by Al Lacy
Millie nodded. “I’d sure like to be able to do that, and from the look I see in Nate’s eyes and some of the things he says, I’m sure he would too.”
Paula squeezed Millie’s shoulder. “Maybe when Nate is able to occupy a wheelchair, you can wheel him somewhere that you can at least have enough privacy to express yourselves without other hospital personnel or other patients being able to listen to what you say.”
A smile curved Millie’s lips. “Maybe this will be possible. I sure hope so.”
“Of course, honey,” said Nancy, “if this develops between you and Nate, the day will come when you will have to leave here and go to Harrisburg with him. And, of course, there will be wedding bells.”
Millie’s eyes brightened. “Oh, won’t that be the day?”
It was almost seven o’clock when Millie, Paula, and Nancy arrived at the hospital to start their shift. Millie’s first duty was to check on each patient who had been assigned to her. Her desire was to go to Nate first, but not wanting to give the head nurse or anyone else in authority a reason to reprimand her, she took them in order.
Some thirty minutes later, she came to Nate, who was her fifth patient in a list of twelve.
Nate’s face beamed as he looked up and smiled at her. “My, oh my, you sure look lovely this morning, Miss Ross. I like the way you have your hair styled. I mean, I like each style you use, but you look exceptionally beautiful today.”
The heavyset man in the next bed grinned. “Now, Lieutenant Conrad, you are not supposed to flirt with the nurses.”
Nate chuckled nervously. “I wasn’t flirting, Major. I was just stating a fact. Miss Millie Ross, I would like to introduce you to Major Leonard Saunders.”
“Good morning, ma’am,” said the major. “I’m happy to meet you.”
Millie smiled. “And I’m happy to meet you, sir. Are you feeling all right this morning? I know you had surgery yesterday afternoon.”
“I’m doing fine, thank you. My nurse, Miss Walker, is taking good care of me.”
“Excellent,” she said, then turned her back to Saunders and looked down at Nate. There was love in her eyes. Nate’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, Lieutenant, I need to get to the usual—checking your vital signs and all that.”
Nate wanted to tell her that she’d better check his heart first, since it was skipping one beat after another, but he refrained.
While Millie was checking his vital signs, Nelda Walker drew up to the major’s bed to check his bandage. She spoke to Millie, then put her attention on the major.
Nate kept an eye on the major and his nurse, and when they were engaged in conversation, he drew Millie’s attention by pointing to his lips and silently mouthed, I love you, Millie!
It was Millie’s turn to have her heart skip a beat. Her eyes lit up. Making sure no one was looking, she silently mouthed in return, I love you too!
At that instant, she was checking his pulse. The beat picked up and she smiled down at him.
Nate ran his eyes to the major and the nurse and to the sleeping patient on his other side. Knowing that he had a private moment, he took hold of Millie’s hand, squeezed the forefinger and the middle finger together, and planted a kiss on them. The lovely redhead casually looked around, and when she was sure no one was looking, she pressed the kiss on her fingers to her lips. Nate’s face was beaming as he silently mouthed again, I love you!
Before dawn that morning, just outside Rome, Georgia, the ninety-one Union prisoners who were to be taken to Andersonville Prison Camp were being escorted at gunpoint to a train with three boxcars behind the engine and coal car. Some of the Confederate soldiers were carrying lanterns.
In the engine cab, engineer Walt Benson and fireman Link Hazzard were looking out the window. Hazzard had the fire going in the boiler, and the steam was almost up to power.
The fireman shook his head. “I can see their faces well enough by the light of the lanterns to discern that those Yankees are scared spitless.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you were going to Andersonville? They know about the death rate there.”
“I guess everybody from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from Canada to Mexico have heard about Andersonville, Walt. I’ve been hearing about it since March, and I was in Kentucky at the time. I never dreamed when the army brought me to this part of Georgia last week that I’d actually be hauling prisoners to Macon so they could put them in wagons and take them to that disease-ridden prison.”
Benson sighed. “Well, I guess it’s something you and I can both tell our grandchildren about someday.”
A Confederate captain was coming their way. As he drew up, he said, “Okay, Walt. We’re locking them in the boxcars right now. You can pull out in five minutes.”
“All right, sir. Steam’s up. We’re ready.”
Five minutes later, Walt Benson gave the throttle a shove, and the big engine lurched forward. The couplings between the cars rattled with a deep thunderous sound and the train was rolling south.
Soon they were amid fields and forests as the engine belched black smoke toward the star bedecked sky. The powerful headlight shone on the gleaming twin tracks ahead, which seemed to become one as they disappeared a hundred yards in the distance in the predawn darkness.
In each of the three boxcars, a single lantern hung overhead, giving off a glow of pale yellow light and casting the shadows of the heartsick prisoners on the hard wooden floor where they sat.
In the third boxcar, Captain William Linden—who was the leader of A Company in the second battalion of the Third Pennsylvania Cavalry Division—was sitting on the floor in a corner at the rear with his back braced against the boxcar wall.
Linden let his eyes roam over the other thirty men in the boxcar. Most of them were silent as they huddled in small groups, their heads hanging low. A few were talking in subdued voices that could barely be heard by anyone outside their group over the rumble of the steel wheels beneath the car.
The captain was feeling the same dread of Andersonville as were the rest of the men. His stomach flipped over at the thought of it. He wondered how many of the ninety-one men on the train would live to see their homes and families again. Squaring his jaw, he determined that he would be one of them.
This line of thought sent his mind to his wife and daughter at home in Harrisburg. He wished he could at least get word to Myrna and Jenny that he was still alive, but there was no possible way to do it. “Jenny,” he whispered, “I know you are taking care of your mother. Please, honey, do all you can to keep her from sinking deeper into her depression. I know you’re both wondering if I’m alive, and if so, if I am in one piece. No way to let you know. But someday this dreadful war will be over, and in spite of the disease and filth of Andersonville, I’ll come home to you.”
At that moment, Linden saw three of the men under his command making their way toward him from the other end of the car. Focusing on them in the dim light, he saw that their faces were grim.
No, not grim.
Angry.
Lieutenant Edgar Toomey, Sergeant Keith Lewis, and Corporal Todd Zediker hunkered down in front of Linden, their glaring eyes burning his face.
Toomey, whose buckteeth always protruded past his lips, sneered at Linden. Keeping his voice low so the men in the car could not hear him, he hissed, “It’s your fault, Linden! All your fault!”
The captain met his hot gaze with steady eyes. “You can say that all you want, Toomey, but you’re wrong.”
“Well, you’re the commander of A Company, ain’t you? Huh?”
“That I am.”
“Okay. In that battle at Coosaville Road, sixteen of our men were killed—including my little brother, Lester! Twenty-one were wounded, and are now in the hands of those Confederate doctors, who’ll let ‘em die as sure as the sun comes up in the east! And the rest of us are on this train, goin’ to Andersonville so we can die of disease or starvation, or both! And it’s all your fault!”
Linden felt scorched by
the flaming eyes of all three men. His own anger surfaced, making a dark tide shade his face. A glitter leaped into his eyes. “I’m telling you again: it is not my fault!”
“You’re a liar, Linden!” Lewis was breathing hard. “I heard Edgar warn you just before we entered into the battle with those stinkin’ Rebels, that if we didn’t withdraw and ride quickly to the safety of that nearby forest to the west, we were all gonna get killed or captured along with those other Union troops who were already fightin’ those Rebels who outnumbered us all.”
“I heard Edgar’s warnin’ to you, too,” growled Zediker. “We had that one opportunity at that precise moment of time. It was head for the protection of that forest unnoticed by the enemy and not battle such a large number, or end up like this. Oh, but no, you wouldn’t listen. Now, look what’s happened! Now, what’s left of our company is on our way to that horrible Andersonville Prison. And it is all your fault!”
Linden bristled. “Don’t you guys have any sense at all? I told you this when you spoke your warning, Edgar, and I’m telling you again. If I had led A Company away from a battle that was already in progress, and we had taken refuge in the forest to save our own skins when our comrades were already greatly outnumbered, it would have been a cowardly act, and the rest of us would have been charged with desertion in the face of battle. Those of us who lived through it to the end of the War would face the shame of our cowardice for the rest of our lives.”
“Call it what you want, Captain, but my brother’s dead, as are fifteen other men in our unit,” Toomey snarled. “As I said, those wounded ones the Rebels picked up off the battlefield won’t get proper care from the Rebel doctors. They’ll all die! And the rest of us are gonna die in that rotten disease-infested Rebel prison camp at Andersonville.”
“Right!” snapped Lewis. “If you’d listened to Edgar, his brother would still be alive, as well as the other fifteen men, and we wouldn’t be ridin’ in this dirty boxcar toward that filthy prison camp!”
“Yeah,” said Zediker. “You and your big sense of honor. Look what it got us!”
Linden looked at them with dull hostility. “May I remind you that you are speaking to a superior officer, and that I am also your assigned leader? If we do get out of this, I’ll have to report you to the army officials in Washington.”
All three regarded him with hate-filled eyes, but did not reply.
Linden fixed his eyes like hot pinpoints on Toomey. “Let me also remind you, Lieutenant, that you and I are both from Harrisburg and will be living in the same town together when this war is over. You are sowing seeds that will be a crop of trouble later.”
“Hah!” said Toomey, showing his buckteeth in fury. “Neither one of us are gonna live to ever see Harrisburg again!” Then he said to his pals, “Let’s go back to the front of the car. It stinks worse back here.”
Linden watched as they stood up and walked away, without looking back.
When the trio reached the other end of the car, where they had been sitting before, they tightened into a knot and sat down.
Toomey spoke in a low voice so only his two friends could hear. “I’m tellin’ you this much—even if I do live till the end of the War and get to go home, Linden’s gonna die! I’ll see to that!”
9
MYRNA LINDEN WAS IN A FRIGHTENING nightmare, observing swarms of infantrymen and cavalrymen clashing amid cannons and rifles on some Southern battlefield. Foot soldiers were dropping by the dozens, as were cavalrymen and their horses. Cannonballs were exploding, sending fragments of metal and flaming bodies twisting through the air.
Suddenly she caught sight of William on his horse, leading his company in the battle. Seconds later, cannonballs struck all around William. The smoke and fire enveloped him and his horse, and when the smoke drifted away, she saw both of them lying on the ground, dead.
She screamed, “William! William! Please don’t be dead! Please don’t—”
“Mama! Mama!” Jenny’s voice came to her ears, penetrating her nightmare.
Myrna opened her eyes to see her daughter standing over her. She reached for her. “He’s dead, Jenny! Your papa’s dead!” And suddenly she was shrieking, rolling her head back and forth.
Jenny shook her. “Mama! Mama! It’s all right. I’m right here with you.”
Myrna closed her eyes and shrieked till her throat seized shut, then gasped for breath. When Jenny called to her again, she opened her eyes, still trying to catch her breath.
Jenny stroked her forehead. “Mama, you were having another one of your bad dreams. It’s all right. Everything is fine.”
Myrna stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. Her face shrunk around her cheekbones, giving her a grimace of perpetual sorrow. Desperation was in her tight voice. “Jenny … Jenny … he’s dead. Your papa’s dead. I saw him die in an explosion of cannonballs. He’s dead! He’s dead!”
Jenny sat down on the bed and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck. “No, Mama. It was only a bad dream. Papa is still alive. He’ll be coming home to us soon.”
Myrna’s body began to shudder. Jenny pulled back and looked into her tear-misted eyes. Her skin was flushed and her eyes had taken on the hollow look Jenny had seen so many times before.
“Mama, settle down now,” she said softly. “You just had another one of your bad dreams. It’s morning. You rest while I go fix you some breakfast.”
Myrna nodded and closed her eyes.
Jenny stood up and wiped a palm over her own tired face. Her mother had been having one bad dream after another for the past three nights, and Jenny had slept no more than a couple of hours each of those nights.
Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked almost as ravaged as the tormented woman who lay under the blankets.
Jenny’s brow furrowed as she looked down at the face that once was so lovely. She’s getting steadily worse. It was bad enough when my baby brother died, but this torment over Papa is devastating. I’m watching her sinking deeper into her depression every day. She’s dying a little at a time right before my eyes.
Tears filled Jenny’s eyes and were spilling down her cheeks. She started to turn away, but stopped when she heard her mother say weakly, “Jenny …”
She bent over her. “Yes, Mama?”
Myrna lifted a trembling hand toward her. Jenny took hold of it. “Honey, I … I’m sorry to be such a problem.”
Jenny squeezed the hand. “Mama, you’re not a problem. I love you. I just wish I could make everything all right for you.”
The sun was filling the room with its bright glow. Myrna looked up at her daughter admiringly, thinking how trim and statuesque she was. Her sky blue eyes were so full of expression. The blond locks were so radiant that to Myrna they seemed a halo. “Thank you for being so good to me, honey.”
Jenny managed a smile and caressed her mother’s pale cheek. “You don’t have to thank me for that, sweet Mama. You just relax. You’ll have breakfast in bed like the last two mornings. Only today I won’t have to leave you and go to work. It’s my day off. I will have to be gone for a little while, though. I’m going to go fetch Dr. Griffin for you. He isn’t due for four more days, but I want him to know about these bad dreams that have so upset you these past three nights. I’ll ask him to come see you today.”
Myrna nodded.
Jenny bent down and kissed her mother’s forehead. “I’ll wash my face and brush my hair, then I’ll fix your breakfast.”
Myrna nodded again, and Jenny hurried through the door. She went first to the kitchen where she built a fire in the cookstove. Leaving it to pop and crackle, she went to her own room, where she poured water into the wash basin and washed her face. When she was drying it, she looked in the mirror and said to her reflection, “Jenny, it’s a good thing Nate’s not here to look at you. You look like death warmed over.”
She brushed her hair, then combed it into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, using two long hairpins to hold it in place. Going to the closet, she donned a wa
rm brown dress trimmed with a wide cream-colored bertha collar. She pinched her cheeks to bring some rose into them, then powdered her face lightly.
Noting again the weary look in her eyes, she threw palms upward and said, “That’s as good as it’s going to get today.”
In the kitchen, Jenny put another log on the fire, then dipped water from the bucket, filled the teakettle, and set it on the stove. She also filled a small pot, and while both were heating, she scooped a small measure of oatmeal from the tin and poured it into the pot.
She sat down at the table, and while she waited for the water to boil in both pot and teakettle, Jenny’s thoughts ran to Nate. She wondered where he was in the South and what he might be facing that day. Shaking her head to rid her mind of his danger, she began daydreaming about the day Nate would come home to her. She pictured that first moment, imagining how wonderful it would be. She was forming a mental image of their wedding when the teakettle began to whistle, spewing hot water from its spout that sizzled in small drops on the stove. As she rose from the table and stepped to the stove, a dark thought pressed itself into her mind: Nate isn’t coming home. And neither is Papa. They’re both dead and buried beneath the sod somewhere in Southern soil.
“No!” she said aloud. “No! They both must come home!”
Her heart was still heavy and doubtful as she hurriedly finished preparing her mother’s breakfast. She made the tray as attractive and tempting as possible, and carried it up the hall toward her mother’s room. Along with the teapot, cups, and bowl of oatmeal, was the bottle of paraldehyde.
When she entered the room, she was astonished to see her mother sitting up, with her back resting against a couple of pillows. This thrilled her, but her elation was short-lived when she moved up to the bed and saw the tragic emptiness in her mother’s eyes.
Jenny placed the tray on the bedside table. “Okay, Mama. Here’s some hot tea and some oatmeal.”
Myrna frowned when she saw only one cereal bowl. “Aren’t you going to eat, dear?”
“I’m just not hungry right now, Mama. I brought two cups, though, so I could have some tea with you.”