Martha Hall Kelly

"Sunflower Sisters is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical figures, are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real : As we roamed the neat brick streets of Charleston, past filigreed fences and palmetto trees, the atmosphere so gentle and refined, we never dreamed we'd stumble headlong into hell. Mother, my sister Georgy and I had come from New York City to visit friends. We stepped out to make our morning calls, admiring the pretty houses, one fanlight-windowed vestibule handsomer than the next. We left Mother's ecru cards on the silver trays. Mrs. Charles Woolsey 8 Bervoort Place, New York City"--

Sunflower Sisters

Holly 

*Don't listen to naysayers," she said as she locked the door. You're head and shoulders above them, and those who discourage you do so to justify their own lack of imagination and will never accomplish anything extraordinary.”

“Don't you dare bring that up, Fergus Watson. My lunatic aunt didn't really want them free. I don't feel guilt at all." 

“She was a mean one, Fergus, and smelled of pickled eggs. And loyal to colored folk over her own blood, for pity's sake. Leting those girls read her books." 

My temple throbbed. “That's beside the point, Fergus. Everyone kuows learning makes a Negro unfit for service."

“And I want my own full name. Don't want to be just Jemma." 

"Every free person has one. Means you matter. You give it to those who come after so they matter, too."

As we came back toward our destination, I became curious to see the President's house, that famous place built by slaves, which now lodged a man who seemed determined to end their suffering

“We can't appear sneaky," Pa said. “Gotta be patient.”

“Patient? Delly’s about to have that baby any day. Can't be patient. I'm so tired of being judged by white folks. If we're quiet, we're sneaky. If we say in the felds, we love being slaves. If we run away, we hate work. If we sing, we're childish. If we frown, we're sassy. Can't win. Only choice is to go to Canada.”

“Once I tie off, I shall address this wound, what we call primary amputation with uncontrolled hemorrhage." 

“It does not seem to be hemorrhaging, Doctor," I said. 

“There is a bullet wound to the joint there, Miss Woolsey.”

“Tut, tut, Miss Woolsey. You're about to learn from the best. If you feel faint, step away from the table." 

One of the male nurses leaned toward me. “He's in the middle of a surgery himself.”

“Now that I have compressed the main artery against the bone, Nurse, retract that skin." 

The doctor brandished his knife. “Behold Liston's small amputation knife, the hardest worker in the kit. I make an incised circle around the arm and through the musculature to the bone." Eliza and I exchanged dark glances. How sickening to see an honest man's perfectly good arm sacrificed to another’s hubris.

“Stay strong, my dear, and stick to your convictions. Because as Dr. Compton has so perfectly demonstrated, knowledge has no enemy but the ignorant.”

It was yet another dismissal from the nursing world and the of it was profound; just as we had settled ourselves and started to make real headway with our patients, we were being replaced by male nurses once again. 

We'd become expert at packing our trunks and prepared to remove ourselves back to Brevoort Place, with me more convinced than ever America needed a school to train a multitude of female nurses. We would prove expert and indispensable, and never be replaced again.

“I must admit, sometimes I like horses better than some humans." 

Mr. Burpee tilted his head to one side. “How remarkably candid of you, Miss Woolsey."

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