Never in all his time at the infirmary or under the man’s instruction had Samuel seen the distinguished doctor bathed in such emotion. Dr. Porter puffed and panted harder than a blacksmith’s bellow. The air in the infirmary seemed warmed by the heat radiating from the man’s face. A couple of orderlies and volunteers came down the hall, but upon seeing the attending physician’s countenance, scurried quickly away.

He waved his hand through the air indicating the door where the beefy soldier stood watch over three pitiful Confederates. “What is the idea of this, Flynn?”

Samuel clasped his hands behind his back and kept his face passive. “I instructed the staff that the room, and the men within, were to be cleaned.” And from the quality of the air in the hallway, it already helped.

“We are a Federal hospital,” the doctor seethed, jutting his chin toward the door. “Or have you forgotten?”

Nurse Brown, who stood partially behind Dr. Porter’s larger frame, folded her arms over her stained apron and regarded Samuel as though he had spontaneously sprouted another set of arms.

He tried not to let frustration slip into his tone, but the lunacy of this conversation baffled him. “Would you prefer our soldiers become exposed to disease?”

Dr. Porter frowned. “That has nothing to do with your treatment of enemy soldiers. Why, it’s bad enough they’re being held in here without—”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Samuel interrupted, holding up a hand. “But they are indeed here, regardless of how, or why, or who sent them. And since they are, I would not have them contaminating my ward whilst they are forced to inhabit it.”

“Your ward, is it?” He elevated bushy eyebrows, equal parts question and challenge in his eyes.

Choosing his words carefully, Samuel gave a slow nod. “Indeed, sir. As per your wishes, I’ve put myself to the task of learning to run this hospital. In so doing, I instructed the staff to keep the facilities pristine.”

“He’s got us scrubbing floors and changing bedding more often than we can keep up with,” Nurse Brown grumbled.

Samuel ignored her. “Both the mental and physical condition of our men has improved during the past weeks because of my efforts. Is that not the case?”

With obvious reluctance, the doctor nodded.

“Then these men”—Samuel indicated the door behind Nurse Brown—“are brought into the hospital and tossed into this chamber with nary a bed or coverings.”

“As is befitting traitors,” the nurse quipped.

It took more than a little self-control to disregard her remarks, knowing that if he were to snap and send her away now, it would only antagonize Dr. Porter. “In this deplorable condition, these men have been kept with naught but a pot to keep their waste in.” Accusation and disgust crept into his voice despite his efforts to keep a level tone. “A pot that has not been changed prior to my orders.”

“Well, yes, but…”

He held up a hand to stay the doctor’s words. In this instance, he would have his say. “The stench permeated the ward, carrying with it untold viruses and disease. You would put our men at risk?” Not to mention how the poor fellow had cried out in agony. But he would have to get the doctor to agree to cleanliness before he would ever consider treatment.

The doctor scowled at him. “You know it’s not our intention for our men to contract further disease.”

“Yet it’s an inconvenient fact that if the enemy is not tended, then our own patriots will suffer as well.”

They stood there for several moments, the doctor scowling, the nurse turning up her nose, and the soldier posted at the door darting glances at them all. Samuel kept Dr. Porter’s gaze until the man relented.

“I cannot fault your logic.” One side of his mouth curled up as he spoke. “And while it pains me to see good supplies wasted on men who would just as soon slit our throats, I concede that it is a predicament we must navigate.”

Samuel inclined his head in thanks. He would take that for now and pose the need for treatment once Dr. Porter returned to a normal color.

Samuel motioned to the nurse. “Mrs. Brown, if you would, please send some volunteers to see to these prisoner’s needs.”

The disgruntled nurse speared Samuel with a contempt-uous glance before scurrying off.

Dr. Porter pressed his lips together. “I cannot decide whether I commend your actions or not. You’re doing well in taking charge, but I fear you’ve gone about it in the entirely wrong manner.”

Another thing the doctor may hold over him. Samuel forced his tight jaw to loosen. “Sir, I’ve done all that you’ve asked, and the other members of my class have long since moved on. When can I expect you to sign off on my medical papers and grant my license?”

The man stared at him for a moment, something working behind his eyes that Samuel could not piece together. “You will have it when I feel you are ready.” With that, he spun on his heels and strode down the hall at an infuriatingly leisurely pace.

Blood spiked, Samuel stood in the hallway breathing deeply and dissecting the various scents that wafted in and out of his senses. He waited in the hall until one scrawny orderly completed all of his instructions, the boy’s sallow complexion confirming that Samuel wasn’t the only one who had been sickened by the room’s stench.

When the boy was gone, Samuel addressed the guard. “I’m sending orderlies and volunteers to see that the men are properly bathed and fed. Please allow them entrance as needed into this chamber. I shall return later.”

The fellow shrugged, and Samuel wondered if he were capable of more expressive communication. Blowing the remaining stench out of his nostrils with a derisive snort, Samuel stalked away. He paused briefly at the fork in the hallway, part of him wishing to return to the linen storage to see if Evelyn still waited for him there. But knowing it would be better not to speak to her in his current state of annoyance, he turned his focus on his duty to his patients.

In fixing them, perhaps he could forget about all the things he couldn’t fix. The staff’s animosity over having soldiers from the wrong portion of the country in his hospital, the waffling desires of the attending physician and, most notably, his perplexing feelings for one contradictory young woman.

Setting himself to his work, he grabbed his folio with patient notes, plastered an encouraging smile onto his face, and threw his energy into his rounds. All through the remainder of the day and past the evening meal, Samuel tended the men and made his notations, keeping special track of any time he detected the putrid smell of infection.

Sometime during the later hours of the evening, he scanned over his notations. With any luck, he would have adequate evidence to support his theory. Now, if he could only bring himself to make note of the early signs of infection and then withhold treatment until more obvious signs occurred. Perhaps he could detect the time between when the first signs appeared and the infection affected a man’s health. Making note of the days in between seemed significant to the advancement of the medical practice.

But withholding treatment put his patients at risk. Was it ethical to study a man without his knowledge? He closed the folio and leaned over his next patient, a candidate for such considerations. How had he missed the first telling smells of infection on the torn bicep of this private from Wisconsin? He would administer treatment now, but the redness and swelling had already begun.

This man’s wound hadn’t been sustained in battle but rather had occurred while the private was on furlough in Washington. It seemed the situation involved some kind of misunderstanding with another soldier in a tavern. The gash had cut deep, flaying open skin and muscle and exposing bone. Samuel had been the one to stitch it and had thought he’d kept a good check on Private Morris’s condition. But the reddened skin and yellowing substance around his stitches said otherwise.

“Can you believe such a thing?” Private Morris asked, interrupting Samuel’s contemplation of the wound.

Samuel frowned and leaned closer. Why didn’t this one smell as strongly as the others? “Believe what?”

He no longer bothered asking Dr. Porter about administering treatments. He doled them out whenever he deemed it necessary, and because of his particular sensibilities, he had found it necessary rather often.

Who would have thought that his curse could be useful? His nose had led him to treat many infections before they fully took root. It had alerted him to contaminated water supplies and had once spared the ward from what Samuel was sure would have been a detrimental case of food poisoning.

“War is men’s doing,” Private Morris continued, unaware of Samuel’s galloping thoughts. “That’s what.”

“Umm hum,” Samuel agreed, fetching a clean roll of linen from the crate of supplies and measuring off an acceptable length.

“Who ever heard the likes of women involving themselves in such?”

Samuel’s attention sharpened on the patient’s words as he wrapped the strip of linen around the wound. What was he going on about? “I’m sorry, what did you say? Women are fighting in the war?”

The patient snorted. “Of course not.” He scowled. “But seems they have a notion to go about involving themselves in the conflict just the same. Why, I even heard tell that one woman was discovered trying to sneak into camp wearing trousers and acting like a man!”

Samuel smiled. The longer men spent in the hospital, the more they turned to idle gossip as means for entertainment. “I’m sure such things are merely rumors.”

Private Morris wagged his head, sending sandy brown locks sweeping over his pale forehead. “No, sir. Lincoln himself is talking about ‘fashionable women spies,’ and it was written up in the paper that they have arrested a woman right here in Washington on the charge of running a ring of spies. They say she’s directly responsible for our loss at Bull Run!”

“Is that so?” Samuel tied the end of the bandage off. “It seems farfetched, if you ask me.”

“I thought so too at first, but sure enough, the detective police have imprisoned a high-society widow by the name of Greenman for treason.”

The name slammed into Samuel, making him suddenly feel off balance. “I’m sorry, who did you say?”

“Mrs. Margret Greenman,” the private repeated, growing excited. “They say she runs a spy ring, and they have her under constant guard. Rumor says she’s still operating, but they can’t prove it.”

Samuel forced a chuckle. “And you’ve become so bored in the hospital that you’ve taken to fanciful gossip?”

The man made a sour face and plucked a newssheet from his rumpled blanket. “Look here for yourself. This ain’t no gossip, Doc. It’s right here in print.”

Samuel accepted the newssheet. The Albany Evening Journal. He didn’t have time for much reading these days, but the mention of Evelyn’s friend stirred his curiosity. The heavy business in the war of spying is carried on by women! he read. Is it not about time that an example were set which will prove a terror to these artful Jezebels? Is it not time to impress them with the conviction that they may presume too much upon the privileges of their sex and the gallantry of those in authority?

Samuel’s mouth dried, and he found it difficult to swallow. With increasing distress he continued to read about how the widow Greenman had been arrested for espionage. The newspaper called for trying the woman for treason. Samuel handed the paper back to the soldier.

He regarded Samuel with both satisfaction and concern. “I’m telling you, this is a dangerous business, it is.”

Indeed. More so if Evelyn were involved in such a thing. Her mannerisms at their first meeting returned to him, along with Mrs. Ida Johnson’s tale of the two girls disappearing from camp. Then she’d come to Washington and met with Greenman, whom Evelyn admitted had been searched by the detective police.

At the time he had been too concerned with her emotional state to pay the story much heed. But could such things really be a matter of coincidence? He tried to keep his own worries from his voice. “Worry not on it. I’m sure these stories are only novelty to distract from the real issues of war.”

The man settled himself on his pillows and took up the newsprint once more. “I’m sure you’re right. What can a woman truly do other than try to charm a man out of his secrets?”

Evelyn kept her voice low as she bathed the man’s brow. “She says to send Beauregard a word.”

The Confederate soldier fluttered his lashes, the signal that he knew what she referred to and what it meant. She continued to wash his warm forehead, her back to the guard that stood relentless watch at the door.

“They are to move her to the Old Capitol.” Another swipe of dripping cloth. “New methods of communication must be established.”

He fluttered his lashes again, and Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief. She’d done as requested and passed Mrs. Greenman’s message down the line of conspirators. How many links existed in the chain that connected the widow to the general, she would probably never know.

Alice murmured something behind her as she spooned broth into another soldier’s mouth, but though Evelyn couldn’t make out what she said, she knew it must be the same message. How did Mrs. Greenman expect to convey information from the Old Capitol prison? But then, Evelyn would have never figured the widow would work codes into color-coded needlepoint and slip it out of the house right under Peterson’s nose, either.

Her work completed, Evelyn dropped the rag into the bowl and rose from the hard floor. Could the hospital not at least give the men a bed? She cast another look at the rumpled soldier as she gained her feet. If this was what they could expect in a hospital, what fetid conditions might await them in prison?

She turned and started for the door only to find Samuel darkening the doorway instead of the guard. Palms sweaty, she brushed them down her skirt. He could not possibly know the words she’d spoken. Yet he watched her with narrowed eyes, and the stiff set of his shoulders caused her breath to falter. His usually open face hardened into somber lines, and he folded his arms over his wide chest.

That first day in the woods she had thought him more blacksmith than doctor, and looking at him now, the idea resurfaced. She glanced down at the soldier lying at the hem of her plaid skirt. “Nurse Brown told us to tend these men.”

“May I speak to you in private, Miss Mapleton?” His voice, while still rich, held none of its usual warmth.

She glanced at Alice, who pretended to ignore them as she fed the soldier propped against the wall. “Certainly.” She pushed as much cool indifference into her tone as she could muster and followed him into the hall.

He spoke nary a word as she trailed his stiff form down the hall, across the ward, and down another hall. He came to a stop in front of a closed door and glanced both ways, as though to be certain the hall remained empty. Then he produced a key to open the door, motioning her to step inside.

Evelyn frowned. “What?”

“It’s the supply closet.” Samuel waved his hand toward the shadowed recesses within. “What I have to say would best be kept from prying ears.”

She opened her mouth to retort.

“For your own safety, it is best no one else begins to question your reasons for being here.”

Setting her teeth and telling herself to maintain the same composure Mrs. Greenman had exhibited as her home had been pilfered, Evelyn slipped into the dimly lit room. She clasped her hands in front of her and waited as he closed the door and took a stance in front of it. Her heart hammered. If he meant to interrogate her, there would be no escape.

Windowless, the room was lined from the polished wood floor to the plastered ceiling with shelves of medicines and supplies. She took a step back, her skirts pressing up against a crate that smelled of wood shavings. She let her gaze return to Samuel’s rigid features, determined not to be the first one to speak.

“Did you know that Mrs. Greenman is to be sent to the Old Capitol Prison for crimes against her country?”

Not her country. “I have heard that, yes.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “And this is the same friend who was arrested while you were inside her residence, is it not?”

Something fluttered in her chest, and she had to force her breathing to slow. “As I told you before.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I must admit I don’t want it to be true. And, therefore, I fear I have ignored more than I should.”

Evelyn tried to swallow but found her throat far too dry. What information did he know? The way he looked at her now… Unwanted tears burned the back of her eyes, so she kept them held wide, lest they produce too much moisture and betray her.

He stood there with his arms at his sides, his shoulders stiff, disappointment and anger marring his usually friendly face. This was the look she’d tried to avoid. The one she knew would come if he ever found out who she really was. Why had she let herself develop feelings for this man, pretending that they were not enemies? Alice had once accused her of trying to stand with one foot on each side of this conflict, and it seemed she’d been right. But that gulf, that space as wide as eternity, still existed between them. And something like that could not be spanned.

Ignoring fissures that formed in her heart, Evelyn forced a look of contempt. “Sir, I do not see what business it is of yours whose company I keep. And, I do not see how the current predicaments of an old family friend have given you adequate justification to lure a woman into a closet.”

Surprise widened his eyes for a moment, but then he shook his head. “I swear, Evelyn Mapleton, you would be a fine catch for the theatre. Tell me, is it hard for you to fabricate such a persona or does it come easily?”

Despite what he stated, Evelyn gaped at him, her mask of a fine lady’s intolerance of impropriety slipping free. “I know not of what you speak.”

Samuel snorted. “Come, now. Don’t lie to me.”

Completely unnerved by this man who seemed to have no trouble reading her, she crossed her arms. It would be only a matter of time until he had her arrested. Would the conditions in the prison be more than she could bear? And what of her father? Would he ever find her there?

Even still, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. Samuel had been nothing but a friend to her, even though he had to have suspected her before now. He’d not only not condemned her, but he’d welcomed her into his home, rescuing her from what could have been a terrible fate that night on the street in Washington. He’d treated her with nothing but respect. He deserved the truth.

She hung her head, defeat both a slicing pain and a buoyant relief, and began the tale. “The Yankees stormed through Martinsburg. They pillaged like pirates and crashed through our homes. One of them tried to violate my cousin.” The release of the information brought a kind of peace, and she allowed the lancing of her wound to continue. “I couldn’t let him do such a thing, so I…I…” She straightened her shoulders, determined to tell it all, even if she would risk his condemnation. “I shot him.”

As soon as the words were out, she gazed at the floor, unwilling to see the disgust bloom on his face. “General Patterson placed me under guard. I briefly thought I could send useful information from the Yankees to my father, and he would make good on his promise to let me live with him.” She gave a little shrug. “But I soon gave up on that and found purpose in hospital work in Front Royal. After a disagreement with my aunt, I chose to come to Washington to find him.”

Samuel watched her with curiosity and a wrinkled brow, but the words had broken free, and would not be contained. “Alice wanted an introduction to Mrs. Greenman, and the lady was an old family friend whom I’d hoped knew where to find my father. Hence why we happened to be at her home the day she was placed under arrest.

Samuel kept his arms crossed, his expression still rigid. The disappointment on his face seared her wounds. “Why not tell me the truth?”

She turned her palms out. “I believe I’ve never once told you a falsehood. I may not have told you everything, but I did tell you when we first met that I had tended the wounded in Front Royal. Surely you knew then that I had to be a secessionist.”

To this, he merely grunted. Not knowing what to do with that, Evelyn continued. “We traveled to Washington by way of a detour in Lewinsville and Chain Bridge, because Alice was supposed to contact a man on the doctor spy line. I foolishly thought you were the contact I was supposed to find. That’s why I ran when I figured out I’d gotten the wrong man.”

She lifted her gaze to his guarded eyes. “The rest you know.”

“Do I?”

Something deep within her felt cold. She didn’t need to tell him about Mrs. Greenman asking her to pass info to those soldiers. It was done, and besides, all she’d said is that they would have to have new ways to communicate. She hadn’t done anything important.

Samuel still studied her. “Why work here?”

“I intended to find work in a hospital and try to make my own way.” He watched her, and her pulse fluttered.

“That’s all?” He lifted his hand as though to reach for her, and then lowered it back to his side.

She held still.

Samuel’s eyes darkened and he drew closer, so close now that she stared right into the buttons on his broadcloth jacket. A sound rumbled from somewhere in the chest behind those buttons, and she shivered, her vulnerability now on display. She had to get out of here before she became completely undone. She tried to step around him, but he caught her.

“Evelyn. I must know. I must know all of the truth if I am to protect you.”

Protect her? “Why would you want to do that?”

He ran his thumb along the edge of her jaw. “Why do you ask questions you must already know the answer to?” He leaned down, his face inches from hers. “I must know why you are in my hospital.”

She couldn’t think with him this close! “I…I had to deliver a message for her. To pay my debt. But it was nothing. She just wanted them to know they would have to find other ways to communicate.” She nearly choked on the words, but they clamored out of her throat all the same.

He heaved a weary sigh, his breath warm across her face. “Oh, Evelyn. Do you not see what dangers you weave?”

She bit her lip and his gaze lingered on her mouth. “What choice did I have?”

“There is always a choice.”

He was much too near. Her heart pounded, but she could not move away. Think! The only way to free herself from his spell was point out the divide between them. Her father, should she ever find him, would never approve of a Federalist. This skittering of her heart would only end in pain.

“I’m a secessionist.”

“Are you? I’ve twice seen you work in Federal hospitals.”

She shook her head. That hadn’t changed the truth of the overreach of government power. “Can you not see that our homes and lands were invaded?” she said, trying to put steel into her tone. “This war is fought because we merely wished to be left alone and not have our businesses and lives taxed and over managed by a government that wishes only to increase its power.”

Samuel tilted his head as though she spoke lunacy. “This war is about slavery, and slavery is an evil that must be abolished.”

“There’s more to it than that, Samuel.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and she realized it was the first time she’d said his given name aloud.

She rushed on. “Lincoln would not concede to peace talks. He wanted this war to push for the taxes and for deeper government control. These things have been stirring for many years.”

A small smile tugged on his lips. “You speak rather fervently on topics a woman is not often versed in.”

She lifted her brows. “Just because I’m a female doesn’t mean I’m uneducated in politics. My father reported for newspapers, and these are all things he told me. He feared slavery was merely a tactic Lincoln would use to cover his true intentions. Why, the man would rather the Negroes be shipped back to Africa than for them to come to the North. Tell me, if your president is such a friend to the colored people, then why send them away?”

The little muscles in his jaw twitched again and he took a step back. She could feel the loss of him, but it was for the better. He had to see the gulf between them now as well. Whatever affections she had hoped might exist could not span the rift caused by two different ways of thinking. Unless…he could see her side. “Do you believe the government should have more power than the states? That sovereign states that freely joined the Union should not have the same freedoms to leave it? Surely you can see that the removal of our raw goods from Northern factories goaded this war?”

His eyes darkened once more. “And what do you think of the slaves whose sweat produces those goods?”

“I don’t believe in slavery.” She huffed. He missed the point. “It is an institution that has long existed in human history, but it is a deplorable one. No Christian should believe they have the right to own another.” She shook her head. “But I still believe that particular issue could have been resolved without war.”

“That’s all I needed to know. The rest matters little.”

In one sudden move, his arm slipped around her waist. He pulled her in tight against him, and she gasped. His dark eyes stared into hers, and a hardness in her heart softened. She relaxed and leaned into him, enjoying the warmth that spread through her.

He lowered his head, and with one sweet breath, brushed his lips gently across hers. She sighed into him and pressed a little firmer, and then the moment was over.

He raised his head, and a languid smile caressed his lips. “Would you like to come to dinner? Mrs. Tooley is making lamb.”

Palms sweaty and nerves all a-flutter, all she could do was nod.