The Resurrectionist by Matthew Guinn

slightly. “And you may as well tell him that you fellows need a housekeeper as well.”

    J OHNSTON HELD A CHAIR for the young woman, then took a seat behind his desk uneasily. A nurse, by his definition—or indeed as defined by any of his contemporaries—was by nature matronly and plain. This Sara Thacker, though dressed modestly enough in a simple linen dress, was neither. Her face bore no rouge and her sandy hair was drawn back in the simple ponytail favored by rustic women, but that hair was lustrous and her gray eyes were too bright, he thought, ever to blend into the dull wards of the Negro hospital or settle cheerfully on such menial work as the emptying of bedpans. Most troubling of all, beneath the linen dress he could detect no corset.
    Johnston looked over her letters of reference, nodding from time to time. After a few long moments he peered over the top of the stationery at Sara, his eyes narrowed over his spectacles.
    â€œThese are strong recommendations, particularly the reference from Major Anderson. He describes your conduct during the summer’s malaria outbreak as ‘heroic.’ That is high praise indeed from a decorated military man.”
    The young woman’s eyes wandered to the window. “I did what was required,” she said softly. “I’m afraid Major Anderson is in for a hard time.”
    â€œHe certainly is. It is fortunate for you that he deemed it inadvisable to carry women with him to Fort Sumter.”
    â€œI would have gone,” she said. “There will be a sore need for nurses there.”
    â€œDoubtless that is correct.” Johnston cleared his throat. “I apologize for the directness of the question, but the hiring procedure at an institution such as ours always requires a degree of indelicacy. You have served in the military’s nursing division for over a year. Surely during that time among the men of the service you were presented with opportunities for a less arduous life. Why is it that you have not married?”
    The young woman looked at him instantly, light in her eyes. “Would I sound too indelicate, sir, if I told you I found the overtures of eighteen-year-old private soldiers unappealing?”
    There was a long moment of quiet before Johnston cleared his throat again. He smiled faintly. “Frank, perhaps, but not indelicate.”
    But the young woman seemed not to have heard him. She pulled the circular Johnston had posted from her valise and read from it: “ ‘All applicants must present letters from at least two persons of trust testifying to morality, integrity, seriousness, and capacity for care of the sick.’ ” She looked up at Johnston. “I find that order of qualifications interesting.”
    â€œIs that so? What in the world is curious about it?”
    â€œI wonder that capacity to care for the sick is not the first consideration.”
    â€œI see,” Johnston said. He drew a long breath. “But you must understand that the stability of the environment here at the college is fragile and must be maintained. The young men studying here are, physiologically speaking, at their prime. Any feminine distraction would be extremely disruptive. Their vigor, their energies, must be rigorously directed at their studies.”
    â€œAt caring for the sick.”
    â€œPrecisely, without distraction.”
    Miss Thacker tapped the circular against her knee and smiled. “Perhaps, then, they were admitted without adequate testimony to their morality. Or their integrity.”
    Johnston felt his temper rise. “The circular also states, if I remember correctly, that applicants should be matronly women of mature years.” Johnston paused, and his face flushed scarlet. “Begging your pardon, but you seem to possess neither quality.”
    Her gray eyes never left his face as the long seconds of silence spun out. After a moment, he set the letters on his desktop and spoke