Winds of Fortune by Victoria Thompson

Author:Victoria Thompson [Thompson, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-08T08:25:37+00:00

But when they arrived, they found only a pitiful excuse of an oven constructed out of a half-dozen bricks laid out about a yard apart with pieces of wagon tire iron laid across them. The wood was green, and the stove was so near the ground, it couldn’t get enough air to burn. Nearby were two kettles, one filled with soup and one with coffee.

They heard someone shouting and looked up to see Mr. Kennan, Miss Barton’s assistant, hurrying toward them. “Miss Barton, Dr. Gardner, thank heaven you’re here!” he exclaimed.

Maud nearly gasped aloud at his appearance. He was filthy, his haggard cheeks bristling with stubble and his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep.

“You have no idea how desperately we need your help,” he was telling them. “If the battlefield conditions during our Civil War were worse than this, I’m just glad I wasn’t there to see it. The army has made no provision whatsoever for the wounded. They have no beds, no blankets, no nightshirts, no food, not even any cooking utensils. It seems that because each man was issued clothing and eating utensils and rations, the army felt they would be adequately supplied, never mind that in the heat of battle, the men have left everything behind. Most of them were shirtless when the battle began because of the heat, and the rest of their uniforms were hopelessly soiled during the battle. Now they are lying naked — excuse me, ladies. But then, you can see that for yourselves. And we don’t have so much as a blanket to put over them or under them, either, for that matter. It’s scandalous!”

“Yes, it is, Mr. Kennan,” Miss Barton told him tartly, diplomatically ignoring the fact that the man was plainly half hysterical from fatigue. “But we will soon have things set to rights. Mr. McDowell,” she said, addressing one of the staff members who had come with them. “Would you be so good as to construct a workable stove for us? We’ll need to unload our kettles at once, and the foodstuffs. And those poor men! We had no idea they would need clothing, so we didn’t bring any, but we do have some bolts of muslin. Perhaps we could cut it into lengths and use it for sheeting to cover them.”

“I’ll do that,” Maud offered, scrambling down from her perch on the wagon. She wasn’t that good at cooking anyway, she reasoned, and went to find the muslin among the supplies.

Swiftly, she measured off the six-foot lengths and tore the fabric, making a pile of crude sheets. When she had a good armload, she set out with one of the orderlies and began slogging through the field to cover the men.

“Thank you, Miss.”

“Lord bless you, Miss.”

The men whispered their appreciation, those who could speak at all, through dry, cracked lips, and Maud somehow managed to hold her smile and acknowledge each of them in turn when what she wanted to do was sit down on the sodden ground and weep for the suffering she knew they had endured.

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