The Girls of Gettysburg (8 page)

“James!” Dylan raced after her.

“Aw, jiggers!” Jasper ran after them.

“You there!” The lieutenant—Gabriel—called after them. “No one gave you leave. What goes on here is not your concern!”

“James!” Dylan shouted again, beating Annie to the door. “I thought we had this settled. You're with me, not the other way around.”

Dylan in the lead, the three charged through the door. And just as quick, they rocked to a halt.

The room was a shambles. A large hutch had been tipped over, shattering its contents and spewing broken dishes and glassware across the floor. Its drawers had been pulled out and emptied. Annie suspected the soldiers had found what they were after: the family silver.

The soldiers had taken their sabers and shredded the high-backed chairs and the paintings on the wall. Vases, keepsakes, everything. Destroyed.

Standing the middle of the mayhem, a girl no taller than spring wheat whimpered as she clung to her mama's skirts. Her mama whimpered, too, her shoulders shaking in the effort to stay calm. The two watched Annie and Dylan.

“Please,” the woman whispered, pointing. “My son . . .”

On the other side of the room, a soldier held a boy by the collar. The boy hung limp in the grasp, his face swollen from a beating.

“Didn't you hear me,
private
?” Gabriel stormed through the door, holding a pistol. “This is not your concern.”

“I believe you started this conversation,
sir
.” Dylan raised the Whitworth threateningly. “Looks like some things don't change, no matter what fancy duds you wear. You beating up women and children again,
sir
?”

“This here Northern whore is a criminal,” Gabriel began. “She's guilty of hiding fugitives. . . .”

“You find any slaves hiding in those drawers, did you?” Annie hissed.

“You calling me a liar,
private
?” Gabriel stepped up so close to Annie, she could smell the onion he had for breakfast. Gabriel pointed to the woman. “She's a spy for the Federals.”

Dylan exploded, pummeling the lieutenant's arm with the butt of the Whitworth. The pistol fired with the impact, and the woman and child screeched. The bullet struck the wall.

“Run!” Annie shouted to them. The woman gathered the limp body of her son and her daughter, and fled the house.

The second soldier—Drake, the one who'd caught the chicken—now pulled his pistol on Dylan. Annie rushed forward. At the same time,
Jasper yelled and balled his fists, and the two rammed into the man like riled-up bulls. All three exploded through the front door, rolling in a heap of howls.

Annie was used to hunting possum, and
this
chicken fighter was not near as bright as the possums she hunted that played dead for a living. As Drake struggled to his feet, Annie swung up, and with a wallop caught him under the chin, sending him sprawling backward. Jasper howled, jumping atop the man, pinning him down. Drake responded with a heave, losing his breakfast.

“Jiggers!” Jasper jumped. “Not on my new boots!”

The man struggled to get up, but Annie was faster.

“Just so you know, I don't ever miss my mark.” She grabbed his pistol and aimed. “You hold still, or you'll see firsthand the truth of my boast.”

Another shot rang out from inside. Annie and Jasper swerved as Dylan and the lieutenant tumbled through the front door.

“You always did hide behind your pap, you low-bred coward,” Gabriel shouted as he swung his fist. Dylan caught it and returned the favor.

By now, others had heard the shots and the shouting, and raced toward the house to see what the ruckus was all about. They joined the fray, swinging fists and insults as fast as bullets. Soon the melee spread into the road.

Suddenly several shots rang out. Dylan and Gabriel stopped; Annie and Jasper ducked, covering their heads. Some fell to the ground in quick surrender, while others scattered like chickens on the run.

“
Atten
-SHUN!” It was Gideon and other sergeants who had fired their rifles. Next to them stood Major Owens and a captain from the Fiftieth Georgia.

The soldiers in the yard snapped to their feet and saluted.

“You men here”—Major Owens pointed to Dylan, Jasper, and Annie, and then Gabriel and Drake—“you stay put. The rest of you report back to wherever you came from.” He turned to Dylan. “You think we have nothing better to do than fight among ourselves? Maybe we should confine you to solitary. What do you think, captain?”

The captain smiled in reply, but he flashed a pointed glance toward Gideon. Annie had to fight to hold down her grin.

“It would seem our boys are itching for a fight,” Major Owens continued. “May I remind you, we are not ruffians. We do not beat up women and children. I'll leave your men in your expert hands, captain, to do with as you see fit. I'll tell the colonel when I see him.”

The captain snapped a salute, calling out for Gabriel and Drake to fall in line. Gideon shot a pointed look at the captain, watching them quick-step back toward camp.

“Boyos, let's call it a day.” Gideon turned back to Dylan.

“All this because of a chicken.” Jasper scrubbed the scum from his boots. “Jiggers.”

Pappa was a mountain, but Mamma's worry had chipped away at the mountain with the steady force of wind and rain. Lee's army had crossed the Potomac, made its way through Chambersburg, and now moved across the pass. Raiders had been sighted as close as eight miles west of town.

Mamma's fears boiled over; Pappa
had
to do something. It was decided: he was putting Mamma and Grace on the train. But—and on this he stood solid as rock—he was not leaving. He had work to do. Grace wondered if Pappa's work had to do with Friend Alice and the two runaways.

Grace wanted to stay with Pappa. But both Mamma and Pappa would have none of it: she was leaving with Mamma.

The last of the town also meant to leave, everyone desperate to get away.

A woman pushed between them as she urged her children through the rail cars. “Be still! Be quiet!” And Mamma's hold on her slipped.

“I'm here, Mamma!” Grace shouted, but her shouts were lost as a boy dashed by her, followed quickly by three more in chase, spinning her around like a top. Another woman whirled hard about, holding tight to one child and balancing another on her hip. “Ruffians!” the woman shouted, pushing Grace back between two seats.

“Mamma!” Grace called. But Mamma was lost somewhere well
ahead of her in the crowd. She struggled to stand up, but a man bent with age shoved her against a seat. The train whistle blew, and Grace herself was ready to blow.

Pappa wouldn't be moved, and here she was being shoved about like a sack of apples. Well! Good glory almighty then, she wouldn't be moved either!

There was no second thought, no second-guessing, no confusion. Just that quick, Grace slipped through the door and jumped onto the platform. The whistle blew again, the stack huffing and puffing like some iron monster as the train moved away.

“Child!” a familiar voice shouted. Grace swallowed hard, steeling herself as she faced Miss Mary. Miss Mary, stubborn as Pappa and angry as Mamma, wasn't about to let her go. “Don't think you can get away, child.”

“This is home.” Grace tried to pull away. “Pappa won't be moved. You won't be moved. I won't be moved! I'm going home to help Pappa. He'll be mad,” Grace said, “but not for long.”

“I imagine he just might,” Miss Mary said. “But he can only be upset with you if you're alive and well. I'll send word to him that you're staying with me tonight. Lordy, you are a handful.”

Friend Alice had left the day before to scout for help, promising to return by nightfall. She still hadn't come back for the runaways. Everyone knew what that meant: she was trapped somewhere, a prisoner, or maybe killed.

“
They'll
be the death of us!” Mrs. Scott pointed to Grace as she stormed from the room. “You should get her and the other two out of here while you can, Mary. Think of us, for goodness' sake!”

Grace recognized that look Miss Mary gave to Mrs. Scott. Mamma gave that very same shame-on-you look to her all the time these days.

Miss Mary gave Grace a bowl filled with biscuits and peaches. “You can start earning your keep by taking these to our guests downstairs. The little one is Weezy. Her sister's name is Sorry.”

“Those are funny names,” Grace said. “Why would a mamma name her children so oddly?”

“Move along now, Grace,” Miss Mary said.

Grace took the bowl and hurried down the secret stairs. “Hello,” she said as she moved the plank shutter aside.

The smaller one, Weezy, smiled an easy, toothy smile as she took the bowl from Grace. Her sister, Sorry, didn't smile. Her face had not a whit of life, as if it had walked out one day and never returned. She just looked at everything, at everyone—and at no one. Not even as she took the bowl from Weezy.

Grace wondered where they'd been and what they'd seen. She imagined they'd come a long way, because they looked as ragged as the scarecrow on Pappa's field. But she said nothing and left them in the dark.

Miss Mary was waiting for her in the kitchen.

“I have to go home,” Grace said.

“I sent the Jackson boy with word that you're here. I'm sure your pappa is on his way.”

“He's going to be angry.” Grace inhaled with a whistle.

“We all have consequences to bear for the choices we make,” Miss Mary chuckled. “The question is, are the consequences worth the choice you made?”

Grace straightened her shoulders.

But the day ended soon enough, and Pappa still had not come for her.

The next morning, Miss Mary kept Grace busy with chores and away from the front window. Hour after hour, Pappa still didn't come for her. And Friend Alice didn't return for the runaways. Grace found a new worry, wondering if this was the same worry Mamma felt all the time: waiting for something to happen.

Now, preparing dinner for the runaways, she heard shouts outside. Grace raced to the front window.

“Maybe it's Pappa!” she shouted.

“Wait, child!” Miss Mary caught Grace's arm, and the two stood on the stoop.

“See, there they go again.” Mrs. Scott flailed her arm. “No wonder the town is a basket of nerves. You almost want the rebels to get here, just to be done with it.”

Watching the road, Grace shook her head. “Pappa . . .”

“All's well.” Miss Mary forced a smile.

But it wasn't true.

“Miss Mary!” She pointed. Soldiers on horseback, in wagons, and on foot, in tight formation, were marching down Chambersburg Street. She couldn't tell from the ragged uniforms who they were, rebel or Union.

Neighbors, the few who'd stayed in town, poured into the streets to watch. Officers brandished their swords as the soldiers fired their guns into the air.