Love Inspired Historical October 2013 Bundle: A Family for Christmas\The Secret Princess\Taming the Texas Rancher\An Unlikely Union (86 page)

When their paths did cross, he made sure the interactions were short. He would order her to gather supplies or to move to another section of the hospital for some menial task. Yet she did not give up. That look of compassion in her eyes remained. Daily she brought him coffee, fresh water or some baked good from home.

Never once did she mention the departure of her beloved rebel major or the ill effects it had had on his sister. On the contrary, she had repeatedly thanked him for his assistance in delivering the baby and tending to the mother. When she gave him reports concerning the child, her blue eyes were wide with joy.

“She grasped my finger today. She is growing so strong!”

Evan was completely baffled. Why did she, a Baltimore woman, insist on speaking to him as though he were her friend? Did she really wish to include him in her happiness, or was she trying to cut out what little remained of his heart, reminding him of the child he had never held?

She is either the most cunning, calculating rebel I have ever met, or she genuinely cares for me as much as her beloved Johnnies.

He wrestled with that thought.
No. That cannot be. She cannot care for me. She may be a Christian and talk of love and forgiveness but this is still Baltimore. I am still her enemy.

* * *

The wards were shuffled once more as another round of rebs arrived the first week of September. Evan wondered if they would ever stop coming.

Because of the load, many of the convalescing prisoners were assigned as “nurses” to assist in the care of their own. Rebel or loyal, Evan didn’t like wounded serving as caregivers. They were often still too weak to lift their comrades or too ignorant to follow instructions properly. He grumbled when one such “nurse” was assigned to his ward.

He was a tall Florida boy. He had been shot in the wrist, and the commanding officers now deemed him capable enough of lending assistance. The reb was competent among his fellow prisoners. He followed orders well enough, but like the rest of his kind, Evan did not trust him.

Something in the Southern boy’s eyes told him to expect trouble.

* * *

More wounded, more hands. At least the latter was a blessing. As the newly arrived Confederate prisoners were settled into wards, extra volunteers were assigned to the hospital. Emily was grateful for a second night nurse, Maggie Branson. It was good to have someone else to talk to when the soldiers’ cries grew loud. Maggie possessed obvious compassion for the wounded men. She treated them with respect. Emily took an immediate liking to her.

It was quite apparent, however, that Dr. Mackay did not think much of her. Then again, he didn’t think much of any woman from Baltimore. Maggie’s family owned a boardinghouse in town.

“For goodness’ sake, Emily,” she said one night shortly after her arrival. “Does that doctor ever offer a kind word?”

He had blown through like a tornado on his evening rounds, barking orders and scolding Maggie for wrapping a bandage in the wrong direction. Emily did not reveal that she knew the true reason for Evan’s stormy temper. She would carry that secret to her grave.

“He is a busy man,” she said simply. “And he has quite a bit on his mind.”

More often than not, Emily found herself defending him. She did so subtly, of course, but consistently. Though she tried to pin the feelings on Christian compassion alone, she was becoming increasingly aware that Evan Mackay stirred more inside her than her sympathy.

But this cannot be,
she told herself.
I cannot take an interest in a man like him. He believes I am nothing more than a dissident bent on destruction.
He despises me.

She knew he was avoiding her. He had gone out of his way to do so ever since that day she had learned of Mary. Though reason told her she should be thankful for the limited contact, Emily often caught herself glancing over her shoulder at night, staring toward the corridor door, hoping for just a glimpse of his face.

“Would that be all right?”

She blinked, realizing Maggie had asked her a question. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Maggie smiled sweetly. “Lewis asked if he may read to some of the men who are having difficulty sleeping.”

Lewis Thornton Powell was a Confederate convalescent not much older than Maggie. He had come from Gettysburg, and his nursing skills had so impressed the officers there that they suggested he assist in Baltimore. Dr. Mackay was against his presence of course, but he had been assigned to the ward anyway.

Emily was thankful for his help. Lewis was both strong and perceptive enough to steer sleepwalking soldiers back to their beds. He was generally quiet and for the most part pleasant. Maggie was evidently a bit taken with him. Emily had noticed the smiles she gave him.

“As long as he doesn’t read anything pertaining to war,” she told Maggie, remembering Evan’s warning.

“Oh no,” she said. “Nothing like that. It’s
Oliver Twist.
”

“That’s fine.”

Maggie rushed off to tell Lewis, a wide smile on her face. He nodded his thanks to Emily and opened his book.

Summer was nearing its end, but so far September provided little relief from the heat. Emily moved silently about the room that night, fanning the sleeping and keeping the flies from pestering her charges.

With each new man she came upon, she couldn’t help but think of those who had previously occupied the same bed. Freddy and Jimmy, Billy, Josiah, John, Adam, Edward. Only one Maryland man was left in this lot. His name was Private Benjamin Reed. He was among the sleepless tonight. Emily watched him for a moment. He was propped upon his pillows, listening as Lewis read. She hoped the story would provide him enjoyment.

Maggie waved to her. “Come,” she said. “See what Oliver does next.”

Emily had already read that particular Charles Dickens story twice, but she thanked her anyway. “I brought a book of poetry. I’ll keep watch on the ones sleeping at this end.”

Maggie nodded and grinned, then scooted her chair a little closer to Lewis.

Yes. She is quite taken with him.

Emily chose a seat at the opposite side of the ward. The young Alabama man who now occupied Edward’s bed was recovering from typhoid fever. Emily checked his forehead, then straightened his linens. Afterward she opened Robert Burns. She started where she had last left off. The title of the poem jumped out. “Bruce’s March to Bannockburn.”

She blushed. It was a Scottish cry for freedom, a call to war.
Oh, Evan would love this one. Get caught reading it and I’ll be citing insurrection for certain.

She turned to another page. She did not wish to think of him tonight.

“Highland Mary.”

Emily flipped a few more. “Mary Morrison.”

Sighing, she shut the book and slid it into her pocket.
Clearly, there will be no escape by reading tonight.

The entire area was awash in snoring. Lewis had retired to his bed, and Maggie had taken up post not two feet from him. Embroidery work on her lap, her head bobbed gently in rhythm with her needle.

Emily walked through the rows of iron cots. Ben still lay awake, but he did not indicate that he wished for any assistance or company. She checked the tables. Rebekah had cleaned the basins before going home, but the fresh water was running low. Longing to keep busy, Emily snatched the buckets and started for the door.

But for a guard stationed every so often, the corridors were deserted. The entire hospital seemed to be asleep tonight.

I hope they are having pleasant dreams,
she thought
.

She filled the buckets, then made her way back through the halls. Oil lamps cast shadows across the floor. The guards stared blankly at them. A year ago, traveling unescorted through the U.S. Army hospital would have terrified her. Now she had grown accustomed to it. She didn’t bother the soldiers. They didn’t bother her. Her reputation for treating all men with equal respect, regardless of the uniform, had earned theirs.

All but one,
she thought. She knew she did not need Dr. Mackay’s approval to do her duty, but she longed to have it.

If only he could see that regardless of our beginning, I bear him no ill will. I do not seek an opportunity to exploit his weaknesses nor do I chafe under his authority. If only he could understand how much I care
for him.

“No!” she said out loud, only to have the fire fill her cheeks once more.
I am talking to myself!

Embarrassed, she turned to look behind her. If the guard had heard, he paid her no mind. Emily drew in a deep breath, but her inner argument continued.

I do not care for him! I respect his skills as a physician.
Yet she knew that explanation was hollow. She respected Dr. Turner as well, but she did not run to him whenever there was trouble.

Sighing, she spun back around and nearly screamed. There he stood. His collar was loosened, his hair slightly askew. Emily nearly spilled the water all over his brogans.

“I was on the staircase,” he said. “I heard you call out. Are you well?”

He scanned her as though he was searching for some obvious wound. Her ears began to thud. It was as if a battery of artillery was firing in her brain. If he knew the true reason she had called out, she would die of shame.

“It was nothing,” she managed. Emily took a half step back, as if greater distance between them would quell the cannonade. It did not.

His gaze swept the corridor behind her, then the floor. “Is this yours?” he asked.

She realized her volume of Burns was lying on the boards. It must have fallen out of her pocket. “Yes.”

He knelt to pick it up, then examined it curiously. Just a hint of a smile cracked his lips. “Robert Burns.”

He opened to the page she had marked. Emily had no idea where she had stuck the ribbon. She prayed it wasn’t on the war poem, for surely he’d consider that as volatile as stolen battle plans or Confederate dispatches.

“My luve is like a red, red rose...”

As the words rolled off his tongue in the dialect in which they had been written, her ears thudded even louder. Evan’s smile broadened. His features warmed.

“Is this your favorite?” he asked.

“One of them.”

“I had a copy myself, sometime ago.”

To say she was shocked was putting it mildly. She had imagined that he never read anything beyond medical texts or military reports. But as usual, this man was full of surprises. “You may borrow it if you wish.”

He handed the book back to her, taking instead the first water bucket and then the other. A look of sadness replaced the smile. “I have no use for such frivolities now.” He started to turn.

Emily then understood. “Did Mary enjoy poetry?”

Evan glanced back now with a look of fond remembrance. “She did. ‘O Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast’
was her favorite.”

Emily knew the poem well. It was a man’s promise to protect the woman he loved. Surely Mary Mackay had seen him as her strong guardian. “Beautiful words,” she said.

“Aye. Fit for a beautiful girl.”

He set down the buckets and reached into his vest pocket. He pulled out the watch she so often saw him studying. Tucked inside was the image of a young woman. Her dark hair was not bound by pins or combs. Instead, it hung long and loose about her shoulders, in an unconventional, almost wild sort of way.

A Highland princess,
Emily imagined. She smiled. In doing so, she garnered one from him. She couldn’t help but think how handsome he was.

“She is lovely. How long were you married?”

“Not quite two years.”

His face darkened. He had loved his wife so, and still did. Emily found his continued devotion all the more winsome.

Remember your duty,
her mind scolded.
Think of who you are and who he is. You are a nurse. You are here to tend to wounded bodies and souls. He is your superior, a Federal officer! He is not your potential suitor.

Flustered by her thoughts, Emily bit her lip and stared at the book in her hands. She no longer dared look him in the face. Dr. Mackay must have sensed her discomfort or felt his own. He quickly put away the watch, then picked up the buckets and turned for the ward. She followed.

Maggie’s chair was even closer to Lewis’s cot than it had been previously. The two were exchanging whispers. They broke apart the moment Evan and Emily stepped into the room. Lewis rolled to his opposite side and Maggie returned to her embroidery.

“What is going on there?” Evan asked Emily.

“I believe she is taken with him, and he with her.”

He set the buckets on the table. His tone had changed entirely. “’Tis improper,” he said flatly.

He is right.
Although there was nothing wrong with the two swapping stories when the workload was light, Lewis and Maggie’s relationship was definitely more than that.