Let There Be Light (4 page)

Jenny handed the woman her change, and as she walked away, Jenny watched Wiley Owens place the stack of newspapers on the empty stand next to the counter. “Morning, Jenny,” said Wiley.

“Is there bad news in the paper, Wiley?”

Wiley licked his lips nervously. “Jenny, I know how you feel about Nate Conrad, and … ah … well, on the front page of the paper, there’s an article about a bloody battle that took place near Winchester, Virginia, on Tuesday. Over a hundred men were killed on each side. About twice as many were wounded. And … ah … well—”

“What is it, Wiley?”

Owens cleared his throat nervously. “Well, Jenny, some of Pennsylvania’s troops under the command of General William T.
Sherman were involved in the battle, including Nate’s Seventh Pennsylvania Artillery.”

Jenny’s features lost color. Her lips were moving, but she couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Wiley stepped closer to her. “Jenny, just because there were many casualties in the battle doesn’t mean that Nate was one of them. I knew when you looked at the front page of the paper, you’d see that Nate’s unit was in the battle and that it would upset you.”

A shaky hand went to Jenny’s mouth and tears filmed her eyes.

“Jenny, you mustn’t let it get to you. You’ve got to hold on to the hope that Nate is all right, and one day when this awful war is over, he will come home to live out his natural life.”

At that moment, Zack and Emma Henderson—the proprietors—came out of the office at the rear of the store, having heard Wiley’s words.

Emma put an arm around Jenny and said, “Wiley’s advice is sound, honey. You’ve got to keep a positive attitude about Nate’s safety in the War, as well as your father’s.”

Zack glanced at the stack of newspapers on the stand, then looked at Owens. “Wiley, was anything said in the article about the Third Pennsylvania Cavalry Division being involved in Tuesday’s battle?”

“No, sir. The Third Cavalry Division wasn’t mentioned.”

Jenny drew a shuddering breath. “I’m glad for that. At least Papa wasn’t in that battle. I … I just wish I knew if Nate was all right.”

Emma’s arm was still around Jenny. She kissed her cheek. “Honey, I have a good feeling way down deep about Nate. I just know he’s all right.”

Jenny managed a smile. “You’re such a dear, Emma. Whenever I need encouragement, you always have a way of giving it to me.”

“You just keep it up, Emma,” said Wiley. “Well, I’ve got more papers to deliver. See all of you later.”

Emma patted Jenny’s cheek. “It’s going to be all right for both your papa and Nate, honey. How about your mother? Has she met her new doctor?”

“Not yet, but Dr. Griffin is to pay her a visit about five o’clock this evening so he can go over her problem and get acquainted with her.”

For a moment, Jenny and the Hendersons discussed the fact that the Linden family physician, Dr. Wayne Maddox, had felt the need to sell his practice and go into the service as an army doctor. Maddox had sold his practice to Dr. Adam Griffin just this past week.

Customers were coming into the store as Emma said, “I’m glad to know that your mother will get the new doctor’s attention right away.”

It was toward the end of the day, and while the last shadows cast by the setting sun were fingering their way into the general store, Zack and Emma were waiting on customers at the counter while Jenny was working at the fabric display table nearby. She had been busy for over an hour, arranging new bolts of brightly colored fabrics on the table from the latest shipment that had arrived in early afternoon.

After having leaned over the table for some time, Jenny straightened and stretched the kinks out of her back. Letting her eyes roam carefully over the display, she rearranged one of the bolts, then ran her hands gently over the soft, colorful cloth.
I sure would love to have a new dress made out of this wonderfully soft, deep blue wool
, she thought.
Right now, money in the Linden household is too scarce to even be thinking this way. Maybe when this horrible war is over and Papa is back home and working again, Mama and I can make some new dresses
.

Taking a step back, Jenny looked over her handiwork one last time.

Satisfied, she returned to the back side of the counter, and while Zack and Emma continued taking care of customers, she began refilling the candy jars that were bunched at both ends of the counter.

Dusk was rapidly encroaching into the small parlor where forty-year-old Myrna Linden sat in her rocking chair near the window that overlooked the street. In her hands, she held a photograph of her husband in his uniform. Pressing the photograph close to her
heart, she stared forlornly into space while tears streamed down her cheeks.

Her mind was tortured as she thought of William facing death every day while the horrible Civil War went on. Myrna had no idea where her husband’s unit was fighting, for General Sherman’s troops were spread over several Confederate states.

Myrna wiped tears from her face and looked at the photograph. Her lips quivered. “Oh, William, I love you so much. I want the War to be over so you can come home. Almost every night, I hear Jenny crying herself to sleep in her room, wanting her papa to come home safely.”

Myrna jumped when the knock came at the door. “Oh!” she whispered as she laid her husband’s picture on the nearby table and rose from the rocking chair. “I knew Dr. Griffin was coming.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall and noted that it was almost five-thirty. Moving a bit unsteadily, Myrna left the parlor and moved through the hall to the vestibule. When she opened the door, a man stood there, holding a black medical bag in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

“Hello, Mrs. Linden,” he said warmly. “Sorry I’m a bit late.”

Myrna matched his smile. “That’s all right, Dr. Griffin. I understand how house calls are. You can’t always get away when you plan to. Please, come in.”

As she led the doctor into the parlor, Myrna became aware that the parlor was dim. “Please sit over there in that overstuffed chair, Doctor. I’ll light these lamps, then we can talk.”

She lifted the glass chimney of the first lamp with a shaky hand and picked up a match. She made an attempt to strike the match, but couldn’t get it to flare.

“Here,” said the doctor, placing his medical bag and the briefcase next to the chair, “let me do it for you.”

Myrna watched the young doctor light both lamps.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it, Mrs. Linden?”

“Yes, it is. Thank you.” She glanced around the cozy room, now aglow with soft light. “Please sit down.” She slid her rocker so she could face him in the glow of the nearest lamp.

The doctor sat down in the overstuffed chair. He picked up the
briefcase, opened it, and took out a folder. “I have your file right here. I’ve read it over so I could know what I needed to about you when we had this meeting. I’m sure it was difficult for you to lose Dr. Maddox.”

“Yes. I was really upset when he told me he was selling his practice so he could become an army doctor, but I felt much better when my daughter, Jenny, did some investigating and learned that you were a fine physician and were coming to Harrisburg with a good and successful practice behind you in Baltimore.”

Griffin grinned. “Well, I’m glad you feel okay about me.”

He opened the folder and took out the papers. “I would like to go over your records with you to make sure I understand all about your illness.”

“Of course.”

He glanced at the papers. “Dr. Maddox says that you suffer with a condition he diagnosed as manic depression.”

“Yes.” Myrna’s eyes were fixed on his face.

The doctor met her gaze. “It says here that your husband, Captain William Linden, is in the Third Pennsylvania Cavalry Division under the command of General William T. Sherman.”

“That’s right.”

“Tell me about your depression. When did it come on?”

“Well, this time, it was shortly after William went to war—just over three years ago.”

Griffin’s eyebrows arched. “This time? Oh, I recall that you did experience a similar depression several years ago.”

“Yes. Twelve years to be exact. June of 1852. When I gave birth to a baby boy. He died two days later, and I went into the depression. The record will show, Dr. Griffin, that within a year after the baby’s death, I was nearly back to normal.”

The doctor was flipping pages. “And didn’t I read in here that you did suffer brief times of depression over the years when you came under stress of one kind or another?”

“Yes. But none of it was as bad as when I lost the baby, or when the Civil War broke out and William told me he felt it was his duty to fight for the Union and he was going to sign up. Right after he left the house to go downtown and sign up, I went completely to
pieces. I went into a deep one that time, Doctor. When William came home after signing up and found me in that condition, he said he was going to back out. He couldn’t go off and leave me like that.”

Griffin looked up from the papers. “So why did he go?”

“It was my doing. Other men were enlisting all over the North and leaving their families because they felt it was their duty to do so. William felt strongly that he should go too. I admired this in him and told him he should go; that Dr. Maddox and Jenny would take care of me. He did as I said, but when he was gone, and I knew he was facing enemy guns, I became much worse.”

Griffin nodded. “I’m glad to know these details, Mrs. Linden. Since the records indicate that Dr. Maddox has had you on paraldehyde, and it definitely helps you to a degree, I’ll keep you on it.”

“I appreciate that, Doctor.”

Griffin nodded and looked back at the papers. “Dr. Maddox’s records show that you have been slowly but steadily losing weight.”

“Yes. I simply have no appetite, Doctor. And the more I think about William being out there on those battlefields with bullets and cannonballs flying every direction, the less desire I have to eat.”

“I understand, but it concerns me. I know a loss of appetite is quite often a by-product of depression. But I can’t let you keep on losing weight. I’m going to do some in-depth study on it and see if I can help you regain your appetite.”

Myrna gave him a wan smile. “If I could have my husband home and no longer a target for Confederate guns, Doctor, I’d get my appetite back in a hurry.”

Griffin smiled in return. “That, m’lady, is out of my hands.”

“Of course, but I do want you to know, Dr. Griffin, that I appreciate your concern for me.”

“Well, you’re my patient now, and that puts you on my concern list. How’s your paraldehyde supply?”

“I have about half a bottle left.”

“All right. I brought one with me, just in case you were running low. Half a bottle is low in my estimation, when you need it like you do.” As he spoke, Griffin opened his medical bag and produced a fresh bottle, setting it on the small table next to his chair. “And by
the way, this bottle is a gift from your new doctor as a token of appreciation that you have given up your husband and the income he once produced, so he might be out there doing his part to bring this war to an end.”

Tears welled up in Myrna’s eyes. She took a linen handkerchief from a dress pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “That’s very kind of you, Doctor. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said, pulling a stethoscope from the black bag. “Now I want to check your vital signs. You just relax, and I’ll have it done shortly.”

Rising from the chair, he put the earpieces in his ears and listened to her heart. He commented that the heart sounded a bit weak, but at least was steady. A regular diet of solid food would help. Next he listened to her lungs, asking her to take deep breaths, hold them, then let the air out through her nose.

Griffin noticed that while he was doing his examination, Myrna kept folding and unfolding the handkerchief as her hands rested in her lap.

Satisfied with the sound of her lungs, he took out a thermometer and checked her temperature, which turned out to be normal. Then taking out his pocket watch, he compared her pulse with the ticks of the second hand. “Pulse is normal. I’m glad for that.”

As he was replacing the watch into his vest pocket, he looked into Myrna’s pale face. His well-trained and experienced eye missed nothing. Though her vital signs were all well within normal range, he was very aware of the empty look in her lovely blue eyes. There was a fragile quality about Myrna Linden, and her thin hands continued to nervously fold and unfold the linen handkerchief.

While putting the thermometer and stethoscope back into his medical bag, the doctor said, “Tell me about your daughter. I didn’t check her records. How old is Jenny?”

“She’s eighteen. She finished high school last May, graduating with excellent grades.”

“Good. What does she do now?”

“She works as a clerk at Henderson’s General Store on Main Street in downtown Harrisburg.”

“How is she coping with her father being in the War and constantly in danger?”

“Well, she doesn’t have any symptoms like mine, Doctor, if that’s what you mean. Of course, Jenny is equally as concerned about her father facing death almost every day. Jenny and her father have a very special relationship. I’ve seen many fathers and daughters who were close, but these two are especially close. William adores that sweet girl, and she adores him as well. If you would see them together, you would know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m glad for that, Mrs. Linden. When he comes home, they will have a very special reunion too.”

Myrna managed a smile and nodded. She took a quick breath and said in an almost inaudible voice, “War is so foolish. All it does is tear up people’s lives. Seldom does anything good come from it. As I told you, William would have stayed home with me if I hadn’t insisted he follow his sense of duty and do like thousands of other Union men and perform his part in the War.”

“Well, all of us wish this terrible thing had never happened, and now that it has, we can only hope that it won’t last much longer.”

Myrna’s eyes filled with tears again. “I’m trying desperately to keep myself and this household together here, but I’m woefully aware that with each passing day, the chances of William coming home safely grow slimmer. Every time we read about the battles in the newspapers, it seems they become more intense, and a greater percentage of men are killed. And if not killed, then maimed and disfigured. In the face of this, my depression becomes an almost unbearable burden with which to cope, Doctor.”