“So you’ll leave him to die, perhaps, because he is the enemy?” she sputtered, her total surprise at this surgeon’s abrupt departure.
Waxler tensed. “As I recall missy, you claim to be a doctor yourself. Men like him don’t worry if you are or not, just that the pain will go, so I’ll leave his care to you. I, and Dr. Leonard here, have more pressing cases to attend.” He started to walk and added over his shoulder, “Dr. Leonard, if you please.”
Will blinked, stunned as Ada at the man’s statement, and mouthed apologies, leaving her.
It took her a moment to realize she’d finally gotten what she wanted. A chance to prove her training, but heavens, staring at her patient, she couldn’t move. He was the enemy. If he died, no one would care, but if she succeeded, perhaps she’d be able to truly help more. Steeling herself, she gulped. God help me!
Chapter 8
“The hoarse and indistinguishable orders…,the screaming and bursting of shells, canister and shrapnel as they tore through the struggling masses of humanity, the death screams of wounded animals, the groans of their human companions, wounded and dying and trampled underfoot by hurrying batteries, riderless horses and moving lines of battle…a perfect hell on earth…”
—Massachusetts’s private recalling years after the 2nd day of Gettysburg, 1863
Francois let the darkness pull him deep into its embrace, letting his mind drift. Scenes returned, but not of that Southern belle who had his heart, but of gunfire and smoke. Soldiers hollered, some from pain, others bellowing orders. Bullets whizzed through the air, nearly missing his ear, and his eyes strained to see through the grey field of gun smoke. Yankees poured over the ridge and for every one he witnessed hit and fall, ten more appeared to take a stance. It was one of the few times Francois felt alive…and living on the edge. Fear and bravery pushed him toward his command and beckoned to their orders. When the man next to him got shot in the head, blood splattered, rising up like a fountain and a portion of it fell onto him, smearing his cheeks and neck.
It was then his memories heated like a furnace. Fighting against the ooze of the blood and stumbling forward, what he hoped was sweat falling into his eyes, he realized he’d have to jump off the ledge to follow his troops. It was an easy jump, so similar to the type he made back on Bellefountaine, near the river. Without a second thought, he jumped and at that moment, his world crumbled. The edge of the ridge buckled from too many soldiers doing what he was attempting. Add his distorted vision to the mix and he floundered off the hill. The moment his feet hit the ground, he realized he’d slipped and landed hard on the rock below. Pain shot up from his heel, like a hot poker shoved up his leg. He stumbled, realizing he couldn’t stand as a bolt of lightening hit his ankle hard, crippling him. Another hit of fire raced across the same leg’s calf and he fell, striking his head on a stone. Then all memory stopped, till now.
He woke to bright lights, with fleeting figures and a drone of voices that ranged from low mumbles to a few words. His head throbbed and the chattering in the air with the light only made it worse. It took a moment to realize there were men around him dressed in white, not the black he envisioned hell would wear. But the blood-red streaks on their white coats made him reconsider that thought. He tried to gain where he was, all came to a screeching halt when the creature at the foot of the bed he was on, pulled on his brogan, yanking the poor torn leather off. Pain engulfed him, like a river of fire, erupting from his heel. He roared, wanting to yank his foot from the man’s grasp but realized he couldn’t. Amidst the sea of pain, he heard the man speak, the words chilling to his heart.
“Reed! Bring me that bag,” the man called. “Need to amputate this…”
Amputate? Francois rolled, the scene around him blurred. They’d take his foot?
“Emma!!!” His world blurred but he refused to fall into the dark that wanted to consume him for fear if he did, they’d cut the injured limb off and that he’d refuse at all costs! He started to try and break free from this demon’s hold on him, despite the fear he was swimming in a river with his movements slow and sluggish. Each attempt seeped his energy but his will to stop the bone saw was huge.
“Shush, now,” a cool feminine voice whispered to him. “Relax. I won’t let him take it.” She cooed softly, lulling his body to stop contorting against a now vacant ghost.
He tried to open his eyes, blinking to clear the fog that filmed his gaze. It was a woman that he knew from her voice but the lady before him was in a navy blue prim dress with nothing adorning it other than the white collar and the white pinner apron. Only hints of her tawny golden hair danced outside her white cap.
“Emma?”
“No. Sorry,” she replied softly.
He couldn’t see her face as she was bent over, examining his foot. So far, she hadn’t grabbed it like that man had, when he twisted it and sent the jolts of pain riveting through his body. No, she gently held it on the sheet it rested on.
“Are you an angel or the devil in disguise?”
She gave him a slight chuckle, one barely audible, but he did hear it.
“I’m a doctor,” she replied, her gaze still fixated on his leg. Finally, she glanced up. “My apologies. I’m Nurse Lorrance, sir.”
He frowned. “Doctor or nurse? Or a ghost?” It had registered in his thinking that other men he’d seen were like her, dressed in navy, the Union’s color. A casual glance beyond her, into the
