The Courageous Brides Collection

by Johnnie Alexander, Michelle Griep, Eileen Key, Debby Lee, Rose Allen McCauley, Donita Kathleen Paul, Jennifer Uhlarik, Jenness Walker, Renee Yancy

  For three days she had nursed him, more dead than alive after being furloughed from the Confederate prison camp and sent home to die. When she shaved off his matted beard, his face was so gaunt she’d barely recognized the dashing soldier she had sent off to war twelve months earlier.

  Now he lay with the other two tiny graves in the pine grove at the back of the farm, forever silent and cold.

  Major Logan removed his wooden leg, blew his candle out, and lay back on the cot, staring into the darkness. He’d heard about women nursing injured soldiers at other camps, but he’d never thought to actually see one. He would send her packing tomorrow. She didn’t belong here.

  His calf ached, and he automatically reached down to rub it but found only empty space. Even after a year he hadn’t completely realized his leg was gone, and through some cruel trick of nature, he could still feel his toes.

  He groaned, sat up, and reached to relight his candle. Slowly he pulled the crumpled letter from his haversack. Even though he’d already memorized every line, he couldn’t stop himself from reading it again, if only to see the letters and words she had formed with her own hand on the paper:

  Buffalo, New York

  October 2, 1861

  Dearest James,

  It is with much trepidation that I write to you now. I have spent much time pondering our future since your terrible injury. I thought I should be able to accept your limitations, and that it would have no impact on our life together, but I was wrong. I’m weak, James. I’ve always had an aversion to blood and illness, and after much prayer and contemplation I have come to the conclusion that I must break our engagement. I am sorry to do this now while the war still rages but thought it much crueler to have you believe I am waiting for you here at home, only to return and find that we cannot marry.

  I hope in time you will come to forgive me. I will pray for God’s richest blessings on your life.

  Sorrowfully,

  Beth

  A fresh ache pierced his heart. He pictured himself traveling home to Buffalo after the bloody war ended, going straight to Niagara Falls and throwing himself over the brink like Sam Patch, the “Yankee Leaper.” Then he laughed grimly. With his luck he’d probably survive.

  He had to stop torturing himself.

  He groped for a lucifer, struck it against the table, and lit a corner of the pale blue letter. The flame burned through the elegant script and consumed the paper. Only when his fingers scorched did he fling it to the grass and stamp on it.

  It was over. Finished.

  Done.

  Chapter Two

  Before dawn in her dark corner of the sanctuary, Kate lit a candle, helpfully supplied by Private Bennett, and splashed some water on her face. Perhaps later she could find a place to have a proper wash. Amazingly, Private Bennett had risen even earlier than she and had the fires kindled and a pot of farina cooking. She picked up a can of Borden’s condensed milk and considered the bucket of eggs on the counter. Perhaps the men would enjoy a rice pudding.

  “I need an extra-large cauldron, Private Bennett. Filled with water and brought to a boil.”

  “Will that do?” Bennett jerked his head toward the immense iron pot that that stood outside the tent.

  “That will suit excellently.”

  His face lit up. “What are you going to cook today, ma’am?”

  “The men’s laundry,” she said. “Best get to it.”

  Bennett started to salute and then dropped his arm, his sallow complexion coloring red. Kate suppressed a smile. At least Private Bennett had accepted her presence.

  Shouts and the clatter of wheels drew Kate out of the tent. A string of wagons, each carrying its load of limp figures, stretched beyond the picket lines of the camp. Here and there an arm or leg stuck out, and piercing screams of agony tore from the patients when the wagons lurched over a rut.

  Private Bennett came to stand beside her. “One of the gunboats has come into the harbor, ma’am, bringing the injured from a battle downriver in Tennessee, most likely.”

  “Is Major Logan the only surgeon here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  That would account for the exhaustion she had witnessed yesterday. Another reason to stay.

  Bennett eyed the long line of wagons. “Bless their hearts. It’s gonna be a mighty long day for the doc. But I heard tell there’s another sawbones coming.”

  The tall figure of Major Logan detached itself from the swarm of men and limped toward them, his black brows drawn together in a fierce frown.

  “Mrs. Wilkes,” he shouted, still a good distance away, “I have urgent need of your help.”

  She sniffed. Quite a different tune from yesterday.

  The major reached her and paused. “The army has taken Fort Donelson, the wounded are coming in, and my surgical assistant is down with dysentery. I need you to assist me in the tent.” He lifted his chin as if daring her to refuse.

  “I would be happy to, Major,” she said, pretending a calmness that she didn’t feel. She had to be strong and capable, even though her knees were shaking under her skirts. “Will you be able to feed the men by yourself?” she asked Bennett.

  “I can give him some men to help.” Major Logan said. “Come with me.”

  A line of stretchers waited outside the tent, each containing a moaning, bloodied figure. Some called for their mothers, others their wives or sweethearts. Flies crawled over their bloody wounds, and the stink of blood, feces, and fear rolled over her like a wave. Her throat constricted, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

  “Mrs. Wilkes?” The major watched her, his face inscrutable. “Are you ready?”

  “Y–yes” she managed to gasp, hating the tremor in her voice.

  He shrugged and entered the tent. She followed.

  A waist-high wooden table ran down the middle. Bandages and surgical instruments lay on a smaller table to the side: scissors, knives of varying lengths, needles, and saws. There were other instruments like awls and long slender tools with small hooks at the end. Bloodstains, some fresh, some rusty, spattered the walls of the tent and soaked the flattened grass underneath her feet.

  “Put this on.” He threw her a bloodied leather apron, which reached to her ankles.

  With trembling fingers, she tied it on as best she could.

  “You will administer the chloroform. Stand here.”

  She took her place at the head of the battered table as indicated, trying to close her ears to the screams of agony outside the tent.

  “You will follow my instructions completely.”

  She nodded and stiffened her spine. Dear Lord, be my strength.

  He took a paper cone and stuffed some cheesecloth loosely into the point then nodded to the waiting orderlies, who swiftly picked up the first stretcher. The soldier screamed and grabbed for his leg as they deposited him on the table.

  “No!” shrieked the soldier. “Don’t take my leg! Don’t you do it, Doc. Please! No, no!”

  Jagged ends of white bone protruded from the mangled flesh above the knee, the leg already nearly severed in two. The orderlies grunted as they labored to restrain his thrashing limbs.

  Major Logan seemed oblivious to the wounded soldier’s struggles. “Hold the cone like this.” He placed the open end of the cone over the man’s contorted face. “Leave several inches of space for air to circulate.” He picked up a brown glass bottle and, with a dropper, carefully administered eight drops onto the pointed end, then eight more, until the patient’s thrashing diminished. The administration of the chloroform continued over the next minute or two, when a sudden muscle contraction shook the soldier and his limbs relaxed into blessed unconsciousness.

  He handed her the cone and the bottle. “Be ready to do exactly as I did when I tell you.”

  Silently she nodded her assent. Sweat trickled down her back and dampened her forehead. Furtively she wiped her face on her sleeve and hoped she could do what he expected of her.

  The major chose a scalpel,
quickly severed the shredded skin and sliced through muscle and tendons. One of the long slender implements with the hook at the end was used to pull arteries out of the bloody flesh and tie them off. Then he picked up the bone saw as the patient started to stir. “Four drops now.”

  Trying to control her shaking hands, Kate managed to properly drop the chloroform onto the cone, while maintaining the space for air to circulate. Once again, the patient’s limbs relaxed as anesthesia was achieved.

  “Now then.”

  Kate shuddered as Major Logan sawed through the bone and then used a file to smooth the rough ends. An orderly took the amputated limb and tossed it onto the grass outside the tent. Moving with great speed, the major sutured the flaps of skin over the stump and took the bandages held at the ready by the orderly. In crisscross fashion he expertly bound the stump as the patient began to wake.

  “Done.”

  Major Logan lifted his hand, and a pair of orderlies swiftly removed the patient while others lifted the next soldier to the table, this one with a shattered arm.

  “Are you ready, Mrs. Wilkes?”

  The severed leg lay discarded on the grass outside with the poor soldier’s boot still on the foot. She would never forget when she’d unwrapped Henry’s bloody dressing for the first time. Pus had oozed from the swollen angry flesh, and the wound crawled with maggots. And the smell—she gagged at the memory. Henry had suffered this same barbarous surgery. Had writhed in agony on a hard bloody table like this. Had he had chloroform? Oh, dear God, dear God, I pray he did. If only she hadn’t—

  “Mrs. Wilkes!”

  The intrusion of Major Logan’s stern voice dissolved the image in her head. With a start, Kate realized the major and the orderlies were staring at her.

  “I said, are you ready to proceed?” Major Logan asked in a tight voice.

  “I’m s–sorry. Yes. I’m ready.”

  She clenched her jaw and took a breath, steeling herself for the next amputation.

  The major nodded to the orderlies, who took a firm grip of the soldier. Kate raised the cone above the patient’s nose and mouth.

  “Ten drops.”

  Carefully, Kate concentrated on measuring out the chloroform as the patient convulsed, his arms and legs twisting.

  “Ten more.”

  The patient’s body went limp.

  The same surgery then repeated in a rapid, dizzying fashion. A scalpel to the skin to form the flaps, the muscles and tendons divided and the bone saw separated the arm from the body.

  Hours later a stack of amputated arms and legs lay piled outside the tent. Her head throbbed, and she had completely sweated through the bodice of her dress. Her arms ached from holding the cone upright for hours. Morning had blurred into afternoon, a mindless maze of blood, body parts, and screams of agony.

  “Just one more, Mrs. Wilkes.” He hesitated. “You’ve done well.”

  “What is a woman doing in here?” an angry voice roared, and a moment later the owner of the voice lunged into the tent, a portly officer with pendulous cheeks and a belly that threatened to burst the double row of brass buttons on his coat. Bald on top, with stringy hair at the back and a tiny, cruel mouth, he stood with his arms akimbo and glared at Kate like a basilisk. Her nostrils flared at the strong odor of alcohol that clung to him.

  “Pity you didn’t arrive sooner, Major Drake,” said Major Logan calmly. “I could have used the help. Four more drops.”

  Kate administered the chloroform, trying to ignore the blustering man staring at her a few feet away.

  Major Drake stamped his foot, splattering her apron with bloody mud. “I demand to know what she’s doing here.” He took an unsteady step closer, and Kate barely managed to keep the cone in place and not shrink away from him.

  Major Logan paused. “She is assisting me with this amputation.” He fixed the man with a stern glare. “We will speak later.”

  “We’ll speak now, James—”

  Something snapped inside Kate, and she whipped her head around. “You’re drunk, sir, higher than a Georgia pine!” It certainly wasn’t the first time, as evidenced by the purplish web of tiny burst veins that covered his nose and cheeks. “You need to leave.” Kate held his furious gaze, willing herself not to look away.

  Major Drake’s lips closed into a perfect circle, soundlessly opening and closing like a flabbergasted fish. Then he shut his mouth and straightened stiffly. “You haven’t heard the last of this,” he snarled. He clapped his hand to his mouth and stumbled out of the tent. A moment later they heard him vomiting into the crepe myrtles.

  “Almost finished. Hold steady.” Major Logan tied off the last suture, bandaged the stump, and then nodded to the orderlies, who took the stretcher off to the makeshift hospital ward.

  Kate let out a long breath as a sudden dizziness passed over her. No wonder she was lightheaded. As the roaring of her heartbeat filled her ears, she realized she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink this entire day.

  “Mrs. Wilkes?”

  When she didn’t answer, Major Logan gripped her arm and dragged her to a camp chair outside the tent. “I’m afraid you may have inhaled some chloroform. I had forgotten how short you—” He stopped abruptly. “Bring some water!”

  It felt like heaven going down her parched throat.

  Refreshed, she stood to her feet. “I’m perfectly fine. I didn’t have time for breakfast before you summoned me. That’s all. I must get back…back to the men.” Quickly she drew her skirts together and hurried toward the makeshift hospital. She wanted to forget what she’d seen in the surgical tent. What Henry had suffered—because of her.

  “Mrs. Wilkes!”

  She didn’t turn around when he called her name but hurried faster. He caught her at the back door. “Mrs. Wilkes. What’s wrong?”

  She refused to look at him. “Nothing.”

  “Why are you running away?”

  “I’m doing no such thing. Let me pass.”

  “You’re crying.”

  “I’m not.”

  The major snorted. “I knew it. It’s too much for a woman, exactly as I suspected.”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “It’s nothing of the kind. I’m sorry to disillusion you, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of these soldiers.”

  “Then why the tears?”

  “It’s Major Drake you should be questioning, sir, as to his fitness for his chosen profession.”

  “I will deal with Major Drake. Now then.”

  She clenched her fists. “I was thinking of my husband, if you insist on knowing. He suffered the same operation to amputate his leg. The surgeries today gave me a terrifying vision I’d rather forget. I hadn’t realized how agonizing it must have been for him—” She groaned inwardly. And she had caused it. She dug her fingernails harder into her palms until she gasped at the pain. She deserved it, and more.

  The arrogant look on the major’s face softened slightly, only to be swiftly replaced with a scowl. “Mrs. Wilkes, this is no place for a woman. Pack your things and go home.”

  Kate pressed her lips together. If she hadn’t given the water cup back to the orderly, she could have smashed the imperious look off his face. But that wouldn’t help her cause, so she turned on her heel instead and stalked around the building.

  “I’m leaving for Illinois tonight,” he shouted after her, “and you’d better be gone when I get back!”

  She tossed her head and didn’t deign to look back. Insufferable man.

  A breeze off the river cooled her flushed face as she sat on the wooden front steps of the church to simmer down. Hadn’t she proved herself in the surgical tent? She knew she’d surprised him. Once or twice she had caught him studying her.

  The stench of blood still filled her nostrils, as well as plastering most of her dress and face. The major had to contend with this after every battle. How did he do it? Bodies torn apart, piles of amputated limbs, the screams of the wounded, all coalescing into one long bloody nightmare u
ntil the last man had been operated on. And then to wash off the blood and try to forget what he’d seen, what he’d done until the next transport of injured and dying men arrived.

  The mules were still on the front lawn, and the wooden pews had taken a beating. Idly she wondered what the church’s congregation would think when the battered seats were back in their proper places. Horace whinnied at the sight of her and wandered over. She ruffled his bristly mane, and he pressed closer, nudging her hand when she stopped petting him.

  “Well, Horace,” she said, giving his neck a good scratch, “it’s been a hair-raising day.”

  Private Bennett came around the corner at that moment and raised his eyebrows when he saw her talking to the mule. “Howdy, ma’am.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  Bennett stopped in front of her and recoiled. “Ma’am, could I get you some hot water?”

  She smiled wryly. “I’m a sight, I know.” Every muscle in her body ached, but she needed to return to the boys. “Thank you, Private.” Kate gave Horace one last pat. “Time to get to work.”

  Horace brayed his disappointment when she left him to wash her face.

  She had absolutely no intention of obeying Major Logan’s demand.

  Major Logan rubbed his forehead wearily as he walked toward his tent. Of all the surgeons Washington could have sent it had to be Benjamin Drake. When sober, he performed as an adequate surgeon. But rumors had recently surfaced of problems arising wherever Drake had been sent. And then Mrs. Wilkes had piped up. Drake had an apoplexy when she called him out. What nerve that woman had. Surely there would be hell to pay.

  It proved that women didn’t belong here, and that was that. He had told her to leave, and she had better be gone when he returned from Cairo. He didn’t want to deal with her or any other woman, anywhere, ever again.

  Chapter Three