The Calm and the Strife

by David J. Sloat

  A few minutes later, Sam was pounding on the locked door. When Ginnie let him in, he explained breathlessly, “Mr. Pierce told me to take their horse and ride it south down the Baltimore Pike and hide it in the woods somewhere, and wait until the rebs leave. If I don’t, they’ll steal the horse.”

  “I can’t let you do that,” Ginnie protested. “Mama wouldn’t let you go if she were here. There are rebel soldiers all over the place.” Sam ignored her, rummaging through his things for his Gettysburg Zouave uniform. Ginnie, trying to keep control of herself, shouted, “You’re not going!”

  Sam, deaf to her protests, jammed some bread in his pockets, clapped his fez on his head, which was as much of his uniform as he could find, and said, “Well, at least they’ll know I’m a Zouave.” He headed for the door, but Ginnie blocked his way. Dodging her adroitly, he said, “If you slow me down, they’ll have a better chance of catching me.” And he was gone.

  Near panic now, Ginnie started to follow him, but a moment later he appeared from behind the Pierce’s house, mounted on their valuable iron gray mare, and clattered onto the road, heading south at a gallop. He leaned on the horse’s neck, his red fez planted tightly on his head. Ginnie called to him but he rode on.

  Returning to the safety of the house, she watched at the window for a few minutes, engulfed by uncertainty. Was her mother safe? Had the baby come yet? Would Sam make his escape? She moved back to her sewing, but before she had even picked up the needle, she heard more voices in the street. Looking out the front window again, she saw Mrs. Pierce shouting, “You don’t want the boy. He’s not our boy.” A flush of shock washed over Ginnie.

  Opening the door, she saw a group of soldiers on Baltimore Street leading a gray mare north. It was the Pierce’s horse, and Sam, missing his fez, was sitting on its back looking small and scared. Ginnie ran out onto the porch and heard the soldiers laughing at her brother as they led the horse by its reins. Sam slouched in the saddle, his hands tied to the pommel in front of him.

  Mrs. Pierce was shouting at the soldiers from her front door. “That’s our horse. That boy doesn’t belong to us. He just works here. We told him to hide the horse. Let him go. You don’t want the boy.” The soldiers looked indifferently at her, ignoring her words.

  Ginnie ran down to the corner and, before she thought better of it, found herself in among the soldiers, grabbing the bridle at the horse’s mouth. Sam looked down at her in naked terror. His face gave her the courage she needed.

  “Stop!” she shouted to the group. Surprised, then amused by her appearance, they started to make rude comments, but she fixed her angry gaze on the soldier who had hold of the reins. Noticing that he was wearing Sam’s fez, she felt a sudden fury. “This is my brother,” she shouted at the man. “The horse doesn’t belong to us. He was only doing what he was told to do. Let him go! You can have the horse. But let him go.”

  They responded with laughter, crowding around to get a closer look at her. In a boiling rage, Ginnie turned to the nearest soldiers and screamed, “Is this the kind of cowards you rebels are? Do you make war on eleven-year-old boys? Does that make you feel big and strong?” The words were coming without conscious thought.

  The soldiers looked at each other sheepishly, cowed by her contempt. The man wearing the fez took it off and held it in front of him. He said flatly, “We have orders to bring all horses and riders in. You’ll have to come up and talk to the lieutenant.” And with that they quieted down, turned their eyes north and kept going.

  Ginnie was left standing in the middle of the street, helplessly watching as Sam turned in the saddle to look at her with pleading eyes. “It’s OK,” she called to him. “I’ll get Mama. We’ll make them let you go.” She turned, and saw Mrs. Pierce still standing in her half-closed doorway, the only remaining target for Ginnie’s fear-driven rage.

  Walking toward her, she stood in the middle of Breckenridge Street and shouted, “What were you thinking when you told an eleven-year-old boy to hide your horse? Are you crazy?” Searching for words, she finally said in a threatening tone, “If anything happens to Sam, I don’t know what I’ll do with you!” She whirled and ran back to the house, then dragged the boys hurriedly over to the Pierce’s. “Here,” she demanded. “The least you can do is watch the boys until I get back. I have to go get Sam.”

  Without waiting for a response, she ran down Baltimore Street, looking nervously in every yard and around every corner for armed men who might stop her. She saw several groups of rebels but kept her eyes forward and hurried as fast as she could. When she arrived at the McClellan house, she burst in through the door with a half-sob of exhaustion and relief.

  Mary looked up from her seat in the parlor. “Ginnie, what’s wrong? Where’re the boys?”

  “Mama, they’ve taken Sam!”

  Mary rose and came into the kitchen, shutting the parlor door behind her. “Who’s taken Sam?” she demanded.

  “The rebels,” she said, half in tears. Suddenly, she felt responsible for Sam, wondering if her mother would blame her for this predicament. Then Ginnie saw the little form wrapped in the blanket and cradled gently in Mary’s arms. Overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotion, she took the baby from her mother.

  “It’s a boy,” said Mary while she gathered her things. “Louis Kenneth McClellan.” Ginnie stroked the baby’s soft face, mesmerized by the tiny life which had made its appearance in the midst of such chaos.

  The double house was home to two families, and each one had its own entrance fronting on Baltimore Street. Mary slipped out their front door and ran the few yards to the other front door, the one that led to the opposite side of the house where Catherine McClain lived with her four children. Catherine’s husband, a Federal soldier, had been killed in Virginia several weeks earlier and Georgia had helped the grieving widow by watching her children, despite her late pregnancy. Catherine now offered to watch the new baby so that Mary and Ginnie could go into town to find Sam.

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Mary assured her before rushing outside again.

  Mary and Ginnie walked rapidly up Baltimore Street toward the Diamond. They saw many gray clad soldiers, marching in groups, standing idly on porches, arguing with citizens. Ginnie watched them warily, feeling threatened by the dozens of eyes that followed them as they walked resolutely up the center of the road.

  No one stopped them, however, until they neared the Diamond where a gruff looking man with black whiskers stepped off one of the porches and told them to halt. “Where are you heading?” he asked, eyeing Ginnie.

  Mary turned to the man and looked him directly in the eye. “I’m looking for your general.”

  The man, obviously amused by Mary’s forwardness, asked, “And which general would that be, ma’am?”

  Mary’s eyes blazed. “How should I know? He’s your general, isn’t he?”

  “Well, yes, ma’am, I suppose he is.”

  Another soldier, this one dressed in the uniform of an officer, stepped forward. “Can I be of service, ma’am?” The whiskered man backed off with a deferential look at the officer.

  Mary turned toward the young man and repeated her request. The officer asked why she should want to see a general, then listened attentively as Mary explained the situation. Clearing his throat politely he said, “Well, ma’am, I’m General Early’s adjutant. Perhaps I could arrange for you to meet him briefly to repeat your story.”

  Mary nodded, and she and Ginnie followed the officer to Fahnestock’s store where they were told to wait outside. A moment later, he returned and led them inside to a group of men sitting around a table. One particularly dirty officer leaned back in his chair, his feet sprawled on the table in front of him. Ginnie stared at him, unable to believe that someone who looked so disreputable could be a general. His uniform was in tatters, his huge beard matted with dirt and mud, his eyes sullen. He glanced up at Mary and Ginnie as though they were intruders. Chewing on the wad in his cheek while he slowly examined them, he spa
t noisily on the floor at their feet before speaking.

  “Well, damn it, woman, speak up. What do you want?”

  Mary stiffened at the affront. Ginnie put her hand on her mother’s arm, but Mary was already moving toward General Early. “General, I know you’re busy, what with invading my town and all. But your soldiers have arrested my eleven-year-old son for trying to ride out of town on a horse that wasn’t even ours, but belongs to a neighbor. You’ve got the horse. I would like my son back! You have no right to keep him.”

  Early smiled sarcastically. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems to me I can do just about anything I god-damn please – and there ain’t a whole shitload you can do about it.” He cleared his throat. “Ma’am.”

  Ginnie’s mouth dropped open, incensed to hear such talk directed at her mother. But Mary glared at the general for a moment while she gathered her thoughts. At length she said, “General, I’ve heard many stories about how ill-mannered you rebels are. And you, sir, certainly live up to every one of them. You terrorize young boys, and you show no respect for women. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you, supposedly a general!”

  There was a deathly silence in the room as the officers waited uncertainly for General Early’s reaction. He pulled his feet down from the table and leaned forward. Bursting into a great guffaw, he looked around the room as the rest of the men joined in the laughter.

  “Men, this here’s why I stayed a bachelor all my life.” Early muttered something to the young officer, who turned and motioned for Mary to follow him. She did so without another word to the general. Ginnie scurried along behind them.

  Outside the store, Ginnie watched as the officer opened a cellar door and disappeared inside. He reappeared a moment later with Sam in tow. Sam broke from his grasp and ran into Mary’s arms, burying his face in her shoulder. She pulled him down the road toward home, but paused after a few steps and turned back to the officer.

  “Thank you, sir. You have been most kind.” The man dipped his hat gallantly to her and smiled. Mary asked, “May I know your name?”

  “I’m Major Douglas, ma’am. Henry Kyd Douglas. At your service.” And with that he turned and walked back into the shop.

  That night Ginnie stayed barricaded indoors with the boys, jumping in alarm at every noise. Mary had returned to Georgia’s for the night and the quiet in the house frightened Ginnie. Out the window, she could see the sky glowing red with the reflection of some distant fire. Fear that the rebels might burn the town made sleep a long time in coming.

  She was up early the next morning. The stillness outside was frightening, as if everyone had fled the town and left her alone. She made her way to Baltimore Street before the boys woke, relieved that no soldiers were in sight. Seeing Mr. Buehler, the postmaster, talking with Professor Jacobs from the Seminary, Ginnie walked over to them and asked, “Are they gone?”

  Mr. Buehler nodded, but his face was a mask of anger. “Yes, they are. But they left a mess behind them. They burned the railroad bridge over the creek, they cut the telegraph lines and they made off with most of the food in town, like the vultures they are. They even stopped the mail.”

  Ginnie sighed in relief. The news about the rebels leaving was so good that these acts of destruction sounded minor by comparison. The red glow in the night had only been the bridge; and telegraph lines could be repaired.

  Being cut off from the outside world, however, did not stop the rumor mills; instead, it caused them to work overtime. Primary, of course, were rumors to the effect that the entire Confederate army was about to return and surround the town. People were saying that the force that had occupied the town was only a small part of the army, sent ahead to scout for supplies, and that the rest of the army would soon be coming through. Ginnie found it hard to imagine more soldiers than those she had already seen. They had been everywhere, in all the buildings, filling the streets, eating all the food. If that had been only a small part of the rebel army, she wondered how the Federals would be able to fight the main army. And where were all the Federal soldiers? Had Gettysburg simply been abandoned to the enemy?

  During the next days, many of the store owners left town with their goods, fearing that the rebels would return. On her daily trips to her sister’s house, Ginnie saw the few remaining carts and horses being piled high with anything of value. In the backyards of many houses she noticed families burying their treasures, the surest way of protecting them from scavengers.

  On Sunday, June 28, Ginnie took Isaac to his parents and walked with Harry all the way up to St. James Lutheran Church, a block east of the Diamond. As she sat in the pew, the prayers spilled out of her – for the safety of the town, the baby, her family. For Jack’s safety, and for his return to help her.

  The prayers relieved her mind a little and after the service her mood was the happiest it had been in days. As she walked through the Diamond on the way home, she saw a cheering crowd gathered. Looking down Baltimore Street she saw one of the most splendid sights she could remember. There coming up the street was a long column of Federal cavalry, horses two abreast, mounted troopers in mud-spattered uniforms, spurs and gear clanking. As they rode into the square in the noonday sun, the crowd pressed around them on both sides of the street, forming a human corridor through which they passed. Ginnie could see from their sweat-streaked faces that they were weary from hours in the saddle. Nevertheless, they smiled at the reception and waved to the crowd.

  As though from nowhere, buckets appeared by the side of the road and women raised overflowing tin cups filled with cold water. This boon was greedily accepted by the troopers, many of whom stopped their horses in the middle of the street so that they could satisfy their thirst. Ginnie saw one soldier take off his hat, pour the cup of water over his head, then lean down to return the cup to the young woman who had offered it, only to embrace her with his free arm and kiss her lustily. Such was the mood of the crowd that it applauded this somewhat unseemly show with cheers and laughter.

  The feeling of security evaporated, however, the next morning, Monday, the 29th, when the cavalry mounted their horses and rode south out of Gettysburg. Ginnie, standing at the end of Breckenridge Street, felt oppressed by a fresh sense of abandonment as she watched them clatter by.

  There was no mail again that day or the next, and the lack of a reply from Jack created a growing anxiety in Ginnie. More than once she found herself frozen in the midst of some chore, her thoughts miles away. Her mind kept drifting back to the postal stoppage. If the mail could not get through, how would Jack be able to? What if he were trying to get back to Gettysburg right then, only to be captured by the rebels? The thought was horrible, Jack in one of those awful prison camps because of trying to get back to her. And with him a prisoner, the wedding might not be able to take place until it was too late. And what would the town think then? Or Mrs. Skelly, or Georgia...or, worst of all, her mother?

  After breakfast, she dropped the boys at the Pierce’s, saying she needed to go to Georgia’s to help her mother. But she turned north when she reached Baltimore Street, walking slowly as though uncertain of her destination. A short time later she found herself standing in front of Jack’s house, staring at the door. She was trying to decide whether to knock when the door opened. Mrs. Skelly stood in the doorway, a look of surprise on her face. “Virginia?”

  Embarrassed, Ginnie struggled to think of some reason for the visit. Mrs. Skelly looked at her uncertainly. “Can I do something for you?”

  Ginnie found herself on the verge of tears. “I just need to talk to someone. I’m so scared.”

  Mrs. Skelly opened the door and ushered Ginnie into the parlor where they sat facing one another. Even before she opened her mouth, however, Ginnie was unnerved by the meeting. She was certain that guilt was written all over her face. She looked at Jack’s mother for a moment, thinking seriously about telling her everything. It would be such a relief to let it out, to stop carrying the burden alone.

  But with that thought came the re
alization that Mrs. Skelly would not believe her, that she had no proof that Jack was the father, that this woman who never had liked her would certainly rush to defend her son against what she saw as a slanderous charge. Ginnie sighed, closing her eyes and feeling exhaustion in every muscle in her body.

  Mrs. Skelly asked with concern, “Are you ill, Virginia?”

  “No,” she said wearily. “My sister just had a baby and my mother has been with her for several days. I have the house and the boys to look after, and I guess I’m just really tired. And I’m so worried about the rebels coming back.”

  “Yes, isn’t it awful what they did to us,” said Mrs. Skelly, shaking her head.

  Desperate for something to say, Ginnie asked, “Have you heard anything from Jack? I haven’t gotten a letter in weeks.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “Jack told me that you two were writing. That’s very...nice,” she added, her tone betraying her disapproval. “He writes me regularly, of course. And tells me everything,” she added, as though to warn her. “But I haven’t received a letter for about two weeks. I’m sure it’s just because the mail has been delayed. There is a war, you know,” she said, feigning light-heartedness.

  Ginnie glanced at the floor, her nervousness making her almost incoherent. “I just don’t want him to get hurt,” she mumbled.

  “Of course you don’t,” Mrs. Skelly said soothingly. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt. I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon and find that everything’s all right.” After an awkward pause, Mrs. Skelly asked, “Is there something else?”

  Ginnie, her nerves near the breaking point, stood and moved toward the door. “No. Thank you. With my mother gone, I just needed to talk to someone. Thank you.” She slipped out of the door without looking back.

  It was nearing noon as she started dejectedly back toward the house. The visit had been a disaster. Mrs. Skelly was certain to sense that something was wrong. As she walked, deep in thought, two girls from her class in school saw her and ran up excitedly.