Handpicked Family. Shannon Farrington

help but think that that request, if heard at all, would be better presented on behalf of Reverend Webb himself. In Peter’s time here, no leadership, save one overworked preacher trying to shepherd what remained of his refugee flock and protect it from encircling wolves, was doing anything to help.

      But for so many, there is nothing to be done. Too many men had gone into battle never to return. Reverend Webb had told him there were at least a dozen surnames in this community that were destined to die out upon the widow’s death. Either her sons had perished, leaving her childless, or daughters alone would struggle to carry on a father’s legacy.

      As for the children Peter had come upon, some weren’t even old enough to attend school, meaning they had been born since the start of the war. What had those men been thinking, fathering children while knowing hostilities were on the horizon? Deep down he knew he shouldn’t be angry with Daniel, let alone his brother Matthew, for being among them, but he couldn’t help it.

      Inadvertently, he cast a glance at Miss Martin. Her head was bowed. Her feathery auburn eyelashes rested against her creamy skin. She was the picture of youthful innocence. The sooner she learns that romance breeds nothing but trouble, the better off she will be.

      Peter released her hand the moment Reverend Webb pronounced his amen. He turned at once, bound for the front door. The preacher had already asked him to greet and give those outside their instructions. Dr. Mackay, however, stopped him.

      “Take Miss Martin with you,” he said. “She can assess their medical conditions, then direct patients to either me or Emily.” He turned to her before Peter had a chance to object. “Remember, no typhus or smallpox inside the church building.”

      “Yes, sir,” she said.

      Peter drew in a deep breath. He knew the effects of those two epidemics and didn’t like the idea of Miss Martin being the doctor’s first line of defense.

      “Perhaps you should do the assessing, Doctor,” he said.

      This time Miss Martin took immediate offense. “I’ve dealt with infectious diseases before,” she said before Mackay could speak.

      “Indeed,” the doctor then said. He looked back at Peter. “And I’ve not time to explain to you how to assess patients.” He went on to deliver instructions to his brave little nurse. “Make them aware of our stations and send any with acute needs to me, the lesser ones to Emily. You know what to look for. Just like our days in the hospital.”

      “Yes, of course.”

      He then handed her several sheets of paper and a pen. “Take down their names, and the location and number in their household if they will divulge such information. It will be helpful to know for future ventures.”

      “Certainly.”

      Clearly the matter had been firmly decided. Peter wanted to press that point, but Miss Martin was already headed for the door.

      * * *

      The chill Trudy had felt previously evaporated the moment Mr. Carpenter had taken hold of her hand. She scolded herself for such a reaction, even though it was only a fleeting feeling. The moment Reverend Webb pronounced the amen, Mr. Carpenter gave her a look as if to tell her he thought the whole arrangement of the circle had been her idea. He then gave Dr. Mackay an almost icy stare when the physician suggested she accompany him outside.

       He clearly does not want me here. Evidently he thinks I am unsuited for the task.

      Trudy blew out a breath. Determined to prove him wrong, she marched to the front door before her employer could say or do anything else. Stepping outside, however, she gasped. Emily had been correct in saying that line wrapped all the way around the church building. It wasn’t the number of people, though, that disturbed Trudy. It was their condition. They were even more desperately downtrodden than the men on the road. Most of them were young women and children. The women were presumably now widows because no man was beside them, and by the looks of them, no man has taken care of them for quite some time.

      The woman at the head of the line was so thin, so frail in appearance that Trudy wondered how she had remained standing. In her arms she carried a small baby. A little dark-haired boy, five or six years old, was standing beside her. The boy was wearing shoes but his clothing was tattered and full of holes. Through one particular spot Trudy could view his ribs.

      Is this Charlie and baby Kate? Trudy wondered. Is this the family of which Reverend Webb spoke?

      Her heart broke afresh, for there were many others just like them. Looking upon them, her confidence faltered. She had tended frail and malnourished bodies before, but this was quite different! These women and children hadn’t volunteered for the cause, yet they had been forced to suffer its cost. The reverend said there would be children, but somehow I suppose I was still expecting soldiers. I had no idea it would be like this!

      Grief washed over her in waves and she could feel the tears gathering in her eyes. She was so overwhelmed that she didn’t know where to start.

      “Hold firm, Miss Martin,” Mr. Carpenter commanded behind her, but in a voice only she could hear. “These are proud people. They need your assistance, not your pity.”

      Knowing he was right, and determined to prove she could handle what was expected of her, Trudy drew in a deep breath, steeled her resolve. Just as she moved to descend the porch steps, he caught her arm.

      “Let me go first,” he said.

      “But I must assess—”

      “What are the most prominent symptoms of typhus?”

      Feeling her own irritation growing, she spouted off the list. “Severe headache, high fever, sensitivity to light, rash on chest and back...although if they have that, they probably won’t be standing.”

      He nodded. “And smallpox?”

      “Much the same, but the red spots will first appear on the face.”

      “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Now, give me your list. I’ll take down their names and assess for those diseases.”

      “But—”

      “Don’t argue with me. Go see to that little boy right there. He looks well enough.”

      He didn’t wait for her to respond. He simply took the pen and paper from her. Then he announced to those gathered who they were and what they were about to do.

      Trudy knew full well she should not waste time feeling angry over his forceful, take-charge behavior, but she couldn’t help herself. Yes, I faltered for a few seconds, but I am fully capable of discharging my duties. Then the idea struck her, Is he trying to protect me?

      Shaking off the thought before her mind could go further with it, she moved to the first mother and children in line. She offered her best smile. “My name is Miss Trudy,” she said, bending toward the boy. “What is your name?”

      “Charles T. Jackson,” he said proudly. “The T is for Thomas, but Ma just calls me Charlie.” He gestured to the woman beside him. “This is Ma...and Kate.”

      Trudy looked then to the woman who said that her name was Opal. Apparently she and the children had walked six miles this morning to come to the church. The distance had taken its toll on Opal’s feet. She was wearing makeshift shoes, a slice of hickory bark for each sole, secured by strips of cloth to her ankles. Her stockings, having been darned many times, were now threadbare. Trudy could tell her feet were bruised and blistered. Emily would need to tend them.

      “If you’ll go just inside and see Mrs. Mackay,” she told Opal. “She’s the one with the white apron. She’ll see to your feet. Mrs. Webb will bring you some soup and I’ll see if I can’t find a pair of shoes for you.”

      “Not me,” Opal said, “but for Charlie. His shoes are much too small.”

      Trudy had seen the effects ill-fitting footwear had on the