The Girls of Gettysburg (7 page)

Tillie saw Jennie across the way, standing with her mother. She saw her teacher, Mrs. Eyster, looking every bit as worried as her mother. She saw Miss Mary and Mrs. Scott. Even Mr. Scott was here.

And standing near Miss Mary was—who was that? Grace Bryan? Why, Grace Bryan looked positively fretful. Poor Grace. Tillie shook her head. Every night more and more of the town's Negroes left, taking with them only what they could carry on their backs, stumbling under the weight of their bundles. If they spilt their belongings in their stumbling, they left them where they fell, pressing on in panic. The streets were littered with abandoned goods, and the piles had been picked through by others.

Tillie looked about for Grace's father. There was no sign of Abraham Bryan.

Everyone was talking about him. It wasn't safe to be so uppity.
No matter how good a farmer he was, how much land he owned, how good his peaches were, there were still some things that just weren't proper.

“We need volunteers to ride to Cashtown Gap and cut some trees to block the rebels' way,” the burgess declared.

Father was deep in thought. Suddenly he stepped forward.

“No!” Mother shook her head.

“Dearest.” Father patted her shoulder. “All day you bake bread for the church, for the volunteers, and for the ladies' circle. You make linen bandages, and sew flags, and knit socks—you do something that matters! I do nothing but read the newspaper. This is my chance to help.”

“Husband.” Mother wept. “Your place is with us. You take care of us! Tillie, tell him!”

Father kissed Mother's cheek in good-bye. “I'll be back before you know it.”

He patted Tillie's head, just as he had done when she was small. His smile was brighter and bigger than Tillie had seen it in a long while.

“Don't fret so, Mother,” Tillie said. “Like Father said, they'll be back soon enough.”

Tillie walked Mother home, their arms linked together. “Oh, child,” Mother sighed. “To be your age and without a worry.” Mother stared out across the town toward the mountains.

At home, Tillie helped Mother bake biscuits, sifting the flour, carefully adding salt and water. She sank her hand into the mix, just like Mother had shown her, and squeezed it through her fingers. The stuff was more like gruel than dough.

“Looks like too much water,” her mother said. “You forgot the lard. And you need more flour.”

It might have made for a long day, waiting for Father, but it was barely noon when she heard the sound of pounding hoofs. She followed Mother outside. The volunteers had returned! Father was with them!

“We were too late,” Father wheezed as he dismounted. The horse
was foaming from the hard gallop. “Lee's entire army has crossed the Potomac. The rebels had already crossed the pass. We didn't get halfway there when we saw them! We came so close, they fired at us. We need to think about leaving town, Mother. The rumors are true!
The rebels are on their way to Gettysburg!
”

It had been a long and wearisome march from Suffolk to the Potomac River. It was only two and a half feet deep, only 150 yards wide, but on the other side was a whole different world. Behind her, the earth had been scorched of life. But there, on the other side of the river, for as far as she could see, was green heaven. An orchard spread up rolling hills, surrounded by fields of corn and wheat.

“Jiggers,” Jasper whispered in awe. “Ain't that some milk and honey paradise?”

“Plenty ripe for the taking!” Dylan spat.

“Don't seem right,” Annie whispered. “They have all that, so why take everything we had?”

“Ain't nothing right about this war, strawfoot,” Dylan chuckled. “Since when does that count for anything? Ain't right them blue-bellies burned down everything my pap had, everything you had. Ain't nothing right about what's going on, but here it is.”

The orders came down, and Gideon trumpeted, “
Cross the river!
”

Annie began unlashing her boots.

“That don't seem wise,” Jasper told her. “Water seems cold enough to freeze your toes.”

“Maybe.” Annie swung her boots over her shoulder. “But good boots are as rare as good coffee these days, and don't you know that? This water ain't near as cold as the creek back home, and I aim to keep my boots!”

But she was wrong about the water; its cold sent shivers right
through her. The cold forced her to double-quick march across the river. And she wasn't alone, as everyone soon broke ranks, churning the water into mud as the soldiers crossed pell-mell.

Reaching the other side, they marched in columns along the narrow roadway, moving into the rolling hills, through the orchards, where she helped herself to cherries and peaches. She passed huge barns that made Pap's barn seem a toy.

Then the Portsmouth Rifles marched into Chambersburg. It was as fine a town as Annie had ever seen, with old, bent trees lining the roads and brick houses as large as the home of the widow Trudeau. Two grand hotels crowned the downtown road, and every balcony was crowded with people, watching them march into town.

People were everywhere, along the road, hanging out their windows, standing on their porches. The whole town had come out to see them. But the folks stood like scarecrows, their gazes sullen.

Bursting from the crowd, a trio of young boys hurled rotted peaches and cabbages at the soldiers. The soldiers broke their line to chase them down.

Annie marched past a little girl, hair like dirty sunshine, standing in the roadside mud clinging to a headless doll. She had moon-round eyes, and little ringlets about her face. She wore no shoes or stockings, the lace of her dress was ripped, and the dress hung loose. She reminded Annie of her little sister, and she almost smiled at the thought.

“Murderer!” A woman rushed up to the little girl, wrapping her arms about her. The woman looked as wretched and starved as the little girl.

Annie turned away.

Marching through the town, they bivouacked next to the railroad tracks.

“Sons of Virginia,” Gideon called out, “we got chores to do!”

Dylan howled, leading a charge against the railroad ties, swinging a pickax high and wide. Others joined in, and the howling became a mighty roar that bounced off the clouds. The soldiers danced in a strange cotillion, hacking and tearing, burning what they couldn't hack and tear.

Annie was used to doing hard chores. But she wasn't used to doing such reckless, feckless destruction.

“Can't see much sense in this.” Annie stood sentry, barely able to breathe with the smoke curling about their heads. “Not after what we seen back home.”

“Can't understand why the Lord put curl in a pig's tail,” Dylan hooted in reply. “We got our orders. I suppose there's reason enough.”

Her stomach squeezed so hard, she heaved. And it all came up at once, her morning fixings and the cherries she had stolen. She heaved again, a rush of bile. And then she heaved again, falling to her knees, until it seemed not a speck of life was left in her.

“New orders, sons of Virginia!” Gideon hailed his troops. “Sweep the town and surrounding fields for supplies!”

“You're with me, strawfoot,” Dylan chuckled, “if'n you can stand up straight now.” He pointed down the road.

Annie knew that grin well enough by now: like some stubborn bear, he meant to continue his sparring. As swampy as she felt, Annie grinned back, holding her Enfield at the ready.

Working in groups of two and three, the Ninth Virginia joined the other regiments, sweeping down the street, through the gardens and kitchen houses and stables, gathering chickens and pigs and whatever food they could find.

The three of them—Dylan in the lead, with Jasper and Annie at his heels—came to a brown brick house. Surrounded by a wooden fence, its front yard was a once-tidy garden now overrun with weeds and chickens. Chickens!

Dylan hooted and gave chase. Jasper, too, and each soon caught a chicken.

“Don't need to take everything,” Annie told them. “Leave something so they can eat, too.”

Dylan and Jasper looked at her, then at each other, confused.

“Jiggers,” Jasper snorted. “Ain't you hungry for some of the sergeant's special fried chicken?”

“Everyone's hungry,” Annie insisted, remembering the little girl by the road.

“Strawfoot's right.” Dylan let loose his chicken.

But no sooner did the chicken flit away than another soldier swooped in to catch it.

“Ain't that some pitiable sight,” someone chuckled from the walkway. Two soldiers stood next to them. One, wearing a loose-fitting lieutenant's uniform, was a rakish sort, not much older than Dylan and not much taller, wearing a smile that was more sword-like than friendly. “The famous Dylan Good-Shot can't catch a stupid cluck?”

“Well, time's been good to you, Gabriel. Looks like your pap bought you a new uniform.” Dylan returned the same sword-sharp smile. “Might need to have your mama sew it up proper to get a better fit.”

“Watch your tongue.” The soldier behind them shoved Annie aside as he returned to his comrades on the walkway, the chicken clucking and flapping frantically in his arms. “Show some respect, private, or we'll arrest your sorry face for insubordination.”

“Jiggers,” Jasper whispered. “This is gonna turn real bad real fast.”

“Who are they?” Annie whispered back.

“They're part of the Fiftieth Georgia, from the southern part of the state. Been a long feud between the Fiftieth and the Ninth, about who's top dog and all.”

“So?”

“Them's also Dylan's folk, from his mam's side. Real bad blood between the families.”

Just then, from within the house, someone screamed. A bloodcurdling, end-of-life scream. Like the one her sister had screamed when some Yank stormed through their front door.

Annie should have thought about what she might do next. If she was arrested for insubordination or sedition, she'd be found out. But then the scream rent the air again, and she bolted toward the front door.