Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for Christmas\The Secret Princess\Taming the Texas Rancher\An Unlikely Union (78 page)

She thought what a contradiction he was. One moment he was scolding her for kindness shown to a dying man, the next he was going out of his way to tend to her needs.

She cringed.
He has more important matters to oversee than my needs. There is a dock full of wounded outside. More probably on the way.
Scooting to the edge of the cot, she said to Elizabeth, “Hand me my stockings, will you?”

“Whatever for?”

“I need to get back to work.”

“Oh, no you don’t! Dr. Mackay gave strict orders that once you regain your strength you are to leave the hospital. Sam and Julia are waiting to escort you home.”

Emily leaned back against the wall, air slowly leaking from her lungs.
Now I see...

The Federal doctor wasn’t fussing over her health because he valued her skills as a nurse. She was a “rebel” and he was using the excuse of her frailty to get rid of her.

* * *

Now a nurse short and faced with a dock full of army bureaucrats who wouldn’t even consider the thought of adapting to new medical procedures, Evan struggled to tend to the battle wounded in sections not his own.

Every lad in blue reminded him of Andrew and every one that he came upon too late made him curse this war and the rebels who had started it all. Were it not for them he would be home in Pennsylvania, back in his little two-room office, stitching up the busted knees of little boys
playing
war.

At the end of the day he would put out the lamps and gallop home. The wheat fields would be ripe for harvest, the sky vast and blue, much like the old country itself. At his doorpost Mary would be waiting. She would seize him, kiss him full on the lips. Then she would take his hand and lead him to the kitchen, where supper would be waiting on the stove. There would be fresh bread, beef stew, peach pie. Afterward they would sit by the fire. She would coax him into reading Burns, and he would promise her shelter and love and that she would always be his queen.

He had failed her on all three promises. For Evan knew if he had truly been a man of his word he would have heeded her warning.

“Forgive, my love. You are actin’ out of anger. You seek revenge, you do. Not justice.”

He wouldn’t listen. The army had to stop the rebellion, had to preserve the Union, and
he
had to do his part. “I must go. This enemy is relentless. More boys will fall.”

“Aye,” she’d said. “And they will need a competent physician, but tending to them will not ease your heart. It will not bring Andrew back to you.”

She was right, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

The man before him, a New Yorker, flinched.

“Hold still now, lad,” Evan said to him. “I’ll be as quick and as nimble as I can.”

“Yes, Doc.”

The soldier was sporting a gash from his ear to his chin, courtesy of a rebel bayonet. It had been sutured poorly at the field hospital and the stitches had ripped open. Evan did his best to mend the damage done, to reassure the man.

“Don’t worry now. Your lass will view your scar as a mark of bravery and honor.”

Or at least he hoped she would. Evan had been telling the same story to every U.S. soldier for the past two years.

Though not a day went by that he didn’t regret his decision to leave Mary, he did the best he could to make a difference. He had patched up the Army of the Potomac one battle at a time, cared for men throughout General McClellan’s blunders and now George Meade’s glory. He knew that his medical skill had served to save lives...but his stubborn insistence on leaving Pennsylvania behind to join in the war had cost him the life he valued above all others.

Evan hoped somehow God would forgive him for his foolishness.
But so far, I continue to pay for my sins...

He could almost hear Mary’s voice in his ear.
Forgiveness doesn’t come by way of earnin’ it. It comes by askin’.

But asking and receiving are two different matters,
Evan thought.
And God has seen fit to say no or else He would not have sent me to Baltimore.

The sun finally dipped low in the hazy, midsummer sky. Whatever men could be brought inside were moved. Steamers carried a vast number to points north and a steady stream of rebel prisoners were marched to the makeshift prison pens at Fort McHenry. Of those that still remained on the docks, most of them were rebs. They were guarded by sentinels and looked after by the night nurses, who were now coming on duty.

Bone-weary, skin blistered from all day in the sun, Evan climbed the staircase to his quarters, suddenly recalling the woman he had left in them. He had forgotten the little Southern miss until now. He was pleased to find she no longer occupied the room. He didn’t want to look at another person in need. Closing the door solidly behind him, he hoped to shut out the sounds of moaning, the stench of rebellion. He turned for his bed.

There on the cot, atop freshly smoothed sheets, lay a letter addressed to him. The script was precise yet gentle.

I thank you most graciously for your kindness and expertise shown today on my behalf. I apologize for any inconvenience I have caused you. I will adhere to your strict order of two days convalescence at home. Thereafter, I shall return to the hospital, eager to resume any and all duties.

It was signed, “Most appreciatively, Emily E. Davis.”

Evan crumbled the note and tossed it to the desk. He wondered what her high-society friends would think when they beheld her sun-spotted face, wondered how many cries she would utter over the loss of her flawless white skin when it began to peel.

She’ll reconsider her nursing duties when her Southern gentlemen no longer find her attractive. Then the army can fill her position with a loyal volunteer.

* * *

Emily couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so long or so heavily. It must have been sometime before the war. She woke to find a tray of fresh greens and chicken. Evidently she had missed breakfast all together and Abigail had sent up dinner instead.

The fever from the sun’s effects had finally passed, but the skin on her face was now as tight as a drum. Though her stomach was rumbling, she took only small bites. Working her mouth was painful, and yawning, excruciating.

After eating she slipped on a comfortable corded petticoat and wrapper. One look in the mirror confirmed what she had feared; skin so parched and peeling it was hideous to look at. She tried to brush her hair, but her scalp rebelled at the task. Leaving it loose about her shoulders, she headed downstairs.

The house was quiet, but Emily found Abigail in the kitchen, a bushel basket of peaches at her feet and a pot of steaming water on the stove.

“Hello, Abigail,” Emily said as she deposited the meal tray on the table.

Her friend took one look at her and gasped. “Law, Emily...”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But it is only temporary. Trust me. I have seen much worse on the soldiers.”

“I ’magine that, but they used to it...all that marchin’. A lady’s skin should be soft, like these here peaches.”

She tossed a few into the boiling water, then just as quickly immersed them into cold. The skins slipped easily off, revealing soft flesh.

“Wish I could do that.”

“Reckon you do. I got some salve that might help. Want me to fetch it?”

“Not now, but thank you.” Emily scooped out the blanched fruit, then as it cooled, began to chop. “You have a whole bushel?”

“There’s more than that.” Abigail pointed to the corner of the kitchen. Several baskets lined the wall.

“Where did you get them?”

“One of your father’s clients.”

“That was generous.”

“Um-hmm. Don’t know what we gonna do with all of ’um though. Only so much jam and cobbler a family can eat.”

A thought popped into Emily’s head. It must have entered Abigail’s mind at the same time, for she laid aside her spoon and said, “Reckon those soldiers at the hospital would care for some pie?”

Emily smiled, though it was painful to do so. “I was just thinking the same. They are all starved for reminders of home, the guards and stewards, as well. Elizabeth says visitors to her ward have brought in food and they were met with great response.”

But therein lay the problem.
I do not serve in Elizabeth’s ward. What Dr. Turner will welcome, Dr. Mackay more than likely will not.

“Reckon we ought to fix a special pie for that Yankee doctor of yours?”

“Abigail, you are a wise woman.” It may be bribery, and Dr. Mackay may recognize it as such, but Emily was willing to risk his ire for the possibility of showing kindness to the Confederate men. “What man in his right mind would turn down a homemade pie? Especially one living off of army rations? I’ll start on the crust.”

Abigail giggled. “Might wanna add plenty-a sugar.”

“Splendid idea. Maybe we can sweeten him up a little.”

Perhaps then he wouldn’t be so eager to be rid of her.

* * *

Before the breakfast trays had even been delivered, Evan entered the room to find the prisoners eating. In shock, he stood for a moment and stared. It was peach pie, of all things. In between bites the men were reminiscing out loud about jam, cobbler or any other kitchen delight their wife, sweetheart or mother had ever baked.

Even the rebel major seemed to enjoy his slice. Evan watched as he cast his sister a glance and offered the faintest hint of a smile. He knew he should be pleased to see some sort of progress on the Johnny’s part, but he wasn’t. The sight of rebels enjoying themselves was too much for him.

He wasn’t surprised to find Nurse Emily at the center of it all. Evidently, she’d been quite busy during her time of convalescence—or at least, someone in her household had been.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded when she stepped over to meet him.

There was an uncut pie in her hands, a smile pasted on her sunburned face. “Just trying to pass on a little kindness to the men,” she said.

No doubt.
“They are prescribed three proper meals per day.”

“Yes, but a soldier can only stomach beef, beans and rice for so long. Do not worry. I have followed your orders concerning their diets.”

He had noticed that. Those on full diet were hungrily devouring thick slices; those on half, only mashed peaches. Prisoners prescribed low diet had received just a spoonful or two of syrup. He could not argue she had disobeyed his orders. He also realized that not only were the rebels enjoying the treat, his soldiers were, as well. One of the orderlies had crumbs lodged in his beard.

Nurse Emily seemed quite pleased with herself as she then offered up the pie in her hands.

“This one is for you,” she said. “I wanted to thank you again for your kindness toward me the other day.”

A whiff of the sugar and cinnamon drifted past his nose. His mouth watered. Peach pie was his favorite, and Mary had made it quite often. But it wasn’t Mary who had baked this pie. He seriously doubted Nurse Emily had done it, either.

* * *

“Did one of your slaves bake that pie?”

Emily lowered her best defense, stunned.
One of my slaves? Why would he think...? Has he seen Joshua? Does he automatically assume that just because I am a Southerner I think men and women should be kept in chains?

Or,
she wondered,
is he one of those Yankees who believe in emancipation but not equality? Does he refuse to eat food prepared by a Negro?

Emily’s face burned, but it was not because of the sun. She was just about to tell the man what she thought of his haughty attitude, but something nudged her inside.
Giving in to anger will solve nothing. It will set another bad example for the wounded and it may just cost me the opportunity to minister to them further.

She took a deep breath. “
I
made this pie,” she said, “with the assistance of my
friend,
Abigail. She is a free woman.”

His jaw shifted, but what that meant, Emily had no idea. Once more, she gave her most convincing smile and lifted the dish high.

“We thought perhaps you might enjoy something freshly baked, as a reminder of home.”

He did not sniff. He did not show any interest whatsoever. He just stood there, rigid, like the statue atop the city’s 1812 war memorial.

And with a heart just as cold, s
he thought.

Emily tried, goodness knows she did, but beyond what had happened to his brother, she could not feel one ounce of Christian charity toward this man. What she did feel was determination. She would not let him get the best of her. She would not give him an excuse to dismiss her from service.

I will conquer this enemy if it takes me until the end of the war, and I will do it
with a smile.
“If you do not particularly care for peach,” she said, “I understand. By all means, share it with someone else.”