by Lynn Austin
They finished shortly before dawn, just as the sky was growing light. Phoebe had missed a night’s sleep, but she didn’t feel at all tired. Dr. McGrath looked exhausted, though, his trousers baggy from crouching on the ground, his shirt stained with sweat and soot, his sleeves wrinkled from being rolled up all night. He used to arrive at Fairfield Hospital on many mornings looking all rumpled like this—now Phoebe knew why. She didn’t need to ask why he worked alone, in secret. The medicines in the doctor’s bag were labeled U.S. Army.
“I’ll walk you home,” he told her as he closed his bag. They finally managed to tear themselves away from the grateful couple whose baby they’d delivered and started walking back up the lane to the main street.
“How often do you do this?” Phoebe asked after a moment.
He shrugged. “Whenever I can.”
“Why?”
“That’s always the big question, isn’t it? Motivation.” He sighed. “I could say it’s because I have the skill and therefore the duty to use it—to whom much is given, much will be required, and all that. But the plain ugly truth is probably guilt. I suppose this is my way of seeking atonement.”
Phoebe wasn’t sure what he meant, but she knew that helping him tonight had been one of the most satisfying things she’d ever done. “Next time you come…? Could I help you again?” she asked.
“Now it’s my turn to ask why.”
“Well, for one thing, I killed people when I was a soldier. It would be nice to …you know …make up for it. Besides, I got nothing else to do, no place to go.”
“I thought you were on your way home?”
“I don’t want to go home,” she admitted. “That’s why I pretended I was a man and joined the army in the first place—to get away from home.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “It looks like we have a lot in common, then. We’re both seeking atonement, and we’re both trying to escape from home. I should warn you, though; it has been my experience that you can never escape your past.”
“But wait. Can I ask you something?” They had reached the main thoroughfare. Phoebe stopped beneath one of the gaslights and pulled her little Bible out of the pocket of her skirt. She leafed through it to find the spot she had marked. “It says here, ‘Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’ What does that mean?”
“I’m the wrong person to ask.” He started walking again. Phoebe hurried to catch up with him.
“Well, do you know a good church where I could go and ask? Because I got a whole bunch of underlined parts in here that I can’t figure out. You think maybe a preacher would know?”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you.” His pace quickened.
“Wait! You didn’t answer my other question, about helping you. Will you let me come back to the shantytown with you?”
He stopped walking and turned to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. His eyes searched hers. “Phoebe …how were you wounded?” His voice was gentle, not accusing, but she was still afraid to answer, afraid that he wouldn’t believe her.
“I know what everybody thinks,” she finally said. “I was wounded in the back, so it must mean that I was running away. I heard all the doctors talking about me when I was lying on the stretcher. One of them said to just let me die because I must be a coward, a deserter. But I also heard you arguing with him. And then you operated on me anyway. I never thanked you for it.”
“No need. I thought it should be left to judges and juries to decide guilt or innocence, not doctors. It isn’t my place to convict you without a fair trial or to play God and allow you to die. But when I discovered that you were a woman, I knew you weren’t a coward. You were hit in the back because you were shielding someone, weren’t you?”
She nodded, wondering how he’d guessed.
“I thought so. Men are known for displaying great courage in battle. But I’ve seen women show the same courage protecting the people they love.” The doctor was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Did he live? Your friend?”
“Yeah. He made it.”
“Does he know that you lived?”
Phoebe shook her head.
“You might want to write and tell him.”
“I can’t. He doesn’t know…” She let her voice trail off, unable to say the words out loud. She tilted her head up to the morning sky so her tears wouldn’t fall.
“He doesn’t know you’re a woman?”
“No, he knows that. He found out by accident two days before I got wounded. We were together for a whole year, and I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for lying to him all that time. What I meant was, he doesn’t know how I feel …about him.”
“You saved his life, Phoebe. I think you told him pretty clearly how you feel.”
“Oh. I reckon I did.” But she wondered if Ted would see it as an act of love or if he would be mad because a girl had saved him— again.
“Listen, thanks for your help tonight,” Dr. McGrath said. “I’d be happy to let you work with me at the shantytown again, but I’m not coming back for a while. I’m being reassigned to a field hospital—” He stopped, his face brightening as if he’d suddenly had an idea. “Phoebe …would you like to come with me and work as a nurse?”
“You’d let me do that?”
“I think you’d make a wonderful nurse. You’ve been on a battlefield and probably won’t be squeamish about what you’ll see. And I imagine you know exactly how those wounded soldiers feel. You’re already used to army life and living under primitive conditions. … I’d be happy to have you work with me as a nurse.”
“Really? When? Where are we going?”
He smiled faintly. “Back to Fredericksburg. The Union is going to pursue Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia again now that the roads are drying out. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Phoebe was pretty sure that Ted and the rest of her regiment were already down in that area—probably in General Hooker’s winter camp in Falmouth. She might get her wish to see him again. Best of all, she wouldn’t have to go home and work for Mrs. Haggerty.
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
“Good. Show me where you’re staying, and I’ll come by with a carriage tomorrow morning to pick you up.”
“How …how can I ever thank you?”
“No need. But that verse you read …about being a new man? If you ever find out what it means, let me know.”
Philadelphia
April 1863
Julia sat at her bedroom dressing table, staring at herself in the mirror. Her mother hovered behind her, offering advice as if Julia were a small child instead of a twenty-year-old woman. “Try putting a little more rouge on your cheeks, dear. You look so pale.”
Julia did as she was told, but she doubted it would help. The problem wasn’t how thin and pale she’d grown from working herself to exhaustion in the past year. The problem had something to do with her eyes, as if they were reservoirs, filled with all she’d seen and experienced. Her cousin Robert had the same look in his eyes. They’d both witnessed suffering and death and couldn’t forget.
“Here, put this ribbon in her hair, Inga,” Julia’s mother ordered. “Maybe that will brighten her face up a bit.”
Julia’s scalp tingled as her maid raked the brush through her thick hair. It reminded her of how it felt to have James’ fingers caress her hair. Tears filled her eyes.
Her mother saw them, reflected in the mirror. “What’s wrong? Is Inga brushing too hard?”
“A little,” Julia lied. She wondered what her mother would say if she told her the truth—that she was remembering being kissed by a married man. That they were tears of guilt and regret. And loss.
“I don’t believe you,” her mother said softly. “But never mind. If you smile, people will think they’re tears of joy. That you’re happy to be home again.”
“I am happy to be home, Mother.”
It was wonderful at first, lingering in a hot
bath, sleeping in a soft bed, eating rich food, and being pampered by everyone. Her beautiful dresses were always pressed and ready to wear, a carriage was waiting when she needed one, the fire in her room was always lit, her laundry fresh and clean. If nothing else, Julia had a new appreciation for the hard work that her servants did. But every time she heard news of another battle, she couldn’t help thinking of the work that needed to be done, the lives that needed to be saved.
Mrs. Hoffman gently rubbed Julia’s shoulder. “I wish I knew what makes you so sad.”
“I wish I knew, too.” A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
“Oh dear. Please don’t start that. Your eyes will be all puffy, and we’re already late.”
Julia dabbed her eyes and stood. “Let’s go.” Her father would be waiting for them downstairs in his study, waiting to walk down the street together on this beautiful April evening to the reception being given for Robert at his parents’ home. But Julia’s mother shooed the maid out of the bedroom first, then stopped Julia before she could follow her through the door.
“Wait, dear. There’s something more I need to say—in private.” Mrs. Hoffman smoothed her skirt and tugged nervously at a sleeve, as if trying to decide how to begin. “For the past year there have been many people who haven’t quite believed your father and me when we’ve told them where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. It’s hard for them to understand why a beautiful young woman with the best possible marriage prospects would want to lower herself in such a way. There were rumors that you’d had a breakdown and were in seclusion. And I could only thank God that you weren’t in a serious relationship with anyone or there probably would have been rumors about a child.”
“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t realize…”
“Of course the congressman and his wife have vouched for your reputation, and Reverend Greene gave a glowing report on you when he returned. But please, for your reputation’s sake—for your family’s sake—try to behave appropriately tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, dear …Don’t go in to gory details about all your experiences, and don’t try to shock everyone. The fact that you’ve lowered yourself to do this sort of work in the first place is shocking enough.”
“But what if someone asks me what I’ve been doing all this time?”
“Try to describe it in …in a nice way.”
Julia knew there was no nice way to describe her work. She would try, though, for her parents’ sake. She would leave out the torn limbs and gaping stomach wounds and describe the compassion she tried to show, the encouragement she tried to give.
“The first patient I ever lost was Ellis Miller,” she said quietly. “He was nineteen, far from home, with no mother or sister to hold him or comfort him or bathe his fever. So I took their places, holding his hand and praying with him until he passed away.”
“No, no, no,” Mother said, her hands fluttering. “Don’t you see?
It’s that sort of intimacy that’s so shocking for a single girl—bathing and hand-holding. People won’t understand.”
“Then I promise I won’t talk about any of it.”
“Well, don’t be secretive. It will look as though you’re hiding something if you’re too close-mouthed.”
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Julia said, exasperated. “Maybe I should stay home.”
“Then the gossip will really fly! Just be yourself, Julia—your old self, the happy, good-natured Julia we all knew before the war. Remember when Caroline still lived with us? All the fun you used to have?”
Julia remembered James turning to her the night Fredericksburg was in flames and asking, “Do you think anyone who experiences this can ever be the same?” She wasn’t the same person she’d been before the war. She could never be that person again.
“It’s bad enough that poor Robert is so morose,” Mother continued. “But at least people understand that he was in prison. There’s a reason for it. If you love your cousin, you might try to be cheerful for his sake if not for ours.”
Julia forced the picture of James from her mind and replaced it with a different one. She was on board the ship at White House Landing, listening to Sister Irene’s soft voice in the darkness. “If we obey His command to love others, our life will have meaning whether we’re at a tea party or on a hospital ship.”
“You’re right, Mother,” Julia said, forcing a smile. “This is a wonderful occasion, and I promise I’ll be the perfect daughter.”
The moment she arrived at Robert’s house, Julia pushed all of her disquieting thoughts aside and mingled with the other guests. She flirted and flattered and played the role of beautiful socialite perfectly, as if she had never seen a battlefield or watched men die in agony. Robert was home. She would celebrate this moment, forgetting the past, not worrying about her future. She circulated through the crowd, careful not to talk to any one person for very long, forestalling the inevitable questions about her year in Washington.
Then Julia spotted Nathaniel Greene across the room, leaning casually against a chair, a contented expression on his handsome face. The shadow of loss that had been trailing her slipped away as her long-held feelings for Nathaniel rekindled. He looked up and saw Julia watching him. And to her utter amazement, he excused himself from the conversation he was holding and hurried over to her side.
“Julia! I heard you were back. Welcome home.”
“Thank you. It’s good to be home.”
“It seems like ages since I’ve seen you,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “I’m still quite disappointed that we couldn’t have dinner together the last time I was in Washington City. My time was so short.”
“I enjoyed our carriage ride, Nathaniel. And I don’t recall missing dinner at all.”
“You’re kind. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you. Will you be staying in Philadelphia long?”
“I …Yes. That is …I won’t be returning toWashington City.” She felt her smile falter for the first time. Her father had taken her into his study two nights ago and made it clear that her nursing career was over. She’d had her own way for a year, he’d been indulgent, but now Julia would be expected to take courtship seriously, as she’d promised him she would. At age twenty, it was high time she was married and settled down. She wondered how Nathaniel would take this news, if he would think less of her for abandoning her nursing duties before the war ended.
“That’s wonderful news,” he said. “I’m glad you aren’t going back.” When he smiled broadly, she was astonished. “I’m wellknown for being blunt, Julia. I need to say what’s on my mind. Now that you’re back to stay, I fear there will be a long line of gentlemen waiting to court you. May I push my way to the front of it?”
She smiled in return, and for the first time that evening it was genuine. “Nothing would please me more, Nathaniel.”
Chancellorsville, Virginia
May 1863
The thunder of heavy guns shook the ground. Phoebe knelt beside the soldier and felt for his heartbeat the way that Dr. Mc-Grath had shown her. It pulsed weakly beneath her fingers. She was all out of army-issue tourniquets, so she tied a piece of torn-up bed sheet around the man’s leg, as tightly as she could, to stop the bleeding. She gave him a drink of water and some morphine for the pain.
“I’m real sorry, but you’ll have to wait in line for surgery,” she told him. “It might be a while. Can you stand it?” He could only moan in reply.
Phoebe looked up. The stretcher-bearers were hurrying toward her, bringing more casualties. “Hang on,” she told him. “Don’t give up hope.”
It was different being on this side of the war. It sounded just the same—the rumble of cannon, the rattle of gunfire, the bloodchilling Rebel scream. And the smoke and the moans and the heart-pounding rush of fear were all the same. But now Phoebe was stopping blood, not shedding it. She never wanted to kill a man again.
Phoebe and the other nurses and doctors had followed at
the rear of General Hooker’s troops as they’d marched west from their winter quarters at Falmouth. They’d crossed the river a few miles upstream, then circled back to attack the Rebels on their side of the river. The battles had been fierce for the past few days, her own work unending. Yet for all the vicious fighting, she had just heard the upsetting news that the Union troops were pulling back, giving up in defeat. It was what they’d done when she’d fought on the Peninsula with Ted.
Phoebe braced herself as the orderlies ran toward her with another stretcher. Her old regiment was fighting out there, and some of these soldiers might be men she knew. She always scanned the wounded men’s faces, but she knew before they even got close that the man they were bringing to her was too tall to be Ted. His feet hung off the end of the stretcher.
“Set him down right here,” she said. “I’ll tend him.” She crouched beside the man and dipped her cloth into the bucket of water to wash his wounds. But when she saw his familiar face and wiry yellow hair, the shock was so great she lost her balance and toppled to one side, nearly upsetting the bucket.
“Willard!”
Panic and fear swept through Phoebe at the sight of her brother’s ashen face. She quickly scrambled to her knees and bent over him, gently slapping his cheeks and calling his name. “Willard …Willard, can you hear me? Come on, say something!”
He groaned and began to cough, bringing up blood. She felt for his pulse, her hands trembling, then looked him over and saw that he had a chest wound. His uniform jacket was drenched with blood. God! Oh, God!
“Hang on, Willard,” she said, struggling to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
The doctors were operating outside on a table made from a plank and four flour barrels. Phoebe stood back and waited anxiously, not daring to look as they finished amputating a man’s arm. Then she hurried over before they had a chance to call for another patient.
