Two Girls of Gettysburg (45 page)

Lizzie
Chapter 48

Martin wanted to walk me home, but I declined, not wanting to face Mama’s inevitable questions. So at the Wagon Hotel we parted ways, and he went off a little disappointed.

“You managed that quite properly,” said Rosanna.

“Were you really asleep? Or were you peering at us the whole time?”

“You’ll never know,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“At least tell me what you think of him.”

“Why, I approve of him.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“He will be more handsome when his beard comes in.”

“He is already handsome!”

“My, it’s easy to rile you up. Of course he is nice looking. And he seems thoughtful and cautious. Neither of you is likely to lose your head in love.”

“But what if I want to!” I spun around until I was giddy.

“Then go ahead,” said Rosanna, laughing and throwing up her hands. “But it’s my obligation as a knowing widow to warn you.”

“Pish and bother,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Oh, Rosanna, this has been the best birthday ever!” I hugged her, then skipped the rest of the way home, stopping in enough time to compose myself before
Mama could see me and guess what I had been up to. But she was away at a meeting.

Alone in my room, I folded my new silk shawl and caressed the fashionable bonnet before putting them away. If I were going to be courted by a fellow, I would need a new dress or two. Would a tartan skirt be too bold? Wearing only my shift, I tilted the mirror on the bureau and stood back to examine myself. I decided I owned a pleasing face and figure—not a beautiful one, certainly, but no longer the awkward, childish body I thought I would always have. I shivered at the memory of Martin’s embrace. How would I react when I saw him again? Would Mama allow Martin to court me, and when Papa came back, would he approve?

Papa’s absence cut into my joy like a small, sharp knife. I went to bed and prayed that another birthday would not pass before I saw him again. And the very next day, the same providence that brought Luke and Rosanna to Gettysburg delivered a letter from Papa! Though it was dirt-stained and battered, the sight of his unmistakable handwriting brought tears of happiness to my eyes. Mama unfolded the letter with shaking fingers while Ben and I crowded around her. I noticed the date on the letter was almost two months ago.

Near railroad depot and’ Pamunkey River
August 30, 1863
Dear wife and children,

I suspect the few lines I wrote weeks ago never made it into the post as I had nothing to bribe the guard with. Nor do I now but I will take my chances. I am worried about your welfare after hearing of the battle at Gettysburg, and only a letter from would put me at ease again.

I am tolerably well at the moment as I have avoided the prison camps thus far. The others taken in the raid were marched away at once. My foot being injured, they kept me behind and more or less forgot me. The ambulance that was to take me to a Richmond hospital never came, so I spent weeks playing checkers and cards with my captors. A good bunch of men, though blind to the evil of rebellion and slavery, and I could not convert their minds.

When my foot healed somewhat they sent me and others by train to a holding camp along the James River, where we expected an exchange of prisoners that never came to pass. Conditions there were poor. I was given a square of wormy cornbread and 2 oz. of salted meat per day. With no shelter, my clothes and boots rotted on my body. My wound broke open and started to fester again due to damp and filth. A kind Southern doctor finally sent me to a Richmond hospital, where my foot was pronounced gangrenous and the necessary operation conducted at once.

The good news, at which you should rejoice, is that I am alive and with both my arms, to embrace you when the war is over. I have only lost my lower right leg. In my ward are two men with no legs, and one missing half of his face. When I am back in the good hands of the Union medical corps, I will get a wooden leg that straps on like a harness.

However, for the time being I expect to be sent to Belle Isle or Libby Prison in Richmond. I don’t mean to scare you if you have heard of the misery in theseplaces. But I must have a letter from you! The hope of seeing your beloved faces again is what keeps me alive. Remember as I do to pray every day for an end to this war and the birth of a lasting peace & freedom.

Your loving husband and father, Albert

Albert

I was too stunned to speak or even to cry.

“They cut off Papa’s foot, just like that?” cried Ben in disbelief.

Mama let out a sob, and I put my arm around her shoulder, wondering what I could possibly say to comfort her. But she didn’t need comforting.

“Dear Jesus, he’s alive! Oh, praise God,” Mama cried. “I must write to him now.”

“I’ll get a pen and paper for you,” Ben said, jumping up.

The letter from Papa had bolstered Mama’s hopes, but I couldn’t stop worrying. All the letter assured us was that he had been alive two months ago. Why hadn’t he written since then? I skipped my literature class and went to the shop, where I shuffled pages in the account books while my feelings shifted between hope and despair.

An hour later Amos pulled up with a cartload of squealing pigs.

“Why that’s great news ‘bout your pa!” he called out.

“Yes, it is,” I replied, watching Amos’s nimble, vigorous movements as he wrestled a wandering sow through the gate.

“Why’re you lookin’ so low spirited, Miz Lizzie?” he asked, wiping his face on a handkerchief.

“My father will never be able to do that again—what you just did,” I said, trying to keep my voice from wavering, the tears from coming.

“He don’ need to, ‘cause I kin do it for him.”

“Oh, Amos, I can’t bear the thought of him being crippled forever!”

“Your pa still has his head, don’ he? His heart ain’t in his foot, is it?”

At this I had to smile.

“Don’ you worry. He ain’t goin’ to be that different at all.”

“If he ever comes home…” My voice trailed off.

“Now Miz Lizzie, you got to have faith,” insisted Amos. “That’s what I lived on, an’ look how the Lord rewarded me—I have Grace and baby Lincoln, a freeborn chile, growin’ bigger as we speak.” His face shone with pride at the thought of his son. “You, too, go an’ count up your blessings.”

I tried. I sat down and wrote a long letter to Papa in which I described the battle for Little Round Top, Luke’s surprising visit, and the excitement of Rosanna’s return. We had all come safely through the battle, I wrote. Business was good. Amos and Grace had a new baby. Martin Weigel had given me a birthday present. By the time I finished the letter, I did feel blessed, and I had hope that Papa would come home.

I recopied the letter and mailed one to Libby Prison and the other to Belle Isle. Surely one of them would find him. But Papa’s letter reached us first, on the last day of October, when the air bit the skin with the venom of coming winter.

October 15, 1863 Belle Isle Prison
Dearest wife and children,

How I pray that your letters to me are crossing paths with this one.

I arrived with dozens of other prisoners packed into a roofless boxcar that swayed terribly. I could not stand up, lacking my foot, so mercifully the others letme lie down, but then I was nearly crushed. From the depot we were herded like cattle through the Richmond streets. I hopped on crutches, my stump throbbing. Many in the crowds jeered, while the Negroes simply stared at us, fellow captives, with emotions that must have been extreme and complicated.

So many prisoners had arrived that we were left on a sandbar in the James River to be baked by the sun for three days. Finally we were sorted out and roughly accommodated at Belle Isle—a mistaken name for this grim, unlovely place. I will not appall you with details of the suffering here: the fevers, miasmas, and mosquitoes. A fellow Pennsylvanian, a young lawyer, contracted septicemia from his infected bites and died. Many starve for lack of food. I am healthier than most, despite being crippled. I was easily able to barter my salt beef ration for the ink and paper to write this..

There is some cause for hope, however, as sick and wounded prisoners are sometimes released because it is impossible to care for them. They must fend for themselves and agree not to bear arms against the Confederacy again. As a one-legged man I am a good candidate, though I push in vain for my case to be reviewed.

Two years and four months have passed since I kissed you, dear wife, and beheld the lovely faces of little Benjamin and Lizzie. How much longer must I endure the separation from all I love? Until justice triumphs and God remits His anger against this warring nation.Lray for that event, and yet be patient, as it may take me still longer to yet home to you.

Ever your loving,

Albert and Papa

“At least we know where Papa is, and that he is managing to survive,” I said, as Mama finished the letter and sat in silence. “Surely he has received our letters by now and they will cheer him up.”

“Maybe Papa’s injury is not such a bad thing, if it means he’ll be freed from that terrible prison,” said Ben, sounding hopeful.

“He simply cannot spend the winter there,” said Mama, and from the look that crossed her face, I knew she was afraid he would die from the cold.

That very day she wrote again to her brother, insisting that he use his influence to get Papa released, and she paid a courier fifteen dollars to get the letter to Richmond speedily.

“If I don’t hear something in ten days, I will get on a train and go to the prison myself,” she said.

The idea of my mother leaving made my stomach clench with fear.

“But it wouldn’t be safe for you to go alone. At least let me come with you,” I protested.

“No, Lizzie, you will stay here with Ben.”

“What good can you do? They’ll just turn you away. And think of all the diseases you might catch. You can’t go,” I said stubbornly.

Mama’s eyebrows shot up. “I am the head of this household, Lizzie. Do not presume to give
me
orders. The matter is decided.”

I barely managed to keep my temper. In the days that followed, a tense mood settled over our house. No letters or telegrams brought news from Richmond. One afternoon in early November a snow squall blew down from a heavy cloud, and for an hour or more you couldn’t
see fifty feet in front of you. The snow melted the next day, but my mind was changed. Now I wanted Mama to go to Richmond, the sooner the better. On Wednesday, November 11, she packed her valise.

“How will we know if you get there safely?” asked Ben, who had taken over the worrying from me. “When will you be back?”

Mama pulled him to her with one arm, kissing the top of his head.

“Don’t worry. I will be with your aunt and uncle McGreevey.”

“You’ll miss the dedication of the Soldier’s National Cemetery next week,” he said. “You won’t get to see President Lincoln when he comes.”

“That can’t be helped, I’m afraid,” Mama replied. “Now carry this bag.”

At the depot, Ben played with the stationmaster’s cat while we waited for the train. Mama laid her hand on my arm.

“Lizzie, when I am gone, you must be careful of what people might say.” She paused and I looked up at her questioningly. “About you and Martin.”

I gulped and felt my face grow red, despite the chill in the air.

“But we’ve only kissed a few times, Mama,” I said meekly.

“I trust you, Lizzie. But you and Martin should not be together without a chaperone such as Margaret.”

How Mama knew about us, I was too embarrassed to ask. But I also felt the urge to confide in her. The train grated to a slow halt, giving me a moment to pick out my words.

“Mama, I’ve realized … that Martin’s been a steady friend … through everything. And now—well, I think … I’m in love … with him.” I stammered my way through this unfamiliar territory of words.

Mama smiled but her eyes teared up as she kissed me and hugged Ben, then boarded the train for Richmond, waving from the window until the train disappeared from sight.

I didn’t worry about Mama while she was gone. I knew she was stronger than she had been when the war started. She would find Papa. They would be reunited in the prison and embrace in tears. I remembered how I had run out to tell Papa good-bye the morning he left for war. He had lifted me up like I weighed no more than a sack of beans. He had been vigorous and full of confidence. What did he look like now?