by Tara Johnson
Suppressing another shiver, she pushed back a wayward lock of sweaty hair with her wrist and carried the basin of clean water into the surgical tent where Dr. Price awaited. Only the smallest amount splashed on her dirty apron.
Nurse McDonald passed and wrinkled her nose. “Trade with me.”
Cadence smiled. “Why? What doctor have you been assigned to assist today?”
The matronly nurse’s mouth pinched into a frown. “You’ll never guess. The most handsome one this side of the Mississippi. Dr. Ivy is here. Can you believe it?”
Cadence looked down at the basin of water. Her watery reflection stared back at her.
Nurse McDonald grabbed her arm. “Oh, please, trade duty with me. You always had such a way with him. You were the only one who could manage him when he was in one of his moods, and merciful saints, he’s in a foul one today.”
Cadence hesitated. She longed to have the opportunity to thank Joshua for saving her last night, but she’d promised herself to stay far away. She mustn’t give in. Not even a little.
“I’m sorry. I already promised Dr. Price my assistance for the day.”
Nurse McDonald’s mouth puckered like she’d bitten into a pickle. “Can’t say I blame you, but I’ll not be held to account if there is one more casualty added to the list.”
Cadence chuckled as the disgruntled nurse stalked away. Nurse McDonald would have to learn to deal with Joshua’s tempestuous perfectionism just as she had. Her heart could bear no more.
Indeed, she feared she’d already given it away.
Chapter 18
“HERE. TAKE THIS.” Cadence scooped a spoonful of mashed blackberries into the soldier’s mouth.
He kept his eyes closed and chewed slowly. “After months of beans, coffee, and teeth grinders, plain old berries taste like heaven.” He smacked the purple juice appreciatively. She could barely see the gray eyes opening beneath the bandage wrapped around his head.
“Teeth grinders?” She used the spoon to keep juice from dribbling down into his beard.
“That’s what me and the boys call hardtack.”
“Ah. Well, one of the nurses found a huge blackberry patch by the creek.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Dr. Price thinks it will aid with, uh, dysentery.”
He stared at her blankly.
She cleared her throat. “The Virginia quickstep.”
Comprehension dawned. “I understand. I’m beholden to you if it helps. Ain’t nothing caused me more misery these past months than that.”
She straightened and smiled. Most of the men were sweet and grateful. The talkative ones, anyway. The others, well, the rest hovered between life and death.
A mosquito buzzed near her ear, and she swatted it against her neck with a slap. A sweltering heat lay over the valley, causing the stench of decaying bodies to rise thick. Soldiers could not get the dead buried quickly enough. The nauseating stench coated her nose and tongue. Little respite from the heat could be found within the shade of the tents, for no breeze stirred within.
The elderly Dr. Price walked by, the bags under his eyes puffier and more pronounced than usual. “Nurse Piper, we are out of chloroform and I have a number of amputations to perform this afternoon. Could I trouble you to find some?”
“Where would I need to go?”
He waved his hands. “We have several supply tents set up that way. For the most part, we surgeons take what we need. I require chloroform and whatever you can find of the quinine.” He frowned, his small jowls sagging. “Malaria is rampant.”
“Yes, sir.”
She picked her way across the uneven ground and closed her eyes in bliss when the faintest breeze stirred. Pewter clouds were gathering in the distance. Rain. If only rain would come and wash death and disease away.
She ducked into the first tent in the direction Dr. Price had indicated. Crates were stacked and filled with medicines and bottles of every shape and size. She blew a tendril of hair off her forehead and began sorting through the brown bottles. Calomel, slippery elm, vinegar, and whiskey. No chloroform. Other crates revealed large stores of bandages and lint, as well as quinine. She grabbed one bottle and slipped two more into her apron pocket.
Leaving that tent, she glanced around. Hadn’t the doctor mentioned several supply tents? Perhaps the next one over would provide the chloroform.
She ducked and stepped carefully inside the shadowed darkness of the next tent. This one was smaller than the other. A cot stood against one wall of the canvas-draped frame. She frowned. Surely this wasn’t a supply tent. A valise and bag had been tossed in the corner. Several small crates were stacked along the opposite side. An assortment of medicines were strewn across their tops.
Odd place to store medicine.
She moved to the glass bottles and squinted to read the labels in the dim light. As she held up the largest, her eyes adjusted enough to see the bold block letters: CHLOROFORM.
She had whirled to leave when the canvas flaps flew open, admitting a swath of light. Joshua stepped inside, drawing the flaps shut behind him, plunging them both back into shadows. Upon seeing her, he froze. Her hand flew to her heart.
“You frightened me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I frightened you? Tell me, Miss Piper, do you always make it a habit of marching into places uninvited?”
Heat scorched her cheeks. “I was not uninvited. Dr. Price sent me here to acquire medicine.”
His brows rose. “Here? To my personal tent?”
Blood leached from her face. “I d-didn’t know. I only s-saw the medicines and thought—”
Fury thundered on his face as he stepped closer. “That’s the problem, Miss Piper. You don’t think. You do whatever comes into that pretty little head of yours.”
Her voice strangled. “Why are you acting this way?”
“If you must know, I just lost a patient, so I’m not in the mood for lies.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “What did Price send you in here to steal?”
She gasped and tucked the bottle against her chest. “Steal? He did no such thing! How dare you!”
“Then show me!”
Tears stung her eyes. “You’re nothing b-but a b-bully, Joshua Ivy!”
“What is it? What did you take?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just c-c-c—”
The word stuck, stalled on her tongue as if wading through frozen honey. Hot tears made tracks down her cheeks.
“C-c-c—”
“Say it!”
“C-c-chl—”
A sob escaped. Something flickered in his eyes. The shutter masking the hard edge snapped, revealing a tumultuous yearning. A rushing sound filled her ears. He pulled her to his chest and cupped her face in his hands.
“Oh, Cadence.”
His voice was strained, a tortured whisper before his lips claimed hers, hungrily devouring, exploring. Her heart quavered as his hands slid through her hair, down the curve of her back, and up again, as he murmured against her lips, “Forgive me.”
Her sobs found release and calmed as she melted into his touch. She was falling. As his lips explored her face, her jaw and neck, the world faded away. There was only him.
“Cadence,” he whispered against her skin, his lips chasing hers. “What have you done to me?” He gentled his hold and kissed the tears from her cheeks, her lashes, before claiming her lips once more. Her pulse roared in her ears. “I was content in my work, my life until the day you walked into the hospital. Now I can think of nothing else, no one else. Nothing but you.”
Her spirit found flight. She could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips as her hands pressed against his chest. Her breath was ragged as she gazed into his eyes . . . eyes flooded with desire and longing.
“Joshua, I thought you believed me simple.”
He nuzzled her cheek. “Never.”
“My father, he treats me as if I’ll never measure up to some intellectual standard. I’m sorry I bel
ieved you to be the same. I’ve tried to push you from my heart, but—” another kiss—“I can’t.”
He stepped back and tenderly stroked her face with the pad of his thumb. “I’m a fool. After the benefit, I thought the best thing would be to keep you at arm’s length. The thought of losing you merely because you were associated with me was, and is, unthinkable.” He shook his head. “But I can’t. God forgive me, you’re in everything. Everywhere I turn, in the songs I hear . . .” His gaze darkened. “Even in my dreams.”
Her breath snagged as he lowered his head once more.
In the distance, Dr. Price’s gruff bellow drifted. “Nurse Piper, have you found that chloroform?”
She sucked in a breath. Slowly she pulled the glass bottle away from her chest and held it out to him.
“Chloroform?” His brows lowered. “Why didn’t you just tell me so?”
Her chin trembled. “Because I wasn’t able.”
She couldn’t stay. Couldn’t bear his pity or her own shame.
“I must go.”
“Cadence, wait—”
Air stirred and light invaded as she pushed free of the canvas flaps. Her lips burned from Joshua’s kisses. Could everyone see? Keeping her head down, she hastened to the surgical tent.
If only chloroform could heal a wounded heart.
Wearing her somber black dress and pinched expression and holding open a small journal, the superintendent of nurses for the Oak Grove campaign stood before the line of women just after sunrise the following morning. The fatigue lining her face brooked no argument about the day’s coming assignments. Soldiers were still hard at work burying the dead. Many of the wounded were being loaded onto wagons so they could be transported via boat up the Potomac to hospitals in Washington. The nurses were to occupy the last of the boats back to the capital. Until then, they would continue to treat the wounded as best they could.
“Nurse McDade, you’ll be the main assistant to Dr. Abernathy today, and Nurse McDonald, you’ll be assisting Dr. Price.”
Nurse McDonald heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The superintendent nodded curtly and ran her finger down the column of names. “Nurse Sewell, you’ll be overseeing the less experienced nurses as the ambulance runners carry wounded to the dock. Private Greene has a wagon ready to transport you. And, Nurse Piper, you’ll be assisting Dr. Ivy today. Any questions?”
Cadence’s eyes slid shut. The rest of what the superintendent said was drowned out by the buzzing in her ears. Work side by side with Joshua after what had transpired yesterday? His outburst of temper, then passionate kisses? Worse yet, she’d stuttered like a fool, then received his ardor like a loose woman. What did he think of her? Heat crawled up her neck.
Yet as she’d lain in the dark of her tent last night, she’d replayed the moment over and over, savoring every touch, every murmured word of affection. And she knew then, as the tears poured down and found their mark on the scratchy woolen blanket beneath her skin, she was in love with Joshua Ivy.
She trudged toward the surgical tents and rolled up her sleeves. She poured a bucket of clean water into an empty basin and lathered her hands with sharp-scented lye. She eyed Joshua’s surgical tools. Dr. Price had not let her wash his, but Joshua might think differently. He’d long sought a way to lower the cases of blood poisoning among the wounded. Surely cleaning the instruments wouldn’t hurt, would it?
She paused in indecision before scooping up a handful of the tools and dunking them into the tub of soapy water. She’d just begun to scrub when a masculine voice near her ear caused her to jump.
“What are you doing?”
She whirled. Joshua stood staring at her, looking far too handsome. A tender light shone in his eyes.
“I—I, that is, I just thought, for bl-blood p-poisoning . . .” She forced a calming breath. “I thought to clean your instruments.”
His brows rose. “Interesting theory. You think this may help reduce infections from surgery?”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. “I thought it might help. If washing hands aids in reducing illness, washing instruments should do the same.”
He said nothing, only stood rubbing his chin in thought.
“Dr. Price would not let me touch his instruments, so I have no way of knowing if it is beneficial.”
His mouth tipped. “Let’s try it.”
“Really?” Her heart fluttered.
“I think we’ll know soon enough whether it works, based on the number of patients who recover with this new method. The idea has merit.”
She was spared saying anything further when runners brought in the first soldier for surgery. She swallowed at the sight of Stephen Dodd on the stretcher. Despite the early morning’s relative cool, sweat dotted his ashen face. Upon seeing her, his pain-stricken expression brightened.
“Miss Piper.” He croaked the words, each one costing him considerable effort. “How I prayed to see you again.”
“Save your strength, Mr. Dodd.” She reached for a tin of water and let some dribble into his mouth. “You must rest.”
Joshua leaned over him and smiled gently. “Private Dodd? I’m Dr. Ivy. I see you’ve sustained extensive damage to your leg from a minié ball. It has shattered bone and severed tendons and muscle. Infection has set in. Do you understand what must be done to preserve your life?”
Stephen nodded curtly, his lips pressed into a firm line. “Do what you must, Doctor. It would not be what I would choose, but if I would dare claim to be willing to give my life for the glorious cause, I should not be ashamed to give my leg.”
Joshua squeezed his shoulder. “You have great courage, soldier.”
Stephen’s gaze flickered to Cadence as Joshua turned to ready the tools he needed to operate. “I only fear I should not be able to dance with you as I told you I wanted to do when I wrote.”
Joshua paused and Cadence stiffened, sensing his sudden unease.
“You and Nurse Piper know each other?”
Stephen gazed at her with tenderness. “Quite well.” His gaze returned to Joshua. “Her father gave me permission to court her with plans to one day make her my wife.”
Her heart thudded to a painful stop. The silence was dreadful.
Finally Joshua spoke. “I see.”
Stephen reached for her hand and she fought the urge to yank it away. He didn’t understand. He’d never understood, no matter how many times she tried to gently redirect his interest. And now Joshua thought . . .
“It was the hope of knowing she was waiting for me that got me through.” His eyes were bright in his too-thin face. “Despite the grueling marches, the nightmares I’ve endured, it was the promise of a future with Miss Piper that gave me the strength to keep pressing forward.”
How to dispute the tender hope of a gravely injured man? She couldn’t crush him. She wouldn’t.
She extracted her hand gently and forced a smile. “Rest.” She braved a glance at Joshua. He was looking away, his brows lowered.
Nor did he look at her the rest of the day.
Chapter 19
JULY 1862
WASHINGTON, DC
Cadence directed the stewards carrying in yet another wounded soldier. She pointed to one of the few spots left in Judiciary Square Hospital’s overcrowded rooms.
“There. That corner will hold three more men before we’ll be forced to start lining them up in the hallway.”
“Yes, ma’am.” They obeyed, and she paused only long enough to wipe a trickle of sweat from her flushed skin. She’d prayed Washington would be cooler than Oak Grove had been, but when she’d stepped foot on the dock two hours ago, her hopes had been dashed. The heat was enough to nearly make her dive into the Potomac.
Tonight. Tonight she would bathe at her own home and sleep in her bed. A real bed. Not a lumpy bedroll or the unforgiving ground. The past fortnight at Oak Grove had been grueling. Far more taxing than she’d dreamed possible.
She’d just stepped outside t
he hospital doors to gauge how many more soldiers needed admittance amid the flurry of bustling nurses and stewards when she was suddenly surrounded by a flock of men in suits, all of them brandishing small journals and sharpened pencil stubs.
“Miss Piper? Are you Miss Piper?”
“I am.” She drew back at their inquisitive stares and loud voices.
Yet they pressed in all the more eagerly, circling, their smiles wide, eyes bulging as they scribbled.
“Miss Piper, when did you return to Washington?”
“How long have you been a nurse?”
“What songs do you most often sing to the soldiers?”
She couldn’t breathe. They surrounded her like a pack of wolves. She stepped back and bumped into a warm body.
“Easy now. You’re scaring the young miss.”
She looked up to see Steward Swindle glaring at the lot of them. He tugged his cap low. “What’s all the fuss about?”
A young man with pomaded blond hair and a thick mustache pushed his way forward. “I’m a reporter with Harper’s Weekly. Miss Piper, one of our sketch artists was at Oak Grove and caught you singing to one of the wounded soldiers. He captured your likeness and printed up the story. Here.” He tugged a copy of the periodical from his jacket pocket and thrust it into her hands. “The entire town went wild over it. Rumors have abounded over the woman dubbed the Songbird of the North.”
Mouth dry, Cadence scanned the oily newsprint. Sure enough, there in the middle of the page was her likeness, sketched in pencil as she wept over a dead soldier. Her throat constricted. It was him. The young man who had cried out for his mother, who had rent her heart open with his pleas.
“Don’t you know?” The reporter’s breathless voice startled her back to the present. His eyes were bright. “You’re famous, hailed as a beacon of hope amid the ashes.”
She lowered the paper. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Will you answer a few questions?”