Never anything but awful.
Thirty beds were already occupied, with half a dozen other ragged men lying on the floor, muddy to the knees and covered with bandages so dirty that it was difficult to tell what dark stains were blood and which were only the filth of the field. Most of their faces were as pale as death already, from loss of bodily fluids or from the shock of what theyd seen, and what they continued to see.
They waited in relative silence, too exhausted even to moan. One or two called hoarsely for water, or begged for a doctor, or cried out for a distant mother or wife. More than a handful had lost their coats somewhere along the line; they were wrapped in blankets and huddled together pitifully, sometimes sharing the covers for warmth even though the room was kept from freezing by the billowing fires that were constantly stoked by two retained men at either end of the room.
A new nurse, a girl younger than Mercy by several years, stood immobilized by the urgency of it all. Her hands fluttered at her sides and her eyes welled up with tears of frustration. Where do I start? she whispered.
Mercy heard her, and she could answer.
She swept past a table piled with lone socks, slings, splints, bandages, discarded holsters with weaponry still in them, and shirts that were missing sleeves. From the next table down, she retrieved a basin the size of a small sink, plus a fistful of washrags and a kitten-sized bar of ugly brown soap that smelled like a cheap candle.
Nurse, she said, and she wouldve grabbed the girls arm if shed had a free hand to do so.
Maam?
Nurse. Whats your name?
Maam? Its . . . its Sarah. Sarah Fitzhugh.
Sarah, then. Mercy foisted the basin into Sarahs not-quite-ready arms. Warm water sloshed up against the girls apron, dampening her breasts in a long wet line. Take this.
Yes maam.
And this, and these. She handed over the soap and the rags, which Sarah was barely capable of balancing. You see those men over there? Mercy pointed at the end of the row, where a sad-looking collection of as-yet-unprocessed newcomers were waiting their turns at paperwork and a doctors inspection.
I see them-yes maam.
Start at the end of the line. Take off their shoes if theyve still got them, and then their socks, coats, and shirts. Scrub them down and do it fast. There are clean shirts in the corner behind you, against the wall, and a small pile of socks to the left. Dress them in the clean shirts and socks, toss the dirty ones into the laundry vats in the next room, and then move on to the next row of soldiers.
Scrub . . . Sarah was stuck on that one word. Scrub them? The soldiers?
Well, I dont mean the doctors or the rats, Mercy told her. Be quick with it. The surgeonsll be along in less than half an hour, and if Captain Sally sees dirty men on her floor, shell throw a hissy fit.
The poor girls face went nearly as white as her first and nearest charge. But she said, Yes maam, with only a small wibble in her voice, and turned to do as shed been told.
Mercy wouldve helped her, but Mercy was the nursing superintendent of the first ward and had more important things to do. Granted, she was now in the ballroom ward instead of the first ward, but the nursing superintendent of the ballroom ward was bedridden, and no one else had been ready to step up to the task, so Mercy had swooped onto the scene to assist with pressing matters at this end of the marble-floored room. A curtain had been hung to wall off a portion of the ballroom ward-not for the sake of modesty or decorum, and certainly not to shield the sensibilities
of the soldiers. Most of them had heard and seen plenty.
Someone authoritative cried out, Nurse!
Mercy was already on her way. The surgeons liked her, and asked for her often. Shed begun to preempt them when the pace was wicked like this and a new batch of the near mortally wounded was being sorted for cutting.
She drew the curtain aside, stifled a flinch, and dropped herself into the seat beside the first cot-where one of the remaining doctors was gesturing frantically. Mercy, there you are. Im glad its you, he said.
That makes one of us, she replied, and she took a bloody set of pincers from his hand, dropping them into the tin bucket at her feet.
Two of us, croaked the man on the cot. Im glad its you, too.
She forced a smile and said teasingly, I doubt it very much, since this is our first meeting.
First of many, I hope- He mightve said more, but what was left of his arm was being examined. Mercy thought it must be god-awful uncomfortable, but he didnt cry out. He only cut himself off.
Whats your name? she asked, partly for the sake of the record, and partly to distract him.
Christ, said the doctor, cutting away more of the mans shirt and revealing greater damage than hed imagined.
The injured man gasped, No, thats not it. And he gave her a grin that was tighter than a laundry line. Its Henry. Gilbert Henry. So I just go by Henry.
Henry, Gilbert Henry, who just goes by Henry. Ill jot that down, she told him, and she fully intended to, but by then her hands were full with the remains of a sling that hadnt done much to support the blasted limb-mostly, itd just held the shattered thing in one pouch. The arm was disintegrating as Dr. Luther did his best to assess it.