"It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool's paradise."--Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Chapter 5.

The Wounded Soldier.

May 1855

Carol was taking a much needed half hour break from Dr. Morris and the demands of nursing. Keeping clean was a bit of a challenge in this hospital, and Carol seldom found time to bathe, but today she had managed to squeeze in thirty minutes for personal hygiene. She had even been able to wash her hair; a luxury she could not often afford. When she had first arrived at the hospital, Carol had cut most of her long locks off because they only got in the way. Now her hair reached to her shoulders, a comfortable length for keeping it up and out of her face. After brushing out the knots and placing her hair in a neat bun, Carol put her white cap on her head, then reached for the hideous holland scarf, with the words Scutari Hospital embroidered on it. With a disgusted sigh, she pinned it over her right shoulder. Carol was not one to complain, but if only she could do without the ugly scarf. She knew it was necessary though, with so many prostitutes roaming around the barracks, this scarf helped distinguish the nurses from the whores. 

The rest of the uniform wasn't much better; a grey tweed dress and a grey worsted jacket. What was worse, the uniforms were not tailored made for the nurses, and Carol's jackets was just a little too small while the dress was a mite too big. Carol had been disgusted with the idea of wearing such wretched clothing, but Florence made it clear that there were no 'ladies' here, they all were nurses and so they all wore the same uniform; except for the sisters, who wore their habits.

Once her toiletries were complete, Carol went out of the nurse's quarters in search of Dr. Morris, who was sure to be looking for her. As she walked through the courtyard a rough hand clasped her arm. Carol gasped and tried to pull away. A soldier had grabbed her and was trying to drag her towards him.

"Good heavens, sir!" Carol angrily exclaimed, twisting herself to look at the man square in the face.

The sight of her scarf caused the soldier to let go of her. "Oh, Miss, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't know you were one of Miss Nightingale's women."

"For the future, mister," Carol sternly said, brushing her sleeve, "it is wrong to grab any woman in such a manner, no matter what her status or position."

"Yes Miss," he nodded his head.

 Carol glared at him as he shuffled off. It saddened her to know that many of the men here could be such terrible brutes. Even in an army hospital keeping discipline was a rough and challenging task. Adjusting her cap, Carol went about her business. She stopped by the kitchen to collect a jug of hot water, which was always in high demand when it came to the doctor. As she came out, she passed by her dear friend Sister Agatha, who was carrying an armload of clean, linen bandages.

"Have you heard the news?" Sister Agatha asked in an uncharacteristic show of agitation.

"No, what happened?" Carol's face flashed with concern. Something had to be pretty bad if it caused Sister Agatha to become upset.

"Florence has taken ill! She hasn't eaten anything in four days already."

Carol felt the color drain from her face, but before she could reply, Dr. Morris appeared on the scene.

"Caroline Winther, where the devil have you been?" He angrily demanded.

"Oh, Dr. Morris, it's Florence," Carol gasped.

"Miss Nightingale? Did something happen to her? Last I heard she had left for the hospitals closer to the front."

"Yes sir," Sister Agatha nodded her head. "She has come down there with Crimean fever."

"Oh, I told her, I told her not to go to Balaclava!" Carol shook her head in despair. "Those field hospitals are something dreadful, and Floy was worn and weak. I knew, I just knew this would happen. I warned her, but she didn't listen to me! She went off against my better judgment and now look at what has happened!"

"Since when are you the voice of authority to Miss Nightingale?" Dr. Morris questioned.

"I wasn't the voice of authority," Carol retorted. "I was the voice of reason!"

"Well, voice of reason, can you give me a reason why I had to come looking for you?"

"I was just on my way to find you when Sister Agatha brought me the terrible news. Oh, Dr. Morris, why didn't she listen to me? Crimean Fever is something dreadful and I fear she doesn't have the strength to fight it."

"I don't know, and I don't think it matters. Come along, I've got men who need attention."

"But Dr. Morris, what of Floy?"

"What of Floy?" Dr. Morris snapped. "There is nothing you can do for her because she is not here. However, more than a thousand wounded men are. So if you will please gather your wits together and come with me to the operating room!"

Dr. Morris had a very good point. As worried as Carol was for Florence, there was nothing to be done, so she took a deep breath and with a nod to Sister Agatha, walked with Dr. Morris.

"Did a new shipment come in?" she asked.

"Yes, and it is one sorry lot. But on the bright side at least we are actually getting wounded men here and not soldiers with endless diseases. I believe we have finally conquered the cholera that was spreading around like a wild fire. There are some serious cases however, and I must once more demand to know where you were?"

"You could have started without me," Carol pointed out. "There are plenty of nurses and orderlies who are perfectly capable in assisting you. I was in my quarters, performing some necessary toiletries."

"You where WHAT? I have men to operate on and you ran off to preen about?"

Carol tossed her head in annoyance. "Personal hygiene is important to every young lady, even if she is a nurse. You always say you refuse to work with dirty people, I was really thinking of you."

Dr. Morris tried to keep his rough exterior, but Carol could see he was suppressing a smile. They had come to the operating room by now and Dr. Morris reached for his large, white apron.

"Get my instruments together," he instructed Carol. "Make sure they are all in order. I hate it when I'm in the middle of operating and I find something has been misplaced. Is there hot water?"

"I brought some with me from the kitchen." Carol set the jug she had been caring on the table. "You are out of ether, Dr. Morris."

He growled, "I know that!"

Knowing there was nothing worse than the doctor in a bad mood; Carol dropped the subject and busied herself with inspecting the instruments. The door opened and a man was carried in and placed on the operating table.

"So, what do we have here," Dr. Morris mused aloud as he inspected him. "Bullet wound in the leg, someone slashed him on the arm, and...oooooh," His bored voice became solemn.

Carol turned to see what had made Dr. Morris sound so grave. "Is it an infection...OH!" Carol gasped in dismay at the sight of the man on the table. "Eric!" She whispered, her hands covering her mouth.

Dr. Morris glanced at her. "You know the man?"

"I knew him once," Carol choked out the words, "in London. He is an officer, Major Eric Carrywith. In March I read in the paper he was missing in action..." Carol's voice faded as she continued to stare at the bruised and beaten form.

"Well, I guess he has been found," Dr. Morris stated the obvious. "How he fell in with the rest of the sorry brutes is a mystery."

"Is he...is he seriously wounded?" Carol asked, coming closer to where the unconscious figure of Eric lay. His face was unshaven and dirty, and had dried blood all over it. The light brown hair was a disheveled mess, clumped together in thick knots. How different he looked from the neat and proper officer she had once known. He wasn't even dressed as an officer, but as a common soldier.

"The battle wounds aren't serious," Dr. Morris said. "It's his head that worries me." He peeled off the bandage and began inspecting the large gash on the back of the major's head. "This isn't from a sword or any other kind of weapon. From the looks of it, he either fell from a great height or hit his head on something sharp, possibly it is from both. Fetch the hot water and a razor, Carol. Wash the wound and shave his head; I can't make a verdict with all that blood and hair in my way."

Carol's hands shook a little and she fought to keep them steady. "Why does it worry you?"

Dr. Morris took a long time in answering. Once the wound was clean he spent quite some time closely examining every inch of the gash as well as the rest of the major's head. "I just don't know what sort of damage it could have done to his brain," he confessed at last. "And if it gets infected everything could become a lot more serious."

Poor Carol's heart beat faster and faster. Why was this happening to her? Why Eric of all people? What sort of damage could Dr. Morris be talking about? She wanted to ask so many questions, but she had been working with Dr. Morris long enough to know that questioning him during an operation wasn't very wise.

"I'll close the gash," Dr. Morris went on. "What will happen when he awakes is something only time can tell. It's a good thing the poor chap is out cold, the pain of what he would be enduring right now would have been more than any man could bear. When are we getting the next shipload of supplies? I need more ether!"

Soon all of Eric's wounds were washed, stitched, and bandaged. He was carried out and the next man brought in. Carol did her best to focus on every operation, but it was exceedingly difficult. This had to be the worst day of her life. First the news of Florence's illness, then the ether ran out, and now Eric was wounded and in critical condition. She wanted to go to him, to care for him much like she had when he had come down with typhoid fever, but things were different now. Eric had been passed on to the care of other nurses, and she had to remain here and help Dr. Morris. Such was her duty.

***

"Water! Water!"

The groggy sound of Eric's voice made Carol's heart skip a beat. He had been unconscious for three days, thrashing about in a feverish state, mumbling words every now and then that didn't make any sense. She hadn't been able keep constant vigilance over him, the duties of being Dr. Morris' assistant kept her very busy. Today, however, Dr. Morris was making his rounds through the wards and this gave her a minute to check on Eric.

"Dr. Morris, Dr. Morris," she called, hurrying to the doctor. Dr. Morris looked up from the patient he was inspecting. "He's waking up," Carol whispered, "he's asking for water."

"Well then for heaven's sake, get him some!" Dr. Morris commanded, walking over to the bed where Eric lay. Carol flew to the corner of the hall, where they kept the barrels of drinking water for the soldiers. Scooping some into a cup, she hurried back as fast as she could without spilling the contents.

"Take it easy, my boy," Dr. Morris was saying to Eric, who now lay with his eyes wide open.

"Where...where am I?" Eric haltingly asked. Carol's heart beat like a drum. How would he react when he saw her? What would she say to him? The past few days she had been so anxious for his health that she had quite forgotten the embarrassing circumstances under which they had parted. Now it all came back to her. The words he had said, the way she had answered, and the drastic actions she had taken.

"You're at Scutari Hospital," Dr. Morris replied, "you were brought in here with the other wounded. Settle down, Mr. Carrywith, you've had it quite rough the past few days, but I like to think the worst is behind us now.

Eric shifted a little, then reached out with his good hand and rubbed his eyes. He blinked several times, and turned his head from side to side. "Why...why can't I see anything?" He asked at last in a confused voice,

Carol's eyes widened and she drew a sharp breath. Oh God in heaven, not that!

"So, it is as I feared," Dr. Morris sadly shook his head. "Major Carrywith, you seem to have taken a great fall and it has done some damage to your head, which in turn seems to have affected your ability to see."

For a minute, Eric said nothing; then slowly turned his head in the direction of Dr. Morris' voice. "Is it permanent?" he asked.

"Hard to say," Dr. Morris replied. "At the moment all we can do is wait. Right now the best thing for you is to rest and renew your strength. The nurses will bring you food and water." Dr. Morris rose and continued no his rounds, while Carol haltingly came to Eric's bed. Kneeling by his side, she propped him up and gently put the cup to his lips. He drank deeply, his chapped lips relishing the moisture the water brought.

"Miss Winther."

The water spayed out of Eric's mouth and he choked from the action. Carol's hand shook a little as she patted him on the back to help him recover.

"Yes," she softly said, glancing at the orderly who had called her. 

The sound of her voice so near him caused Eric to blindly reach out and catch hold of her wrist, making Carol spill the water in the cup.

"Dr. Morris says once you are through giving the major his water to please come to him, he needs you for something. If the major wishes to eat one of the other nurses can bring him something."

"Very well," Carol nodded her head. Looking around, she caught sight of Sister Agatha, who was dressing the wound of a soldier a few beds away. "Sister Agatha," Carol called. Every word she spoke caused Eric to tighten his grip on her wrist. His eyes were wide, and they stared straight at her without actually being able to see her.

"What is it, Carol?" Sister Agatha asked, looking up from her work.

"When you are done with that man, please attend to Major Carrywith." Carol gently pried her hand loose from Eric's grasp. She didn't know what to say to him, and so said nothing. Walking up to Sister Agatha she whispered, "he has only recently woken after three days of fever and is blind."

"Is it the Major Carrywith?" Sister Agatha cast a glance in Eric's direction. Carol had confided to her friend about the broken engagement with the young officer. Carol nodded her head and went to Dr. Morris. Sister Agatha finished bandaging the wounded man next to her and went to Eric's side.

"Are you in any discomfort, Major?" she asked. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? I see you blanket has gotten a little wet. Do not fear, I will fetch you another one." Sister Agatha helped him lie back down and taking a cool cloth, mopped his feverish brow. "You haven't eaten anything for three days, you must regain your strength," she continued, her voice soft and calm. "Perhaps I could interest you in a bowl of soup?"

"I'm not sure I have the strength to eat," Eric moaned. His right arm and leg sent a dull pain through his entire body, and his head hurt dreadfully, making his thoughts rather muddled. The fact that there was noise all around him, but all he could see was darkness only added to the confusion and discomfort.

"Do not fret, that is what nurses are for," Sister Agatha soothed. "If you will but wait a minute, I shall fetch you something nourishing and return to feed you." She rose to leave, but Eric reached out searching for her. Sister Agatha paused and gave him her hand. Eric clutched it in desperation.

"Caroline Winther, that was Caroline Winther by my bed a moment ago, was it not?"

"It was, sir," Sister Agatha quietly replied.

"I heard her voice, but I couldn't see her, I can't see anything." Eric's grasp on Sister Agatha tightened. "I caught her hand before she left, it felt thin and coarse." He paused for a minute, breathing deeply. "Tell me, what does she look like?"

"You want an honest description?" Sister Agatha asked, kneeling by the major's bed once again.

"I do."

"She has lost a lot of weight since coming to Scutari, and is now very thin and very pale. Her eyes have sacks under them from lack of sleep. Her cheeks are sunken, her hands are worn from much labor, and her general complexion speaks of hard work in harsh conditions. And yet, those tired eyes have kept vigilance over many a difficult operation, those chapped lips have soothed many a fear, and those coarse hands have tenderly dressed many a wound, wiped many a feverish brow, and comforted many a desperate soul. Though the demands of her work are wearing away at her health, her heart remains strong and full of compassion. If you were to ask me, Major Carrywith, Carol has never looked more beautiful in all her life."

Sister Agatha once more mopped Eric's brow and went to fetch him some soup. Eric waited in pain and discomfort, trying to grasp all that had been suddenly thrown at him. He was wounded, he was blind, and Carol was here, in this very hospital.

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Picture in the media section is what the nurse's uniform looked like :)