The Doctor Is In

The Doctor Is In

David Herald entered the small office hurriedly, then stood at the desk of the woman writing at her desk. “I need the services of a doctor, m’am. Where can I find him?”

The woman stood before speaking. “I am the doctor, but it is late. You’ll have to come back tomorrow morning.” Herald reached into his pocket and removed a small pistol. “I am afraid, m’am, that you’ll have to come with me.”

He motioned for her to leave, then walked behind her. Once out of the office, she climbed into the top seat of the wagon. Herald joined her, took the reins and started out of town. When he was completely out of town, he took a small road to an abandoned old barn. He motioned for the doctor to get down from the wagon, then walked her to the doorway.

"He is in here," the man said quietly. She nodded and pushed back the linen hanging over the door leading into the old barn. Another man lay on a bed of straw, one leg of his trousers cut up to his knee. She slowly approached him, but as she got closer she could smell the putrid odor of dead flesh in the air. She also could see that the wound was oozing a dark greenish black discharge.

"What is your name," she quietly asked him. She felt his forehead, and immediately noted that he felt hot and sweaty. She looked at his leg and thought to herself that it looked gangrenous. Her heart sank as she realized there was little she could do for him. Then she heard the voice inside her head that she heard when she was under pressure, a voice that started when she was a young medical student. ‘Get moving, Mary Elisabeth! You'll have time to despair later.'

She reached into her bag and pulled out some whisky and a few cloth bandages. "Here. Take a few drinks of this whisky. It'll deaden some of the pain from me tending your wound." Without a word, he took the whisky bottle and gulped about half of what remained in the bottle, then cleared his throat.

"My name is John Wilkes Booth. My friend here is Mr David Herald. We are wanted men, my dear lady, and you could be hanged for helping us." He stopped to take another sip of the whisky, then continued. "My associate here wasn't thinking clearly when he brought you here."

She stopped him with a slight nod of his head. "My name is Dr Mary Elisabeth Scott, and I took an oath to treat the sick, no matter what their politics or morals. Now lie back and close your eyes. This is going to hurt."

She reached into her bag and removed her scalpel. With one quick motion, she stuck it into the center of the discharge, then twisted it twice in a clockwise fashion before just as quickly removing it from his leg. Immediately there was a rush of black and green fluid from the wound. It was incredibly foul smelling, and quickly the barn filled with the noxious scent.

"Sweet Mother of God - what the hell is that?" Booth began to gag, then turned his head to his right and vomited. Dr Scott grimaced for a moment, then forcefully pressed the swollen area below the wound. More black fluid poured from the incision. Mr Herald walked outside.

"I was hoping there would be blood. If there were blood, then I could possibly save the leg, Mr Booth. But there is none, so to save you I will have to remove it." She quickly put a bandage around his leg, then motioned for him to finish the bottle of whisky. "I don't have all the tools I need to do this, so I need to go back to my place and get my surgeon's bag."

Booth cleared his throat again. "Doctor, I don’t want my leg removed. Even if it means I am going to die. I implore you, just stay with me for a spell." He took his right hand and held it out for her to take, then continued. "Mr Herald isn’t as pretty as you. and he definitely isn't as interested in my well-being as you are."

Mary's response was immediate. "Mr Booth. Do not forget your manners, Sir. I may be a doctor, but I am also a lady, and I will not be sullied by the likes of you!"

Booth's face fell. "I am sorry, ma’m. I truly meant no offense. I am scared to death, yet resigned to my fate. If hell is my destiny, then so be it. But please take pity on me."

"Mr Booth, Sir. You, and most likely your associate, killed our president and gravely wounded another man. Hasn't there been enough death in this war? Why prolong it? I …" She stopped for a moment to look at him. ' He certainly is a handsome and distinguished looking man – at least for a murderer.' she thought to herself. Well, at least he had been those once. Two weeks of running from the Union army had taken its toll.

"Mr Booth. I have a question for you. Why? "

Booth coughed quietly. "That man destroyed the South and our way of life. His armies laid waste to fallow land in Georgia, killed countless families, and freed the negro slaves. He deserved to be executed for his crimes!"

Mary nodded vaguely. She didn't want to argue with a dying man, but his blatant disregard for the truth needed to be challenged. "Don't you think all men deserve to be freed men? Does the color of skin determine the worth of a man? Do families deserve to be torn asunder?"

Booth again cleared his throat. It was becoming quickly apparent to her that the whisky was taking effect. "Our very Constitution says the negro is only worth 3/5ths of a man. Those savages had nothing before now. Besides, their labor is what fuels our way of life. Who would pick cotton, plant tobacco, tend to livestock? Who would do the jobs no gentleman would want to do? No, these savages need us to give them some kind of purpose. They are God-given for us to use."

Mary sighed."Surely you can not be serious. God-given for us to use? Where is your sense of dignity, a love for humanity?"

Herald entered the old barn suddenly. "Doctor, you must leave at once. The union soldiers are heading our way quickly. As tis, I cannot ferry you away from here safely. I will hide you in bales of hay stacked outside, but we must leave now!"

Mary leaned forward and gently patted Booth on the cheek. She then stood to leave. "I wish you luck." She turned and walked quickly out of the old barn. Herald was busy moving a few bales of hay. He took her bag and threw it under some loose hay, then told her to lie on the ground. He covered her up with severaI bales, then started back to the barn. "Do not move or say anything. They will kill you if they find you."

Over the next few hours, the soldiers managed to convince Herald to surrender. When he emerged, they beat him mercilessly before the soldiers chained him to a wagon. Finally, the commander ordered the barn burned. When Booth exited the blazing barn, a Union Sergeant shot him in the neck. They then took turns torturing and humiliating Booth until he died three hours later.

Mary slept fitfully that night. She had never personally witnessed such depravity. By morning, the soldiers had left with both Booth's body and Herald shackled to a wagon. The barn fire had burned itself out, and no one remained, so Mary carefully crawled out from under the hay bales, retrieved her bag, and started to walk home. It took about an hour for her to get home, and when she entered her house, her husband William rushed over to her. "I was worried sick! Where have you been?"

Mary sighed heavily. "William. Let me tell you about this patient I treated last night and the savages who killed him." She went over to the bucket they used to keep water fit to drink, drank a long drink, then turned to her husband. "He told me about how the negros were savages. From what I saw last night, we are no better than those men Lincoln freed."

She turned and fell into her husband's arms. "I love you. Maybe that is the only Constant in this bag of horrors. Whatever else there is, I no longer remain certain of man’s ability to love. We treat others in the very barbaric manner we supposedly hate. I can only pray that God will have mercy upon all our souls."

She cried softly for William to kiss her. Whatever came next, Mary knew she had been changed forever.