Through the Storm (14 page)

“I’m a woman,” Sable replied, taking mock offense.

“No, you’re not, but you will be when I’m done with you.”

That night as they lay atop their pallets, shivering in the fall air beneath thin blankets, Bridget went on with her story. “As I said, the son’s new wife was appalled by the idea of her husband owning a bordello and she wanted it and me promptly sold.”

“So what did you do?”

“I seduced him so he wouldn’t.”

Sable was speechless yet again. She and Mavis had discussed many things as they lay in bed at night, but Sable had never been party to a discussion as eye-opening as this one.

Amused, Bridget reminisced, “He came into the office one morning and there I was, a nude daughter of Africa lounging temptingly in a large tub of scented bathwater. I thought his eyes were going to pop from his head.”

Sable’s felt as if her own were threatening to do the same.

“Before midday, I had convinced him I was a sorceress of unimaginable delights. And for a man raised in the backwaters of Georgia it didn’t take all that much.”

Sable wanted to know what “unimaginable delights” entailed, but she didn’t have the nerve to ask.

“We moved the tryst to my suite upstairs and he sent
a note around to his wife saying he’d been called to Atlanta on business. I delighted him for three days, after which I became his mistress. He was so enamored, he gave me my free papers for Christmas.”

“Did you love him?”

“Of course not, Fontaine. For me it was strictly a business transaction. I’d’ve seduced Lincoln himself to stave off being sold again.”

“How any times were you sold before the bordello?”

“Three. The first time I was too young to remember. Second time I was twelve.”

“To whom?”

“A gambler named Robert Braggs. Traveled all over the South with him until I was nearly sixteen. He was killed in a knife fight in Atlanta and I was sold on the block at auction along with two other whores he owned. I wound up at the bordello. I’ve no idea what happened to them.”

The institution of slavery had ripped apart lives for nearly two centuries. Sable wondered if any of the lost relatives, acquaintances and friends could ever be reunited after its death.

Changing the subject, Bridget said proudly, “I found me a beau today. Name’s Randoph Baker.”

“Who is he?”

“A White and married soldier.”

“What? Bridget—”

“I know, I know. No lecturing, please, but I have to get out of this camp, and he’s going to be my ticket.”

“Why him?”

“I’ll let you know soon.”

Wondering what her friend had planned made Sable shake her head at Bridget’s machinations.

The next evening, Rhine came to pick up the last of his laundry and say good-bye. Sable understood she couldn’t change the course he’d chosen for himself, but she would never stop wondering about his fate, or loving him.

They were alone in Sable’s tent. Bridget had gone off to keep an assignation with her new beau, and her absence gave the siblings one last time to be together.

“I want you to look at something before you go,” Sable said. She quickly turned her back and lifted her dress to get at the gold bracelet she’d found in Mahti’s bag after the fire. She handed it to him.

He smiled sadly. “It belonged to the Old Queen. Mother wore it too until she died. Mahti showed it to me the night she told me about them.”

When he handed it back, Sable peered at it again. “I suppose it’s very valuable?”

“I’m certain it is.”

“Do you have any idea what the symbols mean?”

“They were the Old Queen’s personal spirits. She looked to them for wisdom and guidance. Evidently, that bracelet was the only piece of jewelry she was allowed to keep after her capture. Mahti said the master sold the rest.”

“The symbols match my skin markings.”

“Each queen wore similar patterns. If you ever return to the motherland, those markings will confirm your birthright.”

Sable could not envision doing so. After all, she knew nothing about the world the Firsts had come from, nor could she speak the language. Even though she hoped one day to go there and walk the soil as a tribute to Mahti, a feeling deep in her soul told her her destiny lay here, in this land where she’d been born. The Firsts had sacrificed much to transform America into the nation it had become; for their labor and blood they were owed something.

She peered up at her brother’s ivory face and swore she would never forgive herself if she cried. “You’re pulling out at dawn?”

He nodded.

As they stood staring into each other’s eyes, the pleasure and pain they’d shared as brother and sister filled
them both. No parting words were spoken. They were both aware that this might be the last time they would ever see each other, and no words could express the depth of that sadness.

Rhine pulled her close and squeezed her tight. Sable embraced him with the same ferocity. He kissed her forehead, eased away.

He did not look back.

It was now early October. Since Sable’s arrival she’d found employment, friends like Bridget, Avery’s small family, and the many folks she wrote letters for, but she’d also found sadness in the loss of her brother Rhine. He hadn’t written and Sable did not expect he would.

There seemed to be no end to the stream of refugees seeking shelter in the camp. The numbers had climbed to well over a thousand in spite of those leaving daily and the many deaths of the ill and feeble. Rumor had it the camp would close soon because a Union victory appeared imminent, but rumors flowed like water in the place Sable now called home, and most folks preferred to just wait and see.

That morning Sable went out to her laundry vat, only to be told by Mrs. Reese to report immediately to the camp’s hospital. A large contingent of wounded Black soldiers had arrived less than an hour ago, and Mrs. Tubman and the doctors needed assistance from as many volunteers as could be mustered. Sable had had no idea Araminta had returned, but she and Bridget quickly made their way to the war-scarred mansion that was serving as the army hospital.

The field outside was a scene of chaos. Injured men lay everywhere: on the bare ground, atop litters, and propped against trees. Their faces and uniforms were darkened by powder and blood. As Sable approached, she saw more of the wounded being assisted from wagons and carts. The moans of men who’d yet to receive care punctuated the air, while men who were already
bandaged and hobbling on makeshift canes and crutches administered what help they could to their fallen friends. Sable saw women weeping over men so badly hurt she could hear their breath rattling in their lungs as she passed by, and she saw men who were simply sitting, their eyes focused on a horror only they could see.

Inside, injured men screamed while surgeons and corpsmen rushed here and there. The thick, hot air reeked of blood and death. She and Bridget were almost bowled over by men toting more injured soldiers on litters. They stood there paralyzed looking over the chaos until Araminta appeared. Her face was grim. “Sable, over there, and do exactly what the doctor tells you. Bridget, come this way.”

Sable hurried over to the table and stood next to a gray-haired man in a blood-covered apron. He held a saw in his hand. He looked Sable up and down. “What’s your name?”

“Sable Fontaine.”

“I’m Dr. Gaddis and this here is Private Scott.”

Private Scott was the young soldier lying atop the bloody tarp covering the table. His brown face was covered with sweat and powder. He appeared to be in much pain, but managed to say, “How do, Miss Fontaine.”

“Hello, Private.”

Two other soldiers stood around the makeshift bed. Sable returned their grim nods of greeting, all the while wondering what type of assistance the surgeon needed.

He told her, “Miss Fontaine, I want you to hold Private Scott’s hand as tight as you can and tell him all about yourself. Okay?”

Sable was confused but nodded agreeably. She held the young man’s hand tightly in her own, but as she leaned over to speak, she saw the surgeon place the saw against the young man’s leg and the other two men hold him down tightly. The implication almost made her faint away. The surgeon placed a hunk of wood between the soldier’s teeth and told him to bite down hard. Gathering
herself, knowing she would be of no use to anyone if she swooned, she fought to think of something pleasant to say about herself but couldn’t, so she sang, the only song she could think of—“When This Cruel War Is Over,” one of the most popular songs of the war.

As the saw began its slow, deliberate slide across the mangled limb, the young soldier’s face bulged with pain. Sable buried her horror deep inside and sang, never taking her eyes from the soldier’s own, never crying out when his hand squeezed tightly enough to shatter the bones in her fingers. The grating sound of the saw slicing through bone and sinew made her stomach roil. Sweat rolled down young Scott’s face as if he’d been drenched by rain. Blessedly he passed out about midway through, but Sable held on to his hand until the leg was lifted away.

It was the first of many “capital” operations, as amputations were called, that she participated in that day. The surgeon Gaddis went about the business emotionlessly but efficiently. When one of the doctors handed her an amputated limb and told her how and where to dispose of it, she fought down her panic and went to handle the task. The severed limbs were placed outside in a cellar-sized pit dug into the yard. She placed the lifeless flesh atop the many others on the pile, then hurried back inside. By the end of the afternoon, she had made her seventh trip to the fly-covered pile, and unable to fight off the nausea any longer, she went off into the trees to be sick.

When she finally raised her head, she found Raimond LeVeq at her side. Concern lined his face as he handed her a canteen. She rinsed her mouth with water, then dropped onto a nearby crate, trying to pull her world back into place. “Have you been inside?” she asked.

“Yes. I’ve been trying to get the names of the men who’ve died. Their families need to be told. Are you better?”

Sable nodded. “Yes, and I must return. The doctors are waiting.”

He waved her back to her seat. “Take a minute to clear your head. The doctors said you performed well in there. They’ve requested you be transferred to their staff, if you’re agreeable.”

She studied him for a moment.

“You’ll be on the army payroll,” he continued. “The compensation is only a few cents more than your pay from Mrs. Reese and the hours will be longer.”

She chuckled in spite of the awful day. “If you’re attempting to make it sound
un
appealing, Major, you’re succeeding.”

His smile was soft. “That isn’t my intent. I just want you to be aware of what to expect. Do you want to think it over?”

“No. I’m agreeable to whatever aids freedom.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

The decision to move to the hospital felt right. Sable wanted to aid the fight. She couldn’t pick up a gun and affect the war’s outcome in that way, but she could assist the men who were in need of healing. No one had to tell her that memories of the death and gore she’d experienced today, and would experience in the days to come would become a part of her soul. She already knew that. “I’ve never witnessed such hurt and pain,” she said. “Where are these men from?”

“They’re a local contraband regiment. They’ve been in the war only a few months and were rebuilding a rail line about fifty miles from here when they ran into some retreating Rebs. They were outnumbered two to one and sustained significant losses, but they fought bravely. When the commanding officer was killed, one of the sergeants took his place, leading the battle.”

“Some of them will not see morning.”

He nodded in sober agreement.

Turning her thoughts away from the brave men who
were dying, she asked several practical questions regarding her new status. “Will it be necessary to find new lodgings now that I no longer work for Mrs. Reese?”

“I’m afraid so. The surgeons will want you close by. Mrs. Tubman has quarters not far from here. She’s offered to put you up for as long as necessary.”

Sable stood. “I must return. Thank you for the respite.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you later.”

As she hurried back, he watched her go.

Sable spent the next four days assisting the surgeons with more “capital” operations, and attending enough resectionings and wound repairs to last a lifetime. She watched doctors remove huge pieces of soft lead embedded in the flesh of one soldier, and held the hand of man who had to have half his jaw removed, without benefit of ether because the surgeons were afraid he’d choke to death on his own blood. Her respect for Dr. Gaddis grew with each passing day as she watched him wrangle with painful decisions. Should he amputate to save a life, knowing the soldier would be affected forever by the loss of the limb, or should he leave the limb and pray the man would recover? Some did. Many others did not.

One of those who didn’t was her first patient, Private Scott. There days after the loss of his leg, infection set in. He died the next morning. One of the recovering soldiers who’d known Scott since childhood asked if Sable would break the news to Scott’s wife, Helen. She’d been trailing his regiment since his induction and was camped out in the trees surrounding the hospital, awaiting her husband’s fate. Upon learning the news, the woman wept. Sadly, Sable found she could not. Her emotions had been scorched away the moment the surgeon removed Scott’s leg. All the blood and death in the days that followed had left her numb inside.

Bridget had not been able to stomach the infirmary’s gory conditions and had not returned after the first day. But Sable stayed. She put in eighteen- and nineteen-hour days, aiding the doctors, staunching wounds, and maintaining a pleasant face for those men who were healing.

She had no idea her presence in the ward had been particularly noticed until a man on his way back to the front lines stopped beside her as he was leaving.

“Thank you, Miss Fontaine.”

“You’re welcome.”