“Aye. That explains quite a bit. All of you are as guilty as sin.”
Her blood was boiling. How dare he speak that way about her friends! “They are guilty of nothing more than meeting the Philadelphia train. Julia was nearly trampled to death when your Massachusetts soldiers emptied their muskets in an act of barbarous cruelty!”
The veins in his neck were bulging. His side whiskers rose like the barbs of a porcupine. His chest swelled so that Emily expected his brass buttons would fire off at any moment.
“Did your rebel friends tell you that the shooting took place only after the Pennsylvania volunteers were cut off from the rest of the Federal forces? After they had been pelted by missiles and cut by shattering glass?”
Emily held her tongue, though she was silently questioning his words. She had never heard of these supposed Pennsylvania men. She doubted Julia had, either. Was it true?
Dr. Mackay stepped closer, his anger seething. “Did they tell you that my brother, an unarmed man, had his head bashed by a paving stone? That he died twelve hours later?”
The disgust she felt instantly evaporated. Whether his facts concerning the riot were entirely accurate or not was not the issue. He had suffered the loss of a loved one. He was suffering still.
His anger must be his attempt to manage the pain. Her heart squeezed. “Dr. Mackay, I—”
“Do not lecture me, miss, about your good citizens of Baltimore! I know perfectly well what you all are capable of.”
He stared at her, his gray eyes as sharp as any bayonet. She held his gaze.
“I apologize for my hasty words, Dr. Mackay. I am truly sorry for your loss. How many years had your brother?”
The old proverb about a soft answer turning away wrath proved true. He looked surprised that she would even ask. His stance softened just a little.
“He was nineteen.”
She grieved any loss of life, Confederate or Federal. The cost of war was much too high. “Too young,” she whispered.
“Aye. ’Twas much too young indeed.”
The color was slowly fading from his face. Dr. Mackay raked back his dark brown hair, looking as if he didn’t know what to say next.
Emily waited, wondering. Will he regain his temper, or will he dismiss me without further word?
He did not have time for either. A steward from Sally and Elizabeth’s section appeared at the door. “Doctor, come quick! Your assistance is needed.”
The call of duty snapped him back to his determined, unyielding state. His shoulders straightened and the commanding physician immediately turned. Emily stared after his broad back until the door closed behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, she then returned to her own ward.
Chapter Three
By the time Emily stepped back into the ward, Edward’s parents had arrived. Mrs. Stanton was seated in a chair next to her son’s bed, talking to him in soothing tones. Dr. Stanton was standing beside her. Emily did not see Julia anywhere in the room. She wondered if she had gone to break the horrible news to Sally concerning Stephen’s death.
Emily moved to where Edward lay. Ignoring everyone, he had once again turned his eyes to the wall. His parents, however, greeted her warmly.
“Look,” Mrs. Stanton said to her son. “Emily has returned.”
Yes, she thought as heat crept into her cheeks. I have returned. She felt terrible about what had just happened in the corridor. She wondered when exactly the Stantons had arrived, how much of her altercation with Dr. Mackay they had overheard. She knew her voice had carried. She could tell by the grins on the Confederate men’s faces. They all seemed pleased she had put the Federal doctor in his place.
Emily was not pleased. She knew she had set a terrible example, and her timing with Edward had caused him more pain. She knelt beside him.
“Eddie, I am so very sorry for the disturbance earlier. So very sorry about it all.”
He continued to stare at the cracked plaster wall. She dared not say any more. She looked to his parents. Mrs. Stanton had tears in her eyes. Her husband’s face also showed concern.
“Can I fetch you anything?” Emily asked them.
“Some fresh water,” Dr. Stanton said. He picked up the nearby pitcher. “This one is empty.”
She reached for it.
“No,” he said with a kind smile. “That’s all right. Just show me where.”
She led him to the water buckets at the opposite end of the room. Dr. Stanton ladled the liquid into the pitcher.
“Julia told us about the battle,” he said. “Would you tell me what happened with Edward just before we arrived?”
Emily did so, right up to the part where Dr. Mackay breathed out his fire.
“And Edward held your gaze?”
“Yes. He spoke to me, although it was a negative response.”
“It was still a response and for that I am grateful.” He smiled at her. “You did well, Emily. Don’t blame yourself for what happened after the doctor’s intrusion.”
She appreciated his encouragement yet felt burdened at the same time. Surely Dr. Stanton was just as concerned as she. She knew he wished to be caring for Edward himself in the private hospital, but the Federal army would not allow it. The Stanton family did not have the political connections to change the army’s mind.
“I am glad you are here to look after him,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. If I may ask, where is Julia?”
“She has gone to see Sally. Sam has, as well.” He turned from the table. “They are taking her home.”
Good, she thought. He will look after them both. Emily thought how blessed Julia was to have a husband like Sam. He was a man of strong conviction, and compassion, as well. Emily hoped she would one day find someone of equal character.
Her parents did, too, and the sooner the better.
Though at twenty-four she was hardly an old maid, they repeatedly encouraged her not to spend all her time volunteering in the hospital.
“Life is not all service and duty,” her mother insisted. “The occasional ball or outing will do you no harm. You are young and pretty, and you should give consideration to your future.”
Emily sighed. She missed the days of music and laughter and she liked silk and satin as well as any other girl, but the young men in her social circle, the sons of lawyers and city politicians, held little interest for her. She had always imagined her heart belonging to some preacher or backwoods missionary rather than a polished gentleman of Southern society.
I want to serve God and His human creation with my whole heart, she thought. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. My husband will be a man of faith, of courage and compassion.
She didn’t know where or when she might find such a man, but Emily knew one thing for certain. She would recognize him when she did.
But such dreams must be postponed until the end of the war. For now, I must do my duty.
The evening bell chimed and the night matron came on duty. Mrs. Danforth was a round little woman of about fifty or so who never lacked a smile.
“Good evening, dearie,” she said. “And how are the boys today?”
Emily quickly gave her an overview of each man’s condition. Although the woman was dedicated to the Union and wore a blue rosette on her apron proclaiming such, Emily had no hesitancy in leaving the Confederate men in her charge. She was a kind, Christian woman.
She was anxious, however, concerning Dr. Mackay. He still had not returned from the emergency in the next room. Though she had no desire to run the risk of being lectured by him again, she was reluctant to leave Mrs. Danforth shorthanded, especially given what had just happened with Billy.
“Should I stay until he returns?”
The older woman waved her off. “Bless ya, no. He may be hours still. He’s been called to surgery. Some poor Texas boy is in a difficult way.”
Emily’s heart sank. She knew by what she’d witnessed that afternoon that Dr. Mackay was a capable physician, but the poor man now und
er his knife would need more than skillful surgery. He would need encouragement, compassion—and those were things the Federal doctor would not give.
“Fetch your basket, dearie,” Mrs. Danforth urged. “Your family will be expecting you.”
That was certain. Her parents would worry if she was late and she did not want Joshua, their driver, to be kept waiting at the dock. Gathering her personal items, she bid everyone good-night and left the ward.
Reverend Zachariah Henry and his wife, Eliza, both delegates of the Christian Commission, were departing, as well. Emily met them at the main entrance. Reverend Henry tipped his topper. He smiled.
“Well, Miss Davis, how was your day?”
“Well enough,” she said as they descended the long wooden ramp leading to the street.
Eliza patted her arm. She must have sensed Emily’s thoughts were still with the wounded men. “You must learn to leave your charges in God’s hands,” she said gently. “He will watch over them.”
She was right of course, but it was a task easier said than done. “Are the two of you going home for the evening?” she asked.
“Shortly,” Reverend Henry said. “First we will stop at Apollo Hall.”
The Baltimore chapter of the commission had rented several floors of the building for the sorting and distribution of Bibles and supplies. The items were given to Federal soldiers and sailors in town and in the nearby army camps. The commission also cared for the prisoners of war in the hospitals and forts. The reverend and his wife had the opportunity to personally minister to wounded men on the battlefield following Antietam. Emily respected the couple greatly.
“We want to see how many cases are ready for distribution,” he said.
Emily knew what he was referring to. She had helped to pack a few of those cases herself. The long numbered boxes looked as though they carried muskets, but in reality they were full of foodstuffs and medical supplies.
“Do you need any assistance?” she asked.
“Oh no,” Eliza answered. “We’ll see to it. You go home and rest. One never knows what opportunities tomorrow will bring.”
Opportunities was the word Eliza always used in the place of challenges or difficulties. The latter, she insisted, were invitations to see God’s hand at work, to draw on His strength. Emily smiled slightly. She wondered how many opportunities Dr. Mackay would present her with tomorrow.
“Oh, there’s Joshua,” Eliza said. “We will see you in the morning.”
Emily bid the Henrys a good-night, then walked toward her father’s carriage. Her muscles ached. Her eyes were heavy. She hoped she would be able to stay awake long enough to reach home.
* * *
Despite his best efforts, the surgery was not successful. A pair of orderlies carried the dead man out. Nurses now prepared his bed for another. Exhausted, Evan took a moment to catch his breath before beginning evening rounds. He stared out the window. Sunset was upon the city, painting the warehouses in a softer glow.
Back in Pennsylvania, before the war, this was his favorite time of the day. He’d put his office in order, saddle his stallion and gallop for home. He would race back to Mary and her smile, to Andrew and whatever outrageous tale he would spin that day.
But that was before Baltimore.
Evan’s eyes fell upon a woman below. He recognized her as his nurse, the one who’d dared go toe-to-toe with him in the corridor. He watched as she climbed into a carriage manned by what looked to be a slave and was promptly whisked away. He grunted.
I was right about her. She may have shown compassion in regards to Andrew, but she is no different than any other Maryland rebel, still holding on to her slaves even though President Lincoln has issued his Emancipation Proclamation.
And rebel slaveholders serving as nurses, whispering anti-Unionist words, was poison in this place. The woman may have somehow won the respect of the commission and the officers here in charge, but not him.
The Federal commander at Fort McHenry should have made good on his threat at the beginning of the war to fire his guns on Baltimore. If he had quelled the Southern ladies and gentlemen’s taste for rebellion, the war would be over now. Countless lives could have been saved.
It would have been too late for Andrew but perhaps not for Mary. Instead he had lost both of them.
“Dr. Mackay?”
A female voice invaded his thoughts. He turned to find the night matron, a good patriotic woman, standing before him.
“Beg your pardon, Doctor, but it’s time for the evening medication.”
“Aye,” he said. “Of course.”
They went back to the ward. She had already secured a tray. Evan walked to the locked cabinet at the far end of the room. He took out a key from his inner vest pocket, unlocked the door, then started laying out the various pills and powders.
He made his rounds, distributing the necessary medication to each prisoner. When he came to the bed of the rebel major, the one Little Miss Baltimore was so bent on comforting, he told the family, “Visiting hours are now over.”
The father, gray-headed and wearing spectacles, politely protested. “Doctor, I am a physician myself. I would like to stay. Perhaps I can be of service to you.”
You should have been of service two years ago, when the streets ran red with patriotic blood. “I am afraid that is impossible, sir,” Evan said, deliberately disregarding the man’s title. Professional courtesy did not extend to rebel doctors. “You may return on the morrow.”
The man looked as though he would argue the point. Evan stretched to his full height. He stood a good six inches above the man. He leveled his most scrutinizing glare.
“Very well, then,” the rebel doctor said, and he encouraged his wife to say goodbye.
She did so, though the boy in the bed simply stared past her. The pair was slow in exiting, but Evan stood his ground until the door shut solidly behind them. He then took what was left from the dispensary tray and sent the nurse away. He inspected the Johnny’s wound. The site was healing satisfactorily, so Evan replaced the bandages, then moved on.
When his rounds were complete, he tramped off to his quarters, a postage-stamp room with a cot, a wash basin and a view of the city he so detested. After pulling off his soiled shirt, he lay down and tried to find a comfortable position. The bed was much too short for his body.
Despite being exhausted, he struggled for hours to find peace. When sleep finally did claim him, he dreamed of Andrew and then Mary.
* * *
Emily was awakened by Abigail’s gentle nudge.
“Rise and shine. You don’t wanna be late, now. I’ve drawn you a cool bath and laid out a fresh dress for you to wear.”
Though the precious hours of sleep had not been nearly long enough, Emily gave her friend a smile. After tending all day to wounded men it was nice to have someone look after her.
“Bless you, Abigail. You are a treasure.”
The woman’s dark, round face lit up with a wide smile. Abigail had come into service in Emily’s home only a year ago. She and her husband, Joshua, recently married, had been slaves in the household of one of Emily’s father’s clients. When the man had died, he had left a considerable amount of debt. As a lawyer it was her father’s job to oversee distribution of the estate, to make peace with the man’s creditors.
Rather than see Abigail and Joshua sold once again on the slave auction block, he ransomed the pair himself. Because he found slavery so abhorrent, he then promptly drew up papers granting Joshua and Abigail their freedom.
“We knowed right away your father was a good man,” Abigail once told Emily. “So we asked to come to work for him.”
Emily was so glad they had. As an only child, with parents heavily involved in professional and civic responsibilities, the house at times could be quite lonely. Abigail became the older sister Emily had never had. They laughed. They shared secrets. They encouraged one another in their faith.
“Hurry now,” Abigail urged. “Your mama will
have breakfast on the table shortly.”
Emily readied herself, then stepped into a gray cotton day dress with tight-fitting coat sleeves. The simple style would serve her well in the hospital.
“That shorter hemline will work better for you, I believe,” Abigail said. “Your dress from the other day is still soakin’. That dark ring ’round the bottom hasn’t yet come clean.”
“No matter how many times they scrub, that hospital floor is still filthy,” Emily said. The West’s Buildings needed an army of scrub maids alone just to keep up with the task. She wondered if Dr. Mackay would permanently transfer her to that brigade after what she had said to him yesterday.
Emily fastened the hooks and eyes of her bodice, then adjusted her collar. Abigail smiled. “I declare, you are just as pretty in gray cotton as in pink silk. You’ll be cheerin’ those poor men right nicely.”
The thought of Dr. Mackay’s grief-stricken face suddenly passed through Emily’s mind. He had looked so lost when she inquired of his brother.
“You be thinkin’ of a particular soldier?” her friend asked.
“No. Well, I suppose so. A Yankee doctor.”
“Um-hmm,” Abigail said as she took the brush from Emily’s hand and began to arrange her hair. “He handsome?”
“Handsome?” He wasn’t particularly ugly, yet then again, how could Emily really say? She had only seen him once, for sixty seconds at the most, without a scowl on his face. “He’s a big tall tree of a man. A Scotsman.”
“Um-hmm. Like them ones in your poetry book?”
Emily let out a laugh, knowing where Abigail’s thoughts were headed. “Oh, far from it! All this man does is bark orders and frown. He makes more work for us than any other doctor. Do you know he insists on washing his hands after tending to each man?”
“Does he?”
“Yes, and not in the wash basin, mind you. Fresh water each time. Our ward goes through more buckets than the entire hospital combined. He is dreadful to work with and he treats us all as enemies.”
She stopped, realizing how foolish she sounded. Whatever she’d had to endure at the hand of Dr. Mackay was nothing compared to what Abigail and Joshua had faced.
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