Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) Read online

  As if on cue Craig Langston appeared before the wide door of the operating room chucking a bloodied apron into the corner. Her heart positively lurched in the face of the pure devastation mirrored in his eyes. The man looked tired and drawn, and so terribly young in that moment… all she wanted was to wrap her arms around those broad shoulders and pull him to her.

  Slowly she approached. “Craig? Are you all right?”

  He glared at her, as if asking himself what the hell she was doing there. “Miss McClafferty,” he clipped, “if you have come to once more take me to task about my methods of healing, you may leave. I am not in the mood to listen.” His attention shifted to Dr. Rowe. “I lost Billy Cole this morning.”

  Instantly Marissa understood his dour mood and once again the shattered pieces of her heart trembled in sympathy. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked it, but her knowledge of medical advances yet to come assailed her conscience and she bled for him. No doubt many physicians in this day had lost countless patients who could have been saved in her time. How many young soldiers had placed broken bodies into Craig’s hands, trusting his skills to perform miracles and give their lives back to them?

  “What do you need me to do?” Marissa asked quietly. “Remember, I agreed to help in whatever way I can.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then without looking at her again, said, “James, please show her the cleaning closet and whatever else you think she’ll need. The lady finds the condition of our wards unacceptable.” This time, he shot a pointed look at Marissa. Heat flamed in her cheeks but she refused to be intimidated. Maybe she wasn’t a charwoman, but if that was all the use he could see to put her to, then so be it. Then, to her amazement, he went on, speaking again to the other doctor. “When you have done so, start rounds in the third ward. Corporal Tanner may need his wounds debrided.”

  So, her point about debridement had stuck with him. She hadn’t really expected him to acknowledge the fact the idea had come from her.

  Already having formed a plan of action, Marissa donned an apron and took mental note of the meager supplies available to her. Basins, scrubbing brushes, rags, big bars of what had to be lye soap. Lye soap! She looked at her hands, which she knew were going to be burned raw by the stuff. When had rubber gloves been invented, anyway?

  “Captain Rowe,” she said impulsively, as he was about to mount the stairs on his was to the third ward. “Who was Billy Cole?”

  The man sighed heavily and shook his head. “A friend of the Langston family. Up until a couple weeks ago Doc Langston was attached to an artillery unit with General Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. A few months back Billy Cole was injured on a scouting mission; injured bad, hopelessly bad,” he emphasized. “But what you have to understand is that Billy was like another brother to Craig and when he stumbled across him dying in a field hospital, Langston refused to listen to reason and worked on him for hours. In the end he did it. He saved him.” Dr. Rowe shifted as he told the story, propping a shoulder against the wall.

  “Craig was transferred back to Charleston and personally saw to transporting Billy with him. But Billy’s been in a bad way ever since and we’ve all been telling Langston it was only a matter of time before...” The doctor’s voice faltered and Marissa nodded in understanding. “This morning it finally happened, his abdominal wounds opened back up and…” James’s green eyes looked upward as he raised his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “Craig tried, but Billy died anyway. Eighteen year old kid was all.”

  Oh, God!

  Tears burned as she turned a blurred, compassionate gaze to Craig who stood with shoulders slumped over an empty cot in the first ward. How dare she think her lot unfair when he was faced with the suffering of these young soldiers and their families? These people had lost friends and brothers, entire homes; every man who died meant at least one broken heart. The tragedy, like ripples on a pond, would eventually touch everyone. Whatever hand she’d been dealt never had she suffered an army invading her homeland or lost anyone truly close to her. Even her grandparents were all still living—at least they had been in 2012—and right now, in this moment, she had no real cause to fear for the safety of her family.

  All those callous comments she’d made about the unsatisfactory state of the hospital and he’d been fighting to save the life of his friend, his brother…

  And now she felt like a royal ass.

  What was the worst that had ever happened to her? She’d been jilted by her fiancé? Well, boo hoo… It sucked to be dumped, more than that it royally hurt to have someone look you in the eye and say, “You’re not worth wasting my love on,” but in the face of true suffering, in the face of needless death and destruction—not that she was a stranger to death, the ER had hardened her—she was forced to recategorize her priorities and reclassify what it meant to be hurt. Well, Brian Whitely was barely a swell on the Richter scale. And Richter scale there was another phrase she’d have to avoid using… This is going to impossible!

  It was early afternoon when Marissa finished scrubbing and organizing the first ward and dragged her aching body up to the second. A plus to following through with the fool plan to have a job was that her duties primarily consisted of cleaning. Cleaning had always been an outlet for her, a means of subduing nervous energy and after today she should be feeling sufficiently numb to sleep. On the second ward, she spotted Genie sitting beside a man whose face was almost totally obscured by bandages and meandered over ready for a quick break.

  The man smelled like death.

  Suppressing a shudder, she sought a moment of privacy with her friend, quickly relaying what she’d learned about young Billy Cole.

  Genie’s expression was sober as she patted Marissa’s hand. “Just be there for him, dear. He needs all the support and compassion he can get to continue helping those who need him.”

  Marissa nodded and turned to smile warmly at the soldier, realizing too late that he was blind. Drawing Genie out of the patient’s earshot. “He’s not doing well.” It was a statement not a question.

  With a small shake of the head Genie returned to her task of trying to bring comfort to a dying boy.

  Plowing steadfastly though her work Marissa found that her senses would not be completely numbed. The bandaged face of Genie’s soldier and the beaten expression on Craig Langston’s swirled endlessly through her mind. She watched for him almost constantly, thinking of the unfathomable atrocities he saw and treated. Really, he must be an incredible man. She should never have spoken to him as she had and—

  “Oh, ow! Ow! Son of a bitch!” she swore reflexively as the oversize bin she was wrestling toward the wall tipped precariously to the side, momentarily smashing the index finger of her right hand between the wall and the corner of the crate. Shaking the injured extremity, it took her all of three seconds to realize the error of her outburst as the room fell deadly silent, uncomfortably so.

  Sheepishly she held up the injured hand.

  Genie was biting her lip fighting obvious convulsions of laughter, a few of the patients snickered, and Craig, who’d finally emerged from hiding, cracked his first smile of the day. God! She would have to be more careful in the future. People in 1863—especially women—didn’t curse in polite society. “Oops,” she tried to smile sweetly as a rumble of laughter rolled through the room.

  Her cheeks had never felt so hot. Damn! She’d blundered yet again. It was near impossible to successfully check her speech every time an improper word or phrase came to her lips. She’d only lived in this time for a matter of days! How long before people came to believe her mad, totally unfit for polite society, or both?

  “Would you like me to look at your finger?” Craig’s blue eyes twinkled with good humor as he strolled casually over, reaching for her hand. Her flush deepened impossibly. “That sounded like it hurt.”

  “It did hurt,” she snapped, tucking the sore finger beneath her apron, “
and I’ll have you know I don’t always swear like that.” Not true, she swore quite a bit more than her mother would have liked. But she came from a time where the use of profanity was more publicly acceptable. “Dr. Langston,” she took a steadying breath. “Why did you have Charlie Tanner’s wound debrided?”

  He shrugged. “For three weeks the kid has done nothing but get worse. At this point I’m willing to try anything.”

  She nodded, hoping the treatment she’d suggested would have the desired effect. “Craig,” she said a bit more timidly. “I wanted to apologize for everything I said yesterday about the hospital.”

  His shoulder’s visibly sagged as he turned his back to her. “Don’t worry about it, Marissa.”

  Now she really felt like an ass.

  The day seemed to last an eternity but eventually evening closed in around them and she dropped wearily onto the floor. The floors fairly gleamed, and every soldier had been supplied clean linens and a fresh washbasin. She couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so physically exhausted. Work in the Emergency Room had always been difficult and challenging but a great deal of that had been thinking work, mentally exhausting; what she had done today bordered on the realm of backbreaking. Her muscles would be screaming tomorrow.

  A tingling at the nape of her neck signaled Dr. Langston’s approached. Tingling? That couldn’t be good.

  The exhausted doctor sank to the floor beside her and leaned his head against the wall with a dull thump. Turning, Marissa took a moment to study the man who’d occupied her mind so much throughout the day. Tension and sorrow etched deep lines in his handsome features, but despite that, he looked so young… and completely defeated that Marissa could not help but open her heart to this man. She ached for him.

  Without a word, she reached out and laced gentle, if soap-roughened, fingers through his.

  As though pulled from a trance Craig locked soft, pained eyes with hers. A question seemed to skim the surface of those crisp sapphire gems and for the briefest instant Marissa thought he would speak. But it was in silence that he gazed at her so intently he must be able to read her most intimate thoughts and fears. It’s as if he can look directly into my soul. The sensation was unsettling to say the least, but she could not tear her eyes away. This man seemed to need her. Could it be that it wasn’t only the injured in need of healing?

  “What is it about you?” he asked quietly. “In one moment I think I could throttle you, and in the next I want... something else altogether.”

  “Craig, I...”

  He shook his head as if forbidding her to go on, then seemingly embarrassed he rose hastily to his feet and cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said briskly, averting his gaze as he gestured about the hospital. “You’ve really whipped this place into shape. I’m impressed. I... I hope you’ll return. We could certainly use you around here on a regular basis.”

  Marissa smiled warmly and accepted his hand as he assisted her to her feet. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. It’s nice to feel like I’m doing some good.”

  “Your aunt said you’d be staying at Carolyn Reed’s house tonight. May I walk you home?” The endearingly awkward, almost boyishly nervous quality of his voice made her lips curve into a pleased smile.

  She inclined her head. “That would be very nice.”

  The agony of the day seemed to melt away from his features. “Shall we?”

  As they exited the building, Craig took her hand and pulled it through the crook of his arm. Marissa couldn’t keep a warm blush from infusing her cheeks.

  “How’s the finger?” he asked.

  She shrugged and glanced toward her still throbbing finger. The wounded digit seemed to sum up the whole of her existence at the moment. “As well as can be expected.” She wondered if medical personnel in 1863 used that particular phrase when they didn’t want to say anything more truthful.

  “But what about you? Are you feeling better after this morning?”

  The strong line of his jaw hardened and a chilling blankness blocked his feelings from her.

  “I’m sorry, Craig. I shouldn’t have asked.” If she could have sucked the words back from the air she would have. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but you know it isn’t your fault Billy died.”

  “What would you know about it? It is my fault. I couldn’t save him.” A muscle worked testily in his jaw and the anguish in his voice ripped at her soul. “He was my youngest brother’s best friend and when I brought him home I swore to his mother I wouldn’t let anything happen to him. I swore to her that I would keep him safe but—” His voice cracked and he looked away, dropping her hand from his elbow as he turned. “There must have been something else I could’ve done. Something I missed.” His hands raised in a futile gesture. “Now I have to go and face Mrs. Cole.”

  “We all have patients die, Craig. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wondered what more could’ve been done, especially when working with children, but sometimes it just doesn’t matter. Sometimes bad things happen and there is no rhyme or reason for it.” They paused side by side on a street corner silently watching a wagon rattle down the cobbled street. Quietly she offered, “Would you like me to come with you to see Mrs. Cole, for moral support?”

  Craig looked thoughtful for a long moment. “How much medical experience did you say you have?”

  “A little over four years, but that is beside the point.” She waved dismissively. “Do you want moral support when you see Mrs. Cole or not?”

  He shook his head. “No. This is something I need to do myself. I just dread having to face her. I failed her.”

  “I understand,” Marissa said softly, and she did. “Feel free to stop by later if you need to talk.” What possessed me to say that? I’m supposed to be avoiding exposure to this time—and to this man. This certainly wasn’t helping her to get home.

  “Thank you.”

  Suddenly Marissa realized they were standing outside Carolyn’s house and Craig was gazing down at her, intensity radiating from his eyes. Gently he reached out and tipped her chin with his fingers. For a moment Marissa thought he was going to kiss her. I want him to kiss me! But just as the aught in her throat he backed away. A strange mixture of relief and disappointment filled her as she stood watching his departing back.

  What had gotten into her?

  Five

  Later that evening Marissa conversed congenially with Genie and Carolyn in the cozy atmosphere of the sitting room. She’d planned to dredge her mind and Genie’s for information that may lead her home, not in front of Carolyn, of course, but she found the quiet companionship of the other women too enjoyable to interrupt. So often at home she was alone and lonely.

  “And the next thing I knew, Alfred and Jim came flying out of the barn with that damn rooster pecking at their heels!” The three women erupted into a fit of giggles as Genie related yet another Toughie story.

  A heavy fist pounded at the door quieting the mirth of the women.

  “Who could be calling at this hour?” Carolyn said, rising to open the front door. She stepped back with a warm smile. “Why Dr. Langston. How nice to see you.”

  Instantly Marissa leapt to her feet.

  “Would you like to come in?” Carolyn invited.

  “Thank you,” Craig replied, stepping through the door and pulling the gray cap from his blond head. “Is Miss Marissa available to receive callers?”

  “Yes,” Marissa answered, stepping urgently forward. Their eyes locked and she knew in an instant something was terribly wrong. “What’s happened?” On impulsive she took his hand, ushering him into the small parlor. Genie and Carolyn tactfully excused themselves, allowing a moment or two of privacy.

  Craig looked haggard as he dropped heavily upon the pale green sofa. “I’m sorry.” He seemed to choke on the words. “I just had to see you. I don’t know why, but...”

 
She took a step forward, achingly aware of the agony in Craig’s intense gaze. “Did you speak with Mrs. Cole?”

  His eyes closed in a pained gesture and he nodded slowly. Swallowing convulsively he whispered, “It was awful. She’d already found out.”

  “Oh, Craig...” She sat beside him and slid a hand onto his forearm.

  “She tried to kill herself,” the strangled words wrenched from his body and his head sagged defeatedly forward as if even his powerful muscles had given up. “I got there just in time. I took her to the hospital and I told her how sorry I am, but the worst part is,” he swallowed hard, “she didn’t even blame me. She was glad I was there for Billy.”

  A single tear slid slowly down Marissa’s cheek. Wrapping comforting arms around him she pulled his head to her and rocked him soothingly.

  “It’s all my fault. Billy was just a kid. Why did it have to be him? He lied about his age, you know. He and my brother both did. Why did they do that? And now Billy’s mother—oh, God, why? It’s my fault. It is! I should have been able to protect him!” The words ripped convulsively from his throat. “I promised her and—”

  “No, Craig, this is not your fault.” Marissa kept her tone soft but firm. “You must stop blaming yourself.” Her fingers ran through the thick locks of his hair. “Bad things happen and you just can’t save everyone.”

  “I know that.” He pulled miserably away from her and rested his elbows on his knees, head sagging.