Fire by Night (35 page)

“Well, look through his letters. Maybe you can find an address somewhere.”

“Ike never got any letters. He never wrote any, either.” Ted knew why.

Should he tell Sergeant Anderson the truth, tell him that the man they called Ike Bigelow had been a woman in disguise? Ted had been close to Ike for more than a year. What if no one believed that he had been fooled all that time? Would he get into trouble for being with her? For not telling when he’d found out the truth?

But Ike had begged Ted not to tell. She had saved his life. The least he could do for his friend was keep her secret.

“Well, you were closest to him, son. Do what you think is best with all his things.” The sergeant turned and called gruffly to his men, as if embarrassed to let his emotions show in front of Ted. “All right, let’s get this wagon unloaded. There’s mail.”

The sergeant reached into the wagon again and pulled out a folded newspaper. He handed it to Ted. “Here. Maybe this will cheer you up a little.”

Ted unfolded it and read the headline:
Lincoln to Emancipate Slaves
. He stared at the words, astonished. He was no longer aware of the crush of men surrounding him, jostling him as they crowded around the wagon. Nor did he wait for his own mail. He plowed through the swarm and headed back to his tent, reading as he walked. As he read the president’s proclamation, a quiet joy welled up inside him for the first time since Ike had disappeared.

On the first day of January, in the year of our Lord 1863, all persons held as slaves within any State, or designated part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States,shall be then, thenceforth, and forever free
.

It was the costly Union victory at Sharpsburg that had led to Lincoln’s decision, Ted read. The sacrifice that Ike and all the others had made would now bring freedom to the slaves. Ted thought of his grandmother and of the slaves he’d befriended at Hilltop Plantation. He remembered how Ike had pulled him aside after seeing Slave Row that day, saying,
“You know what? That’s why we’re fighting— it’s for the slaves. So they don’t have to live like that no more.”

Ike’s sacrifice had saved the lives of countless others besides Ted. More than ever before, Ted knew he had a reason to fight. A reason to win.

Julia ached all over as she walked up the road to the farmhouse. The stiffness came from sleeping on the ground beside her patient for the past five nights, and she wondered how the soldiers managed to sleep on the cold, hard ground for months at a time. The fall morning was crisp and clear, the air scented with ripening apples. She wished she had time to savor the beautiful Maryland countryside, but the suffering and destruction all around her—including the suffering her tentmate was enduring—had overshadowed any loveliness.

At least two other physicians had been performing surgery in the farmhouse along with Dr. McGrath, and Julia hoped to find one of them. With any luck, James would still be in bed, sleeping off his usual hangover, and she wouldn’t run into him. When she spotted one of the army doctors sitting on the front step, blowing on a cup of coffee, she was relieved. But just as she reached the porch, Dr. McGrath came through the door. He didn’t look ill, for once, but rested and combed and almost personable. Even so, she ignored him, addressing the man with the coffee.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor, but when you have a moment this morning, would you please look at one of my patients?”

“What’s the problem?”

“The wound isn’t healing well, and when I was changing the dressing this morning I thought I saw something …shiny.”

“It could be a piece of shrapnel, but are you certain you weren’t seeing bone?”

“I don’t know. I’d hoped you would take a look.”

“This wouldn’t be the patient I put in your tent, would it?” Dr. McGrath asked.

The other doctor swiveled around to look up at him. “In her tent? What are you talking about, James?”

“It was a woman, disguised as a man,” he said, moving to stand on the stairs. “I pulled some shrapnel out of her shoulder the other day. Under the circumstances, I thought I shouldn’t put her with the men.”

“Good heavens!” the doctor exclaimed. “Don’t these army recruiters have eyes? How on earth did a woman slip past them? And what would possess her to enlist in the army in the first place?”

“Is she the patient, Mrs. Hoffman?” James asked.

The two doctors looked at Julia. She nodded.

“I’ll go,” James said. “If it is a piece of shrapnel, I’m the one who missed it. Let me get my bag.” He was already rolling up his sleeves as he went inside the house to retrieve it.

Julia didn’t wait. She started walking back to her tent without him, dreading the next few minutes. She decided that she wouldn’t try to apologize for her remarks to him the other evening. She wouldn’t mention the incident at all—and she hoped that he wouldn’t, either. She waited for him outside her tent, unwilling to share such close quarters with him. Phoebe had passed out earlier as Julia had swabbed iodine on her wound. She was still unconscious.

“I’m going to need plenty of light,” Dr. McGrath said when he arrived. “I don’t want to move her, so let’s pull out a couple of tent stakes and fold the roof back.”

Julia did as she was told, then stood aside, watching from a little distance as he knelt beside the patient. He looked up at Julia after a moment, his usual frown back in place.

“Aren’t you going to assist me, Mrs. Hoffman? I need your help.”

She drew a deep breath. “What would you like me to do?”

“Come here and show me what you saw.”

Julia hated looking at the huge ragged wound in Phoebe’s shoulder, but she knelt beside the doctor and gently lifted the dressing she had laid loosely in place. “I was trying to clean away some of the debris and dead tissue. I thought I saw something …right around here. … ”

“Okay. I’m going to have to probe.” He opened his medical bag and handed Julia a bottle of chloroform. “Put her out,” he said. “And be careful you don’t breathe any yourself.”

Julia poured a small amount on the cloth.

“I don’t like to dig around any more than I have to,” he said as he waited for Julia to hold it over Phoebe’s face. “If a wound is from a Minie ball or a bullet, I know there will likely be only one pellet to search for—the Rebels don’t waste ammunition. But this was canister shot—hundreds of pieces of metal that spew out of one shell. Devastating stuff.”

The doctor pulled a slender, curved probe from his bag, and Julia quickly looked away. Several long minutes passed as he worked in silence. “There,” he said at last, “I think I feel something. Hand me the forceps, please.” She pulled a pair from his bag and placed them in his outstretched hand. “Sponge, please.” She gave him one. A few moments later, he was done. “You have good eyes, Mrs. Hoffman. Would you like to keep this little demon for a souvenir?” He held up the bloody forceps, gripping a jagged piece of metal the size of a dime.

“No, thank you.”

He tended the wound himself, applying the iodine and a clean dressing. Then he examined Phoebe, checking her pulse and listening to her chest with his stethoscope. When he finished, he sighed. “Well, I don’t like the looks of things. There’s damage to her scapula and who knows what else. But just continue as you are. You’re doing everything that can be done.”

He was being pleasant and professional. He hadn’t mentioned their last meeting. Julia was so relieved that she summoned the courage to ask him a question. “I can’t get her to eat anything, Doctor. It’s been several days. She keeps saying she wants to die.”

He closed his bag and stood. “Even if she eats, she might get her wish. But if she doesn’t eat, I can guarantee she will.”

“How can I get her to eat?”

“Hmm. I can see where you might have a problem, Mrs. Hoffman. Usually you simply flirt with your patients to get them to cooperate, don’t you?”

She stared at him, afraid to answer. She’d been cruel to him and knew she deserved his cruelty in return. But his next words seemed to come out of nowhere.

“How did you hear that I killed a man?”

His voice was so quiet, so intense, that it sent a shiver down Julia’s spine. She could tell that he wasn’t going to leave until she answered him.

“I met a man from Connecticut,” she managed to say. “He read about it in the newspaper.”

“I see.” He stared at her for a very long time. “Aren’t you afraid to work with a murderer?” he asked in the same hushed voice.

This time she couldn’t answer. She was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, as if a predator were watching her, waiting to pounce if she made one wrong move.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “I think you’ve answered my question.” He smiled sadly and walked away.

Phoebe opened her eyes and looked around. She was in her tent. It was light outside. Someone was kneeling beside her. “Ted?” she whispered. The name didn’t come out right. Her mouth was dry and bitter tasting.

“Good morning, Phoebe. How do you feel?” It was a woman’s voice, not Ted’s.

She remembered then where she was. The pain in her shoulder was an agonizing reminder. It never stopped. She closed her eyes, hoping the blackness would swallow her again, bringing relief.

“No, don’t go to sleep. I brought you some food.” The woman set something down beside Phoebe that smelled good. “Please, you have to eat.”

“Why?” Phoebe knew she was dying. Why drag it out? Why not simply close her eyes and get it over with?

“Because …Do it for …for Ted.”

“What?” Phoebe’s eyes flew open. She stared at the woman in surprise.

“You keep asking for Ted. I thought maybe he was someone special to you. I hoped that you might want to get well for his sake.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phoebe lied.

“Well, is there someone else we can write a letter to? Someone you’d like to have come and take care of you? Maybe bring you something special from home?”

She shook her head. “Let me die. It don’t matter. Nobody will care.”

“I don’t believe you, Phoebe. There must be somebody.”

The nurse was young and very pretty. She made Phoebe feel uglier than ever. Even the woman’s name, Julia, was pretty. Phoebe wished she would go away.

“Well, there ain’t nobody who cares, and that’s the truth.” She closed her eyes, longing to die so the terrible pain would stop.

“God cares,” Julia said softly. She stroked Phoebe’s forehead, brushing back her hair. “God loves you.”

Phoebe didn’t believe it. If God cared one whit about her, He wouldn’t have made her so homely. And He would have given her at least one person in the whole wide world who loved her.

“God don’t care about me, either,” she told Julia.

The nurse closed her eyes for a moment, biting her lip. When she opened them again she said, “Let me ask you something. Suppose someone had been willing to die for you? Suppose he had thrown himself between you and that artillery shell and had taken this wound in your place so that you could live—even if it meant he would die. That would prove that the person loved you, wouldn’t it?”

That was exactly what Phoebe had done. She had thrown herself on top of Ted, getting wounded in his place so that he would live. That must mean that she loved him. Phoebe Bigelow was in love with Ted Wilson. She admitted the truth for the first time. But then, she’d never loved anyone before and hadn’t any idea what it felt like. Was it love when you wanted to be with someone all the time and you felt lost and empty when they weren’t by your side? Did it mean savoring the way they moved and laughed and frowned—and staying awake at night just to watch their face while they slept? Was that love? Was it wanting so much for the other person to live that you would gladly suffer and die in their place?

Tears rolled down Phoebe’s face. She couldn’t wipe them away. Her injured arm wouldn’t move, and she was lying on the other one. Julia wiped the tears away for her.

“That’s what Jesus did,” Julia said. “He gave his life, dying in your place, so you could live.”

Phoebe knew the Easter story—how the Son of God had been crucified on a cross. But it had never made sense to her before. She hadn’t known what it meant to love someone so much that you would die for him. Maybe this explained the words she had been wondering about:
“For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.”