Her ‘room’ was a corner room, no wider than a cot and small table shoved in, with a curtained doorway, since the actual door had been removed for a surgical table. The closet area next to hers was not much bigger, though enough to fit the other three nurses snugly, also curtained shut. Neither area could sport a fireplace and the single-paned window in her area offered no real wall to block the late fall cold. She shivered. Just like the makeshift storage area, this space was tight, yet it was the only way for them to have any privacy from the patients and staff. The tacked up sheets over the doorframes offered little buffer to the groans and moans and other noises spouting from the patients. But the women gladly took the faint privacy from the men, a chance to close their eyes and try not to dwell on the sounds that echoed through the adjoining room.
Steeling her back and shoulders to help her face the day and the patients it would bring, she stepped out into the ward. The room itself had a dozen makeshift beds, filled with the wounded. A chill swept through it because two of the windows were propped open, fighting with the fire that attempted to keep it warm. Drowning a growl in her throat, she went to the first window and removed the nail that kept it open and lowered the sash.
“Thank you,” the patient lying nearby whispered. “It turned a might chilly.”
She went to him and touched his forehead. It was warm, though his jaw trembled, lips sealed to keep the chattering teeth quiet. Quickly, she went to the trunk near the wall and yanked a moth-eaten wool blanket out.
“Here, this will help you thaw,” she greeted as positively as she could and hoped she’d masked the worry of his condition from showing on her face. She tucked the blanket around him. “How is your stomach fairing today?”
To her eyes, he still looked a bit squeamish but how could he not? He’d come to the surgeon with another flux of diarrhea and the doctor issued blue mass to stop it, but when that medicine stopped everything, protocol demanded opium be administered. It had opened his system back up, but the blue tinge from the first treatment still remained on his lips, which Ada found disconcerting.
“Thinkin’ better, Miss. Thank you. Might thirsty, though.”
She gave him a smile and water then darted away. It wasn’t the method she liked to use but who would listen to her? She was only a nurse in their eyes, setting off another furious flame through her. When she jammed the poker into the dying fire and the vibration of hitting the brick fireplace flooring reverberated up her hands, she jolted. Sparks flickered off the prodding, making her step back to miss them. Last thing she needed was her cotton apron to get singed.
“Nurse Lorrance?”
She put the poker down and rubbed her hands against her apron. “Yes, Corporal?”
The soldier, who had been commandeered by Letterman when he discovered the man had been a doctor’s son with a desire to become one himself, stood before her with a worried look on his face. “The laundresses. They’ve done nothing in cleaning the bandages since yesterday’s move here. Word has it the General is planning an attack this morning. We won’t have what we’ll need when the wounded arrive.”
Ada tried to keep her voice quiet but she wanted to laugh. “Corporal Stokes, did you inform them we are in dire need?”
“I did, ma’am, but they just be piddlin’ out there.”
“And you believe this battle will happen?”
“Yes ma’am. Troops be strapping on their trappings and forming lines for a march, that is, if the fog lifts.”
Ada glanced out the window. The cold temperature, after all the rain of late with the end of fall warmth, produced a haze this morning. Outside, she now noticed the fog that held in the distance. Another fight with the Army of Northern Virginia, men used to the climate and grounds here, would definitely mean blood.
“Thank you, Corporal.” She spun and headed out to the building toward the tents out back.
Outside, the air was soupy yet crisp. She determined the fog was worse than earlier and with the damp air, would not help the laundry any. Ahead of her, stood three black women and one white. The three coloreds were runaways and since many slaves ran to the bluecoats when the Union army was near, the army commanders universally chagrined at the incoming mouths to feed but ready help they needed. In this case, the women were put to work at the laundry and the head of that contingent was a sour looking woman who stood at a pot, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face the closer Ada got.
“Nurse Ada, what bestows us the honor of your visit?” The woman spat tobacco juice at the ground, never breaking her gaze on Ada. It was a disgusting habit and so unladylike, Ada wanted to roar, but Mrs. Kirkpatrick would only smile at that. The old Irish woman was set in her ways and answering to a woman nurse wasn’t on that list, Ada discovered.
Drawing up her backbone and straightening her already squared shoulders, Ada did her best to paste a grin on her lips. “Good morning, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. Ladies.” She nodded to the coloreds. “I’ve come to inquire on the status of the wash.”
“It’d be gettin’ done.”
Ada raised her brows. Eying the stack of filthy rags behind them, lying on the wet muddy ground, she grinded her teeth to keep from snapping. “Yes, well,” she started, rounding the women to the pile. The top bundle was still blood-splattered and a mangle mess, glued to the one beneath. The fact that they sat on the mud only infuriated her.
