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Desperado

Chapter 9: Hospital

Virginia Countryside: 109 Miles From Maryland

Springport, Virginia

June 10, 1862

9:48 P.M.

“And that,” Sam concluded, finishing her story, “was how we made it here.”

Her tired, violet eyes swept over the room, landing on the small group of listeners she’d acquired over time. Originally, it had just been the doctor and nurse, but other hospital staff had passed by and couldn’t stand to miss the story of the new patient. All seven of them looked at her with a mixture between admiration and concern.

“Did the Confederates ever find you again?” one of them asked curiously. Judging by her blue outfit, Sam guessed that she supported the North.

Sam nodded tiredly. “Yes, but Commander Dash wasn’t with them. We pretended that we were travelers passing through, and they believed us.”

One of the Confederate nurses merely turned up her nose. “How depressing,” she stated. The others ignored her, and even the two other Confederate nurses gave her a dark glare.

“Did you come across any more battle fields?” asked one nurse dressed in gray and red. Confederate. But her blue eyes were sad and concerned, something that Sam thought strange.

The girl just shook her head, “No.”

“How much did Daniel’s condition worsen over the trek?” the doctor asked, writing down notes and such on his clipboard. He looked up at Sam, his gray eyes serious but comforting. He was a giant of a man, Native American as well. Jedediah Ravenstorm was his name, or so Sam tried to remember.

It was an odd name, but inconsequential to the situation.

The girl looked past the doctor for one moment, her worried eyes resting on the hall where Danny had been taken. “He was fine,” she replied softly, “until about the last ten miles. Then, he just…” she trailed off, biting her lip in barely concealed fretting. “He just doubled over on Phantom in pain.”

It was so scary…

Sam glanced into the doctor’s eyes, demanding truth. “Will he be okay?” she asked him.

And in reply, the doctor’s sun-wrinkled face fell into a frown. “I’ll do what I can for him,” he told her honestly. He looked back down at his notes, sweeping his gaze over his own scrawled writing.

“Miss Manson,” Dr. Ravenstorm finally concluded, “I have three soldiers in line for surgery, so I may not be able to aid Daniel for some time. He has been put into a room down the hall where he can be tended by nurses until then. Are you okay with this?”

“What else can be done?” Sam instantly questioned, her voice worried and her eyes continuously darting to the hall. “Will he be okay ‘till you get to him?”

And at that, the nurse cut in with a curt nod. “Miss Manson, Eastside Hospital is known for its well-versed medical team.” The elderly woman dropped her stern gaze for only a second, just to lift her lips in a knowing smile. “Daniel Fenton will be well cared for.”

Jedediah nodded in agreement, his honest smile knocking years from his expression. But as soon as his smile appeared, his original, doctor-like mask returned. “Now,” he said to Sam, “is there anything else you can tell me?”

She just gave him a worried shake of her head, knowing that she wasn’t much help. “He was really warm just before we arrived; he said he was hot and cold at the same time.” Sam gave him a helpless lift of her shoulders. “I tried to ask him how badly he was hurting, but he wouldn’t tell me.” That idiot, she added mentally.

And in reply, the doctor stopped writing a looked up, giving Sam a comforting look. His eyes were kind and he said with a small, sad smile, “Well, Miss Manson, from all that you two have gone through so far, I would be shocked if he didn’t survive this.” He gave Sam a concerned look, much like knowing grandfather. “Don’t worry yourself to death. I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

It was the most encouragement he could give her, and even though Sam appeared strong, her heart longed to have definite proof that Danny would live. “When can I see him?” she asked.

Jedediah gave a sigh, his shoulders slouching to reveal his true age. He was perhaps fifty, perhaps older. “I’ll call for you as soon as possible,” he replied. And with that, he bid her a good night and left the rest to his nurse. His form disappeared into the halls lit only by torches, on the way to the surgery room.

His walk was tired and aged, as if exhausted of the world.

How many more young couples would he see be torn apart by war?

The nurse then turned back to Sam, and gave her a welcoming smile from behind her professional mask. “There’s a room for family and friends, if you wish to wait there.” Taking in the girl’s haggard appearance, the nurse knew that Sam needed the rest.

But instead of nodding tiredly like all others, Sam seemed reluctant to follow the advice. “…Actually,” she said, rather hesitant with her words, “I was wondering something…”

As the nurse waited patiently, Sam got up her nerve to ask: “C-can I help you out?” Her violet eyes were both confident and timid, as if knowing that she may be rejected but unwilling to admit it. Her expression was drawn with hope, and for a second, even her tired appearance seemed to be overcome with resolve. “As long as Danny is a patient, could I learn to be a nurse here?”

The setting sun slowly sunk beneath the land.

And with that, the elderly woman blinked. For a second, she didn’t know what to do, much less what to say. What an odd request…

After all, few people offered their services without first instigating some form of payment. Few people offered to help in a hospital. And even fewer asked to join the medical team. Of course, there were a few requirements…

“Miss Manson?” the nurse asked. “You are not married, correct?”

Sam furrowed her eyebrows at the question. “That’s right; why do you ask?”

The older lady began ticking off the requirements. “Well, according to the laws, a woman is only allowed to apply for a nurse’s station if she is married, over the age of twenty-one, and plain-faced.” She searched Sam’s eyes. “It is obvious that you are not married, that you are younger than the requirement, and... you aren’t exactly plain-faced, dear.”

Sam just gave her a jilted, almost angry look. She hadn't caught onto the subtle compliment on her physical appearance. “And why should marriage matter?”

Patiently, the nurse replied, “Because, dear, that’s society. And society says that marriageable, innocent girls like you shouldn’t be around wounded soldiers, not chaperoned.” She shrugged. “If you were, your reputation and integrity would be questioned.”

The girl, in reply, sputtered in anger. “That’s absurd! That’s the most illogical thing I’ve ever heard!” Her fists clench. “Good people are dying, and all society can think about is someone’s reputation?!”

The nurse, one of the original Nightingales from the front lines, suddenly felt a little smile tease her lips. As she studied Sam, she saw not the airy mentality of a country-girl, but rather the resolved determination of a worldly woman.

Of a Nightingale.

“But…I might be able to make an exception. The job that you are asking for,” the nurse said carefully, testing Sam, “is full of hardships, physical labor, and emotional pain. Because you are not married, there is a certain amount of risk regarding reputation and respect.” She stared straight into Sam’s eyes, her own blue pair narrowing. “Could you handle that?”

And Sam seemed to consider this for a moment. She knew it would be a hard job. She knew the risks. But she also knew what her heart told her. She nodded vigorously, and the nurse seemed pleased.

“Very well,” she said with finality.

“Welcome to the Eastside Medical Team.”

Guided by a fellow nurse, Sam was handed a nurse’s uniform by the woman as they walked up the stairs. “This is great!” the red-head voiced, her tone both relieved and excited. “The staff here is so small, and so few wish to help that we’re all run ragged.” She turned back to Sam, giving her a comforting smile. “I know I really appreciate what you’re doing.”

In return, Sam just gave a sad nod. “I’m glad to help. I mean, I was originally going to work up in Maryland somewhere, but…” Her eyes grew a bit distant as she looked over the staircase, as if searching for someone.

The woman looked at Sam knowingly. “Fate works in funny ways,” she wisely quoted. “I know this is a rag-tag sort of hospital, but we get more soldiers than you’d think.” She held out her hand. “By the way, my name is Jasmine.” She smiled a bit. “But call me Jazz.”

Jazz was a pretty, young woman of twenty-one years. Her eyes, a bright teal, seemed to offset her fiery hair, and her expression was kind and wise.

The new recruit firmly shook her hand. “Samantha,” she replied. “But call me Sam and no one get’s hurt.”

At that, the two managed a smile.

Jazz continued to show her around the hospital as a type of initiation. “Well, Sam, you’ll need to know where everything’s at if you’re going to be helping the doctors.” She began walking through the second floor halls, pointing out various closets of supplies. “This is both a Northern and Confederate Hospital, so don’t be surprised when you work with ‘enemy’ soldiers.”

Sam gave her a curious look. “I didn’t know they had hospitals like this.”

And at that, Jazz just shrugged. “It’s more for convenience, because a hospital needs to have a certain amount of workers before the military can begin to ship their wounded. And the towns around here are so small, it was hard to have just a Confederate or a Northern hospital. Yet…” Her teal eyes grew a bit philosophical, “I’d like to think that we can put differences aside here to save just people, not factions.”

The philosophy appealed to Sam’s conscience as well, and she gave Jazz an understanding smile. “I’d like to think that too,” she said.

“The Confederates here really aren’t that bad, either,” Jazz told her confidently. “Don’t be afraid to talk to them; they’re the same as us, if you think about it.”

And considering the pillaging Sam had heard of from southern states, she knew Jazz’s words were true.

“Is Dr. Ravenstorm the only doctor here?” Sam asked conversationally, eager to learn as much of her new home as possible.

Jazz shook her head, but she added, “He’s probably the most frequent. There are two other doctors you might meet around here, but they normally are kept really busy. Ravenstorm is more of an out-patient doctor, and he picks up the slack when there’s an overload of surgery patients.” She smiled a bit. “He may look a little odd, but he’s a great doctor, and a great man. He’s like the resident grandfather.”

They walked down the hall in silence.

Suddenly, Jazz stopped in her tracks, and Sam nearly ran into her. “Oh no,” Jazz groaned, her expression falling into a frown.

“What?” Sam asked curiously.

“I guess I forgot to tell you something,” the girl berated herself with a sigh. Then, almost under her breath, she added, “Just when I thought there was hope.”

Sam, her curiosity mounting, questioned once more, “Hope? Hope for what?” She raised an eyebrow and said, “You know, I already agreed to help. If you’re worried that I’ll run away, don’t. I am not scared of this job.”

Jazz nearly snorted in ironic amusement. “Yeah, maybe not from the job…” She turned her brilliant eyes to Sam, searching and concerned. “It’s just…Well, I don’t know how to break it!”

Now becoming annoyed, Sam asked in exasperation, “Break what?”

“I don’t know how to break that, well…” Jazz trailed off nervously. Surely, her words would scare Sam away, and she didn’t want that! Her eyes seemed to darken a bit as she asked, “Sam, are you afraid of the dark?”

And with that, Sam, who had been expecting a less…adolescent question, merely raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Did you really just ask that?” she deadpanned.

Jazz nodded seriously. “Well you see, around here that’s a big deal if you’re not.”

The black-haired girl just gave her a strange look. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a reason,” Jazz tried to explain, “why we’re always so short of staff, and it’s mostly because we can’t keep our staff to stay for long.”

But the strange expression Sam had gained merely deepened, and she replied haughtily, “Well of course I’m not afraid of the dark!”

The older girl didn’t seem convinced. “Are you afraid of things you can’t explain?” she pressed on.

“Nope,” Sam said firmly.

“Are you afraid of…ghosts?” Jazz whispered the last word, as if challenging both Sam and the air around them.

And with that, the new recruit just gave her a weird stare. “What in the world are you talking about?” she asked, now slightly concerned for Jazz’s mental stability.

But Jazz wouldn’t hear anything about it. “Look,” she said, “I’m not trying to scare you or anything, but…sometimes strange things happen here.” Her words had a strange finality to them, and Sam wasn’t sure what to make of them.

“You mean the hospital’s haunted?” Sam concluded skeptically.

But Jazz merely nodded, her expression serious. “Don’t take me lightly,” she warned.

Sam crossed her arms in typical cynicism. “Oh?” she said. “And do you have proof of this?” She wasn’t about to be scared by an old wife’s tale, nor was she to be scared by someone else’s paranoia. “I listened to ghost stories back home, and none of those had any evidence behind them.” And who’s ever heard of a haunted hospital?

“Well,” Jazz said, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.” A distant, almost amused look passed over her face, and her eyes laughed guardedly. “Trust me, I didn’t believe them either when I first came here.”

And with that, the two walked on in silence, never minding the torches' simultaneous flicker.

From a bird's eye view, Eastside Hospital could be considered many things.

It was a hospital renovated from an abandoned country home, and the floorboards occasionally squeaked. It was two stories high with an extra edition of rooms for soldiers. That last part was new of course, but with one hundred patients plus every day, the doctors figured it needed to be added on to. An entire barracks stretched from the back of the house, capable of holding three hundred beds.

It used to be an extravagant house, one could easily tell, and it sat upon a regal hill. The Victorian styling to its outside betrayed the delicate wall paper within, unfortunately stained with smears of blood and dirt. It was a relatively clean hospital nonetheless. Much better than the major cities.

The actual house part was used for family waiting rooms, staff sleeping quarters, and supply storage. There was a plain room towards the back, used for surgery. Fireplaces existed in every room, and the windows were situated to maintain controlled air flow.

It was run by a total of three doctors, nine Confederate nurses, and sev-no, eight Northern nurses. And it was the nearest hospital within fifty miles, located so close to the front lines of battle that many soldiers could watch their comrades fight from their windows.

Now, mind you, Virginia had many valleys, so one could see for miles in either direction. The front lines never came too close for comfort, but one could occasionally feel the foundation shake from a fired cannon.

One could occasionally see the immediate evacuations of battle-wounded soldiers. One could occasionally see the burial of a young soldier, cut off prematurely from life. One could occasionally hear the cries of a heartbroken mother or sweetheart.

A few soldiers even complained that they heard strange sounds and whispers in the winds.

Now, the hospital could be considered many things. It was old, it was rag-tag, and it seemed remotely out of place.

But Eastside Hospital was not haunted.

Of course not.

Some time later, Sam looked at herself in the mirror. She had just put on her blue uniform, and she stared at the girl who was her reflection. For a second, she couldn’t recognize herself.

Her eyes weren’t quite as innocent as they were before her journey, and her skin wasn’t quite as pale as before. Her chin was held a little higher, and her expression told of an undying determination, coupled with the knowledge of war.

She just wasn’t that ignorant little girl anymore.

Sam suddenly realized that maybe this was how things were meant to be. Eastside Hospital wasn’t exactly what she was shooting for, but it definitely was a start. It was an opportunity, and it was a hope.

And not to mention that Danny was there, too.

At the remembrance of his name, Sam felt her concern grow once more, and she looked away from the mirror to the closed door. She was in the nurse’s quarters, and it took every ounce of self control not to slam open that door, barrel down the stairs, and demand that she be taken to Danny.

But then, maybe she’d gained a little maturity too from her journey along the way.

A knock on the door alerted her to a new presence, and she turned to the door. “Come in!” she called out. A redhead peeked in through the door and then walked in.

“Ready?” Jazz asked. She wore her uniform as well, prepared to supervise the new recruit.

“Ready,” Sam replied confidently.

And with that, she began her first night as a hospital nurse.

Did you know? Interesting Civil War Facts:

-Many doctors who serviced in the Civil War had never been to medical school, but had served an apprenticeship in the office of an established practitioner.

-The chance of surviving a wound in Civil War days was 7 to 1.

-During the Civil War, one small section of Virginia became America's bloodiest battle ground. In an area of barely 20 square miles and including Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, The Wilderness, Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor, more than half a million men fought in deadly combat. Here, more men were killed and wounded during the Civil War than were killed and wounded in the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the War with Mexico and all of the Indian wars combined. No fewer than 19 generals-10 Union and 9 Confederate-met death there.

Hopefully, I put a little plot in this chapter somewhere…I felt like the story was beginning to drag, so I skipped their trek to the hospital in hopes that maybe I could provide a different type of suspense and action. Speaking of which, I updated in two weeks! That’s pretty amazing for me, actually. Not as good as when I updated Chained in one week, but I guess my Writer’s Block is just picky.

Has anyone ever read up on Civil War ghost stories? Anyone? If you haven’t, I suggest them, especially if you’re bored and it’s raining outside. :) Some are really short and strange, but others are very extensive and interesting. I didn’t know there were any ghost stories from the Civil War, but I guess America is slightly interesting after all…

1.) How was the transition between characters and point of view? Choppy or smooth?

2.) Are the characters still characters, or are they wooden and need more work?

3.) Any comments on word choice and word flow?

4.) Was the chapter stagnant in any way?

5.) Is this story still interesting, or has it lost its suspense factor?

6.) Any suggestions you might want to add:)

Thanks for reading,

Lightning Streak

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