"Colonel, if anyone should apologize I believe it is me. I did not mean to rail at you like that. I am afraid I am just tired. And there is so much to do before Dr. Walker arrives" She took him by the arm, wrapping her hands around him. "Charlie, you need to rest, dear man. Please, please at least lie down for a bit until luncheon?"
Her touch was still fire. The gentle solicitude of her voice was an agony. Between the recent dream of his mother and the moment when she went from gentle concern to angry lashing out because he had crossed the line of acceptable behavior, Charlie was now deeply mired in his darkest melancholia. A part of him wanted to reach out to her, like a wanderer lost in the desert seeking the peaceful haven of an oasis. The rest of him knew, past any doubt or hope, that such sanctuary was not for him.
He let her help him to the davenport, and lay back, exhausted as much by his own pain as by the illness. Gently, she tucked him in, and left him, lying with his eyes closed, hoping he would sleep for a bit. As the sound of the latch clicked home, the first of a long stream of silent tears ran down Charlie’s face.
--*--
An eager Polk stood at the small railroad station in Culpeper, looking north up the line for the smudge of smoke that would tell him the train was coming. He had sent one of the quartermaster sergeants looking for cured leather and another looking through the rosters for skilled cobblers or leather crafters. Now he was waiting for her.
The normally jovial, calm gentleman paced up and down the platform, hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets, tromping to and froe like an expectant father, chewing rather vigorously on the stub of his cigar. Samuelson sat quietly on one of the three benches on the platform, watching the Colonel like he was some sort of competitive sport or circus exhibition.
Finally, Samuelson could stand it no longer. Quietly, he went into the stationmaster’s office and inquired on the latest notification of progress of the supply train with the small passenger car tacked on at the end. The stationmaster’s report was terse. The train had taken on water in Warrenton and was expected in approximately 10 minutes. Samuelson thanked the man courteously and stepped back out to inform the pacing Executive Officer.
Upon hearing the news, Polk threw the stub of his cigar onto the cinders of the tracks. "Why cannot we get the damned trains to run on time? Somebody ought to be able to do something as simple as that."
He lit another stogie and went back to pacing.
Eleven and a half minutes later, the supply trained pulled into the station and moved up so that the passenger car was even with the platform. Immediately, Polk was at the door, ready to hand the lady down. Samuelson followed a step or two behind.
"Dr. Walker. I am so glad to see you. How was your trip? Not to tiring, I hope. You are looking well. Is this a new traveling suit? It becomes you, ma’am." Polk hustled about, gathering her cases and talking non-stop.
The diminutive, dark haired woman with the soft brown eyes just smiled gently, waiting for the Colonel to wind down a bit. "Good morning, Colonel. You are looking well, and the trip was uneventful. Thank you." She answered all of his questions smoothly.
Samuelson shyly smiled at Mr. Whitman as he disembarked from the train. The two men silently shook hands.
Dr. Walker turned her attention to Samuelson. "Good morning, Mr. Samuelson. I trust we have no pressing cases that demand our immediate attention."
"Well, ma’am, there is one case I wish you would examine fairly soon. A head injury, I am afraid."
"Ah, yes, those are quite touchy."
Polk broke in. "Dr. Walker, ma’am, our hostess, Mrs. Gaines has prepared a luncheon and a suite for you in her home. Would not you like to get settled before you attend to medical issues?"
"Gentlemen, my oath comes before my comfort. Let us go and see this case that has Samuelson so concerned. Then we can enjoy the social amenities."
The three men hauled various cases and trunks from the train to the waiting carriage. Tarent had managed to get a larger open carriage back in working condition in time to collect Dr. Walker and her traveling cases of primarily medical tools and drugs. Stowing them in the boot, Samuelson offered to drive back to the farm. Whitman rode beside him on the driver’s bench, while Polk joined Dr. Walker.
The trip back was quick, with Samuelson managing to avoid the worst of the rain-induced ruts in the road. Each couple spoke quietly of personal things, catching up on news of mutual acquaintances and one another’s activities. As soon as they reached the stone barn that was now the infirmary, the gracious lady transformed into the efficient physician.
"Let us take a look at your most serious cases, Mr. Samuelson."
"There is really only one urgent one, Dr. Walker. It is Major Montgomery. He was kicked in the head by a horse. We have some reflex activity, but he has been unresponsive since the accident."
Quietly, Whitman opened the black satchel he always kept handy; the one that contained her most commonly used tools. A candle, quickly lit, was placed inside a small, directional lantern with a focusing lens. This was used to both light small areas like the insides of the ears and to check the reaction of the patient’s pupils. She took her listening horn and listened to Montgomery’s heart and breathing, then took a small tool that looked like a tiny rowel spur mounted on a pen holder and ran it over his palms, the inside of his wrist and the soles of his feet.
Finally, she carefully examined his head, probing with gentle fingers all around the inflamed area. Shaking her head, she turned to Samuelson and Whitman. "Gentlemen, we will have to perform surgery –– and even then I do not know if we can save him. How long will it take for you two to set up the surgery and create as clean an area as possible?"
Samuelson spoke up. "Ma’am, I have already been working to prepare a surgical area. With Mr. Whitman’s help, we should be ready for you by mid-afternoon."
"Fine. I will meet our hostess and get a little rest; then we shall do what we can for this poor man. Oh, Whitman, do get yourself something to eat. You will need the strength."
The Colonel and the lady waited as Whitman and Samuelson unloaded all but the personal baggage from the carriage, then Polk drove Dr. Walker up to the main house.
They were met at the door by Beulah, and were immediately joined by Rebecca, who had been waiting in the front parlor. Quiet introductions and greetings were exchanged, as Rebecca explained about Colonel Redmond’s incapacity. As Beulah hustled off to get Reg to unload the personal baggage and take it to the guests’ rooms, Dr. Walker offered to check in on Charlie, both because of her capacity as a physician and as an old friend. Polk excused himself for a few moments, to send a couple of messages back to the duty officer of the day.
Quietly entering Charlie’s office cum sick room, Dr. Walker was shocked to find Charlie lying on the sofa, looking drained and exhausted. "Hello, Charlie."
She startled him. He sat up abruptly, a move that caused his touchy head to ache for a moment. "Elizabeth. I am sorry, you startled me."
She sat beside her old friend. "So tell me, Charlie. How are things going –– really? You look very tired."
"Oh, it has been a tough few days, Elizabeth. I am very glad you have come. I need your help, old friend –– in so many ways."
"Well, Montgomery seems to be the first problem. I am going to have to operate as soon as possible if we are to have any hope of saving him."
"I was afraid of that. When will you do it?"
"This afternoon, if at all possible. I do not want him to deteriorate any more than he already has. Even so, it may be too late. Head injuries are very tricky."
"Well, whatever you need, my dear lady, whatever you need."
"What about you, Charlie? Is there something bothering you other than a cold?"
"Ah, we will talk about that later, if you do not mind. Focus on Montgomery first, dear friend. But before that, I believe our hostess, Mrs. Gaines, has prepared a luncheon for you. We should not keep her waiting."