Page 5 of Caught in Time
“You look absolutely lovely even though you are wearing such a somber color.”
Charlotte smiled at her friend. Annabelle’s cheer was positively infectious, and she felt herself genuinely smiling at the other woman as she heaped oatmeal and biscuits onto a plate.
Annabelle’s eyes turned suddenly serious as she tapped a finger on the kitchen table.
“We need to inquire about a job for you at the Marshall House Hospital. I gave it much more thought after we discussed it last night and I think it will be just the thing for you. We can’t very well play off your knowledge as a surgeon, but we’ll tell everyone that you trained alongside your late father who was a doctor.”
“Why the Marshall House Hospital? Is that wise? What will the Confederate inhabitants of Savannah think of a Southern woman volunteering at a Union hospital?”
“First of all, I must inform you that I am a Southern unionist. There are others in Savannah who are also Southern unionists like me such as Mr.Dit Breuan, an architect, and Mr. Joseph Sanders, a hotel proprietor. We stand forpreserving the United States' federal union and oppose secession, seeing it as a betrayal of the nation's founding principles.I believe in the legitimacy of the Constitution and support the abolition of slavery. I am against white supremacy.”
“ Oh, now I understand why you would encourage me to work at a Union hospital,” Charlotte replied.
“Good, I’m so happy you do, my dear. I must ask if you share my beliefs.”
“Yes, I certainly do, and considering this, I agree that working at the Union hospital would be a good idea,” Charlotte replied with a smile.
Charlotte spent the day with Annabelle helping her adjust to her new surroundings. She struggled to keep up with her friend’s constant chatter. At the end of the day her mind whirled with the effort of learning an entirely new way of life. It was just like visiting a third world country, she supposed, except that this was her country! The glamour she had perceived from watching movies about this era and from participating in reenactments was nowhere to be found. Everything was filthy, dusty, and hot. There was no television to relax in front of, no showers to wash the sweat from her grimy tired body.Was this destiny?Had fate played some sort of cruel joke on her? Or had she gone completely insane?
She finally decided to sit on the front porch swing attempting to calm her whirling thoughts. Charlotte lifted her head and saw a Union soldier walking slowly up the path to the house. He was approximately six feet tall and was wearing a snug-fitting blue woolen tunic with a high stiff collar embroidered with decorative scrollwork. A rich, bright green sash encircled a trim waist and intricate gold buttons closed the front of the jacket. Double bordered narrow straps with a green background atop each of his shoulders bore Major’s bars and the initials “M.S.” bedecked the impeccable high collar. Those initials represent Medical Staff!Her heart gave a lurch as her mouth gaped in undisguised awe at the man’s impressive appearance. His uniform fit him like a second skin. When he reached the porch, Charlotte admired his neatly trimmed blond hair that shone beneath his blue cap, He possessed a strong, clean-shaven face. He was handsome—no not handsome, this man wasbeyondhandsome—but when her gaze slid up to meet his eyes ... her breath froze ... their blue hue left her completely mesmerized.I have never seen eyes so captivatingly blue!After several mindless moments, she gathered her scattered thoughts and snapped her mouth shut.
****
Union army surgeon, Major Spencer Abbott, stopped dead in his tracks as he approached Miss Beauregard’s house. A beautiful young woman was quite simply a vision sitting on the porch. Long, ebony curls cascaded down her back in waves and the gentle breeze brushed soft strands enticingly across her cheeks. Spencer imagined how it would feel to brush the stray locks away from her smooth skin, letting his fingers linger on the creamy flesh. As he drew closer, her lovely green eyes that contrasted vividly with pale milky skin, and the delicate bone structure of her heart-shaped face enthralled him. Her captivating eyes were cast down and the slightest hint of a smile curved the corners of her full, pink—kissable—lips. She was probably in her late twenties and she was lovely.
The sight of a woman had never so physically struck him, but the image of the ethereally lovely lady poised on the porch swing like a goddess in a dream pierced him to the core. This woman was undoubtedly a timelessly classic beauty. He suddenly realized that his jaw had gone slack. Spencer snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. Her eyes locked on his as he reached the porch steps. Her eyes lifted as she rose from the swing, a demure smile lighting her face.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
Spencer was rendered quite speechless as he gazed into the wide green pools of her eyes. So lovely and vast, surely if he ventured too close to them, he would fall into them forever.
“I’m—I’m sorry, what?” he stammered, unable to look away from her enchanting face.
“Are you here to see Miss Annabelle? You must be wondering who I am. Allow me to introduce myself. I am her niece, Miss Charlotte Liddell, recently arrived from Atlanta.”
“Pleased to meet you. Your aunt invited me to dinner yesterday when I met her at the Marshall House hospital,” he said unsteadily.
He tried to grasp at a shred of composure before continuing.
“My aunt just went inside for a moment. Would you like to sit and wait for her?”
He grinned as she flashed him a coy, flirtatious smile.
“Only if you will join me while I wait.”
She lowered her lashes. “Of course I’ll wait with you.”
As the delightful Miss Liddell strolled slowly along the porch he enjoyed the sway of her hooped skirt around her legs. She didn’t walk like other southern girls, with studied mincing steps, but moved with poise and something else he could not quite put his finger on. It was intriguing.
“I am terribly sorry if I startled you, sir,” she apologized, gracefully reseating herself.
He laughed and when she joined in, the sincere quality of her laughter struck him. It was not the prim and proper giggle of practiced amusement he was accustomed to hearing.
“Well, Miss Liddell, what do you say to starting over then?”
He turned to her, smiling and cleared his throat.
“I am Doctor Spencer Abbott, a surgeon currently tending to fifty wounded Union soldiers of the twenty-fifth Independent Battery, New York Light Artillery at the Marshall House Hospital. I hold the rank of Major.”
