Wedded to War (34 page)

He was uncomfortable. Perhaps he had not been to many dances during his years at seminary.
I shouldn’t make him feel like we need to talk throughout the dance
, she thought.
Maybe he needs to concentrate on the steps to lead.

Charlotte, on the other hand, could waltz in her sleep. Closing her eyes, she let the music—and Edward—carry her away, and couldn’t help but remember the last time she had waltzed. She had been so upset about the war breaking out, and her helplessness to do anything to help, that she hadn’t wanted to be at the ball at all. Her dancing was purely mechanical, and she had been sure she would make a misstep.

And then Caleb had shown up.
What if your stepping out of formation was actually a step in the right direction?
he had said.
What a shame
it would be if you were always confined to a prescribed number and pattern of steps.

Had he known then, that his words were the perfect prelude for her becoming a nurse? The man was a prophet. She hoped he was enjoying himself tonight, wherever he was. Caleb always knew the right thing to say.

The music ended, and Charlotte opened her eyes. She curtsied to Edward, but the smile lingering on her lips was for Caleb.

It was no longer Christmas by the time Charlotte, Alice, and Ruby returned to the warmth of the Ebbitt House. Ruby had been ready to leave hours earlier, and had fallen asleep in the carriage on the way home. All she wanted to do was curl up in her cot and forget about her expanding waistline and swelling bust. Her secret would be out in a matter of weeks, she guessed, and she had no idea what to do about it.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” Charlotte linked her arm through Ruby’s elbow. “Time to take off those glass slippers.”

Don’t worry, I’ve been walking around barefoot ever since I saw Matthew
, she thought, but said nothing.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t spend more time with your husband,” Alice said. “I know it never feels like enough. But I do hope it was better than nothing.”

“It was sweet of you to find him,” Ruby forced out, though all she felt was bitterness.

“Speaking of which—” Alice said. “Charlotte, your Christmas present came a little late this year. So sorry. Merry December 26!”

Charlotte’s heart leapt.
Caleb?
Her eyes searched the lobby until they settled on a gentleman in a black cutaway suit and gleaming white bow-tie cravat.

“Phineas!” Charlotte gasped and held out her hand to him. “Heavens, what a surprise! I thought you couldn’t get away!”

“Better late than never, am I right?” He bowed low, and gallantly kissed her hand.

Alice leaned over to Ruby. “Charlotte’s suitor, Mr. Phineas Hastings. Just arrived from New York tonight. Shame he couldn’t have come to camp with us, but he’s more suited to the finer things of life, anyway.”

Ruby’s heart stopped. Was she dreaming? Phineas Hastings was Charlotte’s suitor? Had she even mentioned him before? She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes.
Dreadful. Impossible.

“Pardon me,” Charlotte said. “I’ve been rude. Allow me to introduce you. This is Mrs. O’Flannery, our roommate. This is the woman who survived the fire last month, remember darling? I told you about her.”

“Well, you certainly look fit as a fiddle now, thank God.” He gave her a polite bow. “I’m Phineas Hastings. Charmed, I’m sure.”

Ruby could barely hear him over the blood rushing in her ears. She curtsied, but said nothing, unwilling for her Irish accent to betray her. Her heart beat frantically against her corset, her feet were ready to take flight.

She chanced a glance at his face again. No hint of disturbance had hardened his features. He chatted amiably with Charlotte and Alice, and she was once again on the outside, an unimportant accessory. He had looked Ruby in the face, but had seen only a stranger.
Was it possible? He didn’t recognize her?
Suddenly she remembered that her new dress and fur-lined cape had not, in fact, disintegrated into the dirty calico she had worn in New York. Her hair was still arranged and adorned as if she were a genteel lady, and she wasn’t nearly as skin-and-bones scrawny as she had once been. Right now, he only had eyes for Charlotte, anyway.

“All right, you two, I know you have some catching up to do, but I do believe I hear my bed calling my name,” said Alice, and she whisked Ruby into the safety of their room.

Finally, it was time to take off her false identity, layer by layer. Hat, cape, dress, corset, hoops, petticoats, chemise, drawers, stockings, boots.
Feeling stripped and exposed, Ruby donned her flannel wrapper in the dark and curled up on her cot under the covers. She placed a hand over the small mound of her belly and tried to plan a new escape. But even after she heard the soft click of the door and the rustle of sheets as Charlotte climbed into her own cot, she still had not thought of a way to leave.

T
he gaiety of Christmas seemed a world away now that January had arrived dreary and dismal in Washington City. Grey marble buildings rose up out of the sludge and blended in with the drab winter sky. The unpaved streets choked on ridges and puddles of red clay–tinged slush.
Oh for a good New York snowfall to cover this mess!
Charlotte thought.

Still drying out from the ride back to the Ebbitt House from church, clouds of steam floated up into Charlotte’s face as she poured hot water into a tin canteen. She screwed the cork tightly in the top, wrapped it in flannel, and handed it to Alice.

“Ah, thank you,” Alice said with a sigh. She cradled her cup of raspberry tea in one hand and hugged the hot water bottle against her middle with the other. “Be glad you don’t have to experience this month
after month like the rest of our sex. It’s like somebody’s in there, twisting fistfuls of my insides.”

Charlotte cringed, and glanced at Ruby. “Tell the truth now, Ruby. Is my sister exaggerating? You’ve certainly never complained the way Alice does—” She stopped.
She’s never complained at all.
Ruby had been living with them for a little more than two months now, and she had never made so much as a peep about any kind of menstrual pain.

“I do wish you weren’t so stoic about it, Ruby, you make me look so weak!” Alice chided, laughing, but Ruby wasn’t smiling. The color had drained from her face and her hands trembled, clumsily knocking her knitting needles together in front of her stomach.
She’s trying to hide her belly. The appetite, the fatigue, the weight gain—why didn’t I see it?

“No, I don’t believe you’ve suffered the monthly cramps yourself for quite some time, have you Ruby?” Charlotte asked with a smile.

“What?” Alice frowned. She looked at Ruby until comprehension smoothed away the confusion written on her brow. “You’re going to have a baby! How wonderful!”

“Don’t bother denying it Ruby,” said Charlotte. “You can’t hide behind knitting needles and bundles of laundry forever! Congratulations! You and Matthew must be so happy!”

“Oh,” cried Ruby. “Please don’t say anything to Matthew!”

“You haven’t told him?” Surprise edged Charlotte’s voice.

“He’d send you home, wouldn’t he?” said Alice, nodding. “I know if I was in the family way, Jacob would not rest until I were safely back in New York instead of here on the edge of war.”

“Is that why you kept your secret from us for so long?” Charlotte asked. “You didn’t want to be sent away?”

“Aye,” said Ruby. “I have no other place to go.”

“I feel the same way about being near Jacob,” said Alice. “I used to think a woman’s place was in the home. Now I realize that home is where my husband is. My proper place is as close as I can be to Jacob. I understand. Your secret is safe with us, Ruby. When it gets too difficult for you to do laundry at the hospital, you just give it up. We’ll take care of you.”

Ruby’s shoulders sagged with visible relief, but Charlotte couldn’t help but think her husband should know. Wouldn’t he be better off with the hope of a baby in the near future? Or would the added responsibility really be too much for him?
Either way, something just isn’t right about this.

The huge gilt mirrors in the East Room of the White House were draped in mourning, black fabric covering the frames, and white on the glass. Grief hung so thickly in the air Edward Goodrich felt as if he was choking on it. He had never been to a child’s funeral before, and he’d never dreamed that his first one would be for President Lincoln’s boy. But four days ago, in this very mansion, typhoid fever had claimed the life of eleven-year-old Willie. The entire nation mourned the loss, and Edward had a front-row seat to the gut-wrenching grief of a parent burying his child.

Torrential rain and howling wind rattled the windows of the White House with a vengeance, reflecting the violent storm of sorrow within the mansion itself. Mary Lincoln was so overcome with the loss of her favorite son that she did not come to his funeral, but stayed, weeping, in her room instead. Another Lincoln son lay ill in another bed, while the funeral proceeded downstairs.

President Lincoln was bent with emotion. His oldest son, Robert, was at his side, and congressmen, senators, foreign dignitaries, members of the cabinet, soldiers, and chaplains were all witnesses. Even General George B. McClellan was there, himself only recently recovered from the disease. Not one of them had dry eyes. For this one moment, Lincoln the great president was Abraham the grieving father, a poor soul to be pitied above all men.

Edward’s head throbbed and his eyes burned in sympathy for the president’s personal loss. No joy could be wrung out of the news of Union victories in the west when the president’s son lay dead in a casket.

How would I comfort this family, if it were my responsibility?
Edward wondered, and could come up with no magic words to ease the pain.
I’m a hospital chaplain and a man of God; I should be able to do this!
Angry tears gathered in his eyes. Had all of his faith, all of his seminary training been for nothing?
God, what good can come from a child’s death? How does this bring You glory?

Edward’s emotions matched the pitch of the storm raging outside as Reverend Dr. Gurley, pastor of New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, rose to make some remarks.

“
The eye of the Nation is moistened with tears, as it turns today to the Presidential Mansion.” Dr. Gurley projected his voice over the booming thunder. “The heart of the Nation sympathizes with its Chief Magistrate, while to the unprecedented weight of civil care which presses upon him is added the burden of this great domestic sorrow; and the prayer of the Nation ascends to Heaven on his behalf, and on the behalf of his weeping family, that God’s grace may be sufficient for them, and that in this hour of sore bereavement and trial, they may have the presence and succor of Him, who has said, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’”

Yes, but is that rest here on this earth or do we have to wait until we die to get it in heaven?
Edward thought.

“Oh, that they may all be enabled to lay their heads upon His infinite bosom, and find, as many other smitten ones have found, that He is their truest refuge and strength; a very present help in trouble.”

If God were so helpful, He wouldn’t have let the child die in the first place!

“It is well for us, and very comforting, on such an occasion as this, to get a clear and a scriptural view of the providence of God. His kingdom ruleth over all. All those events which in anywise affect our condition and happiness are in His hands, and at His disposal. Disease and death are His messengers; they go forth at His bidding, and their fearful
work is limited or extended, according to the good pleasure of His will. Not a sparrow falls to the ground without His direction; much less any one of the human family, for we are of more value than many sparrows.”