Faith (31 page)

NOVEMBER 5, 1863

Faith rose from kneeling beside the colonel’s berth.

“Miss Faith, here’s the hot water you need,” Armstrong said as he climbed into the surgical wagon. Four days after the colonel had been wounded, Armstrong had come to the wagon to see Honoree and had immediately offered his help.

“Thank thee, Armstrong. I need to foment his wounds.”

Leaving Armstrong to help Faith, Honoree had gone to fetch supper from the hospital cook.

“Is there hope?” Armstrong asked from the rear of the wagon.

Faith heard the concern and sorrow in Armstrong’s voice.

“There is always hope. He’s a strong man, and I am doing all I can to draw out the infection. He will live if it’s God’s will.” She went about selecting the herbs for yet another poultice.

“Three wounds. He should have bled to death before he got back here. And Jack’s dead.” Armstrong sounded tired, sorrowful. “Miss Faith, I want you to take Honoree and go home.”

She had begun sewing herbs into another cloth pouch, but now her chin snapped up. “Thee too? Everyone wants us to go home. They have since we arrived.” She couldn’t help the bit of sarcasm that invaded her tone. “Perhaps thee should commiserate with Dr. Dyson over our lack of cooperation.”

Armstrong ignored this. “We’re going into winter soon. I know what that means, being encamped in the winter. This war is not ending anytime soon.”

Faith nodded in politeness but didn’t waste energy speaking. She was soaking the poultice in a basin of hot water.

“I plan to marry Honoree and send her home where she can be safe. Then, if anything happens to me, I will leave her my savings and war pension for widows.”

She held the poultice over the basin, letting the excess water drip. “That is between thee and Honoree.” She applied the first poultice to the colonel’s chest wound, the most troubling of the three.

“I would carry on looking for Shiloh. You can trust me to.”

“I’m sure thee would.” She pressed down on the poultice, the hot water stinging her palms.

“If I was looking for Shiloh, you two could go home.”

Though drugged, the colonel moved against her hand as if trying to get away from the treatment. But he was too weak to do more than squirm.

“I will not convince Honoree to do anything,” Faith said. “Stay or leave
 
—it’s up to her.”

After a sound of frustration, Armstrong just watched her. “The colonel will never serve again.”

“Yes, the war is over for him.”
Please, God, just his soldiering, not his life.

“Then why don’t you take him home to recuperate?”

Faith looked up this time. “He is too sick to travel right now.”

“Really?” Now sarcasm infused Armstrong’s tone. “Pray tell
 
—what exactly is it we are doing every day?”

Faith sat back on her heels, shaken. Armstrong had spoken the facts. The wagons rolled daily. Other patients had been left at Union hospitals in houses or churches along the way. But Dr. Bryant was allowing her to keep the colonel with her, letting her ride with him. Was it because he hoped she could save the colonel or because he thought the colonel would die?

Honoree appeared outside, behind the wagon. Armstrong climbed down from the wagon first and then turned to help Faith negotiate the narrow steps. She left the poultice on the wound to do its work of drawing out the infection so she could lance it, drain it
 
—ugly work.

The three sat around the fire at first, eating in silence. Though the beans and rice with salt pork were monotonous, they were prepared well and filling, thanks to the cook’s skills.

“I suppose Armstrong has been trying to persuade you to persuade me to go home along with you?” Honoree said conversationally.

“Yes,” Faith said, listening for any sound that meant the colonel needed her.

“Armstrong,” Honoree said in a gritty tone, “just because you love me doesn’t mean I am going to become one of those helpless women
 
—”

“I don’t want that,” Armstrong responded with heat.

“Good,” Honoree replied with a tart smile. “I am not leaving my nursing, but I will marry you.”

“I don’t want you to have to winter
 
—” Armstrong began.

“I believe, my dear, that you have expressed that thought previously,” Honoree reproved with a teasing smile.

Reluctantly Armstrong chuckled. “I can see that being married to you, I’m going to lead a dog’s life.”

“Yes, a pampered and petted dog,” Honoree promised, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.

Armstrong laughed out loud.

Faith blinked back tears. They were so happy, and she was happy they were, but what of the colonel? And her? Fear as cold as January snow fell upon her heart.

Honoree turned to Faith. “Now we have to discuss what you are going to be doing.”

The statement was so unexpected that Faith paused, openmouthed.

“The colonel isn’t going to survive without warmth, good nursing, good food,” Honoree said. “It will take a long time, and you need to do it.”

“I will.”

“I talked to Dr. Bryant today, and he told me that we will come upon a railroad spur tomorrow, a small depot. We are going to have the colonel and you ready to travel. And you will take him north by rail.” Honoree held up a hand to stop Faith from responding.

But Faith sat still, unable to speak.

“I went to the colonel’s commander, Osterhaus, on my way to the mess tent tonight, and he’s written you a military pass that will get both of you free passage and preference on any carrier in Tennessee and Kentucky.”

“But
 
—” Faith couldn’t speak further, words jammed in her throat.

Honoree plowed on. “I will be safe now because I will be a soldier’s wife.” She gripped one of Armstrong’s hands. “His whole regiment will protect me. I’m young and strong and can stand the rigors of wintering with the army. And at the same time, I can stay on the lookout for Shiloh.”

Faith suppressed a sob.

Honoree let go of Armstrong’s hand and claimed Faith’s. “And you are going to marry the colonel.”

“What!” Faith jerked backward.

“Yes. I discussed it with Dr. Bryant and Brigadier General Osterhaus. It isn’t appropriate for a maiden lady to travel alone with a man, but a
wife
traveling with her
husband
is quite appropriate.”

“A good idea,” Armstrong commented, nodding.

Faith stared at them. “But the colonel
 
—we
 
—he doesn’t want to marry me. We aren’t a couple.”

Armstrong snorted. “You may think you aren’t, but everybody knows you are.”

Faith stood. “I . . . I . . .”

Honoree rose too, still gripping Faith’s hand. “You must do this, Faith. There isn’t a good Union hospital near here, and even if we left you at one to care for the colonel, you might run into the same problem, a maiden lady nursing a man not her husband. And what’s best for the colonel?”

“But
 
—”

Honoree held up her free hand again, forestalling Faith’s interruption. “Here the doctors know you and your skills. Somewhere else, you might even be prevented from nursing him at all. And who knows what kind of insulting, incompetent country doctors you might run into. The medical community is filled with Dr. Dysons.”

“But
 
—” Faith stammered again.

Honoree raised an eyebrow, again shushing Faith. “You need to do what I say and not hesitate. The weather is fine now, but what if we run into thunderstorms and the weather cools down sooner than expected? And I expect we’re heading straight into more fighting. How could you ignore a hospital of dying men and just treat the colonel?”

Withdrawing her hand from Honoree’s, Faith clasped and unclasped her own. “I can’t marry a man just to satisfy convention. The colonel and I have never . . .” She couldn’t go on. Putting their difficult relationship into words would be impossible.

“You’ve never come to an agreement about being a couple,” Honoree supplied.

“But this isn’t a plan that includes that,” Armstrong said in a soothing tone. “The colonel needs you, and he needs to go someplace where you can care for him. Your parents’ home is the right place, the best place.”

Faith sat down. All her strength seemed to have leaked out in these few minutes of discussion. “I don’t know what to do.”

“When the colonel is awake, I’ll explain matters to him,” Armstrong said. “I’ll make sure he agrees. When we get to the town with the depot ahead, we’ll find a preacher to marry us
 
—both couples
 
—and you’ll go on north.”

Armstrong looked to Honoree. “I want my wife to go with you, but if she won’t, she can come with me. She’s right. My regiment will protect her.”

He left unsaid,
“. . . if anything happens to me.”

Faith looked from Honoree’s face to Armstrong’s, still unable to respond. Her mind rebelled even as her heart drew her toward the man lying in the berth nearby.
Father, what should I do?

Dev woke. The pain slammed him as before, and he panted with the effort not to cry out.

“Here.” Armstrong’s voice summoned him.

He looked up and blinked, thinking he was hallucinating.

Armstrong lifted Dev’s head and helped him drink what tasted like herbal tea. “Miss Faith is resting. We
 
—you and I
 
—haven’t talked . . . since the day before my birthday, but now I’ve got something to say.”

“What?” Dev mumbled, still parched.

Armstrong lifted his head and helped him drink more.

The effort caused Dev to lay gasping. He didn’t have enough strength to lift a hand.

“I’m marrying Honoree when we reach the next town. And you
 
—” Armstrong pinned him with a stare
 
—“will propose to and marry Miss Faith.”

“What?” Dev croaked.

“Don’t bother arguing. We both know you could very well die of your injuries.”

Dev reeled but knew it to be true.

“I’m marrying Honoree now and not waiting. In case anything happens to me, my savings will go to her along with my war pension. We talked Miss Faith into taking you home with her to try to save you. But you’ve got to marry her first.”

Dev could hardly believe what he was hearing. He must be dreaming again.

Armstrong pursed his lips for a moment. “As a maiden lady, Miss Faith can’t travel alone with you
 
—wouldn’t be right. You need to marry her to save her reputation and keep people from getting the wrong idea.” Armstrong stared at him.

Dev scrambled to come up with an answer. “She agreed?”

“If it’s what you want, she’ll go along. So?”

Dev merely nodded, too weak to do anything but obey. And no doubt Faith would be a widow before long. At least he’d be buried in a private grave at her home in Ohio, a place his mother could visit. He’d not be buried in haste in an unmarked grave here in Tennessee.

Armstrong helped him drink more tea and then left without saying more.

Dev stared up at the cloth overhead. Pain and fever consumed him. He forced himself to keep listening, keep awake. He finally heard footsteps.

Faith leaned over him.

The nasty red welt across her pale cheek caused guilt to flood him. He nerved himself, and the words came out in a rush. “Miss Faith, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“Does thee think I should?”

“Yes. You can annul . . . if you want. Later.” He was unable to say more.

She gazed at him with an expression he couldn’t read. “Then I will not give thee laudanum until we are on the train. We are just approaching the town. One of thy men is going to find a preacher to marry us, and the train will arrive soon to switch tracks and head back north.”

“Good,” he whispered, spent.

An hour or more passed
 
—Dev couldn’t keep track of time. He forced himself not to moan with the pain and to stay awake, not pass out. The groom must at least be awake for his wedding.

The wagon lumbered to a rocky stop, and Armstrong and two of Dev’s cavalrymen carried him out on a stretcher and onto the broad, shallow steps of a modest white church, where they laid his stretcher down. Many of his men stood around the church, somber, their hats in their hands as if at a funeral.

A stranger in a black suit stood before the church door with a Bible open in his hand. “I’ve never performed a ceremony like this. One colored couple. And one groom flat on his back.”

“Well, today is the day you do,” one of Dev’s men said, touching his sidearm.

The pastor swallowed. “Very well. Will the first bride come forward?”

Faith stepped to Dev’s side, knelt down, and gripped his hand. “Please proceed, Pastor. We must be ready to leave as soon as the train arrives.” She plainly didn’t like this at all, but it must be done. A rushed marriage of convenience and then a long trip home with a critically ill husband. No wonder this felt more like a funeral than a wedding, Dev thought.

The pastor hurried through the marriage vows and then produced a marriage certificate, which two of the cavalrymen signed as witnesses, followed by Faith. Finally she held the Bible with the certificate on it, and Dev managed to scribble something that might resemble his name. He did not meet her eyes. She couldn’t look into his eyes either, apparently. They had never spoken of anything but books and herbs, never love or marriage.