Lost Cause (8 page)

“What’s your name?”

“Jack. Jack Saylor.”

“Oh, you sail do you?”

“No.”

“You said you were a sailor.”

“No. That’s Saylor with a Y.”

“I see. Well, let’s get you fixed up Corporal
Saylor. By the way, my name’s Laura Brewster. You can call me Nurse
Brewster.”

“Are you a real nurse?” Jack asked.

“As opposed to what, a fake one?”

“I mean are you a nurse or a nurse’s
aide?”

“Mister I spent two long years in school to
earn my papers. A little respect please.”

“Didn’t mean to offend. You’re very pretty
you know.”

“So I’ve been told. You like pretty girls do
you?”

“I like them better than ugly girls.”

“You’re an impertinent rascal aren’t
you?”

“I told a girl once, a pretty girl much like
you as a matter of fact, that I didn’t have time for formalities
and get to know you chit chat. You see this hole in my shoulder? A
few more inches to the right and I’d be in a grave in some
peasant’s garden somewhere. So yes Miss Brewster, I suppose I am a
touch on the impertinent side.” She smiled as if she hadn’t heard a
word he said.

“I’ll wash you up, but I won’t change the
dressings until the doctor has a look.”

“Do you know a nurse named Marie Hayes?”

“No. There’s no one working here by that
name.”

“Not here. I mean have you ever met anyone by
that name?”

“There was a Marie in one of my classes, but
I don’t believe her last name was Hayes. Why do you ask?”

“Never mind, it’s not important.”

She shrugged and went to work cleaning the
bullet wound. The tissue where the bullet had entered was red and
puffy and a yellowish liquid seeped from the ragged hole.

“Boy is that septic,” Nurse Brewster said
wrinkling her nose. She rummaged around in the leather bag and
produced a bottle of potassium iodine and a cotton cloth which she
used to clean the dried blood from the wound area. The washing felt
good and Jack relaxed and let her have at it. There was a bandage
around his head but she left it in place and instead concentrated
on the shoulder.

“Where were you wounded?” she asked.

“Brownsville.”

“They don’t have surgeons in
Brownsville?”

“Two. But they were under the impression your
docs are more qualified.”

“We do have excellent surgeons.”

“And pretty nurses.”

“Some of us are. How’s that feel?”

“It hurts. So, how long have you been a
nurse?”

“Two years.”

“You’re from here are you?”

“You ask a lot of questions for a sick
man.”

“I’m not sick,” Jack said, “I’m wounded.”

She finished cleaning Jack’s shoulder and
helped him slip on a cotton bed shirt. “When do I get to see the
doctor?” he asked.

“Soon, after you’ve had something to
eat.”

“You’re awfully nice to me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s my job.”

“Are you going to tend to my friend Corporal
Campbell there?”

“Yes, just as soon as I’m finished here.”

“Go easy on him, he’s rather delicate. He may
cry if you react negatively to his wound.”

“Please, I’m a professional, I’ve seen worse
than that.” Campbell was listening intently to the banter and he
said,

“Don’t pay attention to anything Jack says.
That head wound has him somewhat confused. He’s thinks he’s some
type of great lover.” Nurse Brewster raised an eyebrow and cocked
her head.

“He can’t talk too plain,” Jack explained
“It’s the wound. I’ll translate for him. He said I am an
exceptional individual worthy of any attractive woman’s attention.”
Campbell made a snuffling noise and Nurse Brewster smiled behind
her hand.

With the shutters open, bright sunlight
flooded the ward and Jack looked out with satisfaction at the vista
of building tops with red shingled roofs and the white cumulus
clouds and the curve of the blue sky beyond. Though his shoulder
ached and his head throbbed, he actually felt good for the first
time in days. He watched Nurse Brewster bend over to inspect
Campbell’s wound and saw her flowing skirts with a hint of
petticoat at the hem and thought of Marie Hayes.

“How many nurses are employed here?” he
asked.

“Five, including me. But there are more
coming to help out.”

“Do you know when they will get here or where
they’re coming from?”

“Why? Have I not taken good care of you?”

“You’ve done well. Couldn’t ask for more.
Except. . .”

“Except what?”

“You could have mentioned how very handsome I
am.”

After Nurse Brewster had gone, Jack lay on
the bed and looked out the open bay door wondering when the doctor
would come. An orderly bought a fresh pitcher of water and Jack
asked about a surgeon but the man said he wasn’t privy to the staff
schedule. While Campbell slept Jack drank two cups of water and
looked out the window at the sky until his eyes grew heavy and he
went to sleep.

An hour later Campbell and he were awakened
by an orderly bearing a food tray. He was accompanied by a small
severe woman with white hair and piercing green eyes. She said her
name was Mrs. Martha Styles, Superintendent of nurses. It was clear
from the outset she didn’t like Jack and he decided almost
immediately he didn’t much like her either. She asked too many
questions and scolded Jack for being so forward with Nurse
Brewster. “She’s to be treated with the utmost respect. Please keep
your amorous proclivities to yourself, Corporal Saylor.”

“She told you I was being amorous?” asked
Jack.

“She mentioned you were a bit. . .shall we
say aggressive.”

“I’m a sick man, Mrs. Styles. I have a head
injury. In my compromised condition, I may have said some things
that were out of line. Please accept my humblest apology.”

Mrs. Styles wasn’t sure if Jack was being
serious or mocking her. She stared down her nose at him and said,
“One of our physicians will be by to see you gentlemen as soon as
you’ve eaten. Is there anything else we can do for you in the mean
time?”

“You can move that chamber pot a little
closer. It’s the water. Very tasty water you have here in Corpus
Christi.”

Mrs. Styles instructed the orderly to leave
the food and fetch fresh chamber pots. Then she turned and walked
away without another word. After she’d left Nurse Brewster came
in.

“Why were you so flippant with Mrs. Styles?”
she asked. “She only wants to see that you men receive the best
care possible.”

“I wasn’t trying to be. But she was such a
snob.”

“She said you were very rude.”

“I don’t think I was. By the way, where’s
that doctor? Ya’ll do have doctors on staff don’t you?”

“After you’ve eaten. I’ll leave you to
it.”

“You know, my shoulder hurts a great deal. Do
you think you can help me out?” Maybe feed me some of that gruel? I
don’t think I can hold a spoon.”

“You’re incorrigible, Corporal Saylor,” she
said. Then she hurried out of the room before he could say
more.

Jack and Campbell ate the simple meal slowly,
Campbell favoring his shattered jaw and Jack put off by the texture
and flavor of the unseasoned bacon and grits. Afterward they sat on
the bed and took turns wondering when they were to see a surgeon.
“Good thing we’re not bleeding to death,” Jack said.

“Guess they have more severely wounded folks
here,” Campbell offered. Most of the grits he’d put in his mouth
earlier were now deposited on his chin and the front of his bed
shirt.

The orderly came in for the tray and Jack
suggested he fetch another shirt for Campbell. “The flies will
throw a party on him tonight if we don’t get him cleaned him up,”
Jack pontificated.

The orderly went for the clothes and Jack
wandered around the ward until he found an old copy of the Corpus
Christi Caller Times and returned to his bed to read. News of the
war dominated the headlines, none of it good for the Confederacy.
There was a list of the dead from Nueces County and an article on
the front page outlining Sherman’s march toward Atlanta. The editor
who had written the article had used some rather disparaging
language calling Sherman every descriptive adjective he knew except
Christian.

Jack sat by the window and watched it get
dark outside and read and reread the paper until he couldn’t see
the small type any longer. Corporal Campbell remained in his bed
sleeping on and off. The grits and greasy pork had made him sick
and he was making frequent use of one of the chamber pots by his
bed.

As the sun settled below the house tops,
night-hawks and ravens circled over the shops in the center of town
hoping to snatch a chicken or a scrap of meat left behind by one of
the butchers. Nurse Brewster came in with her medical bag and
announced that the men would not being seeing a doctor until the
next morning. “Doctor Pierce is exhausted,” she said. “and the
other doctors are either performing surgery or treating the gravely
ill.”

“So I’m supposed to lay here and rot?” Jack
asked a bit more sharply than he’d intended.

“No, I’m going to lance the wound and flush
it with carbolic acid,” she said calmly.

“Sounds painful.”

“It is. But I’m going to give you some
laudanum first. It will dull the pain.”

Campbell woke from his nap and sat up in bed
to watch the procedure. After Jack had downed a tablespoon of
laudanum, Nurse Brewster placed a wash basin and several pieces of
cotton cloth on the bed beside his shoulder. Then she filled the
pan with water and several ounces of carbolic acid. “Now comes the
painful part,” she said.

Jack lay back on the towel she’d placed on
the bed and she removed a large hollow needle from her bag and
swirled it in the water a couple of times and commenced to probe
Jack’s bullet wound with the tip of the three inch long instrument.
He groaned a couple of times and she paused briefly then pushed the
needle a full inch into his flesh. “You can cry out if you want,”
she said her eyes fixed in concentration. Pinkish blood seeped from
the wound and she soaked it up with a wad of cotton cloth. She
allowed the wound to bleed for a few moments then poured more
carbolic acid into the hole. Then she pressed a folded cotton
bandage over the wound and tied it in place with more strips of
cloth.

“Are you finished?” Jack asked gritting his
teeth.

“I’m not sure, but I think there’s a bullet
fragment in your shoulder.”

“I thought it went straight through.”

“The main projectile did, but it may have
fragmented. That would explain the infection.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ll probably need an
operation.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

She removed the bloody bandage from Jack’s
head, cleaned the two inch long gash above his ear with carbolic
acid and wound a clean strip of cloth around his head and tied it
with a small bow.

“That’s done,” she said. “That should hold
you until morning.”

“Will my head need an operation too?”

“No, of course not.”

“What about Campbell?”

“He will require surgery too. There’s nothing
more I can do for him at this point.”

Before Nurse Brewster left Jack took more
laudanum and shortly fell asleep. He slept heavily for several
hours then woke sweating and disoriented. He’d been dreaming of
battle and blood and the eyes of dead men staring up at him milky
white and as void of life as a granite stone. It was not yet
daylight but he heard a rooster crow and the sound of a bell
clanging somewhere across town. He listened to the night birds
singing in the trees beside the hospital and thought about Marie
Hayes before drifting off to sleep.

Chapter 12

It was extremely bright in the ward when Jack
woke a short time later. For a moment he thought he was back in the
barracks in Brownsville preparing for another patrol into the hills
above the river. Then he moved his shoulder and remembered he was
in a hospital in Corpus Christi waiting for a surgeon to make him
well.

Nurse Brewster came in a few minutes later
and said, “Good morning, Corporal, did you have a good night?” She
wasn’t as pretty in the harsh light as Jack remembered. She looked
tired and older and thinner than she had the day before.

“Yes, I’m still breathing,” Jack said. “You
think I’ll get to see a doc this morning?”

“Your nurse friend Marie Hayes is here,”
Nurse Brewster said. “I already don’t like her much.”

“Marie’s here?”

“Yep, checked in this morning. Seems some
priest helped her get a transfer. You happy now?”

“My, that’s. . .that’s unexpected. Why don’t
you like her?”

“Because she’s prettier than I. And Mrs.
Styles likes her.”

“You’ll like her too, when you get to know
her.”

“That’s unlikely. It doesn’t matter anyway;
I’ll still do my job to the best of my ability.”

“The doctor?”

“He’s coming. There’s also a barber on his
way to shave Corporal Campbell’s face so the doctor can do a
thorough examination.”

“What about my face?” Jack whined.

“You look better with whiskers. They fit that
roguish personality of yours.”

The barber arrived fifteen minutes later. He
was about sixty and wore a thin mustache under a long narrow nose.
He spoke little and went right to work lathering up Campbell’s face
and honing his razor on a rawhide strop. Campbell grumbled and
complained and breathed a few curses when the barber took hold of
his chin.

“You be careful with my face, damn it,”
Campbell snarled. “Can’t you see I got two big holes in it?”

“Oh please, I’ve shaved much worse,” the
barber sniffed. Then he set about shaving the thick black whiskers
from Campbell’s face.