“No, Mrs. Featherstone, no. We are at winter’s quarters. While the army is training, I am left to care for the sick and wounded, though in a much more comfortable setting.” He grinned.
“No doubt, being here in Washington is far more attractive than some tent in a field. Here, here!” Mr. Featherstone stated. The older, grey-haired politician was double his wife’s age, Will decided. No wonder she’d turned to him.
“I dare say, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you,” his colleague, Dr. Theodore Sattler, on his other side called.
“Teddy, any time.” Will grinned. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”
Sattler leaned closer. “You know I’m working at Fort Delaware.”
Will frowned. “The prisoner of war site?”
“Yes. Look, I have some of your sick and wounded. Not yours, really, but from the recent fight in Virginia. One in particular is a trying case.” Sattler’s face was too concerned for the night of celebration they were having, drawing Will’s attention. From what he’d faced in the last month, he shouldn’t be surprised, but the doctor inside him nudged him to find out more.
“It must be bad to bring it up here.”
“Yes, I believe it is. Will you come with me on the morrow to look?”
The trip to Fort Delaware wasn’t one Will wanted to make. His assignment over the winter was an easy one. Most of the severe cases were released and homeward bound, since they’d be unable to muster again, or dead. He was left with the sick mostly. But the walls surrounding the Fort, high and foreboding, on an island of sorts, brought the war slamming back to him and he sighed.
“Dr. Sattler, Dr. Sattler!”
As they disembarked the ferry, a young man was scurrying out to see them on the quick.
“What is wrong, Adam?”
“It’s that secesh. He’s burning high. Won’t take to lying still or taking any drink. Got the others all worked up.”
As they hurried toward the building the orderly raced back to, Will turned to his friend. “Adam, what is ailing the man?”
“He’s some damn Frenchie, probably one of those Tigers, all pent up with anger and all that. He came in with a foot wound. Didn’t look like it was bad. Pus was clear and some minor swelling, to be expected and in fact, less than most cases. But didn’t last. Turned wicked. Feared we’d have to go back in and amputate, but that’s when he turned violent. Kept yelling ‘she tole me I’d keep it’ and nonsense like that. Don’t know who he’s speaking of, but once the fever raised, figured it was his girl back home. I don’t have the equipment here to do this.” He shrugged. “They don’t give a prison much in medical supplies. Perhaps you might recall him, since he came back just nigh on a fortnight or so.”
Will’s brain was working, trying to recall. They’d had enough of the Louisiana Tigers to deal with and plenty of leg wounds. But the moment they turned the corner and the lock tumbled, opening the door, it only took one glimpse to see the man Ada had worked so valiantly on. Visions of that morning, when they were ordered to retreat, General Meade convinced Lee’s numbers would do his army in, despite their winning the battle, all the wounded were readied for the journey and the hospital packed. The Union patients were the top priority, and Ada had been forced to now see ‘her ward’ as she referred to the prisoner area, ready to move. When twilight fell and they loaded the end of the Federal soldiers, she had raced to the wing with the Confederates to find it vacant, those men already shipped to prisoner of war camps, though they didn’t say which one. She had stormed and demanded to know, erupting like a volcano. She argued fervently that they needed medical care and he recalled how Waxler stood solid, a gleam of satisfaction in his eye as Letterman tried to talk her off the edge of insanity. She was furious, and rightly so, Will thought, but he said nothing as well. She’d pay for her outburst, that he did know and he’d tried to block her at first but it was a losing battle.
He shook his head now, trying to re-focus on the matter before him, shoving that memory back. It didn’t change the matter that the one patient she’d fought diligently to save, this man, who in Virginia looked like he’d recover to his fullest, was now pale, glistening with fever and a gaunt look, his eyes encircled in black. His heart sank.
The secesh’s eyes locked on his. It was that moment that Will realized he didn’t even know the man’s name. He was a rebel, that was where the knowledge stopped, except for his injuries.
Will glanced down at the man’s ankle. It was swollen and red.
“You. Yank! Don’t you let them take it!” The man snapped when the orderly moved the pillow it was resting on. The motion showed in the sunlight a yellowed linen cloth and Will took that as the wound was no long spewing clear puss but yellowed.
“See what I’ve been talking about?” Adam rhetorically asked, as he pulled the bandage back. The threads stuck to the wound reluctantly gave, making the patient wince.
Will bent to take a closer look. A brief scent of it didn’t hold the morbid ribbon of decay but it did look ugly.
“Its fine,” the patient spat.
Will looked up at him. The man’s gaze was fevered. There was heat radiating from the wound. “Can you bend it? Flex?”
The man swallowed hard but obeyed quietly. The pain etched across his face but the determination controlled it, as he got the foot to move.
“Painful?”
He nodded harshly.
Will took a step back and Adam jumped
