The Girls of Gettysburg (5 page)

But Annie wasn't moving, not this time.

“Boys.” Gideon stepped up from behind and slapped his son. Seeing the Whitworth in Dylan's hands, he glanced at Annie. “Do we have a problem here?”

Gideon was watching her. Annie knew that complaining about the Whitworth would make her look like a tattletale, a weakling. And then they'd tease her, just like William and James had whenever she complained to Pap or Mama. Besides, living with James had given her plenty of practice on how to get even.

“
No, sir!
” she shouted.

“Don't call me sir.” Gideon smiled in approval. “I work for a living. Glad to see you two getting along this fine morning!” The younger soldier gave his pap a smile. He smoothed back his bright red hair. Annie relaxed her shoulder and stepped aside. But all the while, she kept her eye fixed on Dylan. With a grunt, Gideon continued, “We'll be heading north in a short time, mark my word. Until then, we best be getting to the business of soldiering. Drill time, boys.”

Tramp, tramp, tramp
. Drilling seemed an easy thing to do, putting one foot in front of the other. But more than once Annie tripped, turned left instead of right, turned right instead of left. And with each misstep she took, Dylan howled. She squared her shoulders, and she took to more drilling. The quartermaster had issued her an Enfield to replace her musket. “Try not to lose this one,” he chuckled. The Enfield was a mere spit of a gun compared to her Whitworth. And with every step, she wanted to spit all the more.

Jasper with his big potato feet walked as if his boots had shrunk.

“Better to have no shoes,” Dylan chuckled.

“They're drilling us hard,” Jasper whispered. “Your pop must be right. They'll be moving us soon.”

Tramp, tramp, tramp
.

As the sun rose higher, so did the heat. The Enfield grew heavier with every step, and her knapsack dragged her shoulders like dead weight, pinching her neck. Ahead, somewhere in the dust, the captain barked orders, echoed by Gideon's boom, and the column turned to the right, to the left, to the center. March! The hours—and the heat—rolled on.

Tramp, tramp, tramp!

When the bugle sounded the end of drill, Annie was bone weary, making a slow way back to her fire. There she found Gideon frying up vittles. From the smells of it, he'd put in a little bit of everything. Stronger still was the smell of coffee, strong enough to draw others of the Portsmouth Rifles about. There must have been a dozen chewing the fat about the fire.

“Potaters and corn pone, can't do better than that!” Gideon yodeled. Spying Annie, he raised a spoon in her direction. “You are a peculiar feller, James Anachie Gordon. Don't seem to smile much. But you held your own today, and that deserves a hearty meal!”

“Hear! Hear!” others raised their tin cups in salute.

Dylan and Jasper had spread a blanket out, each enjoying cake and jam, a tin of coffee, and a cigar. Dylan was busy cutting and shuffling cards with one hand. His eye kept sliding to the Whitworth, a mere touch away.

Dylan puffed a circle of smoke, which waddled like a duck before drifting into nothingness. Jasper squealed, like a pig's chuckle, even as he wheezed from the smoke.

Annie coughed.

Dylan offered a cigar to her.

“That's a homemade smoke, son.” Gideon grinned and scratched his chin. “Don't rightly know what we put into it. But it'll put hair on your chest, by thunder.”

Annie took the cigar, rolling it between her fingers. Her eye on Dylan, she raised the cigar to her pursed lips. She didn't like the taste of it, but she liked the freedom of it. Aunt Bess would be downright fitified to see her smoke. Mama would turn away in shame. William, on the other hand, would slap his knees in appreciation.

Then she inhaled. She meant to puff a circle, do one better than Dylan, and bigger. But the cigar tasted rancid like swamp water, burning her throat.

“Jiggers,” Jasper breathed.

Suddenly her lungs squeezed as she wheezed for breath.

Dylan hooted, taking back the cigar before she dropped it.

“It's an acquired taste.” He leaned back, puffing another circle. “For the refined palate.”

Annie wheezed, her stomach threatening to squeeze out its meal and then some. Gideon offered her a tin of water. Her eyes burning, her nose watering, she gulped the water in hopes of putting out the fire. Gideon turned back to his cooking, his body shaking with laughter.

Dylan smacked his lips. “Have to admit, Pop, it is curious that Mrs. Trudeau has managed to gather such fineries in the midst of so much lacking.”

“Son, let it be said that there is nothing gentle about the gentler sex. It is prolly best for us to never know how it was done, but be grateful that it was.”

“Hear! Hear!” Jasper raised his tin cup.

Annie drank more water, and the burn finally eased. Then she reached inside her haversack to pull out William's book.

Yep, William would still be hooting.

“You read, son?” Gideon asked.

“It's my brother's favorite book, sir. About a man called the Deer-slayer, who believed that every living thing should follow the gifts of its nature.”

Gideon puffed and gave a nod. “Sounds like a good book, son.”

“Yeah, William taught me to read. I taught him to shoot.”

“Well, that sounds promising, if'n he shoots anything like you.”

“Not too promising.” She coughed. “He was killed at Manassas. And I don't read all that well. Always had better things to do, I guess.”

Gideon removed his cap and crossed himself in quick prayer.

“Read to us from your brother's book, son.” Gideon eased to the ground. He relit his pipe, and puffed smoke rings.

The others quieted, too, cocking one ear in her direction. Even Dylan and Jasper listened. Annie read, and in the words she saw William. Annie chanced a glance skyward to find the North Star, and found a bit of comfort there.

All of Gettysburg was in a perfect uproar. Townsfolk were rushing up and down the road, their shouts lost in the clamor of wheels, horses, and even occasional gunfire.

Pappa had been gone since early morning, and hadn't told anyone where he was going. Mamma was fit to be tied. It was all Grace could do to stay out of her way. So when Mamma needed peaches delivered to Miss Mary, Grace was jumping happy to oblige.

Grace knew every road, every trail, every alley into town, and knew how to slip through them all without being seen. After all, she and Millie had done it plenty of times.

Grace walked fast along the road.

“You, child!” someone hailed her as a wagon pulled up behind her. She swerved and looked up to see Mrs. Butler smiling down at her. The wind played with the feathers dangling from Mrs. Butler's large round hat, tickling the woman's nose and chin. She pushed the feathers aside with an angry flip of her hand. “Where you heading, child?”

“I'm delivering some peaches to Miss Mary,” Grace said.

Mr. Butler fiddled with the reins, keeping the horses in check, looking as uncomfortable as a boy whose shoes fit too tight. Mr. Butler was not so tall as Pappa, but big as a bear all the same.

“Hey, Mr. Butler,” smiled Grace.

“Hey, Gracie.” Mr. Butler returned the smile. He and Pappa often swapped stories.

Pappa liked Mr. Butler. It didn't matter to Pappa that Mr. Butler was white. And it didn't matter to Mr. Butler that Pappa was black. But Grace suspected it mattered to Mrs. Butler, just like it mattered to Mamma.

“How's your pap?” Mrs. Butler shrilled. Mrs. Butler took pride in knowing everyone's business, Mamma always said. Mrs. Butler might not think much of Pappa, but it was no secret she thought a lot of his land, and his orchard, and his barns. “You ask me, there isn't going to be one Negro left in town by the end of the month—except perhaps your pap.”

“Pappa isn't going anywhere,” Grace said. “This is our home. Just like it's your home, Mrs. Butler. You going to have some cowardly rebel chase you off? Well, no one is chasing us off our land.”

“I commend your courage.” Mr. Butler smiled, clicking his tongue. “You tell your pap I said hey, and I'll be by soon enough!”

Mrs. Butler coughed in a fluster as Mr. Butler giddyupped the horses.

And Grace, too, dashed off, careful not to spill her basket.

Grace found Miss Mary standing on her stoop, watching the crowd on the streets. It seemed the whole town, what was left of it, had gathered here. Miss Mary offered a worried smile as she took the basket from Grace.

“What's happening, Miss Mary?” asked Grace. “Why is everyone so up in craziness?”

“Good great glory, Grace, there!” Miss Mary pointed southward.

Grace gasped. The southern sky was all aglow.

Miss Mary wailed, “It's true, the rebs are coming! And they're burning everything in their way!”

“I have to go home straightaway! I have to get back to Mamma.” Grace began to dash off, but Miss Mary caught her.

“It's too late now, Gracie. You're not going anywhere this night.” Miss Mary shook her head. “You'll stay with me until we know what's going on out there. Then tomorrow I'll send word to your Pappa.”

Grace looked to the glowing southern sky.
The rebs are coming
. The words rattled like a crow's caw.
And they're burning everything in their path!

Her worry ate her from the inside out. For the longest while, Grace tried to be still, thinking she could trick sleep into coming. But all night her foot tap-tap-tapped the air.

Tap, tap, tap
. Millie didn't say goodbye.

Tap, tap, tap
. The rebs were coming.

Tap, tap, tap
. Mamma must have fretted all night when Grace didn't get home. And Pappa must not have come home, because if he had, he would have come into town to look for her, and the first place he would've looked would be here.