She had written countless letters on behalf of men too sick to do so for themselves. She recited Bible verses and poetry. She also spent a great deal of time fanning the suffering, an effort to break the sweltering midsummer heat.
Emily’s friend Julia Ward was doing so now. She was seated at her brother’s bedside. Edward still slept heavily from his surgery. Looking at him, Emily sighed. He was once the most confident, dashing man of her neighborhood and had captured ladies’ hearts with ease. Injury, illness and two years of war, however, had ravaged his chiseled face and muscular frame. Emily wondered just what Edward would think when he woke to find his left arm was no more.
Each man reacted differently to the devastating reality of amputation. Some cried out for their missing limbs; others simply turned in silence toward the wall. Whichever Edward’s reaction, she hoped he would realize that his family and friends still cared for him. Emily moved closer to his bed. Julia looked up. Fatigue lined her eyes.
“Has there been any change?” Emily asked.
“No.”
She could hear the discouragement in her friend’s voice. Emily tried to reassure her. “Sometimes it takes quite a while for the ether to wear off.”
“He isn’t any cooler. At least not yet.”
Emily felt Edward’s forehead for herself. “It is still early.”
“Would you bring me a basin and some cool water?” Julia asked. “I’ll sponge his face and neck.”
“That would be very helpful, but be careful not to overdo.”
“I won’t.”
Edward’s sister had faithfully attended him since his arrival yet she was not a nurse. Emily knew exactly why Julia had not volunteered. Although her sacque bodice and gored skirts concealed any evidence from the average passerby, Emily and her closest friends knew the truth. Julia was expecting a child.
“Em?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“When Edward begins to stir...will he be sick to his stomach...or have strange visions? I have heard that some men do.”
“Not necessarily, but we should keep watch. The best thing you can do for now is stay beside him. Alert me the moment he begins to wake.”
Commotion at the far end of the ward caught Emily’s attention. Dr. Mackay was barking orders to two of the Federal stewards.
“I told you to deliver him to surgery! Do so immediately!”
She swallowed back the lump in her throat and watched as the young men in blue scrambled to obey. The man in question had severe shrapnel wounds to his leg.
“Tell the surgeon to cut the leg now or he’ll have another dead man on his hands!”
Emily gasped. The poor man about to undergo the procedure was so delirious with wound fever that he knew not what was about to happen, but everyone else in the room did. Their faces went pale. Even the stewards cringed at the doctor’s harsh tone.
Forcing herself to continue, she found Julia a sponge and basin, then moved on. A soldier several beds down from Edward asked for a drink. Emily brought him a cupful of the freshest water she could find. His face immediately brightened.
“Bless you, Miss Emily.”
“God bless you, Jimmy.”
He drank his fill, then leaned back upon his pillow. Dark curls flopped about his forehead. “Is the surgeon really gonna take Freddy’s leg?” he asked.
Freddy was Jimmy’s comrade and unfortunately the subject of Dr. Mackay’s recent tirade. Emily hoped her tone sounded encouraging despite the news.
“I am afraid so, Jimmy, but it is what is best for him, in order to save his life.”
His chin quivered ever so slightly. Emily didn’t know how old he was exactly, but he looked barely beyond boyhood.
“Me and Freddy come up together,” he said. “All the way from Saint Mary’s City.”
Emily recognized the name of the southern Maryland town; she had once visited the place when her father, a lawyer, had business there.
“Is that where your family is from?” she asked as she straightened his bed coverings.
“Yes’um. Freddy’s, too.” His thoughts then shifted. “Reckon they will send us both to that new prison camp they’ve made? The one at Point Lookout?”
She would not allow herself to dwell on what would happen after these men were discharged from the hospital. More than likely, they would be sent to one of two Federal prison camps, either Fort Delaware or the one Jimmy had mentioned at the mouth of the Potomac River.
“I don’t know where they will send you,” she said honestly. “But I hope that your stay there will be short.”
“Well, if I gotta go to prison, I hope it’s Point Lookout. At least then I’ll be closer to home.”
She smoothed back his dark curls as a mother would do, tucking a small child in for the night. The gesture had a dual purpose, comfort for him and evaluation of potential fever. Thankfully, Jimmy’s forehead was cool.
“It would do you well right now to try and dream of home,” she said.
“Yes’um. I reckon it would. But before you go...would you mind prayin’ for Freddy? I know you bein’ a lady and a volunteer from the Christian Commission...Well, would you please?”
She was touched by his request and the concern for his friend which was so evident in his eyes. “I would be honored to do so.”
He reached for her hand. Had they been conversing at dinner or a society ball, the gesture would be entirely too forward. Yet here in the hospital, Emily often cast society’s rules aside for the sake of grace and compassion. She clasped his hand and prayed for Freddy. She prayed for Jimmy as well. When she had finished, she whispered, “Try not to fret. God already has looked after your friend, for Dr. Turner is now the surgeon on duty. He’s a kind and capable man.”
His face brightened somewhat. “Thank you, Miss Emily. That’s right good to hear. Some docs are better than others ’round here.”
She knew which doctor he was referring to, and although she probably should have defended Dr. Mackay’s skills, she let the opportunity pass. She stood, pleased that the worry in Jimmy’s eyes had faded.
“Rest well,” she said to him.
He smiled and turned to his side. Emily straightened his coverings once more, then turned, as well, only to crash directly into the chest of the angry Scotsman.
* * *
Words were quick to shape in his mind, but Evan held his tongue as his blue wool collided with her Southern-grown, Baltimore-milled cotton. The woman came no higher than his breastbone. After staring seemingly transfixed at his brass buttons, she dared to raise her eyes. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.
He stared down at her.
What is she waiting for? An apology? Did the little Southern miss expect him to play the part of a gentleman and beg her forgiveness for the improper contact? She’d get no such courtesy from him. Why should she? She’d had no trouble holding hands with a rebel just moments ago.
Perhaps it is her close proximity to a Yankee that fills her with such shame.
Evan wasn’t a gambling man, but if he were, he’d lay money down that she was one of the nurses who’d altered her oath of loyalty.
“Haven’t you duties to attend to?” he asked.
“Yes, Dr. Mackay.”
“Then see to them.” He pointed to the water buckets on the table in the corner. “Fill them with fresh water, then scrub the floor. It is a nesting ground for disease!” Lucky for her, she did not need to be told twice. She scurried away, skirt and petticoats swishing.
Incompetent little socialite, he thought. Little Miss Baltimore. She’s probably never worn anything less than silk before now.
“You shouldn’t treat her that way.”
Evan turned in the direction of the weak yet determined voice. Boyish curls framed a scowling pair of eyes.
Aye. Her love-struck suitor. “Were you speaking to me?”
The rebel pushed up on his elbows, trying to marshal what was left of his Southern pride. “I am, sir, and I will kindly ask you not to speak that way to her. She is the finest nurse here. And, I might add, she’s been here longer than you.”
Evan turned his back, stepping away. He cared not how many months of service the woman had.
“You could learn a lesson from her,” the boy called. “A little compassion would do you no harm!”
Evan’s ire rose. His fists clenched at his side, but he didn’t give the boy the satisfaction of knowing the words had affected him. You didn’t show any compassion when your mob surrounded my brother, he thought. When they bashed him with paving stones!
He told himself the Maryland rebel wasn’t worth his time, and he moved on. There were wounds to probe and minié balls still to extract. As he made his way through the rows of iron cots, he cast a glance in Little Miss Baltimore’s direction. The water had been replenished. She was currently on her hands and knees, scrubbing the vile floor.
Another experience I doubt she’s had the pleasure of until now, he thought. We shall see how well she handles it.
* * *
As Emily raked the scrub brush across the filthy floor she dealt with Dr. Mackay’s temper the only way she knew how. She prayed for him. Actually, she prayed more for herself than for the man.
Oh Lord, please give me grace. I can’t work alongside him without it.
Dealing with the Federal army’s disdainful attitude toward Confederate men was nothing new, but most of the guards, doctors and hospital commanding officers were professional enough to keep their words to themselves or at least voice their condemnation outside the wards.
Some even took pity on the wounded souls and showed them kindness. Jeremiah Wainwright, a young steward who Emily knew to be a Christian, was such a man. Dr. Jacob Turner was another. He was a good-natured New Englander who treated the Confederates not as prisoners or scientific studies, but as men.
Just yesterday Emily had been called to his section, to assist as he probed a North Carolina man’s back for shrapnel. The poor soldier had leaned upon her, trying not to flinch while Dr. Turner carefully extracted the metal.
“Do I hurt you?” the old man had asked considerately.
“Not too terribly,” the soldier had said.
Emily had known by the tightness of his muscles that the Carolina man wasn’t exactly telling the truth, but because of Dr. Turner’s gentle demeanor and a story of snapping New England lobsters, he’d been able to endure the painful procedure without crying out or fainting.
If only Dr. Mackay could be more like that, she thought. A little kindness would go a long way to promote healing and to foster interest in eternal matters.
Though a few ragtag Bibles lay at the bedsides of the men, Emily knew many in this hospital were starved for spiritual comfort. In the past year, she had held the hands of the dying, both Confederate and Federal alike. She had sat with those who’d lost their dearest friends on the battlefield, who then asked, “Where is God in all this terrible suffering?”
She gave them the only answer she could. “Right here grieving with you.”
The will of God made no sense at times to Emily. Why He had allowed war to come instead of an end to slavery, then a peaceful compromise of ideals, was unknown to her.
She dared to glance at Dr. Mackay. How long the hostilities continue will, I suppose, depend on men like him. The intimidating physician was now standing at Edward’s bed, perusing his wounds with a look of cold indifference. Julia sat her post, pale and frightened. Emily hurried to finish her scrubbing so she might join her friend. In her delicate condition the last thing Julia needed was to hear that man’s sharp, condemning tongue.
The dinner bell rang, calling all officers to the dining hall. Emily breathed a sigh of relief when Dr. Mackay exited the room. She put away her brush and bucket and went to her friend.
“What a horrible man,” Julia whispered. “There is no compassion in him. He looked at Edward as if he were nothing more than a stray dog.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Emily touched Edward’s forehead gently. The fever was going down. “He is much cooler.”
“Oh, thank the Lord.”
Within a matter of moments the rest of their friends appeared: Sally and the Martin sisters, Trudy and Elizabeth, and Rebekah Van der Geld, the only one of them who staunchly supported the Federal army’s occupation of Baltimore. Each had come to inquire of Edward. As they clustered around his bed, Emily couldn’t help but remember with fondness the times the six of them had met for knitting and needlework in each other’s homes.
Such happy times.
But the joyful emotions of the past were tempered by today’s reality. The girls had not gathered to decide which dress pattern from Godey’s Lady’s Book would attract a handsome beau’s attention, nor were they there to knit socks for their glorious, invincible army.
We are here to tend to one of its wounded, she thought sadly.
Try as she might, Emily’s eyes kept drifting to the place where Edward’s left arm should be. Apparently Sally was having the same difficulty. Her eyes were watering.
“He stirred slightly,” Julia told them. “When that doctor was standing over him.”
“That is good,” Emily said. “Soon he will wake.”
Sally drew in a quick breath and lifted her chin. “We should pray for him and then go about our business. It won’t fare him well to have us all hovering over him when he wakes.”
Emily agreed. They should give Edward his privacy. She couldn’t help but also think, And if Dr. Mackay returns from his meal to find us clustered about instead of busy with some task, he will surely spew his venom upon us all. That won’t be good for Julia or her child.
Trudy, Elizabeth and Rebekah all nodded in agreement. Rebekah offered to begin the prayer. The women clasped hands. One by one they prayed for Edward’s recovery and for the rest of the wounded men of this hospital. When no Federal soldier was close enough to overhear, Elizabeth and Trudy each whispered a plea for their brother, George, also a member of the Maryland Guard. As far as everyone knew, he had survived the Pennsylvania battle and returned safely to Virginia. Sally then prayed for Stephen; his whereabouts were still unknown.
“Try to keep faith,” Trudy said, hugging her after they had finished. “God knows exactly where Stephen is.”
“I know. I take comfort in that.”
Before they could go their separate ways, Jeremiah Wainwright approached. “Ladies,” he said, “forgive me for intruding, but I’ve just come from the dining hall. They are presently serving the nurses. If you don’t go quickly, there won’t be anything left for you to eat.”
They all knew he was speaking truth. They had each learned the hard way to eat when called or go hungry.
“Thank you, Jeremiah,” Emily said. “We appreciate the warning.”
He smiled and tipped his blue kepi. “You are quite welcome. And don’t worry, I’ll keep track of your charges, especially the major here.”
She believed he would, and so Emily turned to Julia.
“Come with us. Have a bite to eat.”
She shook her head, unwilling to leave her brother’s side. “I’ll stay. Samuel will arrive shortly and I want to be here when Edward wakes.”
Her husband, Samuel, joined her each day after his work as a teacher at the Rolland Park men’s seminary was complete. Her parents came in the early evening, as well. Julia’s father, Dr. Thomas Stanton, worked in the private hospital across town. He was busy caring for his own load of wounded, most of them Federal soldiers from wealthy families or those with high political connections.
“I understand. Shall I fetch you something?”
�
�No. Thank you. I am not hungry.”
Emily gave her hand a squeeze. Then she followed her fellow nurses to the dining hall.
* * *
His food wasn’t sitting well. Evan wondered if it was the stewed blackberries, which had obviously been picked too early, or the sight of the carts and laborers moving along Pratt Street. He stared out the window.
The army supply wagons and the countless crates stamped U.S. Christian Commission bore witness to the activities of today, but all Evan could think about was a day two years ago last April. His brother, Andrew, was newly trained and eager for action. He was unaware that such would come by way of a bloodthirsty mob while he and his regiment were en route to Washington.
Andrew had been one of the first to answer President Lincoln’s call for volunteers. He’d wanted to preserve the Union. When he and his fellow soldiers had tried to pass through Baltimore, the local citizens made it quite apparent which side they had chosen. As Andrew and the others had marched toward the Washington trains, a crowd had surrounded them. They were soon pelted with rocks, bottles and paving stones.
The Northern men had exercised restraint, but when the citizens had grabbed for their guns, the soldiers did what anyone would have done. They’d defended themselves. When the smoke had cleared, several boys in blue were dead, along with eleven rebels. The Baltimoreans had then had the audacity to claim the shots fired were unprovoked.
Just thinking of what had taken place made Evan’s fists clench. He knew he should leave the window, spend his remaining moments of the dining break in some other place, but try as he might, he could not pull his eyes from the street. Where exactly had Andrew fallen?
His eyes scanned the street before him. Traffic pulsed. City life moved at a steady pace. Men in scrap shirts with slouch hats set low on their foreheads lugged sacks of grain to and from the nearby wharf.
Taming The Texas Rancher (Love Inspired Historical) Page 24