She felt as if she would faint but then whispered a silent prayer for strength. James must not see me weak, not now. Behind her, her mother began to cry.

Cain got down from the carriage and offered his hand.

"This way, Miss Hoffman."

She stepped down from the carriage. All in the yard fell strangely quiet at the sight of her. men whispering to each other. Some of the wounded were boys in blue, and one of them, leg missing below the knee, propped himself on his elbow.

"Let's hear it for old McPherson!" he cried, and a ragged three cheers echoed weakly.

She looked at her escort of Confederate troopers and officers. They were silent, but she could see in their eyes there was no rancor, instead she saw looks of compassion, and she nodded to them, one of the men offering a handkerchief so she could wipe her eyes.

She mounted the steps. A minister was standing there, and for a horrified second she feared she was too late.

"I'm Reverend Lacy," he said. "I used to serve with General Jackson. Now I'm on General Lee's staff. He asked that I attend you, miss. Your fiance is still with us."

"Thank you, Reverend," she whispered.

He extended his hand and she took it.

"He's upstairs, resting at the moment."

"His condition?" her father asked.

The reverend looked straight at her.

"You must be strong, my dear, and place your faith in Our Lord."

"He won't live, will he?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"How long?"

"A few hours perhaps."

"Is he in pain?"

"No. The doctor gave him morphine, though he tried to refuse it. Miss, he is shot through both lungs. It is only a matter of time now."

She said nothing but felt a frightful urgency to see him and stepped into the house. Again she wanted to recoil. It appeared to be the home of a country physician, his office to her right, but the sight within that room filled her with horror, for the doctor was operating on a man, blood dripping to the floor, the doctor bent over, cutting into the man's open thigh. In the parlor to the left, a dozen men were on the floor, a woman, most likely the doctor's wife, bandaging a boy's face, slashed wide open from scalp to jaw. She looked up at Emily, but said nothing.

'This way," Reverend Beverly Lacy said and led her upstairs to the second floor. In what was obviously the doctor's bedroom she saw him as she reached the last step, doorway open.

She took a deep breath, prayed yet again for strength, and slowly walked in. He was under the covers, which were pulled down to his waist. -Chest bandaged, the left side soaked red. A trickle of blood frothed his lips. He was breathing raggedly, gasping, each breath another froth of blood.

She knelt down by his side and took his hand. It was cool to the touch, graying, so unlike the warm strong grasp she once knew, the way he held her when they danced, when they walked together beneath the moonlight, the way his hands had so lovingly cupped her face when they kissed for the first time.

"James."

She leaned "forward and whispered. He moaned sofdy, eyes fluttering.

"The morphine," Lacy whispered behind her. "He knows I'm here now," she replied. "James, it's Emily."

His eyes opened. He turned his head slightly, looked at her, and smiled.

She took the handkerchief given to her by the Confederate officer and wiped his lips.

"Emily." It was barely a whisper.

She leaned forward and kissed him.

She had to be strong, she knew that, and though she wanted to collapse, to cry, to just curl up and die with him, she knew she could not.

She stood up and looked at Lacy.

"A favor, Reverend."

"Anything."

"James and I were to be married. In fact, if not for what is happening now, General Grant had promised him a furlough once Vicksburg was taken for him to come to Baltimore so we could be joined."

She looked back down at James.

"We want to be married," she whispered.

"My dear?" It was her mother standing in the doorway.

A look from Emily silenced her mother. She looked at her father, who nodded in agreement.

Lacy hesitated.

"My dear, at this moment? He is drugged and his time approaches."

"You attended General Jackson at his deathbed, did you not?" she asked.

"Yes, miss," Lacy whispered. "And his wife was present?" "Yes."

"Then let General McPherson's wife attend to him." Lacy did not respond. "Marry us."

It was McPherson, eyes open, a smile on his lips. Lacy nodded in response.

"No years together," McPherson whispered, "no wedding night, but still we have a little time, and then we will be together for all eternity."

Forcing back her tears she took James's hand and turned to face the minister.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Near McCausland's Ford 4:15 P.M.

Go, boys, go!" Ord was standing in his stirrups, saber drawn, urging his men on as they ran down the slope on the double, in column by regiments. Shells rained down into the packed ranks, men screaming; at the ford, smoke swirled up from volley after volley blazing from the other side of the Monocacy.

"A splendid fight!" Ord shouted. "A splendid fight. Now drive'em to hell!"

He turned and galloped down to the edge of the creek, violating strict orders from Grant to stay to the rear. He knew the general standing at the edge of town might see him, but he no longer cared. The fury of battle was upon him and he loved every second of it.

An Indiana regiment was in the lead, terrifyingly shredded by a volley delivered from the other bank, but they piled into the river anyhow, regardless of loss, plunging into the thigh-deep waters, pushing forward, men collapsing at every step, to be carried off by the waters.

Overhead was an inferno as Hunt's batteries,, firing at long distance, plowed up the field on the other side of the creek and tried to suppress the dozen rebel batteries up next to a brick farmhouse that overlooked the ford less than a quarter mile away.

The Indiana regiment buckled as it reached midstream and started to give back, boys from Ohio pushing up behind them, gaining another twenty to thirty feet before they, too, started to collapse. Another Ohio regiment pushed in after them, plunging across, and barely gained the muddy bank on the other side. The Union was paying in blood for each foot gained for what was, as their commanding general declared, "a demonstration to fix Lee in place."

On those banks it turned to hand-to-hand fighting, men screaming, cursing, lunging with bayonets. Ohio just barely gained the opposite bank and then the artillery thundered in. The reb infantry gave back, coming out of the willows and ferns that lined the stream, running across the open field, dodging around the exploding shells of Hunt's batteries. As they fell back a terrible inferno erupted, battery after battery lining the hilltop around the McCausland farm opening up, sending down volleys of case shot that exploded over the Monocacy. Any shot that went high detonated or plowed into the ranks of the supporting brigade coming up to join in the assault. Treetops exploded in flames, solid shot slamming into the water threw up geysers thirty feet high pockmarked by the iron and lead balls of case shot slamming into the stream.

Ord, hat off, screamed with fury, urging his men to press in. A courier rode up, the side of his mount dripping blood, the horse limping badly.

"From General Grant, sir!" the courier shouted. "Call it off. Pull back!"

"We have the other bank!" Ord cried.

"You are ordered to call it off, sir!"

Ord reluctandy nodded, shouted for one of his staff to get across the stream, another to order the Second Brigade to turn about and retreat. Buglers began sounding recall throughout the attack.