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  When no answer came, she looked up from her task and saw that the Corporal had an embarrassed look on his face. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Hicks. That’s Madison,” he nodded in the direction of his partner. “I was carrying a load into the kitchens and one of the prisoners came at me quick. I mistook his action. Thought he was ready to fight. Or run.” The corporal frowned and dropped his eyes.

  “You must have hit him hard to have done this much damage to your hand,” Pan said flatly.

  A grunt came from Madison. “He beat the tar out of him, ma’am,” he explained. “That reb’s face is a hot mess.”

  As a healer, Pan had no appreciation of violence. The look on Corporal Hicks’ face was not one of pride. He looked ashamed of his actions and Pan could not help but offer consolation, “You were defending yourself.” She stepped away to the workstation in the corner.

  Hicks’ words were soft and flat, “I’m not sure ma’am. Charlie is a trustee, one of the prisoners who usually stays in line. My vision was blocked by the load I was carrying. I just saw someone coming at me fast from the prep station. We let trustees work with knives in the kitchen. I didn’t think, I just reacted. I dropped the load and laid into him.” The corporal was quiet a minute shaking his head, “Afterwards, Charlie said he was coming to give me a hand. I just misread the situation. I think I broke his nose.”

  “Where was this? Where is the prison?” Pan had been washing her hands in a basin and turned to look at the two men had fallen silent behind her. The pair were facing each other in silent communication. “The Customs House is the prison, isn’t it? That’s why it’s barricaded.”

  Hicks sighed, “Ma’am that’s not common knowledge. Not that I’m confirming it.”

  Pan smiled, pleased with her own cleverness. “Will you make sure that medical staff tend the man? A broken nose that isn’t reset is terribly painful.”

  “Miss Fontenot, perhaps you could tell me how to do it. The prisoners don’t get medical treatment.”

  Pan’s eyes jumped to his in alarm. “Ever?”

  “Never.”

  “There’s an entire hospital of Union medics in New Orleans! Why would those men go without medical treatment? That is inhumane!” Pan began to pace. “Corporal, there wasn’t anyone about for a considerable amount of time today when you happened upon me. If I had just followed my impulses sooner, you would have never caught me.”

  “Someone would have seen you inside the building.”

  “There wasn’t anyone in the hallway to the general’s office.”

  “What’s your point, Miss Fontenot?”

  “I can come and tend the man. It would be fair; you have received aid and he can as well. I can tell that you are feeling guilty over the matter. This would assuage that.”

  Madison snorted from the corner where he had been standing during this whole exchange. “Lady, we can’t sneak you into a prison. That’s crackers. We’ll end up prisoners ourselves.” He said it all as a joke, but his words were truth. What Pan had proposed was dangerous. Just another one of her impulses.

  “Right. I’m not sure I would feel comfortable telling you how to set it. You could do more damage, cause even greater pain,” she said, and the room grew quiet once again. The whole conversation was uncomfortable and bordering on treason, yet no one seemed content with the idea of not doing anything.

  “What if I say something to my father? He’s a surgeon and does rounds at the infirmary. He can ask to do a wellness check of the prison.”

  “Miss Fontenot, the location of the prisoners is not common knowledge, especially not to civilians. He’d have to explain how he knew. He might even be arrested for knowing about it,” Hicks argued.

  Enough said. There was no way Pan would endanger her father.

  “What if I don’t enter the Customs House? Don’t the prisoners get outside time of some sort? I could be waiting by the barricade?” Pan fished, though she heard the absurdity of her own ideas.

  “They don’t get to leave the building ma’am.”

  Madison took a breath as if to speak and then paused. Another breath and then said, “The kitchen is pretty close to the rear door. Not too much traffic that way except during deliveries.”

  “Stop. We are not doing this,” Hicks said with some force.

  Pan looked at Madison with hope and continued as if Hicks had not spoken. “Could I, maybe, treat the inmate while he has kitchen duty? One of you could be there at the rear door to let me in. I’ll reset the nose, check for other injuries and be done. Look how fast I stitched up your hand, Corporal,” she waved towards Hicks’ tidily bandaged injury.

  Madison was nodding. Hicks was shaking his head. “This won’t work. It’s not safe for any of us. Think of the consequences.”

  ∞∞∞

  The next afternoon, Pan did her best to be discreet as she walked toward the southern alleyway of the Customs House. Hicks was waiting for her by the servants’ entrance. “Good afternoon, Corporal Hicks. How is your hand?”

  The soldier instinctively held up his bandaged hand before responding. “Sore ma’am. Itchy. This is a really bad idea.”

  “You agreed. That happens. The itching. It’s healing. Don’t scratch and leave the stitches alone.”

  “Madison had to do some serious bargaining to switch duties. But it’s resolved. We let the prisoners know what was happening. There are only six of them, they shouldn’t give us any trouble.”

  “What if they tell?” Pan asked chewing her lip.

  Hicks smirked, “Prisoners never tell.”

  As they entered the galley style kitchen, all activity in the room froze. Pan nodded in the direction of each man as she passed them until she reached Madison who stood next to another man whose nose pointed in a direction that it definitely should not. The nose was so purple it was almost black, the bruising spread from the center of the man’s face around each of his eyes. Not only was his nose discolored it was engorged to twice the typical size, Pan suspected. She set her bag down and took the man’s face in her hands and looked at him closely. He winced at her touch, though she had been careful, tears sprang to his eyes. “This looks painful,” she said.

  The man nodded. “Ears keep popping, too.”

  “That’s common. My name is Dr. Pan Fontenot. I can fix this, but it will not feel good. At all. But I’ll do it quick. And then you’ll start to heal. Perhaps you’d like to bite something to keep from shouting.”

  O’Neil’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He must not have anticipated that fixing the break would be as painful as the injury itself. He gave a curt nod and Pan produced a clean handkerchief from her pocket. He balled it up and shoved it between his teeth.

  She cupped her hands around his nose, placing her thumbs on either side of his septum. In one swift, firm movement she shifted the appendage into what should be the correct placement. A distinct pop sounded as his nose set; O’Neil’s muffled groan and swearing followed.

  Pan released her hold and stepped back to look at her work. “There is a lot of swelling. Try keeping an orange on ice for a time. You can roll it over the nose. The cold will alleviate some of the soreness.” She spoke to O’Neil, but her eyes found Hicks to make sure that he would assist.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” O’Neil said as he finally regained his composure.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. O’Neil.” Pan answered as she surveyed his hands and neck for any other signs of injury.

  “Miss, why did you do it?”

  “I’m a doctor. Corporal Hicks told me what had happened and that you might not receive medical attention. That just didn’t sit well.”

  “I never heard of a lady doctor,” he shook his head in though. “I’m grateful but if you were to get caught,” his words trailed letting the rest remain unsaid.

  “Thankfully, thus far I haven’t.” She shifted her focus to another inmate with a thick grey beard who was rubbing his left arm. “Since I am here, perhaps I can take a look at that elbow?”

  Pa
n had been keenly aware that during their conversation most of the work in the kitchen had stopped and the prisoners had gathered around her as she worked. The prisoner she had addressed gave a look of surprise and then looked to the Union guards for approval. Hicks nodded and he approached cautiously.

  Pan asked the bearded man to roll his sleeve up and preceded to question him about his pain level. Seeing no obvious injury or signs of infection, Pan suspected the problem was inflammation and retrieved a liniment from her medicine bag. As she applied the cream, she recommended that he increase his water intake. The inmate’s reaction to that comment was telling. All the men looked far from well nourished. Dehydration amongst the prisoners must be a serious problem.

  He worked his arm by stretching it in and out and gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s too bad you can’t take a look at Bobby. He’s not doing good at all.”

  Pan looked at the speaker and then around at the group of men who were nodding and talking quietly amongst themselves. “Who is Bobby? Where is Bobby?”

  Every man looked like he had something to say but not enough nerve to do so. Even the Union soldiers looked uncomfortable, staring at their feet while they kicked at the floor with their hands in their pockets.

  Finally, the bearded man answered, “Upstairs ma’am. In the Marble Room. He doesn’t get kitchen detail. But Bobby’s a good one. He’d do anything for anybody. He’s got fever real bad.”

  “Gentlemen, we don’t have much time. Is there a way that I can get to this man, Bobby?”

  Most of the group of middle aged, trusted inmates found their voices and balked at the idea of a woman going into the Marble room to nurse the soldier. The others who realized it was no joke, were incredulous, arguing the dangers a lone woman faced entering a den of jailed men.

  Pan ignored the jokes about her nursing skills and reminded the men that they would be with her. Pan was no fool, she was aware of the hazardous position she was putting herself in. She asked that these men be her guardians.

  Finally, one of the oldest looking men in the group, an Irishman named Kelly asked, “Miss, are you a nurse? How is it you know so much about healing?”

  “Mr. Kelly, I am doctor. I learned from my father and I went to medical college.”

  “Why risk your safety coming to a prison? Is your sweetheart here?”

  She chuckled. “No. Doctors heal. I am here to help. Let me do what I can.”

  Hick’s firm voice rang out over the men’s murmurs, “No. This is as much as we can risk.”

  “Corporal, it sounds as if one of your inmates is truly ill. Infection in a group setting only leads to more infection. Everyone here will be at risk. We can do this.” She spoke to Hicks who was now looking everywhere but back at her.

  “Maybe,” Madison chimed in working his way to her with his hand outstretched. “But not today. Shift change is about to happen. We’ve got to get you out.”

  “Wait!” a whispered shout caught everyone’s attention. “Ma’am. Would you bring word to my sister, Agnes? Likely, she thinks I’m dead. She’s in the city at the orphanage on Louisa.”

  Hicks and Madison both stepped in front of her when the inmate had called out. Pan stood on her tip toes to see the man who was desperate for her attention. He was younger than all the rest, practically a boy.

  “Get back to your duty station, Breaux,” Hicks commanded. “We told all of you beforehand, no messages.” He gave a sharp look to Madison who began to lead Pan from the room.

  As she passed, she heard another prisoner’s thick Irish brogue, “Come on, Henri Breaux. Get back to work.” Pan looked back and the old Irishman winked at her and slapped the younger man on the back. Pan repeated the information to herself in a sort of mantra.

  Henri Breaux. Sister. Agnes. Orphanage on Louisa

  Chapter Three

  With the daily temperature peaking over ninety degrees, the walk home from the orphanage on Louisa Street was miserable. Indian Summer in New Orleans entailed afternoon rainstorms that splattered the sunbaked red brick sidewalks creating an almost visible steam.

  The few gently bred women out on the street looked close to collapse. The sweltering heat cared little that fashion dictated that a minimum of two petticoats were to be worn beneath a lady’s walking dress. As one of the few respectable women to venture the streets, Pan defied the rules of etiquette by donning a single petticoat underneath her practical, soft grey linen skirt. She had grown even more daring in her fashion defiance, beneath her solitary petticoat Pan omitted wearing drawers altogether. A matching grey jacket worn over a full sleeved, high necked white cotton blouse completed the ensemble. The light fabrics and minimal layers did little to prevent the sweat that beaded beneath her corset as she made her way home.

  The orphanage was several blocks outside of the Vieux Carre, the heart of New Orleans and the center of the French Creole community where she lived. French Creoles were once the wealthiest white class in the city. Descendants of French nobility, they were a traditional people, with strict rules of etiquette. Creole women, as a rule, never travelled anywhere unaccompanied, and certainly never into the outlying city.

  Pan’s upbringing in the capital had been less restrictive. Though her parents were both born and raised French Creole, they had often granted their daughters more freedoms than even northern liberals. As a result, Pan found herself constantly at odds with the conventions of her new society.

  Her meeting with Agnes, now Sister Francis, had not gone as she had planned at all. Hicks had warned that carrying a message to a prisoner’s family would not be wise. It was foolish enough to have treated the prisoners in the first place. It had started as an idea, a puzzle really, and she could not let it go. Now that her plan had worked, she had met the inmates and helped them; she was certain she would not walk away. Meeting Sister Francis had only strengthened the connection. She just had to convince Hicks.

  Another more pressing issue was that Sister Therese had cornered her before she left the children’s home and requested medical care for the children. Pan knew she should be taking precautions. She should not draw attention to herself. She should not be committing herself to anything more. Of course, how could she say no to a nun asking her to help orphans?

  She lifted her head to the street and a sad smile touched her lips. Gigi would have loved New Orleans. Even now in the heat of the day and in the middle of war, occupied by Union forces, it was a vibrant place. Above and all-around Pan, balconies were adorned with hanging vines and colorful decor. The hot, sticky air smelled of chicory coffee, horses, and heady French perfume.

  Realizing there was still time before curfew, the troubled lady decided to seek solace in one of her favorite places. Other women may have been content for hours in the milliner’s shop, but Pan was a reader, being surrounded by books was a comforting feeling. The bell above the door tinkled as she entered the corner book shop. The store clerk paused his reading and looked up from the open book on the counter to acknowledge her entrance.

  Pan greeted the man and headed toward the scientific texts. Scanning the titles, she settled on a volume of Medical Miscellany. Thumbing through the journal, she paused to read the notes alongside a diagram depicting how to determine the severity of a knee injury, a malady that plagued one of her father’s current patients.

  Following the book’s diagram, she reached down her right thigh and grasped it securely. Laying the open book on the shelf, she stretched her left hand behind her tibia. If she was conducting the exam on a patient, she would extend the tibia forward. She used her thumb to find the tibial tuberosity described by the passage. The article explained that a damaged knee would move forward easily without much resistance, while a healthy functioning one would offer some resistance. She continued feeling her own leg for the described anatomy with one hand and gathered the book with the other hand as she reread the section.

  “I had heard that there was a backroom of more stimulating works, but it seems there is enough i
ntriguing literature right here,” the deep voice behind her sent goosebumps along the back of her neck and caused her to jerk upright. She spun around already fully aware, as if by instinct, who would be standing there. Of course, it’s you.

  The handsome man from the orphanage raised his eyebrows in question. Thunder! Had she said that out loud?

  She replied coolly, “These are scientific texts. What you’re looking for is on the very back wall. Not a room so much as a shelf. Mostly bawdy novels.”

  His low chuckle suggested that her response had not put him in his place as intended. “Perhaps, mademoiselle, since you are familiar with it, you wouldn’t mind showing me that collection?”

  No. No. No. Most of her life Pan had struggled to present herself as a refined lady, with this man she had no difficulty presenting herself as a complete hussy.

  Weathers stepped closer and continued when she was silent, “I haven’t yet perused that shelf. How is the selection?” The low timber of his voice matched the silken chocolate of his eyes. Eyes that danced with humor while pinning hers with their intensity.