Widow of Gettysburg (33 page)

She sat back on her heels and squeezed the dry sponge in her lap for a moment before she resumed soaking his plaster strips. Her stomach was now steeled to both the sight and smell of his undressed stump.

Her heart, on the other hand, felt like jelly.
So this is what it feels like to fall in love.

A
melia Sanger craned her neck as she gazed at the Italianate cupola atop the two-story blue-bricked railroad depot on Carlisle Street. Morning sun glinted off arched windows and glared into her eyes. She blinked, and inhaled from a small bottle of peppermint oil. Gettysburg still reeked.

It was time to leave.

She should have known it would come to this. It had only been a matter of time. If there had been no battle at all, how different things would have been. Amelia would have made Liberty a cake for her twentieth birthday ten days ago. Liberty would have relished the taste and the attention. She would have embraced Amelia, and they would have set about furnishing the house to be an elegant country inn. They would have been family.

But there had been a battle, and everything changed.

“We just missed the morning train,” Liberty said as she emerged from the station. “Do you want me to stay with you in the ladies waiting room until the next train comes?”

“I can take care of myself from here on out quite well, thank you.”

Liberty bit her lip. “Amelia, you know as well as I do that our arrangement simply wasn’t working. The farm is still a Confederate field hospital, and it’s the last place you want to be. You don’t want to help, there is barely enough food to go around, and the place is contaminated. I know you’ll be more comfortable in Philadelphia. If you want to come back and visit once this is all over, you’re welcome to. But for now—”

“You’ve had your say. No need to repeat it. You may take your leave.”

“But the next train isn’t for hours. What will you do in the meantime?”

Amelia looked around. Four disabled cannons were parked near the station, while the land next to the tracks was filled with tents. Beyond the station, Amelia saw only bewildering confusion as the streets thronged with soldiers, nuns, wagons, ambulances, civilians, and sightseers.

“The U.S. Sanitary Commission Lodge,” Liberty read off a wooden sign. “Come, let’s see if we can learn anything.”

They entered through an open tent flap and watched quietly for a moment as women labored over portable cook stoves to bake bread and simmer beef and vegetable stew. Amelia inhaled the divine fragrances, thankful for the respite from the stink of war. Rows of makeshift tables and chairs, now vacant, spoke of useful service to hungry men.

A woman with chestnut hair pulled into a chignon spied Amelia and Liberty, wiped her hands on her stained apron, and approached them.

“Good morning, ladies. Can I help you with anything? Are you looking for a loved one?” Her large, hazel eyes were sincere, kind.

“Charlotte Waverly?” Liberty asked. “I can’t believe it’s you!”

“Liberty!” Charlotte drew her in a tight embrace. “We’ve been so inundated with women coming through here looking for their soldiers lately—I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you!”

“Two years of war makes quite a difference. Three days of battle on one’s doorstep changes … everything.”

Charlotte nodded. “I had forgotten that you lived in Gettysburg. How do you get on, my dear? Was your farm taken for a hospital?”

Amelia cleared her throat, loudly. How rude of them not to notice her.

Liberty’s eyes brightened, and she grasped Amelia’s elbow. “Amelia, you are not going to believe this. This is Charlotte Waverly, who nursed Levi in Washington after the First Battle of Bull Run. Charlotte, this is Levi’s mother, Amelia Sanger.”

For a moment, Amelia’s power of speech left her. Then, “You were with my son? When he died? You were the one who wrote to me with news of his death, weren’t you?” With trembling hand, she covered her mouth. Tears bit her eyes.

At once, Charlotte threw her arms around her. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said. “He was a brave young man. You raised a fine son.” Charlotte stepped back, but still held Amelia by the shoulders of her black bombazine dress. “You must be very proud. Have you come here to help the wounded, like so many others who have lost a soldier? Of course, I should have known. From what I know of Levi and Liberty, you must be such a caring, giving person. I’m so glad to know you.”

“Actually, Charlotte, Amelia was hoping to leave Gettysburg today by rail. Are you feeding the wounded here before they leave?”

Charlotte nodded. “And more. Men straggle in from the hospitals from miles around, at all times of the day, with nothing in their bellies for the tiresome travel ahead of them. So we fix them up with food, fresh clothing and bandages, cologne-scented handkerchiefs, canteens of water, that sort of thing. The ones who arrive after the four o’clock train we provide with cots and bedding for the night, as well. The government has made no provision for these men on their journeys. Can you imagine?”

“Perhaps, if you let me—” Amelia hesitated. But how bad could this be? Surely compared to a field hospital, it would not be so hard to
bear. “I could help. Just for a bit, you understand, until my train comes in. I’d love to hear more about what my son’s last days were like, if you don’t mind.”

Charlotte put her fists on her slim hips as she appraised Amelia. “I would like that very much, Mrs. Sanger. I’m happy to share anything I remember about Levi, as long as our hands can keep busy while we visit. And understand, we may have several interruptions.”

Amelia nodded. She’d never admit it to Liberty, but refusing to work at Holloway Farm had bored her nearly out of her mind. She hated playing the role of a useless, bitter old woman. She hated disappointing Liberty, too, just when they were starting to get to know each other. But how could she reconcile serving the boys who killed her son? No, she had had no choice but to remain idle and wait out the storm.

Helping Union boys on their journey home though, that would be fine. After all, she had nothing else to do. No one was waiting for her—anywhere.

Almost dazed with shock, Liberty grasped Amelia’s hand. “Amelia, I think this will be good for you.”

The older woman cocked an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“Do write to me once you’ve arrived in Philadelphia. I must get back to the farm.”

Charlotte nodded. “Splendid. Amelia, why don’t you go see my mother Caroline, just there, and she’ll lend you an apron. I’ll be right over.”

Linking an arm through Liberty’s elbow, Charlotte walked her into a different tent, where a surgeon attended patients apparently not quite strong enough yet for the journey. “How are you, Liberty? Truly? Are you forgetting the past, and reaching forth?”

Liberty smiled. “I believe I am.”

“Good.” Charlotte circled her shoulders with an arm and squeezed lightly. “Dare I ask how your farm withstood the battle storm?”

“It’s ruined. Turned into a hospital for Confederate wounded.”

Charlotte drew a hand over her mouth. “But it has not ruined
you.
Has it?”

“No. You’d never believe what I am capable of now.”

“Oh, yes I would. You do what needs to be done, day after day, until one day, you discover you are doing more than just surviving. Your life has purpose. Am I right?”

Silas’s face surged before Liberty, and she beamed.

“Liberty Holloway! I never knew you had dimples!” Charlotte sucked in her breath. “You’re not in mourning anymore, are you?” She winked. “Good for you. Amelia may never move past the memory of her son, because she will always be his mother. But widows stop being wives. Widows move on, when the time is right.”

The surgeon approached Charlotte and placed his hand on the small of her back. He was younger than the doctors at Holloway Farm—and far more handsome. “I’m sorry to interrupt, darling, but very soon I will need your assistance with these patients.”

“Of course, I’ll only be a moment, Dr. Lansing.” Her face brightened toward him, and he winked at her, his grey eyes twinkling.

“He’s more than a doctor, though, isn’t he?” Liberty had a feeling that if she had not been standing there, he would not have settled for a wink.

Charlotte smiled. “After the war, he will be my husband.”

“Pray God that will be soon.”

Charlotte’s face grew serious. “Indeed. But in the meantime, we both have work to do. Be well, Liberty. I will do what I can for Amelia. I’ll be right here for at least another week, maybe longer, and you can write to me if you need to, after that.” She scribbled a Rhode Island address on a scrap of paper and pressed it into Liberty’s palm before giving her one more hug. “Remember, you’re allowed to move on. Live.”

The women parted, and with new breath in her spirit, Liberty climbed back in the wagon she borrowed from Dr. O’Leary. She had one more stop to make before heading back to Holloway Farm.

It was time to say goodbye, for good, to Levi.

Sunbeams slanted in through the skeletal barn, baking stripes of Silas’s body with midsummer heat. Sweat trapped between his back and the India rubber blanket protecting him from the filthy floor. The quilt Libbie had brought for his comfort, he had given to a patient in worse condition.

“Silas?”

He opened his eyes to find Liberty offering him a steaming cup of coffee. He sat up and accepted it with thanks. After months on end of substitute coffee—made from chicory, corn, acorns, beets, okra seeds, or dandelion root—nothing could warm a Southerner’s heart like a real cup of coffee.

Shaking off the fog in his brain, he brought the tin cup to his lips and sipped. The first taste burned his tongue, but he didn’t even mind, it tasted so good. A subtle smile played on Liberty’s lips as she watched him. As he tried not to watch her lips.

He swallowed. “You look …” What could he say to her? She looked like an angel, in spite of her careworn dress, fretted at the edges. She looked like all that was fresh and vibrant and lovely. She looked … “Well-rested.”

“Well, that’s a miracle.” Eyes crinkling, Liberty laughed out loud, and it sounded like music.

A smiled tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m just glad you can say my name without hissing now.”

“Of course. We’re
friends
, aren’t we?” She cocked an eyebrow.

Friends. Right.
It’s what he had asked for.

Grogginess coated his mind like molasses. He closed his eyes for a moment—and saw his mother’s accusing face, jabbing a finger at his chest.
You! You’re just like your father. You call it a protective instinct, I call it base desire. No woman is safe around you! I never want to see you again!

“No!” His eyes popped open again, his chest heaved.

“No?”

Oh no. He shook his head. What did she say? “Oh yes, friends. Yes, we’re just friends.” His heart thudded as the image of his mother dissolved from his mind.

She knelt by his side, spoke in soft, low tones. “How are you feeling?”

“They’ve been giving me something for the pain, which helps. And water. If I pour water on my leg, it helps too. But when my leg is numb to pain, my head aches some, and I have a little nausea, but that’s nothing compared to the alternative. But sometimes I also feel … It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“Confused.”

Liberty pressed her lips into a thin line. “About what?”

“Anything. Everything. I feel a little bit of it right now. But please don’t worry. You’re not my nurse, remember? That was our arrangement.”

“I’m not your nurse. But …”

Her voice trailed away, and Silas shook his head. The fog was getting thicker. Oh no. Liberty was frowning. Did he say something wrong? What did she just say? His memory failed him. He shook his head again. Tried to drink his coffee, but it sloshed over the cup’s rim.

“Silas, look into my eyes, please.”

He tried. But he was getting so sleepy. The cup no longer warmed his hand. She must have taken it from him, and he didn’t even notice.
Why
was he so tired? Didn’t he just wake up? His eyes started to roll back, he fought against it. He didn’t want to sleep, he wanted to see Liberty!