Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for Christmas\The Secret Princess\Taming the Texas Rancher\An Unlikely Union (82 page)

“It’s working,” she said.

“Aye, though his lungs may continue to fill.”

The sound of snoring soon drifted about them as the other men surrendered to sleep. She and Dr. Mackay kept watch. Vile fluid slowly dripped from the sergeant’s chest into a wash basin. Emily emptied it whenever told to do so.

The hours wore on. Sounds of slumber gave way to distress. Battle orders were issued. Cries were interspersed with cursing. Emily wondered how long it would take her to get used to such noises. Mercifully, Edward stayed in his bed.

“You have done well tonight,” Dr. Mackay said.

The compliment surprised her. He had never paid her one before.

“So have you,” she said. She looked back at Adam, watched his chest rise and fall. “Will he now recover?”

“’Tis difficult to say at this point. Time will tell.”

“I hope so. He has a sweetheart waiting for him back home. They are to be married upon his return.”

Dr. Mackay evidently did not care to know that. He abruptly changed the subject. “How long have you served here?” he asked.

“Since Antietam.”

His left eyebrow arched. He was either impressed or he thought she was lying. “Most women don’t last that long.”

She tried to take those words as a compliment as well, but she wasn’t sure. “I had wanted to go to the battlefield,” she said. “But the commission rarely sends women, and those they do are usually the wives of male delegates.”

“’Tis for your own protection,” he said. “There are a good many things in this world that a lady should not be exposed to. I imagine you have seen enough here already, especially after last night.” He paused then added, “They aren’t honorable, you know.”

Emily bristled but held her tongue. Whether he was referring to Edward directly or the rest of the Confederate army she wasn’t certain. She let the insult pass, knowing retaliation would not foster reconciliation.

Give me grace, Lord.

Several seconds of awkward silence passed. “How is your arm?” he then asked.

“It is healing well.”

“No further swelling?”

“None whatsoever.”

He nodded, then turned his attention back to Adam. His breathing was still labored, but better than previously. Emily watched as Dr. Mackay moved his stethoscope across the sergeant’s chest. When he had finished she asked, “Have you served since the beginning of the war?”

He stiffened. Emily realized the inquiry must have triggered some memory surrounding his brother’s death. She had not meant to cause him pain. Before she could apologize he answered her.

“I received my commission shortly after the war began.”

She nodded. Though curious about a great many things, she did not ask any more questions. Dr. Mackay settled into his chair. Pulling his gold watch from his vest pocket, he studied it for several moments. She took out her volume of Burns. The ward was now quiet.

Somewhere just before sunrise the doctor’s head tipped forward as he fell asleep. Emily studied him in the flickering lamplight. Dark brown hair framed his strong, angular face. His usually neatly trimmed side whiskers now blended with the unshaven stubble of his chin.

She thought him a handsome man, at least now when he wasn’t scowling. As he stretched out his long legs, a peaceful expression filled his face.
He must be dreaming,
she thought.
And those dreams must be carrying him somewhere very far away from this hospital, from this war.

Emily sighed, realizing he also was a troubled man. Whatever he had witnessed on the battlefields and in the tent hospitals must haunt him, as well. Something drifted through his eyes in brief unguarded moments, much like what she had seen in Edward’s when she’d spoken of Culp’s Hill. She knew the loss of his brother brought great grief but sensed there was something more.

Perhaps it was the hours spent nursing or simply her women’s heart, but despite his gruffness, Emily longed to comfort the man.

Chapter Seven

E
van could hear the ward stirring, but his need for sleep and the pleasantness of Mary’s memory kept him from opening his eyes. Caught in that world between slumber and alertness, he could smell the hot coffee, feel her gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Aye, my love. I am awake.”

“Dr. Mackay?”

He opened his eyes, not to his wife, but to Nurse Emily. She was the one with the coffee. The cup was on a tray alongside a biscuit. Disappointment rained down on him. All he wanted to do was return to sleep.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” she said. “But Dr. Turner is asking for you.”

Evan raked back his hair and then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Duty called. “Aye,” he said.

“I thought perhaps you may be hungry.”

He stood and stretched, then reached for the coffee. It tasted like mud. It always did, but at least it helped to wake him.

“Sergeant Cooper is breathing much better.”

It took a second swallow and a bite of the biscuit she’d given him before his memory served him.
The reb with pneumonia.
He honestly didn’t think he would survive the night, but the Almighty had done as He had seen fit.

Once again,
Evan thought.

Nurse Emily was still waiting patiently before him. He wondered why, then remembered something about Jacob Turner. “What was it you said?”

“Dr. Turner asked that you speak with him.”

Evan downed the last of the coffee.

“Shall I take that for you?” she asked.

He handed her the cup. “Thank you.”

He moved toward the door, his gait slowed by his aching muscles and the fog that still clouded his brain.
Another day of drudgery, of probing, patching and piecing them back together. Another day of rotting fish, the stench of rebels and other miserable reminders of this city.

Evan pressed on. He found Jacob Turner in his ward. His old gray head was bent over some Johnny, one still wearing his kepi and artillery jacket as if he expected General Lee to call roll at any moment.

Jacob stood erect when he caught sight of Evan. “Young man, do you remember Colonel Wiggins?”

“Aye. One of the Potomac Brigades, correct?”

“Indeed.”

The colonel was a Maryland man but a true Unionist, brave and inspiring to his men. Evan had treated several of his soldiers following the Antietam campaign.

“The poor chap died of heart trouble,” Jacob said. “He’s being buried today at Green Mount Cemetery.”

Evan felt his shoulders tense.
Another man lost.
True, it was not a rebel bullet that had laid him low, but two years of battling them had surely done the damage to his heart.
His wife is now a widow...his family, his men
grieving.

“Since the wounded are more manageable now,” Jacob said, “there are several of us who plan to go this afternoon and pay our respects. Would you care to join us?”

“I would,” Evan said.
A loyal soldier should be honored and the more Union blue in view for the citizens of Baltimore, the better.
“What time?”

“Four o’clock.”

“I will be there.”

“Well said, young man. I will speak to our commanding officer on your behalf. Dr. Warren has already offered to keep an eye on your ward.”

Later that afternoon Evan stepped into a pair of freshly polished shoes. He put on his brushed blue coat and tied about his waist the green sash which identified him as a medical officer. He climbed into a waiting carriage with several other doctors and settled into the seat. The men immediately began conversing about this and that. Evan wanted to join in, but as the carriage wobbled along Pratt Street his mind centered upon that angry mob, the ones that had encircled his brother, then later claimed the shots by the Northern men were unprovoked.

He could feel his temperature rising. He tugged at his collar. The wool was uncomfortable, especially in this summer heat. A hazy shade of gray hovered over the city.

How appropriate,
he thought.

They arrived at the church. It was crammed full of U.S. soldiers. Women dressed in black silk and crepe cried softly into their handkerchiefs during the eulogy. Wealthy men in stovepipe hats spoke their praise. “The Star-Spangled Banner” was played and a guard gave a crisp, final salute.

High honors for a man who served his country well.

Throughout the entire event, Evan had his mind on one goal. Victory. His certainty of rebel defeat kept his chin high but at the cemetery, as he stared at the flag-draped coffin, his spirit sank. Memories washed over him
. Red, white, blue, Old Glory.
The same field of colors had draped Andrew’s casket. On that day, the April rain had poured down. Mary clutched his arm with one hand and cried into a handkerchief with the other.

I should have comforted her,
he thought.
But I just stood there.
Of all the emotions coursing through him that day, the foremost was anger.

He had looked after his brother since their parents’ early deaths back in Scotland. Andrew was seven years younger than he. The lad was full of life, of faith and eagerness to defend his new country. Evan respected his choice but did not wish to follow. He was too newly married and too much in love to leave Mary. She, herself a transplanted Highlander, was everything to him.

But I should have gone with him. I may not have been able to stop the mob from attacking, but I could have kept his injury from bleeding his life away.

The minister standing before him now talked of Christ and His resurrection. Evan believed all that. He knew there was a Savior, a sacrifice. One day he would see Andrew and Mary again. He clung to the promise of the bliss of eternity, but it was the here and now that was such agony.

I was a fool and I lost her because of it.

Evan knew what the Scriptures said. He heard what the preachers from the Christian Commission proclaimed, saw how the delegates on the battlefield ministered kindly to the wounded of both armies, yet he could not do the same.

Every time he thought of Andrew, every time he saw another flag-draped casket like this one, his anger toward rebs burned hotter.

This is war. There is no room for kindness, for forgiveness, in times like these.

Before he realized it, the minister was giving the benediction. The mourners began stepping away. Evan stood there, feeling the same shame and emptiness he had felt for the past two years. Jacob Turner came to him.

“The family has invited us all back for a meal,” he said.

Evan’s stomach was rumbling, but it had nothing to do with hunger. He appreciated the invitation, but he had no desire to attend with the others. He knew he would be forced to make polite table conversation. It just wasn’t in him. Yet he had no desire to return to his room at the hospital, either. The loneliness was absolutely suffocating.

“Thank you, but no,” he said. “I believe I will take a walk. I’ll see you back at the harbor.”

Jacob nodded. “Time away from this war will do you well, young man. Go seek some sort of uplifting amusement.”

“Aye.” He bid him farewell, then walked away.

Evan had no idea where he would go or what he would do next. While the average man had no trouble finding amusement in this town, the choices weren’t always uplifting. He had never been given to whiskey or any of the other common vices that so often tempted soldiers. His Christian upbringing and his knowledge as a physician tempered any such foolishness. Probably his only real reckless habit had been racing his stallion across the fields back home.

Mary would chide him every time he saddled up.

“Don’t you be ridin’ now like some barbarian across the moors,” she’d say.

He would rear back on his mount and grin. “Come with me, highland girl.”

“No,” she’d say firmly, though the brightness shone in her eyes. “And don’t you be askin’ any other lass to come with you, either.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

Dreams,
he thought. Now dreams were the only place he could meet her.

He walked deeper into the cemetery, passed row after row of headstones. It was not an encouraging place, but the trees and grass were a welcome change from the slate sidewalks and stench of the wharf.

Rounding a large oak, he came upon a second funeral party. Evan immediately stopped. There just a few yards before him another set of women were dressed in black silk. The men wore toppers and stovepipes, but there was no honor guard at this service, no blue wool. A Maryland State flag draped the coffin.

He realized exactly what he had stepped into. It was the graveside service of a rebel. Bile filled his mouth. Just as Evan was about to spit and turn on his heel, he recognized one of the women.

Nurse Emily.

She was supporting a grieving woman about her age. Beside them stood an older man. Evan assumed they were the family of the dead Johnny. The man had pinned to his frock coat a Botany Cross, a symbol that he had seen on the rebel uniforms from Maryland.

He looked back at Emily.
You would attend a traitor’s burial,
he thought.

But as much as he wanted to feel disgust toward her, he couldn’t. He watched as she whispered words to the woman beside her. If she was telling her to curse Yankees and plot revenge, she was doing so with the sweetest, most sympathetic look he had ever seen.

Though his loyalty to Constitution and country commanded him to walk away, he didn’t. He scanned the other faces. There were other women from the hospital present, as well, including pregnant Mrs. Ward. Evan now realized whose burial he had come upon. This was the comrade who tormented the rebel major in his sleep.

The women dabbed their cheeks with their handkerchiefs. The men in attendance, those who had wives, sheltered them protectively with their arms. Nurse Emily continued to comfort the dead man’s relative until she noticed him.

A look of fright drained the color from her face. At one time Evan would have taken pleasure in the response, but he did not do so now. She was his nurse. She had earned his respect in regard to that.

* * *

“What is
he
doing here?” Julia whispered.

“I don’t know.” Emily tried to keep the fear she felt at the sight of Dr. Mackay from showing in her voice. She was not successful. She could hear the tremble in her words.

Had he come to show sympathy or take pleasure in their grief? Seconds later, she had her answer. Reverend Perry, the man who had been Stephen’s minister since childhood, had no sooner spoken the closing prayer than the click clack of boots echoed in her ears. Emily and everyone else turned to see a squad of bluecoats approaching. Sally immediately cried out in fear. Julia did as well the moment the Federal soldiers surrounded the funeral party.

“What is the meaning of this?” Emily’s father asked.

A young lieutenant with an upturned nose announced, “We are here to arrest you rebels, that’s what, by order of the provost marshal.”

Emily’s knees went weak but she tried to remain steady for Sally’s sake. She was clutching her arm.

“I can assure you, sir,” Mr. Davis said, “there are no troublemakers here. Each of these men have signed oaths of loyalty, myself included.”

“What about this one?” The lieutenant pointed to Sally’s father. “This one bears the mark of treason on his chest.”

“The cross belonged to his son. It was all that remained of the boy’s personal effects when they found him. And, yes, Mr. Hastings has also signed an oath.”

“A recent one?”

Emily’s heart was pounding. Her father, Dr. Stanton, Mr. Hastings and Sam had all signed pledges early in the war, yet none of them had signed the current one. When her father failed to immediately answer the question, the lieutenant gave orders.

“Arrest every man but the minister!”

Cries from the women rang out. As the soldiers reached for the men, Emily looked to Dr. Mackay. Her voice failed, but her mind was screaming,
How can you allow this?
How can you be so cruel?

She was stunned when he suddenly stepped forward.

“Lieutenant!” he shouted. “Would you begrudge this family the comfort of a Christian burial simply because the
deceased
was a traitor?”

She held her breath. Apparently so did everyone else around her. Dr. Mackay met the lieutenant where he stood. His jaw was set tightly. His eyes were sharp. The younger, shorter soldier, however, was not intimidated. Secure in his equal rank with Dr. Mackay, he lifted his chin.

“I have been given the authority by Provost Marshal Colonel William Fish,” he announced.

“I realize that,” Dr. Mackay said. “But there is no treason being plotted here today. I appeal to your Christian sympathy. Let these people return home.”