Wedded to War (42 page)

“Hurry,” Ruby panted between contractions. “This is my third baby—it will come fast.”

Charlotte’s eyes brightened with unspoken questions, but now was not the time to ask. The baby was coming, and unless they wanted to have it on the field in the middle of thousands of men, they needed to move. Now.

But where?

Going back across the coal barges to the
Spaulding
was not an option for Ruby. Staying here was out of the question. All of the tents were
already packed over full with the worst cases of the soldier patients.

“There.” Charlotte pointed to the White House, usually guarded by sentinels, now guarded only by tall, stately oak trees. It would work.

By the time the three women reached the house, Ruby’s legs were about to give way. Rose bushes in full, fragrant bloom hugged the outside of the house. The note Mr. Olmsted had mentioned was still there, nailed to the door:
Northern soldiers, who profess to reverence the name of Washington, forbear to desecrate the home of his early married life, the property of his wife, and now the home of his descendants.
It was signed,
A Granddaughter of Mrs. Washington.

Beneath it, someone had written in pencil his reply:
Lady, a northern officer has protected this property within sight of the enemy and at the request of your overseer.

“My apologies, dear lady,” Charlotte muttered under her breath. “At least we’re not soldiers. We’ll try to be the best houseguests we can be. Under the circumstances.”

The home had been stripped until it was almost bare, leaving only some quaint pieces of furniture and a pair of brass firedogs. Charlotte immediately went to work lighting a fire and hauling water from the well as Sister Agnes helped ease Ruby down onto a sheet on the hard wood floor. That she had given birth in worse places went through Ruby’s mind.

“It would be better if you took off your skirts now,” said the nun.

Never thought I’d hear that coming from a Sister
, Ruby mused.
And I never thought a nun would be delivering my very own bastard child.

Pain clutched her middle in breath-stopping waves, now, closer and closer together.

“You’ve got to breathe, child,” Sister Agnes was saying. “Don’t hold your breath when the pain comes. Breathe through it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In—that’s right—and out. It will lessen your sense of pain.”

“I’ve done this before,” Ruby said through gritted teeth.
And neither
time did I have any help.
“I can deal with the pain.”
I
would hardly recognize my life without it.

Finally, as though someone had popped a balloon inside of her, she felt the distinctive release of water rushing out of her womb, soaking the sheets and rags Sister Agnes had piled up to staunch the flow. The sour smell of amniotic fluid filled the room, and Ruby’s mind took her back to the births of Meghan and Fiona, the image of Matthew cradling their tiny bodies in his strong hands, and wept with fresh grief over the loss of her entire family. This baby clawing its way out of her now—this was an imposter, a fraud, a cheap counterfeit of the family she had once had. It was not worth all this fuss.

The patches of light warming the floor grew dim until nightfall closed in around White House like a satin-lined cloak. Charlotte lit the kerosene lamp and looked back at Ruby, her face twisted into worry.

From the slave quarters just above the bank, a low chorus rose above the cacophony of crickets, cicadas, and bullfrogs. The Negroes of the Lee estate had gathered outside their houses and were singing a condensed version of the creation of the world, one singing out a line and then the others joining in. Then they sang a confession of sin, and a pledge to do better, until, suddenly, their humility seemed to strike them as uncalled for, and they sang out at the top of their voices:

Ruby repeated the words in her head.
I
done, done all I can!
Her heart was torn between guilt and the confidence that she could have done no differently. Still, there had been consequences to her choices.

Maybe the baby will be born dead, with the cord wrapped around its neck. Maybe I will bleed to death. How merciful.

But the labor proceeded, and finally, Ruby’s womb expelled the living, writhing proof of her guilt. Conceived in shame, delivered in darkness. Sister Agnes scooped the tiny mouth and swiped the nose with
her finger, then wiped off the blood and fluid before handing the mottled infant to Ruby.

It was a boy.

Of course it was.

Ruby looked up from the squalling creature and stared at Sister Agnes and Charlotte. Their eyes gleamed in the lantern light, as if this baby had been wanted. As if he were an answer to prayer instead of confirmation that God had not been listening at all.

Ruby barely felt the afterbirth slither out, and watched mutely as Sister Agnes tied off the umbilical cord and snipped it above the knot.

“He’s beautiful,” the nun said, her hands still sticky with birth matter.

Ruby cringed in pain as he suckled at her breast, draining her from the inside out.

“What will you name him?” said Charlotte, washing the sweat from Ruby’s brow.

“Aiden,” replied Ruby, for he was indeed a “little fire” in her soul.

A
lone on the
Wilson Small
at last, Ruby’s body longed for sleep, but her anxious spirit needled her relentlessly. What was she supposed to do now? Nearly two weeks had passed since Aiden was born, and she still had no answers. She was living on borrowed time as long as she remained a tagalong to the Sanitary Commission, and she knew it. It wouldn’t last forever. She would end up back in New York, right where she started—only this time, without even the hope of a husband to provide for her, and with another mouth to feed.

Sweat beaded on Ruby’s forehead as she ticked off her options in her mind.
The charity societies won’t have anything to do with me, not after Phineas ruined my reputation. Outworker sewing: no, I’d never have enough time to finish the work with Aiden to care for. Domestic service: no, not with a baby. That’s work for single girls. Laundry: it wouldn’t be enough. I’d have to pair it with some other form of income, and that would
leave no time for Aiden. Factory work? Who would watch Aiden during the twelve-hour shifts? I would still need to nurse him …
Ruby closed her eyes and groaned. Who would watch Aiden, indeed. How could she forget there were more basic questions to be answered first? Where would they live, where the filth and foul air wouldn’t kill Aiden like they had killed Fiona? What would she eat, that would be wholesome enough for a nursing mother?

Every thought she chased circled back to one solution—the undeniable convenience of prostitution. Just an hour or two of work every few weeks, and she could spend the rest of the time with Aiden. It would pay the bills. She could keep her baby. She had done it before …

And I hated it!
Nausea filled her stomach at the thought of selling her body for the rest of her life. What kind of a life would she be setting her son up for? But what else was there? She had no education. No family. No references.

No hope.

Ruby reached for the Bible Charlotte had given her and read again the passage in John 8 she had first heard from the women of the American Female Reform Society. Jesus had not condemned the adulterous woman who had come to Him. It was almost unbelievable. But He
had
told her to go and sin no more.
But how on earth am I going to manage unless I go back to that? I’m trapped. I can’t get out.

She kept reading, and though she struggled at first to understand some of the language of the Bible, a glimmer of comprehension began to glow in her heart.
If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free…. If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.

Freedom. Wasn’t that what this war between North and South was all about? But the words of Jesus pointed to a greater truth. True freedom was freedom of the soul, something no man or country could give or take away. Ruby’s heart was so heavy it pulled her to the floor until she was kneeling, head in her hands, rocking to the rhythm of the bobbing ship.
I’m in bondage, chained down by guilt, condemnation, grief,
shame.
Even as she waged war in her mind against going back to prostitution, she felt herself becoming entangled once again in that dreadful lifestyle.

“Lord Jesus, free me!” she pleaded aloud through her tears. And though she did not know exactly what that meant, she prayed that, as the verse said, she would soon know the truth, and that the truth would set her free.

In the shade of a shore tent, with whippoorwills providing the lullabies and soft, pillowy clouds floating across the sky, Aiden slept peacefully in the crook of Charlotte’s arm as she rocked him back and forth, waving a hand over his body almost constantly to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Since there was a lull between trainloads of patients, she joyfully volunteered to watch him for a spell while Ruby slept.

He was perfect. Peach fuzz hair, clear blue eyes, and smooth, creamy skin. Ruby was rapidly losing weight, but he was packing it on in delightful little rolls. His knuckles were mere dimples in his chubby little hands, and his mouth was a tiny rosebud set between his full cheeks. He was the darling of the Sanitary Commission women, even the contraband women who had been hired to help in the kitchen.

And yet, Charlotte could tell Ruby was depressed. And why shouldn’t she be? It was quite common, after delivering a baby, to experience severe emotional fluctuations, even despair. But to have watched her husband die only hours before giving birth to his son—of course, this was too much for any woman to take with dry eyes and a stiff upper lip.

“Hush-a-bye-baby, on the tree top,” Charlotte murmured, “When the wind blows the cradle will rock …”
What would it be like to have a son of my own?
She chided herself for allowing the dead-end thought to form in her mind. It was useless to wish for what was not meant to be.

“You look good with a baby,” said Mollie, one of the former slaves of the Lee estate. She had no idea she was driving a stake into Charlotte’s heart.

When the mail came, and a letter from New York was brought to Charlotte, she ripped into it, thankful for the distraction. This one was from Phineas.