After assisting other nurses and patients for a while, Emma was about to return and change James' bandage when Dr. Hillman approached her in the supply area.
"Edmonds, I didn't have a chance to talk with you in private earlier, but there's something you should know about Lieutenant Trumball."
"Will he need another operation?" The thought paled Emma.
"I'm afraid that won't help, not at this point. Infection has set in."
The world around Emma collapsed as the meaning of those words sunk in.
"How long?" were the only words she managed.
Dr. Hillman shook his head. "A few days but no more than a week."
She searched his eyes, knowing too well that there was no escape from the honesty of the situation. Emma wanted to turn frantic and demand that Dr. Hillman do something or invent a cure to save the man she loved. Yet she knew there was nothing, nothing that could rescue him from certain death.
"Does he know?" Emma asked.
"I haven't told him, but I'm sure he suspects. I'd been hoping… hoping for a miracle."
"I'd like to tend to him and stay with him as much as possible."
"I thought you might." Dr. Hillman gave a compassionate grin. "It's probably for the best. He'll need the support."
Emma was angry. She'd just been reunited with James. Their feelings for each other solidified. She'd never felt so full and happy. She had no hesitation about loving and caring for him. Legs or no legs. She wanted to build a life with him, watch him grow old, and raise children together. Why was he being ripped from her life?
After Dr. Hillman walked away, Emma did her best to keep her composure. She had to stir her courage and make sure her facial expression didn't betray her devastation. She tightened her grip on the fresh bandages and prayed for strength as she returned to James.
****
When the last of the bandage had been unwrapped, Emma stared blankly. The state of the wound confirmed Dr. Hillman's revelation. Emma guarded her expression and struggled with what she should say.
"Bad, ain't it?" James panted softly as the flesh remained sore and tender.
"I've seen worse." Emma put little conviction in her voice.
"You don't have to lie to me. It's gangrene, ain't it?"
Emma looked up at him, her eyes unable to resist conveying the truth. James closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deep.
"I knew somethin' wasn't right."
"I'm not letting you give up, James Trumball." Emma struggled to talk over the lump in her throat. She moved quickly to wrap and cover the green-seeping wound. "I'll search for some herbs. Maybe a mustard plaster would help. I can make you this tea as well. One time, when my brother was sick—"
James reached over and touched her arm.
"It's all right, Emma. I ain't afraid."
"Well, I am, and I don't want to lose you." She began to break down. "And your boys. My God, James, how could this be?"
"Best thing we can do now is prepare."
Tears spilled onto her cheeks. "No! We're not giving up. It… it can't end like this. I just got you back in my life."
James gave her that intense look of his, and with no thought to the men around them, he pulled Emma close and held her as she wept on his shoulder.
****
Over the next two days, Emma found no signs of poke weed or horehound herbs to make an ointment. Worse, James began running a fever. He faded in and out of consciousness, giving Emma an inner panic each time.
Word arrived that Robert E. Lee had launched an attack on Union forces at Mechanicsville and dealt them a stunning blow. A retreat had been ordered, but scouts reported that Lee intended to pursue the Federals. Recent reports indicated that Great Britain was giving serious consideration to supporting the South in its efforts to break from the North. Should that occur, the nation would have to face the possibility of the North-South separation becoming permanent.
In preparation for a further retreat, the hospital unit had been ordered to be dismantled, and patients were to be moved to brick-and-mortar hospitals in D.C. Emma had thirteen patients in her charge, and she made sure each one was carefully loaded onto the boat for transport.
As the voyage started down the James River, Emma battled hopelessness. Union victories had been few and relatively meaningless, while the Confederates slowly gained more ground. Was it all that long ago they had believed the Union would immediately squash the Southern rebellion? More than a year into the conflict, and it appeared the hope of abolishing slavery might fizzle like a broken musket.
Added to Emma's misery was James' condition. She sat beside him as they sailed and applied a cool cloth over his head. Sweat dampened him. The warm afternoon sun, glorious as it was, only served to intensify the rotting smell that emitted from James' blackening wound. Emma offered him a drink from his canteen when he woke, but he only took a sip.
When they reached Washington, Emma helped settle in her patients. They were housed inside a building, which meant fewer flies and bugs to contend with, but a stench hung heavy in the air with no ventilation. Cots filled a wide open area, and Emma, fatigued to a new depth brought James a bowl of broth.
"I thought I saw Lily," he whispered.
It pained Emma, even though she knew it shouldn't. He was entitled to long for his dead wife, a woman he'd loved and committed himself to, but Emma felt a tinge of jealousy, not being his immediate thought. She pushed the notion aside. Hallucinations, she knew, meant that her patient was slipping further away.
"What was she like?" Emma asked.
"Nothin' like you." He smiled as he spoke.
Emma appreciated that James' humor was still intact.
"She's a fine woman. Good Christian. Good mother. Real gentle. Soft. Always had a weak constitution, though. 'Bout lost her ev'r winter when she'd catch cold."
"I guess you two will be reunited." Emma bit her lips after the words had escaped. She knew it was an odd, insensitive remark.
James held up his hand as Emma attempted to serve him another spoonful.
"I want you to know that whatever it is we have between us means somethin' to me. You. You mean somethin' to me."
They sat with their eyes locked on each other. James, his breathing labored and intense, and Emma, her eyes puffy and drooped from the mixture of weeping and no sleep.
"I'll never feel this way again," she said.
"I love you, Emma."
"I love you, James."
Shortly before dawn and holding Emma's hand, Lieutenant James Trumball took his last breath.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Washington, D.C. area
June, 1862
Emma helped bury James' body in a nearby plot designated for Union soldiers. Over the next few days, she immersed herself in the care of the other patients but found no relief from the emotional numbness that encompassed her. She replayed in her mind the final moments she'd shared with James, the things they'd said, the promises she'd made, the last kiss they'd shared. She re-read the letters he'd dictated to his sons, hearing his voice in her head.
She visited with Eleanor and Zechariah and told them the news. Together they recounted memories and cried fitfully. Emma especially. Though she told no one of her love for James, Emma sensed they knew. Their hearts were heavy.
Eleanor had no success to share in her search to find Sylvia. Furthermore, Zechariah informed her Lee had chased the bluecoats back across the Chickahominy and put them in full retreat. Temporarily stationed with his men at Harrison's Landing, McClellan had sent word that he intended to reestablish his headquarters outside of Washington, and craft a new counter-attack against Lee.
"So McClellan's attempt to invade and capture Richmond is a complete failure," Emma said. "All those men. All for nothing."
Zechariah nodded somberly.
"What will you do now?" Eleanor asked.
"The only thing I can do, make myself useful at the hospital. I imagine it's best that I stay in the city, just in case�
�" Emma didn't want to finish her thought about Sylvia. Considering that Aunt Celia's letter was dated almost a year ago, Emma wondered if it was irrational to hold out hope. Nowhere seemed safe. How could a thirteen year old girl traverse through hostile, war-ravaged territories and survive?
"I understand," Eleanor said. "We must cherish the time we had, even though it was much too short. We must keep on, painful as it is. You're welcome here as long as we have a home." She traded smiles with Emma. "What will you do with the letters for James' children?"
Emma didn't want to admit that she found comfort holding on to them. They were the only physical reminder she had of him.
"When my enlistment is up," Emma said, "I plan on delivering them personally."
"All the way to Kentucky?" Zechariah asked.
Emma nodded. "It's something to look forward to, I suppose. The army will send word to James' family, Lily's parents, about his passing. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I wanted to contribute in some small way." She wanted to see how much his sons resembled him, if at all, and she wanted to make sure they knew what a great man their father had been. Already, she missed him terribly, though she was thankful for the short time they'd had, and she told herself James could've been killed outright, like Simon and countless others. Had that happened, she never would've had the chance to tell him how much she loved him.
****
Northern Virginia
Summer, 1862
For the next few weeks, as summer beat down an oppressive heat, Emma continued her service in the army and looked for Sylvia. President Lincoln's most recent call for three-hundred-thousand volunteers increased Emma's workload, as new recruits were funneled into Washington and replenished the Union camp. In mid-August, McClellan began sending troops back to the base in Northern Virginia. Public outcry against the Union's fledgling efforts showed up regularly in newspapers. Even President Lincoln's disgruntlement with the general was widely known.
In a positive light, strides were being made against slavery. After outlawing the practice in the D.C. area, Lincoln expanded his measures by signing a law that prohibited slavery in U. S. territories.
Familiar faces trickled into the camp as soldiers returned, and Emma felt as if family members were coming home. By now, she cared enough about these men to consider them family. Even Nash. The remaining men from Emma's company took the news about Trumball hard. Emma still didn't want to accept that she wouldn't see him in camp, striding tall and straight, handsome and confident in his uniform. But being here was where she felt his presence most, and that gave her strength. As experienced soldiers, Emma, Nash, Graham, and others had the responsibility of assimilating and training new recruits.
"Ain't no way we were ever this green," Nash said late one afternoon. He took a drink from his canteen then poured water over his head to fight the August heat and humidity.
Emma thought of her first night in the Union encampment, when Nash had made a scene about her size. She'd thought her cover would be blown then, but here she was, well over a year later and still posing as Tom Edmonds.
"Are the pickets established?" Emma asked. She was due to report the camp's progress to McClellan.
"They're there, but I don't know what good it'll do. They're likely to jump outta their skin if a cat walks by."
Emma grinned. "I'll let the general know."
On her way to McClellan's tent, she stopped in her tracks. Standing several yards away and attracting a crowd was Orson, the peddler, with his wagon of wares. Will, who'd grown in the months since their encounter at Yorktown, stood by his father's side. Though he'd helped her in the rain during her mission as a courier, Emma had a disturbing feeling about the two. Will had wanted her dead. He'd had his pistol pointed in her face and had been an instant away from pulling the trigger. That was enough to unsettle her, but the fact that she'd seen Orson friendly and jovial with Confederate officers also bothered her, especially at a time when spies were rampant on both sides of the war. Plus, under Lincoln's new Ironclad Test Oath, the president wanted to weed out government workers who sympathized with Southerners and others not dedicated wholly to the Union's cause.
Emma moved directly to McClellan's tent, careful to remain unnoticed by Orson and Will.
"General," she said, abandoning formalities as she darted through the tent flaps.
Grooming his hair and thinner than when Emma had seen him last, McClellan turned to her. Along with McClellan, his assistant, Sergeant Howard, and two advisers were present. They had been reviewing maps.
"Is there some sort of problem with the recruits, Edmonds?" Urgency was absent from his voice.
"No, sir, but there's a man here who's infiltrated our camp. I think he should be questioned."
"Oh? What sort of man might he be?"
"A peddler, sir, but I've seen him before, both here among our men and within the Confederates' camp also."
McClellan perked up, checked with his advisors, and then said, "Show us this man."
****
Interest in Orson had flourished, and a sizable mass had assembled around him. Tom, McClellan, and his soldiers had to nudge their way through the encircling audience. Orson stood at the center, displaying a bottle of bourbon and a mischievous smile. At the sight of McClellan, though, he slipped the bottle behind him, and his smile dissolved.
"Afternoon there, General." Orson noticed Emma, and his eyes brightened. "Soldier." Orson froze, and Emma wondered if Orson recalled the last time he'd seen her, on her knees, hands tied, and a saber under her chin.
"I want this man's contraband searched immediately," McClellan said. "His person as well."
It was the most in command moment Emma had seen from the general, but panic swirled in her chest, as there was no sign of Will.
"What is this?" Orson demanded as soldiers pounced upon him and his goods. "Get your hands off me! You can't do this!"
Emma, searching for Will, did her best to peer over the heads of the gathered men, but it was difficult for her to see beyond the sea of forage caps.
"Sir!" called a soldier who'd searched Orson's wagon. He held open a small compartment within a drawer. Inside were maps, detailing the location and potential movement of Union troops. A wad of Confederate money was also found.
After a quick review of one of the maps, McClellan crumpled it and held it to Orson's face.
"This demands a charge of high treason! I'll see to it personally that you hang for this! Shackle him!"
"The boy!" Emma shouted. "Where's the boy?"
Orson's face turned grim and stoic. A hatred radiated from Orson, much like the hatred Emma had experienced from Will.
"You can't win! You won't win!" Orson yelled to all within hearing distance. "The Rebels have too many spies. You're all gonna die, and the South's gonna take over this nation!"
McClellan did his best to appear unrattled. "We shall see." He turned his gaze to a nearby soldier. "Get this vermin out of my sight." Then to Emma, "We must find his boy."
Emma nearly gasped, "The maps!" and shot off toward McClellan's tent.
Soldiers surrounding the scene processed what had taken place while Emma took off for Will on her own.
She spotted him slinking out of McClellan's tent with a strange bulge in the front of his shirt. He shifted his eyes, checking to see if he had been detected, and he saw Emma, running straight for him. Will turned and ran.
Moving full speed and within a few yards of Will, Emma easily caught up to him and tackled him to the ground. Emma punched his side repeatedly, but Will was more muscular than he appeared. Will grunted, then rolled Emma over and pinned her down. He landed a blow to Emma's jaw, but the commotion of a charging band of Union soldiers made him pop up from Emma and take off running.
Emma rolled to her feet, ignored her throbbing face, and dashed after Will.
With a small section of army chasing him down, Will plunged into a nearby river. Emma followed and struggled against the weight her wet wool coat added, as she swam to
ward Will. Shock overtook Will. Bobbing in the water and useless against the current, Will seemed in imminent danger of drowning. Emma feared the boy would go down before she got to him. Her strength as a swimmer prevailed. She snatched the back of Will's collar and edged them both to the embankment on the other side. Exhaustion threatened, and Will struggled. Emma went under and took a mouthful of water. She forced herself up and gasped for air, never letting go of Will. Emma pushed and kicked harder. Will flailed uncontrollably, becoming harder to hold onto. Emma dipped underwater again and felt her focus wane — and her feet touch rock.
Emma forced her head upward and caught sight of the river's edge. With a rebel-like yell, she propelled herself and Will toward the shore. Pebbles met their feet. Coughing, they staggered out of the water. Safe from the rapids, both Emma and Will collapsed on the muddy river bank.
****
"Edmonds, if I had an army of men like you, this war would be over," McClellan declared when Emma and Will were retrieved and returned to camp.
Soaked, her uniform torn from the scuffle, and with mud streaking her clothes and features alike, Emma felt embarrassed in front of her leader and fellow comrades. James had been right in his distrust of Orson.
"Further inspection of the peddler's cart revealed communication between various Union commanders," McClellan said. "He not only had maps, he also had vital correspondence. This here outpost, and I myself, am exceedingly proud of your work here today, Edmonds. I'll be sure to inform the president."
"I'm honored to be of service," Emma said.
The men who had assisted McClellan and Emma and who had chased Will to the river's edge were gathered. They applauded, but Emma waved them off. She wished James was there. He'd been suspicious about Orson the moment the peddler had appeared in the camp. For a second, Emma even envisioned James' face among the crowd, complete with that stern smirk of his.
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