by Lynn Austin
Ted finally stirred and sat up. He leaned close to Phoebe, who was near the window, and they gazed at the passing scenery together.“I wonder which of these camps is going to be ours?” he said.
“I hope it’s none of them. You see what all them soldiers are doing?”
Ted watched for a moment, then shrugged. “What?”
“I been watching for a few minutes now, and most of the ones we passed looked like they was doing exactly what we just spent the last month doing—drilling.”
“Maybe the soldiers you saw were greenhorns, like we were back in Harrisburg. Some of them are doing some real soldiering, aren’t they?”
“I seen some armed men guarding a bridge back there and a couple more peeking out from behind a cannon—but look at the rest of them, Ted. I swear they’re just marching back and forth in rows just like we done, going nowhere.”
Ted flopped back against his seat as the train slowed to a crawl.“I’ve had it up to here with drilling,” he said, slicing the air above his head with his hand.
“Me too. I’d just as soon go on home than waste any more time. I sure do hope we finally get to fighting.”
“Oh, I expect we will,” he replied. “I read in the paper the other day that President Lincoln ordered a unified aggressive action against the Rebels. I think he means business.”
It took Phoebe a minute to figure out Ted’s ten-dollar words. He had to be one of the smartest people she’d ever met—working as a clerk in his uncle’s factory and all, counting money and keeping his books. She decided that what he’d just said meant that Mr. Lincoln was finally going to let her fight.
“When I signed up,” she said, “they promised we’d get ourselves some real guns once we got to Washington City.”
“I sure hope so. Hey, Ike, don’t forget—you promised to teach me how to shoot.”
“I won’t forget,” she said, smiling at his eagerness. Ted had his hat off, and she had to resist the urge to ruffle his curly brown hair the way you would a child’s.
They quickly left the outlying encampments behind and entered the city itself. Phoebe’s first glimpse of her nation’s capital left her disappointed. There were some bigger buildings that looked brandnew, but the city didn’t look nearly as nice as Baltimore or even Harrisburg. And most of the streets weren’t even paved. She hoped they didn’t stay here too long.
When the train finally pulled into the station, Phoebe and Ted shouldered their gear and stood in the aisle with all the others. Soldiers crammed the platform outside, and Phoebe worried that little Ted would get lost in the sea of blue uniforms.
“Grab onto my belt,” she told him. “I’ll keep an eye on Sergeant Anderson.”
“Lucky for me you’re so tall,” he said as he slipped his hand around her canteen strap.
Together they followed the sergeant through the station and outside into the street. The air was smoky from hundreds of campfires, and Phoebe thought she also smelled the damp, fishy scent of a nearby river. A military band played a rousing march to welcome them, and the lively sound of bugles and drums seemed to make her blood pump twice as fast through her veins. She could lick a whole gang of Rebels if they kept on playing music like that. It even made her want to march—which was a lucky thing, because the sergeant told them to fall into formation. He ordered a roll call, and when everyone was in place, they began to march down the street through ankle-deep mud. If Phoebe’s new shoes hadn’t been a size too small they would have been sucked right off her feet. She wondered if the army had planned it that way.
Except for some of the newer buildings, Phoebe thought most of Washington City was pretty ugly. The streets around the government buildings were nice and wide, and the Capitol building looked like it was going to be fancy once they got that dome-thing finished. And Mr. Lincoln had himself a pretty nice place, too, even if there were a bunch of soldiers lined up outside in his yard. But the streets were mired in so much mud the people could have used boats to get around instead of wagons. There were so many soldiers marching and horses trotting and mules pulling long trains of white-roofed army supply wagons that they kept the mud all churned up and soggy.
Phoebe had never seen so many Negroes in one place before, either. Everywhere she looked she saw dark faces—and all of them wearing rags. Folks back home in Bone Hollow didn’t have much, and Phoebe had never worn brand-new clothes or a pair of new shoes until she’d joined the army. But these folks were so pitifulpoor they brought tears to her eyes, especially when she saw little children begging.
The march to their new camp near the river was the longest one Phoebe’s company had ever taken in a straight line. She had helped carry some of Ted’s supplies in her own pack, but even so, he looked done in by the time they arrived.
“You better throw out some of that extra gear you’re toting,” she told him as they ate supper that evening, “or it’s gonna weigh you down so deep in all this mud it’ll take a team of mules to pull you out.”
“I know, I know,” he said, yawning. “I’ll sort everything out first thing tomorrow.”
Ted crawled into the Sibley tent they would share with a dozen other men and fell sound asleep before Phoebe even got her shoes off.
As the sky was growing light the next morning, Phoebe was awakened by the telltale cramping she’d grown to dread. She couldn’t believe her rotten luck. Oh no. Not the curse. Not now. She had no privacy here, crammed together as she was with dozens of men day and night. This would give her secret away for sure.
She crawled out from under her blanket as quietly as she could, retrieved her knapsack, and carefully stepped over her sprawled, snoring tentmates. As she made her way to the latrine area in the damp, cold air, longing for the warmth of her blanket, she wished with all her heart that God hadn’t seen fit to make her a girl.
Phoebe found a private place behind some bushes and knelt on the ground. She was still digging through her pack when a voice startled her.
“What are you doing, Ike?”
She yelped with fright. “Oh, Ted! You scared me half to death!” She pressed her hand to her chest and felt her heart racing like it was trying to run for cover. “Why did you sneak up on me like that?”
“I saw you get up and leave …and you had your pack with you. I was afraid you were going home or something.”
“Why would I do a fool thing like that?”
“I don’t know. You said you were sick of drilling. I was afraid …They shoot deserters, you know, and I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Phoebe couldn’t reply. She was surprised—and touched—to find out that he cared. “Naw, I’m just using the latrine,” she said after a moment. “I think …um …I got the trots. You know?”
“Yeah …everybody’s got them.”
“Anyhow, I promise you, the last thing I plan on doing is running off. We got a war to fight, remember? Go on back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ted nodded and made his way back through the bushes.
Alone again, Phoebe was dumbfounded to feel tears filling her eyes. She wondered why. Part of the reason, she decided, was because having a friend like Ted was such an amazing new feeling. Nobody had ever cared where she went or what happened to her before. Back home, she had once gotten herself lost in the woods for two days and her pa had never even thought to look for her. Her own brothers had traded her to Mrs. Haggerty like a bushel of corn when they had no more use for her.
But the other reason for Phoebe’s tears was fear. She liked her new life as a soldier, in spite of all the drilling. And she was scared to death that she would lose it all if they found out she was a girl. For the next week or so she would have to get up early every morning to make sure she had privacy. But as Ted had just proved, sneaking around in the dark was risky, too. What if someone else followed her? Or what if she forgot the password one morning and a nervous sentry shot her for a Rebel spy?
If only they would hurry up and start fighting. Then everybody would
be too busy to notice that she was a girl. Like she had just told Ted, there was a war to fight, and Phoebe Bigelow was determined to be part of it.
Chapter Five
Philadelphia
December 1861
“Are you going to work in this boring booth all night, Julia? Will I never get to spend a moment with you?”
Julia looked up from the pile of hand-rolled bandages she’d been counting. Arthur Hoyt, her escort for the evening, leaned against the trestle table with his arms crossed, as if commanding her to leap over and join him on the other side. His voice had the demanding tone of a spoiled child.
“I’m chairman of the organizing committee, Arthur. I’m sure I explained to you that I’d have to work tonight.”
“But surely not all evening …and not three times harder than everyone else.”
It had been Julia’s idea to organize this Christmas bazaar to raise funds for the United States Christian Commission. She had convinced some of her friends to help her, and they’d spent the past few weeks begging merchants for donations to award as game prizes, asking churches and charity groups to contribute items for the soldiers’ care packages, and decorating the hall and the booths. The hard work had eased Julia’s conscience and helped release some of the aching restlessness that had drummed through her ever since Bull Run. It had also earned the gratitude of Reverend Nathaniel Greene, cofounder of the Christian Commission’s Philadelphia branch.
“You could help me with these bandages, Arthur,” Julia said with a smile she didn’t feel. “Then I’d be finished sooner.”
His expression told her how ridiculous the suggestion was. He grabbed her hands so she couldn’t continue her work. “Enough. You’re my date for the evening, and I claim you. Now.”
“But I can’t leave the booth.”
“Nonsense.” He released her hands and strode over to speak to Nathaniel, who was working at a table piled with hand-knitted items for the soldiers. “Excuse me, Reverend Greene. You need to find someone to take Julia’s place. I’m laying claim to her.” Arthur was all smiles, his attitude jovial and good-natured, but something about the way he commanded everyone irritated Julia. Who did he think he was?
“Certainly,” the minister replied. “Miss Hoffman has worked very hard this evening. She deserves to have a bit of fun.” Reverend Greene followed Arthur back to Julia’s table and took her place himself.
“Now, let’s get some refreshments,” Arthur said, taking her arm.
“I’m really not hungry.”
“Well, I am.” He led her to the food booth and heaped a plate with an assortment of snacks and pastries. He left a generous donation, then sat down across from Julia at a small table for two, placing the plate between them. “That’s better,” he said, propping his chin on his hand to gaze at her. “I’m tired of looking at you from all the way across the room. And I’m very tired of sharing you with everyone else.”
“But I warned you that I would have to work tonight, and you agreed—”
“I know, I know. I’m very selfish for wanting the most beautiful woman in the room all to myself.”
The compliment would have thrilled Julia six months ago; now she wanted to leap up and return to work, proving that there was more to her than outward beauty. She tried to smile, to be gracious to Arthur, tried desperately to like him for her father’s sake. “If I was the sort of father who arranged his daughter’s marriage,” Judge Hoffman had told her, “I’d arrange for you to marry young Arthur Hoyt. There is no finer man in Philadelphia. Give him a chance, Julia, for my sake. That’s all I ask.”
She had tried very hard to be a model daughter ever since her cousin Robert had been captured, aware that her parents had enough to worry about without worrying about her. She had attended to her social obligations without sulking or trying to shock anyone. She’d allowed her maids to dress her and fix her hair. And she had dutifully accepted all of Arthur Hoyt’s invitations for the past two months. Arthur was good-looking, attentive, and wealthy— everything a woman could want in a man. Julia’s friends discussed him as if he were the grand prize in a courting contest and told her how lucky she was to have won his attentions. She had given Arthur a chance, for her father’s sake. She had tried very hard to like him. But after all this time, her heart still felt nothing at all toward him except a niggling irritation at the way he bossed her around.
“Eat something, Julia,” he said, pushing the plate of sweets toward her. “I bought these to share with you, and you haven’t even touched them.” She did as she was told and picked up a cookie, but the prickle of irritation was slowly sprouting into a thorn of resentment. They made small talk for a while until Arthur had eaten most of the food. “Let’s leave,” he said suddenly. “We can go for a carriage ride in Fairmont Park.”
“I can’t leave yet, Arthur. Reverend Greene is supposed to speak to us about the work the Commission is doing.”
He rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. I’m a little short on sleep, and Greene’s sermons are always good for a snore or two.” Julia opened her mouth to reply, ready to condemn Arthur for his uncharitable remark, but he popped a chocolate into her mouth, cutting off her words. “Oh, don’t look so shocked,” he said, laughing. “It was a joke. And speak of the devil, I think the good reverend is about to give us his speech right now.”
Nathaniel Greene climbed onto the platform as the little band finished a waltz. He held up his hands to quiet the crowd. “I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight,” he began, “and for making this fund-raiser for the Christian Commission such a success. I would especially like to thank the bazaar’s organizer, Miss Julia Hoffman, for all her hard work.”
Julia hadn’t expected the hearty round of applause that followed, and it embarrassed her. But she saw a new respect in the minister’s eyes as she modestly accepted his thanks and knew that she had won back part of what she’d lost at Bull Run. She hadn’t flirted with Nathaniel or pursued him since he’d returned but had quietly kept her distance, talking to him only when necessary. Her desire for revenge had long since faded, and she no longer hated him or wanted to have him fired. Indeed, his simple words of thanks tonight made her feel happier than she had in months.
“There,” Arthur whispered, “you’ve received your recognition and reward. Can we go now?”
Julia’s joy dissolved into shame. Arthur Hoyt, of all people, had seen her hard work for what it was—a desire for praise and recognition. If she left now, Nathaniel would see it, too.
“No. It would be rude to leave,” she whispered back. “He isn’t finished speaking.”
“For those of you who don’t know,” Nathaniel continued, “the United States Christian Commission was founded in New York City a few months ago and has quickly sprouted branches in other cities, including Philadelphia. One of our aims is to supplement the food and clothing provisions our soldiers receive, so the items we’ve collected tonight will help immensely. A second goal is to offer moral and spiritual relief to our soldiers in the field. Men who are away from their homes and families for the first time will face many new and evil temptations. Our presence in their midst and the Bibles we distribute can provide strength to help defeat Satan’s wiles. But our founding goal is to win souls for Christ. Men are never more receptive to the Gospel than when faced with their own mortality on the battlefield. It’s the ideal time to tell them of Christ’s love and of the eternal home He has prepared for those who are His own.
“I’m very grateful for your generous support tonight in helping us reach that goal. But I’d also like to ask some of you to consider walking the extra mile that Christ spoke of. The Christian Commission is comprised of ordinary men and women who volunteer their time to talk to soldiers, to serve as nurses, to help share the Gospel, and to distribute Bibles. Where there are battlefields there is real suffering. Jesus gave us the example of the Good Samaritan— the one man in three who didn’t turn his back on a wounded man but dared to get involved.”
Ju
lia felt shame burning her cheeks. She could no longer look at Nathaniel. Even if she organized a hundred bazaars she could never atone for what she’d done at Bull Run. She knew now that she had to go back. She had to return to the battlefield to help the wounded soldiers, not turn her back this time.
“We’re commanded to love our neighbor,” Nathaniel continued, “and our neighbor is the person in need. Beginning next spring, I’ll be taking a leave of absence from the church to offer my services as a Commission chaplain. Please, won’t some of you consider joining me? The Commission needs you to go into the field as nurses and aid workers. Can you spare a few weeks, a month perhaps, for this very important work? Don’t turn your back on our suffering soldiers. Listen for the voice of God. Perhaps He is calling you tonight. … Again, thank you all for making this event a success. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening.”
Julia stood, so moved by Nathaniel’s words that she was ready to become the first volunteer. But before she could make her way through the crowd that quickly surrounded him on the bandstand, her escort blocked her path. Arthur had risen from the table while Nathaniel had been speaking and had disappeared; now he’d returned carrying Julia’s coat. He held it up for her, waiting for her to put it on, a smile barely masking his impatience.
“Come on, Julia, my carriage is out front. It’s time to leave.”
“But the evening isn’t over—and I should stay and help clean up.”
“I’ll send a dozen servants over in the morning to help. Come on.”
There was little she could do but obey. Arthur quickly helped her into her coat and led her outside. She could see her breath in the cold night air. Fresh snow had fallen while they’d been inside, covering the dirty slush and making the city look pretty. Snowflakes sifted gently down as she walked to the carriage, dusting her shoulders like powdered sugar.
