Hannah's Handkerchief Page 11

  “I did, 2nd Lt. Call.” Capt. Prescott’s words came out measured and controlled. “I am waiting for your salute. I am also wondering why you did not allow my aide to announce you before you came barging in here.”

  Jake slowly turned to face the intruder. He recognized him as Cadet Andrew Call, one year ahead of him in West Point. Unlike Jake, whose class at West Point had been required to complete all the years of the program, Cadet Call had belonged to the class that had graduated a year early to join the Army right after the secession by the Southern states. Nothing about the man stood out to Jake other than he had seen him before and knew the name.

  2nd Lt. Call immediately brought his hand to his forehead and executed a sharp salute. “Sorry, Captain. I knew you would want to know the major’s order as soon as possible.”

  Jake sensed the man’s voice held no remorse for his oversight.

  “Being given the message after you followed proper procedure would have been soon enough.” The captain stood. “I would like to introduce you to First Lieutenant Jacob Burdock. 1st Lt. Burdock, this is 2nd Lt. Andrew Call, the fort commander’s aide.”

  Jake suspected the captain’s pique prompted him to emphasize Jake’s higher rank to Call so the man would recognize the requirement to salute to a superior officer.

  His annoyance visible in his countenance, Andrew Call turned to face Jake and saluted once more. “Lt. Burdock. I believe we have met before. Hello, again.”

  Jake returned the salute. “Lt. Call. My pleasure.” He found it interesting 2nd Lt. Call also recognized him. Although he did not know the reason the man had not risen in rank, especially with as many years as Jake guessed he served during combat, he suspected the difference in rank rankled the other man.

  “You must be the one who brought the wagonloads of buffalo pelts in last night.”

  Jake cursed under his breath. He wished now he had not said anything about his cargo to the stable master who helped him and his men the night before. Word had gotten around the fort. He had hoped to get his load up to the tannery without drawing interest.

  Fortunately, he was spared the expectation to respond.

  “Tell the major I’ll see him in his office later. You are dismissed.” Capt. Prescott turned to his aide who, with a disgruntled look on his face, stood in the doorway. “Please show 2nd Lt. Call out.”

  After the door closed, the captain gave Jake a warning look and raised a finger to signal caution.

  Jake remained quiet and waited. He turned his head, and his gaze joined that of the captain’s as he stared out the window. They both watched 2nd Lt. Call walk across the grounds toward the commander’s office.

  Only then did the captain turn and again focus on Jake. He kept his voice low enough not to be heard through the door where his aide worked. “Be careful of that man. He has made it known he has no respect for the Quartermaster Corps. He talks and acts like he’s above going through proper channels to get what he wants. The less he knows about the movement of equipment and supplies, the better I like it.”

  “I’ve met him before, but lost track of him after he left West Point. However, his conduct today did not favorably impress me.”

  The captain huffed out a breath. “Although many officers have dropped in rank since the war ended, I don’t trust anyone with his years in the field who is again a second lieutenant, especially someone who has so little regard for many of his fellow officers. He was sent here on the pretense of gaining experience in a frontier fort to prepare him for higher command. I think it’s his high-ranking father stationed near Washington D.C. trying to keep him out of trouble.” Capt. Prescott focused his gaze on Jake. “I did not care for his interest in the bison hides. That issue you mentioned early of diverting supplies—not that he would set up an ambush on the road to Fort Leavenworth, but I wouldn’t put it past him to use his knowledge of something like this for his own benefit.”

  “As in, he might not be above gaining favor with certain parties by discussing the existence of the bison pelts to said parties so they can secure them for their own purposes?”

  “Precisely.” The captain shook his head. “For now, Lieutenant, when you get to Leavenworth, you can either guard those pelts, even though you know you can’t take them back with you as the finished product, or you can spend your leave how you will. I’ll see you back here in four days or the morning of the fifth. Immediately before you leave this morning, pick up your written orders from my aide.”

  “I will.” Jake hesitated, but he decided to forge ahead with his personal request. “Sir, if it isn’t an imposition, I was advised that some of the Atwell family passed through the fort on their way to check on Pvt. Atwell who was injured while serving with the 16th Kansas at Powder River. Do you know if they passed this way again on their way home?”

  Capt. Prescott offered a knowing smile. “You must be inquiring regarding the whereabouts of Miss Atwell. A lovely young woman. She stayed as our guest on the way going, but, to my knowledge, she and her father have not come back this way. I understand they also planned to visit her dark-haired cousin, whose mare produces some fine horses I like to buy. She recently married Mr. Jones, the son of the freighter we contract with quite a bit.”

  Jake considered this new development. He knew Leander Jones operated out of Bonner Springs but had no idea where the newlyweds might be living. Hopefully, he would see Hannah Atwell at the hospital.

  .

  .

  .

  .

  Chapter 14

  ~o0o~

  Late October, 1865

  Fort Leavenworth, Kansas

  A lthough only about ten miles separated Fort Riley from Fort Leavenworth, by the time Hannah cooked and cleaned up breakfast, visited with Mrs. Prescott, wrote her letter, and her father visited with the commissary officer, they reached the town of Leavenworth just before dark. There, after they unloaded their possessions and took them to the room rented for the week, Jefferson found a livery to care for the animals and where he could park the wagon.

  The woman who ran the boardinghouse seemed pleased with the weekly rental. She appeared less pleased when she saw the pallet from the wagon bed being hauled to the room on the second floor. Her eyes squinted with suspicion, she demanded to know if they intended to bring others in the room. Hannah assured her they brought the pallet with the hope of taking her injured brother home with them. In the meantime, Hannah intended to use it as her bed while her father slept in the other.

  They waited until the next day to locate the hospital. Half the morning passed before they found someone who directed them to the ward where they could find Otto.

  As they stepped through the doorway of the room, she stopped as the odors of soap, urine, and other substances she failed to recognize hit her in the face. She glanced up at her father who, a step ahead of her, paused and looked back.

  “You all right, Hannah, or do you need me to take you back to the boardinghouse?”

  Hannah stiffened her spine and lifted her chin. “I’m fine, Papa.” She glanced around the room with beds full of injured men. “It’s just different than I’m used to.” She slipped her hand around her father’s upper arm as she stepped forward and walked by his side.

  A third of the way down the aisle to the left they found Otto’s bed. On his back with his head propped on a thin pillow, Otto lay still with his eyes closed. He made no movement as they approached.

  Hannah’s breath caught in her throat upon seeing Otto’s haggard features. His body appeared much thinner than she recalled. Like an open book that not even his beard with its several weeks of growth could hide, his face bore evidence of the pain he endured. His hair was darker than usual, bunched up in long,and stringy tangles. She could tell it had not been washed or trimmed in months. Barely touching his skin for fear of causing him pain, she placed her hand on his wrist resting across his abdomen. “Otto?”

  “He’s out, ma’am. They’re keeping him on laudanum most of the time because of t
he pain.”

  Hannah looked over at the scruffy face of the soldier in the next bed. He appeared to be about Otto’s age. The way his blanket dropped and flattened against the bed above his knee suggested he lost part of his leg to amputation. She chose not to correct his assumption that she a married woman. “Oh. Do you know if he was given some recently?”

  “Less than an hour ago, I reckon. No offense, ma’am, because I know he can’t help it none, but it’s about the only time we get some peace and quiet in here. He does his best, but that bullet in his back pains him something awful.”

  Hannah blinked to hold back the tears she felt forming. “I didn’t know his injury was that bad.”

  “Come with me, Hannah. I’m going to find a doctor who can tell me exactly what is going on with Otto.”

  Hannah turned to her father. “May I stay here with him, Papa, just in case he wakes? I’d like him to know we haven’t forgotten him.” She watched her father look around the room at the beds lining each of the long walls with an aisle down the center. The men in the beds—those that were conscious or awake—focused their gaze on her.

  “I don’t like leaving you alone in a place like this, Hannah.”

  “If you’ll pardon me for saying so, sir, she’ll be right fine here for a spell. Most of these here men ain’t able to leave their beds, leastways not without help. She’ll be safe, and it’ll raise our spirits to have a pretty young woman to look at.”

  Hannah turned to her father once more. “I’ll be fine, Papa.”

  Jefferson rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You sound like your Aunt Virginia.”

  As she watched her father again stare at his son lying motionless in his bed, Hannah felt the sense of sorrow within her deepen.

  Jefferson’s jaw clenched and an involuntary twitch rippled across his cheek. He slowly lifted his head and returned his attention to Hannah. Raising his hand, he shook his finger. “Do not leave this room.” He turned and strode toward an exit.

  “Ma’am?”

  Hannah once more looked over at the soldier in the bed next to Otto’s.

  “This here your husband?”

  Hannah shook her head. “My brother. I came with my father while my mother stayed with the rest of the family. We hope to take him home with us.” Her heart dropped when the man’s expression changed to one of doubt as he cocked his head and clicked his tongue.

  “I wouldn’t go counting on it none—is it miss, then?” At Hannah’s nod, he continued. “He’s been through a powerful bad time, almost done in when they brung him in here. I’m Pvt. Elam Stewart, by the way. Almost made it through the war until a bullet got me in March. Done took part of my leg off then, but I ended up back here when the gangrene set in again.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Stewart.” After she watched the man turn away as if now dealing with his own demons, Hannah looked down once more to study Otto. Oh, Otto. How could this have happened?

  “I didn’t know we had a new volunteer. Of course, that’s typical. No one bothers to keep me informed.”

  At the sound of the strange female voice, Hannah blinked and turned to find a tall, slender woman about early thirties in age. She wore her medium brown hair pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Her clothing consisted of a shirtwaist and dark gray skirt covered by a wide white apron that had yellowed with age and frequent washings. “I’m sorry, but I’m here to visit my brother, Pvt. Atwell. I’m Miss Atwell, his sister. My father has gone to search for a doctor.”

  The woman sniffed. “Good luck finding one this time of day. Most of them are in surgery.” She glanced at Otto and then back at Hannah before she placed her hands on her waist and huffed out a breath. “Well, I sure could use more volunteers, Miss Atwell. I’m Nurse Orwin.” She picked up the pendant watch pinned to the upper left of her blouse, flipped it open, and quickly snapped it shut. “I don’t expect your brother to be conscious for at least another hour, and you won’t do him any good sitting there staring at him.” She waved her hand in the direction of the other patients in the room. “On the other hand, I have men here who could use some help with letter-writing, and, to help break the monotony, they always enjoy someone reading to them.”

  Hannah, her lips parted, turned her gaze to the sea of men atop the beds as they looked her way. Some had propped themselves up on their elbows so they could better see and hear. “I—I suppose I could help some. I didn’t bring any books with me, though…”

  “Got one right here, miss.”

  Hannah looked in the direction from where the voice came.

  A man with his back turned twisted to face her, a grimace of pain on his face. He lifted a book with a dark blue cover. “We were only partway through when the lady reading to us stopped coming. She’s got the place where she left off marked.”

  Although the man’s face remained expressionless, she sensed his anticipation. A glance around the room told her others felt the same.

  “Go on, miss. I’ll give a holler if your brother starts to stirring.”

  Hannah nodded her thanks to Elam Stewart. She removed her dark gray winter wool bonnet and placed it at the foot of Otto’s bed before she walked over and accepted the book.

  She turned and read the title on the spine. The Last of the Mohicans. It was a book she borrowed from Miss Thatcher two winters ago. She read aloud to her family during the time of short days and long nights that kept them trapped inside the house.

  Hannah found the place marked with a piece of string where the previous reader ended. She positioned herself at the far side of the room in the middle of the aisle so all those in the ward could see her. At first, as she began to read, she concentrated on projecting her voice so all who wished to listen could hear. Next, she found herself slipping into the dramatic role she had assumed when she read the story to her family. Back then, she had quickly figured out that, in order to keep Henry from fidgeting or interrupting, and to hold Magpie’s interest, she must practically act out the parts by changing her voice to match the characters and throwing in some arm-waving and body movement, too.

  Except for those who groaned with pain, the room grew mostly quiet as the men listened. Hannah became so engrossed in the story, she lost track of time and the purpose for being in the hospital in the first place. As the loud clearing of a man’s throat interrupted her, she stopped mid-sentence.

  Hannah looked up to see her father, an expression somewhere between disapproval and curiosity on his face, standing at the other end of the aisle.

  “What are you doing, Daughter?”

  “Reading to the men while I’m waiting for Otto to wake up, Papa.” She glanced over at Otto’s bed and saw a foot had moved far enough to slide her bonnet to the edge of his bed. Otherwise, he remained unconscious. “I only have…” Hannah turned her gaze to the page she had been reading and tapped it twice. She flipped the page and tapped twice more. “I only have four more paragraphs to read before I finish the chapter, and then I’ll be right there.” Hannah forced herself to hold her father’s gaze while she waited for his response. Please allow me my decision to finish. Don’t demand that I stop and join you. When her father nodded, she sighed with relief.

  “To the end of the chapter, then.”

  Hannah finished the chapter, marked the place, and returned the book to the soldier who had handed it to her. Amid comments of appreciation and thanks, she walked over to join her father.

  Once Hannah stood close enough to her father they could speak with a modicum of privacy, wearing a frown, Jefferson turned to her. “What on earth possessed you to make a spectacle of yourself by standing in the middle of the room and reading out loud?”

  “Nurse Orwin asked me to.”

  “Yes, I’ve met Nurse Orwin.”

  From the way her father’s forehead twitched, she could tell it had not been an enjoyable experience for him. “She said she needs volunteers to read to the men and help some of them write letters. She suggested that, during the times
Otto is sleeping, my time would be better spent working as a volunteer.”

  “I told her I’d keep a lookout and give her a holler if he started waking up, sir.”

  Both Hannah and Jefferson turned to Elam Stewart.

  Hannah gestured in his direction. “This is Pvt. Stewart, Papa. He’s had his bed next to Otto’s long enough to be aware of his situation.”

  Jefferson nodded to the soldier. “My thanks, Pvt. Stewart.”

  “Pa? That you?”

  To Hannah, the weak, raspy voice did not begin to sound like Otto. She followed her father as he stepped up next to the head of Otto’s bed.

  Jefferson leaned forward so Otto could see his face. “Yes, it’s me, Otto. We’ve come to take you home.”

  Dismay filled Hannah as she noted the unfocused look in her brother’s half-opened eyes. Her chest and shoulders tightened with apprehension as he grimaced when he shifted his hips, his right leg jerking to the side and knocking Hannah’s bonnet completely off his bed. By the time she stepped over and stooped down to pick it up, she looked over and realized Otto had fallen asleep again.

  “Give him time, sir. It takes a spell for that laudanum to wear off so he don’t keep dozing off. Problem is, once he’s awake, it don’t take no time at all afore he’s in a powerful amount of pain.” He rolled his body to face away.

  Grateful for the illusion of privacy Pvt. Stewart offered, Hannah covered her mouth and held her breath as she watched Otto toss his head and groan. Her eyes scanned his blanket as, underneath it, he slowly stretched his shoulders and chest, and he shifted his legs as if trying to find a comfortable position. How can this be? This is not the Otto I remember. Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “I’ll go and try again to find someone who can tell me what’s going on. Don’t leave the side of his bed, Hannah.”

  Hannah intended to stay right where she was. This was her brother. She had no idea what she could do to help him, but, at least, she would be with him while he suffered so terribly.