by Becky Lower
“You’ve had enough for your first day, Mrs. Brown.” He released her arms once she found her footing. “I don’t want to have to operate on you as well.”
“How do you do it every day, Colonel? I’m heartbroken, after only a few hours.”
“Did you help ease someone’s misery in those couple of hours?”
She glanced around at the men and placed her hand on her heart. “I hope so. At least they didn’t leave the world alone. I got their names and the addresses of their families. I’ll write each a letter later tonight, telling them of their son’s or husband’s misfortune. That latest young man was the fourth to die while I held his hand.”
Elijah’s lips turned up slightly, some of the tension between his shoulders lifting. “You’ve just explained why we do it. To help ease the plight of these men, who gave of their bodies so bravely. But you’ve done enough for one day. And your fine dress is soiled with blood.” He noticed the ever-present red from the floor had leached around her hemline and onto her skirt. “Please go on home now. I hope to see you back here again soon.”
She glanced at the bloody material and twitched her skirt. “The loss of a dress is little enough sacrifice on my behalf. And what of you, Colonel? When do you get to rest? To go home?”
“When the war is over, there will be plenty of time for me to relax and catch up on my sleep. Thank you for your efforts today. I hope to see you again soon. Good day, Mrs. Brown.”
He followed her movements while she gathered her things, tracked down her mother, and left. He told himself it was in order to make certain she followed his advice and took her departure. But she was the finest-looking woman he’d seen in months, and he wanted to capture the picture of her and implant it into his memory, for those infrequent times when he could lay down and sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
The Fitzpatrick household was raucous and lively as they gathered for the evening meal. The scent of roast beef tickled the nose as the servants brought in the dishes from the kitchen. In addition to her parents, Pepper sat at the table with her twin, Halwyn, and his wife, Grace, along with the youngest member of the family, fourteen-year-old Saffron, whose hair had yet to darken from its towheaded toddler color.
Pepper smiled at the noise. This gathering reminded her of the old days, when all the Fitzpatrick children were still in residence at the house, before they started getting married and moving away. Those days were gone, however. She had been the first of the children to wed. Michael had been a part of the family gatherings for years. Would she ever get used to not having him beside her? A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it. She may have thrown off her black attire, but she’d yet to completely divest herself of her black mood. She must, even if it meant faking an interest in the dinner conversation. She directed her attention to her brother.
“I must say, Halwyn, your uniform suits you well.” She noted how his glasses made him even more distinguished, how the cut of the blue jacket emphasized his broad shoulders, and how the medals lining his chest further defined his physique. Even though they were twins, they were polar opposites—Halwyn was a blond, while Pepper had dark hair.
Grace, dear sweet Grace, with her translucent skin and sparkling blue eyes, smiled over at Halwyn and placed her hand in his. “I agree, Pepper. He does cut a handsome figure. I find it hard to take my eyes off him, even after four years of marriage and two children.”
Pepper returned Grace’s smile but struggled to control her own envy. If Michael had become an officer, as Halwyn had, instead of marching off to war with the infantry, he might still be alive today. She blinked as her eyes misted up, and she moved her carrots from one side of the plate to the other.
“I see you’ve thrown off your black clothing.” In the silent language of twins, Halwyn had picked up on her mood and attempted to redirect the conversation.
Pepper ran her hand down the arm of her ruby silk gown, grateful to talk about fashion instead of war. “My year of mourning is up, and I’m more than ready to move back into a full life. Maybe it’s because I’ve been without color for so long, but I find myself drawn to rich, vibrant jewel shades. I plan to keep Jasmine busy in the next few months, coming up with new dresses for me. It’s a real treat to have a sister who is talented with a needle.”
Grace picked up her fork and stabbed her piece of the succulent roast beef. “I’m sure Jasmine will welcome the work, since she has no ball gowns to create this year. I think it’s such a shame there aren’t any balls scheduled. I feel so sorry for the young ladies who will not get a coming-out.”
Charlotte joined the conversation. “Pish-tosh, Grace. It would be unseemly to have a lively good time when there are more and more widows and grieving mothers every day. Besides, the pool of eligible bachelors continues to shrink. We’ve all had enough of this blasted war.”
Saffron helped herself to a mound of mashed potatoes that were drowning in butter before she said, “The darn war better be over by the time I turn eighteen. I want to be a debutante, following our family tradition. I want to meet my husband at a formal ball, just as Ginger, Heather, and Rosemary did. And you as well, Grace.”
Grace nodded. “I’m in full agreement with you there. I’d love to see the war end tomorrow, too. It seems all the young men in New York are either dead or off fighting somewhere in the South. Halwyn’s having trouble finding new recruits and training them, especially now since the horrors of the battlefield are becoming known. There’s even talk of having to resort to a draft of some sort to gain new soldiers. How in the world is Pepper ever going to meet someone new?”
Pepper blinked hard at Grace’s statement, and her own words caught in her throat. She gulped for air before she bristled and struck back. “I’m only just out of mourning clothes, Grace, and certainly in no way ready for someone new. I may never be. When I said a full life, I meant paying better attention to my sons and doing some charitable work.”
“Which she started today, Grace,” Charlotte replied. “We went to the Army hospital and worked there for several hours. Pepper chose the hardest task of all and performed it beautifully.”
Grace gazed over at Pepper, who tried her best to blink the unspent tears away. “Ah, Pepper, I’m sorry I’ve been so insensitive. Of course, no one could ever replace Michael. I didn’t mean for you to think that at all. I know how much both you and Halwyn loved him. So, tell us about your day at the hospital. Did you fetch water and bedpans for those brave young men?”
Charlotte chimed in. “No, not our Pepper. I toted the water and bedpans to the men in the recovery ward today. Pepper stayed in the hallway where the men were lined up and dying, fresh from the battlefields. She remained by their sides as each passed out of their misery here and on to the next world.” She reached across the table and covered Pepper’s hand with her own. “Such a strong lady she is. I have no stomach for it. In fact, Colonel Williams found time to thank her personally. He’s the head surgeon at MacDougall Hospital, and a recent widower himself.”
“He is?” Pepper glanced down the table to her mother. “Do you know how his wife died?”
Charlotte smiled, and Pepper squirmed. She’d seen that smile before when her mother was crafting something. She did not want to be her mother’s next pet project. She’d done what Michael wanted, and thrown off her widow’s weeds, and she’d done what her mother wanted, and gotten out into public again. She had no intention of going beyond that. The gleam in her mother’s eyes grew as she answered Pepper’s impulsive question.
“I never asked how his wife died. I only know it was due to an accident of some kind. Perhaps, if you’re interested, you could ask him yourself.”
“I’m merely curious, Mother, not interested.”
But her mind drifted back to the colonel as he stood amidst the sea of bodies and held her as she swayed on her feet. He was an attractive man, with tired blue eyes and disheveled salt-and-pepper hair. And he had a caring personality, to be able to note her distress in the midst o
f so much misery.
Halwyn turned his gaze to his twin. “You might want to add another charitable endeavor to your workload, Pepper. The Union is starting up a Civil War Widows Pension fund and is accepting applications. It might be a good fit for you.”
“What a wonderful idea, Halwyn. Michael left me well-off and with a roof over my head, but I realize others are not so lucky. I think the pension fund might be an excellent use of my organizational skills. I’ll give it some thought.”
George Fitzpatrick finally raised his voice. “Enough war talk. We’re here to have a pleasant conversation with our dinner, and to applaud Pepper for moving past her one year of mourning. Frankly, I enjoy seeing you in less somber colors. Your gown is lovely.”
Pepper smiled at her father, who was doing his best to redirect the conversation. She ran her hand down her red silk gown. “Thank you, Papa. It’s terribly out of fashion, since I’ve bought nothing new in the past year. And I ruined my favorite dress today at the hospital. Molly’s trying to get rid of the blood, but I may need to commission Jasmine to make me a new one.”
“This is more the dinner conversation I’m used to hearing,” George admitted. “Let’s eat up, shall we, while you ladies talk of fabrics and other such nonsense?”
Pepper raised a glass to her father. “I’m more than happy to talk gowns and ribbons here at the table. But I must cut things short tonight and return home right after dinner. I have three young boys to tuck into bed, and then I have four very special letters to write. I made a promise to the men who were dying that I’d inform their next of kin about their final moments.”
And after she finished with her tasks for the evening, she had to decide if she would ever again set foot in the ghastly hospital.
• • •
After serious consideration, Pepper returned to the hospital a few days later. She’d been plagued with self-doubt, cried over the letters to the four soldiers’ families, and changed her mind countless times before finally realizing she’d actually done some good at the hospital. If she could ease a soldier’s passage to the next world, and inform his next of kin of his last moments, it was worthwhile for her to keep coming.
She had only been at the hospital a short time before she spied the weary doctor, Colonel Williams. He seemed even more tired today. Perhaps there was a way to cheer him and to get his mind off his tasks in the operating room. She smiled at him as he walked up to her.
“Good morning, Colonel.”
“Why, hello, Mrs. Brown. I must admit I’m a bit surprised to see you again. I thought one day among these men would have been enough for you.”
She lowered her eyes. Evidently she hadn’t fully masked her discomfort the last time she’d been here. “I had to talk myself into coming back, I won’t lie about it. How do you face it every day?”
“It’s my job, but it never gets any easier. So what is on your agenda today?”
“Right now, I’ve got some empty trays to return to the kitchen. Then, I’ll come back to one of the wards and see what I can do to ease the men’s plight. I’m glad to see the empty hallway.”
“As am I. Finally, I have a moment to grab some food. I’ll walk with you to the kitchen.”
They strode side by side through one long ward and down the stairs to the kitchen. The colonel held the door as they passed from the staircase to the kitchen area, and Pepper was close enough to him to note his bloodshot eyes and beard stubble.
“How long has it been since you’ve had anything to eat, Colonel?” She guessed it had been hours, if not days.
“I honestly don’t remember. But hospital food is remarkably forgettable, anyway.”
“Well, you’re eating today. And to make certain you don’t run off before you get the proper amount of food into you, I’ll just have to sit and talk to you.”
He grinned at her before running a hand over his face. “How did you know I’d do that?”
“I have three small boys at home, Colonel, so I’m well versed in the ways the male population think. I’ve learned distraction is the best weapon in my arsenal.”
She placed the empty trays on the counter and walked with the colonel from one boiling pot to the next. Pepper surveyed the items on the plate and mentally agreed with him. The food was forgettable.
They took a seat at a small table in the front of the kitchen, and Pepper filled the conversational void with talk about how the city was faring in the midst of war, and how the everyday citizen was being affected. She guessed, correctly as it turned out, that the colonel hadn’t strayed far from the fort in months.
“There’s talk that the only way to shut the war down is to starve the Southerners. It breaks my heart to think of the mothers trying to keep things together while their husbands are off fighting, and they can’t get the flour they need to feed their babies.”
“I agree. The children didn’t cause this battle, yet they are the ones most likely to pay the highest price for it. My hope is for a swift finish to the conflict, but that’s unlikely.”
“I’m afraid you’re right in your assessment, Colonel.”
He wiped his fingers and mouth on his napkin before he ran a hand over his belly. “Ah, that was a passable feast.” He raised an amused glance toward Pepper. “Thank you for keeping me glued to my chair long enough to enjoy it. But, as fetching as your company is, I must now get back to work.”
“Yes, of course.” Pepper rose along with him, and they returned the way they’d come. When they got back to the ward, the colonel went in the direction of the operating room, and Pepper went to the first bed in the large room. She’d take care of the needs of as many men as possible before she had to leave for home. And then, she’d return again, this time with food from her own kitchen. Her cook was one of the best in the city, and if Pepper could entice the colonel to eat some decent food, he might be able to stay on his feet longer. She’d figure out a way to do her part for the war effort.
• • •
Elijah’s own groan woke him from his light slumber. He sat up on the cot in a corner of his office, his body drenched in sweat, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. From the shaft of light coming in through the only window in the room, he realized it was still early afternoon, and that his sleep had been minimal. The dream, which hounded him nearly every time he dropped his guard, had invaded his mind the minute he’d dropped off. The dream never varied, except in intensity. To call it a dream was painting it in too rosy a light; he called it a nightmare, which he experienced both in sleep and in a wakeful state.
It always began the same way. He was in the operating room, working on yet another poor soldier, when he slipped on the river of blood that ran freely from the table to the floor. His body careened out of control, and he fell into a four-foot-high stack of dismembered body parts. The amputated arms and legs reached out to him, grabbing him, trying to keep him in their clutches. He screamed as he fought to escape before he got buried. But there was no eluding the pile. Those arms and legs embraced him, drew him in, refused to let go. He was still in their grasp each time he woke himself with a scream.
Elijah shook his head to clear the dream, the nightmare, away. As an officer in the Army, and as a surgeon, he realized losing an arm or a leg was the best possible scenario, when your alternatives were a simple gunshot wound or death. Wounds healed, and the men had to return to the battle. He’d stitched up enough of them to know that was their fate. At least without arms or legs, you could no longer fight. You could return to your loved ones and turn your back on this horrible war that seemingly had no end. He could tell himself an amputation was the best of all possible outcomes, but the nightmare that overtook him every time he tried to find some comfort in sleep told him otherwise. He was sending these men back home with shattered bodies. How could they be blacksmiths, or farmers, or tradesmen if they couldn’t walk or lift a bag of feed?
Even as he told himself it was for the best, he prayed for an afternoon of simple gunshot wounds to deal with. He dr
eaded going back into the operating room and sawing another appendage off someone. Most of the soldiers were barely old enough to have facial hair. And the battles they’d lived through had aged them prematurely. Their memories would be with them for the remainder of their lives, plaguing their thoughts as they tried to adjust to a normal life. Just as he tried to live with his own horrors.
He sighed and pushed himself off the cot. He needed to push away the nightmare, as well, and replace it with a pleasant thought. Any pleasant thought. He owed it to the next wagon full of wounded who would no doubt be arriving shortly. His mind immediately latched on to the last pleasant image he’d had. Mrs. Pepper Brown, with her striking looks, her almost black hair contrasting with her pale skin, her gentle demeanor, and her lovely blue dress. She had returned several times since that first day, much to his surprise and delight. He’d thought she would be one who would see what went on in the hospital and turn and run as fast as she could. Maybe there was more to her than he initially thought. Her name was a dichotomy. Pepper Brown. Spicy and bland. Interesting and boring. Colorful and colorless. He wondered which side of her would win out, eventually.
Even though he was glad she’d returned, he would not have blamed her if she’d chosen not to. If it hadn’t been his job, he wouldn’t have been here, either. A hospital full of war wounded and dying was no place for a gently bred lady. And he had no doubt Pepper Brown epitomized a refined woman.
At least she’d provided him with something he could fill his mind with. He tucked the mental image of her away. He had a feeling he’d need it again, the next time he was able to take a fifteen-minute nap. Another wagon was being unloaded at the front door. He took a deep breath. Time to get back to work. When the war ended, he’d sleep. As long as the nightmares stayed at bay. He quickly splashed some cold water on his face and shook his shoulders to loosen his stiff limbs. He was ready for the next influx, and the next twelve hours in the operating room, where he would add to the pile of amputated body parts and shredded guts.
