“How long I been out?”
“Day and a measure, I reckon. Thinkin’ its start of December.”
December 1? The battle was four days ago? “Did we win?”
“Don’t matter much. We’re here. Prisoners to Yankees.” Wiggins spit on the floor.
“No doubt, they’ll be seeking exchanges,” he muttered only to be shorted by Wiggins, who laughed loudly.
“Non, monsieur. That Yankee general put a stop to them a while back. Prison, most likely. Prisoner of war camp.” Wiggins shuddered and that made Francois’s stomach knot.
They’d have to escape—even if it killed them.
Chapter 10
“I have fought against the people of the North because I believed they were seeking to wrest from the South its dearest rights. But I have never cherished toward them bitter or vindictive feelings, and I have never seen the day when I did not pray for them.”
—General Robert E. Lee
Egos. This war was truly a battle of egos.
Ada blew a steady stream of air to get the loose strand of hair out of her eyes and blinked hard. She needed to concentrate and it simply wasn’t possible with the raging officers storming around, barking orders as if the enemy was charging on them here in the hospital. Egos…
Waxler busied himself, examining one of the soldiers in Ada’s wing. The lanky lad who had an impish smile when she brought him water, squirmed under the ranking surgeon’s perusal. Waxler had left the initial care to her but now stood like a hawk, inspecting her work and expecting failure by her hand. He picked up the man’s arm and peered at it.
“Soldier, how does it feel?” His question was more of a command than a question. Even Ada felt the floor tremble.
“Fairly well, sir,” the Creole snapped back, tampered with trepidation. He was in enemy territory, after all.
Waxler ignored the man’s tone, still looking at the wrapped upper arm. “Dr. Leonard, well done indeed. Amputation would have been a better course, of course.”
Will opened his mouth to speak but Ada jumped in.
“Yes, sir, but it wasn’t needed.” She tipped her chin up in defiance before she added, “Sir.”
Waxler snarled. “Nurse Ada, I did not include you in our conversation.”
She inhaled, her hackles rising at the insult but she squashed the emotion as she glided to them.
“Yes, Dr. Waxler. I just wanted to add to Dr. Leonard’s great assessment, considering the situation, sir.”
The commanding surgeon cocked his head, his gaze narrowed. “Your work seems to be beneficial, though your role here is supportive. Men are to be treated by the proper physicians, Nurse Lorrance.”
He was trying to provoke her and it was working. Will stood to the side of Waxler and he gave her a stern headshake. She bit the inside of her lip to keep a stoic face.
“Yes, sir, but with the lack of supplies back here, we had to make do. The wait for one would deem the wound ill-suited to repair.” She so hated having to correct the man’s horrible mood of women physicians. He always made it sound as if she’d be better kneading bread instead of saving lives.
Waxler’s brows inched upward as he glared at her. “Correct.” He glanced down at the rebel soldier. “You are in good hands, soldier. She’s one of the best nurses here.” He spun on his heel and went to the next patient to finish his rounds.
It took everything she had not to throw her tin cup at him.
“You did an excellent job, doctor.” Will’s quiet praise cut through her anger.
“I question myself, though,” she countered, her vision starting to blur. “That one private, if only I had gotten to him quicker.” One of her patients had died yesterday, despite her desperate attempts to save him.
“Ada, stop. Internal wounds are not easy to find and the bleeding can do them in before we even locate the source. You did the best you could.”
She blinked hard, trying to swallow the tears that wanted to form. He was the first casualty she’d had in the ward under her care. He wasn’t the first to die while she was serving the wounded in war, but he took the place of her first failure as a doctor and that hurt her deeply.
Will took her by the shoulder and escorted her across the room, filling her cup with water, shaking her remorse off with the distraction.
“Ada, I gave you the care of these men. I can’t continue to cover for you. Waxler’s teetering on rejecting all of the Dragon’s nurses except it would cut his staff short.” Will snorted. “As much as he’d hate to say it, your abilities and skill on organizing the staff have enabled us to manage the lot. But do remember, he’s not the type who welcomes women in the army, especially ones who are physicians. Just be careful, Ada.”
She put her hand on his sleeve and squeezed. “Thank you. I will.”
“Apparently, the fight is done here, from what we’ve heard. Be ready to pack up and move.” He tipped his head as a farewell and left.
Inhaling deeply, Ada realized her heart was racing. Will had more or less turned the ward, with its five Confederates, over to her. Four, she corrected herself. It was four. Steeling her backbone, she put a mask of sorts on, so the rebels wouldn’t see her worries and went to the man with the ankle wound.
The patient was half-propped up, his sapphire blue gaze piercing into her soul, as if he wanted to know the hell she found herself in, thanks to officers like Waxler and the bulk of the staff. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if that look was desiring something…
“Good morning, soldier,” she started, moving the sheet off his injured foot. She yanked out the linen wrap in her apron , putting it on the bed before she began to unbandage his wound.
He snorted. “Yes, it appears early in the day. Your commander starts his demands early, I
