A Nurse for Jacob Read online

  This book is a work of fiction.

   2020 by Caryl McAdoo > All rights reserved

  First Edition July 2, 2020

  Printed and bound in the United States of America

  ISBN-13 : 979-8640-555-479

  AISN : B087PTW7K6 (ebook)

  Coming soon in Audio!

  TABLE of CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peak / A Nurse for Jacob

  Coming Soon Titles / All Caryl’s Titles

  Reach Out to the Author / Author Reaching out to You

  Texas Romance Family Saga novels

  A Few Favorite Links You’ll Enjoy!

  Chapter One

  New Orleans, May 4, 1868

  Lydia admired the two-story building from the corner of Gaienne and Old Levee Streets, strode up the walk, then stopped at the front door of Touro Infirmary and adjusted her cap.

  Smoothing her apron, she straightened her back and held her chin high, ready to open the portal to her new life.

  The attendant at the admissions desk eyed her a bit too hard.

  “May I help you, miss?” The old lady’s tone implied she hated surprises and had a strong desire to know it all. Perhaps she loved order above all else.

  Hopefully, a smile would soften her.

  “Yes, ma’am. Might you please direct me to a Mis’ess Rowland? I’m Nurse Lydia Andrews from the Harrow School of Nursing, graduation class of 1868, reporting for duty, ma’am.” She almost started to salute, but instead, just smiled.

  The woman didn’t seem amused or impressed.

  “I believe she’ll be expecting me, ma’am. It’s my understanding that she’s discussed my coming to Touro with Miss Clara Barton herself, a friend of the school.”

  A feminine wailing came from down the hall to the woman’s right and drowned out her response. The lady shot a furtive glance in that direction then looked back.

  “Uh . . .”

  Another scream, that one louder than the first and even more painful sounding, caused Lydia to take a step toward the commotion.

  “Help me!”

  “Ma’am? Is someone with her? Should I go see?”

  The receptionist shrugged. “She’s been like that for a while now. Doctor Johnston should be here any minute. I’ve already sent word upstairs.”

  “I see. Thank you.” Lydia did a quick sidestep. “I’ll just go take a peek then and see if perhaps I may be of assistance.”

  Another scream threatened to pierce the air asunder. She picked up her pace then burst into the exam room.

  The extremely pregnant woman lay on the table. Her husband, looking quite dumfounded, held her hand. The poor man appeared as though he might pass out any minute himself.

  Lydia grabbed a stool, plopped down at the table’s foot, and threw the sheet back. The baby’s head had presented. Another contraction hit. The lady pushed, screaming again, but not as loud that time.

  The baby’s head didn’t move.

  It took the poor woman three more contractions with Lydia helping to get the baby out. She cleaned the child’s mouth then swatted the little one’s bottom, being rewarded with a nice, healthy, albeit plenty angry cry.

  As precious as anything could ever be, the newborn boy had been through quite the ordeal himself. The little guy wasn’t one little bit happy about it either.

  She laid him on his mama’s belly, tied off and cut the cord, then readied to receive the placenta. The afterbirth looked complete, but she saved it in case the doctor wanted to examine it.

  Another woman came in, took a quick look and ran out again. In mere minutes, she returned with water and towels.

  It did not take long to realize the new mother was bleeding too much. The baby’s head had torn open a six-inch gash in the birth canal. Lydia’s eyes searched those of the woman.

  “Where’s a doctor?”

  The other lady, maybe twice her age, only shrugged. “I’m sorry. I have no idea. An hour or so ago, Doctor Johnston was in surgery. Two gamblers got into it, and he was working on the loser. I haven’t seen him since though.”

  The mother didn’t have much time.

  “I need morphine, a hypodermic syringe, a curved needle, carbolic acid, and some cat gut. Can you get those for me?”

  The woman stood there.

  “I’ll do it! Just tell me where it is!”

  “Right over there in the doctors’ cabinet I guess.” Shaking her head, she pointed to the cupboard. “What else do you need?”

  “More water and towels, please. If you will.”

  Twenty-five stitches in, with at least that many or more to do, a shadow blocked some of her light. “Good job, nurse.”

  The voice belonged to a male. She glanced over her shoulder then returned to the business at hand. “Would you like to take over, sir?”

  “You’re doing fine. Be sure to blot plenty of carbolic acid on the wound. We follow Joseph Lister’s practices here at Touro. Come find me when you’re done.”

  “Yes, sir. Then would you please move so you won’t be blocking the light?”

  “Of course.” He stepped back.

  “Excuse me. Who are you, sir?”

  “Doctor Johnston.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Though her shoulders ached and her bladder protested, Lydia finished suturing the tear then took a moment to admire her work. Not a bad stitching job if she said so herself.

  After a quick trip to the water closet, she checked one last time on mama and baby. Both were fine, so she set out to locate the doctor.

  Stopping again at the receptionist desk, she smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name before.”

  “Everyone calls me Miss Haddie.” The lady gave her a stern but not entirely unpleasant look. “Nurse Rowland said to send you to her office when you finished in the delivery room.”

  “Yes, ma’am. So, where would that be?”

  “Up the stairs, first door on the right.”

  “And where’s Doctor Johnston’s office?”

  Her expression changed a slight bit, carrying a tinge of disrespect. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “He wanted me to find him when I was through.”

  “Ask the matron.”

  Being as polite and cheerful as she possibly could, she smiled, nodding, but the desire to put the woman in her place was strong. But . . . What did she know?

  The lady might be someone’s important old maid sister who couldn’t get a job anywhere else.

  “I will. Thank you, ma’am.”

  The lady huffed, sat down, then studied her desk as though the most important piece of paper ever lay on it, and she had to memorize every detail.

  Quite dismissed, Lydia hurried up the stairs. The infirmary had once been a grand mansion, much like the one she’d grown up in back in Culpepper County.

  Even with the additions, it still had a homey feel to it that she liked. She knocked on what she hoped would prove to be the correct door.

  “Come in.”

  A rather pleasant-looking lady sat behind a beautifully carved desk—oak if she had her woods right—smiling like a cat that just spied a new mouse.

  “Nurse Lydia Ann Andrews, I presume.” She literally beamed. “We are so glad to have you here at Touro. Clara’s letter bragged on you quite profusely.”

  “How kind of Miss Barton. And yes, ma’am, thank you. I’m just as pleased to be here. A
nxious to help in any way.”

  “Well, I hear tell you’ve already been baptized into service. I am surprised you’re neither over thirty nor plain. Good thing we aren’t that picky here at Touro.” She laughed at her humor.

  “I’m Helen Roland, but everyone calls me Matron. Judith has told me what you’ve done already this morning, and I’m overlooking it this time, because you’re new, but nurses don’t deliver babies here.”

  “Oh.”

  “And most certainly nurses do not sew on anyone. That is only for the doctors to do, as is the administration of morphine. Do you understand me, Nurse Andrews?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course. And who is Judith?”

  “The nurse who helped you this morning. For the foreseeable future, you will be paired with her in the west wing to learn our ways. You come highly recommended, Lydia. I know you won’t disappoint me again.”

  As much as she wanted to protest, she needed the job, and the woman sat in the seat of authority at Touro.

  “Of course not, Matron. I’ll make every effort not to. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, that’s all for now. Go back downstairs. There are patients who need tending.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She started to leave but turned back. “If I may ask, Matron, where is Doctor Johnston’s office? He instructed me to find him.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just get downstairs and to work. I’ll take care of him.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jacob hated a lot of things. Talking with Helen Roland would be at the top of his list, and he avoided that as much as possible. He pushed her door open without knocking. The woman looked up.

  Shock turned to the incredulous look he detested. Though she was his subordinate, the matron acted just the opposite.

  “Where’s the new nurse?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I need her in surgery. There was a big fight at the docks. Bensadon and I can’t handle it all. I need her now. Right now. Go wherever it is you’ve assigned her and get her up to the surgery ward.”

  “What about Smith?”

  “He’s off. Now get to it. We need her.”

  “What about—”

  “Nurse Rowland. Do what I tell you. I’ve seen her work, and I need her now. You know how slow Bensadon is.” His volume surprised him.

  It must have gotten to her, too. She pushed her overweight self up with great and obvious disdain then waddled toward the door. He spun around and hurried back to surgery.

  His angel of mercy’s timing proved perfect. Just as he prepared to close the worst of the three, he’d been assigned, she walked in. “Doctor Johnston, sir. Matron said you needed me?”

  “Yes. Come close this man up. If he starts bleeding again, call me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lydia had hoped, but never dreamed she’d be pressed into services doing a doctor’s job on her first day, but then the Bible said your gift would make a place for you.

  From that first day Mama had brought a soldier into their home, her gift became evident. She had the ability to see and do what needed to be done—in spite of the blood, guts, and pathetic cries of the wounded.

  Sure and steady, she threaded the catgut and sutured that man’s flesh back together, beginning with the worst cut then the next. Doctor Johnston had almost finished the last man when she slipped in beside him.

  “Would you like me to finish here for you, sir?”

  “Please.” He handed her the curved needle and catgut. “They just brought in one more. He’s in the west wing examining room. Come down there when you’re done with this one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man offered a weak smile then hurried out. It took her a few minutes to complete the task, longer than she expected, but she cleaned up then checked to make certain the others hadn’t started bleeding again.

  Satisfied, she hurried down the stairs. The doctor’s motion and the too-distinguishable sound of a saw cutting bone greeted her.

  Stepping to Johnston’s side, she took hold of the glob of bloody gauze Judith held with her head turned away, lifted the compression and spotted the bleeder. Grabbing the forceps, she clamped off the offending artery.

  “Get water, Judith. And clean towels.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  It seemed quite strange for the older lady to be ma’aming her, but that proved the nature of the beast. For a year, grown men had followed her orders as if the words had come from General Lee’s own mouth.

  The nurse returned with the towels and a bucket of water.

  Without missing a beat, Lydia dipped one corner of a towel into the water then mopped the doctor’s forehead, receiving a genuine smile for her efforts. She dunked the entire towel and wrung the excess moisture from it.

  Then she handed it to Judith. “Please clean the upper part of that leg Doctor Johnston is trying to save.”

  The saw cut two more bleeders; one a vein that she let ooze, but she quickly clamped the second, another artery. Thankfully, he finished without further trouble, and she got busy bandaging the stump.

  Once she and Judith got the patient cleaned up and ready, Lydia wheeled the man off to a ward.

  To her surprise, the doctor followed her.

  “Come with me, nurse.”

  She should return and help Judith clean the mess, but . . . he was a doctor, and she’d been taught well to follow a doctor’s orders. She fell in behind the man.

  At the top of the stairs, he stopped. “What is your name?”

  “Lydia Andrews.”

  His head bobbed as if writing her name on some chalkboard in his mind. He stopped at the door next to the matron’s, flipped it open, and held his hand out, gesturing for her to precede him in. She did.

  “Lydia Andrews. Please, sit.” He walked around his desk, sat down, then pulled a bottom drawer out and retrieved a bottle half full of amber liquid and two glasses. He poured both half full and held one out toward her.

  “You are, my dear, an angel of mercy. Where were you schooled?”

  Holding her palm toward him, she rejected his offering. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t drink hard liquor. I’ve just graduated from Harrow’s School of Nursing near Baltimore, sir.”

  Tossing back the contents of her glass, the doctor picked up the other, rolling the glass in his hand. “So they’re teaching labor and delivery? And how to suture a wound or clamp off an artery to nurses now?”

  “Oh, no, sir. You see, I spent more than a year in Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. My mother, aunt, and I aided in the care of the wounded in his main field hospital.”

  The man snorted as though he didn’t believe her. “How’d that come about?”

  Chapter Two

  For a horrible moment, Lydia found herself at home again, along the river. She forced herself back to the doctor’s office, and the cannon booms faded.

  Sitting straight in her chair, she looked the man in his eyes and told her tale. If only it had happened to someone else . . .

  But then would she have ever known her calling?

  “The Army of the Potomac crossed the Rapidan not far from our farm. They called it the Battle of the Wilderness, but the part of it I witnessed happened in our cornfield. After the two armies moved upriver some, Mother, Auntie, and I went out there.”

  For only a moment, she dropped her chin and closed her eyes. When she looked up, his eyes seemed full of sympathy. “There were dead men—some only boys—all over. They littered the rows everywhere.”

  “Dreadful. A dreadful war.”

  “Yes, sir. We three helped all of the wounded we could find get back to our house. Some wore blue uniforms; others were in gray. It didn’t matter. They didn’t seem to mind being tended together.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “Fifteen. Just turned, actually. We did the best we could. Mammy helped, too. When the soldiers came for the Confederate wounded, they took all our food, linens, and bade us go with them to se
rve at their field hospital.”

  “What did they do with the Yanks?”

  “They took them away in chains, to prison, I guess. Some of the soldiers wanted to kill them to keep ’em from rejoining the fight, but my mother told them they’d have to kill her, too, if they did. So, we all loaded up and left.” She stood. “If there’s nothing else, I better get back to work.”

  “You did very well today, Nurse Andrews.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re going to be a great asset here at Touro.”

  She backed up a step, suddenly reluctant to leave. “Were you in the war, Doctor Johnston?”

  “Unfortunately, I was. I’d been out of school not long when it broke out.”

  What was it about the man that pulled at her heartstrings? He was much too old for her. Handsome enough . . . but it wasn’t his looks that drew her. She backed up another step.

  He took a long pull from his glass, almost draining it, never stealing his eyes from hers.

  “Do you want me to check on our patients before I go back to the west wing, sir?”

  “Good idea. I . . . uh . . . was at the Battle of the Wilderness, but on the other side from you. I joined up right after the battle at Fort Sumter. I served with the Army of the Potomac from the first.” He chuckled.

  “If we’d had Bobby Lee like Lincoln wanted, the war would have been over in a year. Two at the most.”

  Grand rumors circled all over the South about the great general turning down command of the U.S. Army. The Southerners applauded the man, so proud of him.

  “Mother thinks the war was because of the ground itself, and it had to last as long as it did.”

  Why had she said that?

  Gracious! He’d surely think she had lost her mind. She reached the doorknob. “I’ll let you know if any of the men need more surgery.”

  “Please.” He held his glass up, opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything.

  She turned and hurried out. As suggested, she went straight to check on the patients he’d operated on earlier that morning. All were doing well with no further bleeding.

  Then she found Judith, mopping the west wing’s exam room. The place sparkled. In a way, it nicked her heart a little that the lady had to do it all.