The Girls of Gettysburg (11 page)

“It's just me,” Grace said.

“Show yourself, I'm warning you! If I scream, I'm sure to attract lots of attention, and then you'll be in trouble!”

Grace swallowed hard, looking to the runaways, motioning them to stay put. Then she stepped free from the shadows. “It's just me, I tell you. I'm doing an errand for Miss Mary.”

“Grace Bryan?” Tillie Pierce stepped forward. “Why would Miss Mary have you out and about at this late hour with rebels so near?” Then Tillie wrenched to a stop, and Grace knew she had seen Weezy and Sorry.

“What are you doing, Grace Bryan?” Tillie whispered hard, her voice trembling. “The rebs will kill us all for sure because of you! I have to turn you in!”

Grace took a step back, but not in fear. “And what are you doing, out and about in the dark by yourself, Miss Tillie? That don't seem like the proper thing to do.”

Tillie huffed. “You can't talk to me like that.”

“You're not stealing more peaches, are you?” Grace said.

“I was visiting my friend,” Tillie huffed. “Not that it's your concern.”

Weezy took a slow step forward.

“It's a brave Miss Grace taking us home, miss,” she said. “I see you all atremble, and I all atremble. It's not always easy, doing the right thing. Sometimes it too hard to tell the right thing from the proper thing. Sometimes more brave to look past what's proper, and do what's right. Like Job, all them troubles he seen. He was a good man, just like Miss Grace here, just like you, miss. But none of that mattered.
The lord giveth and the lord taketh away, my auntie says. And Job had nothing left. Evil did the best it could to beat Job down, but Job kept true to what's right. He only hoped for the light to show him the way. There's light in your eyes, miss. Please, we just want to go home.”

Tillie offered a weak smile. “Well, I can understand, but I can't risk any such dangers to my family. Surely you can see that?” she said.

Grace clenched her fist. There was no time to talk Tillie into agreement. She'd have to take matters into her own hands now.

“Miss Tillie.” She stood tall as she could. As Tillie turned around, Grace hit her on the chin, so hard that Tillie spun and fell to the ground.

“Run now!” Grace hissed, taking Weezy's hand.

“Not sure that was the proper or right thing to do.” Weezy trembled like she was cold.

“It wasn't,” said Grace. “And Mamma will whop me good for it later. But for now, we got to run!”

And they ran, through another alley and another block. She ran as if coals burned hot under her feet. And three lives depended on how fast she could run.

Grace took them out Baltimore Street, and entered Evergreen Cemetery.

“We're almost there.” Her chest heaved, her ribs throbbed. Pappa would be angry, but he'd take her in his arms and he'd know what to do about Weezy and Sorry. “Hold there!” a voice shot out in the dark.

No! Grace wheeled, her heart bursting. Not after how far they had come!

“Who are you, there?” the voice thundered again.

“It's just me,” Grace replied between heavy breaths.

“Don't play those games with me, child.” The figure came closer, his heavy footfalls quickening. The metal of his rifle caught the moonlight and glistened as he lowered it at her.

“Grace Bryan?” Just then the tall figure emerged from the shadows. He clicked his tongue in recognition. “I heard your pappa sent you to Philadelphia.”

“The train left without me.”

“I doubt that,” the man chuckled as he lifted his musket. Grace
recognized the chuckle. Mr. Butler. “Good great glory, Grace Bryan. Your pappa is going to bust your hide. And that ain't going to come near what your mamma is going to do.”

“Mr. Butler!” Grace cried. “Have you seen Pappa, sir? Have you seen my pappa?”

“He took to the woods before the rebs came. Ain't no one can find Abraham Bryan if he don't want to be found. You, on the other hand, are in a heap of trouble. Who's that with you?”

“Pappa's expecting us home. I best go now.”

“Your pappa isn't there, Grace. Earlier today, an advance from the Union army came up the Pike. Your farm is overrun with Union soldiers looking out for the rebel camp. Not too hard to find, if you ask me. There's no more doubt about what's coming here now, Grace Bryan. All the roads come together here in Gettysburg. Next couple of days, the war comes here. You can't go home, Grace.”

“Seems like everyone's on the run this night.” Mr. Butler led Grace and the girls to the far side of the cemetery, where a wagon was parked, a red flag tied to its seat.

Mr. Butler eased Grace, then Weezy, into the back of the wagon. Sorry waved his arm aside and helped herself. The three lay low in the wagon as he covered them with hay and a blanket. “In a day or two, the town will be overrun with soldiers from both sides. I'm taking you to my sister's house. You can hide out there.”

Mr. Butler slapped the reins and the horses neighed. The wagon rolled uneasily over the roughened ground, and lurched to one side. Grace yelped as she rolled into Weezy, who rolled into Sorry. The wagon lurched again as it finally came to the road.

Grace didn't have to see where they were going, for she knew the ground well enough. She felt fear rising in her throat with every wagon bounce. They were heading back to Gettysburg. Back to where they started. She covered her face with her hands.

She couldn't go home. Soldiers had taken over their farm.

Pappa wasn't home.

Grace swallowed her tears, but they grew bigger by the moment, too big to hold down. Just like her fear.

She felt the wagon turn and slow. Finally it stopped. And a moment later, Mrs. Woods flipped the blanket over.

“Negroes, Adam?” Mrs. Woods looked at him with rounded, worried eyes.

“You know Abraham's daughter. He's helped us plenty, now it's our turn to help him.”

“If they catch us, Adam, hiding negroes . . .”

“We'll be fine, Sarah.” Mr. Butler helped Sorry out of the wagon, while Weezy and Grace jumped free.

Flitting like a bird, Mrs. Woods pushed the girls into the back of the stone house. Grace knew where they were: Culp's Hill. Quickly Mrs. Woods ushered the three into another cellar, into another tiny room.

“You need to be quiet,” Mrs. Woods urged. “I'll come down to check on you when I can. Whatever happens, do not make a sound, and do not leave this room!”

The room was smaller than the one in Miss Mary's cellar, no more than a hole in the wall. The slant of the roof made it impossible to sit up. No hay or blankets to cushion them. The three lay on the dirt floor.

“Shame about the dress,” Weezy whispered. “It was the best thing I ever hope to have.”

Grace nodded.

“Your pappa would be proud of you,” Weezy said then.

Grace shook her head. She couldn't speak, worry stealing her voice.

“Grace is a good name,” Weezy said. “There's power in a name.”

But Grace could only shake her head again.

“Pap says names are our stories. They tell us who we are. They tell us where we come from.”

“What kind of name is Weezy?” Grace managed.

“That's just what
they
call me.” Weezy chuckled. “My auntie named me Wisdom. Mam's Wisdom, she called me. And you, this is who you are: Abraham was the chosen one, you know, gone on a long journey to the land of milk and honey. He was a peaceable man, and a wise man. God called on him, and Abraham followed. He's the father of faith. And you be Abraham's Grace. Can't be a more powerful name than that.”

Grace looked up. A thin ray of moonlight came through a splintered plank and danced across the shiny face of Wisdom.

“That's your name to keep,” Wisdom said. “And I'll remember your name, and your story. And wherever we go, I will tell everyone I meet
all about Abraham's Grace, who delivered us to safety in the night. And you will remember my name. Wisdom. And you'll tell my story to your pappa, when he comes for you. And you'll tell my story to your mamma when you see her, too. So we won't be forgot. So my mam and my pap won't be forgot. You tell your pappa when you see him?”

“I will tell my pappa,” Grace whispered.

She clapped her hands over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. Her body shook. Wisdom patted her back, laying her head on her shoulder.

“Yeah, that's what we'll do,” she whispered.

Annie made her way back to the camp, sore from marching, her arms heavy from the Enfield. And she itched. But as bad as these skeeters were, Dylan was worse, a gnawing itch that just wouldn't let up. He was like James in that, always gnawing away at her. Mama told her to pick her battles, but didn't that Dylan ever give up?

As she stepped closer to the campfire, she saw Dylan had his nose in William's book, and he was tearing a page free of the spine.

And she exploded like buckshot.

“
Enough!
” she shouted, so loud that Gideon stood up at his own campsite. Others, too, looked up with a start. Even as everyone watched, no one moved in their direction.

She lunged into Dylan, so hard that he let loose a grunt as air escaped his lungs. Coughing and sputtering, Dylan dropped to his hands and knees, gripping his chest. Before he moved again, she kicked him, hard enough to spin him over. Before he could gather himself, she puffed herself round and big.

And then she sat right full on top of him, pinning him down with her knees.

“
Dylan, enough with you!
” she boomed, loud as never before, drawing more of a crowd. “I'll whip you easy. Then you'll whip me. Then I'll whip you easy again. Make no mistake, you can't keep me down. I'll
always come back and whip you square! You'll not have a moment's rest, for fear of seeing me about to whip you
again
.”

“I ain't no coward,” Dylan hissed, holding his chest. “I don't give up!”