Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
Thursday, November 19, 1863
The weather was unseasonably mild for the dedication of the National Soldiers’ Cemetery on Cemetery Hill, and warmth flooded Liberty as the crowd pressed her closer to Silas. Twenty thousand people had descended upon Gettysburg for the occasion. The sea of faces, fevered with patriotic zeal during the parade this morning, were now cloaked in solemnity. But none were as sober as the people who had lived through the ordeal personally. Liberty caught Evergreen Cemetery keeper Elizabeth Thorn’s eye and offered a smile for the one-month-old baby in her arms.
As the honorable Edward Everett, former secretary of state, took the platform now for the dedication ceremony, Silas wrapped his arm around Liberty’s shoulders, and she nestled into his chest, inhaling his bay rum scent as the orator began. Amelia and Bella stood just in front of them.
“Standing beneath this serene sky, overlooking these broad fields now reposing from the labors of the waning year, the mighty Alleghenies dimly towering before us, the graves of our brethren beneath our feet, it is with hesitation that I raise my poor voice to break the eloquent silence of God and Nature. But the duty to which you have called me must be performed;–grant me, I pray you, your indulgence and your sympathy.”
For the next hour, Everett held the crowd captive, and Liberty noticed Harrison Caldwell scribbling notes on his pad of paper. Everett spoke of Roman, Italian, French, and British governments, took the audience through the events of the American Revolution, the definition of rebellion, the birth and plan of the Confederacy, and the movements of both armies from the days of late June until the glorious Fourth of July when victory was secured for the Union.
Then, it was the women’s turn. Liberty leaned in to listen as Everett spoke several sentences to commend matrons and maidens for delighting in their labors and serving the “least of these.”
Liberty kept her gaze on the speaker, but her thoughts wrapped themselves around the man standing next to her. She had considered him the “least of these,” and God had rewarded her with love and belonging she had never known before. She could never have imagined where loving her enemy would lead.
Everett went on for another hour after that, and the people punctuated his conclusion with thunderous applause. Then, President Abraham Lincoln traded places with him, and the contrast could not have been starker. Everett, of average height and whose head was framed by such fuzzy white hair it looked like a thick layer of lint was stuck to it, his face that of a victor. Lincoln, taller than anyone else in the crowd, whose stovepipe hat matched his dark hair and beard, his face, that of a sufferer. He looked so sad, so tired. He was not celebrating victory, but still solemnly in the fight. His voice was higher pitched than she had imagined it would be for a man of his stature, but his words, though simpler and far fewer than Everett’s, captured the essence of the occasion.
Not even the wind stirred as the president spoke. “It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
Mr. Lincoln left the stage. Liberty, along with the rest of the crowd, was stunned at the brevity of his remarks. An awkward moment passed as twenty thousand people came to the realization that Lincoln’s speech was over almost as soon as it had begun, then erupted into a delayed cheer for their burdened commander in chief.
Harrison Caldwell jostled his way next to Silas, Liberty, Amelia, and Bella. “So.” He tucked his pencil and paper into his knapsack. “Two hours and two minutes later, the National Soldiers’ Cemetery is dedicated.”
“How did you rate our speakers?” Silas asked.
Harrison straightened the slouch hat on his head. “I preferred Lincoln.”
“A newsman would. Shorter is better, right?”
The reporter chuckled. “Usually, yes. But a little clarification would have been appropriate. Lincoln said that the men who died here gave their last full measure of devotion in doing so. But I believe the fullest measure of our devotion to the cause is not just dying for it, but living for it. From where I’m standing, each one of you is giving your full measures of devotion in your own ways.”
“Let me guess,” said Bella. “You want to write a story about it.”
“It’s a great story.” A smile brightened his face. “But you should be the ones to tell it. Write your story. The world needs to hear your voice, not just the voices of the reporters.”
“Women don’t publish,” said Amelia. “It isn’t ladylike.”
Harrison shook his head and pulled a package of wafers from his pocket. “I’m telling you, just write it.” He popped a wafer in his mouth and tucked it in his cheek. “If you don’t, no one else is going to do it for you.”
“And what will you do?” Liberty asked.
“Me? Oh, I’ll keep writing stories, but my battle days are behind me.” He tilted his head toward the platform. “I should at least try to get an interview with the president.” Harrison shook hands with Silas, Amelia, Bella, and Liberty. “I deeply regret any sorrow or pain I may have caused you all.”
Liberty squeezed his hand. “God used it for good, Mr. Caldwell.” If Harrison hadn’t dug up their story—and leaked it to the New York Times—she might have lived her entire life not knowing what a strong, respectable mother she had in Bella.
Smiling, Harrison nodded, tipped his hat, and melted into the crowd encircling the president. For a long moment, Liberty watched the throng of people that had come for this momentous day.
“Who could have believed that all of this would have unfolded in Gettysburg?” Amelia scanned the red-brick homes and gleaming white steeples in the distance. “Several months ago, if people had heard of Gettysburg, it would have been because of the seminary or college. From now on, the name will be synonymous with death.”
“For now, yes.” Liberty sighed. “But perhaps, not always. We can let tragedy define us, or we can refuse to let the story end there. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Gettysburg came to be known not just for the incredible loss that hallowed this ground, but for the devotion of those of us who survived? Or as the turning point of the war?”
Silas smiled into Liberty’s eyes. “Look around, Liberty. For Amelia, Bella, Harrison, you, and me—it has been a turning point, indeed. Each of us has suffered, but each has risen above it. When I look at you, I see triumph, not trial, written on your face.”
The warmth of his gaze burned her cheeks. Bella cleared her throat and told Libbie she and Amelia would meet them back at the house.
With people teeming around them, Silas stood still and cupped Liberty’s face in his hands. “But that isn’t all I see. Is it?”
Liberty’s breath hitched. “What do you see?”
“Hope.” His voice was low as he enveloped her hands with his. “Liberty, I was going to wait to say this until I had more to offer you. But I don’t want you to have to wonder one more moment about my intentions. You need to know you are loved. You are …” A lump shifted in his throat. “My beloved. I love you. Your heritage does not change that, nor should it.”
Liberty’s heart grew wings, but as he drew a deep breath, she knew he was not done.
“I would fight for you. I would die for you. But more than that, I would live for you with the full measure of my devotion. I would sacrifice all to win you, fight for your heart after it has already been won. That I might pursue you, with the heart of a lion, that I might be all you have dreamed of and make you feel loved … protected … cherished—That is my desire and my passion and my delight.”
Silas pulled from his pocket a gold and sapphire ring. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Heart in her throa
t, Liberty slid her finger into the ring and smiled through her tears. “Nothing would make me happier,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around Silas, felt the strength of his shoulders beneath her palms before clasping his neck. She kissed the smile on his face, inhaling his scent as though she were breathing him in. His hands curved around her waist and neck as he held her close.
Silas leaned back to look at her, the November wind blowing between them. “That I might have both the Lord and you—it is too great a gift to fully comprehend. Are you ready, Beloved?”
He offered his hand, and she squeezed it in response. Together, they walked away from Cemetery Hill.
In just one week, they would be celebrating Thanksgiving Day as a nation for the first time, by proclamation of the president. But Liberty did not need an order from the White House to be grateful for what God had done in her life.
Weeping had endured for a night. But joy came in the morning.
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
Widow of Gettysburg was inspired by the letters, diaries, and first-person accounts of Gettysburg civilians who I had the pleasure of meeting in the archives of the Adams County Historical Society in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, a few years ago. Perhaps like you, my knowledge of Gettysburg up until that time was limited to what I knew of the battle itself. But once I discovered the forgotten work of the women of Gettysburg, their stories came to life for me, and I hope it came to life for you too, through this novel.
Although her name is inspired by a Gettysburg teenager named Liberty Hollinger, Liberty Holloway is a purely fictional character. But she did what real women were called upon to do. They watched their homes and farms become ruined, they assisted surgeons, even with amputations. Women discovered one hundred men in the flooded basement of the Lutheran Theological Seminary and arranged for their rescue. They learned to show love to their enemy as they cared for Rebel wounded. Several women from Gettysburg actually did marry men who they or their mothers helped nurse back to life, whether the soldiers had worn blue or grey. One Gettysburg woman pitched her tent at Camp Letterman (also a real place) and stayed there for four months, which inspired Liberty’s action to do the same. The Holloway Farm’s location was based on the position of the real farm belonging to J. E. Plank, on the west bank of Willoughby Run.
The major events preceding and during the three-day battle were depicted as historically as possible, including the Rebels passing through Gettysburg on June 26, General Buford’s cavalry coming through on June 30, the locations of Lee’s and Meade’s headquarters, the late arrival of General Stuart, the battles at Little Round Top and the Wheat Field, and Pickett’s, Trimble’s and Pettigrew’s Charge on the third day. The Confederate capture of Union medical supplies from the seminary is also true to history. The minor character Theodore Hopkins who died from loading too many charges in his musket before firing at Little Round Top represented a real danger and cause of death. Among the 35,000 muskets recovered from the fields of Gettysburg, 6,000 were found to have between 3 and 10 charges in its barrel, and one musket held 22 charges.
The wake of battle rocked the town long after the last soldier had been buried. There are several records of women who worked so hard during and after the battle that their health broke down, a few to the point of death. While six months pregnant, Elizabeth Thorn buried 105 bodies in her cemetery, and complained of ill health from it for the rest of her life. At least one girl was orphaned when her mother died from drinking polluted water from a well which had been used as a burial pit for corpses without her knowledge. Several young men and boys were killed from trying to harvest lead from unexploded shells they had found on the fields. Some residents moved away from town, unable to cope with the memories. Many in the black community of Gettysburg simply did not return. The fictional Aunt Hester was based on the historical Elizabeth Butler, Aunt Liz, a washerwoman for the McCreary family, who was captured on July 1 but hid in the bell tower of Christ Lutheran Church until danger passed, three nights and two days later.
Silas Ford represents a portion of Confederate soldiers who were conscripted into the army against their will. The phantom pain he experienced is well-understood now, but at the time, a Philadelphia doctor named Silas Weir Mitchell was pioneering the field of nerve injuries, and just beginning to learn about the phenomenon. After the Civil War, the presence of 35,000 amputee veterans prompted profound developments in prosthetic limbs. The use of opium and morphine did translate into abuse for tens of thousands of soldiers during the Civil War. Country doctors from the South, like the fictional Dr. Stephens, were one of the demographics most likely to suffer opium addiction.
The Sanitary and Christian Commissions performed critical work at Gettysburg, and the efforts depicted in this novel were true to history. Though most delegates of the Christian Commission volunteered to minister to the spiritual needs of the soldiers, those who could serve the physical needs, like the fictional Dr. O’Leary, willingly did all they could in medical capacities as well.
Bella’s husband Abraham Jamison is a fictional character, but the events the 54th Massachusetts regiment experienced in the novel are true to history, including the raid on Darien, the battle at Fort Wagner, and the struggle for equal pay. It is also true, unfortunately, that black women who served as nurses in a hospital in the Sea Islands were used by Union officers, and that at least one black woman was shot in the shoulder while trying to protect her daughter from sexual assault. Congress finally passed a bill granting black soldiers equal pay in June 1864.
By 1863, most states had laws against interracial marriage. Of the states that did, Pennsylvania was the first to repeal the law in 1780, as part of a gradual process toward the abolition of slavery in that state. It would be sixty-three years until the next state (Massachusetts) would follow suit. The Loving V. Virginia case in 1967 forced the last sixteen states with anti-miscegenation laws (including Tennessee) to repeal them.
Pierce Butler and Fanny Kemble were well-known not only in their native city of Philadelphia, but around the country, for Fanny was a famous British actress before marrying Pierce. Their tumultuous marriage and divorce, due largely to their opposite views on slavery, was common knowledge. Fanny’s Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation was published in the United States just before the battle of Gettysburg. All the excerpts from the journal are verbatim, except for the ones mentioning Bella, who is a fictional character. Roswell King Jr., the Butler overseer, is a historical figure who sired countless children by force with slave women. The Weeping Time, too, was a historical event. Lt. Pierce Butler Holmes, the godson of Pierce Butler, was also a historical figure who fought and was wounded at Gettysburg, and most likely
taken to a Confederate field hospital along Willoughby Run before he was moved to a prison in Baltimore.
Gettysburg residents Elizabeth Thorn, Hettie Shriver, Tillie Pierce, Jennie Wade, Sarah Broadhead (the Sarah who helped rescue men from the seminary basement), Hugh Ziegler and Dr. Samuel Simon Schmucker are also historical figures who appear in the novel. The baby Elizabeth carried during and after the battle, Rose, was born sick and weak, and the child died at age fourteen. Elizabeth believed it was due to the physical and psychological stress of the battle and its aftermath. Her husband Peter survived the war, as did Hettie Shriver’s husband George. Visitors to Gettysburg are able to stay at the Tillie Pierce House Inn, tour the Shriver House Museum, the Jennie Wade House (which was her sister’s home, but where she was killed), and see the Evergreen Cemetery gatehouse, where Elizabeth Thorn and her family lived. More about all of these can be found at www.heroinesbehindthelines.com. Other historic landmarks mentioned in this novel that can still be seen today include the Soldiers’ National Cemetery, Lutheran Theological Seminary (which now hosts the Seminary Ridge Museum), the Samuel Simon Schmucker House, Christ Lutheran Church, the Gettysburg Depot, and Gettysburg College (formerly Pennsylvania College). The Soldiers’ National Cemetery has approximately 3,500 soldiers buried on its grounds. In the 1870s, Southern veterans’ societies relocated 3,200 Confederate remains to cemeteries in Virginia, Georgia, and the Carolinas, such as Hollywood Cemetery in Richmond, Virginia. A few Confederates do remain interred at Gettysburg National Cemetery.
The signs and symptoms of combat fatigue that Harrison Caldwell experienced were very real to war correspondents—and soldiers—of the day. I replaced Uriah Painter, the real reporter from the Philadelphia Inquirer who was on the scene, with Harrison, but Charles Carleton Coffin, Whitelaw Reid, and Sam Wilkeson were all real war correspondents. After the war, Coffin, who was a devout Christian and considered one of the best war correspondents of his time, went on to author fifteen books. Whitelaw Reid’s coverage of the Civil War prompted Horace Greely to make him managing editor of the New York Tribune in 1868. Eventually, he controlled the paper himself, and went on to serve as minister to France and ambassador to Great Britain.
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