by Jana Petken
“Excuse me, Corporal, might I speak with you for just a minute?” she asked a soldier with two cotton stripes on his sleeves. The soldier stared at her for a second. He was angry, Mercy thought. He was very angry at her presence.
“Lady, where in hell’s fire did you come from?”
“I’ve come from Richmond.”
“Well, it ain’t safe for no woman here, on account of this still bein’ a battle zone,” he told her. “I reckon you should turn around right about now – you can’t go no farther. What’s a little lady like you doin’ here, anyhow, dressed like a man and carrying a Colt. You wanna git yourself shot and killed by a damn Yankee?”
“No, I don’t want to get shot or killed.” Mercy’s lips pouted with annoyance. She didn’t like this man’s tone of voice at all. “What I want is for everyone I meet to stop telling me to turn around when my only intention is to move forward and finish what I started. May I please ask my question now?”
“I reckon.” The corporal took off his cap and scratched his balding head.
Mercy realised that her nervous, antagonistic state was not going to get her anywhere. She dismounted and stood a foot from the soldier. A memory surfaced of Lina sitting on a wagon’s driver’s seat, urging her to use charm. “Charm is the most potent power a woman has, alongside womanly tears,” Mercy recalled Lina saying. “There ain’t nothin’ a man loves more than to puff out his manly chest in front of a vulnerable woman.”
“I’m sorry, Corporal. I’m ashamed of myself for talking to you like that – I really am. You must be exhausted after all that fighting. You and you men are so brave, and I’m just overcome with gratitude. She took her handkerchief from her breeches pocket and dabbed her eyes. “I prayed for every single one of you. I can’t stop praying.”
“We’re just doin’ our duty, ma’am.”
“Oh, I know that. It’s so comforting to know that you and your comrades are defending us poor civilians, but you see I’ve come all this way to find out what’s happened to my fiancé. He was with the Ninth Cavalry Regiment. Captain Jacob Stone’s his name. He and his men were in this very field – or maybe the one over there. I’m not sure. Do you know anything about them? Did you hear anything about the Ninth?”
“I weren’t here, so I don’t rightly know what to tell you. I don’t know much about what went on, except there was a lot of fightin’ and dyin’. That squad over there, sitting by the trees – they might know somethin’. They’ve been here for a couple of days. Lost their regiment, by all accounts.”
Mercy’s eyes followed the soldier’s pointed finger and smiled. “Thank you so much, corporal. You’ve been very kind.”
“Take my advice and go back to the capital!” he shouted after her.
She reached the squad and asked the same question about Jacob, expecting much the same answer. Her heart missed a beat, however, when a sergeant nodded that he had seen the Ninth.
“Yep, I recall them coming here, late for the fight but not too late to chase them Yankees to the other side of them far-off trees. We heard rifle shots in the distance, but we didn’t have no horses and them trees are almost a mile from here. Next thing we knew, them cavalry boys came gallopin’ back here like the devil was chasin’ their horses’ tails. Some of them men were cut up real bad.”
“Did you see a Captain Stone?”
“Nope.”
“Did you go into the field afterwards?” Mercy found herself once again trembling, choking back wretched sobs and imagining the scene, as though she too had been there. The soldier looked at her quizzically.
“I don’t know no Cap’n Stone, ma’am, and we didn’t get the chance to look and see what had happened. The cavalry boys that made it out said the field was crawling with Yankees, and they was riding back to General Jackson. Then them Union soldiers came back in here counter-attacking, with four times the number we’d chased off earlier. We lost many good men. The Yankees held the ground in there till early this mornin’ and then upped and left. They all gone now, but we’re scouting the area, just in case there’s some wounded live Yankees with a mind for shootin’ before dyin’.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful,” Mercy sniffed. “I’ll just go take a look.”
“My apologies, ma’am, but I can’t be lettin’ you do that. Like I said, it ain’t safe. Anyhow, we got men in there clearing the field. There ain’t no dead cavalrymen fir you to look at. We’re burying bodies in here, and we’re doin’ the same in there.”
Mercy saw Coal’s head jerk up in fright when rough hands grabbed his bridle. She had come so far only to be turned back right at the place she wanted to be. No, she couldn’t put up with that – she wasn’t going to be stopped, not now. “Just a quick look, then I promise I’ll leave,” she pleaded.
“You need to be going back, lady,” the sergeant said with increasing gruffness.
“Why does everyone keep telling me that? I’m going!” Mercy made a feeble attempt at wrangling Coal’s bridle out of the soldier’s hand. The soldier gripped it even tighter. Two more soldiers approached. Mercy was furious, but she remained silent as the soldier repeated the order that she leave immediately.
She was tired, dusty, hungry, and filled with terrible grief at the thought of Jacob lying dead close by, being pecked by birds and eaten by horrible maggots and fleas. She was going, and no man would bloody well stop her!
She drew her Colt and pointed it at the three soldiers in turn. All three men stared at the gun barrel with disbelieving eyes, and they jumped when Mercy spoke in her loudest voice. “I am going to see if the man I love is alive, dead, or missing!” she stated. “I can shoot the eye of a bloody rabbit at twenty yards and not miss its pupil, so don’t test me – and don’t tell me again to leave! And if you want to shoot me in the back when I head for that bleedin’ field, then do it. I really don’t care. I’m so upset and wretched right now that a shot to my heart might be just what I need to put me out of my misery. Please, boys, I’m asking you nicely – let go of my horse and let me get on!”
The sergeant gave Mercy a pitiful look and then shook his head. “Lady, your idea of asking fir somethin’ nicely ain’t my idea of bein’ nice. C’mon now, put the gun back where it belongs. There ain’t no call for this.”
“There’s every call,” Mercy said. “Will you let me go to that field or not?”
“I reckon I won’t, ‘cause like I said, any dead cavalrymen that were there would be buried by now. Any live one would have been taken away and treated. Don’t make us arrest you. C’mon now – git going.”
Mercy felt tears running down her cheeks and decided she was probably the most pathetic sight these men had ever come across. She lowered her gun and re-holstered it. She gave the men an apologetic look and mounted Coal in silence. She had made a fool of herself, had acted like a madwoman, and she was very lucky they hadn’t shot her. “I’m sorry – so very sorry. I wouldn’t have shot anyone,” she whispered. “I’m leaving.”
The soldier she had first spoken to gave her a sympathetic nod. “I figured. Best you not pull that gun out again, though...I have orders, ma’am. No civilians are to get past here, and there ain’t no exceptions. Me and the men are real sorry about your captain. Hell, I hope one day my wife comes lookin’ fir me if I go missin’. Don’t you give up hope, lady. We got plenty of prisoners, and them Union fellas did too. Your captain might be hurt but alive – alive with the Yankees. We been treating the injured prisoners and savin’ more than one life. I reckon the Union doctors won’t leave no man to die, even a grey coat captain.”
Chapter Sixty-One
By the time Mercy had crossed the James River, now controlled by blue coats on its northern and southern banks, it was late afternoon. Thankfully, the long ride and overnight stop in a boarding house were behind her. Her return to Richmond had been brief but long enough to tell Mrs and Senator Bartlett about her search for Jacob and her anger at not being allowed to look for him in the area where he had fallen.
The Bartletts had not received any more word about Jacob either, they had told her, but they’d handed her a letter which had arrived from Belle after she had left the house earlier that morning. For once, they had agreed with her plans to leave Richmond for Norfolk, for they knew her well enough to guess that she would go mad waiting for news of Jacob, and that aiding her friend Belle would at least give her a worthy cause to cling to.
They had also assured her that any news about Jacob would be forwarded to her, should he be found alive. She had thanked them for this kindness, but she had also sensed that they believed Jacob to be dead and buried. Waiting for Jacob to return was still a reality for her, no matter what the Bartletts or anyone else thought. She would continue to think him missing and pray for him, and she would keep her hope burning bright.
The news about Isaac had shaken Mercy to her core, and she had not hesitated to respond to Belle’s request that she go to the hospital and do everything she could to help him. He was gravely ill, and after losing his left leg, he had succumbed to typhoid, which was sweeping through Norfolk and Portsmouth with startling speed.
Belle had been forthright in her opinions, as always, leaving Mercy feeling duty-bound to take care of Isaac until he recovered: Mercy, Isaac has been afflicted with loving you to distraction. He quite simply adores you, and without you in his life, may lose the will to fight his injuries and illness. You must come. I beg you! Please try …
Mercy had seen people young and old die in the Elephant and Castle because of despondency. She had always believed, even at a young age, that sometimes a person’s soul left the world before its body because it no longer wished to be in it. Having hope, therefore, was at times just as important as medicine, as far as she was concerned.
Mercy stood outside Isaac’s room and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears. She checked herself, smoothed down her gown, and tried to delay the moment he would see her. Her face was burning. She was embarrassed to face him after her shameful disappearance from the fort. She was scared to walk in there and see his anger and disappointment. But there was no more running away from guilt and no more excuses about war being the reason she had not told him the truth about Jacob. No, today she would have to face him and ask his forgiveness.
He lay in bed, eyes closed, his face white as the sheet that covered him, and beads of perspiration dotted his furrowed forehead. He had never seemed so precious to her, for he had been her rock, her doctor, and her friend in the most tumultuous times, and now she faced the likelihood of losing him forever. Isaac, with his ready smile and clear blue eyes that had always made her feel cherished, was the kindest of people, loving life, hating slavery, and staying loyal to her, even when she had not deserved his devotion. She hated herself. She despised her vanity and selfishness, for she should have told him a long time ago that she could never love him as a woman should love a man. Instead, she had clung to him in her hour of need and had made him think that her heart was open to his affections.
She sat in a chair next to the bed and felt his burning face with the back of her hand. “Oh, my dearest Isaac, what have they done to you? What have I done to you?” she whispered. “I’m here now. I won’t leave you again.”
Isaac opened his eyes. They stared into Mercy’s face until the misty veil that obscured his sight began to fade. His expression held confusion and surprise for just a second, and then he attempted to smile through pale cracked lips. “You’re here. I knew you would come back to me. How I’ve missed you. Kiss me, my darling.”
Mercy sat on the edge of the bed and took Isaac’s limp hand in her own. She lifted it to her mouth and kissed it tenderly. He was delirious. His fever was raging. It was not abating as they had hoped it would, according to the doctors she had met on her arrival. She gave him a dazzling smile and stroked his fingers lovingly whilst trying to hide her sorrow. “Of course I’ve come. Where else would I be? I left Richmond the moment I heard you were unwell. It’s high time I looked after you for a change, don’t you think?”
“You’re really here.” Isaac said again. “My Mercy has come home to me.”
“I have.”
“Darling, you are in danger. I don’t want you getting sick too. I couldn’t abide seeing you ill again.”
“Don’t you worry about me,” she told him. “I’m made of strong stuff, and I am not leaving you until you’re feeling better.” She kissed his cheek. “Isaac, I know you might not think it right now, but you are going to get well. Do you hear me?” She kept her voice light, finding it difficult to swallow. Tears filled her eyes, but she continued to smile through them, hoping that in his dreamlike state, he hadn’t noticed them.
“Sweet Mercy, will you stay with me until it’s over?”
“You listen to me, Isaac Bernstein. I know you’re very sick, but I’ve seen people in a worse state than you getting better. You have to promise me that you’ll fight this, because when I see some improvement in you, I’m going to take you to Stone Plantation, to some good country air, and I’m going to spoil you until you get sick of the sight of me.”
“You’re a welcome sight, sitting here ordering me about and making me smile – but I think I might be dying.”
Mercy pushed damp hair from his eyes and dabbed his face with a lukewarm rag. She scowled mockingly. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that to me. You’ll not be dying of a flaming fever, not after being shot and surviving. You’re going to get well and, eventually, go back to Boston and be the wonderful surgeon that you’ve always been.”
“Will you come with me? Will you be my wife? It’s all I’ve ever wanted …” He blinked a couple of times, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
Mercy’s tears coursed down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily and left the room. “Please, God, save him,” she whispered in the hallway. “Let this man live and punish me for all my wrongdoings, for I’ll gladly accept your chastisements. Breathe love and life into him so that he may find the happiness that such a good person deserves – please, please …”
She turned her head at the sound of footsteps and saw Nelson standing at the end of the hallway, eyes wide with surprise. His sobbing echoed down the hall. Mercy rushed to meet him, not caring who saw her falling into his arms. “Oh, Nelson, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me? Say you will.”
“Hush now – come with me,” he told her. “Let Mr Isaac sleep awhile.”
Mercy and Nelson walked side by side outside to the grassy lawn. The bright sunlight hurt her eyes after the dim curtained hospital room, where doctors seemed to think the sick should not be subjected to the joy of sunlight.
She wanted to cling to Nelson’s arm for support, but knowing how inappropriate that would be in the public grounds of a Southern hospital, she instead insisted that she sit on a bench to hide her unsteady legs. Nelson looked down into her tear-stained face. He sniffed loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a sight for my ole eyes, Miss Mercy.”
“And you to mine. I’ve missed you so much.” If only she could hold his hand and let the Southerners know that she didn’t give a hoot about the colour of a body’s skin when affection was needed. “I can’t believe this is happening, not to Isaac,” she said. “He’s a healer. Why would anyone want to shoot him?”
“He a Yankee in a Southern city filled with dem Johnny Rebs feeling all uppity at blue coats bein’ here. He ain’t the only Union man that been shot. They’s shooting at us all the time.”
“I’m so sick of this war, Nelson. I’ve seen such terrible things. Jacob is missing, and everyone thinks he’s dead – I’m so miserable.” She looked at Nelson’s disapproving face. He had a lot to say to her. She could see his condemnation itching to leave his mouth. Well, she would take his telling off, for no matter how much she wanted to shut her ears to his brutal honesty, he would have his say. “Oh, go on, then. Say what’s on your mind and get it over with – but be quick about it. I want to go sit with Isaac, and before I do, I want you
to tell me exactly what the doctors are saying about him.”
“I reckon you be here ’cause you think Mr Isaac’s done. You be so mindful of dat Massa Jacob Stone, you done left poor Mr Isaac crying over you. You done left me too without a word or hope of ever seein’ you again, but I ain’t got no time to tell you what you already knows. You need to get Mr Isaac well. You got to try and make him believe – so I ain’t gonna fight wid you – ’cause I’s real glad you here, and I forgive you now anyhow.”
Mercy shielded her eyes with her hand and looked up at Nelson, standing tall but wretched with worry. “Do they really think Mr Isaac is going to die?”
“Them doctors have seen six patients die in the past week. This typhoid spread like the damn cotton worm. But I seen patients survive this. We got one man in time, an’ he left the hospital yesterday. I’s prayin’ real hard fir Mr Isaac, and I’s prayin’ now you ain’t gonna get this sickness too, now that you be here.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Nelson. I don’t intend to get sick. I’ve got far too much to do. When is Miss Belle coming back to the hospital?”
She ain’t comin’ back. She worried about her little ’un getting the typhoid. She gone to Stone Plantation.”
“Is she alone?”
“She wid her Ma and Pa, and she say she ain’t leavin’ till there ain’t no more sick with fever.”
Mercy was thoughtful for a moment. If this sickness was spreading as fast as Nelson thought, it made sense for Belle to take Grace to the country. She had mentioned Stone Plantation to Isaac, but it had been a careless statement and not one she had taken seriously. “I’ll find someone to take a note to Miss Belle. She’ll be worried sick. We can’t let him die, and we won’t, no matter what those doctors are saying. I’ve seen typhoid fever before in London, and the only way I know to fight it is to lower the fever. We will have to sponge Mr Isaac down day and night, and, Nelson, he must drink, even if we have to pour water down his throat when he doesn’t want it.”
