#jedidiah foster

[cicadaemon-moved]

In progress shot of what I like to call “No one asked for your opinion Jed”

[thismoleculeisacomedian]

Mercy Street characters D&D alignments

Emma: neutral good.

Samuel: lawful good.

Jedidiah: lawful neutral.

Mary: chaotic good.

Charlotte: chaotic good.

[sagiow]

Within a Forest Dark

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712392/chapters/39197509

    Superbia         

Military order.

Rows of beds, neat and tidy. A limb, cleanly cut; a stump, promptly sown in record time, the patient still conscious at the end, although screaming bloody murder - most lily-livered of him.

Food and supplies carefully rationed. Medicine even more so - pain is good for the soul.

Buttons polished, boots shined, whiskers waxed. The perfect image of a true Union officer, manfully commanding his troups to a glorious victory against the lowly Rebels.

A swarm of orderlies under his power. Skilled doctors under his guidance. Lovely ladies abounding. A silver-tongue Baroness as Head Nurse. An English Lady, trained in Scutari by the legendary Florence Nightingale, as true Head Nurse… and paramour (one wonders who taught her that skill set? Ha, such wit, old boy!)

A truly well run hospital, indeed. By a truly superb man.

      Invidia                           

It was unfair.

How were they better? Where they not all made in God’s image? Why did they get to be whoever they wanted to be, while others suffered the whip and yoke, their own desires irrelevant, their families torn apart as per the Massa’s whims?

Did they only know how lucky they were, these foolish white men?

Did they only know what would be given, for a life among them? To be respected as an equal, a peer. To have counsel sought, expertise requested. To grow old surrounded by loved ones, seeing them thrive and bloom and call this country their own with pride.

It was unfair, but maybe this war would take it all away from them, and finally let them feel the pain they had imposed onto others for too long.

And let us feel the freedom so long desired. So long forbidden.

     Ira                             

Such an abominable waste.

A man, so young. A boy, really. His life in front of him.

His life taken by him.

A moment of despondency, of fear. His mind more wounded than his body by the war, mending so very slowly. They had edged him on, forward, march! Back to the front! Straight on to his death, to eternal damnation into the fiery pits of Hell.

A boy failed. By his friends, by his family, by those who meant to help him heal.

His voice had risen, her face had fallen, but this was no time for shame nor sentimentality.

A soul was at stake! And so many more would yet be! So many already were...

The book had flown across the room, the desk cleared of its content in furor. A scream burried in a pillow, which was then pulled to helpless shreds. Better it than another man.  So many precious lives, so utterly wasted. So many skills that would be better served fighting to save them, rather than speaking empty words once it was too late.

Such cruelty in the fate prescribed; surely that could not be so? It was just a boy, Lord! Have mercy on his soul, damn you!

Have mercy on us all! Forgive us, for we know not what we do!

       Acedia                              

Inside the wards, so much pain.

Inside the home, so much disappointment.

Inside the mind, so much conflict.

Nothing was ever enough to soothe any of it, every gesture causing merely a ripple in the ocean of chaos and resentment that drowned every moment of every day. That extracted all energy, optimism and kindness away, leaving only a bitter, sardonic, wounded shell behind.

Oh, to escape it all... To live, for a single blessed instant, in a world without recrimination, nor doubt, nor ceaseless screaming. A world of peace and comfort and blissful quiet.

To fall down, relaxed at last, oblivious of time and duty, as a dreamless sleep hushed it all away, finally free. Free to float, and fly, and soar.

Free to disappear into nothingness.

       Avaritia                                   

That would not do. To stand still was not an option.

There were ladders to climb, important positions to occupy. Chief officers and political emissaries to impress; Presidents, even. And why not? A land of opportunity, indeed.

After this, who knew? More prestigious hospitals beckoned, with richer patrons. Or a more gentle life, if it could be found. In the arms of a doctor, maybe. That would be quite suitable.

Never again to go hungry. Never again to worry about the money owed to the grocer, the landlord, the local gang prowling the streets. Never again to consider all desperate measures to make ends meet and survive another miserable day.

To live in comfort, in luxury even, if the cards were played right. If proper allies were found and opponents, eliminated.

All is fair, in love and war. And war could be very generous to those who knew how to make it pay.

To the victor go the spoils.

       Gula                                    

They were all reluctantly given up: the vanities, the embellishments. The non-necessities. For the good of the Cause, a life of plain charity had been embraced, relinquishing to a naïve antebellum the abundance of riches once taken for granted.

Yet there was not a morning where the frugal breakfast did not draw a sigh. A noon where a frilly parasol was not conjured up against the burning sun. An evening where the wounded soldiers were not transformed into gallant courtiers, the ward into the grandest of ballrooms, with champagne fountains, crystal chandeliers and string quartets delighting the senses.

Perhaps it shall be once again, when the war is over? the heart ventured, hopefully. The Glorious Cause won, our way of life preserved just as it was, and better so again?

Not a night where sleep did not come bearing the colorful sheen of Chinese silk, the delicacies of French cuisine, the adoration of a Southern gentleman, and leaving her ever the hungrier for more.

      Luxuria                                 

It cannot be. It died a long time ago, buried with the memories of a one and only companion.

A marriage so sweet, so perfectly suited, so cruelly brief. Such wonders barely enjoyed, much less understood, heart and body discovering exquisite secrets unbeknownst to the mind, before all were taken away in a spike of fever, a last breath, never to be found again.

Yet in these new eyes, inscrutably dark, teasing but intense, it is born again, and burns with a frightful flame. This painful longing: to be touched, to be held. To be loved. To lose oneself completely into another.

Another who is someone else’s, by Man’s law, under God’s eye. Another with amoral beliefs, and offensive behaviour, that should only inspire contempt and disgust. Another sickened and tortured by devils unknown, who requires patience and fortitude, not temptation into further sin.

Yet on every heavy look, every light touch, every utterance of the two short syllables that so adoringly speak a name, the desire feeds, and grows, and consumes, leaving only ashes wherein lied the path to redemption.

[rarepairheathen]

Rewatching S1 of Mercy Street. Regrets nothing.

[mercurygray]

mercystreetpbsShooting scenes this morning with these beautiful people. 🎬#JoshRadnor #TaraSummers#HannahJames #LukeMacfarlane#MercyStreetPBS #Season2 #BTS

My immediate thoughts turn to:

1. Jed, your porkpie hat is adorable.

2. ...Chaplain, we need to talk because if you’re going to keep doing that no jacket thing I may have some issues.

[neverfacedthemusic]

Every Wounded Boy

“Peggy?” A voice croaked out weakly.

Mary stopped in her tracks, she put down the dirty bandages she was bringing to the laundry, and went to the man’s side.

“Good Morning solider,” Mary said quietly. This was the first time she had heard this man speak, she had feared he would never wake up.

A grin bloomed on the man’s face and his eyes held a dreamy quality, as his he was not all there. “Peggy, darlin’ I thought I’d never see you again. I never thought I’d come home”

“Mr. Wilder,” Mary said firmly. “I’m Nurse Mary. You’re here at a hospital and  badly wounded.”

The man slowly turned his bandaged head to look around the room. Mary noticed his lack of lines and realized he was younger than she first suspected.

Once Mr. Wilder had surveyed the room completely he looked back to Mary. “Where’s Adam? I come home from fighting and my own son is off doing God knows what-”

Mary swallowed, she had experienced this before, when the men were close to death they sometime acted as if they had returned. She wasn’t sure if it was a half-dream state or they simply imagined their homes with shire will power.

She propped his head up to help him sip some water. gave him a small smile and spoke this time with a softer voice, “Please, have some water.”

Just as Mr. Wilder was about to start again, Dr. Foster appeared. The Doctor gave Mary a curt nod and approached the opposite side of the patients bed.

“Mr. Wilder, good to see you awake.” Foster began to slowly unwrap  and inspect his head wound. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

Wilder began to laugh. The nurse and doctor exchanged worried looks. But Mr. Wilder spoke again in a sugar coated voice, “How could I be in any pain as long as my dear Peggy is here.” His glazed over eyes turned to Mary.

The Doctor’s face sank, he exhaled sadly and re-bandaged the wound.

He gave Mr. Wilder a half smile, “Of course, may I steal her away for just one moment?”

The two took a few steps away from the cot and Doctor Foster’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The man should be in excruciating pain. I don’t believe he has long to live.”

Mary looked back at the man and sighed, “I feared as much. Should I find the chaplain?”

“I suppose so-,”

The doctor was interrupted by Mr. Wilder. “Peggy... Peggy! I see the light.”

Mary walked back to the cot, her face like stone. She perched herself next to the dying solider. Then took his hand. Jedidiah watched from where he stood.

“It’s okay,” Mary said weakly. “You’ve fought valiantly.”

Mr. Wilder’s gaze seemed to go through her and he smiled as he whispered, “I love you Peggy.”

A tear rolled down Mary’s cheek as she nodded, “Adam and I love you too.”

His hand went cold and limp in her hand. She began to shake slightly and was only barely aware that Dr. Foster had come around to check his pulse. But Mary was already certain Mr. Wilder was dead. She was familiar with the feeling of lifeless skin by now.

“He’s gone,” Dr. Foster said as he closed the patients eyes. His gaze fell to Mary. “Perhaps you should take a break.”

Mary quickly wiped her cheek with the side of her hand and rose. She ignored the doctor’s comment and went to pick up the bandages. “I should fix breakfast for the boys.”

Then without meeting his gaze Mary took off the the laundry room. Everything was a blur, she felt her heartbeat pumping faster and faster, the sensation crept up into her throat and by the time she entered the wash room, the pulses in her eyes pumped out tears.

The day mirror the day her husband had died so closely. She remembered holding his hand as his awareness faded away. That awful day replayed in her head often. Her chest ached with emptiness, flashback such as this reopened the wound that was his death.

“Mary?”

Miss Phinney all the sudden became aware that she was seated on the floor facing the wall. She felt the warm flow of tears down her face and quickly attempted to brush them away as she abruptly stood up.

She turned slowly, with her head bowed slightly, attempting to hide her appearance. Facing her from roughly five feet away was Jedidiah Foster.

She cleared her throat, “Sorry I was-,”

“It’s alright.”

Dr. Foster was not one for excuses, that comment made her meet his eyes. She saw a soft furrow in his brow and pursed lips, almost as if he pitied her. A man who she saw roll on the floor with shakes, pities her. She hated to be pitied. Pity was the single emotion she had evoked from others ever since her husband died, until she came here.

She stood up a bit straighter, “I have no use for your pity-”

He shook his head quickly, stepping towards her, “And I have no intention of giving it to you. I am merely...” He blushed slightly, “Concerned for your well being.”

Mary was rendered speechless. The two merely looked at each other for a moment before Dr. Foster averted his gaze. He began to speak again this time in a more professional tone. “Dr. Hale had asked me to preform another amputation, a hand this time, would you care to- I mean I would appreciate if you could... um... If you would assist me with the operation?”

“Yes,” she obliged quickly. “Of course. But I should sort this first.” She bent down to start picking up the pile of bandages she had left on the floor. The doctor helped as well.

Once they were all in Mary’s arms, Jedidiah reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, moving his thumb gently. “We begin at 9 o’clock.” He moved his head face closer to her and whispered close to her ear. “And thank you.” Before Mary had a chance to respond he got up and left the room.

Despite herself and her previous mood, Mary smiled to herself and sorted out the laundry. The emptiness in her chest felt a bit smaller.