and assured the man that it was Craig Langston she needed to see.
“Why is it all of the pretty ones want to see him?” The comment was directed upward as though appealing a higher power. Turning a mischievous grin to her, he waved a hand. “Follow me then, and I’ll see if we can’t find him. I am Captain James Rowe, army surgeon extraordinaire, and glad to be of your assistance, mademoiselle.”
The man’s grin had an infectious quality and before long Marissa was smiling genuinely in return. Now that the shock of the hospital’s atmosphere—and its lamentable downfalls—had ebbed she couldn’t help but be morbidly fascinated. Moving toward the back of the hospital her eyes drank in every aspect of the place and while it looked more like a holocaust camp than a hospital—mentally she made note not to mention Nazis, Hitler, Word War II, or World War I, for that matter—it felt like a hospital. Men in uniform strode with importance about the facility, young orderlies scurried up and down stairs, completing errands, following orders, and volunteers were carrying out any variety of tasks.
Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) Page 5
