“No, he’s not,” Jeff agreed.
“It’s about losing his leg. He feels bad about that.”
“Well, I guess anybody would feel that way.” Jeff shrugged.
“I had a neighbor once who lost a leg. It’s been many years ago,” Claude Poteet said. “It seemed to take a lot away from him. He never got over it, really. Wouldn’t try. Just sat on the porch and rocked and grew mean-tempered.” He looked at Jeff. “I hope thy brother understands that his life isn’t over.”
Jeff had been worried about exactly the same thing. He said, “If I can get him out of here, get him back home, things will be better.”
“Well, one thing is true. He’s out of the war. Thee can’t march with one leg.”
Jeff thought about that. “As bad as the war is, I think Tom would rather have two legs and risk his life in battle than be out of it like he is.” The thought troubled him, and he got up abruptly. “I better go back and see how he is.”
As soon as the boy was gone, Ellie said, “It’s sad, isn’t it, husband?”
“Yes, it is, but God has done a great thing in saving young Tom’s life. He’s not through with that young man yet!”
11
A Funny Sort of Dream
Four days went by, and every day it seemed the road alongside the Poteet farm grew more and more clogged with Union soldiers. Jeff kept out of sight as much as possible but peered out the barn door whenever he heard the sound of marching.
“I didn’t know there were so many Yankees,” he said, almost in despair, as he sat beside Tom late one afternoon.
Tom was sitting in a chair, his maimed leg out in front of him on a stool that Ellie Poteet had brought. He looked at it now, his face grim. “We’ll never make it back to Virginia, Jeff. If I were whole, I’d try it—but somebody would stop us, and there we’d be.”
“Well, they can’t stay here forever,” Jeff declared. “Sooner or later they’re all gonna go back to Virginia or somewhere. They can’t keep the whole Union army here in Gettysburg!”
“We might as well give it up, Jeff.” Tom’s dark eyes were glum and hopeless. “Look,” he said abruptly, “there’s no sense in both of us going to a prison camp. You can get away. Travel at night and stay away from the roads.”
“Let me ask you one thing, Tom.”
“What’s that?”
“Would you leave me if things were reversed—if I was the one who was hurt and you weren’t?”
Tom lifted his head, looked at Jeff’s face, and Jeff figured he knew he was trapped. His brother finally said, “I guess not. But it doesn’t make any sense.”
“The Lord’ll get us out of this.”
“You still waiting for a dream?”
Jeff had told Tom how he had come to think of the Poteets. He had told him also that he was waiting for some idea for a scheme to get them away from Gettysburg.
Jeff flushed and shook his head. “No, I’m not waiting for a dream,” he said, “but I keep trying to think of a way to disguise us so we can get through the lines.”
“You can put on a false beard, but you’re not going to disguise that.” Tom gestured at his wound. “A man with one leg—and that a fresh wound—everybody’s gonna know he got it in battle. They’re gonna know we’re not Federals too. You can forget disguises.”
“Well, I’m not giving up,” Jeff declared with determination. He got up, saying, “I’m going to milk the cows. I’ll bring you some fresh milk.”
“All right, Jeff.”
Jeff went down the stairs, peered out cautiously, and saw that the road was clear. He went to the cow barn and soon had milked two of the Poteets’ fat Holsteins. He carried the buckets of milk into the house and was straining it when Ellie came in.
“I’ll do that, Jeff.”
“No, let me do it. I need to do more work around here, not less.”
“Well, thy job is to take care of thy brother right now.”
Jeff tried to do all the work he could on the farm, but actually there was little to do right now. The planting was done, the crops were in the ground. Basically it was caring for the animals that took up Claude Poteet’s time.
“Hast thee thought of a way to get thy brother free?”
“No, ma’am, I haven’t, but I’m not giving up.”
Jeff finished the chores, then made his way back to the loft. He took a checkerboard with him this time, hoping to take Tom’s mind off his problems.
They played several games. Then Tom said, “I think I’ll take a nap, Jeff.”
“OK. I’ll do the same.”
Jeff had brought up a cot for himself, and he lay down on it. His brain was like a beehive as he explored every possible way of making an escape from Gettysburg. He thought of twenty schemes—all of them equally futile. Finally he gave up and prayed, Well, Lord, I can’t get us out of this mess, but I know You can! Then he dropped off to sleep.
A fly crawled across Jeff’s face, awakening him. He slapped at it, muttering, “Get away from me!” then sat up on the bed, rubbing his cheek. He saw that Tom was awake also, but his brother said nothing.
Jeff tried to think of some way to encourage Tom—and himself. He got up and walked to the single window and looked out. “It looks like rain,” he said. He was right, for ten minutes later fat drops began to fall. “Well,” he said, “that’ll settle the dust anyway.”
Rain continued to fall off and on and turned into a downpour by nightfall. Jeff went to the house for the supper that Ellie Poteet had cooked. She put the food on a tray and covered it with a piece of oilcloth to keep it dry, and he walked back through the rain wearing one of Claude Poteet’s old rubberized coats and a felt hat, pulled over his brow. Still, he was soaked by the time he got back to the barn.
Jeff pulled off the wet clothes and mounted the stairs, saying cheerfully, “Well, here we are. Looks like Miss Ellie’s done it again.”
Tom’s appetite was off, though he made an effort to appear cheerful. He ate sparingly, while Jeff wolfed down his portion. The supper consisted of beef and potatoes and green beans, and there was pumpkin pie for dessert. Afterward they drank the coffee that Ellie had put in a heavy pot.
Jeff leaned back and patted his stomach. “At least we’re eating good, Tom. Better than we’ve had in a spell.”
Tom nodded, saying absently, “Yes, Miss Ellie’s a fine cook.”
Jeff saw that Tom was despondent. “How about some more checkers?”
“All right.”
Jeff lit the lantern, and for a time they played, but Tom’s heart was not in it. He lost two games in a row, which was unusual, for he was a fine player.
Jeff said, “Well, I guess I’m getting better.”
“Guess so,” Tom admitted. “Don’t think I want to play any more, Jeff.”
“You want me to read you one of those sermons?”
“No! They’re the worst sermons I ever heard. So dull! I don’t think they’d be any better being read out loud either.”
The rain was falling now in a steady rhythmic pattern. The full meal had made Jeff sleepy, and he said, “Well, it’s early, but I’m sleepy. I think I’ll go to bed.”
“All right.”
“Anything I can do for you, Tom?”
“No, I’ll be all right. Go on to bed, Jeff.”
Jeff undressed and crawled between the sheets. It was cool in the barn after the hot day, and the rain pattered on the tin roof. It was a sleepy sound, and soon Jeff found himself dozing off. He never knew exactly when he went to sleep, but he slept hard and did not awaken until morning.
“Wake up, Jeff. You gonna sleep all day?”
Jeff came awake with a start. He sat up abruptly and rubbed his eyes. He looked about bewilderedly. “What time is it?”
“The rooster crowed an hour ago,” Tom said. He had pulled himself into a sitting position and was staring out the window. “The rain’s quit. At least for now.”
Jeff did not speak for a moment. Then he said quietly, “To
m?”
Tom must have heard the peculiar note in Jeff’s voice. He turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
Jeff hesitated for one moment more, then shrugged his shoulders. “You know we talked about dreams?”
Tom blinked and laughed aloud. “Don’t tell me you’ve had another one?”
“I always dream a lot,” Jeff said defensively, “but this one—it made me think.”
“What’d you dream?”
“I dreamed about Sarah.”
Tom stared at him. His lips grew tighter. “What about her?”
“I just dreamed about her. That’s all.”
“What was she doing? What was it about, that dream?”
“It wasn’t much of a dream, I guess. I was just thinking last night about all the folks we knew growing up. I dreamed about you, and I dreamed about Ma and about Pa, of course. I dreamed about Leah.” He thought for a while. “I dreamed about Esther too. And then Sarah.”
“So Sarah was just one of those you dreamed about?”
Jeff looked down at the floor thoughtfully. Finally he raised his eyes. “She was the last one I dreamed about. Seems like it was just before I woke up. But you can’t tell with dreams. And she wasn’t doing anything. She didn’t say anything. She was just looking at me, and I was looking at her.”
“Funny kind of dream.”
“I guess so—but it gave me an idea. Now I know what to do.”
“What to do about what?” Tom asked.
“Why, I know what to do about getting us out of this place.” Jeff saw surprise spring into Tom’s eyes. “I’m going to Sarah. She can help us.”
“You can’t do that! You can’t get her involved with us.”
“Tom, you’re older than I am, and ordinarily I’d do anything you said, but right now we’re between the rock and the hard place. I don’t know if the Lord sent that dream or not. I just don’t know why I didn’t think of Sarah before.”
“What do you think she can do?”
“I don’t know.” Jeff got up and began dressing. “But I know one thing—she’ll want to know about you.”
Tom looked down at his left leg and said, “That’s all over.”
Jeff was startled but did not argue. “I’m going to see her, Tom. I’ll sneak into town after it gets late. Tell me again where you took her—the house she was staying in with Miss Abigail.”
Sarah was startled by a knock at the door. It was almost nine o’clock and had been dark for some time.
“I wonder who that can be, Abigail?”
“I don’t know. It’s awful late for visitors.” Abigail was in bed, holding William in her arms. “Perhaps you’d better go see.”
Sarah walked out into the large room, holding a candle. She put her hand on the door, and then caution came over her. “Who is it?” she asked quietly.
A muffled voice replied, “It’s me, Jeff Majors.”
Sarah started with surprise, then opened the door quickly. “Jeff!” she said. “What in the world—”
“Sarah, it’s good to see you,” Jeff said. “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Come on in, Jeff.”
“No, I don’t want anybody to see me.” Then he blurted out, “It’s Tom!”
Cold fear gripped Sarah. She caught her breath, and an awful thought came to her. “Is he—dead, Jeff?”
“No, but he’s wounded. He got hit with cannon fire on the last day of the battle. They had to—they had to take his leg off, Sarah.”
“Poor Tom!” She asked quickly, “Where is he? Is he all right?”
“He couldn’t make the trip with the wounded back to Virginia, so I stayed with him. There’s a family named Poteet near Gettysburg. They’re Quaker folks, and they’re taking care of him.”
“I’ve got to go see him!”
Jeff smiled. “I knew you’d say that. He’s awful low. He thinks he’s no good at all since he lost his foot.”
“That’s foolish,” Sarah said. “He’s the same as he always was.”
“He doesn’t think so. He’s kinda given up hope. I thought maybe—” Jeff stopped “—I thought maybe you could make him feel better.”
Sarah stared at the outline of the boy’s face highlighted by the candle. “Tell me where he is. You know I wouldn’t tell anyone about you two.”
Eagerly Jeff gave directions to the Poteet farm. “You’ll come as quick as you can, won’t you, Sarah?”
“Yes, Jeff, as quick as I can.”
Jeff sighed with relief. “I’m mighty glad,” he said. “I don’t know what to do. We’ve got to get out of here, but the Federal soldiers are everywhere. I can’t stand the thought of Tom going to a prison camp.”
“No, we mustn’t let that happen,” Sarah said. She thought for a while, and her face was serious and intense. “You go on back. You tell Tom I’ll be there just as soon as I can.”
“All right, Sarah. I’m sure glad you’re coming!” Jeff turned and disappeared down the steps.
Sarah listened to his feet pounding on the stairs, then slowly closed the door. Her head was swimming with the news, and already she was making plans of what to do.
12
“I’m Not Worth Bothering With!”
But Sarah! I don’t see why you have to go so soon.”
Sarah looked at Abigail, who was clearly disturbed, but she knew what she had to do. Early the day after speaking with Jeff, she’d announced that she felt it was time for her to return home.
As she expected, Abigail began to argue, but Sarah insisted. “Now that the baby’s here, you’re all right—and Mary’s going to come in every day and help you take care of little William.”
Mary Munson was a neighbor who had been away for some time. She was the wife of Albert’s brother, and she was attached to Abigail. This gave Sarah a feeling of relief.
Abigail argued in vain.
The next morning Sarah packed her satchel and left Abigail with her sister-in-law, promising to write as soon as she got home. The parting was tearful on Abigail’s part, and she clung to Sarah, saying, “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Sarah walked down the street toward the railroad station. But she didn’t go there. She suddenly remembered seeing a livery stable down on Washington Street. Horses had been tied to the rail. Several buggies were lined up in an empty field. Her mind worked quickly, and she knew she would have to be very careful.
A burly man with blacksmith’s muscles and a bald head met her as she walked into the lot.
“I need to buy a team and a wagon,” Sarah said. “What’s your name, sir?”
“I’m Lyle Jones.” He gave her a careful examination with his light blue eyes. “Well, I’ve got a good selection. You wanting to buy mules or horses, missy?”
“Horses if you have them.”
“Well, I do have a set that might please you,” Jones said. He took her out to the feed lot and showed her a pair of chestnuts grazing quietly. “Five years old. An easy pair to drive. I can make you a good price on them.”
Sarah was carrying considerably more than enough money for train fare, but she had not planned on buying horses and a wagon. By the time she had completed the transaction and paid for her purchase, she had only a few dollars left.
Lyle Jones harnessed the team and said with admiration, “You’re a pretty good horse trader, missy. You ever want a job, you come back here, you hear me?”
Sarah flashed him a smile. Then she climbed to the seat of the wagon and slapped the reins saying, “Get up, there!” and the team stepped out smartly.
She drove south out of Gettysburg, following the instructions that Jeff had given her. She had no trouble finding the Poteet house, for he had described it precisely. Once she did see Union soldiers marching down the road. They looked at her with admiration as they would at any pretty woman, but she had merely driven by, not giving them a second glance.
As she drew up in front of the Poteets’ house, a man came out on the front porch.
“Yes, miss?” he said, walking down the steps toward her. “Hast thee gotten thyself lost?”
Jeff had mentioned that the Poteets were Quakers, and Sarah knew by the man’s speech that that was his faith. “My name is Sarah Carter,” she said calmly. “I believe we have a mutual friend.”
Claude Poteet’s eyes grew small, and he studied her. “What might thy friend’s name be, missy?”
“Tom Majors. And his brother is with him—Jeff.”
Perhaps Jeff had not told the Poteets of his visit to town, for the man seemed a little suspicious. “What might thy friends be doing here, dost thee think?”
“I think Tom was wounded and needed help, and he found two people who were glad to give it to him.” Sarah smiled then and said, “You must be Claude, and your wife must be Ellie.”
Her winsome manner won the Quaker over at once. “Get thee down, Miss Carter, and come into the house.”
Sarah stepped out of the wagon as Claude tied the team, then followed him inside.
“Ellie, we have a visitor. We’re getting to be quite popular. This is Miss Sarah Carter.”
Ellie came wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at Sarah’s face, and then glanced at her husband.
“She’s a friend of our two guests.”
“Oh, well, thee is welcome, Miss Carter.”
“Where’s Tom? Can I see him?”
“I should think so,” Ellie said promptly. “Husband, you take this young woman up there. I’ll see about fixing a lunch for her.”
As they walked toward the barn, the Quaker seemed to be studying Sarah. “Hast thee known the Majors lads long?”
“Oh, yes, we grew up together in Kentucky. Our people lived on adjoining farms.” She hesitated, but then said, “My people were Union, but the Majorses were for the South, so they moved to Virginia.”
Claude Poteet processed this information. “Thee is far away from Kentucky,” he observed.
“I came to be with a dear friend who was having her first child. She was lonely and afraid,” Sarah explained.
“Ah, friend Jeff’s mysterious trip night before last—I suppose he came to see you?”
“Yes, he did.”
Gallant Boys of Gettysburg Page 9
