A Season of Miracles Read online

  "Who's there?"

  "It's Caroline, Miss Lily! I'm sorry to wake you, but I need your help."

  "I'll be down as soon as I light a lamp, dear."

  It seemed like hours, but could have been only minutes, before the shop door opened and the woman invited her inside.

  "What on earth is the mat—"

  "It's Danny. He's burning up with fever, and I'm afraid he's caught the diphtheria from Albert."

  Oh, dear Lord, I pray he hasn't."

  "I need to fetch a doctor and—"

  "But Dr. Blalock left with—"

  "I know, Miss Lily, but I'm going to the Federal encampment and try to persuade someone to help us."

  "The Federal encampment? Why, that's a long way from here. Too far for a woman like you to walk. And in the middle of the night and snowing besides. You'd catch your death."

  Not pausing to argue, Caroline took hold of the older woman's arm. "I need you to watch Danny while I'm gone, Miss Lily. Will you do that?"

  "Well, of course I will, dear, but I can't give my blessing to what you seem dead-set on doing."

  "Oh, thank you, Miss Lily. Please hurry. I want to leave as soon as possible."

  "I'll get my wrap and be right behind you. Oh, and I'll bring some chamomile tea in case we need it. That always settles the stomach."

  Caroline caught only the first of Miss Lily's words for she was almost running to finish her preparations for the journey that lay ahead.

  Chapter Three

  John Oldham did not sleep well. The cold and dampness of the tent seeped into his bones and pained his leg was much worse since winter. He was awake when his aide called his name.

  "Lieutenant Oldham? Sorry, Sir, but there's someone to see you in your quarters. Says it's urgent."

  He sat up and pulled on his trousers, grabbed his coat, then opened the tent flap and faced his aide. "I'm coming, Johnson. Now, tell me what can be so urgent this time of night?"

  "She wouldn't say, Sir. Just kept saying she had to see the doctor. That it was a matter of life and death." The aide turned toward the frame building that served as the medical office and treatment room.

  John Oldham took a step to follow. "She?" Dumbfounded, he stopped and repeated, "She?"

  "Yes, Sir. A woman who looks near frozen, like she's come a long way."

  With an inward groan of annoyance, he hurried after his aide. What now? He thought he'd dealt with every imaginable problem already, but this was something new. He hoped the woman wasn't about to give birth. That would be the last straw.

  As they crossed the snow-covered path between tents to the wooden building that housed the infirmary, their boots made a loud crunching sound in the silent night. Sergeant Johnson opened the door and stood back for his superior to enter. John beckoned his aide to follow.

  Standing beside his desk where a dim lantern burned was a woman of slight build, visibly shivering with cold. As he drew closer he saw that her lips were almost blue and surmised she wasn't far from hypothermia.

  He quickly pulled out a chair as he spoke, "I'm the man you asked to see, ma'am. Please sit down."

  She collapsed rather than sitting and tried to speak, but it seemed an effort to move her lips. "Thank you, s-sir. I-I've come to ask your help—"

  "Please," he held up his hand. "Whatever you've come to ask can wait. Right now, you need my help to get warm. Sergeant Johnson?" the aide stepped forward from the shadows, "go to the mess tent and make coffee, on the double."

  "Yes, Sir." Sergeant Johnson saluted and left to carry out John's orders.

  Taking one of the woman's hands, John felt the cold through her knit glove. "Have you walked far?"

  "Yes, Sir. From Market S-Street."

  He nodded, assessing the woman as he massaged both of her hands. A toboggan covered her head and ears and a scarf wound around her neck partially hid her cheeks and nose. She wore a pair of men's breeches, much too large, with the legs tucked into a pair of worn boots. He would have found her appearance amusing if she hadn't looked so pathetic and in need of medical help.

  "First, we'll get you wrapped in something warmer." He crossed to the other room where a thick wool blanket lay on the table he used to examine patients. Returning, he placed it on her shoulders, and tucked it around her so it lapped over her arms. Her shivering continued and he glanced down at her oversized boots, then knelt in front of her and removed them. She had evidently waded in snow-banks higher than the tops for the heavy socks she wore were soaked with freezing water.

  Gently, he peeled them off and massaged her cold feet until the Sergeant brought back a pot of coffee and two cups. Taking the tray, he poured one cup and held it in front of the woman.

  "Drink," he urged.

  She took a sip, and then another.

  "Sergeant, go back to the mess tent and heat a basin of water. Just lukewarm will do. And be quick."

  "Yes, Sir." The Sergeant was gone before he could ask him to bring a towel as well. But he supposed a sheet from the medical supply cabinet would do instead.

  When the woman had managed to drink half a cup of the strong coffee, he asked quietly, "Now tell me your name, ma'am, and why you are here?"

  "Caroline Ross, sir." She took a shallow breath. "I came to ask for your help, sir. My little boy is sick with a burning fever and I have reason to believe he has caught diphtheria."

  She didn't appear to be a mother who would imagine her child's every fever to be a death knell, but still he sought to reassure her. "Many young children run high fevers, Mrs. Ross. How old is this young man?"

  "He's only just turned four and his cousin has it – had it – and now he's dead." She started to cry. Between silent sobs, she told him the details of her nephew's death, and why she strongly believed her own son was stricken.

  As he listened, his aide returned with the basin of water and he placed it in front of her and gently lifted her numb feet into it. As his hands continued to massage one delicate foot, then the other, he considered his options. This place was just a holding bin since the fighting had moved on to Georgia. The few men who remained were not critically ill, but not well enough to be sent home.

  Most were malingering to avoid further combat, nursing their wounds as long as possible. Not that he could blame them overmuch, having seen firsthand what mini-balls and grapeshot could do to a man. Sergeant Johnson and the few other soldiers left to take care of the wounded could well manage for a few days without his supervision.

  As if she were reading his thoughts, the woman looked at him with pleading eyes. "Sir, I'm begging for your help. You are my only hope."

  Damn. She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen in a woman. They could see right into a man's soul. If the boy had diphtheria, he would probably die, whether he had a doctor's care or not. And he wouldn't be surprised if she didn't get pneumonia from the ordeal she'd gone through tonight to ask for his help. Didn't he owe her something for her efforts to save her child?

  "All right, Mrs. Ross. I believe I can spare a few days to help you."

  She grabbed his hands and kissed them before he could stop her.

  Embarrassed, he stood and spoke curtly, "I'll see about a horse. We can leave as soon as daylight comes and—"

  "No," she interrupted him quickly. "We mustn't wait. Please, can't we leave now? I don't mean to be ungrateful or impertinent, but surely time is precious. If I could make it here on foot in darkness, it shouldn't be so hard to travel back in darkness on a horse."

  She was right, of course – on both counts. And he had to hand it to her. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind and ask for what she needed.

  "All right, Mrs. Ross. Just give me a few minutes to secure a horse and pack a few necessities for the journey. Sergeant Johnson?"

  His aide appeared at his command and waited for instructions. "You've heard the conversation? I will accompany Mrs. Ross to her home and render what aid I can to her child. You will be in charge in my absence. And while I prepare to g
o, please pack a canteen of coffee and other provisions for the saddlebags, in case we are stranded by the storm.

  In a short while, carrying a satchel, he returned to the woman. Lifting and drying her feet, he put a large pair of his own socks on them. "You can wear these moccasins," he said as he slipped them over the socks and tied them in place with large neckerchiefs. "It's better than nothing." He scooped up her wet socks and boots, added them to the satchel, and slung its strap over his shoulder.

  She smiled gratefully, but didn't speak.

  "Now you just sit there until we're ready to travel. Try to get some sleep if you can. Your little boy will need your attention when we get back to him, I think."

  "Yes," she whispered. "He will."

  Chapter Four

  Snow was still falling and a sharp wind stung his face as John Oldham guided the sturdy mare along the dark road. Pressed close against his chest, he held the woman who sought his help. He had expected a protest from her when he proposed she ride in front of him this way, but she had brooked no argument and silently mounted with his assistance.

  He assumed her husband was engaged in Confederate battles far from home, but she hadn't said and he hadn't yet inquired. It felt strange, holding a woman in his arms again. He was reminded of a time, which seemed much farther in the past than it actually was. Life had felt suspended in slow motion ever since he'd answered the call to arms and joined up with General Thomas' forces.

  They rode silently through the night. There was no need to ask the woman if she was cold. Her shivers told him the answer and he pulled her a little closer and wrapped the blanket tighter. She snuggled against him, and the soft yarn of her knitted scarf tickled his neck where her head touched him. Her even breaths told him that she slept, for which he was thankful. The woman was obviously exhausted from the ordeal of her trek through the storm seeking help.

  * * * * *

  They didn't have far to go now. In the first faint hint of dawn, he could see the imposing shapes of the Brabson and Wakefield mansions just ahead. Major Burke had moved on when Sherman's army invaded Georgia. Like his own situation, there'd been little use for the Major's skills in Chattanooga now that the city and surrounding area were not a focus of fighting. He'd heard the Major's wife had taken charge of the few remaining disabled rebels still at Whitehaven. Funny, how he had served the Confederate cause, tending their wounded while he was their prisoner. And how he married the widow of the Wakefield heir. But little wonder Major Burke had been taken with her. He well remembered the day they drove into camp and asked for the chaplain to marry them. She was some fine looking woman for sure.

  Not certain which direction to go from this point, John reluctantly woke the sleeping woman he held. "Ma'am? Mrs. Ross?"

  Caroline flinched, alarmed. Then, coming awake, she turned partway in John Oldham's arms and asked, "What is it?"

  "I need to ask how to get to your place from here. Which way do I turn?"

  "Toward the river. Straight to the heart of town. We live above a drygoods store. It will be on the right."

  "And what about the mare? Is there a place close by to stable her?"

  "That would be Thomas Swafford's inn. His place is straight down the street a little way from us. And William Pierce is the hostler there."

  "Then I'll see to the animal as soon as I unload the saddlebags." He didn't like leaving Union property in a Rebel's care, but there was no help for it.

  The tone of his voice must have conveyed his reluctance for Caroline reassured him. "William Pierce is a good man, sir. You can trust your horse in his care."

  Looks like I have no choice. John left the words unspoken as he guided the mare to a stop in front of the run-down building Caroline indicated.

  Not waiting while he unloaded the saddlebags, she hurried the few steps to the front door, and called back to him, "Just put everything inside while you take care of the horse. I'll be back down to help as soon as I see to my son."

  John stood for a moment looking after the woman as she unlocked the door and disappeared inside. Then with a slow gait, favoring his game leg, he unloaded the bulging saddlebags and went to find the stables.

  * * * * *

  Caroline opened the upstairs door to find Danny, wrapped in a quilt, sitting in Miss Lily's lap. When he saw her, he held out his arms, but didn't attempt to jump down and run to her, as he would normally have done.

  "Mama," he croaked in an unrecognizable voice.

  "Oh, sweetheart, Mama's here." She crossed the room and knelt, swooping him up in her arms. She could feel the heat from his small body and cast Miss Lily a look of alarm.

  The woman nodded with a worried frown. "He was having a hard chill and I've brought him closer to the fire and tried to keep him warm. It's passed now." She looked at Caroline and shook her head. "I guess you made the trip for nothing, didn't you? Or did you even get that far in all the snow?"

  "I made it, Miss Lily. And a camp doctor has come back with me. He's stabling his horse and then he—" A soft knock at the door interrupted her words.

  Cradling Danny in her arms, she went toward the sound as she called, "Come on in, Lieutenant Oldham."

  His arms loaded with saddlebags, John shouldered his way inside and set them down. He looked at Danny and smiled. "And here is the man of the house, is he?"

  "Yes, Sir. Danny, this is the doctor I went to fetch while you were sleeping. He's come to help you get well. Say hello to Lieutenant Oldham."

  Danny hesitated, and then asked instead. "Are you a sojer?"

  "Yes, I am, Danny. And a doctor too." John held out his hand and the boy timidly placed his own smaller one out for a gentle handshake.

  "You're cold." Danny quickly withdrew his hand.

  "Oh, forgive me, Lieutenant. I should have invited you to warm yourself instead of making introductions. Come sit by the fire. I'll fill the pot and make some hot coffee. "

  "I'll wager you haven't warmed yourself either, Mrs. Ross. But I'll accept your invitation to sit by the fire. And for the coffee too." As he turned toward the fireplace, she noticed his slight limp for the first time.

  Miss Lily stood and offered John the rocker, but he waved it away and pulled up a chair from beside the nearby dining table. "This will do fine, ma'am," he told her.

  "Dear me, I am being remiss again. This is our neighbor, Miss Lily Fergerson, who was so kind to watch over Danny while I was gone."

  John removed his cap and bowed over the woman's hand while she looked uncertain. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Fergerson."

  She nodded, still eyeing him with suspicion, then turned to Caroline. "Danny woke up in the night and cried with a headache. But I rocked him back to sleep after a while."

  "It hurt bad, Mama."

  Caroline deposited him in the middle of the soft featherbed, then asked "Does it hurt now, Danny?"

  He was silent as if weighing her question. "Not much, Mama. But my throat hurts."

  She met the doctor's eyes, but could read nothing in his expression. She bent to lift the iron kettle that hung on a tripod beside the fire. She took it to the kitchen to fill the coffee pot with water and grounds, and then placed it on the coals to boil.

  Willing herself to be patient, she served the coffee, which the Lieutenant preferred black, and brought a generous slice of buttered bread to go with it. He ate hungrily, and she wondered if rations were as scarce for the soldiers as they were for the residents of the city.

  After John polished off every crumb of the bread and washed it down with a second cup of coffee, he stood and walked slowly to the bed where Danny lay. "Mind if I sit down here beside you, Danny?"

  The little boy shook his head and John went on in a calm deliberate voice. "As your mama said, she asked me to come and help you get better. And if I'm going to do that, I need to take a look at your sore throat." As he spoke, John touched Danny's head and then his chest and abdomen. "So can you open your mouth real wide for me?"

  Danny looked ready to cry, b
ut did as the doctor asked.

  John glanced toward Caroline, who had come to stand behind him and said in a low voice, "May I have a clean spoon, Mrs. Ross?"

  A stone jar of cutlery sat in the center of the table and Caroline reached for one and gave it to him.

  "All right now, that's a good boy." John changed positions in order to get a better view. Then taking the spoon, inserted the handle into the child's open mouth, and pressed gently on his tongue to reveal a white membrane that partially covered his tonsils.

  Danny coughed hoarsely and John raised him to a sitting position until he stopped.

  "Sweetheart, would you like a drink of water?" Caroline asked and when Danny nodded, she went to the kitchen and brought back a small tin cup and held it for him to drink.

  John patted the little boy's shoulder and stood. "That's all for now, Danny. But I'll be taking a look again later. And next time, I'll use my doctor-stick." He motioned toward his satchel on the floor where he had piled the saddlebags. "Doctors have lots of tools to help us take good care of our patients. When I open my medicine bag, I'll let you have a look if you want to. Would you like that, Danny?"

  Danny nodded his head without much enthusiasm. Caroline watched the way the Union doctor approached her child, being careful not to frighten him. She watched his face for signs that he was certain of diphtheria, but could tell nothing from his expression.

  When he turned away from the bed and went back to the fire, she followed. "Is it…?" she asked softly.

  "He has the symptoms." His voice was so low she had to strain to hear the words she dreaded. "I want you to bring a basin of cool water and a cloth. Then strip his clothes off. We need to bring down the fever."

  Miss Lily, who hovered near the fire, gasped. "Well, forever more. The child will catch his death," she hissed. "I knew no good would come from bringing a Union soldier here to doctor that child."

  "Please, Miss Lily," Caroline whispered. "I'm sure Lieutenant Oldham knows what he is doing. We must believe that."

  "Believe what you will, Caroline. But I'll put my trust in the good Lord and His mercy and not a Yankee doctor."

  "Miss Fergerson," John turned toward the woman and looked at her intently, "I have had some experience with treating sickness like this and the only way to bring down a high fever is by cooling the body. So Mrs. Ross, if you will bring me a basin…"