Petticoat Warrior

PART I

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

—William Shakespeare

Chapter One

New York City, March, 1864

Crash! A brick exploded through the front window, shattering glass everywhere and abruptly ending her examination of the patient. Dr. Sarah quickly retrieved the brick, hefting it in her palm. Drat those protesters! She had half a mind to hurl it back at the insensitive crowd outside, whose only answer to war and senseless bloodshed was more violence and mayhem.

Instead she set it down carefully and stepped into the hallway to summon her nurse. Please help Mrs. Malone dress, Mary; then clean up in here. Better tack up a piece of cardboard to keep out the cold air, too.

Yes, Doctor. Nurse Putnam bustled in, lifting her skirts to avoid broken glass.

Struggling upright, Mrs. Malone wriggled her plump frame to the edge of the examining table, and the nurse shoved a footstool beneath her dangling feet and helped her down.

Sarah hovered in the doorway. Come see me next week, when things have calmed down a bit. We’ll see how you’re doing then. Naturally, there’ll be no charge.

Thank you, Doctor! Mrs. Malone called after Sarah, who was already halfway to the waiting room to call her next patient.

Suddenly a disheveled woman burst through the clinic door, her hat knocked askew over one eye. Help! she cried. My husband’s bleedin’ bad! Oh, Doctor, come quick!

Sarah grabbed a large umbrella for protection from the unruly mob and paused to get her bearings on the doorstep. Over the clamor of male voices raised in angry, bitter protest, the whistle and crack of billy clubs, the shrill whinny of police horses and the thin wail of children reached her ears. On the sidelines, women stood wringing their hands, as they watched husbands and sons in a losing battle against New York’s finest.

Only one thing, she realized, would stem the tide of violence: The calm, cool voice of reason. But was she up to the task? Could she even make herself heard in the ensuing bedlam?

There he is, shrilled the wife, who had followed her outside.

Wait here, Sarah said and plunged into the crowd.

Prodding her sturdy black umbrella into as many obstinate male backsides as barred her way, Dr. Sarah J. Boudinot, fresh out of medical school, vigorously cleared a path through the brawlers.

Excuse me! she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Coming through, please. Make way. I’m a doctor. Step aside, gentlemen—please!"

When she reached the woman’s husband, he was indeed in a very bad way. Rendered unconscious by a policeman’s billy club, judging by the elongated contusion on his left temple. She waved her arms to ventilate her new patient and glowered disapprovingly at those responsible. Step back. Give the man air.

Next she jack-knifed at the waist and clapped her stethoscope to the man’s chest. Finding a heartbeat, she raised a limp wrist to check his pulse. Fool man! was her cryptic diagnosis of his problem. She straightened to survey the crowd of sweaty, disheveled males. One reproachful look from the tall willowy figure in modest garb did much to sober the boisterous crowd—at least for the moment.

Most of them knew her from her frequent sorties into the neighborhood to vaccinate their children and wage war against slum lords. They felt a grudging respect for the young doctor, even if she did overstep her womanly authority on occasion.

Gentlemen, I require assistance. Sarah beckoned to a few reasonably sober males. Follow me, please, and try not to injure him more than he already is.

Spinning on her heel, she led the way back to the Bleeker Street Clinic. Six males bearing her patient between them brought up the rear. She marched through the front door, followed by the man’s wife and six pathetic, unwashed children, and proceeded directly to the emergency first aid room. Thirty minutes later, she had the man’s wounds sutured and an ice pack on his head, while his wife and children clustered anxiously around the family breadwinner.

Brushing aside their effusive thanks, Sarah paused in the corridor to smooth back an unruly lock of chestnut hair from her pale brow.

You were positively intrepid! Nurse Putnam exclaimed. I never would have found the nerve.

Secretly exhilarated, Sarah grinned. All in a day’s work. Now, who’s our next patient?

* * *

This is our night to howl. Rifling through her pockets, Dr. Sarah produced two tickets to the rally and flourished them under Mary Putnam’s nose. Are you ready?

Mary tittered excitedly. Just imagine. My very first rally!

It wasn’t often that Sarah had an evening free from her duties at the clinic with its medicinal smells and the sour burp-up of babies, but tonight she and Mary would attend Miss Anthony’s rally! Support for the Loyal League had fallen off as women focused on the nation’s great tragedy, but war or no war, civil unrest or not, Sarah wasn’t about to desert the Cause. One day the women of America would be able to vote and enjoy the same freedoms and privileges that men took for granted as their God-given right.

Bundled up against the blustery winds, and still cautious after another day of war protests in the streets, they stuck their heads out the clinic’s front door to see if it was safe to venture out.

At Mary’s timid hesitation, Sarah felt inspired to step out boldly, knowing she must lead by example. Fortunately the neighborhood’s more disorderly element had drifted off to take refuge in nearby taverns and shabby tenement rooms, no doubt to avoid arrest as much as the chilly night.

Up and down the block, foot traffic was heavy, as factory workers and clerks made their way home or to places of dubious moral character.

We’ll walk, Sarah decided and launched into the crowd. The meeting hall is not far. Besides, we could do with a bit of exercise.

The fast pace she set soon brought a ruddy bloom to their cheeks that matched the brightness of their eyes. Their voluminous skirts blossomed around their ankles, as they dashed along with Mary struggling to keep up with Sarah’s long stride.

Whew! the little nurse exclaimed, trotting beside her taller companion.

You can do it, Mary! Mustn’t let the crowd slow us down, Sarah declared. Over the heads of other pedestrians she spied an overturned fish peddler’s wagon down the block, and a fistfight in progress. Avoiding possible trouble, which had an uncanny way of finding her, she dodged nimbly around the hind end of a rearing horse and guided Mary out of harm’s way.

Most streets in lower Manhattan lacked proper lighting or signage, and at night, unless a person new to the city, such as herself, kept a careful eye out for church steeples and other landmarks, she could easily lose her way. Fortunately she had made a house call or two during daylight hours and had an excellent memory, thus reducing the chance that anything would keep them from an evening of pure enjoyment and edification.

Coming from an outspoken abolitionist family in rural Pennsylvania, Sarah Jeanne Boudinot had grown up believing that slavery was the greatest evil on the planet. Her parents were active in the Underground Railroad, and she had never been slow to speak out for human rights herself.

Her call to take up the cause of women’s suffrage had come shortly after she found herself barred from attending several male-dominated medical schools, solely on the basis of gender. Once her eyes were opened to the plight of half the American population, she did not shirk her calling.

Women’s rights—or, more precisely, the lack of them!—were even easier to sweep under the rug than the issue of slavery. Indeed, many men, while in favor of abolitionism on moral and ethical grounds, still behaved like complete Neanderthals at home.

But now, thanks to women like Lucy Stone, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Miss Anthony, hundreds of women were rallying. As indeed we must, Sarah thought, briskly striding along. It broke her heart to contemplate the plight of disenfranchised women. The minute a woman entered into that not-so-sacred institution called marriage, her property and children—indeed, her very person!—belonged to her husband. Indeed, from that moment on she was entirely dependent upon his charity.

No wonder Lucy Stone held out so long against marriage, Sarah thought, caught up in her righteous musings. Even after Mrs. Stone married that dear saintly man, Henry Blackwell, she still insisted on retaining her maiden name. Having heard Mr. Blackwell speak out for women’s rights at a Friends’ meeting, Sarah admired him enormously.

Now that was the kind of man she would choose as a husband, if ever she deigned to marry. But that wasn’t likely anytime soon. Serving the poor alongside Drs. Elizabeth and Emily Blackwell was a dream come true. No, no, she was much too involved. Marriage was simply out of the question.

Walking briskly, Sarah grabbed Mary’s arm and dodged between a light two-seater carriage and a lumbering freight wagon to avoid a runaway team of horses galloping down the street. As she did so, her nose wrinkled at the smells of manure and garbage left to rot in the gutter, and she made a mental note to badger Mr. Wilkins at the Sanitation District again. He was taking entirely too long to repair the sewer, and the streets needed a good cleaning.

Together the two young women continued down the cobblestone street, weaving in and out among preponderantly male pedestrians and through the heavy evening traffic.

Everyone serious about liberating women from the chains of injustice will be attending tonight’s rally. Sarah broke off, spotting the brightly lit marquee on the meeting hall just ahead. Goodness, that didn’t take long. She beamed with triumph. What did I tell you? Just a pleasant walk.

Above the door, a large canvas banner blazoned in bold black and red letters:

"Emancipate Yourselves, Ladies!

Claim Your Birthright as Man’s Equal.

Gracious me, she exclaimed, as she mounted the steps and peeked inside. The meeting has already started.

Surrendering her tickets to the doorman, she followed Mary inside and slid into an aisle seat near the back. She settled in, eager to hear what the tall energetic male striding up and down behind the podium had to say.

Tonight’s speaker was like no crusader she’d ever laid eyes on. His healthy athletic body put to shame the paunchy physiques of most gentlemen who generally showed up at these meetings. The well chiseled planes in his sun-tanned face beneath raven black hair bespoke intelligence and strong purpose, while his wide sensuous mouth and flashing dark eyes suggested a keen sense of humor. The expensive cut of his suit allowed him to move about the platform with long-legged grace.

And move he did, even descending briefly to appeal directly to the ladies seated up front. A ripple of approval, like surf washing over a moonlit beach, swept through the audience, as always predominantly female.

I hope every woman here tonight will see herself in a powerful new light. The speaker’s quietly intense voice sent shivers of excitement up and down Sarah’s spine. So, ladies, it’s time to embrace your destiny! You have every reason to stand proud, man’s equal in every way.

This sounded excellent to Sarah. She sat forward on her seat.

No more passively yearning for your birthright! No more waiting for the man in your life to give you what is yours for the taking. Knowledge is the key. His voice grew warmly persuasive, evoking soft feminine sighs from his audience. As you put into action what you learn here tonight, you will discover just how much power you actually wield over us men.

He dragged a large three-legged easel to center stage, planted an elegant shoe on a riser next to a footlight, and leaned forward confidingly. His hand, resting casually on his thigh, drew Sarah’s scientific eye to his muscular leg.

Truthfully, ladies— he shared a cheeky grin, —I expect some of my colleagues will brand me as a traitor to my sex after tonight.

Jubilant applause broke out in the lecture hall. The speaker waved them to silence, clearly enjoying the rapport he had struck up with his audience. Even Mary Putnam was agog with admiration. Certainly his style of speaking was spellbinding, unlike anything Sarah had ever witnessed. From early childhood she had attended abolitionist meetings, temperance crusades and, more recently, the Women’s Loyal League. She had been deeply moved before, but never like this.

Thank goodness. A champion who believes in us. Smiling to herself in the dark, Sarah let out a happy sigh.

The speaker lost no time getting down to business. In my private practice I am frequently called upon to treat female hysteria, particularly among young ladies with little or no sexual experience.

Abruptly snapped out of her complacency, Sarah sat up straight. Had she heard correctly? Female hysteria? What possible connection did that have to women’s suffrage? Something was seriously amiss!

Instantly suspicious, she narrowed her eyes. As the auditorium’s back door opened briefly, she checked her program:

"Freedom from Sexual Ignorance

A Lecture by Dr. Gabriel T. McKissack, M.D."

Fuming, she asked herself: How could Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony have allowed a man like Dr. McKissack to infiltrate the ranks? Well, she wasn’t going to sit idly by, while he amused himself at the League’s expense. Nor should the other ladies present. They had paid their fifty cents admission and deserved better!

Incensed, Dr. Sarah sprang to her feet. She would simply expose the man for the humbug he truly was.

Without waiting for recognition from the platform, she threw out a question guaranteed to put an immediate halt to the proceedings:

Dr. McKissack, is it true that you are an advocate of free love?

Chapter Two

Gabriel T. McKissack paused, his right arm suspended in mid-air, about to open the anatomical chart on his easel. His dark eyes flashed, seeking out the owner of that mellifluous, unusually husky voice. Unable to penetrate the darkened hall beyond the first several rows, he inquired, Would you repeat the question, madam?

Do you advocate free love? Sarah slid low in her seat to preserve her anonymity. Let him wriggle out of that! she thought, laughing to herself. She knew the Loyal League—oh, did she ever! Why, every women present would boo him off the platform!

Hands on hips, McKissack walked to the footlights. His open frockcoat exposed a broad expanse of chest and powerful shoulders beneath his snowy white shirt and black tie. The way he flaunted his masculinity enflamed Sarah’s sensibilities even more. She had been raised in a home where genteel refinement, not blatant cockiness, was the norm.

Your question, dear lady, is hardly germane, but if it will set your mind at ease— No, I am not a proponent of free love—or prostitution, for that matter. He grinned, rubbing his chin, as if the idea merited serious thought. "My point is, the experience should be mutually enjoyable. And that, madam, is germane to my lecture, so let’s get on with it, shall we?"

Scattered applause indicated that others wished to pursue the subject of sexual liberty, even if Sarah did not.

Who is this man, and how did he get in here? She glanced around the dimly lit auditorium, appalled that anyone would broach such a subject in a public forum. Why, even in her office she used the utmost delicacy when discussing the facts of reproduction.

Obviously Dr. McKissack felt no such reticence.

Irritated no end, Sarah supposed he might hoodwink less educated women, but she had access to the same medical textbooks he did. And she deeply resented his assertion that marital intimacy promised more than it did. The purpose of sexual intercourse was procreation, plain and simple. Anyway it wasn’t as if the human race was in any danger of becoming extinct! Yet it seemed the world was full of obsessive fools like Dr. McKissack spouting nonsense!

What was needed was more restraint, and a lot less—well, for lack of a better word to describe it—whangdoodle!

Just then the door behind her cracked open again. Enough light from the foyer spilled across Sarah’s program for her to read the rest of the front page:

Free Admission

8 P.M. at Carpenter’s Union Hall,

32 West Chelsea Street

Free! Sarah squawked. Chelsea Street? She shot out of her seat a second time and grabbed Mary’s arm. Not only have I been robbed, but we’re in the wrong place!

Sit down, young woman, said a woman two seats away.

I can’t see around you, another woman complained behind her.

Sarah ignored them. I apologize, Mary. What can I say? The banner outside. I just naturally assumed— She beckoned for her friend to rise and follow, but Mary’s eyes seemed glued to Dr. McKissack’s anatomical chart.

Oh, close your mouth, Mary! Sarah snapped. It’s only a— Her own jaw dropped, as she inspected the gigantic colorized clitoris and outer labia displayed on the easel. She had studied similar charts during her medical training, but for Dr. McKissack to place it on public display! It was altogether more than she could endure.

Dr. McKissack! Is nothing sacred? she blurted out loud.

Gabe McKissack set down his pointer with a dramatic sigh and stepped to the edge of the platform. He could barely make out the tall slender silhouette at the back of the hall. The voice was low and throaty, the timbre passionate. I can’t quite make you out, madam. Would somebody please turn up the house lights?

No, please— Though reluctant to be put on public display, she stood her ground, nonetheless, hoping to make her point. With the country in the throes of a violent civil war, surely you can find a better use for your time than to lecture on female anatomy! Frankly, I find your display outrageous!

McKissack raised his eyebrows, amusement written all over his face, and leaned over the podium. Indeed? I find female anatomy perfectly fascinating. But to address your concern that I am somehow attacking one of the sacred cows of a repressive society, let’s be blunt, shall we? It’s time to strip away the ridiculous taboos that rob women of the joys of sexual coitus.

By now the audience was fairly bristling with excitement. All eyes swiveled toward the back of the auditorium to see how the mystery woman obscured in deep shadow would respond.

Do you have anything to add? he asked, welcoming debate.

Like yourself, I am a doctor. Sarah cleared her throat. She wished she had a few Loyal Leaguers to lend moral support, but she couldn’t stop now without appearing a coward.

Ah! Your name, please?

Dr. McKissack, if you intend to embarrass me, I shall leave this instant. I’m here only because I mistook your meeting for the Loyal League rally being held at— Sarah squinted at her ticket stub,—at the Church of the Puritans on— Well, it’s obvious I got the streets mixed up.

McKissack sent his long black pointer sailing into the wings like a javelin. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a female doctor with us tonight, he announced with a mocking bow in Sarah’s direction. A sardonic smile lit his handsome face. So shy and modest that she prefers to remain a mysterious spectre in our midst. Being a gentleman, I defer to my colleague’s desire for anonymity. Am I correct so far, madam?

Sarah bristled. I prefer to be called ‘Doctor’!

Since the doctor is a follower of the formidable Miss Anthony, let’s explore other viewpoints regarding female sexuality, shall we? Dr. McKissack’s inquiring look invited affirmation from his audience, and the burst of applause he got made Sarah cringe.

Removing his elegant coat, Gabe McKissack handed it across the footlights to a blonde woman in the front row. Next he removed his cufflinks and rolled up his shirt sleeves as if preparing for a pugilistic exhibition.

Let’s get down to basics, Doctor, he said, depositing the jeweled cufflinks in his pocket and walking to the edge of the platform. You represent the majority view, I grant you that. Many females—uh, I assume you are female, despite the unusually deep voice?

Yes, I’m female! Sarah growled, infuriated by his patronizing manner. But that has nothing to do with the subject at hand.

I think it has everything to do with it, he replied with a vexing chuckle. Are you married?

Certainly not!

McKissack spread his hands wide in an amused shrug. There you have it, ladies. An expert with no hands-on experience.

Sarah choked. For a brief moment, she wished she could forget she was a lady—and a pacifist!—and wipe the smirk off her opponent’s face. Since fisticuffs were out, she settled for a match of wits.

Dr. McKissack, my practice is devoted to the care of women and children. I have little time, nor do I feel inclined to treat women for ‘female hysteria’ and fainting spells, as you seem to, she said primly. The women who come to me suffer from poor housing, overwork, too many children and inadequate nutrition. They come to me sick in mind, body and spirit, and I do my level best to give them a reason to go on living.

Bravo! McKissack said in a mildly bored tone.

Sarah lifted her chin a notch higher. The last thing my patients need is more subjugation, she continued, warming to her subject. Yet they are forced by unjust laws to put up with husbands who squander their pay on alcohol and gambling! If she objects, she receives more abuse. Faced by a sea of eyes, she summoned up her courage. "What women need is the vote, not a course in bedroom etiquette!"

By the time Sarah paused to catch her breath, McKissack’s indifferent slouch at the podium was long gone. Stroking his chin, he gazed thoughtfully at the tall willowy shadow. I admire your passionate spirit, Doctor, he said softly. It’s been ages since I ran into a pure white soul. Pray continue.

Sarah drew herself up to full height, her heart churning. She surprised even herself, for she had no real experience in public elocution. The fact is, women have more to fear from men than—ahem!—suffering through their husbands’ fumbling sexual overtures.

Growing bolder, she decided to put in a few good licks for the Cause. What woman in her right mind would consent to sell herself into servitude? Yet millions do just that, by saying two little words: ‘I do.’ I ask you, ladies: What institution robs a woman of her legal rights? Marriage! It’s the scourge of womankind!

Thank you, madam, for that sample of fire and brimstone preaching. McKissack bowed to his opponent. Prepare now to hear the gospel of celibacy and sexual blackmail! Ladies, please. Don’t let me hinder any of you who may wish to convert to the Cause.

I didn’t come to this meeting to be mocked! Sarah frantically signaled to Mary to get up out of her seat, so they could make a dignified exit.

McKissack leaned across the podium with a sardonic smile. Tell me, Doctor, what counsel do you give your patients regarding achieving orgasm?

His question echoed off the back wall, halting Sarah in her tracks. She spun around in a fury. I won’t dignify that remark!

Mary Putnam stood gawking at Dr. Sarah as if she’d grown two heads. She knew she held strong opinions, but she had never lost her composure under fire before.

Sarah caught her nurse’s astonished look and flushed at having made such a spectacle of herself. Are you coming, Mary?

Before Mary could respond, the enemy on the platform fired a parting shot. Like a sharpshooter’s bullet, it found its mark and ricocheted up and down Sarah’s spine. A pity you can’t stay, he drawled. I was about to offer you a free consultation. He winked at his audience, who were thoroughly enjoying the heated exchange. Like you, I take my share of charity cases. Should you ever feel a hot flash coming on, or the urge to swoon, I’d be happy to fit you in. As a professional courtesy.

I have never fainted in my life! she shouted, her fists balled in rage.

Not even at the sight of blood? McKissack taunted.

"Au contraire. I wouldn’t mind bleeding you, Sarah admitted with such venom that she shocked even herself. About seven litres worth!"

He let out a low whistle. I fear I’ve misjudged you, Doctor. Tell you what: I’ll risk placing myself in your tender care, if you’ll have dinner with me after my lecture.

She shuddered with revulsion. No, thank you! Only a fool would accept such an offer.

His eyes burned into her like shining black coals. Doctor, I’ve treated tougher cases than yours. I have a phenomenal cure rate, I might add.

"Oh, spare me anymore braggadocia!"

Raising his eyebrows, McKissack continued to goad his opponent. Actually I’m being quite modest. In my experience, I’ve found there’s no such thing as a frigid woman; only inept men.

His words had an incendiary effect upon Sarah’s body. As close as she could describe the hot pooling sensation that settled low in her solar plexus, it was like being set on fire!

Tugging and straightening the front of her dress, she opened her mouth, but found herself momentarily speechless. Even in college harassment from male students had never sent her through the roof like this man. He was utterly despicable, using her to entertain this frivolous audience!

The fault generally lies with the male, who is oftentimes lazy or unlearned, McKissack added, getting his licks in. Because his pride can’t accept that the male is physiologically inferior, he prefers to keep his partner in the dark—no pun intended. His luminous eyes again directed the audience’s attention to the slender woman in the back. Women have only themselves to blame if they choose to remain ignorant. My dear colleague, your crusade against fear, disease, poverty and human misery sounds noble, but you’re going about it all wrong. You and your Loyal Leaguers can harp on equal rights till you all end up in an old maids’ retirement home. But I suggest, ladies, that you already have the power to bend men to your will. You just need to discover the truth for yourselves. In a word, ‘Know thyself,’ from the inside out.

What a charlatan! Sarah sneered, finding her voice again. Everyone knows the laws of this land are unjust. Give women the vote and equal rights. That will put a stop to gullible women flocking in droves to your office to be treated for so-called female hysteria!

He threw back his head and laughed heartily. He couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed sparring with a female more. Touché!

Suddenly the hiss of gaslights lit up the auditorium, catching Sarah by surprise. Much of her bravado fizzled, as hundreds of curious eyes turned her way.

Thank you, Mr. Zambini. I wondered when you’d get around to that, McKissack drawled, casting his gaze on the simply dressed young woman who had singlehandedly turned what was meant to be a scholarly lecture into a delightful free-for-all!

His opponent was clearly embarrassed at being placed in the spotlight. He caught only a glimpse of a flushed oval face before she hastily made for the exit. She was razor thin and unusually tall for a woman, with shiny chestnut hair worn in a bun at the nape of a long slender neck. He hadn’t time to discern anything else, but he knew he would never forget the husky resonance of her voice.

As the door banged behind the woman and her short companion, a ripple of expectation called Gabe’s attention back to his audience. He gestured toward the exit. What a shame, he boomed cheerfully. The good doctor would have made an interesting subject for my research. Now where were we, before we were interrupted?

In the lobby Sarah caught his remark and winced. Let’s get out of here, she muttered, jerking on her gloves.

Outside, the two women headed due west. My cousin Ann is Dr. McKissack’s scrub nurse over at New York Central, Mary volunteered, trotting along. She says he has a reputation as a wonderful lover, she sighed. Of course, he’s also a very fine surgeon.

Can we just concentrate on getting to the rally? Sarah gritted through her teeth. Her long legs picked up speed.

Just trying to be helpful, Mary persisted. I wouldn’t want you to think he’s a quack.

She swung around, her blue eyes flashing beneath the corner street lamp. Enough, Mary. Not another word.

But— Mary stared with mouth agape. Never had she seen Dr. Boudinot in such a state.

Sarah’s voice shook. How can I put it more succinctly? I wouldn’t be caught dead in the same operating room with the man!

She turned on her sturdy black heel and stalked into the darkness.

Chapter Three

One month later, April 1864

Sarah sat gazing out her garret window at the night sky. The War Department’s telegram and her mother’s tear-stained letter lay side by side in her lap, both delivering the same devastating news: On March 4th, following Kilpatrick’s Raid near Stevensburg, Virginia, her peace-loving father had been taken prisoner, while tending wounded Union soldiers awaiting transport along the railroad tracks.

Use your influence as a physician when you write the Surgeon General, Dr. William Hammond, her mother had written, clearly distraught.

Of course, the idea was preposterous. To the government, Daniel Boudinot was a regrettable statistic, his plight no different from tens of thousands of other civilians. Yet her mother had turned to her in blind faith, believing that Sarah could just walk into Dr. Hammond’s office, and her father’s release from a Confederate prison would be a fait accompli.

According to the Army’s dispatch, a band of Lee’s men had swept down on the Union Army’s medical and burial details, left behind and unguarded. Sarah was not surprised that her father had been caught in the middle of the action. Although a conscientious objector, Daniel Boudinot had deliberated less than five minutes before volunteering his skills as a healer.

Sarah had no doubt how he would have conducted himself during the brief exchange of gunfire at the railroad depot. He was the most balanced, rational man she had ever known. As a prisoner, he was no doubt taking his captivity in stride, ministering to his fellow men, regardless of which side they fought on. That was just his way.

But that still left his daughter in a quandary. Five winters ago, Lucy Boudinot had come down with rheumatic fever, and though she remained strong in spirit, managing the farm alone had become too much for her waning physical strength. Now the strain of worry added a far greater burden, as her mother’s letter clearly revealed.

Indeed, Lucy had just cause for worry. Her husband had a price on his head for helping slaves escape to Canada on the Underground Railroad. Once the Confederates realized who he was, his life would immediately be forfeit.

Reading between the lines of her mother’s letter, Sarah knew her mother didn’t fear his death nearly as much as the prospect of having to go on living without him. Her parents’ love ran deep. Even when she was growing up, it was apparent that Daniel was Lucy’s strength, just as she was his very heartbeat. A month had passed since her father’s disappearance, and her mother was making herself sick with worry. Should disease, starvation, or a firing squad take her father, Sarah feared it wouldn’t be long before her mother joined him in the grave.

In that poignant moment of soul searching, a pale Luna moth collided with Sarah’s windowpane. Its wings beat frantically, buffeted by sharp winds coming off the cold East River. Its fragile wings focused Sarah once again on her greatest concern: Would her mother be able to weather the storm that now gathered like a dark cloud on their family’s horizon?

Sarah shifted uneasily in her spindle-back chair. The hour was late. Beyond her window, the city lights flickered out, one by one. She must decide soon how to respond. Wearily she rose to dispose of apple peels and put away the cheese and crackers left over from her frugal supper.

She began to pace her tiny garret restlessly. As she envisioned her father in a dank prison cell, possibly awaiting execution, a new wave of urgency swept through her. There was simply not time to write congressmen from New York and Pennsylvania in the hope of arranging an exchange of prisoners.

But she did have some free time coming up. She and the other doctors worked on a system of rotation. With Dr. Marie Zakrzewska, an incredibly gifted homeopath, filling in at the clinic right now, she wouldn’t be missed if she took off a couple of weeks to find her father.

This was her golden opportunity.

Almost at once the Sanitation Commission came to mind. Her father had written in glowing terms about the bravery of a middle-aged school teacher named Clarissa Barton and her band of volunteers who nursed the wounded and dying on various battlefields. Defying the whine of stray bullets, these brave souls brought what solace they could to the wounded and dying.

Unfortunately news of her father’s capture could not have reached her at a worse time. She was buried beneath a mountain of debts from medical school, and her stipend at the clinic barely kept her afloat. It took money to travel, and money to care for wounded men. Most of Miss Barton’s volunteers dug deep into their own pockets to provide for the men’s comfort.

So did that mean she must sit idly by and do nothing?

One other option lay open to her: The Army of the Potomac had issued a call for physicians to follow the troops into battle.

* * *

By two o’clock in the morning, she was packed. Her valise contained three changes of cotton underwear, an extra pair of sturdy walking shoes, her medical diploma, and her instrument case. She had letters in her pocket to post to her employers and her mother.

No turning back now. With God’s help, she would join Grant’s forces in Virginia and find her father.

At first light she crept downstairs and tapped on her landlady’s door. Mrs. O’Reilly blinked owlishly at the valise in her tenant’s hand and the paper sack that held half a loaf of rye bread and three apples to eat on the train. But the kind old lady accepted the news with her usual good grace, and to make up for not giving proper notice, Sarah paid an extra week’s rent. Times were hard, and her landlady needed every penny to keep afloat.

Mrs. O’Reilly stuffed the crumpled bills down the bosom of her widow’s black and trailed through the downstairs flat behind Sarah. If you was my dotter, you’d not be traipsin’ off to Washington, leastways not when it’s in such a sorry state. Huh! Soldiers and scallywags all over the place! ‘Tis no fit place for a decent young lady like yerself, she sniffed.

Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. Sarah wrapped her landlady in a big hug. I’ll be back soon. I promise.

Within the hour Sarah was on the southbound train, jostling elbows with new recruits from New York’s 126th regiment. After paying for cab fare and a one way train ticket, she had less than thirty dollars to her name.

* * *

After eight days of haunting Dr. Hammond’s waiting room, her persistence finally paid off and she won an audience with him.

The harried Surgeon General didn’t look up from busily signing papers. Young lady, it’s only your sheer tenacity that has persuaded me to see you.

Sarah smiled wearily, clutching her medical bag and valise. Her head was pounding, making it difficult to concentrate with all the noise created by a dozen carpenters remodeling the office next door. For days she had endured cannons being fired on the lawn in front of the War Department, and the crunch of wagon and carriage wheels and marching feet beneath Dr. Hammond’s office windows.

The city was filthy, the streets muddied by spring rains. Sarah had begun to wonder if Mrs. O’Reilly’s assessment wasn’t right after all. But perhaps if she weren’t so hungry and tired, things wouldn’t seem so hopeless.

She drew a steadying breath and stated her mission: I’ve come to volunteer my skills as a physician.

Dr. Hammond shuffled through his papers, barely glancing up. Dear child, he replied with amused tolerance, you wouldn’t last five seconds under the strain of battlefield conditions.

Dr. Hammond, at least consider my credentials. I have them right here, if you will but take the time to look them over. She held out her college records, her license to practice medicine in the State of New York, and prized letters of reference.

The Surgeon General waved aside her papers. That’d be fine if you were a man, but you’re not. His eyes flicked over her assessingly. See here, Miss Broderick—

Boudinot, she corrected, her patience stretched thin.

Ignoring her, he resumed signing stacks of invoices in triplicate. One by one, he handed the forms off to his assistant.