Carried Forward By Hope Read online

  “We’ll always be sisters,” Carrie promised, reaching out for just a moment to squeeze Janie’s hand. Then she went back to wrapping and unwrapping, dismayed there was no reduction in the fever.

  She forced herself to take deep breaths, refusing to give into the panic. She had fought this same battle over thousands of soldiers in the last three years of serving in Chimborazo Hospital. She lost some, but she had won most of them, sending soldiers home to their families or back out to the battlefield.

  She would not lose this most important battle!

  “I love you, Robert,” she said softly, smoothing her hand over his chalky, hot face. She could feel death trying to enter the room, slinking in on misty fingers of darkness.

  Her back stiffened. “I love you, and I’m not giving up on you. We’ve still got too much living to do,” she said, her voice suddenly fierce and defiant. “You have to fight. You have to come back to me.”

  The battle waged for another four hours. Carrie was aware when Rose and Aunt Abby entered the room with plates of food, but neither she nor Janie eased their efforts for even a moment. She could sense when Matthew, Jeremy, and Moses hovered by the door, but she didn’t look away from her husband. She could hear soft prayers flowing through the room, but her own heart had no room for anything but a relentless hope that kept driving her forward.

  “Live,” Carrie pleaded in a whisper as she replaced another rag. “Live…”

  As the morning dragged on, weariness claimed her, sapping her energy and her hope. Her movements were simply mechanical now as fear battled her attempts to hold it back. Tears sprang into her eyes and her hands shook with fatigue, but the rags continued to be replaced steadily, and her voice continued its soft stream of soothing talk.

  The sun was high in the sky when Janie grabbed her hand. “His fever is going down,” she said triumphantly, her voice cracking with weariness.

  Carrie stared at her with glazed eyes and then looked more closely at Robert. Hope sprang back to life when she realized Janie was right. Robert’s color was better and his breathing was easier. “Live,” she said yet again, her voice stronger. “Live…”

  Miles moved into the room with a fresh pan of cool water.

  Carrie reached for it, but Aunt Abby pushed in and took it from her hands. “Enough,” she said firmly, her eyes shining with compassion and concern. “You’ve had enough, Carrie. You too, Janie,” she added. “Rose and I are going to take over for a while.”

  “But…”

  “But, nothing.” Aunt Abby gently pushed Carrie down into a chair. “You’re about to fall over. You’ve done the hardest part. Rose and I are going to take over now,” she repeated steadily.

  Rose had already pushed Janie into another chair. “We may not be medical people like you and Janie, but we’re good with rags and cool water. You can sit there and tell us if we’re doing something wrong.”

  Aunt Abby looked up and beckoned May into the room. “Please bring them both some food.”

  “Yessum,” May said brightly. “I be’s right back. I been keepin’ some hot for them ever since they started workin’ on Mr. Borden.”

  Carrie stared around helplessly and sagged back against the chair, suddenly realizing just how exhausted she was. She fought to control the trembling in her arms and hands, and struggled to keep her breathing even.

  Moments later, Moses entered the room with two plates of hot food. Carrie stared at the mounds of steaming vegetables and the thick chunks of hot cornbread glowing with melted butter, not sure she had the energy to pick up the fork and move it toward her mouth.

  “Eat it all,” Moses commanded.

  Carrie gazed up at Rose’s towering hulk of a husband who was also one of her closest friends. Staring into his strong face infused her with hope. Moses had been so close to death just a month ago when she found him in a wagon full of wounded Union soldiers with an infected, gaping hole in his chest. Richmond’s medical personnel refused to give care to the black Union soldiers — members of the first units to occupy the city. She and Dr. Wild had saved Moses’s life, along with many of his friends.

  Moses read her mind. “You saved me, Carrie. I don’t reckon God is going to let you lose Robert. I know this is going to be a long battle, but I believe Robert is going to make it.”

  Carrie took a deep breath and let his words wash through her, somehow knowing it was a message that came from a place deeper than him. She saw that Robert’s breathing was almost back to normal, exchanged a long look with Janie, and reached for her fork. “Thank you,” she said softly, and then she began to shovel food in.

  *******

  Matthew and Peter made their way through the crowds thronging the streets in the defeated capital of the Confederacy. Black soldiers in Union blue mingled with the growing number of former slaves who were pouring into Richmond, Virginia looking for a better life. They had done nothing but add to the overpopulation of a city that had finally collapsed under the barrage of four years of constant attacks. Crowds of white people, despair and confusion clouding their faces, roamed the streets, while many were only willing to peer out from behind their heavily curtained windows. Fear and uncertainty vibrated through the very air of the city.

  Peter gazed at several frightened faces peering out from behind curtains. “Their whole world has disappeared,” he said sympathetically.

  Matthew nodded. “That’s for sure,” he said, glancing quizzically at his friend, uncertain how to say what he was thinking and not sure he should say anything at all.

  Peter interpreted the look on his face and smiled slightly. “I know I was eager for the Confederacy to fall, and I know we felt differently about how things happened in the Shenandoah Valley. All I could think about was having this crazy war end so I could go home to my family. I was willing to inflict whatever damage it would take to make that happen but…”

  “But…?” Matthew prompted. He hoped he knew what Peter would say but wanted to hear the words that would give him a belief that things could change.

  Peter glanced around at the black remnants of charred buildings that were a terrifying testament to the fire that had almost destroyed Richmond just two weeks earlier. “Being with Carrie, Aunt Abby, and everyone else has put a human face on everything. Those people are no more my enemy than you are. They are simply people who got caught up on the southern side of the Mason-Dixon Line, swept into the consequences of decisions made by hot-headed politicians and business leaders.”

  Matthew nodded, a hope surging through him that more people from the North could gain the same understanding with time. “Unfortunately, the people of Richmond are going to be dealing with the consequences for a very long time.” His eyes sharpened as he gazed around the streets. “There are a lot more soldiers here than there were yesterday,” he said suddenly, his gut tightening. He raised both his hand and his voice when he saw a fellow journalist making his way down the road toward them. “Sam Kremer!” he shouted.

  Sam stopped, his face flushed with an odd mixture of excitement, despair, and anxiety. “Matthew! Did you hear the news about Lincoln?”

  “I’m afraid I did,” Matthew said tightly, swallowing his grief because his senses were screaming a warning. “There seems to be an increased presence of soldiers. What is going on?”

  Sam’s eyes flashed with anger. “The news about Lincoln came through to Union commanders last night. They rushed extra regiments into the city early this morning. They have doubled patrols and street guards.”

  “They expect trouble?” Peter asked.

  “They don’t know what to expect,” Sam snorted. “You know it was a southerner who killed Lincoln?”

  “John Wilkes Booth,” Matthew replied, his voice heavy with regret. “I got the news early this morning.”

  Sam nodded. “He’s an actor. That’s why he was able to get into the theater. He walked right into President Lincoln’s booth and shot him in the head. Then he leaped from the balcony box down onto the stage, yelled ‘
Sic semper tyrannis! The South is avenged!’ and ran away.”

  “Ever thus to tyrants,” Matthew interpreted in a troubled murmur.

  “They still haven’t caught him?” Peter asked sharply, his own eyes sparkling with temper.

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Sam replied. “He escaped by jumping on a horse, but there are a lot of troops after him. He won’t get away,” he said angrily, his eyes glistening with both sorrow and rage.

  There was a sudden rush of Union blue toward where they were standing on the street.

  “Get back!” Sam yelled, pulling them behind a burned out wall.

  Matthew and Peter stumbled, barely missing being knocked over by the charging Union soldiers.

  “Get him!” one of the soldiers yelled, fury ripe in his voice and eyes. Anger and desperate sorrow was echoed on all the faces of the men with him.

  Just before they reached their target, an emaciated-looking Confederate soldier wandering up the street in search of food suddenly realized the danger. His head jerked up, his eyes betraying his fear as he looked around and realized there was no route of escape.

  Matthew watched in sick dismay, knowing there was nothing he could do to help. Just yesterday he had seen Union soldiers handing out food to their returning Rebel counterparts. He had witnessed both admiration and pity from the conquering soldiers to the defeated army returning home in tattered clothes with emaciated bodies. “How things can change in a day,” he muttered as the swarm of Union soldiers fell on the unlucky Rebel, beating him and driving him back down the street. His helpless cries rose into the air before he collapsed and lay still. “My God…”

  “Does he have any idea why he was just attacked?” Peter asked heavily, his eyes revealing both anger and protest.

  “Probably not,” Sam replied. “The Whig just put out an edition of the newspaper telling people about the assassination. The soldiers being attacked have no idea of what is going on or they would be hiding somewhere.”

  “Is it happening everywhere?” Matthew asked quietly, wincing as he saw another Rebel soldier attacked. He was suddenly very glad he had kept Carrie and the rest away from town. When mob violence took over, there was no telling who could get hurt.

  He was relieved when people carried the first fallen soldier into a nearby house.

  “Yes,” Sam admitted, a hard light in his eyes. “The entire Union adored Lincoln and the soldiers were committed to him, but the black soldiers saw him as their savior and hero. Learning of his assassination has released an anger that has been brewing for a long time.”

  “Aren’t the commanders doing anything to keep them in line?” Peter asked sharply. “Surely they know uncontrolled anger could easily turn into a full-scale riot. There’s no telling what could happen then. Haven’t enough innocent people been hurt?”

  Sam shrugged. “Everybody is trying to figure things out. There is a strong belief that President Lincoln’s assassination is part of a much bigger conspiracy. They fear his death was the first blow in a much bigger uprising.”

  “So soldiers that deserved pity yesterday…” Matthew started.

  “…are now suspects in a wide conspiracy to begin the war again,” Sam finished.

  Matthew looked at him with disbelief.

  Sam raised his hands. “You and I both know the South has no fight left, but you have to admit you expected backlash to Lincoln’s death.”

  Matthew nodded slowly. “I knew it would be bad,” he admitted reluctantly, suddenly aware of his own growing anger. “What else is happening?” he asked, more to bring his own feelings under control than because he really wanted to know. It was his job to know, but suddenly he wanted to pretend Lincoln wasn’t dead…that the long-fought war hadn’t just descended into a chaos perhaps more destructive than the one that just ended.

  Sam grimaced. “Grant also suspects a wider plot. He had been invited to be at the Ford Theater with Lincoln last night. He suspects he would have been killed as well had he and his wife attended.” He paused. “We know so little right now, but more details will be filled in as we learn more.”

  “So, what is Grant doing?” Peter asked.

  “I know he ordered General Ord to arrest Mayor Mayo, the Richmond City Council, other officials, and the paroled Confederate officers in the city,” he responded bluntly. “He demanded they be locked into Libby Prison.” Sam shook his head. “Grant stated that extreme rigor will have to be observed while assassination remains the order of the day with the Rebels.”

  “But surely…” Matthew began in protest, his mind spinning through what would happen if the order played out.

  Sam managed a tight smile. “Ord refused to follow the order,” he said shortly. “General Lee was to be arrested as well. Ord refused to do it, saying he feared the rebellion would be reopened if the city’s beloved General Lee was arrested.”

  “Thank God!” Matthew said fervently. “Ord is quite right.”

  “Let’s hope Grant sees things your way in time,” Sam replied. “Ord said he would risk his life that the paroles in Richmond would be honored, and that no one in the city has any clue about the assassination.”

  “Let’s hope that feeling can spread before more violence is done,” Peter muttered. “This is hardly the way to generate goodwill among Richmonders.”

  “And assassinating President Lincoln is hardly the way to build goodwill in the North,” Sam said sharply. “Look, I don’t think all these Rebels should be attacked, but I also understand how the black soldiers feel. They have just given years of their life to fight for a man who gave them their freedom. They finally have it, and now they get the news that Lincoln has been killed — by a southerner. They’re angry.”

  “And they’re afraid,” Matthew added. “They’re wondering what will happen to them now that their savior has been killed. They realize there are a lot of politicians in the North that don’t care about them the way Lincoln did.”

  Anger faded from Sam’s eyes. “They have a right to be afraid,” he admitted heavily. “Me and the fellows have been talking. President Johnson…” Sam paused, his eyes clouding with pain. “It will take a while to get used to saying that.”

  “What do you know about him?” Matthew asked, eager to add to his own knowledge.

  Sam looked at him as another band of Union soldiers ran past on their way to ambush another unsuspecting Confederate victim. “You really want to know whether President Johnson will carry forward Lincoln’s plans for the reconstruction of the United States?”

  “Yes,” Matthew replied, afraid he already knew the answer.

  Sam shrugged. “Only time will tell, but I don’t see it happening. Johnson is not Lincoln. They didn’t think the same, and they didn’t see things the same. As long as Lincoln was in charge, he could make things happen. Now…?” His voice trailed off as another fearful scream rent the air.

  *******

  Carrie woke with a start, realizing she had fallen asleep in the chair. She stared, bleary-eyed, at the soft yellow blanket that had been laid over her.

  “Robert’s fever is completely gone,” Aunt Abby said cheerfully.

  Carrie jerked her head up, suddenly remembering. “It’s gone?” she asked hopefully, her voice still groggy.

  “Gone,” Rose assured her, grasping Carrie’s hands. “He even woke up and took some sips of soup. He looked over, saw you sleeping, and asked us to not wake you. Then he dropped off into a peaceful sleep of his own.”

  Carrie smiled, allowing the relief to wash over her in waves. A quick glance told her Robert was sleeping peacefully, his breathing steady and even. Sudden tears filled her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. She looked around. “Janie?”

  “Clifford came and took her to their room so she could get some sleep,” Aunt Abby replied.

  Carrie started to smile but then stopped, struck by the look in Aunt Abby’s eyes. “What is it?” she asked.

  Aunt Abby hesitated and then looked down at her hands.

  �
�Aunt Abby? What’s wrong?”

  “Perhaps nothing,” Aunt Abby finally said, raising troubled gray eyes. “I hope nothing.”

  Carrie looked over at her husband again. “Is it Robert? Are you not telling me something?”

  “No, no!” Aunt Abby said quickly. But then she stopped again, her eyes dark with distress.

  Carrie looked up at Rose. “What is going on?” she demanded.

  Rose opened her mouth and closed it again, her eyes troubled.

  Carrie pushed aside the blanket and stood. “I really must demand you tell me what is going on,” she said crisply. “I may be tired, but I assure you I am not fragile.”

  Rose chuckled. “You are most definitely not fragile,” she said tenderly. “And you do so sound like the heir to the Cromwell fortune right now.”

  Carrie fought to control her sudden hysteria. Only she knew how little was left of the Cromwell fortune. She did, however, realize how imperious her voice had sounded. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “I’ve gotten rather used to giving orders after three years of being in charge of my ward at Chimborazo Hospital.”

  She took several deep breaths and forced her voice to remain calm and even. “I know you are both trying to protect me from something. I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve discovered during four years of war that I would much rather know the battle I am fighting. Hiding from reality never seems to serve a purpose.”

  “You’re right,” Aunt Abby said with a heavy sigh. “It’s just that we hope we’re wrong, and we don’t want you to worry about something that might not even be a problem.” She glanced at Rose. “Tell her.”

  Carrie turned to Rose and took a steadying breath.

  “We’re concerned about Janie,” Rose finally said. “Clifford seemed so angry when he came to get her.”

  Carrie stared at her, confused by this sudden turn of events. “Janie?”

  “She was afraid when she left with him,” Aunt Abby added. “I’m sure of it. I could see it in her eyes.”

  Carrie gazed at both of them, snippets of images from the last week flooding her mind. She nodded slowly. “I guess I didn’t see it. Or maybe,” she admitted, “I didn’t want to see it. The war changed him,” she said slowly.