by Lisa Klein
“I saw you at the ice-cream social,” I said nervously, watching his face for a response.
“I saw you too. You had a pretty dress on.”
My heart skipped, then beat a little faster.
“Why didn’t you come and talk to me?”
“I wanted to, Lizzie, but the fellows would have teased me.”
I didn’t know whether to be pleased or hurt by his answer.
“Did you hear the news?” he asked, changing the subject. “York surrendered to General Early and gave up twenty-eight thousand dollars in cash and a ton of supplies.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Goodness! I’ll bet half of that was money and goods that our merchants sent there for safekeeping. But where did you get the news? The telegraph is down.”
“I saw Mr. Rupp, the tanner, returning from York this morning.”
“Did he run into any rebels?”
“No, but he said there was fighting in Hanover.”
“Why, that’s only a few miles off the York Road. Did he say if he had seen Amos and Ben along the way?”
Martin hesitated before replying. He must have seen how worried I looked.
“He asked if my butcher had come back from York yet, and when I shook my head, he said Amos might have a bad time of it if he doesn’t stay clear of the Johnnies running everywhere.”
I put my hand to my mouth and blinked back tears. Martin took a step forward.
“Maybe … I can help,” he began. He looked up again, his forehead creased in an expression of seriousness. “I’ll ride out and look for them. You can come along, if you want.”
I gulped. Martin even seemed surprised by what he had said. But he met my gaze steadily with his grayish eyes.
“My mother would never allow me,” I said. “I can’t leave her and Grace.”
“And my mother would tan my hide all the way to next Sunday,” Martin said with a wry grin. “But she doesn’t have to know. I’ll sneak away.”
“I can’t let you do that for us,” I protested. “Amos and Ben will be back tonight or tomorrow, I’m sure of it.”
“Amos has been a good boss to me. I want to help you and your ma. If they are not back by tomorrow night, I’ll go looking for them the next morning,” Martin said firmly.
“Wait,” I said, touching his sleeve. “You were afraid to speak to me at the social with the other fellows around, but you’re not afraid to go out looking for Amos and Ben with rebels everywhere?”
Martin merely shrugged, put on his hat, and went back out into the rain. I stood in the doorway, baffled. I would wait until Wednesday morning, I decided, to see if Martin Weigel was as brave as his word.
That night, Mama and I went to a Ladies Aid meeting at the Lutheran church on Chambersburg Pike. We listened as Mrs. Pierpont read from a Baltimore newspaper that Lincoln had replaced his top commander with a new one, General George Meade. Mrs. Weigel sat next to me, rolling bandages with rapid fingers.
“The rebels must think we’re getting desperate, changing generals like they were Hosen—ach, I mean trousers,” she said, tapping her forehead.
“So far none of our generals has been any match for Lee. If he were on our side, the war would have been over long ago,” said Mrs. Rupp, the tanner’s wife. Her bold statement was met with a surprised silence. “Well, it’s true,” she insisted.
Mrs. Weigel leaned over and said to me, “Bei Himmel, this is one time I’m glad I don’t live in town. I feel safer auf das Land. It makes me nervous to travel by Long Lane, where die Negerin live, you know.” She tended to lapse into German when she became distressed.
“Why?” I asked. Then I remembered Martin telling me his mother did not like Negroes.
“Sie konnt Mühe machen, make trouble. If the rebels come back again. Ja?”
I could not agree with her, so I just held my tongue.
“I don’t think we’ve seen the last of those rebels,” said Mrs. Brodhead in her worried way. “Every night I see their campfires burning on the mountainside near Cashtown.”
Mrs. Pierpont, with her usual authority, attempted to settle the question.
“The Confederate army has come through once already and found nothing worth taking. They will not return. There is no strategic or economic reason to do battle over our humble town.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Mrs. Brodhead, but she didn’t sound convinced.
“Lizzie, meine Liebe,” said Mrs. Weigel, laying her hand on mine, “if those rebels come back to town, you and your Mutti come to mein Haus. It is like a fort. They will not get in.”
I smiled politely, thinking that Martin’s poor mother had no idea what he had promised to do for me. I felt a bit guilty for keeping it from her.
When the meeting ended, Mama and I climbed the church’s bell tower in order to see the rebel campfires Mrs. Brodhead was so worried about. They appeared as tiny red dots scattered along the base of the mountains between Gettysburg and Chambersburg. Even as I watched the distant flickering, I felt certain that God would never allow Gettysburg to be destroyed in battle. It would be a punishment none of us deserved. I was certainly no saint, but I did attend church almost every week and prayed every day. I would even pray for the entire Confederate army, to show my good intentions. Standing there in the church tower, even with the enemy in sight, I felt reassured. I reached for Mama’s hand and squeezed it.
The next morning, that fragile peace was shaken. It was Tuesday, the last day of June. Despite the bright, sunny skies, there came a rumble like that of a gathering storm. I heard shouting in the streets and yelled for Grace to hide. The shouts changed to whistling and cheers. Soldiers were coming all right, but this time they were Union cavalrymen riding up from the south, stirring up huge clouds of dust. So instead of hiding, we joined our neighbors in handing out pies and cakes and sandwiches to the passing soldiers, expecting that they would ride on through town and head north.
But General Buford and his cavalry apparently intended to stop in Gettysburg. Word flew around that they were building defenses to the west, beyond the Lutheran Seminary, and that pickets were guarding every road that led into town. Soldiers descended on the shops, purchasing shirts, tobacco, and trinkets. They dusted off their blue uniforms and posed for photographs at Mr. Tyson’s studio. Then they formed long lines in front of the taverns, until the general halted the sale of liquor in town.
Seeing the opportunity for some business, I brought several hams and smoked sausages out of storage. Mama didn’t want me to be at the store alone, so Grace came with me and we sold all the meat as well as several jars of preserves. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or angry when one of the soldiers called me a “pretty little country girl” and winked at me. Pretending not to hear him, I asked his companion if he knew whether the road to York was clear of rebels. He said he didn’t even know where York was, and they left the shop laughing. Grace mumbled good riddance to them, and we went home in worried silence. It had now been eight days with no sign of Amos and Ben.
As I was drifting off to sleep that night, I heard the sound of gravel hitting my window. I opened the sash and peered out into the darkness. After a moment I made out the figure of Martin in the street below.
“I didn’t want to wake your ma. Ben and Amos back yet?” he asked in a loud whisper.
“No. Wait there. I’m coming down.” I started for the stairs, then realized I was in my nightgown. I grabbed my frock but decided it would take too long to get dressed. I saw in the mirror that my hair was a mess, too. Smoothing it down, I grabbed a long shawl and wrapped it around me for modesty, then dashed barefoot down the stairs.
Martin took a step back when he saw me. I wished I had taken the time to put on my dress.
“Sorry,” I said, “I was almost asleep.”
“Wow, you look … different. With your hair all around your shoulders like that.”
“Martin, you shouldn’t go,” I said quickly. “Let’s ask ask one of the cavalry officers for help findi
ng them.”
“I expect they have other concerns, Lizzie. Don’t you trust me?”
“I do. I just don’t want … anything to happen to you. Your mother would be upset.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” he said with a smile. I could barely see his face in the moonlight.
“Martin, I know I should feel safer with our soldiers all over town, but I don’t. Do you think they’re planning to fight a battle here?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He reached out and tugged up the edge of my shawl. It had slipped down, exposing my shoulder, and I hadn’t even noticed. I hoped he could not see me blushing in the dark.
“Hey, I have to get home now. I’ll come by here tomorrow morning before I go looking for them. Don’t tell anyone, not even your mother, or she’ll try and stop me.”
I nodded as he turned to leave. So he was really going to go through with it!
“Wait!” I called after him. “Let me come with you.”
But Martin had already disappeared into the darkness.
Rosanna
Chapter 28
June 28, 1863 near Chambersburg, Penn
Two weeks have passed since my return to the regiment. A dozen times a day something reminds me of John, and I feel again the pain of losing him. It subsides only when I lose myself in my work. And goodness knows there is plenty of it. Even during the summer months, disease runs rampant among men weakened by two years of unremitting duty under poor conditions.
It is strange to be in Pennsylvania as the enemy, when I intend to harm no one. The region looks so prosperous, compared to the devastation in Virginia. I wonder if part of Lee’s motive for invading the North was to feed his hard-up soldiers. Indeed, our men rob empty houses and steal chickens and food, despite orders to the contrary. Some do it from desperation, others with a spirit of revenge I cannot condone. No wonder the citizens of Chambersburg regard us sullenly. Mrs. Throckmorton and I have had some success in persuading them to provide from their gardens and pantries in exchange for a guard posted to prevent worse damage to their property. Meanwhile the officers are trying to restore discipline by rounding up deserters and stragglers. They brought a very inebriated Hiram Watt back to camp. He seldom drank while my husband was his friend, but without John’s moderating influence, Watt has fallen in with worse company. Sadly I must no longer associate with him, out of concern for my own reputation.
I cannot stop thinking about the road through the South Mountains that would take me to Gettysburg in hours. Margaret and Lizzie cannot know that I am only twenty-five miles away. Dare I attempt to visit them while we are camped near Chambersburg? What a surprise it would be!
June 29, 1863 Chambersburg
Still we wait. Rumors change from hour to hour. I had thought Harrisburg was Lee’s destination. But he appears to be biding his time here, waiting—with growing impatience—for General “Jeb” Stuart and his cavalry to return and tell him where the Union army is. Is the great General Lee really so blind without Stuart?
Tomorrow I will ride to Gettysburg, on the pretext of looking for medicinal herbs in the woods around Cashtown. I long to see my sister and Lizzie again! I wonder if they think of me fondly, as I do them.
June 30, 1863 Chambersburg
There has been no sign of Stuart, but Lee has discovered by other means (a spy perhaps?) that the federal army, with a new commander, is near Frederick, Maryland—closer than he thought. But everyone deems this new Union general—I don’t even recall his name—as weak and inexperienced as all the others.
According to General Gordon’s wife, usually a reliable source, General Heth’s division will set out in the morning for Gettysburg. Reportedly a warehouse full of shoes waits there, and only a small contingent of Union cavalry guards the town. This sounds like a mere rumor to me, for to my knowledge, Gettysburg has no more than the usual number of shoemakers. In any case, I would not risk a confrontation over a few pairs of shoes! But the generals and their spies undoubtedly know better.
Our company will remain in the rear with Pickett’s division. If Heth’s men encounter the cavalry, there will probably be a small skirmish not rising to the status of a battle. Dr. Walker has ordered us to prepare the hospital here for possible casualties. Therefore I must postpone my plans to ride to Gettysburg.
Lizzie
Chapter 29
I woke up with my cotton nightdress clinging wetly to my chest and legs. In the wide-open window, the curtains barely stirred. But birds still chirped and trilled. It was Wednesday, the first of July. I knew that Ben and Amos had not returned in the night. I rolled quickly out of bed, washed my face in the basin, and dressed, all the while listening for Martin. A distant pop-pop came to my ears, like the sound Clara made with her lips when she pretended to be a fish. It could have been someone chopping wood or nailing shingles to a roof. I twisted my hair and pinned it high off my damp neck.
Downstairs Mama and Grace leaned over the kitchen table kneading masses of bread dough. Grace’s belly, now the size of a watermelon, got in her way. Several bowls of puffy dough awaited a second kneading. Why were they making so much bread?
“Has Martin come by yet this morning?” I asked, striving for a casual tone as I poured a cup of bitter coffee. “Shall we open up the shop?”
“No,” said Mama tersely. “And no.”
I decided that Martin had probably come and gone without anyone seeing him. Then the popping noise sounded again, a little louder, like the cracking of pins and balls against each other in a game of bowling. I looked at Mama, suspecting the truth.
“The battle started just after daybreak,” she said.
“Where?” I asked, feeling my stomach go sour already.
“To the west, more than two miles away. We’re not in any danger here.”
“Two miles—why, that’s close! What should we do?”
“Work as usual. It’s wash day,” Mama answered, her hands still mired in dough.
With a growing sense of dread, I began my chores, fetching enough wood to stoke the oven for the entire day and pumping buckets of water for the washing. From time to time, we paused to listen at the front door, hearing muffled explosions and rifle fire to the west. At least, I thought, Martin would have headed east, possibly before the fighting began. Then there came a sound like a high-pitched scream, followed by a sharp and splintering blast somewhere nearby.
“It sounds like a building was hit!” I cried. “Are they shelling the town?”
At that moment our neighbor, Mrs. Klinger, ran out into the street carrying a valise.
“Sarah! Where are you going?” shouted Mama through cupped hands.
“To my daughter’s house, away from this!” she cried.
“Why, her daughter lives only four blocks away,” I said to Mama.
“Sarah, stay! You’ll be just as safe in your own home,” Mama cried, but it was too late. Mrs. Klinger disappeared around the corner of Liberty Street.
“Shouldn’t we leave too, Mama?” I asked.
Instead of replying, Mama waved her arms to gain the attention of a Union officer riding by. He reined in his horse and shouted, “Go into your homes and stay there!” before galloping on.
We obeyed, and Mama locked the door and began to shutter the front windows.
“Lizzie, gather all the spare bedding and take it to the cellar, along with candles, lamps and oil, a chair for each of us, and pillows for Grace.”
I rushed off to obey her. As I was pulling the coverlet from my bed, I heard another volley of artillery fire, followed by screams. I dropped the bedding and dashed down the stairs to investigate.
In the street Margaret stumbled down from a cart while Clara stood in the back screaming and covering her ears. Jack had jumped down into the street, where he spun around like a dervish. The horse whinnied and pawed the ground, ready to bolt, and the boxes and bundles piled atop the cart threatened to tumble to the ground. Margaret flung herself into Mama’s arms, sobbing.
�
�What in God’s name are you doing abroad! And with the children?” cried Mama. “That stray shell could have struck you. Now get inside.”
Grace rounded up Jack and Clara while I tied the nervous horse to the fence. Inside, Mama held the smelling salts under Margaret’s nose, but my cousin brushed the vial away and began to talk rapidly.
“Aunt Mary, I know it looks crazy, my coming into town when everyone with any sense is running the other way. But this morning when I went over to see Georgia’s new baby, she said there were reports of fighting on Oak Ridge, near the seminary. We couldn’t hear anything, but when I went back home I saw soldiers coming up the pike and marching east over the fields, taking down fences in their way. They were headed for Oak Ridge all right.”
“Whose soldiers?” Mama asked patiently.
“Why, our troops, of course.”
“Then, that’s good news. They’ll push the rebels back to Cash-town. So why did you panic?” I said.
Margaret bristled. “It looked like a battle was fixing to break out right in front of my house. You would have been in a state, too. Then some officers rode up, along with a general who said his name was Reynolds. He came into the house, and I gave him bread and coffee, and Clara even sat on his knee and played with the brass buttons of his coat. He was so polite—and calm, not at all like a general heading for the battlefield.”
Margaret paused to sip the coffee Grace had poured for her. Her hands trembled a little. The yeasty smell of fresh bread filled the kitchen.
“Go on. What happened next?” I urged.
“Well, General Reynolds said if I had someplace to go within town, I should leave for it now. It was almost an order! He said he wanted to post a lookout at my house because the two roads converge there. I couldn’t refuse him. I said I wanted to bring the portraits and silver along, so he called his aides to load everything on the cart. But the sewing machines were so heavy, and we were so rushed, I was able to bring only one.”