Page 4 of Caught in Time
The women talked for hours, Annabelle assuring Charlotte that everything would turn out well. Annabelle had no need to reinforce the history lessons Charlotte had learned in school. Luckily, the brilliant surgeon and Civil War history buff had attended quite a few reenactments with her brother Jefferson where actors recreated the battles, daily lives, and most important events that happened during the Civil War. Having studied the contents of many pamphlets about etiquette during the Civil War, she had become very familiar with the subject.
“What profession did you have in 2024?” Annabelle asked.
“I was a surgeon at the Memorial Health University Medical Center here in Savannah.” Charlotte put a hand to her brow and shook her head.
“Or worked as a surgeon. I don’t know if I will ever be one again.”
Her voice broke and her composure threatened to crumble again.
She gathered her wits and asked Annabelle a question.
“What profession do you have?”
“I have been a teacher at the Massie Common School located on the city’s Taylor Square on East Gordon Street for twenty years. It is part of the first public school system in Savannah, Georgia.”
“Well, that sounds interesting. Do you enjoy teaching the children?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes, I certainly do. I have also been thinking of a job for you. I believe you can be of use at the Union hospital at the Marshall House,” Annabelle said cheerfully.
“Do you mean the one on the fourth floor?”
“The very same. You have more medical training than anyone claiming the title of surgeon currently. I went over to the hospital yesterday to offer my time as a volunteer. I met a wonderful doctor there. His name is Major Spencer Abbott. We got along famously, and he accepted my invitation to dinner tonight. Aren’t we fortunate?”
“Yes, I suppose we are. However, so much for medical school and my internship at the hospital,” Charlotte said wryly. She knew that in the mid-nineteenth century two six-month semesters of medical school or an apprenticeship with an established physician were all the education required to earn a medical degree.
“But I don’t really know much about what kind of medicines are available in this time or what treatments are used!”
“Well, you do know about anatomy, physiology, wound care, and caring for the sick and injured,” Annabelle pointed out.
Charlotte realized that Annabelle’s tone left no room for argument.
“Yes, I suppose I can be of use to the sick and wounded in the hospital, and the community,” she conceded.
The women talked for another hour, concocting and perfecting an identity for Charlotte. They decided that she could assume the identity of Annabelle’s niece who had recently arrived from the devastated city of Atlanta.
“Well,” Annabelle said in a bright voice, “that is enough for now. I’ll find you some clothes and get you to bed. You’ve had quite a disturbing experience, and it won’t do to keep you up all night jawing.”
Charlotte rose wearily to follow Annabelle out of the parlor and up a flight of stairs.
****
Charlotte woke to thesoft patter of rain on the window and stretched beneath her quilt. More rested than she had been in months, she smiled with her eyes still closed. Thank God for vacations at the Marshall House. The last thing she remembered was—
Memories came crashing in on her.
“This has to be a dream,” she said aloud, sitting up in bed.
But no, she realized. Everything was real. She was in Savannah 1864, in the middle of the Civil War’s Confederate south. Tears welled once again in her eyes, and she lacked the strength to get out of bed. Sobs tore from her—ones she was unable to control.
When the tears subsided, she realized that what she had wanted was a new life and now she had one!
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she set to the task of getting dressed.
Annabelle had pulled a trunk full of clothes out of the attic the night before, saying, “Pick out whatever takes your fancy, my dear. From what you’ve told me you’ll have no difficulty getting dressed.”
Rifling through the garments Charlotte knew exactly what she was seeking. After only a few minutes she had managed to navigate her way through the many buttons and ribbons that held things together. She turned triumphantly to the full-length mirror in her room. The reflection staring back at her was unrecognizable. Every time she donned Civil War era clothing for reenactments, she never ceased to be shocked at her transformation into a demure, southern belle. Since she was still supposedly still in deep mourning for her father, she had remembered to choose a dark blue gown. She noticed that the dress perfectly flattered her petite figure, fitting snugly against her bosom and torso, before flaring at the hips to give her waist a remarkably slender appearance. Almost hesitantly, Charlotte raised a hand to the modestly dipped neckline as though to ensure itwasher in the mirror. The act of wearing the gown made her feel like a new person,a new person with a new life. She tidied her long hair with the brush Annabelle had provided the night before, wearing it down rather than trying to fashion it into some sort of upsweep. Quietly, she descended the wooden stairs and smiled at the sight of Annabelle bustling about the kitchen humming what sounded like a Rolling Stones song.
“Good morning, dear,” the other woman said as she smiled warmly. Annabelle motioned for her guest to come forward.
