Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for ChristmasThe Secret PrincessTaming the Texas RancherAn Unlikely Union

by Winnie Griggs

  The members of the Maryland Guard, once so dashing in their butternut uniforms, now occupied these bleak, crowded rooms. Although Baltimore was their home, the Confederate men were held by armed guards, deemed prisoners of war.

  Sally wept upon her shoulder. “First Stephen...now this...”

  Sally’s brother, Captain Stephen Hastings, had been listed as missing in the great battle at Gettysburg, and, only moments ago, the man she hoped to one day marry had lost his left arm.

  “Oh, Em, I am absolutely wicked.”

  “No, you are not,” Emily said gently. “Why ever would you say such a thing?”

  “When the stewards returned Edward to his bed, all I could think of was, ‘He will never waltz with me again.’”

  Emily blinked back tears of her own, sympathizing with her friend’s pain. Edward Stanton had danced the farewell waltz with Sally at the last ball before the Pratt Street Riot, the day Federal soldiers had come to Baltimore and opened fire on innocent civilians. It was the first bloodshed of the war. Outraged at the soldiers’ attack, Edward, and many others, had headed south to enlist right away.

  The days of silk dresses and white-gloved escorts had given way to months of broken bodies and bloodstained petticoats. Mirth and merriment surrendered to weariness and worry.

  “Try not to fret,” Emily said. “Edward will dance with you again.”

  At least she prayed that would be the case. It was only one of the numerous petitions she had whispered during her time at the hospital. As a believer and a volunteer nurse, Emily desperately longed to bring comfort to those she came in contact with. She wanted to be a light in this dark, battle-weary world.

  “Remember, God is the great physician. He can—”

  The door to the opposite ward pushed open, hitting the wall with a forceful thud. Evan Mackay, a newly arrived Federal doctor from Pennsylvania, glared at them.

  “Rebels!” he said, angrily spitting the word. “Shouldn’t you women be tending to them?”

  The man was as tall as Abraham Lincoln himself, with shoulders as broad as a ditchdigger’s. Although he spoke with a Scottish accent, which Emily thought was a dialect straight out of poetry, she was severely disappointed. Evidently not all Scotsmen were as noble or heroic as the men Robert Burns had written about. She couldn’t imagine Dr. Mackay had ever even stopped to look at a red, red rose much less compare his love for his sweetheart to one.

  I seriously doubt the man even knows the meaning of the word love.

  Of all the physicians in this hospital, he displayed the most hostile attitude; he had an open disdain for the Confederate men. Emily felt it her duty as a Southerner to protect the wounded from Dr. Mackay’s wrath.

  She felt it her duty to protect Sally now.

  “We were just returning,” she said politely. “Were we not, Nurse Hastings?”

  Sally quickly wiped her eyes, her back now ramrod-straight as though she herself were a member of the Federal army. “Yes, indeed.”

  Dr. Mackay crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Aye,” he said slowly. “Then do so directly.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” the women said in unison.

  The army physician moved by them and into the next room. Emily caught Sally’s eye as the tornado blew past. Both were tempted to make a remark concerning the rude bluecoat, but they did not indulge in the luxury.

  The Confederate prisoners needed care.

  * * *

  Flickering oil lamps hung from the rafters as Evan stepped into the remaining ward. There were six buildings in this former cotton warehouse, 425 beds. Most of them were crammed with rebels. His mouth soured just thinking of it. Evan knew firsthand that the field hospitals in Gettysburg were bursting at the seams with brave boys in blue that deserved beds. Boys like Andrew.

  He sighed. Yet even if there was room, I wouldn’t bring our men here, not to this city. It is one full of barbarians trying to pass themselves off as loyal members of the Union.

  His collar grew tight and his head warm. The reaction wasn’t caused by the stifling July heat. It was the memory of his younger brother and the brief time he had endured in Baltimore. Evan had heard the story from Andrew’s comrades, the men of the Twenty-Sixth and Twenty-Seventh Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry, “The Washington Brigade.”

  “They simply surrounded us!”

  “They cut us off from the rest of the regiment!”

  “They were ready to tear us to shreds!”

  Rioters and murderers, every last one of them, Evan thought. And now I must put them back together. The army could have kept me in Pennsylvania. They could have let me tend to our men. They need every surgeon available.

  But Providence had not allowed him to remain in Gettysburg, and Evan had his suspicions why.

  I am doing penance for my actions, in the worst possible way.

  He cast a glance in the direction of one particular rebel, a major. He was a Maryland man. Evan had seen what remained of his butternut uniform when he’d first arrived. The Johnny’s left arm had just been amputated because a vile infection had set in. Evan had performed the surgery. He had done his best to save the reb’s life. His duty to God and his Hippocratic oath to do no harm compelled such. But he took no pride in the task. After discharge from the hospital, rebels like this one would be sent to prison, but upon parole many would return to their regiments only to fire upon U.S. soldiers again.

  At least this one won’t be picking up a musket, he told himself.

  The major was still with fever and under the effects of the ether so he continued through the ward. Those prisoners who asked for water or voiced other requests he left to the nurses. That was their job. Most of them were rebel women anyway. Why his superiors permitted their presence in a U.S. Army hospital was beyond his comprehension. They had each signed oaths of loyalty, but it was rumored that several had altered the document. Finding certain lines disagreeable, they had supposedly crossed them out.

  If loyalty to the government of the United States of America, to its Constitution, is so abhorrent, they have no business nursing prisoners of war. If Evan had his way, he would have all secessionist nurses tossed out to the street and the rebel wounded held in prison until the end of the war.

  They deserved it after what they had done to his brother.

  * * *

  Emily drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore the odors of blood, ether and rotting fish from the nearby docks. This massive warehouse had little means of ventilation, and the air grew more pungent by the day.

  Sally had returned to her own section of the hospital. Emily now prepared to step into hers. She smoothed out her pinner apron. Though it pained her, she smiled. It would do the men no good to see a downcast face. They needed hope. They needed cheer.

  Lord, help me to be a light. Help me to show Your love.

  She had no intention of fostering romantic feelings among the soldiers, but a pretty smile and a little lilac water did wonders in the wards. Some men had been removed from sisters, mothers and sweethearts for so long that they had forgotten the fairer points of civilized society. Emily wanted to remind them there was more to life than this war. Whenever she wasn’t assisting doctors or changing soiled bandages, she tried to do so.

  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 cas
t 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?”