by Angela Moody
Mother’s fierce gaze bore into Tillie. She stopped her fork halfway to her mouth. “Don’t be impertinent, Tillie.”
Sam smiled but tried to hide it by taking a drink of milk. He put the cup down. “Gates, Bertie, and I wanted to stay and see the fight. When the gun firing started, Gates asked Sarge what it was, and Sarge said rifle fire. Then he told us all to run home and don’t stop until we get there.” Sam’s eyes sparkled.
Mother opened her mouth to scold Sam again.
“There’s nothing to fear, Margaret.” Father cut off whatever she intended to say. “The boy is unharmed and all’s well that ends well.” He gripped Sam’s shoulder and then slapped him on the back.
Mother glared at Father, but said nothing more. She finished her meal in silence.
When dinner ended, Mother rose and, without a word, left the room. Father followed her. Maggie gathered supplies to bring to the basement.
Tillie cleared the table.
Sam crept up behind her. “Am I in a lot of trouble with your mother?”
Tillie gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. “She was scared. We didn’t know where you were or if you were safe or not. If we had to go look for you, we didn’t know where to start.”
Sam blushed. A pleased smile spread across his face, and his blue eyes lit. “She was afraid for me? No one’s ever been afraid for me before.”
Tillie grasped his elbow. “We all were.”
Mother strode into the kitchen. “Tillie, tomorrow I’d like you to—”
Sam walked over, flung his arms around Mother’s waist, and hugged her tight.
Mother held her arms out at her sides, eyes wide, mouth open. Then she wrapped her arms around the boy and leaned down, enfolding him in an embrace.
Tillie’s throat clogged. She pursed her lips and blinked back tears.
Sam broke away, and his smile became a grin. “Thanks.” He ran out the kitchen door.
Tillie turned back to washing dishes. She lifted her apron and wiped away tears. Behind her, Mother blew her nose.
The front door rattled with hard, insistent raps. Voices in the hall drifted back. Father came to the kitchen.
“Tillie. Margaret. Mrs. Schriver would like a word with us.” He headed back to the hall.
“Mrs. Schriver.” Mother grasped Mrs. Schriver’s hands in greeting. “Please come into the parlor and sit down.”
“No thank you, Mrs. Pierce.” Mrs. Schriver smiled and shook her head. “I’m not here for a visit. I came to ask two favors of you.”
“Of course.” Mother stepped back.
“First, I’m going to my father’s farm. I don’t feel safe alone in the house with the girls. I came to ask if Mr. Pierce would look after my home for me while I’m gone.”
“Certainly,” Father said. “Think nothing of it.”
“Thank you.” She inclined her head toward Tillie. “I also wanted to ask permission to take Tillie with me.”
Mother’s mouth dropped open. She looked at Father. “What do you think, James? Should Tillie go with her?”
“I wouldn’t ask, Mrs. Pierce, except I know Tillie and Beckie are good friends. They might enjoy spending the afternoon together. We’ll be home by suppertime.”
“I think it’s a good idea, Margaret.” Father walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “If fighting does erupt again, it would get Tillie safely out of the way.”
When Mother didn’t respond, he addressed Tillie. “What say you, Tillie? Do you want to accompany Mrs. Schriver?”
“Well, if you and Mother don’t object.” Tillie shrugged her acquiescence. She preferred to stay home, but didn’t want to hurt Mrs. Schriver’s feelings by refusing. “I don’t mind going with Mrs. Schriver. I can help with the girls.”
“All right then.” Mother lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Go upstairs, get a clean dress, and put it in the basement. You can change into it when you get home.”
Tillie went to gather her things. She emerged from the basement, kissed her parents, and said goodbye. Had she known what awaited her at the Weikerts, she might have refused.
Chapter 12
Tillie and Mrs. Schriver hurried Mollie and Sadie down a silent and deserted Baltimore Street. Every few seconds the air resounded with the pfoom, pfoom of distant cannon shots. Tillie’s heart pounded, and her mouth went dry. The fighting hadn’t stopped, but it did sound farther away. Perhaps the Confederates were yielding ground. It was strange that they couldn’t hear it inside the house.
She had Mollie by the hand, and with each thud of the cannon, Tillie picked up her pace until she almost dragged the seven-year-old behind her.
They passed through the brick entrance gate of Evergreen Cemetery, cutting across diagonally, moving fast. Distant cannon blasts goaded them on.
“Mama, stop! I can’t walk so fast.” Five-year-old Sadie dug her heels into the ground and pulled back, like a donkey about to balk.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I want to get to Grandpapa’s house.” Mrs. Schriver kept hold of Sadie’s hand. With the other, she reached over and patted the child’s head. She slowed, however, and adopted a more sedate walk. Tillie did the same, though her stomach twisted and lurched. Cresting Cemetery Hill, they came upon Union soldiers placing cannon along the top of the ridge pointed toward the northwest. Tillie jerked to a surprised halt as groups of men positioned the big guns, while others sighted down the length of the barrels. More men placed large wooden cases at the base of each gun. Every team had a specific job to do, and they performed it with exquisite precision.
“They can’t possibly think they’ll fight here can they?” Tillie stared, awed as the men prepared the guns. “Mrs. Schriver, we shouldn’t be here.”
Men moved about the cemetery and pried loose gravestones, which they threw down on the ground.
“What are they doing?” Her voice rose to a horrified, angry pitch as the men threw down the gravestone of a young boy, a friend of William’s, killed at Chancellorsville. She had attended his funeral. “They’re vandalizing the graves!”
One man trotted up and down the line, shouting instructions and giving each gun a final check. He hurried over. “What are you women doing here?” He gestured at them with both arms, shouting above the din growing louder by the second. “Get out of here now!”
Mrs. Schriver pointed, indicating the direction they wanted to go. “If you please.” Firm determination edged her words. “We want to go through the cemetery. My parents live on the other side.”
“Go back the way you came, lady,” the officer shouted at her. “You’ll most likely get shot if you stay here.”
“No!” Mrs. Schriver stamped her foot. “I’m going to my father’s house.” She glared at him. He glared back, and then shrugged. “Fine. It’s your funeral.” He started to turn away, but softened his tone while looking at the children’s frightened faces. “Hurry up, then. Don’t stop for anything. You’re in great danger here. We expect the Rebels to shell us at any moment.”
“Why are they destroying those headstones?” Tillie couldn’t help it. They desecrated a beautiful cemetery, and her heart burned for the poor souls underneath them. “Tell them to stop it!”
“I’ll tell them no such thing. I ordered it.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her brows came together. “How dare you!”
The officer rolled his eyes. “Better to be wounded by one bullet than by hundreds of stone chips or sometimes both.” He whipped his hat off and wiped his brow with his arm. He jammed his hat back on his head. “I don’t have time to debate this with you, but I will say this: flying stone chips can blind and maim in ways bullets can’t. Now, get out of here before I change my mind and send you back the way you came.”
Tillie’s eyes followed the direction the cannons pointed, northwest, toward Seminary Ridge. The Confederates had come over that same ridge Friday afternoon. A chill swept down her spine.
The large red building of the Lutheran Seminary stood sentinel as i
t always did, but around it, a confused battle raged. Men moved back and forth, and thick gray smoke rose from the ground like fog, obscuring the building’s base and the surrounding troops. As they ran here and there, they created an eerie, confused specter, like men moving without lower legs. Every few minutes cannon boomed, and the shells burst in the air above them. The din rose and fell in mighty undulations.
They had run headlong into a battle. How stupid of them. A whimper rose in her throat, but she refused to let it escape. She clenched her jaw against the urge to cry as her breath came in short gasps.
Mrs. Schriver gathered Sadie close and started to run. Mollie cried after her mother, but Tillie gripped her hand so hard, the child couldn’t break loose. Tillie stood riveted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away from the fighting on Seminary Ridge. She was going to die, standing right here in the cemetery, because like a fool, she’d left home.
“Get out of here!” the officer shouted and shoved Tillie in the back, propelling her forward. That broke her spell, and she set off running across the cemetery, desperate to catch up to Mrs. Schriver. They ran toward Taneytown Road. There, below the crest of Cemetery Hill, the sound of the fighting diminished at once, almost as if there was no fighting at all. Tillie relaxed as the peaceful sounds of birds singing and cicadas buzzing calmed her frayed nerves a little.
The women shared the road with hundreds of soldiers and wagons heading toward town. With the rainstorms over the past week and the thousands of troops arriving daily, the road was now a quagmire of deep trenches. Mud collected around the hems of their dresses and sucked at their shoes. Soldiers heading in the opposite direction shouted to the women to get indoors.
Mrs. Schriver ignored them, so Tillie did too, though her heart said the same thing.
“Mama, stop, please!” Sadie yanked on her mother’s hand. “I can’t go anymore.”
“I’m tired too,” Mollie said. “I need to rest.”
Mrs. Schriver acted as though she didn’t hear, but without missing a step, she swooped Sadie into her arms. Mollie was too big for Tillie to carry, so she put one arm around her shoulders and held her hand.
“Well, we can’t stop here.” Tillie glanced around them. “We’d be run over for sure. Hold me tight, and I’ll help you.”
They stumbled and staggered but kept going, breathing hard.
The same wagons that entered Gettysburg that morning now overtook them. The last wagon, draped with black cloth over the canvas, had an honor guard of soldiers walking along beside and behind it. Inside the wagon, a dead man lay on a blood-soaked mattress. Someone had positioned one hand over the other on his abdomen. Thick black whiskers covered his kind, weather-beaten face. Wasn’t he the general who warned her to go home? The men walking beside the wagon did not attempt to hide their grief.
Tillie got up the courage to ask the soldier nearest her who the man was.
“That’s General Reynolds.” The soldier removed his hat. “He got killed a few minutes ago.” The soldier used his elbow to wipe his eyes. He replaced his hat. “He was a great general. We shall miss him.”
Tillie politely ignored his tears. “He spoke to me on the street before noontime. He told me to go home and stay there until the fighting stopped.” His words brought a rueful smile to her lips. She cast her eyes to the ground as the stupidity of her actions crashed down on her.
“I see you heeded his advice.” A harsh tone rattled in his voice. He put his fingers to his hat brim, then picked up his pace, and rejoined the wagon carrying the general’s body away.
Tillie’s face warmed. She inhaled and let out a slow, measured breath.
Mrs. Schriver harrumphed.
Tillie ignored her. He was right. They shouldn’t be out here. Tillie was out of breath and ready to stop and rest when they came to Widow Leicester’s home, a small one-and-a-half storey farmhouse on the west side of Taneytown Road.
“We can stop here.” Mrs. Schriver’s words came in breathless gasps. “I know Mrs. Leicester well. She won’t mind if we rest here a moment.” Perspiration beaded her forehead and upper lip as she took a deep breath and licked her lips.
Tillie didn’t respond, but plodded up the walk and sank onto the step, grateful for the chance to stop. A caisson laden with ammunition rumbled past, throwing up mud. She raised her arms and cringed from the mud splattering near her feet. She relaxed and sighed, then rubbed her hands over her face.
They’d made it roughly halfway between home and the Weikerts’. As far as the eye could see, thousands of wagons, horses, and soldiers headed toward town while the four of them struggled south to a safe haven.
A deafening roar engulfed them as the guns on Cemetery Ridge opened fire. The vibrations traveled through the earth and thrummed into her feet.
Sadie, Mollie, and Tillie threw their hands over their ears. Tillie cringed as a scream escaped her and went unheard in the roar of guns. Mollie threw herself to the ground, also screaming.
The roar grew louder and seemed to come closer. Tillie threw her arms over her head and curled up tight, bringing her knees to her forehead, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. She jumped from the step and ran to the gate. She grabbed hold of the top and yanked at it, but it wouldn’t budge. She shook the gate and burst into fresh blinding tears as she fought with the gate. A frustrated scream escaped her. “I don’t want to die out here. I don’t want to die out here. Don’t let me die out here. I want to go home.”
Mrs. Schriver’s arm reached over the top of the gate and, with a flick of her fingers, released the latch. Tillie yanked it open and tore through. She stopped short at the road. Too much traffic moved toward town. If she stepped out, a conveyance would run her down. She glanced back at Mrs. Schriver, who knelt in the mud and tried to console her children. They cried and clung to her.
Sadie hiccupped and then vomited on her mother.
Tillie blamed Mrs. Schriver for their predicament. They should have stayed home and gone into the basement. Before Mr. Schriver left for the Cavalry, he converted his basement into a tavern. Mrs. Schriver and the girls doubtless might have hidden there and the Rebs would never have known it. Why did they come out here? “Mrs. Schriver, what do we do? The girls can’t go on, and we can’t turn back. What do we do?” Tillie couldn’t stem the wail of terror in her voice. Her question helped her push it down. She’d still have to deal with the situation. Better to stay calm, if possible, and deal with her emotions later.
“You there!” A soldier came out of the house and stalked toward them. He pointed a gauntleted finger at them. “You can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
“We don’t want to stay here.” Mrs. Schriver rose and shouted at him, red-faced. She waved at her girls in quick, furious gestures. “My girls cannot go any further. The mud’s too thick to move, there’s too much traffic, and they’re frightened half to death.” Her arm dropped over Sadie’s shoulders in a protective embrace while Mollie clung to her skirts.
The soldier glanced at Mollie, who kept her face buried deep in the folds of fabric.
“We’re trying to get to my parents’ house just a mile or so down the road.” Mrs. Schriver gestured in the direction they wanted to go as he knelt in the mud and reached to stroke the child’s hair.
“Hush, my dear.” His voice lowered kind and reassuring. “You’ll be all right. I won’t let any harm come to you, I promise.”
Mollie turned her tear-streaked face and peered at him.
His face softened even more, and he smiled at her. He turned from Mollie to Sadie and then Tillie and Mrs. Schriver.
“You can’t stay here,” he repeated, his tone returning to one of authority. “The Rebels are expected to attack at any time. You’re quite right. The road is a quagmire. Come with me.” He marched toward the house.
The women followed him to the front porch.
“Wait here.” He spread his hands indicating he meant the porch. “I’ll find a ride to carry you the rest of the way.”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
Tillie and Mrs. Schriver looked at each other. “Well now, where did he go?” Mrs. Schriver removed a handkerchief from inside her left cuff and wiped her face. She grimaced at the vomit dripping off the end of her skirt. She lifted the fabric in her thumb and forefinger and shook it. She averted her face and held her handkerchief to her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Tears and fright clogged Sadie’s voice.
“No worries, child.” Mrs. Schriver stroked Sadie’s hair. “No worries.”
Tillie alternated between wanting to run home and dissolving into tears right where she stood. Instead, she sank onto the porch and put her head in her hands. A sob escaped her, and she let it but refused to allow any more. She wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve.
The soldier reappeared from around the side of the building and jogged to the road. He stopped a covered conveyance as it lurched past. When the wagon stopped, the wheels sank to the hubs. The soldier talked with the driver. The driver shook his head. The soldier pointed toward the back of the wagon, then in the direction of the women.
The driver peered at them again, said something to the soldier, and shook his head again.
The soldier slammed his fist against the side of the wagon and then grinned at the women, gesturing for them to come.
The covered wagon was full of wounded men, groaning and crying out in pain. The soldier paid no attention as he lifted the children into the back. He placed Mollie inside and gave her curls a quick, affectionate tug. Then he lifted Sadie.
“Thank you, sir.” She gazed at him, her eyes big, round, and blue.
The soldier pinched her cheek and smiled at her with warm affection. He removed his hat to say goodbye. “Your daughters remind me of my own little girls.” His eyes misted. “My Patsy is this one’s age.” He indicated Mollie. “And my Laura is your age.” He gestured to Sadie. “My wife is expecting our third.” He added this piece of information with a wistful note.
“Where’re you from?” Mrs. Schriver took his hand as she started to climb into the wagon.