by Leslie Gould
Kate joined her. As they neared the tent, Ira stepped out, holding a cup in one hand and his hat in the other. His blond hair curled even tighter in the heat and humidity.
He greeted his mother warmly, but he didn’t seem happy to see Annie.
First, he introduced them to Dr. Carson’s cook, an older woman named Meg. She seemed harried and was on her way to the storeroom to fetch her assistant, whom she’d sent to retrieve a bag of potatoes.
Ira handed his mother his cup of tea and whispered, “You shouldn’t have brought her.”
Kate shook her head and passed the cup to Annie.
Even in the heat of the day, an icy tingle ran down Annie’s spine, causing the cup to shake. George was right. So was the man at the hotel last night. And so was Ira. She’d been fooling herself. Gettysburg was no place for her. She’d thought she could do the work, but she’d been prideful. It was all much worse than she’d ever imagined.
Kate and Annie slept on cots in the attic with three other nurses. All were older than Kate and from York. One commented on Annie’s age, saying she didn’t fit the description required by Dorothea Dix.
“Who’s Dorothea Dix?” Annie asked.
“Goodness, girl,” the oldest of the group said. “She’s the Superintendent of Army Nurses.”
“Oh.” Annie had never heard of her before, but it sounded like she had an important job.
“She says female nurses should be matrons, not pretty young things like you.”
The attic was stifling, but Annie’s face grew even warmer.
“Annie’s here to assist me,” Kate said. “That’s all. I don’t think even Dorothea would mind.”
The woman snorted. “Well, you’re not exactly matronly either.”
“Oh, I am,” Kate said. “Old enough to be a mother to a soldier. Ira King is my boy.”
“Ira?” One of the other women perked up. “You must be proud of such a fine young man.”
“Well,” Kate said, “I am grateful for his compassion and care for others.”
“Some of the wounded have told stories about his bravery. How he rushed out onto the battlefield over and over to carry off the wounded.”
Annie couldn’t figure Ira out. He’d been part of the Brethren church, but he didn’t have a problem fighting.
When Kate didn’t reply, the other older woman said, “Perhaps that’s not what a mother wants to hear.”
In the dim light, Annie could see Kate shake her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m just so grateful the battle is over and he’s still with us. I know lots of mothers are mourning today. More will be in the months to come. I know we all mourn with them as we tend those who are still battling to survive.”
“On that note,” the oldest of the nurses said, “we’d better get to sleep. Those working the night shift will need some relief soon enough.”
Annie tossed and turned in the heat of the attic. Finally, she called out to God, struggling against her fear. Give me strength, she begged. And wisdom. Strength enough to do your will. Wisdom to know whom to trust. That’s all I ask.
14
The first morning, Annie worked with Kate, feeding the soldiers toast and soft-boiled eggs, and giving a thin gruel to the ones who could barely swallow. Then Kate taught her how to change the dressings. As they worked, Kate chatted with the soldiers, but Annie kept quiet. Most of them were boys. Some were weepy. Others still seemed scared to death. None were profane or rude in any way.
As Kate showed Annie how to dress the stump of a leg taken at just above the knee, Annie asked how she learned about medicine.
“In Philadelphia,” she said. “My first husband worked in the same hospital as Dr. Carson.”
“Was your husband a doctor too?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I worked alongside him until Ira was born. And then I turned my attention to midwifery.” She paused for a moment. “Ira was three when his father died. We got by, but then I met and married a merchant from Peach Bottom. But then, like I said before, he died too. I guess you could say I don’t have much luck with husbands.”
“Did your second husband belong to the Brethren church?” Annie asked.
Kate shook her head. “No, he was a Presbyterian. I was raised in the Brethren faith. I left when I married my first husband—and returned after the death of my second.”
“What about Ira?” Annie asked.
A sad expression fell over Kate’s face. “He’s finding his way.” She met Annie’s gaze. “Which all of us have to do, correct?”
She nodded. After they’d served the soldiers a dinner of mutton, vegetable soup, and bread, Dr. Carson asked Kate to help him in the tent out back.
Annie spent some time writing letters for the soldiers and then reading out of the scriptures to the group on the back porch.
She had a view of the amputation tent. Ira and another soldier carried a man through the back porch on a litter and headed that way. Annie said a prayer for the soldier—and for Kate. She was amazed at what the woman could do. The other litter bearer came back, but not Ira. She guessed he was helping with the amputation, and she wondered if he planned to become a doctor like his father had been.
The day progressed. They fed the wounded bread and stewed fruit for supper with slices of cheese and another cup of tea. Kate told Annie to go to bed, that she’d stay up for a few more hours and then join her.
“I’m going to get some fresh air first,” Annie said. She’d survived, but inside she felt raw and unsettled and wondered if she’d be able to keep up with the work day after day. Her knees continually felt weak, and several times she wondered why she hadn’t obeyed Samuel and returned home.
Kate nodded. “You’re doing a good job. I don’t know what I was thinking to bring you here—but thank you for coming.”
Annie nodded and said, “I’ll be all right.” She slipped down the hall, by Dr. Carson’s office door. Through the open door she saw him checking on one of the three patients on cots in the room. Then he stepped to his desk, picked something up, and took a drink. She hurried on, not wanting him to see her. Perhaps it was a flask of whiskey in his hands, something to get him through the end of the day. She never thought she’d be sympathetic toward someone taking a drink, until now.
She slipped out the back door, past the soldiers on the porch, and headed toward the orchard. First she heard whistling and then a song she didn’t recognize. “Where the blossoms smell the sweetest, come rove along with me. It’s ev’ry Sunday morning when I am by your side. We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride. . . .” She did recognize the voice, however. It was Ira’s. The song sounded so happy, so contradictory to the devastation around them.
The light was fading, and she could see Ira in the trees but didn’t want to venture that far. Kate had warned her not to leave the grounds alone. She stopped near the kitchen tent.
“Annie?”
She glanced over her shoulder as Ira stepped out of the orchard.
“Wait,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”
Annie remembered what he’d whispered to his mother the day before. Perhaps he wanted to chastise her too. She squared her shoulders. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry my mother brought you here. She means well, but I don’t think she realized how . . . ghastly it would all be.”
He was right. It was ghastly.
“You have no obligation”—he gestured up toward the cemetery—“to be part of this mess. Woody will be back tomorrow, and then he’ll either be heading back to Peach Bottom or perhaps Lancaster. He can take you away from here.”
By the light of the fire coming from the kitchen tent, Annie met his eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”
His blue eyes narrowed. “As a matter of fact, I do. This is no place for you.”
“You don’t think I can tend to the sick? Dress wounds? Feed the infirmed?” Annie put a hand on her hip as a determination to succeed rose inside of her. For the first time all day, her knees felt
steady. She would prove Ira King wrong. Before he could answer, she said, “I won’t be taking you up on your offer to ship me home with Woody.”
She turned toward the house, surprised by her own outburst.
“Annie.” He reached for her arm.
She jerked it away.
“I’m only thinking about your well-being.”
She faced him again. “And why would you bother yourself with that?”
She expected him to be defensive, but his blue eyes were full of compassion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Tears threatened to escape her eyes. “You didn’t stand up for me the day you met me. And then you joked with the other soldiers about Felicity.”
“That’s right,” he said. “It’s the way soldiers talk. I was only playing along, to protect you both.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had to tread carefully. If I’d offended the soldiers who were with me, I’d have a hard time getting them to cooperate. I had to play my hand carefully.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain.”
Annie knew she didn’t understand, but Ira seemed earnest about what he felt he had to do.
“Hopefully Felicity and her baby are in Philadelphia by now. I know she made it across the river by train before the Union had to burn the bridge at Columbia.”
Annie thought of the train station at Lancaster and the black men who seemed to disappear.
“I’ve told you too much.” Ira sighed again, and Annie thought of how exhausted he must be. “Hopefully the Rebs are on the run and this whole nightmare will soon be over. And God’s children will all be free.”
She didn’t respond, but already she regretted doubting him.
“I know you’re nonresistant,” he said. “It must be hard to be here.”
“It certainly strengthens my beliefs. War—or at least the aftermath—is more horrific than I ever imagined. No wonder Christ wants us to live in peace.”
“I agree,” he said.
She motioned toward his uniform. “Then why would you fight?”
“I don’t fight. I joined up to help others. That’s why I’m here.”
“You don’t fight?”
“No,” he said. “I’m a medic. And now Doc is teaching me all he can.”
“Do you hope to become a doctor?”
He shrugged. “We’ll see. . . .”
“Did you ever join the Brethren?”
He nodded. “When my mother did. As you can imagine, they weren’t happy about me joining the army.” He glanced down at his uniform. “As long as I’m wearing this, I’m not in communion with them.”
“But you’ll go back?” Annie asked.
He nodded. “God willing.” Then he pointed to the house. “I’ll walk with you. You shouldn’t be out here after dark.”
As they walked, Annie thought of Felicity. “I’m sorry I was rude to you that night you came to get the girl and baby.”
“No offense taken,” Ira answered. “I admired you from the beginning for being so willing to defend her.”
They’d reached the back porch. Annie thanked Ira and started up the steps. She turned and watched him walk toward the stable, where he and the other men slept in the loft.
He started to sing again. “Where the blossoms smell the sweetest, come rove along with me. . . .” If only the smell of honeysuckles filled the air instead of blood and rot.
Several days passed by, each one filled with tasks of feeding, bathing, and dressing wounds. Annie continued to read and write letters for the soldiers. Gradually, she grew used to the smells and sights of the hospital, and each day she grew more comfortable with her tasks.
A week after the battle, as Annie finished serving breakfast, Kate asked her to accompany Ira to the Christian Commission at the Schick Store to gather more supplies while the other nurses bathed the patients. Annie thought it odd she’d send them unchaperoned, but it dawned on her that the rules were much different during a time of war. Obviously they were, or she wouldn’t be in Gettysburg at all.
Ira hitched a horse to a cart, and they headed down to the main street, turning right toward the town square. Again, Annie held her apron up to her nose. The stench of death was thick in town too. It seemed nearly every house along the street had been riddled with bullets during the battle. Broken glass, doors, and splintered furniture littered the yards. It appeared most of the houses had been turned into hospitals, all much smaller than Dr. Carson’s home. Doors on sawhorses were being used as beds, and even front porches served as spaces for soldiers.
The store was just before the town square, and beyond that was the train station. Annie could see them both as Ira stopped the wagon in front of the store.
“They’ve repaired the railroad tracks to York,” Ira said. “I heard they expect to start shipping the wounded out this morning.”
“Where all to?” Annie asked.
“York first. There’s a hospital there. They’ll try to send others home if they can.”
Annie mentioned Cecil, Harriet’s brother, and Richert.
“Do you know what regiment each one is in?”
“They joined up together. The 1st Pennsylvania Regiment, Company F.”
“That helps,” Ira said. “Let’s ask at the Commission and see if they know where the injured from that company might be.”
Annie thought Ira might forget to ask as they carried out boxes of gauze, bandages, morphine, chloroform, and ether, but as he signed for all of the supplies, he asked about Company F.
“Check at the white house with the cots on the porch, on your way back. They might know.”
Ira stopped at the house, and Annie waited while he stepped inside. When he came back he said, “The doctor in charge said to go out to the field hospital, just outside of town. He heard they have quite a few Pennsylvanian soldiers there.”
“Can we go now?” Annie asked.
“Let’s drop off these things and then go.” The cart rolled forward. “I’ll try to get some more supplies at the hospital and maybe some food too.”
Thirty minutes later, they were back on the road headed toward the field hospital. In the six days since they’d passed by before, many more Confederate soldiers had been buried. This time Annie noticed crops that had been damaged. Trampled grain. Destroyed vegetables. Demolished orchards. She couldn’t imagine the horror of a battle taking place on her family farm. Lives had been lost on this land. Forever gone from this world. She shivered even in the heat, and offered up a prayer for both the families of the dead and for the farmers and their families who’d been witnesses to the devastation all around them. Heaven was the hope they all had in common.
When they reached the field hospital, Annie stayed in the wagon again while Ira approached another soldier. There was lots of activity around her. Orderlies moving patients. Soldiers moving supplies. Nurses hurrying from one tent to another. A soldier carrying a crate marched by, singing, “I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps. . . .” Annie hadn’t heard the song before but listened intently. “His day is marching on.” And then the man sang, as he hurried along, “Glory, glory, hallelujah, glory, glory, hallelujah . . .”
Ira disappeared into a tent, and then returned a few minutes later to her side of the wagon.
He reached out a hand to help Annie down. “A fellow said there are several wounded soldiers from Company F three tents down. Do you mind coming with me?”
She agreed and followed him once she was on the ground. The field, which had probably been a muddy mess a few days before, was pockmarked with ruts. They ducked into the third tent, where the canvas walls were covered with splotches of mildew and flies buzzed around.
Cots packed the tent, spaced just inches from each other. The stench was much worse than at Dr. Carson’s hospital. It was nearly unbearable, but Annie didn’t pull her apron to her nose. If the soldiers could endure their surroundings, she could too.
When Ira asked an orderly about men from Company F, he
pointed toward the end of the tent. Annie followed Ira, sidestepping between the cots. One of the soldiers was leaning on his elbow, staring at the soldier across from him.
“We’re looking for boys from Company F,” Ira said.
“Richert Fisher and Cecil Troyer in particular,” Annie said.
The man propped up on his elbow glanced up, his eyes glassy. “Cecil headed off with the unit to chase Lee south.” Then he nodded toward a soldier a couple of cots from him. “That’s Richert over there.”
Annie stepped closer. The soldier’s head was wrapped in a bandage that covered his eyes.
“He has a bad leg injury too,” the man said. “He talks some and has eaten a little, but he’s not doing well.”
Ira thanked the man and bent down beside Richert. “Can you hear me? We’ve come to check on you. Annie Bachmann is here with me.”
Richert reached out his hand and Annie took it. “Jah, it’s me. I’m here.” She knelt down beside him.
“Take me home,” he whispered.
Annie looked up at Ira.
He shook his head but said, “We’ll see what we can do. Eat what you can. Try to gain your strength back. We’ll return tomorrow.”
They told Richert good-bye, and then while Annie stood by the wagon, Ira spent some time talking to one officer and then another. When he returned, he carried a crate of supplies and three soldiers followed him, carrying crates too.
Once they were both back up on the bench of the cart, Ira said he’d managed to procure flour and canned goods, plus more medical supplies.
“Did you talk to anyone about Richert?”
“I did. They said he’ll be transported to the hospital in York, probably by early next week.”
“Do you think we could get him home instead? Would Woody take him?”
Ira wrinkled his nose as the wagon bounced over the ruts. “I’m not sure he’d make it.” He glanced at Annie, a concerned look on his face. “Honestly, I’m not sure he’ll make it to York.”