"You should consider at least going to half mourning. Add some purple to your wardrobe. David wouldn't have wanted you to spend your life mourning," Elizabeth chastised her daughter.
Michaela stirred some maple sugar into her coffee. "First, I'm not mourning enough and then I'm mourning too much."
"I was right, wasn't I? You should have been wearing black, but enough time has passed. More than enough. If you hope to have a marriage and children, it's time to wear color again."
"Mother, please, how many times do we have to talk about this?" she asked, taking a sip of the steaming brew.
"Until you listen."
Josef Quinn had been safely hiding behind the paper during their argument, but he lowered it now and folded it, so he could hand it to Michaela. "Read this."
She didn't know what he wanted her to read, but his finger pointed to one of the personals before she could ask. "Here."
Sis. Ruth of Virginia relayed a message to Dr. M. Quinn of Boston. David is well in Georgia. Write by Flag of Truce or the Savannah Republican. Love and Prayers.
"I don't believe it. How is this possible?"
"Please, tell me it's an end to this war," Elizabeth said, craning her to see what the news was.
"It's David. He's alive. It's from a lady I met in Virginia. She's the one who gave me his watch." It was shock she felt the most, but happiness and relief worked its way to the surface until it showed itself in a smile.
"And you believe it because it's printed in the paper? What if it's some kind of trick?" Elizabeth argued. "You can't trust a rebel."
"I can trust her."
"Michaela Anne Quinn, did you make friends with the enemy?"
"There are good and bad people everywhere, Mother. I was reminded of that when I went down there. I'm going to send a message through the Savannah Republican to let her know I'm coming and then I'm going to Savannah."
"They're tearing up track left and right. How do you expect to get through?"
"On foot if I have to. I know it's dangerous, but you've read the reports of the rebel prisons. The prisoners are dying daily. It may be my only chance to see him again."
"That does little to reassure me, reminding me of how inhumane those people are."
"If I were the one in prison," Josef asked his wife, "would you come to me?"
"Of course, I would, but you're my husband," Elizabeth responded, brushing the comment away.
"And they're in love." He looked at Michaela, "You have my blessing, Mike, though I hate the thought of you being all the way in Georgia."
"You're insufferable," Elizabeth said, standing up and throwing her napkin down angrily, "You always give her whatever she wants, indulge her every whim no matter how ludicrous, whether it's a medical degree or a one-way ticket to her demise. Well, you don't have my blessing though that hardly seems to matter to the two of you!" She stormed out of the room and up the stairs.
Michaela looked regretfully after her.
"Don't worry about your mother," he said, patting her hand. "I've still got some of the old charm left. I'll smooth things over. She's just worried, you know."
"That seems to be a common ailment these days. I must get a reply posted and pack. Every minute counts." She kissed his balding forehead. "Thank you. You don't indulge me; you just support and believe in me. I love you. If I can make the arrangements quickly and don't get a chance, tell Mother I love her too."
sss
The train was behind schedule in Elmira, New York thanks to some loose cattle, which allowed passengers to stretch their legs and get something to eat while the tracks were being cleared.
Elmira had a prison camp, Camp Chemung. She'd read an article that spoke highly of the humane treatment prisoners received there. With a morbid curiosity, she walked in that direction and froze in her tracks when she got close enough to see what was going on. There was an observation deck just higher than the thousands of dotted white tents that were pitched inside the wooden walls. At the entrance was a man selling tickets for 10 cents to walk it. And in front of that, there were vendors selling refreshments for those who walked across.
And to top it all off, it was a Sunday, a day when people should have been especially delighting in the things of the Lord, but they were about as far from Him as they could be in this moment. She could almost picture Jesus knocking over their tables like He had with the moneychangers.
It wasn't just a few passing the most holy day of the week in such a macabre fashion, there were lots of people taking advantage of the deck. Some were fellow passengers, but some were no doubt locals. They were treating the prison camp like the zoological park Philadelphia planned to open. Like they were at a fair or a circus and viewing exotic caged creatures from the Orient.
She paid the 10 cents only because she wanted to see for herself how the conditions truly were. She wanted to see that the Union was treating captured prisoners better than the Confederacy was even if they were selling ringside seats.
She didn't even come close to being comforted. She saw a black driver come out of the gate in his wagon and she counted 6 pine coffins in the back. She could count at least a dozen more yet to be taken from her vantage point. Was that the number of deaths in one day?
The people around her snacked on ginger cakes, peanuts, crackers and sipped on lemonade and beer while those below the observatory starved and thirsted. For she could see from where she stood that the men were entirely too thin and poorly dressed. Some of them looked sickly. When winter came if they were still half-dressed with only tents for warmth, they were going to freeze to death. And there'd be even more pine boxes.
A 3-year-old purposely spilled his peanuts over the side and his mother snatched him by the arm, fussing mightily. Did he see what Michaela saw even at his tender age and was moved to feed them? No wonder they would be led by a child. She gave him a smile as he passed her.
Then she turned her sight back to the scene before her. A horrified tear slipped out of her eye. Conditions were as bad as they were at Andersonville. The papers were lying to them so they could keep a feeling of patriotism and pride. And maybe they were even worse, treating starving people like entertainment when the food here was plentiful and cheap thanks to all the surrounding farms.
A man in uniform with a long, graying beard and heavy eyebrows approached her. "You look as if you're in some sort of distress, madam. My name's Captain Hoffman. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"You can. I would like to assist the doctor here. I have 3 hours before my train leaves again and I want to spend it doing something useful."
"You're a nurse?"
If she said she was a doctor, they might not let her in. "Yes."
"I suppose that's alright with me, but I think your 3 hours could be better spent."
The conditions of the patients in the hospital was nothing like she'd ever seen before. Men's wounds remained undressed. The blood was not even washed from their limbs, and it looked as if they'd been in such a condition for days.
After receiving a quick introduction to the doctor in charge, the doctor said in an uncaring tone. "Do what you can for the devils."
Having plenty of bandages in her bag, she got to wrapping right away. In some cases, the clothing had adhered to their wound and she did her best not to hurt them as she pried the clothes loose.
She worked nonstop 2 hours and then she watched from the corner of her eye as one the doctors went around administering the same medicine to all the patients in the room. He got called away to assist in a surgery, and he simply set the bottle he'd had down.
She went over to take a look. It wasn't labeled, so she sniffed the contents and the smell of almonds wafted up. It was arsenic, a poison that was useful in treating syphilis and psoriasis, but the doctor had just administered it to all these men in a lethal dose. 4-5 drops was too much. He was either ignorant or...she was in the presence of a killer. There was nothing to be done for these men now, but she could assure it didn't happen again.
She found the chief surgeon, the man she'd been introduced to, Dr. Sanger. She was intent on letting him know the mistake the doctor under him was making, but she overheard Dr. Sanger remark to another doctor proudly, "I have killed more Rebs than any soldier at the front."
She went back for her bag and then she ran. No wonder one of the soldiers whose wound she'd dressed had called this place, Helmira. She agreed with him now wholeheartedly. It wasn't neglect taking place here, it was murder and there was nothing patriotic about it.
She only felt like she could breathe outside Camp Chemung's walls. She leaned against a closed store and struggled for air. Dr. Sanger was proud that he was a murderer, and for the first time, Michaela was ashamed of their side.