Honor Before Heart

by Heather McCorkle

  “Sorry, Lieutenant, sir, but Miss O’Brian is diggin’ out a bullet. What can we do for ya?” Abigail asked on her behalf.

  “I want to thank you ladies for all that you’re doing for the men, and I’d like to let you know that we’ve erected a smaller hospital tent much closer for you.”

  Interest piqued, Ashlinn looked at the man while she continued to dig around for the bullet inside the unconscious soldier. “Thank you, Lieutenant, that is most appreciated.” Heartfelt though her sentiment was her tone remained reserved. She couldn’t help it—having Taylor closer to where she worked was the last thing she wanted.

  As if reading her mind, Abigail asked, “Excuse me for askin’, sir, but which doctor will be workin’ dis new hospital?”

  The man smiled at Ashlinn, and she inclined her head as if to say she too wanted to know. To his credit, he looked at Abigail when he answered.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t got a doctor to spare, but word is you ladies are doing so fine that you’ll be all right. I hope that is truly the case.”

  Fingers wrapped around the misshapen bullet, Ashlinn smiled. “It is indeed. Thank you, Lieutenant. We will work better that way, more efficient. If there is any patient we cannot handle we will take him to the big hospital.” The small lie rolled easily off her tongue. She was used to downplaying her abilities in the medical field when speaking to men.

  He smiled back. Inclining his head slightly, he began to back away. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to the placement of the cannons.”

  Before either she or Abigail could question him, he turned and strode away. Ashlinn’s smile wilted as she dropped the bullet onto a table beside the cot and held her hands up. Bucket of warm water in hand, Abigail was at her side in a flash, ready to help her wash. For the first time in hours, Ashlinn looked out over the battlefield as she scrubbed her hands together. Soldiers worked diligently along the bank, moving huge cannons into position, pointing them at the town of Fredericksburg. Still no sign of Sean, or her brothers. Heart sinking and hands shaking, Ashlinn picked up the sterilized needle and thread.

  * * * *

  After hours of cannon fire, not even the cotton in Ashlinn’s ears helped anymore. The wounded kept her attention off the destruction that no doubt lay across the river and for that she was grateful. When the muted light of the cloudy day darkened into early evening, the cannon fire finally stopped. Between patients Ashlinn stepped out of the hospital, looking for the 69th regiment. They were easy to distinguish by the sprigs of bright green boxwood tucked into their caps, and thankfully she located them quickly.

  Several companies began running across the bridges, but Sean’s—or any of the other companies of the 69th—weren’t among them. A breath close to a sob tore from her. It was foolish, she knew, but she hoped the battle could be won before his regiment moved in. Duty called in the form of a groaning soldier, drawing her back into the hospital.

  Gunfire sounded all throughout the night, making sleep nearly impossible, but she tried when she could. After all the surgeries were complete, she and the other nurses at her small hospital tent took turns doing rounds and napping on two cots tucked at the back of the tent. All the while Cliste clung close to Ashlinn’s side, watching her every move with a protective eye. In the rare moment she actually fell asleep, Ashlinn did so with one hand hanging off the cot, touching the hound. She had to make sure she didn’t run off, especially now with the confrontation right outside.

  Like a diver surfacing, she clawed her way from the deepest sleep she had ever experienced. Big brown eyes amidst a canine face stared at her from the edge of her pillow. A tail began to thump on packed dirt. Muscles protested as she lifted a tired arm and patted the hound on the head. Something crinkled when Cliste lifted her head. A folded piece of paper tied with a strip of bark like a present lay on her pillow with a bright green sprig of boxwood tucked into the bark. Her hands shook from more than the chill in the air as she sat up and opened the letter.

  My Dearest Angel,

  We are off to the battle, but have no fear, neither heaven nor hell shall make me miss our appointment tonight. There is something I have been meaning to ask you and I can think of no better time to do so than tonight.

  Forever yours,

  Sean MacBranain

  Hot moisture stung her eyes as she clutched the letter to her chest. He had been here, and she had missed him. To add fuel to the fire of her regret, gunfire sounded in the distance. Not a lot of it, thank goodness, but any was too much for her ears. A wet tongue brushed across the back of her hand. She looked down to find Cliste turning her head, exposing the small cylinder on her collar as if something awaited within it.

  Could Sean have left another letter? One even more private perhaps? The thought of words more private than those he had left on her pillow sent heat rushing through her. She made quick work of opening the cylinder and fishing out the paper within. The words on it stopped her heart for sure, but not in a good way.

  Go home, little sister.

  The inelegant scratch was certainly not Sean’s. But she recognized it, oh yes, she recognized it. Her eyes slammed closed against burning tears and she sucked in hard for a breath that offered her no relief. He was here, he was really here. But where? And was it as a soldier, or a deserter hiding nearby? No one had seen or heard of him, which did not bode well. She dare not say a word to anyone in case it was the latter.

  Light footsteps made her open her eyes. Abigail approached down the narrow aisle between the two rows of cots. “Ah, Miss Ashlinn, ya’s awake. Dat’s good, Private O’Keefe’s complain’ of pain in his side. Thought ya might wanna know.”

  Folding the letter back up, Ashlinn put it, along with Sean’s letter and the sprig of boxwood, in the pocket of her breeches as she stood. No matter how much she wanted to run from the tent and scream for her long-lost brother to reveal himself, she couldn’t. Not only would it endanger the fool, but people were relying on her. People who hadn’t abandoned their army like a coward. For surely he had, else she would have seen or heard of him among all these troops.

  Putting aside such thoughts, she stretched to get her blood flowing to sore muscles and help set her mind to the monumental tasks the day would no doubt ask of her. Her brother had waited this long; he would have to wait a little longer. The important thing was that he was alive. That fact brought her enough strength to get through just about anything.

  All throughout the day she was forced to remain in the hospital, handling case after urgent case. She lost count of how many bullets she had removed and wounds she had stitched up. In a few cases, arms or legs had been so badly damaged that she had been forced to remove limbs, but damn it all, she was smart about it, unlike Taylor. She knew many of the soldiers she treated because they insisted on being brought to her and her alone. The cots filled with those who had major injuries and soldiers with more minor injuries lined up outside the tent to wait for treatment. Blood, muscle, bone, and tissue filled her day, keeping her mind distracted from that which it desperately did not—could not—think about.

  The day came to an end and still the 69th hadn’t returned. One of the soldiers from Sean’s company who came through with minor wounds told her they were waiting to launch an assault on Marye’s Heights. The meaning of that kept Ashlinn up much later into the night than her patients, or even thoughts of her brother. If they were attacking the Rebels on a place called “Heights,” that likely meant the Rebels were entrenched in the high ground. Greater numbers or not, she feared terribly for the Union troops because she had come to know that tactical position was everything to a victory.

  With Cliste at her side, she wandered the dark camp that night in search of Michael but still could not find him. Having done a full sweep of the huge encampment and come back around to where the 69th had set up, she collapsed into her tent, exhausted and frustrated.

  The next morning fog shrouded the ruined town of Fredericksburg from which smoke curl
ed up. Chills crawled through Ashlinn more from the sight than from the frigid morning temperature. Death hung heavy on the air that blew across the river from the town. The bad feeling that had gripped her days ago grew so much that it nauseated her. She skipped breakfast and did her rounds instead. All the while, she prayed that the 13th of December would be a lucky day for the Fighting Irish. After her rounds, she scoured the entire encampment once again for any sign of Michael. She found nothing. Near sunset, she learned the day had been anything but lucky for the Fighting Irish.

  Breath coming in great gasps, Abigail came running into the hospital with her skirts gathered in one hand. “Miss Ashlinn, ya must come quick,” she gasped out between breaths.

  Fear closed icy giant’s fingers around Ashlinn’s throat. “Is it Sean?” she somehow managed to get out.

  A cry of relief nearly tore from her when Abigail shook her head. “No. Deys callin’ for volunteers to help de wounded in de field. Dey say it’s mighty bad.”

  Fear crept back over her, but it lacked the grip it had previously had. Sean and her brother were out there. She had to go. She put a remarkably steady hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “Can you stay here and see to the hospital for me?”

  Nodding her head, Abigail stepped out of the way, offering Ashlinn an open aisle to the hospital exit. Fingers that now shook worked to tuck stray bits of her hair back up beneath her cap as she strode for the open tent flap. The golden light of early evening that lay over the land came as a shock to her. Where had the day gone?

  Men in filthy, torn uniforms hustled about with nurses under the direction of a doctor, gathering stretchers and blankets. To Ashlinn’s relief, the doctor wasn’t Taylor. Of course it wasn’t. The coward would never volunteer to go into an active field of battle. Realizing she forgot her medical bag, she turned back to the hospital, only to find Abigail standing at the entrance with it in hand. Full lips drawn into a tight smile, her friend handed her the bag.

  “Ya be careful now, Miss Ashlinn.”

  Ashlinn covered the woman’s hands with her own and held on for a moment before taking the bag. She hoped the look she gave her conveyed her thanks and the depth of gratitude she felt toward the woman.

  “I will. You do the same,” she said before turning away.

  She hadn’t even turned around completely when a soldier took one look at her bag and approached her. “Right this way, doctor…uh, nurse?” The last bit turned into a question as his eyes fell upon her face.

  “’Tis safer to enter a battlefield full of men in disguise,” she said, ignoring his question.

  He nodded. “Right.” Sweeping a hand toward the half a dozen or so other volunteers, he picked up a bag of supplies and marched in their direction.

  Clutching her own worn leather bag to her, she followed. The crisp evening air heavy with the tang of rain to come filled her lungs, driving away the stuffy feel of the hospital tent. Looking around at the battered banks of the river, she marveled over how she could have spent all day inside and not even realized it. The urge to run for the nearest pontoon bridge seized her so strongly that the muscles in her legs twitched. Sean was over there somewhere, in the thick of battle no doubt, in danger. This was why she hadn’t stepped outside. She knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the pull to go to him. But now she didn’t have to. She was going to find Sean and Michael and bring them back if she had to walk into the mouth of hell itself.

  Chapter 25

  Ashlinn had no trouble keeping up with the long stride of the soldiers who flanked her as they marched toward the closest bridge. The others in the medical group seemed far less eager, lagging behind several paces until the soldiers in the rear called for them to pick up the pace. That could have been due in part to the huge hound trotting alongside Ashlinn, keeping the others at bay. Though Ashlinn both saw and heard all this happening around her, she remained singularly focused on that bridge. It was all she could do not to break into a run and pass the soldier in the lead. But she didn’t dare. Not only would it be disrespectful, but the knife she carried in her boot was hardly a match for the enemy’s rifles.

  The planks of the bridge made a hollow click beneath her boot heels and the entire structure dipped and swayed ever so slightly with each step. There was room for Cliste to walk beside her, but just barely. Ahead of and behind her walked soldiers, free hands held out in case she needed to be stopped from stumbling into the freezing, muddy brown water. That only made the sight of the sludgy mess a little less daunting. Falling into such water would result in hypothermia and frostbite within minutes, if one was fetched out. If one wasn’t…Shaking the thought away, she forced her eyes forward, to the waiting bank and the city of Fredericksburg beyond it. Though it felt like forever, they reached the other side in only moments.

  A corporal to her right helped her through the half-frozen, half-muddy mess that was left of the bank. Truly, he seemed to need more help than she did. The frozen ground held for her for the most part but he sank time and time again. To Ashlinn’s relief, no bodies lay upon the shore, but the crimson evidence of their prior existence was enough to make her heart ache. Likely, it was the blood of the enemy, she knew, but still, their lives had meaning. Sights like this always made her think this whole mess could have been solved with words rather than weapons.

  At last, they were through the muck of the bank and onto the slight hill that led up to the town. Her eyes fell upon what she had been trying to avoid seeing. Many of the buildings lay in ruins, having been peppered with cannon balls. Walls of both wood and brick were torn away, their materials scattered like a child’s building blocks into the streets. The devastation went on and on, seeming to have spared very little. Bodies dotted the ruins and the streets, not as many as she had feared, but even one was more than she wanted to see. Each that caught her eye wore gray, but then, that could also be a combination of frost and dust from the rubble.

  She turned to the corporal who had helped her ashore. “Have we gathered all our dead from the city?”

  He nodded. “Aye, as best we can tell. We’re headed to the wall where the lads are entrenched.”

  No one spoke again as they wove their way through the streets of the ruined town, going around and even over rubble in some areas. The soldiers flanked them at all times, weapons at the ready, rising at every sound. Of all the horrors Ashlinn had seen over the past two years, this eclipsed them all. People’s homes and businesses lay in ruins, slave owners who were in the wrong for certain, but still people who would have been Americans and members of the Union by the time this was over. How could their country ever recover from such a thing?

  Tears stung her eyes and she repeatedly had to blink them away. One of the nurses behind her sniffled; another wept openly. Part of her wished she could let her pain out like they did, but she didn’t dare. She had to stay strong. The other women needed her to keep them together; the men of the 69th needed her. Sean, and possibly even Michael, needed her. Standing a bit straighter, she let those thoughts surround her like armor, hasten her steps, and give her courage.

  The battered city passed by in a blur, not because of tears this time, but because of her focus. In moments it seemed, they had reached an open field that sloped up to a hill. The cloying, horrible stench of death was so thick upon the air that it clung to Ashlinn’s tongue when she breathed in. A stone wall ran along the crest of the hill and though it was too far away to see clearly, she knew with a horrible certainty that the Rebel army lay behind it. Upon a frosty, red ground, thousands of dead and dying men lay strewn across the field as if they were no more than broken, discarded dolls. Their wails assaulted her ears, stirring the urge to cover them. But she didn’t dare. These men deserved to be heard, remembered.

  Considering hundreds of dead and wounded had been pouring into camp since the battle began, the number here suggested the toll was unbearably high. The force of such knowledge made Ashlinn stagger and nearly go to a knee. A hand covered in a blue glove shot ou
t and caught her arm, holding her upright. Mournful whining sounded from Cliste as she rubbed against Ashlinn’s side. Cries of disbelief sounded from the other nurses behind her.

  “’Tis not a sight for a lady. I’m sorry, miss,” the corporal said in a hushed tone filled with pain.

  Ashlinn swallowed her fear and pushed aside the horror gripping her. Unless she saw Sean’s body, she was going to assume he was alive. She had to.

  “’Tis not a sight for this Earth, Corporal,” she answered in a flat, level tone that sounded as hollow as she felt.

  “So we’ve lost the battle then,” another of the nurses said in a voice thick with tears.

  “Regardless of who claims victory, no one won on this field today,” Ashlinn said grimly.

  Movement upon the field drew her attention. Soldiers had begun carrying the wounded down the rise, toward what looked like a small river that stood between them and the medical team. No, not a river, she realized, but a millrace. She started toward it, leaving their escorts hurrying to catch up. By the time she reached the water, soldiers had begun to cross the five-foot span on makeshift bridges made from planks and what looked like remnants of wagons. She searched the faces of the dozen or so men coming down the hill that were close enough to see but didn’t find Sean among them.

  One soldier carried another on his back across a plank barely wide enough for his feet. Head ducked low from the burden, cap pulled down, she couldn’t see his face. He didn’t teeter once while walking over the water, but the moment his feet touched the ground he stumbled and fell to his knees. She was at his side before his second knee hit the hard ground. Grabbing one of the man’s arms who lay across his back, she lifted the man, easing the other’s burden enough that he was able to rise. A shortly trimmed beard framed an all-too-familiar handsome face, one that was pinched in pain. Green eyes rolled as if struggling to keep open.