Battle Hymns by Cara Langston Page B

many more years of higher
learning and training physicians had completed compared to their
seven weeks. The nurses’ aides stood in the presence of their
doctors, both to revere the selflessness of their profession and to
show their readiness to help in whatever possible way.
    Charlotte absorbed the instruction quickly, and she
didn’t mind the tasks many other volunteers found repulsive. One of
her supervising nurses said she was a natural and had a comforting
bedside manner, a compliment that was a necessary esteem boost.
    A crowd had gathered around the bulletin board by the
time Charlotte and Rachel arrived. Charlotte didn’t care which
hospital she was assigned, so she stood in the back while Rachel
pushed through the gathering to find their names. Rachel made her
way to the front and ran her finger down the list. She jumped up
and down and returned to Charlotte, clapping her hands
excitedly.
    “You and I are assigned to the Army Medical Center
here in D.C.! Do you know what that means?”
    Charlotte chuckled at Rachel’s enthusiasm. “No. What
does it mean?”
    “No more baby spit up. Only brave, handsome
soldiers!”
    ***
    L ocated at the northern end
of the District of Columbia, the Army Medical Center was associated
with the Walter Reed General Hospital as well as the Army Medical,
Dental, and Veterinary Schools. The complex of rose-brick buildings
from the colonial revival period resembled a college campus with
open green lawns, large trees, and winding walkways. Instead of
classrooms and dormitories, the structures housed hospital wards,
barracks, nurses’ quarters, recreational centers, and operating
rooms.
    Charlotte stood at the foot of the wide steps in
front of the main building. The white, limestone portico, supported
by four giant columns, towered overhead. She squinted at the
inscription— Walter Reed General Hospital —in the bright
August sun. Two doctors wearing white coats exited the
building.
    Despite all her training, butterflies fluttered in
her stomach like it was her first day at a new school. Charlotte
stepped forward. She was only delaying the inevitable.
    She hurried up the steps and pulled open one of the
doors. When she entered, the secretary at reception looked up from
her paperwork.
    “First day?”
    “How could you tell?”
    The secretary gestured to Charlotte’s nurses’ aide
uniform—a light blue and white cap, white blouse, and light blue
pinafore dress with the Red Cross emblem on the chest. “Your
uniform is still starched.”
    Charlotte ran her hands down the front of her dress,
smoothing out the few wrinkles from her bus ride to the
hospital.
    “Do you have your paperwork?”
    Charlotte handed her the papers she’d brought with
her, and the secretary wrote her information on a white card. “This
is your time card. It will be placed in the card file behind me
alphabetically. When you arrive, you’ll sign in. When you leave,
you’ll sign out.” The secretary jotted the time and filed away the
card. Then she stood. “I’ll show you to the ward where you’ll work.
By the way, you can call me Mrs. Farrell.”
    Charlotte followed Mrs. Farrell through the lobby. As
they strolled toward the East Wing of the building, the secretary
gave a brief description of the property.
    “There are three auxiliary wings to this building.
The East and West Wings are comprised mainly of detention,
observation, and convalescent wards. The mess hall, library,
rehabilitation wards, and a secondary entrance are in the North
Wing. Most of the operating rooms are in the main building, as well
as the administrative offices.”
    Mrs. Farrell led Charlotte into an elevator. The
operator took them up to the second floor, and they exited into a
nearly identical hallway.
    “Miss Donahue, I’ve assigned you to Convalescent Ward
Fifteen. It’s one of our larger wards with twenty beds.” Mrs.
Farrell stopped at a doorway. “And here we are.”
    Like the rest of the hospital, Convalescent