Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (8 page)

In the end she donned a simple brown skirt and tan blouse.

After a quick breakfast, and a
few chores
, they embarked on the exceedingly muddy trek to Charleston. Just before leaving, Genie instructed Grace and Fredrick to report any sign of trespassers. Thus reminded, Marissa couldn’t help but glance nervously over her shoulder at the spooky woods from tim
e to time. Fortunately Genie’s insistence that she learn to handle the cart served as a more than sufficient distractor.

“
Next time you’re driving,” Marissa grumbled
,
stretching fingers sore from clutching the reigns.

“Nonsense.”
Genie replied
breez
il
y. “You’re doing just fine and eventually you
will
need to do this by yourself.”

Once they reached the hospital Genie bustled into a corner room and returned carrying a basket filled with pens, ink, writing paper, and books. After assuring Marissa that she would be fine, she set off to assist the sick and injured men with reading, writing and whatever else they might need that did not immediately deal with blood or gore.

Fine indeed
, Marissa thought grumpily, taking a moment to gain her bearings and then set off in search of Dr. Langston. When a quick survey of the facility failed to reveal any sign of him
,
she inquired after his whereabouts
with
another man in gray. “Excuse me, sir I was looking for Captain Langston.”

The man looked at her in surpr
ise then grinned appreciatively.
“I say, Miss, are you sure it’s Captain Langston you’re looking for? I would be more than happy help you out.”

Ignoring the man’s flirtatious gaze Marissa plastered a polite smile on her face and assured the man that it was Craig Langston she needed to see.

“Why is it all of the pretty ones want to see
him
?” The comment was directed upward as though appealing a higher power. Turning a mischievous grin to her, he waved a hand. “Follow me then, and I’ll see if we can’t find him. I am Captain James Rowe, army surgeon
extraordinaire
, and glad to be of your assistance,
mademoiselle
.”

The man’s grin had an infectious quality and before long Marissa was smiling genuinely in return. Now that the shock of the hospital’s atmosphere
—
and its
lamentable downfalls—had ebbed
she couldn’t help but be morbidly fascinated. Moving toward the back of the hospital her eyes drank in every aspect of the place and while it looked more like a holocaust camp than a hospital
—
mentally she made note not to mention Nazis, Hitler, Word War II, or World War I, for that matter
—
it
felt
like a hospital. Men in uniform strode with importance about the facility, young orderlies scurried up and down stairs, completing errands, following orders, and volunteers were carrying out any variety of tasks.

As if on cue Craig Langston appeared before the wide door of the operating room chucking a bloodied apron into the corner. Her heart positively lurched in the face of the pure devastation mirrore
d in his eyes. The man looked
tired and drawn
,
and so terribly young in that moment
…
all she wanted was to wrap her arms around
those broad shoulders
and pull him
to her
.

Slowly she
ap
proached. “Craig?
Are you all right?”

He glared at her, as if asking himself what the hell she was doing there. “Miss McClafferty,” he
clipped
, “if you have come to once more take me to task about my methods of healing, you may leave. I
am not in the mood to listen.” His attention shifted t
o Dr. Rowe
.
“I lost Billy Cole this morning.”

Instantly Marissa understood his dour mood and once again t
he shattered pieces of her heart trembled in sympathy. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked it, but her knowledge of medical advances yet to come assailed her conscience and she bled for him. No doubt many physicians in this day had lost countless patients who could have been saved in her time. How many young soldiers had placed broken bodies into Craig’s hands, trusting his skills to perform miracles and give their lives back to them?

“What do you need me to do?” Marissa asked quietly. “Remember, I agreed to help in whatever way I can.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then without looking at her again, said, “James, please show her the cleaning closet and whatever else you think she’ll need. The lady find
s
the condition of our wards
unacceptable.
” This time, he shot a pointed
look at Marissa. Heat flamed in her
cheeks but
she
refused to be intimidated. Maybe she wasn’t a charwoman, but if that was all the use he could see to put her to, then so be it. Then, to her amazement, he went on, speaking again to the other doctor. “When you have done so, start rounds in the third ward. Corporal Tanner may need his wounds debrided.”

So,
her point about debridement had stuck with him. She hadn’t really expected him to acknowledge the fact the idea had come from her.

Already having formed a plan of action, Marissa donned an apron and took mental note of the meager supplies available to her. Basins, scrubbing brushes, rags, big bars of what had to be lye soap. Lye soap! She looked at her hands, which she knew were going to be burned raw by the stuff. When had rubber gloves been invented, anyway?

“Captain Rowe,” she said impulsively, as he was about to mount the stai
rs on his was to the third ward.
“
W
ho was Billy Cole?”

The man sighed heavily and shook his head. “A friend of the Langston family. Up until a couple weeks ago Doc Langston was attached to an artillery unit with General Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. A few months back Billy Cole was injured on a scouting mission; injured bad, hopelessly bad,” he emphasized. “But what you have to understand is that Billy was like another brother to Craig and when he stumbled across him dying in a field hospital, Langston refused to listen to rea
son and worked on him for hours. In the end he did it.
H
e saved him.” Dr. Rowe shift
ed as he told the story, propping a shoulder against the wall
.

“Craig was transferred back to Charleston and personally saw to transporting Billy with him. But Billy’s been in a bad way ever since and we’ve all been telling Langston it was only a matter of time before...” The doctor’s voice faltered and Marissa nodded in understanding. “This morning it finally happened, his abdo
minal wounds opened back up and…
” James’s green eyes looked upward as he raised his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “Craig tried, but Billy died anyway. Eighteen year old kid was all.”

Oh, God!

Tears burned as she turned a blurred, compassionate gaze to Craig who stood with shoulders slumped over an empty cot in the first ward. How dare she think her lot unfair when he was faced with the suffering of these young soldiers and their families? These people had lost friends and brothers, entire homes; every man who died meant at least one broken heart. The tragedy, like ripples on a pond, would eventually touch
everyone
. Whatever hand she’d been dealt never had she suffered an army invading her homeland or lost anyone truly close to her. Even her grandparents were all still living
—at least they had been in 2012—
and right now, in this moment, she had no real cause to fear for the safety of her family.

All those callous comments she’d made about the unsatisfactory state of the hospital and he’d been fighting to save the life of his friend, his
brother
…

And now she felt like a royal ass.

What was the worst that had ever happened to her? She’d been jilted by her fiancé? Well,
boo hoo
… It
sucked
to be dumped, more than that it royally
hurt
to have someone look you in the eye and say, “You’re not worth wasting my love on,” but in the face of
true suffering,
in the face of
needless death and destruction—
not that she was a stranger to death, the ER had hardened her
—
she was forced to recategorize her priorities and reclassify what it meant to be hurt. Well, Brian Whitely was barely a swell on the Richter scale. And
Richter scale
there was another phrase she’d have to avoid using
… This is going to impossible!

It was early afternoon when Marissa finished scrubbing and organizing the first ward and dragged her aching body up to the second. A plus to following through with the fool plan to have a job was that her duties primarily consisted of cleaning. Cleaning had always been an outlet for her, a means of subduing nervous energy and after today she should be feeling sufficiently numb to sleep. On the second ward, she spotted Genie sitting beside a man whose face was almost totally obscured by bandages and meandered over ready for a quick break.

The man smelled like death.

Suppressing a shudder, she sought a moment of privacy with her friend, quickly relaying what she’d learned about young Billy Cole.

Genie’s expression was sober as she patted Marissa’s hand. “Just be there for him, dear. He needs all the support and compassion he can get to continue helping those who need him.”

Marissa nodded and turned to smile warmly at the soldier, realizing too late that he was blind. Drawing Genie out of the
patient’s earshot.
“He’s not doing well.” It was a statement not a question.

With a small shake of the head Genie returned to her task of trying to bring comfort to a dying boy.

Plowing steadfastly though her work Marissa found that her senses would not be completely numbed. The bandaged face of Genie’s soldier and the beaten expression on Craig Langston’s swirled endlessly through her mind. She watched for him almost constantly, thinking of the unfathomable atrocities he saw and treated. Really, he must be an incredible man. She should never have spoken to him as
she had and—

“Oh, ow! Ow! Son of a
bitch
!” she swore reflexively as the oversize bin she was wrestling
toward the w
all tipped precariously to the side, momentarily smashing the index finger of her right hand between the wall and the corner of the crate. Shaking the injured extremity, it took her all of three seconds to realize the error of her outburst as the room fell deadly silent, uncomfortably so.

Sheepishly she held up the injured hand.