over them.”
She was right of course, but it was a task easier said than done. “Are the two of you going home for the evening?” she asked.
“Shortly,” Reverend Henry said. “First we will stop at Apollo Hall.”
The Baltimore chapter of the commission had rented several floors of the building for the sorting and distribution of Bibles and supplies. The items were given to Federal soldiers and sailors in town and in the nearby army camps. The commission also cared for the prisoners of war in the hospitals and forts. The reverend and his wife had the opportunity to personally minister to wounded men on the battlefield following Antietam. Emily respected the couple greatly.
“We want to see how many cases are ready for distribution,” he said.
Emily knew what he was referring to. She had helped to pack a few of those cases herself. The long numbered boxes looked as though they carried muskets, but in reality they were full of foodstuffs and medical supplies.
“Do you need any assistance?” she asked.
“Oh no,” Eliza answered. “We’ll see to it. You go home and rest. One never knows what opportunities tomorrow will bring.”
Opportunities was the word Eliza always used in the place of challenges or difficulties. The latter, she insisted, were invitations to see God’s hand at work, to draw on His strength. Emily smiled slightly. She wondered how many opportunities Dr. Mackay would present her with tomorrow.
“Oh, there’s Joshua,” Eliza said. “We will see you in the morning.”
Emily bid the Henrys a good-night, then walked toward her father’s carriage. Her muscles ached. Her eyes were heavy. She hoped she would be able to stay awake long enough to reach home.
* * *
Despite his best efforts, the surgery was not successful. A pair of orderlies carried the dead man out. Nurses now prepared his bed for another. Exhausted, Evan took a moment to catch his breath before beginning evening rounds. He stared out the window. Sunset was upon the city, painting the warehouses in a softer glow.
Back in Pennsylvania, before the war, this was his favorite time of the day. He’d put his office in order, saddle his stallion and gallop for home. He would race back to Mary and her smile, to Andrew and whatever outrageous tale he would spin that day.
But that was before Baltimore.
Evan’s eyes fell upon a woman below. He recognized her as his nurse, the one who’d dared go toe-to-toe with him in the corridor. He watched as she climbed into a carriage manned by what looked to be a slave and was promptly whisked away. He grunted.
I was right about her. She may have shown compassion in regards to Andrew, but she is no different than any other Maryland rebel, still holding on to her slaves even though President Lincoln has issued his Emancipation Proclamation.
And rebel slaveholders serving as nurses, whispering anti-Unionist words, was poison in this place. The woman may have somehow won the respect of the commission and the officers here in charge, but not him.
The Federal commander at Fort McHenry should have made good on his threat at the beginning of the war to fire his guns on Baltimore. If he had quelled the Southern ladies and gentlemen’s taste for rebellion, the war would be over now. Countless lives could have been saved.
It would have been too late for Andrew but perhaps not for Mary. Instead he had lost both of them.
“Dr. Mackay?”
A female voice invaded his thoughts. He turned to find the night matron, a good patriotic woman, standing before him.
“Beg your pardon, Doctor, but it’s time for the evening medication.”
“Aye,” he said. “Of course.”
They went back to the ward. She had already secured a tray. Evan walked to the locked cabinet at the far end of the room. He took out a key from his inner vest pocket, unlocked the door, then started laying out the various pills and powders.
He made his rounds, distributing the necessary medication to each prisoner. When he came to the bed of the rebel major, the one Little Miss Baltimore was so bent on comforting, he told the family, “Visiting hours are now over.”
The father, gray-headed and wearing spectacles, politely protested. “Doctor, I am a physician myself. I would like to stay. Perhaps I can be of service to you.”
You should have been of service two years ago, when the streets ran red with patriotic blood. “I am afraid that is impossible, sir,” Evan said, deliberately disregarding the man’s title. Professional courtesy did not extend to rebel doctors. “You may return on the morrow.”
The man looked as though he would argue the point. Evan stretched to his full height. He stood a good six inches above the man. He leveled his most scrutinizing glare.
“Very well, then,” the rebel doctor said, and he encouraged his wife to say goodbye.
She did so, though the boy in the bed simply stared past her. The pair was slow in exiting, but Evan stood his ground until the door shut solidly behind them. He then took what was left from the dispensary tray and sent the nurse away. He inspected the Johnny’s wound. The site was healing satisfactorily, so Evan replaced the bandages, then moved on.
When his rounds were complete, he tramped off to his quarters, a postage-stamp room with a cot, a wash basin and a view of the city he so detested. After pulling off his soiled shirt, he lay down and tried to find a comfortable position. The bed was much too short for his body.
Despite being exhausted, he struggled for hours to find peace. When sleep finally did claim him, he dreamed of Andrew and then Mary.
* * *
Emily was awakened by Abigail’s gentle nudge.
“Rise and shine. You don’t wanna be late, now. I’ve drawn you a cool bath and laid out a fresh dress for you to wear.”
Though the precious hours of sleep had not been nearly long enough, Emily gave her friend a smile. After tending all day to wounded men it was nice to have someone look after her.
“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