MR. BUSHMAN’S BARN

There was a note of home in the doctor’s voice. He introduced himself as Dr. Chapel. Gratefully Ida followed him from bed to bed, looking eagerly as he lifted his lantern over each face in turn. Soon she put out her hand for the lantern and he gave it to her, leaving his own hands free to remove a dressing or examine the stump of a leg.

He did not tell Ida to look away, nor did she wish to, although the suffering of one man was almost more than she could bear.

“Sam?” whispered the doctor, bending over the bundled shape on the last bed in the first row of cots.

The man called Sam stirred. Ida lifted her lamp and saw him blink and try to lift himself. When he was unable to sit up, he dropped back and rolled his head from side to side, staring at his shoulders, his face a mask of horror. “Not both,” he cried. “It’s not both.”

“It’s all right, Sam,” murmured the doctor, laying a hand on his chest.

“One arm, they said it was just the right. Oh, Christ, it’s not both.” He was bellowing now, lifting up his two wrapped stumps. The bellow became a scream.

The doctor spoke softly to Ida and took the lantern. “Get Harry.”

She ran to the man who was making a bed near the open door, the one who had told her to get a midwife. At once Harry snatched up a can and a wad of cheesecloth. Ida hurried after him as he lumbered back to the bed where Sam was shouting, “Kill me. Oh God, please kill me.”

There were groans and curses from the other beds. Ida took the lantern again and held it high while the doctor loosened Sam’s shirt and Harry folded the cloth into the right shape. Then the doctor took it, held the can of chloroform up to the light and poured out a few drops. He had to shout at Harry to be heard over Sam’s screams. “Hold his head.”

It was easier said than done because Sam was rearing up and throwing himself from side to side. At last Harry managed to get him by the ears and thrust his head down.

At once the doctor held the wad over his face, and soon, to Ida’s intense relief, Sam’s body softened and lay still, and they moved on to the next bed. There were four rows of cots in the great hollow volume of the barn. Ida carried the lantern from cot to cot. Mingled with the medicinal smells was another smell, nearly overpowered by the sickening odor of rotting flesh—the familiar wholesome fragrance of the hay that was piled above the beds in the shadowy loft. Farmer Bushman had cut his fields before the battle. He had stored away his harvest in good time.

Soon they had made a complete circuit of the beds on both sides. There were only a few more wounded men in the last row. Ida’s hope faded. The third man from the end was not Seth, nor was the second man. The sleeping soldier in the last bed was a stranger.

Disappointed, she watched the doctor pull back the last sheet, lean down to smell an open shoulder wound then stand back, satisfied.

He turned to her and said, “Thank you, ma’am.” Then with a smile on his worn face, he added, “We could certainly use you here. I don’t suppose, just for a few days …”

In spite of her disappointment, Ida was pleased. She smiled and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to look for Seth.”

“Well, too bad.” The doctor stretched and arched his back.

“Perhaps you know where I might look?”

Instead of answering, he led her to a bench and they sat down. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay. Shouldn’t you be at home? May I ask where you live?”

Ida did not want to seem stubborn, but she was calmly determined. “I’m fine. I’m really just fine. And I’ve got to find Seth. He was in the Second Massachusetts. Do you think—”

The doctor stood up and began walking away, because there was only one other place for her to look.

He murmured it over his shoulder. “Speak to Sergeant Woody outside.”

“Thank you,” said Ida. She rose from the bench and walked firmly to the door.

Harry was there, a bulky shape against the sky, his teeth showing white in a mocking grin. He said, “Good luck, missus.”

Someone else appeared in the doorway, an officer, his coat hanging loose over his shoulders. He spoke to Harry, asking for a friend in the artillery reserve.

Ida stepped past him and walked carefully down the grassy slope. Then she had to walk three-quarters of the way around the barn before she found Sergeant Woody.

He was keeping watch over the bodies of the dead.