Widow of Gettysburg (28 page)

“And how many Union patients have you?” A bald man with kind eyes and a white goatee asked Liberty.

She looked at Bella. She should have known the Sanitary Commission, an organization composed of Northern women, would exist to relieve the suffering of Northern men.

“How many, my dear?” he asked again.

“One.” Her heart sank at the look of surprise on his face.

“And five hundred fourteen Southern wounded,” Bella added.

His eyebrows raised. “Who is caring for these men?”

“We are,” said Liberty. “Plus a Confederate surgeon and a volunteer from the Christian Commission, a doctor from Philadelphia who has been perfectly wonderful.”

“Hey!” A man three spaces back in line came up to the front. “You’re caring for Rebels? Liberty Holloway is caring for
Rebels?
How
could
you?”

“Let’s leave the battles to the armies, not the civilians. The wounded on my farm are not my personal enemy.”

“Says who?” the man snarled. “Don’t you know what they’ve done around here? Seven families in the country have lost their barns or houses, or both. A few civilian men have been marched off as prisoners. A Rebel bullet put Jennie Wade in the ground. They looted houses, broke furniture, smashed dishes, used the parlors as privies, stole food and horses. In one house on my street, they mixed a half barrel of flour with water to make a thin paste, threw feathers into it, and threw the whole mess over everything in the house. Don’t tell me they don’t fight against civilians. Don’t give her anything! Liberty Holloway, you traitor! You copperhead! For shame!”

Liberty’s eyes narrowed in self-defense while Bella gave the man a
tongue lashing. She was hungry. She was tired. And for the love of all that was holy, she needed these supplies. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of yellow as the blonde woman slid off her barrel and approached their wagon, clutching her bag.

The Commission agent guided the man back to his place in line, assuring him there was enough for everyone.

“If you’ll not give us anything, sir, we’ll just go to the Christian Commission headquarters on the other side of the square. Their line is longer, but perhaps that’s because they care deeply about relieving the suffering of the wounded, no matter from which section of the country they hail.”

“That is all very well and good, but the Sanitary Commission was formed first, and are every bit as generous, if not more so, than our sister commission.”

“Even for Confederates?”

He paused. “The women who donate their money and goods to the Sanitary Commission do so with the understanding that they will benefit the Union.”

Liberty’s face fell. The blonde woman with the carpetbag frowned, too.

“However, we believe that we are still the United States of America.” The man’s narrow chest puffed up. “Every man is part of the Union, in that sense, whether they like it or not. You shall have what you need.” He ordered another volunteer to load into their wagon barrels and crates of items more precious than gold: bread, beef, condensed milk, sponges, combs, tooth powder, eye shades, fans, eggs, jellies, bandages, stockings, mosquito netting, drawers, shirts, and small bags of camphor to sweeten the air around one’s person.

As he loaded a crate of slippers into the wagon, he instructed her to give them to one-legged patients, first. “They’ll go twice as far that way.”

She nodded, relief flooding her. “Yes, of course. Would it be possible for us to bring supplies to the Lutheran Seminary hospital as well?” She still harbored guilt for using their medical supplies on her own
Rebel patients. “It’s on the way back to our farm, and would be no trouble for us to stop.”

The agent consulted a checklist. “They’re on the list for distribution. If you’d like to take some items to them, we’d be most grateful. As long as you promise prompt delivery—no keeping these for yourself, now.”

She smiled. “You can trust me.”

He loaded more supplies in the wagon, wished them good day, and patted their horse before moving to the next in line.

“Excuse me, Miss.” The woman who’d been watching the transaction shoved a strand of blonde hair off her flushed face. “My name is Myrtle Henderson, and I’ve come from Baltimore to help, which was no easy task mind you, with the railroad still being out. Slept nary a wink all night.”

Libbie appraised her. She was tall, but her face and figure were childlike. But what did age matter, when one was willing to work in times like this? “Are you with the Sanitary Commission?”

“No.”

“Christian Commission?”

“No.”

Obviously she was not with the convent from Emmitsburg, Maryland.

“I’m just here with myself, and I want to help.” She crowded close to Liberty and whispered. “Only, I got a hankerin’ to work with Confederate wounded—seeing as they seem likely to be most neglected. Wouldn’t you say that’s true?”

Liberty glanced at Bella, who nodded. “Do you have any nursing experience?” Liberty asked.

“Did you, before this battle?”

Liberty raised an eyebrow. “I must warn you, a field hospital can be quite shocking. The smells and sounds are even worse than what you’ll see.”

“I’m smellin’ and hearin’ plenty right here in town. Is it worse than this?”

“No. In fact, the open air is a great benefit to us at the farm.”

“How are you set for water? Because they are sure running out of it here, folks say.”

“We have a water source nearby, Willoughby Run.”

“Is it contaminated? By the dead?”

Why had Liberty not considered this before?

“Because if it is, I can boil it. I imagine you’re short on time with five hundred patients, but if you ain’t got clean water, they ain’t gonna get any better, that’s sure.”

“Fair enough. Would you be willing to make beef tea, too, and muck out straw matted with blood and filth? Would you comb lice out of hair, moisten bandages, disinfect the trench?”

“I can do most anything you put me to do. I just want to help. Wouldn’t you be glad for another set of hands?

Liberty would. “Climb aboard. We’ve one stop to make before going home.”

Atop Seminary Ridge, the red-bricked theological school rose above the trees that flanked it, its gazebo-like cupola gleamed. A yellow flag flailed against the weathervane spiking the sky. Inside, where just weeks ago students prayed, slept, studied, and ate together, rows of patients now rested on rubber blankets on the floor. Swarming about them with food and bandages were Gettysburg women Liberty recognized and volunteer nurses she didn’t, including several visiting nuns.

Voices ricocheted between the walls and in the stairwells on either end of the building, but by now, the sound of human suffering did not jar Liberty as it once had. Now, she had the means to relieve it piled high in the wagon just outside.

Before she could bring her supplies in, a boy brushed past Liberty carrying an amputated leg.

“Why, Hugh!” Liberty touched his shoulder. It was Hugh Ziegler, no older than eleven years, and son of the seminary steward and matron.

He turned to her and shrugged, his eyes clouded. “We all do our part, Miss Holloway. Mama cooks. My sisters nurse. I carry limbs out back and pile them up like stove wood.” He turned back to his chore and trudged away.

Just then fellow townswoman Sarah Broadhead shot out of one of the stairwells, panting for breath, furrows carved into her brow. “They are drowning down there! One hundred men! What is to be done?”

One of the women bringing food to the men set down her tray and hurried to her. “What did you say? Patients? Downstairs?”

Liberty and Bella looked at each other. It was four days after the battle’s end.
How could they not know?

“They are wounded in three or four places each, they cannot help themselves one mite. They are practically swimming.” Nuns and nurses now huddled around Sarah and Margaret. Liberty rushed forward to join them, heard swishing skirts behind her as Bella and Myrtle followed.

“Where are the men to be taken?” Liberty ventured.

“The fourth story.”

Sarah gasped. “I fear we cannot accomplish all of it today.”

“It must be done without delay. All of it.” Margaret’s eyes were hard and rimmed with red. “Did you not hear what happened at one of the field hospitals outside of town?”

Dread shuddered through Liberty as she waited for the answer.

“Twenty men were laid on the ground after their amputations. When it rained on July fourth, they were left there. Drowned in two feet of water. All twenty of them.”

The horrifying words slid into Liberty. Thank God, thank God she and Isaac had been able to save her own patients at Holloway Farm. But one hundred more lives were now at stake.

“Sarah, you and I will find the most able among the patients to carry the men,” Margaret ordered. “The rest of you, please find all the stretchers you can and bring them here.”

Bella frowned. “You’re asking wounded men to carry wounded men?”

“Some are injured only slightly and are already working as hospital
attendants. What else would you have me do, order the weaker sex to do it? Besides, we nurses have our own duties to attend to.”

“I’m not as weak as these patients here.” But Margaret had already scurried off to find more help.

Liberty sent Myrtle to begin unloading the wagon of its supplies and turned back to Bella, waiting for the words she knew were coming.

“These men are going to wear out fast with this work.” Bella’s jaw was set. “Delicate ladies and nuns may not be much good for this kind of labor, but my arms are strong for the task. I’m helping.”

“Are you certain?” Liberty’s muscles ached at the mere thought. A nun swept over to them and dropped off a stretcher.

“These are Union men. If I have been willing to help the Rebel wounded at your farm, Miss Liberty, it should not surprise you that I want to help the patients wearing the same color as my Abraham. You and Myrtle go back to the farm, I’ll walk there when I’m done.”

Bella picked up one end of the stretcher as a plaintive cry for help floated up the stairwell. Liberty furtively glanced around. Others may be coming to help, but there was no sign of them yet. The patients downstairs had already waited long enough.

“If you’re helping, I’m helping.” Libbie snatched up the other end of Bella’s stretcher. “Let’s make sure these men live to enjoy everything we just brought them from the Sanitary Commission.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a couple of men slowly coming toward the stairwell to assist. She could read in their gait and posture that though they may not have been seriously injured, they were famished and exhausted. Their help may add to Bella and Liberty’s efforts, but not replace them. With every breath she took her spirit hissed.
Make haste. Make haste. Make haste.

With pairs of men eventually following, Liberty and Bella descended to the basement and waded almost up to their knees into water contaminated with the waste of a hundred helpless men. Breathing fetid air above ground was bad enough—but swimming in liquid stink was far worse. The water soaked through her clothing.
The stench was a thick paste in her mouth.

Soiled skirts and aprons floated in circles around each of them like water-logged halos. Each pair worked as quickly as they could. Bella held one end of the stretcher while Liberty guided a patient’s body through the water and onto the canvas. Cringing at the sight of the foul water soaking his bandages, she stooped, gripped the wet wooden handles, and lifted until the patient was horizontal. He was of average height and weight, about five feet nine inches tall, she guessed, and perhaps one hundred fifty pounds. Divided the weight by two women, that was only seventy-five pounds to carry.
Only seventy-five pounds! To carry through water, then up four flights of stairs!

Liberty scanned the dark basement and became overwhelmed at the number of wounded.

“When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.” In a hoarse voice, the patient on her stretcher quoted from the book of Isaiah. “Seems fitting, doesn’t it? Just never thought I’d need to be saved from the waters of a theological school!” He closed his eyes as he gripped the edges of the narrow stretcher and whispered, “Thank you, thank you.” Whether he was talking to his earthly saviors or his heavenly one, Liberty could not tell.

Slowly, carefully, Liberty and Bella waded through the water toward the stairs, the patient’s weight digging into her palms, her heart beating out of her chest.
One patient at a time
, she told herself.

“How long have you been down here, soldier?” She glanced at the bearded face between her hands.

“Don’t know what day it is. But we were injured in the first day’s fight.”

That was last Wednesday. It had been a week.

God have mercy. Mercy!

Her throat closed up with tears as they neared the shaft of light. Bella went backwards up the stairs, while Liberty was given the luxury of walking face forward. As they emerged from the water, their sodden
skirts tangled around their legs. Since they were not wearing hoops under their dresses for their nursing work, their hems hung lower than their heels even without water weighing them down. Now, Liberty felt like she was trying to climb the stairs with a wet bed sheet hanging from her waist, and no hand free to hitch it above her ankles.

With every painstaking step, Bella bent lower and Liberty hoisted her end of the stretcher higher, so the patient stayed as level as possible. Liberty kicked her skirt off her shoe before securing every foothold, then brought the other foot next to it on the same stair, like some sort of Irish jig.

Kick, step, together. Lift the stretcher higher.

Kick, step, together. Lift higher.

Kick, step, together. Lift higher.

The patient groaned as the stretcher rocked its way up the stairs. Her concentration breaking, Liberty took a step without flinging the skirt out of her way first. She teetered backward, then drove her shoulder into the rough brick wall to keep from falling backward. Bella lurched, Liberty jerked, and the patient cried out again. Poor fellow, she would be terrified too if she were him. She seethed at her dirty, soggy skirt.