No Safe Haven

by Angela Moody

  At his inviting glance, she told him about Barney. “I don’t know how to reach him. His life isn’t over because he can’t use his arm, but he thinks so. Of course, I don’t know how one feels when they lose a limb or are in so much pain. I’m afraid I’m not being sympathetic, and I want to be.”

  “Give him time. I’m sure he’ll come around. My mother likes to say the Lord’s grace is sufficient for today. If Christ lays a trial at our feet, He will lead us on the path to get through. I think that’s true. What does your Good Book say?” He inclined his head to her Bible on the side table.

  “I’m reading Ephesians. The passage from 4:29 to 5:2. However, I don’t think throwing verses at him is the answer right now. Still, I pray them for myself before I tend to him, so I don’t say something unkind or reflect his bitterness back at him.”

  “I can’t think of a better passage. You’re right, of course. Spouting verses at him is not a good idea. Reflecting Christ’s words is.”

  He smiled at her, his even, white teeth shining out of a freckled face both boyish and charming. He pushed a shock of red hair from his face, but it fell back across his forehead. He gave a small, unconscious shake of his head. His deep green eyes, though now resting on her, seemed interested in everything going on around him.

  Tillie started and turned her attention to her hands wrapped around her cup. He caught her staring, and she prayed he didn’t think less of her. Reaching for the teapot, she refilled her teacup as though it might save her from drowning in his presence. “Where are you from, Walt?” She liked saying his name. Tillie held the pot out, offering him more.

  “Hamline, Minnesota. Milt and I joined up together.” He pushed his cup closer to her.

  “You two have been friends a long time?”

  “More than friends. He’s my cousin. His mother is my mother’s sister.”

  “That explains why you two get along so well.”

  Walt laughed, and his green eyes sparkled. “Well, most of the time we do.” He lifted his teacup and took a sip, then put it down. “What about you and Miss Maggie? You two seem to get on well, too.”

  Tillie giggled. She gave him a sidelong glance and let a coquettish smile curve her lips. “Well, most of the time we do.”

  They both laughed.

  * * * *

  That afternoon began a new routine for Walt and Tillie. Claiming they didn’t need him upstairs, Walt helped Tillie. He chopped wood and brought water, and together they planted and tended a winter garden. After completing those chores, they enjoyed tea before he rejoined those upstairs.

  “How is your patient in the room next door?” Walt sat at the table in the sitting room while Tillie poured for both.

  She set the teapot down. “He can still get sulky about his arm, but most of the time, I don’t allow him to. We’ve talked a great deal about occupations he might do without his wound interfering, so I think he’s making progress.”

  “Good news.” Walt’s voice sounded vague and uncertain. He drummed his fingers.

  She eyed his nervous gesture. Did she say or do something inappropriate? Trying to think, she handed him the cup and saucer.

  The cup rattled in his hand. Tea splashed the front of his uniform. Grabbing a napkin, he mopped up the hot liquid and swiped at his coat, muttering the entire time.

  She stared at him, mouth agape. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” Again, his voice sounded vague and unfocused. He scowled at his uniform and dabbed at his chest again. His eyes darted about the room as though he wanted to be anywhere but there.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Hmm, what?” He blinked seeming to come back to reality.

  A flash of insight hit her so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. He came to tell her he loved Maggie and wouldn’t be sharing tea with her anymore. Tillie made a small noise in her throat as she struggled to suppress the jolt of pain like a bayonet to the heart. She blinked fast several times and gripped her teacup until her knuckles whitened. “Walt? Is something wrong with Colonel Colvill?”

  “No. He’s fine. He’s mending so well, in fact, they don’t need me here.” He sat, refilled his cup, and sipped.

  That explained his nervous behavior. Either he mustered back into the army, or he was going home. She drew in a slow, deep breath and exhaled.

  “Tillie, would your father object if I asked you to go walking with me in the evenings?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What? I mean—what?” Gentlemen asked Maggie to go walking. They didn’t ask her. They chucked her under the chin and called her a sweet child. Her knees went weak, and she would have swooned if she weren’t sitting down. “I—well, I don’t know what Father will say.” Heat crept up her neck and infused her face. She kept her eyes fixed on the table.

  When she put the teacup down, Walt clasped her hand. “Would you object if I asked him?”

  Tillie clamped her lips together to hold back a wild urge to laugh. She needed a moment to regain her composure. “No. I wouldn’t object.” She squeezed his hand and beamed.

  * * * *

  Walking up Baltimore Street to Fahenstock’s Store, her basket dangling on her arm, Tillie started to raise her face to the warm sun, but sighted a dense, black smoke billowing in the northwest sky. They scheduled today to burn the last of the animal carcasses. She forgot, or she would have put off her errands until tomorrow. The prevailing winds carried the plume away from town, but the knowledge of the activity threw a pall over the beautiful late-summer weather. Tillie squared her shoulders and hurried about her business. As she bustled along, further reminders of July’s fighting rumbled past her in the form of a cart, driven by Mr. Weaver. Piled high with corpses in various stages of advanced decomposition, the wagon rattled and jolted along the road, making the corpses seem to dance a macabre sort of jig.

  Tillie, long inured to the smell of death, found herself unprepared for the grotesque sight. She clamped a cloth over her mouth, closed her eyes, and gagged, though nothing came up.

  The group of colored men, calling themselves reapers, finished the job of gathering and interring those bodies left out in the open. Now, Mr. Weaver, Mr. Biesecker, and their crew took on the more gruesome task of locating the graves of those killed in the heat of battle and disinterring them, to rebury them in the new Soldier’s Cemetery.

  Gettysburg paid the men well to dig up, catalog, and prepare the bodies for burial. Any Confederate soldiers they found they put into coffins and sent by train to Richmond.

  Praying for a quick end to the cleanup made Tillie wonder how the new cemetery was coming along. A committee formed in mid-August, and since some of the desired land included Father’s orchard on Taneytown Road, he joined.

  Mr. Wills, the chairman, wanted a big, fancy, dedication ceremony. He picked a day in late October, now only a few weeks away, but Father thought it foolish. Too much work still needed doing. A springtime ceremony would be wiser. But Mr. Wills, always a determined man, got his way.

  She entered Fahenstock’s to complete her errands.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fahenstock. Good morning, Mrs. Eyster.” Tillie greeted her teacher with warm affection. “I’ve been meaning to stop by and visit. But we’ve been busy tending wounded, and there doesn’t seem enough time in the day.”

  “Not to worry, my dear. I’m in no fit condition to entertain.” The teacher put her hand on Tillie’s arm. “Did you hear? A cannonball went right through my roof! Thank goodness, I don’t sleep in that room. Still, I’ve never been so frightened in my life.”

  “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”

  “No. The Lord protected me on July the second. Since then, I’ve had a house full of wounded men, and my neighbors have been so kind. The men came over straightaway after the fighting and repaired my roof. Why, Mr. Hollinger built the cannonball into the wall next to the window while he made the necessary repairs.” She shook her head, as if she couldn’t imagine why she would want such a reminder incorporat
ed into her house. “I’m afraid school is closed for a long while if ever again.” A long doleful sigh escaped her. “They took my books off the shelves and used them for pillows, and they became so saturated with blood, I had to throw out almost my entire collection of texts.” Tears sprang in the teacher’s eyes.

  On impulse, Tillie embraced her. “I’m so sorry. Can I do something to help?”

  Mrs. Eyster sniffed and offered a grateful smile. “What can you do?” She lifted her shoulders in a despairing shrug. “What can any of us do?” She touched Tillie’s cheek and bid Mrs. Fahenstock a good day before leaving the store.

  “That woman.” The storeowner huffed as she moved around the counter to help Tillie. “She’ll tell the same story to anyone willing to listen.”

  Tillie’s eyes remained on the door. “I guess that’s what happens when there’s no one you can share your troubles with.” She turned a haughty glare on Mrs. Fahenstock as new respect bloomed in her heart for the lonely widow who was her teacher.

  * * * *

  Since returning from Fahenstock’s, Tillie cleaned the kitchen, swept the floors, and dusted the sitting room and parlor. Now, with her chores complete, she didn’t know what to do. Mother and Maggie remained above stairs, Father and Sam in the butcher shop. She didn’t want to read so she went up and checked on Barney. He slept. Tillie closed the door with a soft click and went back downstairs.

  She took a seat in Maggie’s rocker and picked up her Bible, turning it over and studying the gold embossing. As she ran gentle fingers over the lettering, visions of General Weed and the captain filled her mind. She kicked herself for not asking his name. Tillie closed her eyes and said a prayer for his safety, trusting the Lord knew him, even if she didn’t. She smiled as she examined her Bible, now dog-eared from use. She flipped the book open to her place marker and settled in to read, when someone knocked on the front door. Tillie sighed, laid aside her Book, and answered the summons.

  A young woman stood on the doorstep. Worry and anxiety etched her face. In one hand, she held a valise. Her other hand clasped a white handkerchief, which she pressed over her nose and mouth.

  “My name is Eliza Colvill.” The woman lowered the cloth to introduce herself. “I understand my brother, William, is at this house.”

  “He is. Please come inside.” Tillie swung the door open.

  Their guest stepped into the hallway and waved the kerchief in front of her face. “My word.” She put her hand over her heart. “What an odor!”

  “Yes, I know. We’ve had to keep the windows closed against the smell. I assure you, it’s not usually like this.”

  “I suppose not.” The young woman, not much older than Maggie, set her valise on the floor beside her foot.

  Tillie berated herself. Such a stupid comment. Miss Colvill must think her a ninny. They stared at each other.

  Eliza raised her eyebrows. “May I see my brother?”

  “Of course!” Tillie picked up the carpetbag. “Come with me.”

  Mother sat on the bed, wiping a cool cloth over the colonel’s brow while Maggie tied a fresh bandage around his ankle. Walt cleansed the wound in his shoulder. He winked at Tillie when she walked in. Private Bevans gathered up the dirty bandages.

  “Mother, this is Miss Eliza Colvill.” Tillie made the rounds of introductions before taking the bowl Private Bevans held.

  Eliza’s eyes grew round as she sighted her brother.

  Mother rose and took the young woman’s arm. “Do not fret, my dear. He’s mending well, albeit slowly.”

  Miss Colvill shifted her gaze to Mother then back to the bed. The colonel still wavered in and out of consciousness. Occasional moans escaped his lips and a pasty pallor discolored his cheeks, but he lived.

  “Will he know me?”

  “Of course he will. Come.” Mother invited her to sit.

  Miss Colvill lowered herself and grasped her brother’s hand. “Billy?” When he didn’t respond, she cast a fearful eye back to Mother, who nodded encouragement.

  She tried again. Shifting to make herself more comfortable on the mattress, she spoke louder. “Billy, it’s me, Eliza. I’m here to help care for you. Father sent me.” She stroked the back of his hand looking for some sign of recognition. His eyes moved underneath his lids, and he moaned. A triumphant smile curved her lips as tears flowed down her cheeks. “I know. I understand,” she crooned. “You’ll be all right, Billy. I’m here, and I’ll help care for you. You’ll be all right.”

  Tillie glanced at her mother and sister. She couldn’t see past her tears. She left the room with the valise, which she took to her bedroom. She trudged downstairs to wash bandages and prepare supper.

  Chapter 26

  In the months since the fighting ended, Gettysburg endured a second kind of invasion. Thousands of people came from every Northern state, looking for loved ones to bring home and nurse back to health in the comfort of their own beds or to bury in the family plot. The townsfolk again found themselves taxed beyond their means. Even Camp Letterman filled to capacity. Soldiers still obtained care in homes, churches, and schools. Attendants from Camp Letterman came around again to Tillie’s home to check on Colonel Colvill and Private Kline. The colonel remained with the Pierces, as did his sister, but Private Kline, improved in body and spirit, asked to go to the hospital camp, to Tillie’s relief.

  She and Maggie cleaned the room and bedding so Miss Colvill could sleep nearer her brother.

  They wrangled the mattress down the stairs and into the backyard where they emptied and washed the cover. Now, they struggled to hang it to dry.

  “Maggie, may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

  “Well, I was wondering. When George wanted to court you, what did he do? What did he say?”

  The smile faded, and a pain as fresh as the day he died glimmered in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” Tillie squeezed her hand. “Forget I asked. I didn’t mean to cause more grief.”

  “No, I’m happy to answer your question.” Maggie gave a few more jerks to straighten the mattress cover. “Well, the first time, I was shopping for Christmas presents, and he came in the store. He walked over and said hello.” Her face softened. “I didn’t think anything of it. He was always polite. A few days later, I was walking home from school, and he asked if he might escort me. That’s when he inquired if he might seek Father’s permission to court me.”

  Tillie’s brows creased. “Do all men do that?”

  “They should. Whom do you have in mind?” Maggie glanced sidelong at her. “Private Kline perhaps? Or Private Bevans?”

  Tillie laughed. “Private Kline departed us, thank goodness.” She tugged on the mattress cover. “And a certain young private is loath to leave your side.” She pointed up at the bedroom window where Colonel Colvill lay. “In fact, he seems to be waiting for you.”

  Maggie turned in time to see him pull back, as though fearful of being caught staring. Maggie tsked and shook her head. “I told you, I’m done with soldiers.”

  “I know, but I think you need inform Private Bevans.”

  “I have, but it doesn’t seem to be getting through.” Maggie raised her face to the autumn sun and took a deep breath. “Mmmm. What a beautiful day. I haven’t gotten outside in a long time.”

  “It is a beautiful day.”

  “You still didn’t tell me who he is.” She gave Tillie a teasing nudge.

  Tillie’s face grew hot, and she fussed over the mattress cover. Suddenly, she didn’t want Maggie to know who showed an interest in her.

  “Tillie, Miss Maggie.” Walt approached. “Your mother is wondering when you’re coming back in to finish cleaning the room.”

  “Tell Mother we’ll be right in,” Tillie called back. “Thank you, Walt.” She couldn’t suppress a pleased smile.

  Walt waved and strode to the house.

  She peeked at Maggie, who stared at her, mouth agape. “Him?” Maggie drew the word out in o
ne long, incredulous syllable.

  Tillie’s smile disappeared. She scowled. “Why not?”

  “He’s much too old for you. He must be at least twenty-five, that’s why not.”

  Tillie said nothing for a moment, and then whispered, “I know. But he likes me.”

  * * * *

  One evening after supper, while Tillie cleaned up Walt remained in the kitchen. “I’m afraid with all the people in the room, I’m going to be flattened against a wall, unable to move,” he joked.

  “I think you’ll manage.” She didn’t know what sort of response he expected. She grabbed the broom and swept the floor while water boiled on the stove. She emptied the pot into the basin and gathered up the dishes.

  Walt continued to sit at the table.

  Tillie watched him through her lashes, the way Maggie did with George. She poured water into a pot and put it on the heat for tea. As she washed dishes, she peeked over her shoulder.

  His eyes on her made her uncomfortable. She brought him a plate of gingerbread. “So how is our patient doing?” She ventured a conversation.

  “I think he’ll pull through. The shoulder wound is closing up and doesn’t appear as though he’ll have residual damage, though I can’t say for sure. The foot may be another matter. It’s healing well, but we don’t know if he’ll ever be able to walk on it again. He might need crutches for the rest of his life.”

  “I hope not.” Tillie soaped and scrubbed.

  “So do I. He’s always been an active and energetic man. Crutches would slow him down.” Walt shifted in his seat. He picked a piece of gingerbread to crumbs in his plate, but didn’t eat it. “He is a God-fearing and faithful man who always accepts that whatever tests the Lord sends him, they are for his good. I must say, I’ve never seen him discouraged in his faith. I wish I was more like him….” He drummed his fingers on the table.

  She tried to ignore the drumming and wash the dishes. Something bothered him. Should she ask the cause? No. If he wanted to tell her, he would. She smiled and turned to him. “I guess I’m so new in my own faith I haven’t experienced discouragement.” As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted them.