She continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer. “The Guards are my friends,” he said. “The first true friends I’ve ever had. They don’t hate northerners. How could I be one of them if they did?”
Ginnie looked at him in genuine confusion, then shook her head as if to clear it. “Well, you’re back now for good. That’s all in the past. It doesn’t matter any longer.”
“I’m not back for good, Ginnie,” he said firmly. “I still want to make our dream come true.”
She looked at him in shock. “What? Wes, our dream was the dream of children. Everything is…different now.”
His anger finally spilled over. “No!” he shouted, the word striking Ginnie with almost physical force. “No. It’s not different just because Jack Skelly says it is. It’s still our dream. What’s happening now won’t last.”
“But what if it does last?” Then, somewhat less forcefully, “What if there is a war?”
Wes smiled, trying to reason with her, to get back to a point on which they could agree. “There isn’t going to be a war, Ginnie. My brother and the others are just a bunch of worried old women. There wasn’t any reason to leave the South. They just got scared.”
“Does that mean you’re going back?” she asked in disbelief, shaking her head as though trying to influence his answer.
He grimaced in frustration. “You don’t understand, Ginnie. That’s my home now. That’s where all my friends are.”
“And if you go back, will you stay in the militia down there?” she asked in a voice tinged with accusation. He knew where she was leading him, but he was powerless to avoid the truth.
“Yes.”
With growing bitterness she asked, “And if there’s a war, will the militia be part of it?”
He sighed deeply. “Ginnie, all of this is just a temporary interruption. If we give up now, we’ll never make our dream come true. I don’t know what the Guards are going to do. All I know is, they’re my friends.”
“Then why did you come back?”
He looked into her eyes and spoke with great intensity. “I came back to get you, Ginnie.” He watched carefully as his words registered.
Her eyes widened. “You want to take me down there, now? You want to take me down where they hate northerners?” There was astonishment in her voice. She slid off the fence rail and stood uncertainly in front of him, not quite able to face him. In a quiet, controlled voice she said, “Well, your friends may be in Virginia, but mine are here in Gettysburg.” She turned to him slowly and said, as though she were having trouble believing her own words, “Jack thinks you’ve become one of them, that you want to be a rebel.” She spoke quickly, as if her courage might fail her. “I didn’t believe him. But now you say that you’re going back to the Guards, even though there may be a war, even though that means you’d end up fighting against your own people.” She almost shouted the last words, then wavered for a moment as if she were faint.
Wes was stunned. He looked at her for a long moment without emotion, watching the tears flow down her face. Shaking his head in bewilderment he asked, “Jack thinks? Ginnie, how could you listen to him?”
She turned toward him, her frustration boiling over, her arms held stiffly at her side, fists clenched. “Don’t you understand, Wes? Everything has changed. There’s going to be a war. I can’t go with you!” A moment later, bursting into tears, she turned and ran for home.
Wes, too shaken to follow, could only stare at her retreating form. He sat frozen on the fence, feeling shock settle over him like a suffocating blanket. He had waited so long for this moment when they would finally be together for always. But now everything was crumbling. He waited for her to turn back, but she finally slipped out of sight around a distant corner.
The sun had set behind him before he moved. The numbness had dissipated and only his rage remained. His feet knew where he had to go and carried him there mechanically as his mind focused on the damage Jack Skelly had done. No one seemed able to understand his faith in the future because they were all blinded by uncertainty about the present. He was looking beyond the trouble to what was certain to happen when everything returned to normal. Will, Ed, Jack and all the rest could only see the threat, could see him as nothing more than a traitor to their beliefs. But their beliefs never had been his. And Ginnie had always shared his hopes. Until now. She had been unfairly influenced, turned against him by his worst enemy. The rage built into a roar that drove him toward town.
Jack and his friends were on the porch of a ramshackle tavern behind the train station. Wes had known he would be there, with Ed and Billy and the rest of the demons from his past. But there was no longer any fear in him. In the darkness he could hear their self-satisfied laughter, knowing that in all likelihood they were laughing about him. He marched up to the porch where a half-dozen men sat surrounding Jack, drinking, illuminated by the eerie light of a couple of swinging lanterns. Wes faced him, ignoring the others.
“Well, if it isn’t the runt,” Jack sneered. The group laughed.
Wes paused, realizing that the taunt, far from infuriating him, gave him energy. Breathing deeply to keep from stuttering, he spoke firmly, never taking his eyes off Jack. “After all these years, is that the best insult you can think of? I may be short in height, Skelly, but you’re short of brains.”
There was a sudden silence, and then someone hooted sarcastically at the insult. Jack stood and swaggered to the edge of the porch. The others clustered behind him, ready to watch the two square off. But Ed came and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, trying to make him reconsider.
Wes shifted his glare to Ed. “I thought we were friends, Ed.”
Ed turned to Wes. “What?”
“You’ve been writing to your brother, feeding him lies so he can steal my girl.”
Ed stared at Wes for a second, then glanced at Jack with a shrug. He took his hand from his brother’s shoulder and stepped away.
Wes looked back to Jack. “So? Are you trying to steal my girl?”
“I don’t steal nothin’, Culp. Nobody thought you were coming back. Ginnie and I are friends. If she doesn’t want you anymore, it’s not my fault. Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you turned into a southern boy.”
“A southern boy?” Wes smirked.
Jack’s anger was beginning to surface. “That’s right. Marching around with your little boy soldiers.”
“Those boy soldiers are better men than you or anyone else in this town.”
There was fire in Jack’s eyes and Wes waited for him to throw the first punch. But instead he said, “Culp, you’re a traitor and a coward.”
Wes swung quickly, catching Jack flatfooted, striking him hard on the cheekbone. Jack almost fell backward, the look on his face more shock than pain. Then he charged, tackling Wes before he could dodge him. The two fell to the ground wrestling, churning over and over on the road. Wes clawed and punched, his toes desperately digging the ground for support. For a moment he gained the upper hand, but Jack was too strong and flipped him on his back, pinning him. With one hand holding Wes’ hands, Jack punched him in the face, then grabbed his hair to knock his head against the ground. The burst of pain ignited a wild surge of energy in Wes and he broke free long enough to slam his head viciously into Jack’s face, hearing him grunt in pain. The two stood, hunched and bloody, facing each other. Dust-covered, their hair disheveled, Wes thought that Jack had the look of a wild animal.
Jack wiped the blood from this mouth, spit some onto the ground and leered at Wes. “Your brother tells me that you’re going back south. Good riddance is what I say. I always knew you were a rotten rebel, a traitor. I can hardly wait ‘til the war starts. I’m going to join up just so I can have the pleasure of killing you. But I wonder who’s going to look after Ginnie while you’re gone.” He smiled, his white teeth reddened with his own gore.
This time Wes charged, trying to tackle Jack, to bring the bigger man down hard. But Jack sidestepped, tripping him. Wes fel
l heavily, rolling over painfully in an attempt to regain his feet. Before he could do so, Jack kicked him squarely in the ribs and Wes felt a savage pain as the air rushed from his lungs. Jack kicked him again and again before a host of hands pulled him back. Wes lay curled in the dust, his arms covering his head. He heard voices above him, whispering, like bees buzzing.
One voice, closer than the rest, said, “Wes! Wes, are you all right.” Then it seemed to fade away. “We’ve got to get him home.” Several hands lifted him, and he groaned as a searing pain cut into his chest like a knife.
When he woke, he was lying on the porch of his father’s house. He looked around in the dark, listening, but heard only silence. A while later he woke again when someone shook him. “Wes. Oh, my God! Wes!”
He opened his eyes and was surprised to see the darkness disappearing with the coming of dawn. His eyes took a moment to focus before he saw that it was Julia leaning over him. He managed a smile. “Jules. How are you?” His throat was dry and his voice crackled.
“What happened?”
He stood with great effort, Julia assisting him, and leaned heavily on the porch column. As his dizziness gradually cleared, he realized that his chest ached badly, as did his right eye; he probed it with a finger. When he was able, he sat on a bench near the door, looking up at Julia through a half-closed eye.
“What happened, Wes? Who did this to you?”
“Just the Gettysburg welcoming committee,” he tried to joke, but Julia didn’t smile. He did not want to argue anymore. All he wanted was to get as far away as possible. He stood again, ignoring the pain that raced through his body. Walking into the house, he went to the kitchen and allowed Julia to clean up his face as well as she could. Then, without a word, he found his bag in the front hall, picked it up and headed outside. As Julia followed him, he turned for a moment to touch her face gently.
“Goodbye, Jules.” Then he set off, trying to ignore her voice as she ran inside yelling for Will and their father. He turned for a moment as he rounded the corner onto Baltimore Street and caught a glimpse of his family watching him. They were all there, Will and his father, Julia and Annie. Will held Julia as she struggled to give chase. He waved as he passed from their sight, grateful that no one was pursuing him.
At the station he bought a ticket, boarding the morning train when it finally chugged in. He had little trouble finding a window seat on the vacant train. No one was going south these days. Looking through a streaked window at the empty platform, he hoped that Ginnie would somehow miraculously appear. But she did not, and the train pulled out a few minutes later.
Chapter 8
INTO THE FIRE
Shepherdstown, Virginia
April 13, 1861
The tower bells in the Episcopal Church rang continuously, denying Wes any hope of sleep. He rose with a groan, his chest and head aching from the beating he had received two nights ago. He steadied himself against the bedpost until the room stopped spinning, then staggered the few steps to the window, his curiosity about the bells greater even than his physical suffering. The streets were crowded for the early hour, with people hurrying to and fro. Teenage boys ran about shouting incomprehensible things to their friends, while men grouped in clusters to discuss something of obvious importance.
What were the bells doing ringing on Saturday morning, Wes wondered. Something momentous had occurred but, even though he opened the window to listen, he could not make out what was being said. He had decided to get dressed and investigate when the door burst open and Ben rushed in.
“Wes! You’re back!” There was a tone of wild excitement in Ben’s voice that was unusual for him. He started to say something else, but stopped short when he caught sight of Wes’ bruised face. “What the hell happened to you?” His whole manner changed to concern.
Wes sat heavily on the bed, wincing in pain. “Nothing.” He waved the question off with his hand. “What’s all the noise about?”
Excitement returned to Ben’s face. “It’s war! South Carolina fired on a federal fort in the harbor at Charleston yesterday!” Wes stared at Ben in shock while he tried to digest the announcement. Standing in front of him, gesturing wildly, Ben was almost shouting. “Virginia has to secede now. I don’t see how we can wait any longer. The rest of the southern states are supporting the attack. This is what we’ve been waiting for.”
Wes was too dizzy and sore to share his friend’s enthusiasm, and gingerly rubbed his aching head. This time Ben would not be put off. “What happened to you? Who the hell did this? How come you’re back so soon? And where’s Ginnie?”
But Wes was overwhelmed by a swirling confusion of thoughts. He rubbed his forehead trying to sort everything out. The war had begun, and he was here when it started. That meant that he would be part of whatever happened over the next days. If he had not left Gettysburg when he did, he would most likely have been trapped in the North. He almost smiled at the thought of Skelly doing him that favor, but his jaw hurt too much. He had chosen to be here with his friends. His brother and the rest of them had chosen to run back north. And Ginnie, too, had made her choice. There was no turning back now.
“Wes!” Ben’s voice broke through his fog. “Where’s Ginnie?”
“She’s not coming,” he answered quietly.
Ben appeared taken aback. “Why not? If she doesn’t come now, she won’t be able to.” The insistence in Ben’s voice grated on Wes’ nerves.
“She’s not coming!” he bellowed with a furious glare. “She made up her mind to stay with her mother.” He paused, then said in a softer, almost puzzled tone, “She thinks I’m a traitor, Ben. So does the rest of the town.” He pointed at his bruised face. “This is what they did to me because they think I’m a traitor.” He pulled up his shirt to reveal the even uglier red welts and purple bruises that covered his chest and back.
“My God,” Ben whispered, stunned out of his exuberant mood.
“They stole her away from me, Ben.” Suddenly, he was afraid he might cry. “They poisoned her mind with lies about me. They think I’m a traitor because I’m in the Guards. Now that the war’s started and I’m down here, they’ll be sure of it.” The words were forced out through his clenched teeth, firing a rage which he hoped would avert his tears. He looked at Ben and saw the pain and compassion in his friend’s wide eyes. “I didn’t believe you, Ben, when you said there’d be a war. Well, I was wrong. I’ve seen what they think of southerners. There’s going to be a hell of a fight, all right, and I want to be right here in the front ranks.”
Ben nodded, his eyes locked on Wes’. “I’ll be right here with you, my friend.”
Wes dressed as quickly as his injured ribs would allow, then headed over to Bridger’s with Ben. The tavern was crowded with members of the Guard and the place rang with the jubilant excitement of a spontaneous holiday. Wes’ entry caused something of a stir as men rushed forward to examine his bruised face.
Ben proudly explained that Wes’ wounds were the result of his defending the southern cause back in the North. He became an instant celebrity, even among some who had previously avoided him, suspicious of his northern upbringing. Now his injuries were marks of honor, branding him as one of them. Ben added details in retelling the story which inflamed the group even further, saying that the attack was specifically directed against the Hamtramck Guards.
As Wes listened with quiet pleasure to Ben talking about him, he let his mind try to grasp the tumult that had overtaken the nation, puzzling as to where he fit into it. So much had changed in recent days. Everything he had worked for and dreamed about in the past four years had been ripped away from him. But instead of causing him to feel desolate, that fact brought him a revelation: he saw clearly where his future lay. It was not in a feeble attempt to gain power and prestige through money and land; it lay instead in the coming battle. For five years he had marched and trained with the Guards for just such a moment. It had never seriously occurred to him that his membership in the group had any
meaning other than friendship. But, without realizing it, he had been preparing himself for his personal destiny, that of a soldier.
New reports arrived hourly during the next day. Rumors overran the town and a thousand willing voices were ready to pass them along. Each bit of information was discussed, debated and argued about until the wind blew in another rumor for them to chew on. There were reports that President Lincoln was amassing an army in Washington, getting ready to attack Richmond and burn it to the ground. Even more ominous reports told of bands of escaped slaves from the Carolinas which were heading north toward freedom, liberating blacks along the way and indiscriminately slaughtering whites, including women and children.
The Guards continued to cluster near their headquarters, waiting for some official word about how they were to respond to the crisis. Runners from the telegraph office arrived at regular intervals with the latest news from Fort Sumter, the previously unknown Federal installation on a tiny island in the North Carolina harbor. The eyes of the nation were focused on Charleston and the besieged fort, with those south of the Mason-Dixon Line seeing the assault as the first blow in their struggle for freedom.
On April 13th, Fort Sumter fell to the forces of South Carolina, and was abandoned by the Federal troops that had vainly attempted to hold it. When the news reached Shepherdstown, the place erupted into jubilant celebration. Any who still opposed the war decided to keep off the streets and away from the joyful crowds. Wes and the Guards led the celebration, marching through the streets in hysterical self-congratulation until late into the night.
On the next day, sobering news came that President Lincoln, in response to the attack, was calling for seventy-five thousand volunteers to put down the rebellion. He had asked loyal governors to immediately send as many men as they could muster. Virginia, not yet having seceded from the Union, was included in this request. Many in the Guard were enraged by the President’s action, and by the fear that Virginia’s Governor Letcher might bow to the President’s wishes. Wes heard whisperings among the Guard members about riding further south to join the armies in seceding states that were massing to combat Lincoln’s Federals.
The Calm and the Strife Page 9