Sarah donned her wool cloak and pulled the hood tight around her head before stepping outside. The clouds appeared heavy with moisture and the sky gray and threatening—as though waiting to make this day even more problematic. She hesitated before opening the door and turned to her father. “Should I ask Dr. Kirkland to stop and check on Mama?”
He nodded. “Tell him she has a fever and a bad cough and we think it might be winter fever.”
Sarah’s mind reeled at the thought. If her mother had winter fever, she’d be abed for much more than a day or two. Would she expect Sarah to take charge of the Basket Brigade until she returned to health? Sarah gave a slight shake of her head as she opened the front door and stepped outside. This was going to be a dreadful day. Like the freezing air that whipped at her cape, contemplating the tasks that lay ahead chilled her to the bone.
Chapter 2
Corporal Jacob Curtis leaned against a wooden post outside the Cairo depot and inhaled a lungful of crisp, cold air. He could have gone inside the sprawling brick building, but he wasn’t seeking warmth. Instead, he wanted time alone to once again reflect on what had happened to all of his grand plans. When he’d enlisted, he’d had one objective: to be assigned to the front lines where he would fight for the Union. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, he’d been ordered to escort wounded soldiers from Cairo, Illinois, to Chicago where they’d receive additional medical treatment. The train headed north through Centralia and Decatur, eventually taking a more easterly route into Chicago.
Many considered the hospital trains a duty without danger while others thought the trains could come under attack. Thus far, that hadn’t occurred, and Jacob didn’t fool himself with such notions. His duty aboard the trains wasn’t dangerous. There was no chance he’d see any action while escorting injured soldiers. With the train’s three bright red lanterns swinging by night and a shiny red engine, smokestack, and tender car to identify it by day, neither side had ever fired upon any train transporting invalids. This train was a sheltered environment where he’d never have need of a weapon.
A recent letter from his father had said as much. Though his words had been carefully chosen, his father’s derision had been obvious. Most of the letter had been a comparison of Jacob’s military duties with those of his older brother, Malcolm, who had fought at Antietam. Whenever his father mentioned Malcolm, his pride bled from the pages—just as Malcolm’s blood had flowed from his veins when he’d been shot with a minié ball. No doubt Jacob’s blood would also need to flow before his father considered him a real soldier.
The train hooted three short blasts to announce their departure, pulling him back to the present. After stepping onto the train, he lowered his collar, tucked a pair of thick gloves into his pockets, and entered his assigned car.
Frost lay thick on the ground outside the train, and a young soldier in the first hammock was using a corner of his blanket to clear vapor from the train window. He glanced up as Jacob approached. “Mighty cold out there, ain’t it?”
Jacob nodded. “Looks like it could snow any minute now, but I hope I’m wrong. Don’t need any bad weather slowing us down.” He touched the soldier’s arm. “You need anything?”
“Naw, I’m doing fine. Ain’t had this much rest since afore I joined up.”
The boy’s comments turned into a fit of coughing, and Jacob held a tin cup filled with water to his lips. “Take a few sips and see if it helps.”
Once the young fellow’s cough abated, Jacob continued down the aisle of the train, stopping to inquire about the needs of each soldier. On his return, a man who looked to be much older signaled to Jacob. “I hear there’s a real treat in store for us when we get to Decatur.” He grimaced with pain but didn’t let the discomfort stop him. “’Fore we was put on the train, one of the fellows told me that the ladies of Decatur are true angels of mercy. He said they board the train and deliver a hot meal to each of the soldiers. Is that true?”
“You heard right. The ladies started coming on board the trains back in March. At first they served only warm homemade bread and coffee, but with each train that passed through the Decatur station, they added more food. I’m not for sure how they manage it all, but it means a lot. Besides the food and other provisions, they spread a lot of good cheer to everyone on board.” He glanced outside at the freezing rain that now pelted the window.
The soldier followed Jacob’s gaze. “They come even if the weather ain’t good?”
Jacob chuckled. “Don’t you worry. Good weather or bad, they’ll be waiting for us. Most of them have husbands, sons, or sweethearts that are off fighting, so they won’t let the weather stand in their way.”
A soldier across the aisle called to him, and Jacob stepped to the litter. He smiled at the soldier, who rested on the second row of hanging beds that had been arranged three tiers high. “What can I help you with, Private?”
“Could you bring me some water when you have a minute?”
Jacob rested his hand on the litter. “Of course.”
He picked his way down the aisle of the car, careful to maintain his balance as the train moved along sections of rough track. The soldiers’ makeshift beds had been securely attached to stanchions and suspended by stout tugs of India rubber so that they gently swayed with the motion of the train. Though Jacob used caution as he traversed the car, the careful arrangement of the litters protected the injured men from the train’s jarring movement. After passing by several invalid chairs, he stopped at the end of a wide couch, where a few men with less threatening wounds sat visiting with one another.
He poured water from a canteen and returned to the soldier’s bed. The fellow drank his fill and then handed the cup to Jacob. “You think one of them Decatur ladies could write a letter for me?” His voice cracked as he looked at Jacob with mournful eyes. “I don’t think I’m going to make it home, and I need someone to write a letter to my Susie.”
Jacob’s hold on the cup tightened. The boy couldn’t be more than eighteen. “Is Susie your sweetheart?”
With a slight nod, he momentarily closed his eyes. “We got married the day before I left home. I need her to know about this.” He looked at his right arm, which had been amputated above the elbow, and his bandage-wrapped chest and stomach. “Too bad I’m not left-handed.” He attempted a feeble smile.
“I’m sure one of the ladies will write a letter for you, but I think you’re going to make it back home.” Jacob prayed he was right. The soldier was too young to die, and his wife too young to be a widow. He glanced around the car. The same could be said for most all the soldiers riding this train.
“You got a gal back home?”
The question jarred Jacob from his thoughts. “A girl? No. I don’t have a girl back home, but I’m going to be praying you make it back to your Susie.”
After the soldier murmured his thanks, Jacob returned to his chair at the far end of the car and contemplated what had happened between him and Laura Monroe, the girl who was no longer waiting for him. The girl who’d written to tell him she’d found someone else only two months after he’d departed. She’d written four pages in an effort to make him understand, but what she wrote could have been said in only a few words. She’d found someone else. That was all he needed to know. Why she thought he’d want a list of her new beau’s many fine qualities still baffled him. Didn’t she realize that breaking their engagement would be a knife to his heart and hearing about her new love would only deepen the wound?
By now, she was already married to someone else, and Jacob didn’t want to know anything more. He didn’t care why she’d decided to marry another man or even what his name was. Jacob leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Over and over, he’d asked God to heal the gaping hole in his heart and give him the ability to forgive. He wasn’t sure he’d completely forgiven Laura, but he didn’t think about her much anymore. Besides, it was better to have learned that she didn’t really love him before they’d married. Would he ever be able to tr
ust another woman? He doubted that would happen. One broken heart in a lifetime was enough for anyone.
Chapter 3
Sarah was only a short distance from the Decatur depot when the dark, swollen clouds that had loomed overhead throughout the day burst open and pelted her buggy with freezing rain. She didn’t know whether to be thankful or distraught. If the train couldn’t make it, she wouldn’t have to face any of the wounded soldiers or worry over completing arrangements in the depot to serve them. On the other hand, the women who had worked from early this morning to increase their contributions into food enough to feed sixty-five soldiers would be sorely disappointed. Much food would go to waste, and waste was not a matter to be taken lightly during wartime.
The wooden sidewalk outside the depot had turned slick, and the plummeting temperature and freezing rain chilled her to the bone as she carried the covered trays of rolls into the building. A fire crackled in the large, wood-burning stove, and she stepped toward the welcome warmth, still holding the trays.
“Let me take those, Sarah. I’m always here to help the ladies. Especially you.” Matthew Slade approached from the doorway leading from the depot restaurant kitchen into the main terminal.
She forced a smile as he lifted the trays from her arms and placed them on one of the long dining tables. Matthew was yet another reason she’d avoided helping with the Basket Brigade. For the past two years, he’d attempted to court her. For the past two years, she’d steadfastly refused. While Matthew was attractive, appearance wasn’t on the top of her list of requirements for a husband. Integrity, a strong faith in God, and a kind heart were the traits she valued and desired in a future mate, not a man like Matthew who couldn’t be trusted.
While still in school, she’d attempted to overlook his unpredictable conduct, thinking he would change as an adult. He could turn on the charm, but if you caught a look at him when he thought he was safe from sight, there was a brooding there. Even an element of danger. And she knew he could be dangerous.
He’d attempted to take advantage of her dear friend Elsie after a New Year’s Eve party several years ago. Convinced that her beau would never understand why she’d agreed to let Matthew take her home after the party, Elsie had tearfully begged Sarah to forever keep her secret. At first, she’d encouraged Elsie to tell her parents what had happened, but when the girl wouldn’t relent, Sarah had agreed.
Though she had hoped Matthew’s character would transform with age, the only thing she’d seen improve was his ability to fool those around him. One minute he could be charming and the next minute become self-serving and hostile. Even though Sarah had rejected the idea of a romantic relationship with him long ago, he continued to pursue her, avowing that she would one day change her mind. Sarah remained certain she would not. Ever.
Last year, when his older brother joined the army, Matthew had done his mother’s bidding and remained behind to operate the depot hotel and help her in the café. Mrs. Slade had insisted one son was enough for any mother to sacrifice. Those who didn’t agree with Mrs. Slade’s way of thinking had taken to labeling Matthew a mama’s boy or coward, and he’d become more and more unpleasant over the past year. He was like a pot on a fire—capable of boiling over at any moment.
Matthew leaned close and reached for the trays. “I’d do anything for the prettiest gal in town. Johnny told me you were going to be helping the ladies of the Basket Brigade today. I wasn’t sure he knew what he was talking about, but I’m glad he was right.”
When his hand remained atop her own, she pulled away. “I don’t have time to visit with you, Matthew. There are still several trays of bread and rolls in the buggy. I need to retrieve them before they’re ruined.”
“Don’t you worry one more minute. I’ll go get the trays. I don’t want you out in that freezing rain. A person could catch a terrible cold in this weather.”
She shuddered when he winked at her. How she longed to tell him she’d get the trays herself. Yet refusing his help would create an argument—and she didn’t have time to match wits with him.
Clara Wingard bustled into the room carrying a large kettle of stew. “Did you count how many kettles of stew we have coming, Sarah? If we don’t have at least twelve, we’ll have to be careful we don’t overfill the bowls. Nothing worse than running out before the last soldier gets his share.”
Sarah ran her finger down the list. “There are thirteen kettles promised, so we should be fine if everyone arrives as expected. With this weather, I’m worried some of the ladies may not want to get out.”
“Pshaw!” Clara waved her arm in a dismissive motion. “Don’t you worry ’bout the ladies of the Basket Brigade. The weather’s never stopped them before and it won’t stop them today. You mark my word—they’ll be here, and they’ll be on time, too.”
Sarah glanced toward the ticket counter, where the huge clock was clicking off the minutes. “Mother’s list says everyone should be here to divide the food and fill the baskets by quarter to five. Is that going to give us enough time?”
“Your mother’s been in charge of the Basket Brigade since we first started eight months ago, and quarter to five has always worked before.” Clara pointed to a table along the far wall. “Grab the end of that table and let’s move it over by the other one. We need to leave enough space so there’s a walkway between the tables where the ladies can work.”
In spite of the cool draft that pervaded the room once she’d moved away from the stove, perspiration dampened Sarah’s hands. “I never thought to ask Mother how we’re to serve everything.”
If her trembling voice revealed fear and a lack of confidence, Mrs. Wingard didn’t let on. Instead, she stepped toward another table. “No need to fret. We use tin cups to serve coffee, and they work fine for serving soup and stew, too. Once the boys have finished eating, we pass through a final time and pick up the dirty cups and utensils.” As Sarah and Clara set the last table in place, the depot door opened and several ladies trundled inside, their arms laden with their dinner offerings. Clara nodded toward the group. “See? I told you they’d be here on time.”
Nellie Hanson was in the lead as the group marched forward to place their food on the table and rid themselves of their dampened wraps. Once they’d hung their cloaks on hooks near the stove, the women gathered in a huddled group and stared at Sarah. Finally, Nellie cleared her throat. “We’re waiting to hear our assignments.” She pointed toward the tables. “Tell us where you want us.”
Sarah momentarily met the inquisitive stares of the women before glancing at the clock. This wasn’t a time to be indecisive or fearful. If they didn’t begin their work, they wouldn’t be prepared when the train arrived.
Inhaling a deep breath, she summoned her courage and appointed several women to work each of the tables. “Divide the stew into ten kettles so they won’t be too cumbersome to handle. We’ll send two kettles to each of the five cars. Several of you need to take care of the bread tables.” She forced a slight smile before picking up a stack of the baskets and carrying them to the tables. “These can be used for the bread items. Please line them with the cloth napkins and have another lady follow behind you with butter, jam, apple butter, and any other preserves.” After a quick survey of the tables, she noted numerous bundles of dried fruit. “Miss Wilhoite, would you and your sister, Emma, please take charge of the dried fruit? You can divide it into individual servings—perhaps wrap it in brown paper and twist the top or tie it with string.”
“We’ve been doing this for eight months, Sarah. Just assign who is to handle each of the food items.” Before Sarah could respond, Emma pursed her lips in a tight knot and pointed to the fruit. “I don’t think there’s enough fruit for sixty-five packets.” She perched her hands on her hips and raised up on her toes. “Who else was supposed to bring dried fruit?”
Janine Brown waved. “I brought the rest of the fruit, Emma. I put the crate over by the stove when I hung my coat then forgot to set it on the table.”
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p; Emma lowered her arms, but her eyes shone with disapproval. “You know we always place our food on the tables. There isn’t time to scurry around the depot looking for baskets and crates, Janine.”
“Now, now, sister.” Maggie patted Emma’s arm. “You don’t need to make such a fuss. I keep telling you that faultfinding is not a spiritual gift.”
“Well, if people would do as they’re supposed to, I wouldn’t be required to point out their errors.” Emma lifted her nose high in the air when several of the ladies chuckled, whispered comments, and nudged one another.
Sarah circled around one of the tables and positioned herself in the center of the room. “Ladies! Let’s keep to our work so we’ll be ready when the train arrives.” Every woman was needed, and Sarah didn’t want Emma stomping out of the depot with hurt feelings.
Emma cleared her throat and pointed toward the small depot kitchen. “The coffee’s not going to be ready if you don’t get out to the kitchen and set the pots to boiling. That’s your mother’s job, so that makes it your task today.”
Sarah noted Emma’s smug smile as she hurried toward the door leading into the depot restaurant. Right now, there wasn’t time to dwell on Emma and her negative attitude. Besides, she had needed the reminder about the coffee. Sarah rushed past the scarred wooden tables covered with frayed checkered cloths and a multitude of mismatched chairs awaiting the next trainload of passengers.
In the kitchen, the aroma of brewed coffee wafted through the warm room. Three pots sat atop the large wood cookstove, and several kettles of water had been hung in the large brick fireplace. Surely Mrs. Slade hadn’t made all this coffee for the hotel guests and the few passengers who would eat in the depot restaurant. From the information Sarah had gleaned from her mother, the only passengers who ate in the restaurant were soldiers who worked as aides on the trains and the few soldiers able to disembark the train. There was another train due a few hours after the five-thirty departed, but it was far too early to prepare coffee for those passengers.
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