Chapter Three
As the carriage rattled along the muddy cobblestone road winding through Savannah, Charlotte was fascinated and listened intently to Annabelle as she spoke about an array of obscure topics.
As a Civil War buff, and as someone who had participated in reenactments, Charlotte was deeply interested in what Annabelle had to say.
The Civil War from her perspective was something you spoke reverently about from time to time because it was an awful part of the past.
Charlotte stared, mesmerized. She may well have stepped into Gone with the Wind, but this was like nothing she could have imagined.
The streets were alive with people and activity and while nothing modern met her wide-eyed gaze, nothing about the city struck her as antique either.
This was a place of vibrancy, fascinating in its richness and range of sights.
“The Union officers are having a Christmas dinner and ball at General Sherman’s headquarters, the Green-Meldrim House, in a few days, and now that you’re here you simply must come with me,” said Annabelle. “Dr. Abbott will be there, you know,” she added with a mischievous smile.
“But I don’t have anything to wear.”
Annabelle’s blue eyes glowed at the prospect.
“Don’t you worry, my dear. I have more clothes than I could wear in three lifetimes. I’ll make you the most ravishing belle at the ball.”
Eventually the carriage rattled to a stop before the Marshall House Hospital. It was a massive four-story brick building. Nerves assailed Charlotte. Getting a job was without a doubt a disaster waiting to happen. She had less than no idea about what to expect of medicine in this era.
Together the two women exited the carriage and entered the arched doors of the building, Charlotte lagging a step behind.
“Good day, Dr. Abbott,” Annabelle drawled sweetly.
Charlotte’s gaze instantly homed in on Spencer’s towering form. He turned toward Annabelle’s voice. Charlotte stared. Oh, fate was a cruel, bitter entity indeed.
Stop it, she ordered herself. You are here to start a new life and now it’s happening just as you wanted it to!
****
Spencer greeted the newcomers politely. “Good morning, Miss Annabelle, Miss Liddell. I’ve been expecting you.”
Amazing. He’d felt Charlotte’s presence—known she was there without looking.
The sensation was so profound he was taken aback, but a quickening in his chest had alerted him to her even before she’d passed through the door.
He remembered again how taken he was with Charlotte when they had strolled in Annabelle’s backyard and how she had seemed so . .. sincere. She was incredible.
Beautiful and intelligent, Charlotte seemed his match in every way.
He wanted her. He wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman and .
.. and what? She was what he’d spent years dodging, a woman to share his future with.
But she was more than that. She was an angel, too, but no, his thoughts ran on, that wasn’t right—she was quite simply a goddess, she was. ..
Dear Lord, but he was acting like some love-struck fool! He was no poet and yet his mind ran circles trying to find an adequate description for Charlotte.
Raking a hand through his hair, Spencer contemplated the course of his future. He’d spent years skirting the altar and it wasn’t just looking for a woman with genuine qualities, but a deep-seated almost irrational fear of losing the one he loved. I must admit it. I’m in love with her!
Having been one of the more sought-after bachelors in New York city, Spencer had always kept a wary eye on interested women.
Scheming young misses and their mothers would find it impossible to snare him.
He had no desire for them to do so. As he asked Charlotte some more questions, the extent of her medical knowledge continued to thoroughly stagger him, even if some of the ideas had been a little farfetched.
“I’ve already discussed you working here with the other doctors and they think they’ll give you a try. Lord knows we need the help,” he said to Charlotte.
Damn! Why can’t I stop staring at her?
“Now,” he added, smiling at Charlotte, “if I haven’t scared you away, may I give you a tour of the hospital?”
“I... Of course, Doctor.” He wondered at the toneless voice—at the way her eyes avoided his direct gaze. She seemed ... different, somehow, today. Was it the thought of working with him as her superior that made her act so strangely?
Suddenly, Anabelle’s cheerful voice shattered Spencer’s reverie.
“Well, I must be getting along to the school now, so I’ll say my farewells. I’m sure that Charlotte will prove herself to be indispensable to you, Doctor Abbott. Have a wonderful time, my dear,” Annabelle interrupted.
“Ah, yes, I suppose your students need you Miss Annabelle,” Spencer replied, cordially.
“Farewell!”
****
Hospital?
The term, in her opinion, scarcely applied.
The building consisted of a large over-filled ward on the fourth floor.
A room toward the back served as an operating room.
There were a few small offices for the physicians and officers, and a couple of even smaller rooms where the doctors on duty could catch a few hours of sleep.
With all the windows tightly closed, and filthy, a more desolate place she’d never seen.
But it wasn’t just the forlorn misery pervading every corner, but the smell.
Death.
Death had a very distinct odor, one Charlotte could never quite describe but never failed to recognize, and this hospital reeked of it.
“This place is beyond belief,” she said, sweeping her eyes across the very large ward. “Completely unacceptable.”
“Excuse me?” Spencer sounded more than a little incredulous.
“This,” she gestured broadly to the ward, “is totally unsatisfactory. When is the last time the floor has been so much as swept, let alone washed? Do you know anything about infection? Do you use a butcher’s knife for surgery or even bother cleansing or anesthetizing your patients before operating? ”
“Well, forgive me, but we do the best we can with what we have,” he replied.
“The best you can? I doubt that. Has it escaped your attention, Doctor, that this man has a raging infection, and debridement is necessary to treat his wounds?”
She jabbed a finger toward an orderly in the process of changing a dressing, and a thick layer of pus in the dead skin which was easily visible even from her vantage point a few feet away.
“Debridement?” Major Abbott’s tone rose. “Are you mad? The body creates a protective layer over the wound!”
“Protective layer!” she exclaimed, eyes flashing, “That is staph! An infection, Doctor. Surely you must know that debridement is the process of removing dead skin and foreign material from a wound. It can help to reduce the risk of infection and promote healing. You must remove the dead or infected skin tissue if you ever hope for the wound to heal!”
She turned away in disgust.
Oh, my God, how did I forget that I’m not back in 2024 anymore? I don’t know how I forgot that penicillin won’t be invented for another sixty-four or so more years?
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath.
“Sorry, Dr. Abbott,” she whispered, “I forgot myself.”
Even though she had apologized, it was impossible for her not to continue dispensing advice.
“But would you just look at the filthy state of this ward? Old bandages lying all over the floor, no doubt infested with bacteria to spread infection.”
Charlotte shuddered.
“You call this a hospital, Dr. Abbott? Why have these orderlies not been instructed to clean this place up? Don’t they—and you—know that cleanliness is key to preventing infection?”
“My orderlies have other duties.” Blue eyes flared with outrage.
“Then I’ll be here first thing in the morning to start.”
“Start?” Spencer spat out angrily. “I don’t think I want you working here.”
“Too bad. You hired me and now you’re stuck with me.”
Their eyes locked, sparking with challenge.
“Fine,” Spencer barked. “But I won’t tolerate another outburst like this, and I will not have you questioning my medical judgment in front of the patients.”
Charlotte just narrowed her eyes. It would be a cold day in hell before she kept quiet about the deplorable conditions of this hospital, but there were other means of getting what she wanted. Spencer Abbott would never know what hit him.
****
Having spent several days at the Marshall House Hospital, Charlotte found herself slowly but surely becoming inured to the stench of stale bodies, rotting flesh, and to the sight of gore and pus.
She knew that she had no choice but to deal with it.
She weaved around the ward sponging, watering, and removing bloodied rags of bandages and soiled dressings until her spine felt it might snap.
Time had no meaning, the hours became one long vista of suffering and groans, and yet nothing seemed to help. Men died and kept on dying.
The operating room was where the amputations took place and Charlotte did her best to avoid it, going out of her way to take any other route to reach the freshwater wells.
She tended to a young soldier who lay shivering in his cot.
He bled from a small wound in his abdomen, and his face held the cheesy pallor Charlotte recognized on those about to die.
She used an old tin spoon to feed him water, but most of it dribbled on his shirt.
Gently, she stroked a strand of dirty blond hair from his forehead and smiled as he met her eyes.
Suddenly, she heard Spencer’s voice behind her.
“I am about to perform a double amputation, and I need your assistance,” he informed her.