Free Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 by Patricia Hagan

Travis would come back.
    “I thank you for your kind offer and your concern, Dr. Sims.” She nodded and then backed toward the door. “And please tell Mrs. Sims of my appreciation. But I can’t accept. I’ll just try to leave earlier each day. Now if you will excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
    She fled the room, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it to take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There was no way she was going to leave John all day and all night, too. It was ridiculous even to think of such a thing. Besides, she was not afraid of the ride, even after dark.
    She was almost out the front doorway when one of the nurses called out to her. “Mrs. Coltrane, may I speak with you, please?”
    Kitty sighed and turned to face the anxious-looking woman.
    “Mr. Wallace, the one they operated on this morning, he’s not doing so well,” she said, out of breath. “I was afraid I would miss you. He’s asking for you. I know it’s late, but if you could just speak to him, maybe calm him down. The other nurses have tried, but we just can’t handle him.”
    Kitty did not hesitate. Following the woman up the stairs, all the way to the third floor, she rationalized that it was no wonder the nurses could not handle Frank Wallace. Probably not a single one of them had ever witnessed an amputation, much less helped to care for someone after such an operation. None of them had worked during the war. They were to be commended for wanting to help the sick, but they were going to have to learn to stomach all kinds of repulsive situations.
    Frank Wallace lay on his back, moaning. His eyes were open and glassy with pain. The white sheet covering the stump of his left leg was splotched with blood.
    “Dr. Batson just checked him and gave him some morphine, so there’s nothing we can do,” the woman clucked nervously.
    “You can change his dressing,” Kitty snapped, hating herself for sounding so waspish but unable to stop herself.
    The woman stiffened. “We did that, too. Not a half hour ago.”
    “Then do it again, please.” Kitty moved to the side of the bed. Reaching out, she touched the man’s forehead with her fingertips. “Frank? It’s Kitty. Have you been asking for me?” she whispered.
    With surprising strength, he lifted his hand to wrap clammy fingers about her wrist. “Kitty, thank God you came.” His voice was weak, barely audible. “I always feel better when you’re here.”
    “Well, I’m going to sit with you till you fall asleep, Frank.” She pulled her hand back, placing his across his chest, then tucked the sheet up under his chin. Some of the glassiness had left his eyes, and he looked up at her gratefully. Picking up a nearby chair, she set it down next to his bed.
    “Will you be here when I wake up?” he asked hopefully.
    She leaned over so he could see what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Frank, you are going to feel so much better after a good night’s sleep that it won’t matter whether I’m here or not. And you know I have a little boy. He’ll be wondering where his mommy is. So you just lie there and try to go to sleep.”
    “…took my leg off,” he choked out the words, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. “…said I’d rather die than let ’em cut it off, and I would. Ain’t no man now.”
    Kitty’s tone was stern. “Frank, if you are going to talk nonsense, I won’t stay here with you. Now, you aren’t the first soldier to lose a leg so long after the war, and you won’t be the last. There are a lot of wounded soldiers with bullets in them that will sooner or later fester and give them trouble. Don’t you talk about wanting to die, and don’t let me hear you say again that you aren’t a man. You are very much a man, and I’m proud of you.”
    She stopped talking, leaned forward once more, then sighed with relief to see that he had already fallen asleep. The morphine, combined with a few words of comfort from a friend, had done the