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A World Such as Heaven Intended

By Amanda Lauer

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Chapter I


May 30, 1864
Atlanta, Georgia

She was ill-prepared for the sight her eyes beheld as she stood in the entryway to the sizeable room. Cots filled nearly every square inch of the space that had once been a grand ballroom. Scanning the area from end to end, the surreal fog she had been living in for the last three years was whisked away like a shear curtain being torn from a window. The godforsaken men lying upon makeshift beds became very real to her—not just souls spoken of discreetly behind fans held in the fingertips of Atlanta’s ladies of good quality.
Amara had been in this room many times before but under far different circumstances. She could recall an incident from her childhood where she stood on this very same spot. After tiptoeing up the curved stairs to the entryway she had peeked around one of the massive double doors to observe countless duos sweeping across the gleaming wooden floor in perfect synchrony. As the small orchestra performed a waltz, one couple in particular stood out. The stately gentleman covered the space agilely, an enchanting woman in his arms. She was cloaked in a beautiful aqua gown that flattered her slender figure. The two were entranced in each other’s gaze, oblivious to their daughter’s loving perusal.
That had been one of many fond memories tucked deep away in Amara’s mind. Fresher, much less pleasant snippets filled her head to the point where Amara began to wonder if the good days had ever actually existed at all. As if on command, the most recent recollection of her mother came to her—watching her fade away over the course of several months as the consumption drew the life out of her. It had been four years ago, but the sense of helplessness and despair felt so real that it could have happened yesterday. Shaking her head, Amara refocused on the scene before her and realized what she witnessed in her mother’s last days paled in comparison to the view before her at this moment.
“They’re the fortunate ones,” said the orderly, after clearing his throat to get Amara’s attention. “These fellas are the ones who stand a chance of survival and, if it’s the will of God,” the man paused to swipe the cap off his head and hold it over his heart, “they’ll live to rejoin their Confederate units. The fate of the soldiers in the rooms below, I won’t lie to you, Miss, it’s grim. I can show you around down there when you have a few minutes.”
Amara shook her head in the negative. There was only so much she could handle at once. She was already doing her best to quell the urge to pick up her skirts and scamper back down the stairs and out the front door she had just stepped through minutes before. What in the world have I gotten myself into?
“No, thank you, sir. But I appreciate your kind offer. I’m sure I’ll see everything in due time.”
The orderly repositioned his cap and proceeded into the room. Amara stepped in behind him, keeping close to his heels. She tried to keep her eyes focused past his shoulder to the crucifix hung on the far wall but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing around the room as they made their way across the space. Hail Mary, full of grace… A number of men were wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. The Lord is with thee… Some had head wounds and several had broken bones set in splints. Blessed art Thou among women… The bile rose in her throat at the ghastly display of raw stumps from missing limbs. And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus… If the sight of the injuries wasn’t bad enough, the stench in the room was unbearable. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners… Amara pulled the lavender-scented handkerchief from her sleeve and held it over her nose. The odor engulfing the room gagged her, yet her guide seemed oblivious to it. Now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
Having spent many an idle day as a child helping her Uncle William in his physician’s office in the lower level of the building, Amara thought aiding him at the infirmary would be a simple enough task. But cutting and folding bandages and straightening shelves of medicinal cures had not prepared her for this ghoulish encounter.
The orderly paused to glance back at Amara and a look of concern crossed his face. Just then a low moaning sound came from a man lying on a cot near where they stood. The orderly stepped closer and gently pulled back the sheet covering the man’s upper half. The bone in his upper arm was snapped in two, with the jagged edge of the lower portion extruding through his skin.
Amara’s eyes widened upon the sight and she could feel the color creeping up her face, whether it was red or green, she couldn’t say.
“We’ll get that bone set as soon as your number’s called, soldier,” said the orderly reassuringly. The man gave a slight nod in acknowledgement, biting his lip to quell the sounds threatening to escape from his throat again.
Amara couldn’t pull her eyes away from the macabre scene. She slowly backed away from the injured solider and nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand locked onto her elbow and turned her around. Recognizing the man behind the owlish spectacles, Amara’s knees nearly buckled in relief.
“Uncle William!”
The man loosened his grip on her and gave her a weary smile, but refrained from the embrace which was his normal greeting for his only niece. Amara thought it was slightly odd until she glanced down at his blood-splattered shirt. Her eyes widened.
“Amara, darlin’,” said the older man. “So good to see you.”
Amara jerked her head up. “And you as well, sir,” she stammered.
With a nod of his head, and a quick thank you, the doctor dismissed the orderly and then turned his full attention to Amara. “You’re looking well, my dear,” he said, scanning her from head to toe. “A bit on the lean side, but that’s to be expected in these times.”
“You appear well yourself, Uncle William,” she replied automatically, focusing on his face and not the crimson-stained attire. In reality, he looked to be a man ten years older than the William Burgess she saw a mere five months before. He was a stocky man and while always a bit on the shorter side, seemed to have lost an inch or two in height as his shoulders were hunched forward—most likely from bending over patients day in and day out, Amara surmised. His mutton chop beard was now sprinkled with grey and the scowl lines on his forehead were more pronounced.
Becoming conscious of her scrutiny, the doctor glanced down at his shirt and unrolled his sleeves to make himself more presentable. “Sorry about that, Amara. It slipped my mind that you’d be here this morning.” Tucking a loose shirt end into the top of his trousers, he looked at her over the top of his spectacles. “Not quite what you had in mind when you offered your assistance, eh?”
Shaking her head, Amara replied, “I am not sure if anything could prepare a person for this, to be honest with you, sir.” Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and looked the kindly gentleman straight in the eye. “Uncle William, I do not know what help I can offer, but rest assured, I do plan to hold true to my word and assist you to the best of my ability. Father has fewer customers in his store each day and I cannot tolerate biding my time doing busywork when I know you are in dire need of support here.”
“Fair enough,” he said, absentmindedly stroking his sideburns with one hand as he assessed his niece with a renewed sense of admiration. He then crossed his arms in front of himself and addressed her in an admonishing tone. “However, young lady, if you intend to put yourself under my charge, you need to dispense with the formalities. Doc is the common moniker for all the physicians on the frontlines. If you call me William, the staff will not know to whom you are referring.”
“Yes, sir, Uncle William,” said Amara.
“Amara…”
“I mean Doc, sir, um, Doc,” she added, garnering his approval.
Continuing on, the man nodded to two similarly dressed, plain-looking women tending to patients on the other side of the room. “As you can see, we have mature females here offering skilled nursing care for the men. What we could use from you is a show of compassion for the soldiers. Offer an encouraging word, read a few verses from the Bible, write letters home to their loved ones…” His voice trailed off as he looked for some form of acknowledgement from his niece.
“I can do that,” offered Amara, nodding her head with a sense of relief.
“Very well, then. In that top drawer over there you will find stationery, writing apparatus and a Bible,” he said, pointing to the wash stand in the corner of the room. “Thank you again for your assistance,” said Doc. “Say hello to your family for me. Lord knows when I’ll have free time to stop and pay them a formal visit again.” He picked up a sheaf of paper from the foot of an empty bed. “I must continue my rounds. If you have any questions, you may ask the other women in the ward.” With a quick bow he was off, leaving Amara to her own devices.
Gingerly making her way between the uneven rows of beds, Amara got to the stand and gathered the supplies she needed. Looking around, she determined her course of action. I will begin on this end of the room and make my way around to the men who are awake and coherent.
She timidly approached the nearest cot where a soldier, who appeared not much older than her seventeen years, laid still, his face turned towards the wall.
“Sir,” inquired Amara, “may I be of any assistance to you?”
The young man turned his head in Amara’s direction. She was startled to see his eyes completely covered with bandages. “Miss, I can’t see you, but you have the voice of an angel. Am I dead or alive?”
“You’re quite alive as far as I can tell,” said Amara, doing her best to sound cheery.
“Dang. For a second there I thought I actually fooled Saint Peter and made it to the Pearly Gates,” said the man dejectedly. “If I’m alive, I guess it means I really can’t see. I was hopin’ this was all a bad dream and I was gonna wake up starin’ at my bunk mate’s ugly puss. Of course, that’s kind of a nightmare in itself,” he said with a chuckle.
Amara admired his sense of humor, considering his circumstances. She smiled as she addressed him. “May I ask your name?”
“My given name is Bartholomew, but my pals call me Bubba.”
“Then Bubba it is,” said Amara. “My name is Amara McKirnan. I’ve come to volunteer here at the hospital.”
“Hospital?” asked Bubba. “Hmm, what do ya know? Last I remember I was holed up outside Pumpkin Vine Creek. Saw some Yankees making their way through the woods. Had one of ‘em in my sights and went to take a shot and wham, I’m flat on my back and my eyes felt like they was on fire. Next things I knows, I’m here. Where exactly is we?”
“Atlanta. This is my uncle’s house. It’s been converted to a Confederate hospital like most of the other residences on Capital Square.”
“Atlanta?” said Bubba incredulously. “I always heard tell that is one fine city. Hoped to be marchin’ into it one of these days ahead of Lee’s army. With the ways thing’s going nowadays, don’t look like me or Lee’s going to be seeing the city anytime soon.”
“Let’s not talk about matters like that right now, shall we,” said Amara, hoping to change the track of their conversation. “How about I pen a letter back home to your mama? I’m sure she’s concerned about you.”
“She ain’t much on readin’,” he confessed. “But maybe one of the neighbors will come help her decipher it. I know she’s been worryin’ up a storm about me. Ma’s been runnin’ the farm since Pa died and me and my brother took off to do us some fightin’. Thought I’d come back a hero and take care of her once we got them Yankees whipped.” A sigh escaped before he continued. “Looks like I’m going to be more of a burden to her than a help to her when I do finally get back.”
“We’ll just write and tell her you’ve made it through alive,” said Amara with conviction.
From there Amara made her way counterclockwise about the space. A number of the patients were in no condition to converse, so she bypassed their cots. Several of the men she met were anxious to send correspondence back home, a few longed to hear a particular Bible passage, and some just wanted to hear a reassuring voice telling them everything would be all right. Amara wasn’t necessarily certain things would turn out for all of these soldiers but she kept a positive demeanor throughout the course of the day and comforted the soldiers in whatever fashion she could.
As Amara approached the final bed, she felt weary from her duties. Her shoulders ached from leaning over the numerous cots, she was perspiring from the oppressive heat, and her head was starting to pound. She appraised the last gentleman as he lay staring up at the ceiling. His eyes appeared to be undamaged. All appendages seemed to be in place. A bandage was wrapped tightly around his bare upper chest, and with the knowledge Amara had picked up over the previous several hours, she assumed he had been injured by grape shot. The fingers of the man’s right hand were firmly clasped on a gold chain suspended around his neck.
“Sir,” asked Amara as she stepped closer to the bed, “would you like some company for a few minutes?”
The soldier hastily adjusted the chain, tucked something behind his neck and then put his arm down by his side. He gave Amara a brief glance and then turned his head back.
Amara cocked her head, waiting for a reply. After a few moments the soldier broke the uncomfortable silence. “No thank you, miss. I’d just as soon keep company with myself.”
She was somewhat taken aback. That’s an odd reply, Amara mused. Most of the soldiers seemed eager for her companionship. Several of the men had commented that she was a sight for sore eyes. Of course she knew it was just an expression, because in her mind, she was still that gangly, thin-as-a-rail teen sporting a mop of uncontrollable auburn hair. What could any man see in that? Unconsciously she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, something she was wont to do when she was in a discomfiting situation.
Grabbing her skirt to keep her hand from tucking the hair behind her other ear, Amara did a quick once over of the man, evaluating him from stem to stern. Even lying down, she could see he was taller than most of the gentlemen of her acquaintance. His black hair had a wave to it and with his angular facial features and muscular build he made for one handsome figure. He was a looker, all right. But from experience, Amara knew that the men who cut the most handsome figures were invariably the ones with the largest egos.
She wasn’t going to let him get the best of her. Determined to garner a more positive response, Amara put forth a suggestion. “I could write a letter for you. Surely you must have a sweetheart back home who is anxious about your welfare?”
“I assure you, I have no sweetheart pining away for me,” said the man bluntly.
Pursing her lips, Amara looked at him closer. The grey standard-issue uniform trousers confirmed he was a Confederate soldier. But he certainly didn’t have the Southern drawl she was accustomed to hearing. His arrogance signaled the fact that he was an educated man—she’d met his type before. Her curiosity got the better of her and she pressed on.
“May I inquire where you hail from, Mr. …,” prodded Amara.
“That’s Corporal, miss. Corporal Nathan Michael Edward Simmons, Northern Territory of Texas.”
Texas? That could certainly explain a lot of things. While officially it had been a Southern state for nearly twenty years, Amara had heard there were still savages populating the land. That explains the unfamiliar accent and his questionable manners, but how did he come to be educated? Did they even have schools in that untamed land?
Looking to wrap up the encounter, Amara made one last inquiry. “Is there anything I can do for you, Corporal Simmons?”
“I thank you for your offer, but you may go back to your duties of socializing with the other soldiers,” said the Texan curtly. “I am sure there are plenty of men who would be happy to make your acquaintance. As for myself, I am perfectly fine on my own.”
The blood rushed to Amara’s cheeks. It took a moment to muster a fitting reply since the first thing that came to the tip of her tongue was a remark regarding his questionable upbringing.
“As you wish,” she responded evenly, turning on her heel. I have half a mind to pen a letter to his mama myself. A look of satisfaction came to Amara’s face as she pictured an indignant Southern woman marching into the ward and dragging her miserable son off by the ear, wounds be damned.
Chin held high, Amara made her way towards the exit, graciously offering best wishes to the other men and a promise to return the next day. Without a backwards glance, she passed through the doorway, silently closing the elegantly carved doors on her way out. She paused at the top of the steps to consider the perplexing encounter she had with the corporal. Always one to give a person the benefit of the doubt, a thought came to her. Perhaps he suffered a blow to the skull and he’s acting contrary to his usual behavior. That’s it! With a new-found energy, she set off to find Uncle William to tell him that a certain corporal on the second floor needed a thorough examination of his head immediately.

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