September 17 by: Late March

Author’s Note - This story was inspired by “To My Darling Yankee” by: Kusakabe Maron. I did not copy that story, and while this one may start out similar to it, and end in a somewhat similar manner, it is otherwise a completely different story.

Also, this was written as one big story, but was cut into three smaller chapters. I hope that you guys like this story and don’t forget to review!

The battle illustrated here is a serious historical fact. The Battle of Anieitam, Maryland was one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War and is truly a sad day in our history.

Shepherdstown, Maryland, 1862

I did love him in a special way. But he was my first love, and like most first things, first loves rarely last long. My father was an Army surgeon, the best of the best. I adored him with all my heart. But he didn’t understand me too well. Maybe that was why I fell in love with that soldier so quickly. He seemed to understand me more than anyone else I’d ever met at the time.

My father was the best Army surgeon that General Grant had. I pleaded with my father for days to let me go with him as a nurse. I told him that I wanted to make a difference and feel important. I showed him the notice that Grant had sent around asking for female nurses. And as an incentive, I even offered to marry as soon as I got back. Not even that worked. But eventually, we came to a compromise.

We had been fighting for a few days before that decisive afternoon. That turning point in my life. I was sitting in the drawing room working on a new dress made of muslin. I was a little put out that the fabric I was working with was only muslin, but silk was made in the South, so none of it was being allowed into our steadfast Northern home. At that point, I was assuming that home was the only place I was going to be, and that I had a right to at least look fetching while I was being held captive.

I hadn’t even noticed my father enter the room. But his looming figure blocked my sunlight and captured my attention. I remembered him looking haggard and tired, even before heading out. We stared at each other for a few minutes, and he studied my face intently. “You win Annie.” He said, sitting down next to me.

I frowned at his words. My name was Annamaria, but most everyone called me Annie when they could get away with it. I hated being called Annie, because it made me feel like a little girl. No one but my father could call me Annie, and now, no one does. But that’s beside the point. He liked to call me Annie because it reminded him of my younger days when I had idolized him. So I let him, even though it truly vexed me.

My eyebrow rose, which is something I rarely do since I’d rather be the neutral party than be run through with a figurative sword. I just knew that there was a hidden catch. I was…right.

“But, you will not be going with me to the field. I will be sending you to an Army hospital in Sharpsburg. There you will be serving as a nurse. I have already secured you a room at a nearby boarding house. Is that acceptable?” I could tell by his face that my father was not in the mood to argue, even if he was initiating a “peace talk” of sorts. So, being the dutiful daughter that I was, I nodded.

“You leave in three days Annie.” He whispered, then kissed my forehead and left me to think of my fate.

My mother threw a fit when she heard what was happening. She sneered at his plans. She openly mocked my father’s words. She was a small woman, plump and blonde, but with a somehow sleek air to her. But when she hugged me the night before I left, her arms were incredibly tight around me.

After she had put her two cents in, mother had my younger siblings wish me goodbye, since I would be leaving before they even woke up. When that was done, she ushered them off with Tati, their maid. Tati sent me a look of farewell as she left and her black eyes never wavered on mine as she made the sign of the cross on her chest and closed the door.

Mother’s arms were around me once more for a few precious seconds before she too, turned and left the room. But she didn’t look back as she closed the door, and left my father and I to our devices.

There was no farewell committee as I was enshrined in a well padded coach. My bags were loaded up and my father mounted his gray stallion, saddle bags lashed to the beast’s back. Mother didn’t bother to get up, though Tati did. And she had a missive from my elusive mother. I could tell that Tati thought that I’d never come back. She was already imagining my brutal death. Or my life if I decided to move far away and never come back. She dropped a curtsy before hurrying back into the house, braids flapping.

I couldn’t blame her for not tarrying. It had been chilly that morning, and the ride to Sharpsburg would be a cold one. We were off without delay, and I put the folded and sealed note onto the blankets piled next to me in favor of gazing at my father’s hard face and ignoring the prosperous little town I had lived in my whole life. I wouldn’t be seeing him for a while, and I didn’t want his image to fade.

Since he was heading out on the same day as me, Father didn’t ride ahead. Instead, he kept his horse to the plodding beat of the coach until we reached the crossroads. He offered me no words. But tipped his top hat to me, and galloped down the left hand path.

My journey would be taking me northwest. And soon, the low temperatures forced me to wrap myself in the extra blankets and take up my mother’s note.

Dear Annamaria,

As your mother, I should be protecting you, and forbidding you to go anywhere near Sharpsburg. I should even be worried about you. But I am not. Funny, is it not? I have spent my entire life worrying for your safety, and now, at the most important time, I cannot seem to do it. You are much stronger than I thought you would be. And I am sure that your strength will serve you well. You will see many gruesome things where you will be going. Prepare yourself well.

I cannot make myself believe that I have just said goodbye to you, and that you are leaving on the morrow. I will not be seeing you off tomorrow. If I do, I know that I will cry. And I know how you hate that. As my oldest child, I wish you all the luck that can befall a single person.

Love,

Mother

I reread her note several times that day, mulling over the foreign words constantly. My mother had never said anything like that to me ever before. I still have that note, encased in the soft leather journal I used at that time. The one that enables me to remember all these details.

It was easy for my restless mind to return over and over again toward the note, and my father’s goodbye. My only companion was my maid, Sarah, a timid girl with seemingly no personality whatsoever. In the beginning, I had tried constantly to draw her into conversation. But nothing worked. So we had settled into the comfortable, already familiar roles of mistress and servant.

Our journey took the whole of two days, and was highly uninteresting conversation wise. I was intensely eager when Sharpsburg came into view. Poor Sarah looked sick to her stomach. I threw off the blankets as we came to the outskirts of the town, for I was enthusiastic to see everything I could before becoming a dedicated Army nurse with no time for a social life. I was not disappointed.

It was a grand town. One of charm and taste, but wealthy looking in an understated way. Then we got to the clinic I would be serving at.

The building itself was enormous, but seemingly falling apart. I wondered how so many people could go in and out of it without the massive thing collapsing on everyone’s heads. The door that was the front entrance was a grand affair, and looked completely out of place in the peeling walls and dirty windows. There was an inconspicuous brass plate on the door, polished to perfection, which proclaimed it the, “Sharpsburg Rebel Hospital”. ‘An ambitious title to something to ramshackle.’ I remember thinking.

A soft looking white woman with gray streaked brown hair just a shade darker than my own opened the door. She was older than my mother by at least five years, and she had an unaccountable sharpness about her that stiffened the soul. I found out minutes later, that she was not to be trifled with. “My name is Martha McEdwards. You may call my Mrs. McEdwards. I run this hospital. Step inside quickly and shed you coat.” She said without emotion after I had introduced myself.

Mrs. McEdwards showed me around stiffly for a few minutes, showing me where to get all the equipment and medicinal things that would be needed. She also told me that I was to wash up and get ready for my first shift. “This is an Army hospital, Ms. Bonnet. Men are transferred here from many of the major battles to be treated. You will not be going home tonight till your shift is over and you have cleaned up! Now get ready!” she nearly shouted at me.

Quickly, I retreated to the wash room to clean up and put an apron on over the plain traveling dress that I had deemed appropriate to wear on this occasion. I found myself thinking that I was grateful that I was an old dress, not one that I would mind getting soiled as cold water chilled my already frozen hands.

My first shift was hell. I know, I am over exaggerating, but it felt like hell. Even if there were no flames licking at my boot heels and no red faced man with horns staring down at me, Mrs. McEdwards made a fine replacement for the devil himself. At first, I was hopeful that she was just rough around the edges, but had a soft center underneath it all. I imagined her to really be a kindly, gentle older woman, like the housekeeper kind you read about in the dime novels my friend Felicia used to sneak to me. I had no such luck.

The first patient Mrs. McEdwards gave me was one with terrible gangrene. “Change his bandages and help him with his broth, then report back to me.” She whispered unpleasantly. I watched helplessly as she retreated to a desk across the room, leaving me with a man who stunk of infection and a pack of clean bandages. Even though she pretended to be busy, I know that she watched me closely. I could practically feel her eyes burning holes in the back of my neck as I changed the man’s bandages and bathed his face while feeding him broth slowly.

My ministrations seemed to do no good, for the man died a few hours later. I was sure that Mrs. McEdwards knew that he would die, and had purposely given him to me to take care of. She glared at me over his body as the orderlies carted his corpse out to the waiting wagon to bury it in the country.

The boarding house my father had acquired for me almost made everything worth it. It was run by an elderly man and his younger daughter, a spinster two years older than me. There, I was attentively attended to and given a warm, well cooked meal, though it was way past dinner time.

My room was small, but big enough for the two of us. (Sarah was sharing a room with me.) I liked to think of it as cozy. The wooden floor was covered with a soft wool rug and the walls were hung with brightly colored quilts that were obviously trying to hide the hideous wall paper. Our beds creaked good-naturedly when anything on them moved, and the window would probably shine right down onto my bed. Rising with the sun was not really my practice, but I figured that it wouldn’t be all that bad.

We spent the evening unpacking our things, and I had to fight Sarah off to keep her from putting my own things away. I shooed her away to her own corner of the room, because I felt like I needed something for my hands to do, even if I was already bone tired. When we found that we would be sharing a closet, Sarah immediately retreated and put her things in a trunk one of the other borders had been asked to bring up to us. When I protested, she would hear no more of it. And that was that.

The last thing I did before going to sleep was tuck the package of “necessities” Felicia had snuck in among my things the day before next to my pillow and blow out the only candle left burning.

I discovered that I felt naked every time Mrs. McEdwards so much as looked at me. She seemed to strip me down till all that was left was my faults. Nothing I did seemed good enough for her, and it frustrated me to no end. And that she devil set me to work among the linens for my second day of work. It was terrible, sweat causing, back breaking labor.

I felt helpless that whole day. Lost among mountains of linens and aprons and bandages, with an occasional dress or two thrown into the mix. I felt lost and unorganized. Stranded in the vast ocean, afraid to talk to the two black women who also worked there as laundresses. I watched with envy as they drank from the bucket of cold water as sweat dripped disgustingly down my back. But I was too afraid to approach them. Courage had never been my strong point among strangers. White, black, or red.

They kept on glancing at me and smiling, almost as if they could read my mind and knew that I was afraid.

This unusual torture continued the next day, and the next day, and the next. Under the pressure of purely physical work, I feared losing my mind, as ludicrous as it sounds now. So, as I worked, I listened to them talk, and their names, Diata and Ebere, were the first things I figured out. They had such an interesting accent to their English, and it took me a whole day to work out their outlandish system. “Pass the horn.” Seemed to mean “Pass the water bucket.” And “Give me more brown.” Meant “Give me more soap.” which happened to be of the brown lye variety. The kind that stung any cut you had so that you cried, and even stung your hands without the cuts.

I endured this hard labor for seven days. And during those long seven days, I only spoke to the other women once. I had run out of soap, having not gathered enough of it at the very start of my shift. Remembering back, I can openly laugh about the timid way in which I approached the jovial, wide girthed, ample bosomed women. “Would you…could you pass me the soap please?” I had said, nearly inaudibly.

The nearest one laughed, clutching her sides. “The soap girl? No need to be so damn polite!” she passed another bucket of soap to me. And before I turned to go, the water bucket. “I seen you staring at this thing every day, wishing you could get a drink. Don’ be so timid. Come. Have a drink.”

It was the most wonderful thing I had ever tasted. A shiver rippled over my skin as I drank down the icy liquid. A gasp more than likely escaped my lips. The women laughed again, giving me a gentle push toward my own piles as I finished. From then on, I wasn’t too afraid of approaching them. But, I didn’t risk it.

My second day of work in the actual post-Op was not as bad as I had thought it would be. It was also the day that I met him. So the only way I can now label that mortal space of time is as bittersweet. He was actually the first person I was charged with that day. A wounded soldier who needed more care than a tent by the river, or surgery on a wagon bed.

He had been in surgery the only day before. Without surprise, Mrs. McEdwards had this nasty little grin on her face as she called me over from where I was putting on my full length laundry apron. “You’ll no longer be working with the blacks girl. Put on your apron.” A post-Op apron that covered only half of me was thrust into my arms before McEdwards stalked away toward his bunk. She beckoned me over. “Come here girl!”

I was quick to obey and trotted over without delay. She pointed toward the sleeping man before me. “You are hereby charged with this man’s official care. Go to work.” Once again, I was left alone without any real instructions. Although my father had taught me all the medical skills I knew besides surgery, it was always nice to know what was expected of you.

My first movement was to wipe his sweaty face off. The action served to wake him up. And as he slowly came to life again, I was caught.

“Good day angel.” He murmured. By then, I was already half way in love. He had flaxen hair, just reaching the very tips of his ears. The man, whom I later found out was named George, had wide, cornflower blue eyes. Oh, those eyes. I remember writing many a sonnet inspired by those eyes. He also had more tan than I had ever had in my entire life. So he was a farmer.

I tried to play the official looking, unruffled nurse. However, I am quite sure that I was not good at it. “Good morning sir.” I said, gently correcting him. “Are you hungry?”

He grinned at me. It was almost more than my already startled insides could take. “If you want me to be angel.” He stuck out his un-bandaged hand. “George Tanner, angel. What’re you doin’ in a place like this?”

My handshake was delicate and proper, and I tried not to shiver. “My name is Ms. Bonnet, Mr. Tanner. Are you hungry?”

“Sure. Why not?” he asked, closing his eyes and opening his mouth. I stared at him for a few seconds, and George opened one eye to squint at me. Quickly, I picked the bowl of broth up and put spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. My mind was even more stunned. None of the other soldiers had ever been so brash around me. Of course, a few of them had been a bit over friendly, but nothing like this.

We had gotten about a third of the way through the soup when a shadow fell across us. I looked up, and George followed suit. It was a man, obviously a doctor by his long white coat. He was scowling at us for seemingly no reason as well. I could tell that he was handsome as well. But it didn’t seem to affect me the way that George’s visage had. “I ask you to stop harassing this nurse private.” The man said sharply, dragging me upward and almost spilling the soup. “Surely you can eat by yourself.”

George got this offended look on his face and he latched onto my other arm, the one that actually held the soup bowl. “I wasn’t bothering her. She was given orders to take care of me, and here she is. And who the hell are you anyway?”

The doctor got this really annoyed look on his face that would have been comical had it been someone else in this situation. “I am Dr. Haydon Allain. I just transferred here from Boston. And you will not disrespect me.”

I looked helplessly between the two men as George formulated his reply. “I was not bothering her! She was given orders to take care of me for the day by that woman.” George unfortunately seemed to forget what I was holding in my hand, for he pulled me almost violently toward him as he pointed toward Mrs. McEdwards. Up went the bowl, clattering to the floor. And there I was, soaked with broth.

Dr. Allain looked horrified at what had happened, but quickly recovered, letting go of my arm. He carefully helped to sit me back down, though the effort was now wasted, before striding over toward McEdwards.

“That was odd.” George murmured not too quietly, looking all too ready to be fed again.

I arrived at the boarding house that night stained and tired. Ms. Sherwood, the owner’s daughter, had stayed up to make sure that I got in alright and was fed. This small gesture on her part did me a world of good, for I actually felt important again for a few seconds. I was led to the kitchen were a small pan was still over the stove, kept nice and hot for the person it was intended to nourish. She ladled it up for me and gave a smile; heading off to what I assumed would be her room.

Left alone, I fell into a very melancholy state of mind. I had barely stood one week. How was I supposed to survive two whole years of it? Of such work? I groaned into my soup. What had I gotten myself into?

My mind kept on supplying “what if” scenarios meant to make a stronger person panic. I swirled my spoon absently in the soup before me, and dipped my bread into it. I was not even halfway through with my meal when Ms. Sherwood came in again, brining with her the newest boarder, a man. Low and behold, it was Dr. Haydon Allain.

He looked just about as surprised as I felt. Supposedly, Ms. Sherwood noted nothing and went on blissfully ladling him a bowl of soup. She set it on the table across from me and left, murmuring good nights and making us promise to call if we needed anything.

There was awkward silence as he sat down and did the same thing with his soup that I had done not a minute before. “You are that nurse at Sharpsburg’s. Sorry about the dress.”

I nodded. “It wasn’t you fault. And you are Dr. Haydon Allain, just transferred in from Boston. I remember.”

Haydon ate the first spoonful, taking a moment to savor its flavor. “Just Haydon outside of the hospital, miss…”

“Bonnet. Annamaria Bonnet.” I answered.

“Miss Bonnet.” We couldn’t really think of anything else to say. It seemed that anything but each other fascinated our weary eyes. The silence ate at us that night. I think it was what drove him to say what he did that night. And me to act so irrationally. “Where are you from?” he asked, trying to mask the awkwardness.

My answer was short, tactful, but he drew so much more from it. “Just a little town almost a days coach ride southwest of here.”

Haydon studied me. I think he was still a little angry at the way George had spoken to him that morning. Maybe he had been angry at me for going along with George. There was an uneasy glint in his eye that made me wary of his next words. And rightly so. “So you’re just some spoiled little debutante trying to make a statement before going back home and marrying whoever Daddy picks for you.” Haydon bitterly spewed out the statement, for apparently no reason at all.

“What?” I asked, stunned.

He grabbed one of my hands in his own. Strangely, it felt comforting, despite the argument already brewing. “Well look at your hands for instance. No calluses, no rough skin. Just softness. No hardship. You just want one last bit of wild adventure before you get shackled to some doddering old fool.” I was becoming more and more stunned.

“Is that it?” his words were becoming more forceful as he went.

“No! I just want to help General Grant.”

“Sure you do.” Haydon spat out, “Of course you want to help thousands of men you’ve never met before. Of course this is what you really want to do. Or do you really just want to run off with the first soldier you meet?”

This was getting way out of line. Too out of line for me. “What?!” I cried. “How can you say that? You don’t even know me!”

“Oh, please. Don’t lie. You women are all the same. All marriage minded to the core.” Haydon stood up and stalked off up the stairs. Again, I was left with no support. No reason for even being left in the first place. ‘How could he have said those things?’ I thought later, while creeping up the stairs to my room.

The next morning, I dreaded getting up. And it wasn’t just the sunlight shinning directly in my eyes. It wasn’t the cold that had seeped into my somehow exposed feet during the night. It wasn’t the thought of having to deal with impertinent soldiers, or even Mrs. McEdwards. It was facing Haydon. It was facing him during breakfast. It was facing him at the hospital. It was facing him on the way home. It was facing him at dinner.

What was a person to do? He had completely blown up at me, a person he barely knew and he’d blown up at me! My heart thumped wildly that day as I descended the stairs to eat breakfast. I could feel it pounding faster and faster the closer I got to the kitchen and dining room.

You can imagine my relief when I found no one in the kitchen but Ms. Sherwood, absently stirring a huge pot of oatmeal and counting something on her fingers. I retrieved a bowl for myself and decided to eat in the dinning room for the first time. But I stopped right in my cowardly tracks when I spied Haydon eating breakfast in there from around the corner.

Scurrying was not something I usually did, but I did it that morning, praying that he hadn’t seen me. Since I didn’t know Dr. Allain well enough to predict his emotions, I was infinitely wary of what he would say or do that day. When I burst back into the kitchen, Ms. Sherwood looked up, clearly startled. But she relaxed when she saw who it was. Suddenly, I got this weird feeling that she knew what had happened and was sympathizing with me.

I ate my porridge fast that morning, not evening stopping for a bit of cream to smooth it out. My fast pace was looked at strangely when an unfamiliar boarder entered to return her bowl. I recognized her as another nurse who worked at a hospital a few blocks closer than mine. When my bowl was almost empty, I breathed a sigh of relief, for I would be out of there within minutes and so further delay the undeniable meeting between me and Dr. Allain.

Just my luck that he entered right before the last few bites were over.

His face was drawn and he had his nose buried in a medical journal, something that I found strange for so early in the morning. Haydon failed to notice me as he handed his bowl to Ms. Sherwood, still reading. I think the only reason he even looked up that morning was the clatter of my spoon as I accidentally dropped into my now empty bowl. He gave me such a strange look then, like he wasn’t quite sure if I was real or not. More likely, he was unsure whether last night had been fact or fiction.

My face was impassive as I stood up, stiffly smoothing the wrinkles out of my skirt and picking up my own bowl. I set it on the counter and turned around to find Haydon standing right in front of me, his own expression not too pleasant. ‘Oh, why is he pursuing such an argument?’ I remember thinking.

“Miss Bonnet, I would like to…” I decided that my best bet in making my morning at least decent was not talking to him. Apology or fighting words, I would ignore it.

To Be Continued…

- - So there you go. The first of three chapters. Review please!