The Girls of Gettysburg (6 page)

Grace curled in the heavy upholstered chair nearest the front window, breathing in the breeze and the night-blooming jasmine. Grace liked this window. She could see who was coming into town from here.

All night wagons were rolling and horses neighing, dogs barking and neighbors shouting. The southern sky burned brighter than the moon.

The embers glowed in the fireplace, throwing a dull red glow about the room. Crawling off the chair, Grace threw a log on the fire and watched the embers spit themselves awake.

Just then, noises came from the kitchen.

“I know you are awake, child,” Miss Mary called. “Come help me with the baking. Busy hands are the best way to stay any worry.”

“I'm worried for Mamma.” Grace walked into the kitchen, the floor cold on her bare feet.

“Of course you are, child. But no need for us to worry just this moment. It was Emmitsburg that burned last night, and not because of any Confederate invasion. Some old fool got carried away in panic and burned down twenty-seven houses. Families lost everything they had on this earth because an old fool jumped at his own shadow. Foolishness, that's all it was.”

“Everyone is in such a panic.” Mary's sister, Martha Scott, emerged from the back stairs into the kitchen. She was tall and stoop-shouldered, rail thin like a cornstalk, with her brown hair pulled tightly back on her head. No two sisters were more different than Miss Mary and Mrs. Scott.

“Good morning, Mrs. Scott,” Grace offered.

“It's not morning yet. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in days, Mary.” Mrs. Scott tied on her apron. She moved past Grace as she went for the large pot simmering on the back of the cast-iron stove. “You see that rabble out there? Most of those Negroes are leaving, but they're not alone. Our own men are skedaddling. I heard the postmaster is hiding in the woods. Being a Republican, he fears capture as much as those Negroes. Something's coming for sure, Mary.”

“But not today, Martha.” Miss Mary raised her voice, glancing at Grace. Miss Mary cleared her throat, then said, “The major is calling for a town meeting at the diamond this morning. And Governor Curtis sent another telegram, calling for fifty thousand volunteers.”

“Well, that explains why so many of the young men are leaving. I tell you, the world is about to explode something terrible.” Mrs. Scott checked the griddle cakes in the warmer.

Someone rapped on the back door of the kitchen.

“Who on earth would come this early? Mary, be careful.”

Miss Mary nodded at her sister, drying her hands on her apron as she eased Grace out of sight. She stood still for a moment, and then asked, “Who's there?”

“A Friend, with a friend.”

“Friend Alice?” Miss Mary heaved a sigh, opening the door just far enough to let three shadows—a woman and two girls—slip into the kitchen. “God keep you! I can't believe you made it this far! People in these parts don't like Quakers, especially now!”

Grace had heard stories about the Quakers, how they helped slaves run away to freedom up north. Southerners hanged them as thieves. Northerners called them trouble-makers.

Grace fixed her eyes on the smallest shadow. As the shawl fell from her head, Grace could see a girl not much older than herself. She had deep ebony skin and eyes as brown and round as a doe's, a scar cutting across one cheek and another across her neck. Her hands looked like Pappa's hands, hard and gnarled, as she clutched the shawl tight about her shoulders.

“My apologies for surprising you like this, Mary.” Friend Alice removed her straw hat. Her eyes, blue as a summer sky and round as the moon, fell on Grace and smiled. Grace shivered under their sparkle. The woman turned back to Mary. “We were just arrived in Mercersburg when word came of the burning in Emmitsburg. All night we were in the woods. I'm sure no one saw us. I thought it safer to come here straightaway rather than to move on to the mill. Some rebels have destroyed the tracks and the dam at Rock Creek. Rebel parties are raiding all up and down the ridges. It's truly frightful out there.”

“There's so much commotion everywhere.” Miss Mary looked quickly up and down the road before shutting the door. “Come, come. I'll take you downstairs. There's no telling who is watching now.”

Miss Mary led them to the kitchen cupboard and removed a plank, revealing a door. The door creaked as it opened. Grace exhaled:
a secret stairwell!

“Grace, bring some food and some blankets. Mrs. Scott, make some hot tea for our guests.” Miss Mary ushered them down the dark stairs.

Her sister watched the procession, looking none too happy. And when Miss Mary disappeared into the secret cellar, she hissed, “I do declare, Mary doesn't think about us, not at all. The rebels are coming and look what she brings into the house.” Mrs. Scott scowled. Grace smiled one of Pappa's smiles, the crooked one he'd give to Mamma when her words spewed like steam from a tea kettle. He'd stand there, knowing that anything he said wouldn't be right enough. With another hiss, Mrs. Scott shoved a bowl of peaches and biscuits toward Grace.

“This war,” Mrs. Scott went on, turning back to the oven. “Everything is
their
fault.”

“Pappa always said,” Grace said, steadying the peaches, “there are possibilities, here in Gettysburg. It's what makes Gettysburg home.”

“There won't be a town left after all this,” Mrs. Scott harrumphed.

Grace slipped into the secret stairwell, the stairs creaking with her footfalls. Reaching the dirt floor, she held her breath. The thick rock walls smelled musky like mushrooms. The cellar was dark as a cave, except for a lantern glow at the back of the room. She walked through a maze of empty barrels and crates, moving toward that glow. As she came closer to the wall, she noticed that some of the stones had been removed to reveal a hidden room. And in that secret room sat the two girls. Friend Alice stood next to Miss Mary.

Miss Mary took the bowl from Grace, and offered it to the older girl.

“Grace!” That very moment, a familiar voice boomed above in the kitchen. The boards above their heads trembled with every stomping heavy footfall, dirt raining down on their heads.

“Pappa!” Grace shouted. Pappa was already bounding down the stairs and racing across the floor. Without missing a step, he scooped Grace into his arms.

“We was worried, baby girl, but I told Mamma, Miss Mary will take you in. Miss Mary—” He stood to face Miss Mary and extended his hand to offer a firm shake. “The rebels have been sighted on the mountain.”

“They're coming, Mr. Bryan, to be sure,” Friend Alice said.

“Friend Alice?”

Grace stared at Pappa. Pappa knew where the hidden stairs were! He knew where the cellar was!
Pappa knew Friend Alice?

Then Pappa turned, stooping low to see inside the secret room, taking notice of the two figures huddled there. He took his hat off and offered an easy smile in greeting.

He knew because he helped runaways, too
.

Did Mamma know? Was that why she seemed angry all the time? And so afraid?

Grace smiled, big and bold and stubborn. Just like Pappa.

Tillie looked up, her heart full to bursting to hear the church bells ringing in the distance. She meant to take full advantage of her freedom. No studying, no baking bread for the church, no washing clothes or tearing rags, and certainly no sewing!

She ran straightaway to the diamond, where what was left of the town had already gathered to watch the volunteers. Just then, shouting arose. Men too old to volunteer had assembled on the diamond in the center of town. Some men were dressed in ancient uniforms. Some wore farmer overalls, others their Sunday best. But all the men were armed with something: a rusted musket, an old sword, shovels, pitchforks, pickaxes.

Before the assembly stood a portly man, his jacket buttoned tight about his middle. He shouted orders, and everyone marched—each in his own direction. This way and that, they stumbled through the maneuvers.

Tillie chuckled.

Tillie stayed for a while longer, reluctant to go home.

“Tillie!” Mother's sharp voice greeted her. “Help me with these loaves, child. Watch that you don't knead the bread too much.”

Father straightened in his chair. He set the newspaper down, looking to Mother. “The governor is calling for more volunteers.”

“I'm so tired of this.” Mother punched her dough so hard, the table
trembled. “Everyone is at their wits' end. I can almost understand how that poor old man in Emmittsburg lost his sensibility. First the rebels are coming. Then the rebels are not coming. Raiding parties scourge the countryside—some were in Waynesboro, twenty miles down the road. It's all so bedeviling, everyone has lost their sense. And where's our troops? Our most able men from the college and seminary are gone to Harrisburg to volunteer. Who's left to protect us? It's too much, I tell you, too much.”

“Calm yourself, Mother,” Father said. “The volunteers from the local mounted defense are patrolling the Pike. They're keeping an eye on things.”

“Besides, the rebels won't come here, Mother,” Tillie said, sliding another loaf from the oven. “Don't you doubt that at all; our boys won't let them.”

“Your head is in the clouds, Tillie.” Mother shook her head. “And one day you'll fall to earth, landing full on your backside.”

Rebels wouldn't dare come to Gettysburg
, Tillie thought, no matter what others said.
Our handsome and noble troops will push those traitorous scoundrels back where they belong!

At morning light everyone gathered at the diamond again, including Mother and Father.

“A large rebel force has been seen in the mountains!” Burgess Robert Martin boomed, his voice carrying across the diamond.

Tillie inhaled sharply, looking to Father. He rocked on his heels as he stroked his beard. Father was too old to be accepted by the army, and he didn't like it that he was stuck here in Gettysburg while others went off to fight. He considered Jefferson Davis a traitor to the United States, and traitors should be hanged. That's what Father said.