Washington Infirmary

August 7, 1861

Samuel watched a chaplain amble through the ward with his hands safely tucked away in his pockets lest he inadvertently touch one of the men he passed. The lanky fellow floated about like a ship without mooring, vaguely offering words of encouragement that held little warmth. Should not a man of the cloth be kneeling in prayer, touching shoulders in encouragement, and offering peace to those who desperately needed to commit themselves to the Lord before their days on this earth were spent?

If Samuel did not offer these men a measure of hope, then who would? Certainly the chaplain seemed disinclined to do so. Samuel made a mental notation to ask one of the officers if another chaplain could be had.

“You see that fella there, doc?” the man in the bed to his right asked, drawing Samuel’s attention.

Samuel returned his gaze to the patient before him, the faint putrid scent of infection tickling in his nose. He ignored the soldier’s question and leaned closer to the man’s shoulder, where the stump of an arm remained. To anyone else, including the patient, it seemed Samuel merely examined the bandages. In truth, he allowed his nose to confirm what he already suspected.

The smell increased as he leaned in and breathed deeper. Perhaps this time, he would treat it without consulting Dr. Porter first. Then, maybe he could prove his theory. If he could treat the infection before it showed any visible signs, he could stem it off before it ran rampant through the body.

Unfortunately, no one believed him. And without any visible evidence on the last patient, Dr. Porter had declared Samuel’s proclamation of infection unwarranted and denied the man treatment. Samuel’s insistence that the man had an infection despite the doctor’s diagnosis also seemed to further demean him in the doctor’s eyes, something that had festered since his sickness had driven him from the ward the day the swarms of wounded arrived.

He’d taken pride in his ability to control it since, but his lack of appetite and the constant heaving of his stomach had shown up in two tightened belt loops.

An unfortunate complication for one in his position, though it did bear a singular positive. Rather than the curse he’d always believed would seek to ruin his destiny, he’d discovered his senses were so attuned, that, if he were able to separate the smell of infection from the other scents, he could detect it early.

He eyed the current patient, though he contemplated another. A matter of days after he had reported the man’s infection to Dr. Porter, the fever started. Dr. Porter had treated him, but the infection had already taken hold, and the man passed within the week. He’d hardly spoken to his attending physician since. Samuel could only imagine what the man must think of him.

“Doc? Did you hear me? I asked if you saw that fellow over there.”

Samuel pulled back the dressing on the wound, causing the soldier to wince. “I’m currently occupied with your condition. I’ll see to the other patients in turn.”

Mumbling something under his breath, the private shook his head. “No, Doc. You don’t want to be treating that one.”

Samuel tugged another strip of cloth free, exposing the neat rows of stitches that folded the skin over the sawed-off humerus. “And why is that?”

“He’s a Rebel deserter. Hang him!” He nearly spat the words. “It’s a blasted shame to fetch him in here right alongside us. Better they go right on to prison for their treason. Don’t matter if they signed any loyalty papers or not.”

The clean wound showed only a faint edge of angry red around the suture lines. Still, he was rather certain… Samuel leaned closer, narrowing his eyes for good measure.

The patient shifted, and the anger in his voice turned to worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Just inspecting your sutures.”

“Dr. Porter don’t ever look that close on them.” His voice lifted a notch. “Did you leave your spectacles someplace?”

Samuel sat back and wrapped the bandages around the stump. “How often does Dr. Porter check your wound?”

He shrugged his good shoulder. “He’s checked it twice since he robbed me of my arm. Why?”

To tell this man his suspicions would only cause him unnecessary worry. “I’m still receiving the final portions of my training. I ask a lot of questions.”

The soldier relaxed against his pillow. “Fine, then. I don’t suppose being a case to study can add any further humiliations on top of what this stump already affords me.” He laid his hand across the top of the sheets a score of laundresses had worked tirelessly to keep clean.

Samuel took a glance around the ward still packed with men suffering from various sorts of ailments. Some had been patched up and returned to their ranks, but those with more serious injuries were still taking their rest until they were deemed fit to return to service. His current patient was not the only one to be missing a limb. If anything, this man suffered an unfortunately common condition.

He tried to compose words that might lend the man some comfort, but before he could string together the thoughts to do so, the bark of his name drew his attention.

He recognized Dr. Porter’s voice rumbling through the ward like an engine down the tracks. Samuel promised to check on the private later and stepped away from the bed, dreading what reprimand would come now. Ever since the day he’d run out of the ward, Dr. Porter had delayed signing off on Samuel’s training. He should have received his final release weeks ago.

Then again, he could hardly blame the man. Dr. Porter was charged with training physicians worthy of the title. Samuel was well aware of the doctor’s strict attention to detail and ardent insistence that all men under his training be fit for service.

Any doctor who lets his patients see him run away in fear isn’t a physician they can trust.

While Samuel did not disagree with Dr. Porter’s words, it had not been fear that had driven him from the hospital. But a doctor who could not stomach the smells of blood and bile would be far worse, and so he had endured what he had always known would come. Now he could only hope his years of training would not end in vain and leave his father disappointed.

Worse, he could not continue to take his father’s stipend beyond his schooling. If he couldn’t soon earn his way as a physician, what would he do to care for the children he’d adopted? He had no other skills that could provide the life he’d promised.

“Yes, Dr. Porter?” Samuel stepped into the center aisle that ran between the beds in the ward.

Dr. Porter tugged on the lapel of his jacket, the lines around his eyes seeming to have grown deeper in the past weeks. “Come with me.” He motioned toward the door at the rear of the ward that led to the section of the hospital that contained his office. “I need to speak with you on a matter of some importance.” Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Porter turned sharply, his coattails flying out behind him.

Samuel silently followed him toward his office off the East wing. Nurses and volunteers thinned in this section of the infirmary, and only a single nun swept dust from the corners of the hall. They had sprinkled lavender water about in an effort to control the smells that were daunting even to them.

He passed her with a small nod and received a brief smile before she continued with her task, her long skirts moving as much dust as her broom.

Dr. Porter stepped into his office and motioned for Samuel to take a seat before closing the door.

“How is your father?”

“Well,” Samuel said, “though I’m sure he is eager for me to return and help with his practice.”

Dr. Porter grunted and stepped toward his desk. The office was neat and tidy, as one might expect from a man like Dr. Porter. His desk contained stacks of papers that were evenly spaced, and jars of ink were arranged in a straight line.

“And your mother?” his voice seemed to thicken. “How is she?”

Samuel tilted his head. “Uh, well, sir.”

The doctor took his seat, pulled the chair up to the desk, and folded his hands on top. He stared at Samuel a moment, as though looking for something in his features. Finally, he said, “It’s my sincere hope that you have overcome your aversion.”

Dread mingled with hope and slashed at one another without a clear victor. Samuel focused on keeping the battle from manifesting on his face and waited for the doctor to continue.

“I have watched you closely, and, well, if nothing else, I daresay you seem downright determined.”

Why did the man seem surprised by the statement? “It’s always been my intention to be a practicing physician, sir. That determination has driven me through these years of study and practice and will continue to drive me to continuously seek the best care for my patients. Despite any difficulties I’ve had, no other profession appeals more to me.”

Dr. Porter stroked a thumb over his graying beard. “That I can clearly see.”

Relief sent his dread into retreat. Perhaps he had redeemed himself after all.

“Still, I’m not convinced.”

A muscle in Samuel’s jaw twitched, and heat churned in his chest. Would one lapse cost him everything? It hardly seemed reasonable. He struggled to keep the bite from his tone. “I should hope that evidence of how a man overcomes his failures would be a better testament to his character and abilities than the failure itself.”

To Samuel’s surprise, Dr. Porter’s features lightened in a rare smile. “I’m rather pleased to hear you say so, because that is my thought exactly.”

Samuel’s thoughts stalled, all words fleeing from his grasp. The man spoke in riddles!

“I don’t believe this war will be over in a matter of weeks,” Dr. Porter continued as though he had not just hung all of Samuel’s ambitions over a cliff and dangled them in front of snapping lions. “The disaster at Bull Run is proof of it. I fear that before long we will be in dire need of surgeons who can command hospitals and take charge of the chaos that will blanket us.”

He offered another smile and further deepened Samuel’s confusion. “Therefore, I’ve been charged by our government to see that we have as many able physicians as possible.” His gaze sharpened. “And perhaps with the proper guidance you have been denied, you could be better than expected.”

The room seemed to slow into a long moment of drawing in a breath and releasing it out. “I, uh, thank you, sir.”

Dr. Porter stroked his beard, his expression returning to its customary stoicism. “You have decent organization skills.” He held up his hand and touched his forefinger. “You’re fairly responsible.” He touched the next finger. “Your determination is without rival.” He poked another finger. “And you are skilled. With my guidance, you could be exceptional, son.”

Samuel’s mouth dried. What had caused this change? Yesterday the man seemed to barely tolerate him. Today he called him son.

The doctor sat back in his chair, a strange glitter in his eyes. “I’m sure your father would be pleased to see how well you do under my care.”

Was that mockery in his tone? Samuel waited, but the image of his career hanging before the lions did not dissipate. If anything, he felt the line holding him aloft was being lowered farther over the cliff’s edge.

“But you battle something I fear will eventually be your undoing.”

And there it was. Samuel braced himself.

“I cannot endorse you only to have you crumble before this nasty war runs its course.”

The line unraveled, spilling all he had worked for to be gobbled up simply because God had cursed him with this blasted nose. If he could cut it from his face and continue his life free from its havoc, he surely would.

Lord, how will I feed the children?

A nervous tick started somewhere in his toes, made its way up his leg, and came out as a tapping of his foot. When Dr. Porter lifted his eyebrows, Samuel forced himself to remain calm. Even facing such devastation, he must not let go of his professional control.

“Forgive me, Dr. Porter. This news has caused some distress.”

“Distress?” The man had the audacity to chuckle. “Mr. Flynn, you have not been listening. I’m saying I would like to make you my second in the infirmary. I can give you far better opportunities here than if you returned to”—he cleared his throat—“well, if you return home.”

Samuel stared at him. He was quite certain that had not been what the man had said.

“But you see, I yet fear you may not hold up under the charge, and I wouldn’t want my fine young doctor to crumble under the pressure because I heaped it upon him too soon.”

The words beat upon Samuel like pounding rain. Dr. Porter thought him capable enough to appoint as his second, yet in the same breath deemed he would fail in the position. He shifted his feet, trying to make some sense of his reeling thoughts. “You have not yet signed off on my studies.” A less than subtle reminder it needed to be done. “Surely you would appoint a licensed physician with credentials and experience, and thus my own readiness would not be of consequence.”

“One would think.” He straightened a perfectly spaced line of writing utensils. “Yet even this soon surgeons are being stretched thin. The army is woefully unmanned in medical staff, and the fighting has barely begun. What do you think will happen when every encampment and battle bordered town is overflowing with wounded and sick men?”

“I’m sure I do not know.”

Dr. Porter folded his hands once more, his features growing grave. “Dr. Fields defected to the South and Harold and Edward went with him. Dr. Engels will be moving to a new hospital and Dr. Floyd decided to retire. The students, except for you, of course, have moved on.”

Samuel rubbed the bridge of his nose. Every teaching doctor from the university would be gone, leaving only Dr. Porter and the army surgeons.

“As you can see, this infirmary will soon be under the command of hastily trained army surgeons who have little to no knowledge about all of the duties involved in running a hospital. I worry that without a firm hand and attentive eye, the patients will only suffer further.”

Samuel could certainly see the problem, but failed to see the solution.

Dr. Porter regarded him closely. “I’ve given this matter a great deal of thought ever since you first showed up in my hospital. Why do you think, in addition to being in charge of the supply closets, I put you at the helm of rationing out medications and organizing the nurses and volunteers?”

“Punishment for running out on you when the wounded first arrived and minimizing my unsupervised time with patients.” The words slipped free from his lips before he had the good sense to catch them.

Dr. Porter shook his head. “No, son. I assure you that was not my intention.”

Samuel clenched his hands and willed his mouth closed.

“I wanted you to learn how to manage a hospital as well as tend the patients in it. I’d thought someday you would find the training useful. It’s an extra area of study I’ve not given to other students, but”—he spread his hands—“let’s just say you’re special.”

Samuel shifted, unsure how to respond. The man seemed to waver in everything he said.

“Tell me, what did you plan to do after your studies, had it not been for this war?”

Samuel straightened. He thought the man knew his plans, but he answered anyway. “Help my father run his practice.” He admired his father more than any other earthly man and could think of no greater ambition than to match his father’s compassion and skill and work at his side.

The doctor sighed. “As I thought.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I hope you will soon see you have better options. Until then, I have decided to send you to General Smith.”

The air in the room seemed to thicken, the scents of leather, faint pipe smoke, and the ever present linger of the lavender water the nuns insisted on sprinkling around the building washing down his throat. “Beg your pardon?”

“McClellan’s army has issued a request for temporary field surgeons, and I’m sending you. You’ll take supplies and spend a few weeks with the Army of the Potomac and return to the infirmary when Dr. Nielson arrives to his post at Chain Bridge.”

Confusion swirled in Samuel’s chest, threatening to choke out his words. “I don’t understand.” Had the man not said he wanted Samuel to help him run the infirmary? Now he would send him away?

Dr. Porter leaned forward, his face oddly earnest for a man who had issued banishment. “I’m providing you an opportunity. If you stayed here, you would merely finish your final training, and then you would return home with the papers you need to practice under your father.”

Precisely what he had in mind.

“Instead, I’m giving you the chance to serve your country and see if you truly have what it takes to be the surgeon I believe you can be. Any doctor who can serve in an army tent will be a different man at the end of it. I believe that is exactly what you need.”

Silence settled on the room in lieu of whatever enthusiastic reply Dr. Porter seemed to expect. A field tent with the army? Close confines with men who would not have the opportunity to bathe? Where sickness was sure to run rampant?

Dr. Porter cleared his throat once more. “You leave immediately.”

Samuel shook his head. “I cannot.”

The lines in Dr. Porter’s forehead deepened. “I don’t think you understand. This is an opportunity for you, but it’s also a requirement.”

“I understand perfectly, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m responsible for two children. I cannot leave them for an extended excursion, no matter what intentions you have behind it.”

Surprise widened the doctor’s deep-set eyes. “You have children and did not inform me?”

Samuel held the man’s gaze. “I didn’t know it had any bearing on my work.”

“Did a deceased relative leave you in this position?”

“No, sir. They came from the orphanage.”

This time Dr. Porter stared at him with open astonishment. “You took on two orphans during your studies, in the midst of war, with no wife to care for them?”

Coming from the man’s lips, the logic did, indeed, sound rather absurd. But logical or not, seeing those children’s guarded eyes soften during the limited amount of time he was able to spend with them was worth it. Even if Mrs. Tooley’s services were straining his accounts.

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“You should have come to me first. I would have advised you.”

Samuel struggled for a reply.

“Have you at least secured care for these children while you are at the infirmary?”

“I have.”

“Live-in services?”

Samuel could see where this conversation headed. “Yes, but they should not be left for several weeks when they have just started to settle into their home.”

Dr. Porter grunted. “And how do you suppose the men serving in the army feel about leaving their wives and natural born children at home while they put their lives at risk for as long as is required of them?”

Guilt nipped at him. Of what merit were his convictions about keeping the country whole if they were cast aside as soon as it required something of him? “I understand.”

“Very good then. I knew you would come to my side of thinking.” Dr. Porter smiled and slapped the top of his desk. “You leave tomorrow. See that your affairs are in order.”

Samuel rose and turned to leave, then paused with his hand on the knob. “Private Reilly needs to be treated for infection.”

The doctor scoffed. “Nonsense. He’s healing fine. I checked his stump yesterday.”

“Even still, the infection has started.”

He rose and came around his desk, narrowing his eyes. “He appears hale and hearty. Tell me what you’ve seen that causes you to think otherwise.”

“I didn’t see it.” His hand tightened on the doorknob, and he held Dr. Porter’s intense gaze. “I can smell it.”

Dr. Porter cocked his head but did not label him mad.

“I know it sounds strange, but I am telling you it’s true. Please, treat him. Treat this one and see if I’m not correct.”

The doctor hesitated then offered but a small nod. “I’ll give him a thorough examination.”

Knowing he would receive nothing more, Samuel left the office. His footsteps fell heavy down the hallway, each one seeming to thud as leaden as his heartbeat.

How was he to tell the children he’d just adopted that he was leaving them?