Aether Spirit (4 page)

A knock on the door interrupted his rumination.

“Come in!”

Nanette opened the door. She looked unhappy, as usual, but with an extra twist to her lips.

“That neuroticist needs to go,” she said.

And here’s another problem.
“Why?” he asked with a sigh to tell her he didn’t have time for her petty squabbles.

“The women’s quarters are full—the only spot left is with me—and she woke me with her moaning last night.”

“Moaning?” Now this was interesting. “Did she say any words?”

“One that sounded like
Chad
but nothing intelligible.” Nanette put her fists on her hips. “But that’s not the point. I need to rest to do my job, but there’s nowhere else to put her. We can’t have any more disruptions at night than we already do, and the building was particularly noisy last night.”

“Wait, what disruptions are you talking about?”

Nanette looked around and shut the door. When she turned, she’d dropped the disdainful expression and instead looked truly worried. “The girls are getting nervous. For the past month or so, there have been strange noises, and a few girls have seen things that shouldn’t be there.”

“You’re telling me the women’s quarters are haunted.” The absurdity almost made him laugh, but he didn’t want to make her feel ridiculed. Not that he was that concerned for her feelings, but he knew her to be a vindictive sort, and he didn’t want her taking her revenge at an inopportune time for a patient.

“I’m telling you that there’s something strange. None of us have been sleeping well, and having her there only made it worse.”

“Then I’ll have her moved to the guests’ quarters.”

“Wait—she gets to move to the General’s House, and we’re stuck in a haunted old hotel? That’s hardly fair!”

She was going to argue with him no matter what he suggested, so he told her, “Discuss it with the quartermaster. Perhaps he’ll have a solution.”
And I’ll give the man a bottle of good whiskey later for his trouble.

“Fine.” She flounced out of his office. It occurred to him for not the first time that perhaps the former medical director had ridden across the border intentionally to get away from such personnel issues. Not that he would do such a thing, and he shouldn’t discredit his predecessor with such uncharitable thoughts. The general and quartermaster managed who and what were stored where on the fort grounds, but he’d found that the medical director managed hospital personnel.

I have to focus on my first priority.
Chad had rounded that morning and had a few cases he wanted to check up on further.

When he walked into the general ward, he saw Nanette talking to a young man they’d picked up at the border who had a broken leg and other injuries that spoke of a fall from a spy balloon. He had been unconscious at the time, but when he’d awoken delirious, his speech said he was from the wrong side of the border but with an interesting drawl that the Tennessee and Mississippi boys who fought for the Union didn’t have. He almost sounded like a Yankee, or at least someone from the mid-Atlantic states. It wouldn’t surprise Chad if he was. The war had shown everyone’s mixed loyalties.

Chad wouldn’t deny the young man care of course, and General Morley would want to patch him up and use him for a potential prisoner exchange. They had plenty of foot soldiers, but spies were worth more. Once he got out of him what the rebels were looking for, of course. Now Chad had to dance the fine line between keeping the general happy but not letting the young man go too early. They’d all heard what happened on the other side to spies who came back in disgrace, although he suspected a lot of it was rumors used to vilify the Confederates and turn them into monsters.

It was easier to fight monsters than children.

Seeing Nanette with the patient reminded Chad that whatever her faults, she was a good nurse, and the patients responded well to her. In fact, this young man looked up at her with a sort of adoration. When Chad approached, the young man’s expression twisted into haughtiness.

“I’d heard you used slaves up here as doctors but didn’t believe it,” he said. “I don’t want that Negro anywhere near me, Miss Nanette.”

“Now don’t be ugly,” she said in a surprisingly maternal way, and Chad thought he heard a little drawl come through her words. “His daddy was as white as you and me, and his mama was a free woman.”

“But did she do that hoodoo thing? Is he a witch doc—?” Coughing interrupted his words, and he held a handkerchief over his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I’m right here,” Nanette said. “I won’t let him practice any black magic on you.”

“I trust you,” he said to her, but he continued to give Chad the gimlet eye.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Chad told him. “What’s your name?”

“Private Dan Smith.”

The boy was lying, but all they needed was a name for the chart. “All right, Private Smith, I need to examine you for further injuries, and it helps if you can tell me where it hurts.”

“Let’s see how good you are,” the young man sneered, but he erupted in another fit of coughing. Chad frowned and had him lie back so he could listen to his heart and lungs. The crackling sounds that came through the stethoscope made his own heart thud. He then had the boy sit forward so he could listen to his lungs from the back.

“Did you have a cough before you undertook your mission?” he asked.

The young man nodded and grimaced before coughing again. Chad saw the specks of blood on the boy’s handkerchief.

“Get him to an isolated room, now,” Chad told Nanette and waved over a couple of other nurses and an orderly.

“The single rooms are spoken for.”

Oh, not now.

Chad turned to see his fellow physician and biggest critic, Gregory Perkins, walk on to the ward.

* * * * *

Strong hands pulled Claire out of the path of the trotting horse, and she knew she deserved the cart driver’s ear-blistering curses. Her face burned at yet another failure to give the people at Fort Daniels the impression of being a smart, competent person. She turned to see her savior was Patrick O’Connell.

“You need to watch where you’re going, lass. Everyone’s in a hurry these days pretending to make progress in this war without an end.”

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said and looked up at Patrick. “You moved quickly. Weren’t you just standing over there?”

“I’m faster than I look, and Chad would never forgive me if I let something happen to you.” He led her to a bench in the shade, and she rubbed her temples to stop her head from spinning at the sensation of the past trying to suck her into its abyss.

“Why should I matter to him?” she asked. “I met with him this morning, and I can say with certainty he’d rather I not be here.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” But she sensed he wasn’t giving her the whole truth. “He’s a deep man. Give him time to get used to the idea. Once you help that first soldier, show you know what you’re doing, you’ll have the good Doctor Radcliffe under your spell.”

“If he gives me the chance. He sent me away from the hospital to rest.” She snorted. “I’ve been resting for the past three months. I’m ready to do something.”

“You rested in Boston?” His curiosity was apparent, although she wasn’t sure why he was so interested in her.

“Yes, with my mother and aunt. And then in Philadelphia. Although I trained to be here, I didn’t get to see that many patients.”

“Poor lass.” He patted her shoulder. “I mean, are you and your family close?”

She squinted up at him. With the light behind him, all she could see was a shadowed version of his face. She squeezed her eyes against the pain that bloomed through her right temple. Thankfully it dissipated after a couple of breaths.

“Maybe Doctor Radcliffe is right. Maybe I do need to rest. That reminds me—I need to speak to the fort’s quartermaster.”

“What for?”

“Nanette has kicked me out of our room.” She stood. O’Connell held her by her elbow until she found the steadiness she needed.

“That didn’t take long. What did you do? Refuse to compliment her on her superiority to all other living beings?”

Some of Claire’s tension loosened when she laughed. She reminded herself she couldn’t necessarily trust this man—she hardly knew him. It just felt like she should.

“I had nightmares last night, and apparently I moaned loudly enough to drown out her snoring.”

Now the Irishman chuckled. “She’s a snorer—I should have known. I’ll show you where the quartermaster’s office is.”

She noticed he didn’t ask about her nightmares. Perhaps it was out of politeness or respect for her privacy, but whatever the reason, she was thankful.

“Oh, you don’t have to trouble yourself. You can just tell me. I do have a decent sense of direction, believe it or not.”

“No trouble at all.” He held out an arm, and she took it. She smiled at the thought of how shocked her aunt would be if she could see Claire on the arm of an Irishman. Thankfully Claire had managed to escape from the marriage traps her aunt set for her in the brief time she was in Boston. She was fairly certain those young men’s arms were not as brawny as the tinkerer’s.

O’Connell led her from the shade past the workshop and through a large square. He pointed to a lovely red brick house with a wraparound porch and white columns.

“This is the middle of the fort. That’s the building known as the General’s House. He says it’s too fancy for him, and he’s usually not here anyway, so it’s where visiting officials stay.”

Claire studied the house. “I’ve only seen buildings like it in books. Is it a former plantation house?”

“No one knows. Rumor has it the Confed general who ran the fort had it built to compete with the one his brother was going to inherit.”

“It must have been hard to surrender it.”

“Aye. He didn’t surrender. Like a good general, he went down with his fort.” He gestured to a large oak in the middle of the square. “That’s where he was hanged for treason.”

She looked up at him with a frown. “Are you teasing me?”

“No, just telling you our little stories. Some say he can be seen walking the square looking for the key they pried from his hand after he died.”

Claire shivered. “That’s horrible. Where is the key now?”

“On a chain on the housekeeper’s ring. The men call her Brown Betty, but to stay on her good side, stick with addressing her as Mrs. Soper.”

“So she’s not afraid of the general’s ghost?”

Patrick snorted. “From what I hear, she was happy to see the old boy hang.”

“Got it. Thank you—this is the sort of information you don’t find out in briefings, and I don’t want to inadvertently anger anyone else.”

“I told you, Chad’s not—”

But Radcliffe stalked toward them with a furious expression.

Chapter Four

Fort Daniels, 23 February 1871

The man who argued with Chadwick didn’t seem to see Claire. She stepped out of the way, but O’Connell didn’t move and caught the brunt of the man’s forward momentum with his shoulder. Claire had to hop to the left so neither of them would knock into her.

“Watch where you’re going, tinkerer.”

“I could say the same to you, Perkins. I wasn’t moving when you ran into me.”

“That’s Doctor Perkins to you.”

Radcliffe stood between them. “We don’t have time for this. Come with me. You too, Doctor McPhee.”

“This is ridiculous,” Perkins said. He rubbed his shoulder under his neat black suit and emanated irritation. “You don’t know with certainty the boy is consumptive.”

“You saw the blood on the handkerchief, and I heard the crackles and whine in the young man’s lungs.” He took off again, and Claire had to trot in an unladylike way to keep up with him.

Perkins continued to argue. “Doctor Crow handed off assignment of the individual rooms to me, and I’m not going to let one go without the proper procedures. As I told you, they’re full.”

Claire caught Radcliffe’s eye. She shook her head, hoping he’d get the message that the other doctor wasn’t telling the whole truth. A slight dip of his chin told her he understood. Again, the feeling of familiarity overtook her, and she stumbled when her vision went black for an instant.

Perkins leered at her. “I’m sorry, but you haven’t introduced me to this woman. Why is she coming to the quartermaster’s office?”

“So I can kill two birds with one stone. She hasn’t done anything, but I need to get her settled in a different place too.”

The way Perkins looked at Claire made her chest and cheeks warm. “I’m certain I can find a comfortable place for her.”

Radcliffe turned and shoved Perkins so hard he would have bounced off O’Connell if the Irishman hadn’t stepped out of the way. As it was, Perkins landed with an undignified thud on the muddy path.

“You’ll speak to the young lady with respect,” Radcliffe growled.

Now Claire’s entire torso, fingertips to forehead, burned with a redheaded blush at the curious gazes of passersby. A swarm of interest surrounded her even from those who pretended not to pay attention. An older man with round spectacles and tufts of salt-and-pepper hair clinging to the sides of his head came out of the nearest building, the one they seemed to be walking toward, and looked at the tableau with some surprise. Claire thought she felt a stab of satisfaction when he saw Perkins sprawled on the muddy path, but he buried it so quickly she wasn’t sure she’d sensed it.

“Now what have we here?” The newcomer waved his hands at the soldiers and others who had gathered. “The rest of you lot, get back to work.”

“Major Longchamp,” O’Connell said, “lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Why am I not surprised to find you in the middle of this, you Irish scamp?” He helped Perkins up from the mud. “And we’ll be getting you a new suit, I see.”

Claire released the breath she’d held so she wouldn’t scream, laugh, cry, or otherwise call more attention to herself with a release of the emotion that overwhelmed her. She didn’t want Radcliffe to face disciplinary action, but she also didn’t want Perkins to take revenge on him later. She’d been around enough other doctors and their egos to know that hospital politics could turn ugly. While the quartermaster’s words surprised her, she appreciated his ability to defuse the situation.