Widow of Gettysburg (5 page)

Steam billowed out of the teakettle’s spout, and Bella jumped up to pour two cups, glad Aunt Hester couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. The truth was, she felt less like the mistress of her own life than she had in a long time, and the feeling chafed her raw. There had been
a time when she had been able to shrug off stories of kidnapped colored folks. But that time was over. Now the stories weren’t just rumors—they were headlines.

In spite of herself, her hands were unsteady as she placed the mismatched porcelain cups and saucers on the table. “Didn’t you hear what Jenkins Confederate cavalry did, just eleven days ago?”

“I heard.” Aunt Hester grinned.

“Why are you smiling?” Bella was incredulous. “In Chambersburg, they captured between thirty and forty black women and children—
women and children
—and started driving them in wagons back down South.”

“I smiling because the good white folks rescued them. The captives were freed.”

Bella sipped her tea before saying that not all white folks would be so bold. Before reminding Aunt Hester that the entire town nearly paid the price. Jenkins demanded $50,000 in compensation for the blacks, who he claimed were his property. When the town leaders refused, Jenkins threatened to return in two hours to burn the town. Fourteen of the black women who had just been freed met with the town leaders and offered to give themselves up to Jenkins to spare the town. The town leaders refused, but Jenkins never returned. But not all such stories had happy endings.

Bella tightened her grip on her cup. “Did you see Tuesday’s paper? The
Adams Sentinel
?”

“You know I can’t read. Only news I get is what other folks tell me.”

“Well, let me tell you. Rebels took possession of Hagerstown last Monday, and when they left two days later, they carried off with them horses and ‘quite a number of colored persons.’ But, the paper says, other than that, they did ‘very little damage.’ Isn’t that a relief?” Sarcasm edged Bella’s voice. “Very little damage! I’m sure the people on their way to the auction blocks would say otherwise!”

Slowly, Aunt Hester sipped her tea and replaced the cup on its saucer before folding her hands on the table. “And yet you still here.
Ain’t you? You gotta know that you will be protected from such a fate, otherwise wouldn’t you be gone, too?”

Bella stared at the steam curling up from her tea for a moment before answering. “Chambersburg is twenty-three miles to the west. Hagerstown is in Maryland, thirty-two miles to the southwest. Gettysburg may be spared.”

“Just so.” Aunt Hester nodded, eyes twinkling. “The good Lord didn’t bring you up from slavery to send you back down to it. You gotta grab on to hope, child, and make sure that hope is tied to God above. He is our hiding place.”

Bella had too much respect for Aunt Hester to point out that God had not hidden the colored folks of Hagerstown very well. Most likely, it was sacrilegious even to think it, but she could not help herself. They were probably in the deep South by now, their lives forever changed. The old woman sitting across from her was serene, confident. Content. Bella would not take that from her. Instead, she nodded and dredged up a smile.

Aunt Hester’s gaze flicked to the window. “Rain stopped! Well, baby, I do believe it’s time for me to check on my spring vegetables. Stop by if you get lonely.” She brought her cup and saucer to the dry sink, plucked her shawl off the peg, and let herself out the door.

After watching Aunt Hester amble down the wooden sidewalk, Bella returned to her chore as their conversation rolled over in her mind. Biting her lip, she pushed the iron across the linen, back and forth, over and over. Truth be told, protecting her home and keeping her jobs were not the only reason she remained in Gettysburg. She had another reason for staying.

But that truth would not be told. Not ever.

Suddenly, her windows rattled.
Thunder? I thought the rain had stopped.
Bella stepped outside. Just a few blocks north, a dozen horsemen crashed pell-mell past South Washington Street on Chambersburg Pike. They were yelling. What were they yelling? Bella trotted toward the intersection, her heart rate quickly matching the horses’ speed. People came
out of their houses and lined the streets as the men raced up and down, their horses kicking up chunks of mud from the road. It was Robert Bell’s Independent Cavalry. They were shouting the news, all of them, at the same time. Bella strained to make sense of their wild cries.

“The 26th has been routed!”
The 26th? The town’s defenders? Already?

“Most of them have been captured! The survivors are retreating to Gettysburg now!”

“Rebels in pursuit! They’ll be in Gettysburg within the hour!”

And they left.

The 26th was in tatters. The Philadelphia City Troops, sent to reinforce the 26th, were nowhere to be found. Gettysburg’s Independent Cavalry had just delivered their news and run away for their lives. Bella turned back. Her legs propelled her down the wooden sidewalk while women all over Gettysburg stood in their doorways and called for their children to come home. Windows shuttered. Doors slammed and latched. Quiet pulsed in her ears as Bella reached her house.

The rain had stopped, but another storm was rolling in. And the women and children were completely unprotected.

Liberty had gone to the Ladies Union Relief Society meeting expecting—no, hoping for—a sense of belonging. Support, even, for her decision to put mourning behind her. What she got instead, before she even opened her sewing basket, felt more like a slap in the face.

“You were a symbol,” Geraldine Bennett said matter-of-factly. “A reminder to all of us here of the sacrifices our boys in blue are making. You were an inspiration to the town, a living remembrance of the ultimate price for freedom. You were the Widowed Bride. The Widow of Gettysburg.”

The words were shards of glass, carving away her own delusion.
How could I not have seen it? They accepted me only because my husband died in the war.
If he hadn’t, she would have still been on the outside looking in.

“I’d rather be known for who I am than for what—for who—I’ve lost.” Liberty’s voice sounded small. She did not want to anger Geraldine.

“My dear, any one of us can stitch and sew, scrape lint, and rip bandages. You were special.”

Were.
Tears pricked Liberty’s eyes as the message washed over her, seeped into her pores.
You were valuable as a symbol. Taking away the symbol takes away the value. You are no longer special.

“We were hoping you would be in the parade again this year, representing the Ladies Union Relief Society.”

“I can still do that. I’m still a widow, aren’t I? I still support our soldiers.”

“But if you refuse to wear mourning clothes, why would we put you in the parade? Would anyone recognize you without your Widow’s Weeds?” She trailed off. “You must understand, Liberty. You were a symbol.” The hateful word, again.

And here I thought I was a person.
Knowing full well she was breaching proper etiquette once again, Libbie swept out of the church without so much as a goodbye, leaving a group of tittering women in her wake. Whispers of “selfish” and “impertinent” chased after her into the street, but not one of the women tried to stop her.

Climbing into her buggy, Liberty slapped the reins on Daisy’s back and the mare lurched into motion, never slowing until she stopped at Evergreen Cemetery.

Kneeling in front of Levi’s tombstone, her body rocked with the torrent of emotion. She appeared braver this morning when a strange man came to her farm than she did when faced with a group of women.
Because I care what they think of me.
Maybe she shouldn’t. Life surely would be easier if she didn’t. But heaven help her, she did.

“Oh Levi,” she said to the plot of earth in front of her. In the last two years she had said more to him right here than she had while they were alive. “If you wanted me to be happy, that should be enough for me. Please give me peace so I can live my life …”

A shadow darkened the tombstone, and Libbie looked up.

“Excuse me, Liberty. Were you praying?” It was Elizabeth Thorn, acting as the cemetery groundskeeper in her soldier husband’s absence.

“No—why?”

“I thought I heard you ask for peace.” Her hands rested on the swell of her belly. She’d have her fourth child by fall.

“I did.”

“
Ja
, I thought as much.” For having moved with her parents to America from Germany only nine years ago, her English was very good. “Lots of people talk to their loved ones in the ground. If they would talk to the good Lord nearly half as much, they’d be so much better off.” She paused. “Do you pray, Liberty?”

Such a personal question. But then, she and Elizabeth had a close relationship—one of the very few that was genuine. It was impossible to stick to small talk and pleasantries when you only met in a graveyard. Elizabeth had comforted her after the deaths of both Aunt Helen and Levi. Her three boys had melted her heart and made her laugh. Elizabeth had earned the right, in the last few years, to ask the questions that dug deep.

“I pray.” She looked up, thankful the summer breeze had blown the clouds from the brilliant blue sky. “But I must admit, it’s hard to pray to a God I can’t see, who doesn’t talk back to me.”

Elizabeth eased herself down on the ground next to Libbie, paying no mind to the wet grass that would dampen her skirt. “But you talk to Levi. Does he talk back to you?”

Words webbed in Libbie’s chest, and she looked away. Levi had been quiet, studious. Still, “If I can remember what he said when he was here,” she tried, “I can imagine what he would say to me now.”

Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Liberty’s shoulders, as she had done so many times before. “
Ja
, this is good. That’s exactly right. Prayer works the same way. Share your heart. Remember what Jesus said when He was here—read the Gospels—and try to imagine what He’d say to you now.”

Liberty sighed. “I’ll try.”

“I am proud of you.” Elizabeth pinched the sleeve of Libbie’s blue calico dress and gave a little tug. “For moving on. It is the right thing to do.”

With a crooked smile, Liberty pushed herself up from the ground. “Speaking of moving on, I best be on my way.” She lent a hand to Elizabeth and helped her pregnant friend up. Without bothering to visit Aunt Helen’s grave, they walked back to the brick-arched gatehouse where Elizabeth’s family lived and looked down from Cemetery Hill.

Everything looked so peaceful from up here. Split-rail fences stitched together rolling fields of green grass and purple clover with golden fields of ripening wheat, as if the landscape were a quilt spread over the earth, with seams of dirt roads and rushing creeks holding it in place. A little less than a mile to the east, Seminary Ridge bristled with oak and hickory trees. Farmhouses sprinkled the countryside. Just north of Cemetery Hill, white steeples gleamed in the sun while red brick houses clustered together. The village of Gettysburg was a hub, with spokes leading out in all directions, each one named for the town to which it led: clockwise from the north, it was Carlisle, Harrisburg, York, Hanover, Baltimore, Taneytown, Emmitsburg, Hagerstown, Chambersburg, Mummasburg.

“Elizabeth, look.” Liberty pointed to Chambersburg Road. As far as the eye could see, it teemed with galloping cavalry. Dozens of them—hundreds—streamed into Gettysburg and collected in The Diamond like trout rushing down Willoughby Run.

“Do you recognize any of them?”

Libbie squinted. “No.” Some of the townspeople appeared in their doorways, but no one rushed out with pie and coffee to greet them.

“Wait.” Elizabeth disappeared inside the gatehouse for a moment before returning with her father and his field glasses. Muffled shouts carried on the breeze while Mr. Thorn took the first look. He cursed in a thick German accent and handed the glasses to the women, Elizabeth first, then Liberty.

Her hand trembled, blurring the view. The soldiers were not wearing blue. Some wore grey, but not the same shade—iron grey, sheep grey, old wood grey, and butternut, the telltale color of a faded Confederacy uniform. But many wore simply rags. It was surreal watching them like this, from a distance, and yet able to see the sweat running down their weather-hardened faces, the greasy strands of hair falling loose about their shoulders. Collarbones protruding against their skin. One man’s spurs were strapped onto his bare feet.

A shudder passed through her as she passed the glasses back to Elizabeth. She did not need them to hear the hint of a crazed Rebel yell: “Aaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee!” Sunlight glinted off gun barrels raised in the sky. Shots that must have terrified the people below sounded like sporadically popping corn.

Breath hitched in her chest as her gaze followed the current of men still streaming down Chambersburg Pike, through the town and into The Diamond, until it overflowed with Rebels and spilled over, flooding the surrounding neighborhoods. More than a thousand, more than two thousand, swarmed. Not long after someone raised the Confederate flag in the town square, a regimental band set up very near to where a band had been playing with the 26th earlier that morning.