“I know the Rebs have said they’re willing to fight to the last man if they have to,” one man said as he stroked his luxurious mutton chop whiskers, “but is the Union so desperate to win this war that the officials in charge are willing to sign up boys to fill its rolls?”
Wilhelmina kept her eyes trained on the soldiers seated at the table while volunteers in both lines turned to gauge her reaction to what the man had said. She had broad shoulders and large hands for a woman. To these men, however, she must look like an undeveloped youth.
“In the immortal words of President Lincoln,” said a man with the voice of an orator and the carriage of someone used to being a leader rather than a follower, “we can complain because rose bushes have thorns or rejoice that thorn bushes have roses.”
The man with the whiskers paused mid-stroke. “What in heaven’s name is that supposed to mean?”
The second man took a puff on the pipe clenched between his teeth. “Words can mean whatever we wish them to. In this case, I choose to believe it is better not to make a mockery of this young man for his tender years but to commend him for doing what some men allegedly older and wiser have refused to do.”
Murmurs of “Quite right” and “Hear, hear,” sounded up and down the lines. Stripped of his bluster, the man with the whiskers grew quiet. Wilhelmina nodded her thanks to the man with the deep voice. In response, he blew out a thick plume of smoke and stuck out his hand.
“Erwin Weekley, late of Warren, Pennsylvania, and apparently destined for climes farther south. Who might you be?”
“Wil Fredericks, sir,” Wilhelmina said, reminding herself to abbreviate her first name rather than using the full version of it. “From Philadelphia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“That’s a good grip you have there, young Wil,” Erwin said with an amused chuckle. “What do you do back in Philadelphia, forge steel with your bare hands?”
“No, sir. Mostly, I read all the books and newspapers I can get my hands on.” Which was no easy feat, considering her father felt there was no need for women to be educated in the ways of the world once they had completed their obligatory schooling.
“You forged your mind instead of steel. An equally worthy endeavor.”
“If I may ask, how do you make your living, sir?”
As well read as he seemed to be, she thought he might be a teacher or a philosopher or some other profession that required deep thought.
“I have been in the lumber industry for thirty years now,” Erwin said. “We used to use the Allegheny to float lumber from Warren to Pittsburgh. Sometimes, you couldn’t see the water for all the logs covering the surface.” He paused to shake his head. “But forests eventually grow thin and so do the profits. For the past few years, I’ve been taking odd jobs wherever I could find them. Now I’m here signing up for the oddest job of all.”
The man with the mutton chop whiskers snorted a derisive laugh. “It’s good to hear some men’s sense of duty comes with a price tag attached.”
Wilhelmina felt her temper flare, but Erwin’s expression remained calm as he eyed the man up and down. “Pardon me, but I don’t think I caught your name, sir.”
“That’s because I didn’t give it,” the man said with a smirk. “Normally, my reputation precedes me. I am Maynard Harrison from Altoona.” He briefly doffed his hat, then screwed it back into place. “I was a surveyor for the Pennsylvania Railroad until this fracas began. When it’s over, I shall have my work cut out for me reversing all the damage the Rebs have inflicted. They use rail lines to transport their food, supplies, and soldiers, but destroy ours to prevent us from doing the same. I fear what this country will look like when the war ends. I fear there may be nothing salvageable left.”
“Without a doubt, there will be scars on both sides,” Erwin said, “and not just on the land.”
Wilhelmina thought of the wounded veterans she had seen haunting the streets of Philadelphia. Some were missing an arm or leg. Others were forced to live the rest of their lives with features ruined by the ravages of war. For the rest, their scars were on the inside. Hidden from view but just as painful.
Her courage wavered, as did her belief in herself. Was she doing the right thing, or was she simply a foolish girl embarking on a regrettable folly that might cost her her life?
Erwin seemed to read her thoughts. “No one will think any less of you if you decide this life isn’t for you, young Wil,” he said gently.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Weekley, but the life I shall be fighting for is markedly better than the one I left behind.”
Erwin’s face was dark and leathery from years spent working in the elements. The deeply etched lines in his cheeks framed his mouth as he smiled. “I am certain we could all say the same.”
When Wilhelmina finally reached the front of the line, the soldier seated in front of her kept his hands in his lap instead of reaching for the pen resting in a bottle of black ink on the tabletop.
“You have to be eighteen to enlist,” the soldier said. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” she said truthfully.
He cast a skeptical look at her smooth cheeks. “Nineteen? Subtract three or four years from that number, and I might believe you.”
Wilhelmina felt the initial stirrings of panic. If the man sent her away, she didn’t have enough money to purchase a train ticket home. She could stay here and work, but she’d need to find a boarding house or a room for rent. Both required money, and her supply was rapidly dwindling. This desperate gambit had to work. Because if it didn’t, she would have to contact her father and beg for his help. Given the circumstances, she doubted he would be feeling especially generous toward her for a while. If ever again.
“I’ve always been told I look young for my age, sir, but I was born on the third of June in 1842, which makes me closer to twenty than nineteen and well above the legal age to—”
The soldier held up a hand to stop her. “If you’re that eager to join, boy, I won’t stand in your way, no matter what your age.”
He finally reached for his pen and asked her to provide more information. She gave him her new name but left her date of birth and city of origin the same. He didn’t ask for her home address so she didn’t provide it. She wanted her family to be notified if she was injured or killed while attempting to fulfill her duty, but with thousands of men already missing or presumed dead, she doubted the army had enough time or resources to contact each man’s family. Why would hers be any different?
Her father could use his influence to find her if he chose, but she didn’t know if he would attempt to do so. Calling attention to her actions would cause the kind of scandal he had always tried to avoid. He read the gossip columns religiously but always made sure his name didn’t appear in them. He might make a few discreet inquiries at her mother’s urging, but Wilhelmina doubted he would make a concerted effort to locate her. Not with Martin Jr., his namesake and heir, safely ensconced far from the front lines and her sister busy fending off a long line of suitors eager to stake their claim on her beauty and a share of her father’s fortune.
After Wilhelmina signed her name on the roll, the soldier seated at the table directed her to the infirmary so the chief physician on staff could conduct a physical. Wilhelmina’s steps faltered as she neared the designated area. How closely would the doctor examine her? Would she be expected to disrobe? If so, how would she explain the strips of muslin she had used to bind her breasts? How would she explain what was underneath? If it reached that point, she reasoned, words wouldn’t be necessary.
The doctor, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and the wide eyes of someone with a taste for laudanum, barely looked at her as he barked commands.
“Look straight ahead.”
She tried not to blink as he waved a lit candle in front of her eyes.
“Take a deep breath.”
He pressed a stethoscope to her chest and listened for a second or two before moving on to the nex
t task.
“Open your mouth.”
She opened her mouth wide as he peered at her teeth.
“No cavities or impactions,” he said, almost managing to sound impressed. “You’ll do. Welcome to the Seventy-seventh Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Go see the supply sergeant for your uniform and rifle. Next!”
Wilhelmina ceded her place to the next man in line and stumbled out of the room, still not quite sure how she had managed to make it this far. But made it she had. Now she had to prove she had what it took to stay.
The supply sergeant was housed in an adjacent building. Wilhelmina expected him to take detailed measurements before he provided her with a uniform and boots, but he had been performing the task so long he was able to guess her correct sizes simply by looking at her. He issued her a rifle and ammunition, along with a dark blue uniform coat, a pair of sky blue uniform trousers, a black felt hat, a pair of heavy black brogans, a pair of wool socks, and a pair of cotton underwear.
As she carried her new belongings to the temporary barracks that would be her home for the next fortnight, she was grateful Rose had packed spare socks and undergarments in her haversack since the Army issued one only pair of each per year.
After she found a secluded place to change, she exchanged her civilian clothes for her uniform and rushed to join the other volunteers for training—rigorous calisthenics meant to build endurance and drills designed to instill the actions soldiers could use to kill their enemies from a distance or up close via hand-to-hand combat.
Wilhelmina struggled to keep up with her peers during the exercises and to refrain from bursting into tears when an angry drill sergeant barked disparaging words in her direction after she had difficulty mastering the bayonet.
“You’re as weak as dishwater, boy, and your hands are as soft as a girl’s,” he said after her quivering muscles didn’t allow her to attack with the proper gusto. “Your life of leisure has provided poor preparation for the life you’ve signed up to lead.”
He spat a line of tobacco juice on the ground and grabbed her by the back of her collar. She felt like a wayward kitten being carried home by its mother. He pointed at the sack the new members of her regiment were using for target practice. Sand spilled from dozens of holes in the thick burlap covering, but her feeble thrusts had barely left a mark.
“That isn’t a bag of sand hanging there, boy. It’s a Confederate soldier coming straight at you. Get over there and attack him like you mean it. Because if you don’t kill him first, he’s going to kill you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
Wilhelmina thrust with all her might, but she didn’t have her feet under her. She lost her balance and tumbled forward. The bag, suspended from a wooden A-frame, swung toward her and hit her in the face. Her eyes teared and her vision blurred as Maynard Harrison led a chorus of raucous laughter.
“If he’s the best of what Philadelphia has to offer,” Maynard said, “I don’t want to see the worst.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the drill sergeant said. “Don’t sit there sniveling, boy. Move your scrawny ass out of the way so the real men can take their turn.”
Erwin Weekley picked up Wilhelmina’s cap and rifle and offered her a hand up. “It’s okay, son. You gave it your best effort.”
Wilhelmina put her cap back on and wiped sand from her mouth with her sleeve. “But my best wasn’t good enough.”
“It will be, son,” Erwin said, giving her an encouraging pat on the back. “It will be.”
For the first time in her life, Wilhelmina was on her own. Dependent upon strangers to keep her safe while others sought to do her harm.
And she had never been happier.
*
Clara wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she regarded the raised plant beds containing the onions, peas, turnips, and potatoes her family was counting on to get them through the rest of the winter. This time of year, spring always seemed like it was a lifetime away instead of only a few months. She was glad she had preserved as many fruits and vegetables as she could spare from the summer crops because the winter garden didn’t look very promising. She pressed the tip of her spade against the ground and pushed down with her foot, but the tool barely made an impression in the frozen soil.
“Here. Let me try.”
Enid Bragg was a good fifty pounds heavier than Clara. She took the spade and leaned her weight against it. Her family lived on the farm on the other side of the river. She and her daughter, Mary, came over every morning to offer Clara a helping hand, and she returned the favor for them after she fed Abram and Percy their midday meals.
Clara didn’t mind the extra work—or the companionship. Until the men of Shiloh and the surrounding counties returned from the war, the Braggs were in the same dire straits as the Summerses.
Enid’s husband, Joseph, had joined the Confederate Army the very day word came to town that war had been declared. Their son, Moses, had followed Joseph’s example. According to the letters Joseph sent home every few months, he had fought in skirmishes all over Tennessee and even parts of Alabama without being wounded even once.
Moses, meanwhile, had been forced to return home last month after being struck in the head by a ball from a Union soldier’s gun. He had survived the wound, but he had lost his sight as a result of the assault. He didn’t leave the house much these days, preferring to stay behind closed doors rather than subject himself to pitying looks from well-meaning neighbors.
Some people might wonder how Moses could sense something he couldn’t see, but Clara didn’t have to speculate. You didn’t have to use your eyes to see what was true. Some things you just knew.
She wished she had news of Papa’s and Solomon’s whereabouts, but Papa couldn’t read or write anything except his name, and Solomon couldn’t do much better, so neither sent letters home. Clara tried to tell herself that no news was good news, but she couldn’t help fearing Papa or Solomon had fallen on some godforsaken battlefield far from home and were doomed to lie for the rest of eternity in an unmarked grave instead of a carefully tended plot looked after and visited often by family and friends.
She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer she was certain God received on a daily basis and had probably grown weary of hearing. “Please keep them safe.”
She gasped and opened her eyes when she heard the sound of cracking ice. Thanks to Enid’s concentrated effort, the tip of the spade slowly broke through the earth.
“You did it, Ma.”
Mary clapped her hands in delight, the sound muffled by the old pair of her father’s socks she was wearing as gloves. One of Moses’s floppy hats he used to wear when he was tending the fields was clamped low on her head to help keep her warm, but her ears and cheeks glowed bright red from the bitter cold.
“Hold your merriment,” Enid said after she pried a few vegetables from the unforgiving earth. “These potatoes are as frozen as the ground I pulled them from. Just like ours.” She tossed the potatoes aside. They sounded like rocks when they hit the ground. “Do you have enough food set aside to get by, Clara?”
“As long as Abram keeps bringing in fresh meat, we won’t have to use what’s in the smokehouse. If he can bring down a deer one day, we’d have enough meat to last until the spring thaw. If he doesn’t, we can make do on what we have plus the squirrels, raccoons, and opossums he keeps managing to find. How are you faring?”
Enid shrugged. “I don’t rightly know. We’ve got the fruit and vegetables I canned last summer, but fresh meat is hard to come by. Moses can’t hunt no more, I’ve never been much of a shot, and Mary is too tenderhearted to kill any living thing, whether it’s a dumb animal or an even dumber human.”
Life had been so bad for so long, Clara had almost forgotten how good it felt to laugh.
“If Abram and Percy bag some game today, I’ll be sure to send over half of whatever they find.”
Clara had never known any of the Bragg
s to accept charity, so she was surprised Enid didn’t refuse her offer.
“Much obliged,” Enid said, obviously humbled by circumstances that were sure to grow even worse in the weeks to come. “Mary and I had better head home. Moses gets as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs if he’s left on his own too long.” She lowered her eyes as well as her voice. “He still has nightmares about the things he saw while he was fighting. He won’t tell me about them, but he wakes up screaming sometimes. When he gets in that state, the look on his face and the sound of his voice are enough to make your blood run cold. I want to help him, but I don’t know what to do.”
Clara touched Enid’s arm to let her know she didn’t have to fight the battle alone.
“I’ll be over as soon as I get some food on the table for the boys. They should be home directly. Abram might not own a pocket watch, but his stomach always leads him home when it’s time to eat.”
“Why don’t you come over to our house for supper tonight?” Mary asked. “We have some opossum stew left over from last night. Even if Abram doesn’t find another one to add to the pot, there should be enough to go around.”
“Are you tired of keeping company with me and your brother,” Enid asked, “or would you rather keep time with Abram instead?”
Mary tried to protest her innocence, but Enid wouldn’t hear of it.
“Stop trying to pretend you’re not sweet on the boy. You’re as lovestruck over him as he is over you.” Enid tossed a wink in Clara’s direction. “I used to think you and Moses would be the ones to bring our clans together through marriage, but I guess the young’uns will have to be the ones to do it.”
Clara stomped her feet to keep them warm. Melting snow covered the tops of her shoes, and she could practically feel the ice through the thin soles on the bottom.
“Moses has always been like a brother to me.”
“And he says you’re like a sister to him. If you ask me, it’s all talk. If Jedediah Ogletree wasn’t hot on your heels, Moses would have asked your papa for your hand in marriage long ago. But none of that matters now with Moses being an invalid and all.”
Divided Nation, United Hearts Page 4
