Fated Memories (14 page)

W
hen they arrived in Langley, the distinct buzz of excitement and anticipation vibrated in the air. Doctor Freeman, the regiment’s surgeon, issued urgent orders for the construction and organization of the field hospital. A scouting party had sent back word of an unguarded Confederate camp just over the river at Ball's Bluff and awaited reinforcements to attack. A battle was coming, and they needed to be prepared.

Being so close to an actual battle for the first time brought the reality of the war home for Kitty and Maggie. They busied themselves scrubbing surgery tables, lining up bottles of chloroform and the masks to administer it, and preparing dressings and bandages. Still, they were not prepared for the onslaught of patients that arrived. They came all afternoon and into the night, over two hundred men and boys, brought from the landing by the wagon ambulances. Most of them were already sedated with opium and moving like zombies. The worst cases, the ones diagnosed as not dead yet but definitely in the checkout line, rested in another section where orderlies kept them as comfortable as possible during their last moments. It didn’t upset Kitty one bit to find John Leahy there.

Inside, the large hospital tent reminded her of a scene from a horror movie with blood all over, and now useless limbs flung into a corner to be disposed of later. Kitty dutifully sedated the patients using a dome-shaped basket covered with a cloth soaked in chloroform. Meanwhile, the four doctors in attendance feverishly sawed off the men’s ravaged limbs in a desperate effort to save their lives. Noticing the doctors only gave their cutting instruments a casual wipe on their aprons between patients, Kitty tried her best to wrest them away for at least a quick cursory rinse between uses. It did not win her any favor with the doctors. But, in her mind, even this small effort may have increased the chances for a successful recovery for the patient.

Between the sharp metallic smell of the blood mixed with the sweat of fear and poor hygiene, and the accidental inhalation of the chloroform that kept getting on her hands, Kitty had to step outside on occasion to clear her head. During one of these quick breaks she saw Cal Jackson and David Isaacs sitting glassy eyed up against a tree.

“Hey guys, how’s it going? Do you want a drink of water?” She brought the canteen up to Jackson’s mouth, but being so out of it, his lips lacked the strength to press against the opening, and the water dribbled down his chin. She hadn’t seen anyone so seriously stoned since college.

After inspecting the bandage for seepage, she saw that the bullet had hit below his shoulder missing the artery. Only a minimal amount of blood showed. As she went to take her hand away, Jackson’s weak fingers clutched it. His dilated eyes searched hers as his slurred, muddled words made their plea. “Please Miss Kitty, the bullet, you have to take it out or I’ll die for sure. Please, take it out.”

“What. Me? You want me to do it? Noo… no I can’t do that. I’m not a doctor, I haven’t had any training. I’d probably wind up killing you if I tried it. No, no you have to wait for the doctor.”

“By the time the surgeon sees me it will be too late. Please Miss Kitty, you have to do it.”

A quick scan of the grounds showed what he meant. So many men waited their turns out there the chances of him being seen by any of the doctors today, or even the next day, were slim. In the meantime, the wound might become infected and with no antibiotics, he’d likely die of sepsis. On the other hand, if she went digging for the bullet and nicked the artery, she’d kill him.
Shit, either way he’s screwed. If I hesitate too long, I’ll talk myself out of this. I need to act, now.

“Okay Cal, lie still and take it easy, I’ll be right back.” Inside the tent she filled her haversack with supplies—forceps, lint, bandage, needle and suture thread. Kitty deposited the forceps to soak in a soapy basin she’d laid near one of the instrument tables, and hurried back to Jackson before the opium had a chance to wear off.

After removing the bandage, she washed the tender and red wound site well, the caustic soap making him moan. Putting the flask of whisky Max had given her to his lips, she urged him to drink. After taking a good gulp herself, she poured most of the remaining alcohol onto the wound, reserving only a little to pour over the forceps. Even drugged, Jackson writhed with the sting of the alcohol on the open wound and she had to call over one of the male attendants to help her subdue him and hold him still before continuing.

“I’m going to use these forceps now to try to find the bullet Cal, are you still okay?” He was panting but determined to have it done. “Yes ma’am, do it, please.”

Steeling herself, and praying for all the cosmic energies of the universe to guide her hand, she inserted the forceps into the wound. Sweat stood out on both of their faces—his from pain, hers from nerves—prompting the attendant to put a light dusting of morphine powder on Jackson’s lips to relax him and allow her to probe for the bullet.

“Cal, hold out your hand.” She deposited the ball into his hand and sutured the wound closed with a few stitches.

Kitty concentrated to see through the tears clouding her eyes. She washed the wound again, covered it with a dab of Hilda Maxwell’s herbal tea mixture for good measure and re-bandaged it. Hilda’s herbs had done wonders on other ailments. With any luck they’d do their magic here. Kitty’s whole body shook as she sat back on her heels and let the wracking sobs escape. She buried her face in her hands.
I did it. God help me, I did it.
 

Jackson strained against the sedatives, reaching out with his uninjured arm to pat her knee. “Thank you Miss Kitty, you saved my life for sure.”

But did I do the right thing?

A wailing scream from Maggie interrupted Kitty’s doubts. She rocked in anguish over a body not fifty feet away. What new hell did she find now? Drying her tears on her apron, she ran over and, as she knelt beside Maggie, her mouth dropped open in shock.

Simon lay unconscious on the ground, his uniform a bloody mess. Kitty’s shaking hands made it difficult to undo the buttons on his jacket and shirt, but she had to find the wound to control the bleeding. She searched his entire chest and his arms finding no sign of a wound, but she did confirm he was breathing.

“It’s okay, Mags. He’s not wounded. The blood isn’t his.” Kitty called for an orderly to stay with them while she ran inside for a doctor.

Her anguished tears and pleading made Doctor Freeman take pity on her and he agreed to take a look. The scene hadn’t changed since she’d left and the orderly had to pry Maggie away for the doctor to do his exam.

“This man is dehydrated,” he said, “most likely from dysentery. I see he’s been given opium. Good, that will help him for now, but get him out of the sun and try to get as much fluids into him as possible. If I have time tomorrow, I’ll look in on him.”

No shady spots remained, but they found room near a tree where Maggie arranged one of her petticoats as a canopy to block the sun. What a rotten time for the cloudy skies to disappear.

Like a feral cat with her litter, Maggie kept everyone else away from Simon. Kitty brought her a pan of water and rags to bathe him and cool his fever, then left her alone to care for her man.

A huge weight lifted off Kitty’s heart seeing Simon alive. She hoped they could keep him that way. With the little influence she had, she managed to find him a bed inside the hospital and out of the elements.

When she couldn’t stand upright anymore, Maggie agreed to let Kitty help her care for him. Still, days passed before Simon was lucid enough to talk. The fever and diarrhea had left him weak, his sallow complexion underscored by the dark circles around his eyes.

***

Colonel Kane allowed Max and the women to stay at Simon’s bedside while he debriefed him on his miraculous survival.

“The water came out of nowhere,” Simon started, his voice still husky from the dryness in his throat. “One minute I stood on dry ground helping this boy load his rifle and the next I found myself carried away by a raging river. It kept dragging me down over the rocks and brush and swirling over my head until I nearly lost consciousness. Then I saw hands reaching out to me.” Simon’s face took on a haunted pallor as he paused to sip his water and take a few breaths before he continued. “I knew I’d be dead if I went under one more time. The hands stretched out a branch, and I hung on for all I was worth. He used it to pull me out of the current and drag me back onto dry land.”

“Who was it?” Max asked. “We searched for hours, but we never found any survivors.”

“I only got a glimpse of his face before I passed out, and when I awoke I found myself in a Confederate camp.”

Gasps and murmurs went around the room.

“The Rebs… maybe twenty of them… were in sorry shape themselves. They wore ragged uniforms and half of them didn’t even have shoes. Their only food was what they could catch or trap. I did recognize their captain, though, as the man who’d rescued me.”

Kitty moved closer to comfort Maggie’s struggling tears as Simon’s story unfolded

“Their plans to send me back to their command as a prisoner fell through when I got sick. The water may have been contaminated, or it’s possible I caught something from one of the Rebs, I’m not sure. But the captain seemed relieved.” Simon’s gaze turned towards his hands as he picked at his ragged cuticles.

Colonel Kane nodded his head in deep thought. “Relieved, yes. If his men were in as dire straits as you say, he surely didn’t want you infecting them with whatever ailed you.”

A spark of suspicion hit Kitty as she watched Simon speak. She’d been around him long enough to recognize that when his fingernails became interesting, he was hiding something.

“It may only have been my fevered perception, sir. I’m not sure. After a while I drifted in and out of consciousness, so I don’t know how much time passed before I heard the artillery in the distance. After that I only have a vague recollection of being on the ground with someone on top of me, then I woke up here.” Maggie reached for Simon’s hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

Colonel Kane stood to leave. “Well, Sergeant, it sounds as if you’ve had a harrowing ordeal. We’re glad to have you back and we appreciate the intelligence you brought us on the condition of the enemy soldiers. Come, Corporal, let’s leave Sergeant Reiger to his family.”

After they’d left, Kitty stood at the bedside with her hands on her hips. “Okay, now tell us the rest.”

Simon’s mouth twitched and he avoided her obstinate glare. “Yeah, you’re right, there’s more. But it involves my memories, so I’m sure you won’t want to hear it.”

Kitty blew out a deep breath, a clear resolve in her mind. “No, go ahead and tell me. If we’re to move forward and make a life here, then we need to be able to support each other. We can’t have any secrets hanging between us.”

Simon’s eyes flashed at her changed attitude. “Okay, well for the most part, the memories I experienced as a child were things I knew to be true in my gut. At times I’d get flashes of scenes, battles, faces…” He glanced over at Maggie and kissed the hand he still held. “Later, this dream—or to be more exact, this nightmare—began scaring the daylights out of me. I’d wake up each time in a cold sweat and have to run and vomit. The damn thing repeated so many times, it haunted me.” Even the memory of the dream made Simon’s face pale and the sweat stand out on his lip. Repositioning himself in the bed, he reached for more water to soothe his parched throat. Then he continued to speak, his head swaying back and forth as if not believing his own words. “In the dream I saw myself being carried by the water, felt the coldness of it. Even the pain in my chest from not being able to breathe felt real. The nightmare never showed me the man’s face, but I’m positive now it was that Confederate captain. He saved me from the flood and I’m sure he was the one who carried me onto the battlefield where he knew I’d be found. It sounds insane, but I think I experienced, in real time, a vision I’d had since I was a kid.”

The tear that escaped the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek made Kitty uncomfortable, but his words chilled her spine and made her queasy. Instead of rattling off her usual smart-ass remarks and finger pointing jabs, she plopped into the chair and held her head in her hands.

Maggie sat on the edge of Simon’s bed, her head spinning. “Simon… I don’t even know what to say. That’s the most frightening thing I’ve ever heard. Are you sure this didn’t come to you in your delirium from being sick? Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.”

“Maggie, that dream is crystal clear in my head. I had it over and over again for years. I’ve seen it before, all of this, everything around us. And if it was just a fevered dream, how do you explain me showing up here again when everyone thought I was dead? It’s almost as if the things I saw weren’t memories at all, but prophetic visions of my fate.”

Kitty straightened up in her chair. “I have to agree with you, Mags. I’ve never dealt with such incredible, mind blowing stuff. It’s like being trapped in a Stephen King novel. But, how can we dismiss it? I mean, look where we are for crap’s sake!”
And listen to me defending Simon.

“I know, you’re both right, it’s just that… I love you, Simon. And I’m so afraid we’re not going to survive this.”

Simon pulled her closer and kissed the side of her head. “I love you too, Mags. And I promise we’ll make it through. One way or the other.”