by Angela Moody
“It’s all right, Mother. I must say I feel it too, and I can’t explain it either.” Tillie shrugged. “It was rather novel to stay home today.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.” Mother smiled and stroked her cheek.
As they headed toward the center of town, she put her arm around Tillie’s shoulders. “So, were you more upset about missing school or having to do housework?”
Tillie screwed up her face.
Mother laughed.
“A little of both, I guess.” Tillie wrinkled her nose. “I like school, and I don’t want to get behind. I have to admit I despise dusting and sweeping.”
Mother gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Their conversation stuttered to a stop as they approached Middle Street. Mrs. Fahenstock rushed out of their store, gathered her skirts, and hurried toward the Diamond. Tillie and Mother exchanged surprised looks and then quickened their pace.
Ten main roads converged at Gettysburg, and they all came together at the Diamond, where businesses of all kinds rose at the intersections. Groups of people hovered in their doorways, watching the action in the center of the square.
“Mrs. Fahenstock.” Mother tapped the grocery storeowner on the arm.
The portly woman turned at Mother’s voice. “I’d say good day, Mrs. Pierce, but I fear there’s nothing good happening today.”
“What’s going on?” Mother waved her hand in the direction of the crowd. “What are they doing?”
About fifty colored people, mostly women and children, huddled together, ringed by armed Rebel soldiers. The women clutched their children close and wept loud, bitter wails. A few men positioned themselves in front of the women, as if trying to protect them with their bodies, even though they held their hands above their heads. The men kept silent. Their stoic expressions said they understood begging and tears were useless.
The Rebs formed shoulder to shoulder, their guns, with bayonets attached, jabbed at their prisoners from a dangerous and effective phalanx.
In the crowd the woman who badgered her children to hide out on Culp’s Hill the week before, clutched her boys, tears streaming down her cheeks. They must have returned home believing the danger passed.
A stab of guilt pierced Tillie. This was what they feared and she’d laughed. No wonder Mr. Weaver was so contemptuous. Was he in the crowd? She scanned the men, women, and children. She didn’t see him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Oh, poor Mr. Weaver. Why didn’t someone do something?
Mr. Hicks watched from the doorway of his candy shop, arms crossed, scowling. Then he dropped his hands and went inside, closing the door. The We’re Closed sign appeared in his window, and the shades came down.
At the Globe Inn on York Street, Charles Wills watched from his doorway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his son, John, next to him, leaned against the doorjamb.
By contrast, his brother, Mr. David Wills, shouted at a Reb, waving his arms in wild gesticulations. One of the Rebs said something back then took out his pistol and held it to Mr. Wills’s forehead. The attorney took two steps backward. Mother drew a sharp intake of breath, and Tillie’s hand flew to her heart. Mr. Wills stared at the soldier, as if challenging him to shoot. Then he stormed into his house.
“Mother, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Mother’s gaze darted about, taking in the scene. To Tillie’s horror, Mother walked up to a soldier and grabbed his arm. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Go away, lady. This don’t concern you. We’re taking this contraband South where they belong.”
“Contraband? They are not contraband. They’re people! You can’t do such a thing. It’s barbaric! You have no right! These people have lived here as long as I have. You have no right!” She reached in for one of the children.
The soldier knocked her backward with such force, she fell onto the pavement, striking the back of her head.
Tillie screamed and ran to her. “You leave my mother alone.”
Mrs. Fahenstock knelt and cupped her palm on the back of Mother’s head. She drew her hand away. No blood.
The soldier laughed. “You want the same, missy? Get your mother and get out of here. This ain’t none of your business.” He made as if to kick them to get them moving. Tillie cowered as she tried to protect Mother from a potential blow. Crying, she and Mrs. Fahenstock helped Mother to her feet, and together the three staggered away. Mother clung to Tillie.
At the store, Mrs. Fahenstock offered to help them home. Mother thanked her, but refused.
They reached the corner of Middle Street and stopped as the Rebel soldiers marched their contraband out of town.
Townsfolk peered out of windows or watched in silence from open doorways.
Held at gunpoint like common criminals—instead of hardworking members of the Gettysburg community—the Negroes walked out of town wailing and clutching their children.
Would they ever return or see their homes again?
The family they had seen running to hide a few days ago stumbled past as a soldier used his musket to herd them along like animals.
Was there accusation and scorn in the woman’s eyes? Tillie turned away.
* * * *
“Mother, what’s wrong? You and Tillie have been upstairs crying all afternoon. What happened?” Maggie glanced between the two.
Mother and Tillie each picked at their food. Silent tears slid down Tillie’s cheeks.
As though Maggie’s voice finally roused a response in her, Mother shifted in her chair. She dropped her fork and put her hands over her face as fresh sobs shook her body.
Father got up and stopped behind her. Placing gentle hands on her shoulders, he patted her.
“They took those people.” Mother wept.
“What people?” Maggie’s eyes switched from Mother to Tillie. “Who did they take?”
“Several of the colored families who live about here.” Tillie’s emotion-clogged voice came out tight and strained. She cleared her throat and continued, “Mr. Weaver was right. The Rebs marched them away from the Diamond like common criminals. They called them contraband. Only Mr. Wills and Mother tried to stop them.”
“Margaret, you did what?” Father said. “You didn’t tell me that!”
Mother wiped her face on her apron and took up the story where Tillie left off. “Men, women, and children, James—at gunpoint.” She stressed the word. “What would you have had me do? I couldn’t just stand there and let them take innocent people—children—away into slavery.” She used her napkin to wipe her eyes.
Tillie picked up the tale. “Other people stood by and stared or went inside and shut their doors so they wouldn’t have to see.” Tillie’s voice rose as her emotions overtook her. “And the Rebs laughed. They laughed at us. One of them even pushed Mother down when she grabbed at his arm.”
“That’s disgusting.” Maggie threw her fork down. “How dare they?”
“They dare because they can.” Mother’s voice choked. “Who is here to stop them?”
“I would have stopped them.” Sam sat up. He stabbed his fork into a potato. “I would have told that dirty Reb to keep his hands off you.” He turned his hate-filled face to Mother. “He wouldn’t’ve got away with it if I’d been there.”
Mother’s eyes filled with fresh tears, and she smiled at him as they slid down her cheeks. “I thank you for the sentiment, dear, but I’m afraid they would have been too much even for you.”
“Why don’t they come?” Tillie spoke to the table. No one answered. Where was the Union Army? Why had they failed to arrive and protect them?
Father sat back down in his chair. “I went to the Scotts’ to find out what’s going on. Where the boys are, when they’re coming.” He shrugged as he resumed his seat. “I also wanted to find out where the Rebels had gotten themselves off to.”
“What did Mr. Scott say?” Tillie asked.
“The older Mr. Scott says he has no idea.
As you know, young Hugh took the telegraph machine and slipped away. Mr. Scott won’t say where he went, even to friends. He doesn’t want his son’s whereabouts inadvertently revealed to the Rebs.” Father shook his head. He took a deep breath. “While we all sat about yesterday, patting ourselves on the back and thinking the Rebs had left, they were busy burning railroad bridges and cutting the telegraph wires between here, Harrisburg, and Philadelphia. They have cut us off and rendered us silent.”
Tillie stared at her father, uncomprehending, her fifteen-year-old mind still reeling from this afternoon. “Is that bad? Can’t they fix it?”
“Who’s ‘they’, Tillie? Who is going to fix anything?” Father exhaled and raised a hand in a gesture of apology. “After you and your mother returned home, I went upstreet to get the flour and other supplies. As you know, the Rebs have carried off most of what the town kept back, and there isn’t much left with harvest still a month or so away.” He placed his hands on the table and swirled his wedding ring. “There aren’t any supplies. Fahenstock said the Rebs made off with everything not nailed down. Now, the supply trains can’t get through. More importantly, the troop trains can’t get through. It’s bad.”
Tillie studied her father’s face, seeing for the first time the deep lines around his mouth and across his forehead. She sensed his anxiety, though he attempted to conceal it. It was too much for her to process. She sighed. “If you don’t mind.” Her fork tapped against her potato. “I’m not hungry. May I please be excused?” Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she tried in vain to blink them back.
Father studied her face. “You may.”
Tillie picked up her dish and brought it to the sink, then slipped upstairs to her room. At her desk, the partially written letter to William sat waiting. Now was as good a time as any, but she wasn’t in the mood.
She undressed and climbed into bed. She stopped weeping an hour later and lay wide-awake, thinking about the afternoon. Fear propelled her out of bed. She padded barefoot down the hall to Maggie’s room.
Maggie opened the door to Tillie’s knock. She tied her bathrobe around her waist. Maggie’s four-poster bed was against the far wall. The blanket and sheet folded back in invitation.
On the wall next to the door, Maggie’s armoire stood a door ajar. As she had done as a small child, Tillie crossed the room and climbed into her sister’s bed. Maggie closed the door, removed her bathrobe, and slid in next to her. She held Tillie close.
Tillie tucked the top of her head under Maggie’s chin. “Maggie?”
“Yes.”
“I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
“What do you think will happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Father’s scared too. I saw it at supper.”
After a long pause, Tillie glanced up to see if Maggie had drifted off.
Then in a low voice, Maggie answered, “Yes, he is. The whole town is frightened.” She wriggled away to face Tillie. “Our boys will come. Don’t fret. They will come, if for no other reason than to defend our homes and avenge those poor families—and George.”
Moonlight washed the bedroom in a spectral glow. Maggie’s creased brow and deep frown lent an air of defiance to her words. Perhaps all would be well after all. The Union Army would come and defend them. They had to. President Lincoln would never allow the Confederate Army to remain long in Union territory. Tillie wrapped her arms around Maggie’s neck and gave her a hug.
“I love you, Maggie.”
“I love you too.”
Tillie rolled over onto her side away from Maggie and soon drifted into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 10
“Tillie! Maggie!” Sam’s shout rang through the kitchen. “Where are you?”
“For goodness sake. Don’t run in the house.” Mother’s words followed him as he bounded into the sitting room.
Tillie turned from dusting the mantelpiece, her mouth agape.
Sam’s eyes shone, and his grin split his face. “They’re here.” He grasped her elbows and gave her a quick shake.
“Who’s here?”
He released her and ran to the hallway, stopping at the foot of the stairs. He called up. “Maggie, you up there? Come down! The Yankees are here.”
Tillie gasped. At last! She dropped her dusting rag and joined Sam.
Maggie appeared on the landing, a kerchief covering her hair and a feather duster in her hand. “Gracious, Sam, don’t shout at me. I’m not a tavern wench.” She untied her apron as she trotted downstairs.
He flapped both hands in a come-here gesture. “The Yankee Cavalry is here! They’re riding up Washington Street now. Let’s go watch!” Sam’s breath came in short gasps.
From outside the open window cheering reached them.
“Oh, Mother, may we?” Tillie clasped her hands to her breast, her eyes wide and eager. She twirled to face Mother, coming from the kitchen.
“Please, Mrs. Pierce.” Sam bent his knees and bounced back up.
“Yes, Mother, for a few minutes?” Maggie joined in.
Mother laughed. “So our boys have arrived at last.” She nodded. “All right, but stay out of the way and don’t go beyond Washington Street.”
They jostled each other to get out the door. Hundreds of people lined the pavement on either side of the street as the three pushed their way along. They found a good vantage point at the corner of High Street, in front of Lady Eyster’s Academy. Tillie craned her neck to peer above the crowd. The head mistress sat in a rocker on the porch. She waved, but the headmistress was looking the other way and didn’t wave back.
The cavalry streamed up Washington in a column of three horses abreast. Their hooves clattered on the cobblestones, necks arched and tails held high. The men sat their mounts ramrod straight. They stared straight ahead and did not acknowledge the onlookers. They wore dark-blue woolen uniforms and black felt hats. The Black Hat Brigade. Tillie read all about them. Their fighting skills were renowned. The Rebs feared the Black Hats.
“Aren’t they dashing?” A woman standing on the cub grasped her companion’s arm.
“So brave and noble.” Her friend waved a white handkerchief.
“I heard six thousand boys all told are marching.” A portly man puffed out his chest and gave an emphatic nod.
His companion dismissed his information with a wave of his cigar clenched between his fingers. “Well, I hear Buford’s in charge of this lot.”
A waft of the foul smelling smoke hit the back of Tillie’s throat. Coughing, she waved the smoke away and tried not to gag. Her eyes met Maggie’s, and she mouthed the words six thousand. How many males over fifteen and under fifty escaped the army?
Her sister’s hand clamped down on her shoulder. Alarmed by the stricken expression in her sister’s eyes, Tillie let her grin slide away.
“What’s wrong?” she shouted above the clamor.
“Where’s Sam?” Maggie hollered in her ear as the noise rose. “Do you see him anywhere?”
Clattering hooves, mixed with cheering and hollering, as well as martial tunes played in the back of the line. Tillie barely heard her sister. She tilted her head, puzzled.
Maggie shouted the question again. They scanned the crowd. Sam huddled further down the road with his friends, Gates Fahenstock and Albertus McCreary.
Pointing him out, Tillie turned her attention back to the soldiers. She stepped near the curb and leaned out. Down Washington Street flowed an endless river of blue and brown, and in the distance where the road dipped, a haze of dust revealed more men and horses riding toward town. In the other direction, those marching past her turned west on Chambersburg Street. Would they meet the Rebs or did they arrive too late?
Tillie grabbed Maggie’s arm and hopped up and down, giggling. Caught up in the general mood of the occasion, she started singing “Our Union Forever,” challenging Maggie with her eyes to join in. The others picked up the tune and sang along.
“A song for our Banner? The watchwo
rd recall
Which gave the Republic her station;”
The soldiers marched with more verve. Some raised their hats in salute while others smiled and waved. Many of them joined in the singing.
“United we stand, divided we fall!
It made and preserves us a nation!
The union of lakes, the union of lands, the union of States none can sever.
The union of hearts, the union of hands and the flag of the Union
Forever and ever! The flag of our Union forever!”
The crowd repeated the chorus as the soldiers raised their hats.
Across the road, Abigail Hicks and Jennie McCreary handed out flowers. What a wonderful idea. Why didn’t she think of having bouquets on hand? Instead, Tillie sang at the top of her lungs, laughed and cheered and waved and thrilled to the spectacle of these gallant soldiers. Her heart and spirit lightened. If someone asked her, she might fly to Baltimore and back.
In the increasing heat of the day, sweat trickled from her hair down her neck. Her throat was parched. She tapped Maggie on the shoulder and pointed toward home. They bumped into Salome Myers, a pretty, twenty-one-year-old woman, whom James courted for a brief time before leaving for the Army.
“Hello, Sally.” Maggie used her hand to shade her eyes. “What do you think of these soldiers? Isn’t this exciting?” She sounded breathless, her eyes sparkling. “To think, they came at last. For George’s sake, I hope they give those filthy Rebs the what-for.” Her eyes slid to the parade of men.
Salome adjusted her parasol to shade the girls. “We’ve had no preaching.” She sent the sisters an accusatory glance. “Reverend Isenberg skedaddled. Did you know that?” She skewered them with her eyes.
What did that have to do with the soldiers’ arrival? Tillie spoke up. “Uh, we go to Middle Street Methodist. Reverend Bergstrasser.”
“Well…” Salome leaned forward as though speaking of something confidential. When Tillie and Maggie moved in close, Salome continued, “Did you hear the Rebs stole some of the darkies and took them south with them? Can you imagine? Stealing people and forcing them into slavery? How cruel, just cruel.” Sally drew her brows together. She straightened up. The lines on her face smoothed, and she pulled her shoulders back. “Mama and Papa hid our maid in the basement. She stayed hidden for a day and a half before they would let her out, but she’s safe thank heaven. How would we get along without her?”
