Gray quickly did as I instructed. The sound of tearing fabric was lost in the din of noise and bullets hitting the dirt around us.
“Now wrap it as tightly as you can around his upper thigh.”
Doing as I instructed, Gray wrapped the fabric around the soldier’s thigh several times, pulling it impossibly tight—tighter than I could have done. Sweat dripped from his brow. Dozens of soldiers and civilians fled past us, heading east without stopping to help.
“We need to get him into the Wilsons’ carriage,” I told Gray. “I’ll need to perform surgery when we get him back to Washington. The artery will need to be bypassed with a graft, or he could still bleed to death.”
Gray stared at me. “What?”
I realized too late that I had said something I would have said in 2001 in the ER. But it didn’t matter, I needed to perform the surgery to save his life. It would be close to impossible, and he could still die, but I had to try.
“Will you help me get him into the carriage?” I asked, trying to calm my voice.
“Of course.” Gray gently scooped the teenager into his arms as if he weighed nothing and carried him to the carriage, where Mrs. Wilson was weeping and wailing in fear.
“Where’s my husband?” she cried, clutching her son’s hand so hard it had turned white. “Has he been killed?”
“He and Papa are coming,” I told her.
“We’re here,” Senator Wilson said from behind me. “We’re all here, and we must return to Washington posthaste. The rebels will follow us and overtake Washington if we don’t warn the president and defend the capital.”
Papa and Senator Wilson were red-faced and sweating profusely. When Papa saw the soldier and my blood-covered hands and gown, his face paled. “Are you injured?”
“No. It’s the soldier. We’re taking him home, Papa. He needs help.”
“There’s no time to argue with her,” Senator Wilson said. “Let’s hurry home. We’ll make do.”
The solider was laid on the floor of the carriage, having passed out, as we all piled inside. At any minute, his tourniquet could fail, and he’d bleed to death right there at our feet. But we had to try to save him. Every few minutes, I checked his pulse. It was still beating, though weakly.
We were silent all the way back to Washington except for the random outbursts of Senator Wilson, who called the Union soldiers cowards and weaklings. He was mortified by their behavior and ashamed at their unpreparedness.
When we finally reached Washington, it was late. Others had arrived ahead of us, so the city had already been warned, and chaos had ensued as people ran into the streets to hear the news.
“I’ll help you bring him inside,” Gray said to me.
“Thank you.”
Papa didn’t say a word as Gray hauled the soldier up the front steps. The Wilsons pulled away without saying goodbye, just as shaken as the rest of us. Senator Wilson was going straight to the White House.
Goldie, Saphira, and Joseph met us at the door, and I asked for warm water, fresh bandages, as many lamps and lanterns as they could find, and the medical kit I kept in the kitchen.
“What do you plan to do?” Papa asked, his voice grave.
I might be sacrificing everything I held dear in 1861 for this stranger, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to save his life. Papa would never understand, but he deserved some kind of explanation—especially if this was the last day I’d be alive in this path.
“I need to perform a surgery to save his life,” I told him while Gray stood by, waiting to be directed.
“Surgery? What are you talking about, Margaret? Have you lost your mind?”
“I cannot explain right now, but perhaps I can later. Just trust me, please.”
“I will send for a doctor,” he said.
“There won’t be any available with all the other injured soldiers. But if you must, you must.” I turned to Gray. “Please bring him upstairs to the last room on the right.”
“I don’t know what you’re going to do,” Papa said to me, a deep frown on his brow, “but I want a full explanation when you’re done.”
Nodding, I left him in the foyer and lifted the hem of my soiled gown to join Gray upstairs.
