Songs of the Shenandoah (10 page)

Muriel grimaced with compassion. “Oh, dear Cait. I wish it weren't so.”

“How did . . . how did you find him?”

“I told you.” Muriel tucked her red curls behind her ear. “I've always been good at having a sense of people. I knew of his nature the first instance I met him.”

Caitlin rolled her handkerchief in her palm. “Well. That certainly is a skill I have been without all of these years.”

“It could be worse.”

“How? How could it be worse? Do you know how many times this has happened to me? Do you know how many poor choices I've made with the men in my life?”

Muriel lowered her head. “It could be worse . . . if you had never been loved by a man.”

“Oh, dear.” Caitlin put her hand on Muriel's shoulder. “You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Your kindness shows through for all to see.”

“And we know how much men favor kindness above all things.” Her eyes glistening, she looked up and smiled at Caitlin.

“Many men would wrestle a wild boar for a chance with such a brilliant woman.”

Muriel laughed at her friend's choice of words. “Perhaps they consider time with me just as wrestling a wild boar.”

“Oh, Muriel. You know what I intended.” She gave a mischievous smile. “Why it's a fact I know someone dear to me who is smitten with you.”

Heat rose to Muriel's cheeks. “Please don't be speaking about Davin.”

“Why not? You know I speak truly. Every time he sees you, his eyes betray it. Believe me. I know my brother.”

“And who says having your brother interested in me is something I fancy?”

“Because, my dear Muriel, I know you as well.”

Muriel grimaced, but more at the irony of what Cait had said. Oh, how little her friend knew about her. She felt a twinge of guilt about this, the one she experienced every time Caitlin, Clare, or Andrew showed her kindness. And worse of all were those dear children Garret and Ella. What would they think one day when they learned of her past, who she really was? Did Muriel even know who she was herself? She had spent so much time pretending, it was difficult to know. “Well, I suppose your brother is all right. Bearable at least.”

The two giggled as sisters would.

They had only known each other for seven months or so, but Muriel had shadowed just about everything Caitlin did. Whether it was joining her at Underground meetings or working together at the newspaper, they spent time with one another nearly every day. Even with Muriel focusing on her studies in medicine. Caitlin and the Royce family had proved perfectly suited to her intentions. Better than she could have ever expected.

But something disturbed Muriel. She had never planned on feeling so loved by this family.

“You are exactly what my brother would need to straighten him out.” Caitlin seemed to enjoy the role as matchmaker. If only she could use those talents better on herself.

“So, that's it. Now I'm medicine for your little brother.”

“Well, you both are of the same age. He's quite handsome and you are as well.”

Muriel waved her hand. “Your brother has tastes in qualities I do not and will never possess.”

“Pure nonsense, Muriel McMahon. What he needs is a brilliant Irish girl to get . . . to get him back.”

“Back?”

“Oh, I do wish you knew my brother when he was a boy. So precious. Such a perfect gentleman.” Caitlin's eyes glanced upward. “Did you know we nearly died in each other's arms? Back in Ireland?”

“How sad.”

“I don't know. There is something sweet about it as well. We became close, closer than any brother and sister could be at that moment. When I see him now, I still see the boy.”

“You shouldn't be hard on him now.” Muriel tapped the point of her worn boot in the ground. “It's natural after him being in poverty for so long to be drawn to wealth. I'm sure it will be a passing phase for him. You'll see the boy again.”

As these words came out of Muriel's mouth, she looked across the street and her disposition fell.

“What is it?” Caitlin traced her gaze to across the street and saw Martin, disheveled and swaggering, as he was escorted out the front door by a woman clothed in a silky blue dress, with a feathered boa and a brightly painted face. Martin hugged and kissed the woman with familiarity and then she waved at him as he hailed a cab, completely unaware his fiancée was observing all of this.

“I'm so terribly sorry.” Muriel put her arm around Caitlin's shoulder.

Caitlin's eyes moistened but then she seemed angry at the tears.

A carriage pulled up to Martin, obscuring him from their view. They saw his head briefly as he stumbled into his seat, and then the driver gave a sharp crack of his whip and it was away.

“What do I do now?” Caitlin drew her handkerchief to her face.

“You grieve. You get angry. You forgive. And then you find yourself a much, much better man.”

Caitlin let out a grunt that was half laughter and half tears. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Of course I do. I have no experience myself.”

“Oh stop that.” Caitlin seemed grateful to have a friend with her. “We'll just have to find those better men together. Won't we?”

Muriel stood. “Come up, you. Let's get you home.”

Caitlin rose. “What's with the smile? Now you're mocking me?”

“Hardly. It's just that I've got some news to share and it concerns you as well.” What was she doing? It was Muriel's intention to leave the Royces and the Hanleys behind before she got any closer to them, but here she was again, refusing to let them go.

“Oh really? How so?” They started walking toward home, arms locked together.

“I have plans,” said Muriel. “Big plans. And now they include you, seeing as you are suddenly quite available.”

“Are they exciting?”

Muriel laughed. “Come. I'll let you decide for yourself.”

Chapter 12

The Sanitary Commission

“Next!”

The old woman's shrill voice caused Muriel to awake from her drifting thoughts. She had been sitting with Caitlin in the cold waiting room for more than an hour and now could hardly believe it was finally their turn.

“It's us, Cait. Are you ready for this?”

“No. I am not.” It had been two weeks since her engagement with Martin ended, and Caitlin hardly seemed motivated to do anything. It had taken no little effort for Muriel to drag her to this interview.

“I am Miss Patterson. There are many others waiting. Will you be coming, or should I take note of your indolence?” The lady standing before them in the gray dress lifted her chin, and the many wrinkles of her face seemed to converge to her pursed lips.

“Yes, of course. I mean, no on the indolence. Yes that we're coming.” Muriel cast a glare to Caitlin out of view of the pettish woman.

Miss Patterson led them out of their waiting room and down a long hallway, which echoed with the angry sounds of the woman's heels striking the hard floor. Caitlin leaned in and whispered in Muriel's ear, “You shall never be forgiven.”

“What I am sure you are saying,” Muriel gave her an awry smile, “is you will never forget my kindness for including you. Come now. For several months now, your dear sister Clare has been serving the war effort through her brave reporting. Don't you think we should do our part as well, however small?”

“I am quite unclear on how trouncing about a muddy battlefield dodging artillery fragments is . . . any small part.”

“Oh, why must you be so maudlin?” Muriel sighed. “I will merely be putting my medical training to good purpose, and you will be able to offer your . . . many talents to our brave soldiers.”

“And what talents would I have that would be any help at war? Shall I polish the cannon balls?”

“Oh, Cait, sometimes you are so incorrigible. Don't you feel helpless with the idea that our nation's sons and fathers are defending our beliefs while we're back home, knitting by warm, cozy fires?”

Miss Patterson stopped, turned, and held her hand out toward an open doorway where another woman in a black petticoat, who could have been their escort's sister in dourness, dipped into an inkwell and scribbled on a piece of parchment without bothering to acknowledge their entrance. She was not as old and had a long slender face, with her black hair pulled so taut in a bun it seemed painful.

The two of them entered a Spartan room. Miss Patterson held out a hand pointing to two empty chairs. Then she circled the table and sat next to the other interviewer, who still had yet to lift her head from attending to her notes.

They sat and watched the pen scurry across the paper for what seemed like several minutes, until finally, the last punctuation of what must have been an emphatic sentence was done with both flair and force.

The woman gave her document a read, blew on the ink with puckered lips, and then slowly raised her head and offered a curt smile. “I am Mrs. Jennings. And who do we have here?”

Miss Patterson slid over the two applications. “The redhead is Muriel McMahon and the pretty one there is Caitlin Hanley.”

“Pretty one?” Mrs. Jennings gave Caitlin a disapproving glare. “You do realize what the mission of the Sanitary Commission is?”

“Why yes,” said Muriel. “It is for us to bring comfort and assistance to our ailing and injured soldiers, to provide healthier and more sanitary conditions at their camps—”

Mrs. Jennings held up her hand. “I was not asking you.” She pointed at Caitlin and narrowed her eyes. “I want this one to answer that question.”

Caitlin cleared her throat. “It is my understanding . . .” She paused. “I was told there is great concern that our soldiers are dying more from disease than from the enemy's weapons. It is believed a woman's touch would be most useful.”

“A woman's touch?” Mrs. Jennings face squeezed into a revolted scowl.

Muriel leaned forward. “What my friend intended to say much more gracefully is women would be most useful in cleaning these military campsites, preparing nourishing meals, and tending to our wounded men. In such dire times, all of our beloved country's assets must be accounted for.”

Mrs. Jennings continued her assault of Caitlin. “Are you aware, young lady, that we have been most purposeful in avoiding providing any distraction to our young men on the battlefield? That is why we do not allow for young . . . pretty . . . women to apply.”

“Well, ma'am.” Caitlin sat up straight in her chair. “I am not quite that young, and I have not been enough of a distraction to any man at this point.”

The woman looked down at her application. “Yes . . . I see here you are yet to be married. Answer me plainly, please. Is it your intention during your service to the Commission to find yourself a suitable husband on the battlefield, where your odds will be most favorable and their young soldiering hearts will be most vulnerable?”

Caitlin's cheeks flushed red. “I most certainly have no intentions of the sort.”

“Miss Hanley, I am sorry, but we are not interested in your services at this time.”

“As for you.” Mrs. Jennings eyed Muriel as one would a tomato before buying it off of a merchant's cart. “You are young, I see, but I think you will be less . . . distracting to the boys.”

“Yes, much less,” echoed Miss Patterson.

Muriel swallowed and tightened her lips. She had been worried about getting passed over for this opportunity because of her youth, and this was good news. But the old woman's bitter words hurt nonetheless. Was it obvious to everyone that she would be single her whole life? She bowed her head, just before recapturing her poise and raising her chin.

“This says you have been trained to be a doctor?” Mrs. Jennings raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“This is true.”

The two older women exchanged glances. Mrs. Jennings clasped her hands and rested them on the table. “We have no place in the Commission for any of this cultural . . . experimentation. If you would prefer for us to consider your application with any level of seriousness, you will heretofore use the term
nurse
. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma'am. I understand.” But she didn't. She couldn't think of a more qualified student at her school than herself. What did being a woman have anything to do with being limited in life?

“Very well.” Mrs. Jennings turned to the woman beside her. “What do you think of this applicant?”

“Quite favorable.” Miss Patterson nodded.

“I agree as well.” Mrs. Jennings lifted her pen and dipped it into the inkwell. “As for you, young lady.” She glanced up at Caitlin. “I am afraid—”

“Before you say anything,” Caitlin blurted out. “Before you announce your decision with me, I would want you to know that I am very intent on pursuing this until I get my assignment.”

Muriel was startled by her friend's demeanor. What had come over her? She went from not having any interest in being involved with the Sanitary Commission to now not wanting to be left behind. Wouldn't this be exactly what she would need to distance herself from the pain of her breakup with her fiancé?