Read Two Girls of Gettysburg Online
Authors: Lisa Klein
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #General, #Historical
“Hey, I have to get home now. I’ll come by here tomorrow morning before I go looking for them. Don’t tell anyone, not even your mother, or she’ll try and stop me.”
I nodded as he turned to leave. So he was really going to go through with it!
“Wait!” I called after him. “Let me come with you.”
But Martin had already disappeared into the darkness.
June 28, 1863 near Chambersburg, Penn
Two weeks have passed since my return to the regiment. A dozen times a day something reminds me of John, and I feel again the pain of losing him. It subsides only when I lose myself in my work. And goodness knows there is plenty of it. Even during the summer months, disease runs rampant among men weakened by two years of unremitting duty under poor conditions.
It is strange to be in Pennsylvania as the enemy, when I intend to harm no one. The region looks so prosperous, compared to the devastation in Virginia. I wonder if part of Lee’s motive for invading the North was to feed his hard-up soldiers. Indeed, our men rob empty houses and steal chickens and food, despite orders to the contrary. Some do it from desperation, others with a spirit of revenge I cannot condone. No wonder the citizens of Chambersburg regard us sullenly. Mrs. Throckmorton and I have had some success in persuading them to provide from their gardens and pantries in exchange for a guard posted to prevent worse damage to their property. Meanwhile the officers are trying to restore discipline by rounding up deserters and stragglers. They brought a very inebriated Hiram Watt back to camp. He seldom drank while my husband was his friend, but without John’s
moderating influence, Watt has fallen in with worse company. Sadly I must no longer associate with him, out of concern for my own reputation.
I cannot stop thinking about the road through the South Mountains that would take me to Gettysburg in hours. Margaret and Lizzie cannot know that I am only twenty-five miles away. Dare I attempt to visit them while we are camped near Chambersburg? What a surprise it would be!
June 29, 1863 Chambersburg
Still we wait. Rumors change from hour to hour. I had thought Harrisburg was Lee’s destination. But he appears to be biding his time here, waiting—with growing impatience—for General “Jeb” Stuart and his cavalry to return and tell him where the Union army is. Is the great General Lee really so blind without Stuart?
Tomorrow I will ride to Gettysburg, on the pretext of looking for medicinal herbs in the woods around Cashtown. I long to see my sister and Lizzie again! I wonder if they think of me fondly, as I do them.
June 30, 1863 Chambersburg
There has been no sign of Stuart, but Lee has discovered by other means (a spy perhaps?) that the federal army, with a new commander, is near Frederick, Maryland—closer than he thought. But everyone deems this new Union general—I don’t even recall his name—as weak and inexperienced as all the others.
According to General Gordon’s wife, usually a reliable source, General Heth’s division will set out in the morning for Gettysburg. Reportedly a warehouse full of shoes waits there, and only a small contingent of Union cavalry guards the town. This sounds like a mere rumor to me, for to my knowledge, Gettysburg has no more than the
usual number of shoemakers. In any case, I would not risk a confrontation over a few pairs of shoes! But the generals and their spies undoubtedly know better.
Our company will remain in the rear with Pickett’s division. If Heth’s men encounter the cavalry, there will probably be a small skirmish not rising to the status of a battle. Dr. Walker has ordered us to prepare the hospital here for possible casualties. Therefore I must postpone my plans to ride to Gettysburg.
I woke up with my cotton nightdress clinging wetly to my chest and legs. In the wide-open window, the curtains barely stirred. But birds still chirped and trilled. It was Wednesday, the first of July. I knew that Ben and Amos had not returned in the night. I rolled quickly out of bed, washed my face in the basin, and dressed, all the while listening for Martin. A distant
pop-pop
came to my ears, like the sound Clara made with her lips when she pretended to be a fish. It could have been someone chopping wood or nailing shingles to a roof. I twisted my hair and pinned it high off my damp neck.
Downstairs Mama and Grace leaned over the kitchen table kneading masses of bread dough. Grace’s belly, now the size of a watermelon, got in her way. Several bowls of puffy dough awaited a second kneading. Why were they making so much bread?
“Has Martin come by yet this morning?” I asked, striving for a casual tone as I poured a cup of bitter coffee. “Shall we open up the shop?”
“No,” said Mama tersely. “And no.”
I decided that Martin had probably come and gone without anyone seeing him. Then the popping noise sounded again, a little louder, like the cracking of pins and balls against each other in a game of bowling. I looked at Mama, suspecting the truth.
“The battle started just after daybreak,” she said.
“Where?” I asked, feeling my stomach go sour already.
“To the west, more than two miles away. We’re not in any danger here.”
“Two miles—why, that’s close! What should we do?”
“Work as usual. It’s wash day,” Mama answered, her hands still mired in dough.
With a growing sense of dread, I began my chores, fetching enough wood to stoke the oven for the entire day and pumping buckets of water for the washing. From time to time, we paused to listen at the front door, hearing muffled explosions and rifle fire to the west. At least, I thought, Martin would have headed east, possibly before the fighting began. Then there came a sound like a high-pitched scream, followed by a sharp and splintering blast somewhere nearby.
“It sounds like a building was hit!” I cried. “Are they shelling the town?”
At that moment our neighbor, Mrs. Klinger, ran out into the street carrying a valise.
“Sarah! Where are you going?” shouted Mama through cupped hands.
“To my daughter’s house, away from this!” she cried.
“Why, her daughter lives only four blocks away,” I said to Mama.
“Sarah, stay! You’ll be just as safe in your own home,” Mama cried, but it was too late. Mrs. Klinger disappeared around the corner of Liberty Street.
“Shouldn’t we leave too, Mama?” I asked.
Instead of replying, Mama waved her arms to gain the attention of a Union officer riding by. He reined in his horse and shouted, “Go into your homes and stay there!” before galloping on.
We obeyed, and Mama locked the door and began to shutter the front windows.
“Lizzie, gather all the spare bedding and take it to the cellar, along with candles, lamps and oil, a chair for each of us, and pillows for Grace.”
I rushed off to obey her. As I was pulling the coverlet from my bed, I heard another volley of artillery fire, followed by screams. I dropped the bedding and dashed down the stairs to investigate.
In the street Margaret stumbled down from a cart while Clara stood in the back screaming and covering her ears. Jack had jumped down into the street, where he spun around like a dervish. The horse whinnied and pawed the ground, ready to bolt, and the boxes and bundles piled atop the cart threatened to tumble to the ground. Margaret flung herself into Mama’s arms, sobbing.
“What in God’s name are you doing abroad! And with the children?” cried Mama. “That stray shell could have struck you. Now get inside.”
Grace rounded up Jack and Clara while I tied the nervous horse to the fence. Inside, Mama held the smelling salts under Margaret’s nose, but my cousin brushed the vial away and began to talk rapidly.
“Aunt Mary, I know it looks crazy, my coming into town when everyone with any sense is running the other way. But this morning when I went over to see Georgia’s new baby, she said there were reports of fighting on Oak Ridge, near the seminary. We couldn’t hear anything, but when I went back home I saw soldiers coming up the pike and marching east over the fields, taking down fences in their way. They were headed for Oak Ridge all right.”
“Whose soldiers?” Mama asked patiently.
“Why, our troops, of course.”
“Then, that’s good news. They’ll push the rebels back to Cash-town. So why did you panic?” I said.
Margaret bristled. “It looked like a battle was fixing to break out right in front of my house. You would have been in a state, too. Then some officers rode up, along with a general who said his name was Reynolds. He came into the house, and I gave him bread and coffee, and Clara even sat on his knee and played with the brass buttons of his coat. He was so polite—and calm, not at all like a general heading for the battlefield.”
Margaret paused to sip the coffee Grace had poured for her. Her hands trembled a little. The yeasty smell of fresh bread filled the kitchen.
“Go on. What happened next?” I urged.
“Well, General Reynolds said if I had someplace to go within town, I should leave for it now. It was almost an order! He said he wanted to post a lookout at my house because the two roads converge there. I couldn’t refuse him. I said I wanted to bring the portraits and silver along, so he called his aides to load everything on the cart. But the sewing machines were so heavy, and we were so rushed, I was able to bring only one.”
I didn’t see why Margaret had to bring anything at all with her. It took us almost an hour to unload the cart, and I nearly cursed when the sewing machine was set down on my foot. Limping, I led the horse and cart into the alley behind the house, where Jack helped me coax the nervous creature into the shed.
When another shell exploded nearby, rattling the windows, Mama ordered everyone to the cellar. No one objected. Laden with blankets, food, and water, we descended the narrow steps. The laundry would not get done that day. The fire in the oven would burn down to embers, since no one would be cooking dinner. We were silent, not even speculating how long we would have to remain underground.
Throughout the afternoon, the earth rumbled and shook around us like a volcano about to erupt. By the flickering light of an oil lamp Mama read her Bible. Margaret mended clothing, her fingers fluttering nervously. Jack and Clara were restless, so Grace sang them a hymn about Moses that finally put them to sleep. I had nothing to read but an old almanac. The irrelevant weather predictions and bits of lore were oddly comforting. During a lull in the fighting, I thought I heard the faint strains of a band but could not make out the tune.
I glanced over at Grace, her black skin glossy in the faint light, her expression placid. Something about the semidarkness made me bold.
“Grace, how did you come to know Amos?” I asked softly.
A long moment passed, while she seemed to be weighing whether or not to reply.
“I was the new slave at the plantation where Amos lived,” she finally said. “His mother was dyin’ from grief since Mastuh McCarrick sold all her childern. One night I went wif the mistress to help nurse her, an’ I saw the kindness in Amos’s eyes. We was both full of sadness then.”
“What were you sad about?” I asked.
Grace shook her head. So I prompted her on to a happier topic.
“Then you and Amos got married by a preacher who came along doing baptisms?”
“How do you know that?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“Amos told me. Then he said you were sold away. But he didn’t say why.”
“My mistress had some good in her an’ a lot of meanness,” Grace said, shaking her head. “When she found out I had married Amos, she went into a fury. She said that I, bein’ a house nigger, had debased myself by marryin’ a field nigger. You see, she wanted to decide who I married, maybe keep me from havin’ a husband at all, so’s I could take care of her forever.”
“But what could she do if you and Amos were already married?” I asked.
“She broke us up by havin’ her husband sell me to that crazy Mastuh Johnston.”
“So that’s how she punished you for defying her. Now I understand.” I touched Grace’s sleeve. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. She didn’t pull away.
“If I’d’ve just waited a bit to marry Amos, I’d’ve been free, too. But I guess I was too much in love.” She said this without regret or bitterness. “An’ it don’t matter now, anyhow.”
After a moment I asked, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
Grace pressed her full lips together tightly.
“Don’t ask me no more. I’m tired now.” A look of pain crossed her forehead, and she closed her eyes.
A sudden barrage of artillery made the jam jars rattle on the shelf and shimmy to the edge. I leaped up and caught one just before it hit the dirt floor near where Rosanna’s scrapbook lay hidden.