LITMIR.BIZ

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turned his back, stepping away. He cared not how many months of service the woman had.

      “You could learn a lesson from her,” the boy called. “A little compassion would do you no harm!”

      Evan’s ire rose. His fists clenched at his side, but he didn’t give the boy the satisfaction of knowing the words had affected him. You didn’t show any compassion when your mob surrounded my brother, he thought. When they bashed him with paving stones!

      He told himself the Maryland rebel wasn’t worth his time, and he moved on. There were wounds to probe and minié balls still to extract. As he made his way through the rows of iron cots, he cast a glance in Little Miss Baltimore’s direction. The water had been replenished. She was currently on her hands and knees, scrubbing the vile floor.

      Another experience I doubt she’s had the pleasure of until now, he thought. We shall see how well she handles it.

      * * *

      As Emily raked the scrub brush across the filthy floor she dealt with Dr. Mackay’s temper the only way she knew how. She prayed for him. Actually, she prayed more for herself than for the man.

      Oh Lord, please give me grace. I can’t work alongside him without it.

      Dealing with the Federal army’s disdainful attitude toward Confederate men was nothing new, but most of the guards, doctors and hospital commanding officers were professional enough to keep their words to themselves or at least voice their condemnation outside the wards.

      Some even took pity on the wounded souls and showed them kindness. Jeremiah Wainwright, a young steward who Emily knew to be a Christian, was such a man. Dr. Jacob Turner was another. He was a good-natured New Englander who treated the Confederates not as prisoners or scientific studies, but as men.

      Just yesterday Emily had been called to his section, to assist as he probed a North Carolina man’s back for shrapnel. The poor soldier had leaned upon her, trying not to flinch while Dr. Turner carefully extracted the metal.

      “Do I hurt you?” the old man had asked considerately.

      “Not too terribly,” the soldier had said.

      Emily had known by the tightness of his muscles that the Carolina man wasn’t exactly telling the truth, but because of Dr. Turner’s gentle demeanor and a story of snapping New England lobsters, he’d been able to endure the painful procedure without crying out or fainting.

      If only Dr. Mackay could be more like that, she thought. A little kindness would go a long way to promote healing and to foster interest in eternal matters.

      Though a few ragtag Bibles lay at the bedsides of the men, Emily knew many in this hospital were starved for spiritual comfort. In the past year, she had held the hands of the dying, both Confederate and Federal alike. She had sat with those who’d lost their dearest friends on the battlefield, who then asked, “Where is God in all this terrible suffering?”

      She gave them the only answer she could. “Right here grieving with you.”

      The will of God made no sense at times to Emily. Why He had allowed war to come instead of an end to slavery, then a peaceful compromise of ideals, was unknown to her.

      She dared to glance at Dr. Mackay. How long the hostilities continue will, I suppose, depend on men like him. The intimidating physician was now standing at Edward’s bed, perusing his wounds with a look of cold indifference. Julia sat her post, pale and frightened. Emily hurried to finish her scrubbing so she might join her friend. In her delicate condition the last thing Julia needed was to hear that man’s sharp, condemning tongue.

      The dinner bell rang, calling all officers to the dining hall. Emily breathed a sigh of relief when Dr. Mackay exited the room. She put away her brush and bucket and went to her friend.

      “What a horrible man,” Julia whispered. “There is no compassion in him. He looked at Edward as if he were nothing more than a stray dog.”

      “I know. I’m sorry.” Emily touched Edward’s forehead gently. The fever was going down. “He is much cooler.”

      “Oh, thank the Lord.”

      Within a matter of moments the rest of their friends appeared: Sally and the Martin sisters, Trudy and Elizabeth, and Rebekah Van der Geld, the only one of them who staunchly supported the Federal army’s occupation of Baltimore. Each had come to inquire of Edward. As they clustered around his bed, Emily couldn’t help but remember with fondness the times the six of them had met for knitting and needlework in each other’s homes.

      Such happy times.

      But the joyful emotions of the past were tempered by today’s reality. The girls had not gathered to decide which dress pattern from Godey’s Lady’s Book would attract a handsome beau’s attention, nor were they there to knit socks for their glorious, invincible army.

      We are here to tend to one of its wounded, she thought sadly.

      Try as she might, Emily’s eyes kept drifting to the place where Edward’s left arm should be. Apparently Sally was having the same difficulty. Her eyes were watering.

      “He stirred slightly,” Julia told them. “When that doctor was standing over him.”

      “That is good,” Emily said. “Soon he will wake.”

      Sally drew in a quick breath and lifted her chin. “We should pray for him and then go about our business. It won’t fare him well to have us all hovering over him when he wakes.”

      Emily agreed. They should give Edward his privacy. She couldn’t help but also think, And if Dr. Mackay returns from his meal to find us clustered about instead of busy with some task, he will surely spew his venom upon us all. That won’t be good for Julia or her child.

      Trudy, Elizabeth and Rebekah all nodded in agreement. Rebekah offered to begin the prayer. The women clasped hands. One by one they prayed for Edward’s recovery and for the rest of the wounded men of this hospital. When no Federal soldier was close enough to overhear, Elizabeth and Trudy each whispered a plea for their brother, George, also a member of the Maryland Guard. As far as everyone knew, he had survived the Pennsylvania battle and returned safely to Virginia. Sally then prayed for Stephen; his whereabouts were still unknown.

      “Try to keep faith,” Trudy said, hugging her after they had finished. “God knows exactly where Stephen is.”

      “I know. I take comfort in that.”

      Before they could go their separate ways, Jeremiah Wainwright approached. “Ladies,” he said, “forgive me for intruding, but I’ve just come from the dining hall. They are presently serving the nurses. If you don’t go quickly, there won’t be anything left for you to eat.”

      They all knew he was speaking truth. They had each learned the hard way to eat when called or go hungry.

      “Thank you, Jeremiah,” Emily said. “We appreciate the warning.”

      He smiled and tipped his blue kepi. “You are quite welcome. And don’t worry, I’ll keep track of your charges, especially the major here.”

      She believed he would, and so Emily turned to Julia.

      “Come with us. Have a bite to eat.”

      She shook her head, unwilling to leave her brother’s side. “I’ll stay. Samuel will arrive shortly and I want to be here when Edward wakes.”

      Her husband, Samuel, joined her each day after his work as a teacher at the Rolland Park men’s seminary was complete. Her parents came in the early evening, as well. Julia’s father, Dr. Thomas Stanton, worked in the private hospital across town. He was busy caring for his own load of wounded, most of them Federal soldiers from wealthy families or those with high political connections.

      “I understand. Shall I fetch you something?”

      “No. Thank you. I am not hungry.”

      Emily gave her hand a squeeze.

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