And my next post: 

Travis~ Now another problem has come up. It’s been a while since I came to the hospital, but for some reason I haven’t been treated yet. Well, I’ve been bandaged and cleaned, but nothing more than that. Hannah seems to have been working up the courage to tell me something for a few hours now, and finally, when she comes to give me my lunch, she does.

She sits down on my bed after she’s made sure I’m comfortable and twists her hands together for a minute. Then she looks down at me and says worriedly,

“I talked to Dr. Hicks today about you. Y’know, the one who wanted to take the flag.”

“Mph,” I say with my mouth full.

“I asked why he hasn’t treated you yet, and—well, he said he isn’t going to.” She looks very anxious, peering down at me to see what I’m thinking. “Travis, you’ve got shrapnel in your legs and body and he thinks you’re hurt too bad for him to get it out.”

I stop eating and put my toast down with a sick feeling. Hannah gulps.

“He said that if he can’t amputate, he usually leaves patients alone,” she continues. “And then I asked Dr. Brewster—he’s very nice, Travis, maybe you’ve met him—and he said that you’d—well, that you’d—die, if you didn’t get treated.”

She looks at me with a pleading expression. I don’t know what to say. This is worse than I thought.

“I won’t,” I say reassuringly, putting a hand on her arm. “I won’t die, I promise. I don’t care a thing what Dr. Hicks says, he’s an old fool.”

She smiled weakly but says, “He’s the head surgeon. Everyone has to listen to him.”

“What about that time you scolded him about the flag? Why can’t you do the same thing now?”

She shakes her head sadly. “It’s different. That was just a little thing. But an operation would require tools, and medicine, and bandages, and chloroform—I can’t convince him.”

An operation? That sounds a little frightening to me. I say to Hannah, “Tell you what. You said that this Dr. Brewster fellow is pretty nice? Well, you get him to help. He can do the—the operation, or what ever it is, in secret. At night. No one’ll know.”

She stares at me for a moment. Those bright green eyes are gazing right into mine, wide with surprise. She takes a long, shaky breath. “All right, then. Okay. I’ll do anything just as long as nothing happens to you.” She starts nodding to herself, and her face flushes with energy. I can feel her excitement. She springs up and says, “I’ll go tell Dr. Brewster now!”

She rushes off, leaving me lying here feeling pretty scared, but also stubborn in a very satisfying way.

Dr. Brewster comes to see me later. He’s a plain-looking man with a kind face and a firm, determined mouth. I can tell from the minute I see him that I can trust him with anything. He sits down and talks to me in a low, steady voice.

“Hannah told me about you,” he says, smiling a little. “That’s quite a plan you’ve got there.”

“Doctor, I’ve made a promise to myself that I’m going to make it back home when this war’s over. I intend to keep that promise.”

He nods. “I know. And I intend to help you. But it might be hard, Travis. If we get caught I could get into serious trouble.”

I know that. And Hannah and I could get into serious trouble, too. But I don’t care a bit. I’m going to get back home with my father and I don’t care how long it takes.

Now the doctor is explaining what we will need to do. Hannah has come up and is now standing at the foot of the bed, listening. Dr. Brewster is talking softly so that no one will hear us.

“Hannah, you’ll have to steal supplies from Dr. Hicks. Medicine, bandages, tools. You know what I’ll need. You won’t be able to get chloroform because Dr. Hicks keeps it locked up. There’s so little to spare that he only gives it now and then.”

No chloroform? That’s an alarming thought. Hannah shoots me a concerned glance out of the corner of her eye.

“We’ll have to do it tonight,” the doctor says. “You’ll have to steal the supplies soon after everyone’s in bed, Hannah. There’s no time to waste. Are you both sure about this?”

We are. I’ve never been so sure. Hannah’s mouth is set firmly and she looks like she’s ready for anything.

@Leafmist: I think it would be better for Hannah to write about the operation. 

@HSG, I'm still doing this RP, and I'm terribly sorry for not posting. I'm a horrible procrastinator when it come to RP writing and I forgot that it had been so long since my last post. I promise to post from April's point of view sometime in the next few days.

Oh wow no chloroform?!

This is getting intense! O.o I'll try to post soon!  

I’m sorry I haven’t posted, I wasn’t really sure how to connect Annie to the rest of the plot. Do you have any suggestions? Because otherwise she’s running off to join the Confederates for reasons only she knows.

Annie~ Breath, don’t worry, just breath. Keep him talking, coherent and everything should be fine.

“What's your name?” it feels strange to ask ordinary everyday questions here, in the midst of war.

“Henry Johnson,” his voice is steady but clearly terrified. Henry can’t be much older than fourteen, a boy. His grey uniform is stained with blood. The charred bullet wound on his chest is bleeding profusely.

“Where are you from, Henry,” I begin to dress his wound, hardly able to keep my hands from shaking.

“Georgia miss, my father is a tenant farmer.” His voice is fainter, shakier now, I hurry staunch the flow of blood.

“ Tell me about your father, Henry.” I have to keep him talking, if he falls unconscious he may never wake up.

“He’s a big man, and he’s clever with his hands, I wanted to help save the farm, help win the war, I wanted to make him proud,” Henry’s voice trails off and his eyes close. I check his pulse anxiously, watch his chest rise and fall one last time and stop moving. I desperately try to revive him before giving up, accepting his death.

It seems so cruel, if he had been brought in sooner, maybe Henry would have lived. He was ignored because of the color of his uniform, because he came from a state that’s in the South. I leave the bed where Henry lay, cold and lifeless, and go to find the head nurse, to report to her the death of my patient and to tell her I was going off duty. He had been brought in by a kindhearted soldier, who looked as if he might have been a father himself. The battle had long been over, a few soldiers enlisted to find any wounded that hadn’t been brought in during the battle. I step out into the night air and try not to think about the battle, even though we had won, our numbers overpowering the confederates. I take a walk, needing time to think.

(Henry's a drummer boy.) 

Like Mirax T, I'm not exactly sure how my charrie can fit into this because Hannah is the one taking care of Travis, and I don't think anyone else's charrie's are in the hospital. 

April~

As I am bandaging the amputated leg of a soldier who was shot in a battle, I hear the nurse next to me -I think her name is Hannah- whispering to her patient. I wonder if they are planning something in secret, or if she is just comforting the boy. I'm very curious, but decide that it's none of my business and leave them alone.

At night, after many long hours of work, I am allowed to go home to take care of my siblings. My mother will come home a few hours later. I walk along a winding dirt path that leads to a small group of houses where we live. I am happy when I think of the food that will be ready when I reach my neighbor's house, where my younger siblings stay during the day.

However, when I finally reach the clearing, I am greeted by a horrible sight. My neighbor's house, where my siblings had stayed, was destroyed, reduced to a pile of rubble. So are many of the other small houses near it. Luckily ours is still standing, but I'm just worried about my brother and sisters. 

"James... Caroline... Abigail! Where are you?!" I yell, my voice shaking. "Mrs. Carson!" I try, calling the name of my neighbor. 

When no one answers I try again and again, until my voice becomes hoarse. Then, I sit down on a tree stump and begin to cry.

~~~~~~ 

I'll write more soon.