On the morning of her appointment with the director of nurses in Washington, Julia stood before the mirror in her hotel suite and removed her earbobs, rings, and other jewelry. Refusing her maid’s help, she pulled her own hair back into a bun, taming the wild, springy curls that everyone said made her look angelic, and pinned it tightly in place without her fancy combs. She scrubbed her face in the porcelain washbasin until it was clean and shiny, then resisted the urge to dab color on her lips and cheeks. By the time she put on the plain brown muslin dress she’d had custom made according to Miss Dix’s standards, Julia barely recognized the woman who stared back at her in the mirror. All of the emblems that identified her as a woman of wealth and class had been removed.
Part of her felt stripped down, as coarse and common as her servant, Inga. But another part of Julia felt free, as if she had shed the spoiled, self-absorbed Julia Hoffman whom she’d grown to dislike. She saw a changed person in the mirror—at least on the outside. Perhaps in time she would become a brand-new person on the inside, too, a person Nathaniel would respect.
“Oh, Julia! What a hideous dress,” her aunt said when she swept in from her adjoining room. “You can’t possibly go out in public in such a thing. It’s a disgrace.”
“This dress is brand-new, Aunt Eunice. And it’s perfectly respectable.”
“Not for a woman of your social position. Why on earth would you wear such an outfit? There’s no lace, no trimmings, not even a decent tuck or a pleat. There can’t be more than five yards of material in that entire dress. And gracious me! No hoops? You look like a common serving girl. People will get the wrong idea about you.”
“You carry on as if I’m stark-naked,” Julia said irritably. “Besides, this is required clothing for nurses.”
“Then I don’t understand why on earth you would want to become one.”
Julia thought of several replies she could give: that she couldn’t understand a life like her aunt’s; that a nurse’s life had meaning and purpose; that she was the same person with or without tucks and pleats and hoops. Instead, she said, “We’d better hurry or we’ll be late for our appointment.”
The hotel doorman hailed a cab for them, and they splashed across town through the mud-mired streets to the home of Miss Dorothea Dix. The director of nurses was expecting them. She led them into her dark, tiny parlor, asked them to be seated, and told the serving girl to bring tea.
Miss Dix was in her early sixties, a tall, thin woman with the posture of a general. On the surface, her manner seemed stern and brusque, but Julia thought she saw compassion in her gray eyes when she asked Julia why she had come.
“I would like to apply for a position as an army nurse,” Julia replied.
“How old are you, Miss Hoffman?”
“Almost twenty. But I’ve brought letters of recommendation attesting to my maturity and character, if you’d like to see them.” She retrieved them from her purse and handed them to the nursing director.
Julia and her aunt sat in silence while Miss Dix read them carefully. As she returned the last letter to its envelope, the serving girl arrived with a tray of tea things. Several long, agonizing minutes passed as Miss Dix filled three cups with tea, passed them around, made sure everyone had cream and sugar, then sat down again. Julia set her cup on an end table, unable to wait another moment.
“I know you’ll say I’m too young,” she blurted, “but I want to be a nurse more than anything else.”
“May I ask why, Miss Hoffman?”
“I was a spectator at the Battle of Bull Run, a guest of Congressman Rhodes. I saw wounded men there who needed help, and I didn’t know what to do for them.”
Miss Dix nodded slightly, as if encouraging Julia to continue.
“My cousin Robert is a lieutenant in the Union army. We learned last October that he has been taken prisoner. He gave up everything to do his part for his country, and that’s what I want to do, too. I want to do something for Robert and for other soldiers like him. Our minister back home started a chapter of the Christian Commission in Philadelphia, and when he told us about the need for nurses I felt compelled to help. … It’s hard to explain.”
Miss Dix took a sip of tea, then said, “Most young women your age are settling down with husbands and starting families. Doesn’t that interest you?”
Julia shook her head, suppressing a shudder at the thought of settling down with a man like Arthur Hoyt. “I would like to marry someday,” she said, “but not now. I don’t want to get tied down when there’s work to be done. I want to help our soldiers.”
“Nearly all of my nurses are married,” Miss Dix said, gazing steadily at Julia. “They volunteer because their husbands are at war and they hope to remain near them. I do accept single women as long as they are over thirty years of age. I’ve found that the younger, unmarried women who come to me are almost always curiosity seekers. To be blunt, they come to meet men.”
“I’m not here to find a husband, Miss Dix. My family is wealthy and very active socially. I’ve never lacked for suitors, as my aunt can tell you.” She turned to her aunt for corroboration and discovered that she had dozed off in her chair. Julia wanted to shout “Hey!Wake up and help me!” Instead, she exhaled in frustration and turned back to Miss Dix. “I’ve read about the work you’ve done for the underprivileged. How you saw a need and felt compelled to do something about it. Surely you understand how I feel?”
Miss Dix studied her for a long moment. “I believe you are sincere, Miss Hoffman. These letters attest to your outstanding character. But to accept a nurse as young as you are, especially one who is pretty and unmarried, would go against all the rules I have laid down.”
“Please, isn’t there any way you can make an exception?”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t.”
“Please …I beg you.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Julia didn’t dare speak for fear she would cry. The room fell silent except for her aunt’s gentle snoring and the delicate clink of china as Miss Dix sipped her tea. Julia knew she should leave, but her disappointment so immobilized her that she didn’t have the strength to lift her teacup, much less move from her chair.
Miss Dix glanced at Aunt Eunice and smiled slightly. “I know how disappointing it is when things don’t go quite the way you hoped,” she said. “I’ve worked so hard to organize a corps of trained army nurses who will work competently and efficiently …and do you know that there are hospital physicians who bypass my system all the time? Some doctors seem to hate the thought of having a woman in charge, and they take great delight in overruling all my orders.”
Julia looked up. Miss Dix was gazing at her intently, her gray eyes sparking. Julia had the feeling she was trying to tell her something, but she didn’t know what.
“How …how do these doctors overrule your orders?”
“Well, if an individual physician decides to ignore all my rules, he can hire a woman to work directly with him as a nurse in his hospital—and there is really nothing I can do about it.”
“And some doctors do that?”
“Oh yes. All the time. They can ignore my rules and decisions and place anyone they please on record as a regularly enrolled army nurse.”
Julia’s pulse quickened with hope. She glanced at her aunt again to make sure she was still asleep. “I’m sorry to hear that these doctors hire nurses against your wishes. May I ask, is there any doctor in particular who regularly defies you?”
Miss Dix smiled. “I like you, Julia. You remind me of myself— only I wasn’t half as pretty or as privileged as you are. If I had been, I do believe I would have preferred to marry comfortably and raise a family.”
“That might have been nice for you, but it would have been a great loss for our country.”
“Thank you, dear.” She gently set her cup in the saucer and placed them on the tea tray. Then she scooped the letters from her lap and handed them back to Julia. “You are totally unsuitable, Miss Hoffman. You’re young, pretty, and single—everything we do not want in a nurse.” She paused, then added, “Dr. James McGrath would like nothing better than to drive me to distraction by hiring you. He’s crude, unorthodox, and insufferably rude. Very few of the nurses I’ve sent to the hospital he runs in the former Fairfield Hotel can stand to work with him for very long—which is probably why he hires his own nurses.”
Julia repeated the doctor’s name and the name of the hospital to herself, memorizing them.
“More tea?” Miss Dix asked, lifting the teapot. A spoon fell off Julia’s saucer and clattered to the floor. Aunt Eunice’s eyes flew open. She sat blinking at the two women, as if trying to pretend she hadn’t fallen asleep, waiting to slip back into the stream of conversation.
“No more tea for me, thank you,” Julia said, placing her cup on the tray. “I know you’re busy, Miss Dix, and I’m afraid my aunt and I have already taken up too much of your time.”
“Lovely tea,” her aunt said groggily. “You’ve been very kind.”
They stood, and much to Julia’s surprise, Miss Dix took her arm companionably and walked with her to the front door. As she lifted Julia’s bonnet and cloak from the coat-tree and handed them to her she said, “I wish you luck, my dear. I hope you find what you’re looking for. And I hope you find contentment with your work.”
“Have you found that, Miss Dix?”
“Oh yes. Immeasurably so.”
Julia knew her aunt was befuddled as they returned to the waiting carriage. She kept looking awkwardly at Julia as if waiting for her cue, unwilling to admit she didn’t know the outcome of their meeting. Julia understood that it was wrong to tell a lie. But she wanted to be a nurse, and the door to accomplishing her goal through honest means had slammed in her face.
“Wasn’t that wonderful news?” she asked her aunt, not quite meeting her eyes. “I can’t wait to wire home and tell everyone that Miss Dix has accepted me as a nurse.”
Aunt Eunice didn’t try to disguise her dismay. “Your father won’t be pleased. He was quite certain you’d be turned down and that you’d be forced to return home disappointed.”
“Well, he was wrong. Listen, let’s get an early start tomorrow morning and find a boardinghouse near the hospital.”
“Which hospital is that again, dear?”
“It’s in the former Fairfield Hotel. They’ve made it into a hospital.” The lies rested so uncomfortably on her tongue that she was afraid to look at her aunt. Julia felt certain that the shame burning her cheeks would give her away. She decided that the sooner she was rid of her aunt, the sooner her conscience would ease.
Julia arose early the next morning and began her quest to find a reputable boardinghouse near Fairfield Hospital. Progress proved frustratingly slow. In fact, she quickly discovered that finding an empty room for rent anywhere in Washington was next to impossible. By the end of a second long, fruitless day she decided to concentrate on finding a room that met her aunt’s standards—which meant women boarders only—and never mind what the room looked like or how close it was to the hospital.
They found a vacancy on the third afternoon, but the room was small and depressing. It came furnished with a sagging bed, a dresser with a mismatched washbasin and pitcher, a small fireplace with a watery mirror above it, and a shabby rag rug on the bare wooden floor. The room’s only window overlooked the brick wall of the building next door. There was no closet or wardrobe, and the only place she would have to hang her plain brown dress was on a hook on the wall.
“No, no, no. This is dreadful, Julia,” Aunt Eunice said, clicking her tongue. “Why, it’s no better than a servant’s room.”
Julia thought of her spacious room at home, with its thick rugs, four-poster bed, and mahogany wardrobe filled with dresses and shoes, and nearly changed her mind.
“Please, dear,” her aunt begged, “forget this obsession of yours and come home with me where you belong.”
“This room is fine,” Julia said. She disguised her doubts behind a smile that she didn’t feel. “Why would I need a bigger room? I’ll be working at the hospital all day, so I’ll only be here at night, anyway. And then I’ll be asleep, with my eyes closed.”
“But where will you keep all your dresses? And what about your maid? Where will she sleep?”
“Inga is going home with you tomorrow, Aunt Eunice.”
“You can’t be serious. Who will fix your hair? And help you into your hoops?”
Julia sighed. That was one of Nathaniel’s accusations—that she was unable or unwilling to do the simplest tasks for herself. It was why she had started down this long, hard road in the first place. “I can fix my own hair,” she said. “Miss Dix’s nurses are supposed to look plain. And I won’t be wearing any hoops, remember?”
Aunt Eunice’s shoulders sagged with fatigue. “This is too much. I need to sit down.” But the dismal room didn’t have a chair, and Julia knew that her aunt would never commit the impropriety of sitting on someone’s bed.
“Let’s tell the landlady that I’ll take it,” Julia said. “Then we can both go back to the hotel and rest.”
“You can’t live here, Julia. There isn’t even a chair.”
“I’ll ask the landlady for one. Please, Aunt Eunice. You know it’s a respectable establishment. It’s been highly recommended. And there simply aren’t any other rooms for rent. Let me try living here for a few months, and if I’m unhappy I can always return to Philadelphia in April with the congressman and his wife.”
Aunt Eunice finally relented, too weary to argue. Julia paid the first month’s room and board and told the landlady she would move in tomorrow—right after she sent Aunt Eunice home on the first available train.
Her aunt wept as she said farewell the next day, convinced that Julia was making an enormous mistake for which she would be grievously sorry. “My only consolation,” Eunice said, dabbing her eyes as she said good-bye, “is that I’m leaving you in Dorothea Dix’s capable hands.”
That same afternoon, Julia took a horse-drawn cab to the hospital in the former Fairfield Hotel. The weathered two-story clapboard building looked as though it had been little more than a workingman’s hostel at the peak of its career and that now a strong breeze or an errant match would put an end to it. The railing wobbled beneath her hand as she climbed the front steps. The door gave such a weary groan as she pushed it open that she wouldn’t have been surprised if it had fallen off its hinges and crashed to the floor.
Inside, the former lobby had been partitioned off, leaving a dark, narrow entryway with little light. But as her eyes adjusted, Julia saw a makeshift office just inside the front door and a hand-lettered sign that read: Dr. James McGrath—Acting Assistant Surgeon, U.S. Army. The office door stood open, and the doctor sat behind a littered desk, sifting through a pile of papers.
He was an angry-looking man in his early thirties, with a furrowed brow and dark auburn hair. His short, ginger-colored beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, but they were the only thing, tidy about him. His clothing was disheveled, his hair looked as though he’d been running his hands through it, and his office had a worn, trampled look, as if a Wild West show had recently staged a performance there. The doctor remained seated when Julia entered. In fact, he didn’t even look up from his work.
“If you’re here to see a patient, don’t bother me,” he said gruffly. “Talk to the matron.”
“I’m not here to see a patient, Dr. McGrath. My name is Julia Hoffman, and I’ve come from Philadelphia to offer my services as a nurse.”
“Go see Dorothea Dix. She’s in charge of nurses.”
“I have seen Miss Dix.”
He stopped writing and finally looked at her, crudely sizing her up with his eyes as if measuring her for a dress. “Let me guess— Miss Dix waltzed you out of the door before you could blink, didn’t she? You’re too young. Too pretty. Too well endowed.” He made a rude gesture with his hands, and Julia gasped. He seemed pleased to have shocked her. “Oh, you won’t find ‘flat bosom’ on ‘Dragon’ Dix’s official list of qualifications, but that’s the way she likes her nurses—flat as dinner plates, just like herself. Good day.” He waved her away and returned to his papers.
Miss Dix had warned her that the doctor was a crude man. Julia guessed that the shock and anger she felt were exactly what he’d intended. She determined not to let him get the best of her.
“If I could have a moment of your time, Dr. McGrath, you’ll see that I come from a fine, upstanding family. My father is Judge Philip Hoffman, a United States District Court judge, and I have letters of recommendation from Congressman Rhodes of Pennsylvania; Dr. Albert Lowe, one of Philadelphia’s foremost physicians; and Reverend Underhill, pastor of—”
“Letters. Big deal,” he said, dipping his pen into the inkwell.“You upper-class, high-society folks love your letters of introduction, don’t you? I have enough papers cluttering my desk already.”
“But if you would read them you would see that I—”
“Have you done any real nursing work for any of these people?” he asked, pinning her with his gaze. “Are you trained? Experienced?”
“I—I would like very much to learn.”
“I’m a physician, not a teacher,” he said, looking away again.“Come back when you’ve been trained. Good day.”
Julia sat down in the chair in front of his desk and removed her bonnet, cloak, and gloves as if he’d invited her to stay. Dr. McGrath ignored her, dipping into the inkwell and scratching his pen across the pages as if she’d gone—although he surely knew she was still there.
She glanced around the untidy office while she waited and spotted a photograph on his desk—a pretty, dark-haired woman holding a small girl on her lap. Julia glanced at the doctor’s left hand, holding down the page he was scribbling on, and saw a gold wedding band. She picked up the picture for a closer look. “Is this your wife and child?”
“What a ridiculous question. Why would I have a photo of someone else’s wife and child on my desk?”
She bit back an angry reply. “They are both very pretty. What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Are you trying to annoy me, Miss Hoffman? Because you’re doing a first-rate job of it.”
“It isn’t Miss Hoffman,” she said, suddenly remembering Miss Dix’s words. “It’s Mrs. Hoffman. I’m married.” The lie came remarkably easy to her.
“Is that so?” he said in a disinterested tone.
“Yes. My husband is Lieutenant Robert Hoffman,” she said, giving him her cousin’s name and rank.
“Does the good lieutenant know that you’re away from home, bothering busy doctors when they’re trying to work?”
“I haven’t heard from Robert since he was captured at the Battle of Ball’s Bluff last October. He’s in Libby Prison in Richmond.”
He glanced up at her again. She hoped his attitude would soften after hearing her tragic story; instead, he said, “And so sweet little Mrs. Hoffman wants to be a nurse.”
“Yes, Doctor. Very much so.”
He bent over his work again, silently writing for five long minutes. Julia waited until he blotted the ink and moved the paper he’d been working on from one stack to another. Then she said, “All I’m asking is for you to give me a chance, Doctor. I admit I don’t know much about nursing, but I’m willing to learn.”
He studied her for a long moment, then stood abruptly. “Very well, then. Come with me, Mrs. Hoffman.”
Julia’s heart soared with happiness as she followed him into the ward in the former hotel’s dining room. It had been emptied of tables and jammed full of beds, all filled with ailing men. Some of them talked quietly, many of them were coughing, most simply lay there doing nothing at all and might have been asleep. The doctor stopped beside a small cabinet of medical supplies. The ward matron saw him and hurried over. She was a small, round woman with gray threads in her dark hair. “Is there something I can do for you, Dr. McGrath?”
“No, thank you. Mrs. Hoffman is going to help me change Private Jackson’s dressing.” Julia saw the matron’s carefully neutral expression change to one of concern. “Are you a relative of his?” she asked Julia.
Before she had a chance to reply, Dr. McGrath said, “No, Mrs. Hoffman is applying for a position as a nurse.” He smiled, and Julia had never seen a grin quite as nasty as the one that spread across his face.
The matron’s face went rigid. She made no attempt to hide her dislike for the doctor before quickly striding away. Julia’s joy began to fade. She was starting to dislike this man, too. He scooped up a pair of scissors, a brown medicine bottle, and a wad of gauze from the supply table, then beckoned for Julia to follow him.
The patient they stopped beside was very pale, his body wasted to skeletal thinness. Dr. McGrath greeted the soldier with genuine warmth, smiling as he met the man’s gaze. “How are you doing today, Jackson? The nurses treating you okay? The food all right?”
“I can’t complain.”
“Good. Good. Listen, I’ve come to have a look at your leg if you don’t mind.” He set his supplies on the bedside table and pulled back the covers. Julia braced herself, certain that the soldier’s leg would end in a bandaged stump. It did.
“This is Nurse Hoffman,” the doctor continued. “She’s going to help me remove your dressing so I can have a look.”
“How do, ma’am,” Jackson said.
“Um …very well, thank you.”
Dr. McGrath scraped an empty chair across the floor to the bedside and motioned for Julia to sit. He handed her the scissors. She cut through the knot in the gauze dressing and began carefully unwinding the layers. The room fell quiet. Too quiet. She was aware of the patient’s whistling breath, rustling like dry leaves.
“Where are you from, Mr. Jackson?” she asked, trying to ease the tension.
“Buffalo, New York, ma’am.”
“I’ve never visited Buffalo, but I hear it’s nice. What sort of work do you do there?”
“Well, I worked as a carpenter …before the war, that is.”
“And do you have a family back home?”
“A wife and three young ones. They—”
It was the last thing Julia heard. When she removed the last layer of gauze, a powerful stench hit her like a fist, knocking the breath right out of her. She tried to stand, to flee from it, but the room tilted crazily, then suddenly went black.
“Mrs. Hoffman …Mrs. Hoffman.” Julia opened her eyes to Dr. McGrath’s smirking face. She lay in a heap on the floor beside the bed and he crouched alongside her, slapping her cheeks.
“Ah, good. There you are. Let’s sit you up.” Julia’s head whirled as he lifted her to a sitting position. The smell that had so overpowered her was everywhere. She quickly covered her mouth, barely managing to choke back her lunch.
“She all right, Doc?” Private Jackson asked.
“She’s fine. If you’ll excuse us for a moment, Jackson, I’ll see that she gets some fresh air. I’ll be right back.”
Julia felt the strength in Dr. McGrath’s arms and shoulders as he hauled her to her feet. The smell that had escaped from beneath Jackson’s bandage encircled her like a living thing, pursuing her. There was no escape from it. She wanted to run from the ward before she vomited, but her legs were much too unsteady. As Dr. McGrath propelled her to the front door, she was forced to swallow the bitter mouthful a second time. When he finally flung open the creaking door, Julia desperately gulped the damp February air.
“There you go,” the doctor said cheerfully. “A few deep breaths and you’ll be on your way home. Today’s lesson was on gangrene— you can tell it by the smell. Quite distinctive, wouldn’t you say?” She hated his mocking tone. No wonder none of the nurses liked him.
“You may let go of me now,” she said, peeling his hands off her waist. “I’m all right.”
“Of course you are.” He retrieved her bonnet and cloak from his office just a few steps from the door and shoved them into her hands. “Here you go. And now I suggest you return to your mansion in …Philadelphia, wasn’t it? Wait there for your missing lieutenant.”
Julia could barely speak through her anger. “Are you saying I can’t work here?”
“I never imagined that you’d still want to.”
She drew a shaky breath and exhaled. “Yes. I would very much like to. Now that I know what gangrene smells like I’ll be better prepared for it the next time.”
“I doubt that,” he said. “Listen, I can play this little game for as long as you wish, Mrs. Hoffman.”
“I am not playing a game.”
He shook his head, his annoying smirk back in place. “I don’t believe you. I can’t think of a single plausible reason why a wealthy Philadelphia socialite would give up her servants and her diamonds and her ball gowns—and put on a ridiculous dung-colored dress, I might add—unless she was playing some sort of game. My guess is you’re trying to impress someone.”
Julia didn’t dare argue with him because he was right. He was trying to make her so angry she would stalk away and never return, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. Besides, she wanted to stay, despite what he’d just put her through. She longed to show him that she was serious, that her compassion was genuine.
“May I ask you something?” she said.
“What?”
“Will Private Jackson live?”
The doctor studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment until she felt herself squirm beneath his gaze. He shook his head. “No. We’ve sent for his wife. She’d better come right away if she wants to see him alive.”
“I’m sorry,” Julia said, and she was. “He seems like a nice man.”She drew another deep breath. “What time shall I come tomorrow?”
Dr. McGrath hesitated, then said, “I don’t have any openings for nurses at the moment, but we need a supervisor for the linen room.”
She was sure it was an insult, another one of his games. Julia determined to beat him at it this time. “The linen room will be fine. What time should I come?”
“Six A.M.”
“Very well, Doctor. Good day.” She turned to go.
“Mrs. Hoffman…” he called after her, “be sure to bring your own smelling salts tomorrow. The hospital doesn’t stock them, and I’d rather not have to slap your dainty little face again.”