Fairfax County, Virginia

September 7, 1861

A breeze stirred the hair around Samuel’s ears and sent tendrils playing across the top of his collar. It carried with it the richness of freshly dug dirt, the hint of rain, and the tang of horses. He stood on a small hill some yards away and watched. His medical bag grew heavy, though it paled in comparison to the weight that settled on his heart.

Soldiers in blue toiled in various groups performing a myriad of tasks to prepare themselves for the threat of attack. The lush land rolled out beneath their tearing boots, a jaunty green carpet that had once been the bed of fertile crops. Now it would be tramped and muddied underfoot as the great Army of the Potomac ground it under its heels. Washington must be protected, even at the cost of lives, land, and crops.

He should make his way down to the dwelling at the rear of the activities and announce his presence, but still he hesitated. The faces of two small children swirled in his mind, rooting his feet to the ground. Would they be proud of his efforts, or would they see his duty as abandonment? Benjamin had merely studied him with guarded eyes while Emily patted his cheek goodbye.

They would be well cared for with the widowed Mrs. Tooley. She was a kindly woman in her late middling years who seemed to find contentment and purpose with the children. Having lost her own twins soon after their delivery and never having birthed any others, Mrs. Tooley poured out her mothering tendencies on Samuel’s children. Soon, he hoped, they would blossom under her patient care. Her quick response to his advertisement had been a blessing to them both.

Before leaving, he’d penned a missive to his parents, letting them know the trip they’d planned to come meet the children would have to be postponed until he was able to return to Washington. He explained Dr. Porter’s reasoning for sending him to stay with the army and requested his father continue to pray Samuel would be healed from his condition.

The wind shifted north, scattering leaves and bringing the first hints of cooler weather. Samuel transferred the weight of his bag to his other hand and made his way down the hill.

He’d reached the flatland when a fellow with a full beard and a rifle aimed at Samuel’s chest called for him to stop. The picket threw up his right hand.

Samuel removed his cap and tapped it against his left knee, as he’d been instructed to do. The picket lowered his gun, the signal indicating Samuel was not an enemy.

Samuel produced the proper papers, which the soldier scanned before nodding for him to continue. Having passed this odd manner of acceptance into camp, he was struck by the interesting things men had to come up with in attempts to differentiate friend from foe when no outward sign could distinguish a man’s loyalties.

McClellan’s army noted him as he passed deeper into the settlement, several tipping up caps and stopping to watch him with curious stares. He continued with the purpose of one who had cause to be here and strode down a narrow lane lined with canvas tents flapping against the persistent breeze. Would one such dwelling be his home during the coldest months of the year? Would he be stuck here that long?

Small campfires smoldered after the noon repast, giving off wisps of smoke that tickled his nose and disguised some of the scent of unwashed bodies. Camp Griffin appeared to be little more than a bivouac in some misfortunate farmer’s field, and Samuel sincerely hoped the men would find better ways to gird themselves for the winter than the thin walls of canvas tents.

He passed dozens more of the flimsy structures before he came to the cluster of outbuildings surrounding the farmhouse he’d first spied from the hill. He’d barely entered the more civilized section when a man stepped in front of his path.

Tall and muscular with sandy-colored hair and a wide face, the man held up his hand as though the rest of his body blocking the way had not given adequate indication he wished for Samuel to halt. “Ho, there.”

Samuel tipped his hat. “Good day, soldier. I’ve shown my papers to the picket.”

The man chewed on a sliver of wood stuck between his lips and assessed him with narrowed eyes. “What’s your business?”

“Medical staff, sent down from the Washington Infirmary. I’m to see the division commander General William Smith.”

Satisfied with nothing more than those words, the bulky fellow tossed a finger over his shoulder, indicating the large farmhouse beyond. “He’s in there.”

The soldier turned away. Samuel watched him disappear behind a smokehouse and then continued on to the farmhouse.

Wide and sturdy with an inviting porch, the home seemed the type of place where a man could build a good life for his family. A pang of regret for the fellow who’d accomplished such a goal only to see it trampled under war jabbed him. They must all sacrifice something to see the evils of slavery diminished and the country remain whole. For some men it was the demise of their dreams and aspirations; for others it would be their homes and land. For the soldiers, it could be their very lives.

Samuel rapped on the front door of the whitewashed home. After a moment, another soldier opened it and required the exchange of the same question and response as the last man. Only then was Samuel led inside and told to wait.

The front receiving area was as inviting as the exterior promised, with tasteful furnishings and portraits of honest-looking people hanging in carved, if not gilded, frames. Wood floors burdened with soldiers’ dust stretched out in long planks beneath his muddy boots. What did the family think of having these men in their home? Did they still abide within, or had they abandoned it?

“Are you the doctor?”

Samuel turned at the sound of the voice. An officer, who by the looks of him, Samuel assumed to be General Smith, stepped from the room to the left. The man stood maybe an inch or two shorter than Samuel with thinning hair combed to one side and a mustache that blended into the pointed hair hanging from his chin.

Samuel bent forward slightly at the waist and held his cap in front of him. “I’ve not completed my final rounds of hospital attendance, sir, and therefore as of yet haven’t received my title.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “But you’ve had training?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What kind?”

Pleased the officer seemed to care enough to take stock of any man claiming to be a medical practitioner, he held no animosity for the barked question. There’d been too many quacks who’d attended a few lectures and fancied themselves doctors before the American Medical Association had started implementing higher standards. His father had served on that board and had strong opinions on the matter. Those same opinions carried through to his only son.

“I have completed my apprenticeship, lecture series, and dissection courses, and I’m near to finishing my final year in hospital rounds under the guidance of Dr. Porter of Columbian College. Upon his signature, I shall receive my commencement papers and my physician’s title.”

The officer motioned to another man, who had stepped up during Samuel’s answer. “That sound about right to you?”

The other man turned stony eyes on Samuel. “I suppose. Though I would wager any spy worth his salt would take the time to know something like that.”

Spy?

Samuel reached into the inner pocket in his jacket. “I have a letter of introduction from Dr. Porter in addition to my pass.”

General Smith chuckled. “Then why didn’t you say so?”

Samuel withheld his retort that he hadn’t been given the opportunity and merely handed the document into the officer’s waiting palm.

He scanned the contents, nodded, and gave it back. “Good. You’ll report across the chain bridge to Benvenue and to General Winfield. They are setting up a hospital over there.”

Without further instruction, Samuel was ushered out the door.

“Are you sure about this?” Evelyn pressed her back into the trees and watched the men down below. “We could just go on to Washington.”

Alice laughed. “You’ve changed your mind already, have you?”

Evelyn brushed dirt from her skirts. “This detour wasn’t part of the plan.” Though, if she were honest, the thrill of the road, the freedom from the constant expectations, and the fresh air had done her spirit a world of good. Perhaps that came from her mother’s blood. The thought made her feel closer to the mother she never really knew.

Alice touched her hand. “I’m sorry. That was unkind of me.”

Alice glanced around the wooded area, her wild mass of curls looking more like they might if the two of them had camped out of doors rather than spent their nights nestled in the hospitality of Southern sympathizers.

Not for the first time, Evelyn wondered how Alice had so deeply ingrained herself into a secret society that it took care of their traveling needs. She didn’t like the idea of being indebted to them for it. “The plan was to go straight to Washington. Once we find my father, he will take care of us.”

Alice picked at the tree bark. “You see them down there?” She flung the bark in the direction of the soldiers.

“Of course I do.” Evelyn glanced at them. Men prowled along the length of a grand bridge, its sturdy beams and fine construction an obvious asset to guard.

“That’s an awful lot of Yanks, Evelyn. Don’t forget what happened to you in Martinsburg, or how many men you tended who suffered at their hands. What I’m asking you to do today is important.”

The Federals had been fortifying for miles surrounding Washington. They might have to pass through the whole of the Army of the Potomac to reach Margret Greenman, and Alice intended to make use of it.

“What if they see us?”

“What threat are two women? They might not notice us. We’ll pose as girls looking for laundress work. Word is there are plenty of such women around the camps.” Alice smirked. “And I’ve heard tell most of those women offer more to the men than just clean britches.”

Evelyn ignored the comment and settled down in the edge of the woods to watch. “And why is it I need to be the one to find this doctor?”

Alice looked down at her. “I told you. I have to make contact with the nearby Confederate camp. As I’m certain you won’t want to do that, all you have to do is take what the doctor gives you, and then give it to me.” Alice smiled. “You won’t even know what it says, so you can’t be accused of anything.”

“Tell me the signal again, just to be sure I don’t get it wrong.”

Alice grumbled something about Evelyn’s lack of memory and then plopped down into the leaves with all the grace of a ragged hound. “He will have a doctor’s bag. Watch for him to shift it to one hand, and then the other. Then he will drop it to the ground. Once he does, you approach him.”

Evelyn stretched her legs out in front of her. “But how will we know he’s the right one? What if you’re wrong and this isn’t the place?”

“I’m not.” Alice plucked a fallen leaf from the ground, its yellow tint the first early signs of autumn. “The system hasn’t been wrong about anything else, so I don’t see why it would be any different now.”

They settled into silence. Evelyn couldn’t guess what her friend contemplated, but questions and concerns swirled around in her own head enough for both of them. Were they about to get themselves into trouble so deep it would drown them?

A howl of laughter caused them to startle and they turned their eyes to the men down below who joked and lounged as though they’d forgotten their enemy resided not far from here.

“It’s almost time.” Alice rose and brushed her skirts.

Trepidation scurried through Evelyn’s veins, but she steeled herself against it. Daddy had been right about the Yanks, and Alice had gotten them this far. She could do her part.

Alice flashed a sunny smile. “Let’s get started.”

Samuel kicked up dust as he walked. He tried lifting his feet and settling them down flatly, but it made little difference. The dust swirled under his boots and clung to the legs of his trousers. The air received it gladly and carried it up for a dance before returning it to the ground somewhere behind him. Some particles refused their proper place, however, instead insisting on dancing into his face.

He swatted it away as best he could and moved forward. Perhaps it truly would be better to be in nature with the dust and the scents of earth than the press of bodies in the infirmary. This assignment might do him good after all.

Tent hospitals, while sparse, allowed for an abundance of fresh air. And fresh air would certainly do him good. He breathed deeply, and by the time he reached Chain Bridge, he’d fostered a patriotic hope that buoyed his steps.

The bridge was impressive. Wide and stout with curved beams, it resembled a fancy garden arbor on a grand scale. An impressive passage worth guarding from Southerners who would have to cross it to reach Washington.

Samuel stepped under the arching wood. Proud men in blue uniforms carried weapons ranging from sabers to rifles as they paced the bridge waiting for any sign of Rebels. Some merely stood along the length of the structure, keeping their eyes focused on the churning water below, ever vigilant for any sign of danger.

He moved closer to the railing and followed one bearded man’s gaze. The Potomac provided a grand barrier, indeed, and Samuel certainly didn’t envy the soldier, even an enemy one, tasked with crossing it without the aid of a well-made bridge. The soldier nodded to him, as though they had shared the same thought.

He stepped off the wood beams and onto the dirt on the other side. In a few moments, he was in nature once more and the tense watch for the enemy could easily be forgotten along the quiet road to the hospital. Wildlife scurried thither and fro, the scampering of a squirrel’s feet a rhythmic beat to accompany the chorus of birdsong.

Then the wind shifted, and on the breeze wafted a fragrance that spoke of nature, yet did not belong. It bloomed with hints of sweet honeysuckle and lavender. His steps slowed. Lye soap, and something else. He hesitated and breathed deeper. Something more tingled along his senses. Something he could not place.

He planted his next step and whirled around. But the path behind him was empty.