The Last Full Measure (4 page)

"Can you come?" She was breathless with excitement, her face flushed, her golden curls askew. "A few of us are going to the Lutheran Theological Seminary, to the cupola on the roof. I've got my grandfather's binoculars." And she produced them from under the snow white apron she wore over her calico dress.

"You can see near to Washington with this thing. We'll be able to see from there what's happening. Will your brother let you go?"

She had once told me that she was taken aback by David's sternness. And I knew she would not survive two days under his supervision.

"He's not around," I said.

"It's less than a mile from here. Come on—we'll have some sport."

"I should at least tell Mama I'm going to your house or something."

"Good, you do that. Meet us across the street."

So I lied to Mama and told her I was going to Nancy Burns's house for an hour or so. She gave permission and off I went.

The other girls were Debbie Shields, Agnes Bylander, and Virginia Myers. The town was so crowded and the citizens in such a merry mood that no one noticed us walking the half-mile to the end of town, then crossing the street and trekking up the hill to the seminary.

There were by now, if you took the time to look, Yankee soldiers camped all around the base of the hill. You could tell of their presence by the smoke already rising in the air from the many campfires, from the tops of the tents being erected. And then, just when your attention got captured by that, the seminary itself caught and stole your eye.

I'd seen it many times from a distance but had never been up this close. It certainly was a spectacle. It was a huge brick building, three stories high, that seemed to go on and on, standing there against the hard blue sky, with a white cupola on top.

I wondered if there came to be a battle here, if the building would be destroyed.

It had a right to be destroyed, I decided. It was too high-toned for Gettysburg. Those who had built it had been too full of themselves, gotten beyond their own assigned post in life. It frightened me when people did that. It was like, in getting too big for their britches, they were tempting God.

"That," Nancy said, pointing up to the cupola, "is where we're headed."

For a moment it came to me.
She's as crazy as her grandfather
.

We all stared at her, and I knew the other girls were thinking the same thing. We'd come this far. Why not go the rest of the way? And the place seemed deserted since the Rebs had arrived.

"We've got to be careful the Zieglers don't hear us," Nancy cautioned. "Their apartment is on the first floor."

I'd forgotten about them. And I should know better because Mama knew Catherine Ziegler. Her father was the caretaker here. So we crept silently past their door and followed Nancy just as quietly down the wide hall. The sounds of our footfalls echoed anyway as we found our way up the winding stairs, right to the cupola.

Nancy ran right to the end to look out with her binoculars. "Oh my God!" she said. "What a view. You can see everything from here! Oh, girls. You must look!"

One after another we handed the binoculars around. When it came to my turn I was breathless. It wasn't the first time I'd looked through a telescope. Both Brandon and Joel had them, and before they left for war, they had taught me how to use them and trusted me to handle them carefully.

But now, what I saw!

I saw what God must see looking down on us from above.

I saw the mountains, as God must have seen them to His satisfaction, right after He created them, blue and hazy in the west. I saw the men camping on the slopes below us. I could see their faces as they leaned over campfires, the insignias on their uniforms.

I saw one soldier take a locket out of his pocket, open it, and gaze into it to look at a likeness of someone. His sweetheart? His wife?

I felt, truth to tell, like an intruder, looking on things I had no right to see.

I saw a beautiful horse chomping on some oats out of a bag fastened around its neck, and I thought of Ramrod and got sad.

Then I had to give the binoculars back to Nancy.

We all enjoyed a second look around, and then, soon enough, it was time to go.

When we got back downstairs into the wide foyer with the marble floor and the big windows, we stopped.

Just coming in the door was a tall man, a soldier. No, an officer, a very tall and handsome officer.

He had two attendants with him.

He was steely-eyed and wore a handlebar mustache, and he had a good head of hair, for he was young, younger than any officer had a right to be. His uniform had a single row of gold buttons down the front and gold epaulets on the shoulders. He stood stock-still when he saw us. "What are you girls doing here?" he demanded.

His voice was strong and echoed in the empty hall.

We stood, stunned into silence at first. Then I spoke, because I figured that somebody should, lest we all be arrested as spies.

"We were just looking at the countryside with our binoculars, sir," I said.

"Where are you from?"

"We live in town," I said. "I have two brothers serving in the army. My pa is a surgeon in the army."

"What army?"

"Yours, sir. The Union army. My brothers are with the Second Pennsylvania Cavalry."

"What is your name?"

"Tacy Stryker, sir. My brothers are Joel and Brandon Stryker. These are my friends from town, Nancy Burns, Debbie Shields, Agnes Bylander, and Virginia Myers. Nancy Burns's grandfather is well past seventy now and he's gone off, this very morning, to fight for the Union, General."

"How do you know I'm a general?"

"By your uniform, sir, your epaulets. My brothers, Joel and Brandon, schooled me in a lot of military matters."

He nodded. "I am General John Buford. Those are some of my men out there on the hill. You girls do not belong in this place, and I am very angry to see you here. Do your families know you are here?"

"No, sir," I answered.

"You should be questioned as spies or, at the very least, given a good spanking, but I am going to let you off the hook, because I believe you, Tacy Stryker. Apparently your brothers, being in the military, have schooled you in manners about how to deal with your superiors. Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, they have done a good job, And I wish them well in their future battles. Now go! Go home immediately and stay there. A battle is coming!"

I curtsied. The others didn't. The general nodded at me and smiled as I ran from the room.

Hundreds of Buford's men were strewn about the grounds around the seminary, and I begged Nancy to find another way out than the road down Seminary Hill.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because I know a captain in the brigade. He stopped by our house this morning for directions, and my brother David rode off with him to show him the way. If David is still hanging around here and sees me, he'll kill me, that's why. Is that good enough for you?"

It was. We found another path home.

Fortunately, I arrived home before David. And before Mama had cause to worry about me.

But I was on edge the rest of that day, thinking David would find out, praying to God he wouldn't, promising God all kinds of things if only He would keep David from discovering my sins. Even while I longed to tell both Mama and David that I had met General John Buford.

David was in a horrible mood, likely from having seen all those beautiful, capable Yankee soldiers, all those men his own age and younger, who had gone to war. He'd probably been hit in the face with the reality of his deficiency ten times over this morning, like buckets of cold water. And rehashed the unfairness of it on the way home.

Word came to us from Josie that most of the families on the street were inviting Yankee officers into their homes for dinner.

"Did you invite anyone?" Mama asked David.

"No," he answered grouchily from a chair in the parlor, where he was reading the
Lancaster Daily Express
. "I didn't."

"I feel we should," Mama said. "Why don't you take a walk down the street. I'm sure you'll meet an officer. Invite him for supper. Don't you think that would be nice?"

"No, I don't," David responded dully.

I could see Mama's face fall in disappointment. She too suffered from David's moods, though she never said a word about it. She knew she must put up with him, and even respected his moods.

I didn't, though. Never would. "I think you're being rude to Mama," I said.

He looked at me, scowling. "Did I ask what you think?"

"No, but I'm telling you."

"You are, are you? So then, while you're telling me things, tell me where you were today."

My heart came to a standstill. "At Nancy Burns's house. This morning."

There was a moment's dreadful silence.
God
, I prayed,
you're supposed to be on my side, remember?

My brother was leveling a solemn, searching gaze at me, one of those looks that made me know he was seeing through to my soul.
I'm finished
, I thought.
He knows. Now he's going to swallow me all of a piece, nothing less
.

"Who gave you permission to go out?" he asked.

My voice scarce worked. "Mama did. I asked."

He looked at Mama.

"That's right," she said, "I did."

David lowered his head, went back to his newspaper. "Well, if I'd been home I'd never have given permission."

That was it, that was all. My heart started beating again, and it was so loud that I thought both of them must have heard it.

I
N SPITE OF
his mood, late that night David took me with him to Christ Lutheran Church to bring some vittles to Marvelous and her mother in the belfry.

Oh, it wasn't his idea to take me along. It was Mama's.

"Take her with you, David. She's had a lot of losses these last few days. Her father was home for such a short time and she had to say goodbye to him again. She's still just a little girl, you know, and she misses her father. And she misses Marvelous, too, hidden away as she is up there. And she's lost her horse. And don't forget Jennie Wade. Even though they fought, I know there's an ache in her heart for Jennie."

Tears built up in my throat when Mama said all that.

She had summed up my troubles before I could even acknowledge them to myself. And even though she understood and respected David's moods, he was still her son, and on occasion she could still reprimand him.

And on occasion he listened.

He stood there in the kitchen with a lantern in one hand and a basket of food in the other.

"All right," he said to me, "come on, then. But I'm doing this for Mama." He handed the basket of food to me and picked up a stone jar of water. "And we leave when I say so."

***

W
E FOUND
our way through the darkened church and up the stairs with no difficulty.

Marvelous had seen us coming and was waiting excitedly. We hugged.

"I know this whole place by heart," she said. "I know how many pews there be and I tiptoe around up and down between the aisles at night when nobody's about."

Her mother was busy thanking David for the food and water, asking him the news and complaining how she could not keep her daughter in tow. "Awful difficult keepin' that chile quiet in here," she was saying. "An' I miss my Basil so. Did you get word to him that we's okay, David?"

"Yes," my brother told her. "He wanted to come and see you, then decided he didn't want to let on to anybody that you're still in town. You know you and Marvelous could come and hide out in our cellar, Mary."

"Nosir, don't wanna get you all in trouble. We stayin' right here till this thing blow over. I do anythin', anythin' to keep me an' Marvelous from bein' sold into slavery. Oh, this food is so good. Tell your mama thank you. She is such a good woman. And you, son"—she put her hand on his arm—"you be such a good boy. I always did love you, David, like a son."

They ate the food and I sat next to Marvelous in near silent companionship, talking only occasionally, telling her how I missed her, making plans for what we'd do when the Rebs were driven out of town. We giggled, we whispered. David and Mary paid no mind to us, and by the lantern's light we near fell asleep, leaning against each other while David and Mary exchanged news and confidences.

Then David was shaking me. I had fallen asleep. "Time to go," he said.

"Oh, can't she stay the night?" Marvelous begged.

I had wanted to ask, but dared not.

David was kindly to Marvelous. "No, sweetie," he said, "I'm afraid not. You and your mother might have to flee on a moment's notice. Your mother and I have discussed what she should do if this happens. You'll see Tacy soon, I promise. This will all be over in a few days. The Yankee army is here and it's very strong. They'll drive the Rebs out of town. Now go to sleep."

He grabbed my hand and drew me to my feet, then took a blanket from Mary and covered Marvelous in a manner so tender that I gazed in amazement.
This is my old brother David
, I thought.

Then he led me downstairs and we went out into the night.

He said not a word to me all the way home.

I had always known that David cared about Marvelous and her mother. He hated the very idea of slavery, and while my brothers Joel and Brandon may have gone off to war to save the Union, I think David wanted to go off to free the slaves.

We never discussed it as a family. Pa never intruded on his sons' private reasons for going to war, never tried to influence them. He always allowed them to make up their own minds about politics and such. But I know for a fact that David hated slavery.

***

W
HEN WE GOT
home, the houses on the street were dark, with the exception of a few that still had lights burning in some of the windows.

Mama had left a lantern aglow in a front window for us. We saw it from a distance. But as we neared the house we saw a figure huddled on our stoop.

As we approached, David put an arm out to hold me back and walked on ahead. He didn't have his musket with him, but shoved in his waistband in back of his trousers he had a Colt .45. "Can I help you, sir?" I heard him ask.