Epilogue
OCTOBER 12, 1887
WASHINGTON, DC
At the first pang of labor, I lifted my gaze from the medical research paper I was writing and met Gray’s brown eyes.
He didn’t even ask me if it was time. He simply rose from the chair near the fireplace, set his newspaper aside, and came to me. With gentleness and urgency, he helped me to my feet, conscious of the weight I carried in my womb.
The fireplace was lit, warding off the chill that had descended upon our house on Lafayette Square with the rain and wind. The household had been on alert for the past few days, so it didn’t surprise me when Joseph appeared at the door.
“Shall I send for Dr. Austin?” he asked.
Another contraction tightened my abdomen, and all I could do was nod.
When the pain subsided, Gray helped me up the stairs, his voice low as he said, “Can you believe that after twenty-five years of prayer, our first child is almost here?”
Despite the discomfort I’d been feeling for weeks, I smiled.
We were married on New Year’s Day, 1862, in a small ceremony at St. John’s Church. President Lincoln offered to take my father’s place and give me away. An intimate reception was held in the Red Room afterward, and then Gray and I settled into married life.
One of the greatest surprises of my life came the next day when I woke up in 1941 again. I had thought I only had twenty-one years to choose which path I wanted to take, but I was wrong. After talking with Mama and Daddy, we realized that the mark I bore on my chest, the one like Mama’s, had sent me forward to 2001, where I only had twenty-one years, like she had. But the mark I bore on the back of my head, like Daddy’s, sent me back to 1861 and gave me twenty-five years, just like he’d had.
For the next four years, I continued to move back and forth, helping in both the Civil War and WWII. I was thankful when Zechariah made a full recovery and was transferred to serve on a different hospital ship with Helen at his side. She wrote to me often and spoke of their growing relationship, giving me hope for their happiness. I was also able to watch Anna marry Timothy and celebrate the end of the war in September of 1945.
The best part was returning to Williamsburg to spend my last few months with my parents. And it was there, on New Year’s Day, 1946, that I finally said good-bye forever.
Through it all, Gray was my constant source of strength. As part of our honeymoon, we traveled to Syracuse, New York, where I met with the dean of students, Dr. Charles Lee, at Geneva Medical College. They were responsible for giving Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell the first medical degree awarded to a woman in the United States in 1849. Upon meeting the dean, I explained that I was self-educated, though it wasn’t entirely true, and had years of clinical experience. He agreed to a series of intensive tests and hands-on clinical trials to gauge my aptitude. At the end of several weeks, he was quite pleased withmy results and recommended to their board of education that I be awarded a medical degree. It was highly unusual, but Dr. Lee was a man ahead of his time.
I was awarded the degree, and we returned to Washington, DC, where President Lincoln recommended me to serve on the United States Sanitary Commission. Through my contacts with the USSC, I was employed as an army doctor and worked in the hospitals in Washington. In 1864, when the fighting was at its worst, I became a field surgeon, serving at the Battle of the Wilderness, Spotsylvania Courthouse, Fort Stedman, the Battle of Cold Harbor, and Appomattox Courthouse, where the bloody war finally ended in April 1865. Clara Barton nursed alongside me at several of the battles, and our friendship grew.
Through it all, I did not question why I was not getting pregnant. Both Gray and I stayed busy, and I pushed the concern to the back of my mind.
Gray continued his work for Allan Pinkerton throughout the war, serving in various capacities, sometimes undercover, often as a guard to President Lincoln, though he was not with Mr. Lincoln the horrible night he was killed at Ford’s Theatre at the hands of John Wilkes Booth.
After the war, we settled into domestic life—as much as our busy schedules would allow. We kept the house on Lafayette Square, which was where we still lived, and after a decade of marriage, we accepted the fact that we were not going to have a family by natural means. I started a medical practice, and Gray became the first Chief of Secret Service in 1865. We were happy and content, though we both longed for a family. We decided to open our home to children who were orphaned during the war, and over the years, we had dozens of children come and go. We loved every single one of them as if they were our own. Through our connections, we were able to place each one into a loving home, though there was always an empty place in our hearts.
But we didn’t lose hope, and I trusted that if God wanted me to bear a child, I would.
Gray led me into our bedroom and helped me get as comfortable as I could. I was no longer a young woman at the age of forty-six, and the possibility of complications was high. But I knew that women older than me had successfully brought children into the world. This pregnancy felt different than I expected from the start, but I had accepted that it wouldn’t be a textbook case because of my age.
Another contraction overtook my body, and I grasped the bedpost. Gray rubbed my lower back, and when the pain subsided, he helped me into bed.
“I know you’re worried,” he said.
I should have known I couldn’t hide anything from him. Leaning back against the pillows, I met his concerned gaze. “My age complicates things.”
“God knows what He’s doing, Maggie. This child isn’t a surprise to Him.”
“I’m afraid—” I paused.
“That the baby will have your markings?”
“I don’t know how my mama managed when she knew I had two marks. It’s all I’ve been thinking about lately.”
“She trusted God, just as we will do.” He smiled. “I think it’s exciting. Just imagine the possibilities. If our child lives in the future, we’ll get to learn things we can only dream about.”
“I should have known you’d be intrigued by a time-crossing child.” I returned his smile, thinking of all the times he had eased my pain and worries. We’d been married for twenty-five years, and the time had flown by now that I only occupied one path.
