by Ann Rinaldi
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THEY BURIED Jennie Wade in the garden behind her sister's house.
"Can't get near a cemetery," Mama said when she came home, "and with all the plots needed now, well, they're worth gold."
Anyway, Mama went on, out of a desire to fill the silence, I suppose, that Jennie belonged there, with the flowers in the backyard. Nobody said anything, except Josie. She said she thought she might set herself to baking, that other women at the funeral had told her they were going home to do the same thing.
"I think I'll just whip up some biscuits and gruel to bring over to Christ Lutheran, if it's all right with you, Mrs. Stryker," she said.
"It's fine with me," Mama told her, "but it'd be even more fine if you started calling me Nancy."
Josie looked startled. "Oh, I couldn't do that, ma'am," she said.
Mama sighed sadly. "I do so long sometimes to hear my name. With my husband away so much, there's no one in the house to say it."
Mama was so clever. Josie smiled. "All right, then, Nancy. I'm going to make some biscuits and gruel, real quick-like, and bring it over to the church."
"Better be quick-like," David put in. "It's fixin' to rain soon. Tacy, why don't you help her."
***
BECAUSE THERE was still some rifle fire being exchanged in town, David took Josie and her supply of food over to the church the back way. I didn't offer to go with them, for I wanted to give them this chance alone. I told them it was already starting to rain and I had to walk Cassie, which indeed I did. They had to make a couple of trips back and forth with the food and I thought, Good, it will do them good. Better yet if they get wet together.
It was when they were making their second walk over and I was lingering with Cassie in the backyard, getting somewhat wet myself, that I heard the thunder.
At least I thought it was thunder. And in a way it was.
The thunder of horses' hooves, coming down our street in front of our house.
There were breastworks a bit up from our house, set there by the Confederates, for what reason I did not know, and I doubt if they knew either. For by now it had become clear to me that the Confederates' reasons had been vague about most everything they did. What happened, I think, is that this bunch of horses had escaped of a sudden from somewhere, and now found themselves free, and decided to run down our street.
Then they came upon the Confederates' breastworks and halted for a second, likely thinking What in the name of all that is holy is this? Have the Rebs no sense at all? Do they think this can stop us?
So, after thinking about it half a second, they did what came naturally, which was to go around the breastworks, which meant going through the nearest open front door of a house and passing right through it, one at a time, right onto the wooden back porch, and off it into the backyard, which they found very pleasing.
Now this house was about three houses away from ours. And the woman who owned it, Mrs. Netherwood, happened to be sweeping off the back porch at the time and just stepped aside quickly enough to avoid being trampled to death.
We heard later that she threw away her broom, raised up her arms, flew aside, and yelled, "Oh, Lord, what will come next?" Which ought to give a body an idea of what kind of a state the citizens of Gettysburg were in at this juncture.
Anyway, there I was, three houses down in our yard with Cassie, who was already in a state of apoplexy. So I ran her into the house and came out again to see what was going to take place next.
There were about six horses. And they had found the grass in Mrs. Netherwood's backyard more than pleasing. They found it downright delectable. All but one horse, who had lifted up its head and was sniffing the rainy air in my direction. And then walking slowly and sniffing toward me.
Ramrod!
My own Ramrod!
No, I told myself, it can't be, even as she kept walking through the yards, coming to me. This does not happen in real life, I told myself. Stolen horses do not come home again. That happens only in happily-ever-after books where the frogs turn into princes and the cruel stepmother gets what is coming to her. Never in real life.
Finally she was on the other side of our fence, leaning her head over to me. I hugged her. She nuzzled me and whinnied, and I cried and went out the gate and led her inside. Oh, she was in grievous shape, ragged-looking and unbrushed.
She had no saddle on. I led her right to the barn, where I gave her water, brushed and fed her, and stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon. I talked to her like I used to. Outside the dark was coming on and it was pouring rain.
In what seemed like a little while, the barn door opened and someone came in with a lantern and a blanket. I didn't look to see who it was.
"You could have at least let Mama know what you were about. She's been frantic worrying about you."
I was inside Ramrod's stall, leaning against her neck, soaking wet.
He put the blanket around me, then fetched a horse blanket, came inside the stall, and put it around Ramrod. "So she's come back, eh?"
"If you scold and ruin all this for me, I'm never going to speak to you again in my whole entire life."
He patted Ramrod, ran his hands over her flanks. David knew horses. "She's all right. She's in good shape. You should leave her to sleep now. And come on into the house."
He touched my shoulder, then my hair. "Come on," he said gently. "I'm glad she's home. Glad for you."
I went with him.
"It's been some Fourth of July, eh?" he said.
***
IT WAS RAINING all the next day, the fifth, and I couldn't go outside, so I cooked some more with Josie. And besides the biscuits this time, we got together crocks of apple jelly, pickles, preserves, bread, and chicken. We raided Mama's pantry in the cellar, with her permission, of course.
They wouldn't have let me go outside, anyway. David had been out early to help the U.S. Sanitary Commission, which had already started to arrive, clean up the streets. "There's dead heaped all over the streets," he told us when he came in for breakfast.
Mama wouldn't let him in the house until he washed up thoroughly at the pump outside.
He sat at the table, his hair still wet. "The Sanitary Commission is going to spread chloride of lime on the streets. I think that may be worse for us than the germs from the dead. They say we may have to keep our windows closed in the middle of the day."
"In this heat?" Mama was horrified.
"It's either that or invite the germs in," David said.
"I saw a man go by before," I offered, "with a wagonload of cut-off arms and legs."
"Tacy!" Mama scolded.
David glowered at me. "Leave it to you to say the wrong thing at the right time.
"There is a stench outside," he continued. "The next time I go out to help, I'll be wearing a mask, and I can get you all some bottles of pennyroyal and peppermint oil from the Sanitary Commission to ward off the smell."
"You're a darling boy, David." Mama told him. "I don't know what we'd do without you. Be grateful you have your brother, Tacy," she told me, "and don't sass him so. You don't know how lucky you are to have him."
"Oh, Ma," David said, embarrassed. But he glowed at her praise and looked at me smugly.
I stuck my tongue out at him across the table and Mama saw it.
"Shame on you, Tacy! Do you know how many girls have brothers who will never come home from the war? Now go and give him a kiss, right now!"
Oh, God, there was no going against Mama when she took on like this. I got out of my chair and went around the table to David. I hesitated only a moment. In that moment David's and my eyes met. I couldn't tell what his said. But I leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Surprisingly, he reached out and put his arms around me and held me for a moment, his face against mine, then let me go.
It rained all the rest of that day and I couldn't go out, not even to walk Cassie or visit Ramrod. David was out helping the Sanitary Commission, whose me
mbers had increased on the streets, when Sam, Jennie Wade's brother, came over. Mama didn't want him to work so soon after his sister's death, but he said he wanted to. So he did things around the place that needed doing. And I began to change my opinion about him, for he looked solemn, as I'd never seen him before. And I began to wonder how it felt to lose a sibling.
I knew he loved Jennie.
In front of the courthouse the Eighth Pennsylvania band played patriotic songs all day in the rain. The sound of the music was muffled and wandered like something trying to find its way home, halfhearted and knowing it did not yet belong in this atmosphere, but telling us, There is still room for music in this world, there is——just listen and give us a chance.
Sam told us, when Mama invited him in for something to eat, that wagons were already coming into town with food and medical supplies from Maryland and New Jersey and other parts of Pennsylvania. "Somebody from the Sanitary Commission told me that soon's they heard a few days ago that there was a battle here, they started packin' up their wagons," he said.
I helped Mama cook some food for Mr. Cameron, who was pestering David to take him home. Mama didn't want to let him go home to an empty house and insisted David go inside with him and make sure everything was all right. I thought of his son and wondered if he'd ever come home again. And David threatened to hang me up by my thumbs if I ever mentioned a word of his son to Mr. Cameron.
It stopped raining for about an hour after supper, and David walked him home.
So we were alone again, except for Josie, who stayed, because now that her mother could finally get out of her house, she went to see her sister in Hanover.
***
I KNEW BY the end of the day that something was gnawing at Mama's innards. And I knew what it was.
After supper I cornered David when I found him alone in Pa's study, having a drink of whiskey, all alone. He was sitting moodily at Pa's desk.
"David?"
"Yes, Tacy. Aren't you in bed yet? Why would you want to drag out this forlorn day?"
"Ma's spirit is all over the floor."
"I'm aware of that."
"Do you know why?"
"I'm having thoughts about it."
"She's brooding over Pa. And Joel and Brandon. She's wondering why, when the fight is over, they haven't come home."
"Has she told you that?"
"No."
"Then how do you know it?"
"I just know it, David."
"I forgot. You have special powers."
"I don't think you should be mean to me now."
"No, I shouldn't. I'm sorry. I've had a bad day. Picked up and helped haul off too many mangled bodies. Not a task to make you want to dance about." He gave a deep sigh. "Well, with all the wounded, I suspect Pa's still tied up somewhere. Same with Joel and Brandon. Likely Old Crankcase won't give them leave."
"Who?"
"Colonel Richard Butler Price, their commanding officer. There's a lot to do out there yet, even though the fighting's over. If anything had happened to them, we'd have heard. Same goes for Pa."
I nodded my head.
He took a sip of his drink, set the glass down, and looked at me then, really looked at me for the first time. "You're scared," he said, "aren't you?"
I did not answer.
"You don't believe a word I've just said."
"Yes, I do."
"You're a damned bad liar. You ought to learn to do better than that if you're going to lie so much."
He was hurting, I could tell. And he was scared, too. Scared that something had happened to Brandon or Joel.
"They could at least have sent home a message, couldn't they?" I asked him. My voice wasn't working so good anymore. "Even Pa. He could have."
"Oh, stop it," he said angrily. "Yes, they all could have sent home messages. But they didn't. Why? I don't know why. Because they didn't have paper or pencil. Or because they meant to and didn't. Or because they live in a different world than us at the moment. Who knows? You can scold them all when they get home, Tacy. But they'll be home. I promise." Then he put his arms on the desk, crossed them, and put his head down on top of them. And spoke no more.
I went around the desk and put my arm on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "Thank you, David," I said.
He grunted. Then said, "Go to bed. It's late."
I went. Cassie went with me. She slept with me now, Cassie did.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I WAS ALONE in the house for a couple of hours on the morning of the seventh. It was Tuesday. David was helping the Sanitary Commission to move their things to their new headquarters in the center of town, on the corner of Baltimore and Middle streets. It was the old Fahne-stock Brothers store.
Josie and Mama had gone over to Christ Lutheran with more food and stayed to help with the wounded. I was safe with Cassie. She was turning out to be a first-rate watchdog.
It was almost eleven in the morning when she started barking and growling and going toward the back door, even before the knock sounded.
I was not supposed to let anybody in.
But I peeked through the kitchen window.
A Yankee officer stood there. His fine-looking horse was tethered to the railing of the back porch. I saw the Springfield rifle in the sling that hung from its saddle, and for a moment something clicked in my head, but no, I thought, no. And then I minded, what harm could a Yankee officer do? I raised the window sash. "Yes?" I asked.
"Tacy? Don't you recognize me? You going to let me in or not?"
Brandon! My own brother Brandon! Come home as sure as God made railroad ties.
I pulled down the window sash and ran to open the door.
At that moment, Sam came to take his horse to the barn. Brandon turned to say hello and to give Sam directions about his horse's care. But just for a second. Then he turned to me and for a moment he stood, in his blue cavalry uniform, face browned, eyes sparkling, grinning down at me. He took off his hat, reached out his arms, and hugged me, lifted me right off the ground in a bear-like embrace.
"Oh, Brandon, you're home!"
"Sure am."
I thought he was never going to release me, but finally he put me back down on my feet.
"Where's Ma? Is Pa home? Where is everybody? Got any coffee on the stove? That dog going to bite me?"
I quieted Cassie, who obeyed. I answered his questions and introduced Cassie, who sat and offered her paw, proper-like. I led him inside, took his hat, jacket, gloves, and sword. I held my hand out for his pistol, but he shook his head no.
He wanted a cold glass of water. I fetched some and he drank it down in one gulp, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood there gazing around as if he'd never seen the place before.
I thought I saw tears fill his eyes.
"I'll get coffee," I said softly, for I minded that I was interrupting a flow of memories.
He grinned down at me. "Place looks good. I dream of it at night. Got anything to eat?"
"Sit down. We've got plenty to eat."
I turned to fetch the coffee, but he grabbed my wrist, gently, held me back, and looked at me. Really looked at me, his blue eyes going over me, seeing everything. "You're growing up," he said, as if I'd done something behind his back. "I don't know if I like that. Can I still sit you on my lap?" He put a hand on top of my head, took a swatch of my hair and ran his hand down it to the end, where it touched my shoulders. "Getting prettier, too. But girls will do that, won't they?"
I blushed and said nothing.
"God, I'll wager you're giving David a run for his money."
I smiled.
"He treating you all right?"
"Yes."
His eyes narrowed and he put his other hand under my chin. "Heard there was hell to pay in this town. Heard about Jennie Wade, too. Darn shame. She was a nice girl. Pretty, too. How's David taking it?"
I shrugged.
His eyes narrowed and he released me and sat at the table. I fetched hi
m a cup of hot coffee and he sipped it gratefully. "You're not telling me things, sister mine," he said jokingly. "All right, there's time. When I get home, we'll have a nice talk and you can tell me things. We'll catch up. I just got a couple of hours and thought I'd come home and let Ma know we're all right, me and Joel—we've come through it all fine. All the hell out there. And believe me, it was hell."
I prepared some food, half breakfast and half lunch, and we talked.
I told him all about Josie and David. He listened intently. "So old David finally found himself a love, did he? Good for him. As I recollect, Josie is a pretty little thing. David does like them pretty, doesn't he?"
I wanted to ask him about his lady love. Before the war, he'd been seeing a girl named Emily Sedgwick from Hanover Junction. But I made no mention of her now, for I did not know the status of their relationship. Was it over? I did not want to ask, for if it was, I did not want to cause him pain.
All I knew was that when it became obvious that the Rebs were coming, her parents had taken her and gone to relatives in Philadelphia.
But now he brought forth her name.
We'd been silent for a moment, so I knew he was contemplating something special. I'd learned from dealing with David when to keep a still tongue in my head.
Then he spoke, quietly. "Have any of you heard anything about Emily's family?"
"No, Brandon. But some of the people who left town are starting to come back. The Zieglers have returned. So have the Thorns and the Tysons. And the McCrearys. I'm sure they'll be back soon. David said he heard their house wasn't damaged at all."
He smiled. "You're a sweetheart for not bringing up her name," he told me. "You're very considerate. We're corresponding, although with the war it's been difficult for letters to get through. I'm telling you, but no one else yet. We're still courting."
"Oh, good. I like her, Brandon."
And no, he hadn't seen or heard of Pa, either. "But don't worry," he said. "Anything bad and you would have heard. One thing you'll soon learn in life, Tacy, is that people love to pass on bad news fast. Good news they have no interest in."
Then he told me that in a few days the army was going to set up a prisoner-of-war camp in a barn on the southwest corner of Baltimore and High streets.