No Safe Haven

by Angela Moody

  As Tillie scooped water into her mouth, her words hung between them. She couldn’t ignore it. “I’m sorry I said what I did about the soldiers, Maggie.”

  Maggie shrugged. “It’s not your fault.” She gave Tillie a quick smile. “I’m not upset. Come. Let’s go home. The mosquitoes and gnats are becoming quite bold.”

  Tillie splashed cool water on her face. She let the droplets drip off her chin and run down her neck.

  Once they left the cool of the woods, the heat assailed them again. Tillie gasped. “I wish we had Lady.” The memory of her horse brought a sharp pang of sadness. Where was Lady? Did they mistreat her?

  Maggie patted her shoulder. “I do too. It’s a hot walk home.”

  They approached Baltimore Street as the sun slid behind Big Roundtop. Heat radiated off the red brick houses and the cobblestone street. Entering through the kitchen, Tillie and Maggie stopped at the washbasin to sluice their faces and wash their hands. Maggie went upstairs and returned a short time later with a handful of old hair ribbons. They settled at the sitting room table to make bouquets. Tillie rearranged her flowers, basking in the idyllic scene. Father read the newspaper, Mother knitted more socks, and Sam pored over his textbook. If only life might go on like this forever.

  Chapter 11

  Wednesday, July 1, 1863

  Tillie’s body rocked back and forth with Maggie’s insistent hand on her shoulder. “Wake up, sleepy head. We’re off to see the soldiers, remember?”

  “I remember,” Tillie mumbled into her pillow, her voice sleepy. “What time is it?”

  “Time to get out of bed. I’ll meet you downstairs. Hurry up.” Maggie left the room.

  Tillie rose and squinted at the window. The fiery red disc broke the horizon and glared with vicious intensity. Oh goody. Another hot, humid day. Tillie sighed and plodded to her armoire. She dressed in her pink checked calico and made the bed, then splashed cool water on her face before going downstairs.

  Sam sat at the table, eating toast and jam.

  “Good morning, girls.” Father raised his coffee cup to his lips.

  Mother placed a plate of toasted bread and some jam in front of them and then poured herself a cup of coffee. Tillie stared at her. They just received a huge box of food yesterday. What happened to the bacon and eggs?

  She was just about to ask, when Mother inclined her head to the plate. “Just because we’ve been given it, doesn’t mean we should squander it.”

  Tillie frowned at Father, but he chuckled and sipped his coffee. She wrinkled her nose, picked up her toast, and ate.

  “Where’re you all off to today?” Father crunched into his toast.

  “We’re going to welcome the soldiers again.” Maggie spread butter and jam on her toast.

  Tillie chimed in, “We have the flowers we picked on Culp’s Hill last night. Other girls did that yesterday, and we didn’t want to be empty-handed today.”

  Cheering erupted from the street. Tillie, Maggie, and Sam turned to Mother in silent appeal.

  Father chuckled again.

  Mother waved her hand as she began washing dishes.

  Tillie bolted out the back door, Sam and Maggie at her heels as she flew down Breckenridge Street in time to see more of the cavalry passing up Washington Street, taking the same route as the day before.

  Sam disappeared into the crowd.

  Tillie grabbed Maggie’s hand and pressed forward to find a thin place in the crowd—a difficult task with so many people packed tight on the curb. Some milled around, hoping for a gap in the pack. Tillie and Maggie moved up Washington Street, also looking for a hole in the wall of people. The dust rising off the road, and the odor of sweaty bodies, along with the tang of horses made Tillie sneeze. They finally came to a stop at the corner of Washington and West Middle Streets, one of the busiest intersections. Across the road, shops lined up, side by side, and shop owners, as well as their patrons, stood in the doorways or peered out the large front windows. On the floors above, their families hung out windows, waving and calling to the troops passing by. Tillie and Maggie stopped at the curb on the east side of the road to cheer and wave. Homeowners leaned out upstairs windows behind them.

  “We forgot the flowers!” Tillie whirled to Maggie with a disappointed frown.

  “Oh, we left them on the sitting room table.” Maggie shrugged, turned to Tillie, brows raised. “Do you want to go home and get them, or shall I?”

  Tillie debated for a moment, and then shook her head. “I’m not going back for them now. I don’t want to miss seeing the boys.”

  Someone in the crowd started singing. Tillie and Maggie joined in. The soldiers lifted their caps and acknowledged the crowd with grateful smiles. Sweat plastered their hair to their skulls and ran down their faces. Tillie sympathized with them for having to march in the intense heat dressed in dark-blue woolen uniforms.

  First, the cavalry came through. The crowds waved and cheered. Some people whistled, sharp sounds that pierced through the rest of the noise. Then, for more than an hour, came long lines of wagons carrying supplies. The singing stopped and the cheering slowed, replaced by the whistles and shouts of the teamsters urging their animals onward.

  A wagon passed. Men lay in hammocks strung across the interior. They stared out the back of the wagon, impassive and unmoving. Another passed and then another.

  “Maggie, look.” She pointed to the wagon carrying the sick and wounded. “I always assumed they went to a hospital in Washington or Philadelphia. Why would they come here?”

  At least thirty more ambulance wagons passed by. Some already carried men, most did not. Tillie finally stopped counting. Then came the supply wagons. These carried the implements of battle aftermath, such as stretchers and coffins.

  Tillie’s heart lurched. She spun to Maggie—had she seen it too? Her sad frown and grieved eyes indicated she had.

  “I’m ready to go home.” Tillie grabbed her sister’s arm to gain her attention.

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Maggie frowned as the wagons rumbled by. “I don’t want to see this reminder. It’s too painful.”

  They’d turned to leave when the thump-thump of marching men caught Tillie’s attention. “Oh, wait.” She stopped and waved. “Here comes the infantry.”

  Officers on horseback led each corps. The men came on, an unending line of soldiers in better physical condition than the Confederate infantry. Tillie recalled the desperate state of the Southern soldiers with their bare feet, shirts and jackets torn or patched in several places. Most of those men didn’t have hats. After arriving in town, they procured headwear before most other things, food notwithstanding.

  These Union soldiers, on the other hand, had shoes on their feet, hats on their heads, and packs on their backs bulging with supplies. Each man marched equipped with a rifle. A cartridge box hung at their side and rattled as they walked, creating a rhythmic clatter. The soldiers lifted their hats, waved, and smiled.

  The townsfolk cheered and sang to the whump, whump of thousands of feet pounding on the road, punctuated by martial music somewhere at the back of the line. In the distance, the cobbles shimmered in wavy ribbons above the road.

  At a short boom, Tillie glanced at the sky for the telltale sign of an oncoming storm, but the sun shone down out of a clear, deep blue summer sky. She turned in the direction of Pennsylvania College, near Seminary Ridge where another boom answered the first.

  Townsfolk stopped cheering, and in the almost sudden silence, came a third distinct boom of cannon. The ground vibrated. It sounded nothing like thunder.

  The soldiers fell silent. Their smiles disappeared. Some faces registered fear, others stoic resignation. Officers shouted at the men to pick up their pace. In the distance, the cannons grew louder. Gray smoke rose from behind the ridge as though trying to hide the activity there. People watching from their upstairs windows ducked inside and slammed the sashes down, as if a slim pane of glass might protect them.

  Men pulled on their be
ards or tapped a finger against their noses. Women screamed and dispersed. People shouted at children and each other. The thud and clatter of thousands of marching men created a confused jumble.

  “Maggie!” Tillie yelled above the din. Maggie didn’t respond, and Tillie’s heart pounded as she spun in every direction. “Maggie, where are you?” she called out as she tried to move against the throng.

  People rushed past and buffeted her from side to side. They pushed her in the opposite direction she wanted to go.

  More cannons fired in the distance almost deafening her. She shouted for Maggie again, but the din swallowed her voice.

  “Maggie!” Tillie called above the screams and shouts of the men and women on the street as the crashes of the cannons died away. Her voice cracked, and a sudden image enveloped her. Something drastic happened to Maggie while she wasn’t looking. What would Father and Mother say? She had stopped to watch the infantry enter town, and when she wasn’t looking, a Reb abducted Maggie. He had hidden among the houses, attempting to escape the Yanks. Tears filled her eyes. Stop it! You’re being ridiculous. Why would a Reb sneak all the way around the union army just to kidnap Maggie, of all people?

  A man bumped Tillie from the side. She fell off the curb and stumbled into the side of a horse.

  The rider steadied the animal and kept him from shying. At the same time, he grabbed her shoulder. “Miss, are you hurt?”

  Tillie lifted a tear-streaked face to the stranger atop his horse. Kind blue eyes peered at her from a weather-beaten face, half masked by thick, dark whiskers. His gentle demeanor put her at ease. “No, I’m not hurt. Thank you.”

  “Then why the tears?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Then I suggest you head home right away. Do you live nearby?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.” She sniffed back her tears. “One street over, but I can’t find my sister. I need to find my sister.” Tillie’s voice rose as the roar of cannons grew louder, now accompanied by the rattling crackle of gunfire.

  The soldier turned his horse, and holding a pair of field glasses to his eyes, he took a long look in that direction. The smoke grew thicker and grayer by the minute.

  She followed his gaze, but only saw dense smoke rising behind Seminary Ridge like a menacing fog. She put her hand on her forehead. Where did Maggie go? What happened to her? What should she do?

  He faced her and lowered his field glasses. “Go home, miss.” His tone was polite, but firm. “I’m sure your sister has already reached your house safely. Go home. Tell your family to go to the basement and stay there until the firing stops.”

  Tillie raised a hand to shade her eyes. A single star shone on his shoulder patch. “Thank you, general.” She smiled. “You’re probably correct. Good luck to you today.”

  He grasped the bill of his cap and inclined his head. “Thank you and good luck to you too.” With that, he rode away, shouting encouragements to his men, herding them along.

  Tillie ran home. A cannonball might land slap-dab on top of her head. Entering the house, Tillie found Maggie with the rest of the family in the sitting room.

  Mother took two steps toward her. “Tillie, thank goodness you’re home.”

  Tillie ignored her. “Why didn’t you stay with me?” She glared at Maggie, her hands balled into fists. Heart pounding, she drew in short breaths.

  “I thought you were with me.” Maggie glanced at Mother and Father as though seeking support. “You said you wanted to go home so I went with you. I got through the crowd and realized you weren’t beside me.… I tried to look for you, but I couldn’t find you. I’m sorry.” Maggie raised her hands as if to say, what more might I have done. “I assumed you’d figure out I’d gone home.”

  With a deep breath, Tillie unclenched her hands. She blinked, mollified. “It’s all right.” She drew in another deep breath and let it out. Her shoulders slumped. “It was my fault, really. I stopped when the foot soldiers arrived. I was frightened when I turned around and you weren’t there.” She gave Maggie a forgiving smile.

  Tillie spun to Father. “I ran into a general—literally. Someone bumped me into the street, and I collided with his horse. I didn’t get hurt.” She showed her arms to demonstrate no scratches or bruises. “He said we should go to the basement and stay there until the firing stops.”

  “Sound advice.” Father nodded. “We were discussing what to do when you came in. Why don’t we collect some of our belongings and bring them downstairs with us?”

  In the distance, another boom added an exclamation mark to Father’s statement. He looked out the front window. “Quickly.” He herded his family toward the stairs.

  Tillie entered her room. What to take? She grabbed some paper and ink off her desk. James and William would be interested in what was happening. She started toward the door but turned back and gathered her schoolbooks and a novel as well. No telling how long they’d have to stay in the basement. She joined her family downstairs to wait out the coming storm.

  As they settled on barrels and boxes stored in the basement, Mother surveyed the room. “Where’s Sam?” She jumped from her barrel and started toward the stairs. Muffled cannon sounded in the distance. She stopped at the base, one foot poised to go up. Her eyes slid to Father, brows creased and lips pressed together. Her hand gripped the stair railing.

  In the confusion, Tillie had forgotten him. Did Sam get hurt? Was he lying out in the battlefield dead? Had he joined in the fighting? She shook her head to clear the frightening thoughts. She needed to clamp down on her imagination today.

  Father took Mother by the shoulders. “Perhaps he went to his mother’s house to check on them.” He led her back to her barrel. “Sam is a smart and resourceful young man. He’ll be all right.”

  Mother said nothing. But she sat down, and her lips began to move in silent prayer.

  Tillie lowered her head and closed her eyes. Dear Lord. The words ran over themselves in her head. Please keep Sam safe…please keep Sam safe…

  They’d sat in the basement for about fifteen minutes when the cannon firing ceased. They waited, silent, but heard nothing.

  After a while, Tillie’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. Was the fighting over? Could they go up?

  “It’s been almost a half hour.” Maggie shifted on her box. “They stopped firing fifteen minutes ago. Do you think it’s over?” No one answered her question. Maggie arched a brow at Tillie.

  Tillie shrugged. “The general said to stay down until the firing stops. That’s all I know.”

  Mother lifted her hands and dropped them into her lap. “Well, I don’t know what they thought would happen.” She rose from her perch on the wooden barrel. “But I have a dinner to get on the table.” She gathered her skirts and crossed to the stairs. She stopped and turned to Father. “Perhaps you should go look for Sam?”

  “Of course. I’ll go.” Father followed her up the stairs.

  Tillie’s heart raced. Where had Sam gone? Had he been hurt? Had he stopped at his mother’s house? She opened her mouth to ask if she should go to the Wades’ to find out, but Mother cut her short.

  “On second thought, no. Don’t go out there. It might not be safe yet. I’m going to trust him to the Lord. I have to. I’m certain he’s fine. It didn’t sound like much of a fight anyway.” She went upstairs.

  Father chuckled. “You’re right, of course. I must admit, I feel a bit foolish myself.” He smiled at Tillie. “I’m sure the general meant well, but I too, have things to do.”

  Tillie and Maggie followed Mother to the kitchen and helped with the cooking. Sam arrived as they were putting the food on the table.

  Mother’s hands were on her hips before her next breath drawn. “Sam Wade, where have you been?” She picked up a bowl of sliced tomatoes from the counter. Then she carried them to the table and slammed them down. Tomato juice splattered the red-checked tablecloth.

  “I was at the encampment.” His eyes darted around the room, as if he’d fallen into some kind
of trap and didn’t know how to extricate himself.

  “Didn’t you hear the firing?” Maggie sat.

  “Of course.”

  “Sit down, everyone.” Father pulled out his chair, his Bible in one hand. “Let me read, and then we’ll hear what he has to say.”

  When Father finished reading, Sam shoveled a forkful of beans into his mouth and chewed. He chased it down with a gulp of milk and set his glass down. “I was at the encampment with Gates and Bertie, brushing the horses, fetching water, and joking with the soldiers before the cannon started firing.” He dropped a hot ear of corn on his plate and passed the bowl.

  “You should have seen poor little Leander Warren.” Sam laughed. “The minute the first cannon boomed out, Lee started screaming like a girl. He threw his hands over his ears and dropped into the hay. What a sissy. When the bugler called Boots and Saddles, that’s the call to battle, Lee ran home lickety-split. I swear I never seen him run that fast.”

  “Don’t swear, Sam.” Mother lowered her brow and pressed her mouth tight. “It’s ‘I’ve never seen him run that fast.’” She pinned him with a stern look. “To that point, I hardly think you’re being charitable of the feelings of a seven-year-old.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sam frowned. He drew in a deep breath and let it out.

  “Why didn’t you run home, Sam?” Maggie passed him the bread.

  “We, that is, Gates and Bertie and me—”

  “Gates, Bertie, and I.” Mother put her fork down and sat back. She dropped her hands into her lap. “I don’t care for your language.”

  Sam blushed.

  Father grinned and squeezed the back of Sam’s neck.

  Tillie laughed. “Take heart, Sam. Mother was frightened when you didn’t come home. She’s not really mad at you.” Her heart went out to him. She hated their scolding too.