Let There Be Light (11 page)

Zack’s conversation with the two male customers suddenly cut off as he heard Emma’s words and noted Jenny’s puckered brow and sheet-white face. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Jenny pointed a trembling finger at the front page of the newspaper. “Papa’s Cavalry Division was in a battle near Rome, Georgia, on Wednesday. Lots of Union soldiers were killed.”

Emma folded Jenny in her arms. “Now, honey, your papa is probably all right. Remember, you must do your best to keep an optimistic frame of mind about him, and cling to the hope that one day he will come home alive and well.”

Jenny took a deep breath and steadied herself. “You’re right, Emma.”

Zack reached over the counter and patted Jenny’s shoulder. “You’re a brave girl, honey. Everything is going to turn out all right. You just keep believing it.”

Jenny took another deep breath. “I’m doing my best, Zack. And you two are so encouraging. Thank you.”

That evening, when Jenny left the store with the day’s edition of the
Harrisburg Journal
in her hand, the wind had died down and a light snow was falling. She dreaded having to tell her mother about the bloody Coosaville Road battle and that her father was involved in it.

Jenny wished she could keep it from her mother, but she knew if she didn’t bring the newspaper home, Myrna Linden would know
something was wrong. Jenny would be forced to tell her the truth anyhow. In her mother’s weakened condition, the news that the Third Pennsylvania Cavalry Division was involved in the fierce battle could be devastating. Her mother would think the worst and it would play havoc with her emotional problems. She was already in a low state of mind with the War still going on; not knowing when or if she might ever see her husband again could be the last straw.

As Jenny neared the Linden house, she could make out a horse and buggy parked in front. When she was turning into the yard, Dr. Adam Griffin was coming out the door. Light from the lanterns in the parlor put a glow on the porch. She hurried up on the porch as he was about to descend the steps. “Dr. Griffin, is something wrong with Mama?”

“Oh no,” he said, giving her a smile. “You remember, I told her I was going to do some study on manic depression to see if there is anything new in medical science to help give her some appetite.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I did, and since it was time for a house call anyway, I wanted to let her know what I had found out.”

“And?”

“There are two French doctors in Paris who at present are testing barbituric acid. Do you know what that is?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, it’s a new discovery. It has a tranquilizing effect on a person’s mind and nervous system. And these doctors say they believe it will increase the appetite for people like your mother. As I said, they are in the testing stage now, but it offers hope for your mother, and I wanted to tell her about it. More time is needed, but at least it is encouraging to know the doctors are optimistic.”

Jenny smiled. “That’s for sure. Thank you for this good news, Doctor.”

Griffin turned to leave. “I’ll keep you and your mother posted as I hear more, Jenny.”

“Thanks, again.”

As the doctor moved off the porch and headed for his buggy, Jenny turned to see her mother looking at her from the rocking chair by the parlor window. Jenny thought of the news she was
about to spring on her, and a grave look settled on her face.

Myrna had a fire going in the parlor stove, and the lamps in the room gave off a mellow glow, dispelling the gloom of nightfall. When her daughter came in, Myrna saw Jenny’s troubled expression. “Honey, did Dr. Griffin tell you something he didn’t tell me?”

Jenny moved toward the rocking chair. “No, Mama. It was the same good news about the work of the French doctors that he told you. I’m really encouraged about it.”

“Well, honey, you don’t look encouraged.”

Jenny bent over and kissed her mother’s forehead. “This is something else, Mama.”

Myrna’s eyes went to the newspaper in Jenny’s hand. “Something in the paper?”

Jenny sighed and put the paper in her hand. “Yes. I wish you didn’t have to know, but it’s there on the front page.”

Myrna opened the paper and began to read. Jenny laid a hand on her shoulder.

It took a minute for Myrna to come to the place in the article where the army units involved in the battle on both sides were listed. Her eyes widened when they focused on William’s division. “Oh no!” she cried, and broke into tears. “Oh no! Jenny, your papa was probably killed!”

Jenny bent down and took hold of both her hands. In a soft tone, and using the same tactics that Emma Henderson had used on her earlier that day, she tried to calm her down and to convince her that she should keep on optimistic outlook on the situation. At first it looked like Jenny’s efforts would fail, but with the help of an extra dose of paraldehyde, Myrna eventually calmed down and weakly agreed with her daughter that she must keep a positive outlook on William’s situation.

Myrna dabbed at her tears with a hankie while Jenny kept a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, I just couldn’t live if something happened to your papa. He … he must come home to me whenever the War is over—which I hope is soon—so we can have our life together.”

Jenny sighed. “I want Papa to come home too. And I feel the same way about Nate. I just couldn’t live without him. I’m so very
much anticipating the day he comes home to me. And when he does, we’ll take up where we left off. Shortly thereafter, there will be wedding bells.”

Myrna closed her eyes.

Jenny stayed, her hand gripping her mother’s shoulder firmly, while talking in low tones about keeping up their optimism. There was a hollow note in Jenny’s voice, which told her mother that some of the optimism she spoke of was really not there. She kept her thoughts about it to herself.

When the paraldehyde had calmed Myrna down some, Jenny said, “Mama, I’m going to cook supper now. Does anything sound especially appetizing to you?”

Myrna was ready to tell her daughter that she wasn’t at all hungry, but turning to look up at her, she read the deeply troubled look that remained in Jenny’s eyes. Not wanting to add to her daughter’s anxiety, she pulled a smile from deep in her heart. “I think a poached egg and some toast would taste good on this chilly night, honey. And maybe some peppermint tea.”

Her response had the desired effect, and the troubled look on Jenny’s face softened into a pleasant smile. “I’ll have it ready in just a few minutes, Mama. Do you want to stay here and read more in your paper, or would you like to come into the kitchen and keep me company?”

“I’ll just do that, dear,” Myrna replied, and arm in arm, the two inwardly grieving women left the parlor, each bent on comforting the other.

On the same day, at Memorial Hospital in Frederick, Maryland, more Union casualties from battles and skirmishes all over Virginia were being brought in. There was room for them now, because some soldiers wounded months earlier had been released and a number of those brought in from the Winchester battle had died.

Dr. Homer Walton, as usual, was supervising the entrance of the new patients into the hospital. When he had seen to it that those in need of surgery had been taken to the surgical section and the others were getting the attention they needed as they were placed in the
military ward, he was passing along the long line of beds heading for his office. As he drew near Lieutenant Nathan Conrad’s bed, he saw Conrad’s surgeon, Dr. Gary Medford.

Dr. Medford was just finishing an examination of the wound, and Nate was rolling over on to his back.

Dr. Walton smiled down at Nate, then looked at the surgeon. “So how’s our patient doing, Dr. Medford?”

“The wound is healing slowly, Doctor,” replied Medford, helping Nate adjust his covers. “It will be a couple of months before Lieutenant Conrad will be able to leave the bed to periodically sit in a wheelchair. Then of course, it will be a month or so beyond that before he can be on his feet, walking with crutches. If he does as I expect, he’ll graduate from the crutches in a short time to a cane, and one day, will be able to lay aside the cane.”

Nate managed a smile. “That sounds like a long time, Dr. Medford, but it’s a whole lot better than if you had told me I would never walk again.”

Suddenly a female voice came from the row of beds. “Dr. Walton! Dr. Medford!”

Nate recognized the voice. It was Millie Ross. He swung his gaze that direction as both doctors walked toward her. Millie was standing at the bed of Corporal Eddie Truitt, who had been under Nate’s command in the battle at Winchester. He knew that Eddie had been seriously wounded with a bullet very close to his heart and had suffered many complications since being at the hospital, but Millie had told him that the doctors thought he would make it.

Nate’s eyes were riveted on the scene. Both doctors were leaning over Eddie, working furiously as Millie helped them. Soon it became obvious to Nate and everyone else in the ward that Corporal Eddie Truitt was dying. Nate closed his eyes. “Oh no! Not Eddie!”

When he opened his eyes and looked in that direction again, Millie was sadly pulling a sheet up over Eddie’s face. Dr. Walton called for a cart, and the body was taken away.

Nate clenched his teeth. Sick at heart for his Union comrades who had already lost their lives as a result of the Winchester battle, but grieving especially over Eddie, Nate began to weep. His head was down as his body shook from the sobs.

Suddenly he felt a tender hand on his shoulder. He looked up through his tears into the face of Millie Ross.

Millie’s features were pinched and compassion was in her eyes. “Nate, are you all right?”

“Not really,” he said. “Seeing my close friend, Eddie, die really got to me. Eddie was a good soldier, Millie, and this makes the seventh soldier who has died here in the ward from my unit since we were brought here after the Winchester battle. There were nine others who never made it through surgery. It—it’s just so hard to lose them.”

Millie bent down close to his face, kept her hand on his shoulder, and talked to him in soft tones, trying to comfort him. Her nearness to him and the compassion she was showing served to ease his grief, and after a few minutes, Nate’s weeping ceased.

On the verge of tears herself, Millie stroked his cheek. “I wish I could take the pain for you, Nate. I knew you and Eddie were good friends. I’ve never lost a close friend to death, but I can imagine how it hurts—especially because Eddie was under your command when he was shot. Just remember, I’m right here for you. If—”

“Miss Ross,” came the voice of Letha Phillips, the head nurse on the day shift, “I need to talk to you as soon as you are finished taking care of Lieutenant Conrad.”

With that, the woman headed toward the nurse’s station.

Nate noticed a frown crease Millie’s brow as she watched Letha Phillips walk away in a rather stiff-legged manner. “Millie, is something wrong?”

She looked back at Nate. “I think so. I’ve never had her talk to me in that tone of voice.”

“What could you have done to deserve that kind of treatment?”

Millie shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I’ll see you later.” With that, Millie headed toward the nurse’s station.

Letha Phillips was talking to another nurse when Millie drew up. Letha glanced at her with a sharp look in her eye, then finished what she was saying to the other nurse.

As Letha turned to face her, Millie asked, “What did you want to talk to me about, Mrs. Phillips?”

“Let’s go in here, so we can talk in private.” Letha led her into a
small room nearby, opened the door, and gestured for her to enter. Millie stepped in, and Letha closed the door.

There was guarded curiosity in Millie’s eyes as she waited for Letha to speak.

Letha put a stern gaze on her. “Millie, I happened to notice the attention you were giving Lieutenant Conrad, and what I saw did not look good.”

Millie batted her eyelids in surprise at Letha’s tone. “What do you mean?”

Letha drew a deep breath. “Millie, you shouldn’t have bent so low over his face. It almost looked like you were going to kiss him. And you shouldn’t have been stroking his cheek like that, either. This was just too much familiarity for a nurse to be showing a male patient.”

“Oh. I … I’m sorry, Mrs. Phillips. I didn’t mean to do something wrong. Nate—Lieutenant Conrad was grieving over Corporal Eddie Truitt, who just died there in the ward. The corporal had been under Lieutenant Conrad’s command in the Winchester battle. They had been close friends. I was just trying to comfort him.”

Letha grinned crookedly. “Tell me, Millie, doesn’t Lieutenant Conrad mean just a bit more to you than your other patients?”

A slight blush colored Millie’s features. “Well … ah … you could say that. I liked the lieutenant very much when I first met him, and I like him even more now.”

Letha’s eyes softened. “I can understand that. You are a single young lady, and he is a single young man. From what I have observed, he likes you very much too. But the two of you must not allow this to show while he is a patient here in the hospital.”

Millie nodded. “I understand, Mrs. Phillips. I just got carried away this morning when Nate was so torn up over his friend’s death. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“Please do. Ah …”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Have you two declared special feelings for each other?”

“No. Not really. But I will tell you that I do have special feelings for him, and I know he has them for me. And when we do actually declare these feelings to each other, I’ll make sure that we keep it to
ourselves so I don’t appear unethical in my profession as a nurse.”

Finally, there was a hint of a smile on Letha’s lips. “Thank you, dear. This is what I was concerned about. You may go back to him now.”

When Millie returned to Nate, she explained to him what the head nurse talked to her about. “Nate, I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“Well, for … for appearing so familiar by my actions.”

Nate looked up into her eyes. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He cleared his throat nervously. “Well … do you feel something special toward me?”