The artillery sergeant was anxious to move on, but O’Neil and Sergeant Marvin led him away, pointing out what should have been obvious to any thinking man Meanwhile, the hapless private held my hand and gave me a trembling smile. “Is it bad?” he asked, his hands still warm with life.
Oh, merciful heaven, what could I give him but the truth? “Yes,” I answered, settling to the ground beside him. “If there is anything you want me to write for you, tell me now. I will see that your loved ones receive your final words.”
I cannot record all we went through together, Private Albert James and I. Emotions flickered over his face like summer lighting—first anger, then fear, then despair. He raged, then quaked, then wept. Finally, nearly an hour after I sat down, a peace settled on his features and he dictated the following words to his mother in New York. “Dear Mother: I may not again see you, but do not fear for your tired soldier boy. Death has no fears for me. My hope is still firm in Jesus. Meet me and Father in heaven with all my dear friends. I have no Special message to send you, but bid you a happy farewell Your affectionate soldier son, private Albert James.”
As soon as he had finished these words, Private James’s hand clenched in mine, and I knew it would be no mercy to keep the wagon upon him. The artillery sergeant blew his whistle, and O’Neil lifted me by the shoulders and pulled me away as the wagon moved.
I did not look back. I knew Private James was no longer among us, but in heaven I could not help but remember something my father once told me. “When the Jews save one life, it is as if they have saved the whole world, for, like Adam, each man carries the seed of future generations within him” Even so, a world died today when Albert James breathed his last. His children grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will never be, for they all died in him.
I do not think I shall ever think of death—or life—in the same way again.
While we were away at Ball’s Bluff, Andrew Green way allowed a short visit home to recover from his sickness. He greeted us with great joy on our return and later told me that a strange feeling of discontent had overtaken him at home. “I even had an eager longing for hardtack and army rations,” he said, his eyes upon the distant horizon “I found that I no longer had much in common with my old friends. They did not know what it felt like to march in the pelting rain or sleep beneath the stars. They talked of the weather and business and parties while I gazed at them, dumbfounded. In my illness, I had waltzed with death, and now my eyes see everything in a different light. But they would not understand.”
I understand what Andrew Green meant. God alone is the sustainer of my soul. He guards my every footstep, the path of everyone whet follows him. My life, the lives of my children and grandchildren, are in his hands.
And he has chosen me to heal—a most humbling and heavy responsibility.
The brief, frigid days of December were at their shortest when Alden sent a messenger to summon Private Franklin O’Connor to his tent. As the messenger hurried away, Alden leaned back and pressed his hands to his desk, grateful for the one bit of good news before him. He’d spent every free moment of the last two months trying to find a way to ease Flanna out of her role as Franklin O’Connor and into a more suitable position, and at last an idea had occurred to him.
He’d had every intention of reporting Flanna’s situation to Colonel Farnham as soon as they returned to the Maryland camp at the end of October, but there had been so many questions to answer about Ball’s Bluff, so many other pressing tasks, that before he knew it, November had come and gone.
Flanna seemed content to wait for him to arrange something. She did not come to see him, though he took great pains to check on her well-being. Whether she pulled guard duty or struggled to dig trenches in the mud, she worked without complaining. And since her fame as a sort of folk healer had spread throughout Company M, men now sought out her tent to discuss their ailments, but always quietly, for no one wanted to arouse Dr. Gulick’s ire. Alden even found it amusing that her messmates, particularly the muscular Herbert Diltz, had begun to serve as the Velvet Shadow’s bodyguard, not allowing any suspicious characters into the tent unless O’Connor wished it.
“Major Haynes?”
He looked up. Flanna seemed as thin as a wire hanger beneath that tattered uniform, yet her beauty still had the power to cause a crisis in his vocabulary.
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Private O’Connor. Thank you for coming.”
She nodded, her eyes expectant. “Have you some news for me?”
“Yes.” He motioned toward a chair opposite his desk. “Won’t you sit while we talk?”
“You wouldn’t ask any of the other men to sit, Major.” Her tone was faintly accusing.
“I might.” His eyes focused on her strong, slim fingers. For the past month those hands had been engaged in the service of his regiment, and he’d give anything to show his gratitude—including the offer he was about to make.
“Please, Flanna.” He motioned toward the chair. “Do you know that you have been nominated for a promotion? Sergeant Marvin says he won’t rest until you have been named a sergeant, or at least a corporal.”
Twin stains of scarlet appeared on her cheeks as she sat down. “Sergeant Marvin is a very generous man.”
“I don’t think he’s that generous. He only rewards those who show great devotion to duty.”
She smiled and looked down, waiting. Alden clasped his hands, tightening one upon the other as all his loneliness and confusion welded together in one upsurge of yearning. Had he deliberately procrastinated in sending her away because he enjoyed knowing she was near? Impossible! She was his brother’s sweetheart. Alden had no right to feel anything toward her but brotherly affection, but Roger didn’t appreciate—wouldn’t appreciate—all she’d done in the service of his own regiment.
Alden made an effort to bridle his rebellious thoughts. “Have you seen Roger?”
She jerked her head upward. “Why? Have you told him?”
“No.” Alden gave her a dry, one-sided smile. “Not yet, in any case. I didn’t think it wise to tell him while you were still with Company M. I’ll tell him as soon as we work things out.”
She gave a short laugh, touched with embarrassment. “You’re right, of course. Roger would have a fit if he knew.” A smile trembled over her lips. “So why have you called me here, Major? Surely it was not to tell me that I’ve earned a promotion.”
“No.” He gripped the edges of his desk again, then took a deep breath. “I believe I have found a way for you to go home. Last month, Captain Samuel Du Pont attacked Port Royal Sound, just south of Charleston. Within hours, the Confederates abandoned Fort Walker, Fort Beauregard, and the Sea Islands. Those properties are now firmly in our control, and the army is now registering volunteer nurses and teachers to serve the abandoned slaves.”
He studied her face for a moment, analyzing her reaction. “If I can arrange an escort, you and Charity could travel safely to Port Royal. If you press your case with the commander once you arrive there, I’m sure he would be willing to arrange a flag of truce for you to be escorted home.”
For a brief moment her face seemed to open, and Alden could see his words take hold. He saw relief, a quick flicker of fear, and something else—regret?
“I could go home?” Her voice was soft with disbelief.
“Yes, Flanna…if that’s what you want.”
He hadn’t meant to add that final condition, but the words fell from his lips before he could stop them. Her eyes opened, met his, and across her pale and beautiful face a dim flush raced like a fever. “If that’s what I want?” Uncertainty crept into her expression. “Why wouldn’t I want to go home? That’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“Of course it is, and now you can go. I was only thinking of Roger.”
She looked away with a pained expression. “Are you always so considerate of your brother?”
Embarrassed without knowing why, Alden looked down and shuffled t
he papers on his desk. “I believe in family. When my father died, I was left to care for Roger and Mother. Part of my responsibility to Roger includes taking care of you.”
“So responsible.” Her voice was light, mocking. “Very well then. Make whatever arrangements you must. If you can think only of Roger, you must send me away, for Roger would rather swear off politics than allow his intended bride to fraternize with the enlisted men.”
Alden ignored her jibe. “You’ll have to resume your female attire, of course, but I can procure a tent for you and Charity while you are waiting for an escort. We should have no problem arranging for you to travel as a nurse.”
“When would this happen?”
“As soon as possible, I suppose. I’ll have a dressmaker make something for you, and then we’ll pull you out of Company M and set you up somewhere at the edge of camp—with the officers’ wives.”
“I understand.”
“And I’ll tell Roger that you’re here. I’m sure you’ll want to see him, and I know he’ll want to see you.” He drew in a deep breath and looked down at his papers. “Trust me. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I trust you.” He felt her glance rest on him briefly, but he didn’t meet her gaze. “Thank you very much, Alden.” She stood and lingered by his desk for a moment, but when he still didn’t meet her gaze, she stepped back and snapped a salute, a sharp movement utterly at odds with the softness he’d heard in her voice.
Alden returned the salute, then swallowed the despair in his throat as he watched her go.
Flanna clenched her hands against the cold as she walked toward her tent. He would send her away, would he? She had been careful not to cause any trouble or bring undue attention to herself. Each man who came to her tent for treatment knew that he could not mention her name outside Company M, for she’d told them all that Dr. Gulick resented her and would certainly have her disciplined if he knew she was practicing medicine without his approval.
“Mr. Franklin!” Charity tore herself away from a small knot of servants and sprinted to intersect Flanna’s path. “What in the world is wrong with you? You look as mad as a wet tomcat!”
“He’s sending us away.” Her temper flaring, Flanna stopped in the road and crossed her arms. “Alden Haynes wants me to go to Port Royal as a nurse and beg the commander there to send us to Charleston.”
Charity’s lips puckered into a rosette, then unpuckered enough to ask, “But—isn’t that what you wanted to do?”
Flanna bit down on her lip, irritated at the confused current moving through her. “Of course it is. I want to go home.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“It’s—” Flanna hesitated, her thoughts whirling as her new identity collided with the life she’d known before. “It’s not the leaving that pains me. It’s that he’s acting so smug about it. And he keeps insisting that he’s doing it all for Roger’s sake!”
Charity shot her a penetrating look. “Miss Flanna,” she said, lowering her voice, “your trouble is that your head’s in one place and your heart’s in another. You’re gonna have to decide which one you’re gonna follow to get yourself out of this mess.”
As Flanna stared at her in astonishment, Charity lifted her head and walked back to the boisterous circle of servants. Flanna’s anger deflated as she watched her go, and ruefully she accepted the terrible truth. Charity was right.
The shadows under the wagons were already cold and blue when Roger burst into the circle around the officers campfire. “Alden! I received your message! What’s happened?”
Alden stood and put out his hand. “Come with me, brother. Let’s talk in my tent.”
Roger followed Alden into his tent, then folded into the empty chair before Alden’s small desk. “What is the dire emergency?” he asked, lines of concentration deepening along his brows and under his eyes. “Has something happened to Mother?”
Alden stood motionless behind the desk. “Mother’s fine. The news concerns Flanna.”
“Is she all right? Has there been an accident?”
“She’s here, Roger. In camp.”
Roger’s expression of concern vanished, wiped away by astonishment. “Flanna’s here?” He grinned and gave Alden a look of jaunty superiority. “What a clever girl! That’s marvelous! How’d she ever get permission to visit me?”
Alden moved to the tin coffeepot and poured two cups. “Take this,” he said, handing one of the mugs to Roger. “Drink up. You may find the story a little difficult to believe.”
“Forget the story. Where is she? I’m dying to see her!” Roger crossed his legs and lifted a brow. “Won’t the other fellows be jealous when I bring her ’round?”
Alden sank into his chair, then ran his finger over the rim of his coffee cup as he searched for words. He’d been dreading this moment for weeks. “I don’t think you’ll want to show her around…yet.” He set the cup on his desk and stared at it, avoiding Roger’s eyes. “She never went to New York, you see. She’s been with our regiment since we left Boston.”
Roger’s jaw dropped. “The devil you say!”
Alden’s mouth twisted in bitter amusement. “I was surprised too. Apparently she enlisted the week before we left. She is a private in Company M, and every man there knows her as Franklin O’Connor—a young Irishman with a talent for the medical arts.”
Roger clamped his jaw tight and stared at the ground.
“I wouldn’t have known her myself,” Alden went on, choosing his words with care, “but after Ball’s Bluff I heard about a plucky private who insisted upon treating the hothead who had pointed a pistol at Dr. Gulick. When I went to check out the report, I saw this private opera ting…and then I knew.”
“You found Flanna at Ball’s Bluff.” Roger stared at Alden with absolutely no expression on his face. “And you did not tell me?”
“I wanted to tell you. I confronted her, and she confessed that she’d done it all in order to go south and to reach Charleston. Charity is with her, so she’s not alone.”
“You didn’t tell me.” Roger’s mouth twisted as he slammed his hand onto the desk. “By all that’s holy, Alden, why didn’t you say something?”
“How could I tell you?” Alden fired back, his tone loaded with rebuke. “I knew you’d react like this! I knew you’d be angry, and at the time there was nothing I could do but bring Flanna back with us. If I exposed her, I’d not only be ridding our regiment of the best doctor we’ve ever had, but I’d be subjecting her to a trial—possibly even prison.”
“You should have told me!”
“I couldn’t trust you!” Alden frowned in exasperation. “Good heavens, Roger, you are a good leader, but you often speak without thinking! And I couldn’t risk exposing Flanna until I found an answer to her predicament. Do you know what they’d have done with her at Ball’s Bluff if I had told the colonel that I’d found a Confederate woman in the ranks? We were destroyed, and she would have been the most convenient scapegoat. They might have accused her of being a spy—they might have executed her!”
A cold, congested expression settled on Roger’s face; his hands began to rub at the knees of his trousers.
“I’ve just spoken to her,” Alden went on, hoping that his words were reaching some still-receptive part of Roger’s brain. “And she’s willing to give up her disguise and leave the army. We will say nothing of what happened or how she came to be here. Soon I’ll speak to the colonel about a talented and devoted nurse, Miss Flanna O’Connor, and recommend that she be transported to Port Royal.” A reluctant grin tugged at his mouth. “Knowing Flanna as I do, I imagine she’ll convince the fort commander that his best interests lie in arranging a flag of truce so she can go home to Charleston as soon as possible.”
His smile faded when he looked up; Roger’s implacable expression was unnerving. “Don’t you see? This is for the best. After the war, you can go to Charleston and make your peace with her. She’ll spend this uncertain time in the bosom of her family—wh
ere she wants to be. If you love her, surely you want her to be happy!”
Roger’s face was a marble effigy of contempt. “You should have told me,” he repeated. “You are my brother, and she is the woman I plan to marry. You should have come to me immediately so I could force her to return to Boston.”
Alden sighed and drummed his fingers on the desk. Lately he’d heard reports of Lincoln’s frustration with General McClellan’s stubborn refusal to move forward, but McClellan could not possibly be as stubborn as Roger Winfield Haynes.
“Perhaps I should have told you,” he admitted, “but that is over and done. Why don’t you concentrate now on Flanna’s happiness?”
“I am thinking of her happiness!” Sudden anger lit Roger’s eyes. “The foolish girl should have married me in Boston. She’d be safe with Mother, not living here in the mud and dust—” His eyes suddenly blazed into Alden’s with an extraordinary expression of alarm. “You say she’s been living with men? I swan, Alden! Men, sleeping around my sweet Flanna!”
“Your sweet Flanna has managed very well. You need not fear for her virtue or her reputation, for no one knows who she really is.” Alden hesitated to voice his next thoughts, but a mocking voice inside insisted upon an answer. “Roger, do you truly love her?”
Roger’s blue eyes glared into his, shooting sparks in all directions. “Love her? I adore her!” He stood, stiff dignity marking every line of his face. “How can you ask such a question? I intend to honor her, to respect her, to keep her in comfort and ease, to show her the world and let the world revere her as I do—”
“Yes, of course,” Alden interrupted, “but what of her dreams? She is far more than a pretty porcelain doll, you know.”
He paused as he heard the soft puff of footsteps outside, and a moment later a civilian’s figure appeared in the tent opening. The man wore a dapper dark suit, and a pair of spectacles bridged his round face. “Major Haynes? I am Thomas Beckman. The guard told me I would find you here.”
The Velvet Shadow Page 24
