A group of soldiers were warming their hands by the fire, sparks landing on their boots. I ducked my head back into the tent, feeling cold air rush through the flaps. Sighing, I sat down on my rock hard cot. Cold breezes whooshed through the canvas, making my skirt flutter and my body shiver. None the less, I had to go to sleep. Changing into my nightclothes, I settled into my bed, staring around at the drafty tent. I started whispering to myself, a habit I often did to fall asleep. “Grace, get ahold of yourself. You are strong and confident, kind and generous, and you deserve all you have. You have a home and ones who love you, which is all you need.” I murmured, my eyes fluttering from ...view middle of the document...
” said Caroline, blushing. She was the youngest nurse, so she was less gossipy than Mary. I felt she was just mislead.
“Who died?” I asked, worry creasing my eyebrows and hope etching my face.
“John Murray. Jonathan Hunter.” said Mary, raising her eyebrows as she looked at me.
“Alright.” I said, walking calmly out of the tent. But as I stepped outside, the environment changed. No longer warm and cozy, it was rushed and scary. Injured soldiers were being helped back to camp and people were dashing about, stirring this, holding that. Three wounded soldiers had made their way into our tent, and five were being helped. I sighed and headed back in, brushing my hair so it was neat, and started to work on the soldiers.
One soldier had a broken arm, so I put it in a splint to immobilize it. I sat up with satisfaction at my work. One soldier had a large bleeding wound. I pulled out a tourniquet, tying it on the wound. I next got some lamb’s ear and applied it topically to his wound. Sighing, I turned around and stepped outside for a moment, breathing in the fresh air and grabbing a scrap of bread. I looked at the battlefield, only more than 100 yards away. I started pacing towards it, marking where injured soldiers lay so I could help them. I grabbed two men, carried them deftly back to camp, and went back for more. In all, I had gotten twelve men. I sighed, for in addition to these men, we had twelve others, and we were sure to have many more by the end of the day. Carrying them in, I slipped into the back of the tent to light some herbs for insence.
I walked to a soldier with a great wound who Mary was trying to heal. Whatever she was using was not working, however. I decided to ask her if I could help, or else the soldier would probably die from Mary’s lack of nursing skills. I sighed and stepped in front of Mary’s face. “Need help?” I asked her, raising my eyebrows. She frowned, and I got ready for a snooty answer.
“Yes, I actually do, Grace.” she said, and I stared. The snooty answer didn’t come. I nodded happily, murmuring a thanks. I identified the soldiers injury: an inflamed ankle with an open cut on it. I made a poultice to lower the inflammation and gave him sutures, sowing up the wound. Nodding in satisfaction, I turned towards Mary. She was blushing. “Now leave, Grace. I don’t need you.”
“Of course, Mary.” I said, turning towards my side of the tent. That was the snooty comment, though it came later than I thought it would. I turned to a man, trying to identify the person through his bloody face. Not recognizing anyone, I got to work. It would be hard to fix this man. I looked at my herbs, trying to find something. I grabbed a needle and thread, crusty with dried blood.
“I’d rather die of wounds from a war than needle and thread.” a choked voice said from behind me. Even though I had not turned around, I knew it was the man talking. He sounded close to death, so I put away the needle and turned around.
“You really, truly, would?” I...