Tear In Time (29 page)

  David
sat up, yawned, then replied, “Ok, doc, let me have it.”

  Dr.
Morgan paused a moment for effect. Grinning ear to ear, the answer burst from
his lips, “Emancipation Proclamation.”

  David
looked stoically at his old friend and replied, “Yeah, what about it?”

  “It's
been ordered. Just like you said would happen. David, this is truly amazing.
There's no way you could have predicted that. Do you know what this means?” the
old doctor said, beaming with excitement.

  “No,”
David said flatly.

  “It
means, lad, that the things you said about the future will happen and that
things will indeed turn out ok,” Dr. Morgan stated in relieved tone, his hand
now gently shaking David's shoulder.

  “Duh,”
David replied simply.

  With
that, he rolled back over and fell asleep. The sight of David's response caught
the old doctor by surprise. He threw his head back and roared with laughter as
he stumbled back out of the barn, his hope for a positive future now confirmed.

TT:
Chapter 8

Rhodes
Island: Winter, 1863

  The
warm summer months passed all too quickly, and the trials of a long, bitterly
cold winter set in. The days became a routine of desperation: desperation to
stay warm, desperation to find food, desperation to stay healthy. Survival was
on the lips of all as they pushed their bodies and minds to the limits of
endurance.

  David
sat by the campfire and shivered as he sipped his coffee. Even with his newly
requisitioned woolen coat, socks, scarf and gloves, he suffered with a
continual chill that at times seemed to last for days without relief. Exposed
to the elements, David's only relief was the occasional visit to military
hospitals for supplies. There, he was able to stay indoors long enough to feel
rested and warm, but the visits were infrequent and usually short in duration
as the winter months rarely saw much military action.

  A
strong gust of wind blew from the north and stabbed at David's exposed skin.
Shivering in the cold, he tugged at his collar and buried his face further into
his coat.

  “Damn
this wind,” David yelled into his coat, the muffled sound barely audible.

  “What was
that, lad?” Dr. Morgan asked as he sipped his coffee, seemingly unaffected by
the cold.

  David
brought his face up long enough to reply, “It's friggin' cold. How can you sit
there like it's a day at the beach? Aren't you freezing?”

  “Yes,
I suppose I am a bit chilled. Nothing that coffee and a warm fire won't remedy,
though,” Dr. Morgan replied nonchalantly.

  “My
coffee's cold and the fire isn't doing it for me. What I wouldn't give for a
down parka right now,” David said, his face still buried in his coat.

 
“What's a down parka? Is it an overcoat?” the old doctor asked.

  “Yeah,
basically. It's filled with goose down. Probably the warmest thing a man can
wear,” David replied quickly, then covered up again.

 
“Warmer than the woolen coat you have on now?” Dr. Morgan asked incredulously.

  “Oh
yeah; way warmer,” David answered.

  “Huh,
I'm amazed. That overcoat you have on is probably the warmest thing you can
get. Hard to believe there is anything warmer, ’cept maybe two overcoats stacked
on top of each other, that is,” Dr. Morgan said.

  “I
wouldn't mind having two right now,” David shot back quickly.

  “It's
a privilege to receive just one. I had to beg the favor from Jim to get you
that one. They are typically reserved for the upper echelon in command,” Dr.
Morgan replied, then added, “Colonels and higher. In essence, you're out of
uniform – a punishable offense.”

  “But
you’re wearing one too, aren’t you?” David asked, then answered his own
question, “I guess it pays to be friends with the boss.”

  “Yes,
lad. Jim and I go way back. I was a captain long before he made his way up to
general. He's a good man and a logical tactician. I'm fortunate to call him
friend,” Dr. Morgan replied respectfully.

  “I
have to say, I do like him. He's tough, but thoughtful. You always know where
you stand when talking to him. You can tell most of the men respect him too,”
David added.

  “More
thoughtful than you know, lad. Take that overcoat for an example. He couldn't
have possibly granted you that garment as a first lieutenant. It would have
been too scandalous. But as a captain, you are now close enough to colonel to
allow a slight bend in protocol,” Dr. Morgan said.

  “So he
promoted me to captain just so I could stay warm?” David asked, with a slight
bit of sarcasm in his voice.

 
“Fortunately for you, coincidence and circumstance shared perfect timing. The
truth is, Jim and I both discussed your remarkable skill as a surgeon and a
marksman, as well as a leader. By far, you have demonstrated the qualities for
promotion faster than anyone we've ever seen. You've earned those captain's
bars, lad,” Dr. Morgan answered, then added, “And being a captain, Jim granted
you that coat as a favor to me.”

 
"Now I'm feeling a little embarrassed about that ‘promotion for coat’
crack," David replied, his face reddening with humiliation. "I
genuinely appreciate the favor, doc. I can't imagine the condition I'd be in
without this coat. Thank you."

 
"Quite alright, lad. As I said, you've earned it," Dr. Morgan
replied.

  The
two held eye contact over the fire for a moment, then nodded to each other. As
David reached into the fire, he rolled a stick that skewered a slightly charred
carcass that was once a possum.

  “Looks
like breakfast is about ready,” David announced apprehensively.

  “That
was some pretty amazing shooting there, David. I've seen some pretty fine
shooting in my days, but nailing that possum from horseback was quite a display
of marksmanship,” Dr. Morgan responded. “And with a sidearm, no less.”

  “Well,
I learned from the master,” David replied modestly, as he broke off a leg
quarter and handed it to the old doctor.

  Dr.
Morgan nodded in thanks and replied, “If I practiced my whole life, I could never
shoot that well.” He took a bite and continued, “You have a talent, David.”

 
“Funny; I had to travel back in time to find that out. Not much use for that
kind of skill in my time,” David remarked. “By the way, what do you think of
the flavor?”

  “Exquisite,”
Dr. Morgan complimented. “What did you put on this to make it taste this good?”

 
“Believe it or not, I found an old lemon a few weeks back on one of our
marches, and saved it. I rubbed its juice all over the meat, then I added
pepper and salt. It's actually a common way to prepare meat in the future,”
David said as he took a bite. “Hmm, not bad,” he commented.

  “You
know, I've never known Jim to show up late for a meal. I wonder where he is?”
Dr. Morgan speculated.

  “Probably
got tied up with paperwork,” David added as he concentrated on his breakfast.

 
“Maybe,” Dr. Morgan said.

 
Moments later, the distinctive sound of Gen. Negley's horse could be heard in
the distance, galloping at a terrific pace. Dr. Morgan stood and squinted in
the direction of his old friend. Slowly, a smile spread across the old doctor’s
face, as his friend trotted to a stop in front of the campfire.

  “Well,
good afternoon. Hope the smell of this delicious possum didn't wake you,” Dr.
Morgan snapped in jest.

  “You
old coot! You going to let me get down off this horse before we duel?” Gen.
Negley shot back. “Besides, it's too damn cold for jokes.”

  Gen.
Negley stepped down off his horse and turned to David, “Morning, son. Pretty
fine shooting, I heard.”

  “Thank
you, sir,” David replied. “Help yourself to the possum. I hear the tail is
wonderful.”

  Gen.
Negley stopped in his tracks. David had never joked with him before and the
general wasn't quite sure if David was kidding. David held a straight face
while the general searched David's eyes for clues.

  “I do
believe the young lad was speaking in jest,” Dr. Morgan announced.

  David
smiled and handed the spit to the general and said, “I suppose you could eat
the tail, but I suggest you try one of these legs first.”

  “Quite
right, lad, quite right,” Gen. Negley said with a smirk, enjoying the bit of
humor.

  Gen.
Negley took a bite of the possum and stopped chewing for a moment. His eyes lit
up and a small smile spread across his face, an obvious sign he was enjoying
the newfound flavors.

  “How's
your possum, Jim?” Dr. Morgan asked, seeing Gen. Negley's expression.

 
“Exquisite,” Gen. Negley replied.

  David
and Dr. Morgan laughed out loud at the general’s exact response as the old
doctor’s.

 
“Another joke at my expense?” Gen. Negley said, “You do realize that
insubordination is a hanging offense?”

  “The
lad and I found it humorous that your reply was the same as mine. Anyhow, why don't
we sit by the fire and eat?” Dr. Morgan said.

  As the
three men dined, they discussed the matter of illness within the camp. The
winter months were bitterly cold, and illnesses such as dysentery, pneumonia,
tuberculosis and other ailments were causing an excessively high death rate.
David listened to the impassioned pleas of the general to save his men, and
felt shame and helplessness knowing the cure but not being able to create it.
David had tried for months to create his own medicines, but without the time or
the facilities to do so, the results were limited.

  Gen.
Negley began, “Captains, I must discuss a matter with you of the gravest
importance. My men are dying at an alarming rate due to illness. Is there
nothing we can do about this?” He asked in grave tone, “I just came from the
infirmary by way of the soldiers’ camp. I counted three dead and one hundred
men with some form of life-threatening illness.”

  Gen.
Negley paused a moment, took a large sip of coffee, then continued, “These poor
lads have survived the harshest battles of this century and are now dying from
simple illness. This is just unfair. We must resolve this dilemma somehow. We
owe them that much,” he finished in an impassioned tone.

  “Gen.
Negley, I am equally disturbed by the images you are seeing. I have extensive
knowledge in disease control, but what you have here is unsolvable without the
correct drugs to combat the specific disease. The drugs I refer to are
extraordinarily difficult to produce in the laboratory and are impossible to
produce here on the battlefield,” David volunteered.

  “But,
Dr. Warner, I was under the impression you were administering special
medications to heal these boys after their surgeries. Couldn't you just whip up
some more of those elixirs to help cure them of these terrible illnesses?” Gen.
Negley implored.

  “The
medicines I'm giving now – herbs and extracts from various plants – are
beneficial, but do not by themselves provide a cure. They only enhance the
body’s own natural defenses to help overcome the lesser conditions, like
infection. In essence, the body cures itself. Diseases like pneumonia and
typhoid need a drug called penicillin. I'm sorry to say this, but even if I had
a special laboratory at my disposal, trying to produce penicillin myself would
be nearly impossible. The process is just too complex,” David replied.