Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga)

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Well…you’d have to share a room with my daughter, Lettie.”

  “I’m sure we’d get along. I have four younger sisters,” she said with a smile. “I get along well with young girls.”

  “I suppose we can try it out,” Mrs. Johnson said.

  “Now that’s fine!” Callihan smiled. “Let me get your bag.” When he brought it in, he said, “It’s a long drive to the hospital. I’ll be goin’ into town at six ever’ mornin’, Miss Grace. I live right down the way. You be ready and I’ll pick you up.”

  “God reward thee, Mr. Callihan,” Grace said at once. She smiled and put out her hand. When he took it, she said, “I’ve heard of people who were helped by angels unawares. Thee wouldn’t be one of those by any chance?”

  Callihan stared at her, rather shocked. Finally a smile came to his lips, and he shook his head. “I’ve been called lots of things, Miss Grace, but nobody never called me an angel before!” He laughed silently, turning at the door to say, “Six sharp, Miss Grace.”

  “I’ll be waiting, Mr. Callihan.”

  “Come this way and I’ll show you the room, Miss Swenson.” Grace followed Mrs. Johnson to the small bedroom, which contained one bed and a smattering of furniture. Mrs. Johnson left her, and she lay down for half an hour, tired from her trip and the tension. She awakened when she heard the door close. Sitting up, she saw a young girl staring at her and came to her feet. “I’m Grace Swenson. And I suppose thy name is Lettie?”

  “Yes.” Lettie Johnson was sixteen years old and very shy. She was not a pretty girl, but her brown hair was well cared for and her blue dress was in style.

  Grace smiled gently at the girl. “Does thee mind too much, Lettie, sharing thy room with me?”

  Lettie shook her head. “I don’t mind,” she said, then added, “I work, so I’m not here much anyway.”

  “Where does thee work, Lettie?”

  By the time Mrs. Johnson called that supper was ready, Grace and Lettie were well acquainted. Grace’s long years with younger sisters made this easy for her, and Lettie was charmed by the idea of having a nurse for a roommate.

  When they went to the small dining room, Mrs. Johnson said, “Miss Swenson, this is my son, William.”

  Grace smiled at the ten-year-old, who had his mother’s red hair and many freckles. “I’m glad to meet thee, William.”

  The boy stared at her curiously but only nodded. When his mother set the last bowl of food on the table and sat down, she looked nervously toward Grace. “We don’t ask a blessing, but I suppose you do?”

  “I’d like to.” Grace smiled, then asked a simple blessing. As she began to eat hungrily, she found the food was good—well prepared and tasty—and she complimented Mrs. Johnson. “Thee is a fine cook!”

  The two women began to talk about cooking, and finally William demanded, “Why do you talk funny?”

  “William!” Lettie said sharply. “Don’t be so impolite!”

  Grace laughed aloud, saying, “It’s all right, Lettie. I’m used to it.” She turned to the boy, saying, “I’m what people call a Quaker, William. Our people have ways that are different. We use thee and thy because that’s what the Bible uses.” Grace felt it wise to give a few details about the Friends to her new acquaintances.

  When she was finished, Mrs. Johnson asked, “You don’t believe in war?”

  “No. We feel it’s wrong to kill.”

  “Well, it ain’t wrong to kill the derned ol’ Rebels!” Willie said angrily. “They killed my pa, and when I get big enough, I’m goin’ to be a soldier! Then I’ll show ’em!”

  Mrs. Johnson said sharply, “William, be quiet!”

  “Well, I am!”

  The room was quiet, and Grace finally said, “I don’t know much about the war. God told me to come and take care of the wounded soldiers. That’s a good thing to do, doesn’t thee think so, William?”

  The boy watched her stubbornly. “If they’re our soldiers—but not the Rebels!”

  Grace was shocked at the hatred in the boy’s face, but she could see that it was no time to discuss the matter. “Well, there are no wounded Rebels here.”

  “Oh yes, Miss Swenson,” Mrs. Johnson spoke up. “There are quite a few, I understand.” Bitterness touched her lips, and she said, “They killed my husband—so I don’t care if they all die!”

  Grace was even more distressed to see that Mrs. Johnson was filled with bitterness. Not hard to see where William gets his terrible hatred from, she thought. But tactfully she said, “I’ll be tending our own Union soldiers.” Then she changed the subject, and the meal ended pleasantly.

  That night when she and Lettie went to their bedroom, Grace knew that the girl was watching her carefully. “I always read a chapter in Psalms then say a prayer at night, Lettie,” she said. “Could we do it together?”

  “I guess so.”

  Grace chose Psalm 56. When she had finished reading it out loud, she bowed her head and prayed. She felt a burden for the Johnsons and prayed for each of them by name. When she was finished, she looked up to see that there were tears on Lettie’s cheeks. Grace was touched and said, “Thee must pray for me, Lettie. I am a little frightened of my new job.”

  Lettie gave her a startled look. “Me? I can’t pray!”

  “Oh, God would love for thee to pray, Lettie,” Grace insisted. “He loves us all so much. Thee can just pray in thy heart. Just say, ‘God, help Miss Grace be a fine nurse!’”

  Lettie licked her lips and lay back on her pillow. “All right,” she said finally. “I’ll do it.”

  “Good! And I’ll pray for thee, too.” Grace blew out the lamp and got into bed. “Good night, Lettie. And I thank God for giving me a brand-new younger sister. Now I have five!”

  Lettie lay there stiffly, for she was not an outgoing girl and this woman seemed particularly strange in her ways and talk. But finally she whispered, “Good night, Miss Swenson.”

  “Just Grace. We’re sisters now, Lettie and Grace.”

  Another silence, then…“Good night, Grace!”

  CHAPTER 10

  MYSTERIOUS PATIENT

  Well, Miss Dix, I suppose you’ve been forced to change your policy.”

  Brigadier General William Alexander Hammond, the surgeon general of the United States, smiled down at Miss Dix fondly. He was a big man of only thirty-four, dark and powerful. A beard and mustache covered the lower part of his heavy, intelligent face, and with his strong physique and personality, he seemed to fill every room he entered.

  Miss Dix stared at him, bewildered by his remark. He’d come on one of his periodic visits, and the two of them had gone over the Armory Square Hospital thoroughly.

  “Why—I don’t know, sir,” Miss Dix said. “Which policy have I changed?”

  Hammond nodded toward the tall, strong-looking nurse who was carefully moving a patient whose legs were heavily bandaged. “Why, everyone knows you won’t have good-looking young nurses.” He smiled, then added, “But that young woman certainly comes in the category of good-looking.”

  Miss Dix flushed slightly but lifted her head in a belligerent gesture. “I haven’t changed my policy at all, Dr. Hammond, but it is a foolish person who adheres blindly to a rule. Miss Swenson is an exception.”

  Hammond’s dark eyes grew interested. “How is she exceptional?”

  “She’s a very serious young woman,” Miss Dix said at once. “Most young women’s minds are filled with thoughts of courtship and marriage, but this young lady thinks only of service.” She watched the little tableau, noting how carefully the nurse eased the wounded man over to his side so that she could slide the soiled sheets out from under him, and how she spoke to him quietly the whole time. And she noted, as well, the expression on the face of the wounded man.

  “Her name is Grace Swenson,” Miss Dix said without taking her eyes from her young worker. “I’d like for you to meet her.”

  “Has she been with you long?”

  “Not nearly as long as I’
d like.” Miss Dix’s thin lips turned upward slightly in a rare smile. “Watch your behavior, General. Miss Swenson is a clergyman.”

  “A preacher?” Hammond’s heavy brows shot upward in an involuntary fashion. “She doesn’t look like any preacher I ever saw!”

  “She is, though—a Quaker. Come along, General.” She led the large officer to stand beside the bed, saying, “Nurse Swenson?”

  The surgeon general watched as the young woman, dressed in gray except for the white bonnet on her head, helped the wounded man lie down. She was very deliberate, finishing the chore at hand before turning around to say, “Yes, Miss Dix?”

  “I want you to meet someone. This is William Hammond, the surgeon general.”

  “I’m happy to meet thee, sir.”

  Hammond bowed slightly, saying, “My pleasure, Miss Swenson.” He was favorably impressed with the young woman’s calm demeanor. He was an astute student of people and studied faces carefully. He perceived in a glance that she was very tall, and he noted the strength in her feminine figure. He found her rather squarish face and fine complexion most pleasing to look at, and her light blue eyes held the direct stare that he was accustomed to finding only in men. Her blond hair was tied up but was obviously fine as silk, and he felt sure it would have fallen well below her waist if it were loose.

  “Miss Dix tells me you’re a clergyman, Miss Swenson,” Hammond said. “That must be very handy when dealing with the men.”

  “Many of them do need spiritual healing as well as physical care,” Grace said quietly. “But then, most of us need that, don’t we, Doctor?”

  Miss Dix had been almost intimidated by Hammond’s strong personality, and it secretly pleased her to see the tall officer taken aback by Grace’s straightforward manner—and by her question.

  “Why—I must agree with that,” Hammond stammered. He rubbed his whiskers, then said with a nod, “Yes, it is so. But do any of the men resent your preaching to them? I mean, they’re a bit of a captive audience.”

  “Some of them are a little resentful,” Grace admitted. “But I never force my beliefs on them. After all, Jesus never forced Himself on anyone, did He, Doctor?”

  “I—don’t believe he did,” Hammond said, then hastened to add, “but I’m not a Bible scholar.”

  Grace gave him a slow smile. “Thee does not need to be a scholar to love God, Doctor. The only thing Jesus seeks is a hungry heart. Has thee ever felt Him knocking at thy door?”

  Hammond was a tough man; he had risen to the top of his profession by sheer force of will and, as surgeon general, often found himself doing battle with Stanton, the secretary of war—a dragon who had burned many a man! So it was most disconcerting to find himself feeling almost sheepish before this young woman! Mustering his wits, he tried to bully his way out of the situation, acutely aware that Miss Dix was enjoying his discomfort. “I’ve not made up my mind about religion,” he said gruffly. “I’m an agnostic.” He caught the smile that touched the young nurse’s wide lips and demanded, “What’s so amusing about that, Nurse Swenson?”

  Grace regarded the large man calmly—and he was somewhat put off to realize she was not in the least intimidated. “Why, it amuses me to hear thee, Doctor.” She shook her head, and there was a strange mixture of gentleness and firmness in her that the general found both charming and challenging. “Thee would not say so about any other area of thy life. An agnostic says, ‘I am ignorant; I don’t know.’ But thee would never say that of thy career, nor would thee let one of thy fellow doctors say that about his medical skill, would thee?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “And we would agree that since a man’s body is only here for a brief time, but his soul is forever, it can’t be wise to ignore the One who made them both. So thee must seek God, Doctor, with as much eagerness and dedication as thee has sought success in thy profession.”

  Hammond stood before the two women silently. He wanted to lash out, to tell her to stop meddling in his private life—but somehow he could not. He had been struggling spiritually in his own life for the past year, and the young woman had put her finger on that very problem. He was a sensitive man, and though he had known many hypocrites, he had seen enough sincere Christians to make him aware that something of what they had was what he needed in his own life.

  Now he said with some embarrassment, “We’re keeping you from your work, Nurse Swenson.”

  “My work is serving God, Doctor,” Grace said sweetly but with a glint of humor in her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what form that takes, bandaging a wound or bearing witness of the love of Jesus to the surgeon general.”

  Hammond suddenly was filled with a desire to get away. “Ah, yes…well, Miss Dix, shall we move on?” When he had made his escape out of the ward, he turned abruptly, demanding, “Is she like that all the time?”

  Miss Dix’s smile grew broader. “She was the same with me, General. I think she’d be the same with President Lincoln.”

  Hammond shook his head, admiration coming into his expression. “Well, she’s different from any of the other clergymen I’ve met. And you say she’s a good nurse?”

  “The finest I’ve had, and I’ve had some fine ones. She’d taken care of a sick father before she came, so she knew some things already. Not about wounds, of course, but she’s very bright and catches on quickly.” Miss Dix sighed and shook her head. “I wish I had a hundred like her!”

  Hammond shook his heavy head. “You won’t get them, I’m afraid. I don’t think there are any more like her!” He turned, and the two of them moved through the rest of the wards. When the inspection was finished, Hammond gave his approval. “As usual, Miss Dix, you’ve got things in fine order. I wish the other hospitals were so well organized.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Hammond,” Miss Dix murmured. She stood there, a small woman with an indomitable spirit, and the burly physician saw that something was troubling her. He didn’t probe, but finally she said with a marked hesitation, “Dr. Hammond, I’m concerned about some of the patients.”

  “Oh? Which ones?”

  “The men we have in Ward K. I—didn’t take you to that ward, but would you come with me now?”

  “Certainly.”

  Hammond followed the woman out of the building, across several sidewalks, and finally stepped inside another of the rectangular white structures. Glancing around curiously, the surgeon at once realized that something about this ward was very different from the others. Not that it varied in size or shape, for like the rest of the wards, it was basically a large room with two rows of beds. But the patients—!

  Hammond blinked with surprise. Many of the beds were not occupied by men lying down. Rather, several patients were sitting either on the beds or in chairs, while others were walking around aimlessly. One man came over to stand five feet away, directly in front of Hammond and Miss Dix. He limped badly, but it was his face that caught the surgeon general’s attention, for it seemed blank of all expression.

  “How are you, Private?” Hammond asked curiously.

  But the man stared at him without speaking. Hammond noted the man’s long, cadaverous face, with eyes deeply sunken into their sockets. His lips were thin and pale, almost bloodless, and they twitched as he seemed to be whispering. His long fingers fumbled at the buttons on the front of his shirt, and he stared at Hammond with wide-open, unblinking eyes.

  Hammond glanced at Miss Dix, then asked more loudly, “Well now, what seems to be the trouble?”

  Suddenly the man’s mouth opened, and a high-pitched whine emerged. It was a wordless cry that made the hair rise on the back of the physician’s neck as he realized that the man was quite mad.

  “Now, Roger”—Miss Dix moved forward at once, taking the man’s arm and turning him around—“there’s a good fellow. You just go sit down. Everything’s all right.”

  She coaxed the man back across the room, sat him down on one of the beds, then came back to say, “He’s not dangerous, poor man!”

 
Hammond looked around the room and understood why the chief of nurses had been hesitant to speak of this place. “These men—they’re all mental cases?”

  “Some of them have physical injuries,” Miss Dix said, sadness in her blue-gray eyes. “But yes, their worst injuries seem to be mental. We thought it better to keep them separate from the other men. Not just for their own good, Doctor,” she added quickly. “They were bad for morale.”

  “I can understand that,” Hammond responded. He shook his head sadly, then asked, “What happens when they’re well enough to be sent home?”

  “Why, most of them are taken in by their people. But there are a few who are able enough to be dismissed, but they have no family…or their people won’t have them.”

  “It’s the asylum for them?”

  The word asylum caused Dorothea Dix’s lips to form a knifelike line, and anger sparkled in her eyes. “Yes! And you know what that’s like!”

  Hammond knew only too well! In most cases, an asylum was worse than many prisons. They were no more than dark holes where mentally disturbed patients were chained like wild beasts. Unwashed and uncared for, these desperate souls lived out their lives in the horror of great darkness.

  “Too bad! Too bad!” Dr. Hammond shook his heavy head; then a question came to him. “I suppose the surgeons are not much help with such as these?”

  “Most of them come in to care for them physically.” Miss Dix shrugged. “But they don’t care about their minds.”

  “But, Miss Dix, there isn’t much they can do, is there? We know so little about this sort of problem.” Hammond, a compassionate man where broken bodies were concerned, looked over the room, noting the blank faces and staring eyes. “I wouldn’t know how to start with men like these!”

  Miss Dix was forced to agree. “I know, sir, but we must do what we can. These men are here because they took up arms and fought to keep our Union intact. Just because their wounds are in the mind doesn’t make them any less honorable than those wounded in the flesh.”