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by Winnie Griggs

  That’s right. She’s gone, Evan wanted to say. Was your song worth it?

  The reb reached under his pillow. Evan quickly moved, ready to confiscate whatever the traitor was fetching. He froze when he recognized the item. It was her poetry book.

  “Nurse Emily left this behind,” the reb said. “Will you see she gets it back?”

  For a moment Evan’s thoughts returned to that night in the corridor, the light in her eyes, the sweetness in her voice. When his hand had brushed hers, he’d actually had trouble breathing.

  He pushed the memory aside and took the book from the reb. “Aye. I’ll see she gets it.”

  He would give it to Nurse Rebekah. He knew they were acquainted with one another. Before he could turn to do so, the Johnny drained pale.

  “Something wrong?” Evan asked, though he really wasn’t inquiring out of concern.

  Sweat began to bead upon his lip. “She didn’t want to do it, Doc.... She didn’t mean to cause no trouble. I talked her into it.”

  Evan’s pulse quickened. He stepped closer, glared at him. “You talked her into what?”

  “Singing.”

  He grunted. He didn’t believe it. “You are covering for her because you are taken with her. You all are.”

  The man shook his head. “I knew Lewis was planning something. I heard him and that other girl whispering one night when I couldn’t sleep.”

  That got Evan’s attention.

  “Miss Emily was just trying to help me, like she always did. She let me talk about my brother. She let me sing.”

  “And?” he said, growing impatient.

  “When I noticed the guard had fallen asleep and Lewis was creepin’ from his bed, I talked her into singin’ with me. I kept her from noticing what was going on. I knew she would try to stop Lewis, but, well, he seemed like a determined fella to me. I didn’t want her to get hurt.”

  Blood boiling, Evan was ready to explode. “Sergeant!”

  A sentinel came running.

  If the reb hoped his confession would ease his inner pain, he was sorely mistaken. Evan would see he paid his debt in full.

  “See to it that this man is removed from the ward,” he commanded. “It was he who aided the escaped prisoner!” He eyed the guilty Johnny. “Did you think I would commend you for your honesty?”

  “No, sir. I just wanted you to know Nurse Emily did nothing wrong.”

  Evan wanted to spit on the man’s gentlemanly concern but kept himself under control. As soldiers in blue surrounded the bed, he turned for the door. Colonel Cole would be pleased to know Powell and Branson’s unknown accomplice had confessed to his crime.

  By the time he returned, the Maryland reb was gone. The bed linens were changed and the space occupied by another prisoner. The new man was pale and quiet. Evan shot him a look as he passed by.

  Don’t even think of stepping out of line.

  Though he was relieved to know Emily had not actively participated in the escape, her unwilling involvement proved his point. Her compassion for rebs was dangerous. Only nurses of impeccable loyalty could be trusted. He was a fool to think any differently.

  Night came and his ward was staffed with orderlies to fill her position until a suitable replacement could be secured. Exhausted as usual, Evan climbed the staircase. He realized he had forgotten to give Nurse Rebekah the poetry book before her departure. Grumbling, he pulled it from his pocket and tossed it to his cot. Then he sat down.

  The September heat burned and already the nightmares down below had begun. Evan raked his hands through his hair. He hated this place. There were nights when he felt as though he was locked in an asylum.

  He knew full well that he could leave. Other physicians did it all the time. They sought temporary reprieve from the madness by a night at the theater or supper in a loyal home. If he had any sense, he would do the same.

  But where would I go?

  Baltimore held no comfort for him. The only place he wished to be did not exist. Pennsylvania had repulsed the rebel invasion, but Mary no longer tended the home fires, awaiting his return. Evan had sold his home to another, along with every stick of furniture, every reminder except those that would fit in an army trunk. Tugging it from beneath the bed, he sifted through what little remained of his previous life.

  There was a tintype of him and Andrew, taken just before the war, an embroidered handkerchief with Evan’s initials. Mary had stitched it when they’d wed. He still had her Bible, but he had not opened it since her death. He did so now, but only because of his emptiness.

  A scattering of hand-tatted bookmarks and scraps of paper bearing her tiny, precise script fluttered to his lap. They were like knives to his soul. Unable to view them, he quickly scooped them up and placed them back into the Bible. He then laid the Holy Book inside the trunk and closed the lid.

  He wasn’t worthy to touch it, let alone read it. Shame filled his soul and guilt cut him as sharply as the cries from beneath the boards sliced his ears.

  I should have listened to her. If I had, I would not be here.

  But he was here. Short of desertion, of escaping like that dirty Johnny, here was where he would remain.

  Chapter Twelve

  Although two weeks had passed since the incident at the hospital, it still seemed strange to be donning silk when she had grown so accustomed to cotton. Emily fastened the hooks and eyes of her rose-colored tea bodice. She pinned a silver broach to her collar.

  My best dress. My nicest jewelry. I need not be concerned about bloodstains or vermin at the prayer meeting.

  She tried to summon some measure of enthusiasm concerning where she was headed. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the gatherings on Charles Street, where a daily prayer meeting held at her church had begun shortly after the start of the war.

  She loved the hymns and welcomed the occasion to pray with her friends and neighbors. Emily had often attended the event with her family before taking her post at the hospital.

  It was in a pew one day in September of 1862 that she had first felt impressed to serve as a nurse. Now she was returning, a little more than a year later, with no position, no certain future. She did not want her nursing duties to come to an end, and, despite her mother’s efforts, she certainly did not wish to become the wife of some young lawyer or city politician. Evan Mackay remained constantly in her thoughts.

  Reason told her to be angry that she should scorn him and all Yankees intent on trampling upon the Constitution. In the past few weeks Federal control had tightened even further. A rash of newspaper closings had occurred. Journalists were jailed and their presses suspended. The latest victim was the editor of the Baltimore Republican. The man had been taken into custody for printing a poem entitled “The Southern Cross.”

  Emily sighed. The Federal army certainly keeps my father in business. Still, she could not look upon the men in blue as enemies, not when she had seen firsthand their suffering.

  When she had finished dressing, she joined her parents in the dining room. Abigail had prepared a scrumptious breakfast of eggs and ham. Emily’s father said the blessing; then they started in.

  “Will you visit Julia after the service today?” her mother asked.

  “Yes. I would like to stay all afternoon. That is, of course, unless you have need of me?”

  Her father smiled. “Your mother has her own circle and I have business as well. You should spend time with your friends. It will be good for you.”

  For the first time in over a year the sewing circle was scheduled to meet. Emily was looking forward to seeing baby Rachael and her other friends. She wondered, however, if they felt as low as she for being dismissed from service.

  At least Rebekah is still there, she thought. I know she will care for the wounded.

  As hard as she tried to keep the thought away, she couldn’t help but wonder what Evan was doing at that moment.

  * * *

  “Two days leave?” Evan said. “Whatever for?”

  He loo
ked at Jacob Turner through sleep-filled eyes. He had been roused from what precious little he’d been able to capture.

  “Because you need it, young man. You have grumbled around this hospital long enough.”

  “But—”

  “No arguments. You are coming with me. Pack your bag.”

  Turner was already dressed in full uniform, every hair in place. His gloves were tucked in at the waist as though he were ready to attend a society ball.

  “Pack my bag?” Evan said with hopeful curiosity. “Where are we going? Philadelphia?”

  “The Barnum Hotel.”

  His shoulders sank in disappointment. Why would Turner bother with a Baltimore establishment, let alone one probably overrun by rebels? “Why waste our pay on a bed there when we can sleep just fine here?”

  Jacob’s gray eyebrows rose. It was obvious to him that Evan never slept “just fine” at the hospital. “We aren’t lodging there,” he said. “We are dining with a local businessman—a Unionist—and, I might add, his daughter.”

  Evan groaned. He saw where this was going. Turner evidently thought he needed the company of a lady to lift his spirits.

  “Come, man, it’s only a meal. It won’t kill you. Afterward, Reverend and Mrs. Henry have invited us to stay with them.”

  Evan knew the minister and his wife made a practice of inviting officers into their home for a respite from duty. All who had attended spoke well of the time spent with the older couple. The reverend owned an extensive library and he allowed his visitors to enjoy it. His wife was not given to fussiness over manners. If a soldier wished to bury his nose in a book and shut out the rest of the world for a few hours, she did not interfere.

  The thought of that made the prospect of dinner at the Barnum bearable.

  “That explains this evening,” Evan said. “But what about this afternoon?”

  “We’ll take in the culture of the city.”

  Evan huffed. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Turner must have realized.

  “They aren’t all stone throwers, young man. Come. I’ll show you.”

  Jacob ordered Evan to meet him at the main entrance within the hour; then he shut the door. Reluctantly, Evan shaved, brushed his coat and fastened his brass buttons. By the time he was finished he looked every bit the respectable, dutiful representative of the U.S. Army, but he wasn’t happy about the assignment he must now undertake. The only thing more detestable then patching up wounded rebs was having to come up with gracious words for them.

  He met Turner at the entrance. The old man had secured a carriage. The moment Evan climbed into the vehicle he took off, chattering all the way.

  “Certain sections of this city remind me of Boston,” he said. “The ships, the architecture...”

  As they traveled up Pratt Street, Evan did his best to focus on what the man was saying about the wharf, yet all he could think of was what had taken place here previously. They were traveling the exact route Andrew had taken two years earlier.

  Jacob chatted on.

  “Lovely woman down at the intersection of Pratt and Light. She has the sweetest disposition and the best charlotte russe I have ever eaten.”

  Evan couldn’t fathom it. What was wrong with the man? He was a Bostonian, for goodness’ sake. Men from his own state had been attacked by that bloodthirsty mob.

  But at least they had the satisfaction of firing back, he then thought. They had their weapons. Andrew did not.

  Fear then snaked its way up his neck. Here Evan sat in an open carriage, in full uniform. How many rebs are lurking among the storefronts, the alleyways, ready to take a shot at us? Is that Johnny convalescent among them? He wondered where the boy was now. Who had he met up with? What destruction was he planning?

  They continued throughout the city. For three hours, Evan listened as Jacob Turner talked of food and Baltimore architecture. Finally the old man pulled the carriage in front of a church and set the brake. At first, Evan thought this was simply another stop on the tour. There was nothing significant, however, about the building in front of him. It was just an ordinary facade, an average steeple. People were milling about, and it looked as though a service was about to begin.

  “Why are we stopping here?” he asked.

  Jacob looked surprised. “For the prayer meeting.”

  “Prayer meeting?”

  With the exception of Colonel Wiggins’s funeral, Evan had not stepped inside a house of God since Mary’s death.

  “Come,” the old man said. “You will enjoy it. I promise.”

  “I don’t think so—”

  “They’ll feed you. There’s always a table with water and some baked goods manned by the local parishioners. There are ladies here who make the best bread and cookies in all of the South. I know one who...”

  Evan climbed from the carriage only to shorten Jacob’s narrative. Did the man know every woman in Baltimore who offered fresh bread or pies? He did not question the doctor’s loyalty, but he did question his judgment.

  We don’t know these people. This city is capable of anything.

  Evan held back, although Jacob secured a sampling of sweets from the nearby refreshment table. He chatted for a moment with the hostess, then a gentleman in a stovepipe hat. When he returned, he was still prattling away. Now he spoke of the preacher, the singing and the number of Unionists who attended the meeting.

  At least that is something, Evan thought.

  “Well, it looks as though the service is about to begin,” Jacob said.

  Evan reluctantly followed him toward the front door. Uneasiness nipped his heels. He removed his kepi as he stepped across the threshold, though he sensed the act of respect did little to impress the master of this house.

  “The altar or the balcony?” Jacob asked.

  He froze. “You go on ahead. I’ll wait outside.”

  Jacob looked disappointed if not outright concerned. “It’s only an hour. Not much different than the colonel’s funeral.”

  A funeral was one thing, a prayer meeting quite another. “I’ll wait outside,” Evan said again, and he turned on his heel.

  Rather than return to the carriage, he took up post beneath a nearby maple tree. Crossing his arms, he surveyed the area. He wondered just how many of the businessmen entering the building were secessionists.

  His eyes then scoured the refreshment table. His stance relaxed just a bit as he noticed a particular boy in blue. The brave soldier had an empty coat sleeve. A woman in a pink silk dress was speaking to him, her back turned toward Evan. Whatever she was saying must have been an encouragement to the boy, for he was smiling.

  At least there is one good loyal woman here, he thought.

  The soldier’s comrades joined him and he introduced them to the lady. She turned. Evan caught sight of her face. Emily.

  He watched as she spoke to the men, seemingly with ease. Evan couldn’t grasp it. She had watched as her rebel friends arrived at the hospital, bloodied and butchered. She had witnessed their march to prison time and again, yet she spoke to soldiers of the opposing army with respect and compassion.

  And I was one of them.

  It was no secret to him why the past two weeks had been so unbearable. He missed her. Emily Davis had been a light in the dark dungeon of wards, a spirit of kindness and gentleness. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, the Baltimore woman had been a comfort to him in his grief.

  And I had her removed from the hospital.

  He remembered what Jacob had said to him that day in surgery. Evan was forced to concede the man was right.

  I forced Colonel Cole’s hand. She acted foolishly by singing that song, but had I reprimanded her privately, I doubt she would have done so again.

  He remembered the tears in her eyes. Even in that moment, her concern was not for herself, but for her friends.

  Do not punish them for my indiscretion.

  Yet that was exactly what he had done. Mary’s words drifted through his mind. You must forgive, m
y love, or your hatred for your enemies will lead you to act just as they.

  She was right. He had become just that. Evan hadn’t used a paving stone or a musket, but in his anger he had punished three young nurses simply because they were determined to show compassion to the rebels he so despised.

  * * *

  Emily listened as the prayers rose around her, silently adding her own. She prayed for the protection of Trudy and Elizabeth’s brother, George Martin, and for the rest of the Maryland men still fighting. She prayed for Edward and all the others who were now prisoners of war.

  Then she thought of the young soldiers like the ones she had spoken to just before the service, those who were disfigured, discouraged and worried that their wives and sweethearts would no longer think of them as men.

  Bless them, Lord, and give their loved ones the courage to face whatever difficulties lay ahead.

  Emily then remembered Joshua and Abigail and all the other former slaves now trying to make the most of their newfound freedom. She prayed also for those who still lived in bondage.

  May they soon have the opportunity for a better life.

  But most of all she prayed for Evan. Her heart ached. Please Lord, open his eyes. Let him see how his unforgiving nature is destroying him.

  When the closing hymn was sung, the congregation began to depart. Emily’s mother turned to her.

  “We must speak with Reverend and Mrs. Perry for a few moments, and then we will drive you to Julia’s house.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  She gathered her Bible and fan, then moved for the aisle. On the front steps she met up with Sergeant Malone, a Northern man who was having difficulty with his cane. Emily had spoken with him several times before. His wounded knee gave him great pain.

  “Ah, Miss Emily,” he said, smile wide when she took hold of his arm. “You’re always around when I need you. I can’t seem to navigate these steps without you.”

  “You will master them soon enough, Sergeant. I have no doubt.”