Читать книгу An Unlikely Union - Shannon Farrington - Страница 12

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.