The Calm and the Strife

by David J. Sloat

  “This morning, Ma’am,” he began. “Mainly, I wanted to tell you where to find your brother. I knew that you would want to bring him back home, so I took special care to put him where you could find him.”

  Julia looked at him, her eyes red and puffy. “How did he die, Mr. Pendleton? I hope you can tell me he didn’t suffer.”

  Ben looked at her uneasily. He tried to speak several times, but found himself lacking the words. Eventually, he shook his head. “No, Miss Julia, I don’t think he suffered.” Suddenly, he was afraid he too was going to cry. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t taken him with me, he would be alive now.”

  Julia tried to comfort him. “Surely not, Mr. Pendleton. Surely, it was something you couldn’t have helped.”

  He struggled to regain his composure. “We were attacking on this hill out here, southeast of town, you know, and....”

  Julia looked at her sister. “My God, Annie, I hope he wasn’t killed on Cousin Henry’s property. That would be just too awful.” She started to cry again. Pendleton looked in despair at Annie, who nodded for him to continue.

  “Well, they sent me up to scout, and I took Wes because he knew the area. He was firing from behind a big rock when...they got him.” He paused to clear his throat, his lip quivering. “Those of us in Company B were real close, because we’d been together since before our unit was taken in at Harper’s Ferry, you know?” After a moment, he added, “It appeared he was killed with one shot. I think he died right away. You know, no pain or nothing.”

  He stopped, as though his recital had exhausted his courage. Not knowing whether he was helping or making things worse, he sat in silence, looking miserable. After a moment, Annie asked, “Did you say you buried him yourself?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Well, no, not exactly. After the fight was over, there was a sort of truce to let us recover our dead and wounded. Wes was the only member of Company B who was killed. So, some of the men from Company B went to the clump of trees where I put him and dug a grave. I wanted to tell you where to find him. There’s two big boulders part way up the hill. Off to the left are two trees real close together. One of the trees is shell-struck. Half its bark is missing, and it has a funny twist in the trunk, like somebody bent it to the left, and then part way up bent it back up straight again, y’know? You can’t miss it. He’s buried alongside that tree, on the side toward the boulder.” They sat looking bleakly at each other. “You’ll need to get some men to go look for him, Ma’am,” he added. “That’s no place for ladies right now. There’s lots of bodies still not buried out there.”

  Julia straightened and said with conviction, “That doesn’t matter. I’m going to go look for him.”

  Annie reached over and stroked her hair. “Oh, Julia, you can’t do that alone. We’ll ask Cousin Henry to help us. After all, it’s his property. He knows it better than anyone.”

  “Annie!” Julia shouted. “Cousin Henry hates Wes. He thinks he’s a traitor. He says he should be shot if he comes home.”

  Annie tried to calm her. “Hush, Julie. Wes is gone now. He’s paid for whatever sins he committed. They can’t hold any hard feelings now. It’s too late for all that.”

  There was another long silence. Finally, Ben said, “I wish I could help you, but I have to get back to my unit. I think we may be pulling out tonight.”

  Annie brightened. “You’re pulling out? Does that mean the battle might be over?”

  “Maybe,” he said nodding, his face a picture of frustration. “I think we’re plumb wore out. I don’t think we can make another assault. I can’t say for sure. If you wait ‘til tomorrow to go look, I think the hill will be clear. Anyway, tonight it’d be way too dangerous. There’s lots of nervous men out there. They shoot at anything that moves and find out later who it was.” He rose, picked up his hat, and bowed awkwardly. “I’ll take my leave now, ladies. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Julia got up quickly and went to him. Grasping his hand, she looked into his face, her cheeks stained with fresh tears. “You have done us a great service, Mr. Pendleton. We can’t thank you enough for taking care of him, and for letting us know where to find him. He treasured your friendship.”

  Annie added her thanks. “We know you didn’t have to do this, and that it was dangerous for you to come here. We will always be grateful.” He shook hands with each of them and, with a final long look at Julia, turned and left.

  Julia stood in the open doorway as Ben’s dark form blended into the night. Listening to his footsteps fade away, she strained to hear some final sound in the deepening silence. Then, raising her eyes, she saw, directly overhead, a single star burning in the black night sky.

  Chapter 24

  BURIED DREAMS

  Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

  July 4, 1863

  With the entryway doors closed and a single candle for light, the cellar on the McClain side of the house was damp and gloomy. Mary Wade and her little family huddled together for comfort all night, trying to sleep, still in a state of shock. But for Mary, sleep was out of the question. In the hours after midnight, she was constantly drawn to the far end of the basement where the body of her younger daughter lay on a table, covered with a stained quilt.

  She had seen the slight curve in her daughter’s abdomen and guessed at its meaning. Her astonishment was tempered by the sorrow of a second loss, one which she would never completely understand. In the pocket of Ginnie’s apron Mary had discovered the picture of Jack, looking proud in his uniform. Mary wondered if he would return for Ginnie some day soon, expecting to find a wife and a child, but finding instead a grave.

  She lifted the cover a dozen times to gaze at Ginnie’s face, as though she needed to convince herself that this thing had really happened. Stroking the rumpled hair, she muttered quiet words which the others in the room were unable to hear. As Saturday morning dawned, she fell asleep for a time, sitting by the table holding Ginnie’s cold hand.

  * * * * * * * *

  For Julia, the long night seemed as if it would never end, the dull ache in her throat threatening to suffocate her. It had begun to rain late in the evening, and the downpour had not stopped all night, nor had her tears. She was standing at the window, her forehead against the glass, watching the scurrying drops chase each other down the panes. Looking up, she saw that the star was no longer visible. It felt as if the whole world was drowning in sorrow.

  The rain slowed as the sky turned a lighter shade of gray. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she turned to see Annie already dressed. Julia stared at her sister, searching in her eyes for a pain to match her own. But Annie’s eyes, warm and bright, showed no sign of the weary ache that Julia felt. Resentment flared deep within her as it suddenly became clear that Annie was not mourning Wes. Perhaps she might even be glad that he was gone. No longer would his existence divide the family. Julia closed her eyes to prevent the tears that threatened again.

  She dressed, and together the two sisters hurried east through the drizzle toward their cousin’s farm. The world of Gettysburg had suddenly become alien to Julia as she peered from beneath her scarf. Fences and tree branches lay strewn about as if some great wind had blasted the town. The grass alongside the road was deeply rutted, torn by the wheels of carts and cannon. The ruts, filled now with water, turned the ground into a quagmire that sucked at the girls’ feet. Silent blue and gray heaps covered the fields beyond, laid out in drab and muddy rows. After days of working in the hospital, Julia thought she was immune to death. But here the smell of broken bodies and broken earth tore at her nostrils. Through the mist, two soldiers in the distance struggled with a corpse, flinging it carelessly into line with the others. They paused to watch the girls pass, their eyes as hollow and lifeless as the dead men they carried.

  Annie grasped Julia’s shoulder, steadying her as they moved past a dead horse, its eyes staring unblinking into the rain. An odd silence had settled on the town as if the thousands of men who had caused this vast horror had suddenly stepped back from the
ir deed in remorse. The only movement Julia could see was the two soldiers returning to their chore. For a ghastly moment she wondered if everyone had finally been killed and only these two were left to bury the dead.

  Annie knocked at the door of the Culp farmhouse and called softly. Their cousin Henry swung the door back, a stern look on his face. He brightened when he saw the girls, hurrying them inside where his wife helped them dry out and wrapped them up in blankets.

  Since their father’s passing, Henry had looked after them like a second father. He was a good and kind man, but Julia knew that he harbored a deep hatred for Wes. He despised the thought of what he had done, fighting for the rebellion, and he took it as a personal affront to the family. Julia, studying her cousin’s face, trembled as she thought of relating the news. She feared that in his anger he would refuse to help her find Wes’ body because, in this house, Wes was the enemy. But she still loved him, and it therefore fell to her to say some sort of farewell.

  “What is it?” Henry asked with a worried smile, grasping Julia’s hands to warm them.

  Annie leaned toward him and said softly, “It’s Wesley.”

  He looked at Annie for a moment, his expression darkening. “He was here?”

  “He was killed yesterday,” Annie told him. Henry’s wife gasped and Julia felt his hands tighten around hers. She waited for him to say good riddance, to tell her that Wes was better off, that it served him right for what he had done. But there was only a pained silence.

  After a moment, Henry shook his head sadly. “That poor boy.”

  “Where was he killed?” Mrs. Culp asked quietly.

  “Right here on your land,” Annie answered. “Up on the hill.” She went on to explain about their visitor the night before and what they knew of Wes’ burial. There seemed to be no emotion in Annie’s voice as she talked. Julia fixed her eyes on Henry, drawing strength from him, gathering courage to ask for his help.

  When Annie was done, Henry turned to Julia. “You want to…you want to go find him?”

  She nodded, relieved at not having to ask. Henry sighed, dropping his head for a moment as he considered the situation. When he spoke, his voice was deep and firm. “You know how I feel about Wes fighting with the rebels. And you know what your father thought. There ain’t nothing that’s going to change that.” He paused and Julia saw that there was pain in his eyes. “But I suppose none of that really matters a lot now, does it? Wes paid the price for what he did, and someday I’ll have to pay for my own sins. Right now, that boy isn’t a rebel or a traitor. He’s just a boy. And I suppose he’s still our boy. He’s part of our family.” He caressed Julia’s cheek in an effort to wipe off several drops of rain. “I’ll get my shovel and a tarpaulin. Let’s go find him.”

  There was nothing to say. They rose, and Julia wrapped her arms around him in silent gratitude.

  * * * * * * * *

  The sergeant opened the cellar doors. As the women peered up at him, squinting in the morning light, he said, “I thought you’d want to know, we beat ‘em good yesterday. I think the fighting’s over.” He looked around the gloomy cellar with concern and asked if there was anything they needed.

  Mary stood, brushed her skirt off, and said softly, “My daughter will need to be buried today. Do you think you can find a coffin for us? The army ought to have....” Her voice trailed off. The sergeant hesitated but, seeing the misery in Mary’s eyes, he nodded and backed up the steps.

  Mary followed him, desperate for some fresh air. Going into the house, she began straightening up the kitchen which they had so frantically vacated. She put the dishes in their proper places while carefully avoiding the dark stain on the floor. In the yard, she found the bucket that Ginnie had used to fetch water for the soldiers and took it to the well. Returning to the kitchen, she found an old brush and set to work, painfully scrubbing away the blood.

  Several hours later, the sound of a cart brought Mary back outside. She was relieved to see that the sergeant had been able to find a coffin. “I hope you don’t mind, ma’am,” he explained apologetically. “This was meant for a rebel officer. But he won’t be needing it.”

  While the downpour continued, cleansing the earth of the ravages of the past several days, the women got ready for the burial. Around five o’clock, when the rain finally let up, the soldiers set the pine coffin on the brick pavement outside the south cellar. Several of the men, caked with mud from digging the grave near a bed of flowers in the rear yard, stood mutely by, leaning sympathetically on their spades. As the family gathered around the coffin, the sergeant disappeared into the cellar. He reappeared a moment later with the quilt-covered form in his arms, and placed Ginnie gently in the coffin.

  Suddenly, Mary dropped to her knees with a sob and pulled back the quilt from Ginnie’s face. The features were so familiar, the hair with its braid over the crown of her head looking the same as always. But her eyes and her mouth were partly open, and the bluish tint to her skin was nothing like the Ginnie they had known a day earlier. Mary stroked her cold cheek, rocking slowly back and forth and moaning with an inner agony.

  Opening the quilt farther, she held up Ginnie’s left hand. “Look,” she said. “She still has the dough on her hands.” She dusted some lingering traces of flour off the front of Ginnie’s dress. “I wish I had had time to clean her up better,” she moaned. The soldiers looked on, strangely moved by this tiny island of tragedy in so vast a sea of misery.

  When she finally stood up, one of the soldiers nailed the lid tight. Others lifted the coffin and carried it to the garden. The family followed in a straggling procession, gathering around the grave which had several inches of water in the bottom. They watched as the soldiers forced ropes under the coffin, struggling to lower it into the muddy hole where it settled into the water. Mary winced as the soldiers began to shovel scoops of dirt into the hole. The clods made hollow sounds as they hit the top of the coffin, like drumbeats for the dead, sending chills up Mary’s back.

  Mary suggested to the sergeant that someone should say some appropriate words, but he merely nodded. Mutely, she stared into the muddy hole, realizing that Ginnie was the one who knew the Bible. “Well,” she sighed after a long moment, “I guess God will have to say his own prayers for her. She was ready to meet him if anyone ever was.”

  * * * * * * * *

  Henry led the girls up the hill in the midst of a steady rainfall, carefully helping them over each obstacle. In time, they found themselves near the boulders that Ben had described. They spread out to search the area, but it was not long before Henry called the girls to two large trees near the top of a ridge. He held a piece of wood solemnly out to Julia. She saw that it was the splintered stock of a rifle. Turning it over, she stifled a cry as she saw, carefully carved into the old wood, the letters, “W. CULP.” She traced the letters with her fingertip, then looked sorrowfully up into the tree overhead.

  She had not recognized the place before because the damage caused by the battle had effectively disguised it. But now she examined the surrounding area to make certain. Their two trees were blasted, shattered by thousands of bullets until they were nearly unrecognizable. But the limbs of the farther tree were low and inviting and the twist in the trunk of the tree in front of her was unmistakable. It seemed like a million years ago on a different planet, but when she looked up she could still see Wes sitting among the leaves, his legs dangling over one of the branches.

  “He’s here,” she said simply.

  Henry carefully dug at the base of the tree, removing the soft earth from a mound they discovered under some loose branches. He stopped when the blade of the shovel touched something solid. Kneeling, he brushed away the dirt with his hands to reveal an area of gray cloth. Annie knelt and helped her cousin as they carefully cleared away the earth from around the body. Julia felt the dread build inside her, knowing what they would find but secretly hoping that the face they were about to see would be that of a stranger.

  With an enormous ef
fort, Henry pulled the body loose from the earth and laid it on the ground alongside the shallow grave. Annie sobbed as Julia knelt and began to clear Wes’ face of the dark soil which clung to it. The rain, falling through the trees, helped to wash his features, revealing his blue lips and giving Julia the odd sensation that he was crying. She looked at the black hole in his forehead and was overcome by weeping. Noticing that Annie was also lost in misery, Julia chastised herself for thinking that her sister was indifferent to Wes’ death. She hugged Annie tightly and the two held each other for a long moment.

  “What should we do now?” Henry asked quietly. Julia looked at him in surprise. She had not considered what she wanted to do once they had found Wes’ body.

  “Shouldn’t we bury him proper, in the cemetery?” she asked.

  Henry shook his head firmly. “The town wouldn’t stand for it. And I’m not sure that I would either.”

  Julia nodded. Her eyes traced the weathered toeholds as they moved upward on the battered tree trunk. Quietly, she told them, “This is where he belongs.”

  Henry set to work digging the hole deeper. The soft ground moved easily but it took a great deal of effort to get through the roots of the big elm tree. Henry then pulled the tarpaulin open and laid it in the grave. Carefully, they lifted Wes’ body onto the wet tarpaulin and wrapped it tightly around him. Julia and Annie each threw clods of dirt into the grave, speaking words of love and blessing to their brother. Finally, the grave was filled in and covered with leaves and branches to disguise it.

  Silently, they started back down the hill. Part way to the creek, Henry stopped. “I want you to promise me something,” he said, looking intently at the women. “I don’t want you to tell anyone that he’s here.” Julia glanced at Annie, her sad expression indicating that she understood what Henry was saying. “I don’t want anyone to know that we even found him. As far as the town knows, he never got back to Gettysburg. He went south…and that was the end of that.” He paused, waiting for their response. Annie nodded and looked at her sister.