The Girls of Gettysburg (13 page)

“I did not raise a ruffian! Out at such an hour, when no proper lady would dare venture!” Mother wailed in utter horror. “What would the neighbors think!”

“Well, not too many neighbors left to think one way or the other,” said Father from behind the newspaper. Tillie could almost hear him grin. “Did you at least get a good swipe in?”

“Father!” Mother swerved about, all the more horrified.

“I was gathering flowers, Mother,” Tillie explained again. “I just wanted some flowers from the neighbor's garden just across the way, in case our boys came by, and I fell in the alley. Let the neighbors talk, I say. Seems to me there are more important matters to talk about than what one silly girl does.”

Father flipped the newspaper page down, looking at her, startled. “Such wise words coming from
my
little girl?”

Mother cleared her throat. “It's just dangerous out there. You never know who's watching, child.”

“I know, Mother. Sometimes, though, one has to do the right thing, even if it's not necessarily the proper one.”

Father once again peeked over the newspaper, and this time she could see his grin. “Who are you and what did you do with my silly daughter?” He winked at her, and Tillie smiled.

With the arrival of General Buford's Union cavalry the day before, settling on the outskirts east of town, Union soldiers swept the area for any lingering rebel forces. They found them. Musket fire crackled on
the western ridge as the two forces met. The Union force clashed with the rebels on Chambersburg Pike along Seminary Ridge. All morning, blue uniforms filed through Gettysburg, heading toward the booming fire of artillery.

Tillie waved a hearty welcome to the soldiers. Such a dashing sight! A few trickles of townsfolk also came out of hiding onto the streets, offering water and milk, pies and bread. And Tillie gave them flowers. She saw the Tilimons, and the Scotts. And Miss Mary. Her teacher, too. It was as if the town let loose a collective sigh of relief:
at long last, we are safe
.

For hours, everyone stood in the heat, cheering their noble boys on.

As noon approached and the parade moved on, townsfolk lingered on the streets, but Tillie dashed home.

“They were smartly handsome, Mother!” Tillie hooted. “And I tell you, they were very reassuring. They'll send those rebel traitors back to the southland!”

“Tillie!” Her mother shook her head. Father was still outside, talking to neighbors and watching the troops, trying to gather information. Someone tapped on the door.

“Please forgive the intrusion.” Their neighbor Henrietta Schriver gave a nervous smile. She was no taller than a minute, and the whole of her trembled. “They're bringing the wounded into town.”

Tillie looked to Mother.

“Whose wounded, Henrietta?” Mother asked. “What are you saying?”

“Everyone, from both armies. They've filled the seminary on the ridge with wounded, and the churches on the west side. There's so, so many that now they're bringing them into our homes. The battle is going to sweep right through our town. I don't feel safe here anymore. I want to go to my father's farm.” She spoke so fast, she seemed out of breath.

“I thought we'd be safe here.” Mother offered the poor woman a cup of tea. “Father said that both armies have a rule they follow: not to harm the civilians.”

“Margaret, except for my little ones, all my family are at the farm. I
want to be with them now. I just came by to see if you'd like to join me. We'll be safe at the farm.”

Mother looked to Father, then to Tillie. “Father won't leave, and I'm not leaving him. But please take Tillie with you. She can help you with the children.”

“No, Mother.” Tillie shook her head. “I don't want to leave you.”

“This isn't a request, Tillie.” Mother smiled. “I need to know you'll be safe.”

“I'll be just a moment, then,” Tillie huffed, stomping upstairs to her room.

“Tillie!” Mother called after her. “How many times do I have to tell you, ladies don't stomp!”

Tillie gathered her shawl and a bonnet. Then she spied her new dress and petticoats. She had been working on them for a whole year, the petticoats with the eyelet lace, and the skirt with its perfect roses. She could still finish them at the farm. She wrapped them in a bundle and raced downstairs, slowing to a walk as she entered the kitchen.

Hugging her mother, and strapping her bundle about her waist, she followed Henrietta out the door. In tow were Henrietta's two children, Sarah and Mary, both full of tears and wiggles. Taking Sarah's hand, Tillie followed Henrietta as they walked quickly up Baltimore Street, weaving past small groups of Union soldiers, and across the road into Evergreen Cemetery.

“It's not far now.” She tugged at Sarah's hand. “It's just on the other side of that rise!”

“Quickly now!” Henrietta called over her shoulder.

Union soldiers walked through the cemetery, laying down many of the more ornate tombstones. It looked like angels lying on the ground, so many had been toppled. Another soldier was setting up a cannon.

“You're destroying our cemetery?” Henrietta cried out. “Is nothing sacred to you?”

“Sorry, ma'am.” The soldier tipped his hat, staring at his feet. “We were just trying to save them, just in case there's fighting.”

“Fighting?” Henrietta shot Tillie a frightened look. Tillie's heart drummed with dread. “So close to town? When?”

“You shouldn't be here, ma'am.” Another soldier approached Henrietta. He tipped his hat, then pointed to the cannon behind them. “Sharpshooters have been picking off our boys as they walk. As soon as they spot the cannon, the rebs will start shelling this whole area.”

Henrietta started off, Tillie following close at her heels. They moved over the rise, reaching Taneytown Road, where they were met by a rush of traffic: men and horses and wagons crowded the way. This was not the orderly formation of the day before, with the soldiers marching in tidy columns up the Pike and through the town. This was chaos, men running this way and that way. Some were headed toward the battle on the ridge, looking as weary as those returning from it.

And those returning seemed barely able to walk. Heads and arms bandaged, they carried others on litters or over their shoulders.

At that moment a wagon careened by, spraying everyone with dust and pebbles.

“It's General Reynolds!” the wagon driver shouted. “He's dead! He's dead!”

“Let's hurry,” Tillie told Henrietta, but the words scratched her throat. Henrietta nodded, looking up the road, where her family's farm waited, then down the road, back to Gettysburg. Tillie did her best to soothe Sarah, but the girl was crying uncontrollably, reaching for her mother.

“Ma'am?” a young soldier stepped from the archway. “You shouldn't be here. It's not safe.”

“So we've been told.” Henrietta was near to tears. “I'm trying to get to my father's house, on the east side of the Round Tops.”

“It seems no matter where we go, we run into new danger,” said Tillie.

“We must hurry.” The soldier took Henrietta's arm. “I've stopped a wagon and persuaded the driver to take you as passengers.”

Tillie grimaced. The wagon carried wounded soldiers, their clothes ragged and bloody, with bandages that did little to cover their wounds. They moved—as much as they could—to make room for them. But when the soldier lifted Mary and Sarah into the back of the wagon, the wounded seemed to come to life. They smiled and winked and waved
and cooed. The children giggled in reply, which made some of the soldiers weep.

The wagon's wheels jostled along the ruts. The horses struggled to pull the wagon forward, neighing and heaving. Tillie clung tight to the side, as the jostling shook her bones and rattled her teeth. Behind her, soldiers moaned in misery. She held her breath against the dust and the heat. But there was no cutting off the smell and taste of blood.

Then they passed the Bryan house.

Tillie gasped. Most of the famous peach orchard had been cut to stumps. Oh, to see it in ruins! The apple orchards were gone. The fields had been stomped flat. The gardens had been picked clean to dust. There were more men than blades of grass, standing everywhere.

Tillie closed her eyes, her stomach wrenching. Grace and the runaways.
They'd been heading here. They didn't make it
.

Poor Grace Bryan
.

Finally the wagon reached the farm of Henrietta's father, Jacob Weikert. The big stone house stood in the shadow of the Round Tops. Tillie could hear the popping of gunfire in the distance.

She looked back toward town. She'd be safe, she thought, surrounded by the Union camp. But what of Mother and Father?

Sarah and Mary jumped down and ran to their grandfather. Soldiers helped Henrietta off the wagon, but Tillie jumped, anxious to feel solid earth under her feet.

The wagoner tipped his hat and slapped the reins. The horses neighed. The soldiers waved good-bye. The wagon was swallowed in the tide as another column of men, horses, wagons, and artillery made its way down the road.

At three in the morning, a time when even ghosts slept, they finally got their orders. They were marching east. Lee was determined to meet the enemy at Gettysburg.

“This is it.” Dylan spat as he emerged from the tent, looking at Annie. “The games are done. Now you'll show your grit for true.”

Annie nodded.

Tents were being pulled down, rolled up, and packed into wagons with the mess box and kettles. Mules and horses were fed, harnessed, and saddled. Annie packed her knapsack: three days of rations, close to forty rounds of ammunition for the Whitworth, her haversack, and her brother's book.

“You should toss that book of yours,” Dylan said. “It'll get heavy on the road. Stow that fancy rifle in the mess wagon. It won't do you any good where we're going. The cook will keep it safe, I promise.”

“I'll throw the Enfield away before my gun or my book.” They were all she had of home. She strapped the Whitworth to her back.

At that moment Jasper came up from behind, his mouth so full he could barely chew.

“What are you doing? Eating your rations all up in one meal?” Dylan chuckled.

“Seems to me, it's lighter to carry it in my gullet than on my back.” Jasper swallowed.

Dylan laughed, slapping Jasper on the shoulder.

“Fall in!” Gideon boomed. Down the line, other sergeants echoed the call to their men.

Annie went to the left of the line and found her place in the middle of the last row, with Dylan flanking her on one side and Jasper on the other.

“Count off!” Gideon barked, and roll call was taken.

The night was hot enough, promising a day right out of hellfire. Annie drank up the night air, knowing that once dawn broke, the breeze would die.