Blood Moon (33 page)

Chapter Sixty-One

By the time Mercy had crossed the James River, now controlled by blue coats on its northern and southern banks, it was late afternoon. Thankfully, the long ride and overnight stop in a boarding house were behind her. Her return to Richmond had been brief but long enough to tell Mrs and Senator Bartlett about her search for Jacob and her anger at not being allowed to look for him in the area where he had fallen.

The Bartletts had not received any more word about Jacob either, they had told her, but they’d handed her a letter which had arrived from Belle after she had left the house earlier that morning. For once, they had agreed with her plans to leave Richmond for Norfolk, for they knew her well enough to guess that she would go mad waiting for news of Jacob, and that aiding her friend Belle would at least give her a worthy cause to cling to.

They had also assured her that any news about Jacob would be forwarded to her, should he be found alive. She had thanked them for this kindness, but she had also sensed that they believed Jacob to be dead and buried. Waiting for Jacob to return was still a reality for her, no matter what the Bartletts or anyone else thought. She would continue to think him missing and pray for him, and she would keep her hope burning bright.

The news about Isaac had shaken Mercy to her core, and she had not hesitated to respond to Belle’s request that she go to the hospital and do everything she could to help him. He was gravely ill, and after losing his left leg, he had succumbed to typhoid, which was sweeping through Norfolk and Portsmouth with startling speed.

Belle had been forthright in her opinions, as always, leaving Mercy feeling duty-bound to take care of Isaac until he recovered:
Mercy, Isaac has been afflicted with loving you to distraction
.
He quite simply adores you, and without you in his life, may lose the will to fight his injuries and illness
.
You must come. I beg you! Please try …

Mercy had seen people young and old die in the Elephant and Castle because of   despondency. She had always believed, even at a young age, that sometimes a person’s soul left the world before its body because it no longer wished to be in it. Having hope, therefore, was at times just as important as medicine, as far as she was concerned.

Mercy stood outside Isaac’s room and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears. She checked herself, smoothed down her gown, and tried to delay the moment he would see her. Her face was burning. She was embarrassed to face him after her shameful disappearance from the fort. She was scared to walk in there and see his anger and disappointment. But there was no more running away from guilt and no more excuses about war being the reason she had not told him the truth about Jacob. No, today she would have to face him and ask his forgiveness.

He lay in bed, eyes closed, his face white as the sheet that covered him, and beads of perspiration dotted his furrowed forehead. He had never seemed so precious to her, for he had been her rock, her doctor, and her friend in the most tumultuous times, and now she faced the likelihood of losing him forever. Isaac, with his ready smile and clear blue eyes that had always made her feel cherished, was the kindest of people, loving life, hating slavery, and staying loyal to her, even when she had not deserved his devotion. She hated herself. She despised her vanity and selfishness, for she should have told him a long time ago that she could never love him as a woman should love a man. Instead, she had clung to him in her hour of need and had made him think that her heart was open to his affections.

She sat in a chair next to the bed and felt his burning face with the back of her hand. “Oh, my dearest Isaac, what have they done to you? What have I done to you?” she whispered. “I’m here now. I won’t leave you again.”

Isaac opened his eyes. They stared into Mercy’s face until the misty veil that obscured his sight began to fade. His expression held confusion and surprise for just a second, and then he attempted to smile through pale cracked lips. “You’re here. I knew you would come back to me. How I’ve missed you. Kiss me, my darling.”

Mercy sat on the edge of the bed and took Isaac’s limp hand in her own. She lifted it to her mouth and kissed it tenderly. He was delirious. His fever was raging. It was not abating as they had hoped it would, according to the doctors she had met on her arrival. She gave him a dazzling smile and stroked his fingers lovingly whilst trying to hide her sorrow. “Of course I’ve come. Where else would I be? I left Richmond the moment I heard you were unwell. It’s high time I looked after you for a change, don’t you think?”

“You’re really here.” Isaac said again. “My Mercy has come home to me.”

“I have.”

“Darling, you are in danger. I don’t want you getting sick too. I couldn’t abide seeing you ill again.”

“Don’t you worry about me,” she told him. “I’m made of strong stuff, and I am not leaving you until you’re feeling better.” She kissed his cheek. “Isaac, I know you might not think it right now, but you are going to get well. Do you hear me?” She kept her voice light, finding it difficult to swallow. Tears filled her eyes, but she continued to smile through them, hoping that in his dreamlike state, he hadn’t noticed them.

“Sweet Mercy, will you stay with me until it’s over?”

“You listen to me, Isaac Bernstein. I know you’re very sick, but I’ve seen people in a worse state than you getting better. You have to promise me that you’ll fight this, because when I see some improvement in you, I’m going to take you to Stone Plantation, to some good country air, and I’m going to spoil you until you get sick of the sight of me.”

“You’re a welcome sight, sitting here ordering me about and making me smile – but I think I might be dying.”

Mercy pushed damp hair from his eyes and dabbed his face with a lukewarm rag. She scowled mockingly. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that to me. You’ll not be dying of a flaming fever, not after being shot and surviving. You’re going to get well and, eventually, go back to Boston and be the wonderful surgeon that you’ve always been.”

“Will you come with me? Will you be my wife? It’s all I’ve ever wanted …” He blinked a couple of times, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

Mercy’s tears coursed down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily and left the room. “Please, God, save him,” she whispered in the hallway. “Let this man live and punish me for all my wrongdoings, for I’ll gladly accept your chastisements. Breathe love and life into him so that he may find the happiness that such a good person deserves – please, please …”

She turned her head at the sound of footsteps and saw Nelson standing at the end of the hallway, eyes wide with surprise. His sobbing echoed down the hall. Mercy rushed to meet him, not caring who saw her falling into his arms. “Oh, Nelson, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me? Say you will.”

“Hush now – come with me,” he told her. “Let Mr Isaac sleep awhile.”

Mercy and Nelson walked side by side outside to the grassy lawn. The bright sunlight hurt her eyes after the dim curtained hospital room, where doctors seemed to think the sick should not be subjected to the joy of sunlight.

She wanted to cling to Nelson’s arm for support, but knowing how inappropriate that would be in the public grounds of a Southern hospital, she instead insisted that she sit on a bench to hide her unsteady legs. Nelson looked down into her tear-stained face. He sniffed loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a sight for my ole eyes, Miss Mercy.”

“And you to mine. I’ve missed you so much.” If only she could hold his hand and let the Southerners know that she didn’t give a hoot about the colour of a body’s skin when affection was needed. “I can’t believe this is happening, not to Isaac,” she said. “He’s a healer. Why would anyone want to shoot him?”

“He a Yankee in a Southern city filled with dem Johnny Rebs feeling all uppity at blue coats bein’ here. He ain’t the only Union man that been shot. They’s shooting at us all the time.”

“I’m so sick of this war, Nelson. I’ve seen such terrible things. Jacob is missing, and everyone thinks he’s dead – I’m so miserable.” She looked at Nelson’s disapproving face. He had a lot to say to her. She could see his condemnation itching to leave his mouth. Well, she would take his telling off, for no matter how much she wanted to shut her ears to his brutal honesty, he would have his say. “Oh, go on, then. Say what’s on your mind and get it over with – but be quick about it. I want to go sit with Isaac, and before I do, I want you to tell me exactly what the doctors are saying about him.”

“I reckon you be here ’cause you think Mr Isaac’s done. You be so mindful of dat Massa Jacob Stone, you done left poor Mr Isaac crying over you. You done left me too without a word or hope of ever seein’ you again, but I ain’t got no time to tell you what you already knows. You need to get Mr Isaac well. You got to try and make him believe – so I ain’t gonna fight wid you – ’cause I’s real glad you here, and I forgive you now anyhow.”

Mercy shielded her eyes with her hand and looked up at Nelson, standing tall but wretched with worry. “Do they really think Mr Isaac is going to die?”

“Them doctors have seen six patients die in the past week. This typhoid spread like the damn cotton worm. But I seen patients survive this. We got one man in time, an’ he left the hospital yesterday. I’s prayin’ real hard fir Mr Isaac, and I’s prayin’ now you ain’t gonna get this sickness too, now that you be here.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Nelson. I don’t intend to get sick. I’ve got far too much to do. When is Miss Belle coming back to the hospital?”

She ain’t comin’ back. She worried about her little ’un getting the typhoid. She gone to Stone Plantation.”

“Is she alone?”

“She wid her Ma and Pa, and she say she ain’t leavin’ till there ain’t no more sick with fever.”

Mercy was thoughtful for a moment. If this sickness was spreading as fast as Nelson thought, it made sense for Belle to take Grace to the country. She had mentioned Stone Plantation to Isaac, but it had been a careless statement and not one she had taken seriously. “I’ll find someone to take a note to Miss Belle. She’ll be worried sick. We can’t let him die, and we won’t, no matter what those doctors are saying. I’ve seen typhoid fever before in London, and the only way I know to fight it is to lower the fever. We will have to sponge Mr Isaac down day and night, and, Nelson, he must drink, even if we have to pour water down his throat when he doesn’t want it.”

Nelson hung his head like a moody child. “Them white folks don’ want ole Nelson to touch, Mr Isaac. They say niggers ain’t got no business treatin’ white men.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that. I can’t stay awake twenty-four hours a day, and I don’t think these doctors have enough time to see to Mr Isaac’s needs. So what do they allow you to do here?”

“I don’ rightly know. Mr Isaac, he done tol’ them doctors I’s his man. I reckon I ain’t got no job no more.”

Mercy frowned. Nelson was in a bad situation, she thought. She would have to keep a close eye on him. The last thing she needed was the Union army sending him off to the front line to fight.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Jacob’s head was throbbing, his ears rang, and pain – sharp and excruciating around his ribcage – was hampering his shallow breathing. He lay still, eyes closed but with eyelids fluttering wildly, a thousand and one thoughts cramming his mind. He was alive, that much he did know, for only the living could feel such agony. He refused to open his eyes. Only when he recalled what had happened to him, and where he’d been wounded, would he face the present and all its consequences.

              Cavalrymen he had fought with, ridden with, and come to know like brothers were at a gallop through dust and smoke so thick that he could still taste dry soil and powder in his mouth. All encompassing rifle shots were enveloping them at such speed that there was no time to draw guns or raise rifles to return fire. Young George Coulter, his face blown apart, eyes staring at Jacob in death; men falling; horses dropping to the ground like bricks; and his shoulder and back burning and bloodied by bullets …

              He recalled these events, reliving them with both emotional and physical pain. His heart thumped against his chest with anguish, so strong that he felt his lungs were being crushed. He had failed his men – good men – led by him into a trap that had killed them. Before he faced reality, he had to steady and subdue the panic that rushed through him.

He moved his right arm across his body. His fingers felt a bandage wrapped around his belly, from just below his chest to his waist. He moved his hand over the area, prodding it lightly with his fingers. He winced as they reached the left hand side of his body. Jesus, his ribs felt as though someone had taken a hammer to them. The fingers moved towards his left arm. He prayed it was still there. He couldn’t feel it. He prayed, panting with exertion and   terrified of finding out that they had amputated his limb. He caught the edge of a cotton sling and traced it with his shaking hand until he found his arm and hand. Grateful tears slipped down his cheeks. He was still whole – still able to fight and kill the Yankee bastards that had slaughtered his comrades.

He lifted his trembling arm up to his head. That too was bandaged. For a second, he pictured himself falling off Thor’s back and landing with a sickening thud on the ground. Thank God his head pounded because of that fall, not because he’d taken a bullet. He felt a hand, not his own, grab his arm and push it down by his side. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared groggily into the face of a Union soldier.

“Lay still. You’ll be undoin’ all the doc’s good work movin’ about like that,” the soldier said impatiently.

Jacob focused his eyes on the man’s uniform. He was definitely a Yankee, which meant that he, Jacob, was a prisoner of war. He couldn’t remember a damn thing about being captured or lifted from that field – not a thing. “Did any of my men make it here?” he croaked in a whisper. With the Ninth Cavalry, Virginia?”

“I don’t know about that. We got thousands of soldiers here, and we got hundreds of prisoners too. How the hell am I supposed to know who your men are?”

“Is there someone you could ask? I need to know.”

“Yep, well I need to be going home to my family instead of fighting a bunch of traitors, but I reckon that ain’t gonna happen anytime soon. You just lie there until you feel better, and then you can find your Reb friends in one of our nice holdin’ facilities.”

Jacob watched the soldier walk away with an arrogant swagger, and he was left with all his questions unanswered. He shifted his head and cast his eyes around the room, wincing with every movement. The noises that surrounded him became clearer and louder as he became more aware of his surroundings. The smell of chlorine, burning flesh, sulphur, and iodine assaulted his nostrils. Men were moaning loudly, and others were asleep, unconscious, or dead. A dead man lay on an uncovered stretcher two beds from his. Why weren’t the attendants removing the dead bodies? he found himself wondering.

The room was lit by gaslights casting ghostly shadows. His eyes couldn’t focus more than a few feet on each side of him. God only knew where he was or for how long he had been there. He tried to push his body up to get a better look at the faces of the wounded, but he could barely hold his head up, never mind move his strapped-up body. 

He couldn’t be the only survivor from the Ninth, could he? Some of his men must have made it out of that field alive. They would have ridden hard, reporting back to General Jackson – Jesus, he would be believed dead. The field was crawling with Yankees, and the bastards had been moving forwards, not back, as the lieutenant in the previous field had thought.

He recalled riding into the first field and seeing hundreds of Confederates chasing the Yankees off. They would have been lured into that cornfield beyond the trees and massacred by a much bigger enemy force, hiding like rats among the corn stalks, had he not stood them down and gone in there himself like a damn fool.

Another memory surfaced. This one was the sight of blue coats streaming out of the field, running past him as he was lying on the ground. There had been a damn tide of them – thousands. They must have held that ground. They had far outnumbered the Confederate force.

An image struck him. Yankees had picked him up and brought him to wherever he was now. They had cleared that field, not Confederates. Jesus, they had saved his life, he thought for the first time since waking up.

Jacob closed his eyes and then snapped them open a second later at the sound of another voice. A doctor, he presumed by the stethoscope, examined him with his eyes, which were kind and red-rimmed with fatigue. “Will I live, Doc?” Jacob asked the man.

“Yep, Captain, you’ll live.”

Jacob’s eyes widened with surprise. The doctor had called him by his rank.

“I saw you when they brought you in and didn’t think you stood a chance in hell. There was letter in your coat pocket. Your name was on the back of the envelope.”

Jacob nodded. His letter to Mercy – the mail wagon never did show up that morning. “Am I listed as captured?”

“You are, but I don’t know how long it takes for the communication to go through. Your folks will know soon enough that you’re still alive. I operated,” the doctor continued. “You were out cold, which was just as well. Had a hell of a job getting that bullet out of your shoulder – collarbone’s broken, but it should mend. You were damn lucky. The other bullet glanced off your ribs, a through and through. You’ll need to stay put, and you’ll hurt like the devil. And as for your head, well, not much I could do for that except stitch it up and wait for you to wake up.”

“Thank you, Doc. You saved my life.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank the Union Army of the Potomac for lifting you up off the ground.”

“Doc, my men … There were thirty of us. I saw some go down, but I don’t know …”

“Son, you best keep that question for someone else. I don’t do the soldiering round here; I just do the mending. If your men were wounded and made it here, they’ll turn up.”

The doctor turned to leave. Jacob was desperate to get more answers. “Where am I?” he called out.

“South of Yorktown, near the James River.”

“What day is it?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions for a prisoner. It’s July first – welcome back to the land of the living, Captain.