Two Girls of Gettysburg

by Lisa Klein

  “I already own a good horse, but I’ll require a dollar and fifty cents per day, plus food and such expenses. It could be a six-week journey,” said Mr. Hartmann. “A fair deal, I believe, given the considerable risks.”

  Amos barely blinked, but I was stunned. That sum of money was more than Amos earned in three months. Mama offered him a loan against future wages, but Amos consulted his account book and said that wouldn’t be necessary.

  At the end of May, Amos and Frederick Hartmann set out. They were fitted for the trip with a tent, oilcloths, extra clothing, and saddlebags full of bacon, beans, and bread. Hartmann had taught Amos how to use a rifle and revolver, in anticipation of trouble. As they rode off, Mama and I stood in the middle of York Street, waving.

  “There they go, two more soldiers heading off to war. These ones have no army to back them up,” Mama said with a sigh.

  “They can do it, Mama,” I said. “They will be back.”

  But the well of emptiness that had opened in me when Papa and Luke left only deepened as the two figures grew smaller, then disappeared down Chambersburg Pike. I wondered if I would ever see Amos again.

  Lizzie

  Chapter 11

  Every June the fields that soaked up the spring rains turned bright green with new corn and the trees swelled with young fruit. June had always seemed the most carefree month of the year. But June was also the month that Papa and Luke had gone to war a year ago. Now a feeling of dread settled over me, despite the green and promising landscape, for our volunteers were camped near Richmond, and any day they would begin fighting the rebels for control of the Confederate capital.

  The battle commenced on June 26 at Mechanicsburg. A few days later, the Sentinel described how General Crawford’s division, which included the First Pennsylvania Reserves, Company K, had “rained an unceasing torrent of musket fire while the artillery discharged shells, canister and shrapnel, confounding and scattering the enemy, whose losses tripled those of our brave federals.” The reporter made it sound as if the end of the world, or at least the end of the war, was at hand. But it was only the beginning of the fighting, which went on for seven days. With grim forbearance, we waited for the casualty lists to come in. Mama barely slept, and gray circles deepened under her eyes. Ben did his chores silently, without complaining.

  The dark news trickled in. General McClellan’s army had been forced back toward Washington, and our Company K had suffered more than its share of casualties. When neither Papa nor Luke appeared among the names, we were weak with relief and gratitude. Then terrible news arrived. Mrs. Pierpont heard it first, for she was at the telegraph office when the message came in, and she told Margaret, who informed Rosanna: Henry Phelps had been killed.

  The next day the whole town knew of it, and Henry Phelps’s name was on everyone’s tongue. When his poor widowed mother received the news, she felt a sharp pain in her chest and took to her bed. The next morning, she didn’t wake up. People said it was proof that grief could kill a person.

  I went at once to see how Rosanna was taking the news and found her lying facedown on the settee in Margaret’s parlor, a pile of damp handkerchiefs on the floor beside her. I was afraid to say anything, lest it be the wrong thing. I had no idea what it would feel like to lose your beau in the war. So I imagined how sad I would feel if Papa or Luke died, and that was bad enough. I blinked back my tears and patted Rosanna’s back while she wept softly.

  A week later I hurried to Rosanna’s again, clutching a letter from Luke. Its contents were already seared into my memory.

  Dear sister,

  I have seen enough of war and am ready to come home

  When the battle started we played to keep up the fighting spirit but in all the confusion could not hear ourselves so gave up. Then a bullet struck Henrys drum from the side and smashed it to pieces right off his neck. Capt. Bailey ordered us behind the lines where we lay down flat and I could feel the earth rumble and shake from the cannons roar. I could not see Pa along the line for all the smoke that drifted back around us like a stinky fog.

  Then Henry and me were given a stretcher to get the wounded men to the hospital tents. We saved Matt Siplinger who fell behind the breastworks with a hole in his chest. Then we picked up someone with a blasted leg and a man whose face was bloody but swore his hurt was a small one.

  It came as Henry stood up with his end of the stretcher, a high screaming sound. Down! I shouted but it was too late, the shell hit behind him and burst and he bore the brunt of it while only dirt and small rocks rained on my back. I carried him over my shoulder to the hospital and he made not a single groan but died most bravely. After a nurse said he was gone I started to weep most unsoldierlike. Dont tell anyone.

  We did not take Richmond but were pushed back in defeat. We retreated through the swamp to the James River, abandoning supplies to the enemy and a field hospital with over two thousand wounded. I was deaf for two days from the sounds of exploding shells. I will probably have nightmares for a long time.

  I know you and Rose are friends and perhaps it will give her comfort to know how Henry died, but if it will be too painful dont tell her everything. Henry always did say how pretty she is. He said he wanted to do better in school to deserve her.

  I wrote to one A.B. and received a letter in return so I guess we have a liking for each other but I hate this war.

  Your brother, Luke

  P.S. Pa and I would love some pickles or strawberry jam from home. Please dont tell Mama all about Henry, she will fear it will happen to me too.

  Just thinking about the letter made the tears spring up behind my eyelids. I wished I could tell Luke that I loved him. More than anything, I wanted to see him and Papa again.

  A frightened-looking Jack answered the door at Margaret’s house.

  “Auntie Rose is very sad and she won’t come out of her room,” he said. “And now she and Mama are quarreling.”

  “It will be all right. Go find Clara and play,” I said, nudging him out of the hall. I waited uncertainly at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I want Mother!” I heard Rosanna wail. “You of all people should understand how I feel.”

  “But I don’t. Why run to her arms? You think she will be sympathetic, hearing you were in love with a Yankee?”

  “But I have to get away from here. I can’t bear to be here when they all come home except for Henry! I am going to Richmond,” cried Rosanna.

  “You will do no such thing! It is too dangerous. I forbid you to leave this room!”

  The door slammed and Margaret appeared on the landing. When she saw me, a look of relief spread over her face. She hurried down the stairs and grasped my arms.

  “Thank God you’re here. Perhaps you can comfort her. Why, you’d think she’s lost a … a husband. This boy was not … not even a suitor.” Margaret faltered and threw up her hands. “Please talk some sense into her. She is desperate.”

  The idea of Rosanna dying from a broken heart like Mrs. Phelps scared me. I ran up the stairs and opened the door to her room. The curtains were drawn. Drawers hung open from the highboy, and petticoats and skirts had been flung from their hooks. A small traveling trunk lay on its end, as if kicked aside. Rosanna was sprawled on her bed, weeping loudly. The evidence of so much passion startled me.

  “Rosanna?” I whispered. “It’s me.”

  She seemed not to hear me. After a moment, I climbed onto the bed and began to smooth her messy hair.

  At my touch Rosanna sat up, clutching a slim book of poetry. Her face was blotchy and swollen.

  “O for the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is still,” she said, sobbing. “I can’t believe Henry is just gone. Forever.”

  “I know,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.” And even though I hardly knew Henry Phelps, I cried too, because he would never walk through Gettysburg again, smiling and teasing the girls.

  “Lizzie, do you think God is punishing me?”

  “Punishing you? Why?”


  “For being fickle in love. For everything bad I’ve done!” She began to blink rapidly, and her chin trembled.

  “Don’t be silly, Rosanna,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted.

  “But I’m a terrible person. Lizzie, you don’t have any idea,” she said, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Oh, I have to go away, but Margaret won’t let me!”

  “No. Don’t go,” I pleaded. “Stay, and we will do things together that will cheer you up again.”

  “You don’t understand either.” Rosanna sprang from the bed. “Where’s my valise?”

  “Wait, listen to me.” I wanted to stop her and remembered the letter in my pocket. “I’ve had a letter from Luke. He wrote about Henry.”

  Rosanna regarded me with red-rimmed eyes.

  “What did he say?” she whispered.

  Suddenly I doubted that I should tell her about the letter, given her state of mind. But she looked expectant, even hopeful.

  “That Henry was bravely helping to save the wounded … when he died. Luke wrote that Henry talked about you a lot.”

  “He did?” said Rosanna with a faint smile.

  “He told everyone how pretty you were.”

  “Was there more?” Rosanna’s voice trembled. “Did he tell your brother he loved me? Did he call out for me?”

  I stared at my cousin. She seemed a stranger to me. Did she only want to know how much Henry loved her? Couldn’t she be sad just for his sake?

  “I had no idea he meant so much to you,” I said, hearing a sarcastic edge to my voice. Rosanna didn’t catch it.

  “Did he say he loved me?” she asked again. Her eyes pleaded with me.

  I hesitated a moment.

  “No, not in this letter,” I admitted, thinking the truth would be less painful than a lie.

  But she began to cry even harder. All I could do was try to explain, hoping that Rosanna would see reason.

  “I know Henry liked you, and he wanted to work harder to deserve you, but maybe he didn’t, well, love you like you loved him, enough to get married, that is—”

  “Are you saying that he never loved me at all?” Rosanna interrupted in a stricken voice.

  “I … I don’t know,” I said. I realized I was twisting the edges of Luke’s letter between my fingers. “Did Henry ask you to marry him or write it in a letter?”

  “No, not exactly,” she admitted. “But I hoped…” She shook her head and sighed. “I guess I’ve been a fool,” she said, sounding forlorn.

  Perhaps I should have disagreed. But I was relieved that Rosanna’s turmoil seemed to be settling. She went to the window, pulled aside the curtain, and rested her forehead against the glass.

  “Tomorrow should be a fine day,” she said dully. She turned to me, her face without expression, her hair wildly disheveled. “If anything happens to me, Lizzie, will you help my sister look after Jack and Clara?”

  “Of course,” I said, puzzled by her apparently random thoughts. “But you’re not going to die.”

  “No, I’ll live. Did you think I would do something desperate?”

  She turned from the window with a wry smile that did not reach her eyes. She put her valise back in the closet and righted the trunk. I helped her hang up her clothes, then said I should be getting home. Rosanna put her arms around me and clung to me.

  “Oh, Lizzie, at least I know that you love me!”

  “You’re my best friend. I’ll always love you,” I said, returning her embrace and believing those words would always be as true as they were at that moment.

  Lizzie

  Chapter 12

  As Rosanna had predicted, the next day was a fine one. I thought of my cousin, and of poor Henry Phelps, a few times, but it was hard to be too sad on a sunny summer day. That night, after it had cooled off, Mama and I were preserving beans when Margaret burst into the steamy kitchen. Seeing her distressed look, Mama dropped her tongs into the canning pot and her hand went to her throat in alarm.

  “Is it one of the children?”

  “No, thank God, Ginnie is with them. It’s Rosanna!” Margaret tried to catch her breath. “She didn’t come home today. I checked her room. She took her clothes and left a note. She has run off to Richmond!”

  I was stock-still with disbelief.

  Mama pursed her lips. “Honestly, I’m not surprised. She’s a dear girl, but so impulsive!” With an irritated sigh she picked up a wooden spoon to retrieve her tongs from the boiling water.

  Finally I found my voice. “She wouldn’t run away,” I said. “Maybe she is with Annie Baumann.”

  Margaret glared at me. “The station master saw her board the train. And you stand here and pretend to know nothing about it!”

  My mouth fell open, but not a word came out.

  “Margaret! Please explain what you mean,” said Mama.

  “Rosanna told me last night she and Lizzie had planned an all-day picnic for today, and I even packed a hamper full of food. It seemed a good idea, to cheer Rosanna, but it was all a ruse so that she could catch the morning train instead. How could you be so deceitful, Lizzie?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about!” My face was growing hot and I could hardly control my temper. “Rosanna said nothing about a picnic. When I left yesterday, she was calm and had changed her mind about leaving. You must have quarreled with her later, Margaret!”

  “Lizzie!” My mother spoke sharply. “Where were you all day?”

  “Today? Why, I was at the shop all morning, and in the afternoon … I made … deliveries.”

  I looked away, unable to meet Mama’s eyes. In fact, Martin had made the deliveries. I had stayed in the shop alone, with the shutters closed, reading a novel.

  “See, Aunt Mary, she is lying,” said Margaret. “But what shall I do about my sister?”

  Now Mama was simmering like a pot on a low flame.

  “Stop worrying,” she said. “We will send word to your parents in the morning. Lizzie, go to your room now.”

  But I would not obey her. Instead I ran from the house, letting the door slam behind me. I stood in the street, wondering where to go. Then, with long, angry strides, I made my way to the butcher shop. I locked the door, threw myself down on a pile of burlap sacks behind the counter, and cried until I fell asleep. When I woke up, the first rays of sunlight were slanting into the shop and someone was rapping on the door. I stood up stiffly, opened the door a crack, and peered out. Ben was standing there, looking worried.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “No, I’m not,” I replied, still stinging from Rosanna’s desertion and Margaret’s accusations.

  “I’ve been looking for you since I woke up. Mama’s mad, you know.”

  “I know, and I don’t give a pile of pig’s livers!”

  “She says you’d better come home.”

  “You go home. Tell her I’m working. And if she won’t believe me, maybe I’ll run away too.” With that I slammed the door.

  A short while later there was a shuffling outside the door and another knock. I took off my shoe and flung it at the door.

  “I told you to go home. And don’t come back again!”

  “Lizzie?” came Martin’s voice.

  “Oh, drat,” I moaned. I had forgotten Martin was due to work today.

  Martin opened the door and stuck his head in.

  “What’s the matter in here?”

  “Nothing!” I said, turning my back to him, for I was a rumpled, tearstained mess.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No! I mean, yes. Oh, everything’s wrong. Isn’t it obvious?”

  I heard him come into the shop and close the door behind him. I glanced over my shoulder to see him pick up my shoe. Then he just stood there. The only sound was that of flies buzzing and bumping against the windows. I could see into the back room, where the sawdust on the floor was soaked with blood and the knives and saws lay on the trestle tables, bits of dried meat still clinging to their blades. I co
uld smell animal remains starting to rot.

  “I hate this place—it’s filthy and it stinks!” I said as a flood of anger rushed over me.

  “Well, let’s take care of that first,” Martin said.

  He handed me my shoe and left, coming back with a bucket of water, a cake of soap, and a brush. With vigorous strokes he scrubbed at the stained tables. After a moment I picked up a broom and began to sweep the blood-soaked sawdust out the back door, then cleaned the knives and saws. On our knees, we attacked the grimy floor until it was clean and our hands ached.

  “The shop was never so dirty with Pa and Amos working here,” I said. “It’s because of Matthias Schupp.”

  With Amos gone, Mama had to rely on the York butcher coming by when there was a calf or sow to be slaughtered.

  “Schupp doesn’t care about this place,” Martin agreed. “I don’t like working with him.”

  “I don’t either, and I’ve told Mama.” I sighed. “If only Amos would hurry back.”

  I sat back on my heels. Martin turned to face me. My hair hung in damp strands and my skirt was soaked with dirty water, but if Martin noticed, he didn’t show it.

  “Now, what else is bothering you?” he said, as if he were merely asking what the next chore was.

  My chin started to tremble as I fought back tears.

  “I bet you wish your father and brother were here,” he said.

  I nodded. Missing Papa was like a pain behind my ribs, as if the emptiness there would break right out of my chest and fill the room.

  “Hmmm,” he murmured into the silence between us, which only grew longer. There was nothing for me to say.

  Finally Martin said, “Do you wonder why I didn’t join up with the other fellows last summer?”

  His question surprised me. I hadn’t given it a thought.