Книга - An Unlikely Union

An Unlikely Union
Shannon Farrington


Union Army physician Evan Mackay runs his ward of the Baltimore military hospital with tremendous skill but no warmth. He will do his duty by the Confederate soldiers in his care, but sympathy and tenderness left him after the death of his brother, a Federal soldier.So why can’t he stop himself from warming to his beautiful, compassionate, unapologetically Southern nurse? Two years of war have shown Emily Davis that the men on both sides of the war need all the comfort and care they can get. And that includes a stubborn, prickly Scottish doctor. As Evan opens his heart to Emily, she can only hope he’ll let her fill it with forgiveness…and love.







The Doctor’s Wounded Heart

Union Army physician Evan Mackay runs his ward of the Baltimore military hospital with tremendous skill but no warmth. He will do his duty by the Confederate soldiers in his care, but sympathy and tenderness left him after the death of his brother, a Federal soldier. So why can’t he stop himself from warming to his beautiful, compassionate, unapologetically Southern nurse?

Two years of war have shown Emily Davis that the men on both sides of the war need all the comfort and care they can get. And that includes a stubborn, prickly Scottish doctor. As Evan opens his heart to Emily, she can only hope he’ll let her fill it with forgiveness…and love.


“In these past two weeks I have come to believe that you are different.”

Emily didn’t know what to say to that. More than anything, she hoped he would see her for the woman she was. But all he saw was a potential Unionist.

“Thank you for your assistance,” she said.

She filled a cup, intent on carrying it to the first soldier she found awake. Dr. Mackay thought the water was for him. His long fingers brushed hers as he took it. Emily felt a shiver travel straight up her arm.

“Thank you,” he said. “You have always been very kind.”

Something significant passed between them in that moment. So much so that Emily once again had difficulty breathing. She felt as though the real Evan Mackay was standing before her, the honorable, gifted physician who had served God and humanity before distrust and disgust had darkened his heart.

She did not break his gaze. “I am praying for you, Evan.”

He gave her hand a quick yet gentle squeeze; then he moved for the door. Emily felt the warmth of his touch long after he had exited the ward.


SHANNON FARRINGTON

is a former teacher with family ties to both sides of the Civil War. She and her husband of over eighteen years are active members in their local church and enjoy pointing out God’s hand in American history to the next generation. (Especially their own children!)

When Shannon isn’t researching or writing, you can find her knitting, gardening or participating in living history reenactments. She and her family live in Maryland.




An Unlikely Union

Shannon Farrington







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

—Ephesians 4:32


For Eric, the man of courage, faith and compassion that I always knew I would marry.


Contents

Chapter One (#uc575caa6-3c2d-579d-a35c-dd6d3a83cbbe)

Chapter Two (#ufaa0935e-d17e-5528-8f0c-fd4cb84154e4)

Chapter Three (#u7bb52238-c7aa-5fcf-a357-4b4a7538df52)

Chapter Four (#u051f43f9-3168-5787-97eb-15f793191f5d)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Baltimore, Maryland

1863

Emily Elizabeth Davis stood in the dark, narrow corridor between the hospital wards and prayed for strength. Weary as she was, she wanted to remain strong for the sake of her friend and fellow nurse, Sally Hastings. The poor woman had given way to tears. Emily couldn’t blame her. She was near tears herself.

For days now the wounded soldiers had been arriving, thousands of them, train after train, crammed in like cattle. They were dying of thirst, of infection and despair. When word reached Baltimore that General Lee’s forces had met the Army of the Potomac in the farm fields of Pennsylvania, the entire city held its breath. Would Maryland soon behold her sons in liberating glory or by the horrors of the casualty lists? For a state divided between Federal and Confederate sympathies, it turned out to be both.

Emily and the other nurses had anticipated the soldiers’ arrival, but it didn’t make caring for them any less painful.

“I thought I could do this,” Sally cried, “but I don’t think I can.”

This was not the first time the pair had nursed wounded men. Following the battle of Antietam, one year earlier, they had gone down to the office of the U.S. Christian Commission and volunteered. They were subsequently placed in the West’s Buildings, a cotton warehouse on Pratt Street that had been converted to a U.S. Army General Hospital. Emily and Sally had cared for scores of bleeding men, Confederate and Federal alike, but this time the task was more difficult. The men they presently nursed were their own schoolmates and neighbors.

The members of the Maryland Guard, once so dashing in their butternut uniforms, now occupied these bleak, crowded rooms. Although Baltimore was their home, the Confederate men were held by armed guards, deemed prisoners of war.

Sally wept upon her shoulder. “First Stephen...now this...”

Sally’s brother, Captain Stephen Hastings, had been listed as missing in the great battle at Gettysburg, and, only moments ago, the man she hoped to one day marry had lost his left arm.

“Oh, Em, I am absolutely wicked.”

“No, you are not,” Emily said gently. “Why ever would you say such a thing?”

“When the stewards returned Edward to his bed, all I could think of was, ‘He will never waltz with me again.’”

Emily blinked back tears of her own, sympathizing with her friend’s pain. Edward Stanton had danced the farewell waltz with Sally at the last ball before the Pratt Street Riot, the day Federal soldiers had come to Baltimore and opened fire on innocent civilians. It was the first bloodshed of the war. Outraged at the soldiers’ attack, Edward, and many others, had headed south to enlist right away.

The days of silk dresses and white-gloved escorts had given way to months of broken bodies and bloodstained petticoats. Mirth and merriment surrendered to weariness and worry.

“Try not to fret,” Emily said. “Edward will dance with you again.”

At least she prayed that would be the case. It was only one of the numerous petitions she had whispered during her time at the hospital. As a believer and a volunteer nurse, Emily desperately longed to bring comfort to those she came in contact with. She wanted to be a light in this dark, battle-weary world.

“Remember, God is the great physician. He can—”

The door to the opposite ward pushed open, hitting the wall with a forceful thud. Evan Mackay, a newly arrived Federal doctor from Pennsylvania, glared at them.

“Rebels!” he said, angrily spitting the word. “Shouldn’t you women be tending to them?”

The man was as tall as Abraham Lincoln himself, with shoulders as broad as a ditchdigger’s. Although he spoke with a Scottish accent, which Emily thought was a dialect straight out of poetry, she was severely disappointed. Evidently not all Scotsmen were as noble or heroic as the men Robert Burns had written about. She couldn’t imagine Dr. Mackay had ever even stopped to look at a red, red rose much less compare his love for his sweetheart to one.

I seriously doubt the man even knows the meaning of the word love.

Of all the physicians in this hospital, he displayed the most hostile attitude; he had an open disdain for the Confederate men. Emily felt it her duty as a Southerner to protect the wounded from Dr. Mackay’s wrath.

She felt it her duty to protect Sally now.

“We were just returning,” she said politely. “Were we not, Nurse Hastings?”

Sally quickly wiped her eyes, her back now ramrod-straight as though she herself were a member of the Federal army. “Yes, indeed.”

Dr. Mackay crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Aye,” he said slowly. “Then do so directly.”

“Yes, Doctor,” the women said in unison.

The army physician moved by them and into the next room. Emily caught Sally’s eye as the tornado blew past. Both were tempted to make a remark concerning the rude bluecoat, but they did not indulge in the luxury.

The Confederate prisoners needed care.

* * *

Flickering oil lamps hung from the rafters as Evan stepped into the remaining ward. There were six buildings in this former cotton warehouse, 425 beds. Most of them were crammed with rebels. His mouth soured just thinking of it. Evan knew firsthand that the field hospitals in Gettysburg were bursting at the seams with brave boys in blue that deserved beds. Boys like Andrew.

He sighed. Yet even if there was room, I wouldn’t bring our men here, not to this city. It is one full of barbarians trying to pass themselves off as loyal members of the Union.

His collar grew tight and his head warm. The reaction wasn’t caused by the stifling July heat. It was the memory of his younger brother and the brief time he had endured in Baltimore. Evan had heard the story from Andrew’s comrades, the men of the Twenty-Sixth and Twenty-Seventh Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry, “The Washington Brigade.”

“They simply surrounded us!”

“They cut us off from the rest of the regiment!”

“They were ready to tear us to shreds!”

Rioters and murderers, every last one of them, Evan thought. And now I must put them back together. The army could have kept me in Pennsylvania. They could have let me tend to our men. They need every surgeon available.

But Providence had not allowed him to remain in Gettysburg, and Evan had his suspicions why.

I am doing penance for my actions, in the worst possible way.

He cast a glance in the direction of one particular rebel, a major. He was a Maryland man. Evan had seen what remained of his butternut uniform when he’d first arrived. The Johnny’s left arm had just been amputated because a vile infection had set in. Evan had performed the surgery. He had done his best to save the reb’s life. His duty to God and his Hippocratic oath to do no harm compelled such. But he took no pride in the task. After discharge from the hospital, rebels like this one would be sent to prison, but upon parole many would return to their regiments only to fire upon U.S. soldiers again.

At least this one won’t be picking up a musket, he told himself.

The major was still with fever and under the effects of the ether so he continued through the ward. Those prisoners who asked for water or voiced other requests he left to the nurses. That was their job. Most of them were rebel women anyway. Why his superiors permitted their presence in a U.S. Army hospital was beyond his comprehension. They had each signed oaths of loyalty, but it was rumored that several had altered the document. Finding certain lines disagreeable, they had supposedly crossed them out.

If loyalty to the government of the United States of America, to its Constitution, is so abhorrent, they have no business nursing prisoners of war. If Evan had his way, he would have all secessionist nurses tossed out to the street and the rebel wounded held in prison until the end of the war.

They deserved it after what they had done to his brother.

* * *

Emily drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore the odors of blood, ether and rotting fish from the nearby docks. This massive warehouse had little means of ventilation, and the air grew more pungent by the day.

Sally had returned to her own section of the hospital. Emily now prepared to step into hers. She smoothed out her pinner apron. Though it pained her, she smiled. It would do the men no good to see a downcast face. They needed hope. They needed cheer.

Lord, help me to be a light. Help me to show Your love.

She had no intention of fostering romantic feelings among the soldiers, but a pretty smile and a little lilac water did wonders in the wards. Some men had been removed from sisters, mothers and sweethearts for so long that they had forgotten the fairer points of civilized society. Emily wanted to remind them there was more to life than this war. Whenever she wasn’t assisting doctors or changing soiled bandages, she tried to do so.

She had written countless letters on behalf of men too sick to do so for themselves. She recited Bible verses and poetry. She also spent a great deal of time fanning the suffering, an effort to break the sweltering midsummer heat.

Emily’s friend Julia Ward was doing so now. She was seated at her brother’s bedside. Edward still slept heavily from his surgery. Looking at him, Emily sighed. He was once the most confident, dashing man of her neighborhood and had captured ladies’ hearts with ease. Injury, illness and two years of war, however, had ravaged his chiseled face and muscular frame. Emily wondered just what Edward would think when he woke to find his left arm was no more.

Each man reacted differently to the devastating reality of amputation. Some cried out for their missing limbs; others simply turned in silence toward the wall. Whichever Edward’s reaction, she hoped he would realize that his family and friends still cared for him. Emily moved closer to his bed. Julia looked up. Fatigue lined her eyes.

“Has there been any change?” Emily asked.

“No.”

She could hear the discouragement in her friend’s voice. Emily tried to reassure her. “Sometimes it takes quite a while for the ether to wear off.”

“He isn’t any cooler. At least not yet.”

Emily felt Edward’s forehead for herself. “It is still early.”

“Would you bring me a basin and some cool water?” Julia asked. “I’ll sponge his face and neck.”

“That would be very helpful, but be careful not to overdo.”

“I won’t.”

Edward’s sister had faithfully attended him since his arrival yet she was not a nurse. Emily knew exactly why Julia had not volunteered. Although her sacque bodice and gored skirts concealed any evidence from the average passerby, Emily and her closest friends knew the truth. Julia was expecting a child.

“Em?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“When Edward begins to stir...will he be sick to his stomach...or have strange visions? I have heard that some men do.”

“Not necessarily, but we should keep watch. The best thing you can do for now is stay beside him. Alert me the moment he begins to wake.”

Commotion at the far end of the ward caught Emily’s attention. Dr. Mackay was barking orders to two of the Federal stewards.

“I told you to deliver him to surgery! Do so immediately!”

She swallowed back the lump in her throat and watched as the young men in blue scrambled to obey. The man in question had severe shrapnel wounds to his leg.

“Tell the surgeon to cut the leg now or he’ll have another dead man on his hands!”

Emily gasped. The poor man about to undergo the procedure was so delirious with wound fever that he knew not what was about to happen, but everyone else in the room did. Their faces went pale. Even the stewards cringed at the doctor’s harsh tone.

Forcing herself to continue, she found Julia a sponge and basin, then moved on. A soldier several beds down from Edward asked for a drink. Emily brought him a cupful of the freshest water she could find. His face immediately brightened.

“Bless you, Miss Emily.”

“God bless you, Jimmy.”

He drank his fill, then leaned back upon his pillow. Dark curls flopped about his forehead. “Is the surgeon really gonna take Freddy’s leg?” he asked.

Freddy was Jimmy’s comrade and unfortunately the subject of Dr. Mackay’s recent tirade. Emily hoped her tone sounded encouraging despite the news.

“I am afraid so, Jimmy, but it is what is best for him, in order to save his life.”

His chin quivered ever so slightly. Emily didn’t know how old he was exactly, but he looked barely beyond boyhood.

“Me and Freddy come up together,” he said. “All the way from Saint Mary’s City.”

Emily recognized the name of the southern Maryland town; she had once visited the place when her father, a lawyer, had business there.

“Is that where your family is from?” she asked as she straightened his bed coverings.

“Yes’um. Freddy’s, too.” His thoughts then shifted. “Reckon they will send us both to that new prison camp they’ve made? The one at Point Lookout?”

She would not allow herself to dwell on what would happen after these men were discharged from the hospital. More than likely, they would be sent to one of two Federal prison camps, either Fort Delaware or the one Jimmy had mentioned at the mouth of the Potomac River.

“I don’t know where they will send you,” she said honestly. “But I hope that your stay there will be short.”

“Well, if I gotta go to prison, I hope it’s Point Lookout. At least then I’ll be closer to home.”

She smoothed back his dark curls as a mother would do, tucking a small child in for the night. The gesture had a dual purpose, comfort for him and evaluation of potential fever. Thankfully, Jimmy’s forehead was cool.

“It would do you well right now to try and dream of home,” she said.

“Yes’um. I reckon it would. But before you go...would you mind prayin’ for Freddy? I know you bein’ a lady and a volunteer from the Christian Commission...Well, would you please?”

She was touched by his request and the concern for his friend which was so evident in his eyes. “I would be honored to do so.”

He reached for her hand. Had they been conversing at dinner or a society ball, the gesture would be entirely too forward. Yet here in the hospital, Emily often cast society’s rules aside for the sake of grace and compassion. She clasped his hand and prayed for Freddy. She prayed for Jimmy as well. When she had finished, she whispered, “Try not to fret. God already has looked after your friend, for Dr. Turner is now the surgeon on duty. He’s a kind and capable man.”

His face brightened somewhat. “Thank you, Miss Emily. That’s right good to hear. Some docs are better than others ’round here.”

She knew which doctor he was referring to, and although she probably should have defended Dr. Mackay’s skills, she let the opportunity pass. She stood, pleased that the worry in Jimmy’s eyes had faded.

“Rest well,” she said to him.

He smiled and turned to his side. Emily straightened his coverings once more, then turned, as well, only to crash directly into the chest of the angry Scotsman.

* * *

Words were quick to shape in his mind, but Evan held his tongue as his blue wool collided with her Southern-grown, Baltimore-milled cotton. The woman came no higher than his breastbone. After staring seemingly transfixed at his brass buttons, she dared to raise her eyes. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

He stared down at her.

What is she waiting for? An apology? Did the little Southern miss expect him to play the part of a gentleman and beg her forgiveness for the improper contact? She’d get no such courtesy from him. Why should she? She’d had no trouble holding hands with a rebel just moments ago.

Perhaps it is her close proximity to a Yankee that fills her with such shame.

Evan wasn’t a gambling man, but if he were, he’d lay money down that she was one of the nurses who’d altered her oath of loyalty.

“Haven’t you duties to attend to?” he asked.

“Yes, Dr. Mackay.”

“Then see to them.” He pointed to the water buckets on the table in the corner. “Fill them with fresh water, then scrub the floor. It is a nesting ground for disease!” Lucky for her, she did not need to be told twice. She scurried away, skirt and petticoats swishing.

Incompetent little socialite, he thought. Little Miss Baltimore. She’s probably never worn anything less than silk before now.

“You shouldn’t treat her that way.”

Evan turned in the direction of the weak yet determined voice. Boyish curls framed a scowling pair of eyes.

Aye. Her love-struck suitor. “Were you speaking to me?”

The rebel pushed up on his elbows, trying to marshal what was left of his Southern pride. “I am, sir, and I will kindly ask you not to speak that way to her. She is the finest nurse here. And, I might add, she’s been here longer than you.”

Evan turned his back, stepping away. He cared not how many months of service the woman had.

“You could learn a lesson from her,” the boy called. “A little compassion would do you no harm!”

Evan’s ire rose. His fists clenched at his side, but he didn’t give the boy the satisfaction of knowing the words had affected him. You didn’t show any compassion when your mob surrounded my brother, he thought. When they bashed him with paving stones!

He told himself the Maryland rebel wasn’t worth his time, and he moved on. There were wounds to probe and minié balls still to extract. As he made his way through the rows of iron cots, he cast a glance in Little Miss Baltimore’s direction. The water had been replenished. She was currently on her hands and knees, scrubbing the vile floor.

Another experience I doubt she’s had the pleasure of until now, he thought. We shall see how well she handles it.

* * *

As Emily raked the scrub brush across the filthy floor she dealt with Dr. Mackay’s temper the only way she knew how. She prayed for him. Actually, she prayed more for herself than for the man.

Oh Lord, please give me grace. I can’t work alongside him without it.

Dealing with the Federal army’s disdainful attitude toward Confederate men was nothing new, but most of the guards, doctors and hospital commanding officers were professional enough to keep their words to themselves or at least voice their condemnation outside the wards.

Some even took pity on the wounded souls and showed them kindness. Jeremiah Wainwright, a young steward who Emily knew to be a Christian, was such a man. Dr. Jacob Turner was another. He was a good-natured New Englander who treated the Confederates not as prisoners or scientific studies, but as men.

Just yesterday Emily had been called to his section, to assist as he probed a North Carolina man’s back for shrapnel. The poor soldier had leaned upon her, trying not to flinch while Dr. Turner carefully extracted the metal.

“Do I hurt you?” the old man had asked considerately.

“Not too terribly,” the soldier had said.

Emily had known by the tightness of his muscles that the Carolina man wasn’t exactly telling the truth, but because of Dr. Turner’s gentle demeanor and a story of snapping New England lobsters, he’d been able to endure the painful procedure without crying out or fainting.

If only Dr. Mackay could be more like that, she thought. A little kindness would go a long way to promote healing and to foster interest in eternal matters.

Though a few ragtag Bibles lay at the bedsides of the men, Emily knew many in this hospital were starved for spiritual comfort. In the past year, she had held the hands of the dying, both Confederate and Federal alike. She had sat with those who’d lost their dearest friends on the battlefield, who then asked, “Where is God in all this terrible suffering?”

She gave them the only answer she could. “Right here grieving with you.”

The will of God made no sense at times to Emily. Why He had allowed war to come instead of an end to slavery, then a peaceful compromise of ideals, was unknown to her.

She dared to glance at Dr. Mackay. How long the hostilities continue will, I suppose, depend on men like him. The intimidating physician was now standing at Edward’s bed, perusing his wounds with a look of cold indifference. Julia sat her post, pale and frightened. Emily hurried to finish her scrubbing so she might join her friend. In her delicate condition the last thing Julia needed was to hear that man’s sharp, condemning tongue.

The dinner bell rang, calling all officers to the dining hall. Emily breathed a sigh of relief when Dr. Mackay exited the room. She put away her brush and bucket and went to her friend.

“What a horrible man,” Julia whispered. “There is no compassion in him. He looked at Edward as if he were nothing more than a stray dog.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Emily touched Edward’s forehead gently. The fever was going down. “He is much cooler.”

“Oh, thank the Lord.”

Within a matter of moments the rest of their friends appeared: Sally and the Martin sisters, Trudy and Elizabeth, and Rebekah Van der Geld, the only one of them who staunchly supported the Federal army’s occupation of Baltimore. Each had come to inquire of Edward. As they clustered around his bed, Emily couldn’t help but remember with fondness the times the six of them had met for knitting and needlework in each other’s homes.

Such happy times.

But the joyful emotions of the past were tempered by today’s reality. The girls had not gathered to decide which dress pattern from Godey’s Lady’s Book would attract a handsome beau’s attention, nor were they there to knit socks for their glorious, invincible army.

We are here to tend to one of its wounded, she thought sadly.

Try as she might, Emily’s eyes kept drifting to the place where Edward’s left arm should be. Apparently Sally was having the same difficulty. Her eyes were watering.

“He stirred slightly,” Julia told them. “When that doctor was standing over him.”

“That is good,” Emily said. “Soon he will wake.”

Sally drew in a quick breath and lifted her chin. “We should pray for him and then go about our business. It won’t fare him well to have us all hovering over him when he wakes.”

Emily agreed. They should give Edward his privacy. She couldn’t help but also think, And if Dr. Mackay returns from his meal to find us clustered about instead of busy with some task, he will surely spew his venom upon us all. That won’t be good for Julia or her child.

Trudy, Elizabeth and Rebekah all nodded in agreement. Rebekah offered to begin the prayer. The women clasped hands. One by one they prayed for Edward’s recovery and for the rest of the wounded men of this hospital. When no Federal soldier was close enough to overhear, Elizabeth and Trudy each whispered a plea for their brother, George, also a member of the Maryland Guard. As far as everyone knew, he had survived the Pennsylvania battle and returned safely to Virginia. Sally then prayed for Stephen; his whereabouts were still unknown.

“Try to keep faith,” Trudy said, hugging her after they had finished. “God knows exactly where Stephen is.”

“I know. I take comfort in that.”

Before they could go their separate ways, Jeremiah Wainwright approached. “Ladies,” he said, “forgive me for intruding, but I’ve just come from the dining hall. They are presently serving the nurses. If you don’t go quickly, there won’t be anything left for you to eat.”

They all knew he was speaking truth. They had each learned the hard way to eat when called or go hungry.

“Thank you, Jeremiah,” Emily said. “We appreciate the warning.”

He smiled and tipped his blue kepi. “You are quite welcome. And don’t worry, I’ll keep track of your charges, especially the major here.”

She believed he would, and so Emily turned to Julia.

“Come with us. Have a bite to eat.”

She shook her head, unwilling to leave her brother’s side. “I’ll stay. Samuel will arrive shortly and I want to be here when Edward wakes.”

Her husband, Samuel, joined her each day after his work as a teacher at the Rolland Park men’s seminary was complete. Her parents came in the early evening, as well. Julia’s father, Dr. Thomas Stanton, worked in the private hospital across town. He was busy caring for his own load of wounded, most of them Federal soldiers from wealthy families or those with high political connections.

“I understand. Shall I fetch you something?”

“No. Thank you. I am not hungry.”

Emily gave her hand a squeeze. Then she followed her fellow nurses to the dining hall.

* * *

His food wasn’t sitting well. Evan wondered if it was the stewed blackberries, which had obviously been picked too early, or the sight of the carts and laborers moving along Pratt Street. He stared out the window.

The army supply wagons and the countless crates stamped U.S. Christian Commission bore witness to the activities of today, but all Evan could think about was a day two years ago last April. His brother, Andrew, was newly trained and eager for action. He was unaware that such would come by way of a bloodthirsty mob while he and his regiment were en route to Washington.

Andrew had been one of the first to answer President Lincoln’s call for volunteers. He’d wanted to preserve the Union. When he and his fellow soldiers had tried to pass through Baltimore, the local citizens made it quite apparent which side they had chosen. As Andrew and the others had marched toward the Washington trains, a crowd had surrounded them. They were soon pelted with rocks, bottles and paving stones.

The Northern men had exercised restraint, but when the citizens had grabbed for their guns, the soldiers did what anyone would have done. They’d defended themselves. When the smoke had cleared, several boys in blue were dead, along with eleven rebels. The Baltimoreans had then had the audacity to claim the shots fired were unprovoked.

Just thinking of what had taken place made Evan’s fists clench. He knew he should leave the window, spend his remaining moments of the dining break in some other place, but try as he might, he could not pull his eyes from the street. Where exactly had Andrew fallen?

His eyes scanned the street before him. Traffic pulsed. City life moved at a steady pace. Men in scrap shirts with slouch hats set low on their foreheads lugged sacks of grain to and from the nearby wharf.

Were any of them present that day? Were any of them part of that murderous mob?

He bit down hard, teeth against teeth. The only emotion stronger than the anger he felt toward rebels was the emptiness in his heart.

If only I had been there. I could have saved him. I would have recognized the signs that the pressure was building in his brain. I could have drained the blood. He didn’t have to die.

And then his thoughts turned to another. Mary...

The memory of her face, her pleading words, burned through his mind. Just as he’d never forgive those thugs for Andrew’s death, he would never forgive himself for leaving his wife behind.

* * *

By the time Emily returned to the ward, Edward had opened his eyes. Her initial joy was tempered by the quiet pain she heard in Julia’s voice.

“I promise you, Edward. It will be all right.”

He turned from her sharply, setting his face toward the wall. The bandaged knob at the end of his shoulder stood out like a regimental flag.

A lump wedged in the back of Emily’s throat, but she moved toward him. She bent to his level, her skirts folding to the floor.

“Edward,” she said softly. “It is me, Emily.”

His blue eyes, once so gallant and full of life, were now vacant, almost spiritless. He blinked but did not acknowledge her presence.

“Are you in any pain?”

He blinked again. Emily’s heart was breaking. She knew Julia’s was, as well. She dared not look to her grief-stricken face. Emily knew if she did, she herself would break down. I have to remain strong. I am here to give comfort, not to be in need of it myself.

Carefully, methodically, she felt his forehead. He was much cooler. Thank You, Lord.

“Here,” Emily said to him. “Let me fetch you something to drink. I am certain you are thirsty.”

She reached for a nearby pitcher and filled a tin cup with water. She offered it to him, but Edward simply stared past her, no reply. By now Emily was beginning to wonder if he was even aware of her presence.

Perhaps it is the effects of the ether. She set the cup on the table, peered closely into his face. Edward’s eyes registered a startled reaction. They held hers for a quick second, then pulled away. In that brief time Emily saw a storm of emotions there.

He is aware of his reality, she thought. All too well.

There were times when it was wise to draw a man out of his solitude, but Emily sensed this was not one of them. She could only guess what Edward had witnessed on the battlefield, what actions had led him to this place. She wanted to ask about Stephen but knew there would be time for questions later.

She brushed her fingers gently through his hair. “Perhaps you will feel up to taking water later on. For now, just rest.”

Still he only blinked. Emily drew the sheet to his chest, mindful of his bandages, then moved to the side of the bed where Julia stood. She stared pitifully at her brother’s back. Emily gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Try not to be discouraged,” she whispered. “He is alert and the fever has broken.”

Julia nodded slowly but her face was as pale as January snow. “Will you send for our father?”

“Of course. Straightaway.” Emily agreed with her friend’s assessment. Edward needed his family now.

She moved toward the door. Sally was peeking through it.

“Is he awake?” she asked the moment Emily stepped into the corridor.

“Yes.”

Sally breathed a shallow sigh. “Is he speaking? Did he mention Stephen?”

Emily did not wish to upset her, but she knew the truth was best. If she were in Sally’s place, she would want to know.

“I am afraid he has not spoken at all. That is why I did not think it wise to ask about Stephen just yet. The battle seems to have damaged not only Edward’s body but his mind, as well.”

Her chin began to quiver.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said gently.

Sally quickly wiped her eyes and garnered her composure. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Julia requested that we send for her father.”

“I will see to that.”

“Can you manage? We could ask one of the other volunteers.”

Sally shook her head. “Dr. Turner will not mind. He has a soft spot for me. He knows Edward is our friend, and he told me if I had need of anything only to ask.”

Thank the Lord for small kindnesses, Emily thought.

“Tell Julia I will be as quick as I can.” She turned and descended the staircase. Emily quickly went back to the ward. Dr. Mackay had also returned.

“Nurse!” he called, waving her over.

I do have a name, she thought.

Nevertheless, she went to him. He was in the process of resetting a Virginia man’s broken leg. Having placed the limb in the fracture box, Dr. Mackay handed her a small sack. It looked as if it had come from the hospital kitchen.

“Fill the box with oat bran. It will support the leg and collect any further drainage from the wound.”

“Yes, Dr. Mackay.”

Emily promptly went to work, trying her best to smile at the wounded Virginian while ignoring the scowling Federal doctor beside her. When she finished the task, she looked to him. She expected another order, but he simply grunted and moved on to the next man.

She went back to Edward.

Her friend still lay with his back to his sister. Julia held her place in the chair beside him, a palmetto fan in one hand, a Bible in the other. She waved the fan faithfully over his head while she sought her own comfort in Scripture.

Emily watched them for a moment, but when Julia made no gesture or request she quietly backed away. Concern weighed heavily upon her. Edward’s mind-set was disturbing. She had seen some soldiers following the battle of Antietam who had recovered physically from their wounds but were never able to reenter life. When the memories of mortar shells and musket fire became too vivid, they often retreated into dark, private worlds, where no loved one or enemy could ever find them again.

“The water pitchers need to be filled,” she heard Dr. Mackay say as he brushed past her.

For a moment Emily considered reporting her observations but she realized any competent physician would have already recognized Edward’s condition. If she spoke up it would seem that she doubted his skills. She dare not call his judgment into question—at least not yet. For now, Emily thought it best just to keep her eye on her friend and stay out of the ill-tempered doctor’s way.


Chapter Two

All meals were now finished. Emily helped Jeremiah and the orderlies remove the last of the men’s food trays. Afterward she changed three dressings, then wrote a letter for another Maryland man.

As soon as she had completed that task, Freddy was brought in from surgery. He was already awake, sick to his stomach and shivering with fever. Emily was thankful he was still alive, but it grieved her to see him suffering so. She sat beside him with a basin and repeatedly wiped his face as he emptied what precious little was in his stomach. When the violence finally subsided, she settled him in his bed, then went to comfort Jimmy, who had been watching the entire time.

“He gonna be all right, Miss Emily? Will the sickness pass soon?”

“It will,” she promised. “In fact, his eyes are already clearing.”

“That’s good.” He fell back to his pillow. “Thank you for prayin’ for him. It’s hard seein’ him without his leg, but I’m real grateful the Good Lord’s left him here with me.”

“Indeed, Jimmy. So am I.”

She tucked him in and moved on. The day had been long and difficult. Fatigue slowed her steps and worry darkened her mind.

Where is Sally’s brother? she wondered. Is he misplaced in one of the field hospitals? Has he been captured or is he wandering around somewhere cut off from the Confederate army?

“Lord, please bring Stephen home. Please comfort Edward—”

“Miss Emily?”

She turned to see Private Robert Stone, another Maryland man, looking at her. Emily immediately went to him. A minié ball had shattered his right knee.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

“No, miss. I’m alright. I just heard you praying for Major Stanton and Captain Hastings.”

Emily blushed. She had not meant to speak the prayer aloud. I must be more careful. She was, after all, a volunteer in a Federal army hospital. There were many here who would disapprove of her prayers for Confederate soldiers.

“I know the major’s not doing so well,” Rob said. “I think perhaps, well...I think he feels responsible.”

Her skin prickled. Responsible? She sat down on the edge of his bed. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I think he feels responsible for the captain and the others.”

Emily’s pulse quickened. This was the first time anyone had mentioned Sally’s brother. Did Rob know what had become of him? She glanced about for Dr. Mackay. If Stephen was hiding out somewhere, she didn’t want that man or anyone else in blue to know.

The Scotsman was at the far end of the room, checking on a sergeant with a terrible cough. His ears were plugged by his stethoscope. Jeremiah had gone to the kitchen, and the sentinel at the door was well out of earshot.

Emily looked back at Rob. “Captain Hastings was reported on the lists as missing. Do you know what has become of him?”

He swallowed. “I’m afraid I do, miss.”

Her heart immediately sank. Oh, no. Rob was undoubtedly struggling to tell her what she could already guess.

“Is he dead?”

For a moment he looked almost relieved. The gentleman in him did not wish to break such news to a lady. “I’m afraid so...but he died bravely. A hero.”

Tears filled her eyes. Emily shut them for a moment. When she regained her composure she asked the man to tell what he knew. There was no longer any fear of Federal eavesdropping. Plotting to help a Confederate soldier would be considered treason, but Stephen was beyond any aid or shelter she could offer him now. Any details Rob could provide about his demise may bring a small measure of comfort to Sally, and perhaps hold the key to Edward’s solitude.

“Were you with them on the battlefield?”

He nodded. “Me and what was left of the old Maryland Guard. First Maryland Infantry Battalion we are now.” He shifted his position, wincing slightly. “Captain Hastings, well...it was a bad scrap. We don’t blame Major Stanton. He was just following General Stewart’s orders. Things just happen like that sometimes.”

Her heart beat faster. “What things?” she asked. “What orders?”

“To take the hill, miss. Culp’s Hill.” He gestured battle movements with his hands. “You see, we were all lined up. The bluecoats were above us and we were fightin’ our way through the trees, over the rocks. That’s when it happened.”

“What did?”

“Captain Hastings was with Major Stanton in the front. Right in front of me, in fact. They charged valiantly, yelling for us to follow. Gave the rest of us real courage, it did.”

Emily had expected no less. Stephen and Edward were the bravest of the brave. At least Sally and the rest of them could take solace in that.

Private Nash continued. “Captain Hastings took a bullet to the chest. I know ’cause it spun him around. Major Stanton took one in the arm just about the same time. They fell together. The next one had my name on it.”

She was grateful he spared her the gruesome details, although she had little difficulty imagining the sight. Emily had seen what hot lead could do to a man. “I am certain your comrades appreciated your sacrifice,” she said, her voice quivering slightly. “Were you successful in taking the hill?”

“No, miss. We had to fall back.”

Tears spilled over once again, and frustration filled her soul. Such loss, such sacrifice for nothing gained! Stephen died for ground unclaimed, ground that even the Federal army probably no longer occupies!

“Our men tried to gather us,” Rob insisted, “but they couldn’t get us all. The Yankees were just too quick.”

“Is that when you were captured?”

“Yes. Major Stanton shielded the captain just in case any of the bluecoats used their bayonets, but I believe he was already dead by then. When the major realized, he was shook up real bad. You could see it in his eyes. He held it together for the rest of us, though, tried to encourage us as we were being rounded up. But then we learned we’d been fightin’ the First Eastern Shore.”

He looked at her as if she should know what that meant. Emily had no idea.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“The First Eastern Shore is Maryland Infantry, miss. We, the First Maryland, were fightin’ against men from our own state.

Emily sucked in air. Rob continued.

“When Major Stanton learned that, the fire just went out of him. All he could say was ‘it was my fault.’ To my knowledge he hasn’t spoken a word since.”

Waves of nausea rolled through her.

“I can sure understand it,” he said. “We’re all torn up inside. Sergeant Moore told me he’d seen his own cousin bearing the colors for the First Eastern Shore.”

Emily was afraid she was going to be literally sick. It was bad enough these men were fighting against their own countrymen, but Marylanders spilling Maryland blood? No wonder Edward could not speak.

“Miss Emily? Will you do something for me?”

She tried to rein in her feelings. She could do nothing about what had happened on that hill, but perhaps she might be able to do something for Rob, for Edward.

“Of course.”

“Will you tell Major Stanton that he’s one of the bravest men I ever served under? And that I’d be proud to do so again.”

She was struck by his loyalty, his compassion for his officer. “I will do so. Is there anything else that I may do for you?”

“No, miss. Don’t fret over me. There’s plenty of other fellas here worse off.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Emily said.

“You’re welcome.”

He offered her a hint of a smile and she gave him one in return, but they both knew the other’s heart was heavy.

Gathering her skirts, Emily rose slowly, feeling as though she had twenty petticoats and two sacks of flour tied about her legs. She had promised Rob that she would convey his message, but would the words comfort Edward or be another painful reminder of what had taken place on the battlefield?

Just as she stepped away from the bed, Dr. Mackay made his way across the ward. He must have seen the look on her face and recognized something was wrong.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

Ill didn’t even begin to describe how she felt. Men from my state are shooting at their neighbors, their own relatives! And Sally...her brother has been killed! Now I must tell her the terrible news!

But Emily swallowed back her emotions. It would do no good to tell Dr. Mackay such things. He would offer her no sympathy. He’d probably say her friends deserved what had become of them.

“A nurse in danger of swooning is of no use to me in this ward.”

Her backbone stiffened. “You need not worry,” she assured him. “I am not given to such tendencies.”

His left eyebrow arched as if he doubted that, but before he could speak, a soldier’s cry commanded his attention.

“Doc! Doc! Come quick!”

Emily turned, as well. A young Kentucky man was bent over the bed, holding his brother—a soldier who had been wounded in the neck and jaw.

“He’s turnin’ blue!” the man cried.

Dr. Mackay raced to the Confederate man’s side. Taking one look at him, he ordered Emily to fetch water and lint packing. She hurried to obey while he ran for the locked cabinet at the end of the ward. She gathered her items, he a surgical tray.

“Hold on there, Billy,” the brother encouraged. “Doc’s comin’.”

“Step back!” the Scotsman commanded. To Emily, he said, “Remove those bandages so his wound is exposed.”

She deposited the basin and packing on the table beside them and quickly carried out his instructions. Her heart was pounding, for Billy was staring wide-eyed at her, silently begging for help.

Then he closed his eyes.

Oh! Oh! “Dr. Mackay!”

The instant Emily had seen to the last bandage, the doctor moved in with his scalpel. She watched as he made an incision in Billy’s neck just below his maze of black battle scars and inserted a small tube. Dr. Mackay then blew his own breath into the man’s throat.

Emily had never seen such a thing before. The blue in Billy’s face faded to gray, then finally a more natural shade.

After several more breaths, Dr. Mackay straightened up. Still holding the tube in place, he asked for the packing.

“Do you wish for it to be cut into smaller strips?” she asked.

“Aye.”

She did so, handing them over one at a time. While he secured the tube, Emily couldn’t help but wonder, on what was this soldier choking? He was one of the men who had been prescribed a low diet, only beef tea and a little milk. She had followed Dr. Mackay’s orders precisely concerning that. One of the man’s comrades must have given him something else to eat.

“Were you able to dislodge what he swallowed?” she asked.

“He isn’t choking on food.”

“He isn’t?”

“’Twas the swelling from the wound which constricted his airway.” Dr. Mackay spoke with confidence, as if he performed this sort of thing daily and in doing so had saved countless lives. Emily prayed that was indeed the case. Much to her relief, after a few moments Billy’s eyes fluttered open. She dared breathed a sigh, knowing the immediate crisis had passed.

Emily touched his shoulder. “Just lay still,” she encouraged. “You’ll be all right.”

She hoped Dr. Mackay would confirm her words, but he did not. Plugging his ears with his stethoscope, he listened to Billy’s chest. Thankfully, he looked pleased with what he heard.

Emily’s heart slowed somewhat. The Northern physician would not spend his breath comforting a Southern man but he had preserved his life. For that, she was thankful.

* * *

Evan watched her exhale. The sight of such procedures had sent many of his past assistants to the floor, but she’d managed to keep on her feet and follow his instructions. For that, he commended her. With so many prisoners to tend to however, he could not be concerned with her health. She had clearly been troubled before this case, and even now she was still a ghostly shade of pale.

Removing his stethoscope, he told her, “Take a moment to yourself and get some air.”

Still too overcome to respond, she could only blink.

“Go on, now,” he said.

Slowly, she turned. The Johnny in the bed beside them thanked her for her help. She patted his arm silently, then walked away.

The reb then turned to him.

“Thank you, Doc. I’m real grateful to you for savin’ my brother’s life.”

With those words Evan wasn’t certain what he should feel—gratification or anger. If it wasn’t for brothers such as these, ones willing to make war on their own nation, his brother would not have died. Not knowing how to respond, he ignored the comment altogether.

He signaled for the steward. “Fetch me some ice,” he told him.

“Yes, sir.”

He’d see if that would bring the swelling under control. If not the reb’s brother would have to return to the operating room.

* * *

Emily stepped into the corridor. Her heart was still pounding. Try as she might, the breath she repeatedly drew just didn’t seem to be enough to fill her lungs. Heading straight for the small window, she pushed it open. The air drifting in from the harbor was not fresh by any means but at least it was a little cooler.

Contrary to what Dr. Mackay may think, the sight of blood had not caused her distress. It was thinking of how the poor wounded man had come upon his injury. She did not know where Billy and his brother had been during the recent Pennsylvania battle, but she knew by looking at them that their experience had been just as horrific as Edward’s and Stephen’s.

Oh, Lord, I beg you. End this war...please...

“Em, are you all right?”

She turned to find Julia standing in the hall.

“What troubles you? Is it that poor soldier? He looks much improved now.”

Emily sighed. Julia was the last person she wished to burden with such distressing news, but she realized she needed to know. “I have received some information concerning Stephen.”

Her friend’s shoulders dropped with a long sigh of her own. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I suspected such. Especially when Edward wouldn’t speak. Poor Sally...but why would Stephen have been reported as ‘missing’?”

“A misidentification, I suppose.”

“Then it’s likely he is buried somewhere on the battlefield?”

“I would imagine.”

Sorrow fell over them both like a shroud. The sound of wounded soldiers groaning echoed through the halls. An armed sentinel passed by on his way to duty, and they could hear an officer shouting orders on the floor below.

“Private Stone saw him fall,” Emily said. “He told me the entire story.”

“What did he say?”

She explained what she had learned. When Emily got to the part about Maryland men fighting their own neighbors, in some cases their own flesh and blood, all color drained from Julia’s face.

“Gracious,” she breathed. “Edward chose to fight in defense of his state and now battle lines have forced him to fire upon our own citizens? Does he know this?”

“Apparently so. Private Stone says Edward feels responsible. He overheard him remark it was all his fault.”

Julia wiped her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. Emily dabbed at her own eyes with her apron. The sights and sounds of war continued to swirl around them.

“We need to tell Sally,” Julia finally said.

“Yes.” Though Emily dreaded having to be the one to do so, she volunteered anyway.

“No,” Julia said. “It should come from me. I will tell her when she returns. Do you think Private Stone would mind if I spoke with him? I would like to hear the story for myself.”

“I don’t believe he would.” Emily paused. “There was one other thing.” She told Julia how Private Stone had asked her to deliver a message to Edward. “But I am not certain now that I should.”

“What kind of message?”

As Emily explained, tears spilled over Julia’s long, dark lashes. “Tell my brother what the soldier said.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I believe it will help.”

They both turned back for the ward. Emily introduced Julia to Rob, then stopped to check on Billy. Crushed ice had been placed around his neck. Dr. Mackay was nowhere in sight, but Jeremiah Wainwright was sitting at the soldier’s bedside. Emily asked if he had need of any assistance. When the steward politely declined, she moved on to Edward.

Her friend was staring at the dust-covered rafters above him. She surveyed his tight bandages but only with her eyes. Then she poured him a fresh cup of water and drew close. All he did was blink.

Setting the cup aside, Emily quietly moved in closer. “Edward,” she said softly. “I understand that you do not wish to speak to me or to Julia right now, but know that we are here should you change your mind.”

She waited, hoping for a response of any kind. There was none.

“And know this...God waits patiently, as well.”

His lips tightened into a thin line. His jaw twitched. It was the first real indication he had given that he was listening to anything she said.

Emily leaned a little closer. She could see the pain in his eyes. Her heart ached for him. He had been her schoolmate, her childhood friend. He had teased her and tugged at her curls. She had once bandaged his wrist when he’d cut a gash in it after jumping from the tree in her backyard.

I mended his wound then, but how do I do so now? How does one even begin to ease the guilt a soldier feels over the death of his friend?

There was no change in his eyes, but she felt compelled to continue. “Private Stone asked me to deliver a message to you....”

Slowly, his eyes shifted from the rafters to her. Emily drew hope from the movement.

“He said to tell you that you are the best man he has ever served under, and he would be proud to do so again.”

What she’d hoped would bring encouragement had just the opposite effect. Edward’s jaw clenched and Emily watched helplessly as his eyes welled up with tears.

He shook his head no.

Her heart squeezed as she whispered, “I know what happened on Culp’s Hill. I know what happened to Stephen...to the other Maryland men.”

“It was...my fault...Emmy.”

His voice was distant, defeated, but he had referred to her by her childhood name, a memory of a happier time. She used his, as well.

“No, Eddie. You mustn’t blame yourself. We are at war. Terrible things happen. There was nothing you could do—”

“How dare you!”

Emily felt the blood drain from her face. She need not wonder who had spoken the fierce words. She already knew. How long Dr. Mackay had been standing behind her and how much of the conversation he had heard, she was not certain, but it had been long enough to rouse his fury. Swallowing hard, she turned. He stood towering above her, fists clenched at his sides.

“What do you think you are doing?”

When she didn’t answer immediately, he pointed to the door.

“Get outside!”

Emily chanced a glance at Edward. Just as she had feared, the blank stare had returned. I have made things worse.

Torn between comforting her friend and following the doctor’s orders, she hesitated. She shouldn’t have.

“Now, Nurse!”

Emily’s legs were as wobbly as a freshly cooked batch of mint jelly and walking the distance to the doorway seemed to take an eternity. All around her, the wounded stared, surely wondering what was about to happen. Even the Federal guard at the entryway showed sympathy on his face. Emily wasn’t afraid of Dr. Mackay physically, but she feared that he in his position of authority would hinder her from ministering to the Confederate men.

She stepped outside. He was immediately on her heels, catching the hem of her skirt with his long stride. Emily turned to free herself before his clumsiness ripped the fabric. Losing her footing, she was captured by his massive hands.

“You little rebel!”

“Unhand me, sir!” she commanded.

He did but only to stick a long, sharp finger in her face. “I will not have that kind of talk in my ward! Do you understand? How dare you tell that dirty Johnny it isn’t his fault! They started this war! The blood of thousands is on their heads!”

Emily sucked in her breath, fire building inside her. Her parents had raised her to be respectful, to be gentle. She had never been one to argue before, but this man, this Yankee, brought out a fierceness she didn’t know existed.

“They started this war? I beg to differ with you, sir. It was your soldiers who opened fire upon our civilians, and that is why a good many of these men took up arms in the first place! They wished to defend our state from tyrants like you!”

He looked shocked. Surely no woman had ever talked this way to him before. His eyes then narrowed. “I assume you are referring to the riot on Pratt Street.”

“I am.”

“Then you had better get your facts straight.”

Emily held her ground. “Oh, I am completely aware of the facts, Doctor. Major Stanton and his sister, her husband as well, were caught in that riot.”

“Aye. That explains quite a bit. All of you are as guilty as sin.”

Her blood was boiling. How dare he speak that way about her friends! “They are guilty of nothing more than meeting the Philadelphia train. Julia was nearly trampled to death when your Massachusetts soldiers emptied their muskets in an act of barbarous cruelty!”

The veins in his neck were bulging. His side whiskers rose like the barbs of a porcupine. His chest swelled so that Emily expected his brass buttons would fire off at any moment.

“Did your rebel friends tell you that the shooting took place only after the Pennsylvania volunteers were cut off from the rest of the Federal forces? After they had been pelted by missiles and cut by shattering glass?”

Emily held her tongue, though she was silently questioning his words. She had never heard of these supposed Pennsylvania men. She doubted Julia had, either. Was it true?

Dr. Mackay stepped closer, his anger seething. “Did they tell you that my brother, an unarmed man, had his head bashed by a paving stone? That he died twelve hours later?”

The disgust she felt instantly evaporated. Whether his facts concerning the riot were entirely accurate or not was not the issue. He had suffered the loss of a loved one. He was suffering still.

His anger must be his attempt to manage the pain. Her heart squeezed. “Dr. Mackay, I—”

“Do not lecture me, miss, about your good citizens of Baltimore! I know perfectly well what you all are capable of.”

He stared at her, his gray eyes as sharp as any bayonet. She held his gaze.

“I apologize for my hasty words, Dr. Mackay. I am truly sorry for your loss. How many years had your brother?”

The old proverb about a soft answer turning away wrath proved true. He looked surprised that she would even ask. His stance softened just a little.

“He was nineteen.”

She grieved any loss of life, Confederate or Federal. The cost of war was much too high. “Too young,” she whispered.

“Aye. ’Twas much too young indeed.”

The color was slowly fading from his face. Dr. Mackay raked back his dark brown hair, looking as if he didn’t know what to say next.

Emily waited, wondering. Will he regain his temper, or will he dismiss me without further word?

He did not have time for either. A steward from Sally and Elizabeth’s section appeared at the door. “Doctor, come quick! Your assistance is needed.”

The call of duty snapped him back to his determined, unyielding state. His shoulders straightened and the commanding physician immediately turned. Emily stared after his broad back until the door closed behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, she then returned to her own ward.


Chapter Three

By the time Emily stepped back into the ward, Edward’s parents had arrived. Mrs. Stanton was seated in a chair next to her son’s bed, talking to him in soothing tones. Dr. Stanton was standing beside her. Emily did not see Julia anywhere in the room. She wondered if she had gone to break the horrible news to Sally concerning Stephen’s death.

Emily moved to where Edward lay. Ignoring everyone, he had once again turned his eyes to the wall. His parents, however, greeted her warmly.

“Look,” Mrs. Stanton said to her son. “Emily has returned.”

Yes, she thought as heat crept into her cheeks. I have returned. She felt terrible about what had just happened in the corridor. She wondered when exactly the Stantons had arrived, how much of her altercation with Dr. Mackay they had overheard. She knew her voice had carried. She could tell by the grins on the Confederate men’s faces. They all seemed pleased she had put the Federal doctor in his place.

Emily was not pleased. She knew she had set a terrible example, and her timing with Edward had caused him more pain. She knelt beside him.

“Eddie, I am so very sorry for the disturbance earlier. So very sorry about it all.”

He continued to stare at the cracked plaster wall. She dared not say any more. She looked to his parents. Mrs. Stanton had tears in her eyes. Her husband’s face also showed concern.

“Can I fetch you anything?” Emily asked them.

“Some fresh water,” Dr. Stanton said. He picked up the nearby pitcher. “This one is empty.”

She reached for it.

“No,” he said with a kind smile. “That’s all right. Just show me where.”

She led him to the water buckets at the opposite end of the room. Dr. Stanton ladled the liquid into the pitcher.

“Julia told us about the battle,” he said. “Would you tell me what happened with Edward just before we arrived?”

Emily did so, right up to the part where Dr. Mackay breathed out his fire.

“And Edward held your gaze?”

“Yes. He spoke to me, although it was a negative response.”

“It was still a response and for that I am grateful.” He smiled at her. “You did well, Emily. Don’t blame yourself for what happened after the doctor’s intrusion.”

She appreciated his encouragement yet felt burdened at the same time. Surely Dr. Stanton was just as concerned as she. She knew he wished to be caring for Edward himself in the private hospital, but the Federal army would not allow it. The Stanton family did not have the political connections to change the army’s mind.

“I am glad you are here to look after him,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. If I may ask, where is Julia?”

“She has gone to see Sally. Sam has, as well.” He turned from the table. “They are taking her home.”

Good, she thought. He will look after them both. Emily thought how blessed Julia was to have a husband like Sam. He was a man of strong conviction, and compassion, as well. Emily hoped she would one day find someone of equal character.

Her parents did, too, and the sooner the better.

Though at twenty-four she was hardly an old maid, they repeatedly encouraged her not to spend all her time volunteering in the hospital.

“Life is not all service and duty,” her mother insisted. “The occasional ball or outing will do you no harm. You are young and pretty, and you should give consideration to your future.”

Emily sighed. She missed the days of music and laughter and she liked silk and satin as well as any other girl, but the young men in her social circle, the sons of lawyers and city politicians, held little interest for her. She had always imagined her heart belonging to some preacher or backwoods missionary rather than a polished gentleman of Southern society.

I want to serve God and His human creation with my whole heart, she thought. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. My husband will be a man of faith, of courage and compassion.

She didn’t know where or when she might find such a man, but Emily knew one thing for certain. She would recognize him when she did.

But such dreams must be postponed until the end of the war. For now, I must do my duty.

The evening bell chimed and the night matron came on duty. Mrs. Danforth was a round little woman of about fifty or so who never lacked a smile.

“Good evening, dearie,” she said. “And how are the boys today?”

Emily quickly gave her an overview of each man’s condition. Although the woman was dedicated to the Union and wore a blue rosette on her apron proclaiming such, Emily had no hesitancy in leaving the Confederate men in her charge. She was a kind, Christian woman.

She was anxious, however, concerning Dr. Mackay. He still had not returned from the emergency in the next room. Though she had no desire to run the risk of being lectured by him again, she was reluctant to leave Mrs. Danforth shorthanded, especially given what had just happened with Billy.

“Should I stay until he returns?”

The older woman waved her off. “Bless ya, no. He may be hours still. He’s been called to surgery. Some poor Texas boy is in a difficult way.”

Emily’s heart sank. She knew by what she’d witnessed that afternoon that Dr. Mackay was a capable physician, but the poor man now under his knife would need more than skillful surgery. He would need encouragement, compassion—and those were things the Federal doctor would not give.

“Fetch your basket, dearie,” Mrs. Danforth urged. “Your family will be expecting you.”

That was certain. Her parents would worry if she was late and she did not want Joshua, their driver, to be kept waiting at the dock. Gathering her personal items, she bid everyone good-night and left the ward.

Reverend Zachariah Henry and his wife, Eliza, both delegates of the Christian Commission, were departing, as well. Emily met them at the main entrance. Reverend Henry tipped his topper. He smiled.

“Well, Miss Davis, how was your day?”

“Well enough,” she said as they descended the long wooden ramp leading to the street.

Eliza patted her arm. She must have sensed Emily’s thoughts were still with the wounded men. “You must learn to leave your charges in God’s hands,” she said gently. “He will watch over them.”

She was right of course, but it was a task easier said than done. “Are the two of you going home for the evening?” she asked.

“Shortly,” Reverend Henry said. “First we will stop at Apollo Hall.”

The Baltimore chapter of the commission had rented several floors of the building for the sorting and distribution of Bibles and supplies. The items were given to Federal soldiers and sailors in town and in the nearby army camps. The commission also cared for the prisoners of war in the hospitals and forts. The reverend and his wife had the opportunity to personally minister to wounded men on the battlefield following Antietam. Emily respected the couple greatly.

“We want to see how many cases are ready for distribution,” he said.

Emily knew what he was referring to. She had helped to pack a few of those cases herself. The long numbered boxes looked as though they carried muskets, but in reality they were full of foodstuffs and medical supplies.

“Do you need any assistance?” she asked.

“Oh no,” Eliza answered. “We’ll see to it. You go home and rest. One never knows what opportunities tomorrow will bring.”

Opportunities was the word Eliza always used in the place of challenges or difficulties. The latter, she insisted, were invitations to see God’s hand at work, to draw on His strength. Emily smiled slightly. She wondered how many opportunities Dr. Mackay would present her with tomorrow.

“Oh, there’s Joshua,” Eliza said. “We will see you in the morning.”

Emily bid the Henrys a good-night, then walked toward her father’s carriage. Her muscles ached. Her eyes were heavy. She hoped she would be able to stay awake long enough to reach home.

* * *

Despite his best efforts, the surgery was not successful. A pair of orderlies carried the dead man out. Nurses now prepared his bed for another. Exhausted, Evan took a moment to catch his breath before beginning evening rounds. He stared out the window. Sunset was upon the city, painting the warehouses in a softer glow.

Back in Pennsylvania, before the war, this was his favorite time of the day. He’d put his office in order, saddle his stallion and gallop for home. He would race back to Mary and her smile, to Andrew and whatever outrageous tale he would spin that day.

But that was before Baltimore.

Evan’s eyes fell upon a woman below. He recognized her as his nurse, the one who’d dared go toe-to-toe with him in the corridor. He watched as she climbed into a carriage manned by what looked to be a slave and was promptly whisked away. He grunted.

I was right about her. She may have shown compassion in regards to Andrew, but she is no different than any other Maryland rebel, still holding on to her slaves even though President Lincoln has issued his Emancipation Proclamation.

And rebel slaveholders serving as nurses, whispering anti-Unionist words, was poison in this place. The woman may have somehow won the respect of the commission and the officers here in charge, but not him.

The Federal commander at Fort McHenry should have made good on his threat at the beginning of the war to fire his guns on Baltimore. If he had quelled the Southern ladies and gentlemen’s taste for rebellion, the war would be over now. Countless lives could have been saved.

It would have been too late for Andrew but perhaps not for Mary. Instead he had lost both of them.

“Dr. Mackay?”

A female voice invaded his thoughts. He turned to find the night matron, a good patriotic woman, standing before him.

“Beg your pardon, Doctor, but it’s time for the evening medication.”

“Aye,” he said. “Of course.”

They went back to the ward. She had already secured a tray. Evan walked to the locked cabinet at the far end of the room. He took out a key from his inner vest pocket, unlocked the door, then started laying out the various pills and powders.

He made his rounds, distributing the necessary medication to each prisoner. When he came to the bed of the rebel major, the one Little Miss Baltimore was so bent on comforting, he told the family, “Visiting hours are now over.”

The father, gray-headed and wearing spectacles, politely protested. “Doctor, I am a physician myself. I would like to stay. Perhaps I can be of service to you.”

You should have been of service two years ago, when the streets ran red with patriotic blood. “I am afraid that is impossible, sir,” Evan said, deliberately disregarding the man’s title. Professional courtesy did not extend to rebel doctors. “You may return on the morrow.”

The man looked as though he would argue the point. Evan stretched to his full height. He stood a good six inches above the man. He leveled his most scrutinizing glare.

“Very well, then,” the rebel doctor said, and he encouraged his wife to say goodbye.

She did so, though the boy in the bed simply stared past her. The pair was slow in exiting, but Evan stood his ground until the door shut solidly behind them. He then took what was left from the dispensary tray and sent the nurse away. He inspected the Johnny’s wound. The site was healing satisfactorily, so Evan replaced the bandages, then moved on.

When his rounds were complete, he tramped off to his quarters, a postage-stamp room with a cot, a wash basin and a view of the city he so detested. After pulling off his soiled shirt, he lay down and tried to find a comfortable position. The bed was much too short for his body.

Despite being exhausted, he struggled for hours to find peace. When sleep finally did claim him, he dreamed of Andrew and then Mary.

* * *

Emily was awakened by Abigail’s gentle nudge.

“Rise and shine. You don’t wanna be late, now. I’ve drawn you a cool bath and laid out a fresh dress for you to wear.”

Though the precious hours of sleep had not been nearly long enough, Emily gave her friend a smile. After tending all day to wounded men it was nice to have someone look after her.

“Bless you, Abigail. You are a treasure.”

The woman’s dark, round face lit up with a wide smile. Abigail had come into service in Emily’s home only a year ago. She and her husband, Joshua, recently married, had been slaves in the household of one of Emily’s father’s clients. When the man had died, he had left a considerable amount of debt. As a lawyer it was her father’s job to oversee distribution of the estate, to make peace with the man’s creditors.

Rather than see Abigail and Joshua sold once again on the slave auction block, he ransomed the pair himself. Because he found slavery so abhorrent, he then promptly drew up papers granting Joshua and Abigail their freedom.

“We knowed right away your father was a good man,” Abigail once told Emily. “So we asked to come to work for him.”

Emily was so glad they had. As an only child, with parents heavily involved in professional and civic responsibilities, the house at times could be quite lonely. Abigail became the older sister Emily had never had. They laughed. They shared secrets. They encouraged one another in their faith.

“Hurry now,” Abigail urged. “Your mama will have breakfast on the table shortly.”

Emily readied herself, then stepped into a gray cotton day dress with tight-fitting coat sleeves. The simple style would serve her well in the hospital.

“That shorter hemline will work better for you, I believe,” Abigail said. “Your dress from the other day is still soakin’. That dark ring ’round the bottom hasn’t yet come clean.”

“No matter how many times they scrub, that hospital floor is still filthy,” Emily said. The West’s Buildings needed an army of scrub maids alone just to keep up with the task. She wondered if Dr. Mackay would permanently transfer her to that brigade after what she had said to him yesterday.

Emily fastened the hooks and eyes of her bodice, then adjusted her collar. Abigail smiled. “I declare, you are just as pretty in gray cotton as in pink silk. You’ll be cheerin’ those poor men right nicely.”

The thought of Dr. Mackay’s grief-stricken face suddenly passed through Emily’s mind. He had looked so lost when she inquired of his brother.

“You be thinkin’ of a particular soldier?” her friend asked.

“No. Well, I suppose so. A Yankee doctor.”

“Um-hmm,” Abigail said as she took the brush from Emily’s hand and began to arrange her hair. “He handsome?”

“Handsome?” He wasn’t particularly ugly, yet then again, how could Emily really say? She had only seen him once, for sixty seconds at the most, without a scowl on his face. “He’s a big tall tree of a man. A Scotsman.”

“Um-hmm. Like them ones in your poetry book?”

Emily let out a laugh, knowing where Abigail’s thoughts were headed. “Oh, far from it! All this man does is bark orders and frown. He makes more work for us than any other doctor. Do you know he insists on washing his hands after tending to each man?”

“Does he?”

“Yes, and not in the wash basin, mind you. Fresh water each time. Our ward goes through more buckets than the entire hospital combined. He is dreadful to work with and he treats us all as enemies.”

She stopped, realizing how foolish she sounded. Whatever she’d had to endure at the hand of Dr. Mackay was nothing compared to what Abigail and Joshua had faced.

“I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me to complain so.”

Abigail’s face, however, showed not the slightest offence. “He just sounds like a soldier in need of cheerin’ to me.”

Her kindness often amazed Emily. Of anyone, Abigail had the most reason to be bitter. Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation had taken effect earlier that year, but the document only proclaimed freedom to slaves in states of rebellion. Maryland had been kept in the Union by force. Since the state had not seceded, slavery was still legal, and the occupying army didn’t appear to be in any hurry to change that.

Furthermore, while many on the Confederate side did not support slavery, a great many did. Emily once asked Abigail what she thought of her tending to such men.

“Please be honest with me. Does it trouble you?”

“At times,” she admitted. “But then I think ’bout that verse in the Bible. ‘Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you.’ I don’t reckon this world will change much if we don’t start takin’ the Lord’s message to heart.”

Abigail finished setting the pins in Emily’s hair. “Your kindness to that Yankee doctor and to them other soldiers could go a long way,” she insisted. “You remember that.”

Emily nodded. She would try.

After breakfast the family went their separate ways. Emily’s mother was off to a bandage drive for the local hospitals, and her father had business at Fort McHenry.

Joshua drove her to the harbor, where a ghastly sight met her eyes. The Westminster trains had brought new wounded. Scores of bleeding, sick men lay once more along the docks. She could hear them begging for water and other simple necessities. Army personnel and many volunteers scurried about.

“Shall I stay with ya, Miss Emily?” Joshua offered. “Looks like ya could use the help.”

She wanted to say yes but feared in this chaotic environment Joshua would soon be commandeered as a slave, at least temporarily.

“Thank you, Joshua, but no. Perhaps you should return home.”

He nodded and tipped his slouch hat. “I’ll be by at sunset to collect you.”

“Thank you.”

It was only after he had rolled away that Emily realized that in her shock over the sight before her, she’d left her basket and bonnet in the carriage. She would need covering from the sun as the day wore on.

But a few freckles will do me no harm, she thought. I’ll make do. She turned for the docks.

Her heart broke. The cries of suffering rose around her and it was almost impossible to walk without stepping on a wounded man. Swallowing back her emotions, she found a water bucket and went to work. Emily doled out the precious liquid and gently wiped dust-caked faces. While doing so, she glanced down the dock. Trudy, Elizabeth and Rebekah had each arrived. They were doing the same.

Surgeons raced back and forth. Confederates and Federal soldiers alike were begging for their attention. The injured men were in desperate need of pain medication. Although they had been tended to in the field hospitals, many also needed suturing. In some cases the train to Baltimore had caused as much damage as the battlefield.

Help them, Lord.

Before she could even finish the thought, Dr. Mackay came storming toward her. His white collar was soaked with sweat, his shirtsleeves and blue vest already stained.

“Don’t just stand there, Nurse! Put down the bucket and follow me!”

She handed it to a nearby woman and hurried after him.

Deep amidst the wounded men an orderly stood holding three skeins of yarn. Dr. Mackay took them from the man and quickly dismissed him. He then handed the skeins to her, along with a pair of scissors.

“Now, do exactly as I say.”

Do what? she wondered. What good is yarn among thirsty and bleeding men? They need water! That is what we always do first!

“We will take this section here,” he said, waving his big hand over the general area where they stood. “Red for immediate care. Green for those to go to Fort McHenry. Blue for the transport steamers north. Understand?”

Of course she didn’t understand. She glanced about. No one else had yarn. They were armed with buckets and bandages. “Excuse me?”

Frustration filled his face. That vein at the top of his collar was bulging again. “Tie the appropriate color to the man’s left arm, according to what I tell you!”

In her confusion, she said the first thing that came to mind. “What if he has no left arm?”

“Then tie it to the right one! Come!”

He pulled at her sleeve. It was all Emily could do not to recoil from his touch. What is he about to do? Sort the men into lots? Give the Federal soldiers a red ribbon, permission for care, while tossing the wounded Confederates into carts and hauling them off to prison?

Emily shuddered. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Lord, what should I do?

If she continued to allow him to drag her along she may end up sending Confederate soldiers to their deaths, yet if she challenged him, the berating she’d surely receive would consume any time she could spend caring for the men.

Give me wisdom, she prayed, yet none came.

Dr. Mackay let go of her arm when they reached a pallet of wounded Federal soldiers. “Red yarn,” he ordered. “All three of them.”

No surprise here.

She did as commanded. He sprinkled powdered morphine directly into their wounds while she knelt to wipe the blood from the first man’s face with her apron.

“Bless you, miss,” the soldier said.

“No! Follow me!”

Emily was thoroughly confused. “I tie a string to his arm giving permission for care and then I leave him?”

Without any explanation, he went on. She felt she had no choice at that point but to follow.

“These here...red string.”

Dr. Mackay had her tie the same color onto three other soldiers in blue and then, much to her surprise, on two Confederate men. However, she was not allowed to touch any of them further. When they reached the pallet of one shoeless soldier, Dr. Mackay said flatly, “This rebel is dead.”

He didn’t even stop to close the man’s eyes. He left him staring heavenward. Emily’s heart ached. Red string, red string, blue, blue, green...They continued through the maze of broken, mud-crusted bodies.

Though Emily still thought his actions were ridiculous, she was beginning to see a pattern. Those with superficial injuries, Yankees of course, were tagged for transport north. Confederates able to stand were marked for Fort McHenry. She was surprised at the number of wounded prisoners of both sides who the doctor deemed worthy of the red ribbon. She was horrified, however, at the number who received no marker at all, only a little morphine.

One such man happened to be a Federal sergeant with a gaping hole in his chest. When Dr. Mackay turned away from him, Emily could stand it no longer. She grabbed his arm. He looked back at her, obviously annoyed.

“But he’s one of yours! Do something, please! Can’t you hear him? He’s in terrible pain!”

The doctor’s face softened slightly. “The powder will help,” he said.

“But—”

He bent low to her ear. “There isn’t anything to be done. Why the field surgeons sent him here is beyond me.” He freed himself from her grasp. “Come...there are still others.”

Armed with nothing more than the useless string, Emily continued on. When she reached the last man in their section and tied her last marker, Dr. Mackay turned and said, “Now go back to the ones with the red ribbons. Apply clean dressing to those that have been tended to.”

“And when I have finished? What of the ones with no string?”

His jaw twitched. He raked back his hair, which had curled even more in the July humidity. “Aye. Comfort them as best as you are able.” He then pointed to a supply wagon. It was filled with baskets of bandages. “Take that with you.”

He waded back through the mangled mass of humanity from which they had just come. As she watched him go, Emily noticed for the first time what had been happening behind her.

Jeremiah Wainwright and several volunteers from the commission, including Eliza Henry, were already at work. One gave water to all; another washed away mud; still another was removing soiled bandages.

Two other assistant surgeons as well as Dr. Mackay were now tending to wounds. They were doing so not according to which army the men served, but by the rank of the colored yarn.

It may have been unconventional, but Emily now saw the wisdom in his plan. While other sections were scrambling from one wounded soldier to the next, her portion of the dock was running in an orderly progression.

I misjudged him, she thought. Forgive me, Lord.

She snatched the basket of bandages from the wagon and ran after him.

* * *

The sun was now high in the sky and the temperature was rising. Emily’s head burned.

Of all the days to forget my bonnet, she thought.

But the cries of those around her made her forget her own discomfort.

If these poor soldiers can march through fields and furrows without complaint, under the baking sun, then so can I.

She continued through the rows, applying bandages, offering prayers and encouraging words. Dr. Mackay moved just a few paces in front of her. He was back to barking orders.

“Steward, move this man to surgery! Clean up this pallet! Fetch me a fresh bucket of water!”

As she dressed the wounds, Emily watched boys in blue, many younger than she, scramble to do his bidding. She felt sorry for them. It seemed even Unionists were terrified of Dr. Mackay.

Abigail’s verse drifted through her mind. Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Knowing that compassion should be shown to surly Yankees as well, Emily set down her basket and went to Eliza Henry.

Going out of my way to show kindness to him might encourage a little on his part. It might ensure better treatment of the wounded men.

“Cup of water for you, dear?” the woman asked when Emily approached her.

“Please.”

She drew out a tin cup from the cloth pouch on her shoulder, then scooped up the water.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

Emily marched straight to the blistering Scotsman. The man had just finished ordering a Federal nurse to bring him more thread. She looked as though she was about to cry.

“But there isn’t any more,” she insisted. “We are almost out of iron wire, as well!”

“Then procure some from another section.”

“The other surgeons are almost out.”

“Then go down to one of the shops and purchase some!”

The woman ran off, apparently to do just that. Emily touched his sweat-drenched sleeve. He turned, practically glaring at her.

Kind words for him in short supply, she had to rely on action alone. Emily handed him the cup. Emptying it in one gulp, he rubbed his glistening forehead with the back of his hand and then returned to work.

There was no thank-you.

“I may know of some available thread,” she said.

He pulled a piece of lead as long as her finger from a man’s arm. “Then by all means, fetch it!”

Tucking the cup into her skirt pocket, she hurried for the hospital. She was certain she would find Julia inside at her usual post. Her friend always kept a carpetbag with her full of knitting or sewing projects. If anyone had thread, it would be her.

The West’s Buildings felt like a furnace. Emily scarcely believed inside could be hotter than the outside under the baking sun, but it was. The heat made her a little light-headed, but she climbed the staircase quickly.

As she had hoped, Julia was seated beside Edward’s bed, fanning and reading aloud from the Psalms. He was ignoring her. She turned as Emily approached, then gasped.

“Oh, Em! Your face is as red as a ripe strawberry!”

Emily wasn’t surprised. “I forgot my sunbonnet and we have been treating the new wounded outside all morning.”

“Then by all means, take mine.”

Julia reached for a lovely little green silk bonnet on the table beside her. Emily appreciated her gesture but couldn’t be certain it would survive the day.

“That’s sweet, but what I really need is thread. Have you any?”

“Of course. Right here.” She reached into her bag. “I have two spools...gray and black.”

“May I have them both? We are completely out.”

“Certainly.”

Emily slipped them into her pocket alongside Dr. Mackay’s cup. She leaned closer to take a quick peek at Edward, but could tell there was no change.

As she straightened up, Julia set her bonnet on Emily’s head and quickly tied a pretty bow.

“Thank you,” Emily said, “but I can’t promise I’ll be able to return it in any condition for you to wear again.”

Her friend waved her off. “It is a small price to pay for those caring for our men.”

As they walked toward the door, Emily asked about Sally.

“She took the news as well as could be expected,” Julia said.

“Poor thing.”

“She and her father have gone to the battlefield to look for themselves.”

Oh dear, Emily thought. So the Hastings family has gone to search for Stephen’s body, to bring him home for a proper burial. “If you hear from her, will you let me know?”

“Of course.”

Only then, as Emily gave a quick glance around the room, did she notice another soldier now occupied Billy’s bed. Her heart immediately squeezed, for she knew what must have happened.

“He died during the night,” Julia said, guessing what she was thinking. “Jeremiah said the Scottish doctor took him to surgery, but the poor man didn’t survive the operation.”

Though civility compelled at least a moment of pause, an acknowledgment of a life that had passed, Emily knew there was not time. Dr. Mackay needed his supplies. Outside was a dock full of soldiers who could still be saved.


Chapter Four

Little Miss Baltimore had returned, sporting a green silk bonnet straight out of the women’s fashion magazines. When he had told the army nurse to go to the store and buy supplies, he didn’t think this woman would actually seize the opportunity to do some shopping.

But then again, she is a Southern volunteer. I shouldn’t expect anything different. She has at least procured two spools of thread.

“Will these do?” she asked, as if concerned that the color of the man’s stitches might clash with his ensemble.

He took them from her. “This is no garden party.”

She stared at him, eyes wide.

Is she really that dense? “As soon as I finish, bandage him up. Understand?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“And be careful not to spoil that lovely bonnet.”

She blinked. Evan couldn’t tell if she was still unable to comprehend his comment or if she was simply choosing to ignore him. If it was the latter, then he complimented her. After yesterday’s debate over who started this war, at least she was learning to hold her tongue.

He finished suturing, then moved on, patching up every brave boy in blue, every Johnny sporting a red string. The Southern nurse stayed just one step behind him. Evan eyed her repeatedly.

At least she follows my instructions today without argument, without hurling something at me like I am certain she so often wishes to do.

He was no fool. He had seen the disgust, the mistrust in her eyes. She’d thought he was going to sort the wounded into lots by allegiance, treat the loyal and then leave her beloved coconspirators for dead.

He wouldn’t do that. He may despise them but he would do his best to save them. He would do his duty, and to do so efficiently, he could not take time to think about the ones, like the reb from last night, who didn’t survive.

There was a new school of thought circulating among some doctors in regard to how mass casualties should be treated. Many doubted its effectiveness, but Evan had seen it work firsthand. By sorting the wounded into those who could be saved and then in order of urgency of treatment, more could be cared for in a shorter amount of time. He had also learned that assigning a different task to each member of his staff, whether it be cleaning or bandaging, made the process easier.

He glanced about the dock, noting that physicians were scrambling in other sections, while wounded still cried out in pain.

If only they would be willing to embrace new ideas.

Even something as simple as the repeated washing of hands and instruments to help combat the spread of infection was scoffed at by many doctors. Evan cringed every time he saw a surgeon in the field hospital hack off a limb, wipe his saw on his coattails and then move on to the next man.

No wonder so many of our men are dying. For every one the rebs kill, disease takes two.

He continued on, probing, packing, stitching. Mercifully, his thread held until he finished the last of the soldiers marked in red. He walked back through the area, stretching his leg muscles and working the knot from his neck while he checked on his nurse’s progress.

She was actually doing quite well, in spite of her ridiculous bonnet.

The supply wagons were unloaded and Evan still continued. In the hospital the ward masters were emptying all beds possible to make space for the new arrivals. He gave orders to the stewards as to which red-tagged men should be moved inside. He also gave instructions for removal of the dead. In this suffocating heat, speed was of the utmost importance. Nearly all of the wounded Evan had left untagged had expired.

Only one remained.

The Pennsylvania sergeant missing most of his chest was still gasping for breath. She was with him, holding his hand. As he approached, he overheard their conversation.

“I prayed, ever so hard. Beggin’ God to let me see you just once more.”

“Hush now,” she encouraged. “Save your strength.”

“All that’s left for me now, girl, is eternity. But, don’t you cry....”

Evan watched as she smoothed back the sergeant’s hair. The look on his face told him it wouldn’t be long now. She must have known it, as well.

“Have you made your peace with God?” she asked gently. “Do you know Christ as your Savior?”

“Now, darlin’,” he said, “you know I do. Made that decision a long time ago, I did.”

He sputtered. Her shoulders trembled.

“I love you, Anna.”

“I love you....”

Regret shot through Evan, a feeling he knew all too well. No wonder she begged me to save him. But who could have known she would have a sweetheart serving in the United States army?

He moved closer, knowing there was nothing that could be done, yet wishing there was. His collar grew so tight that he had trouble breathing. Memories washed over him. The little lass was doing what he wished he could have done, what he should have done.

Mary...

The rattle began and the man struggled to draw his final breaths. She held on, steady to the end, his hand in hers. When the sergeant died, it was with a smile on his face.

Only then did her unbridled tears fall. Evan stepped forward and closed the soldier’s eyes. When she looked up at him, he was pierced by grief.

Despite knowing some rebel shell had caused all this, despite Andrew’s death and her being a citizen of this dreadful city, something inside him wished to comfort her. He realized up until now he hadn’t even bothered to learn her name.

“I’m sorry, Anna.” He stumbled on the words. “I had no idea who he was.”

She blinked once, twice, wiped her eyes. “Emily.”

“Say again?”

“My name is Emily.”

She slowly regained her composure. Evan looked at her, befuddled. “He called you Anna.”

“He mistook me for his wife. I didn’t have the heart to correct him.”

Tears drying, she stood, methodically covering the man with his own bedroll. Evan could feel his anger building. He wasn’t certain for whom he felt the emotion, for the poor soldier who’d been mislead or for himself.

He had felt sorry for a rebel.

“You deliberately misrepresented yourself,” he said.

“I told him what he wished to hear.”

“Aye. I’m certain that came quite easily. You Baltimore women are skilled in the art of treachery.”

She flinched. He knew his words had stung.

“He prayed he would see his beloved Anna once more,” she said. “Would you have me deny the final wish of a dying man?”

“Are you in the place of God? Have you the power to grant requests as you see fit?”

Her cheeks flushed red. She looked as though she would fire back once again, but he didn’t give her the opportunity.

“Go report to Dr. Turner, and for goodness’ sake, do your best not to cause any more trouble!”

Without further word, she turned. He went back to work.

* * *

I was not trying to cause trouble! Emily swallowed back the words, those and many more, as she stomped away. There is no point reasoning with a man like him. Arrogant...hardheaded...I don’t care how skilled a physician he is! I wish the army would send him on!

She made her way to Dr. Turner’s section of the dock. There a horde of Federal soldiers was keeping guard over the Confederate men lining up for the three-mile march to Fort McHenry. Dr. Turner was treating the last of the superficial wounds.

“Dr. Mackay said I should now report to you,” Emily told him.

He tied a bandage around a young soldier’s arm. “Wonderful,” he said without looking up. “Go and help Miss Elizabeth. I am certain she must be quite tired by now.”

“Yes, sir.”

If Dr. Mackay had meant for her relocation to be a punishment, it was not. Emily would gladly work under Dr. Turner any day.

She saw Elizabeth at a distance, armed with a drinking gourd and a bucket of water. She was going to each dust-covered man. When Emily caught her eye, she smiled, then motioned to another water bucket nearby. Emily quickly grabbed it.

Thanks to the combination of the altercation with the ill-tempered Scotsman and the blazing sun, Emily’s head was now pounding. She wanted to rest but dared not do so. The Federal soldiers had given orders. Already the column of ragtag Confederates was beginning to march. Emily hurried to give a drink to as many of them as possible before they departed.

She offered some to a Virginia man and a Tennessean. A shoeless old man from Alabama tipped his slouch hat but then gave the cup to his exhausted comrade beside him.

“God bless ya, miss.”

“God keep you, sir.”

The afternoon heat was stifling. Emily’s cotton dress clung to her and her petticoats felt more like wet wool than light silk. The column moved faster. Several men in tow struck up the song “Bonnie Blue Flag,” but they were stopped by the Federals before they could reach the first Hurrah! She ladled out the water as fast as she could, but by now her stomach was rolling. Was it her imagination or was the ground shifting beneath her feet?

“Steady there, girl!” Dr. Turner suddenly tugged her back from the marching men. He felt her cheeks and forehead. “I fear the sun has taken its toll on you. You need to rest. Your face is like a New England lobster!”

Her knees were unsteady, her eyesight fuzzy. Something was terribly wrong. She knew she needed to sit. But if I take leave, they will be a nurse short. It will mean more work for everyone else, less care for Confederate men.

“When was the last time you had anything to drink?” Dr. Turner asked.

Elizabeth appeared over his shoulder. She, too, looked concerned.

Emily struggled to put thoughts into words. “I...I...”

“Come now. Let’s find you a nice, quiet place—”

“But Dr. Mackay said—”

“I am certain Evan agrees with me. Don’t you, young man?”

Oh, no... The heavy bucket slipped out of her hands, water spilling all over the cobblestone. As Emily hurried to right it, her eyes darkened.

A strong pair of arms swept her upward.

* * *

She awoke sometime later to the feel of a cool cloth on her forehead. Elizabeth was hovering over her, a palmetto fan in her hand.

“Where am I?” Emily asked when her vision fully cleared. The room was small, relatively quiet. She had never seen it before.

“Dr. Mackay’s room.”

“What?” Emily ran her fingers over the rough muslin sheet. She was aghast at the thought of occupying his cot, mortified when she saw her stockings tossed across a nearby chair.

“It was the only place right now that offered any privacy,” Elizabeth insisted. “He deposited you here, then told me how to care for you.”

Emily’s embarrassment subsided, but only somewhat. “Did he order you to deliver me to Fort McHenry upon my recovery?”

“Whatever for?”

“For my prison term. He calls me a woman of treachery and finds me incompetent at that.”

“He must not find you that treacherous. He said I was to do everything in my power to bring about your swift recovery.”

Emily blinked and slowly raised up on her elbows. She was still a little light-headed. “He said that?”

Elizabeth removed the cloth, soaked it in the nearby wash basin. She then thrust a cup of cold water under Emily’s nose. “Drink,” she commanded sweetly.

The water slid down her parched throat. Emily downed the entire contents in two very unladylike gulps.

“He even went to the cook and secured these.” Elizabeth handed her two fresh peaches and a slice of hardtack. “He said to eat it all, though I would seriously reconsider the hardtack, especially if you want to keep all of your teeth.”





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