A dream doesn't become reality through magic, it takes sweat, determination, and hard work--Colin Powel

Chapter 3.

The Butcher Test.

February, 1855

Carol rubbed her sore, chapped hands. She had never realized what a tiresome task washing laundry was. Back at home she'd always taken for granted the fact that her skirts, petticoats, and blouses were washed and pressed with no effort on her part. Did the maids in her father's house have such hands as she had now?

The door opened and Florence walked in. Carol gazed at her with admiration and concern. Florence's pleasant face was now pale and careworn, the soft brown eyes were filled with compassion and love, but they were also tired, and it was little wonder. Since the first day in Scutari, Florence had given her time and energy in trying to make the world a little better for the soldiers, and it had not been easy, not with John Hall in command.

"Was he angry at you, Floy?" Carol asked.

Florence let out a small laugh. "Only a little upset," she replied. "I told him I had paid for the supplies myself so there wasn't room for his anger. How did you know I was speaking with him?"

"I overheard some of the washerwomen discussing it, I think they got the news from their husbands who had overheard it from the doctors."

"Gossip certainly does travel fast here," Florence shook her head.

"Why don't you take a rest, dearest Floy?" Carol begged, feeling very concerned for her friend.

"Rest will have to wait," Florence replied, "night is closing in and I must begin my rounds. I only came here to ask if you could put the laundry aside for a little while. I know you had had a very busy day, but we had another ship with wounded men arrive and the courtyard is quite a mess. I need you and Sister Agatha to clean it out. I have no one else to ask at the moment; it is evening and the orderlies are busy with the wounded.

"Of course, Floy, we'll take care of it," Carol assured. "You go about your rounds and don't worry on account of the courtyard."

Florence smiled and left the laundry room. Carol let the shirts she had been scrubbing sink back into the tub and went off in search of Sister Agatha, whom she found in another part of the laundry area, busy boiling sheets in the enormous tubs of hot water."

"Sister Agatha," Carol addressed her fellow nurse, "we have been asked to clean out the mess left in the courtyard by the wounded. Call Nancy to finish with the laundry, I'll get the hot water and scrub brushes and meet you there."

Soon the two nurses were busy on their knees, washing the blood and dirt off the pavement. "This work certainly kills your back," Carol grumbled, "though I suppose you are used to it."

"It is nothing new to me," Sister Agatha nodded her head, "but I must compliment you on how you work hard and do not complain, even though you have never done such hard labor before."

Carol laughed softly. "Who would have ever thought one day I would be doing the work of our maids back home. But you know, it's not all that bad, I think I can go so far to say that I'm getting used to it." She paused her scrubbing to stretch her aching muscles. Looking up, Carol watched the flickering light as it passed from window to window in the hospital. She knew that the light came from Florence's lamp as she walked down the long halls, making sure each soldier was comfortable for the night.

The barracks hospital was in better order now, thanks to Florence's untiring efforts. Money coming in from the fund set up by the Times helped bring the necessary supplies. The kitchen worked none stop and the laundry ran very well, keeping the men in clean clothes and with clean bedding. Still, despite all their efforts, that winter they had lost over four thousand men.

"I just wish I understood the reason for it," Carol stated to Sister Agatha.

"The reason for what?" Sister Agatha, who had no way of hearing Carol's thoughts, was confused.

"Why so many men are dying," Carol explained. "More than half the men have dysentery and cholera and typhoid and goodness knows what else. I declare there are more sick men than wounded in this hospital. And what about all the poor souls coming in with frost bite. Don't they have decent blankets in the trenches?"

Sister Agatha only shrugged in reply. Carol often marveled at this young nun, who never seemed to complain about anything and took all the hardships with peaceful silence.

"You have to admit that the doctors have become kinder to us," Sister Agatha said after a minute of silence, "with so many soldiers pouring in they have been turning to the nurses for help. Miss Nightingale proved to be right; they seem to be slowly understanding our usefulness."

Carol nodded her head and sighed. It was unfair how so many of the nurses where now assisting at operations and ministering to the men while she was stuck washing laundry and scrubbing floors. Oh well, no use complaining.

"Tell me, Sister Agatha," Carol asked, "where does Floy get all her energy from? She never sleeps these days, all her time is devoted to the men. I mean, she is on her feet from dawn until dusk, assisting at operations, overseeing the nurses, organizing the different tasks, and then, after all that, she still finds the strength to walk those four miles of beds every single night. I think I would have collapsed from such strain."

"I believe God gives us grace for what He has called us to do," Sister Agatha softly replied, "He gives you the strength to scrub these floors and Miss Florence the endurance to walk those four miles."

"And after all her hard work," Carol kept on, "John Hall still has the nerve to be so mean to her. I do not understand that man. Look at how hard Florence is working, look at all she had done for the men, and he still insists on being so disagreeable."

"Maybe he is just jealous that the men love and respect her instead of him," Sister Agatha suggested.

"Maybe," Carol shrugged. "Still, I think he could stand to be at least a little kinder. I don't know where Florence finds the patience, why if I could only have a chance, I would tell that man exactly what I think of him."

"Let us hope such a chance never presents itself," Sister Agatha pointed out. "You cause enough trouble as it is with Dr. Morris. Carol, you really must be more respectful to him; he is the head surgeon after all. I cannot understand why you insist on being so impolite."

Carol rolled her eyes and angrily resumed her floor scrubbing, "Dr. Morris is a stick in the mud. He is judgmental and prejudiced of everyone he comes across."

Sister Agatha coughed a little, causing Carol to glance up. The look in the nun's eyes told her that Dr. Morris was probably standing behind her.

"Right from the start he insulted me," Carol loudly went on, "he called me a whore...a WHORE! Me, the daughter of a highly respected Politian, from an old English family, me, a whore! Of all the doctors, he is probably the only one who is still disagreeable to the nurses. Says a military hospital is no place for women and how we have no business at the operating table. No doubt he considers us female nurses beneath him, and so decides he can insult us any time he pleases. Well, let me say this, if that man wants any respect from me, then he must show some himself."

"Is that so, Miss Winther?" Dr. Morris' voice sounded out. Poor Sister Agatha looked very uncomfortable, but Carol merely turned her head coldly.

"Goodness me, Dr. Morris, where you standing here all this time?" She asked; her voice full of sarcasm, "I really must learn to watch my tongue, how awkward that you had to hear all that."

"Don't be sassy, Miss Winther," Dr. Morris retorted, "you knew I was standing there."

"I did indeed," Carol agreed, "why else do you think I said all those things?"

"I haven't seen you much around the hospital; I thought perhaps you had gone home."

"With so much work and so few hands to do it, my conscience would have never let me. I have been very busy washing laundry and making sure the men have clean clothing."

"Tell me, how did those lily white hands take to the hot water of the wash tubs?"

"Very poorly," Carol's voice was flat; she hated it when people reminded her about the state of her hands. "And as you can well see they are lily white no longer. Now, Dr. Morris, perhaps you would leave us alone, we have work to do."

Dr. Morris, however, was not in a hurry to go anywhere. He puffed a little on his pipe before speaking again. "I was in the kitchen the other day and I couldn't understand why there were so many different pots. Instead of having lots of little pots, wouldn't it be more economical to get one large one to cook in?"

"If we fed everyone all the same food, maybe," Carol tried to keep her patience, "but many of the men come to us with all sorts of diseases that demand different diets, so we must cook separately for them."

"You cook separate meals for the men?" Dr. Morris' lifted his eyebrows. "What a waste of time and energy!"

His sentence was the last straw. Carol threw her brush to the floor and straightened out. "Dr. Morris, you say a military hospital is the world of men and you may very well be correct on that account, but let me remind you that the kitchen is the world of women and we do not want or need your advice. The diet kitchen was Miss Nightingale's idea. She was concerned that the men with dysentery could not eat the heavy food and made sure we cooked meals that would help aid in their recovery. You do not cook any of the meals, nor do you feed the men, so you have no business walking around and sticking your nose in matters that do not concern you. If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is a meddlesome man trying to interfere in matters of kitchen and cleaning. You made it clear that you do not want the nurses around at your operating table, so for the love of mercy stay away from the cutting board!"

Dr. Morris gazed at the angry girl in front of him. Her face spoke of lack of sleep, the white cap on her head made her look paler then she actually was. Despite her tired looks, Carol's eyes shone with fire and passion. Dr. Morris had been intently watching this young nurse ever since she arrived at the hospital, and he had come to sincerely admire Carol's work ethic and diligence, though he would die before he admitted it.

"So, you want me to let you assist me at operations?" he said after a few more puffs on his pipe.

"I want you to let me do what I do best," Carol retorted, resuming her scrubbing.

"Does the sight of blood discompose you, Miss Winther?" Dr. Morris asked.

Carol stared at the blood stain she was trying to wash away. "Not anymore," she replied through clenched teeth.

"And you have a steady hand?"

"I can put in a good, straight stitch if that is what you mean?"

"I don't need you for stitching," Dr. Morris's voice was firm. "If the sister could finish up here by herself, I have work for you."

"I don't know," Carol was a little hesitant, "Florence expressly told me to wash the courtyard."

"We are almost done, Carol," Sister Agatha said in a quiet voice. "If the doctor needs help I suggest you give it to him."

Carol put the brush into the pail and rising stiffly to her feet, followed Dr. Morris into the hospital. They went up the stairs and through one of the halls before coming to a smaller room.

"Nurses aren't allowed into the wards after eight," Carol said, "Miss Nightingale's orders."

"This is an operating room," Dr. Morris stated, "so you are technically not in the ward. If Miss Nightingale will have any questions, tell her come to me." Opening the door, Carol saw a man lying on the table.

"He's got an infection in his right leg," Dr. Morris pointed to a nasty looking gash, "and if I don't take it off, it will spread to his entire body. Take this," he handed her a bottle, "its ether. I've started giving to the men. Kills the pain it does. Once you're done, get my knife, soak it in hot water and bring it to me. And make sure my instruments are in order, I shall need needle and thread and scissors to close up the wound once we have cut it off."

Carol's heart pounded a little and for a moment she was very afraid, but the terrified look in the man's eyes drove out her fear and replaced it with pity.

"There, there," she soothed, "the ether will ease the pain and I will be here with you. It must be done, you are a soldier, be brave."

"I can't lose my leg, how will I support my family?" The man stated in a desperate voice.

"God will provide, He always takes care of his own," Carol reassured, giving the ether to the man. One task complete, Carol started on the second. Going to the kitchen she fetched a picture of hot water and dipped the large knife into it. Drying it out, she handed it to the doctor.

Dr. Morris took it and began removing the limb, while Carol was given the inglorious task of supporting the leg as Dr. Morris cut it off. The operation was completed very quickly and Dr. Morris' skilled hands sewed the stub shut.

"Fetch me some linen," Dr. Morris said, "we must bandage up the wound."

"What do you plan to do with that?" Carol cast a glance at the amputated part she had temporarily dropped to the floor.

"Throw it out the window," Dr. Morris carelessly replied.

Carol's green eyes became murderous. "You will do no such thing! I just spent an hour on my hands and knees, back aching, shoulders throbbing, cleaning out that courtyard! I forbid you to contaminate it again!"

She expected him to become upset at her outburst, but Dr. Morris only chuckled at her reaction. "Then perhaps you would be so kind as to dispose of it."

Carol shuddered; he really wanted her to handle that, that, that...thing? Oh well, no one said the life of a nurse would be a pleasant one. She help Dr. Morris bandage the wound, washed the blood stained instruments and then turned to her horrible task, but was stopped by Dr. Morris' hand.

"The orderlies will handle it," he said in a kind voice, "you may return to Sister Agatha. Congratulations, Nurse Winther, you have just passed the butcher test."

Carol was very perplexed at his words, and only nodded in bewilderment. A pair of orderlies came to carry the man to his bed, clean up area and prepare it for the next operation. It became clear Carol was no longer wanted and she made quiet exit. The whole ordeal had been very strange and Carol wondered what had come over Dr. Morris.

"Dear Lord, please help me not to have nightmares from what I saw tonight," she softly prayed, "and give me the grace to continue to bear all the difficulties and unpleasant duties I must face."