by Lynn Austin
The man exhaled angrily. “Before the war, I worked up in Connecticut as a coachman for a rich banker named Tyler. McGrath was Mr. Tyler’s doctor and long-time friend. He used to come to the house every week and sometimes I drove them places, so I know it’s him. It’s the same man!”
“All right, I believe you,” Nathaniel said calmly. “Go on.”
“One night when I was having dinner with the other servants in the kitchen, Mr. Tyler’s butler came running out saying there was a loud argument going on between the two men in the study. They’d been drinking heavily, and the butler wanted me to help throw the doctor out of the house since he was a good-sized man and poor Mr. Tyler was old and ill. I followed the butler into the main part of the house, and I could hear Mr. Tyler shouting as soon as we entered the hallway. He was saying, ‘Help me! Help me!’ But we were too late. All of a sudden we heard a gunshot. When we burst into the room, Mr. Tyler was dead, shot in the head, pointblank. The doctor still held the pistol in his hand, and he was covered all over in Mr. Tyler’s blood. He was saying, ‘I’m sorry, Eldon. I’m sorry,’ over and over.
“We wrestled the gun out of his hand and held him down until the police arrived. It’s the same man, Reverend. He’s a murderer, and I don’t want him taking care of my friends and me. He should hang for his crime!”
“Why didn’t he?” Reverend Greene asked. “Wasn’t there a trial? If there were witnesses and the man confessed…”
“I don’t know why he didn’t. He was in prison the last I knew. But I had to find another job after Mr. Tyler was murdered. A friend got me work in Pennsylvania.”
“How long ago was this? Is it possible the doctor already served his prison sentence?”
“No, sir. He murdered Mr. Tyler in the spring of 1860—barely four years ago. That’s not enough time for a murderer to stay behind bars.”
“Do you think he might be a fugitive?”
“I don’t know,” Murdock replied. “He’s using his own name— that’s how brazen the man is. If he got away with murder once, don’t you think he’ll do it again?”
“All right. I’ll look into the affair,” Nathaniel said. “If the doctor is wanted for murder in Connecticut, then he should be relieved of duty immediately.”
“I’ll take you to him,” Murdock said. “Between the two of us, we can grab him, Reverend.”
“Hold on. I think you’d better stay here and let me talk to him alone first.”
“What good will talking do? I should have gone to the provost marshal, not you.” Murdock turned away in disgust.
The minister planted a hand on Murdock’s shoulder and swung him around to stop him. “Listen, Dr. McGrath can’t go anywhere. There are one hundred thousand troops here in Brandy Station. I understand why you’re upset, but let’s not get carried away and turn this into a lynching.”
The thought of her friend being strung up by an angry mob sent another shiver of fear through Phoebe. She had an overwhelming urge to run ahead and warn Dr. McGrath to flee, but the minister was right—there was no place for him to go.
“The doctor deserves to have his say,” Nathaniel said. “Let me talk to him, and then we can decide what to do next. Do you know this doctor, Miss Bigelow?” he asked, turning to Phoebe. Her heart sped up.
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Do you know if he ever lived in Connecticut?”
She shrugged. Phoebe didn’t know for certain. But she had seen some of the letters that arrived from the doctor’s wife every week. The return address was a city in Connecticut.
“I think you’d better wait here,” Nathaniel told the soldier. “Miss Bigelow will take me to him. I’ll let you know what he has to say.”
Phoebe felt like a traitor as she walked across the campground to the field hospital with the minister. She didn’t want to believe that Dr. McGrath had murdered somebody. But she remembered the first night she’d ever worked with him and how he’d told her he had come to Washington to escape, just as she’d run away from home. “I should warn you,” he’d said that night, “it has been my experience that you can never escape your past.”
“I assume that you knew nothing of this man’s past when you began working with him?” the minister asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“No, sir. I didn’t think it mattered when there were wounded soldiers to take care of.” Phoebe knew that the other nurses at Fairfield Hospital didn’t get along too well with Dr. McGrath, but she liked him in spite of his gruffness. “He doesn’t kill people,” she added. “He would never harm the soldiers under his care. He saved my life.”
“Your life? How so?”
Now she would have to explain about all her lies, and Phoebe didn’t want to do that. “I was sick and nearly died,” she said instead. “He was my doctor. I’m alive because of him. Listen, I’ll show you where his tent is, but I don’t want any part of this.”
“No, wait. You just heard a very serious accusation being leveled against the doctor. It’s only fair that you stay and hear his side of it. Especially since you have to work with him every day. You shouldn’t be left with doubt and suspicion.”
It was true. Phoebe would always wonder if Dr. McGrath was truly capable of killing someone in cold blood. “That’s him over there,” she finally said, nodding her head. The doctor stood behind the cluster of hospital tents, sipping from his silver pocket flask and gazing into the distant woods. “He’s the fellow with the reddish beard.”
The minister’s brows raised in surprise. “Really? I’ve met that man before, in Washington. Come with me, Miss Bigelow. Please.”
She followed reluctantly as the minister strode over to Dr. McGrath and extended his hand. “Good morning. I’m Nathaniel Greene, the regimental chaplain. This is an amazing coincidence, but we’ve met once before, in Washington. You were at a hospital there, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Dr. McGrath seemed wary and not at all friendly. But Phoebe knew it was his usual manner.
“You probably don’t remember me. It was more than a year and a half ago. I came to the hospital to visit one of your nurses, Julia Hoffman.”
His words startled Phoebe. “You know Julia?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she looked from the minister to the doctor and thought she saw a flicker of fear cross Dr. McGrath’s face.
“What about her?” he asked.
“This has nothing to do with Julia. It’s somewhat of a private matter,” he said, glancing around the noisy camp. “Perhaps you’d like to go somewhere—”
“Just get to the point.”
“All right.” Nathaniel drew a quick breath. “A man named Noah Murdock came to see me. He says he once knew you in Connecticut. He told a rather gruesome story about a murder in which he claims you killed a man. Since your nurse, Miss Bigelow, happened to hear his accusation, I thought she should stay and hear your side of it, as well. Murdock claims you shot his employer, Mr. Tyler, in cold blood.”
Dr. McGrath crossed his arms. He remained silent, his face as hard as stone.
Phoebe felt embarrassed for the doctor. She wished she hadn’t come.
The minister cleared his throat. “I told Murdock I would try to clear things up with you. He’s concerned because you’re responsible for the welfare of his regiment. He also seems to think you might be a fugitive.” He paused, and Phoebe could tell that he was trying to be cautious in what he said. “I’m not accusing you, Doctor. If you have an explanation in your defense this would be a good time to give it. If Murdock is mistaken, I wish you’d tell me and I’ll gladly apologize for bothering you.”
“Are you through?” the doctor asked coldly.
“I’m simply trying to be fair and hear both sides of this story.”
“I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation,” Dr. McGrath said. He turned and walked away, ducking into his tent at the end of the row.
The minister seemed bewildered. He stared at the row of tents for a long moment as if unsure what to do next. “Well,” he finally said, “
Julia warned me that he was a difficult man to converse with.”
Phoebe’s mind stirred from its state of numbed shock when he mentioned her friend a second time. She wanted desperately to ease the tension, to replace the suspicion and ugliness with something pleasant. “I know Julia Hoffman, too,” she said. “We worked at the same hospital.”
“She’s my fiance e,” the minister said offhandedly, his mind obviously still on the doctor. “We were engaged to be married this past fall.”
Phoebe remembered how Julia had longed to find a man who loved her for herself, not for her beauty. Reverend Greene was very handsome. They would make quite a couple. And surely a minister would look at the good in a person and love Julia for all the right reasons, wouldn’t he?
“When you write to her,” Phoebe said, “tell her I’m real happy for her. She’s an awful good nurse, you know. She did a lot of good and saved a lot of lives.”
He frowned. “Yes, I know.” Something Phoebe had said made him uncomfortable, but she didn’t know what. “I had no idea Julia was working with a doctor with such an unsavory past,” the minister said. “Thank God she’s no longer with him.”
“You believe that soldier’s story?” Phoebe said in surprise. “You think the doctor really murdered somebody?”
“Well, if there was any other explanation, I see no reason why Dr. McGrath wasn’t willing to tell us and clear his name.”
A sick feeling of dread for the doctor slowly crawled through her. Surely the minister wouldn’t allow a lynching. “What are you going to do about all of this?” she asked.
“Well, I’ll have to contact the authorities in Connecticut and see if he’s a fugitive. If so, it will be up to the provost marshal to take care of it, not me.”
“I don’t believe it,” Phoebe said. “I don’t believe he would shoot someone like that. Or if he did do it, he’s changed an awful lot since then. I ain’t afraid of him, and the men don’t need to be afraid, either. God can change people, Reverend. I read where Peter was running scared and saying he didn’t even know Jesus, but afterwards Jesus forgave him and gave him another chance. Can’t people give Dr. McGrath another chance, too? He’s already saved thousands of lives, and he’ll save a lot more if you don’t lock him up in prison. Ain’t we supposed to forgive people?”
“Are you preaching to me, Miss Bigelow?” He smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “At any rate, it isn’t up to me. It’s up to a judge and jury to decide.”
Dr. McGrath had said the same thing to Phoebe when she’d asked why he’d saved her life. He hadn’t believed that she was a coward. He hadn’t judged her, and she didn’t want to judge him, either. After the minister left, she slowly walked down the long row to the doctor’s tent.
“Dr. McGrath?” she called. “It’s me, Phoebe Bigelow. Can I talk to you?”
“Come in.” He sat alone inside the tent on a campstool, rubbing his eyes. “If you have any doubts about me, Phoebe,” he said quietly, “if you’re afraid to work with me now, I’ll understand.”
“No, sir. I ain’t afraid. I just come to say I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you’d ever kill anybody.” He nodded slightly and closed his eyes. But not before Phoebe saw the look of pain in them. “That’s all. So I reckon I’ll just go check on our patients now.”
As she ducked through the door again, she thought she heard him say, “Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Brandy Station, Virginia
May 1864
The battle in the Virginia Wilderness began just a few days later, giving Phoebe little time to worry about what would happen to Dr. McGrath. Their field division hospital crossed the Rapidan River, following the advancing army, and they were quickly overwhelmed with wounded men to treat. From everything those poor souls told her, it appeared that the fierce fighting taking place in the dense woods was a living nightmare of horror and confusion.
The battle was with the thick, tangled undergrowth as much as with the Rebels. There was no clear path, few places to take cover, and no distinct battle lines. The confused, disorganized men fought desperately, heroically, sometimes hand-to-hand, using bayonets or the butts of their rifles. Even seasoned veterans told Phoebe that it was the most horrifying battle they’d ever fought. And it went on and on, without a victory.
Late in the afternoon, Phoebe crouched to help a man who’d had part of his hand shot off and immediately recognized him. It was her old friend Sergeant Anderson. For a long moment she couldn’t speak, afraid he would recognize her, afraid she was going to be in terrible trouble. Then her concern for his suffering took over.
“It’s good that the bleeding stopped,” she told him, “but it’s gonna be a while before the surgeons can take a look at you. I can give you some whiskey in the meantime, or there’s morphine if the pain’s too bad.”
He was sweating and white with shock, but he said, “Whiskey’s okay. Save the strong stuff for those who really need it.”
She put the cup in his good hand and helped him take a drink. He was studying her. “You look familiar,” he said between swallows. “Do I know you, ma’am?”
Phoebe decided to lie. It was easier that way. She asked him which company he was in, and when he told her she said, “You must know my brother, Ike Bigelow.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s it. I do see a family resemblance. You twins or something?”
She nodded vaguely.
“I’m sorry about Ike going missing, ma’am. I don’t know if you ever heard about it or not, but he was a good man and a brave soldier. Best marksman I ever met.”
Phoebe’s heart pounded with fear and dread as she prepared to ask the sergeant her next question. She needed to know the answer, but she was terrified to ask, terrified to hear his reply. “Um …Ike always used to write and tell me about his friend Ted Wilson. How’s he doing these days?”
“Wilson turned out to be a real good soldier, too. He tried very hard to find out what happened to your brother. Wouldn’t give up looking for him for the longest time. He was pretty broken up over his disappearance.”
“Is Ted still alive? Is he all right?” She held her breath. Her heart seemed to stop beating as she waited for his reply.
“I had coffee with him this morning, right before this mess started.”
Phoebe rose to her feet and fled, unable to utter a word. When she reached the supply wagon, she sank down behind it and wept. Ted was alive, grinning his boyish smile, drinking the awful coffee he always made. She cried with happiness and longing until she had no tears left.
A few hours later, Phoebe overheard two stretcher-bearers explaining to Dr. McGrath how the wounded soldier they’d just brought in had been badly burned. “The rifle fire was so heavy it set the woods on fire. We got this fella out, but most of the injured men who were laying in there couldn’t escape in time, and they burned to death.”
“It was terrible, Doc. We could hear them screaming for help, but we couldn’t get to them.”
“Are there more in there now?” the doctor asked.
“Yeah, but we can’t find them all because they’re scattered all over the woods.”
“We know where there’s a whole bunch of wounded men from a Pennsylvania regiment, but we can’t get to them.”
“Why not?” Dr. McGrath asked.
“The Rebels shoot at everything that moves. There’s a captain and about thirty of our wounded boys pinned down, and the Rebels fire at us whenever we try to go in after them.”
“Is it possible to take me to them? Could I treat them where they are?” he asked.
“The Rebels won’t care if you’re a doctor. They’ll shoot you for trying.”
“Wait here,” the doctor said. “I’ll get my bag.”
Phoebe trailed behind him as Dr. McGrath went to the medical supply wagon and quickly filled his bag with chloroform, morphine, bandages, and surgical instruments. “I want to go with you,” she told him.
“Not where there�
�s fighting, Phoebe,” he said without looking up. “This is as close to the battle lines as I ever want my nurses to get.”
“It’s my old regiment,” she said quietly. “Ted might be one of those wounded men.”
He looked up. “Is he the man whose life you saved once before?”
She nodded.
“You would risk your life to save him a second time?”
“I’d do it a hundred times. If you don’t let me go with you, I’ll go in there by myself.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he closed his bag and walked back to the waiting men. Phoebe simply followed.
The ambulance drove them as close as it could get, then the stretcher-bearers took them as far into the woods as they dared. Dr. McGrath walked in front of Phoebe for the rest of the way, ducking low and following the sound of moaning men as Rebel bullets whistled overhead and thudded into tree trunks. Curiously, Phoebe didn’t feel at all afraid.
They found the injured men lying in a hollow in a grove of trees. Ted was not among them. Several of the soldiers had already died, but Phoebe and Dr. McGrath quickly set to work helping the living. She gave them chloroform while he operated to remove any bullets. She passed around water and gave morphine, calmed and fed and comforted them as best she could. When it grew dark and the risk of sniper-fire lessened, she and Dr. McGrath walked back through the woods to fetch the stretcher-bearers.
As the two of them sat alone beside the road, waiting for the ambulance to return, Phoebe summoned the courage to ask him the question she’d been wondering all afternoon. “Why’d you take a chance like that, Dr. McGrath? You could’ve been killed. In fact, I almost think that’s what you were trying to do.”
“Perhaps I was,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
He sighed. “It takes less courage to end your life in a burst of glory than to face the mistakes you’ve made and start over.”
“But you can start over no matter how many mistakes you made,” she said. “I did.”
He shook his head.
“Remember that first night I helped you at the shantytown,” Phoebe asked, “and I read a Bible verse to you about being a new person? Remember that? You said to let you know if I ever found out what it meant. Well, I think I’m starting to figure it out.” She paused, and the soft hooting of an owl and the call of a whippoorwill seemed out of place after all the carnage that she’d seen that day.
