by Linda Swift
"Get these men washed and into dry clothes," Philip told the slaves who were drifting in from their quarters, summoned from their exhausted sleep by Philip's orders.
"And in the meantime," he looked at Clarissa, "you and your sister need to see to the feeding and care of the other patients."
It seemed strange to be taking orders from a Union officer, and a prisoner to boot, even if he was a surgeon. But he was caring for Confederate soldiers, and that was what counted. Clarissa went to the kitchen where Angeline soon joined her, and they filled bowls with steaming grits while Harriet hurriedly prepared additional food for the unexpected arrivals.
"Law me, what we gonna do with all these peoples, Miss Clarissa?" Harriet moaned.
"I don't know," Clarissa answered. "All the cots are filled now."
"Clarissa, my dear, they said I'd find you here." Josiah Wakefield stood in the doorway. "I'll have Napoleon take me to the mill directly, and return for you and your sister."
"Oh, Father Wakefield," Clarissa went to kiss Josiah's cheek, "didn't you see all the soldiers who've just been brought in?"
"Indeed, I did, and I'm sending word for more cots and bedding to be brought at once, though I have no idea where they can be put."
"Many of those men are badly wounded," Clarissa went on, "and they must be cared for quickly or some will die. Don't you see how much they need Angeline and me?"
"Need is not the point, my dear girl." Josiah patted her shoulder. "The fact is, this is not a place for young ladies of delicate sensibilities. And I'm not at ease with you staying in the same house with a Union prisoner, let alone assisting him with his work, and nursing a houseful of soldiers."
"Captain Burke is a perfect gentleman and has behaved with all propriety toward me, sir. And many society women are nursing the sick now, Father Wakefield," Clarissa pleaded, "both North and South. Wouldn't you hope that Malcolm or Talmage would be nursed by ladies who care about their welfare if they were wounded in battle?"
Clarissa's question had hit home, playing on the man's fears for his sons' well-being.
"Of course, of course."
"Then how can you deny the same to other fine Southern soldiers when it is available?"
"You win, my dear." Josiah bowed his head slightly to his daughter-in-law. "But I'll send Napoleon here every day to help you. And if, at any time, you change your mind, you are to pack your things and direct him to take you to Rossville."
"Thank you, Father Wakefield." Clarissa kissed him again.
"And I'll be stopping by as often as I can, also." He shook his head. "I wonder if Malcolm would believe what a Florence Nightingale you're proving to be?"
Clarissa flashed a victorious smile to Angeline as Josiah Wakefield left the room and was rewarded with an affectionate hug before they resumed their task that, until yesterday, would have been work for servants.
Josiah left the kitchen frowning slightly as he went to summon his carriage. He knew there was something different about his daughter-in-law this morning, but he didn't realize that it was her absence of crinolines that caused his uneasiness.
As soon as the patients had been awakened by the attendants and assisted with their morning ablutions, Clarissa, Angeline, and Betsy served them coffee, grits and biscuits, feeding those who were too weak to feed themselves.
"Hey, fellas, do you think we died and went to Heaven last night?" one soldier asked.
"Yeah, maybe," another answered. "Else, why are these purty angels serving our breakfast?”
"Well, you know the Lord promised us mansions on high and I think we've done got there."
Before they had completed the task, Philip called for Clarissa to join him in the library and the day's surgery began. His eyes took note of her cotton pinafore and plain brown dress with its absence of encumbering undergarments that had hidden the provocative curves of her body, but he made no comment. He also didn't comment on the fact that her father-in-law had come and gone and she and her sister were still here, but it was obvious that at least, for now, she wasn't going anywhere.
Working steadily through the morning, Clarissa proved herself to be an apt pupil, responding with speed and skill to Philip's able teaching. She carefully watched his competent movements, anticipating when he would need something and what it would be. She soon learned to administer the ether or chloroform, and her soothing voice seemed to calm and reassure the fearful soldiers as much as the anesthesia she gave them.
Philip cut and scraped and sewed; Clarissa soothed and swabbed and bandaged. Working as an efficient team, they tended this latest stream of patients who had been brought to Whitehaven after their long, arduous journey from Murfreesboro. Finally, the last soldier was taken to a cot in the music room and Clarissa began to remove the soiled sheet from the desk top surgical table.
"When you've cleaned up here, we need to change the bandages of the other patients," Philip told her.
His voice became fainter as he spoke, and she looked up to see why, but her sight went blank and she felt herself falling.
"What the—" Philip grabbed her as she toppled forward, moved to lay her on the table but stopped, realizing the condition of the bedding. He stood holding her, supporting her limp body by bracing it with his own and pressed against her this way, he felt himself growing aroused. She was soft and warm and he inhaled the delicate scent of her skin and felt a terrible urge to kiss her slightly parted lips.
Clarissa stirred and snuggled closer to him, inciting Philip to further arousal, then regaining consciousness, she realized she was in the arms of a man wearing the Union blue and recoiled subconsciously.
"What hap—" she began, as she struggled to extricate herself from the strong arms that held her.
"Careful, now." Philip held her away from him, still supporting her. "You fainted, I think. Are you feeling ill?"
"No," she shook her head, "just a bit weak. I'll be all right when I eat something." His lean body was only inches away and she could feel his breath on her forehead.
"You haven't eaten?" Philip asked with concern.
"No, there wasn't time before you called me to help."
"Let that be a lesson to you, Mrs. Wakefield." Still supporting her with one arm, Philip stripped the sheet from the table and then guided her onto it. "Always fortify yourself first before you try to take care of someone else. Otherwise, you won't be of any use to them or yourself."
"Yes, Captain," she answered contritely.
He dipped a clean cloth in a basin of water and gently wiped her face, and the act caused Clarissa to feel some primitive need deep inside her. She had never had a man minister to her in this way, and it was more erotic than her husband's rough lovemaking…but she had no words for what she felt.
"Rest here for a little while and I'll bring you something to eat."
"Oh, no, I—" before she could finished, he was gone, and when he returned minutes later, he carried a glass of milk and a slice of warm, buttered bread.
As she took them, he nodded toward the piano in the adjoining room. "Do you mind if I play, Mrs. Wakefield?"
Startled by the surgeon's request, Clarissa stammered. "Why—ah—no, not at all."
Much to her surprise, Clarissa found him to be an accomplished musician, and wondered what his life had been like before the war. Surely, even a Union soldier who made such beautiful music couldn't be all bad.
Outside, the rain kept falling and the lead-gray skies cast a pall of gloom over the dismal day; but in the library, the fire burned brightly, and Clarissa was suffused with warmth.
CHAPTER TEN
Chattanooga, February 1863
"This needs to be disposed of, Napoleon," Clarissa said as she added another severed leg to the container covered with a rubber blanket.
"Yes'um." The muscular slave lifted the heavy tin tub as if it weighed nothing and disappeared through the veranda door.
"Napoleon has been a great help these last few weeks," she commented to Philip as she supplied the n
eedle and catgut thread for stitching the remainder of the limb's loose skin to cover its protruding bone.
Before Philip could answer, the patient screamed, and Clarissa quickly held a cloth saturated with chloroform over his face.
"There, that ought to hold him." Philip removed the clamps which had sealed the artery while he worked and handed them to Clarissa. "He's the last one, isn't he?"
As she put the instruments in a basin of soapy water, Clarissa nodded. "At least for now, though they just keep coming."
Philip sighed. "I thought after Stones River the fighting in Middle Tennessee would be over, but they're trickling in from Franklin and Nolensville, now. We've already got more than we can care for, and so has the Brabson House."
"We could put some cots upstairs. Angeline and I don't need all those rooms."
"No." Philip looked at her and shook his head. "We'll add more cots to the front hallway. And maybe after I examine the others today, I can dismiss a few of them to go home."
Napoleon returned with the tub and began gathering soiled bedding to take to the wash house. He had worked with them long enough to understand what was expected of him most of the time, Clarissa observed with satisfaction.
"Let that go for now, Napoleon," Philip said. "I'd like you to help me move this man."
"Yes, masta."
"Call me Captain, Napoleon, or sir. I'm not your master," Philip reminded him quietly.
"I forgot...Cap'ain, suh."
"I could help with the patient, Captain Burke," Clarissa protested.
"The man weighs three hundred pounds, Mrs. Wakefield, though how he could on army rations is beyond my imagination," Philip placed the stretcher beside the table and together, he and the slave rolled the heavy man onto it.
Clarissa watched as they lumbered out of the library with their awkward load, noting that the captain's limp had disappeared now. Captain Burke would not allow the slaves to address him as master. She hoped he wasn't encouraging insubordination, which would cause problems after the war was over, such as Abe Lincoln had done issuing that Emancipation Proclamation last month. But Napoleon and the other Negroes at Whitehaven seemed to hold the surgeon in great esteem and things ran smoothly, considering the overcrowded conditions.
"Sister?" Angeline stuck her head inside the door. "We have a letter from Matilda, and there's a letter for Captain Burke." Her smile faded. "But there was nothing from Nathan or Malcolm."
Clarissa took the letters from her sister and glanced curiously at the one addressed to Captain Philip Burke from a Miss Katherine Kingsley, then quickly opened the other. She read the first sentence silently then repeated the words aloud.
"Mimosa Manor, January 24, 1863. My dear girls. It is with great sorrow that I write to tell you of your father's passing." Clarissa stopped, drew a ragged breath, then went on.
"He took sick about a week ago and we thought it was a chest cold. However, he grew worse, and when we were able to get a doctor to come from Clarksville, his lungs were filled with pneumonia." Again, she paused, fighting for control.
"I won't need to remind you that your father was not a strong man, and he simply did not have the strength to fight such a serious disease. After your father's funeral, your brother volunteered to serve in the Union Army." Here, both Clarissa and Angeline gasped.
"Lawton left yesterday to join General Thomas's regiment in Tennessee. I feel I should also tell you that I have now freed all of the slaves who remained here at Mimosa Manor, which was only a small number, the others having already deserted us." Clarissa glanced at Angeline whose face mirrored her own shock.
"A few have chosen to remain with me, after all, and so I will try somehow to provide for them. I hope you can understand my reasons for this action. I have never believed in slavery, but it was the one point on which your father would not bend. I regret that I can't be there to comfort you, my dear daughters, but I trust God will give your hearts solace in this trying time. Your devoted step-mother, Matilda Giles." Clarissa numbly folded the letter, still trying to comprehend what she had read.
"Oh, sister," Angeline cried in an agonized voice, and Clarissa swiftly enfolded her in a fierce embrace as if she could somehow protect her from the inward pain. There was no time to think of her own sorrow now; she must be strong and help her younger sister through the loss of their beloved father. She pulled Angeline's head against her shoulder and stroked her hair as she wept, crooning soft words of comfort.
And that was how Philip found them when he returned to the library. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, hesitating to intrude on the scene of obvious grief.
"Clarissa, what—" In his concern, he was not aware of having called his assistant by her given name, and in her shock, she, too, failed to notice the breach of protocol.
"Our father..." The words refused to leave her mouth and she had to begin again. "Our father has died."
"I—" Philip took a step toward the two women who clung to each other so forlornly, then checked himself. "You have my deepest sympathy."
"Thank you," Clarissa answered, and gently disengaged herself from her weeping sister. "Would you like to go upstairs and lie down for awhile, Angeline?"
"No, Clarissa," Angeline shook her head. "There's work to be done for our patients. A nurse must do her duty, no matter what happens."
"Then wipe your eyes and come along and we'll begin serving dinner," Clarissa put an arm around Angeline and they walked toward the kitchen with brave determination.
Philip stood looking after them with a feeling of helplessness. There was really nothing he could offer to assuage their grief, for they were determined to put up a brave front. His admiration for his capable assistant had gradually grown into a deeper feeling, which he chose not to examine too closely, preferring to attribute his fantasies to his long abstinence and lack of female company.
As he started toward the kitchen, he met Clarissa returning. "I almost forgot." She held out the white square envelope. "This came for you."
Philip took the letter and looked at it quietly for a moment, then thanked her and returned to the library to read his first mail since being captured. It was addressed to Whitehaven, so his family had received word of his present whereabouts. He opened the envelope and saw that Katherine had written it less than a month ago, then began to read.
Oswego, New York
January 20, 1963
My dearest Philip,
It was with great joy that your family and I learned that you are safe and assigned to work in Chattanooga. You will be receiving letters from your mother and the others very soon, I imagine.
Everyone here is well and busy with the war effort. Your father and Thomas continue to strive toward greater production at the foundry. Your mother and Dorothea are busy with the Ladies' Aid Society. I am occupied with my classes now, but I help them when I can. Edward and Virginia continue to print wonderful reports in their newspaper to keep us well informed. It was Virginia who was able to learn of your present location, for which we are grateful.
Perhaps it is not proper for me to mention this, but I think you should know that I am to be an aunt and you an uncle later this year. Dorothea has been wanting a family for some time, and is very happy with the news.
The weather is bitter, and I trust that you are faring better in the South. However, I am sure you would trade your situation to be back home, and we are praying that soon you will be with us again.
I miss you more than words can say, and I look forward to the day when I can become your wife.
Yours loving fiancée,
Katherine Kingsley
Philip held the letter for a moment when he had finished reading, savoring the message from home. They knew where he was, thanks to his energetic sister-in-law. And he would be an uncle before too long. With any luck at all, the war would be over, and he'd be home by then. He folded the letter and put it in his shirt to read again later, and went in to dinner.
After the men had been fed, Claris
sa worked with Philip checking the condition of the patients' wounds and changing bandages while Angeline wrote letters for those requesting it and read to others until time to serve the evening meal.
Today, as he often had since asking Clarissa's permission, Philip played the piano when his rounds were completed. But today he played with more spirit, knowing that the letter from home was tucked inside his pocket and that his family was well and aware of where he was.
Finally, the long day drew to a close and the men were settled in for the night. And it was then that Angeline lost control of her emotions which she had held in check through the busy afternoon, and began sobbing loudly.
"Shhh," Clarissa tried to quiet her sister as she half-dragged her up the stairs. "You'll wake the soldiers, and then we'll have to feed them breakfast."
Her attempt at humor failed miserably, and the loud sobs continued. Clarissa finally realized that her sister had become overwrought. Helping her into bed, she hurried back downstairs in search of Captain Burke. She found him preparing his bed roll on the library floor in front of the banked fire.
"Excuse me, Captain," she stopped in the doorway, seeing that he had already removed his coat and shirt and was wearing only trousers. The dim glow of the coals outlined his trim body, and the dark hair that covered his chest and formed a vee toward his waist. He no longer wore a bandage on his shoulder, and the scar where the bullet had passed through his flesh was clearly visible. Embarrassment and something else she couldn't define caused her cheeks to flame. "It—it's my sister. She—she's weeping uncontrollably," she stammered. "I thought there might be something you could give her."
"She's hysterical," he said. "The shock of the news has worn off." He hurriedly pulled on his shirt and groped in his medical supplies for a vial of morphine.
Clarissa led the way to Angeline's room as Philip followed. He had not been on the second floor of the mansion before, and he glanced at the elegant furnishings with appreciation and nostalgia for his own home, which was equally grand.