All Through the Night

by Tara Johnson

  A sob scraped Cadence’s chest. Louisa’s knotted fingers rubbed her back in circular motions as she and spilled out the horrid story.

  “Land sakes, ain’t had no idea you even wanted to become a nurse, much less tried to go into that hospital.” Louisa clucked her tongue. “Hard work, child. Mighty hard.”

  Cadence sniffled. “I was so sure I could do it. Things were going so well too, until Dr. Ivy . . .”

  Louisa harrumphed and Cadence sat up, wiping away her tears. “What?”

  The housekeeper frowned. “Sounds to me like that doctor was trying to scare you away.”

  She sucked in the remnants of a sob and let her mind wander over the events of that last miserable half hour. “I don’t know.” His terseness. The way she’d been taken from transcribing letters and moved to assist a surgical amputation. The steward’s look of sympathy. Her throat clamped.

  Dr. Ivy had indeed chased her away. Her nostrils flared. “Why, that no-account, low-down—”

  Louisa grabbed her agitated hands. “Calm down, missy. Cool that temper. What that doctor did wasn’t right, but neither were you.”

  The accusation stung. “I didn’t do anything.”

  The servant arched a brow. “Come now. You may have wanted to check on those soldiers, true enough, but that was done in five minutes. What you really wanted was to try your hand at nursing, which those women let you do readily enough, even though Miss Dix already told you no.”

  Heat crept up her collar. She dropped her gaze to the bed. “I suppose there’s a measure of truth there. My motives weren’t quite as pure as I painted them to be. Not that it matters.” She blew out a breath and rubbed her temples. “Clearly I’m not cut out to be a nurse.”

  Louisa shook her head. “I didn’t say that. Seems to me, no one is born a master at their craft. All of us got to learn. Even that surgeon. We learn and we grow. We’s all born naked, knowing nothing. We learn one skill at a time. You ain’t been taught nothing about nursing yet, but two things you got that I know would make you an excellent nurse.”

  “What’s that?”

  Louisa cupped her cheek, her brown eyes filled with tenderness. “You love people, child. You love ’em so deeply, you hurt when they hurt. You’ll do anything and everything to take that pain away, even if it means sacrificing yourself.”

  Cadence’s lip trembled.

  “And two, you’ve got the Almighty. If it’s his will, he’ll provide a way. Why, look what he’s already done in your life. Remember what that phrenologist said all those years ago? And look at you now.”

  Cadence offered no rebuttal. She dared not share how much she still hid in order to fit in. How many times she still clamped her lips shut so the dreadful malady would not be noticed. How many words she substituted to avoid the ridicule, the embarrassment.

  “You pray. Wait and see.”

  Wrapping her arms around the housekeeper, Cadence inhaled Louisa’s unique scent of cinnamon and soap. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She released Louisa and straightened her shoulders. “Tomorrow I’m going back down to the hospital to apologize for my weakness. I’ll march in there with my head held high. Miss Dix and Dr. Ivy may not allow me to nurse, but at least they’ll not say I ran crying from the building in disgrace.”

  Louisa chuckled. “Make that three things you’ve got in your favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Gumption. You never, ever quit.”

  The next morning, Cadence squared her shoulders and opened the doors of Washington Infirmary. This time, instead of an empty foyer, Nurse Meyers greeted her, her arms filled with clean linens. Upon spying Cadence, she paused, sympathy lining her aged face.

  “It’s good to see you again, Miss Piper. How are you faring?”

  She lifted her chin. “Qu-qu—well now. Thank you, ma’am.”

  Nurse Meyers leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper, her mouth puckering into a pinch. “That was a nasty trick Dr. Ivy pulled on you. He’s usually so kind. I’ve never seen him behave so.”

  She had no gracious reply. The better road would be one that rose above backbiting. “I may not be adept, nor permitted to be a nurse, but if there is ever anything I can do to help, anything at all . . .”

  Nurse Meyers smiled. “I will be sure to let you know. The soldiers are quite fond of you.” She winked. “As are we.”

  “Thank you.”

  She watched the older woman carry the linens down the hallway and disappear from sight. She closed her eyes and blew out a thick breath. It had been difficult to swallow her pride and walk in, but if she could somehow lend a hand to help the Union or ease the burden of those nursing the suffering soldiers, she’d do it. Even if it meant scrubbing filthy linens.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  Her eyes popped open. Dr. Ivy stood before her, his head tilted, regarding her with that brooding, dark stare of his. Her heart hammered, but she refused to look away. She would not be intimidated by this man again. She would not.

  “You’ll find me to be full of surprises, sir.”

  A flicker of amusement twitched his mouth. “No doubt.”

  Cadence twisted her hands together, then forced them apart, not allowing herself the luxury of fretting in front of the surgeon who so flustered her. “I came to apologize.”

  “Whatever for?”

  She lifted her chin. “For collapsing in the operating room yesterday. I’m not proud of it, and I pray I did nothing to impede the soldier’s surgery.”

  Dr. Ivy studied her so long, she felt the urge to squirm. “No apology necessary, Miss Piper. You’re not the first to faint in such circumstances. You’ll not be the last.”

  His understanding unraveled the anger that had wound itself around her heart.

  “I must ask, sir, did you intend to scare me away or merely test my mettle?”

  The hint of a smile appeared. “Tell me, did you interview with Dorothea Dix?”

  Why would he not answer her question? “I did.”

  “And did you meet with her approval?”

  She squared her shoulders. “I did not.”

  “I see.”

  She tried not to notice the way the light caught strands of his chestnut hair, turning them golden brown.

  “What reason did she give?”

  “Miss Dix said I was too young.”

  “What that all?”

  She remained silent.

  His mouth tipped into a lopsided smile. “Knowing Miss Dix as I do, I would say she also judged you to be far too comely to be among sick and wounded men. Am I correct?”

  She nodded, hating the admission. Her cheeks scorched under his perusal.

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing for you here, Miss Piper. Please, I beg you, go home.”

  “But I—”

  His gaze grew fierce. “You cannot serve here.”

  She took a step back, her trembling fingers groping for the door.

  His expression was stormy, though his voice was soft. “If you return, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and march you home myself.”

  She blinked hard. “You’ll not see me again.”

  Then she turned and left, letting the door shut behind her with a resounding click.

  Chapter 6

  FEBRUARY 1862

  “When other helpers fail and comforts flee,

  Help of the helpless, O abide with me.”

  Cadence finished the last note of the hymn and bowed her head. Christ Church was full for the night of revival and prayer services. Hearty amens punctuated the air. With a cleansing exhale, she lifted the hem of her skirt and returned to her seat beside Congressman Ramsey and his wife.

  Thelnita grasped her hand. “Beautiful solo, my dear.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cadence let her eyes slide shut for a brief respite. How she longed for a cool breath of air instead of the stuffy atmosphere of the overly warm room. Her
traitorous gaze trailed to the window once again, where the outline of the hospital sat merely a block away.

  Stop it! You’re not wanted. The admonition stung, but it was a familiar sensation, like the stab of a needle in a calloused finger.

  Since being forced from Washington Infirmary, her days had been dull. A listlessness ate away at her spirit. Father refused to let her assist him at the shop, and Louisa tried to include her in household tasks, though they both knew Cadence wasn’t truly needed. The only things that brought her purpose were her trips to baby Rose’s graveside and the memories of helping the wounded soldiers months before. Even donating her sewing projects to Union charities failed to ease the ache inside.

  She forced her attention to the front lectern, where Reverend Quattlebaum took his place, clutching his thick black Bible.

  “Thank you, Miss Piper, for leading our hearts to the throne of God with such beauty. Congressman Ramsey has done nothing but shout your praises.”

  She felt her cheeks heat as several people turned to stare. She bobbed her head and lowered her lashes.

  “Among our honored guests this evening is famed orator and poet Fanny Crosby.”

  Cadence startled and clutched Thelnita’s arm, leaning in to whisper, “Miss Crosby is here?”

  The older woman’s dark eyes shone. “Indeed she is. She spoke at the Capitol building this morning. My husband invited her to come tonight.”

  Cadence pressed a hand to her suddenly nervous stomach. She was glad she had not known the acclaimed poet was among them before she sang, otherwise she would have been too shaky to have uttered a note.

  The reverend continued. “Miss Crosby is also quite a talented singer. I asked her if she would mind sharing a hymn with us tonight, but our dear sister is recovering from the quinsy, and with her earlier speaking engagement to Congress, her voice is tired. Please pray for her recovery and for her safe travels as she returns to New York to join her husband, Mr. Van Alstyne, in their ministry work.” His smile stretched wide. “Miss Crosby, upon your next visit, I look forward to hearing one of those hymns you told me you were starting to write. No doubt you shall be as successful in composing sacred lyrics as you have been with poetry.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Cadence couldn’t see her, but the voice from the corner of the room was soft and light.

  The pastor turned toward the congregation. “And now, please open God’s Word to Genesis chapter 45, verse 27. ‘And they told him all the words of Joseph . . .’”

  The crush of people exited Christ Church and spilled into the darkened street. Congressman Ramsey and his wife were saying their good-byes to Reverend Quattlebaum when a gentle voice inside the church beckoned Cadence.

  “Are you Miss Piper?”

  She turned to see a tiny woman gripping the corner of a pew. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Her features could be described as nothing but plain, yet her smile was sweet. The eyes behind her round, darkened spectacles were unfocused. They traced no movement. Sightless.

  “Yes, ma’am. Miss Crosby?”

  “Yes, my dear. Forgive me if you must hasten away. I only wanted to say how much your singing and your song selection spoke to my spirit tonight. Thank you.”

  Cadence moved to stand before the diminutive woman. “A greater honor you could not bestow upon me. My father and I have long admired your work, ma’am. When I discovered you were in attendance, I admit a whole swarm of butterflies took flight in my stomach.”

  Miss Crosby laughed. “Anxious to impress a blind woman? Sit with me if you have a moment so we may become better acquainted.”

  “I would be honored.”

  The poet felt her way along the pew and eased down, making room for Cadence.

  Studying the woman she’d heard so much about, she was suddenly tongue-tied. Many questions rolled around her brain, yet none surfaced into coherent thought.

  “I’m astounded at my good fortune in speaking with you. My father will be amazed. We’ve read your poems and anthems for years. He’s especially fond of the ones printed in the Saturday Evening Post.”

  “Ah, yes. The Post has been most kind to me.”

  “I doubt it had as much to do with their kindness as with your talent. And to hear you are to begin writing hymns. How delightful!”

  Miss Crosby leaned in and dropped her voice low as if sharing a secret. “To be honest, my dear, I’ve been writing music and lyrics for quite a number of years with my dear friend George Root, but most liturgical circles have not been aware of it. They would disapprove, you see.”

  “I cannot fathom why.”

  Miss Crosby smiled slyly. “My earlier works are used in secular song-and-dance shows.”

  Cadence suppressed a grin. “Ah, I see. Not so well received among high society.”

  “Nor among some Christian circles, I fear, though there is nothing scandalous about them. Still, I’ve busied myself of late writing patriotic songs but find the Almighty is drawing me more and more toward hymns . . . songs that bring me close to his heart.”

  Cadence breathed. “Knowing how splendid your poetry is, I cannot wait to hear your sacred work. Perhaps I’ll sing them one day and be able to say I met the composer herself.”

  Miss Crosby blinked as if shaking away a deep musing. “Enough about me. Tell me about yourself. I already know God has gifted you with a golden voice. Are you using it for him?”

  Miss Crosby did not believe in dancing around a topic, that much was plain to see. “I’m trying. Mr. Ramsey has been very gracious to me, inviting me to sing at patriotic rallies for the Union and revival meetings. It’s something I can do to help, I suppose.”

  “You suppose? What else occupies your time?”

  “Looking after my widowed father, though he stays busy since opening his shop. And there’s the promise I made to Reverend Goodwin’s wife before she moved. Their baby passed away while they ministered here, and I promised her I’d watch over their little girl’s resting place. I visit each week and keep the grave decorated.”

  Miss Crosby’s expression shifted as if a veil had been draped over her countenance. “That’s extremely kind of you. I—” She stopped short and swallowed, the muscles moving in her neck. Cadence waited, but Miss Crosby’s mouth lifted back into a shaky smile. “Very kind.”

  “To be honest, I still find myself longing for something I do not have. I’ve begged and pleaded with God to open a door, but thus far, he has kept them all barred and shut to me.” Unexpected tears welled as her throat constricted. “I should be content with singing, encouraging others and caring for my father, yet I’m not. My heart yearns for more. I know he can but say the word. Why would he deny me something that would only bring good?”

  “Would it? Are you God? Can you see tomorrow’s sunrise or next month’s or next year’s? No, my child. What seems good to us may bring untold pain in the future, could we only but catch a glimpse beyond the bend.”

  “What shall we do then? Never hope? Never pray or dream?”

  “No. Pray—not for your own glory, but rather for his to be displayed. Pray for his great name to be made powerful in your weakness. He may grant your petition with favor. Sometimes he still says no, as he did with me when my child was swept into his arms.”

  Cadence took a sharp breath. Miss Crosby’s lips trembled even as a tender smile lifted. Her vacant eyes behind her spectacles held peace. A serenity infused with strength. Cadence reached for her slender hands and squeezed.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “My child is with Jesus, and a more wonderful place to be, I cannot fathom. Whether her passing was providential care to prevent some unforeseen disaster, or rather a flaming arrow flung by the enemy, I do not know. So I stand with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego of old and say I know God is able to deliver, but even when he does not, he is still good, and I choose to follow and obey.”

  Miss Crosby squeezed Cadence’s hands, and she felt a rush of peace settle over her like a gen
tle breeze. “You are an inspiration, Miss Crosby. Thank you for your encouragement. So I trust God and keep serving.”

  “Indeed. I visited a prison here in Washington only just yesterday, and do you know what captured my attention? One man. One lone man crying out from the depths of his cell as we passed. He was whimpering, ‘Don’t pass me by. Don’t forget about me!’ There are so many who need help, my dear. We need not wait for a divine revelation. We just do the next thing until God opens a new door.”

  “Just do the next thing.” Yes, she could do that. “What a lovely thought. Love the broken. Give water to the thirsty. Feed the hungry. Just do the next thing.”

  Miss Crosby patted her hand. “It’s been a joy visiting with you, Miss Piper.”

  “Likewise.”

  As they stood to depart, Cadence turned back. “You know, that would make a wonderful hymn.”

  Miss Crosby’s brows rose. “What would?”

  “About the prisoner crying out. ‘Pass me not.’ You should use that in a song, Miss Crosby.”

  A light warmed the woman’s vacant eyes. “Perhaps I shall.”

  Father grunted and took another pull of his coffee as he perused the morning newspaper.

  Across the table, Cadence looked up from her plate of eggs. “Bad news?”

  “Nothing but.” He peered over the top of his reading spectacles. “The Union’s western campaigns are not as successful as the generals had hoped they’d be.”

  “That’s a diplomatic way of saying they failed.”

  Father harrumphed. “Quite. And this—” he slapped the newsprint—“leaves me questioning the morality of mankind.”

  “What is it?”

  “It seems a group of men had a bit of a skirmish, unrelated to the war. One of the men was shot and the rest made haste to his home to divide up ownership of his slaves. They plundered the best of his slaves and killed an infant slave boy when his mother protested being taken away.”

  Cadence shuddered. “How terrible.”

  “Authorities are reported as saying it’s a closed case.” Father frowned. “Odd, that. Shouldn’t they be doing more?”