Fire by Night (55 page)

“It’s to my mother,” he told her and gave the address. Ted kept his eyes closed as he dictated as if too weak to keep them open. Julia wrote down his words.

Dear Ma,

One of the nurses is writing this because I don’t have the strength to write it myself. I need to tell you about a good friend of mine named Ike—I mean, Phoebe—Bigelow. She’s a girl, but she’s the best friend I ever had. She saved my life twice, and she would save me this time, too, if she could.

I asked Phoebe to bring all of my things to you if I don’t make it home. But I’m asking you to take her in and be a mother to her when she does. She needs you, Ma. She never knew her own mother, and she doesn’t have any family to go home to. Take care of her for me. She’s my best friend.

With love, your son,

Ted

Julia laid the paper on his lap and put the pen in his hand. “Here, you sign it,” she said. He scrawled his name, then laid back and closed his eyes again.

“Will you mail it for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thanks.”

By the time Julia stepped outside the tent again, she felt drained. She looked around for Phoebe, hoping she would be waiting to walk back to her quarters with her, but there was no sign of her. There was no sign of Otis Whitney, either. Julia chided herself for being afraid and set off across the hospital grounds alone.

It seemed to take Phoebe forever to find Dr. McGrath as she searched tent after tent in the sprawling hospital complex. When she finally did, the incident with Otis Whitney alarmed him. “We need to contact the provost marshal right away,” he said. “If Whitney threatened her, he should be arrested. Where’s Julia now?”

“I left her with Ted.”

“Go stay with her, Phoebe. Don’t leave her alone for one second.”

Phoebe jogged back to Ted’s tent as fast as she could, her heart pounding. Julia was gone. “Did you see which way she went?” she asked Ted. He shook his head.

She raced back across the hospital grounds to the Commission headquarters. When Phoebe saw that Otis Whitney’s wagon was still parked outside, she felt sick with dread. She quickly searched all of the Commission’s tents, one after the other, including Julia’s. They were all empty. No one was around.

Phoebe started to panic. What should she do? Where should she go? Was it better to go get help or would that waste too much time? Why, oh why had she left Julia alone?
Dear God,
she prayed,
tell me what to do!

Two ideas came to her. The first was to run back inside one of the tents she had just searched and grab the rifle she’d seen lying there. She discovered that it wasn’t loaded, but there was a cartridge box nearby with everything she needed. Her hands shook so badly, she could scarcely ram a bullet into the barrel and put a firing cap in place. Then she snatched up the box with the extra ammunition, slung the strap over her shoulder, and ran out of the tent again.

The second thought was to go back to where she’d found Otis with Julia earlier. He had been trying to drag her away somewhere the first time. Maybe he was too drunk to think of a different place this time. Phoebe hurried through the camp to the same spot.

The rows of tents ended here. Beyond them was a narrow field of tall grass, then the strip of woods that ran along the top of the bluff. The railroad tracks and river were at the bottom of the steep cliff. Phoebe watched the wind sweep across the field—and suddenly saw the path of trampled grass. If those were their tracks, Julia was fighting hard. He’d had to drag her.

Phoebe sprinted across the field, following the trail. It ended in the woods. The lush green undergrowth wasn’t as dry as the grass and had sprung back into place, erasing their steps. She knew there was a footpath somewhere in the woods that led down to the river, but she had never taken it herself. Nor did she know if Otis had taken it.

Back home, Phoebe used to track wild game through the forest all the time, but she was so panicked now, she couldn’t seem to think clearly. Forgetting everything she knew, she plunged blindly through the trees toward the river, praying that she would be able to see Otis from the top of the cliff. She peered over the edge in both directions when she got there, but she saw no movement below. Thinking the footpath was to her left, she jogged along the top of the bluff in that direction, scanning all around her, stopping every dozen yards or so to listen. Nothing.

She kept going, the heavy rifle slippery in her sweating hands, her skirts snagging in the thick brush, the cartridge box banging against her hip. Her lungs felt as if they might burst. When she couldn’t run any farther she stopped again, leaning against a tree. She needed air, but she held her breath for a second and listened.

Phoebe heard the muffled scream.

It had come from below, down near the tracks, farther along in the direction she had been running.
Please don’t let me be too late,
she prayed. Summoning one last reserve of energy, she ran forward again, scanning the bushes below.

A sudden motion caught her eye—Otis’ gingham shirt and dark trousers, moving in the bushes. He was down at the bottom of the cliff in a clump of low brush. Julia was on the ground beneath him, struggling to fight him off as he tried to cover her mouth and hold her down at the same time.

Phoebe knew she would never be able to get down the cliff in time. It would take too long to find the path that Otis had taken. She moved along the rim until she could get a clear aim, then lifted the gun to her shoulder.

“Otis! Let her go or I’ll shoot,” she shouted. “I got you in my sights.”

Otis froze. Then his head jerked up, and he scanned the top of the bluff until he spotted her. “Go away and leave us alone,” he called back. “The lady’s here willingly.”

“You’re lying. Let my friend go right now. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

He scrambled to his feet, pulling Julia with him. He held her in front of himself as a shield. Phoebe saw the glinting metal of his knife.

“Put the gun down and leave us alone,” he shouted, “or I’ll slit her pretty little throat.”

Phoebe didn’t want to kill him. She never wanted to kill another person as long as she lived. She had hoped to aim for his arm or his leg if he forced her to shoot. But he held Julia in front of himself, her long skirts shielding his legs, his arms wrapped around her. He was a foot taller than Julia was. The only thing Phoebe could get a clear shot of was his head.

“Please, Otis. I don’t want to kill you. Just let her go and walk away, and we can forget this whole thing ever happened.”

“You can’t kill me without killing her, too. Now be a good girl and leave us alone. This here is none of your business.”

Phoebe hadn’t fired a gun in nearly two years. She was scared to death that Otis was right, that she would kill Julia if she tried to kill him. She would have only one chance to hit him, too. If she missed, he could slit Julia’s throat by the time Phoebe reloaded. Her shoulder felt weaker since her injury, and she was already having trouble holding the gun steady.

“I’m a crackerjack shot, mister,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Sure you are, darling,” he taunted. “I hear that all the nurses are.” He started slowly backing away, dragging Julia with him. Phoebe saw him glance over his shoulder to see how far he was from the pile of railroad ties that stood beside the tracks. If she didn’t shoot him now, he would soon take cover behind it.

“This is your last warning,” she called desperately. “I don’t want to kill you, but you have to let Julia go …now!”

Her hands were trembling. If her aim was just a fraction too low, Julia would die. Phoebe whispered a prayer—not that she would kill Otis Whitney, but that she wouldn’t kill Julia.

“Go ahead and shoot me if you’re such a hotshot,” he shouted. He had reached the pile of ties. Phoebe was out of time.

She fired.

Above the loud
boom
of the rifle, she thought she heard Julia scream. For a long, terrible moment Phoebe couldn’t see anything through the smoke. Then it cleared, and she saw both Julia and Otis sprawled on the ground. Neither of them was moving.

Phoebe slid down the bank toward the tracks, tripping, stumbling, her blasted skirts and petticoats snagging on branches and getting in her way. All the while she kept praying,
Please, God…
Please, God
…as if that might somehow change the outcome.

When she reached the tracks, she saw blood splattered all over both Otis and Julia. It was hard to tell where it had all come from. Phoebe knelt beside them. Through her tears, she saw the bullet hole in Otis Whitney’s forehead. He stared sightlessly at the sky. She quickly felt Julia’s throat for a pulse.

She found one. Her friend had fainted.

But Phoebe had killed a man. She had killed him. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

“It’s all over, Julia. Come on, wake up …it’s over. … ”

The voice and the pungent odor of smelling salts jerked Julia awake. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the person who was talking to her. James McGrath held her head in his lap. He was gazing down at her, gently stroking her cheek.

Then Julia remembered Otis Whitney and what he had tried to do to her, and she cried out, her entire body recoiling with horror.

“It’s okay,” James soothed. “He’s gone, Julia. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Where is he?” she whispered.

“Dead.”

She reached up to feel her throat, remembering how Otis had pressed his knife to it, how she’d believed she was going to die. Her neck still burned.

“He nicked you a little bit,” James said, “but you’ll be all right. I’ve sent for an ambulance to take you up to the hospital. It should be here soon.”

“How …how did you get here? How did you know where to come?”

“Phoebe told me about the earlier incident, so I went for the provost marshal. We were searching Whitney’s wagon when we heard the gunshot.”

“Phoebe saved my life,” Julia murmured, remembering. “Where is she?” She struggled to sit up and saw her friend huddled a few feet away, her face streaked with gunpowder and tears. Someone had draped a uniform jacket around Phoebe’s shoulders, but she still trembled as if the air were freezing cold. Julia crawled toward her and gathered her in her arms.

“I killed him,” Phoebe wept. “I didn’t want to kill him. … ”

From the corner of her eye, Julia saw Otis Whitney’s boots and sprawled legs. She turned Phoebe away from them. “I know, I know. But he would have killed me, Phoebe. He would have. You had no choice.”

“I took a life. … ”

“No. You saved one.”

They held each other, weeping, until the ambulance arrived.

The news spread quickly from one end of City Point to another—a civilian teamster had tried to rape one of the Sanitary Commission nurses, and another nurse had shot him dead. After the ambulance brought Julia back to her tent, she and Phoebe were visited by dozens of Commission personnel and army officials asking to hear their story, questioning them about the sequence of events. Late in the afternoon when Julia was resting alone, she looked up to see James standing in her doorway, gripping his medical bag.