If the Union was as desperate for qualified doctors as the newspaper ads seemed to suggest, she and Charity might be attached to a unit and moving south within a matter of weeks.
Seven
Two days after his return home, Alden Haynes turned before the mirror in his mother’s upstairs hallway and soberly studied his reflection. After thirteen years at West Point Academy, four as a student and nine as an instructor, his stiff military bearing had become second nature. Did women like Flanna O’Connor find it attractive—or stuffy?
He glanced behind him to make sure none of the servants stood in the hall, then leaned toward the mirror and coaxed a smile to his lips. The result, he decided, abandoning the effort, was decidedly artificial and hardly worth the trouble. Let Roger charm and sweet-talk the ladies. Alden’s manner was probably too severe to appeal to a bright, charming woman like Flanna O’Connor.
Alden turned away from the mirror, resigning himself to the enjoyment of Flanna’s company from a distance. He’d taken altogether too much pleasure in the fact that she had been waiting at the train depot when he arrived. Though her flustered explanation was not entirely convincing, he wanted desperately to believe that she had sought him out. Roger, of course, had professed complete surprise at Alden’s appearance. Which might mean that Flanna had considered the situation and wanted to meet Alden without Roger’s knowledge…or that she was waiting for some other fellow.
Roger dismissed his traitorous thoughts. Her reasons for appearing did not matter. She had been waiting and he had enjoyed her company, but she was still Roger’s sweetheart.
Now she was coming to dinner. Alden straightened his uniform dress coat, glanced in the mirror one final time, then moved to the window where she would soon appear. Though Roger had taken the buggy to fetch Flanna and would pretend that the evening was his idea, Alden had been the one to suggest that the Hayneses ought to invite Flanna to dinner to celebrate her graduation from medical school.
When he mentioned the idea at yesterday’s lunch, his mother had nearly required her smelling salts. “Merciful heavens,” she had whispered, a melancholy frown flitting across her features, “I couldn’t have that girl in the house, not now! What would the neighbors think? You cannot know, Alden, how the town seethes with suspicion. If anyone thought I entertained one of the enemy—”
“Flanna O’Connor is not the enemy. She has been a resident of Boston for nearly two years,” Alden had interrupted. He had turned to Roger. “And since she is your sweetheart, don’t you think you should extend the invitation?”
For once Roger was speechless. “Why should we celebrate that useless degree?” he had asked, lifting a brow. “When we’re married, I expect her to put all such foolishness out of her mind.”
“I thought medicine was important to her.”
“She feels an obligation to a dead slave and her doddering old father.” Roger had leaned back in his chair as the beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Trust me, Alden, after even a short stint of hospital work, Flanna will be happy to assume her role as my wife. I’d rather not encourage her medical interests.”
Indignation flared through Alden’s soul. “Private Roger Haynes of the Twenty-fifth Massachusetts Regiment, I am your superior officer and acting head of this household. I hereby order you to do what is right, and may God forgive you your hesitations!”
Outwitted and outranked, Roger had written the invitation and sent a servant to deliver it.
Now the clip-clop of horses’ hooves broke the silence of the evening. Alden dropped the lace curtain and stepped back, hiding himself in the shadows. Flanna’s husky voice rose from the street, warming the chilly night, and as she alighted from the carriage on Roger’s arm, Alden thought her the fairest vision he had ever seen. She wore a green gown that unmistakably matched her startling eyes. Her throat looked slender and graceful above a square-cut neckline, and the elegant spread of her flowing skirt reduced her waist to wasplike thinness.
“If it is treason to love an enemy or your brother’s girl,” he murmured, noticing how the gaslight sparked the coppery glints of her netted hair, “then I am a fool, and guilty on both counts.”
Roger’s head inclined toward that burnished crown as he whispered a comment, and a secretive smile softened her lips in return. Alden turned toward the door as bitter jealousy stirred inside his gut. Tonight he would not only have to tolerate his brother’s patronizing attitude and his mother’s cool indifference, he would also have to fight his own battle of personal restraint. But the effort was a small price to pay for the joy of spending another hour in Flanna’s company.
“The table is lovely, Mrs. Haynes,” Flanna remarked for the fifth time. Alden rested his chin on his hand and smiled, wondering what she would say if she knew he had ordered that the finest linens, china, and silver be used for this special occasion.
His mother sat at the head of the table, her hands stiffly folded in her lap, her mouth set in a grim line. She had not wanted to do anything for Flanna, but Alden knew how to manipulate the intricacies of her reason. “Set a fine table,” he had suggested, “and welcome her with open arms. She will doubtless remain in Boston during this time of conflict, and you know Roger will want to marry her as soon as he returns. So let it be said that you believed in her loyalty to the Union from the beginning. Let your recommendation prove her faithfulness, and you will not only gain a beautiful daughter-in-law, but a female doctor in the family! Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton will be so proud of you, they may want to visit and pay their respects.”
Roger, of course, was delighted to entertain his sweetheart. Flush with excitement from his day of recruiting men to serve in his company, he was eager to talk about the coming struggle and its political ramifications. Leaning back in his chair, Alden watched Flanna as Roger talked. Her green eyes glittered as he related dull stories of complete insignificance, and for a moment Alden wondered how it would feel to have those emerald eyes light up when he spoke.
“Perhaps Miss O’Connor would like to tell us about her final examinations.” Alden lifted his glass. “After all, that is the occasion we are celebrating tonight.”
A deep flush rose from her square neckline, brightening her complexion to a becoming rosy hue. “It was difficult, but I rather enjoyed the experience.” She twisted her hands as she sought Alden’s eyes. “I found the examination…most challenging.”
“Not quite as challenging as a full day of drill, aye, Alden?” Roger winked broadly across the table. “Those raw recruits are determined to deplete my store of patience! I’ve been trying to teach a handful of farmers how a gentleman wears a uniform, but they would rather use their dress coats for sunshades than wear them properly!”
Flanna lowered her head, her flush deepening to crimson as Roger continued. Alden ignored his brother, concentrating instead on the forgotten lady who sat across the table. Roger seemed to care only for her beauty, her deportment, and her charm, but Alden suspected that inside that faultless package resided far more woman than his brother could handle.
Roger’s silver tongue slowed as Howard came in to clear the table. Alden pushed his chair back, ready to escort his mother to the parlor, but Roger caught his eye and grinned. “I’m so glad we’re together tonight,” he said, a glow rising in his face. “I have something important to discuss, and cannot think of a better time to broach the subject.”
Like a wisp of smoke, a sense of unease crept into Alden’s mood. “What could be so important?” He tried to sound casual. “We are here to celebrate. Serious matters can certainly wait until later.”
“Not this.” Roger pushed back his chair and stood, then dropped to one knee beside Flanna. She looked up, alarmed, and caught Alden’s eye for a moment before Roger took her hand and reclaimed her attention.
“My dear Miss O’Connor,” he began, one hand coming to rest over his heart.
“Heaven help us,” Alden heard his mother murmur. “My smelling salts. Where c
ould they be?” She rose and left the room in a flurry of silk.
Oblivious to his mother’s exit, Roger continued. “Surely you know that I have great feelings of regard for you, Flanna.” Eagerness and hope mingled upon his face as he gazed up at her. “When this difficulty is over, I want to come back and make you my wife. This is an official proposal, formally offered.” Roger cut a quick glance to Alden. “With my brother as a witness, I now present my life and all that I possess to you. Will you have me?”
“Roger, don’t.” Flanna pulled ineffectively at his hand.
“Don’t be embarrassed, my sweet, Alden is family. Speak now, tell me that you agree, and we shall covenant together.”
He looked at her with something pleased, proud, and faintly possessive in his expression, and Flanna averted her eyes from his intense gaze. Alden’s heart thumped against his rib cage when he heard her reply: “Roger, I’m sorry.”
Roger’s smile mutated into an expression of shock. “What?”
A look of discomfort crossed her delicate features. “We have spoken of this before. You honor me by this proposal, but I cannot marry you.”
Roger sank back to his heels, his face going slack in surprise. “But we talked about it. We agreed.”
“We agreed to wait. And that was before Fort Sumter.” She tried to smile at him, but the corners of her mouth only wobbled precariously. “I can’t marry you, Roger, because I have to go home. I can make no commitments until I know my father and brother are safe. I must go home, I must do what I can for my family. Later, perhaps, when all this is over…”
Her voice faded, and in the silence Alden felt a strange stirring of mingled hope and disappointment. He had wanted to hear that she could not marry Roger because she loved him, but that was a fanciful notion, completely insane. Apparently she cared more for her family than for either of them.
“Flanna, you can’t go home,” Roger was saying now. “It’s too dangerous for a woman to travel unescorted.”
“I have Charity.”
“Your maid is no protection at all. The railroad lines aren’t safe.”
“I’m not going by rail.” A faint smile ruffled her mouth. “I’m going with the army. When you go south”—Alden’s heart skipped a beat when she shifted her gaze to him—“I’m going too. Massachusetts gave me my medical degree, and I will repay the state by serving as a physician for as long as I can. When we are close enough to South Carolina, I’m leaving to find my family.”
“That’s insane!” In his excitement, Roger stood and knocked over his empty glass. Alden merely stared at her, too startled to speak.
“Why is it insane?” Flanna’s sweet demeanor vanished, replaced by a glorious indignation. “I told you I had to return to Charleston. Didn’t you believe me?”
“You can’t—it has never—” Roger’s nostrils flared as he sputtered helplessly, then he pointed at Alden. “Tell her, brother!”
Surprised to find himself in the middle of their argument, Alden could not think straight. A thousand random thoughts ricocheted through his mind, and when he heard his own voice again, it seemed to come from someplace outside his body. “You can’t go with the army, Miss O’Connor. Even if you were commissioned as a physician, the army takes a dim view of deserters.” Pleased that he had managed a coherent sentence, he placed his hands on the table and forced himself to meet her gaze. “The United States has never—and probably will never—commission a female surgeon. You may be sure of it.”
Flanna’s chin dipped in a tense nod of agreement. “That may be. But I’m not asking for a commission. I just want to travel with the army until I am close enough to go home. I don’t want to join the army; I want to serve it for a time.”
Alden tapped the table and smiled without humor. “You don’t understand the army, Miss O’Connor. Women aren’t allowed to travel with a regiment—well, some camp followers are unavoidable, but you wouldn’t want—” He cleared his throat and backed away from a most immodest subject. “Let me rephrase my argument. No respectable women travel with the army. A few officers’ wives may visit briefly, but most gentlemen are wise enough to keep their women at home. An army camp is no place for a well-bred lady, Miss Flanna. You would hear things unfit for a woman’s ears, and you would certainly see sights no lady ought to see.”
Roger waved his hand. “There are no women in the army for you to treat, so how is it that you wish to serve?”
“I am a physician, Roger.” She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly met his gaze. “I don’t expect to operate upon men, but I can administer medicines for routine maladies and digestive upsets. Surely you believe me capable of dispensing castor oil.”
Alden stared, amazed by the power in her words and the strength of her defiance. No, she most certainly did not fit his image of a simpering Southern belle.
“Doctor O’Connor.” Alden deepened his voice as he stood. “If you are wise you will accept my brother’s proposal, remain in Boston until this matter of secession is settled, and live your life as a happily married woman. I should think that is the best course for a woman in your situation, and I would advise you to take it.”
“Would you now?” He heard defiance as well as a subtle challenge in her tone.
“Indeed,” he answered, bowing slightly, “but something tells me you will not listen.”
He left the room before she could inflame his senses again.
Flanna’s hope faded with springs blossoms. As she waited to hear from the War Department, Alden’s words echoed in her memory: “The United States has never commissioned a female surgeon. “Apparently he was right, for each day Flanna asked Mrs. Davis for her mail, and each day the widow gave her a wintry smile and replied that nothing had come.
Occasionally on quiet Saturday mornings, Flanna and Charity walked the streets around Boston Common and watched the fledgling Massachusetts regiments drill. Since Roger had taken the initiative of forming his own company, he ensured himself a captaincy. Within three Weeks of his enlistment, he had procured the names of one hundred men from Beacon Hill and the outlying districts, more than enough for a company. He and his men were officially designated Company K, part of the Twenty-fifth Massachusetts Regiment. According to a newspaper article Flanna read, Mrs. Ernestina Haynes had personally agreed to financially support Company K, supplying uniforms, guns, and supplies for Roger’s one hundred men. A note near the end of the article added that Major Alden Haynes, Mrs. Haynes’s eldest son, had been appointed to oversee Company K and nine others in the still-forming regiment.
Flanna felt a lurch of excitement within her as she ran her finger over Alden’s name. She certainly had no business feeling this strange attraction to him—he was Roger’s brother, an officer in the enemy army, and thoroughly beyond her power to charm. He tended to turn his head when she looked his way, and only heaven knew what he really thought of her. And yet there was something about him she found irresistible and intriguing. “In another time and place perhaps,” she murmured, folding the newspaper so that his name lay safely out of sight. “But not now. And not here.”
Roger steadfastly maintained his belief in their forthcoming marriage. He wrote her nearly every day, accepting her reluctance to become publicly engaged during wartime and understanding her concerns for her loved ones at home. “When this war is over,” he wrote again and again, “then we shall be wed, and then everything will be wonderful. You will see, Flanna. Wait and see.”
No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on finding a way home, Flanna often thought of the brothers as she walked past the military training grounds on her way to the hospital. With no word from her father and no other means of financial support, she had accepted a part-time position at the Boston Women’s Hospital. Each morning, after a perfunctory hour spent with Mrs. Davis’s havelock seamstresses, she and Charity went to the hospital where Flanna assisted with childbirth cases, changed bandages, and listened to a litany of female complaints. Any competent nurse could have per
formed her duties, and Flanna knew the administrator’s reluctance to trust her had less to do with her youth or gender than with her Southern heritage.
She walked a thin line, and she knew it. If by word or deed she did anything to insinuate that she favored the Confederate cause, she risked being cast out of the boardinghouse, her workplace, and Boston society. Though she didn’t particularly care about society, out of respect for the Haynes family she spent an hour after her hospital shift volunteering for the Sanitary Commission. The hours she spent rolling bandages went far to dispel the suspicion that Ernestina Haynes had harbored a Rebel in the bosom of her family. Though Flanna was thoroughly exhausted at the end of every day, she hurried back to the boardinghouse and forced her heavy eyelids to stay open while she searched the papers for news of home.
In May, Arkansas became the ninth state to secede, followed by North Carolina. Within days, representatives of the Confederate States of America named Richmond as their capital. June brought another secession as Tennessee became the eleventh state to join the Confederacy.
After eight weeks and four follow-up letters to the U.S. War Department, Flanna became convinced that Alden Haynes was right—the United States Army would not only reject her offer of assistance, they would not even dignify her letters with a reply. She cast about for another opportunity to serve the army, and in June learned that a female powerhouse, Dorothea Dix, had been appointed Superintendent of Women Nurses and authorized to hire women to nurse wounded soldiers. Flanna immediately sent another letter to Washington, this one addressed to Miss Dix. The answer arrived in mid-July: “Nursing is a serious profession,” wrote Miss Dix. “Only serious young women over the age of thirty and plain in appearance need apply.”
Unjust! At twenty-four, Flanna knew more about medicine than Miss Dix ever would, but she would not even be allowed to serve as a nurse!
The Velvet Shadow Page 10
