An Unlikely Union

“When Major Stanton learned that, the fire just went out of him. All he could say was ‘it was my fault.’ To my knowledge he hasn’t spoken a word since.”

Waves of nausea rolled through her.

“I can sure understand it,” he said. “We’re all torn up inside. Sergeant Moore told me he’d seen his own cousin bearing the colors for the First Eastern Shore.”

Emily was afraid she was going to be literally sick. It was bad enough these men were fighting against their own countrymen, but Marylanders spilling Maryland blood? No wonder Edward could not speak.

“Miss Emily? Will you do something for me?”

She tried to rein in her feelings. She could do nothing about what had happened on that hill, but perhaps she might be able to do something for Rob, for Edward.

“Of course.”

“Will you tell Major Stanton that he’s one of the bravest men I ever served under? And that I’d be proud to do so again.”

She was struck by his loyalty, his compassion for his officer. “I will do so. Is there anything else that I may do for you?”

“No, miss. Don’t fret over me. There’s plenty of other fellas here worse off.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Emily said.

“You’re welcome.”

He offered her a hint of a smile and she gave him one in return, but they both knew the other’s heart was heavy.

Gathering her skirts, Emily rose slowly, feeling as though she had twenty petticoats and two sacks of flour tied about her legs. She had promised Rob that she would convey his message, but would the words comfort Edward or be another painful reminder of what had taken place on the battlefield?

Just as she stepped away from the bed, Dr. Mackay made his way across the ward. He must have seen the look on her face and recognized something was wrong.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

Ill didn’t even begin to describe how she felt. Men from my state are shooting at their neighbors, their own relatives! And Sally...her brother has been killed! Now I must tell her the terrible news!

But Emily swallowed back her emotions. It would do no good to tell Dr. Mackay such things. He would offer her no sympathy. He’d probably say her friends deserved what had become of them.

“A nurse in danger of swooning is of no use to me in this ward.”

Her backbone stiffened. “You need not worry,” she assured him. “I am not given to such tendencies.”

His left eyebrow arched as if he doubted that, but before he could speak, a soldier’s cry commanded his attention.

“Doc! Doc! Come quick!”

Emily turned, as well. A young Kentucky man was bent over the bed, holding his brother—a soldier who had been wounded in the neck and jaw.

“He’s turnin’ blue!” the man cried.

Dr. Mackay raced to the Confederate man’s side. Taking one look at him, he ordered Emily to fetch water and lint packing. She hurried to obey while he ran for the locked cabinet at the end of the ward. She gathered her items, he a surgical tray.

“Hold on there, Billy,” the brother encouraged. “Doc’s comin’.”

“Step back!” the Scotsman commanded. To Emily, he said, “Remove those bandages so his wound is exposed.”

She deposited the basin and packing on the table beside them and quickly carried out his instructions. Her heart was pounding, for Billy was staring wide-eyed at her, silently begging for help.

Then he closed his eyes.

Oh! Oh! “Dr. Mackay!”

The instant Emily had seen to the last bandage, the doctor moved in with his scalpel. She watched as he made an incision in Billy’s neck just below his maze of black battle scars and inserted a small tube. Dr. Mackay then blew his own breath into the man’s throat.

Emily had never seen such a thing before. The blue in Billy’s face faded to gray, then finally a more natural shade.

After several more breaths, Dr. Mackay straightened up. Still holding the tube in place, he asked for the packing.

“Do you wish for it to be cut into smaller strips?” she asked.

“Aye.”

She did so, handing them over one at a time. While he secured the tube, Emily couldn’t help but wonder, on what was this soldier choking? He was one of the men who had been prescribed a low diet, only beef tea and a little milk. She had followed Dr. Mackay’s orders precisely concerning that. One of the man’s comrades must have given him something else to eat.

“Were you able to dislodge what he swallowed?” she asked.

“He isn’t choking on food.”

“He isn’t?”

“’Twas the swelling from the wound which constricted his airway.” Dr. Mackay spoke with confidence, as if he performed this sort of thing daily and in doing so had saved countless lives. Emily prayed that was indeed the case. Much to her relief, after a few moments Billy’s eyes fluttered open. She dared breathed a sigh, knowing the immediate crisis had passed.

Emily touched his shoulder. “Just lay still,” she encouraged. “You’ll be all right.”

She hoped Dr. Mackay would confirm her words, but he did not. Plugging his ears with his stethoscope, he listened to Billy’s chest. Thankfully, he looked pleased with what he heard.

Emily’s heart slowed somewhat. The Northern physician would not spend his breath comforting a Southern man but he had preserved his life. For that, she was thankful.

* * *

Evan watched her exhale. The sight of such procedures had sent many of his past assistants to the floor, but she’d managed to keep on her feet and follow his instructions. For that, he commended her. With so many prisoners to tend to however, he could not be concerned with her health. She had clearly been troubled before this case, and even now she was still a ghostly shade of pale.

Removing his stethoscope, he told her, “Take a moment to yourself and get some air.”

Still too overcome to respond, she could only blink.

“Go on, now,” he said.

Slowly, she turned. The Johnny in the bed beside them thanked her for her help. She patted his arm silently, then walked away.

The reb then turned to him.