Fire by Night (38 page)

The doctors had set up their operating rooms in the warehouse’s offices. As she neared that area, Julia heard James shouting at his fellow physicians.

“Look, the surgery is going too slowly this way. If we all split up and get the nurses to assist us, we can accomplish three times as much.”

“It’s against the rules, James. The army’s medical director specifically ordered field surgeons to work in teams of three.”

“Why don’t you go explain that to those dying men out there?” James asked. “You go tell a soldier who’s been waiting in agony all afternoon, ‘Sorry you have to die, but it’s against the rules for less than three of us to save your life.”’

“We’re just following orders.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m not.”

Julia watched as James began moving office furniture and lanterns around so he could set up another operating table. “Those pitiful souls who are being slaughtered out on those heights are just following orders, too,” he said as he worked. “Someone needs to call a halt to it. In the meantime, we need to take responsibility for what’s going on in this operating room. The medical director isn’t here; we are.” He moved his case of surgical instruments within reach of the table. When he looked up to tell the orderlies to bring him a patient, he saw Julia standing outside the door.

“Mrs. Hoffman, will you come here and assist me, please?”

One of the doctors held up his hands. “I can’t allow this, James. She’s not a physician.”

“She’s a trained nurse. I taught her myself. If she helps, we’ll get twice as much done, save twice as many lives.”

“Regulations require at least two surgeons to approve amputations.”

“Fine! The two of you can approve the amputations, and I’ll do all the other procedures. Okay? Can we begin?” He waited while the other two doctors huddled together, arguing over whether or not they should allow James to go ahead. Minutes passed, until he finally threw up his hands in frustration.

“I don’t have time for this. Men are dying while you two gentlemen discuss army regulations. Mrs. Hoffman …if you will, please?”

Julia moved forward into the room, too stunned by the speed of events to do otherwise. She had never watched a doctor perform surgery before. She was quite certain she would faint at the sight. But when James gripped her shoulders, his eyes searching hers, and asked, “Can you stand this, Mrs. Hoffman? Will you help me?” she could only nod.

The orderlies carried in the first patient, a boy with a gunshot wound beneath his collarbone. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. James gently rolled him over to search for an exit wound, then began loosening his clothing.

“Am I going to make it, Doc?” the soldier gasped.

James laid his hand on the boy’s head. “We’ll do our best.”

Dread shuddered through Julia when she realized that “we” included her. She now shared the responsibility for trying to save his life. She knew then that she needed to pray for all the strength and courage God would give her. For this boy’s sake, she dared not faint or run away.

James showed her how much ether to pour into the copper face cone. “Keep this away from the lamps,” he warned. “Ether is highly flammable. Hold the cone firmly over his nose and mouth, like that. … Good. That’s enough.” He turned to his wooden case of surgical instruments and selected a probe. “Keep an eye on him. If he starts to come around before I’m finished, give him more.”

Julia nodded, too nervous to speak. She looked away as James maneuvered the probe into the bullet wound. She didn’t realize how quiet it was or that she was holding her breath until she heard the delicate click of metal against metal as the probe touched the bullet. James smiled faintly.

“Hand me the forceps. … Thank you. Now grab a sponge and mop up some of this blood to give me some exposure. … Good.”

She glanced at James’ face and saw beads of sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes. Julia grabbed a clean towel and wiped his forehead for him.

“Thanks. That’s much better.” A few moments later, he withdrew the forceps, gripping a bloody chunk of metal. He dropped it into a tin can that was already half full of pellets. “I’ll need one of those sutures in a minute,” he said as he swabbed the wound with carbolic acid. “The needles …with the silk thread. … Yes.” Then it was over. It seemed as though mere moments had passed. The orderlies carried the boy away and brought in the next patient as James wiped his hands.

Julia gradually began to relax, drawing courage from his confident skill and quietly stated orders. Little by little she found she could watch James work. She forgot that she was looking at blood and shattered bone and ripped muscle as she watched his hands, strong and dexterous—mending, repairing, healing. She learned to anticipate what he needed and had it ready before he asked.

As the hours passed, her legs grew weary and her back ached from standing in one place. She longed to quit and lie down, but James worked tirelessly, long after the other two doctors had sat down to rest.

When the orderlies finally stopped bringing patients, James leaned against the operating table and pulled out his pocket watch. “Twenty past midnight,” he sighed. “If the generals could stand in our place for one day, maybe this would end.” He shook his head and returned the watch to his pocket, then raised his arms, stretching his back and neck. “I need some fresh air.”

A rush of cold wind shivered through Julia as he opened the office door and stepped outside, closing it behind him. Her hair was escaping from its pins, so she pulled out the remaining ones and shook her head to let it fall freely around her shoulders. She was about to leave the office and look for a place to lie down when James suddenly opened the door again. He picked up a discarded uniform jacket he found lying across a chair and handed it to her. “Mrs. Hoffman …Julia. Put this on and come outside with me for a moment.”

She couldn’t imagine why he needed her, but thinking it must be an emergency, she quickly did as she was told. Just outside the door, James stopped her.

“Look,” he said, pointing up at the sky. “The northern lights.”

Above the river, from one end of the horizon to the other, the sky was alive with shimmering waves of light. Shades of red and green and dazzling white hung above her head like a luminous curtain. She quickly forgot the cold and her aching weariness, lost in the beauty of the heavenly aurora. She had never seen anything this magnificent in her life, nor did she believe she ever would again. She leaned against the wall beside James and silently marveled at the show.

“God gave the Israelites fire by night,” he said quietly, “to keep them from despair. Tonight He gave us this.”

She looked up at James, watching his face as he watched the lights perform their flickering dance. And suddenly she no longer believed that he had ever killed a man. James worked much too hard to preserve life. She would never believe he could end one. He hated death. She had seen him locked in combat with it tonight as if it were his enemy. The real James McGrath was this man, the doctor who was gentle and caring with his patients, who fought each of their illnesses as if it were a personal grudge match. The gruff anger and rudeness he often hid behind were a front, designed to keep people at bay for some reason. If he really had shot a man there would be another explanation for it—just as there had been another explanation for his “hangovers.”

“You did a remarkable job tonight, Julia,” he said, still gazing up at the sky. “Once you caught on, you anticipated what I needed before I asked. I’ve never worked that smoothly with anyone before, not even other doctors.”

“It could have been this way all along,” she said. “Back inWashington, too. But from the very first day I arrived, you seemed determined to drive me away—and everyone else, too, for that matter. You’ll probably push me away again tomorrow. What I don’t understand is why. Why do you work so hard to keep me at a distance?”

He turned his gaze to her, his face somber. Their eyes met. “For the same reason people keep sparks away from gunpowder.”

“I-I don’t understand.” But her heart had begun to beat very fast.

“I think you do, Julia.”

He reached out and gently brushed his fingers across her cheek. She froze. Her heart raced so fast she was certain it would burst. Then James slowly leaned toward her and touched his lips to hers. Julia’s body went weak and shivery all over, as if she had suddenly taken ill. The kiss lasted only a moment before he pulled back and looked at her again. His breath had quickened, and he stood so close she could feel it on her face. She could smell his scent and taste the lingering flavor of his lips. The kiss had been like a sip of something sweet, and she hungered for more.

As if he had read her thoughts, James suddenly took her face in both his hands and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her as if he needed to draw life from her. She had been kissed only once before—a stolen kiss that left her feeling angry and cheated. But the way James kissed her now was every bit as wonderful as she had dreamed it would be. He buried his fingers in her hair and kissed her throat, her temple, her forehead. His beard sent shivers through her as it brushed her skin. Then his lips found her mouth again, and he kissed her long and deep.

Julia encircled him with her arms and drew him closer. Their bodies touched as he pressed her back against the wall. The sensations that washed over her as she moved her hands across his shoulders were so powerful, so overwhelming, she felt she might faint from them. She didn’t want James to ever stop.

But he did. He released her so suddenly it was as if someone had grabbed his shirt and jerked him backward.

“No…” he whispered. “No!” She saw horror in his eyes before he closed them. He bent forward, his hands on his thighs, struggling for breath. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “That shouldn’t have happened. Forgive me.” Then he turned and fled into the night before Julia could speak.

She felt weak-kneed, shaken, the crush of his mouth still fresh on hers, the caress of his hands still tingling through her hair. She felt incomplete, as if an orchestra had abruptly stopped before the song ended; as if a plate of luscious food had been snatched away, leaving her hungry for more.

“No,” she whispered, just as James had done. But she didn’t mean it the way he had. She meant, “Don’t go …come back.”

She wanted his hands to caress her again, those strong, capable hands she’d watched earlier that night, working carefully, skillfully, the golden ring glinting on his left hand in the lamplight. And she suddenly realized, with the same horror as James, what they had done. He was married. She had willingly kissed a married man, held another woman’s husband, a little girl’s father, in her arms.

“Oh, God,” she murmured. Her knees gave way, and she slowly slid down the wall to the ground. “Oh, God, forgive me.”

When the sun rose a few hours later, Julia hadn’t slept. She had gone back inside the warehouse, found the quiet corner where the other nurses were sleeping, wrapped herself in a blanket, and lain down. But sleep wouldn’t come, in spite of her exhaustion. Now the nurses and orderlies had begun to wake up and move around. She heard the injured men moaning. She couldn’t force herself to move.

One of the orderlies approached her. “Mrs. Hoffman?”

She sat up. “Yes?”

“We’re getting the ambulances ready to take the wounded men to the train depot and Aquia Landing. Dr. McGrath said you volunteered to go with them on one of the evacuation ships.”

It took her a moment to comprehend what was happening. James was sending her back to Washington, separating the sparks from the gunpowder. “Y-yes. Yes, I did volunteer,” she stammered.

“We’ll be out front whenever you’re ready.”

Julia quickly gathered her meager belongings. She was glad that she was leaving, glad that she didn’t have to face James. She couldn’t forget how she had responded to him, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. How could she ever forgive herself for coveting another woman’s husband? And James believed that she was married, too, that she, also, had betrayed her wedding vows last night.

In the ambulance, on the hospital train, on board the evacuation ship, Julia spent every minute, every mile of the journey working with the wounded soldiers. It was her punishment, meant to assuage her guilt. It didn’t.

By the time she reached Washington, Congressman Rhodes had long since departed for Philadelphia. But Julia would not allow herself to go home for Christmas. Nathaniel Greene was home. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t face her family, until she’d paid her penance in full.

For the next week, Julia spent all day and most of her spare time at the hospital, helping to decorate the wards with pines, celebrating the holiday with the soldiers, nursing the casualties from Fredericksburg until she was weak with exhaustion. All the while she dreaded the day that James would return. She held her breath every time a carriage pulled up or the front door opened.

In January, Julia overheard Mrs. Fowle telling one of the soldiers that Dr. McGrath had returned to Connecticut. “How did you hear that?” Julia asked the matron.