by Al Lacy
“So we’re both orphans. My parents are dead too.”
“I see. Lieutenant, I know from your chart that you are in the Seventh Pennsylvania Artillery Division. So I assume your home is in Pennsylvania.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where in Pennsylvania?”
“Harrisburg.”
“That’s in eastern Pennsylvania, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Little over a hundred miles due west of Philadelphia.”
She nodded, then reached to the end of the bed and picked up the chart. Looking at it, she said, “Lieutenant, I noted when I read this yesterday that Dr. Medford, who did your surgery, wrote here that you had both external and internal damage by the shrapnel, even though your spine was not damaged severely.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Well, with this in mind, I talked to Dr. Medford when I first arrived for work this morning and discussed it with him. He says that you will probably be five or six months in recuperation here at the hospital. It will depend on how well you heal whether you can return to active duty or not. As I’m sure you know, the army will muster you out if Dr. Medford deems you questionable for further combat.”
Nate let a slight grin capture his mouth. “Miss Ross, if you can be my main nurse for the recuperating time, I won’t mind at all if it takes even six or seven months to get healed up.”
Millie smiled.
“Ah …”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“It is Miss Ross, isn’t it?”
She smiled again as she saw Loretta coming with a breakfast tray in her hands. “Yes, it is. Time for breakfast.”
In the days that followed, Millie Ross gave the wounded lieutenant the best of care and all the attention he wanted. In the process, they became better acquainted.
One day, after Millie had changed the bandage on Nate’s back—with Loretta’s help—Millie tucked the covers around him and said, “Lieutenant, your wound is healing well.”
Loretta was walking away, and Nate patted Millie’s hand affectionately. “Thank you, Miss Ross, for the excellent care you are giving me. If I had parents to write home to, I’d sure brag about you.”
“You are so kind.” She warmed him with a smile. “Lieutenant Conrad, I would like for you to drop the ‘Miss Ross,’ and just call me Millie.”
The smile had its effect on Nate, as well as the request to call her by her nickname. He gave her a lopsided grin. “All right, Millie. It’s a deal. That is, if you will drop the ‘Lieutenant Conrad’ and just call me Nate.”
Millie giggled. “All right, Nate, it’s a deal!”
He studied her eyes for a moment. “Millie?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Ah … ah … are you engaged or involved seriously with anyone?”
She locked her gaze with his. “I have a few men I date periodically, but no engagement, and nothing serious.”
The smile that spread over his face was more than she had seen up to that point. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Millie giggled again. “Well, that must mean that you aren’t engaged or serious about someone.”
“Right. Like you with the men, I have some lady friends up in Harrisburg I’ve dated periodically, but there’s nobody special.”
Millie tried to hide the relief she felt, but Nate picked up on it. Secretly, he felt a glow inside. He knew he was falling in love with Millie Ross, and there was reason to believe she was falling in love with him.
6
IN HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA, on Friday morning, October 14, Jenny Linden was alone at the counter at Henderson’s General Store.
The lowering gray sky that Jenny had awakened to that morning was finally beginning to drop its heavy burden of icy rain. Through the large windows, she could see it pelting the dusty street and stripping the few remaining leaves from the skeletal trees in view. People were moving along the sidewalks, bending their heads against the wind-driven ice crystals.
Jenny had a fire going in the store’s potbellied stove and a pot of coffee brewing, which she would indulge in later.
A few customers had come and gone, and at the moment, there was one woman at the counter, whom Jenny was waiting on. Jenny saw Wiley Owens come in, carrying the day’s edition of the Harrisburg Journal. He brushed the icy rain from his face. “Hello, Jenny.”
Looking past her customer, Jenny smiled at Wiley and greeted him as he moved up to the empty stand at the end of the counter. He began removing the papers from a canvas bag which protected them from the rain.
Jenny’s customer picked up her paper sack, thanked her, and turned to leave.
“Thank you, Mrs. Burton,” said Jenny. “Come again.”
“Oh, I will,” she said, and hurried out the door.
Jenny turned to Wiley, who was stacking the papers on the stand. “I think this rain is going to turn to snow before long.”
He gave her a quick smile. “Probably will.”
“Wiley, is there more in today’s paper about the War?”
“’Fraid so. The front page is full of news about a bloody battle that took place near Rome, Georgia, two days ago.”
Jenny was about to ask Wiley if he knew what military units fought in the battle, but two customers came through the door, greeting her, and Wiley hurried out, giving her a wave.
Three more customers came in a moment later. While Jenny was waiting for the five customers to pick up their items and bring them to the counter, she glanced at the newspapers on the stand. She was eager to read about the battle, but told herself she would have to wait for a lull in business before she would be able to get to it.
More customers came in, brushing the ice crystals from their coats and hats while Jenny was taking care of the others. Soon there was a line of nearly a dozen people in front of the counter. Jenny was hastily tabulating bills and stuffing paper sacks in an effort to keep any of them from having to wait too long.
When a couple stepped away, her next customer was Max Akers, a bookkeeper at one of the local department stores. As he laid his items on the counter, Max smiled. “Nice to see you, Jenny. As you know, my wife usually does the grocery shopping, but she’s down with a cold, so here I am.”
“I’m sorry to hear that Susan is ill, Max. I hope she’ll get over the cold soon.”
“I’m sure she will. Jenny, I haven’t seen you since the robbery took place here. I want to commend you for what you did to help the police catch that escaped convict.” He leaned closer and grinned. “I’m glad you gave that Rufus Hickam an extra whack on the head, even when he was already out cold.”
Jenny smiled as she finished tabulating the small bill. “How do you know about that? The newspaper account didn’t report the extra whack.”
Max chuckled. “Oh, word gets around.” He leaned even closer. “Maybe you should have saved the taxpayers some money and given him another good whack. I mean … a really good one.”
Jenny put the items in a paper sack and took Max’s money. As he thanked her and walked away, his words about a third whack went through her mind. See there, Chief Wymore, not everybody agrees with your soft-touch philosophy.
More customers came and went. Some bought the newspapers, along with other items they had come in to purchase. Finally, about eleven o’clock, the wintry rain was coming down hard, driven by stronger winds, causing the people of Harrisburg to seek sanctuary in their homes, and business in the general store trickled to a halt.
Giving a huge sigh of relief, Jenny straightened the pencils and work pads on the counter, then went to the big potbellied stove in the center of the store and tossed more logs on the fire. Using a poker, she stirred the flames. The fire flared up quickly, putting off a rosy glow and instantly warming up the area around it. The coffeepot was steaming.
Jenny poured herself a mug of the brew and carried it to the counter. She then went to the newspaper stand, picked up a paper, and returned to her spot behind the counter. The wind outside was now howling fiercely
. She glanced out the windows while spreading the paper out before her, and saw that the icy rain was still pelting them hard. She could barely see anything on the street.
A shiver ran through her body. She turned, lifted her shawl from a hook on the wall, and draped it over her shoulders. She took a sip of the coffee, set the cup down, and put her attention on the front page of the paper.
She saw that on Wednesday, October 12, there was a battle on Coosaville Road, just outside the city of Rome, Georgia. The Union troops involved in the battle were under the command of General William T. Sherman, and the Confederate troops were under the command of General John Bell Hood.
Jenny noted the statistics. Reportedly, 114 Union soldiers were killed, 229 wounded, and 176 were missing or captured. On the Confederate side, 87 were killed, 137 wounded, and 43 were missing or captured.
As her eyes moved down the page, they suddenly bulged and her heart leaped in her chest when she read that the Third Pennsylvania Cavalry Division had been involved in the battle. “Oh, Papa!” she said. “You’ve got to be all right! You just have to!”
At that moment, the door opened, and Zack and Emma Henderson came in, followed by two male customers, who were in conversation with Zack.
So entangled in her own thoughts and concern over what she had just read, Jenny was completely unaware of the people coming in until a draft from the open door ruffled the pages of the newspaper. When she lifted up her fear-filled eyes, Emma was first to notice. She removed her coat, shook the ice crystals from it, and hurried around behind the counter to the girl. Hanging the coat on a wall hook, she said, “Jenny, what’s wrong?”
Zack’s conversation with the two male customers suddenly cut off as he heard Emma’s words and noted Jenny’s puckered brow and sheet-white face. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Jenny pointed a trembling finger at the front page of the newspaper. “Papa’s Cavalry Division was in a battle near Rome, Georgia, on Wednesday. Lots of Union soldiers were killed.”
Emma folded Jenny in her arms. “Now, honey, your papa is probably all right. Remember, you must do your best to keep an optimistic frame of mind about him, and cling to the hope that one day he will come home alive and well.”
Jenny took a deep breath and steadied herself. “You’re right, Emma.”
Zack reached over the counter and patted Jenny’s shoulder. “You’re a brave girl, honey. Everything is going to turn out all right. You just keep believing it.”
Jenny took another deep breath. “I’m doing my best, Zack. And you two are so encouraging. Thank you.”
That evening, when Jenny left the store with the day’s edition of the Harrisburg Journal in her hand, the wind had died down and a light snow was falling. She dreaded having to tell her mother about the bloody Coosaville Road battle and that her father was involved in it.
Jenny wished she could keep it from her mother, but she knew if she didn’t bring the newspaper home, Myrna Linden would know something was wrong. Jenny would be forced to tell her the truth anyhow. In her mother’s weakened condition, the news that the Third Pennsylvania Cavalry Division was involved in the fierce battle could be devastating. Her mother would think the worst and it would play havoc with her emotional problems. She was already in a low state of mind with the War still going on; not knowing when or if she might ever see her husband again could be the last straw.
As Jenny neared the Linden house, she could make out a horse and buggy parked in front. When she was turning into the yard, Dr. Adam Griffin was coming out the door. Light from the lanterns in the parlor put a glow on the porch. She hurried up on the porch as he was about to descend the steps. “Dr. Griffin, is something wrong with Mama?”
“Oh no,” he said, giving her a smile. “You remember, I told her I was going to do some study on manic depression to see if there is anything new in medical science to help give her some appetite.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I did, and since it was time for a house call anyway, I wanted to let her know what I had found out.”
“And?”
“There are two French doctors in Paris who at present are testing barbituric acid. Do you know what that is?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, it’s a new discovery. It has a tranquilizing effect on a person’s mind and nervous system. And these doctors say they believe it will increase the appetite for people like your mother. As I said, they are in the testing stage now, but it offers hope for your mother, and I wanted to tell her about it. More time is needed, but at least it is encouraging to know the doctors are optimistic.”
Jenny smiled. “That’s for sure. Thank you for this good news, Doctor.”
Griffin turned to leave. “I’ll keep you and your mother posted as I hear more, Jenny.”
“Thanks, again.”
As the doctor moved off the porch and headed for his buggy, Jenny turned to see her mother looking at her from the rocking chair by the parlor window. Jenny thought of the news she was about to spring on her, and a grave look settled on her face.
Myrna had a fire going in the parlor stove, and the lamps in the room gave off a mellow glow, dispelling the gloom of nightfall. When her daughter came in, Myrna saw Jenny’s troubled expression. “Honey, did Dr. Griffin tell you something he didn’t tell me?”
Jenny moved toward the rocking chair. “No, Mama. It was the same good news about the work of the French doctors that he told you. I’m really encouraged about it.”
“Well, honey, you don’t look encouraged.”
Jenny bent over and kissed her mother’s forehead. “This is something else, Mama.”
Myrna’s eyes went to the newspaper in Jenny’s hand. “Something in the paper?”
Jenny sighed and put the paper in her hand. “Yes. I wish you didn’t have to know, but it’s there on the front page.”
Myrna opened the paper and began to read. Jenny laid a hand on her shoulder.
It took a minute for Myrna to come to the place in the article where the army units involved in the battle on both sides were listed. Her eyes widened when they focused on William’s division. “Oh no!” she cried, and broke into tears. “Oh no! Jenny, your papa was probably killed!”
Jenny bent down and took hold of both her hands. In a soft tone, and using the same tactics that Emma Henderson had used on her earlier that day, she tried to calm her down and to convince her that she should keep on optimistic outlook on the situation. At first it looked like Jenny’s efforts would fail, but with the help of an extra dose of paraldehyde, Myrna eventually calmed down and weakly agreed with her daughter that she must keep a positive outlook on William’s situation.
Myrna dabbed at her tears with a hankie while Jenny kept a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, I just couldn’t live if something happened to your papa. He … he must come home to me whenever the War is over—which I hope is soon—so we can have our life together.”
Jenny sighed. “I want Papa to come home too. And I feel the same way about Nate. I just couldn’t live without him. I’m so very much anticipating the day he comes home to me. And when he does, we’ll take up where we left off. Shortly thereafter, there will be wedding bells.”
Myrna closed her eyes.
Jenny stayed, her hand gripping her mother’s shoulder firmly, while talking in low tones about keeping up their optimism. There was a hollow note in Jenny’s voice, which told her mother that some of the optimism she spoke of was really not there. She kept her thoughts about it to herself.
When the paraldehyde had calmed Myrna down some, Jenny said, “Mama, I’m going to cook supper now. Does anything sound especially appetizing to you?”
Myrna was ready to tell her daughter that she wasn’t at all hungry, but turning to look up at her, she read the deeply troubled look that remained in Jenny’s eyes. Not wanting to add to her daughter’s anxiety, she pulled a smile from deep in her heart. “I think a poached egg and some toast would taste good on this chilly night, honey. And maybe some pepperm
int tea.”
Her response had the desired effect, and the troubled look on Jenny’s face softened into a pleasant smile. “I’ll have it ready in just a few minutes, Mama. Do you want to stay here and read more in your paper, or would you like to come into the kitchen and keep me company?”
“I’ll just do that, dear,” Myrna replied, and arm in arm, the two inwardly grieving women left the parlor, each bent on comforting the other.
On the same day, at Memorial Hospital in Frederick, Maryland, more Union casualties from battles and skirmishes all over Virginia were being brought in. There was room for them now, because some soldiers wounded months earlier had been released and a number of those brought in from the Winchester battle had died.
Dr. Homer Walton, as usual, was supervising the entrance of the new patients into the hospital. When he had seen to it that those in need of surgery had been taken to the surgical section and the others were getting the attention they needed as they were placed in the military ward, he was passing along the long line of beds heading for his office. As he drew near Lieutenant Nathan Conrad’s bed, he saw Conrad’s surgeon, Dr. Gary Medford.
Dr. Medford was just finishing an examination of the wound, and Nate was rolling over on to his back.
Dr. Walton smiled down at Nate, then looked at the surgeon. “So how’s our patient doing, Dr. Medford?”
“The wound is healing slowly, Doctor,” replied Medford, helping Nate adjust his covers. “It will be a couple of months before Lieutenant Conrad will be able to leave the bed to periodically sit in a wheelchair. Then of course, it will be a month or so beyond that before he can be on his feet, walking with crutches. If he does as I expect, he’ll graduate from the crutches in a short time to a cane, and one day, will be able to lay aside the cane.”
Nate managed a smile. “That sounds like a long time, Dr. Medford, but it’s a whole lot better than if you had told me I would never walk again.”
Suddenly a female voice came from the row of beds. “Dr. Walton! Dr. Medford!”