No Safe Haven

by Angela Moody

  Tillie jerked her head off the bed. Her gaze roamed around the room, and she raised the blankets and glanced under the bed. Did someone sneak in to play tricks on her? She wiped her tears and studied the room. She was alone. Tillie shook her head. She was being silly. Her emotions ran away with her. The words of the young captain came back to her, “Because God meant it for good.” She rose to her feet and laid herself across the bed. Then she opened her Bible and began to read.

  Chapter 23

  A rumor sped through the Fifth Corps, about a hospital camp established on York Road, a mile outside of town. Ambulances dispatched across the battlefield, gathered up the wounded. So far, no one had collected the poor souls from the Weikerts’, much to Mr. Weikert’s consternation. As the battle faded further into the past, Mr. Weikert wandered his lands and house bemoaning his fate to all. His anger often exploded without warning. Even Mollie and Sadie tried to avoid him, not knowing what would set him off.

  His wife and daughters paid no mind to his bitter complaints as they continued to work. The more he complained, the less people listened. Even the men feigned sleep to escape him. The doctors took to calling him “The Mean Dutchman”, though never to his face.

  Mrs. Weikert closed the cupboard door, but didn’t bother locking it. “We’re out of flour and sugar.” She faced her husband. “Do you suppose the army might give us some?”

  “How should I know? What am I? The flour and sugar man?”

  Everyone gaped at his savage tone.

  “Jacob, please don’t shout at me. I’m simply trying to tell you our circumstances.” Mrs. Weikert grabbed her apron in her hands and squeezed the fabric in spasmodic motions. Emotion choked her voice.

  He stomped to the kitchen door, flinging it wide. “You want circumstances, woman, I’ll give you circumstances! Look outside.” The door slammed against the wall and rebounded back. Mr. Weikert caught it in a white-knuckled grip. He flung his other hand out toward his farmyard. “The pigs escaped the first day when the army tore down my fences for firewood. Those that didn’t escape, they carted off. Any cows not killed in the fighting either went dry, or again, the army got them.” He slammed the door with a resounding bang. The frame swayed with the impact. “I know our circumstances!” He flung the words at her, while his face blotched purplish red and the vein in his forehead throbbed fast.

  Mrs. Weikert shrunk in the face of his fury. She tucked her lips between her teeth, stared at a point on the floor, and did not utter another word.

  Dan concentrated on making coffins. Beckie and her sister did their best to create biscuits with the few supplies left.

  Tillie cared for the wounded, trying to move around in an unobtrusive manner. He counted her among the mouths to feed, though he didn’t come out and say so. Perhaps if they hadn’t eaten so well on the first day, they wouldn’t be in the predicament they were in now. Recalling the food eaten the day she arrived made her mouth water. Now they ate bread with water. Coffee was long gone.

  When could she go home and not be a burden anymore? The battle ended six days ago. Why wait any longer? Since no one discussed her leaving, she didn’t ask, even though the Confederates left Saturday morning and today was Tuesday. Most of the Union departed Monday in hot pursuit. She picked off pieces of her bread and chewed. While she ate, she pulled her Bible from her apron pocket to read.

  “Miss Tillie, join me in the surgery room when you’ve finished.” Doctor Billings walked out of the room.

  She glanced up from her book in acknowledgment. After her meal, she washed her dishes. At the top of the stairs, she remembered she left the Bible on the table. Tillie went back to the kitchen. Halfway down, voices drifted up to her. Deep in discussion, they did not hear her return. She froze, trying to decide if she should continue down or go back up, but Mr. Weikert’s words held her.

  “We’re gonna starve come winter, Sarah. You mark my words.”

  Tillie peered over the railing. Mr. Weikert stood at the door staring out at his destroyed farm. He faced his wife when she didn’t answer. “I can’t repair these fields, not this summer. My livestock is gone. It’s too late in the season to do more than put in a winter garden, but a garden won’t grow without water.”

  Mrs. Weikert sighed, a tired, resigned breath of air. “Jacob, we’ll get by.” She made a lame gesture with her hands. “I don’t know how, but we’ll get by. Stop fretting. You’ll worry the children.”

  Tillie made a noise on the stair and bounded down the remainder of the steps. “Oh, there it is.” She gestured toward the table. “I thought I left it here.”

  Mr. Weikert glared at her. Mrs. Weikert waited in polite silence for her to leave. Tillie fingered the book. Dare she speak? “My father likes to read from Matthew. One verse in particular goes like this: ‘Therefore, I say unto you, take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold, the fowl of the air for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?’” Her eyes traveled from one adult to the other. They didn’t respond. She shrugged, a quick gesture, and smiled. Slipping the book into her apron pocket, she headed upstairs.

  ****

  “Tillie, we leave after breakfast,” Mrs. Schriver announced the minute Tillie entered the basement kitchen.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tillie nodded. “I’ll be ready.” She didn’t want to sound pleased over the prospect of going home, but she was homesick and wanted to be away from this place.

  Remembering her manners, she smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Weikert, who sat holding hands at the table. “Thank you for sheltering me. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble or inconvenience to you.”

  “Oh, child, not at all.” Mrs. Weikert returned her smile. She let go her husband’s hand, moved hers to her lap, and back to the table. “We just wish you came to us under better circumstances. Don’t we, dear?”

  He glared at the table. Did he think her insolent for quoting the Bible? She didn’t want him to despair over his farm. Even so, she got the distinct feeling, in some odd way Mr. Weikert equated the devastation of his property with her presence.

  After a quick meal, Mrs. Schriver gathered up her daughters and Tillie, and after saying their goodbyes, they headed home.

  “I hope I still have a home to go to,” Mrs. Schriver said as they trudged up what was left of Taneytown Road. A hard rain saturated the ground during the night. Their feet sunk deep in mud, as thick and gooey as when they arrived. Mrs. Schriver, Tillie, and the girls struggled along as the slime squished under their shoes and sucked at their feet. Muddy water once again drenched the hems of their dresses. Only today, they didn’t have to battle an army marching in the opposite direction.

  The stench of rotting horseflesh, as well as the flesh of those men laying on the battlefield, still lay thick in the heavy summer air. Tillie put her arm over her nose and mouth and tried to breathe into the fabric of her dress.

  She took a new grasp on Sadie’s hand and continued walking. Several times, they detoured around horses, bloated to double their size, blocking their way. They took wide berths around groups of dead men lying in rows as they fell.

  “Why are their clothes all torn up?” Mollie stared at the corpses, their garments in disarray on their decomposing frames, as though someone had rifled their bodies.

  “Don’t look at them,” Mrs. Schriver commanded, jerking the child forward.

  “Mr. Kitzmiller told us the other day.” Tillie also studied the bodies. “The soldiers often did that to themselves, looking for their wounds. He told us they knew if they were gut-shot they’d die.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more about soldiers dying or their wounds!” Mrs. Schriver shrieked. “I want to go home!”

  The girls fell silent as they continued walking. Hopping over puddles of blood and body parts still lying in the fields, and around ruine
d accouterments of battle. Inured to the destruction around them, they no longer reacted to it.

  Nothing compared to the flies. Black masses of bluebottle, blowflies, and horseflies flew about at ground level. Their little group walked along, disturbing large clouds of the pests that rose up and settled back over their feasts as soon as the women strode by.

  They came to Mrs. Leicester’s home. General Meade made his headquarters here. Tillie’s heart sank at the sight of the property. Widow Leicester lived in her two-room home with her son, surviving hand to mouth. Reverend Bergstrasser often took up offerings to help the poor in town and frequently bestowed the help upon Mrs. Leicester. Her small farm, all she owned in the world, now destroyed. Maggot-infested horses decomposed in the yard. Soldiers lay where they died, her fences gone. Shells struck the house several times. A shell destroyed the steps leading to the front door where Tillie sat and rested the day they went to the Weikerts’.

  “Oh, poor Mrs. Leicester. What will she do now?” Tillie stared at the devastation.

  “I don’t know. Her son won’t be able to do much to make repairs. I hope the men in town can help. Poor woman.” Mrs. Schriver eyed her girls. “Well come on. We might as well see what’s in store for us.”

  They started to walk away, but Tillie couldn’t pull her eyes away from Mrs. Leicester’s house. Pillars holding up the front porch roof were gone, and one corner of the roof sprawled on the boards below.

  Someone jerry-rigged poles to hold up the part of the roof still attached to the house, allowing the soldiers to come and go without fear of the structure falling on them. Beyond this mess, a huge hole gaped in the roof where a cannonball made a point of entry. The chimney was a heap of smashed bricks. Shattered caissons were left scattered about the yard, some still hitched to their dead horses.

  “I feel as though I stepped into a strange and blighted land,” Mrs. Schriver said in a low frightened whisper.

  The destruction cast a pall over the landscape, causing them to speak in quiet, respectful tones. Tillie nodded, unable to find words to describe her emotions. Her throat tightened. Surely if she tried to speak, she would dissolve into uncontrollable tears.

  They entered the cemetery, compelled to pick their steps. Even so, once or twice, they tripped over broken blocks of headstones, and here too, dead men and horses littered the ground.

  Something was missing, but Tillie couldn’t discern on what. For the first time in her life, she was uncomfortable and a little frightened to be outside.

  “It’s so quiet.” Mollie stared about her with huge blue eyes, voicing Tillie’s subconscious thoughts. The child’s words dropped an unsettling piece of the puzzle into place. Aside from the horrific destruction, a terrible silence surrounded them. She recalled before the battle—for that was how she thought of things now—walking through the cemetery and listening to the birds as they sang or the wind sighed through the trees. The absence of these sounds unsettled her.

  Passing through the shattered archway of the once beautiful entrance gate, Mrs. Schriver stepped on a wooden sign. Tillie picked it up, recognizing it as the sign that always hung outside the cemetery gate. She read aloud. “‘The use of firearms within the boundaries of this cemetery will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.’” Someone drew a huge X through the words and underneath scrawled, “Order rescinded until further notice.” She laughed, cringing at the sound.

  They emerged on Baltimore Street, but when they reached the Garlachs’ home, a barricade blocked their way. All kinds of material, piled against the wall of the Garlachs’ home, stretched across the street to the wall of the Winebrenners’.

  “My table!” Mrs. Schriver shrieked, throwing her hands to her face. “What is my table doing in this heap of mess?” Sobbing, she clawed through the tangled mass. Her efforts growing frantic as she uncovered other belongings. Enraged, she tried to untangle the pile in search of more treasured items incorporated into it. Mrs. Schriver discovered her parlor sofa lying on its side, riddled with bullet holes. She fell upon the sofa, cradled her head in her arms, and wailed harder.

  “Mrs. Schriver, this does no good.” Tillie tried to be of some comfort, but the woman ignored her and wept over her belongings. After a few minutes, Mrs. Schriver, in a fury, began to yank and pry in another futile attempt to free some of her furniture. Tillie stepped back and waited. Couldn’t the woman see they were just things? Her life—her daughter’s lives were more important. When Mr. Schriver came home from the war, they could always buy a new sofa. Tillie took Mollie and Sadie by the hand. While Mrs. Schriver sobbed and tugged at the barricade, Tillie studied the pile, looking for places to climb over it.

  Finally, Mrs. Schriver gave up trying to reclaim her furniture. Whoever made the barricade knew how to construct an impenetrable wall, and she couldn’t budge it. She threw her head back and screamed invectives at those responsible for abusing her belongings.

  Tillie placed her hands on Mrs. Schriver’s arm. “Please don’t cry, Mrs. Schriver. It’s hard to see your furniture like this, but stop and think. You’re alive. The girls are well. Please don’t cry.”

  While Mrs. Schriver swallowed her sobs, sniffed, and wiped her face, Tillie showed her where she thought they could climb the barricade. Mrs. Schriver went first. Tillie helped the girls climb the stack and handed them over. Then Tillie climbed over the top of the pile and picked her way down. They exchanged silent hugs. She waited while the others went up the steps and disappeared inside without as much as a backward glance. She curbed the urge to run and forced herself to adopt a sedate walk home.

  As she approached the vacant lot next door, she discovered several holes and chips in the bricks on the south side of the house. Tillie lingered to count the bullet holes, quitting at seventeen. She didn’t need to count them all. Fear pricked her heart. Were they safe and unharmed or did someone die like Ginny?

  What if someone lay hurt or dying and the lieutenant chose not to tell her? Tillie rushed up the stairs and hurried into the house. Once inside she stopped short. Huge bundles lay strewn throughout the hallway. Did the Army force them to leave? She peered into the parlor. A bloodstain spoiled the couch. Someone’s been hurt! Did they die here? Was one of her family hurt, dying? “Stop!” she scolded, unwilling to raise her voice above a whisper. “Just stop.”

  In the sitting room, bundles of cloth and bowls cluttered every inch of the table. Some of the bowls half filled with water, others with cloth bandages hung over the edge. She tiptoed inside and ran a finger around one of the bowls, pushing the cloth back in. Bending down, she righted a chair, and then another she pushed back into place.

  The silence made her heart pound and her hands shake. She tried to make as little noise as possible. She carried a bowl into the kitchen, which was also in complete disarray. The food shelf stood empty. Someone left pots and pans unwashed in the sink, crumbs and empty crock jars on the table.

  The chairs here were also in disorder. Mother always pushed the chairs in at the table in a neat square when not in use.

  Fear pricked Tillie’s heart. Mother would never leave her kitchen in such a state. Something happened.

  A floorboard creaked over her head. Her eyes went to the ceiling, and she listened. Another footstep, coming from the room above her, at the top of the stairway. William’s bedroom. Tillie walked to the hallway and jogged up the stairs. At the landing between the first and second floor, she heard Mother say something in a quiet voice and Maggie respond.

  Tillie entered the bedroom. Mother sat on the edge of the bed, with her back to the door. Maggie sat on the other side, dipping a bandage into a basin of water. They concentrated on the soldier moaning between them. The sickening sweet smell in the room told her his wound festered.

  Tillie opened her mouth to say hello when Mother rose from the bed. She turned to stretch her back and saw Tillie standing in the doorway. Mother froze and her eyes widened.

  “Am I so changed, Mother, you don’t even recognize me?”
Tillie’s laugh sounded forced.

  “Oh, my dear child, is that you?” Mother held out her arms, and Tillie threw herself into her warm embrace. “I’m so glad you’re home again. No harm has befallen you?”

  Tillie tightened her grip on her mother as sudden sobs jerked her body. Mother’s embrace deepened as she rocked and crooned into Tillie’s ear. Maggie’s arm slid around her back, and Tillie released one of hers and embraced Maggie as well. The three women hugged and cried. After several moments, they pulled apart, and Tillie smiled at them. “I must look a sight. You didn’t even recognize me when I came in.” She swept a hand down her dress. “I confess I am filthy.”

  “For a moment I thought you were some ragamuffin orphan looking for a home.” Mother sniffled and wiped tears from her cheeks. “Your clothes are still in the basement. Why don’t you go down and get yourself a bath.” She put her arm around Tillie and guided her out the door and back down the stairs all the while keeping up a commentary. “Father went to the church to find a doctor for that poor man.” She gestured toward the bedroom. “He took a turn for the worse in the night. Sam went home for a few days. I trust the captain told you about Ginny?”

  “He did.” The smile disappeared from Tillie’s face. Deep circles lurked under Mother’s eyes, and her hair needed brushing. Her skin appeared sallow and her cheeks sunken, but all things considered, they came through pretty well. The soldier moaned again. Mother glanced back upstairs.

  “You go ahead, Mother. I can get my own bath ready and change, and come up to help you if you need me. If not, I’ll be happy to clean up downstairs.”

  Mother brushed her knuckles along Tillie’s cheek. Tillie closed her eyes and leaned into Mother’s hand. Mother kissed the spot where her hand touched. “Welcome home, my dear. I’m so glad you’re back, safe and sound.”

  “I’m glad to be home.” Tillie smiled. “I missed you all so much.” Her voice choked, and water filled her eyes. She cleared her throat and blinked fast several times.