White Feathers or The Infirmary Part II (Ch16)
Chapter 16 of THEDA'S TIME MACHINE. Theda senses something is wrong at Fort Riley, and a confrontation with Jackson proves it.
Need a refresher? Read the last chapter:
Or dive right in and start from the beginning!
Previously in THEDA’S TIME MACHINE…
Theda wakes up the morning after witnessing a group of armed men murder the white-haired man. The murder is horrific enough, but the fact that she was followed to Fort Riley, Kansas, is even worse. Worse still, she can’t tell anyone for their own safety. Then, Dr. and Mrs. Evora ask her to take Violet, complaining of a stomach ache, to the Infirmary to get checked out. The last thing Theda wants to do is leave the house.
Jackson sees Dr. Andersen (the white-haired man) crumple and die in the street, then sees Theda lowering a gun. Why would she kill him? Who is she?
Conlin couldn’t save Dr. Andersen, and now he’s on his own. He finally looks at the papers the doctor has been carrying with them since their arrival from 1945. In the papers is a newspaper article on the death of the doctor. Dr. Andersen knew he was going to die, but why didn’t he save his own life?
“Do you see him?” Violet muttered, reclining on the hospital cot and raising one hand to her forehead. “You be my eyes. What do you see?” Her lids parted.
Theda clenched her jaw. She sat next to Violet’s temporary sick bed on the edge of the visitor’s chair, gripping its arm so her hand wouldn’t fly and land a pinch on her dramatic sister.
Theda surveyed the great room of the Fort Riley Infirmary which was one large drafty hallway with high ceilings and row upon row of cots lining both sides. Nurses in pale whites drifted through the beds like moths in a garden. Many of the beds were empty and the ones that were occupied held men who didn’t seem very ill, as they were sitting up and reading or chattering with their neighbor. She and Violet had been put in a section with curtains, probably to shield the maidens from the prying eyes of men.
Theda twitched her nose like a rabbit’s. “Bleach, disinfectant, piss, a whiff of chamber pot. How do I love thee? Let me smell the ways.”
“Your sense of humor is idiotic.”
“As is your grand stage entrance into a sick ward!”
Theda turned her head away, afraid to keep speaking. It’s all wrong. I shouldn’t be here. The men who murdered the white-haired man could be anywhere, even here. Running into the suave Billy Rankin was the least of her worries.
Violet moaned.
“Keep that up,” Theda snapped. “The pretty red-headed nurse who checked us in is rounding the room holding a large bottle of Castor Oil. And she’s heading straight for this cot. Romance is always enhanced with a hefty dose of Castor to make the day run quicker!””
Violet’s eyes widened. “No!” She raised her head, eyes darting, then let it fall back to the stark white pillow. “Very funny, Theodora. Just keep watching. If Billy comes by, he’ll want to rescue me. No man can resist solving a girl’s problems.”
“Oh, I think many of them can resist, and do,” Theda said sourly. The place reminded her of the hours spent with her father at the hospital, following him and taking notes as he saw to patients, patiently explaining his step by step thinking to arrive at his diagnosis. Write this down now, my dear. A respiratory disease such as influenza usually presents as a dry cough. It differs from the common cold in this way. One usually does not have to use one’s stethoscope after hearing the cough. You’ll become attuned to the sounds of illness with enough practice. Most people only use their eyes. You’ll use all senses.
The front door flew opened, slamming against the doorway as a soldier walked through backward, holding the door with one shoulder while upholding one half of a stretcher. He turned, his rat face profile familiar, and hollered: “Assistance, please!”
Cyril. Sporting a shiner. Good. That’s what you get for insulting me and starting a brawl. Luckily, he was busy navigating the door and didn’t notice her. The man on the stretcher was shaking, covered in several green army blankets. The other stretcher bearer pushed through the doorway, his hat getting caught by the doorframe and tumbling backward revealing the handsome face of Billy Rankin.
Two nurses trotted from opposite ends of the room and joined on either side of the stretcher. At the front desk a doctor stood, replacing his pen in an inkwell and smoothing the front of his uniform. He had taken down Violet’s name on their arrival, and, having learned they were the daughters of his colleague Dr. Evora, personally escorted them to their alcove. “I’m doctor Harris,” he had said, curiously holding his hand out for Theda to shake but not to Violet. “Your father is held in high esteem at Fort Riley. I’m happy to have a look at you, Miss Evora.”
Now, Dr. Harris pointed to the cot next to Violet, on the other side of the curtains.
“Oh my, what’s happening?” Violet said, craning her neck.
“Keep your head down!” Theda pulled the curtain so it hid the two women, the metal curtain rings clinking. The mid-morning light from the tall window spilled to the floor, illuminating the scene on the other side of the white curtain like an old fashioned shadow puppet show at a country fair. The shadow men moved the sick man to the bed, the metal springs underneath the thin mattress squeaking as they lay him down.
Three skirted figures moved into the show, their heads uniform in pointed hats of the Army nurses. An outstretched hand landed on the sick man’s forehead. The female voice said, “He’s so cold, get this man under the covers!” Hands moved and blankets fluttered black in the white scene.
“Get those boots off! Watch it, they’re loaded with mud! Ugh, and sticky!”
“Open, please, let me take your temperature.” The minuscule sound of chattering teeth biting down on glass.
“He'll bite right through the thermometer,” warned a nurse. “Wait five minutes then try again.”
A masculine figure stepped in, head cocked to the side. Cyril’s voice from beyond the scene. “Found him outside, Dr. Harris. Don’t know how long he was out there. We woke him up, but he might have had a fainting spell and just passed out in the cold.”
The doctor’s silhouette nodded and he closed in on the bed, the ghostly nurses floating away. “What's his name?”
“Van Horn, sir. Caleb,” Cyril answered.
The doctor’s head turned. “Leavenworth?”
It was Billy who answered. “Yes,” he said. “This’s got nothing to do with that, though.”
“Oh no?”
“Yes, sir. This here boy was neglecting his duty down by the river.”
“Funny place for a Leavenworth man to find himself,” the doctor said. His image swam away in the folds of the curtains. “You can go, then, if you don’t have any more pertinent information, Private Rankin.”
Violet squeaked, but Theda slapped a hand on her arm hard to stun her into silence and whipped her pointer finger in front of her mouth. Shush! Violet sank back into the pillow.
On the other side of the curtain the doctor said, “Nurse, what’s his temperature?”
“Ninety-four degrees, doctor, after the third try,” she said. “He’s shivering. I’m going to get more blankets.”
“What’s your name, soldier?” The doctor’s voice soft, soothing.
Silence.
“Cannot answer, or won’t?”
Silence.
“Do you know how long you were outside?”
The swishing sound of a head moving against a pillow.
“No, I don’t suppose you do. Can you tell me anything else? Anything else about how you might have ended up in the cold, without anyone else knowing you were missing?”
Silence. Worse somehow after the shake of the head against the pillow.
“Very well.” Approaching footsteps and the rustle of bed linens. “This man is having trouble speaking, a symptom of hypothermia. We all need to monitor him carefully. Bring hot water bottles and settle them around him. Pay attention to the fingertips and toes. Just because he’s out of the cold doesn’t mean he’s out of danger.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“And if anyone else comes in and wants to see or speak to him, you’ll let me know first, is that clear?”
“Yes, doctor.” Their shadows stole away like clearing smoke, leaving the image of the sick man, his only movement the slight rising and falling of his chest.
The backdoor of the Infirmary was unlocked and Asa Jackson slipped through, closing the door gently behind himself with a soft click. Luckily, the main room of the Infirmary was separated from the backdoor by a storage room that was jammed with folded cots, chairs and shelves of bandages and various medical equipment. No one here. Good.
Jackson inched toward the main hallway and peeked around the doorway. At the far end of the great room, Billy and Cyril strolled toward the front door. Jackson watched and waited. He wasn’t going to leave until he made sure that the Mennonite soldier was alright.
Theda rose and slowly pushed the curtain to its original place, and stared at the man in the cot. The blankets were pulled up to his chin, hiding even his arms, but it was plain that he was a big, stocky fellow. His hair had the curious absence of color some blonds had, but it was difficult to tell because there was enough mud to streak the white pillowcase brown. His skin was red and raw by his hairline and his chest rose slowly, then faded, his breath shaky. The radiator against the wall hissed, the scent of hot steam temporarily masking the smell of dirt and manure.
“Private Rankin! I didn’t expect to see you here so early!”
Theda jumped as Billy moved past her. “What have we here? A sick girl? What happened to you, Violet? Country life too much for you?” He removed his hat and smiled.
Violet put one hand to her forehead. “Just a little under the weather,” she said in the low, purring voice she reserved for men. Theda couldn’t help a groan.
Rankin turned to her and his smile slipped a notch. “Hello, Theda. Have you recovered from last night? Quite the show our Jackson put on, eh?”
She didn't like the way he mentioned Jackson with a barely contained sneer. “I think I’ll take a walk, if you’re sure you won’t expire while I’m gone, Violet.”
Billy sat in her vacant seat. “I'll take good care of her, don't worry.”
“Enjoy your walk,” Violet said.
“I will. I enjoy strolling through sick wards, smelling the bedpans.”
“Good-bye, Theda.”
Outside, the driver of the ambulance sat behind the wheel, watching the main door. In less than ten minutes since they delivered the sick man, that thunder-faced hick soldier, the one named Cyril, huffed out the door.
He looks like every annoyance in town has passed between his ears. Gotta watch this one. These are the types granddad warned me about. Patrick Conlin cast his eyes down as he had been taught to do.
“Damn!” Cyril spat before slamming the door of the ambulance shut, his skinny ass shimmying across the seat. “That damn Billy is the Funston Cassanova! And he’s a fool! That rich bitch ain’t going to give him the time of day once she finished visiting her precious daddy.” He reopened the door, spat a line of brown tobacco, and slammed it harder than the first time.
Conlin laughed good-naturedly. “Handsome is as handsome does, I suppose,” Conlin said. “He find a rich girl?”
“Yeah, and I’ve never seen him moon this hard on anyone. That Evora girl is as pretty as a picture, but as rich as Croesus. He’s a fool.”
“Evora?”
“Yeah, daughter of one of those hot-shot doctors doin’s the research. Guy must have some money, though. Those two girls look as if they just walked out of a magazine. Where I come from, they don’t got shoes and coats that nice.” Cyril drummed his fingers on the window glass, and Conlin thought that he was just done harping on Billy’s popularity with the girls, when he suddenly turned his head to Conlin. “And you. How come you’re driving this car? I ain’t seen you around the base. Even with the other Negros.”
Conlin shrugged. “Just got out of the quarantine. Was driving an ambulance in Chicago before enlisting. Sargent said for me to drive this ambulance. I just follow orders.”
Cyril relaxed. “Yeah. Except for that boy we just brought in. Orders seem to be above those holy-rollers, those Mennonites. Let’s hope Jesus welcomes him with open arms when it’s his time, because they getting no love here, that’s for damn sure. You believe that horseshit?” He shifted his eyes sideways, the look Conlin had seen many times before: daring him to disagree.
“No, sir,” Conlin said. “I just do as I’m told.”
“Good boy,” Cyril sat back and Conlin did what he had always been taught to do: nod and smile. He watched the door and waited.
Something stinks. I don’t like the way they brought that man in. I don’t know why.
Then, on the heels of that thought, butt OUT, you silly ass! Haven’t you had enough?
Theda casually sauntered toward the front of the room, walking toe-to-heel in order to silence the missing worn heel on her right leather traveling boot that clicked. The only other females were the nurses and a few young women visiting the sick soldiers. I’ll wait for you, one of the girls sobbed into a white handkerchief, the soldier sitting up in bed with a sheepish expression as he patted her back with small taps. I’ll wait for you as long as it takes! The girl wore a dark brown wool coat with patched elbows and a hat whose faux flowers wilted like dead flowers in a vase. Theda’s smartly fitted dark red velvet coat and crisp hat made blending in futile. She tugged her cloche hat lower.
Theda pretended to be interested in a Red Cross poster. I summon you to comradeship in the Red Cross! frowning at the word ‘comrade.’ Out of the corner of her eye she watched Dr. Harris, hunched over a large ledger, as he dipped his pen deliberately in the inkwell, not withdrawing until the excess dripped off. No ink blots for you, good doctor. After a few moments of writing, he replaced the pen in its holder, rose and plucked a coat and hat from the rack behind him. He barely had these items in their proper place on his body when he disappeared out the front door.
Go back to the seat, you idiot. Listen to Violet and Billy drool over each other. Go back now. She walked around the desk, pretending to read the instructions pinned to the wall. All visitors must be entered into ledger. No exceptions! One glance up told her no one was paying attention. Her eyes traveled down until the list of names until the last entry, the ink still shining in the curves of uppercase letters.
Name: Caleb Van Horn
Date: March 3, 1918. 09:34
Description: Patient brought in by ambulance (Rankin). Fainting spell while working by pig stall. Patient suffering from exposure, chills, body temperature below normal (94d.) M. from Lev.
Pig stall. They said ‘river bank.’ River bank and pig stall did not sound the same. She passed the weeping girlfriend and her embarrassed boyfriend back toward Violet and Billy, who were deep in conversation, Violet looking much more bright eyed and bushy tailed than five minutes ago. She slipped into the alcove where Caleb Van Horn lay.
He was still asleep, now curled on his side like a small child, cocooned in the dark green blankets. When would the heat get back into his body? Theda searched her memory for hypothermia in her father’s lectures but came up blank. She leaned down and peered at his face. His cheeks bloomed a shade of raw beef and he had scratches across his forehead. His breathing calm and deep. And clear. She glanced to the side and saw his boots, placed side by side at the foot of the bed.
White feathers were embedded in glue covering the tall boots, the laces stiff with dried mud.
Brow wrinkled, she moved out of the alcove and looked toward the back of the room.
Just in time to see Asa Jackson step back into the shadows.
Idiot! Why was it that no one else noticed him except for her? Jackson turned on both heels and started for the door when he felt a grip on his tunic pull him back.
“Where are you going?” Theda said, putting her hands on her hips and staring, breathing hard from the sprint across the Infirmary main room.
His anger welled but it was balanced equally with the most powerful attraction he ever experienced. “Why is it any of your damn business?” He snapped.
She straightened up and threw her shoulders back. “If you’re spying on us, then it is my damn business. And you’ve been completely rude to me since last night. I want to know why?”
He stepped toward her until they were toe to toe but she didn’t back away. This girl has guts. All murderers have guts. “I know what you did,” he said softly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked genuinely puzzled. She was a good actress.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I saw you last night.”
Now she did back up a step. Good. Maybe she was beginning to crack. “You picked me up in a car and threw punches when I was insulted, so I would say that you did see me.”
“Maybe I should check that pistol in your purse. See how many bullets are left.”
She froze for a second, then folded her arms. “I carry a pistol for my protection. Philadelphia is a rough place.”
“You’re a long way from Philadelphia, girl,” he said quietly. She opened her mouth to answer, but he was quicker. He snatched her purse from her shoulder, shoved a hand inside and pulled out the pistol.
“Give it to me!” She grabbed his sleeve but he already had flipped open the chamber.
It was empty.
He raised his eyes. She grabbed the pistol and he let it go with ease. “I’ll thank you,” she gritted her teeth, “to not take what doesn’t belong to you.” She retrieved the purse from his other hand and shoved the pistol back in.
“You only needed one, didn’t you?” But now his logic began to falter and he remembered the night before. There were multiple shots fired. She could have emptied the round, but there were more than six shots. Now, in the reaches of his memory, he realized that there had to be at least another shooter. And that maybe he was wrong, something that rarely happened.
“What I need is to never see your face again!” She stomped away.
“And that’s a date!” Billy Rankin grinned like the Cheshire Cat. He plopped down into the front seat of the ambulance, causing Cyril to scoot over, too close for Conlin’s comfort, if truth be told.
“You pulled it off again, huh?” Cyril asked.
“I sure did. Tonight I’ll take the love of my life to the flickers. Of course, she said that her annoying little sister has to tag along as some sort of chaperone. Guess I should be happy that either that snobby missus or the doc aren’t the ones accompanying us.” He started whistling Over There.
“The flickers are playing that Cleopatra movie. I heard you can just about see Theda Bara’s tits.”
“You can, but those aren’t the tits I’ll be looking at…”
Conlin steered the car back to the base. Good. Just what I wanted. I’ll be going to the movie theater tonight too, Valentino. There’s a girl I gotta talk to.
Thank you for reading! Please click that little like button or leave a comment. I’ll see you in the next chapter!
HISTORICAL FICTION STACK GRACIAS
GRACIAS