by Angela Moody
“We know,” Tillie croaked. She longed for a glass of water. “Not about your maid. I’m pleased she’s safe, but Mother and I saw what happened.”
Salome’s eyes went to the soldiers. Tillie followed her gaze.
The men rode by, smiling and waving to the crowds while the citizens continued singing.
“I hate all this excitement. I despise the reason for it. War only brings sadness.” Salome faced the marching men for another moment more. She turned to Maggie and Tillie with such an abrupt motion, Tillie jumped.
“Well, I must go.” Sally’s bright tone signified another shift. “Good day to you both. Give my regards to your parents.” She pushed past Tillie and disappeared into the crowd.
“I must say…” Maggie stared at the direction she’d gone, shaking her head. “I always feel one step behind her in a conversation. I can never determine when the turns are coming.”
“It was all I could do, not to tell her what Mother did at the Diamond.” Tillie shrugged. “Something about her always makes me want to go one better. I don’t know why, but it’s true.” Tillie put her hand on Maggie’s arm. “Come on, let’s go home.”
They walked for a few paces in silence, intent on working through the crowd. Maggie picked up the conversation. “Thank heaven James left off with her before he went away. I don’t mean to sound unchristian, but I don’t care for her much.”
Tillie laughed. “I’m glad you said that. I don’t either.”
“You know,” Tillie glanced back toward Washington Street, “with everything I’ve read in the papers, if someone told me two armies would meet here, I would have laughed.” She stepped off the curb to go around a group headed in the opposite direction, before rejoining her sister. “After all, this is sleepy little Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Nothing ever happens here.”
* * * *
“Mr.-and-Mrs.-Pierce-guess-what-happened-to-me-this-morning?” Sam barged into the kitchen, the words spilling out of him, jolting Tillie.
Father squeezed Sam’s arm. “Don’t hold back, boy. Tell us what happened.” Father laughed.
Mother passed the dinner bowls around.
They laughed at Sam’s puzzled face, but joined in when he got the joke.
“We followed the boys to their encampment near Pennsylvania College. They invited us to help care for the horses, so we watered and brushed them.” Sam took a quick bite of his bread, tucked the morsel into his cheek, and continued, “Some of the soldiers showed us their weapons and how they work, too. I even held a rifled musket today. They said if we get permission from our fathers, we can come back this afternoon and help some more.” Sam took another quick bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Can I go back, sir?”
“Why, Sam Wade.” Mother laid down her fork. “I distinctly remember telling you not to get too close to the soldiers.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He obviously tried to sound contrite. But his head bobbed up and down, and his blue eyes sparkled. “But they waved to us to come with them so I reckoned you wouldn’t mind, since they invited us.” He crinkled his forehead at Father. “May I go, sir? If I get my chores done early, may I go back to the camp with Gates and Bertie? Their parents said they can go.”
Poor Sam worked so hard, a day off wouldn’t hurt him. How unfair if Father said no.
Father scowled at the boy as he lowered his fork. “Did the soldiers invite you or are you telling me they did?” He held up a hand to emphasize his next words. “I’m not accusing you of lying, but I don’t want you at the camp if they told you not to get in the way.”
“No, sir.” Sam’s eyes opened wide. “I promise they invited us back. May I go?”
Father faced Mother with a what-do-you-think look.
“I don’t object, but the decision is yours, dear.” Mother speared a potato. “The boy gets so few distractions.”
Tillie’s eyes darted between Mother and Father as she bit off the end of her asparagus stalk. Good for you, Sam. Have fun.
Father nodded. “You may go. Forget the chores this once. I’ll do them myself. See you mind them and stay out of their way.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam wriggled in his chair. “I will.”
* * * *
Sam returned home for supper with two soldiers in tow. Both men removed their kepis.
“Mr. Pierce, this is Sergeant Woods and Corporal Morgan. I brought them home for supper.”
Compared to the young Confederate who ogled her yesterday, these men appeared healthy and well fed, and so much more handsome for being Northern boys.
Corporal Morgan smiled at Tillie, and his even white teeth gleamed against his suntanned face.
“Corporal, what did you do to your hair?” Tillie pointed to his head. A distinct line ran around the edge of his hair, an exact match to the bill of his hat. Above the line, his hair was a lovely walnut brown, but below, a honey color.
His grin was warm and friendly. He straightened and put a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “I worked hard for this hairstyle. Are you maligning my skills, perchance?”
She laughed. “Gracious no. Merely commenting on a most unusual style. I approve heartily.”
Corporal Morgan drew his hand across his forehead and then flicked his fingers, as though shaking sweat away. “Thank goodness.” His green eyes sparkled. “No, it comes from many days out in the elements, Miss Pierce.”
She scanned him from top to bottom. His light-blue trousers with a bold yellow stripe down each side tucked into knee-high cavalrymen’s boots, and the cloth clung to his muscular thighs. He reminded her of George. She pursed her lips and glanced at Maggie, who worked at the stove, her back to the men. Tillie readjusted her smile and turned to Sergeant Woods. A shorter, slimmer man than the corporal, he held a burlap sack in the crook of his arm.
Sergeant Woods appeared older than Corporal Morgan, though with their weather-beaten faces she couldn’t tell.
Woods expression was more solemn, almost sad, and the haunted shadows in his eyes made him seem ancient. He smiled and gave a quick head bob for a hello.
“Please come in and join us for supper.” Mother welcomed them. “I apologize for the slim fare, but the Rebs came almost daily and insisted we give them our food.” She gestured at the meager spread. “However, you’re welcome to share our meal.”
Sergeant Wood stepped forward. “Then perhaps this might help alleviate some of your distress.” He held out the burlap sack.
“Coffee!” Mother’s eyes lit, and she buried her nose in the sack, inhaling the pungent aroma. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much. Let me make a pot now so it’ll be ready after supper.” She bustled to the stove.
Father chuckled at Mother’s delight. “One of the first things the Rebs took was coffee. There’s been none anywhere in town for the better part of a week now.” He held out his hand.
“Thank you for welcoming us into your home.” Sergeant Woods and Corporal Morgan shook hands with Father.
“Which cavalry unit are you boys with?” Father brought them to the table, inviting them to sit.
“We’re with the First Corps, First Division of the U.S. Calvary, sir, commanded by General Buford.”
“General Buford. I’ve read about him.” Tillie put a bowl of stewed tomatoes down at the corporal’s elbow. “He fought well at Antietam.”
“Yes.” Sergeant Woods’s smile left his face. The same haunted look Tillie glimpsed earlier shadowed his eyes.
Her brow creased as she appraised first Corporal Morgan, then Sergeant Woods. “Did I say something wrong?”
Corporal Morgan frowned and laid a gentle hand on his companion’s shoulder. “No, you didn’t.” He smiled. “Uh, the general is settin’ up shop out near the college.” He addressed Father. “He’s having us spread out on that ridge of high ground there. He believes the Rebs went northwest toward Cashtown, so he wants to be ready for them. In all honesty, we’re not entirely certain where they are.”
Mother spun from the stove. Everyone turned at her sharp in
take of breath.
“Whatever the case, ma’am,” the corporal lifted his hands in a reassuring gesture, seeing her consternation, “we’ll find ’em.”
Mother finished with the coffee and claimed her place at the table.
Father read a passage from First Samuel, chapter seventeen. After reading the passage, he put the Bible away and returned to the table.
“David and Goliath.” Sergeant Woods spooned the tomatoes onto his plate. “Is that how you judge the situation, Mr. Pierce? Are we David or Goliath?”
“Oh, David for sure.” Corporal Morgan jumped into the conversation before Father got a chance to speak. He blushed and ducked his head to hide a chagrined smile. “I apologize, sir. I assure you my parents brought me up better than that. Three years in the Army does erode one’s manners.” He took the bowl of potatoes Maggie offered him.
“That’s all right, corporal.” Father placed some beans on his plate. “You expressed my thoughts well.”
“We are the stronger side,” Morgan went on, “they think they have God on their side, but we know we do.” He scooped a large helping of mashed potatoes. “The more so because the infantry isn’t far behind us.” He passed the potatoes to Tillie. “I suspect they’ll be here within a day or two and all will be well.”
“Will there be fighting here?” Mother’s voice diminished.
Corporal Morgan ate a forkful of potato. His jaw stiffened as he held the food in his mouth before swallowing hard. He turned to Mother with a deliberate, serious stare. “Hard to say, Mrs. Pierce, but most likely we’ll fight somewhere near here.”
Forks clattered on dinnerware as everyone absorbed the news.
* * * *
After supper, Tillie followed everyone into the parlor. Mother served the coffee with the fancy, company, silver coffeepot before settling herself in a chair.
“Sergeant Woods let me clean his carbine today.” Sam sat on the floor near the sergeant’s feet. His eyes gleamed with hero worship. “Didn’t you, Sarge?”
Woods ruffled Sam’s hair. “Yes I did, and a fine job he did, too.”
Everyone ruffled Sam’s hair. Tillie studied him, curious. Sam was easy to like. He didn’t seem to mind when people did.
Mother turned on Sam, breaking Tillie’s reverie. “Why, Samuel Wade, you deliberately disobeyed. I told you not to get in the way.”
Corporal Morgan and Sergeant Woods both rose to Sam’s defense. They spoke over each other to reassure her.
“No, ma’am, he wasn’t in the way. We enjoyed having him and his friends around.” Sergeant Woods gave Mother a reassuring smile. He smiled at Sam and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Sergeant Woods sat forward in his chair. “Mrs. Pierce.” He laid his elbows on his knees and spoke in a slow, deliberate manner. “Young Sam here was a good boy and did what we asked him to do, right away and with good humor. To reward him, I offered to let him hold my carbine, and I showed him how to clean the stock and barrel. He did not ask, and he did not break any rules.”
“No, he didn’t,” Corporal Morgan echoed.
“Well.” Mother studied each man. She sat back and relaxed. “Since you say he behaved as a good boy, and you offered, I will not insult you, or Sam, by suggesting otherwise.”
Tillie let her breath out. Thank goodness.
Sergeant Woods shifted as if about to rise and sat back again. “I must also beg your forgiveness for my behavior at the supper table.” He dropped his gaze to the floor and held his palms out, at the general chorus of dismissal. “It’s—well, you see—my brother and I fought at Antietam. He died there.”
“Oh, sergeant, I’m so sorry.” Tillie touched his arm in sympathy. “I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless.”
“You weren’t thoughtless.” He patted her hand. “How could you know? We’ve just met.”
“Well, I feel bad nonetheless. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Maggie left the room.
“Did I say something wrong?” Now he raised his eyebrows, an uncertain frown on his face.
Father sat forward and waved away his concern. “Her beau died a few days ago. He was on his way to his new unit when he was killed by a Rebel soldier.”
“I’m so sorry,” the sergeant whispered.
After a moment of awkward silence, conversation resumed and they talked like old friends catching up after years apart. The men stayed for another hour.
“We must be back by eight o’clock. General’s orders.” Sergeant Woods told them with regret. His slow, measured steps brought them to the front door. Corporal Morgan followed him.
“Thank you so much for the coffee.” Mother grasped his hand in hers. “Such a wonderful treat.”
“They took all your food?” Morgan shook his head. He fidgeted with the kepi in his hands. “The powers that be told us the Rebs didn’t loot folks. Goes to show you, I guess.”
“They appeared pretty hungry to me. I’m not surprised. But we’ll manage.” Mother shook the corporal’s hand. “The Lord always provides.”
“Yes, ma’am. He surely does.” Morgan settled his kepi on his head. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, thank you for a fine evening. Good night, Miss Pierce.” He saluted Sam, who returned the gesture.
“Give our regards to the older Miss Pierce.” Sarge shook hands with Father. “Good night, folks.”
Tillie went to bed and stared at the ceiling, seeing Sergeant Wood’s sad eyes and the corporal’s infectious grin. Her eyes drifted closed as a vision took shape. She stood on the front porch in her best brown muslin school dress. In one hand, she held a white handkerchief, and in the other, a flower, which she held out to a man in a resplendent cavalryman’s uniform, astride a black steed. Tillie sighed as he leaned down to kiss her goodbye. A smile twitched her lips. What a wonderful evening.
* * * *
Tillie bounded down the stairs for breakfast when the doorknocker rattled. Corporal Morgan and Sergeant Woods stood on the stoop with a huge wooden box propped between them.
“Sergeant, corporal, good morning. How wonderful to see you again.”
“Good morning, Miss Tillie. Is your ma around?” Morgan panted, struggling to hold his end of the box and remove his cap. Sergeant Woods nodded a greeting.
“Please come in.” Pulling the door wide, Tillie indicated the huge box. “What have you got in there?” She grinned. “I’ll go find Mother. She’s in the kitchen making breakfast. Are you hungry?”
The two of them manhandled the crate into the house, tilting it to get through the doorway. Big black letters burned into the side read: Official Property of the U.S. Government.
“What in heaven’s name is all this? You two didn’t do something illegal did you?” She giggled.
They put the crate down with a thump and straightened. Both men breathed hard from the exertion. “Your ma?” Sergeant Woods’s eyes sparkled.
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” Tillie twirled, belling her skirts, and strode to the kitchen.
“Mother, Corporal Morgan and Sergeant Woods are back with a huge box. They wanted me to come and get you.” She turned to Sam eating his breakfast. “You might want to go get Father.”
Sam nodded and bolted out the back door.
Tillie followed Mother back to the hall. The men bobbed their heads at Mother as she approached.
“What’s this?” She wiped her hands on her apron. “What have you boys done?”
“Nothing illegal, ma’am, if that’s what you’re asking.” Corporal Morgan twisted his cap in his hands, a grin on his face. “We took up a collection from our unit, and when General Buford heard what the Rebs did with your food, he wrote out a requisition slip to take to the quartermaster, so we brought you some supplies.”
Father entered the hallway, still wearing his bloody leather apron and holding a crowbar. Tillie put a hand to her mouth and turned away as Sam joined Father, a hammer in his hand. Together they pried open the top of the box to reveal an enormous quantity of food—eggs, cheese, sacks of flour, coffee, s
ugar, rice, and beans.
Mother lifted out one of three rashers of bacon and gazed into their grinning faces. Her voice came out soft and heavy with emotion. “You boys must stay for breakfast.” Using her apron, she wiped tears from her eyes.
* * * *
Tillie and Maggie ascended Culp’s Hill, in the waning warmth of the day, scouting for wildflowers. At breakfast, Sergeant Woods and Corporal Morgan announced that much of the infantry had arrived during the night, and more were due in the next day or two.
“Thank you for coming with me.” Tillie selected a handful of pink buttercups. “I hoped you’d keep me company. Some girls from school handed out flowers, and I wanted to do the same.”
“I’m happy to. I think flowers are a wonderful idea. We can use our old ribbons to make pretty bouquets if you want.” Maggie reached for a daisy.
“Good idea.” Tillie plucked a daisy. “Imagine.” She lifted the flower as an offering. “Handing a flower to a young, handsome officer and he pledge his undying devotion in return. How delightful!” She giggled.
“No!” Maggie almost yanked a flower out of the ground.
Tillie cocked her head. “Why not?”
“No more soldiers, not for me.” A savage tone sliced through Maggie’s voice as she reached for another daisy.
Did she mean George? A soldier for one day, for heaven’s sake? And not an actual soldier, but a farmer. Tillie bit down hard on her tongue and turned her back to hide her burning cheeks. Her heart pounded out her shame for her cruelty and lack of compassion. Reaching for a black-eyed Susan, she pulled the stem until it snapped. She tossed the yellow flower into her bunch. They worked for the next quarter hour in silence.
They sat on a fallen log in the forest’s cool darkness and organized their flowers. The lowering sun couldn’t penetrate the thick trunks. They waved away clouds of gnats as they finished bundling flowers, tossing those already wilted. They descended the hill, stopping for a cool drink at Spangler’s spring, a small creek winding around the base of the Culp’s Hill.