Prologue September 1879 Sally Louisa Tomkins stood her ground. She jerked her elbow free from the congressman’s hand and refused to take even one small step toward the door. Instead, she planted her feet on the speaker’s stand and turned on him, pointing a finger between his eyes. “I came here at your behest, Mr. Caperton, but I will not stand for your disrespect.” “Captain Sally,” he tried, reaching for her elbow again, but missing, as the tiny dark-haired woman ducked out of his reach. “Nor your condescension, thank you very much. I came to say my piece. I was invited to say my piece—” From the second row on the left, Herschel Cobb interjected. “You were invited to discuss your hospital.” “And so I am,” she fired back. “If you don’t like my report, that’s well and good. It’s a terrible report, one that I hate to make—but my facts and figures are true! Gentlemen, we have an epidemic on our hands. One that the Robertson Hospital is neither equipped nor prepared to fight.” “Don’t sell yourself short, Captain. We have great faith in you,” assured Francis Pugh, in the third row on the right. He smiled indulgently, his muttonchops stretching across the wide expanse of his fleshy pink cheeks. “Your rank is testament to that.” She sneered, and took one measured step