by Angela Moody
Mother returned upstairs. Tillie watched her go then went down to clean up.
Chapter 24
Tillie bounded up the cellar stairs and closed the door before stepping into the kitchen. She bumped into Father as he entered from the backyard.
He grabbed her in a fierce embrace, startling her as his tears wet her shoulder. She patted his back with soft, uncertain strokes. She steeled herself not to pull away, but Father held her so tight, her ribs hurt and she struggled to breathe. Nevertheless, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight.
“Oh my dear, sweet child. Please forgive me for sending you away.” Her wet hair muffled his words.
“Father.” Tillie hugged him tighter. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She kissed his cheek and smiled. Her tears mingled with his, and her heart swelled.
He cupped her cheeks in his palms and stared deep into her eyes, before snugging her back into his embrace. “I sent you from the frying pan straight into the fire.”
“You did what you thought best. I’m not angry.” She leaned back in his arms. “Besides, all’s well that ends well.”
At dinner, which consisted of bread—without jam or apple butter—and water, they exchanged stories. While they ate, she told them of her experiences—about General Weed, of the Army forcing them from the house, and of their desperate flight to Two Taverns. At several points, she hesitated. How much of what she witnessed should she share? She picked her words, not wanting to upset her parents. They expressed their guilt many times already. As she finished, she shrugged as though to say, oh well, I’m safe and unharmed.
Taking Father’s hand, she glanced around the table. “I do have one good thing to tell you as a result of my experiences.” A sudden stab of self-consciousness overcame her as heat rose up her neck and into her face. She gave them a shy smile. “You and Mother will be pleased.”
“Do tell.” He squeezed her hand.
“When I sat with the captain caring for the general, he gave me his Bible. We talked a great deal. Then we evacuated. I found a lot of time to read and… I can’t explain it, but I understood what you and Mother tried to tell me all these years. A man came over and helped me work through the passages. Turns out he’s a minister.” Looking around at her family’s bemused faces, she smiled a big happy grin. “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve given my life to Christ. I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but it’s true.”
Father stood and tugged Tillie to her feet. He held her close. He wiped the moisture from his eyes. “My child! So long we waited for you to say those words.” His tears wet her cheeks when he kissed her.
Mother turned her from Father’s embrace and engulfed her in a soft and gentle hug. “I’m so happy, my dear. We’ve prayed over your soul.”
Tillie cried. “Yes, I know. I’m so sorry for the anguish and the hurt I caused. I’m a terrible sinner, and I hope you can forgive me.” Maggie joined in the family embrace. They hugged, kissed, and cried before, sniffling and smiling, they returned to their seats.
“We shouldn’t be sitting here like dolls, we should be thanking God!” Tillie smacked her hand down on the table. “We’re safe, we’re alive, and James, at least, is still among the living.” She grabbed Father’s hand. “Tell me what happened to you.”
“Yes.” Mother grinned, a conspiratorial tone in her voice. “Tell her about your harrowing experiences.”
“You can also tell her how you captured confederate prisoners with an empty musket!” Maggie added, with a sly wink toward her sister.
“What’s this?” Tillie grinned. “Father, do tell!”
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, all right! Margaret, do we have any coffee? This is going to be a long night of storytelling.”
“A little, James.” Mother’s tone said she didn’t think they should waste it in such a way.
“Make some.” He decided.
Mother rose and went to the stove. The conversation continued while she prepared a pot of coffee. When ready, she set out a cup for everyone, including Tillie.
“Thank you.” She smiled at Mother, who never allowed her to drink coffee before.
“So, Father, tell me what happened to you.” Tillie sipped from her cup.
“Well.” He fiddled with his wedding ring. “First things first. Soon after you left, the battle started in earnest. Reverend Bergstrasser stopped over to say they brought the wounded to the warehouses by the railroad station. He asked if I wanted to go along and offer our services, so I decided to go.”
Father sipped his coffee. He placed the cup back on the saucer and began to twist his wedding ring.
Tillie sat up straight.
“We found several of our boys badly hurt and begging for whiskey to deaden their pain.” He laid his hand over Tillie’s. “Remember when you asked me why on earth they would want such a thing?”
A frown shadowed her face. Memories of soldiers crying for booze, or a bullet, to end their agony assaulted her, making her swallow hard and shift in her seat to rid herself of the vision.
“Well, now we can understand why. The suppliers moved most of the alcohol out of town, but I told them I’d try to get some from private homes. I went door to door, but couldn’t find any. Our soldiers began running through the streets. I shouted at one to stop, but he kept going. Another stopped long enough to tell me the army was retreating toward the cemetery. Then he too, ran off. I left your mother and sister alone with Sam, so I rushed back as fast as possible. Within a block of our house, a Rebel soldier appeared from behind Winebrenners’.” Father sipped his coffee.
“What happened?”
He set his cup down with a deep breath. “Well, he hallooed, and then shouted, ‘Hey, what are you doing with a gun in your hand?’ I assure you, my dear, I wasn’t armed. I put my hands in the air and said, ‘I have no gun!’ That made no difference. The man raised his rifle and aimed at me. I threw myself upon the ground as he fired. I can still hear the whistle as the bullet passed over my head. He apparently thought he hit me, making one Yankee the less before going on his way, because he didn’t wait to discover if he killed me.”
Tillie gasped, “Oh, Father, no!”
Maggie held up one finger. “It gets better.”
Tillie’s gaze slid from her sister to her father.
Father chuckled. “After he disappeared, I got up.” He leaned in close. “No sooner did I do so, when I found myself surrounded by no less than five Confederate soldiers who came from Breckenridge Street. By way of greeting, they said to me, ‘Old man, why ain’t you in your house?’ When I replied I was trying to do so, they told me to fall in, which I did, and walked with them to the steps. When I reached the front door, I said, ‘Now, boys, I’m home and I am most certainly going to stay here.’ I hoped they would let me go inside, but one of them demanded to search the house for Union soldiers. Not knowing better, I assured him they wouldn’t find any, just two women and a young boy.” Father narrowed his eyes at Mother in a mock glare and wagged a finger at her.
Tillie swiveled her head from one parent to the other. “What happened?” Her voice rose with excitement.
Mother and Maggie exchanged a glance and laughed.
Tillie spread her hands out. “What?”
“Well,” he resumed his story. “Those men believed me and moved on. With a huge sigh of relief, I went up the steps, but another squad of Rebels arrived and also insisted on searching the house. They threatened to break in the door, but I convinced them to desist, insisting we had no soldiers. Besides, I said, breaking into private homes was against the rules of war, which seemed to decide them. One of them asked me to give my word, so I did, and another of them said, ‘Boys, I take this gentleman’s word.’ Another asked me, ‘By the way, what are your proclivities?’” Father sat up straight and puffed out his chest like a proud peacock. “I told them, ‘I am an unconditional Union man and a whole-souled one.’”
Tillie gasped and cove
red her mouth. Her eyes widened as she stared at him.
“They said to me, ‘Well, we like you all the better for that. We hate the milk-and-water Unionists.’ They told me to get inside saying they wouldn’t shoot me, but somebody would. Most likely our own men, as the Yankee sharpshooters out by the cemetery started sending their bullets in this direction.”
“I saw bullet holes on the side of the house when I came home,” Tillie interrupted. “Seventeen of them.”
Father nodded. “There are more on the back of the house as well.”
She waved her hand at this turn of conversation. They could discuss bullet holes later. “What happened next, Father?”
He sat back. “Well, I went up the front steps only to find the door barred against me. I pounded, but no one answered. I went to the back, hoping to get in through the kitchen door—also locked. I banged on the door and shouted for all I was worth for someone to let me in. Still no answer. Thinking I might be shot for trying to get into my own home, I began to wonder what to do. Then I remembered the outside cellar door, discovered it unlocked, and got in the house.” He put a hand on Tillie’s arm. “Imagine my surprise.” He chuckled again. “I got in and found no less than five,” he held up a hand, all five fingers spread, “wounded Union soldiers hiding in the basement with your mother, sister, and Sam. Two captains, one corporal, and the other two privates. They stayed for the three days of fighting. They had to as we were behind Confederate lines. Mother and Maggie dressed their wounds.”
“Is the man upstairs one of them?”
“No.” Mother flicked a hand toward the ceiling. “His name is Colonel Colvill of the First Minnesota. A few days after the fighting ended, some of his men came to the house and asked if we would take him in. He seemed in such a bad way. I kept thinking, what if James or William needed help? I would want someone to nurse them in my absence, so I told them to put him in William’s room.”
“We’ve been caring for him ever since.” Maggie’s voice held a note of tenderness.
“What happened to the five men?”
“A day or two after, a group of soldiers with a cart came and took them to Camp Letterman.” Maggie told her.
“To where?”
“To Camp Letterman. A hospital camp the Army set up on York Road about a mile outside of town.”
“I knew about the camp.” Tillie nodded. “I didn’t know it had a name.”
“During the day,” Maggie went on, “we stayed in the basement. Only at night, after the shooting stopped, did we come upstairs and go to bed. I assure you, I did not sleep a wink for three nights.”
Mother and Father murmured their agreement.
“One night,” Mother picked up the thread of the story, “late in the night I heard voices outside and noises in the house. I feared they would find the men, so I got up and peeked out the window. Father told me to get back in bed, but I needed to see.”
She took a deep breath. “Confederate soldiers came out of the basement and crossed Breckenridge Street, their arms full of the food we hid. They sat themselves down on the curb and enjoyed a little picnic.” Her voice choked, and her face hardened.
Maggie put her hand on Mother’s arm.
“How did they get in?” Tillie eyed Mother then Maggie.
“Through the outside basement door.” Father shook his head. “It now has a lock on it, but it feels a bit like closing the barn door after the horse has escaped. I never thought anyone would take such advantage as they did.”
“So much for our efforts,” Tillie said. “How naïve to think a simple curtain would keep away hungry hordes of men.”
She turned to Father. “Tell me how you captured Rebels with an empty musket. I want to hear about that.”
“Well.” He held out his coffee cup in a silent request for more. Mother refilled everyone’s cup.
“The day after the fighting stopped, I went outside to see what might be going on. I found a musket lying on the road and picked it up. As soon as I did, I saw a Rebel running behind Mrs. Schriver’s house. I held up the gun and shouted, ‘Halt!’”
Tillie gasped.
“He threw up his hands and hollered, ‘I’m a deserter, I’m a deserter,’ and I said, yes, and a fine specimen you are. Fall in!” He placed his hand on top of Tillie’s. “I started marching him toward the Diamond, when two more Rebs appeared out of nowhere. I called to them, and they also fell in.” Father sipped his coffee. “Then some Union soldiers appeared, and I handed them off. But I decided I was having so much fun, I went in the direction of Cemetery Hill to see if I could find more Rebs. To get around the barricade, I went toward Washington Street, and on that corner, I found another Reb. When he saw me, he put down his gun and raised his hands. Two of his companions appeared, and I marched them back toward the Diamond until I came across more Union men to hand those Rebs over too.” He lifted his cup for another sip then grinned. “I decided at that point, not to push my luck too much and came home. When I arrived, I checked the gun and found it empty of bullets.” He threw his head back, and his laughter rang through the room.
Tillie laughed with him. “Oh, Father, that must have been quite a shock. Oh my.”
After a few moments, they calmed down, and everyone fell silent. Then Maggie picked up the thread.
“One of the five soldiers, hiding here, Corporal O’Brien,” Maggie straightened in her chair, “told me about his frightening encounter with the Rebs. We put the wounded in all the spare bedrooms, including yours, so the corporal stayed on the sofa in the parlor. In the morning, as I dressed his wounds, he told me the Rebs came upstairs. He crawled off the couch as quietly as possible and hid. They wandered from room to room. One speculated whether we harbored Yankees in the house. Another replied, seeing they were in Yankee territory, the house harbored nothing but Yankees, just not prisoner types. The corporal hoped the darkness would hide him, biting his tongue to keep from laughing and giving himself away. The Rebel soldiers passed right by him and went back downstairs.”
“My.” Tillie’s heart lurched. “At the Weikerts’, the Union Army surrounded us. We only encountered wounded Rebs. I’m so thankful you came through unharmed.”
****
They sat at the kitchen table and talked until midnight, catching up and enjoying each other’s company before retiring. Then for the first time in eight nights, Tillie climbed into her own bed. She sank into her mattress, uttered a deep sigh of contentment, and fell fast asleep.
She awoke before sunrise. Used to rising early while at the Weikerts’, and forgetting she was home, she got up. Half-dressed, she froze and gazed around her bedroom before bursting out laughing. “I could have stayed in bed a while longer. I’m home now.” She chuckled at herself and finished dressing. She washed her hands and face, then combed her hair one hundred strokes before braiding it, and offered a word of thanks to the Lord for simple things like clean clothes and hairbrushes.
She made her way down the hallway, arriving in time to see Father disappear up to the attic. Curious, she followed him. He stood at the south window, staring out toward Cemetery Hill. He turned at her approach and held out an arm.
She crossed to him and laid her head on his chest. He held her close, kissing the top of her head.
“What are you doing up here, Father?”
“Oh, just looking. During the battle I came up here to watch what went on.” He took her elbow, moving her in front of him.
“You put yourself in danger.” She peeked at him over her shoulder.
“Look.” He pointed toward Mrs. Schriver’s house.
Tillie sighted down the length of his arm as if down the barrel of a gun. She peered into her garret. Someone punched several holes through the wall on either side of the window. On the floor, under the window, was a large, dried pool of blood. Tillie frowned. “I’m looking, but I’m not sure what you’re showing me.”
“Do you see those holes in the wall?”
She nodded.
“The firs
t night I came up here. In the small hours of the night the sound of our boys, chopping, shoveling, pickaxing—preparing their breastworks for the next day’s fight—carried in the cool air. Afterward I came up here during the lulls. Sometimes the wounded boys joined me.” He draped his arm over Tillie’s shoulder. “Confederate soldiers took up a position in Mrs. Schriver’s garret. They’re the ones who made the holes in the wall, like portholes. They used her garret as a sharpshooters’ nest. Many of our boys wished they were still armed so they could take care of them.” He shrugged at her horrified expression. “Once the boys on Cemetery Hill figured out where the firing came from, they let loose a volley this way. I still marvel that the Yanks didn’t send a shell or two toward us. One of the sharpshooters threw his arms up and fell backward. A mad scramble ensued, and they dragged the man off to the side. After dark they carried his body out the back door and into her garden.”
Tillie turned around and hugged him. Father responded with a gentle squeeze across her shoulders.
“At the Weikerts’.” Her voice sounded muffled against his shirt. “On the second day, some soldiers came to the house and asked to go up on the roof. Mrs. Weikert told me to show them the way, so I did. They allowed me to join them. One of them even gave me his field glasses!” She grinned, recalling her fascination with the glasses. “At the time, I didn’t understand what they showed me, but General Sickles had moved his men into Mr. Sherfy’s orchard. Way out ahead of the rest of the Union line.” She refrained from bragging and sharing how she had discovered, and asked, what he was doing, bringing it to their attention.
“A terrible fight,” he agreed. “The man in your brother’s bed led the charge to drive the rebels from there.” He shook his head. “One of his nurses told us of the two hundred sixty-two men Colonel Colvill led into the Peach Orchard, only forty-six came out alive, including him—barely.”
“Poor man.” Tillie frowned. “I hope he gets better.”
“As do we all.” Father resumed his story. “At night they would leave the garret and come over here. They entered the cellar, took our food, and went out to the curb on Breckenridge to eat. Now, there’s nothing left stored for winter. It will be a hungry time for many in town, including us. So, I come up here, look over at where our boys fought with such valor, and wonder what’s to become of us.”