Benvenue Stone House Hospital

Fairfax County, VA

Samuel hid his smile and made another notation. The men were doing well, indeed. The seventeen of them seemed to be rather comfortable, their spirits lively in the coolness of early morning. Distracted from their ailments, some read the paper while others played whist, checkers, or chess, all while loudly discoursing the war news.

He had taken quickly to his duties here, finding the running of the small hospital refreshing. Samuel made a point to speak to each of his patients, find ways to bring forth a chuckle, and be assured their spirits were seen to as well as their bodies. Perhaps Dr. Porter had been right. He’d found a sense of purpose here, and with the brigade surgeon ill, had found himself immediately in the position of running the hospital.

“What in the devil have you got here?” The voice boomed across the walls and incited an immediate lull in the jovial mood. Soldiers who were able stood, and all turned their attention on General Hancock.

Since the officer addressed Samuel, he stepped forward. “My hospital, General.”

He grunted, curling up one side of his mouth. “A brigade that looks a sure sight better than those outside drilling. Where are your sick?”

What manner of nonsense did he alluded to? “They are here, sir.”

“Well, this beats anything I have seen in the army. If you give soldiers such beds and comforts as this, you’ll have every man in the regiment in the hospital within the month!”

“It’s my experience that a rested soul as well as body restores a patient to health. With a little mirth, a fresh breeze, and an air of cheerfulness, one finds that conditions are greatly improved. You’ll soon have men hearty and eager to return to their ranks.”

The general scoffed and then pointed a finger at him. “They will not shirk their duties, regardless of your babble. This is war, Doctor, or have you forgotten? We are not here to see to the tenderness of the soul. Any soldier who is able to stand will return to work. He will not be lying about playing checkers.”

Samuel eyed him, refusing to be intimidated. “If he is able to perform his duties without causing a regression in his illness, then he will most certainly be returned as soon as he is able.”

General Hancock gave one last glance around the ward and then stalked from it. As though fettered to his boots, every last sense of light-heartedness was dragged out of Samuel’s patients and through the door with him.

For the remainder of the morning, Samuel tried to restore their spirits, but found the task much more daunting than it had been prior to their superior officer’s arrival. What made a man come into a hospital and demean the improved condition of the sick and injured? Samuel’s jaw tightened. He was no soldier and didn’t have to bow to the whims of a sour general. What could the officer do? He needed Samuel’s services too much to send him back to Washington, and he could not court martial a civilian.

Determining not to let the general’s rancor affect his own mood, Samuel set himself about his work seeing that the patients were tended, the hospital kept clean, and any odorous obstacles kept at bay. He set a smile on his lips that would surely seep into his countenance and made his rounds.

“How do you fare, Private Miller?” Samuel scanned over his notations and then set them aside, turning his full attention on a patient with a waning case of typhoid. Samuel’s senior by at least two decades, the soldier’s features bore the lines of his years.

He swept a lock of chestnut hair from his brow and shifted himself to sit up in his bed. “Right good, Doc,” he replied, looking at Samuel with eyes finally free of the fever that had plagued them. “Seeing as how I managed to survive the typhoid.”

“Indeed, you have.” However, he was in no condition to be returned to digging trenches, no matter what the general decreed. “Your condition is much improved.”

“Wish I could get a furlough to go home to my wife. Would do me a world better to be in her company than yours.” He smiled. “Meaning no offense to you, Doc.”

Samuel chuckled. “None taken.”

He leaned back against his pillow, his hand caressing the letter under his palm. “She didn’t want me to volunteer. Said it would be naught but a death wish. But it was my duty, you know?”

The vision of two little faces lit in Samuel’s mind’s eye. Perhaps he did know. “It’s for a noble cause that we make such sacrifices.”

The private’s features turned pensive. “I thought that, too. Now I’m not rightly sure.”

“Certainly, it is. We must be willing to fight to abolish slavery. It has no place in this country.”

Private Miller wagged his head as though Samuel was a boy who’d said something naïve. “You abolitionists. All that hubbub you people created sure gave old Abe a good selling point for war.”

Samuel’s jaw tightened. “The abolition of slavery is the apex of the conflict. The Southern states refuse to see it abolished.”

“Perhaps. Either way, seems a mite more noble thing to fight for than taxes.”

Samuel’s brow lowered. “These do not sound like the words of a patriot.”

Private Miller rubbed the graying scruff along his jaw. “Don’t get all up in arms, Doc, I’m only saying what’s true. Ain’t like I believe any man should be a slave. Me, now, I volunteered because I truly am deeply invested in the cause. There’s no question that we must fight for government instead of anarchy. No good can come of turning our forefather’s nation into two hostile countries.”

“No, it most certainly cannot.” Samuel turned to leave.

“And yet, I wonder…If the government can tell the sovereign states they no longer have the right to leave the union, then what else might they soon take under control?”

Of no mood to enter a political debate and with duties to attend to, Samuel offered a rueful shake of his head. “A bridge to cross at a later date, yes? For now, we must keep the country whole and eradicate the evils of slavery.”

The older man nodded. “An evil institution, yes. But there still be times I would rather leave them that partake in such sins to face their judgments without me.” He turned sad eyes back onto the letter he clutched in his hand, and Samuel stepped away.

War was an ugly thing, and he feared it would get uglier as it ripened. He tamped down his annoyance, knowing the man spoke from the ache of missing home. But they must not compromise, and they must not stand idly by. Who was to say that this fight was not, in fact, the judgment meant for taming the greed that fueled such an evil institution?

State’s rights, taxes, and government control were all minor issues, mere twigs burning alongside the log that was the issue of slavery. Surely anyone could see that. Theirs was a most noble cause, brought to a head by good men fighting in a valiant army. As such, they could only prevail.

Samuel finished his administrations, instructed the nurses on the dispensing of the noon meal and the afternoon care of the men, and then stepped out into the pleasantly temperate day. Sun skittered through the boughs hanging over the green lawn and cast dappled shadows across the blades of grass. Soon, they would wither as the days grew shorter and colder.

He exited the yard and made his way around the tents of the Fifth Wisconsin, nodding to men as they set about their various duties. Across the chain bridge, he approached the army’s main encampment. The scent of strong lye soap and the sound of feminine voices drifted on the breeze as he neared the women’s section at the rear of the camp. He needed to speak to Mrs. Johnson about sending one or two of the laundresses to the hospital. He had need of someone to scrub the floors and help the nurses change the bedding. Keeping the men in clean bedclothes did much for their health.

Even the nurses thought him excessive, but keeping his ward in pristine condition not only helped the men, it kept his weakness at bay. The aroma of roasting meat mingled with the strong smell of the soap the closer he came to the women’s domain.

Set apart from the rest of the camp, the women who trailed the army had set up a tidy area of tents smattered with cooking fires and bubbling pots of laundry. A blessing they were, these wives, sisters, and friends of the men who served.

Mrs. Ida Johnson’s voice rose above the general din of the camp. “And I told you, Lotta, I haven’t seen them!”

Samuel neared where the two women stared at one another, both with hands set firmly on hips and looking like two roosters about to flap their wings and extend their talons.

“You’re the one who let ‘em take it.” The red-haired woman crossed her arms. “My man found it, and it belonged to me. You had no right.”

Mrs. Johnson made a face. “They were in need, and you said you didn’t mind.”

The other woman tossed her head, looking rather like a high-strung filly. “I said I would be willing to help some girls in need. You never mentioned anything about letting them wear my gowns!”

Samuel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Such venom for a couple of borrowed dresses? He would never understand women and their fripperies. He cleared his throat and stepped nearer. “Excuse my interruption, Mrs. Johnson, but may I have a word with you?”

The older woman turned to him with tired eyes. “Certainly, Doctor.” She glanced back at the fiery young woman and wagged her head. “We’ll talk about this later.”

The younger woman cast Samuel a scathing look and stalked off.

“Never you mind her. She’s up in arms because she had laid claim to some Rebel woman’s finery, and now it’s gone and run off.”

Samuel didn’t wish to be dragged into such nonsense, but the manner of the statement, and the tone in which the woman delivered it, piqued his curiosity. “Pardon?”

“These two girls came out of the woods. Pitiful, they were.” Her hands flew about rapidly as she spoke. “All covered in muck and looking like they had been through a terrible fright.”

Samuel stilled. He’d seen a lady coming from the woods once before. Had the Wildwood Queen visited the camp? “And they stole that woman’s clothing?”

Mrs. Johnson waved a hand. “Heavens, no.”

Samuel couldn’t explain it, but he felt a sudden surge of relief.

“They needed a good bath and some rest. I got them cleaned up and took them to the Captain for assignment. In fact, they were supposed to be going to the hospital. But then…” She shrugged. “They up and disappeared. Haven’t seen them since last night.”

“Odd.” Samuel glanced toward the wood line as though he would see the sprite standing there. “Tell me, what did these women look like?”

“Well, one was but a wisp of a girl, with wild curly hair and eyes a mite too big for her face.”

Not the lady he had met on the road, then.

“The other was a couple of years older with hair as black as soot and a complexion that didn’t look like it had ever seen much of the sun. Said they escaped from Front Royal.”

A strange excitement pitched through him. She had returned, only to disappear again. What kind of woman made her home in the woods? The notion of a fairy-tale creature captured his imagination once more, but of course that was all foolishness. What logical explanation could be had for such behaviors?

A curiosity he might never satisfy. “I’ve come to ask for women to help clean the hospital.”

Mrs. Johnson touched the lace on the little cap pinned to her head, eyes round. “That was the job the captain gave those two girls.”

“Then send others, would you?”

At her nod, Samuel turned and made his way out of the women’s area, careful not to let his eyes linger on any lady lest she think him interested in the service he knew some offered…services that had naught to do with laundry and meals.

He picked his way around the camp, then came past the guardhouse for the Fifth Wisconsin Volunteers. He’d set his course for the hospital when a commotion sent up a wave of shouts from the other side of the camp. Men dropped their shovels and axes and ran in a swarm of blue.

Samuel followed them, his gaze darting from one man to another, trying to figure out what sort of turmoil had them moving with more vigor than he had yet seen.

Were they being attacked?

Samuel snagged the arm of a young fellow who barely seemed old enough to be called a man. “What happened?”

The soldier turned and walked backward. “Was a skirmish.”

“Where?”

He turned and started to jog away, throwing over his shoulder, “They attacked the survey party.”

The implications hit him all at once. Skirmish meant fighting, which meant wounded. He must get back to the hospital before any arrived.

Breaking into a jog, he dashed across the chain bridge where soldier’s voices rose with clamor and reached the stone house as two men entered with a stretcher.

A soldier lay on the fabric, his cries mingling with the tang of blood in the air. Samuel thrust open the door and called for the nurses to prepare the beds and make ready. It took but a glance to assess the damages.

The soldier’s jacket was torn to shreds, and his flesh hung in strips that revealed a hint of the ribs underneath. “Ready surgery!” Samuel called, indicating the soldiers should take the man to what had once been a dining room and now served as his operating space. He would have to dislodge the shards of metal and stem the bleeding if the man had any hopes of survival.

“Doctor! There are more coming through the gate.”

Samuel ignored the slight nurse who possessed too flighty a countenance to be suited to such work. It mattered not how many would come. He would tend them by order of need, and this man’s need was paramount. He pushed his sleeves up and turned his attention to the surgery, calling for instruments, linens, and water.

They stripped away the soldier’s jacket and shirt, and his best nurse, Mrs. Fanning, bathed away the blood. Though try as she did, it continued to seep.

“Get me the chloroform.”

Someone passed the bottle and a rag into his hands, and Samuel applied a dose into the cloth, held it over the moaning man’s mouth and nose, and sent him into the comforts of sleep.

It took at least an hour for Samuel to remove the foreign objects, repair a cut vein, and marvel that a miniè ball had missed the man’s heart by a mere half finger’s width.

Leaving the final bandaging to the nurse, he stepped out of the surgery room to evaluate the rest of the wounded. Fortunately, it seemed only a few soldiers with minor injuries added to the number of patients, and his two nurses had them in hand.

A woman’s wail broke through his assessment of his hospital. He swung his gaze to the entry, where a lady in a resplendent lavender gown knelt on the floor, her dress a great pool of fabric around her.

Black hair spilled from its pins and hung down her back, mingling with the tumble of silk and lace. Samuel’s breath caught, and for the first time in his memory, the smells seemed to dissipate.

The Queen of the Wildwood.

The strange sprite who had stolen dresses and kept to the woods. He hurried toward her, ignoring the call of one of the nurses.

As he drew closer, he realized the mound of fabric came from two gowns rather than one. She held another woman against her chest, her sobs muffled against the other woman’s great mass of tangled brown hair.

Samuel knelt and placed his hand on her shoulder, her trembles sending a gush of something through him. It was akin to the feeling of protectiveness he had over little Emily, yet such an emotion had no place in this circumstance. He removed his hand.

The woman did not react, but continued to sob over the one in her lap.

“Miss?” He reached out to gently shake her shoulder. “Come, release her so I may look upon her injuries.”

His words seemed to startle her, and she jerked her head up. When their eyes met, hers flew wide with recognition.

“You’re…” The Queen of the Wildwood heaved a ragged breath. “Oh, is she dead?”

Samuel had to pry the lady’s fingers from her companion in order to get a look at the injured woman’s face. He leaned in, putting his ear near her nose. Breath, though faint, still flowed from her body. He leaned back on his heels. “She lives. What injury did she sustain?”

The black-haired woman watched her friend with tearful eyes.

“If you don’t tell me what happened,” Samuel said impatiently, “then I cannot tend her.”

She didn’t look at him. “The men started fighting. We didn’t know they would be there.” She shook her head, sucked in a gulp of air, and then…something shifted.

Before his eyes, the trembling woman disappeared. With a hardening of features and the stiffening of her spine, a different woman now sat before him. Warm brown eyes turned cold and bore into him from a stony face. The transformation was so abrupt and so complete that Samuel nearly flinched.

“I’m not sure what happened.” Her matter-of-fact tone held not a hint of emotion. “We were traveling the road this morning. Then men were forming ranks near us, and then suddenly they were fired upon. Chaos erupted. I turned around, and Alice was on the ground. I called for help, but no one came. It wasn’t until they gathered the wounded some time later that someone hoisted her up for me and brought her here.” Her eyes darted around the room as though looking for the man who’d aided her. “He said she was dead, but carried her here anyway.”

Samuel placed his fingers under the patient’s jaw. Her pulse beat rhythmically. “Did you see this lady—”

“Alice.”

“Did you see Alice get hit with anything? Are there open wounds?” Not that he needed to ask. The scent of blood didn’t cling to her. Only moss, earth, and the faint tinge of rosewater.

“As I said, one moment she stood by my side and the next she lay in a heap on the ground. I suspect she may have fallen as we tried to get away, but she remained on the ground and I couldn’t rouse her.”

Samuel eased his fingers into the tangle of curls that covered Alice’s head, and in a moment found the cause of injury. A large knot formed on the back of her skull, like an egg that had been cut in half lengthwise and plastered against her scalp. “She’s sustained a blow to the cranium.”

The Wildwood Queen bit her lip, and Samuel’s eyes snagged on her mouth before returning his gaze to her guarded eyes. “I didn’t mean for her to get hurt.”

He nodded and released his hold on the patient, then called for one of the hearty soldiers who still milled about to help him. With the aid of a reedy man who was stronger than he appeared, Samuel lifted the unconscious woman from the floor onto a nearby cot. He would have her moved to the privacy of the upper floor as soon as he had the hospital in order.

He stepped back over to the heap of light purple material and offered his hand. “I will see to her once I finish my rounds.”

The sprite grabbed his hand, her luminous brown eyes filling with fear. “You must see her now!”

He gave a slight tug, and she lurched to her feet. Samuel extracted his hand from her grip, uncomfortable with the way such a mundane thing affected him. “There are soldiers who require care first.” There was little he could do for a bump to the head, besides allow the woman to rest, as he had already done.

He walked away before she could argue, distancing himself from her troublesome presence. But even as he did, something in him wanted to cast responsibilities and logic aside and yield to the whims of the Wildwood Queen.