Faith (12 page)

Faith turned from freshly bandaging a soldier who’d lost an eye. One of the black orderlies, a teenage boy who’d practically run up to her, was waiting impatiently. “Miss Faith,” he said with definite excitement, “I think I spotted who it is.”

A combination of excitement and fear whipped up her spine. “Yes?”

“He been to the latrine four times already this mornin’. You won’t b’lieve who it is. Come ’n’ see.”

Faith decided not to press him
 
—to see for herself instead
 
—but she needed one more person to witness this so there would be no doubt about the thief’s identity. “Thank thee. Go watch for the culprit. I’ll come soon.” She swept toward the nearby tent, where Dr. Bryant was painstakingly washing his surgical tools for the day. “Dr. Bryant, I think we’ve discovered our thief.”

He stopped his task and turned to her, drying his hands on a towel. “How?”

“Come.” She waved him to follow. “I’ll explain so thee can confront the culprit.”

Evidently caught by her urgency, he hurried along beside her. “Well?” He spoke next to her ear since the bombardment continued unabated.

“The head cook has been reporting to thee that our food supplies were being stolen,” she began.

“Yes.”

“Well, I set a trap for the thief: a strong purgative mixed in with wild-plum pie.”

“What!” Dr. Bryant halted, gawking at her, then caught up with her. “I take it we’re headed for the latrine?”

The humor of the situation suddenly burst over her. “Yes. The culprit is now reaping what he has sown.”

Dr. Bryant merely shook his head at her. “You stay behind. I’ll handle this.”

She let the doctor go on ahead and hung back, sheltering behind a nearby tree where she could observe unnoticed.

He quickened his pace and reached the latrine just as the head of the hospital, Captain Slattery, staggered out from behind the stretched canvas barrier.

“A bit under the weather, are we?” Dr. Bryant roared at the man.

He flinched and encompassed his abdomen with both hands. “I’m sick.”

“Yes, from the purgative in the wild-plum pie you stole early this morning!” The doctor bellowed so loudly she could hear it between artillery blasts.

Slattery bent double and hurried back behind the canvas.

Dr. Bryant returned to her. “I’ll have the man’s tent searched for more evidence and notify headquarters.”

She drew out a small bag from one of her apron pockets.
“Here’s an herbal remedy. I don’t want him to become really sick.”

He smiled and accepted the pouch, then offered her his hand. “Thank you, Nurse Cathwell. Your intelligence and abilities always amaze me.”

Faith felt herself blushing. “I just do what I can, Doctor.”

He squeezed her hand. “Leave this to me now.”

She curtsied, something she rarely did here, and went back to the tent and her patients. As she reached the rear entrance, Dr. Dyson pushed past her, clutching his abdomen, heading straight for the latrine.

Faith halted, startled to her toes. This she had not foreseen. Were the two men in this together? Or had Dr. Dyson been offered a piece of the stolen pie? Or become ill in some more innocent way? She was glad to leave this situation to Dr. Bryant. And she hoped he’d keep her part in it secret.

After supper and during an early end to the daily barrage, Faith and Honoree walked side by side toward the colonel’s tent. Over one arm, Honoree carried a covered woven oak basket. Concealed inside was a gift from the head cook, a wholesome plum pie draped with a starched dishcloth. After giving two slices to Ella for her and her husband to enjoy, Honoree had decided they should share the rest of this rare treat with the colonel and Armstrong. Faith knew she should not have agreed to come along, but here she was. And perhaps she’d have an opportunity to ask the colonel about going to Annerdale. She felt as trapped by this siege as the residents of Vicksburg.

Armstrong, who must have been anticipating Honoree’s arrival, came out of the tent. He greeted them, and the colonel stepped outside too.

Having avoided him for several days, Faith experienced some awkwardness, and she saw it reflected in the colonel’s posture.

“We have pie,” Honoree announced in a discreet but cheerful tone.

Armstrong beamed and quickly waved them inside.

Faith hung back just inside the open flap. It was not quite proper for them to enter a bachelor tent when not engaged in nursing, but she understood the dilemma. They didn’t have enough pie for the surrounding soldiers, so propriety would have to bow to this necessity for the sake of discretion. She entered the tent.

Quickly Armstrong produced tin plates and forks, and Honoree served the pie, cutting generous pieces for each of them. She also murmured the story of Faith’s plan with the other pie. “And it worked. Slattery will no doubt be court-martialed as soon as he’s strong enough to face it.”

“In the end I felt sorry for him,” Faith said.

“You would,” Honoree responded, shaking her head.

“He’s laid up in the hospital
 
—”

“And that rude Dr. Dyson is not feeling too good either. We don’t know if he knew the pie had been stolen, but either way he probably saw it and demanded a piece. He deserved what he got too.” Honoree tried unsuccessfully to hide her smirk. “I’m just being honest, Faith.”

Someone cleared his throat outside the open tent flap. “Miss Faith Cathwell?”

Faith turned toward the corporal at the open flap. “I am she.”

“I was told you might be here. General Grant asks if you would come to his tent with your herbal medicines.”

“Is the general ill?” Faith asked, handing her plate of half-eaten pie to Honoree.

“No, miss, and you can finish your dessert. But would you please come to the general’s tent when you’re able? His young son has a problem.”

Faith wished the man would be more specific, but she’d met with this before. Men weren’t supposed to discuss physical problems or medical needs with a young unmarried woman. The fact that she was a nurse didn’t change this ingrained hesitance.

“Has Dr. Bryant been consulted?”

“I’m not sure. I only know that I was ordered to bring you.”

That sounded odd. “Very well. I will come soon.”

The corporal bowed, saluted the colonel, and departed.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” Honoree commented.

Dev rose somewhat gladly. His man and Honoree were exchanging glances, which made him feel as if he were intruding on them. And which sharpened his feeling of separation from Faith. He’d missed her the past days.

Why was she avoiding him? He would try to find out tonight, and he had something to give her as well. The paltry offering might heal their rift
 
—if he could persuade her to tell him what had caused her to draw away from him.

Faith rose from the camp stool. “I must go.”

Honoree moved as if to rise.

“No, stay and enjoy thy evening. I must fetch my chest,” Faith said, moving to leave.

Dev stepped toward the door too. “I will accompany you.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“No, it isn’t, but it is polite and prudent. I’m coming with you.”

She gazed at him and said with reluctance, “As thee wishes.”

Dev avoided glancing toward Armstrong and Honoree and exited the tent behind Faith. Without speaking, they walked toward her tent to collect her medicine chest. He tried to come up with a topic of conversation, but since she had been avoiding him, he didn’t know which topics he should forbear. What had he done to alienate her?

Then he recalled the nature of this woman he was walking beside. He slipped his hand into his inner pocket. “Do you know what this plant is?” He’d picked it during a break in training the African Brigade.

“That’s calendula.” She smiled at him, accepting the dried golden flower.

“I recalled your garden.” He shrugged, feeling like a schoolboy trying to interest the prettiest girl in the neighborhood.

“It’s good for digestion and is often mixed with arnica for muscle soreness.” She bowed her head, and he thought she would have said more had they not reached her tent.

He waited outside while she went in to get her medicines. When she came out, he appropriated the heavy wooden chest. Carrying it by its bone handle, he led her away.

His gift had not had its desired effect. The conversational well had run dry. He tried again. “I’ve been busy training the African Brigade.”

“I heard that. There was much talk about Grant’s authorizing it.” And that was all she said.

So she was forcing him to take total responsibility for their conversation. Well, he was a soldier
 
—he did not quit easily. He forged on. “They learned so fast
 
—”

“And that surprised thee.”

“I didn’t think their former lives predisposed them to soldiery.”

She made a muted
hmm
sound. “How many young white men straight from the farm were predisposed to soldiery?”

“Most farm boys have some knowledge of hunting.”

“Some,” she conceded.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Dev had been sure picking a wildflower that looked interesting would open her to him again and bring back the communication he longed for. He could not forget the pleasure her unusual conversation brought him. He tasted bitter failure.

At the general’s tent, they were admitted. Grant raised one eyebrow at Dev. After his salute was acknowledged and Dev was at ease, he murmured, “I thought it best to accompany the lady since it’s getting late.”

Then the surgeon Dr. Bryant stepped from the shadows. “Nurse Cathwell, I’m afraid the general’s son Fred has contracted dysentery.”

Faith concealed her reaction. Dysentery untreated could be fatal. She approached the cot where the boy, barely in his teens, lay curled on his side as though protecting his abdomen. He looked at her sleepily as if he’d been drugged. “How far advanced is the case?” she asked.

Grant replied, “As a longtime soldier, I knew what it
was as soon as Fred showed signs of diarrhea. I called in Dr. Bryant immediately.”

“Very wise,” Faith murmured, wanting to examine the boy but unwilling to overstep.

“Nurse Cathwell, I don’t need to tell you that this young man will need careful nursing. That’s why I thought of you. You are my best nurse.”

Faith much appreciated his compliment but let it pass without comment. “What has thee done already, Doctor?”

“I’ve administered castor oil and laudanum.”

She nodded. “Thee wants me to stay with the young man?”

“Exactly. The general is going to move out and let you take over the tent. I didn’t want to transport Fred to the hospital, where he might contract something else while in a weakened state.”

She drew in a long breath. “I concur. And of course I’ll stay here with the patient.”

“I think the treatment will begin working soon,” Dr. Bryant continued, picking up his black medical bag, “but I want him carefully watched, and I know you have herbal remedies that are often effective. Feel free to do what you think will help Fred recover.”

His belief in her ability ignited a warm glow within. This man was not afraid of giving a woman credit for her intelligence. So unusual. “I will, Doctor. And I’ll call for thee if anything out of the ordinary occurs.”

“Thank you, Miss Cathwell,” General Grant said, bowing. “It’s times like these that I miss his mother even more.”

She curtsied in reply.

The general accepted her curtsy with a nod. “I hear it was you who found out who was stealing from the kitchen stores.”

“Oh.” She let out the sound in surprise.

He chuckled. “Quite an interesting ploy. I only wish someone had brought us some of the untainted plum pie.”

“I’ll talk to the head cook at the mess tent.” She moved to press a hand on the boy’s forehead. He already had a fever. “I’m sure she can rustle up something for thee.”

Dr. Bryant excused himself, and both he and the general left the tent, the doctor to return to his quarters and the general to his command tent so nothing would disturb his son. Faith busied herself with her medicine chest, drawing out herbs that could soothe the bowel.

She turned to Fred and appeared startled that Dev was still present. “Colonel?” she asked, sounding nettled and evidently wanting to know his reason for remaining.

Dev gathered his courage here in this tent where none other would enter save the general. “What did I do to offend you, Miss Faith? We have barely seen each other over the past week. I look for you, but you are always busy.”

She gazed at him. Would she deny the truth?

Fred gave a loud moan. “Ooooh.”

Faith stepped closer to his side. “What is it?”

“Who are you?” He clutched his belly. “Where’s my fa
 
—? Ooh. I need to use the . . .” He sent her a painful look.

“I am Faith Cathwell, thy nurse.” She turned to Dev. “The chamber pot is beneath his cot. He’s weakened. Will thee help him?” Not waiting for his answer, she stepped outside quickly.

Dev moved to assist the boy, and when he could, he helped the boy back onto the cot. “We’re finished, Miss Faith,” Dev called quietly.