Writer's Quill
Civil Unrest
Chapter One — Unsettling Events
Hardships leave a burdensome impression on us all, pressing upon the chest until it feels difficult to breathe. My name is Emma, and this is my story.
In the coldest part of January 1861, a blazing inferno swept through our home and stole my parents and baby sister from us. I still remember the bitter winter air and the smell of smoke that lingered long after the flames died. Dad had paid a man to clean out our chimney, but he never showed. That is what my brother and I were told caused the fire.
Miss Edwards, the church’s organist, said the church was in no financial position to keep us, despite how well-behaved we were. I do not know if that was truly the reason or simply the easiest one to say aloud. Regardless, the orphanage became our new place to live.
It wasn’t until mid-February that a well-dressed man named Michael came and adopted David and me. He stood tall and slender, with a bit of scruff on his face. David and I left with him, hoping he could offer us a suitable home. By late April the Confederacy was calling men to arms, and Michael joined the 37th Virginia regiment.
Though we had only been in Michael’s care for two months, David and I had grown fond of him. We remained close to Michael upon arriving at Camp Lee at the Richmond Fair Grounds, where the new soldiers were armed and clothed.
When Michael had to check in, I turned to David. “David, let’s wander around and see if we know anyone.”
We walked through part of the camp together, passing rows of wagons, tents, and soldiers busy with their duties. To my horror, I thought I saw the chimney sweeper — the man whose neglect I had long blamed for the fire. Thankfully I was mistaken. I remembered hearing that he had left the area after our loss.
“Emma… David, come here.” Michael caught back up to us. “There is a story I have never shared with you.”
David and I hurried over as Michael found a quiet place to sit.
Michael looked down at the ground for a moment before continuing. “I met your parents once at a revival after losing my wife and child to fever. I had tried to save them, but they were too weak to survive. Your father spoke with me that night and led me to Christ. My life changed from that moment forward. As we talked, we discovered we were kin. So when I got word of your horrific tragedy, I knew in my heart it was time to return an old favour and rescue you both from that makeshift children’s home.”
Our eyes were fixed entirely on Michael.
“Why didn’t you tell us we were family the day you picked David and me up — why now?”
“Because all things in life worth saying or doing have their proper time and place. I desired for us to grow as an adopted family first. I needed to see if you two wanted me as your family before sharing my secret. We are a family by the blood of Jesus, the law of man, and our lineage.”
David smiled as he watched and listened. However, I became teary-eyed and overwhelmed with emotion. I hugged my — no, our new Papa for the longest time. Then David joined in and hugged both of us. Michael and I freed an arm to hug him back.
“Now,” Michael broke the long and tender silence, “we must set up camp with the others.”
“Okay,” we chimed in unison.
We had brought supplies for a large tent for David and Michael and a smaller one for me until we could build something better or the army provided one. At the last minute I asked if I could claim the covered wagon instead, convinced I would prefer those sleeping arrangements to call my own. David could then have my tent.
The answer was yes, and we set to work finishing our quarters. While some raised temporary shelters, others stood in line to sign their names and volunteer for our growing infantry.
With our belongings put away and shelters tidied, David and I rested while Michael met with a lieutenant colonel.
“David, look — he is coming back.” While Michael was away, we decided to call him Papa.
“He looks bothered.”
“You two ready to eat?” he called from a distance.
As we sat down to eat, we learned why he had returned so glum. During any battle, our camp could be overrun by Union troops. The regiment allowed us to stay because we had nowhere else to go, and they especially needed an excellent surgeon. Papa is a masterful surgeon with remarkably steady hands.
When the meal was finished, we sank into our mattresses for some much-needed sleep. I ended my day with a prayer. “I love you, Jesus. Good night, and amen.”
Morning came with an air of mixed emotions. At dawn, I overheard Papa witnessing to several men while I remained in my wagon.
“This war will open the floodgates to Heaven and Hell,” he told them, “and folks must be prepared to meet their Maker.”
An older soldier replied, “Are you a surgeon to the flesh, or to the spirit and soul?”
As he walked away, I heard him snicker and then grumble, “If the time comes and I need a surgeon, I could only hope to have one on a first-name basis with the Creator.”
After overhearing the conversation, I left the warm embrace of my blankets and began breakfast while I waited for David to wake and Papa to return.
“Papa,” I quietly said when he returned, “let us talk while we wait for David.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“The man you were speaking to this morning—why was he rude to you and to God?”
“It’s because of his troubled soul,” Papa said. “He and many others don’t have a personal relationship with our Saviour.”
David pushed open the flap on his tent, still rubbing his eyes. “Emma, what’s for breakfast? It smells good.”
“I fixed us some warm toast with jam and some seasoned oats.”
We sat together to eat. Afterward, I washed our dishes and cleaned up my small living area while listening to soldiers from all walks of life talk about their families, trades, and faith.
Then David’s voice broke through my thoughts as he shouted across the camp.
“Emma, Emma! A recruit heard me tapping rhythms on a crate this morning and said I have a musical gift for the drums. So he made me an honorary drummer boy!”
“Is that where you received the uniform, the drum, and the sticks?”
“Yes! Isn’t it nice?” he beamed as he tapped out a quick tempo for me.
Papa convinced David to wear his new regimental uniform for our picture that day. A photographer had arranged to photograph the soldiers and personnel within the camp.
As David was changing, I fetched the package that had been crammed unopened into the wagon the day we left. Papa had ordered me a special dress by mail that barely arrived before we came here. When I unfolded it, the gown was even more beautiful than I had imagined.
I held my baby sister’s stuffed animal in the photograph; it was one of the few things we salvaged from the fire. We decided to honor her memory while making new ones of our own.
In the afternoon, Papa and the other soldiers prepared for the days ahead. The hand of battle was nearing, and I felt the need to call upon the Lord for those who would soon be under fire.
I slipped away and met with God on my knees outside the camp until evening. I petitioned Him to show favour to the saved and mercy to the lost.
By the time I lifted my head, the sun was sinking behind the hillside. I brushed the grass from my new gown and hurried back to fix a late dinner. War or no war, supper still had to be made.
After dinner, David played a song on the flute Papa had given him.
While I cleaned the dishes that night, Papa asked if I had ever considered becoming a nurse. He offered to train me if I could stomach the blood and suffering. We would both see soon enough.
If I could, he said he would see that my chores were shared and that a camp helper might lend a hand when needed.
I was plum worn out, and everyone else seemed tired too. So we hugged one another, then wished everyone sweet dreams, as we slipped into our beds.
Chapter Two — The Awakening
I finally rode on a train. If only Dad and Mom could have seen our faces all lit up with excitement.
Our regiment and all our supplies arrived by rail in Staunton, Virginia. From here, we’ll begin our advance towards the Allegheny Mountains. Staunton sits in the Shenandoah Valley between the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Alleghenies where we are headed. Colonel Samuel V. Fulkerson is in command of the regiment. He spoke to us of fighting in the Mexican War and being a judge before coming here. He instructed Michael to keep himself and us children safely to the rear. Papa looked at us a few minutes later and said, “See, not all veterans become stone-hearted.”
My thoughts returned to the moment we stepped off the train. As we edged closer towards the battlefront, I realized we were no longer safe. Yes, it would have been good for our parents to see us riding on the back of that caboose. Now the smiles we once shared and felt have turned into frowns as we face a bleak future of war.
Summer slowly faded into autumn as weeks of marching and waiting stretched into months. We spent five months watching the smoke rising from the campfires of the hostile camps across one of the big valleys of West Virginia. Those were some long, indecisive, and miserable months.
By December the tension finally broke. On December 13, 1861, our first battle took place on the Allegheny summit. Discontent nearly boiled over among the men; hungry and frozen to the bone by the cold winter days. The taste of war frightened and shook many of our men to the core. When things settled down, so did our emotions. Our brave soldiers moved forward to our next destination as the camp’s wounded and personnel fell in line behind the troops.
“Children, listen,” Papa said. “Many of these men do not believe they are fighting for slavery. They believe they are defending their homes and their way of life.”
After listening to Papa speak, David asked, “So, what is our purpose here?”
“We are here to see souls and lives saved and to help heal and mend the broken mind, body, and spirit of those we can.”
Papa’s response caused me to look for better ways to serve and reconsider nursing. I had faced the question long enough.
Later, Papa jotted something down in his notebook, and he handed it to me to read. It was a short poem he’d written about the issue we discussed earlier.
From a Period of Servitude to a Time of Freedom
By Michael James Vass
All the acts and measures of slavery, we must cast aside.
Laws, not war, need we apply before our armies collide.
O’ what power when murderers no longer need to hide.
Such mutiny when fair rules of the state we won’t abide.
When forced to observe the persecuted great and few;
The bloody, darkened veil humanity must see-through.
Brothers, remember the white indentured servants, too.
Colourless slavery is forever blind within its political view.
It looks like David and I have made a new friend today; a white and gray speckled horse we both named Firefly. Her hide bears no brand, but she looks well cared for. We assume she got separated from her owner. I hope we can keep her as an addition to the family, since she continues to follow us onward. I left my brother alone with the young mare as I caught up with Michael this afternoon.
“Papa, we’ve come a long way from home and still have a long way to go. I hate that David had to abandon his schooling for now. Maybe we can find time to teach him together?” I didn’t give time for Papa to answer. “For myself, I’ll observe the duties of nursing and surrender my considerations on the matter to God in prayer. I know for now, though, we must continue to march on.”
“Emma, no more worrying about your brother. Concentrate on your studies. I have already found David several tutors. He will work on his education and help in camp, and I’ll see he gets treated fairly.”
Some time has passed now, and David and I are working hard on our studies. Everyone seems to be advancing at a brisk but manageable pace. Many of our days collapse into one another with no end or separation in sight. David frequently rides Firefly in the evenings. Papa bought her from a young soldier who assured him the horse was gentle and loved children. It is apparent she thinks I’m still a child, too. That must be why she began following us that day.
On March 23, 1862, we found ourselves in another battle in a place called Kernstown. With the boom of cannons and the crackle of gunfire echoing in the distance, my job was to help ready things in the camp. The cost of war is more than many can stomach, but it arose before us despite our feelings, hopes, and countless prayers.
There was scarcely time to prepare before the wounded came pouring in, paralyzing my very soul with fear. It was an unimaginable wave of destruction overtaking me until I was nearly as lifeless as the dead themselves. Cries shrieking for help forced me to keep moving. However, death loomed all around me.
I was given the job of comforting the dying soldiers in their final moments. Despite all Papa and the other surgeons knew how to do, there were still many wounded we were helpless to save. I bewailed the morbid task bestowed upon me, but there was no time to object.
I couldn’t swallow the growing lump in my throat as I stiffly approached the first soldier. Before I could speak, his ghastly hand grabbed my arm, instantly staining my skin with his blood. Panicked, yet briefly strengthened, it was the blood that caused my mind to recall 1 Corinthians 15:1-4 as given to us by the Apostle Paul in the Bible, the Oracle of God. My blood stains became larger and more prominent with each soldier that I visited as I shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Some of those who were dying listened intently, but I do not know whether they accepted. The arm of death is strong in this tug-of-war of life, but God is still victorious.
The day turned to night, and my heart and eyes were overflowing with tears. My eyes hadn’t been dry since seeing my first soldier bid farewell. After the last man in my care took his last breath, I got up and ran to a place to be by myself.
Papa found me sitting under an old tree, crying. He laid his hand upon the crown of my head. “Do you need a shoulder to cry on or a pair of ears to hear your grievances? If you would like, I can sit with you.”
“No, Papa, I don’t understand why you asked this of me. You said you wanted me to be a nurse, not a young death’s maid.”
He ignored my refusal of his company and sat beside me, putting my trembling hands inside his own.
“It’s simple,” Papa said softly. “Today you were defenseless in every case. Every encounter ended in loss.
“But when you are a nurse or surgeon, you will often face your patients with a measure of hope. If you endured today, you may yet become a very fine nurse.”
Then he hugged me and held me as my parents used to do.
Still, in his embrace, I responded, “I understand you only broke my spirit today, hoping to help me. You always mean well, as you’re not only my mentor but also my loving Papa.” We got up and slowly headed to our beds while we finished talking. Once my head reached the pillow, I crashed from pure exhaustion. David was out like a light; he’d already fallen asleep hours earlier.
A few days after the battle, David confided in me how Papa had asked him to bring me some water to drink and wash with. He had wanted to help me, but couldn’t approach all the dying and dead bodies. Papa had told him it was okay, but that he had to find someone else to help me because he was busy saving as many lives as possible that day. I brushed David’s hair with a hand that I feared would never fully lose the stain of blood and told him I completely understood.
It’s early morning, and a sense of apprehension is in the air. I walked with Papa and made our rounds of checking on patients. David snuck up and laid his head on my arm. He has decided he wants to become a sheriff. We felt it would be very fitting, as he could work with Papa and me. I pray today is brighter than days passed as I shadow my favourite doctor and surgeon.
“My dear children,” Papa said, “remember that a daily walk with God strengthens us against temptation and hardship.
“Do not allow this war to devour your hearts.”
David and I both nodded in agreement. I never intended to set Jesus aside. As I gaze across the camp, I’m thankful for those who are still alive. My sincerest hope is that at least a few of the men who died accepted Jesus.
Papa is teaching David how to make Johnnie Cakes this morning. Their occasional laughter is a tremendous blessing amongst the heartaches and stress around us. I often regret never trying to get close to other people here. I didn’t ask their names in fear of them dying. I see now that I was wrong.
Dear Lord, please send me a Christian friend. Someone who will bring much joy and comfort in these troublesome times. I’ve faced tragedies that will trouble me all the days of my life. God, please grant us all refuge and peace beyond understanding.
Chapter Three — Revealing Times
There are many worried souls within our regiment. Even some of our trained-to-be fearless soldiers are fearful of what’s coming. I have heard reports and rumors of troops from both sides deserting.
Earlier today, I found David with tears welling up in his eyes. “David, come here. You remember what Mom used to tell us during our storms of life?”
“To hug or curl up next to her if we get scared.”
“No, before that, she’d say, we need not fear anything outside of God Himself. Nothing can harm or kill us without Him allowing it first. We are both His children.”
“I looked into the eyes of a dead man and it haunts me.”
I pulled David close and whispered, “It’ll be alright. You are safe with Papa and me.”
He cried for a short while, then stepped back and wiped away his tears. “I haven’t cried like this since our family died.”
I reached over and dried the remaining tears from his face. “It’s okay. I still break down and cry on occasions when I’m alone, and life isn’t forcing me to be strong.” There was a brief silence that seemed to span the entire camp. “Hey,” an idea popped into my head, “you want to help me clean the surgical equipment?”
“Sure, but only if you will tell me what everything is for.”
By the time we arrived, several soldiers were finishing up. The work was all finished, except for a few small things. I felt terrible because I was late, but our neighbor, Sir William, had come and told Papa I was comforting David. He admitted out of concern he had eavesdropped and overheard part of our conversation. David and I walked around and toured the surgeons’ tools. David got sick to his stomach as I described the surgical equipment. It was the amputation saw that got to him. Frankly, the same thought hit me, and I spun around.
Ross was helping Papa lay out the instruments, quietly cleaning and arranging them as we approached.
“Papa, who could stomach such imagery? All the blood, guts, and gore — apparently only the scarred souls who stand before it.”
I walked away and dropped to my knees in prayer. “Dear Lord, protect what innocence David and I have left. It is often the faint of heart that is broken and weakened the most. Jesus, please don’t allow this war to destroy us.”
Papa and David had not followed me. They gave me some time and space. It’s been a challenging and emotional morning for everyone.
I recomposed myself, and we continued our tour. We looked at the medications. Some doctors still used whiskey, and they all had opiates like morphine for pain. But when available, chloroform was their preferred anesthetic.
Our regiment is packing up again to march toward whatever battle may be waiting for us next.
One positive bit of news today was that Mr. Anderson, David’s English tutor, said he has a large vocabulary for his age. Papa told him we were both raised and teethed on the King James Bible. Our father taught us daily out of God’s Word, and it didn’t hurt that our mother had once been a schoolteacher. As a result, we had very little slack in our lessons.
Since I last wrote in this journal, we have fought near McDowell and Winchester, and now our regiment serves under General Jackson in the Shenandoah Valley. His leadership has carried our men through several hard engagements.
We are running low on food. I still have a canister of wolf lichen. Some Native American tribes used it like us to make tea, while others made poisoned arrowheads out of it.
I convinced David to go looking for wild berries with me.
“Emma, are you sure you remember what plants are fine to eat? Neither Papa nor I want to suffer or die an agonizing death.”
“No worries. I memorized Mom’s handwritten book of edible and medicinal plants, like nuts, mushrooms, herbs, etc. We could live off the land if we get hungry. It’s always been fascinating to me. Here, let’s have some tea before we go out looking for other edible goodies.”
“David, Emma, we are heading out. Front Royal is calling the men to arms.”
“Okay, Papa, David, and I will go gathering plants another day.”
“Both our crates are full; I topped them off early this morning. The dead and wounded left us all some provisions. So, you young foragers, get ready now and know that I love you both.” Papa rushed back to help finish packing the surgical supplies.
“Papa,” I asked one evening, “how can the soldiers afford anything with these prices?”
A private earns only eleven dollars a month, yet potatoes cost four dollars a quart. Even onions and tomatoes can sell for nearly a dollar. Someone told me a slice of pie costs almost three dollars.
Papa shook his head. “The blockades and poor transport are hurting the supply lines. Too much of the South grows only one crop in one place.”
Most days we are simply thankful for our cornbread.
I must scramble to tidy up the wagon, then make sure David and Papa don’t forget any of their belongings.
We’re on the move. All this traveling is exhausting for everyone, especially those on foot. We have a long way to go and a limited amount of time to get there. I pray God blesses Jackson as he leads our troops into battle. At the First Battle of Bull Run, he earned the nickname Stonewall after rushing his troops to close a gap in the line against a powerful attack by the Union. However, I best try to get some rest before the wounded require my assistance. David is with Papa, driving the wagon, so Firefly’s back will get a rest today.
David said I was quiet as a baby, but Papa says I snored a tad. Ladies, don’t snore, do they? Well, Mom never snored that I know of; I often checked to see if she was still breathing.
“Come sit in your brother’s place and let him rest awhile,” Papa told me.
I rubbed my sleepy eyes as I stirred around a bit. “Okay, wait for a moment or two; I need a second to comb my hair; it’s a mess.”
David crawled in the back of the wagon for a nap. It had been a bumpy ride so far. I woke up sore with kinks in my neck and back. “Papa, when do you think we’ll get to go home?”
“Who said you’ll be going home? You may meet a young man and marry before that time comes.”
“Oh, hush — quit your teasing! You know I don’t have time to court. I’m married to the army, aiding the wounded and taking care of you and David.”
Before long, the battle erupted as we all expected. I can hear the distant guns and cannons firing. I’m frequently terrified, but I’m numb to it all on some level. Regardless of my firm faith, if I were on the actual battlefield, I’d most likely be in complete terror with the Union soldiers shooting at me. The part that gets to me the most is when the dead and injured arrive at camp. That is when my life forces me to take on the role of an assistant nurse. David is now doing a lot more to help, bringing supplies and water. And, as a surgeon, Papa has gotten much faster with reaching and tending to more casualties.
Even in this large regiment, it sometimes feels as if it is only the three of us here. Perhaps it’s where all our activities are so intertwined. With our hectic schedule, I don’t have the luxury of making friends, despite the countless souls that make up our camp. Our family is my whole world within this vast universe known as the Confederate army. I want to learn more about the Christian faiths of Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. For now, I must wash up, as the wounded will soon arrive. Even as I finish this sentence in my journal, I’m reminding David that God understands our fears, but people here rely on us.
“Okay, I’m here and ready. I pray God will guide the surgeons’ hands today.” I just heard David respond. He is turning into quite some man.
Now, it will only be moments before medics lay the first wounded on the table, presenting our first challenges.
I’ve learned a lot under Papa’s supervision and guidance. I shadow him and his attendant, who I only know as Ross — observing as they train me to be a surgical nurse. Many opportunities may arise from this over time if I’m still single or need an extra income. I will have options. For that gift, I am forever grateful and blessed.
At McDowell, we had thirty-four wounded and five men killed from our regiment. Many more have died in previous engagements. The blood trail continues, but for now, we must carry on.
“God, sustain our faith in these trying and troubling times in Jesus’ name. I pray, amen!”
Today I wrote a poem in my head and recited it to Papa and David. Ross and a few others overheard and even complimented it. So I thought I would jot it down in my journal for future reference.
A Country at War
By Emma Cornelia Vass
White smoke laid across the hallowed field,
Those smoky barriers were our only shield.
We viewed from afar with a face of gloom.
Thousands of soldiers have met their doom.
At the leadership and command of Stonewall,
Our brave men marched united, all standing tall.
To the loud pounding of the cannons and guns;
Both sides have lost fathers, brothers, and sons.
Under my breath, I said, “Goodnight, everyone.” At times I feel almost like a social hermit here in camp. I care for the people here but am frightened to tell them. So, I keep to myself, but anyway enough thinking, for now, it’s late, “Goodnight, Jesus, I love you.”
Chapter Four — The Courtship
Ross told us that Firefly is an Andalusian horse bred for war. They are an agile and noble breed. He has helped raise horses since he was a young child. Little did we know until then that Ross was the one who had sold her to us.
David inquired, “Papa, why don’t you ever talk about your horses?”
“Well, I’m not ashamed to say my two beautiful horses are your run-of-the-mill workhorses.” Papa smiled and winked. He’d bought Gideon and Nicodemus before we ever came into the picture. But he’s right; they are beautiful animals!
“Ross and I have inventory to count and some work to do.” Papa continued, “So, you two youngins try to get some rest, and I’ll lie down here shortly.”
We are all exhausted from our journeys and the constant exposure to grief, so I understood why my young brother began complaining about his worn pillow and tattered clothing. Papa understood too and comforted him by saying he was working on it. He offered David his pillow in trade. Though it wasn’t much better, David kindly refused, and he and I laid down to rest.
After we slept for a short while, we woke to the smell of beef jerky wrapped in a thin cloth that Ross had left for us.
Papa had returned, and while he nibbled on a piece of jerky we had saved him, he asked what I thought about Ross.
“He’s a very polite young Christian gentleman and gentle with the patients….” I blushed a bit. “And he is good-looking.”
Papa grinned, “He said, in a different time and place, he’d ask to court you. I told him whether in war or peace, let the purity of love grow and thrive. I’m not saying he loves you, but if you like him, allow your romance to blossom. I’ll not step in the way or stop it as long as it’s biblical.”
“He’s five years older, though. He’s twenty-one, and I’m only sixteen.”
“That isn’t a terrible difference. I was four years older than my wife. Just pray and think about it.”
I turned my head away with a big smile and told Papa I would. Several young men are interested in me here, but none of them are like Ross. He would be — well, hush mind. I need to get ready for my day. Yes, he would be a great catch for any girl, especially me. He started as a private, but his medical background moved him to Papa’s assistant. He’s been with the regiment since day one. Nurses get paid one dollar more a month with less hazard of getting shot at, so his move to the medical staff was a logical one.
Papa wants to get us stationed in a hospital, but they need us here for now. I am sort of happy we are staying since Ross has admitted to liking me. He’s so shy. We’ve been traveling for over a year, and he is just finally able to share his feelings. Maybe that is why I admire him more than all the others who flirt with me all the time. Something about him seems more sincere than the others.
At the battle of Port Republic, our regiment was noted for our exceptional service. One of David’s mentors, Sir Samuel, was strong as a mighty oak until some Yankee shot him down like a twig. A medic discovered him unconscious, curled over beneath a tree like a wilted leaf. The medical staff isn’t optimistic. They are transferring him to a nearby hospital for better treatment and care. As we wait for his transport, I imagine he’ll soon be among the dead. I could accompany him and a few others being transferred, but I don’t want to leave Papa, David, and Ross. Neither the casualties nor my faintness of heart will prevent me from lending a helping hand to those here in need.
Today, I watched David cleaning guns with some of the camp’s men. They take great care of their weapons and comrades-in-arms. I find it an honor to serve alongside them despite all the sacrifices. I gradually stepped outside my comfort zone. I spoke with a few of the men, including Ross and David. It was quite a pleasant experience after getting past the sadness of hearing how they longed for home and their loved ones.
Ross cleaned out a seat next to him. “Would you like to sit?”
“Yes, I think I will.”
“Are you comfortable? I can fetch you a pillow if you’d like.”
But I was fine, I told him. We all sat there listening to David tell the story of David and Goliath. An older man said, “You mustn’t make up such tall tales of yourself.” We all laughed, but the man was serious. He lit his pipe and stiffened his lower lip, then grumbled as he stomped off, knocking the mud from his boots. I leaned over and whispered to Ross, “Now, that’s one peculiar fellow.”
“Indeed, he is….” Then he grinned as we both giggled. “But we must pray he finds the good LORD.”
“Yes, I agree.”
In such a smooth motion, Ross took me by the hand and led me on a short walk. We talked about the weather and the Southern army. Unlike the gentle touch of his hand, Ross’ words seemed stiff and jumbled. Around us, the camp was busy preparing to move out again, and before long, David trotted up to us, eager to share about a new friend he had met. After he finished, we both smiled, and Ross asked him if he could have another few moments with me alone.
“I have two school friends, Junior and Mildred, marrying soon, who I hope someday you can meet. Once Junior and I about burned down the outhouse. We dropped firecrackers in there to test a theory in science. Trust me when I say gases can make a flashy boom.” He froze mid-sentence and then stuttered, “Anyway, I didn’t mean to talk about gas, but about us considering a courtship. Most of my friends are already starting families. Not to say I’m in a rush or hurry,” he continued to trip all over his words.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Ross Sutherland, you have a funny way of asking me to be your girl. You held me in abeyance and seeing you are in no haste, I’ll do the same. You may have my answer by the end of summer.” Then I ran to our wagon to get ready to leave.
“Papa…” I gushed.
“Help us finish getting things ready.”
“But Papa, he asked me to be in a courtship while talking about gas.”
“He’s just shy, is all.” Papa had a huge grin on his face.
“I know, but gas?”
“Well, was it funny?”
“Yes,” I stammered, “if he wasn’t asking me to court him in the same breath.” Papa just stood with the same silly grin on his face. Amid my emotions I suddenly began to laugh. Then Papa and I laughed together. It was sort of funny.
Our next destination was just outside the city, where our unit granted several of us temporary leave. My family and I got a fresh bath and a delicious meal. It was the most delightful time we have experienced in months. However, even these memories became marred by the bustle of citizens and soldiers from all over the South preparing for what ended up being a seven-day scuffle that claimed Colonel Fulkerson’s life and many others.
We fought at Gaines’ Mill, Frayser’s Farm, and upon the heights of Malvern Hill. The Union escaped to a strong defensive position after poorly executed orders and delays involving Stonewall Jackson’s troops. It was there the booming artillery finally quieted.
Though overcome by the suffering all around me, I still clung to a small chance of joy. I kissed Ross upon the cheek and whispered in his ear, “I will.” Standing beside the operating table—exhausted and covered in blood—he turned toward me for a moment and smiled. Then, catching his second wind, Ross returned to stitching the wounded man’s hand.
Tired, I later collapsed upon my mattress and prayed a brief prayer.
“Dear God, bring Ross and my relationship together as Scripture and heaven would have it be. Mold us into the shape, manner, fashion, and form of clarity that only Thou canst see. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.”
I should be sound asleep, but the nightmares haunt us all here. The torment we’ve all faced weighs on the soul. David has made many friends here, but he spends most of his time with Papa. I am getting to know Ross better. The guns and cannons have silenced for now while our unit marches forward. Ross has started his apprenticeship to become a doctor while I’m still training to become a nurse. I found out that David no longer wants to be a sheriff. He has felt led to go into the ministry to preach when the war is over.
“Jesus, only you perceive how much I miss mom and dad. Especially now, as I look towards the day, I start a family of my own. I have such a longing for home, as we all do. Lord, please bring us peace between the states soon. Glory to your Holy name, amen.”
I was putting my last things away this morning when Papa called out.
“Emma, David, come on, Ross is waiting. He has fixed us all breakfast.” We all hurried as the sun was still rising; we’d be traveling again soon. Our family was thankful for the food, but Ross’s cooking had a lot to be desired.
David whispered to me, “Maybe it is best if you fix the meal next time.” I smiled at him and then thanked Ross for the food as we stood up to move out. I rode Firefly that day beside Ross as he rode Liberty. We had a pleasant talk about heaven. I could feel Papa watching us from afar in a fatherly way. The ride was lovely and peaceful.
But even in this peaceful moment, the threat of death and suffering pokes at our hearts.
“Ross, will you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Never leave me. I’ve had enough loss in my lifetime.”
He gently reached over and patted me on the hand, and spoke with a soft voice. “If God allows it, I’ll be with you until we are both old.” Before we turned around to ride alongside David and Papa, he gently wiped a tear from my face.
Chapter Five — Seeking Answers
Yet even in moments of happiness, the war would not allow our hearts to settle for long.
The anticipation of another battle and more wounded soldiers always shakes me to the core. It is then that I find myself upon my knees praying the hardest. Our needed supplies often arrive slowly, and the prospect of medical shortages heightens my frail nerves. David and I were once very timid until death brushed close against our immortal souls. Papa once said he would have become a hard-hearted man again if not for Jesus and for us two. I believe I have even softened Ross’s heart a little.
One afternoon we were sitting together when Ross lowered his voice and stared into the distance. Though I have grown accustomed to his shyness, this was a different tone.
“Emma,” he said quietly, “what do you think about owning slaves?”
“It is a hideous act that I frown upon,” I answered. “Why do you ask?”
Ross shifted his gaze toward the ground.
“My family owns some. But as I became older, I realized I could no longer condone such a barbaric practice.”
He finally looked me directly in the eyes, and I held his gaze for a moment before looking away.
“I must be going,” I said. “I have a few things that require my attention.”
He rose quickly and reached for my hand but hesitated.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No,” I replied gently, “but I am not sure how I could ever face your family if the time comes.”
I lowered my head and walked away. I harbor no resentment toward Ross, but the reach of slavery saddens me deeply. The bigotry of others has wounded my heart.
Later that evening David, Ross, and Papa were sitting together talking while I prepared supper. Ross and I had not spoken since the afternoon, but David chatted on happily. He told them that Mama had named him, Ruth, and me from the Bible.
Ross and Papa both pointed out that Emma was not a biblical name, but David would not concede.
“Our mother did name us from the Bible,” he insisted.
“Prove it then,” Ross said.
David quickly opened the Bible and pointed to Matthew 1:23.
“Her name comes from our Lord’s name, Emmanuel. In Hebrew it means God has answered. She was an answer to my parents’ prayers because the doctor told them they could never have children.”
Ross and Papa were both impressed by his answer. They looked at me, and I smiled back at them.
Tonight I am still pondering how I shall deal with my future in-laws. I hope to be honest and straightforward in every situation. It should not have to come between Ross and me, for his family no longer speaks for him, nor does he answer for them.
Shortly after, I prayed. “Goodnight, Lord Jesus, my sweetest and dearest friend. I pray You will bring a resolution concerning Ross’s family in Thy Holy name, amen.”
This morning the army marches onward. We have spent more time traveling than fighting, so at least we all receive our daily exercise. As we moved along the road I spoke with Papa.
“Papa, why is there slavery?”
“You mean beyond the matter of free labor?” he replied. “Because of sin and the condition of people’s hearts.”
My voice lowered.
“Did you know Ross’s parents own slaves?”
“Yes,” he said. “We spoke about it after he talked with you.”
“I want no part of it,” I said quietly. “Yet I know it is not Ross’s fault what his family does. I place the matter in God’s hands.”
“That is all you can do,” Papa answered. “You have plenty of time to pray about it before this war ends.”
His words were not encouraging, for they meant more time for soldiers to die and families to be torn apart by grief.
“So are the Southern armies fighting for slavery?” I asked.
“I know some are,” he said. “But I would not place the majority of us into that sum. Why would a man leave his home and family to risk life and limb for something he neither has nor will ever own?”
“Thank you for the answers. Would you mind if I take Firefly and ride ahead to speak with Ross?”
“That will be fine,” Papa said. “But do not tarry long.”
“I shall return shortly. I love you.”
As I approached Ross, I reflected on how some say he looks too old for me. Yet it is only his beard that makes him appear older. Beneath it he is a handsome young man. With all the travel and surgery, he has had little time to shave.
A man along the road told us he overheard a prison wagon taking prisoners to the calaboose to join a chain gang. He was difficult to understand as he chewed on a mouthful of old, molded jerky. We wished him well and moved aside to speak privately.
“Papa wants me back soon,” I told Ross. “But would you bring a few potatoes for supper? I will prepare them with cornbread. We have only a few left.”
“Certainly,” he said. “Will three medium ones be enough?”
“That will do nicely. I will see you when we stop and set camp for the evening.”
After supper Ross surprised us with a special treat. He had obtained several popcorn balls from a man named Edmond, an old gambler who had won them on a bet. The sweet molasses tasted wonderful, and they are David’s favorite.
We were still licking the sticky sweetness from our fingers when Ross suddenly spoke.
“Michael, when do you think the war will end? I would like to ask you for Emma’s hand in marriage.”
I nearly choked on my popcorn ball.
“It would be an honor,” Ross continued, “to live near you and David if you would grant your blessing.”
Papa smiled.
“Emma is a mature Christian young woman. I will allow her to decide.”
Blushing, shocked, and nearly cannon-struck, I stammered, “Um… I shall be right back.”
I stepped behind the wagon to wash my face and collect my thoughts. When I returned I looked into Ross’s eyes.
“Are you certain you know me well enough?”
“It has been nearly a year since we met,” he said quietly. “And I have loved you since early on.”
“Love?” I asked softly. Ross had never used that word before. “You love me?”
“Do you not love me also?”
“I do,” I admitted. “But I did not know your feelings had grown so strong. I was unsure whether you were ready for such commitment.”
I took a slow breath.
“I was unsure of myself as well. Yet now I know that I would gladly marry you and become your wife.”
As Ross bent to kiss my hand, Papa spoke up.
“The war is not over yet. You both have time to think and pray about this. For now let us get some rest.”
“Emma,” David said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“May I have the rest of your popcorn ball? If you are finished with it?”
I laughed.
“Of course, but brush your teeth afterward.”
He hugged me and kissed my cheek.
“Yum! Thank you, sis.”
Though the excitement of the evening made sleep difficult, Papa eventually insisted we all retire. I do not know if sleep will find me tonight.
It seems we are drawing closer to another battle, and Papa has not been feeling well. Yesterday he suffered chest pains that he called pectore dolor. Ross had to spell the words for me. We are somewhat concerned, though Papa insists rest will cure it.
Papa consulted another doctor, who agreed with his diagnosis. His symptoms—weakness, trembling, shortness of breath, sweating, and heart palpitations—point to what he calls irritable heart syndrome. It is not life-threatening, though the doctor suggested opium if needed.
Papa prefers herbal remedies, so when I mentioned St. John’s Wort he agreed to try it. Mama once told us that the red spots on its leaves symbolize the blood of Saint John the Baptist, and folklore says the plant first appeared on the anniversary of his beheading.
Since it has recently bloomed in June, David and I went out this afternoon to gather some.
On our way back we encountered several weary travelers, and David managed to obtain an extra bag of cornmeal. Hard, stale bread and water have become the common fare as we prepare for battle at Cedar Mountain.
One tired and emaciated man shouted, “The puny allotment of criminals!”
I offered him a piece of my cornbread, which he quickly devoured.
The struggles of war are brutal. Blood streamed from a prisoner’s face, and he could not have been much older than I. After examining him, I cleaned and wrapped the wound where a bullet had grazed his temple.
He wore a different uniform and bore a darker complexion than many I have known, yet he spoke as any wounded man would—quietly and with great pain. In that moment I could not see an enemy before me. I could only see a soul in need.
Today I treated many of our wounded with little supervision. My education and abilities have progressed greatly.
Both the North and the South have shed much blood upon American soil. I still wrestle with why our differences could not be settled without war. Slavery must end, and all else now seems small beside the lives already lost. Self-serving men are rarely satisfied and seldom restrained. May God pity us all.
David assisted me throughout the day and was a great help fetching supplies. He also witnessed to many who came into our care. One man made a profession of salvation. I thank the Lord for His mercy and timing.
After the battle David and I washed and sat upon the ground together.
“I just want to be home,” he said quietly.
“So do I,” I replied.
“I love you, sis.”
“I love you too.”
Papa soon joined us and settled down beside us. Ross had not come with him yet, as he needed to clean himself after the surgeries.
Thank God our family is still together after so many battles. May this terrible war end soon, for we are weary and heavy-laden.
Chapter Six — Letters Home
The battles of the past few days have left my heart weary and longing for home. In a moment of homesickness, I found myself writing to a childhood friend today.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
August 24, 1862
Dear Jenny,
I saw a man today who reminded me of your father. How are you and your family? Is everyone still alive and well? I’m writing to tell you what has happened to us after the fire. You must think the worst by now; it’s been so long since we spoke and saw one another. I can recall when your grandpa called us his little rag dolls after the time we got muddy in the creek and I tore my dress sleeve.
Much has changed since then. I serve as a nurse in the 37th Infantry. David and I were both adopted by a distant relative named Michael. He’s an excellent surgeon and a loving Papa. He and my now fiancé trained me to be a field nurse. You’d like Ross. He is shy, but he makes me happy. David is doing well, but the war brings him many nightmares, which none of us is immune to.
Have you ever heard the Rebel Yell? Our soldiers use the yell when charging to boost morale and intimidate the enemy. I liken it to the scream of a cougar. It reminds me of us as kids loudly imitating animal noises. This place can be very dark and depressing with the death and the wounded. The battles are intense and frightening; I find them disturbingly haunting.
I miss you and our time together; life was much simpler back then. I hate this dreadful war. Please pray for us and pray we will be home by the year’s end. I must stop writing now, but I love you like a sister, and you are still my best friend back home.
Your friend,
Emma C. Vass
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Writing to Jenny lifted my spirits a little, so I decided to write to Miss McGraw as well.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
August 25, 1862
Dear Miss McGraw,
You always said I would travel and see far destinations. It turns out you were right. I do not think either of us imagined it would be because of a war. I also never thought I would journey this far from home. David says hello, and we are both doing fine. Have you heard any news from the front lines? We keep a safe distance from the fighting.
I wrote to see if you ever finished that quilt you started for me many years ago, the one for my hope chest. I am engaged to a young man who is training to be a doctor. I am sorry we have not visited since the tragedy. We are with family now and always on the move with our adopted Papa. After the war, I would love to stop by and visit for a while. You were our favorite neighbor and Mom’s dearest and closest friend.
I miss your blueberry pies. Dad once said you were the most treasured cook between Virginia and North Carolina. Sadly, I must run as I have chores to do, but rest easy. We are still alive and well. Do not fret over the war too much. I know how you are often frightened by your own shadow. At some point, life scares us all, but remember you are safe in God’s loving arms.
Your friend,
Emma C. Vass
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My letter writing seemed to inspire Papa to write home as well. He even allowed me to read his letter before sending it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
August 27, 1862
Dear Uncle Joe,
I had a moment to write and let you know that the children and I are all well. We hope this letter brings you and your family some rest and peace of mind. We have traveled many miles. It is nice to have David and Emma here, but I partly hate and blame myself for bringing them to this dreary and gut-wrenching place. How are my mother and father? Has your case of tuberculosis worsened?
Our regiment is within a few miles of the enemy lines. I have seen no Union troops today, but I expect we will tomorrow or the next day. I believe we plan to reposition our camp this afternoon nearer to our next engagement. I do not know when we will stop a day or two to rest, but I pray this war ends soon.
I have not received a letter from anyone back home for two or three weeks. Anyway, I must close for now. Emma and I only have a few minutes to eat before we go on our rounds to check the soldiers’ feet and wounds.
Love always,
Michael J. Vass
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ross was finally writing home to tell his family about me and our courtship. He promised to let me read the letter before sending it to hear my thoughts. David seemed to be the only one not writing a letter today, though he had written to our old Sunday school teacher last week. David was always one of his favorite students.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
August 27, 1862
Dear Father and Mother,
I met a young Christian lady. I know you both have never been fond of my becoming a Christian, so I assume this news will not excite you either. She is a young, sweet, and beautiful girl as well.
After the war, I will not be returning home but settling near Washington County to be near her small family of like faith. However, she would love to meet you both, and we cordially invite you to the wedding when that time comes.
Your Son,
Ross J. Sutherland
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The darkness of morning has nearly passed, and I now sit in the wagon with my letters in hand, pondering all that has been written. I hope to get them to the postmaster soon. We fought at Groveton yesterday, and rumor has it we are to prepare for more loss of life and bloodshed today as we encounter the Second Battle of Bull Run. My troubled spirit sometimes roars louder than the fiercest sea. Many of us have already grown weary as we continue onward. War wearies the mind, the body, and even the strongest souls.
Hot lead and cannonballs are flying today. Countless bullets are shredding through the soldiers’ flesh. Young and old, Confederate and Union alike, have had their limbs blown off by cannons. The sting of war pierced the core of my heart as I ran to help with the casualties. I wonder if this is a sample of hell on earth. Tears poured down my face as I looked among the dead. David was bravely closing their eyes as he wept, for so many had perished.
“Even one was too many,” he cried as he counted a friend among the dead.
After the battle and treating all the wounded, we washed up a bit. Then Papa retired to his tent to pray and read his Bible. Inside the front cover he keeps a letter to David and me if he should die. I have decided to write a few myself—one to him, David, and Ross—because I too could perish before the war ends. Sadly, death comes to us all in time. I look for that glorious day when Jesus returns for His saints.
Tonight my heart rests heavily within my chest for all the losses we have endured. But tomorrow I plan to write out my will and finish my letters home in case I do not return, as I realize this is a crucial moment in time.
It is now morning, and I pause only a moment to ask David to gather Papa and Ross for breakfast. He asked what we were having, and I let him know Lt. Col. Carson had given me a piece of cake. That was the first twinkle I have seen in David’s eyes in weeks.
As he ran off, I smiled and thought this might stand for all the birthdays we have not celebrated. I finished my last letter and postmarked them all to be sent out.
“Hurry,” I called eagerly as the three of them approached. “I got us four a small treat.”
It was not much—only a small piece of cake that I carefully broke into four portions—but our mouths watered all the same. I wished them each a happy birthday, both early and belated. Then I kissed each of them on the cheek and hugged them before we all went our separate ways to prepare for the day.
I handed David everyone’s letters as he looked for the mail carrier, then I chased down Ross to ask him a question.
“When do you think we’ll get married?”
“Soon as the war ends, I hope.” He blushed.
I gave him a pout. “I know, but what if it never does?”
“Do not think or say such things.”
“You are right. We must be patient for now and trust in God.” I took him by the hand as we walked a short distance. At that moment we were the only two people in the world in our eyes. Then we had to get ready to move out again. The military was forever on the move. That morning I went from a heavy heart to a lightened mood of happiness and peace surrounded by those I love most.
When I reached the wagon I said aloud, “Thank you, Lord.” Then I saw several people looking strangely at me.
One fella asked, “What do we have to be grateful for?”
“Well,” I smiled, “I’m grateful you are still here and alive.”
He grinned back at me. “Thanks, little missy.”
Then I climbed into the wagon to leave, thanking God once more.
Chapter Seven — Sicknesses Abound
David had been rather puny these past few days, dragging his feet as he walked. One night he became sicker than I had ever seen him. For the past few days he had suffered from a dry cough, headache, fever, and muscle pain, along with weakness and increasing difficulty breathing. Looking at his fingernails while he slept, I noticed they were a bluish-gray color. All I could think was, “LORD, don’t take my brother too.”
“Emma, there is no more Ross or I can do. David is in the Lord’s hands and mercy now,” Papa told me.
I refused to stand by while my little brother succumbed to pneumonia. “What would Mom do?” I asked myself. The Indians boiled Pleurisy Root and gave it to their people. What else did they use that we have? “Dear God, please clear my head,” I prayed. God reminded me they also used honeysuckle and dogwood for respiratory issues. Except I had no dogwood berries or flowers. I could use bark from some soldier’s firewood. I decided to make an infusion.
“Emma, where are you going?” Papa asked as I hurried about late that afternoon.
I rushed to get some honeysuckle extract from my herb chest and asked Papa to please find me some old dried dogwood. A freshly cut tree would upset his stomach. Ross quickly found a tool we could cut it with. Papa returned with a piece of dogwood while Ross followed behind him carrying an ax. I took the ax and cut the wood into tiny pieces.
Afterward, I steeped one tablespoon of bark in a pint of water for thirty minutes over our fire, then strained it through a thin piece of cloth into a cup. I added a dab of honeysuckle extract. We sat up through the night while I administered David’s treatment of half a cup every two hours. By morning we began seeing improvements. It seemed we had defied death once more through God’s merciful grace.
Ross said I was quite the hero, but I only cared about saving my brother. Before long David and I were goofing around and acting like siblings again. But for a few days I truly feared we would lose him.
When I consider the epidemics of dysentery, pneumonia, typhoid, measles, smallpox, chickenpox, diphtheria, scarlet fever, mumps, and malaria in the camps, I am surprised anyone is still alive.
Many here are more comfortable with the wounded than the sick. Some men hold to the idea that God intends to kill us all off—“every bloody one of us,” as some say. However, Papa believes it is the conditions we live in: crowding and malnutrition.
Usually I handle the cleaning and wrapping of wounds. Still, as a nurse I must also deal with infestations of maggots and lice among many other unpleasant things. Because my studies were not done in an academic setting, some people frown upon my medical training. I have the proper experience, but some thoughtless and unknowing soldiers call me a handmaid.
When I marry, I believe I will pursue researching herbs and become an herbalist. I have already begun recreating some of Mom’s remedies within her old book.
I could not help expressing my thoughts aloud yesterday as Ross watched me prepare dinner.
“Ross, neither medicine nor prayers have stopped the advance of these pestilences. Maybe this war and these illnesses that plague us are God’s judgment upon us all.”
“I’d have to agree. Michael knows this is true, too. Despite the natural things we can improve within the camps, it is still all in God’s hands. I am just thankful the Lord spared your brother.”
“So is Papa wrong about crowding and malnutrition being partly to blame?”
“Well, those things certainly do not help the situation. Your Papa is right in the sense that God is not trying to kill everyone, or we would all be dead by now. Still, the Bible speaks often of war and pestilences as judgments of God throughout the Scriptures.”
Exhaustion, dehydration, sunstroke, allergies, and scurvy also contribute to the sick and dying within the camps. In the winter people often suffer from frostbite, whooping cough, and a mysterious illness we call the ague, which brings fever, chills, and fatigue. Some of our sick are sent to hospitals or even home on leave.
Many of the wounded are also in poor condition. Gangrene has spread rapidly among the troops. Some men we thought were nearly healed are now suffering gravely. A wound that was the size of a dime a few days ago can grow to eight or even ten inches in diameter.
While reading in my Bible today, I came across Leviticus 15:13. God instructed His people to cleanse their issues by washing their clothes and bathing their flesh in running water.
There is still so much unknown in the medical field, but perhaps we could learn more from the Scriptures than we presently give merit. Maybe in the days to come I can search the Scriptures for more answers.
“Lord Jesus, show me what You would have me see, and open the eyes and ears of those around me. Amen.”
Chapter Eight — The Aftermath
Following the Battle of Belle Grove, a soldier found my journal among the belongings of a young fallen soldier named Alfred Armstrong. It had been stolen a few years earlier from my wagon chest after we left Manassas, and I had long believed it forever lost in another’s hands. Now I pick up not where I left off, but thirteen battles later. So much left unwritten, so much forgotten and lost. I struggle to remember what I can.
This past battle was a crushing defeat. We failed to protect our supply lines through the Shenandoah Valley, making it even harder to feed our army.
General Stonewall Jackson, a God-fearing man, was accidentally shot by his own soldiers. His loss echoed in every corner of the country and throughout the hearts of those who knew him. While they bury the dead, we must keep their stories alive. In 1863 the Union confiscated Robert E. Lee’s 1,100-acre estate in Virginia and converted it into a cemetery.
As I think back to a wintry day at Fredericksburg, I stood there chilled to the bone. Shivering, I felt the blood of the wounded covering my body. Papa’s hands were buried deep within the mangled abdomen of a man’s open gut. I thought if this soldier found favor with God, he might even live to see a hospital. When he awoke in anguish, he moaned and groaned and begged me to let him die. I find so little to be thankful for in these times. Sadness has broken my heart many times before these men of valor.
David, now seventeen, joined the troops on the battlefield two years ago at Chancellorsville. That battle was a solid victory for the Confederate army. Ross is now a surgeon beside Papa, saving lives and limbs with the best of them. Rumor has it we may be nearing the end of the war. I long to settle down and be married. Papa is giving Ross and me a house and a piece of land. David plans to rebuild our old home place not far from where we will live, and we aim to help him once we return.
We are always looking for ways to take our minds off the war. Many enjoy playing cards between long marches and battles, though a deck is a rare find these days. Reading, writing, drawing, and music are common pastimes within the camps. Studying and learning God’s Word remains a favorite way of passing the time within our family.
I recall one evening as David and I sat beside a small campfire. The darkness nearly hid his worn uniform and, for a moment, almost hid the war itself.
“David, I’ve enjoyed your Bible studies as of late,” I told him.
“Thanks. I often wish I could hear Dad teach and preach again.”
“I know, but you know he would be very proud of you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Hey, think of when we get home. We’ll get you to marry Ross and me. Then we can invite our old neighbors and friends to hear you preach before our wedding..”
“That will be nice.”
There was a brief pause between treating the wounded after a recent battle. I do not even remember which one it was. There have been so many. Ross and I spoke while we caught our breath before returning to work.
“Ross, are you afraid of dying?”
“No, but I am afraid of losing you.”
“Ah, that is so sweet.” I gave him a quick kiss. “I’m afraid of losing you, too.”
“How many children do you want?”
“A boy and a girl would be nice.”
“A house full would be nice too.” Then he smiled, and we both laughed. “Alright, two will be enough. But we should stop talking and get back to the regiment for now. It will be dark soon.”
“Okay, I’ll race you. Get set, run.”
“Hey, no fair, you cheated. You got a head start.”
The Union has won more battles thus far, though we have seen several notable successes. During the Seven Days Battles, a third of the men were dead or dying. Enough living men lay on the field that the ground almost appeared to crawl. Two of the most significant battles we fought were at Antietam and Gettysburg. Antietam remains the bloodiest single day on American soil. Gettysburg began when Confederate soldiers searched for shoes, as many were barefoot.
When clothing is scarce, we use captured Union uniforms and boil them in walnut hulls, acorns, and a lye solution to fade them to a light tan color known as butternut. Half-starved, many soldiers still march in threadbare uniforms seven battles later. Gettysburg proved to be a turning point, sadly against us. By spring only three hundred men remained present for duty in our regiment, as many had deserted.
“Papa, it seems we’re losing the war,” I said aloud.
“Perhaps we are, but it has been a long road for both sides. Regardless, it is still in God’s hands. In the greatest sense, we have all lost. The entire country is mourning.”
I am tired and long to go home.
We were en route to Danville or Lynchburg in hopes of resupplying. The Union army stayed close behind us, preying on our weaknesses. While bottlenecked at Sayler’s Creek, the enemy closed in as we attempted to flee. We lost about a quarter of our remaining soldiers, including several generals.
Papa sternly shouted, “Ross, get Emma out of here.”
As I looked toward Papa, he cried again, “Ross — now!”
I saw the fear in his eyes. Then I looked down and saw David lying on the ground with his shirt soaked in blood and blood running from his head. I screamed as Ross placed his arm around my waist and shoulders to pull me away. He handed me off to two soldiers and ran back to help Papa.
I heard Papa say, “We must hurry. He is in a lot of trouble.”
They struggled to lift David into a nearby wagon. It was then I saw his pale face as I fought to break free. My arms and legs went limp as I cried out to God to help us reach safety.
Then I fainted from exhaustion and terror on the battlefield.
Chapter Nine — Finding Peace
“David… Papa — Ross,” I cried out frantically as I awoke.
“Quiet now, you will disturb the other patients. You are in the Confederate General Hospital. I’m James White, your doctor.”
“Where are they…?”
“Shh. Here now.” He handed me a glass of water. “Two soldiers brought you in with the other wounded. One soldier sat awhile with you, then left a note. He said he knew you.”
I unfolded the note. It read:
Emma,
The Union captured Ross and Michael.
The fate of David is unknown.
Floyd Myers.
Immediately I bowed beside the cot and sobbed. “My Lord God… Jesus help me!” Then a comforting peace came over me as I stood and composed myself, wiping away my tears.
A man signaled me to his bedside and said, “Ma’am.”
“Call me Emma.”
“Emma, do you think I will be welcomed into heaven when I die? I’ve killed so many men and done so much wrong.”
“Have you ever been saved?”
“No, but I believe in heaven and hell.”
“Jesus, the Son of God, died on the cross, was buried, and rose from the dead on the third day so that you could be forgiven.”
“So how can I know I’m going to heaven?”
“Believe in Jesus Christ, accept His work on the cross, and repent of your sins.”
“I do. I repent, and I want Jesus to be my Saviour.”
“Then, according to the Scriptures, you are now saved.”
I held his hand until he took his final breath. Then I prayed and went to search for news about David.
After describing my brother and the wounds I knew of to an older nurse, she believed he had likely been transported to Lynchburg’s General Hospital, where he would receive better care if he were still alive.
Days later I finally caught a wagon there. The locals call it College Hospital, a towering building once used as a college. After asking around and searching for some time, I at last found David. He lay there unconscious in pitiful condition. I rushed to his bedside, trying to hold my composure as I prayed to Jesus and spoke softly to him while holding his hand.
Sister Mary Vincent cares for this ward. She visits quietly two or three times each day, inquiring about the patients and sometimes stopping to speak with them. She told me David’s head wound was superficial but had caused a concussion. Then she showed me where a bullet had entered his chest but lodged there without striking any vital organ.
Six nuns dedicate all their time and effort to caring for the wounded here. All the rooms and wards are clean and well maintained. Everyone seems well cared for by the medical staff. They provide patients with soups, meats, vegetables, rice, milk, and eggs, along with puddings and pies. It is nothing like the camps. The patients eat very well here. Each sister portions food according to the diet she believes best for the patient.
I was allowed to stay and help care for David while I hoped to learn more about Ross and Papa. For now, I am simply thankful that everyone may still be alive.
At Appomattox Court House on April 9th, General Lee surrendered his 28,000 troops to Union General Ulysses S. Grant, effectively ending the war. Ross and Papa were later released on parole with the other Confederate prisoners. By that time David had regained consciousness. Papa knew exactly where to look for us. When they checked the hospital first, we were reunited in great anticipation and joy.
We remained there until David was strong enough to travel, helping care for the sick and wounded while we waited. Later we moved into a boarding house for a short while. In Lynchburg I finally felt a settling peace after a lifetime of loss, setting my heart upon the things of God and the blessings He has given us.
Tomorrow we are finally heading home.
❀ The Homecoming ❀
After part of our journey home by train, we began a new start. Some soldiers had found Papa’s two horses and our belongings along with Firefly. Sadly we never recovered Ross’s horse or his things.
We arrived home in early May and were married on the fourth of June. It was a small but warm celebration. At our wedding David reconnected with an old school crush and later took over preaching at Dad’s old church. Papa returned to being a family doctor.
Ross decided to treat animals instead of humans, as our local veterinarian was retiring. I intend to help him while continuing to study herbs. We are preparing and making plans for our future family.
Now, after several years of hardship, we can finally take a deep breath of relief and enjoy the flowers. As I come to the final page of this journal, I look forward to a deeper life of happiness in Christ. I thank God for preserving our sanity and for keeping us all alive.
The end — and yet a new beginning.