Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for ChristmasThe Secret PrincessTaming the Texas RancherAn Unlikely Union

by Winnie Griggs

  “Have you made your peace with God?” she asked gently. “Do you know Christ as your Savior?”

  “Now, darlin’,” he said, “you know I do. Made that decision a long time ago, I did.”

  He sputtered. Her shoulders trembled.

  “I love you, Anna.”

  “I love you....”

  Regret shot through Evan, a feeling he knew all too well. No wonder she begged me to save him. But who could have known she would have a sweetheart serving in the United States army?

  He moved closer, knowing there was nothing that could be done, yet wishing there was. His collar grew so tight that he had trouble breathing. Memories washed over him. The little lass was doing what he wished he could have done, what he should have done.

  Mary...

  The rattle began and the man struggled to draw his final breaths. She held on, steady to the end, his hand in hers. When the sergeant died, it was with a smile on his face.

  Only then did her unbridled tears fall. Evan stepped forward and closed the soldier’s eyes. When she looked up at him, he was pierced by grief.

  Despite knowing some rebel shell had caused all this, despite Andrew’s death and her being a citizen of this dreadful city, something inside him wished to comfort her. He realized up until now he hadn’t even bothered to learn her name.

  “I’m sorry, Anna.” He stumbled on the words. “I had no idea who he was.”

  She blinked once, twice, wiped her eyes. “Emily.”

  “Say again?”

  “My name is Emily.”

  She slowly regained her composure. Evan looked at her, befuddled. “He called you Anna.”

  “He mistook me for his wife. I didn’t have the heart to correct him.”

  Tears drying, she stood, methodically covering the man with his own bedroll. Evan could feel his anger building. He wasn’t certain for whom he felt the emotion, for the poor soldier who’d been mislead or for himself.

  He had felt sorry for a rebel.

  “You deliberately misrepresented yourself,” he said.

  “I told him what he wished to hear.”

  “Aye. I’m certain that came quite easily. You Baltimore women are skilled in the art of treachery.”

  She flinched. He knew his words had stung.

  “He prayed he would see his beloved Anna once more,” she said. “Would you have me deny the final wish of a dying man?”

  “Are you in the place of God? Have you the power to grant requests as you see fit?”

  Her cheeks flushed red. She looked as though she would fire back once again, but he didn’t give her the opportunity.

  “Go report to Dr. Turner, and for goodness’ sake, do your best not to cause any more trouble!”

  Without further word, she turned. He went back to work.

  * * *

  I was not trying to cause trouble! Emily swallowed back the words, those and many more, as she stomped away. There is no point reasoning with a man like him. Arrogant...hardheaded...I don’t care how skilled a physician he is! I wish the army would send him on!

  She made her way to Dr. Turner’s section of the dock. There a horde of Federal soldiers was keeping guard over the Confederate men lining up for the three-mile march to Fort McHenry. Dr. Turner was treating the last of the superficial wounds.

  “Dr. Mackay said I should now report to you,” Emily told him.

  He tied a bandage around a young soldier’s arm. “Wonderful,” he said without looking up. “Go and help Miss Elizabeth. I am certain she must be quite tired by now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  If Dr. Mackay had meant for her relocation to be a punishment, it was not. Emily would gladly work under Dr. Turner any day.

  She saw Elizabeth at a distance, armed with a drinking gourd and a bucket of water. She was going to each dust-covered man. When Emily caught her eye, she smiled, then motioned to another water bucket nearby. Emily quickly grabbed it.

  Thanks to the combination of the altercation with the ill-tempered Scotsman and the blazing sun, Emily’s head was now pounding. She wanted to rest but dared not do so. The Federal soldiers had given orders. Already the column of ragtag Confederates was beginning to march. Emily hurried to give a drink to as many of them as possible before they departed.

  She offered some to a Virginia man and a Tennessean. A shoeless old man from Alabama tipped his slouch hat but then gave the cup to his exhausted comrade beside him.

  “God bless ya, miss.”

  “God keep you, sir.”

  The afternoon heat was stifling. Emily’s cotton dress clung to her and her petticoats felt more like wet wool than light silk. The column moved faster. Several men in tow struck up the song “Bonnie Blue Flag,” but they were stopped by the Federals before they could reach the first Hurrah! She ladled out the water as fast as she could, but by now her stomach was rolling. Was it her imagination or was the ground shifting beneath her feet?

  “Steady there, girl!” Dr. Turner suddenly tugged her back from the marching men. He felt her cheeks and forehead. “I fear the sun has taken its toll on you. You need to rest. Your face is like a New England lobster!”

  Her knees were unsteady, her eyesight fuzzy. Something was terribly wrong. She knew she needed to sit. But if I take leave, they will be a nurse short. It will mean more work for everyone else, less care for Confederate men.

  “When was the last time you had anything to drink?” Dr. Turner asked.

  Elizabeth appeared over his shoulder. She, too, looked concerned.

  Emily struggled to put thoughts into words. “I...I...”

  “Come now. Let’s find you a nice, quiet place—”

  “But Dr. Mackay said—”

  “I am certain Evan agrees with me. Don’t you, young man?”

  Oh, no... The heavy bucket slipped out of her hands, water spilling all over the cobblestone. As Emily hurried to right it, her eyes darkened.

  A strong pair of arms swept her upward.

  * * *

  She awoke sometime later to the feel of a cool cloth on her forehead. Elizabeth was hovering over her, a palmetto fan in her hand.

  “Where am I?” Emily asked when her vision fully cleared. The room was small, relatively quiet. She had never seen it before.

  “Dr. Mackay’s room.”

  “What?” Emily ran her fingers over the rough muslin sheet. She was aghast at the thought of occupying his cot, mortified when she saw her stockings tossed across a nearby chair.

  “It was the only place right now that offered any privacy,” Elizabeth insisted. “He deposited you here, then told me how to care for you.”

  Emily’s embarrassment subsided, but only somewhat. “Did he order you to deliver me to Fort McHenry upon my recovery?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “For my prison term. He calls me a woman of treachery and finds me incompetent at that.”

  “He must not find you that treacherous. He said I was to do everything in my power to bring about your swift recovery.”

  Emily blinked and slowly raised up on her elbows. She was still a little light-headed. “He said that?”

  Elizabeth removed the cloth, soaked it in the nearby wash basin. She then thrust a cup of cold water under Emily’s nose. “Drink,” she commanded sweetly.

  The water slid down her parched throat. Emily downed the entire contents in two very unladylike gulps.

  “He even went to the cook and secured these.” Elizabeth handed her two fresh peaches and a slice of hardtack. “He said to eat it all, though I would seriously reconsider the hardtack, especially if you want to keep all of your teeth.”

  Emily giggled. If anyone knew how to make her laugh, it was Elizabeth, though few people knew that. The girl always played the role of a refined young lady in public.

  Rising to a sitting position ever so slowly, she leaned back against the wall. She started in on the peach. It tasted ever so sweet.

  “Have mercy.” Her friend chuckled, peering close. “Dr.
Turner said your face was as red as a lobster. I believe he was right.”

  “Wonderful.” Emily shuddered to think of what fate she would have met had Julia not given her the bonnet when she did.

  Emily offered her friend the second peach but Elizabeth protested.

  “Eat it,” Emily insisted, “or you may be the next to fall.”

  They ate the fruit, soaked the hardtack in the water, then nibbled on the soggy remains. While doing so, Emily glanced around Dr. Mackay’s room. The space was completely bare. There were no photographs of family or friends, no testaments of faith. There was nothing that revealed any clue to who he was beyond the medical book on the corner desk and the blue army frock coat on the peg behind the door.

  She thought what a contradiction he was. One moment he was scolding her for kindness shown to a dying man, the next he was going out of his way to tend to her needs.

  She cringed. He has more important matters to oversee than my needs. There is a dock full of wounded outside. More probably on the way. Scooting to the edge of the cot, she said to Elizabeth, “Hand me my stockings, will you?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I need to get back to work.”

  “Oh, no you don’t! Dr. Mackay gave strict orders that once you regain your strength you are to leave the hospital. Sam and Julia are waiting to escort you home.”

  Emily leaned back against the wall, air slowly leaking from her lungs. Now I see...

  The Federal doctor wasn’t fussing over her health because he valued her skills as a nurse. She was a “rebel” and he was using the excuse of her frailty to get rid of her.

  * * *

  Now a nurse short and faced with a dock full of army bureaucrats who wouldn’t even consider the thought of adapting to new medical procedures, Evan struggled to tend to the battle wounded in sections not his own.

  Every lad in blue reminded him of Andrew and every one that he came upon too late made him curse this war and the rebels who had started it all. Were it not for them he would be home in Pennsylvania, back in his little two-room office, stitching up the busted knees of little boys playing war.

  At the end of the day he would put out the lamps and gallop home. The wheat fields would be ripe for harvest, the sky vast and blue, much like the old country itself. At his doorpost Mary would be waiting. She would seize him, kiss him full on the lips. Then she would take his hand and lead him to the kitchen, where supper would be waiting on the stove. There would be fresh bread, beef stew, peach pie. Afterward they would sit by the fire. She would coax him into reading Burns, and he would promise her shelter and love and that she would always be his queen.

  He had failed her on all three promises. For Evan knew if he had truly been a man of his word he would have heeded her warning.

  “Forgive, my love. You are actin’ out of anger. You seek revenge, you do. Not justice.”

  He wouldn’t listen. The army had to stop the rebellion, had to preserve the Union, and he had to do his part. “I must go. This enemy is relentless. More boys will fall.”

  “Aye,” she’d said. “And they will need a competent physician, but tending to them will not ease your heart. It will not bring Andrew back to you.”

  She was right, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

  The man before him, a New Yorker, flinched.

  “Hold still now, lad,” Evan said to him. “I’ll be as quick and as nimble as I can.”

  “Yes, Doc.”

  The soldier was sporting a gash from his ear to his chin, courtesy of a rebel bayonet. It had been sutured poorly at the field hospital and the stitches had ripped open. Evan did his best to mend the damage done, to reassure the man.

  “Don’t worry now. Your lass will view your scar as a mark of bravery and honor.”

  Or at least he hoped she would. Evan had been telling the same story to every U.S. soldier for the past two years.

  Though not a day went by that he didn’t regret his decision to leave Mary, he did the best he could to make a difference. He had patched up the Army of the Potomac one battle at a time, cared for men throughout General McClellan’s blunders and now George Meade’s glory. He knew that his medical skill had served to save lives...but his stubborn insistence on leaving Pennsylvania behind to join in the war had cost him the life he valued above all others.

  Evan hoped somehow God would forgive him for his foolishness. But so far, I continue to pay for my sins...

  He could almost hear Mary’s voice in his ear. Forgiveness doesn’t come by way of earnin’ it. It comes by askin’.

  But asking and receiving are two different matters, Evan thought. And God has seen fit to say no or else He would not have sent me to Baltimore.

  The sun finally dipped low in the hazy, midsummer sky. Whatever men could be brought inside were moved. Steamers carried a vast number to points north and a steady stream of rebel prisoners were marched to the makeshift prison pens at Fort McHenry. Of those that still remained on the docks, most of them were rebs. They were guarded by sentinels and looked after by the night nurses, who were now coming on duty.

  Bone-weary, skin blistered from all day in the sun, Evan climbed the staircase to his quarters, suddenly recalling the woman he had left in them. He had forgotten the little Southern miss until now. He was pleased to find she no longer occupied the room. He didn’t want to look at another person in need. Closing the door solidly behind him, he hoped to shut out the sounds of moaning, the stench of rebellion. He turned for his bed.

  There on the cot, atop freshly smoothed sheets, lay a letter addressed to him. The script was precise yet gentle.

  I thank you most graciously for your kindness and expertise shown today on my behalf. I apologize for any inconvenience I have caused you. I will adhere to your strict order of two days convalescence at home. Thereafter, I shall return to the hospital, eager to resume any and all duties.

  It was signed, “Most appreciatively, Emily E. Davis.”

  Evan crumbled the note and tossed it to the desk. He wondered what her high-society friends would think when they beheld her sun-spotted face, wondered how many cries she would utter over the loss of her flawless white skin when it began to peel.

  She’ll reconsider her nursing duties when her Southern gentlemen no longer find her attractive. Then the army can fill her position with a loyal volunteer.

  * * *

  Emily couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so long or so heavily. It must have been sometime before the war. She woke to find a tray of fresh greens and chicken. Evidently she had missed breakfast all together and Abigail had sent up dinner instead.

  The fever from the sun’s effects had finally passed, but the skin on her face was now as tight as a drum. Though her stomach was rumbling, she took only small bites. Working her mouth was painful, and yawning, excruciating.

  After eating she slipped on a comfortable corded petticoat and wrapper. One look in the mirror confirmed what she had feared; skin so parched and peeling it was hideous to look at. She tried to brush her hair, but her scalp rebelled at the task. Leaving it loose about her shoulders, she headed downstairs.

  The house was quiet, but Emily found Abigail in the kitchen, a bushel basket of peaches at her feet and a pot of steaming water on the stove.

  “Hello, Abigail,” Emily said as she deposited the meal tray on the table.

  Her friend took one look at her and gasped. “Law, Emily...”

  “I know,” she said quickly. “But it is only temporary. Trust me. I have seen much worse on the soldiers.”

  “I ’magine that, but they used to it...all that marchin’. A lady’s skin should be soft, like these here peaches.”

  She tossed a few into the boiling water, then just as quickly immersed them into cold. The skins slipped easily off, revealing soft flesh.

  “Wish I could do that.”

  “Reckon you do. I got some salve that might help. Want me to fetch it?”

  “Not now, but thank you.�
� Emily scooped out the blanched fruit, then as it cooled, began to chop. “You have a whole bushel?”

  “There’s more than that.” Abigail pointed to the corner of the kitchen. Several baskets lined the wall.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “One of your father’s clients.”

  “That was generous.”

  “Um-hmm. Don’t know what we gonna do with all of ’um though. Only so much jam and cobbler a family can eat.”

  A thought popped into Emily’s head. It must have entered Abigail’s mind at the same time, for she laid aside her spoon and said, “Reckon those soldiers at the hospital would care for some pie?”

  Emily smiled, though it was painful to do so. “I was just thinking the same. They are all starved for reminders of home, the guards and stewards, as well. Elizabeth says visitors to her ward have brought in food and they were met with great response.”

  But therein lay the problem. I do not serve in Elizabeth’s ward. What Dr. Turner will welcome, Dr. Mackay more than likely will not.

  “Reckon we ought to fix a special pie for that Yankee doctor of yours?”

  “Abigail, you are a wise woman.” It may be bribery, and Dr. Mackay may recognize it as such, but Emily was willing to risk his ire for the possibility of showing kindness to the Confederate men. “What man in his right mind would turn down a homemade pie? Especially one living off of army rations? I’ll start on the crust.”

  Abigail giggled. “Might wanna add plenty-a sugar.”

  “Splendid idea. Maybe we can sweeten him up a little.”

  Perhaps then he wouldn’t be so eager to be rid of her.

  * * *

  Before the breakfast trays had even been delivered, Evan entered the room to find the prisoners eating. In shock, he stood for a moment and stared. It was peach pie, of all things. In between bites the men were reminiscing out loud about jam, cobbler or any other kitchen delight their wife, sweetheart or mother had ever baked.

  Even the rebel major seemed to enjoy his slice. Evan watched as he cast his sister a glance and offered the faintest hint of a smile. He knew he should be pleased to see some sort of progress on the Johnny’s part, but he wasn’t. The sight of rebels enjoying themselves was too much for him.