An Unlikely Union

“Bless you, Abigail. You are a treasure.”

The woman’s dark, round face lit up with a wide smile. Abigail had come into service in Emily’s home only a year ago. She and her husband, Joshua, recently married, had been slaves in the household of one of Emily’s father’s clients. When the man had died, he had left a considerable amount of debt. As a lawyer it was her father’s job to oversee distribution of the estate, to make peace with the man’s creditors.

Rather than see Abigail and Joshua sold once again on the slave auction block, he ransomed the pair himself. Because he found slavery so abhorrent, he then promptly drew up papers granting Joshua and Abigail their freedom.

“We knowed right away your father was a good man,” Abigail once told Emily. “So we asked to come to work for him.”

Emily was so glad they had. As an only child, with parents heavily involved in professional and civic responsibilities, the house at times could be quite lonely. Abigail became the older sister Emily had never had. They laughed. They shared secrets. They encouraged one another in their faith.

“Hurry now,” Abigail urged. “Your mama will have breakfast on the table shortly.”

Emily readied herself, then stepped into a gray cotton day dress with tight-fitting coat sleeves. The simple style would serve her well in the hospital.

“That shorter hemline will work better for you, I believe,” Abigail said. “Your dress from the other day is still soakin’. That dark ring ’round the bottom hasn’t yet come clean.”

“No matter how many times they scrub, that hospital floor is still filthy,” Emily said. The West’s Buildings needed an army of scrub maids alone just to keep up with the task. She wondered if Dr. Mackay would permanently transfer her to that brigade after what she had said to him yesterday.

Emily fastened the hooks and eyes of her bodice, then adjusted her collar. Abigail smiled. “I declare, you are just as pretty in gray cotton as in pink silk. You’ll be cheerin’ those poor men right nicely.”

The thought of Dr. Mackay’s grief-stricken face suddenly passed through Emily’s mind. He had looked so lost when she inquired of his brother.

“You be thinkin’ of a particular soldier?” her friend asked.

“No. Well, I suppose so. A Yankee doctor.”

“Um-hmm,” Abigail said as she took the brush from Emily’s hand and began to arrange her hair. “He handsome?”

“Handsome?” He wasn’t particularly ugly, yet then again, how could Emily really say? She had only seen him once, for sixty seconds at the most, without a scowl on his face. “He’s a big tall tree of a man. A Scotsman.”

“Um-hmm. Like them ones in your poetry book?”

Emily let out a laugh, knowing where Abigail’s thoughts were headed. “Oh, far from it! All this man does is bark orders and frown. He makes more work for us than any other doctor. Do you know he insists on washing his hands after tending to each man?”

“Does he?”

“Yes, and not in the wash basin, mind you. Fresh water each time. Our ward goes through more buckets than the entire hospital combined. He is dreadful to work with and he treats us all as enemies.”

She stopped, realizing how foolish she sounded. Whatever she’d had to endure at the hand of Dr. Mackay was nothing compared to what Abigail and Joshua had faced.

“I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me to complain so.”

Abigail’s face, however, showed not the slightest offence. “He just sounds like a soldier in need of cheerin’ to me.”

Her kindness often amazed Emily. Of anyone, Abigail had the most reason to be bitter. Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation had taken effect earlier that year, but the document only proclaimed freedom to slaves in states of rebellion. Maryland had been kept in the Union by force. Since the state had not seceded, slavery was still legal, and the occupying army didn’t appear to be in any hurry to change that.

Furthermore, while many on the Confederate side did not support slavery, a great many did. Emily once asked Abigail what she thought of her tending to such men.

“Please be honest with me. Does it trouble you?”

“At times,” she admitted. “But then I think ’bout that verse in the Bible. ‘Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you.’ I don’t reckon this world will change much if we don’t start takin’ the Lord’s message to heart.”

Abigail finished setting the pins in Emily’s hair. “Your kindness to that Yankee doctor and to them other soldiers could go a long way,” she insisted. “You remember that.”

Emily nodded. She would try.

After breakfast the family went their separate ways. Emily’s mother was off to a bandage drive for the local hospitals, and her father had business at Fort McHenry.

Joshua drove her to the harbor, where a ghastly sight met her eyes. The Westminster trains had brought new wounded. Scores of bleeding, sick men lay once more along the docks. She could hear them begging for water and other simple necessities. Army personnel and many volunteers scurried about.

“Shall I stay with ya, Miss Emily?” Joshua offered. “Looks like ya could use the help.”

She wanted to say yes but feared in this chaotic environment Joshua would soon be commandeered as a slave, at least temporarily.

“Thank you, Joshua, but no. Perhaps you should return home.”

He nodded and tipped his slouch hat. “I’ll be by at sunset to collect you.”

“Thank you.”

It was only after he had rolled away that Emily realized that in her shock over the sight before her, she’d left her basket and bonnet in the carriage. She would need covering from the sun as the day wore on.

But a few freckles will do me no harm, she thought. I’ll make do. She turned for the docks.

Her heart broke. The cries of suffering rose around her and it was almost impossible to walk without stepping on a wounded man. Swallowing back her emotions, she found a water bucket and went to work. Emily doled out the precious liquid and gently wiped dust-caked faces. While doing so, she glanced down the dock. Trudy, Elizabeth and Rebekah had each arrived. They were doing the same.

Surgeons raced back and forth. Confederates and Federal soldiers alike were begging for their attention. The injured men were in desperate need of pain medication. Although they had been tended to in the field hospitals, many also needed suturing. In some cases the train to Baltimore had caused as much damage as the battlefield.

Help them, Lord.

Before she could even finish the thought, Dr. Mackay came storming toward her. His white collar was soaked with sweat, his shirtsleeves and blue vest already stained.

“Don’t just stand there, Nurse! Put down the bucket and follow me!”

She handed it to a nearby woman and hurried after him.

Deep amidst the wounded men an orderly stood holding three skeins of yarn. Dr. Mackay took them from the man and quickly dismissed him. He then handed the skeins to her, along with a pair of scissors.

“Now, do exactly as I say.”

Do what? she wondered. What good is yarn among thirsty and bleeding men? They need water! That is what we always do first!

“We will take this section here,” he said, waving his big hand over the general area where they stood. “Red for immediate care. Green for those to go to Fort McHenry. Blue for the transport steamers north. Understand?”

Of course she didn’t understand. She glanced about. No one else had yarn. They were armed with buckets and bandages. “Excuse me?”

Frustration filled his face. That vein at the top of his collar was bulging again. “Tie the appropriate color to the man’s left arm, according to what I tell you!”

In her confusion, she said the first thing that came to mind. “What if he has no left arm?”

“Then tie it to the right one! Come!”

He pulled at her sleeve. It was all Emily could do not to recoil from his touch. What is he about to do? Sort the men into lots? Give the Federal soldiers a red ribbon, permission for care, while tossing the wounded Confederates into carts and hauling them off to prison?

Emily shuddered. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Lord, what should I do?

If she continued to allow him to drag her along she may end up sending Confederate soldiers to their deaths, yet if she challenged him, the berating she’d surely receive would consume any time she could spend caring for the men.

Give me wisdom, she prayed, yet none came.

Dr. Mackay let go of her arm when they reached a pallet of wounded Federal soldiers. “Red yarn,” he ordered. “All three of them.”

No surprise here.

She did as commanded. He sprinkled powdered morphine directly into their wounds while she knelt to wipe the blood from the first man’s face with her apron.

“Bless you, miss,” the soldier said.

“No! Follow me!”

Emily was thoroughly confused. “I tie a string to his arm giving permission for care and then I leave him?”

Without any explanation, he went on. She felt she had no choice at that point but to follow.

“These here...red string.”

Dr. Mackay had her tie the same color onto three other soldiers in blue and then, much to her surprise, on two Confederate men. However, she was not allowed to touch any of them further. When they reached the pallet of one shoeless soldier, Dr. Mackay said flatly, “This rebel is dead.”

He didn’t even stop to close the man’s eyes. He left him staring heavenward. Emily’s heart ached. Red string, red string, blue, blue, green...They continued through the maze of broken, mud-crusted bodies.

Though Emily still thought his actions were ridiculous, she was beginning to see a pattern. Those with superficial injuries, Yankees of course, were tagged for transport north. Confederates able to stand were marked for Fort McHenry. She was surprised at the number of wounded prisoners of both sides who the doctor deemed worthy of the red ribbon. She was horrified, however, at the number who received no marker at all, only a little morphine.

One such man happened to be a Federal sergeant with a gaping hole in his chest. When Dr. Mackay turned away from him, Emily could stand it no longer. She grabbed his arm. He looked back at her, obviously annoyed.

“But he’s one of yours! Do something, please! Can’t you hear him? He’s in terrible pain!”

The doctor’s face softened slightly. “The powder will help,” he said.

“But—”

He bent low to her ear. “There isn’t anything to be done. Why the field surgeons sent him here is beyond me.” He freed himself from her grasp. “Come...there are still others.”

Armed with nothing more than the useless string, Emily continued on. When she reached the last man in their section and tied her last marker, Dr. Mackay turned and said, “Now go back to the ones with the red ribbons. Apply clean dressing to those that have been tended to.”

“And when I have finished? What of the ones with no string?”

His jaw twitched. He raked back his hair, which had curled even more in the July humidity. “Aye. Comfort them as best as you are able.” He then pointed to a supply wagon. It was filled with baskets of bandages. “Take that with you.”

He waded back through the mangled mass of humanity from which they had just come. As she watched him go, Emily noticed for the first time what had been happening behind her.

Jeremiah Wainwright and several volunteers from the commission, including Eliza Henry, were already at work. One gave water to all; another washed away mud; still another was removing soiled bandages.

Two other assistant surgeons as well as Dr. Mackay were now tending to wounds. They were doing so not according to which army the men served, but by the rank of the colored yarn.

It may have been unconventional, but Emily now saw the wisdom in his plan. While other sections were scrambling from one wounded soldier to the next, her portion of the dock was running in an orderly progression.

I misjudged him, she thought. Forgive me, Lord.

She snatched the basket of bandages from the wagon and ran after him.

* * *

The sun was now high in the sky and the temperature was rising. Emily’s head burned.

Of all the days to forget my bonnet, she thought.

But the cries of those around her made her forget her own discomfort.

If these poor soldiers can march through fields and furrows without complaint, under the baking sun, then so can I.

She continued through the rows, applying bandages, offering prayers and encouraging words. Dr. Mackay moved just a few paces in front of her. He was back to barking orders.

“Steward, move this man to surgery! Clean up this pallet! Fetch me a fresh bucket of water!”

As she dressed the wounds, Emily watched boys in blue, many younger than she, scramble to do his bidding. She felt sorry for them. It seemed even Unionists were terrified of Dr. Mackay.

Abigail’s verse drifted through her mind. Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Knowing that compassion should be shown to surly Yankees as well, Emily set down her basket and went to Eliza Henry.

Going out of my way to show kindness to him might encourage a little on his part. It might ensure better treatment of the wounded men.

“Cup of water for you, dear?” the woman asked when Emily approached her.

“Please.”

She drew out a tin cup from the cloth pouch on her shoulder, then scooped up the water.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

Emily marched straight to the blistering Scotsman. The man had just finished ordering a Federal nurse to bring him more thread. She looked as though she was about to cry.

“But there isn’t any more,” she insisted. “We are almost out of iron wire, as well!”

“Then procure some from another section.”

“The other surgeons are almost out.”

“Then go down to one of the shops and purchase some!”

The woman ran off, apparently to do just that. Emily touched his sweat-drenched sleeve. He turned, practically glaring at her.

Kind words for him in short supply, she had to rely on action alone. Emily handed him the cup. Emptying it in one gulp, he rubbed his glistening forehead with the back of his hand and then returned to work.

There was no thank-you.

“I may know of some available thread,” she said.

He pulled a piece of lead as long as her finger from a man’s arm. “Then by all means, fetch it!”

Tucking the cup into her skirt pocket, she hurried for the hospital. She was certain she would find Julia inside at her usual post. Her friend always kept a carpetbag with her full of knitting or sewing projects. If anyone had thread, it would be her.

The West’s Buildings felt like a furnace. Emily scarcely believed inside could be hotter than the outside under the baking sun, but it was. The heat made her a little light-headed, but she climbed the staircase quickly.

As she had hoped, Julia was seated beside Edward’s bed, fanning and reading aloud from the Psalms. He was ignoring her. She turned as Emily approached, then gasped.

“Oh, Em! Your face is as red as a ripe strawberry!”

Emily wasn’t surprised. “I forgot my sunbonnet and we have been treating the new wounded outside all morning.”

“Then by all means, take mine.”

Julia reached for a lovely little green silk bonnet on the table beside her. Emily appreciated her gesture but couldn’t be certain it would survive the day.

“That’s sweet, but what I really need is thread. Have you any?”

“Of course. Right here.” She reached into her bag. “I have two spools...gray and black.”

“May I have them both? We are completely out.”

“Certainly.”

Emily slipped them into her pocket alongside Dr. Mackay’s cup. She leaned closer to take a quick peek at Edward, but could tell there was no change.

As she straightened up, Julia set her bonnet on Emily’s head and quickly tied a pretty bow.

“Thank you,” Emily said, “but I can’t promise I’ll be able to return it in any condition for you to wear again.”

Her friend waved her off. “It is a small price to pay for those caring for our men.”

As they walked toward the door, Emily asked about Sally.

“She took the news as well as could be expected,” Julia said.

“Poor thing.”

“She and her father have gone to the battlefield to look for themselves.”

Oh dear, Emily thought. So the Hastings family has gone to search for Stephen’s body, to bring him home for a proper burial. “If you hear from her, will you let me know?”

“Of course.”

Only then, as Emily gave a quick glance around the room, did she notice another soldier now occupied Billy’s bed. Her heart immediately squeezed, for she knew what must have happened.

“He died during the night,” Julia said, guessing what she was thinking. “Jeremiah said the Scottish doctor took him to surgery, but the poor man didn’t survive the operation.”

Though civility compelled at least a moment of pause, an acknowledgment of a life that had passed, Emily knew there was not time. Dr. Mackay needed his supplies. Outside was a dock full of soldiers who could still be saved.

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!”