Wedded to War

by Jocelyn Green

  On Newspaper Row, small boys pranced out of low buildings belonging to the Western Union, New York Times, The Evening Star, and New York Herald, hauling bundles of papers in their arms and shrieking the headlines now crackling on telegraph wires to all corners of the nation. A lady spy, Rose O’Neal Greenhow, had been arrested in Washington for leaking intelligence of Yankee movements to the Confederacy just before Bull Run. Two days ago, the mayor of Washington was arrested for refusing to take the oath of loyalty to the Union and sent north for imprisonment. What kind of godless place had Edward just moved into?

  Arriving at the Ebbitt House, he paid the driver the fifteen-cent fare and lugged his suitcase into the lobby.

  “Miss Charlotte Waverly and Mrs. Alice Carlisle?” he inquired at the front desk.

  The man behind the desk nodded in the direction of door 1B.

  “Thank you kindly.”

  He rapped loudly on the door and waited, hands clasped behind his back, a benign smile on his pale face.

  “Yes, may I help you?” A petite young woman with honey-blonde hair and bright blue eyes, about his age, he guessed, was now staring into his confused face.

  “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong—” Edward looked around. “Perhaps you can point me in the right direction. I’m looking for a—” He fumbled with a crumpled slip of paper, moist from being squeezed in the palm of his hand. “Mrs. Alice Carlisle and Miss Charlotte Waverly. Do you know them?”

  She smiled. “Quite well, in fact. And you are?”

  “How rude of me,” he muttered. “Edward Goodrich, New York City. Union Theological Seminary.” He gave a slight bow.

  A spark of recognition lit her eyes. “Oh Mr. Goodrich, come in! We’ve been expecting you! I’m Alice Carlisle.”

  He heard the words, but his feet would not obey. “I’m sorry, but you couldn’t be—Mrs.? Alice Carlisle? The old woman who convinced the army they needed a hospital chaplain?”

  “Well! I can’t be much older than you, Mr. Goodrich, but the rest is true.” She paused. “Just how old are you, Mr. Goodrich? I’m only curious.”

  “Twenty-six.” He ran his hand over his smooth cheeks. Maybe I should try growing that beard again.

  “Ah! Fine. So am I. The old guard is convinced that’s much too young to be of service in the war, but we’ll prove them wrong, won’t we? My husband is under thirty and nobody seems to mind him serving as an officer in the regiment. How about that for inconsistency?”

  “Yes, well. I’ll just step in for a moment, then.”

  “My sister, Charlotte, and I are so grateful you’ve come.” Alice closed the door behind him and showed him to a seat. In a sweep of her arms, she gathered up newspapers that had been spread on the floor. “The men so desperately have need of you. Have you much experience?”

  “I—well, I graduated at the top of my class this year.” Edward rolled the brim of his hat between his fingers.

  “Oh, yes, of course you did. Silly question. Charlotte and I had never been nurses before this year either and yet here we are! Oh—actually, Charlotte is more of a nurse than I am. She’s been fully trained. I came primarily to be close to my husband and as a chaperone for Charlotte, but I make myself useful by delivering supplies for the Sanitary Commission and helping out with light work at whichever hospital needs me. Writing letters, feeding the men, reading to them, that sort of thing. Maurice helps too.”

  Edward nodded as if he already knew all about hospital life. “Is Miss Waverly out at the moment?”

  “She’ll be right with us; she only stepped out to post a letter to our mother in New York.” Alice sat primly on the edge of a chair, ankles crossed, as if she were in a fine New York parlor once again, and not surrounded by boxes and crates of one-armed shirts, bed ticking, soap, old magazines, red flannel drawers. “Charlotte doesn’t always come back in the evenings from her work at the Columbian College Hospital—the journey is rather tiresome, and sometimes she simply cannot get an army ambulance to bring her back. Before you go thinking I’m a horrid sister for not fetching her myself, I’ll have you know I’ve sent Maurice on many an occasion, only to be turned away again because she either could not be found, or she could not be spared. Between you and me, Mr. Goodrich, I’m not altogether certain that doctor she works for is as upstanding as he might be.” She lowered her voice. “They’re not all heroes.”

  A commotion beyond the picture window caught Edward’s attention. A short, tanned man with a black kepi on his head and a reddish mustache drooping down over his mouth thundered on his horse toward Willard’s Hotel across the street. Billows of dust rose well above the stirrups, shimmering in waves of late summer heat. Every head turned to watch him.

  “Now who’s that character?” Edward walked to the window for a closer look.

  “Small man, smaller hat, big horse?” Alice asked without turning around to see for herself.

  Edward nodded.

  “That, my dear, is a hero. Major General George B. McClellan and his trusty horse, Dan Webster.”

  “So that’s him!” Edward craned his neck to watch McClellan dismount. “He took over after General Scott’s disaster at Bull Run, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Precisely.” She turned around now. “Take a good look, Mr. Goodrich. He’s another Napoleon, a military genius. That little man commands more admiration from civilians and soldiers alike than the president himself.”

  “That stocky fellow?”

  “Believe it. If they both happen to be on the street at the same time, which happens often, since Mr. Lincoln seems to call after McClellan like a dog after its master, no one will give a second glance to the gentleman in the stovepipe hat. All eyes are on ‘Little Mac,’ as the troops call him, wherever he goes. He’s adored by all. Our troops were whipped once already—now he’s whipping them into shape in true military fashion, my husband tells me. No more of this armed mob mentality.” She nodded a head toward the crowd gathering around the major general now. “Mark my words. You’re looking at the man who will end this war. The North and the right will prevail, and soon.”

  Edward raised his eyebrows. “Is that a fact?”

  “Everyone says so.”

  “The Messiah of the North? Our anointed savior?”

  Alice laughed. “I wouldn’t put him quite in the Holy Trinity, Mr. Goodrich, but to the Union he’s certainly the next best thing.”

  “I see. What is his plan, then?”

  “He hasn’t told the New York regiments yet, and rumor has it that he hasn’t even told the president. He’s only been here a month. Let’s give him time.”

  “Yet everyone trusts him?”

  “Implicitly. No questions—or very few, at least—asked.”

  “Heavens. Such power for just one man.”

  “He needs it. We need him to have it. We need a ‘savior,’ as it were.”

  Edward nodded. “Yes, of course we do. That’s why I’m here.”

  Alice looked at him quizzically.

  “No, I’m no George McClellan,” he said. “I’m here to point people to the true Savior. Jesus.”

  Relaxing into a genuine smile, Alice said, “Indeed. I must have sounded like a heathen just then. Would you ever guess that Charlotte and I attended classes at Union, too? It’s a wonder we didn’t meet each other there!” Edward was dumbfounded. But before he could formulate some kind of response, the door opened and another surprise swept into the room.

  “Charlotte, meet Mr. Edward Goodrich, our very own hospital chaplain!” Edward stood, bowing awkwardly before the perfect paradox before him. Charlotte’s posture was erect, like the lady of the house, yet she was clothed in a dull grey dress a domestic would wear. No hoops, no bows, no ornament adorned her, but she was nonetheless stunning for their absence. If anything, her natural beauty was given greater opportunity to shine.

  “How do you do?” he said, recovering himself.

  “Charmed, I’m sure!” Charlotte said with a twinkle in her caramel-colored eyes.
“Manners. How refreshing!” Her face was radiant and sun-kissed, casting doubt on “pure white” as the standard of beauty for ladies’ complexions. Her chestnut hair was not smoothed into place like her sister’s, but twisting in humidity, with unruly wisps clinging to her neck.

  “Please. What did I miss?” she asked.

  “I was just telling Mr. Goodrich about Little Mac, but I’m afraid I wasn’t being a very good hostess. Do tell us more about yourself,” said Alice.

  Edward cleared his throat. “Well, like yourselves, I’m from New York City and a graduate of Union Theological Seminary. I have loved books, and most particularly the Good Book, for as long as I can remember.”

  “Did you happen to bring any new books with you, Mr. Goodrich?” Charlotte’s eyes brightened. “I confess I haven’t much time for reading for pleasure these days, but I’d so enjoy picking up a book for a few moments here and there.”

  “Charlotte, let him finish. Go on, Mr. Goodrich.” Alice nodded at him.

  “I’ll come back to that, all right, Miss Waverly? Now where was I—oh yes. Books have always been my first love, and I’m delighted to find myself in such good company now with you ladies. My own mother loved to read, as well, but my father was a man of few words, and he believed even less in the power of the printed word. He’s always been more of a man of action.”

  Charlotte’s close attention almost tripped his tongue. How is it possible that this beautiful woman is still a Miss and not a Mrs., tending her own hearth with her own children hanging on her skirts?

  “He fought in the Mexican War,” he continued. “And he’s made it abundantly clear that he wished I had chosen the soldier’s life, as well. As much as I wanted to please him, I could not sacrifice my own calling in order to do that. But! ‘Do I seek to please men?’”

  Charlotte jumped in. “‘For if I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ.’”

  “That’s right! Galatians chapter one verse ten.”

  “You’re not the only one in the room with a disapproving parent.” Charlotte smiled wryly. “But go on.”

  “Well, obviously I chose the path of pastoral studies. But when this opportunity arose, thanks to you and your sister, it seemed like a gift from heaven itself. I can pursue ministry, but in the context of the military. I know my father wishes I would shoulder a rifle, but I’m much better suited to wield a sword.” He pulled a small Bible from his jacket pocket. “I am eager to start.”

  “They are eager to have you,” said Charlotte. “The staff are a rough lot at some of the hospitals, but you will be the balm of Gilead to the patients, I am sure of it. You’ll have to assign your own schedule, dividing your time among the hospitals in this city.”

  “Which hospital is yours, did you say?” He tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Columbian College Hospital, just north of the city.”

  “Excellent.” Edward grinned. “I’ll start there.”

  Washington might not be quite so hideous after all.

  Chapter Twenty

  New York City

  Sunday, September 8, 1861

  The cool brick wall felt good against Ruby’s back as she leaned against it. Finally, the soggy heat of summer had been blown away by the same cool winds that now pushed white-gold clouds across the azure sky. Church bells resounded from St. Patrick’s Cathedral, calling worshippers together for holy mass, but Ruby would remain outside the fence, again. She was not worthy to set foot inside the solid brick perimeter, the boundary between lost souls and saved. But if she closed her eyes while the bells drowned out the sounds of Mott and Prince Streets, she could imagine the wind on her face was the brush of angels’ wings.

  Oh how she needed an angel.

  The bells stopped their singing, and the sounds of a New York City street corner filled her ears once more. The spell was broken, but she did not open her eyes. Not yet. It was too soon.

  If she could just absorb a shred of the holiness and purity that resided beyond this brick wall, she would stand here for hours and not complain. The rough edges of the brick poked and prodded at her shoulder blades, almost as if they were nudging her away. A rueful smile played on Ruby’s lips. Even the walls knew her sin.

  Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

  It was the only prayer she knew, the only one that came easily to mind. And it applied. How many times would she have to say it in order to be heard? She had already prayed it in her mind more times than she could count. And yet so far, heaven had remained silent toward her.

  Hail Mary, full of grace …

  Ruby jerked her head back, banging it into the unforgiving wall behind her. She must have nodded off again. A low murmur of voices began to grow louder. Mass had just let out. It was time for her to go.

  Smoothing the deep mauve skirt over the hoops Emma insisted she get used to, she pushed her shoulders back and began walking down the street. She still wasn’t comfortable wearing such finery, but hoped it didn’t show.

  By the time she got to Broadway, it was beginning to fill with an injection of fancy-dressed ladies and gents. Ruby pushed her straw and ribbon bonnet back on her head, revealing painted cheeks and signifying that she was open for business. With every step she took, she seemed to separate her soul from her body until her body was just an empty shell.

  It didn’t take long for a fat, mustached man with spats on his shoes and a top hat on his ridiculous head to catch her eye and make some crude gesture. As he came closer, the grin widened until his eyes were only slits in his chubby face.

  “Ten dollars,” he said to her, puffing a haze of blue cigar smoke in her face.

  She nodded and forced a smile, leading the way now to a nearby House of Assignation. This won’t take long, she told herself as she climbed the stairs. And the $10.00 would last her through the next three weeks of “unemployment” before she would need to go through this again for more cash. The stranger behind her huffed in exertion, large drops of perspiration rolling down his face into his collar.

  “You better be worth it,” she heard him mutter as she led him into the room and locked the door behind them both.

  She held out her hand. “Payment first.” She had provided her services without being paid one too many times.

  After he stuffed a sweaty, crumpled up ten-dollar bill into her palm, she could think of no other delay and braced herself for what was to come next. My body was violated that fated summer day with Phineas Hastings, she told herself. There was no way of reclaiming her innocence. What had been lost once was now lost forever. She might as well get some money for it. But no matter how much she reasoned with herself, the haunting sense remained that, try as she might, she could not separate her soul from her body. Her spirit rebelled against the acts of her body, and in turn, her body rebelled as well. Nausea was becoming her closest companion.

  Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Hail Mary, full of grace …

  New York City

  Monday, October 11, 1861

  “Next,” said a large woman with black hair pulled tightly into a bun. Ruby stood and followed her into a small white room with an anatomical poster on the wall and chrysanthemums in a vase on the windowsill. “The doctor will be with you shortly,” the woman said, and closed the door behind her.

  Ruby’s restless fingers played in and out of the pleats darting out from the waist of her plain blue muslin dress. It was not showy in any way, but modest and humble, the way Ruby saw herself.

  The door opened, and in walked a demure older woman in a black dress and white pointe-lace collar. She was exactly the same as Ruby had remembered her that day in Five Points.

  “Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell.” Her British accent
was crisp as she extended her hand to Ruby.

  “Ruby O’Flannery. I don’t expect you remember me, but I met you last summer in Five Points. You gave me your card, and here I am.”

  “Really! I don’t believe I have seen you there since then. Where have you been hiding yourself?”

  A wave of heat washed over Ruby’s face. “Oh, I’m not in Five Points any longer and I’ll never be going back. Took a domestic job straight away after I saw you, I did.” She hoped no further explanation would be necessary.

  “Well Ruby, tell me what the trouble is. How can I help you?”

  “For the last week or so, I’ve been sick every day. Can’t keep my breakfast where it belongs, if you get my meaning. I get so I’m afraid to eat anything at all. Utterly worn out, I am, and I don’t understand it. I’m not working overly hard. I’m just tired.”

  “Mmm hmmmm.” Dr. Blackwell pressed her stethoscope to Ruby’s chest. “Breathe in please. And out. Again.” She dropped the stethoscope around her neck and reached for a thin wooden stick. “Stick out your tongue and say ‘ah.’ That’s a good girl.” She withdrew the tongue depressor and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Have you eaten anything unusual lately?”

  Ruby shook her head.

  “Are your breasts tender? When was your last menses?”

  “My what?”

  “Your monthly flow of blood? Your female cycle?”