* * *
As Emily raked the scrub brush across the filthy floor she dealt with Dr. Mackay’s temper the only way she knew how. She prayed for him. Actually, she prayed more for herself than for the man.
Oh Lord, please give me grace. I can’t work alongside him without it.
Dealing with the Federal army’s disdainful attitude toward Confederate men was nothing new, but most of the guards, doctors and hospital commanding officers were professional enough to keep their words to themselves or at least voice their condemnation outside the wards.
Some even took pity on the wounded souls and showed them kindness. Jeremiah Wainwright, a young steward who Emily knew to be a Christian, was such a man. Dr. Jacob Turner was another. He was a good-natured New Englander who treated the Confederates not as prisoners or scientific studies, but as men.
Just yesterday Emily had been called to his section, to assist as he probed a North Carolina man’s back for shrapnel. The poor soldier had leaned upon her, trying not to flinch while Dr. Turner carefully extracted the metal.
“Do I hurt you?” the old man had asked considerately.
“Not too terribly,” the soldier had said.
Emily had known by the tightness of his muscles that the Carolina man wasn’t exactly telling the truth, but because of Dr. Turner’s gentle demeanor and a story of snapping New England lobsters, he’d been able to endure the painful procedure without crying out or fainting.
If only Dr. Mackay could be more like that, she thought. A little kindness would go a long way to promote healing and to foster interest in eternal matters.
Though a few ragtag Bibles lay at the bedsides of the men, Emily knew many in this hospital were starved for spiritual comfort. In the past year, she had held the hands of the dying, both Confederate and Federal alike. She had sat with those who’d lost their dearest friends on the battlefield, who then asked, “Where is God in all this terrible suffering?”
She gave them the only answer she could. “Right here grieving with you.”
The will of God made no sense at times to Emily. Why He had allowed war to come instead of an end to slavery, then a peaceful compromise of ideals, was unknown to her.
She dared to glance at Dr. Mackay. How long the hostilities continue will, I suppose, depend on men like him. The intimidating physician was now standing at Edward’s bed, perusing his wounds with a look of cold indifference. Julia sat her post, pale and frightened. Emily hurried to finish her scrubbing so she might join her friend. In her delicate condition the last thing Julia needed was to hear that man’s sharp, condemning tongue.
The dinner bell rang, calling all officers to the dining hall. Emily breathed a sigh of relief when Dr. Mackay exited the room. She put away her brush and bucket and went to her friend.
“What a horrible man,” Julia whispered. “There is no compassion in him. He looked at Edward as if he were nothing more than a stray dog.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Emily touched Edward’s forehead gently. The fever was going down. “He is much cooler.”
“Oh, thank the Lord.”
Within a matter of moments the rest of their friends appeared: Sally and the Martin sisters, Trudy and Elizabeth, and Rebekah Van der Geld, the only one of them who staunchly supported the Federal army’s occupation of Baltimore. Each had come to inquire of Edward. As they clustered around his bed, Emily couldn’t help but remember with fondness the times the six of them had met for knitting and needlework in each other’s homes.
Such happy times.
But the joyful emotions of the past were tempered by today’s reality. The girls had not gathered to decide which dress pattern from Godey’s Lady’s Book would attract a handsome beau’s attention, nor were they there to knit socks for their glorious, invincible army.
We are here to tend to one of its wounded, she thought sadly.
Try as she might, Emily’s eyes kept drifting to the place where Edward’s left arm should be. Apparently Sally was having the same difficulty. Her eyes were watering.
“He stirred slightly,” Julia told them. “When that doctor was standing over him.”
“That is good,” Emily said. “Soon he will wake.”
Sally drew in a quick breath and lifted her chin. “We should pray for him and then go about our business. It won’t fare him well to have us all hovering over him when he wakes.”
Emily agreed. They should give Edward his privacy. She couldn’t help but also think, And if Dr. Mackay returns from his meal to find us clustered about instead of busy with some task, he will surely spew his venom upon us all. That won’t be good for Julia or her child.
Trudy, Elizabeth and Rebekah all nodded in agreement. Rebekah offered to begin the prayer. The women clasped hands. One by one they prayed for Edward’s recovery and for the rest of the wounded men of this hospital. When no Federal soldier was close enough to overhear, Elizabeth and Trudy each whispered a plea for their brother, George, also a member of the Maryland Guard. As far as everyone knew, he had survived the Pennsylvania battle and returned safely to Virginia. Sally then prayed for Stephen; his whereabouts were still unknown.
“Try to keep faith,” Trudy said, hugging her after they had finished. “God knows exactly where Stephen is.”
“I know. I take comfort in that.”
Before they could go their separate ways, Jeremiah Wainwright approached. “Ladies,” he said, “forgive me for intruding, but I’ve just come from the dining hall. They are presently serving the nurses. If you don’t go quickly, there won’t be anything left for you to eat.”
They all knew he was speaking truth. They had each learned the hard way to eat when called or go hungry.
“Thank you, Jeremiah,” Emily said. “We appreciate the warning.”
He smiled and tipped his blue kepi. “You are quite welcome. And don’t worry, I’ll keep track of your charges, especially the major here.”
She believed he would, and so Emily turned to Julia.
“Come with us. Have a bite to eat.”
She shook her head, unwilling to leave her brother’s side. “I’ll stay. Samuel will arrive shortly and I want to be here when Edward wakes.”
Her husband, Samuel, joined her each day after his work as a teacher at the Rolland Park men’s seminary was complete. Her parents came in the early evening, as well. Julia’s father, Dr. Thomas Stanton, worked in the private hospital across town. He was busy caring for his own load of wounded, most of them Federal soldiers from wealthy families or those with high political connections.
“I understand. Shall I fetch you something?”
“No. Thank you. I am not hungry.”
Emily gave her hand a squeeze. Then she followed her fellow nurses to the dining hall.
* * *
His food wasn’t sitting well. Evan wondered if it was the stewed blackberries, which had obviously been picked too early, or the sight of the carts and laborers moving along Pratt Street. He stared out the window.
The army supply wagons and the countless crates stamped U.S. Christian Commission bore witness to the activities of today, but all Evan could think about was a day two years ago last April. His brother, Andrew, was newly trained and eager for action. He was unaware that such would come by way of a bloodthirsty mob while he and his regiment were en route to Washington.
Andrew had been one of the first to answer President Lincoln’s call for volunteers. He’d wanted to preserve the Union. When he and his fellow soldiers had tried to pass through Baltimore, the local citizens made it quite apparent which side they had chosen. As Andrew and the others had marched toward the Washington trains, a crowd had surrounded them. They were soon pelted with rocks, bottles and paving stones.
The Northern men had exercised restraint, but when the citizens had grabbed for their guns, the soldiers did what anyone would have done. They’d defended themselves. When the smoke had cleared, several boys in blue were dead, along with eleven rebels. The Baltimoreans had then had the audac
ity to claim the shots fired were unprovoked.
Just thinking of what had taken place made Evan’s fists clench. He knew he should leave the window, spend his remaining moments of the dining break in some other place, but try as he might, he could not pull his eyes from the street. Where exactly had Andrew fallen?
His eyes scanned the street before him. Traffic pulsed. City life moved at a steady pace. Men in scrap shirts with slouch hats set low on their foreheads lugged sacks of grain to and from the nearby wharf.
Were any of them present that day? Were any of them part of that murderous mob?
He bit down hard, teeth against teeth. The only emotion stronger than the anger he felt toward rebels was the emptiness in his heart.
If only I had been there. I could have saved him. I would have recognized the signs that the pressure was building in his brain. I could have drained the blood. He didn’t have to die.
And then his thoughts turned to another. Mary...
The memory of her face, her pleading words, burned through his mind. Just as he’d never forgive those thugs for Andrew’s death, he would never forgive himself for leaving his wife behind.
* * *
By the time Emily returned to the ward, Edward had opened his eyes. Her initial joy was tempered by the quiet pain she heard in Julia’s voice.
“I promise you, Edward. It will be all right.”
He turned from her sharply, setting his face toward the wall. The bandaged knob at the end of his shoulder stood out like a regimental flag.
A lump wedged in the back of Emily’s throat, but she moved toward him. She bent to his level, her skirts folding to the floor.
“Edward,” she said softly. “It is me, Emily.”
His blue eyes, once so gallant and full of life, were now vacant, almost spiritless. He blinked but did not acknowledge her presence.
“Are you in any pain?”
He blinked again. Emily’s heart was breaking. She knew Julia’s was, as well. She dared not look to her grief-stricken face. Emily knew if she did, she herself would break down. I have to remain strong. I am here to give comfort, not to be in need of it myself.
Carefully, methodically, she felt his forehead. He was much cooler. Thank You, Lord.
“Here,” Emily said to him. “Let me fetch you something to drink. I am certain you are thirsty.”
She reached for a nearby pitcher and filled a tin cup with water. She offered it to him, but Edward simply stared past her, no reply. By now Emily was beginning to wonder if he was even aware of her presence.
Perhaps it is the effects of the ether. She set the cup on the table, peered closely into his face. Edward’s eyes registered a startled reaction. They held hers for a quick second, then pulled away. In that brief time Emily saw a storm of emotions there.
He is aware of his reality, she thought. All too well.
There were times when it was wise to draw a man out of his solitude, but Emily sensed this was not one of them. She could only guess what Edward had witnessed on the battlefield, what actions had led him to this place. She wanted to ask about Stephen but knew there would be time for questions later.
She brushed her fingers gently through his hair. “Perhaps you will feel up to taking water later on. For now, just rest.”
Still he only blinked. Emily drew the sheet to his chest, mindful of his bandages, then moved to the side of the bed where Julia stood. She stared pitifully at her brother’s back. Emily gave her a gentle squeeze.
“Try not to be discouraged,” she whispered. “He is alert and the fever has broken.”
Julia nodded slowly but her face was as pale as January snow. “Will you send for our father?”
“Of course. Straightaway.” Emily agreed with her friend’s assessment. Edward needed his family now.
She moved toward the door. Sally was peeking through it.
“Is he awake?” she asked the moment Emily stepped into the corridor.
“Yes.”
Sally breathed a shallow sigh. “Is he speaking? Did he mention Stephen?”
Emily did not wish to upset her, but she knew the truth was best. If she were in Sally’s place, she would want to know.
“I am afraid he has not spoken at all. That is why I did not think it wise to ask about Stephen just yet. The battle seems to have damaged not only Edward’s body but his mind, as well.”
Her chin began to quiver.
“I’m sorry,” Emily said gently.
Sally quickly wiped her eyes and garnered her composure. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Julia requested that we send for her father.”
“I will see to that.”
“Can you manage? We could ask one of the other volunteers.”
Sally shook her head. “Dr. Turner will not mind. He has a soft spot for me. He knows Edward is our friend, and he told me if I had need of anything only to ask.”
Thank the Lord for small kindnesses, Emily thought.
“Tell Julia I will be as quick as I can.” She turned and descended the staircase. Emily quickly went back to the ward. Dr. Mackay had also returned.
“Nurse!” he called, waving her over.
I do have a name, she thought.
Nevertheless, she went to him. He was in the process of resetting a Virginia man’s broken leg. Having placed the limb in the fracture box, Dr. Mackay handed her a small sack. It looked as if it had come from the hospital kitchen.
“Fill the box with oat bran. It will support the leg and collect any further drainage from the wound.”
“Yes, Dr. Mackay.”
Emily promptly went to work, trying her best to smile at the wounded Virginian while ignoring the scowling Federal doctor beside her. When she finished the task, she looked to him. She expected another order, but he simply grunted and moved on to the next man.
She went back to Edward.
Her friend still lay with his back to his sister. Julia held her place in the chair beside him, a palmetto fan in one hand, a Bible in the other. She waved the fan faithfully over his head while she sought her own comfort in Scripture.
Emily watched them for a moment, but when Julia made no gesture or request she quietly backed away. Concern weighed heavily upon her. Edward’s mind-set was disturbing. She had seen some soldiers following the battle of Antietam who had recovered physically from their wounds but were never able to reenter life. When the memories of mortar shells and musket fire became too vivid, they often retreated into dark, private worlds, where no loved one or enemy could ever find them again.
“The water pitchers need to be filled,” she heard Dr. Mackay say as he brushed past her.
For a moment Emily considered reporting her observations but she realized any competent physician would have already recognized Edward’s condition. If she spoke up it would seem that she doubted his skills. She dare not call his judgment into question—at least not yet. For now, Emily thought it best just to keep her eye on her friend and stay out of the ill-tempered doctor’s way.
Chapter Two
All meals were now finished. Emily helped Jeremiah and the orderlies remove the last of the men’s food trays. Afterward she changed three dressings, then wrote a letter for another Maryland man.
As soon as she had completed that task, Freddy was brought in from surgery. He was already awake, sick to his stomach and shivering with fever. Emily was thankful he was still alive, but it grieved her to see him suffering so. She sat beside him with a basin and repeatedly wiped his face as he emptied what precious little was in his stomach. When the violence finally subsided, she settled him in his bed, then went to comfort Jimmy, who had been watching the entire time.
“He gonna be all right, Miss Emily? Will the sickness pass soon?”
“It will,” she promised. “In fact, his eyes are already clearing.”
“That’s good.” He fell back to his pillow. “Thank you for prayin’ for him. It’s hard seein’ him without his leg, but I’m real grateful the Good Lor
d’s left him here with me.”
“Indeed, Jimmy. So am I.”
She tucked him in and moved on. The day had been long and difficult. Fatigue slowed her steps and worry darkened her mind.
Where is Sally’s brother? she wondered. Is he misplaced in one of the field hospitals? Has he been captured or is he wandering around somewhere cut off from the Confederate army?
“Lord, please bring Stephen home. Please comfort Edward—”
“Miss Emily?”
She turned to see Private Robert Stone, another Maryland man, looking at her. Emily immediately went to him. A minié ball had shattered his right knee.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
“No, miss. I’m alright. I just heard you praying for Major Stanton and Captain Hastings.”
Emily blushed. She had not meant to speak the prayer aloud. I must be more careful. She was, after all, a volunteer in a Federal army hospital. There were many here who would disapprove of her prayers for Confederate soldiers.
“I know the major’s not doing so well,” Rob said. “I think perhaps, well...I think he feels responsible.”
Her skin prickled. Responsible? She sat down on the edge of his bed. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I think he feels responsible for the captain and the others.”
Emily’s pulse quickened. This was the first time anyone had mentioned Sally’s brother. Did Rob know what had become of him? She glanced about for Dr. Mackay. If Stephen was hiding out somewhere, she didn’t want that man or anyone else in blue to know.
The Scotsman was at the far end of the room, checking on a sergeant with a terrible cough. His ears were plugged by his stethoscope. Jeremiah had gone to the kitchen, and the sentinel at the door was well out of earshot.
Emily looked back at Rob. “Captain Hastings was reported on the lists as missing. Do you know what has become of him?”
He swallowed. “I’m afraid I do, miss.”
Her heart immediately sank. Oh, no. Rob was undoubtedly struggling to tell her what she could already guess.
“Is he dead?”
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