by Tim Black
“Why Minerva,” Shelby Foote replied with a grin worthy of Huckleberry Finn. “I guess it was devious of us to change the date, but Mr. Catton and I have argued about Pickett’s Charge since…since when, Bruce?”
“Since you died,” Catton said, for he had predeceased Mr. Foote. “You see, for us, Minerva, there was no other way to settle our argument about the battle unless we were able to see it. A historian dreams of actually being at the time and place of a great event, but unfortunately, we are dead. However, Mr. Greene’s selection of Gettysburg afforded us the opportunity of eternity, so to speak. I contend there were only 12,000 Rebel troops and Shelby said there were 15,000 men at Pickett’s Charge.”
“So you are going to what…count the men?” Minerva wondered.
“Precisely,” Foote answered. “And watch the show of course.”
“Let me get this straight. You two inconvenienced the four of us to stay here in 1863 for months because you wanted to count the soldiers at Pickett’s Charge and watch the show?”
“That sounds so harsh when you say it in that tone of voice, Minerva,” Catton said sheepishly.
“I’m missing my Yale interview and my Duke visit!” Minerva shouted.
“You’re lucky, Minerva,” Catton replied. “I never finished college because of World War I. I was going to Oberlin College when the first war began. When I was young, most students only went to eighth grade and girls didn’t go to college. So you are a very lucky girl.”
“Yes, Bruce, I know,” Shelby Foote interjected. “You have told me several times. Minerva, you see poor Bruce had to fight in World War I, and he joined the navy in the Great War. Great War, my foot, no pun intended. World War II was my fight, now that was a war, let me tell you. But enough of that… Why do you want to go to Duke, Minerva?” Foote asked. “I went to the University of North Carolina. You should go to UNC, Minerva. Not prissy Duke. Too many snobs at Duke,” he added. “Be a Tar Heel, I say. Be a Tar Heel!”
“Well, thanks to you two, I won’t be going anywhere,” Minerva grumbled. “I might even wind up at the junior college.”
“I don’t understand, Minerva. Bette and Victor are thrilled to be back here at the battle,” Foote said, genuinely disappointed in her. “I really enjoyed my trip with Mr. Greene’s class to Ford’s Theater when Victor chased John Wilkes Booth across the stage. Spunky lad! I know you were not along on that first trip, but I heard you were spunky as well, Minerva. So you spend a few months in 1863…even Mr. Greene seems okay with what we did. Like I said, Bette and Victor are fine with the way things are.”
“Bette and Victor are idiots!” Minerva groused. “All they want to do is go to the University of Florida…almost anyone can get in there. Geez!”
Foote frowned. “On second thought, perhaps you should go to Duke, Minerva. You are a snob.”
“I am not!” Minerva protested. “I am not a snob!”
Before a full throttle quarrel could break out, Bette burst through the door of the Gettysburg Hotel room.
“Minerva! Get your things together. We are leaving!”
“We just got here,” Minerva complained.
Bette, seeing the two ghosts, snapped, “You two!” causing both ghosts to skedaddle. She turned to Minerva.
“Mr. Greene says that within an hour the Confederates will control the town. We have to leave!”
Victor and Mr. Greene joined the girls in their room. “Let’s not dawdle, ladies,” Mr. Greene said. “Time is of the essence. The Union line is breaking. We need to flee out Baltimore Street and get south of Cemetery Ridge, behind what will soon be the Union lines.”
“No, Mr. Greene, I am staying put,” Minerva said. “I feel safe in the hotel.”
“C’mon, Minerva, don’t be obstinate,” Bette urged.
“Wait a minute,” Mr. Greene intervened. “Perhaps Minerva is right. The Confederates did not mistreat the women of Gettysburg, and the town square was relatively safe throughout the battle. You ladies will be out of harm’s way here, but I think Victor and I need to flee. If we are caught they might take us prisoners and send us to Libby Prison in Richmond. We could be taken for spies and hanged.”
“By either side, Mr. Greene,” Bette suggested. “Either side might consider any of us spies. If you were interrogated by either side, they might find you suspicious. Look, Mr. Greene, prissy Minerva can sit around in the hotel during the battle and rewrite her college admission essay, but I want to see the Battle of Gettysburg.”
“You’re crazy, Kromer!” Minerva said.
“You’re chicken, Messinger!” Bette countered.
“Ladies stop!” Mr. Greene interjected. “Look, the Rebels will occupy Gettysburg until the night of July 3rd. It is July 1st now. Bette, if you want to see the battle, you go with Victor and I will stay at the hotel with Minerva.”
“That works for me,” Bette said, satisfied. “Let’s go Victor.”
Minerva was peeved. Her best friend was deserting her, and traipsing off with her ex-boyfriend, to boot. What infamy! She scowled at Bette. Bette Kromer was a 19th century Benedict Arnold.
“Don’t look at me like that, Minerva, you’re no Medusa, it won’t work,” Bette said, referring to the Greek goddess who could turn a person to stone with a glance. “Who was the goddess of chickens, Minerva? Maybe you could be a double goddess…as for me, I am dying to watch the battle.”
“You just might be…dying,” Minerva cautioned.
“Stop arguing, ladies,” Greene said. “It is settled. I too would love to watch the battle, but I have a duty to Minerva. Now please listen… Victor, if you two are going to go south out of harm’s way,” Mr. Greene advised, “go out Baltimore Street past the Evergreen Cemetery gatehouse; you can’t miss it. It is an arched structure, the entrance to the cemetery. You can stop there for an hour or so and safely watch the battle, but after that hightail down Baltimore Street to Taneytown Road. You have those directions?”
“Yes, sir,” Victor replied.
“Get going and stop by the Fahnestock Building and buy a change of clothes or you will be living in those clothes for three days. Perhaps we should all go there now and buy additional clothing before the Confederates ransack the place,” the teacher said. Mr. Greene withdrew a leather pouch from his pocket and gave both Bette and Victor another double eagle gold piece.
The four went out into the square together. Minerva was still simmering like a pot nearly ready to boil. Townspeople were gathered around the town’s flagpole. The teacher and his students paused to watch. An army band struck up “The Star Spangled Banner.” People began to sing along. Victor saw tears in many eyes. How poignant, he thought, for by the late afternoon the Confederate’s battle flag would be flying instead of the Stars and Stripes.
When they walked into the Fahnestock Store, the same Fahnestock brother they had met earlier in the day, welcomed them back.
“Our friends from Mercersburg,” he smiled, remembering a customer like a good merchant. “Do you wish to go up onto the roof again?”
“No sir,” Mr. Greene said. “We left most of our belongings behind when we fled from the Rebels. We need some clothes.”
“Certainly,” Fahnestock said with a smile: cash customers. He quickly produced a copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book and opened it to a page on summer dresses for young ladies.
“Something practical, which doesn’t show the dirt,” Greene suggested.
“Right this way,” Fahnestock said and showed the girls to his selection of summer dresses.
“I need some overalls,” Bette said.
Fahnestock was taken aback. It was one thing for Bette to have a boyish haircut, and another for her to request men’s clothes. But like a good retailer sensing a quick sale, he shook off his doubts and showed Bette some boys’ overalls. She liked the brown ones and tried them on. Minerva selected a polka dot dress and Victor found a pair of overalls in the men’s section. Mr. Greene duplicated his clothing with another pair of trousers and a waistcoat. Vi
ctor was a bit disappointed; he had hoped to see his teacher as a hayseed.
As they left the Fahnestock Store and walked out into Baltimore Street, Bette explained that she wished to dress like a boy for her foray behind the Union lines. “I will go as Victor’s little brother and I want to be called Bill,” she added.
“Fine by me,” Victor said. “C’mon, Billy boy, time’s a waistin’.”
Mr. Greene, on the other hand, pointed out that Bette’s New Balance sneakers were now visible. “That may be a problem,” he said to Bette.
Bette pointed to Mr. Greene’s footwear, which were commonly called Brogans. “I picked black, Mr. Greene. My sneakers resemble your shoes,” she said, defending herself. “I knew better than to take white sneakers to a town with dirt streets. She lifted her dress to show him the shoes.”
Mr. Greene smiled and nodded approval.
Before they said their goodbyes, promising to rendezvous at the Gettysburg Hotel on July 4th, the day after the battle, Mr. Greene handed Victor ten of his antibiotic pills. “Take these in case either of you are wounded. They will prevent gangrene. Do not let anyone amputate one of your limbs, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Victor said. Bette echoed her acknowledgment.
“Bette, I believe you read Tillie Pierce’s account of the battle, did you not?” Mr. Greene said. “If you did you will recall, Tillie found safety at the Weikert farm on Taneytown Road. It is behind what will be, later today, the Union lines.”
“Yes, Mr. Greene. I recall that,” Bette replied.
“So be on your way, you two, and God bless!” Greene said.
As he walked with Bette away from his teacher and Minerva, Victor wasn’t sure he heard correctly. Did Mr. Greene just invoke God’s name? He had never done that before. Suddenly, Victor was anxious. If Mr. Greene was using God’s name, Victor thought that what they were about to do might be dangerous.
“Bette,” he asked. “Have you ever heard Mr. Greene refer to God before? I mean when he says the pledge of allegiance he only lip syncs the ‘Under God’ part, he never says it.”
“I know. I asked him about that once and he said that ‘Under God’ was not part of the original pledge, that it was added during the Cold War to differentiate between us and the godless communists. You probably know the pledge was written by a socialist, Victor, a Christian socialist of all things. Mr. Greene goes to A.A., Victor, and recovering alcoholics are into all the God stuff.”
“Good point,” Victor agreed. Everyone in the class knew that Mr. Greene was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous from the time Johnny Johnson had been court ordered to attend A.A. meetings after his D.U.I., and Johnny saw Mr. Greene at one of his meetings and blabbed. Johnny Johnson was the epitome of Benjamin Franklin’s saying, “three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.” Funny, because of Johnny Johnson every kid knew Mr. Greene was in A.A., but no one ever mentioned it in class. It was odd, Victor thought, but the kids seemed to respect Mr. Greene for doing something about his addiction. Too many kids had active alcoholic- or drug-addicted parents. Even Bette’s father was a raging alcoholic, but Victor never discussed the subject with Bette.
“No, I honestly didn’t know the pledge was written by a socialist,” Victor replied, wondering why Bette Kromer had never tried out for the academic team. She had a mind full of trivia. She was as smart as anyone, but she could be intensely annoying, even more annoying than Minerva. Maybe it was just the way women were, Victor thought: annoying.
Bette smiled. “I like it Bridges when I know something you don’t about history. The author’s name was Francis Bellamy and he was a Christian socialist minister. He was a minister and he didn’t put God in the pledge, Mr. Greene told me. So Mr. Greene figured he wouldn’t either. He said the Cold War was over and we should get back to the original pledge.”
“We have an odd teacher, Kromer,” Victor chuckled.
“Not odd, eccentric… Look! Atop the arch! Foote and Catton!”
Victor saw the ghosts sitting atop the Evergreen Cemetery Gatehouse, their transparent legs dangling over the side of the building. He was thankful that the citizens of Gettysburg couldn’t see the ghosts. The inhabitants had enough on their plate without seeing apparitions as well. Robert E. Lee was about to scare the bejesus out of them.
“They’re watching the battle like it’s a football game. Are they eating popcorn? How do ghosts get popcorn?” Victor wondered aloud.
“Who knows? How do vampires turn into bats?” Bette ventured. “How do zombies come back from the dead? I am so over zombie shows, Victor. I dread the walking dead. And Abraham Lincoln and vampires. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Who cares about a little popcorn? I appreciate our ghosts, Victor; they are real people not cartoon characters like in the movie Ghostbusters and those silly ghosts were always eating… Ravenous little reprobates,” Bette said, showing off her college board verbiage. “Hey, let’s stop in at the Gatehouse, I’m dying to meet Elizabeth Thorn. See the woman at the window on the left side of the arch. The second floor? I think that is Elizabeth Thorn. I have got to meet that lady…did you know she’s a statue? She is, Victor. Elizabeth Thorn is memorialized like Robert E. Lee and the boys. Elizabeth Thorn represents the women of Gettysburg and what they contributed during the battle. They became the angels of the battlefield, the Florence Nightingales of Gettysburg, the nurses. She dug graves.”
As the duo approached Evergreen Cemetery, they paused so that Bette could give Victor a short biography of Mrs. Thorn. Bette, unlike Victor, had read and reread Elizabeth’s reminiscence.
“Victor, Elizabeth Thorn, was, or in this case, is the mother of three boys, aged two, five and seven. She is also six months pregnant with a fourth child, and has served as caretaker at the Evergreen Cemetery for nearly a year in place of her husband Peter who joined the Union Aarmy. She and her children live on the north side of the arched Gatehouse that serves as an entrance to Gettysburg’s largest cemetery. Her parents, Catherine and John Masser, age sixty-three, reside in the living quarters on the south side of the arch. Even though she was pregnant, Elizabeth dug the fresh graves in the cemetery.
“Peter and Elizabeth Thorn emigrated from Germany in 1855 and were the first family to occupy the Gatehouse, as the cemetery house at the Evergreen Cemetery entrance was known. Evergreen Cemetery founder and president, David McConaughy, hired Peter as the first caretaker of the thirty-acre necropolis in 1856. In August 1862, Peter joined the 138th Pennsylvania Infantry, leaving his wife in charge of the burial ground, which added to her responsibilities of raising her three little boys as well as caring for her elderly parents.
“The Gatehouse was constructed in stone and brick and each side of the arch had a cellar with a fireplace. Two rooms were above each cellar, a first-floor living room and a second-floor bedroom. From the second-floor bedroom, a panorama of Gettysburg and the surrounding countryside was visible.”
“You sound like a docent,” Victor said in admiration.
“I read her diary three times, Victor, and then I read everything I could. I Googled her. She fascinated me. The idea that I could meet the lady I read about is awesome!” Bette said. “Most of the accounts of the battle deal with the men, the soldiers, but what really interests me are the travails the women endured.”
“Travails, Bette? Really?”
“Look, Victor, forgive me but I’m taking the S.A.T. again in the fall,” Bette admitted. “I am incorporating S.A.T. words into my speech. They say that if you use a word five times, it becomes yours.”
“Then travail away, Kromer,” he laughed. “Travail away!”
His laughter ended when a cannonade commenced. Victor swiveled his head to see smoke cover Seminary Ridge, obscuring all of the Lutheran Theological Seminary save for its cupola.
Bette, too, turned at the cacophony of cannons reverberating from the west.
“Good heavens, Victor! Listen to it.”
“It’s hard not to, Bette,” he replied.
�
�Bill, Victor, start calling me Bill.”
“Sorry, I forgot…Billy…”
“Bill,” Bette corrected.
“If you are supposed to be my little brother, then I should call you Billy not Bill,” Victor suggested.
Bette nodded agreement. “That makes sense I guess,” she said. “I’ve never been a little brother before.”
As they approached the Evergreen Cemetery Gatehouse, three little boys were running around and through the arch, merrily playing a game of tag amid the sounds of battle. An older woman was having trouble corralling the three boys who seemed to be oblivious to anything but their childhood game. Suddenly, there was a sharp whistle and the boys stopped and stood at attention. Elizabeth Thorn, wearing masculine overalls similar to those that Bette had on, rubbed her protruding belly in response to her fetus’s kicking, and glared at her three little men.
“Behave for grandma, boys. Or I will find a switch.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said collectively.
Victor was impressed by Elizabeth Thorn’s command presence. Hers was a Lilliputian army, but her boys marched to her tune. Bette took that moment to introduce herself.
“I am Billy…Kardashian,” Bette said, irritated at her otherwise facile mind for having the name of that narcissistic reality show family appear on her tongue.
Victor held back a laugh. He covered his mouth for fear of cracking up. Kardashian? That’s the best Kromer could do?
Elizabeth Thorn looked at Bette suspiciously. “Billy is a funny name for a girl,” she observed.
Bette turned red.
Victor intervened. “We thought it better to dress my sister as a boy, Mrs. Thorn,” he said.
“Well,” Mrs. Thorn evaluated. “You’ll fool most men with your short hair and your overalls, but I’m always more aware of things when I’m pregnant. Now, do you have a loved one who needs a resting place?”
“No, ma’am,” Bette said. “I just wanted to offer you my help. From the looks of what is happening, you may be digging some new graves.”
