“That’s fine.”
Maggie rushed off to tell Lewis, a wide smile on her face. He nodded his thanks to Emily and opened his book.
Summer was nearing its end, but so far September provided little relief from the heat. Emily moved silently about the room that night, fanning the sleeping and keeping the flies from pestering her charges.
With each new man she came upon, she couldn’t help but think of those who had previously occupied the same bed. Freddy and Jimmy, Billy, Josiah, John, Adam, Edward. Only one Maryland man was left in this lot. His name was Private Benjamin Reed. He was among the sleepless tonight. Emily watched him for a moment. He was propped upon his pillows, listening as Lewis read. She hoped the story would provide him enjoyment.
Maggie waved to her. “Come,” she said. “See what Oliver does next.”
Emily had already read that particular Charles Dickens story twice, but she thanked her anyway. “I brought a book of poetry. I’ll keep watch on the ones sleeping at this end.”
Maggie nodded and grinned, then scooted her chair a little closer to Lewis.
Yes. She is quite taken with him.
Emily chose a seat at the opposite side of the ward. The young Alabama man who now occupied Edward’s bed was recovering from typhoid fever. Emily checked his forehead, then straightened his linens. Afterward she opened Robert Burns. She started where she had last left off. The title of the poem jumped out. “Bruce’s March to Bannockburn.”
She blushed. It was a Scottish cry for freedom, a call to war. Oh, Evan would love this one. Get caught reading it and I’ll be citing insurrection for certain.
She turned to another page. She did not wish to think of him tonight.
“Highland Mary.”
Emily flipped a few more. “Mary Morrison.”
Sighing, she shut the book and slid it into her pocket. Clearly, there will be no escape by reading tonight.
The entire area was awash in snoring. Lewis had retired to his bed, and Maggie had taken up post not two feet from him. Embroidery work on her lap, her head bobbed gently in rhythm with her needle.
Emily walked through the rows of iron cots. Ben still lay awake, but he did not indicate that he wished for any assistance or company. She checked the tables. Rebekah had cleaned the basins before going home, but the fresh water was running low. Longing to keep busy, Emily snatched the buckets and started for the door.
But for a guard stationed every so often, the corridors were deserted. The entire hospital seemed to be asleep tonight.
I hope they are having pleasant dreams, she thought.
She filled the buckets, then made her way back through the halls. Oil lamps cast shadows across the floor. The guards stared blankly at them. A year ago, traveling unescorted through the U.S. Army hospital would have terrified her. Now she had grown accustomed to it. She didn’t bother the soldiers. They didn’t bother her. Her reputation for treating all men with equal respect, regardless of the uniform, had earned theirs.
All but one, she thought. She knew she did not need Dr. Mackay’s approval to do her duty, but she longed to have it.
If only he could see that regardless of our beginning, I bear him no ill will. I do not seek an opportunity to exploit his weaknesses nor do I chafe under his authority. If only he could understand how much I care for him.
“No!” she said out loud, only to have the fire fill her cheeks once more. I am talking to myself!
Embarrassed, she turned to look behind her. If the guard had heard, he paid her no mind. Emily drew in a deep breath, but her inner argument continued.
I do not care for him! I respect his skills as a physician. Yet she knew that explanation was hollow. She respected Dr. Turner as well, but she did not run to him whenever there was trouble.
Sighing, she spun back around and nearly screamed. There he stood. His collar was loosened, his hair slightly askew. Emily nearly spilled the water all over his brogans.
“I was on the staircase,” he said. “I heard you call out. Are you well?”
He scanned her as though he was searching for some obvious wound. Her ears began to thud. It was as if a battery of artillery was firing in her brain. If he knew the true reason she had called out, she would die of shame.
“It was nothing,” she managed. Emily took a half step back, as if greater distance between them would quell the cannonade. It did not.
His gaze swept the corridor behind her, then the floor. “Is this yours?” he asked.
She realized her volume of Burns was lying on the boards. It must have fallen out of her pocket. “Yes.”
He knelt to pick it up, then examined it curiously. Just a hint of a smile cracked his lips. “Robert Burns.”
He opened to the page she had marked. Emily had no idea where she had stuck the ribbon. She prayed it wasn’t on the war poem, for surely he’d consider that as volatile as stolen battle plans or Confederate dispatches.
“My luve is like a red, red rose...”
As the words rolled off his tongue in the dialect in which they had been written, her ears thudded even louder. Evan’s smile broadened. His features warmed.
“Is this your favorite?” he asked.
“One of them.”
“I had a copy myself, sometime ago.”
To say she was shocked was putting it mildly. She had imagined that he never read anything beyond medical texts or military reports. But as usual, this man was full of surprises. “You may borrow it if you wish.”
He handed the book back to her, taking instead the first water bucket and then the other. A look of sadness replaced the smile. “I have no use for such frivolities now.” He started to turn.
Emily then understood. “Did Mary enjoy poetry?”
Evan glanced back now with a look of fond remembrance. “She did. ‘O Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast’ was her favorite.”
Emily knew the poem well. It was a man’s promise to protect the woman he loved. Surely Mary Mackay had seen him as her strong guardian. “Beautiful words,” she said.
“Aye. Fit for a beautiful girl.”
He set down the buckets and reached into his vest pocket. He pulled out the watch she so often saw him studying. Tucked inside was the image of a young woman. Her dark hair was not bound by pins or combs. Instead, it hung long and loose about her shoulders, in an unconventional, almost wild sort of way.
A Highland princess, Emily imagined. She smiled. In doing so, she garnered one from him. She couldn’t help but think how handsome he was.
“She is lovely. How long were you married?”
“Not quite two years.”
His face darkened. He had loved his wife so, and still did. Emily found his continued devotion all the more winsome.
Remember your duty, her mind scolded. Think of who you are and who he is. You are a nurse. You are here to tend to wounded bodies and souls. He is your superior, a Federal officer! He is not your potential suitor.
Flustered by her thoughts, Emily bit her lip and stared at the book in her hands. She no longer dared look him in the face. Dr. Mackay must have sensed her discomfort or felt his own. He quickly put away the watch, then picked up the buckets and turned for the ward. She followed.
Maggie’s chair was even closer to Lewis’s cot than it had been previously. The two were exchanging whispers. They broke apart the moment Evan and Emily stepped into the room. Lewis rolled to his opposite side and Maggie returned to her embroidery.
“What is going on there?” Evan asked Emily.
“I believe she is taken with him, and he with her.”
He set the buckets on the table. His tone had changed entirely. “’Tis improper,” he said flatly.
He is right. Although there was nothing wrong with the two swapping stories when the workload was light, Lewis and Maggie’s relationship was definitely more than that.
“Indeed,” Emily agreed, her own conscience pricked. Nor is it proper that I have been thinking of you. “I’ll speak to Nurse Branson.”
“Do more than that. Keep your eye on them both. I don’t trust either of them.”
Uneasiness smothered the emotions she had previously felt and proved her point. Propriety was of utmost importance, but Emily didn’t like what he was asking her to do. He wanted her to spy. If Lewis Powell wished to express his belief in States Rights and Maggie Branson to inquire of soldiers still serving in the Confederate army, Emily would not stop them. How could she? She had done the same.
“I need not remind you what this city is capable of,” Dr. Mackay said. “The women here serve the South. They will do anything to aid their men, their precious cause.”
Those gray eyes were locked on hers, and for a moment Emily felt as though he could see right through her. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because in these past two weeks I have come to believe that you are different.”
“Different?”
“Aye.”
Emily didn’t know what to say to that. More than anything, she hoped he would see her for the woman she was. She was heartbroken over this war. She wanted to ease the suffering. She wanted to do so with him.
But he saw none of that. All he saw was a potential Unionist, a lost sheep who had realized the error of her ways and was trying to make her way back to the Federal fold. Tears clouded her eyes. Emily turned so he would not see.
“Thank you for your assistance,” she said.
She filled a cup, intent on carrying it to the first soldier she found awake. Dr. Mackay thought the water was for him. His long fingers brushed hers as he took it from her hand. Emily felt a shiver travel straight up her arm.
“Thank you,” he said. “You have always been very kind.”
The artillery barrage began again. Which fired first, her ears or her heart, she wasn’t sure.
“I know I haven’t been the easiest physician to work with.”
Her mouth felt as though it was stuffed full of lint packing. Swallowing hard, she dared to look at him. “You are grieving,” she said. “It is understandable.”
Evan’s broad shoulders rose, then fell with a sharp breath, almost as if he hoped no one in the room had heard what she had just said.
Emily could not understand. Why does he think his pain will be viewed as a sign of weakness?
“Aye,” he admitted. “So I am. I appreciate your...forbearance.”
Something significant passed between them in that moment. So much so that Emily once again had difficulty breathing. She felt as though the real Evan Mackay was standing before her, the one Mary must have fallen in love with, the honorable, gifted physician who had served God and humanity before distrust and disgust had darkened his heart.
Though she feared her eyes were revealing much more than she wished to make known, she did not break his gaze. “I am praying for you, Evan.”
He gave her hand a quick yet gentle squeeze; then he moved for the door. Emily felt the warmth of his touch long after he had exited the ward.
* * *
Evan made his way up the narrow staircase to the officers’ quarters. The night watchman tipped his kepi as he passed by. The man had apparently grown so accustomed to Evan’s wanderings that he no longer inquired if everything was well. He was not well, of course. Memories of Mary drifted through his mind and Andrew’s death remained constant in his thoughts.
He was empty inside, but he was functioning. He had to admit, knowing Nurse Emily cared enough to speak to God on his behalf was a comfort. Her words whispered through his mind.
I am praying for you, Evan.
I am. Which he took to mean, I have been and I will continue to do so. How long had she been praying for him? Today? This week? Since that day in the scrub closet? He knew Mary had prayed for him each day of their life together. He knew because he could feel the difference when those prayers stopped. He felt the barrier, that wall between him and God.
You can’t feel God’s love, His presence, because you won’t let go of your hate.
He had been a believer long enough to know Emily’s words were true. But how could he let go when every day in this city was a constant reminder of what had happened to his family? How could he forgive when he knew each reb he tended would fire upon U.S. soldiers again if given the opportunity?
Perhaps if all the rebs were like Nurse Emily, I could manage it.
He reached his room. He didn’t even bother lighting a candle. Laying his watch on the table and tossing his vest aside, he sat down on his cot. Jacob Turner’s snoring was heard beyond the wall and on the floor below a Johnnie trapped in a nightmare was giving orders that no one would obey.
Evan’s mind returned to the night the rebel major had assaulted Emily. He’d been convinced she was his enemy. He would never forget the emotions in her eyes—shock, fear, but beyond that, compassion. She showed grace to the scoundrel in spite of what he had done.
He saw the same emotions on her face when she looked at him. That day when Evan had poured out his secrets, confessed his faults, her eyes had been full of love. His starving spirit craved her words of encouragement.
You are the most gifted physician in this hospital....Oh what healing you could bring if only you would allow God to do so for you.
Evan lay in the darkness. The silver moon shone through the cracked windowpane above his bed as his thoughts continued to churn. He wanted God’s healing. He wanted to be rid of the anger, the guilt and the grief he had carried for the past two years. His heart told him to pray, yet still he resisted.
What could he say to the Creator of the universe? Where would he even begin?
Chapter Ten
Emily waited for a moment when she was certain Lewis and the other men were asleep. Sometime after midnight Maggie came to fetch herself a drink of water. Emily seized the opportunity to broach the subject.
“May I speak with you? It concerns Lewis.”
The girl flashed an innocent smile and with a giggle whispered, “Isn’t he just the most handsome man?”
The poor soldier had been kicked in the face by the family donkey when he was thirteen. He had told Emily the story the day he arrived. His jaw had been broken and, as a result, the left side of his face was more prominent then the right. Emily thought his lines odd, his expressions cold at times, but Maggie saw differently.
“I realize you have eyes for one another. Far be it from me to tell you who you should court...”
Maggie’s smile faded. A look of embarrassment took its place.
“But it isn’t proper for you to be sitting so close to his cot, nor exchanging whispers like you do.”
“Did that Federal doctor take issue?” she asked.
Emily was honest. The girl was probably only five or six years younger than she, but she felt it necessary to mother her. “Yes. He did, but I am concerned for you, as well. All I am saying is be careful, not only concerning your reputation as a lady but as a nurse. Remember, this is an army hospital and Lewis is a prisoner of war.”
Maggie blanched, seeing where Emily was leading. “And if anyone thinks we are spreading secessionist ideals, it could make things very difficult for him.”
“Yes, it could, but it could also be difficult for you. They could ask you to leave, or even worse.”
Emily didn’t need to say anything more. Only three women had been held at Fort McHenry thus far, but Maggie obviously did not wish to be the fourth. She nodded gravely.
“I understand.”
“Good. You are a fine nurse, Maggie. Don’t let anything jeopardize that.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Emily offered her a gentle smile. She could sympathize with the girl’s predicament. She also knew what it was like for a man to become a distraction during duty.
Maggie returned to her chair, although she did move it several feet away from Lewis’s bed. Satisfied, Emily went back to work. The night continued quietly, the men sleeping soundly. Even Ben managed to capture a few hours.
Sunrise came, and
Evan returned to the ward. Emily took one look at the dark circles under his eyes and knew sleep had evaded him. Before leaving for home she went down to the kitchen. The staff was busy preparing the morning meal, but one of the cook’s assistants secured a warm biscuit and a fresh cup of coffee for her. She promptly took them to Evan.
“Thank you, lass.”
She loved it when he called her that. The smile he gave her sent her heart fluttering. Emily had to draw in several deep breaths to slow it to a normal rhythm.
He downed a mouthful of coffee just as Rebekah stepped up to join them. Emily wasn’t even aware that she had arrived until she wished them both a good morning.
Disappointment filled her chest for she did not wish to leave. Knowing, however, it would be conspicuous if she delayed any longer, Emily delivered the morning report. She then gathered up her belongings and started for the door.
* * *
The Johnny convalescent from Florida followed orders well enough. He immediately carried out whatever task he had been assigned. He even scrubbed floors without complaint.
Old General Lee must have taught cleanliness was next to Godliness because the reb had every speck of dust, blood and vomit removed by the time Evan returned from the midday meal. Seeing that, he had him start on the windows. They were filthy, as well.
“That be all, sir?” the prisoner asked when finished.
Evan stared into his eyes. The boy played the part of a hardworking, obedient minister’s son, but Evan was certain something else was there.
You would slice my throat or any other Unionist if given the opportunity. Evan would be glad to be rid of him. Let the officers at Fort McHenry see to him. He hoped parole for this particular reb would be denied. That way, Lewis Powell would spend the rest of the war in chains.
“Empty the chamber pots so Nurse Rebekah doesn’t have to do so,” he told him. “She must attend to more important matters.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
Powell hurried off. Evan watched him go. He wondered if the little rebel miss who had been caught whispering with him had been spoken to as of yet. He hoped so or he would see to the matter himself. Nurse Emily innocently believed the Branson girl was simply taken with the boy, but Evan suspected there was much more going on than that.
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