Fire by Night (39 page)
“Dr. Whitney told me. Besides, it’s been two weeks since a letter arrived from Mrs. McGrath. The prodigal husband finally went home.”
Julia turned away as tears unexpectedly filled her eyes. She had no idea at all what they were for.
Phoebe stood behind the curtained partition in her little corner of the hospital ward and looked down at the new chemise and underdrawers she had just put on. Unlike the muslin hand-me-downs from Widow Garlock, these were made of fine white cotton and trimmed with eyelet and tiny rows of tucks. “You didn’t need to go and make these underthings so frilly,” she told Julia. “Ain’t nobody gonna see them but me.”
“But it’s nice to wear pretty things, isn’t it?” Julia asked. “I know it always makes me feel good.”
Phoebe sat down on the bed and pulled on a pair of new woolen stockings. They felt soft and smooth and had a fancy design knitted into them. She looked up at Julia. “I don’t know how I’ll ever pay you back for all of these things.”
“I told you, I don’t want you to pay me,” Julia said a little crossly. “They’re gifts, Phoebe. It makes me happy to buy them for you. We need to celebrate the fact that you’re finally well enough to leave the hospital and go home. For a while there, we didn’t know if you were going to live or not.”
“But they must’ve cost a lot of money—”
“Not really. Besides, I have a lot of money. Now stand up so I can lace your corset.”
“Do I have to wear that thing? The last time I tried on a corset it felt like I’d fallen out of a tree and had the wind knocked out of me.”
Julia smiled. “I won’t need to pull it very tight. You’ve gotten so thin since you’ve been ill. You have a nice slender figure now. A lot of women will envy you.”
Phoebe let her lace it up. Then Julia slipped a new corded petticoat over her head. She had to stand on tiptoe to do it, since Phoebe was so tall.
“Folks in Bone Hollow will say I’m putting on airs when I show up in such fancy clothes. They’ll say, ‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”’ She wished Julia had bought her a plain old shirt and a pair of overalls instead.
“If they say that it’s because they’re jealous,” Julia said, lifting the skirt over Phoebe’s head. “I hope I measured you right for this skirt and bodice. If not, the seamstress said you could come back anytime and she would make alterations.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Phoebe had picked a plain dark blue calico print for the skirt and matching long-sleeved top. It had plain cuffs and a simple row of buttons down the front, but Julia had made the sleeves fashionably full and added three rows of fancy tucks around the hem of the skirt.
“I have one more surprise,” Julia said, unwrapping a tissue-paper package. “I bought you a white lace collar and a brooch to wear at the neck when you want to dress up a little. See?”
“But …I can’t thank you enough.” Phoebe bit her lip, determined not to cry. Julia pulled her into her arms and hugged her. Julia felt small and fragile to Phoebe as she hugged her back.
“Please don’t try to,” Julia said. “It doesn’t count as a good deed in heaven if I get something in return—and I need all the good credit I can get.” Julia’s voice suddenly sounded very sad, but before Phoebe could ask her what she meant, Julia said, “Now sit down on the bed and let me fix your hair.”
Phoebe’s hair had grown nearly two inches since she’d been wounded in September. It didn’t quite touch her shoulders yet, but Julia insisted that it was long enough for her to pin back and cover with a ribbon. She handed Phoebe a mirror so she could watch, but she was almost afraid to look.
“I wish we had a full-length mirror so you could see how lovely you look in your new dress,” Julia said as she brushed her hair.
Phoebe didn’t feel lovely, even with pretty clothes on and her hair fixed up. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and knew that Ted Wilson would still never want to steal a kiss from her or carry her picture in his pocket. Julia was the kind of girl that all the men wanted for their sweetheart.
“Can I ask you a question?” Julia said when she finished with Phoebe’s hair. “I’ve been curious for a long time. … Why did you do it? Why did you pretend that you were a man?”
Phoebe looked down at her lap. “Because I was no good at being a woman. No one’s ever going to marry me. I’m too big and tall and ugly.” She realized that it was still true. When she arrived home in a few days, her only choice would be to work for Mrs. Haggerty again, or someone just like her. “I figured since I looked like a man and could shoot a gun like a man, I may as well pretend I was one.”
“Phoebe, look in the mirror,” Julia said gently. “You’re tall, but you’re not built like a man. You’ve got a very nice figure.” She pointed to the shoulder line of her own dress. “Women have dropped shoulders like these sewn on their dresses on purpose so their shoulders will look as nice and wide as yours.”
“This ain’t a pretty face.”
Julia shook her head. “I know you’ll never believe me, but you have a very nice face. And there are other things for a woman to do besides get married. You can lead a full life without a husband. Take Dorothea Dix, for example—”
“Oh, sure,” Phoebe said angrily. “You can say that because you’re pretty and you’re married. You probably had lots of men lining up to ask you, right?”
Julia didn’t reply. She couldn’t seem to meet Phoebe’s gaze.
“You ain’t answering because I’m right, ain’t I? You never had to worry about finding a husband.”
“Phoebe, I came here to be a nurse because I wanted to do more with my life than just find a husband and get married. I wanted to be more than a pretty face. This is just the outside,” she said, touching her own cheek. “I wanted to be beautiful on the inside. That’s what really counts.”
“But you already are a good person on the inside.”
“No,” Julia said, shaking her head. “I’m not. You don’t know me.” She sat down on the bed beside Phoebe, toying with the hairbrush. “I once overheard a man say that it didn’t matter to him that I was pretty. He had looked at my heart and what he saw was ugly.
He was right—I saw it, too. And even though I’ve tried very hard to change, I’ve seen even uglier things in my heart since then.” She drew a deep breath and exhaled before continuing. “There was another man who was attracted to me because I was pretty, but he didn’t want me to be a nurse. He wanted me all to himself, to show me off so everyone would say what a pretty wife he had. But that was all that he loved about me. He didn’t know me or care about what I was like on the inside.”
Phoebe remembered how the soldiers used to show off their sweethearts’ pictures, bragging about how pretty they were. “Which of those two men is your husband?” she asked Julia.
“Neither. I’m going to tell you a secret, Phoebe. I think you’ll understand since you had a secret yourself for so long.” Julia hesitated, then drew another deep breath. “I’m not married. I lied. I said that I was because no one would let me be a nurse if I was single.”
Phoebe stared. “But …you told us all about your husband. You said he was in a Rebel prison.”
“There is a real Robert Hoffman, and he
is
in Libby Prison. But he’s my cousin, not my husband.”
Phoebe couldn’t reply. She thought she understood a little of Ted’s shock and surprise when he had learned her own secret. It was no fun discovering that someone you admired had lied to you. And Phoebe’s lie had been even worse than Julia’s.
“I feel so bad about lying,” Julia said. “I know it was wrong, and I pray that God will forgive me for it—and for all of my other sins. You’re my friend, Phoebe, and I …I wanted you to know the truth.”
“Do you think you’ll ever get married, though?” Phoebe finally asked.
“I hope to marry someday. But I want to find a man who loves the real me. Isn’t that what you want, too? Wouldn’t that be much better than marrying a man who only wants you because you’re pretty?”
“I been in love,” Phoebe said quietly. “And if I looked like you do, he would have loved me back. And you know what? Even if he only loved me on the outside, that would be a whole heap better than him not loving me at all.”
Julia stared down at her hands, looking sadder than Phoebe had ever seen her look. “I’m going to miss you, Phoebe Bigelow.”
“Yeah …me too,” she said hoarsely. She stood, suddenly wanting to get all the good-byes over with and leave before she started to cry. “I hope you find somebody, Julia. You deserve a good life in return for all you done for me. And don’t worry—I ain’t gonna try and thank you again. I want you to get your reward.” She was glad when Julia smiled faintly. “Listen, I’m gonna go say good-bye to the other nurses now and let them see how you tried to fix me up.”
“They’ll tell you the same thing I did—that you look lovely.”
Phoebe nodded. “Since I don’t like saying good-bye and all that, I’m going to leave and go on ahead of you to your boardinghouse, okay? We can say good-bye tomorrow morning when you take me to the train station.”
“All right. I’ll see you later, Phoebe.”
The matrons and nurses had been kind to Phoebe, but she hurried through all the farewells, embarrassed by the attention. When she finally managed to tear herself away and get to the front door, she spotted Dr. McGrath working in his office. Phoebe hesitated, aware that he always held himself aloof from everybody—and even more so since he’d returned to the hospital a month ago after his leave of absence. But he had saved her life, and she needed to thank him.
“Dr. McGrath, I guess you know I’m going home today,” she said shyly. “I just thought I’d say good-bye. And I wanted to thank you for helping me get better.”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. “You look very nice as a woman, Miss Bigelow.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She felt herself blushing. “I have Julia to thank for this dress and all.”
He nodded absently, his smile gone. “I …uh …I trust you won’t be enlisting again any time soon?”
“No, sir. I reckon I’ll just go on home.”
“Listen, I’ll be glad to write up some discharge papers for you under your other name. You fought in some major battles. You deserve to have an honorable discharge listed on the records.”
“No thanks. I told a lie, and there ain’t nothing honorable about lying.”
“Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind.”
“Thanks for everything, Dr. McGrath. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Miss Bigelow. And good luck to you.”
As she walked out of Fairfield Hospital that beautiful spring morning, Phoebe wondered what she would do with “good luck.” As far as she was concerned, it was bad luck that she was back to being a woman, worse luck that she was going home to Bone Hollow, and the worst luck of all that there wasn’t a soul in the world who cared if she lived or died. If God loved her as much as Julia claimed, it seemed to Phoebe that now would be a good time to give her a sign.
James McGrath watched Phoebe leave Fairfield Hospital and wondered what would become of her. She looked so uncomfortable in her new dress that it wouldn’t surprise him in the least if she was back in trousers by nightfall. He sighed. Phoebe had thanked him for saving her life, but the truth was that she owed a bigger debt to Julia than to him. She was the one who had spotted the piece of shrapnel, who had cared for Phoebe day after day, who had convinced Phoebe to live when she was ready to give up and die.
He sighed again and rubbed his eyes, wishing he could rub Julia from his mind. He returned to his mail. His weekly letter had arrived that morning from New Haven, and he carefully slit the envelope open with a knife. James felt his chest tighten as he unfolded a childish drawing of water and boats, the tall masts pointing to a bright orange sun. His daughter had scrawled a note to him across the top.
Dear Daddy,
We saw some ships today. I drew a picture of them for you.
Love, Kate
James left the two-page letter, written on cream vellum stationery, inside the envelope, unread. Lost in his thoughts, he was only vaguely aware of the front door groaning open, then banging closed again. A moment later he heard a man’s voice speaking from his office doorway. “Excuse me, Doctor…”
James looked up to see a tall, dark-haired man in an officer’s uniform watching him. The soldier was very thin, as if he might be recovering from an illness or an injury. Yet there was an intensity in his gaze, a predator’s alertness in his posture that James found unsettling. He quickly folded his daughter’s drawing and stuffed it back inside the envelope as if he were ashamed of it, though he couldn’t have said why.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” the stranger said. “I’m Lieutenant Robert Hoffman. I’m looking for my—”
“Julia.”
James said the name aloud, finishing the lieutenant’s sentence. He heard the longing in his own voice and hoped her husband hadn’t.
“Yes, Julia Hoffman. I was told I might find her here.” The lieutenant stood rigidly at attention, as if awaiting military inspection. James rose and extended his hand.
“James McGrath. Julia told us you’ve been held prisoner in …Richmond, wasn’t it?”
