Free Wedded to War by Jocelyn Green

nodded.
    “Well, you will have no servants as a nurse. Are you prepared to take care of yourself and to be without the many comforts to which you are accustomed? To work hard and sleep little, as the circumstance requires?”
    “I am not only prepared, but eager.”
    The committee members looked mildly amused. Miss Emily Blackwell, apparently the chief note taker, scribbled something down with a smile.
    “You look to be a very stylish young woman, Miss Waverly,” Dr. Blackwell continued. “You have many admirers, I assume?”
    “Just one, but—excuse me, I don’t see how this relates to my potential as a nurse.”
    “More to the point, then. I need to know if you are looking for romance among our nation’s young men in their moments of weakness and vulnerability.”
    “Of course not.” Charlotte gasped, feeling her face grow hot. “I would do no such thing.”
    “So you are satisfied with your beau, then, and do not desire another? You see we really prefer married or widowed women for this position.”
    “I will say it again.” Charlotte strove to regain her composure. “I am not looking for romance, I assure you.”
    Dr. Blackwell cleared her throat and glanced at the papers in front of her, Charlotte’s written testimony most likely among them, before looking up again. “Now then, Miss Waverly, let us be perfectly clear. We are looking for women strong in morals and in body. Nurses will be subject to many disagreeable tasks. Would you help move a wounded man on a litter, if required?”
    “Of course.”
    “Scrub a floor?”
    “Indeed.”
    “Launder blood- and pus-encrusted uniforms?”
    Charlotte paused for a half a beat before replying, “Yes.” She hoped it was not a lie, even as she tasted bile in her mouth.
    “Would you gently comb lice out of matted hair, wash faces disfigured by shot and shell? Would you pick maggots off of an open sore?” Dr. Blackwell crossed her arms.
    Convinced that Dr. Blackwell was trying to scare her away, Charlotte grew hot under her collar, but kept her voice cool. “I would.”
    “Good. Now as for your discipline. Do you respond well to male authority?”
    Charlotte mused that she hadn’t lived under male authority for twelve years, but she knew the correct answer. “Of course.”
    “You realize you would be working directly under and answerable to a military doctor in charge. He may or may not be in favor of your presence, and may decide to make life difficult for you.” Dr. Blackwell paused. “In an effort to get you to leave, that is.”
    “I understand.” Charlotte straightened her spine. “And I would not be moved.”
    An indiscernible expression passed between Dr. Blackwell and Mrs. Griffin. Charlotte prayed her insolent tongue had not just disqualified her.
    After a moment of quiet conference between the three committee members, Dr. Blackwell spoke. “You may move on to the Examining Board of the Hospital Committee. Drs. Delafield, Wood, and Harris will see you in there.” She pointed to an imposing paneled oak doorway.
    Charlotte’s heels clicked along the hardwood floor, every step echoing between the walls and high ceiling, but all she heard was her pounding pulse in her ears.
    She entered the cavernous room and squeezed the flowers in her fist, now damp from nervous perspiration. After a pleasant round of introductions, the committee had just two main questions for her. Being satisfied by her answer to the first—“Who is your grandfather?”—Dr. Harris asked, “Have you had the measles?”
    “Yes.” Charlotte’s voice sounded small in the nearly empty room.
    “And are you generally in good health? No fainting spells or anything?”
    “Perfectly healthy.”
    “Well done.” He smiled, scribbled her name on a chart, left blank the space for recording her age, and reached across his table to hand her a blue slip of paper. She took it and studied the treasure now in her possession. It was signed by Mrs. Christine Griffin and Dr.