by Angela Moody
“Would you all excuse me a moment? Beckie is over talking to Mrs. Schriver, and I need to speak with her.”
They promised to wait for her by the front gate, and Tillie waved an acknowledging hand as she headed toward Beckie and Mrs. Schriver.
Beckie scowled at Tillie’s approach and affected to turn away.
Tillie halted, uncertain of the rightness of her decision. No. Better to apologize than not. She steeled herself and resumed her pace. “Hello, Mrs. Schriver. Hello, Beckie.”
“How are you, Tillie?” Mrs. Schriver smiled. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes.” Tillie’s hand found the top of Mollie’s head. “I am sorry for that.” She smiled down at the child, who stared up with enormous blue eyes. “Hello, Mollie.”
“I hear you’ve been working hard at the former camp hospital.” Mrs. Schriver kept the conversation going.
“I did. No nursing duties, but I tried to give the boys some comfort.”
“Aid and comfort—to the enemy I heard—traitor,” Beckie spat, her hate-filled eyes roamed over Tillie. “Traitor.”
“Rebecca!” Mrs. Schriver scowled. “What a nerve.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Schriver.” Tillie held out a hand palm out to quiet the woman. Tillie stared at her former friend, challenging her with her eyes. “I came over to say I owe you an apology. I said terrible things to you. You have a right to be angry with me.”
“Yes you did, and yes I do.”
“You both said some terrible things to each other.” Mrs. Schriver nudged her sister’s shoulder.
“That doesn’t matter.” Tillie’s voice softened as she addressed Mrs. Schriver. “What matters is I gave in to my anger. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?” She extended her right hand for a truce handshake.
Beckie glared at her, refusing to shake her hand.
A surge of sadness swept over Tillie. She dropped her hand to her side. “I hollered at you over a silly petticoat. What I didn’t understand, as I do now, is they were destroying your home and your father’s livelihood right before his eyes. I should have understood, and I didn’t, so I judged you. I was wrong. Please forgive me.”
Mrs. Schriver gaze bounced between the two of them. “Rebecca,” she prompted again when Beckie didn’t answer.
Beckie’s shoulders shot up and down in a quick, indifferent shrug. “Fine.” She walked away.
Pursing her lips, Mrs. Schriver’s face showed her sympathy before she followed her younger sister. She caught up, grabbed Beckie’s shoulder, and turned her around. Mrs. Schriver said something with force and gestured back toward Tillie. Beckie glanced her way, shook her head, and continued to walk away. Mrs. Schriver let her go, following.
Tillie watched them leave, sending up a prayer for Beckie and her family before rejoining her own by the cemetery gate.
“Well, have you made things new?” Mother wrapped an arm around Tillie when she joined them.
“I tried to.” She inclined her head and shrugged to show her lack of success.
“Do you want me to talk to her?” Maggie scanned the crowd, looking for Beckie.
“No.” Tillie stopped her. “She needs to make up her mind. Either way, I’ll pray for her and will always consider her a friend, even if she doesn’t consider me one.” She smiled. “A captain I met while at the Weikerts’ said this is a terrible war, but God will use it for good.” She locked eyes with each member of her family. “No,” she shook her head, “it’ll be all right. Everything is going to be fine, not as before, I don’t want that, but new and better.” A surge of love for her family welled up, and she smiled a happy, contented smile. “Come on.” Her voice grew stronger as she wrapped her arm around her sister’s waist and laid her head on her shoulder in a quick hug. “Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
“Did you ever make it right with Beckie, Ma?” Annie leaned close in the growing darkness.
“No. Unfortunately, Beckie was never willing to meet me halfway, ever again.” A small, sad, half-smile curved her lips. “Beckie married her Mr. Kitzmiller after the war, and I understand they still live in Gettysburg.”
As always happened when Tillie told the story, she remembered with fondness and longing those she loved.
After his apprenticeship, Sam left town to begin his own business. Tillie never heard from him again. She tried searching for him to no avail.
James and William both survived the war. James stayed in Washington, D.C. and worked as a government clerk. He had a lovely family.
Poor William didn’t fare so well. He came home and took over the butcher shop after Father, but though William married a wonderful Gettysburg woman and seemed to be settling in raising his family, he never shook the demons of his war experience. He lived well, until three years ago when Father died. Without warning, he left everything—including his family. His wife discovered him in a rooming house in Philadelphia, and having given himself over to the ravages of drink, he sent her away. Tillie no longer knew if he was alive or not.
A deep hole of grief lingered in her heart still for her beloved sister, Maggie, who died in 1867, when an epidemic of tuberculosis swept through town. Tillie could never think of her without choking back tears.
Though Gettysburg worked hard to prevent disease, the tuberculosis epidemic claimed many lives, including Mollie and Sadie Schriver. Having contracted the disease, Mollie died in 1872, shortly after Tillie married Horace. Two years later, Sadie succumbed. Both women died at the age of twenty-two.
Mother went to her rest in 1881, and Father followed her eight years later. Now, all those she knew and loved in those days were gone forever.
A tap on her shoulder jolted Tillie.
Horace leaned in, studying her face in the growing dark. “Are you all right, my love?”
She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek. “I’m fine. I was just remembering.” Emotion choked her voice.
Horace drew her into an embrace and kissed the top of her head.
“I still can’t believe you met President Lincoln.” Harry spoke into the growing darkness. “What was he like?”
“I didn’t meet Mr. Lincoln. I just saw him. He tipped his hat to me, and I heard his speech. That’s all. Don’t exaggerate the situation.”
Harry chuckled and lay back down. “Yes, ma’am.” He exaggerated his response, but a note of humor lightened his voice, so Tillie chose not to take offense.
“You know…” She jerked a thumb toward her husband. “You would do well to ask your father some questions. He was a soldier.”
Horace chuckled around the pipe clenched in his teeth. “Oh, my dear, I was just a lowly private marching hither and yon. Your story is much more interesting, I assure you.” He removed his pipe and tapped the bowl against his palm. “We best get a move on.” He rose. “We want to get to the park before the fireworks start. We don’t want to miss that, do we?”
The children jumped up. Mary brushed grass and leaves off her skirts. Annie, in imitation of her adored sister, adjusted her skirts, while Harry jogged inside for his coat and hat. He reemerged with his father’s garments in his hand as well.
While Tillie and Horace strolled, the children disappeared into the park ahead of them. Crowds formed as people, laughing and talking, gathered for the fireworks show.
“I know when you think of those days, they always bring sadness. I’m sorry for that, but I think it important for the children to learn what this,” he swept his hand around the park to indicate the celebration, “is really all about.”
Tillie smiled. “I agree.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Speaking of my experiences does, sometimes, make me sad, especially when I think of the people I loved then.” She turned to him and laid her palms on his cheeks. “But I wouldn’t change my experiences for anything. Those days made me the woman, wife, and mother that I am.”
A whistling sounded to the left, and a small boom reverberated through the air. For a split second, she heard the cannon chasing
her from the Weikert house. Colored lights lit their faces. Horace’s eyes glowed with the love that made her feel so safe and secure. She exhaled, and then gazed at the fireworks flashing and decorating the sky. They were supposed to represent those days when the nation was born, but they would always remind her of her girlhood when the nation, rent by growing pains, emerged like her—stronger, wiser, and full of faith and hope.
The End
HISTORICAL NOTES
First, this is a work of fiction. I discovered Tillie’s story while traveling in Gettysburg. Though they don’t know it, I’m deeply indebted to the Schriver House Museum for first introducing me to the story of the town of Gettysburg and Hettie Schriver in particular. It was while on a tour through that wonderful museum that the tour guide patiently answered my many questions, and after the tour, gave me several books to read. Almost as a throw-away, he also gave me Tillie’s memoir. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to the Adams County Historical Society for their in-depth knowledge and willingness to share that knowledge. They have a fantastic library of first person accounts and I’m not ashamed to say I spent countless hours in there reading almost every one. Many of their comments and situations made it into my story, most particularly, Salome Myers recounting of hiding their maid, and Nellie Auginbaugh’s story.
In school, we learn about the movement of the soldiers and the progression of the battle, as though the town itself and the people living there did not exist. I don’t ever recall learning how the townspeople coped with this tragedy. I know I never learned what happened to the African-American community. When I read Tillie’s memoir, At Gettysburg: Or What a Girl Saw and Heard of the Battle, I just knew I had to tell the entire story.
George Sandoe was the first civilian/soldier to die at Gettysburg. He was a married man in real life, but I wanted to honor him and I needed a way to do that. So in my story, George became Maggie’s unmarried beau. He was on his way to Carlisle when killed by Confederate skirmishers, who surprised him and his two companions, who managed to escape.
Maggie died in 1867. I couldn’t find anything that told me her cause of death, but a tuberculosis epidemic swept through the area, around that time, so it seemed natural that she should succumb to that disease.
Tillie did nurse soldiers at the Weikert farm and at Camp Letterman. She did not record in her memoir if she ever nursed the Confederate soldiers, but from what I learned of her through my research, I decided she was the kind of person who would have. She saw so much horror for a young woman of fifteen and I consider myself honored to have gotten to know her as well as I did. Out of necessity much of her life that she didn’t record in her memoir I invented. I tried to stay true to the Tillie Pierce that I came to know through years of study and I hope my readers feel I accomplished that goal. Tillie died in 1914 at the age of 66, just days after her birthday.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Angela Moody lives in Vermont with her husband, Jim. Their son, Stephen and his wife, Amanda live nearby. Daughter Alison lives in New Jersey.
Angela has been writing from an early age, always in the historic fiction genre where she feels she shines.
One of her passions is crochet. From the time she learned the craft, she was “hooked”. She loves reading, writing, and spending time with her family. One of the items on her bucket list is to visit every civil war battlefield site at the time of year each battle took place.
No Safe Haven is her first novel and she is currently hard at work on her second, due out in early 2019. Angela is a member of Scribes244 and Scribes 232 critique groups.
Look for me at:
www.Angelamoody.weebly.com
www.facebook.com/angelamoody2
www.twitter.com@moodygrnmtnwrtr