Authors: Angela Elwell Hunt
The Velvet Shadow (34 page)
Friday, December 20, 1861
A most terrible thing happened today in camp. We were about our usual business—waiting, waiting, always waiting for Little Mac to do something—when our company way ordered to assist an artillery corps as they moved cannon The work would not have been hard, except for the mud, which made it difficult for the horses to gain traction on the roads. In one tragic moment, a horse slipped, the wagon slid down the hill, and a young private was pinned beneath the wagon wheel bearing the weight of a cannon so heavy it took four horses to budge it
.
O’Neil saw the accident and called for me, and as I came forward I stopped in midstep and stared at the poor soldier. My heart started beating loud enough to be heard a yard away. The poor boy was literally cut In two, but the pressure of the wagon kept him alive, somehow deadening even his pain and preventing his upper half from knowing that the lower half had been severed
.
I fell to my knees beside the youth, and though I wore a smile, my heart begged God for some
miracle, some wisdom of wordy, something to say. For I knew that this man would die as soon as the wagon rolled forward
.
The artillery sergeant was anxious to move on, but O’Neil and Sergeant Marvin led him away, pointing out what should have been obvious to any thinking man Meanwhile, the hapless private held my hand and gave me a trembling smile. “Is it bad?” he asked, his hands still warm with life
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Oh, merciful heaven, what could I give him but the truth? “Yes,” I answered, settling to the ground beside him. “If there is anything you want me to write for you, tell me now. I will see that your loved ones receive your final words
.”
I cannot record all we went through together, Private Albert James and I. Emotions flickered over his face like summer lighting—first anger, then fear, then despair. He raged, then quaked, then wept. Finally, nearly an hour after I sat down, a peace settled on his features and he dictated the following words to his mother in New York. “Dear Mother: I may not again see you, but do not fear for your tired soldier boy. Death has no fears for me. My hope is still firm in Jesus. Meet me and Father in heaven with all my dear friends. I have no Special message to send you, but bid you a happy farewell Your affectionate soldier son, private Albert James
.”
As soon as he had finished these words, Private James’s hand clenched in mine, and I knew it would be no mercy to keep the wagon upon him. The artillery sergeant blew his whistle, and O’Neil lifted me by the shoulders and pulled me away as the wagon moved
.
I did not look back. I knew Private James was no longer among us, but in heaven I could not help but remember something my father once told me. “When the Jews save one life, it is as if they have saved the whole world, for, like Adam, each man carries the seed of future generations within him” Even so, a world died today when Albert James breathed his last. His children grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will never be, for they all died in him
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I do not think I shall ever think of death—or life—in the same way again
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While we were away at Ball’s Bluff, Andrew Green way allowed a short visit home to recover from his sickness. He greeted us with great joy on our return and later told me that a strange feeling of discontent had overtaken him at home. “I even had an eager longing for hardtack and army rations,” he said, his eyes upon the distant horizon “I found that I no longer had much in common with my old friends. They did not know what it felt like to march in the pelting rain or sleep beneath the stars. They talked of the weather and business and parties while I gazed at them, dumbfounded. In my illness, I had waltzed with death, and now my eyes see everything in a different light. But they would not understand
.”
I understand what Andrew Green meant. God alone is the sustainer of my soul. He guards my every footstep, the path of everyone whet follows him. My life, the lives of my children and grandchildren, are in his hands
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And he has chosen me to heal—a most humbling and heavy responsibility
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The brief, frigid days of December were at their shortest when Alden sent a messenger to summon Private Franklin O’Connor to his tent. As the messenger hurried away, Alden leaned back and pressed his hands to his desk, grateful for the one bit of good news before him. He’d spent every free moment of the last two months trying to find a way to ease Flanna out of her role as Franklin O’Connor and into a more suitable position, and at last an idea had occurred to him.
He’d had every intention of reporting Flanna’s situation to Colonel Farnham as soon as they returned to the Maryland camp at the end of October, but there had been so many questions to answer about Ball’s Bluff, so many other pressing tasks, that before he knew it, November had come and gone.
Flanna seemed content to wait for him to arrange something. She did not come to see him, though he took great pains to check on her well-being. Whether she pulled guard duty or struggled to dig trenches in the mud, she worked without complaining. And since her fame as a sort of folk healer had spread throughout Company M, men now sought out her tent to discuss their ailments, but always quietly, for no one wanted to arouse Dr. Gulick’s ire. Alden even found it amusing that her messmates, particularly the muscular Herbert Diltz, had begun to serve as the Velvet Shadow’s bodyguard, not allowing any suspicious characters into the tent unless O’Connor wished it.
“Major Haynes?”
He looked up. Flanna seemed as thin as a wire hanger beneath that tattered uniform, yet her beauty still had the power to cause a crisis in his vocabulary.
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Private O’Connor. Thank you for coming.”
She nodded, her eyes expectant. “Have you some news for me?”
“Yes.” He motioned toward a chair opposite his desk. “Won’t you sit while we talk?”
“You wouldn’t ask any of the other men to sit, Major.” Her tone
was faintly accusing.
“I might.” His eyes focused on her strong, slim fingers. For the past month those hands had been engaged in the service of his regiment, and he’d give anything to show his gratitude—including the offer he was about to make.
“Please, Flanna.” He motioned toward the chair. “Do you know that you have been nominated for a promotion? Sergeant Marvin says he won’t rest until you have been named a sergeant, or at least a corporal.”
Twin stains of scarlet appeared on her cheeks as she sat down. “Sergeant Marvin is a very generous man.”
“I don’t think he’s that generous. He only rewards those who show great devotion to duty.”
She smiled and looked down, waiting. Alden clasped his hands, tightening one upon the other as all his loneliness and confusion welded together in one upsurge of yearning. Had he deliberately procrastinated in sending her away because he enjoyed knowing she was near? Impossible! She was his brother’s sweetheart. Alden had no right to feel anything toward her but brotherly affection, but Roger didn’t appreciate—wouldn’t appreciate—all she’d done in the service of his own regiment.
Alden made an effort to bridle his rebellious thoughts. “Have you seen Roger?”
She jerked her head upward. “Why? Have you told him?”
“No.” Alden gave her a dry, one-sided smile. “Not yet, in any case. I didn’t think it wise to tell him while you were still with Company M. I’ll tell him as soon as we work things out.”
She gave a short laugh, touched with embarrassment. “You’re right, of course. Roger would have a fit if he knew.” A smile trembled over her lips. “So why have you called me here, Major? Surely it was not to tell me that I’ve earned a promotion.”
“No.” He gripped the edges of his desk again, then took a deep breath. “I believe I have found a way for you to go home. Last month, Captain Samuel Du Pont attacked Port Royal Sound, just south of
Charleston. Within hours, the Confederates abandoned Fort Walker, Fort Beauregard, and the Sea Islands. Those properties are now firmly in our control, and the army is now registering volunteer nurses and teachers to serve the abandoned slaves.”
He studied her face for a moment, analyzing her reaction. “If I can arrange an escort, you and Charity could travel safely to Port Royal. If you press your case with the commander once you arrive there, I’m sure he would be willing to arrange a flag of truce for you to be escorted home.”
For a brief moment her face seemed to open, and Alden could see his words take hold. He saw relief, a quick flicker of fear, and something else—regret?
“I could go home?” Her voice was soft with disbelief.
“Yes, Flanna…if that’s what you want.”
He hadn’t meant to add that final condition, but the words fell from his lips before he could stop them. Her eyes opened, met his, and across her pale and beautiful face a dim flush raced like a fever. “If that’s what I want?” Uncertainty crept into her expression. “Why wouldn’t I want to go home? That’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“Of course it is, and now you can go. I was only thinking of Roger.”
She looked away with a pained expression. “Are you always so considerate of your brother?”
Embarrassed without knowing why, Alden looked down and shuffled the papers on his desk. “I believe in family. When my father died, I was left to care for Roger and Mother. Part of my responsibility to Roger includes taking care of you.”
“So responsible.” Her voice was light, mocking. “Very well then. Make whatever arrangements you must. If you can think only of Roger, you must send me away, for Roger would rather swear off politics than allow his intended bride to fraternize with the enlisted men.”
Alden ignored her jibe. “You’ll have to resume your female attire, of course, but I can procure a tent for you and Charity while you are waiting for an escort. We should have no problem arranging for you
to travel as a nurse.”
“When would this happen?”
“As soon as possible, I suppose. I’ll have a dressmaker make something for you, and then we’ll pull you out of Company M and set you up somewhere at the edge of camp—with the officers’ wives.”
“I understand.”
“And I’ll tell Roger that you’re here. I’m sure you’ll want to see him, and I know he’ll want to see you.” He drew in a deep breath and looked down at his papers. “Trust me. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I trust you.” He felt her glance rest on him briefly, but he didn’t meet her gaze. “Thank you very much, Alden.” She stood and lingered by his desk for a moment, but when he still didn’t meet her gaze, she stepped back and snapped a salute, a sharp movement utterly at odds with the softness he’d heard in her voice.
Alden returned the salute, then swallowed the despair in his throat as he watched her go.
Flanna clenched her hands against the cold as she walked toward her tent. He would send her away, would he? She had been careful not to cause any trouble or bring undue attention to herself. Each man who came to her tent for treatment knew that he could not mention her name outside Company M, for she’d told them all that Dr. Gulick resented her and would certainly have her disciplined if he knew she was practicing medicine without his approval.