“Indeed,” Sam said grinning with pride. “Just like her mother.”
Emily returned his smile; then her eyes drifted to the corner of the room. Dr. Mackay’s tall form was bent over a washbasin. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his blue wool trousers speckled with dust and blood, but at that moment all she wanted to do was kiss him. She wanted to fall upon his neck and shower him with appreciation for what he had done.
What joy he must feel knowing that God granted him success, that a beautiful and healthy new life will now brighten this dark world.
But as he turned, Emily was shocked to see the sorrow in his eyes, the hard set of his mouth. He looked as though death had triumphed instead of life.
Chapter Nine
Evan’s chest was so tight that he could not breathe. The heat was unbearable, yet he was chilled. His hands, only moments ago steady and dependable, now shook uncontrollably. Well-wishers cooed over the child. All he wanted to do was get out of this room.
Nurse Emily caught his eye and, with a look of grave concern, quickly assessed his condition. He strode past her before she could speak. A thousand thoughts fired through his mind as he hastily stepped into the corridor and turned right.
The path ahead was clogged, blue subduing gray. His fellow physicians and army personnel were doing their duty, managing the last of the departing enemy soldiers, yet Evan was in full retreat. He was searching for refuge, for relief, but there was none to be had. Everywhere were legless, armless scoundrels with that dash of rebel pride in their eyes. They were weakened by defeat, yet still strong enough to remind him of what they had done to Andrew, what he in turn had done to Mary.
God forgive me.
He snaked his way through, rounded a corner and pushed past a gaggle of cackling army nurses and orderlies. He needed air. His lungs desperately craved it, but he knew that the outside docks would offer no privacy. Away from the immediate commotion, he came upon an empty room. He quickly commandeered it. It was not much wider than a buckboard wagon, just a nook where the scrubwomen left their buckets and brushes to dry. Shutting the rickety door behind him, he fell to his knees.
His legs were useless, his chest heaving. So ashamed of himself he was, for he hadn’t tasted the salt of his own tears since he was a child. He had shed not one for Andrew or Mary. Now he struggled to bring his emotions under command. He would not allow himself to come to this. He wouldn’t allow those rebs to bring him to such weakness. He must remain strong. After all, he was an officer in the U.S. Army.
But Evan knew full well he had lost the battle. He had been beaten by a Baltimore woman and her child. Now her friend, the little rebel sympathizer herself, came to finish him off. Skirts folding to the dirty floor, she knelt beside him. That look was on her face.
“Go away!” he ordered, but she did not obey. The next thing he knew her hand was on his shoulder. Her touch burned like hot lead through his flesh.
“What is it, Evan? What troubles you so?”
How dare she address him by his given name! This was an army hospital. She was his subordinate and a Southerner at that. He opened his mouth to scold her, yet the words would not come. A groan rose from deep within and all that he did not wish to reveal came pouring out.
“I didn’t save her. I could have. God, forgive me...I know I could have....”
“You did wonderfully. The baby is healthy and Julia will heal in time.”
He shook his head, could feel his heart ripping in two. “No. Mary. I didn’t save Mary.”
“Who is Mary?”
“My wife.”
* * *
The revelation so stunned her that she started to draw back. He is a married man? Then she realized, Was. He was a married man.
His shoulders were shaking. This formidable Federal soldier was literally trembling in her arms.
“I shouldn’t have gone.”
“Gone where?” she asked.
“To join the army. I immediately requested commission following Andrew’s death. I wanted to make certain more men like him wouldn’t die needlessly from their wounds. Wounds from which they could be saved...but I ended up losing her, as well.”
Pain stabbed her heart as a regiment of questions marched through her mind. How had he lost her? Had it been sickness? Some dreadful accident? An unscrupulous raiding party? Was that why he hated Southerners so?
“Oh, Evan, I am so very sorry. So sorry indeed. May I ask what happened?”
“She miscarried a child. My daughter.”
Oh, gracious, Emily thought. No wonder he was so protective of Julia.
“The bleeding wouldn’t stop. They both died.” His voice was ragged, broken. “I didn’t know she was with child. If I had, I never would have left her.”
“Of course you wouldn’t have.”
“I should have known. She begged me not to go. Told me vengeance was what I sought....” His face showed his grief. “Aye. Vengeance is what I received. God has heaped it upon me each day since her death.”
He was on his knees in the dust of a former cotton warehouse but it might as well have been biblical sackcloth and ashes, for Emily had never heard a more lonely, desperate cry. “Oh, God, forgive me.”
“He already has,” she said softly. “He already has. God loves you, Evan.”
He shook his head. “He may have saved my soul from torment eternal, but each day here on earth He exacts payment for my sins.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Her voice haunts me in my sleep. The memory of her pleading, begging me not to go.”
“You are grieving. You loved her very deeply...and that is a fine and honorable thing. In time, the pain will lessen.”
The tears were drying. Emily could feel his shoulders tensing.
“He sent me here. Of all the hospitals, of all the cities, God sends me to Baltimore. To view each morning the very street on which my brother died, to unknowingly pass the traitors who clustered around his train car.” Bitterness laced his words. His hands shook, but now in anger. “I have probably patched up the very ones who threw the stones! If that’s not punishment, I don’t know what is....”
“Evan—”
He pulled away from her, making it clearly known that her comfort, her presence, was no longer wanted. She, however, did not retreat. Emily remained exactly where she was, on her knees beside him. She grieved for him, for the family he had lost, for the life, the blessings, he was missing now.
“Perhaps God sent you here to make peace.”
He cut her with a devastating look, eyes sharp as a sword. “Peace? With rebel traitors?”
“With yourself and with your enemies.”
That vein near his collar was bulging as he pushed to his feet. Emily remained on the floor, looking up at him. He may tower over her, may wound her with his words, but she was not afraid of him. She was armed with the truth.
“God does love you,” she said quietly. “But you can’t feel His love, His presence, because you won’t let go of your hate.”
“And what would you know of that?” He sneered. “You’re a—”
“Rebel? Yes. Dr. Mackay, I suppose based on your definition, I am. Do you think I enjoy living under martial law? Do you think it’s easy for me to watch my childhood friends, my fellow Marylanders, being rounded up and sent to prison?” She stood, slowly brushing the dust from her dress. “I have watched you blister and bully everyone in our ward, but I came to you for the sake of my dearest friend.”
“Why did you?”
Even at her tallest, she came only to his chest, yet she locked eyes with him and maintained, “Because I believe God has His hand upon you. You are the most gifted physician in this hospital. You are skilled at treating wounds, but, oh, what healing you could bring if only you would allow God to do so for you.”
His eyes flashed fire. Jaw twitching, he looked as though he would blast her with his anger. Instead, to her surprise, he turned on his heel and stormed toward the door. Just short of reaching it, he stoppe
d.
Don’t go, Emily silently pleaded. I do not wish to be at war with you.
Evan raked his fingers through his nut-brown hair. He looked back over his shoulder and his breathing seemed to slow.
“I trust you will keep what happened here today to yourself,” he said.
That vein had disappeared and a hint of vulnerability showed on his face.
Emily breathed. “Your secret, Dr. Mackay, is safe with me.”
* * *
It was two weeks before Julia was given permission to return home. Even then Dr. Mackay insisted that her father keep a close eye on her. Precious little Rachael Anne was thriving. The innocent baby girl helped lift the sadness the women felt over Edward and the other men’s departure.
It helped the wounded left behind, as well. Word spread quickly of the birth of Major Stanton’s niece, and even the most grizzled prisoners and ill-tempered guards inquired of the child when they spoke to Emily, wishing health to her and her family. One of the chief surgeons, a man who had a particular affinity for whittling, carved her a wooden lamb.
“That way she’ll know what a special little lamb we think she is,” he said.
Undoubtedly men on both sides were thinking of their own families, wishing for home. Emily thought often in those days of Evan. The news of his wife’s death explained quite a bit of his behavior, but she couldn’t help but wonder, Who was Mary Mackay? What kind of woman could capture the love of such an unyielding man and still hold his heart prisoner two years after her death? From Evan’s confession that day among the scrub brushes, she guessed his wife had been a woman of faith.
She begged me not to go; said vengeance was what I sought.
Had Mary Mackay prayed each night for her husband’s heart to soften? Had she begged God to have His way in his life? More and more, Emily found herself praying such things.
On the morning when Julia and Rachael left for home, Emily worked to return the supply room back to its original purpose. Rebekah had already overseen the orderlies removing the iron cot Julia had occupied following delivery. It had belonged to Dr. Mackay.
Beds being at a shortage, he had given up his own, insisting he didn’t fit in it anyway. He had tended to Julia with the utmost care and respect. Emily knew exactly why. He was trying to make up for not being there for Mary.
Despite him being at war with her neighbors and friends, she believed what she had told him. God had given him the gift of healing. What a difference he could make in this fractured nation if only he would allow the Savior to heal his wounds.
And when that happens, I want to be there, working beside him....
The moment the thought crossed her mind, Emily felt the fire in her cheeks. What kind of ridiculous notion is this? she wondered. Yes, I am committed to nursing. I want to continue service in some way even after this dreadful war, but why on earth would I wish to do so with him?
She could not deny the fact that she had learned much from Dr. Mackay. She would not dismiss the admiration she felt in such moments as Julia’s delivery or how he had skillfully tended to Adam Cooper. Emily had studied Evan’s handsome features in the lamplight that night, and thought him a remarkable man.
But Julia and the others had brothers serving in the Confederate army. What would her friends think if they knew she had taken an interest in a haughty Northerner?
No! she quickly told herself. I do not have romantic feelings for Dr. Mackay. He may have a few admirable qualities but he is not the kind of man I wish to marry! He is wounded, both in spirit and mind. I simply wish to nurse him.
Emily replaced the chairs around the supply table. She stocked the shelves with the fresh blankets and bandage rolls that the commission had just delivered moments ago. She worked with expediency, almost with a fury, repeatedly telling herself it was her Christian compassion which drew her to Evan Mackay, and not her woman’s heart.
* * *
Evan listened for it, the gossip, the tales he was certain Nurse Emily would spread amongst her rebel allies.
He was reduced to tears, on his knees, begging for forgiveness!
How could he have been so foolish? Why did he say those things, especially to her? Soon everyone in Baltimore would know. They would view him weak. They would challenge his and all Federal authority.
He paid close attention to the scrubwomen’s whispering when they moved through the wards. He watched for any change in the Johnnies’ eyes as he made his rounds each morning. He was just waiting for one of them to make some impudent remark. Yet a fortnight passed and he had heard nothing, saw no change in the way the prisoners looked at him.
Either they are all skillful conspirators, he thought, or she didn’t reveal a thing.
If the latter was true, Evan did not know what to think. Why would Nurse Emily keep his confidence? Why would she not seek some recompense for the countless hours he had balked at her kindness and bullied her men?
Since the birth of Mrs. Ward’s child, he had gone out of his way to distance himself from her. When long hours of sleeplessness came, he wandered every ward but his own. He did not want to be alone with her. He did not want to risk speaking again of what he had stupidly revealed.
When their paths did cross, he made sure the interactions were short. He would order her to gather supplies or to move to another section of the hospital for some menial task. Yet she did not give up. That look of compassion in her eyes remained. Daily she brought him coffee, fresh water or some baked good from home.
Never once did she mention the departure of her beloved rebel major or the ill effects it had had on his sister. On the contrary, she had repeatedly thanked him for his assistance in delivering the baby and tending to the mother. When she gave him reports concerning the child, her blue eyes were wide with joy.
“She grasped my finger today. She is growing so strong!”
Evan was completely baffled. Why did she, a Baltimore woman, insist on speaking to him as though he were her friend? Did she really wish to include him in her happiness, or was she trying to cut out what little remained of his heart, reminding him of the child he had never held?
She is either the most cunning, calculating rebel I have ever met, or she genuinely cares for me as much as her beloved Johnnies.
He wrestled with that thought. No. That cannot be. She cannot care for me. She may be a Christian and talk of love and forgiveness but this is still Baltimore. I am still her enemy.
* * *
The wards were shuffled once more as another round of rebs arrived the first week of September. Evan wondered if they would ever stop coming.
Because of the load, many of the convalescing prisoners were assigned as “nurses” to assist in the care of their own. Rebel or loyal, Evan didn’t like wounded serving as caregivers. They were often still too weak to lift their comrades or too ignorant to follow instructions properly. He grumbled when one such “nurse” was assigned to his ward.
He was a tall Florida boy. He had been shot in the wrist, and the commanding officers now deemed him capable enough of lending assistance. The reb was competent among his fellow prisoners. He followed orders well enough, but like the rest of his kind, Evan did not trust him.
Something in the Southern boy’s eyes told him to expect trouble.
* * *
More wounded, more hands. At least the latter was a blessing. As the newly arrived Confederate prisoners were settled into wards, extra volunteers were assigned to the hospital. Emily was grateful for a second night nurse, Maggie Branson. It was good to have someone else to talk to when the soldiers’ cries grew loud. Maggie possessed obvious compassion for the wounded men. She treated them with respect. Emily took an immediate liking to her.
It was quite apparent, however, that Dr. Mackay did not think much of her. Then again, he didn’t think much of any woman from Baltimore. Maggie’s family owned a boardinghouse in town.
“For goodness’ sake, Emily,” she said one night shortly after her arrival. “Does that doctor e
ver offer a kind word?”
He had blown through like a tornado on his evening rounds, barking orders and scolding Maggie for wrapping a bandage in the wrong direction. Emily did not reveal that she knew the true reason for Evan’s stormy temper. She would carry that secret to her grave.
“He is a busy man,” she said simply. “And he has quite a bit on his mind.”
More often than not, Emily found herself defending him. She did so subtly, of course, but consistently. Though she tried to pin the feelings on Christian compassion alone, she was becoming increasingly aware that Evan Mackay stirred more inside her than her sympathy.
But this cannot be, she told herself. I cannot take an interest in a man like him. He believes I am nothing more than a dissident bent on destruction. He despises me.
She knew he was avoiding her. He had gone out of his way to do so ever since that day she had learned of Mary. Though reason told her she should be thankful for the limited contact, Emily often caught herself glancing over her shoulder at night, staring toward the corridor door, hoping for just a glimpse of his face.
“Would that be all right?”
She blinked, realizing Maggie had asked her a question. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Maggie smiled sweetly. “Lewis asked if he may read to some of the men who are having difficulty sleeping.”
Lewis Thornton Powell was a Confederate convalescent not much older than Maggie. He had come from Gettysburg, and his nursing skills had so impressed the officers there that they suggested he assist in Baltimore. Dr. Mackay was against his presence of course, but he had been assigned to the ward anyway.
Emily was thankful for his help. Lewis was both strong and perceptive enough to steer sleepwalking soldiers back to their beds. He was generally quiet and for the most part pleasant. Maggie was evidently a bit taken with him. Emily had noticed the smiles she gave him.
“As long as he doesn’t read anything pertaining to war,” she told Maggie, remembering Evan’s warning.
“Oh no,” she said. “Nothing like that. It’s Oliver Twist.”
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