Widow of Gettysburg (Heroines Behind the Lines)

by Jocelyn Green

  Major bumped into Bella’s leg as he sprawled out on the kitchen floor and watched the door. That poor beast is always waiting for someone to come back for him. Sighing, Bella dashed some cinnamon in the pot of applesauce, stirred, and tasted it. Just about perfect. A knock sounded on the door as she was adding kindling to the stove.

  “Come on in!” She was expecting Aunt Hester.

  When she turned around, however, it was Silas Ford standing in her kitchen in a camel-colored suit almost the same shade as his hair, rolling the brim of his bowler in his hands. Lines of anxiety framed his eyes.

  “Hello, ma’am,” he said, and she noticed for the first time that he was standing without a crutch. He smiled and without being asked, hiked his right pant leg up to show a well-formed prosthetic leg wearing a shoe. He dropped the trouser leg.

  Major ambled over to Silas for attention, and the color drained from the man’s face as he bent to greet the dog. “Is Liberty—gone?”

  Bella nodded. “But not that kind of gone. She’s nursing at Camp Letterman, the general hospital outside of town. Haven’t been able to get her to come home for anything. Not that there’s much of a home for her to come back to …” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Please have a seat, Mr. Ford.” Regaining his composure, he pulled a chair out for her at the kitchen table before lowering himself into his own.

  “Please call me Silas. I heard your husband was injured at Fort Wagner. I pray he is well?”

  “He is, thank you.”

  “And how are you? After, um, everything here? Things settling back down to normal?”

  Bella chuckled as she folded the copy of The Christian Recorder lying on the table between them. In nearly every issue now, letters decried the unequal pay for black soldiers. There was still no resolution. She was still scraping by. “There’s nothing normal about it. But I expect you’re here about Liberty.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Jamison, first of all, I’m here about you.”

  Bella fingered the edge of the newspaper. And waited.

  “You have every reason to dislike me. I know what I represent to you. My father did to other women what Roswell King Jr. did to you.”

  Her blood simmered. “I know he did.” She clenched her teeth.

  “Please forgive me.”

  An admission of guilt? “Forgive you for what? If you hurt Liberty, so help me—”

  “I didn’t. I’m asking you to forgive me for the sins of my father.”

  Bella snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Then forgive me for not being able to stop him, or for not trying hard enough. Forgive me for being white, for being Southern, for being raised on a slave-holding plantation, for being a Rebel scout. Forgive me for not being who you wanted for your daughter. Forgive me for whatever it is you hold against me.”

  Bella’s cheeks grew warm. She did hold his father’s sins against him. She had placed him in the same category as her worst nightmare, out of fear. Wasn’t that what other people had done to her time and again? They had judged her for the group they placed her in, not for who she was as an individual.

  Lord, have mercy. She ought to know better.

  “The truth is—” Silas swallowed. “I need to be forgiven. If I could find the women my father abused, I would fall at their feet and beg them outright for it. They deserved protection, just as you did, just as your mother did. Just as Liberty did.” His voice broke, and he pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before continuing. “I’ve asked God for forgiveness, and He says in His word that He’s given it to me. But I would really like to hear it from you, too. I can’t live under the weight of this anymore.”

  The barricade Bella had erected around her heart began to crumble. If this man was in earnest, and she believed he was, how could she in good conscience deny his request?

  “I forgive you, Silas.” She grasped his white hand in her light brown one and squeezed until his eyes showed her he believed it “Now. Speak the rest of your mind in peace. You want to court her. Don’t you?” She rose from the table and returned to the stove.

  He frowned. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “And why not, young man?” Her spoon stilled in the pot.

  “Why, because she’s colored, and I’m white.” Lines etched his forehead, but Bella could feel her own headache coming on.

  “Do you love her or not?”

  “That’s not fair, Mrs. Jamison. It’s beside the point.”

  “That is the entire point. People have married for far less than that.” Her spoon was clenched in her left hand, both fists propped on her hips. She could smack this man at her table if she let her irritation get the best of her.

  “I don’t understa—”

  “You have got some nerve waltzing in here, asking me for forgiveness and then shunning my daughter on account of her being mine. Where in God’s great earth does that make any lick of sense?”

  “It’s not my choice!”

  “The devil it isn’t.” Burning with anger, Bella turned her back to him and lowered her voice as she stirred. “You know where the door is. Get out of my home.”

  She heard him push away from the table, walk to the door, and stop. “If it wasn’t for the law, I’d be here asking for your permission—and blessing.”

  Bella spun around. “What law?”

  “The law that says white and blacks can’t marry, of course. Nothing else could keep me from her.”

  Bella closed her eyes for a moment. “You mean to tell me you came here to ask my forgiveness even though you thought you couldn’t pursue Liberty?”

  His blank expression was answer enough.

  “Sit down. Sit down.” She left her spoon at the stovetop and guided him back to the table. “There is no such law.”

  The words did not seem to register. “What did you say?”

  “There is no such law in Pennsylvania. Not anymore. Not in a long while. I know all the Southern states make interracial marriage illegal, and plenty of Northern ones too. But you’re not in those states. You’re here.”

  “No such law,” he whispered. “Then …” Silas stood, nearly knocked his chair over backwards and Major scrambled out of his way.

  “You know if you ever harm a hair on her head, I’ll come after you, don’t you?”

  “Does that mean I have your blessing to court her?”

  Bella chuckled. “It means you have my blessing to try. I don’t know what she’ll say, but she can speak for herself. You got a plan to bring her back to the land of the living?”

  His eyes twinkled as he grinned.

  “Well, are you going to tell me?” she prodded.

  “I plan to make her dreams come true. But I sure could use your help.”

  Holloway Farm

  Tuesday, November 17, 1863

  With her hands covering her eyes as per Bella’s instructions, Liberty Holloway nearly fell asleep on the ride from Camp Letterman to wherever Bella was taking her in the leather-lined carriage. The steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves and the smoke-scented wind teased her senses just enough to keep her upright. Only when her hands stopped working did she realize how exhausted she was. Her strength seemed to dwindle along with the patients at Camp Letterman.

  Two days ago, Camp Letterman only had sixty patients. Today, the last one left for his home in Cincinnati. The five hundred tents would soon be filled with thousands of visitors for the dedication ceremony of the National Soldiers’ Cemetery.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Liberty obeyed, and squinted for a moment against the brightness of the lowering sun as her eyes adjusted. The first thing she saw was her old sign for Liberty Inn, but cleaned, touched up, and polished. The oak gleamed in the sun, reminding her of … she shook her head and bit her lip. This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here!

  As the carriage turned into the lane, Liberty leaned out over the edge in disbelief. Little green blades were poking up through the dirt, where before it had been a vast sea of endles
s dirt. She turned to Bella. “You seeded the yard?”

  Bella only laughed and clucked her tongue to the horses. They slowed in front of the porch, and Liberty climbed down while Bella tied the reins to the hitching post. Bright yellow and orange chrysanthemums consumed the porch, while pumpkins lined the steps and perimeter of the floor.

  The porch no longer sagged, or cracked, or splintered. The floor and railings were made of all new wood, painted white. But these railings were not the straight slats of her former porch. They were curved and tooled like miniature bedposts. Beautiful! On one side of the porch, two rockers sat with cushions in their seats, while on the other side, a porch swing swayed in the breeze.

  “What did you do?”

  “There’s more.”

  Liberty’s pulse quickened as she stepped through the front door and almost stumbled into Major, who was wagging his entire rear end in greeting. In truth, the dog was the only thing familiar about this place. Where am I? she wondered as she wrapped her arms around her clumsy Newfoundland’s neck. She was surrounded by new floorboards, freshly painted walls, new varnished crown molding. Even the banister and railing of the staircase were new, carved in the same beautiful pattern as the porch railings had been.

  But it wasn’t just the structure that was new. The four bedrooms on the first floor each had new beds with handmade quilts, wash stands, writing desks, bureaus and lamps. The dining room had a mahogany sideboard again, and matching table and chairs. The kitchen, too, was entirely refurbished.

  Liberty ran upstairs to the room that had once been hers. It was repainted a warm butter color, and new curtains sashayed in the autumn air. But when she came to her bed, she stopped. For there across the mattress, was her old baby quilt sewn into a larger one. Somehow, Bella had turned a remnant into a masterpiece, matching odd shapes together until it was a perfect fit, old and new together.

  “Perfect,” she whispered, and Bella joined her side.

  “Now,” Bella said as she circled her waist with her arm. “Don’t you think it’s time to cast off these mourning clothes?”

  Liberty’s eyes widened as Bella threw open the doors of her bureau to reveal four new dresses. None of them were black. Bella pulled out a cornflower blue light wool with black velvet edging.

  “Let’s see if I got the measurements right.” Bella unfastened Liberty’s buttons for her and helped her out of the rusty black gown. “Don’t forget your hoops.” She smiled. It had been more than four months since Liberty had worn hoops under her skirts. She had forgotten what it felt like to look—and feel—like a lady. Liberty stepped into them and Bella tied them over her drawers and camisole. Next was the dress. It skimmed her curves in all the right places.

  Hoofbeats grew louder on the dirt lane outside her house.

  “Someone’s coming.” Liberty leaned out the window to look. A single horseman trotted up the lane. Looking up at her from beneath the brim of his hat, he grinned and winked.

  Liberty sucked in her breath and jumped away from the window. “Bella.” She grabbed her hands. “Bella.” Her heart pounded against her corset. “Am I seeing things that are not there?”

  “Go on and see for yourself.”

  Slowly, Liberty glided down the staircase, afraid that every step brought her closer to having her wild hope crushed with some practical reality. It’s a salesman. Or a traveler arriving for the dedication ceremony.

  With her heart in her throat, she pushed open the door and swept out onto the porch. The man dismounted, a little stiffly, but successfully, and walked toward her.

  Standing in front of her, he removed his hat and looked down into her eyes. A strand of her hair blew across her face, and he tucked it behind her ear, his thumb resting on her cheek for a heartbeat.

  “You don’t look like a Rebel,” she whispered.

  Silas laughed out loud. “And you, my dear, don’t look like a widow.”

  She flung her arms around his neck and felt her feet leave the earth as he held her tightly in an embrace. Her tears wet his neck as she whispered, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  His lips found hers, and he kissed her tenderly, as if unsure of her reaction. She deepened the kiss and felt his fingers in her hair.

  “I have a feeling we’re being watched.” She turned and pointed to her bedroom window, where the curtain fell quickly back into place.

  “I have a feeling she wouldn’t mind.”

  “Do you mean you two were in on this together?” Liberty was stunned.

  Silas nodded. “But I had help. Bella and some women from her church made the quilts and curtains for the entire house. I hear a few women from the Ladies Union Relief Society pitched in, too. Can you guess who helped me make the furniture and repair the damage to the house and outbuildings?”

  She shook her head. Who would have helped him?

  His smile warmed her. “Wood-working students from Pennsylvania College and the Lutheran Theological Seminary.” Silas laughed at the shock that must have been written on her face. “I met with my old professor, Dr. Schmucker, in September. I wanted to tell him my story, vindicate myself from that little rhyme his students love to chant. And I—” he licked his lips. “I asked if I could come back. Complete my training at the seminary.”

  Liberty clutched his arms. “And?”

  “And he said yes. Next fall, I’ll begin. In the meantime, I have other business to attend to here.”

  “So you’re staying? Another year in Gettysburg?”

  “Oh, at least.” He winked. “Then when Rev. Schmucker asked about you—he reads the papers like anyone else—I told him about my project here to fix up your place. That’s when he recruited more than a dozen of his students to pitch in and help. They were only too eager to meet the legendary ‘Silas Ford, man of the Lord,’ especially after Rev. Schmucker reclaimed my reputation. I couldn’t have done all this without them.”

  “But how did you pay for it all? I don’t have any money to pay anything back!”

  “You happen to have a benefactor.”

  “What?”

  “Come with me.” He led her by the hand to where the barn once stood. “We razed the old building to the ground and rebuilt this carriage house, big enough to accommodate a full house at Liberty Inn.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “But who’s we?”

  Liberty gasped as Harrison Caldwell and Amelia Sanger emerged from the new structure.

  Amelia wrapped her in an embrace. “I wrote you letters!”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get them, Amelia—I left for Camp Letterman and never came back until now.”

  Harrison toed the ground with his shoe. “Hi, Miss Holloway.”

  “Don’t you have a newspaper to write for?”

  “I’m on my own now. I go where I want to, write the stories I want to. But this time, I took a break to help pick up the pieces from a mess I had a hand in creating.” He smiled past Liberty’s shoulder and she turned to see Bella smiling back at him. Had the entire world changed in the few months she was at Camp Letterman?

  “There’s one more surprise,” Silas said. “The carriage and horses that Bella used to bring you home in? They’re yours.”

  Liberty’s knees weakened, and she leaned against Silas. “How?”

  “I’m getting old, Liberty,” said Amelia. “And I’ve got gobs of money. Levi would have wanted some of it to go to you. I told you that.”

  Silas drew Liberty in and kissed her again before tucking her against his chest. “Welcome home, Liberty. This is where you belong.”

  “Thousands of visitors will soon descend upon you for the dedication ceremony, and you’ll be able to charge whatever you like,” said Amelia. “Put two in a room, put them on the parlor floor, charge them just the same. Gettysburg style.” She laughed. “You’ve already got your first customers right here.”

  Liberty looked around. “All of you?” Silas, Harrison, and Amelia all nodded.

  “Just name your price.”
>
  The November wind scraped Liberty’s face, as Carrie Daws appeared in her mind, along with Betty, Virginia, and Samuel. They were gone now, but there would be other widows and orphans making the pilgrimage to Gettysburg, especially now that the Federal government no longer required them to pledge allegiance to the Union in order to retrieve the bodies. Each fallen soldier had a mother, father, siblings, perhaps a wife and children. Wouldn’t they long to visit the final resting place of their loved one?

  Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Let them spend their night at Liberty Inn.

  “So what will you charge?” Harrison buried his hands in his pockets.

  “Nothing.” She paused. “That is, widows and children of the men buried here can stay free of charge, whether they hail from Minnesota or Alabama. Liberty Inn can be much more than just a livelihood for me. It can be respite for the grieving. Other visitors will come and go and pay a normal fare. But widows and orphans who lack the means can stay at Liberty Inn for free.”

  Silas wrapped his arm around her shoulders, but Harrison frowned. “So they’ll twiddle their thumbs while they stay for free.”

  Bella caught Liberty’s eyes. “No, that wouldn’t help them at all,” she said. “They’re going to keep their hands busy, aren’t they, Liberty? While they stay, they can help in the garden and kitchen. They can make jams and jellies, needlework and quilts. We can sell their work at the Fahnestock Brothers Store as products made by the widows of Gettysburg. All proceeds will go to the maintenance of Liberty Inn.”

  “It’s perfect.” Amelia’s pale face creased into a smile. “‘… we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.’”

  The war had not ended with Gettysburg, as both North and South had hoped, but it was no longer a time to hate. At least not here, at Liberty Inn.

  Liberty blinked away the moisture in her eyes and looked down at her hand, her fingers entwined with Silas’s. A Union widow and a Rebel veteran. The daughter of a slave, the son of a slave holder. Children of God. Where prejudice and hatred and fear had sought to unravel them, love and forgiveness had bound them together. “It’s time to heal.”