Fire by Night (41 page)
Phoebe quickly crossed the street, threading her way around carriages and teams of horses, lifting her skirts to keep them out of the mud. She pushed through the crowd on the other side and found the alley the doctor had turned down. He was a block ahead of her, almost to the shantytown beneath the railway trestle. She hurried to catch up.
A crowd of Negroes suddenly rushed toward Dr. McGrath when he reached the end of the street, old people and children and women carrying babies. They quickly surrounded him and carried him along like a hero returning from battle. He wasn’t lost, after all. Phoebe followed at a distance, wondering what was going on.
Dr. McGrath stopped in front of one of the shacks, took off his coat, and rolled up his sleeves. Then he bent to duck inside with his bag. He stayed in the shanty for ten long minutes, but Phoebe couldn’t make herself leave. Drawn to stay for reasons she didn’t understand, she slowly edged forward to listen.
When the doctor finally emerged from the shack again, the people flooded around him, clamoring for his help. “Don’t worry,” he said, holding out his hands. “I’ll stay until I’ve seen everyone.” He glanced around at the growing crowd—and suddenly spotted Phoebe. She knew she must look out of place here, a tall white woman in a sea of dark faces. “Miss Bigelow?” he asked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
It was hard to answer since she really didn’t know. “I-I saw you on the street …and …I’m staying in a boardinghouse near here.”
“I thought you went home.”
“Not yet. Listen, do you think…? I mean …I could help if you want.”
He started to shake his head, and she could tell he was about to say no, but then he stopped. He studied her for a long moment, then said, “All right. I could use some help.”
For the next several hours, Phoebe worked as the doctor’s assistant—holding a candle so he could see to stitch up a cut; handing him the supplies and instruments he needed; holding down a feverish patient to keep him from thrashing. They tended children who were sick with measles and croup, yanked a dock worker’s dislocated arm back into its socket, and delivered a baby who was born feet-first. Phoebe had never witnessed a birth before, and tears streamed down her cheeks as the doctor laid the squalling child in his mother’s arms. Phoebe thought she understood why Dr. Mc-Grath wanted to do this work—why he needed to do it after witnessing so much destruction and death on the battlefield.
They finished shortly before dawn, just as the sky was growing light. Phoebe had missed a night’s sleep, but she didn’t feel at all tired. Dr. McGrath looked exhausted, though, his trousers baggy from crouching on the ground, his shirt stained with sweat and soot, his sleeves wrinkled from being rolled up all night. He used to arrive at Fairfield Hospital on many mornings looking all rumpled like this—now Phoebe knew why. She didn’t need to ask why he worked alone, in secret. The medicines in the doctor’s bag were labeled
U.S. Army
.
“I’ll walk you home,” he told her as he closed his bag. They finally managed to tear themselves away from the grateful couple whose baby they’d delivered and started walking back up the lane to the main street.
“How often do you do this?” Phoebe asked after a moment.
He shrugged. “Whenever I can.”
“Why?”
“That’s always the big question, isn’t it? Motivation.” He sighed. “I could say it’s because I have the skill and therefore the duty to use it—to whom much is given, much will be required, and all that. But the plain ugly truth is probably guilt. I suppose this is my way of seeking atonement.”
Phoebe wasn’t sure what he meant, but she knew that helping him tonight had been one of the most satisfying things she’d ever done. “Next time you come…? Could I help you again?” she asked.
“Now it’s my turn to ask why.”
“Well, for one thing, I killed people when I was a soldier. It would be nice to …you know …make up for it. Besides, I got nothing else to do, no place to go.”
“I thought you were on your way home?”
“I don’t want to go home,” she admitted. “That’s why I pretended I was a man and joined the army in the first place—to get away from home.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “It looks like we have a lot in common, then. We’re both seeking atonement, and we’re both trying to escape from home. I should warn you, though; it has been my experience that you can never escape your past.”
“But wait. Can I ask you something?” They had reached the main thoroughfare. Phoebe stopped beneath one of the gaslights and pulled her little Bible out of the pocket of her skirt. She leafed through it to find the spot she had marked. “It says here, ‘Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’ What does that mean?”
“I’m the wrong person to ask.” He started walking again. Phoebe hurried to catch up with him.
“Well, do you know a good church where I could go and ask? Because I got a whole bunch of underlined parts in here that I can’t figure out. You think maybe a preacher would know?”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you.” His pace quickened.
“Wait! You didn’t answer my other question, about helping you. Will you let me come back to the shantytown with you?”
He stopped walking and turned to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. His eyes searched hers. “Phoebe …how were you wounded?” His voice was gentle, not accusing, but she was still afraid to answer, afraid that he wouldn’t believe her.
“I know what everybody thinks,” she finally said. “I was wounded in the back, so it must mean that I was running away. I heard all the doctors talking about me when I was lying on the stretcher. One of them said to just let me die because I must be a coward, a deserter. But I also heard you arguing with him. And then you operated on me anyway. I never thanked you for it.”
“No need. I thought it should be left to judges and juries to decide guilt or innocence, not doctors. It isn’t my place to convict you without a fair trial or to play God and allow you to die. But when I discovered that you were a woman, I knew you weren’t a coward. You were hit in the back because you were shielding someone, weren’t you?”
She nodded, wondering how he’d guessed.
“I thought so. Men are known for displaying great courage in battle. But I’ve seen women show the same courage protecting the people they love.” The doctor was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Did he live? Your friend?”
“Yeah. He made it.”
“Does he know that you lived?”
Phoebe shook her head.
“You might want to write and tell him.”
“I can’t. He doesn’t know…” She let her voice trail off, unable to say the words out loud. She tilted her head up to the morning sky so her tears wouldn’t fall.
“He doesn’t know you’re a woman?”
“No, he knows that. He found out by accident two days before I got wounded. We were together for a whole year, and I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for lying to him all that time. What I meant was, he doesn’t know how I feel …about him.”
“You saved his life, Phoebe. I think you told him pretty clearly how you feel.”
“Oh. I reckon I did.” But she wondered if Ted would see it as an act of love or if he would be mad because a girl had saved him— again.
“Listen, thanks for your help tonight,” Dr. McGrath said. “I’d be happy to let you work with me at the shantytown again, but I’m not coming back for a while. I’m being reassigned to a field hospital—” He stopped, his face brightening as if he’d suddenly had an idea. “Phoebe …would you like to come with me and work as a nurse?”
“You’d let me do that?”
“I think you’d make a wonderful nurse. You’ve been on a battlefield and probably won’t be squeamish about what you’ll see. And I imagine you know exactly how those wounded soldiers feel. You’re already used to army life and living under primitive conditions. … I’d be happy to have you work with me as a nurse.”
“Really? When? Where are we going?”
He smiled faintly. “Back to Fredericksburg. The Union is going to pursue Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia again now that the roads are drying out. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Phoebe was pretty sure that Ted and the rest of her regiment were already down in that area—probably in General Hooker’s winter camp in Falmouth. She might get her wish to see him again. Best of all, she wouldn’t have to go home and work for Mrs. Haggerty.
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
“Good. Show me where you’re staying, and I’ll come by with a carriage tomorrow morning to pick you up.”
“How …how can I ever thank you?”
“No need. But that verse you read …about being a new man? If you ever find out what it means, let me know.”
Julia sat at her bedroom dressing table, staring at herself in the mirror. Her mother hovered behind her, offering advice as if Julia were a small child instead of a twenty-year-old woman. “Try putting a little more rouge on your cheeks, dear. You look so pale.”
Julia did as she was told, but she doubted it would help. The problem wasn’t how thin and pale she’d grown from working herself to exhaustion in the past year. The problem had something to do with her eyes, as if they were reservoirs, filled with all she’d seen and experienced. Her cousin Robert had the same look in his eyes. They’d both witnessed suffering and death and couldn’t forget.
“Here, put this ribbon in her hair, Inga,” Julia’s mother ordered. “Maybe that will brighten her face up a bit.”
Julia’s scalp tingled as her maid raked the brush through her thick hair. It reminded her of how it felt to have James’ fingers caress her hair. Tears filled her eyes.
Her mother saw them, reflected in the mirror. “What’s wrong? Is Inga brushing too hard?”
“A little,” Julia lied. She wondered what her mother would say if she told her the truth—that she was remembering being kissed by a married man. That they were tears of guilt and regret. And loss.
“I don’t believe you,” her mother said softly. “But never mind. If you smile, people will think they’re tears of joy. That you’re happy to be home again.”
“I am happy to be home, Mother.”
It was wonderful at first, lingering in a hot bath, sleeping in a soft bed, eating rich food, and being pampered by everyone. Her beautiful dresses were always pressed and ready to wear, a carriage was waiting when she needed one, the fire in her room was always lit, her laundry fresh and clean. If nothing else, Julia had a new appreciation for the hard work that her servants did. But every time she heard news of another battle, she couldn’t help thinking of the work that needed to be done, the lives that needed to be saved.
Mrs. Hoffman gently rubbed Julia’s shoulder. “I wish I knew what makes you so sad.”
“I wish I knew, too.” A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
“Oh dear. Please don’t start that. Your eyes will be all puffy, and we’re already late.”
Julia dabbed her eyes and stood. “Let’s go.” Her father would be waiting for them downstairs in his study, waiting to walk down the street together on this beautiful April evening to the reception being given for Robert at his parents’ home. But Julia’s mother shooed the maid out of the bedroom first, then stopped Julia before she could follow her through the door.
“Wait, dear. There’s something more I need to say—in private.” Mrs. Hoffman smoothed her skirt and tugged nervously at a sleeve, as if trying to decide how to begin. “For the past year there have been many people who haven’t quite believed your father and me when we’ve told them where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. It’s hard for them to understand why a beautiful young woman with the best possible marriage prospects would want to lower herself in such a way. There were rumors that you’d had a breakdown and were in seclusion. And I could only thank God that you weren’t in a serious relationship with anyone or there probably would have been rumors about a child.”
“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t realize…”
“Of course the congressman and his wife have vouched for your reputation, and Reverend Greene gave a glowing report on you when he returned. But please, for your reputation’s sake—for your family’s sake—try to behave appropriately tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, dear …Don’t go in to gory details about all your experiences, and don’t try to shock everyone. The fact that you’ve lowered yourself to do this sort of work in the first place is shocking enough.”
“But what if someone asks me what I’ve been doing all this time?”
“Try to describe it in …in a
nice
way.”
Julia knew there was no nice way to describe her work. She would try, though, for her parents’ sake. She would leave out the torn limbs and gaping stomach wounds and describe the compassion she tried to show, the encouragement she tried to give.
“The first patient I ever lost was Ellis Miller,” she said quietly. “He was nineteen, far from home, with no mother or sister to hold him or comfort him or bathe his fever. So I took their places, holding his hand and praying with him until he passed away.”
“No, no, no,” Mother said, her hands fluttering. “Don’t you see?
It’s that sort of
intimacy
that’s so shocking for a single girl—bathing and hand-holding. People won’t understand.”