Wedded to War (35 page)

And yet the sparrows still fall, America is still torn asunder, the soldiers are still shot down and cut to pieces, and children still die in their beds. This is the direction of God? This is His will? My God, where is the comfort in that? How cruel that God sees and yet does nothing to stop it!

Brilliant lightning cracked open the sky. Dr. Gurley continued. “What we need in the hour of trial, and what we should seek by earnest prayer, is confidence in Him who sees the end from the beginning and doeth all things well. Only let us bow in His presence with an humble and teachable spirit; only let us be still and know that He is God; only let us acknowledge His hand, and hear His voice, and inquire after His will, and seek His Holy Spirit as our counselor and guide, and all, in the end, will be well.”

The wind moaned and wailed in protest. All was not well today.

“In His light shall we see light; by His grace our sorrows will be sanctified—they will be made a blessing to our souls—and by and by we shall have occasion to say, with blended gratitude and rejoicing, ‘It is good for us that we have been afflicted.’”

A glance at President Lincoln’s face told Edward that he was far, very far, from being able to count his afflictions as good. From somewhere in the rooms above them, Mary Lincoln wept, and outside the heavens wept with her.

For the first time since Edward was a small child in Sunday school, he was beginning to doubt the goodness of God. All of his studies, all of his Scripture memorization, could not keep up with the deluge of human misery flooding his spirit here in Washington. His heart beat wildly in his chest.
What business does a chaplain have doubting God?
His palms perspired into his tear-soaked handkerchief.
What business does a doubter have pretending to be a chaplain?

Ruby? Could it possibly be the same?
Phineas reread the letter, his eyelid twitching.
I
met her over Christmas?
He vaguely, vaguely remembered meeting a very quiet but beautiful Mrs. O’Something-or-other.
What was it?
O’Sullivan? O’Brian? O’Flaherty? Phineas slapped a hand to his forehead.
Now I’m starting to sound just like Mother.

Meeting that woman had been just a blip, an all together forgettable incident right after he had seen Charlotte again for the first time in months. It would be strange if he did remember the name. And then he hadn’t seen that woman again during his entire visit.

It couldn’t have been her.
The Ruby he knew wasn’t married. She had told his mother that she had no family. She could have been lying, of course. She had lied about other things. Or she could have meant that she had no family in town to care for, which would still allow for a husband fighting the war …

It would be preposterous to believe that the woman he most wanted out of his life somehow ending up as the pet of the woman he most wanted to win. Irish immigrants didn’t travel. They stayed stuck. It couldn’t be her.

Or could it?

Phineas rubbed a hand wearily over his goatee and groaned. He had truly turned a corner in his life since Charlotte had come to visit in October. Her gratitude for his regular donations to the Sanitary Commission had pleased him. Charlotte believed in him, and he believed in himself. But if this Ruby was the same Ruby he knew, she had the power to unravel the life he had knit together with Charlotte.

He was walking now, as if his legs knew what to do even before his mind had thought of it. He picked up his wide-brimmed hat and brown wool frock coat as he clamored down the steps to hook his horse to his carriage.

On his way to lower Manhattan, Phineas reached into the pocket
of his brown silk brocaded waistcoat, and held firmly to his gold pocket watch.

“I’m sorry, you just missed her,” said the lady behind the desk at the New York Infirmary for Women and Children. “Dr. Blackwell leaves at four o’clock on Tuesdays.”

Phineas put on his most charming smile. “Then perhaps you can help me. I need to know about a friend of mine who came to visit Dr. Blackwell last fall.”

“I’m sorry, our patient records are strictly confidential.”

“This is important. My friend—Ruby—she was looking for her husband, with the army. I’ve just heard from him myself, and he wants to know where she is. She has moved, you see, but left no forwarding address. Surely you wouldn’t want to keep this couple apart, after so many months of war came between them, now would you?”

The lady narrowed her eyes at him, tilted her head to the side. “Just what kind of information are you looking for?”

“I need to know where to find her, if I can. And if she is well. After all, if she came to the infirmary, should I now be looking for her in a morgue? Please. I know you can help me.”

“I could be dismissed for this.”

“I’m prepared to make it worth the risk you’re taking.” He pulled out a wad of bills and pressed them into her palm. “Please. Just help me.”

After a momentary hesitation, the woman slipped the money into the pocket of her apron and went to the file cabinet. Turning around, she said, “What’s the last name?”

“Try O’Connor. Or O’Neil …”

“You don’t know her last name?”

“I know her first name is Ruby. That should be enough to go on. I think she … recently changed her name anyway.”

“Well, when did we see her?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know the exact date. It would have been sometime between August and October.”

“For being her ‘friend,’ you sure don’t know much about her.”

“I paid you, didn’t I?” He was losing his patience.

“No last name, no date of appointment. It’s going to take me awhile to go through all these records.”

“I’ll wait.”

“I can’t do it right now, I have other duties. You’ll have to come back later.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. No—Thursday. Come back Thursday at five thirty. If there’s something on your friend, I’ll have found it by then.”

“And if there isn’t, I’ll take a refund.”

“Minus a fee for my time.”

“Of course.” Phineas smiled stiffly, and walked out.

Two days of waiting seemed like two weeks, but finally the time passed. If this information was reliable, it was worth every minute and every cent Phineas had spent to get it. The receptionist slid a folded piece of paper across the counter to him, and he took it with a sweaty hand. He opened it slowly, as though the information might fly away if startled.

Ruby O’Flannery. 5’4”, 110 pounds, red hair, green eyes. Irish. Seen October 14, 1861. Diagnosis: Pregnant.

O’Flannery. That was it.
“Are you sure this is accurate?” Phineas said.

“Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve got better things to do than sit around making up stories about strangers, you know.”

“Where is she? Where has she gone?”

“I have no idea. She left the address line blank on our form.”

“I need to find her!”

Her eyelids thinned to a glare. “What’s the urgency? Two days ago you couldn’t even tell me her last name. Sorry. Can’t help.”

A muscle twitched next to Phineas’s eye as he turned to go.

“Here we are, mum, a nice cup of tea and your favorite—cherry tarts.” Jane spoiled Caroline, plain and simple. She had been a blessing since she started working in the Waverly home two years ago, but in the last few weeks, she seemed even more eager to please.

“You’ve been looking rather radiant lately, Jane,” Caroline said as she cut into a steaming pastry. “Things going well with your beau, I take it?” She glanced at the daisy Jane had tucked into her braid and at the roses now blooming in her cheeks.

“Indeed mum. Now that you mention it, I—I need to share some good news with you.”

How good can it be with her face that color already?
thought Caroline. “Oh?” was all she said.

“William and I are—well, he asked me to marry him. I’ll be moving with him to a farm out west—in Iowa.” She clasped her hands in front of her apron and waited.

The cherries turned sour in Caroline’s mouth. “Congratulations, Jane!” She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin.
So she’ll be leaving me, too—it will feel like a tomb in this house!
“When is the happy day?”

“July fifth, mum.”

Caroline’s sigh betrayed her. “I’m so pleased for you, Jane, and I hope you’ll be very happy together. But I shall miss you around here!”

A knock at the door sounded.

Jane bobbed in a curtsy and swished out of the room. When she returned with the guest, Caroline almost choked on her tea.

“Josephine?” Caroline Waverly barely recognized the apparition in black mourning attire standing before her. “My dear, I—” Dread replaced the words in her mouth. Jane quietly left them alone. Josephine Lightfoot was a widow, like Caroline, but her husband had passed years ago. Now she grieved for someone else. She had no
sons. She had a daughter. A daughter who had gone to the Washington hospitals. Like Caroline’s daughters.