Fire by Night (51 page)

“Would you like a sip of brandy?” she asked the soldier.

He nodded. She could tell by his new uniform and youthful face that he was a fresh recruit—as she once had been. She lifted his head to help him drink and brushed against a piece of paper fastened to the back of his uniform. “What’s this?” she asked.

“My name and address. We knew it would be a bloodbath today. The Rebels got here first and dug in behind breastworks. That meant we had to charge across the open field. So last night some of us wrote our names and addresses on paper and pinned it to our coats so they’d know where to send our bodies.” He swallowed another sip and looked up at Phoebe. Fear filled his eyes. “Am I going to make it? I-I’m afraid to die.”

She remembered how scared she and Ted had been the first time they’d gone into battle at Williamsburg, how terrified they’d both been of dying. She knew exactly how he felt. “We’re gonna do our best to see that you live,” she told him. “Don’t you worry none. Is there anything else I can do for you before I help this next fella?”

“Pray for me. Pray for God to have mercy on my soul.”

Phoebe had seen Reverend Greene earlier that morning, moving between the church pews, comforting some of the men. “You know what?” she said, slowly rising to her feet. “I haven’t had much practice at praying, but there’s a minister here who does it a whole lot better than me. I’ll go fetch him for you.”

She wove between the sprawled bodies, searching for the minister, wishing she could muffle the pitiful sounds of men moaning and weeping and crying out in pain every time they were moved. The doctors would do their best for them here, but after surgery they would have to endure a long, jolting ambulance ride to the evacuation hospital at White House Landing.

Phoebe found the minister inside the church, kneeling beside a soldier who had just died. Reverend Greene’s eyes were closed, and she saw the deep emotion written on his face. She waited quietly until he finished his prayer. “Excuse me, Reverend,” she said when he stood again. “There’s a soldier over yonder who’s asking for somebody to pray with him. Can you spare a moment?”

“Certainly, Miss Bigelow. Lead the way.” He followed her in silence. Phoebe knew from her own experience that sometimes the best way to grieve the loss of one patient was to help another.

“This here is Chaplain Greene,” she told the soldier. “He’ll be glad to pray with you.”

“Thanks,” he murmured.

She moved on to the next soldier and the next, but she noticed that the minister was still talking with the boy a while later when the orderlies finally carried him to Dr. McGrath for surgery. Phoebe hurried over to join them, remembering the last meeting between the two men and worrying that they might clash again. But the doctor ignored the minister completely as he crouched to examine his patient. And Reverend Greene continued preaching to the boy as if the doctor wasn’t even there.

“Those who know Christ have the promise of eternal life,” Greene was saying. “Do you have that assurance?”

“Do you have any sensation at all in this hand?” Dr. McGrath asked. The soldier looked from one man to the other as if unsure which one to answer.

“We don’t need to fear death, knowing that He has prepared a place for those He loves,” Greene continued.

“I’m going to lift your wrist to take your pulse. Tell me if you can feel my fingers.”

“Salvation is a free gift. … ”

Finally the doctor had had enough. “Would you please shut up!” he yelled. “I’m trying to save this man’s life.”

Reverend Greene frowned. “There is little use in saving his life if his soul is lost.” Dr. McGrath stood, motioning for the minister to step aside with him. “Kindly go do your hocus-pocus someplace else. You’re scaring my patients. They hear you babbling about heaven and they think they’re going to die.”

“You know very well that some of them
are
going to die. I’m simply preparing them to meet God.”

“They’ll meet Him a lot sooner if you don’t get out of my way and let me work!” He returned to his patient, signaling to the orderlies to take him into the church for surgery.

The boy’s eyes went wide with fear. “No, wait! Where are you taking me? What are you going to do? Come with me, Reverend. I’m scared!”

“There’s no room for the chaplain in there,” Dr. McGrath said. “He’ll be waiting right out here when you come out of surgery.”

“You’re going to cut my arm off, aren’t you? Please don’t let him cut it off, Reverend!”

The doctor rested his hand on the boy’s head. “A team of three doctors, including myself, will decide what needs to be done. I never amputate without a patient’s permission. However, in your case I believe that amputation is necessary.”

“No! No! I don’t want to lose my arm!”

“It’s not possible to repair the massive damage to your elbow. If you won’t let us amputate, you may as well stay out here. The chaplain can get you ready to die.”

“There’s no need to be so cold about it,” Reverend Greene said.

“I’m being honest. There’s a very good chance he’ll live if we amputate. But if he keeps this mess it will putrefy and he’ll die of blood poisoning. It’s his choice.”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Let me have a moment to speak with him, please,” the minister said.

Dr. McGrath turned to Phoebe. “Who’s next, then? Let’s go.”

A different patient was taken into surgery, and Phoebe watched from a distance as Reverend Greene continued talking to the boy, praying with him. A half hour later Dr. McGrath emerged from the church again.

“He’s ready now,” the minister told him. “Do what needs to be done.”

Phoebe and Reverend Greene were both waiting when the orderlies brought the unconscious boy out of surgery. His elbow ended with a bandaged stump. The minister blanched and quickly looked away. Phoebe didn’t blame him one bit. Even after all this time, she still hadn’t grown used to the horror of amputation. She gave Reverend Greene a moment to recover before instructing him what to do next.

“It’s important to watch for bleeding, Reverend. If you can’t stay with him, then wake him up so he can tell somebody else if he starts to bleed.”

He nodded, dazed.

“It’s also a good idea to keep his arm covered up, at first. Don’t let him see …what’s left …until he’s prepared for the shock of it.”

“How will he see that it’s bleeding if he’s covered up?”

Phoebe recalled the warm, wet sensation of her own wound and shuddered. “Trust me, he’ll know. Come get me if he needs something for the pain.” She paused a moment, then added, “And please don’t let him give up and die, even if heaven is a pretty nice place.”

Phoebe’s work seemed unending, the slaughter that was taking place at Cold Harbor unimaginable. A wounded officer told her that he’d seen more than six thousand Union soldiers fall in the first half hour of battle. The medical team fought hard to save every man they could, but there were many who were too severely wounded to survive. All Phoebe could do for those patients was to keep them soothed and comfortable until they died.

At last there was a pause in the battle. The two armies reached a stalemate as they glared at each other across the battlefield—the Rebels defending their land, the Union unwilling to sacrifice any more men by hurling them at the Confederate breastworks. But neither side would call an official ceasefire so that the wounded men, lying in the field between the two armies, could be tended to.

For another long day, Phoebe worked with the ambulance crews to evacuate as many of the previously injured men as they could to White House Landing in order to make room for more casualties. Late in the afternoon she saw Reverend Greene searching for someone among the waiting men.

“You looking for anyone in particular?” she asked as she walked over to talk with him.

“The boy with the amputated arm. The one I prayed with the other day.”

“He’s doing pretty good. They already took him to White House Landing. Listen, I know it was a terrible thing, but Dr. McGrath was right. Taking that soldier’s arm off was the only way to save his life.”

The minister glanced around as if expecting the doctor to appear suddenly. “I understand that McGrath is your friend, Miss Bigelow, but I can’t pretend to like him. I want you to know that I’ve sent inquiries to the authorities in Connecticut. I’m awaiting their answer.”

“Dr. McGrath told me the whole story. He didn’t kill that rich man, the man killed himself. The police found a suicide note. That’s why they let the doctor go.”

“And you believe his story?”

“Yes, sir. I do. I’m sure the police will tell you the same thing when they write back.”

“We’ll see. The report has likely been delayed seeing as the army has been on the move all month. The letter probably hasn’t caught up with me yet. Even so, the doctor is still a very disagreeable man. I don’t know how Julia could stand to work with him for as long as she did.”

“If you don’t mind me asking …how is Julia?”

The minister quickly looked away, but not before Phoebe saw him battle a storm of emotions. She wondered if something terrible had happened to Julia. “She broke off our engagement,” he finally managed to say.

“I’m sorry.”

He struggled for control. When he turned to Phoebe again, she was surprised to see that the emotion that had won out was anger. “She’s down here in Virginia,” he said. “She wrote to me from Fredericksburg. She’s working there, as a nurse.”

“That’s not far at all. Maybe you could ride along in one of the ambulances and go talk to her. Find out why she broke it off.”

“I know why. She decided she would rather be a nurse than my wife.”

“Can’t she be both?”

Her question made him angrier still. “No, Miss Bigelow. She cannot.”

“Listen, I know this is none of my business,” Phoebe said, “but can I tell you something?”

“What.”

From the way he said it, Phoebe knew that Reverend Greene did not like people telling him what to do. Even so, she spoke her mind.

“If the man I loved asked me to marry him, I’d be so happy I wouldn’t let anything stand in our way. For sure I’d find a way to get to Fredericksburg and talk things over with him.”

“Would you give up nursing if he asked you to?”

“That’s a dumb question. Why on earth would he ask me to stop helping people?”

His face grew so red and angry looking that all of a sudden Phoebe understood. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?” she said. “Julia came back to be a nurse, and you didn’t want her to.”

“I don’t want her to be in any danger. Not only is there a risk from bullets and shells, but there are thousands of men in these camps, far away from their homes and wives. A good many of them are unsavory characters, capable of anything. It isn’t proper for an unmarried woman to do this sort of work.”

“So what I’m doing ain’t proper?” she asked. He didn’t reply. “You know, that’s why I never went to church back home. They were always ticking off all the rules and telling me how I fell short of them all. I was at the hospital with Julia for more than half a year, and she never once did anything improper with any of those men. They respected her. Everyone could tell she came from a high-class family, but she gave up all her servants and money and things so she could help people. Didn’t Jesus tell the rich man to sell all he had and give to the poor so he would have treasures in heaven? You ought to be right proud of her.”

He seemed taken aback by her words. “I-I was proud of her. It’s the people in my church back home that won’t understand. They’ll never accept her as their minister’s wife if she keeps defying convention and scorning proper society.”

“So it wasn’t Julia who broke it off, then. It was the folks in your church. Seems like you were willing to let them tell you what to do and Julia wasn’t.”

“She knew how I felt about it,” he replied bitterly. “I made my wishes very clear to her. And she went to Fredericksburg anyway.”

“Do you love her, Reverend Greene? Or are you content to spend the rest of your life without her? Because it seems to me that if you don’t bend a little, that’s exactly what you’re gonna be doing.”

He started to turn away, and Phoebe was sure he was about to storm off. But then they heard Dr. McGrath, of all people, calling to him. “Chaplain …Chaplain Greene, wait! I need your help.”

Greene paused, turning back. “Yes, what is it?” he asked coldly.

“I can’t get any of the military staff to listen to me. I can’t even get near them. Maybe they’ll listen to you.”

Phoebe could tell how upset Dr. McGrath was by the way he ran his fingers through his hair and tugged on his beard. He couldn’t seem to stand still.

“For mercy’s sake, Chaplain, we’ve got to convince them to call a truce so we can help the wounded. It’s been two days now, and injured soldiers are still lying out there in that field between the two armies. Both sides are too stubborn to call a halt so we can bring them in for treatment. The generals won’t even stop to bury their dead.”

“Of course I’ll help,” the minister said. “I’m on good terms with at least one brigadier general. We can start there.”

Phoebe watched in amazement as the two men strode off together as if there had never been any hard feelings between them at all. But it wasn’t until a third day had come and gone that the opposing generals finally called a temporary cease-fire. When they did, Phoebe prepared to go to work with a host of doctors, nurses, and stretcher-bearers, collecting the wounded and bringing them to the field hospital.

The battle had been spread out over five or six acres—and every inch of the battlefield was strewn with bodies, as thickly as if the men had decided to lie down side by side. Phoebe waded into the midst of the carnage, looking for a survivor to help, gazing at each face, searching for Ted’s. But the first dozen soldiers she bent to help were all dead, their bodies already stiff and bloating in the sun. The stench after three days was nauseating. But it wasn’t the smell that drove her from the battlefield and back to her tent. It was the vastness of it all, the sheer number of vibrant young men like the ones she had served with, fallen—for nothing. Not one inch of territory had been gained, nor was the war any closer to an end. The senselessness of it left her numb with grief.