Page 68 of Under the Tulip Tree
Several long moments ticked by in the silent room. I felt the stares of the men on me, and I wanted to find a dark corner and hide. The nurse finally met my gaze. In that look I saw compassion and something else. Solidarity, maybe.
“Are you able to shave these men, Miss Frankie?”
The room grew still while they waited for my answer.
My shoulders pulled back on their own, as though tochallenge anyone who didn’t agree with me. “Yes, ma’am. Iam.”
She studied me a long moment. A hint of a smile appeared on her lips. “Very well.” She looked at the man. “Sir, do you still wish to be shaved?”
His glare went between us before he shook his head and returned his attention out the window.
“As you wish.” She spun around, taking in the other occupants of the room. “This is your only opportunity for a shave today, gentlemen. The nurses are far too busy to attend to your grooming needs, yet our volunteers are happy to do so. Miss Frankie will approach each of you to inquire if you would like her to shave you. You may decline, but you will do so in a respectful manner.”
She returned her attention to me. “You may proceed, Miss Frankie.”
I wasn’t sure what to do. Part of me wanted to flee from the room, never to return. Yet another part wouldn’t let me give in to the likes of these men.“Love your enemies, Frankie,”Sam said. But weren’t they supposed to adhere to that same command?
With my jaw clenched tight, I picked up the shaving cup, the razor, and a towel and walked across the aisle. The sandy-haired soldier lying in that bed met my gaze.
“Would you like a shave, sir?” I spoke through tight lips, expecting him to decline as the other man had done.
His gaze traveled from my hand to my face. Finally, with every eye in the room on us, he gave a slight nod. “I would.”
His quiet answer took me by surprise, but I recovered quickly. I set to work spreading the lather on his cheeks and chin. I couldn’t help but notice one sleeve of his shirt was empty. His green eyes bored into me, but I avoided looking at them and focused on the job at hand. With a silent prayer, I applied the razor to his face and scraped off lather and whiskers as gently as I could manage. By the time I moved around the bed to do the other side of his face, he’d closed his eyes.
When I finished, I wiped the last remnants of lather from his face. I noticed blood oozing from several nicks, although the man hadn’t budged through my ministrations. Before I could clean those cuts, his eyes opened, and my hand stilled. I braced myself for his complaint. It didn’t come.
“Thank you.” He spoke so softly I barely heard the words.
“You’re welcome.” I gave a slight nod, then moved on to the next patient.
Some hours later I’d shaved a dozen men’s faces. Several soldiers declined, scowling at me before they turned away, while others possessed full beards that didn’t require a shave.
As I headed to the door with my supplies, the nurse approached.
“You did very well.” She cast a glance into the room. Some of the men were resting while others spoke in low tones. I noticed the fellow with the green eyes watching us. “They don’t like me too much either.”
“Why not?” In the time I’d been here, she’d seemed capable and pleasant yet had a firm command of the room.
“I’m Irish. Some of them—” she nodded to the wounded men—“don’t see a difference between you and I.”
I felt my eyes widen. “You fooling me?”
She shook her head. “My name is Cait Fitzgerald. I’m from Dublin by way of Boston.”
I’d never heard of that first place, but it didn’t matter. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Fitzgerald.”
“Me father was among the potato farmers whose crops failed because of the blight. I was just a wee girl when we left Ireland and came to America. We’d hoped for better times, but alas, many folks here say we Irish are a blight ourselves.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, even though I’d had nothing to do with her family’s rejection in their new home. I knew what it felt like to be mistreated simply because of who you were. “But you’re a nurse. That’s something to be proud of.”
She nodded. “’Tis indeed. I wish my father could have seen my achievement, but he died at Gettysburg.”
“He fought in the army? Even after being treated so badly?”
A look of pride came to her blue eyes. “He did at that. Papa was honored to be an American. It was important to him to fight for the freedom of others.”
“Nurse?”
