They are planning something. I am convinced of it. And when I catch them, those two rebs will be sorry they ever crossed the United States army.
The afternoon passed slowly. Finally the dinner bell sounded. Evan picked at his meal, while others around him engaged in banter and periodically tried to draw him in. He endured the conversation for a few moments, then left the table. Emily would be arriving shortly. He wanted to speak with her.
She was already in the ward when he returned. Having arrived early, she was restocking the supply cabinet. He approached her.
“Did you reprimand Nurse Branson?”
Bandage roll suspended in midair, she turned to look at him. Evan caught just a hint of lilac water. The scent was lovely, but he did his best to ignore it.
“I spoke with her last night,” she said.
“And?”
“She assured me that she would think twice concerning her actions, lest they be misinterpreted.”
“Oh, there is no misinterpreting them.”
The look in her eyes at that moment caused him to think he had wounded her in some way. What did I say? We discussed the Branson girl’s infatuation with the Florida reb just last night. You agreed with my assessment.
Her pink mouth shifted slightly. Evan stared at it for longer than he should have. “Was there anything else that you wanted?” she asked.
“No,” he said quickly. “Nothing further. Just keep an eye on them both and fetch me if there is any trouble. I am going to get some sleep.”
* * *
Fetch me if there is trouble? What kind of trouble was he expecting? Did he think Maggie was planning some sinister revenge for making Lewis empty chamber pots and scrub windows? Or did he think the man would dash from his bed, wield a knife and slay all supporters of Lincoln before sunrise?
Emily sighed. Will he ever see beyond the uniforms to the people beneath?
The night was a long one, the air humid and stale. She moved about, reading requested passages from the Psalms. Most of the men were then able to sleep. Ben, however, continued to toss and turn. Emily asked if he would like to talk or if there was anyone to whom he would like to write. He shook his head no and rolled to his side.
Maggie had taken her post by a North Carolina man who’d developed wound fever. Emily sponged the forehead of another man sick with the same. Evan passed through the room twice that night, once with a sour glance for Maggie, the second with a cold reminder to her.
“Keep your eye on them both,” he whispered.
Whatever evil plot he thought would unfold did not happen. When Emily left the hospital the following morning, her shoulders sagged. A beautiful sunrise colored the horizon, but she found no joy in the coming day.
Joshua and Abigail were waiting on Pratt Street.
“You look tired,” Abigail immediately said.
“I am.” Emily climbed into the seat beside her. Joshua gave the reins a click. They rolled from the hospital.
“How’s that Yankee doctor?”
Abigail’s inquiry sparked a flurry of feelings, none of which Emily knew how to respond to. Her friend then clicked her tongue, smiled mischievously.
“What?” Emily asked.
“You. Trying to hide it. You don’t think I know?”
“Know what?”
Abigail gave her a look. “You’ve got your cap set for him.”
Embarrassment flooded Emily’s face. “I do not. It is nothing like that.”
“What is it then?”
She couldn’t say exactly—or rather, wouldn’t. The fact was Emily did have feelings for Evan, strong ones, at that. And if Abigail had noticed, had the rest of the girls, as well?
“He’s a Federal soldier, Abigail,” Emily insisted.
“And I’m a freeman’s bride. You my friend, ain’t ya?”
“Yes...but that’s different.”
“Don’t see how.” Abigail chuckled once more. “People are people. Don’t matter what skin they have or what clothes they wear.”
Deep down, she knew Abigail was right. There was more to Evan than that dreadful uniform and military bearing. She had seen glimpses of whom she believed to be the true man. But she knew full well any silly notion of some grand, romantic adventure while healing the wounds of humanity was ridiculous. He would not let go of his hate.
She told Abigail about how he treated Lewis and Maggie, how he still often spoke to her. She even told her about his brother.
“Sounds like you need to pray for him.”
“I have been.”
“But?”
“Well, he’s like the wounded soldiers, the ones who end up losing their arms and legs because of infection.”
“What do you mean?”
Emily’s throat tightened as tears threatened in her eyes. “Unforgiveness is slowly eating him up inside. I fear it will ultimately destroy him.”
Abigail slid her arm around her. “Don’t give up hope. Love is more powerful than hate. You just gotta keep believing that.”
When Emily returned to the hospital the following night, she tried to keep Abigail’s words in mind. Love could soften hearts, foster forgiveness. All things were possible with God’s grace.
Her faith, however, was severely tested that night. The heat was stifling and nearly every guard, prisoner and doctor was in a sour mood. Emily moved through the ward with a bucket of fresh water. Evan’s face held a particular scowl as she brought him a drink.
“I wish I had lemonade or cold tea to offer you,” she said, hoping to coax a smile.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and grunted. “That would be too good for them.”
Hiding her disappointment, Emily quietly walked away. She returned to her wounded charges.
Lewis and Maggie seemed to be the only cheerful people that night. She hummed a happy tune as she changed bandages. He fanned patients until the heat took its toll on him as well. His nightshirt was soaked and his body exhausted. Emily convinced him to return to his own cot.
“But they need me, Miss Emily,” he insisted.
“You won’t be able to help them if you become ill yourself. Get some sleep. I will wake you if need be.”
He was out in five minutes. Eventually the rest of the ward was snoring as well, all except Ben. He wrestled and punched his pillow for hours. Emily went to him. Tonight he seemed to welcome her company.
“What did you do before all of this?” he asked her.
She offered him a slight smile. “The same as other girls.”
He grinned. “I’ll bet you had a beau come calling every evening.”
Emily swatted the fly circling his bed. “Hardly,” she said. “What did you do before the fighting?”
“I worked the docks.”
“What, here?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know that you were a Baltimorean.”
“Oh yes. Born and raised. My brother, Jake, and I worked the wharf since we were fourteen. Then came the war.”
“Did Jake go with you?”
He shook his head. Sadness filled his eyes. “He died the day of the riot.”
Emily’s heart squeezed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I was back in one of the warehouses, seein’ to some bales of cotton. I didn’t know the trouble had started. Didn’t know then that the soldiers had fired upon our men.” He winced. “My brother died on the cobblestones.”
Tears clouded her eyes as she continued to listen.
“I enlisted the day we buried him,” Ben said. “Went to Virginia just like a lot of other fellas from around here.”
It was a story she had heard time and again, yet it never failed to bring a quiver to her chin. Little did anyone in this city realize then what far-reaching effects that dreadful riot would bring. Men like Ben Reed, like Edward and Stephen, donned gray and butternut. Men like Evan Mackay put on blue.
Two years had passed and the war still raged. The color of the uniforms made no d
ifference when it came to the scars. Each side carried them.
Ben’s thoughts then moved from his brother to his comrades. “A lot of good fellas have given their lives, yet my state’s still occupied by bluecoats.”
The thought crossed her mind that Evan would not like this conversation, but Emily decided to let Ben speak. Doing so had helped Edward. She hoped the same would be true for this man.
“Do you know that song they sing ’bout Maryland?” he asked.
“I do. The one set to ‘O Tannenbaum’?”
“That’s the one.”
Just days after the Pratt Street Riot a poem began circulating among the Southern newspapers. A Maryland man, living then in Louisiana, had heard of the bloodshed. Outraged, he had written words to express his feelings. Rumor told he was a literature teacher named James Ryder Randall, although his name appeared on none of the copies of the poem, nor the song sheets, as it was later set to music.
Her father had once shown Emily a copy of the score but then burned it, saying he was certain anyone caught with the lyrics would be arrested. He was right. Newspaper editors who had published the poem soon found themselves in the custody of the provost marshal, but the battle cry would not die.
“The fellas and me in my regiment used to sing it as we marched,” Ben said with a fond smile. “Wonder if I’ll ever see them again.”
“This war must end eventually.”
He nodded slowly. “Well when it does, I know what I’ll be singing....” He started in, “‘The despot’s heel is on thy shore, Maryland, my Maryland!’”
Emily stiffened. His singing was barely a whisper, but Confederate music was against hospital rules.
“His torch is at thy temple door...”
She knew she should stop him, but Ben’s face was so proud, so happy. She didn’t have the heart to take the song from him.
Emily cast a quick glance in the sentinel’s direction. He was far enough away that the music could not be heard. She was further relieved to see the man was dozing. He was the same guard who had nodded off the night Edward had attacked her.
I’ll wake him as soon as I finish speaking with Ben. Perhaps a little nap will put him in a better disposition, as well.
Ben continued. “‘Avenge the Patriotic gore that flecked the streets, of Baltimore and be the battle queen of yore, Maryland! My Maryland!’”
Emily glanced at Maggie. She appeared to be dozing, as well.
“This here’s my favorite verse,” Ben said. “Sing it with me. ‘Dear Mother! Burst thy tyrant’s chain, Maryland! My Maryland! Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland! My Maryland!’”
Emily thought of those soldiers who had interrupted Stephen’s funeral, how they had terrified her and everyone in her midst. As she then thought of her neighbors imprisoned unjustly, she was drawn into state patriotism. She joined him. “‘She meets her sisters on the plain—“Sic simper!” ’Tis the proud refrain—’”
“How dare you!”
The breath was ripped from her lungs. Hot coals of condemnation rained down on her the instant she heard Evan’s voice.
Heart pounding, Emily turned. “Dr. Mackay, I—”
“Get outside!” he ordered. “Immediately!”
Ben lay as pale and still as a corpse. The guard at the door was now fully awake. Emily knew they would be the next to incur the doctor’s wrath.
I should have stopped this when I had the chance, she thought.
She stepped into the hall. The light was dim but Emily didn’t need a lamp to see how angry Evan was. His face was as crimson as blood. That vein in his neck was bulging.
“What were you thinking?”
“Please let me explain—”
“There is no explanation which can possibly justify what you have done! A rebel battle song? You may as well have handed him a musket!”
“Please! It isn’t like that.”
“I heard you singing.”
“Yes, I joined in the song. I shouldn’t have, I know, but it isn’t what you think.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Then tell me what it is.”
Her mind was churning, her knees now trembling. I told Maggie not to do anything to jeopardize her position as a nurse and yet I have done exactly that. Emily desperately sought the words. She didn’t know what was worse, knowing she had indeed broken hospital rules or the disappointment she saw in his eyes. It cut her to the core.
“The man was troubled. He couldn’t sleep. He was remembering his fellow soldiers, how they used to sing—”
“And so you’d encourage continued sedition with a treasonous song?”
“No...it wasn’t like that, honestly.”
“Honesty? ’Tis a fine time for that. I trusted you!”
“Evan, please!”
“My name is Dr. Mackay. You would do well to remember that, Nurse Emily.”
She was desperate to make him understand. “He lost his brother in the Pratt Street Riot! He joined up just like you!”
His eyes burned with fire. Emily had never seen such a look of hatred before.
“That Johnny is nothing like me.”
Without further word, he snatched her arm. His grip was as tight as Edward’s, yet it hurt so much more for Evan was fully aware of what he was doing. She was no longer his nurse, his confidant. She was his enemy and would be treated accordingly.
He marched her through Dr. Turner’s wing. Heart in her throat, Emily feared she was going to be sick. Evan pushed through the doors and led her down another corridor. Ahead, four sentinels stood guard with muskets on their shoulders. They eyed her incredulously as Evan deposited her in front of them.
“Don’t let this woman out of your sight until I return.”
Shocked but obedient, the guards surrounded her. Evan stormed off. Emily then looked to the small window above one of her captor’s heads. The sun was rising, a new day dawning over Baltimore, but darkness had fallen over her. Her service as a nurse was over and any hope she had of knowing Evan Mackay’s love was gone.
* * *
He marched back toward the direction of his room. He needed to fetch his coat and kepi before appearing in front of his superior officers. He also needed a moment for his anger to subside. If he went in there ranting and raving they would think him a fool.
Yet that is exactly what I am. I am a fool for ever trusting her.
He told himself he should have known all along she was nothing more than a rebel. Her smiles, her cups of coffee and the secrets she carried for him were just a ploy to gain his confidence.
No telling what she was planning while weaving her web of feminine charm.
Yet as angry as he was, his thoughts betrayed him. He couldn’t help but think of the tears in her eyes, the sincerity of her voice when she’d tried to apologize, to explain. She’d admitted to breaking hospital rules and insisted she had only done so out of compassion, to ease a troubled man.
He couldn’t sleep. He lost his brother. He is just like you!
He had been run through with those words for he knew she had spoken truth. He was no different than that Johnny she had sung to. He also longed for someone to ease his pain.
Evan pushed his fingers through his unruly hair. Anger retreated as guilt charged forward. I shouldn’t have handled her that way, marching her to the guards. What she did was wrong, but does it really warrant bringing it to the attention of my commanding officers? Has any real harm been done?
As long as she doesn’t do something like that again... As long as that reb knows his music will not be tolerated....
He pushed open the door to his ward and glanced about. The Johnny in question was stone-still in his bed. In fact, they all were. The presence of Nurse Rebekah and several scrutinizing guards had put fear into them all.
His heart slowed. That was good enough for him.
I’ll go back and tell the guards it was a misunderstanding. I won’t report her. I’ll warn her to never do anything so foolish again.
<
br /> Just before he turned, Nurse Rebekah called out, “Dr. Mackay, a prisoner has escaped!”
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. His mouth soured as all charity toward Emily Davis drowned in a sea of hate. Evan looked to the bed of the Johnny convalescent. Lewis Thornton Powell was gone.
Chapter Eleven
A great commotion seized the hospital. Federal officers were shouting orders through the halls, although Emily could not fully hear what they said. Their commands came in snippets as they passed from room to room, floor to floor.
“Look sharp!”
“...effective immediately!”
“Make certain...”
“...and be quick about it!”
Armed soldiers scurried about, their brogans heavy on the boards. Only two guards now remained with her. The others had been pulled for other duties by a foulmouthed major, cursing rebels from the Mississippi to the Mason-Dixon line. He glared hatefully at Emily and then clomped away.
Her shame great, she shuddered. What trouble her song had brought. Surely every Confederate prisoner in this hospital will now bear the scourge of my indiscretion.
Just when she thought she couldn’t feel any worse, the click clack of boots signaled the arrival of more guards. To her horror, Trudy and Elizabeth had been rounded up, as well. Both of her friends were wide-eyed with fear.
“Emily!” Trudy quickly gasped. “What is happening?”
“We were pulled from our wards without a word of explanation!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Even Dr. Turner didn’t know the cause.”
Just as Emily tried to explain, Evan’s booming voice filled the corridor. “Sergeant, escort the women this way!”
She spun around before a guard could lay a hand on her and hurried toward him.
“Don’t do this!” she begged. “I am the one who broke the rules! They did nothing wrong!”
He was dressed in full uniform, blue frock coat, sash, vest, kepi, gloves. There was no doubt which side he represented. His chest stood out, much like that pompous young lieutenant at the cemetery.
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