But he wasnt in Washington.
She knew that. She knew it because Clara Barton and Dorence Atwater were sitting on a low stone bench facing her, with serious eyes and sad news on their lips-because, bless them both, they never brought any other kind.
Before either of the visitors could say anything else, Mercy nattered on again. Ive heard of you, both of you. Miss Barton, its wonderful work youre doing on the battlefield-making it safer for the lot of us, and making it easier for us to comfort the wounded, and patch them up- She nearly spit that last part out, for her nose was beginning to fill, and her eyes were blinking,
slamming open and shut. And Mr. Atwater, you made a . . .
Two things rampaged through her brain: the name of the man not four feet in front of her, and why shed heard it before he ever entered the Robertson Hospital. But she couldnt bring herself to make these two things meet, and she struggled to hold them apart, so the connection couldnt be made.
It was futile.
She knew.
She said, and every letter of every word shook in her mouth, You made a list.
Yes maam.
And Clara Barton said, My dear, were so very sorry. It wasnt quite a practiced condolence. It wasnt smooth and polished, and for all the weariness of it, it sounded like she meant it. But your husband, Phillip Barnaby Lynch . . . his name is on that list. He died at the Andersonville camp for prisoners of war, nine months ago. Im terribly, terribly sorry for your loss.
Then its true, she burbled, not quite crying. The pressure behind her eyes was building. Itd been so long since he sent word. Jesus, Captain Sally, she blasphemed weakly. Its true.
She was still squeezing Sally Tompkins, who now ceased patting her hand to squeeze back. Im so sorry, dear. With her free hand, she brushed Mercys cheek.
Its true, she repeated. I thought . . . I thought it must be. Itd been so long. Almost as long as we were married, since Id got word of him. I knew it went like that, sometimes. I knew it was hard for the boys-for you boys-to write from the front, and I knew the mail wasnt all kinds of reliable. I guess I knew all that. But I was still dumb enough to hope.
You were newlyweds? Clara Barton asked gently, sadly. Familiar with the sorrow, if not quite immune.
Been married eight months, she said. Eight months and he went out to fight, and he was gone for two and a half years. And I stayed here, and waited. We had a home here, west of town. He was born in Kentucky, and we were going to go back there, when all this was done, and start a family.
Suddenly she released Sallys hand and leaped forward, making a grab for Dorence Atwaters.
She clutched his wrists and pulled him closer. She demanded, Did you know him? Did you talk to him? Did he give you any message for me? Anything? Anything at all?
Maam, I only saw him in passing. He was hurt real bad when they brought him in, and he didnt last. I hope that can be some comfort to you, maybe. The camp was a terrible place, but he wasnt there for long.
Not like some of them. Not like you, she said. Every word was rounded with the congestion that clogged her throat but wouldnt spill out into hiccups or tears, not yet.
No maam. And Im very sorry about it, but I thought you deserved to know he wont be coming home. They buried him in a grave outside of Plains, unmarked with a dozen others. But he didnt suffer long.
He slouched so that his shoulders held up his chest like a shirt on a hanger. It was as if the weight of his message were too much, and his body still too frail to carry it all. But if he didnt carry it, nobody would.
Im sorry, maam. I wish the news were kinder.
She released him then, and sagged back onto her own bench, into the arms of Sally Tompkins, who was ready with an embrace. Mercy let the captain hold her and she said, No. No, but you came all this way, and you brought it to me anyway.
Mercy Lynch closed her eyes and put her head on Sallys shoulder.
Clara Barton and Dorence Atwater took this as their cue to leave. They left silently, walking around the side yard rather than cutting back through the hospital, toward the street and whatever transportation awaited them there.
Without opening her eyes, Mercy said, I wish theyd never come. I wish I didnt know.
Sally stroked her head and told her, Someday youll be glad they did. I know its hard to imagine, but really, its better knowing than wondering. False hopes the worst kind there is.
It was good of them, she agreed with a sniffle, the first that had escaped thus far. They came here, to a Rebel hospital and everything. They didnt have to do that. They couldve sent a letter.
She was here under the cross, Sally said. But youre right. Its hard work, what they do. And you know, I dont think anyone, even here, wouldve raised a hand against them. She sighed, and stopped petting Mercys wheat-colored hair. That hair, always unruly and just too dark to call blond, was fraying out from the edges of her cap. It tangled in Sallys fingers. All of the boys, blue and gray alike. They all hope someone would do the same for them-that someone would tell their mothers and sweethearts, should they fall on the field.