Читать книгу An Unlikely Union - Shannon Farrington - Страница 12

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.”