“Will,” she started softly. “We were trained to heal, not ignore those who are sick or injured just because of what they say or believe. You know they will not let me help like I’m trained to do and when you and the rest of the corps are overwhelmed, I’m regulated to the nurses.”
“You shouldn’t be shamed by that, Ada,” he murmured, taking her hand. “Nursing is a good position. Besides, you know better what is needed and I know I’ve never been without what I need.”
“Will, please. Let me take care of this ward. Or at least him. Major Waxler will let these men suffer due to their uniforms and that isn’t right. You know that,” she argued.
She could see him wavering. He was a good doctor so she hoped he’d see her position.
“All right, Ada. I’ll do the best I can in keeping Waxler unaware of your absence. But don’t waste too much time back here, you hear me?”
She couldn’t help the grin that formed. “Yes! Thank you!”
Will shook his head and turned to leave, but not without motioning to the hospital steward who had come to the doorway, to help her.
Lifting her chin in triumph, she called to the steward. “Corporal Jakes, I need your help.”
Chapter 9
“Our bleeding, bankrupt, almost dying country…longs for peace…shudders at the prospect of…further wholesale devastations, of new rivers of human blood.”
—Horace Greely told Lincoln, 1864.
It was the dream that stabbed Francois the hardest. It was spring, with the lilacs in bloom and the soft whisper of birds and bees milling about him. The blossoming of the countryside, the rebirth after a winter that never seemed overly harsh in southern Louisiana, was a welcoming sight. A period he relished. More so that spring of last, when Emma had arrived. Since the war had started, Francois had run Bellefountaine in the absence of his father, Pierre Fontaine, who sat in Richmond as a Confederate senator. Running the estate was a challenge he found fulfilling despite the lack of his usual haunts. When she arrived, though, everything changed.
Emma consumed his attention and his heart. He couldn’t help but smile at the memories that portrayed themselves to him at this moment. But then, a sudden stab jolted through him, as he walked across the greens toward her. It was a crippling pain, in his right ankle. The smile he had crumbled as he faltered. It intensified and he couldn’t help the agonized yelp that bordered on a scream, enough that the whole world he saw before him shattered, to be filled with a room in a house that stank of male sweat, urine and a myriad of other stenches he didn’t want to think of.
His eyes shot open and found a man with a stern look, brown hair and mustache above him.
“Nurse Lorrance,” the man called.
Francois tried to bolster himself upright and curl his leg away from the white coat figure near the foot of his bed but the man above him pinned him down.
“Let me go! Ouch!!” Another pain ripped through him.
“Just as I thought,” came the very feminine voice, just past his jailor. “Corporal Jakes, hold him for another minute.”
Francois’s eyes widened. He was trapped in a house of horror. Again, his foot was manipulated and he squashed the roar that begged to come. No point in giving them any satisfaction their torture was working. Then he realized his foot was being bandaged. He was lightheaded and woozy, confusing him further.
“There, I believe I have finished. Thank you, Corporal.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jakes released him, grabbed the rag off Francois’s chest and turned to walk away. The scent of the rag wafted to Francois nose and it hinted at sleep—a temptation he so wanted to take as the trace of chloroform swirled in the air. His lids grew heavy and he felt distant from what was happening, the last thing he swore he saw was that woman in white…
For once, Ada’s exhaustion had a certain mark of gratification to it. She stood in the supply ‘room’ as the corner was referred to, and let herself sink into the over-stuffed chair, every inch of her five feet, six inches screaming for her to halt.
“Ma’am.”
She looked up and found the young man who had assisted her, Private Kelleher, holding a porcelain cup full of steaming coffee. The scent of the java pulled her lulled thinking out of its daydream and she accepted it with gratitude.
“You did well today, private.” She sipped the dark brew, savoring the rich taste as it awakened her exhausted body back to work. “Have you helped a doctor before?” The boy had been there, anticipating her next request with an accuracy that unnerved her a bit, perhaps because it had reminded her of herself when she followed her father on his calls to patients.
He shuffled, looking at his feet for a moment. “A time or two. Was hoping to be one one day, before this war.”
She smiled. “You’ll be good.”
He opened his mouth to say something when Letterman and Waxler appeared, the latter one’s face contorted in anger.
“Nurse Lorrance,” Letterman greeted. “Might I have a word.”
Kelleher disappeared but Waxler loomed large.
“How dare you go against my command on that rebel!”
Ada’s blood raced and it took every ounce of her restraint to keep her tone low. “Doctor Waxler, you left a wounded man to be cared for at some distant time because of his uniform. He was bleeding profusely. He needed aid.”
“He is the damn enemy!” Waxler snapped. “Our own men needed aid as much as the damn enemy, therefore, by rules of war, ours get treated first!”
She bit her tongue. Arguing with him would be pointless. What was done was done.
Letterman eyed her but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Commanding the medical corps had to be strenuous enough,
