“I have to, Ma. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had—and she’s so alone and so frightened. Will it be all right?”
“It will be all right with me.” Then a thought seemed to come to her, and she said, “One thing troubles me. They say that the Confederate army might be planning to invade the North again. Do you suppose they would get as far as Pennsylvania?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sarah answered quickly. “But in any case, I’ll have to go.”
Mrs. Carter had the same blonde hair and green eyes as Leah. She was a warm-hearted, strong woman, and now she made an instant decision. “Your father may worry about you, as I will—but I think it’s the right thing for you to do.”
Two weeks after that conversation, Sarah settled into her seat and looked out the open window of the wood-burning train. Her father was on the platform, and her mother, and Leah, who was holding Morena’s hand. They all waved furiously, and as the train picked up speed, she called out, “Don’t worry about me! I’ll be all right!”
She could not hear their answer as the train left the small town station, but she waved until they disappeared from sight. Then she listened for a while to the clicking of the steel wheels over the tracks and felt a touch of fear. It was a long way to Pennsylvania, and she had never gone anywhere by herself—not this far at least. But then she thought, I’m nineteen years old, and God will take care of me!
These two facts reassured her, and Sarah Carter leaned back and watched the trees rush by as the train moved steadily north.
2
The Rebels Are Coming!
When Sarah looked out the train window at the Gettysburg station, she saw no sign of Abigail. The trip had been long and arduous, and her back was stiff as she rose and gathered up her two suitcases.
A tall, lanky sergeant wearing a blue uniform stepped up, saying, “Here, lemme take that for you, miss.”
“Why, thank you, Sergeant.” Sarah had been besieged constantly by younger members of the Union army on board the train. At first they had been shy, but during the long journey more than one of them had artfully managed to sit beside her and strike up a conversation.
Sarah noted that the sergeant wore a wedding ring. “You’re a long way from your family, Sergeant.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am. They’re all the way back in Indiana—but they’re doing well, last report.” The sergeant picked up her two bags in his hamlike hands and simply plowed his way through the privates who had clustered in the aisle. “Make way there, you jaybirds! Give a lady room.”
The sergeant stepped off the train, put down the bags, then reached back and helped Sarah to the platform.
“Thank you so much, Sergeant,” she said. “I pray that the Lord will be with you in the days to come.”
“Why, that’s right kind of you, miss,” the sergeant said, his eyes opening wide. “I’ll appreciate your prayers.”
Sarah smiled and began to search the crowd that had met the train. Actually, no more than twenty or thirty people were there, and none of them, she saw at once, looked anything like Abigail Munson.
I suppose she’s getting too close to her time to be meeting trains, Sarah thought. She walked toward the small building that served as an office, but before she could step inside she was intercepted by a feminine voice.
“Miss Carter? Sarah Carter?”
Sarah turned to see a young woman coming toward her. “Why, yes, I’m Sarah Carter.”
The girl was no older than nineteen. She was of medium height and had bright blue eyes and light hair. “I’m so glad to find you,” she said. “My name’s Jenny Wade. I’m a friend of Abigail’s. She asked me to meet you.”
“Is she all right?”
“Oh, yes, she’s fine. Just not getting around too much right now. I’ve got a carriage. Where are your bags?”
Jenny Wade at once took over, and soon the two girls were in a small buggy pulled by a single gray mare.
“Get up there, Helen!” Jenny Wade said, slapping the reins on the animal’s back. “That’s a funny name for a horse, isn’t it? Helen. I named her after a doll I had that got burned up when I was a little girl.”
“We have a horse on our farm back in Kentucky named Gertrude.” Sarah smiled. “I didn’t name her, but I always thought it was a nice name.” She looked around the streets as they passed along. “How many people are in Gettysburg?”
Jenny shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, really. I suppose nearly a thousand if you count everyone close by. There’s some students out at the seminary, but most of the young men are gone to the war.”
“How is Abigail doing, Miss Wade?”
“Oh, call me Jenny.” The girl smiled prettily. “She’s not really doing as well as we’d like. The doctor says she might have a difficult time.”
The two girls talked about Abigail and the baby that was to come until finally they turned onto a side street lined with white frame houses, most with oak trees in the yard.
Jenny suddenly asked, “Have you got a sweetheart, Sarah?”
Sarah flushed at the question but then managed a smile. “Well, not really, Jenny. Have you?”
“Oh, yes, I have—a soldier. I’m engaged to Johnston Skelly. Isn’t that a funny name? I’ll be Mrs. Jenny Skelly. And Johnston—that’s a last name I always tell him. But that’s what they called him.”
“When do you plan to get married?”
“Soon. As soon as he gets back. He’s due to get a leave—I think within the next three months sometime.”
“You mean you’ll marry him before he goes back to the army?”
“Oh, yes. Johnston argued with me, but I always could twist him around my little finger. He’s so sweet, and I’m so mean to him that sometimes I’m downright ashamed of myself!”
Sarah could not imagine this cheerful young woman being mean to anyone, and she listened as Jenny spoke of her fiancé. Finally Jenny pulled up in front of one of a line of buildings on a fairly busy street.
“Abigail lives upstairs over that shop there. See the windows?”
Looking up, Sarah saw a sign that said MATTHEW’S GUN SHOP. A set of stairs opened up beside the shop, and farther up she saw curtained windows on the second floor.
She stepped out of the carriage, and Jenny tied the mare to the hitching rail.
“We can carry your bags up. You take this one.” Jenny led the way to the stairs, and they ascended a set of rather steep, narrow steps. There was no light except from the doorway below, and Sarah climbed carefully.
Arriving at the landing at the top, Jenny knocked on the door. “Abigail? It’s us. We’re here!”
There was a long pause, and then the door opened slowly. Light from a window blotted out all except the figure that stood there. Then Sarah heard Abigail’s voice calling her name. She stepped forward and was grabbed at once in a close embrace.
“Oh, Sarah. I’m so glad you’re here!”
Sarah hugged the young woman and then stepped to one side so that Jenny could enter carrying a bag. “I’m glad to be here, Abigail,” she said. “It was so nice of you to ask me.” She put it like this so that there would be no feeling of obligation or debt in Abigail’s mind.
Jenny disappeared into a side room, then came back. “I put her bags in the spare bedroom. I’ll let you two talk now, but you’re coming over to have supper with us tonight. Come about five o’clock.”
“You can tell me more about Johnston then,” Sarah teased. “And I’ll bet you even have some pictures of him you want me to see.”
Jenny laughed. “Yes, I do. Lots of ’em. I’ll see you at supper time.”
When she disappeared, Abigail said, “Come and sit down. You must be tired from that long trip.”
“Actually, I’m more tired of sitting than anything else,” Sarah answered ruefully. But she allowed herself to be led over to a horsehide sofa beneath the window that looked out on the street and sat down beside Abigail.
Now she had a chance to look at her friend cl
osely and saw that the young woman’s face was pale and lined with strain. However, she thought, I’ll feed you up and get you to feeling better now that I’m here. Abigail was a very small girl with brown hair and brown eyes. She had always been pretty but rather timid, and she had surprised everyone by leaving her hometown to marry a Northerner.
“Now,” Sarah said, “tell me everything.”
Abigail’s narration was woven with the events that had happened since she left Kentucky. She seemed to be anxious to talk, as if she had had no one to talk with, and she spoke a great deal of Albert, her husband, who was in the Union army serving under General Grant.
Finally Abigail drew a deep breath and laughed shortly with some embarrassment. “I’m going to talk your ear off,” she said. “Why don’t we fix some hot chocolate? You always loved that, didn’t you, Sarah?”
“I still do. But you sit and watch me fix it. I’ve come to take care of you, and I might as well learn where everything is.”
The girls crossed to the part of the large room that served as a kitchen. Actually the apartment consisted of one large room—a combination kitchen, dining room, and living area—plus two smaller rooms, which served as bedrooms.
As Sarah prepared the hot chocolate, heating water on a small woodstove, she thought, It’s a good thing I came. Abigail always was a little afraid of things—and she doesn’t look as well as I’d like. However, when she poured the hot chocolate into cups, she let none of this show in her face. “Now,” she said, “let me tell you what’s been happening back in Pineville.”
As the days passed, Sarah was even more satisfied that she had done the right thing in coming to help her friend. Abigail’s husband had only an uncle and aunt, who lived seven miles out in the country, and his widowed mother, who kept an apartment downtown. She was not in good health and was able to do very little for Abigail. Abigail, of course, was almost frantic with relief at having someone to be with her. She missed her own mother and family, and she threw herself into Sarah’s care.
Sarah soon discovered that Jenny Wade was closer to Abigail than anyone else. Jenny was in the apartment almost every day, bringing food, helping, making clothes for the baby, and, of course, talking constantly about Johnston Skelly.
She brought all his letters. The young man was a prolific writer. He wrote about his activities as a soldier, and Jenny would carefully skip over some parts, her face blushing.
“Those are the parts I really want to hear,” Sarah teased. Jenny giggled. “You’ll have to get you a sweetheart and get your own love letters.” Later she relented and read aloud some of the more intimate parts of his letters. They were rather sweet, and the young man was very lonely and longed to be back with his Jenny.
Every day Sarah walked the streets of Gettysburg. The talk, of course, was all of the war. Everyone agreed that the Confederate army was not going to give up without a terrible struggle.
“I tell you, they’re headed this way,” Mr. T. J. Thomas, the butcher, declared firmly. A group of people had gathered in his shop, and Thomas was chopping meat with hard strokes, punctuating his sentences. “We’re not going to get by as easy as we have. I know Robert E. Lee. He’s a fighter if ever there was one. First thing you know, the Army of Virginia’s gonna be headed this way.”
“What would you do if they did, T.J.?” an older man named Burns asked. He had a look of hard wear about him. His lips were tightly clenched.
T.J. Thomas said, “Why, I’d get me a musket and fight ’em, that’s what I’d do!”
“I doubt if you even got a musket,” Burns said and smiled slightly, “but that’s exactly what I’d do!”
“Do you really think they’ll be coming this way, Mr. Thomas?” Sarah asked nervously.
“Ain’t no doubt in my mind. They’re runnin’ out of food down there in the South—so everybody says—and Robert E. Lee is gonna bring that Army of Northern Virginia north to feed his men. And then—look out!”
Sarah said nothing. She bought her pork chops and went home.
Later on, Jenny came over for supper, and the three girls talked—mostly about Johnston Skelly and about Albert Munson. Sarah knew Abigail and Jenny were fearful for their men, though they tried not to show it.
Finally Abigail said, “What about Tom, Sarah? You still in love with him?”
Jenny Wade perked up at once, her blue eyes sparkling. “Oh? So you do have a sweetheart, Sarah! I thought you might. No girl as pretty as you could get by without being courted.”
“Oh, well—” Sarah shrugged “—we were courting, but he left Kentucky and joined the Confederate army. He and his whole family moved to Virginia.”
“Oh, that’s too bad!” Jenny exclaimed, her tone sympathetic. “That must be very hard on you.”
“Yes,” Abigail put in, “especially since your own brother’s in the Union army. Wouldn’t it be awful if they met each other on the field of battle?”
Distress came over Sarah, for she had thought exactly of this possibility. That had been the reason she could not agree to marry Tom Majors. “I try not to think about it,” she said finally.
Abigail and Jenny exchanged glances, and then Abigail said quickly, “Well, when the war is over, I expect you and Tom can get together.”
“What do you think will happen if the Rebels come this way?” Jenny asked.
“Oh, they’ll never get this far north,” Abigail said firmly. “There’s not enough of them, and General Grant would never let that happen.”
Then she turned the talk to babies, and Sarah felt relief to talk of something other than the war.
3
Lee Moves North
Jeff Majors stared at the food on his tin plate and shook his head mournfully. “I sure hope they don’t have goober peas in heaven,” he muttered. “I think I’ve eaten enough of ’em down here on earth.”
“Why, Jeff, you ought to be glad to get good cookin’ like that.” The speaker was an undersized boy of fourteen with tow-colored hair and blue eyes. Charlie Bowers had been with Jeff since the two had enlisted as drummer boys, and now he winked around at the rest of the squad, who were consuming their rations.
“I don’t think Jeff appreciates our cook, Curley. Why don’t you explain to him how lucky he is to have you?”
Curley Henson was a huge red-haired man. It was his turn to serve as cook for the squad, and he grunted, “If he don’t like the way I cook goober peas, he can cook ’em himself.” He looked over at Jeff. “If you’d get out and find me something to cook—like maybe a good suckling pig—I’d show you something!”
Jeff Majors knew he was on dangerous ground. In the Confederate Army the rations were doled out, and every squad did its own cooking, the men usually taking turns at the task. Jed Hawkins was the best cook, but he had been wounded and was recuperating in the hospital.
“I wasn’t complaining about the cooking, Curley,” Jeff said. “I don’t think there is any way to cook goober peas that’d make me like ’em anymore.”
“Well, I expect we’ll be on the march soon. We’ll get better grub then.” Sergeant Henry Mapes was a rangy man with black eyes and dark hair. He had been a sergeant in Jeff’s company ever since Jeff had enlisted. Now he chewed thoughtfully on a piece of hardtack. “That’d be one good thing about headin’ out. Those Yankees got good farms up there.”
Jeff shook his head. “I doubt if General Lee’d let us help ourselves. You know how he is about things like that.” Jeff was sixteen but could have passed for eighteen. He had the blackest hair possible. He was tall for his age and had grown so rapidly during the past months that the shirt he wore was too small for him. He looked over toward where the officers were having a meeting and said, “I’d like to hear what they’re saying.”
“Well, you can ask your pa.” Sergeant Mapes grinned. “That’s one good thing about having an officer for your pa. He’ll always give you the information about what the army’s gonna do.”
“Well, shoot, I know what we’re gonn
a do.” Pete Simmons, a tall, very thin young man with rusty hair and blue eyes, finished his peas and hardtack, then took a swallow of water from his canteen. “We’re gonna go whip the Yankees. That’s what I come to do.” Simmons was a new recruit. He had not been through the earlier battles and was eager to fight. The other soldiers, who had been through hard fighting since Bull Run, were sometimes amused but sometimes irritated by Pete Simmons.
“Wait’ll you hear a few minié balls whiz around your ears,” Curley Henson said in disgust. “Then we’ll see how anxious you are.”
Pete shook his head stubbornly. “Everybody knows one Rebel can whip five of them blue-belly Yankees.”
This was a popular saying at the beginning of the war, but the members of the Stonewall Brigade had discovered it was not very close to the truth.
Jeff spoke up, saying, “You’ll change your mind about that. Some of those fellows are the fightingest folks I ever saw.”
“Well, I ain’t no drummer boy—I’m a soldier,” Pete said. It was true that he was the best shot in the entire company, and he seemed to be totally fearless, but training was one thing, and an actual battle was something else. Pete was a wild young man who drank a great deal whenever he could get whiskey and boasted about his conquests among young women. He never shirked his duty, however, and for that reason was a welcome addition to the squad.
We’ve lost so many men, Jeff was thinking, and a series of faces rose in his memory as he recalled those who had been in the company at the beginning of the war. Face after face came to him, all of them youthful, some of them now buried on the fields of Antietam and Fredericksburg and Bull Run. Others had been maimed beyond further fighting, and as Jeff looked around he saw that the ranks indeed were thin.
“Well, you try to find out from Captain Majors which way we’re gonna go,” Sergeant Mapes said.
Even as he spoke, Jeff saw his brother, Tom, approaching. Tom was a sergeant now and had the same tall, dark good looks as their father. Jeff called out, “Well, what’s the word, brother?”
Gallant Boys of Gettysburg Page 2
