Tear In Time (11 page)

 
"Wow, that is so good," David exclaimed out loud as he struggled to
feign pleasure with the flavor. "This was well worth the wait."

  The
old doctor coiffed his long white beard as he beamed with pride.

  Gen.
Negley, having been too busy to eat during his search for the wounded, eyed the
floating ration of meat with envy. Placing proper manners and etiquette above
rank, he politely asked, "Pardon me, Jeb. In your search, did you happen
to find any extra rations?"

 
"My apologies, Jim. I assumed you had already dined. I'm afraid I ate the
remaining ration on my way over," Dr. Morgan replied, embarrassed by his
insensitivity.

 
"Please, general, sir, there's more than enough for the two of us. Help
yourself," David offered, pushing the pot closer to the general's reach.

 
"I am indebted to you, lad," Gen. Negley replied, immediately
reaching into the pot and pulling out a large piece for himself.

  David
reached down and tossed a peach to the general as he chewed. Gen. Negley's eyes
widened and twinkled by the fire's light as he caught the fruit with his greasy
hands. With his mouth filled with food, good manners prevented him from giving
verbal thanks. Instead he nodded and winked his appreciation. David smiled back
as he caught a look of approval from Dr. Morgan. For the next few minutes, the
two shared their meal and listened to the sound of the crackling fire as the
heat drove off the slight chill in the air.

  Soon,
Dr. Morgan and Gen. Negley engaged in conversation about the particulars of the
day's battle. Staring through the fire, David reflected on the day's events and
the reality of life he would now have to embrace. All the memories of the
previous day were still painfully fresh and clear in his mind. He thought of
the pizza he ate and took for granted, the warm private shower in his
comfortably furnished town home, a simple phone call to his parents across the
country. He even thought of the annoying TV commercials he had to sit through
to watch his favorite programs. His mind scanned through an endless list of
modern conveniences he would have to do without. The harshness of his reality
seemed like cruel punishment given to one who had been caught breaking the law.
Sitting there on his hard, wooden crate, in his mind he subconsciously repeated
the same phrase over and over: 'This can't be happening, this can't be
happening.'

 
"David, you look tired. I took the liberty of having a couple of the boys
set up some provisions for you," Dr. Morgan said.

 
"I could sleep for a hundred years," David replied, not realizing the
pun.

 
Glancing nervously over at Gen. Negley, Dr. Morgan caught the unintentional pun
and pretended ignorance. He then signaled to one of the passerby privates to
show David to his tent. Standing slowly and stretching his legs, he bid all a
good night and walked toward the surgical wagon. Reaching around the buckboard,
he retrieved the picture he had carried with him from the elevator. With the
private leading the way, they walked across the dew-covered grass to his tent.

 
"Seems like a fine young lad, Jeb. Strangely dressed though. I don't recall
ever seeing that kind of medical attire before. Is that a new uniform for
doctors?” Gen. Negley asked almost rhetorically, as he took another sip of the
jar.

 
"Hmm, I suppose it is," Dr. Morgan replied, now considering once
again the possibility of David's claim of time travel.

 
Receiving the jar from the general, he shrugged off any further thought on the
matter, stating under his breath, "Nonsense."

 
"What's nonsense, Jeb?" Gen. Negley asked, overhearing the old
doctor’s remark.

 
"Nothing, Jim. I'm just rambling as old men sometimes do," Dr. Morgan
replied. He took a sip of the jar and considered David's claim once more.

  Led by
oil lamp, David and his guide made their way across the clearing to his canvas
tent. Pitched with rope and a couple of wooden poles, a sheet of canvas hung,
suspended in the middle and open at both ends. It was a long way off from the
North Face tent he had used while camping with friends along the Appalachian
mountain range. David peered inside and felt a wave of relief as he saw a
sturdy wooden cot prepared for his night’s sleep. As he inhaled, he could smell
the strong, musty scent of mildew and aged canvas. He bent over and entered the
tent. Placing his hands over the blanket, he pressed down to judge the comfort
quality.

 
"Hmm, not bad," he said to himself.

 
"Pardon, sir?" asked the private, only hearing mumbles.

 
"Sorry, I'm just talking to myself," David replied.

 
"Will that be all, sir?" the private asked, but there was no answer.

  He
called to David once more, "Sir? Will that be all for this evening?"
but still there was no answer from David.

 
Bringing the lighted oil lamp to the entrance of the tent, he saw David lying
on his back, sound asleep, still clutching his picture. The young private left
for a moment, then returned with a dark green woolen blanket. He took the
broken, framed picture from David's hands and placed it on the ground below his
head. He then draped the blanket over David and returned to his duties with the
wounded. As David slept soundly, a short distance away others were not as
fortunate. Writhing in pain, the wounded soldiers could be overheard moaning as
they struggled for a moment of rest: a moment that never seemed to come.

---- ----
---- ---- ----

  The morning
dawned with a blue, cloudless sky. As the sun began to rise, its rays warmed
the open clearing that cradled the Union soldiers. Streaking through the birch
trees, the beams of light penetrated the soldiers’ tents, sending the foul
stench of wet canvas and mold into their nostrils, abruptly waking the light
sleepers. Shortly after, the chatter of morning songbirds, cacophonous and
loud, gave their gentle nudge and woke the remaining soldiers from their much
needed night’s rest. Fighting nature’s call for their morning relief, all
soldiers sprung to their feet as morning reveille sounded the day's start. Soon
after, the essence of burning wood filled the air as plumes of heavy smoke
drifted high above the campfires that warmed the morning's thick black coffee.
The congratulatory sounds of praise and laughter could be heard as the tired
soldiers discussed the previous day’s winning battle. While standing around the
open flames, slowly breaking off the morning’s chill, the subtle moans of pain
could be distinguished from the makeshift infirmary a short distance away.

 
"Good morning, lad," Dr. Morgan said in an elevated tone.

Without a
reply, he repeated his greeting, "Good morning, David."

  Looking
down through the opening of the tent, Dr. Morgan watched as David inhaled
deeply, slowly coming out of his sleep. Dr. Morgan took a half-step to his
right, blocking out the sun's rays that shown in David's eyes, causing him to
squint severely as he began to wake.

 
"Well, well, good morning, Dr. Warner," Dr. Morgan said loudly.
"I trust your sleep was satisfactory?" he asked rhetorically.

 
David's eyes popped open. In a moment of confusion, he struggled to remember
the events of the previous day.  Looking up, he saw the silhouette of Dr.
Morgan as the sun shined from behind him, blackening out his face.

 
"Wow, what time is it?" David asked, forgetting about his own watch.

 
"Nine o'clock sharp. Considering the long day you had yesterday, I told
the boys to let you sleep," the old doctor replied.

 
"I feel completely wiped out," David said, yawning.

 
"What do you mean by wiped out?" Dr. Morgan asked, looking confused.

 
"Exhausted… I feel like I've been run over," David continued.

  "Hmm.
Well, you did perform most of the surgeries yesterday. I'm not surprised,"
Dr. Morgan sympathized, then added, "On the topic of surgeries, I'm
pleased to inform you that the boys you worked on are doing well."

 
"Well? How well?" David replied, snapping to an upright position.

 
"I'd say very well. No infection yet as far as I can observe," Dr.
Morgan replied.

 
"All?" David asked suspiciously.

 
"Every one of them. Darnedest thing I've ever seen," Dr. Morgan
replied, elated.

  David leapt
to his feet and came out of the tent directly. Anxiously, he asked, "Can
you show me the wounded?"

 
"David, is there something wrong?" the old doctor asked, now himself
a bit suspicious.

 
"I know I was diligent about cleanliness, but I expected at least half the
men to exhibit some form of infection. This is most unusual," David
replied as he followed Dr. Morgan.

  As
they entered the area set up as the infirmary, David and Dr. Morgan reviewed
the wounded. As David had anticipated, signs of infection had begun to show in
many of the patients. He detected the telltale signs by the deep reddening
areas beyond the stitches. In addition, skin surrounding the wounds was hot to
the touch. Some had elevated fevers and still others had swollen and enlarged
lymph glands.

  David
turned to Dr. Morgan and sadly stated his findings. "Doctor, I'm afraid
about a quarter of the men are showing signs of infection. Certainly better
results than what I had anticipated, but serious nonetheless. I might be able to
help some of the infections with topical ointments, if I can locate the correct
ingredients."

 
"David, there isn't any pus. The wounds do not smell foul. Are you
sure?" Dr. Morgan asked, confused at how David had arrived at his answer.

 
"Pus is an indication of advanced infection. We really don't want to get
there if we can prevent it," David replied.

 
"No pus? I was under the impression that a laudable amount was a good sign
of healing," Dr. Morgan questioned.

 
"That's actually not true. Years from now, when germs and disease are
better understood, that theory will be abandoned. Practices of prevention and
better treatment will be developed over time, where infection will be
completely controlled by a variety of drugs," David elaborated.

  Dr.
Morgan looked at him strangely and David knew he didn't believe him. Quickly he
added, "Doctor, I know this is hard to accept, but I believe in time I
will convince you of everything I am saying. For now I'd like to try a few
remedies to help stave off some of the infection topically. I would need a
large quantity of tea or marigolds, if you can find them. I've read about
preventive ointments and salves that can be produced from simple household
ingredients," David mentioned, trying to keep the topic moving in a
positive direction.

 
"I can have some of the boys search for the marigolds. In the meantime,
I'll get you some tea," Dr. Morgan answered, motioning David to follow
him, then added “By the way, how quickly can you make this salve?”

  “I'd
say in about a day or so,” David replied.

  The
old doctor stopped in his tracks. “David, we have orders to move out by noon.
The wounded will be transported to the nearest hospital for recovery
thereafter. I thought you knew. Can you make something quicker?”

  David
fell silent. He felt cheated by time once more. Without some form of
preventative treatment, his patients would most assuredly have serious
complication due to infection.

  “Is
there nothing we can do? Can you ask the general for more time?” David
rationalized.

  “I'm
sorry, David. We have our orders that account for thousands of men. Eighty or
so wounded men just aren’t enough reason to hold up a war,” the doctor
answered, feeling a bit callous as he spoke.

  As David
stood silent and thought about the injustice, he accepted the doctor’s
explanation, coming to grips with the realities of war.