Two Girls of Gettysburg (30 page)

My hands and arms shook like I had the palsy. But I took the reins and Buster started up again. We drove under the arched gateway and into the cemetery. The gatehouse was brightly lit, and officers stood around eating, smoking, and talking intently. One of them leaned against the old sign that read
All persons found using firearms on these grounds will be prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law.
The story was that two rivals had once dueled with pistols in the cemetery, and the town council, outraged that the peace of the dead had been violated, erected the sign. Now the cemetery was filled with soldiers carrying firearms and bristling for battle.

A guard approached the cart and signaled for me to stop.

“Evening, miss.” He touched his cap. “What’s in the wagon?”

Unable to lie or tell the truth, my tongue was tied.

“I’ll have to take a look,” he said.

Panic rose in me like floodwater. Just then Jack’s head popped over the side.

“It’s me and my little sister. She’s asleep.” His voice was pitched high with excitement. “That’s my auntie driving. We are trying to find Taneytown Road. Mama sent us on this adventure to get us away from the rebels in town.”

The soldier laughed, ruffled Jack’s hair, and waved us on.

“Good boy, Jack,” I murmured. “There’s candy for you when this is all over.”

I was desperate to get through the cemetery before anyone else confronted us, but army wagons, artillery carts, and soldiers crowded the gravel trail, forcing us to creep along at the pace of a turtle. The boughs of evergreen trees drooped in a ghostly way over the path, the glow of campfires lighting them from beneath. Soldiers lounged
against the gravestones, polishing their rifles or sleeping. Another picket approached the cart. If he discovered the spies, I wondered, could I be charged with treason for aiding them?

Although my heart banged in my chest, this time I kept my wits about me. I explained that I was taking a shortcut to the Weigel farm to wait out the battle. It was half of the truth.

Jack started a rapid one-sided conversation with the soldier. “Is that a real gun? Can I touch it? Can I have your cap? My sister’s asleep in here. You’d better not wake her.”

“Move on through, now,” the picket said, looking tired. “This ain’t no place for women and children.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, jiggling Buster’s reins to hurry him along.

Fragments of conversations drifted to my ears: “General Meade’s just arrived. He’s with General Warren and Sickles in the gatehouse…. We may have taken a beating today, but we’re on good high ground here…. Crawford and the whole Fifth Corps are on their way from Hanover. We’ll have those Johnnies outnumbered tomorrow! … The roads are jammed with our infantry falling over one another to get here first…. Tell ‘em to slow down. It ain’t a footrace; it’s a damn war.”

Though I was eager for news, I also knew that every remark was being overheard by the rebel spies. So I slunk through the Union ranks, feeling like a traitor. When the path began to circle around again, I drove down the opposite side of the hill, past the sharp palings of the new breastworks. The cart swayed and bumped down the rocky slope, but I heard not the slightest moan from Grace. I drove through a field until I came to a break in the fence and guided the cart through it. I had to wait while a Union artillery regiment passed by, the caissons rumbling on the hard, dry road. Were these to be my last moments alive, sitting along the Taneytown Road in a cloud of dust eerily lit by moonlight, before the rebels shot me? When the last
wagon had rolled by, I drove through a muddy ditch and up the precarious rise onto the roadway itself, where I reined in Buster.

I don’t know if it was anger, plain terror, or relief at being still alive that made me bold to the point of foolishness. I stood up, picked up the empty rifle, and aimed it at the cart.

“You’ve had a long enough ride. Now get out,” I said.

Lizzie
Chapter 32

I heard a rustling in the straw and Jack peered over the side of the wagon. He was wearing a Confederate cap.

“Don’t shoot me, Lizzie!” he said in a high voice.

I kept the gun as steady as I could.

“I’m talking to those two rebels,” I said.

“Oh, they’re gone!” Jack said. “They jumped out. Look, they gave me this cap for being so good.”

My arms and shoulders went limp, and my grip on the rifle sagged.

“Thank God! Are Clara and Grace all right?”

“Clara’s sleepin’,” came Grace’s low voice. “They did’n’ hurt us none.”

“That was a dandy adventure, Lizzie!” said Jack, tugging on his new cap. “I can’t wait to tell Mama!”

“Don’t tell anyone we helped a couple of rebels!” I warned him.

“But we were kidnapped. And you acted like a hero!”

I sighed, knowing Jack could never keep the night’s events a secret, and slapped Buster with the reins. It was nearly midnight when we reached the Weigel house. In the dark it looked like all the other stone farmhouses along Taneytown Road, but I recognized it because it stood at an angle to the road. Lights glowed in all the windows as if a
party were going on. I wondered if Martin was home. I climbed down from the cart. My muscles were as wobbly as gelatin and my head ached.

“Wer da?”
called Mrs. Weigel from the doorway. “Lizzie! I thought you would come, but not so late.
Es is fast Mitternacht.
You have Margaret’s children with you!
Komm, meine Kinder.
Bring your blankets with you. Where is your
Mutti?
And Margaret? They have not been hurt?”

“No, they stayed home,” I said, too tired to explain further.

“Did you hear,
die Ungeheuere,
the rebel monsters, they set fire to the McLean home today.
Kleine
Amanda and her poor aunt,
sie reissen aus,
they ran for their lives!”

I wished she hadn’t told me that. But I noted the Weigels’ house was made of rough-hewn stone, like a fort.

I helped Grace climb down from the cart. She held her belly and grunted with the effort.

“Ach … mein Gott!”
said Mrs. Weigel in a tone of surprise, and fell silent.

Up that moment, I had been intent on getting to safety. I had not considered that Mrs. Weigel might turn Grace away. What would I do then?

I swallowed hard and put my hand on Grace’s shoulder.

“This is our hired man Amos’s wife, Grace. She needs to lie down somewhere and rest,” I said.

Mrs. Weigel frowned and gazed around, as if considering where to put Grace. The moonlight shone on the garden, where melons ripened on the ground among vines and leaves.

“Then bring her inside,” she said at last, holding the door open for all of us. Clara stumbled in, half-asleep, while Jack strode like a little man with the rifle and cartridge box. I motioned for him to put them
in a corner of the parlor. Mrs. Weigel didn’t notice, she was so busy chattering.

“I put you all in the same room,
ja?
Frieda Baumann and her Annie came this morning. Then Frieda went back home because she was afraid the house would be
geplundert
and their furniture wrecked.”

“Why, the Baumanns live on Middle Street, which is barricaded now. The rebels have taken the whole town,” I said.

“
Liebe Gott!
I said she was foolish. But Annie, she would not go home with her mother. She wanted to stay and help with the soldiers.
Ach,
how they argued! But she is no more
eine kleine Mädchen.
You, too, Lizzie, are all grown up. You are more like your mother all the time.
Ja?
”

I smiled wearily, not minding the comparison. “So there were soldiers here too?”

Mrs. Weigel raised both her hands. “All the day we cooked and pumped water for
tausend und aber tausend Soldaten,
their throats dry with dust from the long marching.
Komm, komm.
Sit down.” She poured broth for me and for Grace, then prattled on, preventing me from asking where Martin was. “And from the direction of town came the ones with terrible wounds, some of them almost dead.
Ach,
how I do run on. The children, are they asleep already? Grace, can you climb the stairs?
Du liebe Himmel,
goodness, that baby is low in your belly. Well, this is as
gut
a place as any, with the doctors out there in the barn.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, barely listening. I was just glad that Mrs. Weigel had decided to welcome Grace after all.

“You look tired, Lizzie. Follow me.” She led Grace and me into a room with a stripped-down bed and a mattress on the floor. A wash basin stood in the corner under a cracked mirror. Jack and Clara were already asleep on a rolled-up rug.
“Deine Mutti
—is she well, your mother?”

“She is worried. We haven’t heard from Ben and Amos in over a week, and I’m afraid … they’ve run into … rebels.” My voice caught like cloth on a thorn bush.

“Sei nicht nervös.
Don’t fret yourself, Lizzie. Your Benjamin is a clever one and he can run fast. Oh, to be young and swift again!
Gute Nacht.
Now, go to sleep.
Und Gott sei dank,
thank him that you are alive and with all your limbs. Here, you must use your own blankets. All the beds we took apart to use in the barn. Don’t fall asleep before you put out the lamp.”

My eyelids flickered. Her words made little sense to me. Why did she keep referring to the barn?

“Wait, Mrs. Weigel. Did Martin—go anywhere today?”

“Goodness, no! Would I let my boy leave here with a battle going on
direkt vor der Nase,
under our very noses?” She turned and left the room.

So Martin had not kept his word. No one would be searching for Ben and Amos now. My disappointment, however, was tinged with relief that Martin would not also be in danger. I couldn’t bear the responsibility for that, too. I lay down and thanked God that we had arrived safely at the Weigels’, but the words were like ashes in my mouth. I might be safe for the moment, but what about Amos and Ben? Papa and Luke? Mama and Margaret? And what about the thousands of soldiers, gazing sleeplessly into campfires in anticipation of the next day’s battle? How many of them would die? With a sigh I rested my cheek on a folded quilt that smelled of Mama’s lavender water and, despite my overwhelming worries, soon fell asleep.

Rosanna
Chapter 33

July 1, 1863 Chambersburg

Awakened early this morning to the noisy preparations of General Heth’s men, which resolved into the measured tread of marching, led by fife and drum. For a moment I considered saddling Dolly and galloping to warn Margaret, Lizzie, and everyone to flee to safety. Alas, such an act would make me a traitor!

Mrs. Throckmorton brought me some coffee, a rarity obtained from a sympathetic grocer in the town. “I know you have relatives in that town,” she said, nodding over her shoulder. “I’m sure they will not be harmed.”

Sipping the warm, bitter coffee, I began to tell Mrs. Throckmorton about Margaret, how I missed her though she hated rebels, how Jack and Clara used to hug and kiss me. I told her how much I regretted hurting my best friend, Lizzie, by leaving so suddenly. I confessed like the Catholics do to their priests. “I fear I will never see them again in this life,” I concluded, beginning to weep. The sobs seemed to echo in the emptiness within me left by John’s death.

“I understand, dear,” said Mrs. Throckmorton, taking my hands in her big, fleshy ones. She said one of her prayers full of “thees” and
“thou” and “O Lords” and “darkness” and “light.” The stream of words did have a soothing effect.

It is now the blackest hour of the night, no longer the first day of July but not fully the second. Late in the afternoon casualties began to arrive from Gettysburg. Apparently every farmhouse and barn between here and Cashtown overflows with wounded. They came in ambulances and ordnance wagons that had been emptied of ammunition. What minié balls and shells began, often the journey completed. Crowded into wagons and driven over rough, bone-rattling roads, many died from pain and blood loss. It should not have been necessary to carry the wounded so far to receive care. But when I demanded of Dr. Walker why there was not a better-equipped hospital near the field, he had no answer.