The Capitol was Papa’s usual domain, but now that the Senate was in recess, the risk of being seen by someone who might know him—or me—was not as great. Though there was still a risk. I scanned the rotunda for acquaintances as I made my way down the long hall to the Senate chambers, trying to hide my face as best as I could.
When I entered the Senate chambers, I immediately found Clara Barton serving soup from a big tureen. Massachusetts soldiers made a winding line through the room. Several of the men smiled at me when they recognized me from the train station.
“Good afternoon, Miss Barton,” I said. I had not seen her since the Baltimore soldiers had arrived—or since Papa had forbidden me from helping them. There was only one way I could continue to do so. “May I speak to you?”
“Yes, of course.” She wiped her hands on her apron and handed the soup ladle to a capable-looking soldier. “What can I help you with?”
It was embarrassing to admit the truth, but there was nothing I could do about it. “My father was angry when he learned I assisted at the train station last week.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I’m not surprised. He has a reputation to uphold.”
“He doesn’t want me to help any further, but if I can alleviate the suffering of just one person, I must.”
“I know how you feel.”
I thought she might. “I must ask that you call me by a different name when I am in public and that you do not tell anyone else about my involvement. I cannot risk him knowing.”
She didn’t hesitate. “What shall I call you?”
“Maggie Hollingsworth.”
“Agreed, Miss Hollingsworth.” She smiled. “I saw that the Anderson brothers returned to their regiment yesterday.”
“Bartholomew is completely recovered,” I assured her. “I’m here to check on Farnum.”
“He seems to be resting comfortably.” Clara indicated where Farnum was lying on the Senate Chamber floor near a large marble column. “But I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. I think you’ve gained an admirer.”
Noise echoed in the room as the men laughed and joked, waiting for instructions from their superiors. Daily drills were taking place on the Capitol lawn, and everyone was on high alert, should they be called up to defend the city.
“I’m happy you’ve come,” Clara said with deep concern in her eyes. “I’ve been doing all I can to gather supplies for these men, but I’ve exhausted many of my resources. I’ve tried to gain an audience with Mr. Lincoln, but he’s been preoccupied, as you can imagine.”
“What can I do to help?”
“I don’t move within the same circles as you, and there is a great untapped potential with those who have the means to procure the supplies we need.”
She meant that my friends could afford more than most.
“Will you campaign for help?” Clara asked. “With more soldiers expected, I believe the need will only increase.”
Her request would be easy to fulfill. Tonight, I would attend a ball at the home of Salmon Chase, the Secretary of the Treasury. His daughter, Kate, was the belle of Washington, and her parties were often attended by elite members of society. Someof her guests were key strategists in the war, and others might be part of the Southern spy ring that was sneaking information out of Washington. But no one could be certain.
I planned to keep my eyes and ears open.
“I will gladly put out the call for supplies,” I assured Clara. “And I will start this very night.”
“You are a godsend.” She placed her gentle hand on my arm. “I don’t know what we would have done without you at the train station.” She had not asked me where I learned my medical skills, and I hoped she never would. I didn’t want to lie, but I could hardly tell her the truth.
A few moments later, I approached Farnum to check his wound. “Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson,” I said as I knelt beside his makeshift pallet. It was a far cry from the guest bed at our home, but Papa had given us no choice but to return the Anderson brothers to their regiment.
Today I wore a simple dress, appropriate for work, though it still ballooned around me with petticoats, and I had to push it back to get close to him. How I missed my scrubs.
He opened his eyes and offered me a surprised smile while trying to sit up.
“Please don’t.” I laid my hand on his arm. “I’m just here to look at your wound and see if it’s healing properly.”
“It still hurts a mite,” he said, “but it don’t feel infected.”
“I’m happy to hear that. May I look?”
