Rebekah rubbed her eyes and blinked but could not clear her hindered vision. A mist seemed to shroud the room, and though it was early morning, the hospital ward seemed uncommonly dark. She could barely see the beds before her, but she could hear the moans of pain from the ill and wounded soldiers in her care.
“Maggie, before you go, you must light the lamps,” Rebekah ordered.
But the young nurse paid her no mind. She was tugging at Rebekah’s apron and her oversleeves, as if she would take them from her.
“Maggie, stop this foolishness! Unhand me! The soldiers...can’t you hear them? We must help them!”
But Maggie didn’t listen, and she wasn’t any help with the wounded. She flittered off, giggling, as if the disfigured men around them were something to laugh about. Rebekah tried to reach the suffering soldiers, but now the attending physician blocked her path. He took hold of her arms. He called her by her Christian name. “Rebekah... Rebekah...you must rest...”
But she couldn’t rest. She had to help those men. She had to do her duty. Billy, the Kentucky private, was gasping for breath. Corporal Clark was shuddering with fever. A Virginia sergeant whose name she did not know was writhing in anguish because of infected wounds. Tommy, the young drummer boy missing the left side of his face, swore he would take his own life.
She pushed against the physician but could not break free of him. “Please! Help me! God, please! Help me!” But neither the Almighty nor anyone else came to her aid. Rebekah watched in horror as one by one the soldiers met their ends and were covered with their sheets, their emaciated faces hidden from view.
Silence blanketed the ward. Her father then desecrated the stillness. His booming voice was like a cannonade.
“No tears! I forbid you to return to this hospital! You are useless! You will stay at home. You will learn to manage a proper household!”
Proper. Yes, proper... Rebekah tried her best to do so, but tea was spilt and statesmen’s frock coats were stained. Her manners were never refined enough, and her apologies did not suffice. She felt his fist against her jaw. Her ears began to ring.
But somehow, someway, she at last found her courage. “I will not stay here any longer!” she shouted. “I will run! I will escape! I will go where you cannot find me!”
Rebekah took off through the darkness. The city was a maze of twisting streets, and soon she lost her way. Buildings were draped in black. Little children were crying. Paralyzed by the heartbreaking sound, she wanted to comfort the children but didn’t know how.
Shame pressed heavily upon her. “I’m sorry! I want to help you...”
She heard a voice. “Rebekah... Rebekah...this is not your fault.” The voice was firm but kind. It spoke of promise. “I will never let him hurt you again.”
She turned toward the direction from which the soothing voice had come, but suddenly her feet and hands were bound. She could not move, could not even breathe. Rebekah tried to cry out, but her tongue was parched. Her throat was so sore.
Then she heard other voices, other whispers, soft and kind. Who were they? Did they know she was in trouble? Please...please help me... Don’t leave me in this darkness...
Soon a pair of hands, ones that commanded strength and authority, took hold of her. Rebekah was frightened but far too overcome, too exhausted to resist. She felt herself being lifted. She was again being called by name.
“Rebekah... Rebekah... I love you.”
Darkness still surrounded her, but a warmth now flooded through her. Rebekah was powerless to move, yet she no longer feared, no longer questioned. Wherever she was, she was safe. She was valued. She was loved.
* * *
Rebekah’s fever had continued to climb, but at long last, she appeared to be resting a little easier. Her breathing was less labored. Her body was not as tense. Whether it was holding her close that gave her a measure of security or simply God’s mercy, Henry did not know, but he prayed the effect would continue.
James and Sadie moved in and out of the room, bringing fresh water and clean cloths. Henry sponged Rebekah’s forehead, held her and prayed. Dawn brought Dr. Stanton’s return, but he had little encouragement to give. Kathleen continued to burn in one room, his wife in the other. The physician felt Rebekah’s wrist while looking at his watch.
“She’s been seeing things,” Henry told him. “She’s calling out for people at the hospital, nurses, doctors, dying soldiers.”
The man nodded gravely as he placed Rebekah’s arm beneath the blanket. “That’s to be expected with a fever this high.”
“I pack her head with ice. All it does is melt. Is there nothing else I can do?”
“I suggest you cut her hair.”
“Cut her hair?”
“To cool her head.”
Henry would do what the doctor ordered, of course. He knew the command had been issued in Rebekah’s best interest, but the thought of robbing her of her crowning glory seemed tantamount to sacrilege. Would she forgive him? Could he forgive himself? Henry grieved the fact that he’d never run his fingers through those long, dark tresses, never fully appreciated her physical beauty until now that sickness sought to destroy it.
Sadie brought in a tray of tea and toast for him and a bowl of broth for Rebekah. Henry knew neither he nor his wife could swallow an ounce, but he thanked the young maid just the same.
“Fetch you anything else?” she asked.
Henry hesitated, but he knew it had to be done. He would seize on any remedy that might lessen even a degree of Rebekah’s fever. “Please bring me the scissors.”
The look on Sadie’s face was one of immediate pity. She must have known why he wanted them, what he intended to do. Silently she left the room. When she came back a few moments later, she handed him the scissors.
“Poor Miss Rebekah,” she breathed, and with that, she quickly fled.
Rebekah’s long dark braid lay upon her left shoulder, the one nearest to him. However, Henry couldn’t bring himself to touch it. He instead handed the scissors to Dr. Stanton. In an instant, the physician had snipped the bound locks, laid them on the bedside table. “It will grow again,” he said, sensing Henry’s lament.
If she survives, he thought. God, please...please...
“Keep watch over her,” Dr. Stanton said. “Sometimes patients become so delirious, they wander from their beds. She could unintentionally harm herself.”
She had already tried twice to do so. Thinking she was still on duty in the wards, Rebekah had thrown back the covers, insisting she must tend to the wounded prisoners. Henry had caught her both times and restrained her before her feet had hit the floor.
“Be assured,” he said, “I will not leave her.”
The examination finished, he rang for James. The man quietly escorted Dr. Stanton out. Henry returned his full attention to his wife. She was once again shivering. What remained of her hair now curled about her ears.
Sighing, Henry wrapped a chocolate-colored ringlet about his finger. He couldn’t help but remember the feel of her hair as it had brushed his chin, how their breath had harmonized when he had held her. For those few brief seconds, Rebekah had seemed at peace. Henry wanted desperately to offer her that forever, but he wondered if he could truly give her what she needed. He knew all too well what emotions bubbled inside him.
He despised her father. For that matter, he despised his own. And the Scriptures testify repeatedly that love and hate cannot coincide. But how did one go about forgiving someone who had intentionally inflicted pain upon another? Her father should have protected her, loved her. My father should have done as much for my mother. I’ve done so for Grace and Kathleen...
But he knew full well that ability hadn’t come from within. Henry’s attempts at procuring a loving, stable home for the girls had been disastrous. He’d made decisions based on fear, not love, and he had reaped the terrible consequences. And God has forgiven me. I need to extend the same grace to Theodore Van der Geld. He sighed heavily, knowing it would take even more of the Almighty’s grace for him to do so. Lord, help me... Help me to forgive her father... Help me to forgive my own...
When James returned to the room to see if he had need of anything else, Henry asked him to bring paper and a pen. He felt he should notify Rebekah’s parents of her illness, regardless of their lack of a relationship. It was only right. And the presence of sickness will surely keep Van der Geld from reentering this house anytime soon. He also needed to send a message to the city council, letting them know he would not be joining them today.
James brought him the necessary implements. Henry scratched out the two missives, then gave them to the man.
“I’ll get these off straightaway,” James promised.
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
Henry straightened Rebekah’s coverings once more. He felt her cheeks and forehead and in doing so tried to keep faith. Rebekah wasn’t any cooler, despite losing her hair.
* * *
The following morning, Hannah came into the room. “I’ve good news,” she said. “Miss Kathleen’s fever broke just after sunrise.”
Henry laid his head in his hands. He heaved a sigh. Thank You, Lord. Thank You. “I’m pleased to hear that,” he said to Hannah.
The woman came forward. “She’s resting peacefully now. Sadie’s sittin’ with her.” Hannah looked at Rebekah. “How is she?”
“No change,” Henry said. He could hear the fatigue in his own voice, the discouragement. Hannah could, as well.
“You should rest, Mr. Henry. I’ll look after her for a while.”
“No, Hannah, but thank you. I want to stay. I want to be here when she wakes.”
She nodded slowly, then peered into the nearby pitcher. “Have you been able to get her to drink anything?”
“Not much.”
“I’ll bring you some fresh water and somethin’ for you to eat.”
He appreciated that but didn’t want her to go to the trouble. She needed rest, as well. “Don’t bother about me,” he said.
To that, the older woman only smiled. “But that’s my job, least till Miss Rebekah gets back on her feet.”
Hannah wasn’t the only one who felt the need to look after him. By that afternoon, word had gotten about of the sickness plaguing the Nash family, and there was a steady stream of souls wishing to help.
George Meriwether was the first to arrive. He came bearing notes from the council meeting, promising to keep Henry abreast of any developments, especially in regard to civil unrest. The trial of the Lincoln conspirators had come to conclusion, a guilty verdict having been rendered. The man whom Rebekah had nursed in the hospital—Lewis Powell, now Paine—had been sentenced to hang for his crime. So had several others, including the widowed mother, Mary Surratt.
Henry wasn’t surprised by the first verdict, but he was by the second. Although he and apparently the rest of the council doubted she’d actually be executed, Mayor Chapman suggested that the city police force again be put on high alert in case any Southern sympathizers sought to stir up trouble. Henry laid the council minutes aside. He certainly hoped there would be no trouble, but he would leave the business of Baltimore to his fellow councilmen. Right now, his family was more important.
Sam Ward came next. He delivered to James a pot of soup that his wife insisted on sending and the good news that Grace was still unaffected by fever.
“Thank You, God,” Henry breathed when James told him the news.
“He said Miss Hastings and Mrs. Wainwright plan to send food tomorrow and the next day,” James then reported.
Henry took comfort in their friends’ concern. Still, it grieved him that there had been not one word from Rebekah’s family, not even a token gesture. Do they not care at all that she is so ill? He supposed it unreasonable to think her father would be concerned with her suffering, but Henry had thought that at the very least, her mother would show some sort of attention.
How hard-hearted can they be? Feeling the anger burning inside him, once more he prayed for the grace to forgive.
He still didn’t know if leaving Maryland politics was best, for Rebekah had shown little interest when he’d mentioned the opportunity in Ohio. If they did remain in Baltimore, Henry certainly wasn’t going to campaign for a man who treated his daughter with such little respect.
But I must do my best to live in peace with him, for her sake. And so he continued to pray for the ability to do so.
* * *
Rebekah’s eyelids fluttered open. The veil of murky darkness had finally lifted. She beheld Hannah’s familiar face smiling at her.
“The Lord be praised,” the woman said. “Welcome back, Miss Rebekah.”
Back? Where exactly had she been? A host of mottled memories drifted through her mind, hospital wards...dark streets...but Rebekah wasn’t certain any of them had been real.
“You’ve had the scarlet fever.”
Rebekah blinked. So her memories of wandering had been fever dreams? Vaguely she remembered Hannah helping her into a nightdress and before that, sitting with Kathleen. Then she remembered why. Her pulse quickened. “The girls—”
“They are just fine,” Hannah reassured her. “Miss Grace is with the Ward family, fit as a fiddle, gettin’ fat and sassy, and Miss Kathleen is on the mend. Her fever broke early this mornin’, and that rash of hers is completely gone.” Hannah sponged Rebekah’s forehead lightly, studied her for a moment. “I’d say yours is fading nicely, too.” She put the cloth into the washbasin. “Miss Kathleen has managed a few helpings of beef tea today and now even a little toast. Are you feelin’ up to tryin’ some?”
Just the mention of food made Rebekah’s stomach rumble. She felt as though she hadn’t eaten in weeks. “Yes, please. Thank you...and thank you for taking such good care of us.”
Hannah smiled as if she possessed a wonderful secret. “I was happy to tend to Miss Kathleen. But when it came to lookin’ after you, miss...that wasn’t me,” she said.
She glanced toward her right. Rebekah’s eyes followed. There, just a few feet from her bedside, sat Henry. Chin pressed to his chest, he was sound asleep.
“This is the first he’s slept in three days,” Hannah whispered. “I s’pect he’ll be put out with me for not wakin’ him, but the poor man is spent. He just wouldn’t leave your side. Nursed you the entire time.”
The entire time? So it was his hands that had cooled her forehead? It was his comforting voice she had heard? Rebekah searched her memory. What exactly had he said to her?
“They had to cut your hair,” Hannah said.
My hair? Rebekah’s heart sank. Her one and only beauty was gone?
“Sadie said it ’bout broke Mr. Henry’s heart to ask for the scissors. Couldn’t bring hisself to do it, in the end. Dr. Stanton had to take command.”
It broke his heart?
“You lay still now. I’ll fetch you that tea. Then, when you’re up to it, I’ll help you into a fresh gown.”
Hannah wisely knew Rebekah was too weak to even raise her head, though she wished she could change gowns now. The sweat-drenched cotton was as uncomfortable as it was embarrassing. Glancing down, she realized what nightdress she was wearing—the one her friends had so painstakingly embroidered. Henry had seen the gift for himself now, but not at all in the way it had been intended.
Heat crept up her neck as Rebekah stole another glance at him. How unkempt and indiscreet she must have appeared during those hours of fever. And yet he stayed with me? Never once relegating the task of my care to someone else?
As Hannah tiptoed from the room, Rebekah continued to study her husband. On his lap was not the daily newspaper, or matters of business, but an open Bible. His shirt was soiled. His hair was mussed, and his customarily clean-shaven face now bore the beginnings of a beard. It was far from the polished look of a city councilman, and yet there was something so endearing, so very handsome about him.
Rebekah then remembered those last moments in Kathleen’s room, before her knees had weakened and the darkness rushed in. Henry had been speaking of her time at the hospital and of her father. He knew everything, and he had promised no one would ever hurt her again.
She remembered being lifted in his arms, remembered exactly what words she had heard.
“Rebekah, I love you...”
Her heart came undone. Great tears filled her eyes, and a sob she could not contain choked her throat.
Startled by the sound, Henry’s neck snapped up. He immediately came to her side. The expression on his face was one of fear. “God, please...please help her...” Evidently he did not think her lucid.
“Henry...” she whispered.
Relief melted his taut features. “Oh, thank You, God. Thank You.” Brushing his lips lightly against her forehead, he said, “I thought I was going to lose you.”
Rebekah’s heart was so full, she could not speak. She stared up into his blue eyes. Fatigue lined them, but even so, they were as sincere and inviting as the summer sky. What could she say to this man? She’d thought she had known him, understood him, but clearly she had not. How could she even begin to express her gratitude for his faithfulness, his tender affection?
“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right. You are safe. Kathleen is well. Grace is, too.” He brushed away her tears with his fingers. For the first time she truly welcomed his nearness, his touch.
Hannah returned with the promised tray of food.
“Do you want to try a bit of tea?” Henry asked.
Rebekah nodded.
“Can you sit upright?”
“Y-yes...” Or at least she would try, since he so seemed to wish for it.
Bending low, her husband encircled her with his arms. The muscles Rebekah had once seen as means for control, for domination, she now saw as something else entirely. Henry’s strength was a means of help, of protection. As Elizabeth had once said, he was a man with a true servant’s heart. Rebekah leaned against his chest until she came to rest upon a pile of pillows. Henry then stepped back.
“There now,” Hannah said. “This will fix you.” As she brought forward the tray, he backed quietly to the door and slipped into the hall.
Watching, Rebekah silently wished he had remained.