Wedded to War

by Jocelyn Green

  The a capella chorus floated above the mewling of the sick and wounded. Those men who could find the strength and voice joined in, too.

  He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

  He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:

  Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!

  Our God is marching on.

  In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

  With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:

  As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

  While God is marching on.

  In the middle of the next stanza, a gentle touch on Charlotte’s elbow made her jump.

  It was a surgeon, haggard and bloodstained. The few strands of hair that had once been pomaded over his bald head now blew wildly in the wind.

  “I need to take an arm off a patient on the government ship just over yonder, and, well—he hasn’t eaten all day. As it turns out, we—we have no food—on board, you see. Would you bring over some beef tea and eggnog for him?” He did not meet her eyes, and for good reason. When Mr. Olmsted had asked this very doctor if his ship had everything it needed some time ago, the response had been Yes, we are all ready, spoken with burning condescension.

  So, you’re not ready at all, then are you? Charlotte thought. But “Yes, of course,” was all she said.

  With flasks of the beef tea and eggnog tied to her waist Charlotte packed soft bread in her pockets and crossed the coal barges to the government ship. After she fed the soldier about to undergo amputation, she fed two others with what she had left. The ship was packed with patients, but as far as Charlotte could tell, there were no provisions for them, and they were about to set sail on a three-day voyage North. Criminal! she fumed.

  Her pockets and flasks now empty, Charlotte marched up to the officer in charge and introduced herself.

  “I understand you’re about to carry your cargo north, sir; is that correct?” she began.

  “Yes, just as soon as I get the all-clear from my superior.”

  “And how will you feed them once you are at sea?” Charlotte asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, they are human beings, aren’t they? Not your regular shipment of cargo. They will need to eat, you understand. Do you have any beef?”

  The officer cleared his throat. “No.”

  “I see. Lemons?”

  He shook his head.

  “What food do you have then?”

  “Hardtack.”

  “No nutrition whatsoever, most of it either moldy or rock hard … I’d hardly call that food. You do have clean water then, for drinking and bathing?”

  He tugged at the collar of his uniform and looked around. He wants someone else to blame, thought Charlotte. But she would not let him go so easily.

  “No water? Really? For three days’ time? Well, that’s an interesting choice, isn’t it? Have you any cups?”

  Silence.

  “No, of course not. What use is a cup without any water? How very right you are. Maybe this lot just isn’t hungry. Or thirsty. But it’s very obvious they do have wounds. You do have lint and bandages for fresh dressings, don’t you? Or do you prefer to smell the festering wounds all the way to New York and have a deck covered in blood from their saturated bandages?”

  The officer’s face darkened into a deep red. “Do you have some military rank or authority I don’t know about? Has McClellan himself sent you? Just who do you think you are, anyway, addressing me in this manner?”

  Charlotte stood her ground. “I’m a member of the United States Sanitary Commission, and it is my right and my responsibility to make sure these men are cared for in the absence of their own mothers and wives. As the officer in charge of this ship, I would think you would feel the same responsibility, but as you clearly do not, I am stepping in.”

  “No, you are stepping off. Get off my ship. Now.”

  Charlotte lifted her chin, leveled a steely gaze at the man, and said, “I’m sending supplies to this ship immediately. If you are not here to receive them, our Commissioners will stock your ship without your signature.”

  She whirled around and marched off, seething inside at the officer and all others like him. Stupid! Imbeciles! I could run that ship better myself, but just because I’m a woman, I have to argue my way onto one just to hand out tea! Hateful, wasteful, shameful, criminal behavior. Idiot! Doesn’t he know there are lives in the balance?

  Back on shore, Charlotte spotted Mr. Knapp’s bald, sunburned head. He was absent-minded enough to forget his own hat, but when it came to supplying the soldiers, he held all details firmly in his mind. At once, he set the wheels in motion to supply the “all ready” government ship from the Sanitary Commission stores. If it weren’t for Mr. Knapp, Mr. Olmsted, Dr. Ware, and Caleb, Charlotte would have been ready to condemn the entire lot of men in authority.

  Her errand complete, she shielded her eyes against the sun’s relentless rays and looked out over the masses of those who still needed help. It was overwhelming. Each soldier represented a family back home, a wife about to be widowed, a mother about to be childless, a little boy or girl about to be fatherless. The dull ache of helplessness encircled her heart and squeezed until she had to shut her eyes to the scene.

  Lord, there are too many! Her heart cried, and she stood, paralyzed, like a piling driven deep down into the mud of a dark Virginia swamp.

  Deny your heart, if that’s what slows you down, and let your mind, your eyes, your hands take over. Dr. Ware’s firm voice filled her mind now from that first batch of patients on the Daniel Webster. Think of these soldiers not as men, but as patients only. You will go mad if you do otherwise.

  He was right. To indulge in her own emotions now would be an utter waste of time when there was so much work to be done, so many lives depending upon it. Upon her. Eyes and hands, she told herself. Eyes and hands.

  And so, she saw with her eyes that the bodies beaten down by the sun needed water, and told her hands to fetch it. Bucket after bucket of water she hauled for the men, crouching down beside them and bringing the dipper to their parched lips. Some of them had not had water or food in three days, and had slept just under the dew until they had been transported by railroad to the White House plantation.

  Next, she and Alice and a score of other women volunteers brought porridge and gruel, with a little stimulating wine mixed in, to put something in their bellies. When a soldier was in obvious pain, the women gave them a little brandy from their flasks to dull it.

  “No, thank you,” said one smooth-faced boy, through gritted teeth. Thousands of men here hadn’t shaved in days or weeks—this one was either very tidy or very young. “No brandy for me.”

  “Are you sure, soldier?” Charlotte asked. His light-blue trousers were now dark red from blood.

  “I want to keep my wits about me.”

  “I daresay you’re the only one—most of your comrades here just want to forget as much as they can. But your leg—won’t you let me fetch a doctor for you? You need some attention.”

  The soldier groaned, eyes squeezed shut. “The very thing I want the least!”

  “Pardon me?” Charlotte was truly puzzled. Whoever heard of a wounded soldier wanting to be ignored?

  “I need your help,” said the soldier.

  “Of course! But you need a doctor, not just me.”

  “I need you,” he said again, his voice low. “Woman to woman.”

  Charlotte gasped. “What! You’re—you’re—”

  “Shhhh! Yes, I’m an ugly, tall woman dressed as a man. You can call me ‘Marty.’ Only thing I ever wanted to do since the war broke out was to fight for my country. Wasn’t my fault I wasn’t born a man, but I’m a right good shot. I served the Union well. But if you let a doctor look at my leg, go pokin’ around, he’ll learn I’m not a man, that’s sure. And then he’ll send me home in disgrace, with no chance to come ba
ck and fight again.”

  And I thought I was brave to be a woman nurse! Remarkable!

  “My dear, we can’t just ignore your wound! You must have it attended to. Be reasonable.” Charlotte sat on her heels, a film of dust and sweat on her face and the grit of sand between her teeth.

  “I’ve got it all planned. Just put me on one of them big ships and send me back to New York. I’ll recover in a hospital there, and then come on back to my regiment. But if my secret is discovered here, I’m done for. Just put me on a ship. Send me home.”

  It might just work. This woman had given up far more than Charlotte had to be here, serving her country. How can I take away her unconventional dream when I am following my own? A doubt niggled at her, but she ignored it. She deserves a chance. Far be it from me to be the one to take that away from her.

  “You’re sure about this?” Charlotte asked.

  Marty nodded slightly. The color had all but drained from her face. She would be in shock soon.

  “Well then, if it’s neglect you want, the government ship is the place for you. Our doctors on the Sanitary Commission transports would discover your secret before the first night away from shore, but no fear of that on a government ship. Come on, let’s go.”

  Charlotte signaled two contraband stretcher-bearers to come over and helped hoist Marty onto it. Through the field, across the coal barges, up the gangway, and into the overcrowded ship they went. Clearly there’s no system for keeping track of who is here, and where, thought Charlotte. No one to write down names and regiments. She directed the stretcher-bearers to lower Marty down in a far corner of the deck.

  “Ready for some brandy now?” Charlotte asked, kneeling again by her side. She held Marty’s head on her lap and urged her to sip from the flask. When Charlotte left the ship, Marty was picking at the soft bread Charlotte had pressed into her hand.

  Marty would be fine. She’d be back on the peninsula—unless she changed her mind—in a couple of weeks.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  White House Landing, Pamunkey River, Virginia

  Wednesday, June 4, 1862

  Ruby had been relieved when she had been ordered to stay on the ship. She had not been trained as a nurse; her belly was so large that even stirring a kettle of gruel was a challenge.

  But even though she was removed, Ruby was still tied to what was happening on shore, as much as the boat that was tethered to the dock.

  Brisk footsteps on the gangway grew louder.

  “Ruby.” Charlotte walked toward her, her skirts wind-whipped against her legs. Her hair fought against its pins, curling strands plastered to her damp neck. Her dress was dark with perspiration, her apron oily with beef tea and stained with other men’s blood.

  “Ruby,” she said again, gold flecks glinting in her caramel eyes. Something was wrong.

  “Matthew?”

  A nod from Charlotte, nothing more. It was enough.

  Charlotte linked her arm through Ruby’s and supported her lopsided weight down to the dock, onto the shore, past the railroad cars, to the field of mowed-down men, to the side of the husband she had once loved instead of feared.

  His eyes were glassy, his skin a hue of dirty yellow. His hair was matted down with sweat.

  “Matthew …” Ruby touched his hand—it radiated heat.

  “Tell him,” Charlotte whispered.

  Ruby looked at her, pleading with her eyes.

  “Hurry!” said Charlotte, more firmly now.

  Ruby turned to Matthew. “Matthew, I’m—going to have a—baby.”

  His eyelids fluttered open and he cast a fleeting glance at her large belly, almost reaching her knees as she knelt beside him. “A baby?” he said in a hoarse voice. “Bedad!” His blistered lips cracked into a hint of a smile. “A new baby. We will call her Fiona, and she will be safe with us now.”

  Ruby sucked in her breath. A rash of heat radiated up her neck. Did he think this was their second child? The one who had died of consumption in the tenements before her fourth birthday?

  “Has he gone mad?” she whispered to Charlotte.

  “It’s—quite possible.” Charlotte bit her lip and looked down.

  “Ruby,” Matthew squeezed her hand in his burning palm. “The cradle won’t be empty anymore. It’s a new start for us. We will keep her safe. She will be well. She will survive.” His words came slowly, with effort. “We will survive. It’s a new start.”

  His eyes closed and his mouth grew slack. She looked down at his hand, amazed at the intensity of heat seeping into her from it. This hand had once tenderly stroked her hair, cupped her face, wiped the tears from her cheeks, held their tiny babies.

  This hand had also slapped her. When had that started? Was it the alcohol? Was it the bad company in the slums? Tears fell freely from Ruby’s eyes. How the years had changed them both.

  If only this were truly a new start for them. If only she could go back to the days when the hope of a baby had filled them both with joy. Flesh of their flesh, proof of their unity as husband and wife. Yes, their love had been imperfect. It had foundered like a ship at sea, battered by churning waves of poverty, discrimination, suspicion, fear, and grief. Still—they had been a family once.

  The fire in Matthew’s hand began to ebb away, and Ruby looked up, hopeful.

  “The fever is breaking,” she whispered to herself, half-believing it. I should pray a Hail Mary over him. But Ruby knew Mary was not listening.

  Charlotte put her arm around Ruby’s shoulders. “Do you believe in heaven? Do you trust in the Lord?”

  Ruby shook her head. “The Lord wants nothing to do with me. There is no ‘Amazing Grace’ in my life. I am still lost, and will never be found. I am still blind, and will never see.”

  Matthew’s bony fingers, curled around on Ruby’s, grew cold and stiff, like talons.

  Now Ruby had no one. Even the baby inside her wasn’t fully hers.

  This was not a new start. This was the end.

  The baby kicked her from the inside, and Ruby’s shoulders heaved with sobs.

  “What am I going to do now?” Ruby wailed. “Mercy, mercy, God have mercy! I can’t go back to Five Points, I’d rather die! Surely even hell can’t be worse than what I’ve already been through!”

  Charlotte hugged Ruby awkwardly, the baby a wedge between them. “Ruby, you are going to be OK.”

  “No, I’m not! I have never been OK! I don’t want to marry again but I can’t survive without a man!”

  “Yes, you can,” Charlotte said firmly. “‘A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.’ He will take care of you. I will take care of you.”

  Ruby fixed her with a confused stare. “How?”

  “You’re a good person, Ruby. Honest and upright. I’ll make sure you have what you need from now on.”

  Honest and upright. Ruby groaned inwardly. If these are the qualifications, I fall miserably short.

  “I want you to have this.” Charlotte fished a small Bible out of her apron pocket and thrust it into Ruby’s hands. “The Christian Commission is handing them out, and I thought you could use one. I’ve underlined some verses in there I thought would be good for you, and I wrote the page numbers inside the front cover. See?”

  Ruby opened the cover and nodded.

  “I only had time to do a few. I will mark more passages when there’s more time—” She waved a hand toward the masses of men still needing attention. “These verses really comforted me when I lost my father … You don’t already have a Bible, do you?”

  Ruby shook her head as she wiped sweat and tears from her cheeks. No, she didn’t have a Bible already. She didn’t have anything.

  Suddenly, Ruby’s breath caught in her throat as her belly constricted itself into a compact ball, pain radiating into her back. She grabbed Charlotte’s hand, placed it on the rock-hard mound and watched the color drain from her face.

  Of all the times to have a baby, of all the places!


  Charlotte hiked her soiled skirts a few inches higher and laced her way past men faded from thirst, dull with shock, famished for nourishment, writhing with maggots feeding on their open wounds.

  “Just a little longer,” she heard herself saying to them as they passed. “Help is on the way.”

  Upon finally reaching the kitchen tent, she headed straight to Alice, who was pulling fresh loaves of bread out of the oven.

  “Ruby’s having her baby!” she blurted out.

  Alice nearly dropped the pans. “Now?”

  “Soon enough! Is there a doctor—” She stopped herself from completing the ridiculous question. Yes, there were doctors. But only a few dozen, spread over four thousand men who desperately needed their attention. Not one of them would come for a birth. And Charlotte could not bring herself to suggest such a thing.

  “I’m not a midwife,” Charlotte said instead.

  “You have to try!” said Alice. “Charlotte, you’ve never failed at anything you’ve set your mind to. You’ve been trained as a nurse—I haven’t. Ruby will do all the work, anyway.”

  “And if there are complications? If the baby is turned, or if Ruby bleeds too much? It’s not that I don’t want to help, Alice; I’m just not a midwife!”

  The rest of the women in the tent turned and stared. It was so strange, Charlotte knew, to speak of babies—new life—in this environment.

  A nun in a billowing black habit walked quietly over, her white wimple flapping like wings on either side of her head.

  “Is there to be a baby born somewhere?” she asked.

  “Yes, Sister,” Charlotte replied impatiently. What would she know about it anyway?

  “I haven’t always been a nun, you understand.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t.” This is not the time for small talk, thought Charlotte.

  “I was once a midwife. Allow me to help. But let us make haste. Old sheets, scissors, water—can any of these be spared?”

  “Hurry,” Ruby panted between contractions. “This is my third baby—it will come fast.”