Free The Better Angels of Our Nature by S. C. Gylanders Page B

upright, military bearing in his immaculate uniform gave the impression of a much older man. A man who knew he was born to command, yet there was about him a touching vulnerability.
    “I have some tea for the colonel,” Jacob said, joining them. He had a tin cup and a cookie, both of which he offered the astonished colonel. “The cookie was baked by my sister Beatrice; she is the best cookie maker in all of America.”
    “Well, thank you, Sergeant.” Ransom laughed, tasted the contents of the cup, took a bite of cookie. “Delicious, and what fine tea, I never tasted better at any fancy Chicago hotel, nor received better hospitality.”
    Jacob beamed. “You are very welcome to visit us anytime, sir, but we hope it will be a social call, not because you are in need of our services.” He laughed, Ransom laughed, and Jesse nodded enthusiastically.
    “What a fine man,” said the colonel after the steward’s departure.
    “Yes sir,” the boy said simply. “The sergeant and Dr. Cartwright are the finest of men.”
    “Indeed. You’ll get no argument there.” Ransom drank some tea, finished the cookie, and put the cup on the night table. “Please say thank you to the sergeant for me. Would you tell Lieutenant Bennett when he wakes that I’ll be back tomorrow to see how he is.”
    The boy got to his feet and saluted as smartly as he could and the lieutenant colonel brought forth that broad smile again. He mussed the red-gold curls as he had seen the steward do, then he took his hat off the blanket.
    “One more thing, is there anything I can do to show my appreciation to the surgeon?”
    “Yes sir, whiskey, sir,” the boy said unhesitatingly. “Surgeon Cartwright finds whiskey a great comfort. It sharpens his senses, helps him focus.”
    “What is your name?” the officer said gently.
    “Davis, sir, Jesse Davis.”
    “Corporal Jesse Davis, I shall not forget that name. I must go, thank you again for your attentions to my officer.”
    “Just
Private
Davis, sir,” the boy corrected.
    “For now.” He smiled that wonderful smile.
             
    “What in hell was all that about?” Cartwright said, approaching Lieutenant Bennett’s cot ten minutes later. “Anyone’d thought you’d never seen a goddamn lieutenant colonel before.” He was holding his whiskey bottle, only now it was empty. He indicated the young officer sleeping peacefully, probably for the first time in weeks. “Are you going to sit with him all night?”
    “Just for a while, sir. I think the lieutenant colonel would appreciate it.”
    “Oh you do, do you?” the surgeon did a little dance to go with his mocking voice. “Yer, I thought you might be the kind of kid who’d lick up to an officer.” He tilted his head back and emptied the very last drop of booze from the bottle onto his tongue, like a child trying to catch raindrops, and with equal frustration.
    “He reminds me of a knight in shining armor, noble and brave and dignified. I think he must be a
very
fine man, a very fine soldier,” the boy said reflectively.
    The surgeon’s laughter was thick with disdain. “Is that what
you
want to be, Private, a very fine soldier? Kill people,” Cartwright mumbled bitterly.
    The boy said nothing.
    “I’m not dignified.” Cartwright regarded the empty bottle with sorrow. “And you don’t think me a very fine soldier, do you?”
    “I think you a very fine
surgeon,
sir, and a very compassionate man.”
    “Forget all that horse shit. What you reading?” He snatched the book off the boy’s lap. “More damn Dickens. Stop wasting your time with this rubbish. I’ll give you books to read. The
Hand-Book for the Military Surgeon,
by Charles Tripler,
A Manual of Military Surgery,
by Samuel Gross, and in between those we’ll start you on journals and periodicals,
The American Medical Times, The Medical and Surgical Reporter.
They should keep you busy.” Cartwright was angry. He didn’t know why, angry and some other