The air reeked of iron and burnt linen as Clara Bennett pressed her palms against the cold steel of the operating table, her knuckles whitening. Outside, the distant thunder of cannons rolled over the field hospital, a relentless heartbeat that…
The air in the hospital tent reeked of iron and damp linen. Eliza wiped her hands on her apron, the coarse fabric scratching her palms, and glanced at the row of cots stretching into the dimness. A moan rippled through…
The first cannon fire split the sky over Gettysburg on July 1, 1863, and Clara Whitaker pressed her palms against the damp earth, feeling the tremor in her bones. The air reeked of sulfur and sweat, a stench that clung…