Two Girls of Gettysburg (24 page)

Mother hid her face and began weeping. Father looked at me, a
struggle evident on his face. Then he took me in his arms and held me tightly. It has been years since he did so.

“Rosanna, my dear, that is all water under the bridge. Let it go, let it go. I forgive you,” he kept murmuring, his voice breaking.

When we had all dried our eyes, Father insisted that I keep the money to establish myself in a new lodging. Mother kissed me and said she loved me. For the first time in years, I am at peace with them.

June 2, 1863

I was writing a note to the lawyer when a knock came at the kitchen door, and as the cook was away, I answered it. There stood Tom, dressed plainly but well. I led him into the drawing room, but he seemed uncomfortable there and remained standing. He did not immediately state his business, and I wondered why he had come.

“Do you need money?” I asked, ashamed of my selfishness. “You must have a portion of John’s legacy, for you served him all his life, while I was his wife not even a year.”

Tom shook his head, saying Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox had provided for him.

“At least let me thank you, for everything you ever did for my husband. It has been an honor to know you,” I said, extending my hand. He obliged me by shaking it.

“You’re welcome an’ all, Miz Wilcox, but I ain’t goin’ nowhere just yet,” he said with a firmness that startled me. “I done promised Mastuh John I would look after you if he was to die, an’ be sure you would get on all right and keep goin’ like you was. An’ with due respect, ma’am, you don’t look like you’re doin’ too well.”

The tears pooled in my eyes at the compassion in his voice. I looked down at my ill-fitting black dress and clasped my hands to keep them from trembling.

“What do you mean, ‘keep going like I was?’”

“John was right proud of you bein’ part of the company and takin’ such good care of all the men that was sick or hurt. For all the suffrin’ he went through with bein’ shot and gettin’ the typhoid and all, I ain’t never seen him so happy as he was since he married you. There, I’ve said my piece.”

Tom’s words were like a slim ray of light through a dark cloud. I had made John happy! And he had been proud of my work after all.

“Why, do you think I should return to my duties? That John would wish it?” I asked, more than surprised at the idea.

“That’s not for me to say, Miz Wilcox.” Tom looked away. “Perhaps I already said too much.”

“No, Tom. You didn’t.”

He stood there while I tried to gather my thoughts, which were all in turmoil. Indeed, why should I stop my work on behalf of others because my own husband died? I was a capable nurse, and my services were still needed. Perhaps the work would even help to heal my grief.

“I will go back!” I said, grasping both his hands. “Tom, you have righted my ship and restored its course. Thank you.”

To his credit he did not flinch, though I think I embarrassed him.

“It’d be best if I escorted you,” he offered.

“My affairs here are almost settled. Give me two days,” I said.

June 8, 1863 Essex County, along the Rappahannock River

It took me three days, not two, to finish settling John’s estate and gather what meager provisions I could obtain in this starved city. Mother seemed newly hurt and bewildered, while Father, perceiving my determination, would not allow her to hinder me.

Tom hitched his horse to the wagon that had brought John’s casket home, and I rode Dolly as before. Once we locate the 1st Virginia, he will continue northward. I wonder how we will find the regiment, but Tom plans to follow the river northwest until we overtake them as they march to meet the rest of Lee’s army.

June 11, 1863 near Fredericksburg

Dr. Walker will be pleased. After a number of stops for supplies, I now have a substantial cache of sulfates, laudanum, candles, bandages, soap, and a portable medical kit for my use. I pray we are not robbed. Perhaps I should have brought John’s Enfield rifle rather than leaving it with his father.

We took a few wrong turns before a farmer directed us to the road we sought. Unmistakably, an army has marched through here recently, strewing swords, mess kits, blankets, and garbage. A film of dirt covers this debris and the fences and fields, due to the clouds of dust stirred up by their passing. Where they pitched camp, the fields are trampled bare and scorched in patches from cooking fires.

June 13, 1863 south of Culpeper

Today we came within sight of the army’s rear, and as we approached the hospital wagons, I felt my spirits lift with anticipation. When I embraced Mrs. Throckmorton, she gave me a knowing smile, as if she expected my return.

“I can’t even count all the soldiers who asked about you and were disappointed that you had gone. As if these old hands of mine weren’t capable enough,” she said with pretended gruffness.

“I’m back now. I’m sorry for leaving. Only please don’t treat me like a deserter and shoot me,” I said, and we both smiled.

Dr. Walker seemed surprised to see me and was grateful for the supplies and medicines.

June 20, 1863 near Winchester

Last week, following the rendezvous of the armies in Culpeper, we began the march due north. Lee’s army is in three corps under generals Ewell, Hill, and Longstreet, who is in command of the 1st Virginia. Tom changed his mind about going north. For now he remains with the regiment and is being paid to take care of the officers’ horses. It seems that he also has developed unlikely loyalties and affections.

This morning we struck camp to march due north toward Martinsburg in West Virginia. Rumors about our destination have been flying for days. I hoped it was only the wishful talk of restless soldiers. But today the report is confirmed as true.

General Lee, with his full army now amassed together, will invade Pennsylvania and bring this laggard, drawn-out war to a head.

Part 2

Lizzie
Chapter 25

The war was two years old that June of 1863. Children who had been babies when the volunteers went off were now toddling around and starting to talk. Ben had grown about six inches. My mother had more gray hair, Margaret a few new lines around her mouth. I was still ordinary Lizzie Allbauer. I ran a butcher shop and had a liking for a boy who, for all I knew, took no interest in me. I thought about Papa and Luke every day and prayed for their safety. I wondered if Papa would detect anything different about me if he could see me now, at age seventeen and a half. Would he notice the inner strength Mama said I had?

I doubted I was very strong if I couldn’t even summon the courage to tell Martin Weigel that I liked him. Even worse, he had said nothing to me. Our conversations at work were brief and businesslike. He knew as well as I did that the annual ice-cream social was approaching. I hoped he would ask me to go, but he never mentioned it. Did he have his eye on some other girl? I wondered who she could be and if she was pretty.

The second Sunday of June arrived. I went to the ice-cream social with Mama, determined to enjoy myself. The grounds of the Theological Seminary on top of Oak Ridge were dotted with white canopies,
and trestle tables groaned under the weight of pies, cakes, meat, and fruit. Sure enough, courting couples were everywhere, walking hand in hand or sitting on blankets spread in the shade. Boys and girls lined up to turn the crank on one of the ice-cream freezers. I wanted to join them but felt too old for childish pastimes. So I merely observed the gaiety around me, thinking it strange that life went on as usual in Gettysburg. Despite the war, people were still capable of plain joys.

In the field Ben and the other boys ran a three-legged race and shouted as they tumbled over each other like a pack of half-grown dogs. Then the older boys took the field, Martin among them. I watched him join in the rituals of back slapping and fist pumping. When the race began, I clapped and cheered as his long legs became a mere blur, and his team finished in first place. I waited to offer my congratulations as he came off the field. Perhaps I would ask if he wanted to go for strawberries and cream. But Martin went off with the other boys, and they loaded up their plates with sausages and potatoes.

Disappointed, I wandered over to the dessert tents and filled a plate with fresh-picked strawberries. They had been slow to ripen, for spring had come late because winter had lingered until April. Now I savored each berry with its tiny crunchy seeds and soft red flesh and even licked my fingers, for no one was watching me. Ginnie and the other girls were sitting on a blanket, gossipping. Mama and the ladies stood in the shade of an oak tree, cooling themselves with palmetto fans. By the quick and agitated motions of their wrists, I knew they were discussing the war. I moved closer to hear their conversation.

“I know about the governor’s warning, but I don’t believe an attack on our state is imminent,” Mrs. Pierpont was saying with her usual confidence. “We ought not to worry. Why would the Confederate army come to Gettysburg? Harrisburg or Philadelphia would be their aim.”

“Well, I
am
afraid, living along Chambersburg Pike,” said Mrs.
Brodhead, showing her irregular teeth. “I have hardly had a good night’s sleep since those rebel cavalry came through last October.”

“We’ve had so many false alarms,” said Mrs. Wade. “But one of these days it will be the real thing.”

“I am not so worried about a mere band of lawless Confederates,” said my mother, looking into the distance. I knew she was thinking of Papa in captivity somewhere.

“Lizzie, come and join us!” It was Ginnie calling. I went and sat next to her, relieved to be included in a group. The girls were complaining about the lack of suitors, since all the young men had enlisted.

“And who wants to be seen with a mere boy? Why, I’m eighteen now,” Annie was saying, as if her recent birthday were a great accomplishment.

“I saw Martin leave with those country boys,” Ginnie said to me behind her hand. “That’s too bad for you.”

I shrugged, pretending not to care.

“Now, I could fancy that Weigel fellow,” Annie said, apparently overhearing Ginnie. “The way his hair falls over his eyes makes him look dashing.”

Was she taunting me? No one would describe Martin as “dashing.”

“Well aren’t you the fickle one, Annie!” I said, matching her light tone. “You’ll break my brother’s heart for sure.” I smiled to show that I meant no offense, but she looked sore anyway.

“Come, Ginnie,” she said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “Let’s walk by those two soldiers over there and find out if they are on furlough and for how long.”

I was relieved to be excluded from Annie’s invitation. I watched her waltz past the soldiers and pause, waiting to be noticed. Ginnie stood by demurely, while Annie preened like a bird. The soldiers nodded politely but moved away, and Annie’s plumage wilted. I felt
embarrassed on her behalf. Annie and Ginnie returned with their heads down. I sprang to my feet.

“I am going to climb up to the cupola in the seminary,” I announced, hurrying off before anyone could join me.

Inside the building, the marble floors gave off a welcome coolness. My footsteps echoed in the hallways. I found the staircase leading to the cupola, and on the way up passed a girl and her fellow coming down the stairs, holding hands. From four stories above the ground I watched people moving between the tents and blankets and chairs below. In the distance I could see a patchwork of fields divided by fences, an occasional farmhouse, and rolling hills and woodlands extending for miles. To the east clustered the houses, stores, and steepled churches of Gettysburg. I decided it was good to live in an insignificant place where nothing momentous happened. I would wait for love to come to me, if it was meant to, not risk foolishness and hurt by seeking it out.

Soon the sedate and pleasant ice-cream social was a thing of the past. Around noon the very next day, carriages and wagons began to roll into town laden with chickens and pigs and household goods, and people cried, “The rebels are coming! Move out, move out!” Confused travelers headed every which way, for no one knew exactly where the rebels were. Someone said they were raiding Chambersburg again, while others said they were coming up from Mary land. I ran to the depot hoping to learn more. There I saw Annie Baumann’s father and other shopkeepers loading their goods onto railroad cars. Even the bankers had emptied their vaults and were sending the money to Philadelphia for safekeeping.

Infected by the panic around me, I ran home to find our neighbors piling their furniture into a wagon.

“Shouldn’t we leave too, Mama?” I realized I was wringing my hands.

“No, we are staying right here. Grace ought to be resting in bed until her time comes, not bouncing to Baltimore.” If Mama was worried, she hid it well. My own mouth was dry with fear.

That night I started up from a restless sleep. It was after midnight. I went to the window just as an elderly gentleman ran crookedly by, huffing with each step and crying, “The rebels are on their way here, burning everything in their path!” Up and down the street, neighbors leaned out of their windows and ran outside in their nightclothes. Someone shouted that the sky to the south was orange with flames. All I could see was blackness over the housetops along York Street. I ran to Mama’s room and found her already awake and dressed.