Kary, Elizabeth (10 page)

Later,
as they sat drinking a companionable whiskey in Eads's parlor, basking in the fading
sunlight and in the glow of their newly formed friendship, Eads turned to the
younger man. "I can count on you to join me here in St. Louis when I
receive the contracts for construction of the ironclads, can't I, Hayes?"

"Aren't
there bound to be other shipyards that will compete for the bids?"

"Yes,
but I intend to be the one to build those ships," James Eads stated with
determination. "And I want your help."

"Then
you shall have it, James. You need only telegraph me when you're ready, and
I'll be on the next steamboat. How soon do you think that will be?"

"Construction
should be under way by the end of the summer if the boats are to be ready for
the new year," Eads speculated.

Banister
sat back in his chair and stretched his long legs before him, feeling swept
along by currents too strong to resist. "Lord, it's exciting to be a part
of something like this," he murmured.

James
Eads gave a short laugh, his gray eyes bright. "This is a chance to leave
our mark on history, Hayes. And by the grace of God we will."

For
a moment Hayes studied the amber lights in the bottom of his cut-crystal
tumbler as Leigh Pennington's face seemed to form itself in the shimmering
rays. With a strange sense of inevitability, he blinked the image away.
"Yes," he agreed, drawing a long breath, "yes, we'll build the
best damned warships the world has ever seen, and we'll do it here in St. Louis
together." Then, as if the pronouncement had been a toast, Hayes drained
his glass.

July 21, 1861—Cairo, Illinois

The
unrelenting
mid-July sun beat down on the wide, murky Mississippi River as the steamboat
came abreast of the Cairo, Illinois landing. On the deck Leigh Pennington was
oblivious to the glare as she shaded her eyes with a gloved hand and pressed
closer to the rail, anxious for her first glimpse of the city. But except for a
church spire and a treetop or two, the town itself and Fort Defiance, the large
military encampment that had grown up nearby in the last months, were invisible
from the river, hidden behind the steep-sided levee. Built on a triangular
piece of land between the Ohio River on the southeast and the Mississippi on
the west, Cairo occupied a position of such commercial importance that the
obvious advantages of settlement far outweighed the constant danger of
flooding. But it was only these high earthen dikes that had made the
development feasible.

Leigh
lowered her hand from her brow and gripped the ornate wooden balustrade on the
promenade deck with impatience. Early yesterday morning she had boarded the
steamboat
Carlyle
at the St. Louis landing, carrying a single carpetbag
packed with her necessities: two serviceable calico dresses, her night clothes,
her underwear, a second pair of shoes, and her toilet articles. In the reticule
tucked safely under her arm was a return ticket to St. Louis and a letter of
introduction to Colonel Oglesby, the commander at Fort Defiance, from Major
Aaron Crawford. Surprisingly, it was her adversary she had to thank for this
opportunity to try her hand at military nursing.

In
the several months since their conversation on the street, Leigh had continued
her search for a nursing position, but to no avail. Nor had the requirements
set up by Miss Dorothea Dix for the Army Nursing Corps helped Leigh's cause.
She was neither over thirty nor plain, and though she was of the Protestant
faith and unlikely to be seeking converts, that single advantage was quickly
outweighed by her youth and beauty. Besides. Miss Dix preferred to train her
own nurses to adopt a proper attitude of humility and subservience when dealing
with the government doctors.

As
Dr. Phillips had predicted, women's groups did begin to organize to provide for
the soldiers' needs. Spurred on by the increasingly alarming reports of
shortages from the military camps, the women began to knit and sew. In a
patriotic fervor they produced useful items such as socks, underclothes, and
sewing kits, as well as strange hats known as havelocks that were used by their
recipients in inventive ways, quite unintended by their designers. Due to Army
inefficiency, camps were ill supplied, and when the news of the shortages
reached the towns and cities in the North, civilians began to collect money and
send donations to see that their hometown boys did not go without.

Sickness,
it was reported, ran rampant through the camps: typhoid and yellow fever as a
result of inadequate sanitation and malaria from the camps' swampy locations.
There were outbreaks of measles and diphtheria too, as country boys came in
contact with these childhood diseases for the first time. Those lucky
volunteers who managed to avoid the fevers and communicable diseases fell prey
to the fluxes that resulted from spoiled or improperly prepared food. And in
addition there were gunshot wounds, inflicted not by the enemy but by comrades
ignorant of the correct use of firearms.

When
the reports began to arrive, Leigh had been wild to help, but it quickly became
apparent that even now no one wanted her. Then one evening she had encountered
Aaron Crawford at a garden party at Henry Shaw's country home. As they waltzed,
they had exchanged banalities, and then Major Crawford had begun to relate a
bit of military gossip that had come to his ears.

"There's
a woman at Fort Defiance who has set up her own nursing corps, it seems,"
he had begun lightheartedly. "She came to Cairo from Galesburg, Illinois,
in mid-June with a load of supplies from her church. They tell me she took one
look at the camp and refused to leave, said she'd never seen such bad
housekeeping in her life, and intended to stay until things were cleaned
up," Crawford related with a laugh.

Leigh
had raised her sleek, auburn head at his words, suddenly taking a new interest
in the major's conversation. "Do you know who she is?"

"Mary
Ann Bickerdyke is her name, though the enlisted men call her 'Mother.' "

"And
why is that?" Leigh prodded, her mind working swiftly though her face
remained impassive.

"It's
because she cares for them when they're sick, I suppose," Crawford
speculated. "From all reports she's a real tartar. If she needs anything
for 'her boys,' she simply takes it from Army stores. They say she wheedles men
out of their packages from home and uses the gifts for her patients. And should
she decide that something needs doing, she simply commandeers a platoon of men
and puts them to work."

"She
sounds like an extremely resourceful woman," Leigh observed.

"She
sounds like a damned nuisance," Crawford returned.

Leigh
hid her growing excitement behind a demure smile. "How many women does she
have working with her?"

Crawford
shrugged his wide shoulders, then executed a smooth turn in perfect time to the
music. "I'm not really sure: a society lady from Cairo, a few camp
followers. It appears she's not as selective in her recruitment as Miss
Dix."

"Thank
goodness for that!" his partner mumbled under her breath. Could it be that
this Mother Bickerdyke was just unconventional enough to accept the help Leigh
had to offer without undue concern for her "maidenly sensibilities"?
The possibility seemed worth further investigation, especially after the long,
frustrating months of being denied a chance to prove herself. Leigh pursed her
lips thoughtfully. Was she willing to sell her soul to the devil to get her
chance at military nursing? she wondered. Then, without another moment's
consideration, she conceded that she was and turned wide, luminous eyes on the
major.

"Aaron,"
she began coyly, using the unaccustomed familiarity of his first name. "If
I wanted to go to Cairo to work with this Mrs. Bickerdyke, would you write me a
letter of introduction to the commander of Fort Defiance?"

Leigh
wondered if Major Crawford, a man with more than a little experience with
women, was aware of what she hoped to accomplish. Were the motives for her
sudden interest as transparent to him as they seemed to her? Would he be taken
in? Leigh had never before used her wiles to get what she wanted from a man,
disdaining flirtation as a weak woman's weapon, yet she had to admit that sweet
smiles and tender glances did have their uses. Heaven knows, they had always
worked well enough for her mother. To be honest, she did not like Aaron
Crawford any better now than she ever had, but she wanted his cooperation very
badly and would do what she must to insure it.

"Now,
just a minute, my dear Leigh," he murmured, claiming the familiarity of
her given name in return for her free use of his. "I didn't tell you about
this Mrs. Bickerdyke to encourage your schemes. Volunteering to nurse under the
conditions you'd find at Fort Defiance would be sheer madness!"

"Oh,
Aaron, please!" she cajoled, pouting prettily and pressing her advantage.

Aaron
Crawford swallowed hard, and Leigh sensed his resolves were weakening.

"In
good conscience, Leigh, how can you ask me such a thing?" he demanded,
frowning down at her.

"In
good conscience, Aaron, how can you refuse me?" she countered. The
argument was at a stalemate, and only the light glowing in Crawford's gray eyes
gave a hint to its eventual outcome.

She
heard him sigh in resignation before he gave her his answer. "If your
father agrees to let you go to nurse with this woman at Fort Defiance, I will
certainly write you a letter of introduction," he conceded, obviously
secure in the belief that no father would ever allow his daughter to undertake
such a foolhardy expedition. But in the end, Crawford had been wrong to
underestimate the persuasive powers of Pennington's wife and Leigh herself.

It
was at supper the following evening that Leigh had announced her intention to
secure a position nursing with Mrs. Bickerdyke, and Horace Pennington's
reaction had been thunderous.

"No!
I won't allow it!" he had shouted, slamming one fist down on the table
with a force that set the silverware jangling. "No daughter of mine is
going to traipse all the way to Cairo, Illinois, to play nursemaid to a passel
of vermin-infested Army volunteers."

Leigh
had faced her father squarely, undeterred by his set face and booming voice.
For the most part Leigh tried to avoid arguments, but she was quite able to
defend herself when the need arose, and she was not cowed by his bluster.
"Well, Father," she had declared with equal determination, "the
only way you are going to prevent me from leaving is to lock me in my room for
the duration of the war!"

"Leigh,"
Horace had said, obviously struggling for control of his temper in the face of
his daughter's outburst, "surely you realize what the conditions in those
camps must be. The reports we've heard can't tell the half of it. Why in
heaven's name do you want to rush off into that mess when there are things right
here in St. Louis you can do?"

"That's
precisely why I want to go. Those poor, sick men need my help." Her
argument was simple, direct, and irrefutable.

But
still Horace was not convinced, and he glared across the table at his daughter.
"No, absolutely not! I will not permit you to travel all that way to God
knows what kind of accommodations to care for those damned volunteers."

"They're
your Mr. Lincoln's damned volunteers, and if I were a man wanting to serve my
country, you'd have to let me go!" Leigh shot back. "Please, Father,
there's a war on, and for the moment certain conventions of behavior must be
set aside. With things as they are, it would be quite proper for me to travel
to Cairo and put myself under Mrs. Bickerdyke's protection."

"And
who the devil is this Mrs. Bickerdyke person? What kind of a woman is
she?"

Briefly
Leigh related what Aaron Crawford had told her about the tempest in hoopskirts
that had been unleashed on Fort Defiance. And Horace's frown had deepened as he
listened.

"So
you came by these wild notions via Aaron Crawford, did you?" Horace
demanded. "Though I do agree with his politics, I'm no at all sure I would
trust Crawford with the safety of my womenfolk." He paused and sighed.
"It's true, Leigh, if you had been a son, I would have had no choice about
letting you go, but you're my daughter, my little girl, and your safety could
be in jeopardy if I let you go to Cairo. Oh damn, I've always been too soft
with you," he murmured almost to himself, "letting you tag along
after your grandfather, teaching you how to drive a gig."

From
across the table his daughter had watched him, her clear, green eyes meeting
his, her expression implacable, as she tried to convince him that she really
meant to go.

"Didn't
Grandpa go east to study medicine instead of staying in Missouri to look after
the family holdings as his father wanted him to do?" Leigh had pressed him
as the silence lengthened. "And didn't you go west to set up trade with
the Indians when your own father had expressly forbidden it?"

Horace
had nodded in resignation as Leigh continued. "If that's so, then surely
you understand why I must do as I see fit! Oh please, Father—"

Then
it was Althea's cool voice that filled the room. "I think we should let
Leigh go to Cairo. You know as well as I do, Horace, that she has a gift for
healing."