“Madam, are you aware these will never make it through the day, clean nor not, left in such a disheveled place?”
Kirkpatrick stirred the pot with a long stick and snorted. “You done give me these vagrants, who won’t lift a finger.”
Ada frowned as she turned toward the ex-slaves. “Ladies, as I understand it, you came to the Union line for freedom, am I not right?”
The smallest of the three, and the lighter hued than the other two, raised her chin just a hair but her eyes locked onto Ada’s. “Yes, we did, missy. We’ve come to get free.”
The other two nodded at her triumphant tone.
“What is your name, if you please.” Ada’s gaze swept over them, trying to get a hold on how to approach help that was unwilling to work.
“Lily. And these two are Liza and Bethany.” The girl cocked her head, a defiant look in her eye. Ada couldn’t fathom who she was fighting.
“Yes, well I’m Nurse Ada, and in this camp, no one is simply waiting for food and doing nothing in return…”
“We’ve done worked our whole lives for vermin, only to get little to eat and beaten—or worse—cause we be property, chattel to be so spit on. We hear the Lincolnites are to make us free, so we’re here. Free.” She stood rigid, as if begging to be knocked down so she could fight. Ada mildly thought this woman would be better on the firing lines and quickly quelled that thought.
Ada truly didn’t have time for this. “Lily, Bethany and Liza, glad you are here, yet no one just sits. If these ‘Lincolnites’ don’t win this battle, chances of your freedom dwindle. But you could help us in the cause, as it were. Mrs. Kirkpatrick has a nasty job to try to accomplish on her own. I’m not sure what your chores were under your master, but here, if you don’t know this, Mrs. Kirkpatrick will teach you—”
“You can’t make me do washin’ no more,” the determined girl hissed.
Ada rolled her lower lip in, realizing her arguments to practice medicine no doubt sounded just as strong as this girl’s will to not do a chore again. For her, she compromised and turned to nursing. She had to strike the chord with these three.
“Miss Lily, there are men fighting out there for your freedom and to end the sin of slavery. Even some of your own kind are out on the lines, risking all for freedom. But the fight,” she paused, trying to form the words. “Sometimes, the best way to help these soldiers is to be their support. If they get wounded, they need help as soon as possible. Many of the wounds are terrible.” She blinked and stared at the three. “No doubt similar to the same horrible wounds you witnessed on your owner’s land, though these are done by bullets and cannon fire and the mess is horrendous. We need bandages for them and these need to be cleaned. General Meade is planning an attack today, and we expect casualties, so I need your help.”
None of the three moved or even flinched.
“You may be free, but there is a cost to freedom. Are you willing to justify their loss?”
Lily fumed. Ada heard Mrs. Kirkpatrick spit again—she was going to have to have a word with that woman. After an eternity, though, Liza spoke.
“We be glad we’re free. What would ya have us be doing?”
Ada sighed in relief.
Chapter 7
“They must have anticipated immense slaughter, as no less than a hundred of their ambulances were plainly visible.”
—Confederate cannoneer observing the Federal activities from across the river at Rappahannock Station, VA, November 7, 1863
Rapidan River Valley, Virginia
November 26
Francois squinted, trying to see through the dense fog that shrouded the Rapidan River. Perched on a fallen tree limb, he hugged his jacket tighter without dropping his guard, ready to swing his rifle into action. He was miserable, the cold seeping through his wool uniform, damp from the rains. At least he was off the ground, where the mud caked his brogans and he could swear it fought to ooze through the rough stitching. War was hell…
“You’d think they’d be moving,” Wiggins grumbled.
“They probably are,” Francois replied. “Just can’t see them through this soup.”
“Yes, Corporal, you are correct,” a stern yet gentle voice added. Francois glanced for a second and found General Lee sitting on his horse, just back a bit. “Those people will move. The question I cannot ascertain is where to? This unbroken forest gives them a breaking point to either head to Richmond or move up the Rapidan, upon our right flank, neither of which can we allow to happen.”
“General, the fog has to lift. We will know by then.”
“And that, sir, will be our undoing. No, we must move forward and now.” Lee pulled his reins to the right and rode off, leaving his watchers.
“He’ll have us attack.” Wiggins scratched his stubble chin. “I’d rather do that than just sit like ducks.”
Francois nodded, though his thoughts whirled. War was a strange beast. Perhaps, he should have listened to his brother better, but his prime motivation was to run from that house and the woman he could not have, so rational conversations with the man who’d won her heart was futile, as his own heart broke.
“Seems futile to attack a foe we do not see,” he finally added in a desperate attempt to distract his attention from visions of his love that continually threatened to invade his every thought. Absently, he rubbed the locket-sized portrait in his breast pocket.
Wiggins’s brows furrowed. “Marse Robert says we move, we go.” He paused. “You’re a strange fellow. You fight but the fire only burns in the heat of it. Otherwise, you ain’t here.”
Francois snorted. The Cajun had figured him out. “I’m chased by ghosts, Private Wiggins. Ghosts that I can’t run fast
