Measure of Devotion, page 2
With steadied nerve, she offered handshakes and encouraging words as she wandered between the cots and makeshift resting places arranged by stewards, nurses, and volunteers.
“Who are you looking for, soldier?”
The woman questioned her with a soft voice and vibrant eyes that belied her weariness. A spritely emerald green, they soothed Cooper’s edginess as surely as a soft palm to her cheek. The mussed blond hair framed a striking heart-shaped face, far too lovely for such a setting as this, and her curious look reached so deeply, Cooper’s nerves twitched.
“I…um…” Much to her own relief, she remembered her manners and yanked the cap off her head, then swiped at her hair when it fell forward. “Ah, Tim,” she offered, hoping this woman’s intuition hadn’t somehow detected hers. “I-I mean, I’m looking for Pvt. Timothy Doten, 19th Massachusetts. Do you know if he’s here?”
The woman held Cooper’s gaze for an extra moment, before her inquiring expression faded to one of concern. She beckoned with a finger. “Come with me.”
❖
Cooper maneuvered along behind her toward the far end of the long tent, a melding of two to accommodate operating zones. She was glad to be led on a circuitous route around the surgeons at work, but bustling personnel and pools of blood on the plank floor made walking difficult. She tried to concentrate on the view before her, the woman’s slim figure in the long, blood-stained dress, its dirty hem frequently skimming the floor.
“I hope we can help you,” the woman said over her shoulder. She looked back and her hair flared into a golden veil against her cheek. Distracted, Cooper almost missed the woman’s words. “We’ll inquire of Clara. She’s a one-woman machine here, thank heavens. She’s keeping us organized, and we’d be lost without her.”
“Is she a volunteer like you?”
The woman nodded as they walked. “She is, yes. From Washington. I’m here with a group from our town, Gettysburg. It’s north of here. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“Seen it on a map.”
“By the way, I’m Sophie.”
“Pvt. Cooper Samson, ma’am, 19th Massachusetts. I appreciate this.”
They arrived at a table littered with papers. An older, stern-looking woman stood bent over the mess, obviously busy.
“Clara?” Sophie called, and the woman straightened, her frown dissipating. “This is Private Samson. He’s looking for a Pvt. Timothy Doten, 19th Massachusetts.”
Cooper stepped up to the table and her anxiety mounted as Clara turned from one page to the next. So many wounded.
“Now, don’t despair if he’s not here,” Sophie told Cooper, and set her fingers on her arm. “Try the other tents.”
Cooper tried not to think about any other alternative. If Tim hadn’t been logged in for treatment yet… She cleared her throat and let Sophie’s compassionate touch redirect her thoughts. “I’ll do that. Thank you. And thank you for all you’re doing here. It means everything, you know.”
Sophie smiled a bit sadly. “We do what we can.”
“I’m sorry,” Clara said, and set down her papers. “Private Doten is not with us. Not here,” she added.
Cooper felt her chest tighten. Sophie touched her arm again and that seemed to ease breath back into her lungs.
“Don’t forget there are A and B tents,” Sophie reminded her, “and dozens of smaller ones.”
Cooper simply stared at Clara’s papers, exhaustion threatening to overtake her rational thought. Sadness rushed at her spirit like the 19th had charged the rebel line today.
“Cooper?”
Cooper managed to nod toward the table.
Sophie tugged at her sleeve. “Let’s get over to A tent.”
Parting the heavy tent flaps, Sophie led them outside, and Cooper halted at the scene. Wounded were everywhere, on stretchers, blankets, propped against trees, simply lying on the ground, waiting, crying, bleeding, praying, dying. She peered through the darkness for a familiar face.
Sophie turned to her. “Take a good look around, then I’ll walk you over to A tent.”
“No. I mean, that’s okay. You don’t have to. Your work is more—”
“Hush. I’m done for today. Clara’s sent me ‘to the rear,’ as she put it.”
“Then you must need to rest. Bet you’ve been at this all day.”
“And I thank you for your thoughtfulness.” Sophie patted Cooper’s shoulder. “Now, please take a breath of this air. Take a few.” She stepped away to snatch a lantern off a tree branch and Cooper marveled at her energy, her generosity.
The lantern shed little light on Cooper’s search for Tim among the wounded. Instead, its dim glow shone brilliantly on the scores of grotesque injuries, the suffering. She swallowed hard, hoping Tim already had been doctored and released. It was highly unlikely, but the best she could hope for.
“I imagine you have experienced this before,” Sophie said as they left the area.
“Never in numbers like this.” No previous battle she’d seen had taken so many men from so many units. And all in far less than a day. Inconceivable. She figured this amounted to a living nightmare for Sophie. Yet this woman’s kind spirit still seemed to prevail undaunted. With growing respect, Cooper considered Sophie’s deportment, her calm and steady approach to work of this magnitude. “You handle yourself so well.”
“Thank you, but all the volunteers owe a great debt to Clara for her patience and instruction.”
“She’s your teacher?”
“You could say that.” Sophie leaned closer. “We’ve heard that folks in Washington call her Miss Clarissa Barton. Knowing they lend her that courtesy makes us all quite proud.”
“Well, your work is vital, to say the least, ma’am. How long have you been volunteering?”
“Hm. Almost a month now, I suppose. We all had some training with Clara first, and then we were split up and some went to Harper’s Ferry and some to South Mountain. That’s where I was before coming here to Sharpsburg.”
“We were at South Mountain, too, although held in reserve. The men had a tough time of it. Being your first action, it must have been hard for you, too. Dealing with all this isn’t easy.”
“I think, next to the passing of my mother, those first hours at South Mountain were the worst experiences of my life. Sights I never imagined seeing, the sadness.” Sophie’s voice softened. “I confess, we frequently cried on each other’s shoulders, and I’d like to say it helped prepare us for something like this, but nothing could have done that. This…You just have to…to train your focus. A tragedy like this, it’s almost impossible to keep count, the numbers are so great.”
“Today was very bad, you’re right. Makes us all miss peacetime.”
“I definitely do. My father and Greta and Karl, my younger sister and brother, weren’t keen on my leaving, but so many women want to do what they can for the cause. I trusted that my siblings would fare well, helping Papa in my absence, so when the Ladies’ Aid Society formed, I joined.” She sent Cooper a quick, proud smile. “We filled a wagon with ladies and four more with donations.”
“Four? Gettysburg sounds like a very generous town. Will you continue with the army now, after this?”
“Some of us will. I haven’t decided yet. A lot of us are needed at home for harvest, and even though Papa would prefer to have me there, I know he and the children can manage. Here, though…If I can provide comfort, maybe even some medical assistance, I feel compelled to do so.” She released a slow sigh. “I do know that I need to make up my mind soon.”
Cooper nodded. She’d certainly enjoy having Sophie in the volunteer group that accompanied the army. Spending time with her seemed to reinvigorate Cooper’s spirit, warmed her blood from the flat, lifeless cold that empowered her soldier livelihood. What a gift it would be, to have more of her company beyond this dark moment.
She could remember only once in her life, being so moved by such a compassionate friend, although Peggy had been much more than that. Their friendship had blossomed into a love each believed would last a lifetime. That is, until Peggy’s father took a railroad job and moved them out west. How vividly Coop recollected the months of heartbreak that ensued, and how her late twin brother had somehow understood.
Now as they walked by lantern light, Cooper sensed Sophie, too, would understand, and she wondered if this Gettysburg lady had a special friend of her own. Are you betrothed? Do you entertain gentlemen callers at home? Would you renounce a woman in uniform?
She shook herself mentally. How unearthly is this moment, she wondered, to be here on such a classic autumn night, strolling across a grassy field, an ocean of sadness, all in the company of a charitable soul as fetching and graceful as Sophie.
“And what about you, Cooper? What’s home like in Massachusetts? Are you a fisherman?”
Cooper snickered. So many teased Massachusetts soldiers that way.
“Farmer,” she said. “Mostly wheat and hay. In Plymouth, south of Boston.”
“Is there a Mrs. Cooper Samson and little ones?”
“Unattached,” she mumbled, and flashed upon the image she frequently concocted of her late brother. In it, he ultimately survived this enlistment to enjoy married life on the family farm.
She thought of him so often—in fact, every time someone called her name. It was his name. The name she screamed until her voice broke on that fateful day, climbing through the rubble of the barn to find the bodies. She still fought the heartache, the horrific loss of both parents and her twin. The day after he’d enlisted.
She hadn’t hesitated to abandon her own name, to honor him by fulfilling his obligation, and take up the cause in which they both fervently believed. It was a duty she, Catherine Samson, had ached to accept but from which women were legally barred. As twins practically inseparable since birth, their spirits soulfully blended, their likenesses had always been virtually indistinguishable, even as they entered adulthood. Carrying on in his name kept him alive in her soul, would make them both proud.
Cooper tensed as she geared up to offer the tale she’d come to live by. “There was a…Well, right after I enlisted, I-I lost…See, there was a barn collapse.” She took a breath. This is so hard for so many reasons. “I lost both parents and my twin sister.”
Sophie reared back. “Oh, good heavens, Cooper! I’m so sorry.”
“It was really difficult at first, but army training and action came fast.” She waved a hand at the scene of wounded surrounding A tent ahead. “You have to concentrate elsewhere or die.”
Sophie stopped them before entering the tent. “I can see why you’re determined to find your friend. We’ll find him, Coop.”
Sophie’s compassion, her familial use of Coop’s shortened name, struck a warm chord.
They held open the tent flaps for a steward exiting with a two-wheel cart, his load a heap of severed hands, feet, arms, and legs, and Coop appreciated Sophie tugging her away from the sight.
Chapter Two
Sophie Bauer had seen so much in her month volunteering, she could write a book about the tragedies she had encountered, but she couldn’t relegate Cooper Samson to “another experience.” She sought success for him and his search, and despite the late hour and the sixteen she’d already spent on her feet, she focused harder on his quest.
The A tent search proved unsuccessful, however, and it pained her to see defeat shadow his face. He appeared to be a thoughtful sort, considerate and kind, selfless at this horrendous time when self-preservation was one’s top priority and far from guaranteed. Alone now, without a family, his heart deserved at least the victory of finding his friend.
“Let’s get over to B tent,” she said, pausing to let him take one more desperate look around. “There are lots of tents out there. Don’t lose hope.”
Coop nodded and followed her out.
Sophie raised the lantern and its candle flickered madly in the breeze. Coop moved to her side, and they carefully worked their way through the maze of wounded. His scrutiny of every face slowed their progress.
“You said he wore a red neckerchief?” Sophie asked.
“And has a wide beard, not quite to his chest.”
“Sorry, Coop, but half the men here have those beards.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Sophie smiled at the ground as they completed a trek around the tent. “You prefer not to grow a beard?”
“Eh.” Coop removed his cap and wiped his brow with his sleeve. Sophie watched his dark hair dangle at his shoulders and wondered if he’d done the rough cut himself. When it swung toward his face, he combed it back with his fingers and held it in place with his cap. “A family trait, I guess,” he added and shrugged. “The guys tease me, but I don’t mind.”
“Makes you look young.”
“So I’m told.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four. How old are you?”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Asking a lady her age, are you?”
“Forgot my place, ma’am. No offense. My apologies.”
Sophie almost giggled. “I’m just teasing. I’m twenty-three. Contrary to custom—and I am quite often, I dare say—I do not take offense at most direct questions.”
“Well, then.” Coop stopped walking. His face brightened, the weariness lifted slightly. “I-I wish to say, ah, that is, I’d like you to know how much I appreciate your kindness to me tonight. Um…” He looked away as if searching for the proper words. “Forgive me, but, there must be someone special in Gettysburg clamoring for your return.”
Sophie’s emotions swelled and she almost relented and set them free. She longed to express them, to ease her heart’s demand, but this definitely was not the place, and she certainly didn’t know this Cooper Samson well enough to speak of such intimacies. Besides, she simply couldn’t even consider confiding anything to a man. But the honesty in his eyes drew her in, his sincerity and humble manner, even the set of his mouth with that silly dirt mustache below his nose. He was as compelling as his query.
Undoubtedly, Coop was a handsome soldier, perhaps the most alluring man she’d ever met. He stood slightly taller than she, his wiry build unimposing yet projecting strength in his battle-worn uniform, and she enjoyed gazing upon him. Ragged and dusty, he wore his cap low over his forehead, deepening the depths of his brown eyes, and despite the day’s grit and smudge that blunted his sharp features, Sophie found herself intrigued and longing for a smile. She imagined it would be dazzling.
“I think you used the most appropriate term earlier,” she said. “I, too, am unattached.”
“I hope that is by your choice, Sophie.”
“It is.” A choice freely made, she thought, for while many gentlemen callers had tried, none had succeeded in stirring her romantic interest. Her closest companions through the years had been women, and Sophie had no regrets. “My mother, rest her soul, would have had me married at sixteen, I’m afraid. Thankfully, Papa just lets me be.”
“You choose not to marry?”
“Do you?”
Coop squared his shoulders. Maybe the question probed too deeply.
“I-I take each day as it’s given. No more, no less.”
“Then I see we are kindred souls.” She extended her hand. “I’m honored to meet you, Private Samson.”
Coop smiled, finally, a slash of white against his gritty, sun-stained skin. The sight caused a surge of warm, unexpected pleasure to course through her. Then, absent the expected dominant grip, the tenderness with which his hand enclosed hers sent heat shimmering up Sophie’s arm.
“Coop! That you?” a gruff voice shouted from the trees at B tent.
They spotted the scruffy soldier waving his arm from where he sat.
“It’s Tim!” Coop said and spun to Sophie. “Let’s go!”
He hurried ahead, and Sophie did her best to keep up, lantern and hem of her dress in her hands. She hopped over the handles of a stretcher but lost her balance and teetered precariously over an unconscious soldier. Suddenly, Coop’s arm wrapped her firmly about the waist and swept her forward.
“Can’t lose you now,” he said, and Sophie exhaled a thank you, relieved to be saved, taken by his thoughtfulness.
They dropped to their knees beside Tim, who pushed himself with one arm into a taller sitting position against the tree. Naked from the waist up, his upper chest and right bicep were bound together by a long, filthy strip of blood-stained bandage, and a ribbon of caked blood disappeared at his waistband.
“Took you long enough,” Tim said, and socked Coop’s arm but almost toppled onto his side.
“Quit whining,” Coop said, setting him upright. “You’re lucky I had help.”
Tim grinned at Sophie and pulled off his cap. “Ma’am. Pvt. Timothy Doten. Pardon my present attire.”
“You hush about that. We’re just glad to find you. I’m sure the doctors will get to you soon.”
Tim sent Coop a sideways look. “With such a fine lady, I’d have taken my time, too.”
Sophie felt her face heat, but the brotherly interaction made her grin.
Coop gestured to her. “This is Sophie, you mule butt. She’s been nursing all damn day and if it weren’t for her, you’d be out here crying like a baby. Now, what’s going on with you?”
“Ah, horseshit.” Tim’s eyes then flashed at Sophie. “Apologies for the cursing, ma’am. Caught a bayonet across the arm, halfway across the chest. Just deep enough to bleed like a stuck pig. Confounded thing won’t stop unless it’s wrapped up tight.”
Sophie handed the lantern to Coop and inspected Tim’s bandage. “Not too bad for a field dressing, but surely soaked through and needs to be changed. Can you move your arm all right? Your hand?”
Tim swayed where he sat and tried to catch himself with his good arm. Again, Coop straightened him.
“Hurts, but things still move.” He winced as he flexed his arm and fingers.
“Good. Very good, in fact.” As she tightened the knot of cloth at his chest, Sophie could feel his eyes roaming her face. “This is still bleeding badly. When were you wounded?”
