Two Girls of Gettysburg (22 page)

John raised his head and looked up into the bare trees. A lone red cardinal perched there, repeating its song. In the distance, tin mess-ware clanged, signaling mealtime.

“Rosanna, what did I do to deserve you?” I don’t know what he meant by the question, but at least he managed to smile at me. “Upon my death, or at the end of the war, whichever comes first, Tom shall be free, as you wish.”

“Not because I wish it, but because it is right,” I whispered, feeling no triumph, only gratitude.

“It may be,” he said, and turning around, he retraced the path to camp, seemingly deep in thought. I followed in silence.

February 27, 1863 Camp Petersburg

I am thoroughly sick of camp life and all its discomforts. Above all the lack of cleanliness disgusts me. One who has not been in a camp cannot imagine the smell of a barracks full of men who have not bathed in months. John is a little less revolting because I launder his clothes, and our patients are lucky in that they are kept as clean as can be, under the circumstances.

As for myself, I have not bathed since I was in Richmond over three weeks ago! I am wearing all my clothes in order to stay warm. My hair is flat and shiny with oil. I am ashamed for my own husband to see me. Surely none of my friends in Gettysburg would recognize me in such a state. Lizzie and I once joked that I could not survive a single day in camp; well, it has been nearly six months! And for the last five weeks we have had to melt snow to drink because the stream was fouled from the camp latrines.

But I have chosen this course and will persevere. Now I am able to treat wounds of all sorts and even set simple fractures. I know how to treat the ague and typhoid, and when to let nature run her course, for good or ill. Measles have broken out, and in some cases the infection progresses to the lungs or brain. I had the disease as a child, but John may not be immune, so I have instructed him to avoid anyone with signs of a fever or rash.

Good news! Mrs. Throckmorton has just interrupted my writing to announce that she has water boiling and a washtub at hand, and Mrs. Gordon has stoked up the fire, so we are going to wash our hair and take turns bathing. My spirits are already revived.

Lizzie
Chapter 23

When the spring thaw came to Gettysburg, my wintertime worries also melted away. The shop had turned a good profit and we were able to pay the first loan installment on time. Mama had gotten through the bitter-cold months without any fevers, nothing worse than a one-week cough. I hadn’t been sick at all, and Ben suffered a lengthy cold but still managed to grow two inches. I was concerned about Grace, however. She was often sick and didn’t have much energy, but she refused to see a doctor. Then the reason she was ailing became clear: she was expecting a baby. She was so slim to begin with that her belly started to show in March with a baby that was due to be born in July. Amos treated her like she was glass, but I could see that she was made out of something more like iron. I thought most women became softer and somewhat dreamy when they were expecting their first babies, but Grace was not like anyone I’d ever known in that regard, or in any way at all.

Nor was anyone I knew quite like Rosanna, whose friendship was proving hard to replace. Martin and I were no closer to being friends than we were the day we went sledding on Little Round Top. To my disappointment, I seldom saw him, for he had to work on his father’s farm nearly every day. I needed a companion and confidant, and Ginnie
Wade seemed the only good prospect. She always greeted me when I saw her in the shops or along Baltimore Street, where she lived with her mother. One day we fell into step together as I was going to Margaret’s house.

“My sister is expecting her first child this summer,” Ginnie announced. “I expect I’ll be with her a lot.” Georgia Wade had married her fellow, Louis McClellan—who was no relation to the general—when he came home on furlough. Now she lived just a few doors from Margaret.

“You are lucky. I always wished for an older sister,” I said with a sigh.

“Oh, don’t. It’s no fun being the younger one. We always bicker.”

“Grace is also expecting, you know. Since Amos is practically a member of our family now, their baby will be almost like a cousin to me.”

“Goodness, really?” said Ginnie, raising her eyebrows. Was it disapproval I saw, or only surprise? She changed the subject. “I think Martin Weigel likes you.”

“No! He does? How do you know?” I replied, all flustered.

“I saw him watching you in church one day. But maybe he was just distracted. It was a long sermon.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” I said with an edge of sarcasm in my tone. I couldn’t tell if Ginnie was teasing me. With Rosanna I would have known at once. I could have told her that I was sweet on Martin, and she would have known what to do next. But Rosanna was no longer my friend.

“Annie Baumann told me she has been writing to your brother Luke and he has written back,” said Ginnie, changing the subject.

Ever since the incident with Rosanna’s flag, I had considered Annie mean and insipid. I wished Luke had chosen some other girl to write to. But if I told Ginnie this, she might tell Annie that I disliked her. It was wearying to have to watch every word I said.

“Annie thinks it’s terribly romantic, your cousin being a field nurse, but her mother says it’s shocking.”

“Annie thinks so
because
her mother disapproves!” I blurted out. But I didn’t want to gossip about Rosanna. It was like pressing on a bruise. “Will you and Jack marry when he comes home from the war?” Ginnie’s beau, Jack Skelly, had joined the 87th Regiment, along with many other Gettysburg men.

Ginnie sighed. “I hope so. I’m almost twenty. It would be so exciting to be married, don’t you think?”

I didn’t think so at all. But I tried to be agreeable.

“It
is
rather dull here in Gettysburg,” I said. “I mean, the war is going on out there, all the men are gone, and you and I are just sitting here.” A new conscription law had been passed, and all men between the ages of twenty and forty-five were being drafted, unless they could produce a three-hundred-dollar bounty.

“I’m not bored,” she said. “I’m too busy sewing and doing relief work. What else
could
we do?”

“We could fight, like the men do,” I said idly, then told Ginnie about the girl from Philadelphia who had cut her hair short and joined a regiment. “I read about it in the newspaper. She wasn’t discovered for a whole year. Then she was shot in the arm and the surgeon who removed the bullet noticed her … well, you can guess what. They drummed her out of the army, but at least she now has a story to tell her children someday.”

Ginnie looked horrified. Rosanna, would have relished the story.

“Well, I think it was brave of her,” I said. “And I understand why she did it. She wanted an adventure. I might do it, too, if I could keep from getting shot. Then again, if the rebels come back, you and I
might have to learn to use a rifle, because there will be only boys and old men left to defend the town.”

I said this just to shock poor Ginnie. I knew I could no more fight in a war than pigs could fly out of their pens. I didn’t have the courage of a hero like Frederick Hartmann or even the blind bravery that made Luke pick up that rifle and dash headlong at the enemy, firing again and again. I would have turned and run the other way.

“Well,” said Ginnie, “you’re almost as wild as your cousin, I reckon. What’s wrong with being a young woman with ordinary desires?”

“Nothing,” I started to say, but Ginnie had turned in at the gate of her sister’s house. I didn’t even get the chance to ask her if she could find a way to let Martin know I liked him. I would just have to take matters into my own hands.

I saw my chance on a sunny May day that promised a glorious summer to come. Wildflowers bloomed in the fields and along the roads, raising my spirits. I felt as confident as spring itself. Nothing bad could happen on a day like this. I knew Martin would be coming to the shop to help Amos with a task. While on my way to the post office, I came up with a plan. I would start a conversation, then mention the church ice-cream social in June, and if he failed to pick up on that cue, I would lightly suggest that we attend it together. My stomach fluttered with nervous excitement as I waited in line at the post office. I wondered if I would seem too bold. The postmaster nodded at me. There was a letter for Mama. Now I would have to take it home before going to the shop. If I didn’t hurry, I might miss Martin.

Mama was in the garden with Ben, planting corn and staking bean seedlings. She had gained some weight and I thought that, like the sun, she grew stronger as spring advanced.

“A letter from Luke,” I announced brightly.
Mama said, “You read it to me, dear. My hands are muddy.”

Though I was in a hurry, I couldn’t refuse her, so I unfolded it and began to read.

May 6, 1863
Camp near Bull Run Creek, Va.
Dearest Mother and Lizzie and Ben,

I hope this letter finds you all well though I am sad & discouraged. We received word of our troops being whipped at Chancellorsville though we were greater in numbers by two to one. We do not seem to have a general who can stop the rebels from mowing us down like wheat. But they have lost General “Stonewall” Jackson who was shot by his own men in the confusion of battle.

Some of the men are afraid (or maybe hopeful) that this defeat will cause the northern newspapers to call for Lincoln to end the war on any terms. I for one cannot bear to lose the war, neither can I stand more fighting.

Now to my real reason for writing, I have bad news.

I paused. My heart had started to beat rapidly. I looked uncertainly at Mama. She motioned for me to go on reading. My hands were now shaking, so I sat down on the ground before continuing:

Last week Papa and a detail of men were sent to rustle up a herd of cattle in the Blue Ridge foothills. It was not expected to be too dangerous but only half their number returned (without the cattle), having been surprised by rebels and several taken prisoner, Papa
among them. He was shot at but Devine Bernard who got away believes he was not hit or not seriously injured anyway.

When I heard, I was desperate to go out and rescue him but Devine told me not to be a fool and make my mother grieve over both of us. But I will not come home without him!

We are following the enemy north up the Potomac. Though we are weak from losses and in poor spirits, we are in the good hands of Col. Strong Vincent, his courage matches his name. I have heard that Lee wants to take the war into Pennsylvania. I dont mean to put fear into you, but to give you warning to be prepared.

Your dutiful son and brother,
Luke

Mama had dropped her hoe and was leaning against Ben, moaning. Ben held her up until they reached the porch, then eased her down onto a step. I put my arms around her, and we sat for a long time without speaking. I struggled to take in this new knowledge: that Papa was a prisoner of the Confederates. He might be injured as well. What would happen to him? What if he never—

“He’s still alive,” said Ben. It sounded almost like a question.

“Yes, of course he is!” I said quickly. I was worried about Mama. She was sitting motionless with her hands over her face.

“What are we going to do?” asked Ben in a small voice.

Mama lifted her head. Her eyes were dry.

“We will do our work, as usual,” she said, pushing herself off the step and standing up. “Ben, go and finish planting that row.”

I felt tears coming, and uncontrollable words poured out with them.

“Why did this happen to Papa? Is God punishing me for complaining? Being hateful to my brothers? Not praying enough?”

“It’s not any of God’s doing,” Mama said grimly. “War is man’s doing.”

I swallowed hard. “What should I do?” I asked in a small voice.

“Please, go tell Margaret. I don’t think I can do it.”

On the way to Margaret’s house, I saw Mrs. Baumann and Mrs. Pierpont near the courthouse and Ginnie Wade and her mother coming out of the dry goods store. I hurried by without stopping to greet any of them. I couldn’t bear to say the words “my father has been taken prisoner” and see their pitying looks. I did not even consider going to the butcher shop to see Martin, for my own affections no longer seemed important.

Jack was sitting on the front steps of Margaret’s house, his brown eyes wide with worry, and Clara leaned against him, sucking her thumb. Their sad looks confused me. How could they have already heard the news about Papa?

“What’s the matter, honey?” I said, absently patting Clara’s head.

“Our mama is crying. It’s something to do with Aunt Rosie,” said Jack.

“Now what has she done?” I said, feeling annoyed. It didn’t occur to me that Rosanna might be sick or hurt. It was Papa I worried about.