DEPARTURE
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania/Shepherdstown, Virginia
November 17, 1856
The rhythmic clatter of the train’s progress blurred the world outside into a gray streak. Wes sat uncomfortably in his best suit, his face pressed to the window watching hopefully for any changes. They had been traveling for an hour already and would soon be approaching Shepherdstown, but the landscape looked the same to him.
Will and his family slept across the aisle, oblivious to the excitement. Wes envied their easy familiarity with something that was so completely new to him. He wished for the day when he could take such a trip with the same utter disregard. He had never been on a train before. Although it seemed to move with breathtaking speed, each new hill only revealed more hills beyond. The landscape was endless, the people they passed numberless and each new second carried him further into the unknown.
For most of the past week, Wes had waited for the formalities to end following his mother’s burial. He knew he should mask his eagerness to leave, but every now and then his sorrowful facade slipped and the impatient excitement shone through like a ray of sunlight. Julia had noticed, and Ginnie, and perhaps even his father because on occasion he found them staring at him with a look of mild reproof. Wes’ father had aged in the past week. He took his wife’s death stoically, its full impact hidden even from himself, but at times Wes could see the pain steal through the opaque barrier of his eyes. Wes, anticipating his own future, realized that his father could look forward only to sorrow and this sudden emptiness.
That morning, Wes had walked past his father’s door and caught a glimpse of him standing by a dresser. The old man tenderly held a silk scarf in one hand, rubbing the material between his fingers. He was staring out the window, and if he heard Wes’ approach he gave no indication of it. Wes moved on, leaving him to his reveries.
Jesse Culp had argued when Wes once again announced that he was moving south, but not so vigorously as before, and Wes knew that he had won. For just a moment before his father relented and gave his consent, Wes detected remorse in the man’s eyes, a subtle sorrow. It was a little thing, but in that sad moment Wes nearly regretted leaving. His father had always seemed so large and commanding, and Wes realized now that he was neither. With new eyes, Wes saw him not as a bellicose adversary but as a lonely, tired old man. Perhaps the pity showed, for his father’s granite stare was quickly back in effect, never again to be broken in Wes’ presence.
Talking to Ginnie had helped a great deal. She was a willing ear for his tumultuous thoughts, refining his dreams with glimpses into her own small world. Together they laid out the landscape of their future. They walked long hours along the crest of the hill above Henry Culp’s farm, holding hands and rehearsing over and over again the hopes they had already expressed many times.
This morning had dawned like all others; people went about their business oblivious of the importance it held for Wes. Sleep had been impossible the night before and he was wide awake long before the rest of the house. Will and Salome calmly ate their breakfast before leaving for the new train station, while Wes nibbled distractedly at a chunk of bread. He had said his farewell to Ginnie the day before since her classes would force her to miss his departure. With all the loose ends neatly tied, Wes’ single focus was getting onto the train.
When they arrived at the station, Mr. Emery, the station master, announced that the train would be late. Wes nearly screamed in frustration, pacing nervously along the track while his father, sisters, Will and his family sat on the benches. Finally, the distant chug of the engine broke on the crisp November air. Wes’ heart raced, as if trying to adjust to the thundering pulse of the locomotive.
As he turned back to the others, he saw Ginnie on the platform, her hands self consciously smoothing her blue dress. She looked more like a little girl than Wes had remembered. Her presence disturbed him; now he would have to find some way to say another goodbye. But as he approached her, he saw the tears in her eyes.
“What is it?” he asked, taking one of her hands.
“I just came to say goodbye.” She was struggling to keep from crying, but a single drop broke free from the corner of her eye. He glanced at his family down the platform, watching them rise as the train steamed into the station. She followed his look, pushing back the hair from her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come,” she mumbled. “Miss Jenkins will miss me and I’ll be in for it.”
Her pain was nearly tangible and Wes was overcome by a tender concern. The train whistle deafened them and for a moment they could only look into each other’s eyes. When the whistle stopped, Wes took both her hands. “No. I’m so glad you did.”
Now that the impatient hours of waiting for the train were over, Wes felt pressured by its arrival. He would have given anything for another five minutes to spend with Ginnie. He realized, however, that more time would only prolong the pain.
He pressed her hands tightly, gazing into her eyes. The train’s whistle sounded again, warning the passengers to be aboard. “I’ll come back for you, Ginnie. I promise. It will be just as we planned it.” She attempted to smile, but was overcome by emotion. Wes could think of nothing to say. “D…d…d...don’t cry, Ginnie,” he stammered, overwhelmed by his feelings.
Will called from down the platform and Wes looked up. “I’ve got to go.” She nodded. He ran down to where his family was standing, shook hands with his father and gave Annie and Julia a hug. Julia hung on to him and he couldn’t miss the tears glistening in her eyes. He smiled at her, kissed her on the forehead, then ran to help his brother load the cases up the narrow steps into the car. When the conductor yelled a final warning for passengers to board, hoping to regain the lost time with a short stop, Wes found a seat and pressed his face to the window. His family had gathered below and his eyes touched each of them briefly before passing on to look for Ginnie. For a frantic moment he thought that she had left, going back to school before the train departed. But then he found her, backed into the shadowed overhang of the station’s eaves. He waved to her and she stepped forward to wave back.
The shrill steam whistle startled him again, and he looked down to see Julia smiling up at him, the proud look on her face replacing the tears. As the train lurched forward, Ginnie’s wave became more animated and she stepped out into the sunlight. Now he could see that she was smiling and he knew that everything was all right. He waved until she was out of sight, grinning wryly at the irony. For years he had been desperate to leave Gettysburg; now, when the moment had finally come, he found himself crying.
All that was a hundred miles ago and the Maryland countryside had given way quickly to Virginia. The conductor walked briskly past, his hand glancing off the seats for balance. “Next stop, Shepherdstown!” he bellowed in an odd nasal tone which drew out his vowels and elongated the words.
Will and Salome stirred from their rest, and Bertie began to cry, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Wes turned back to the window as the trees thinned out and the buildings began to crowd in. He noticed with disappointment that the whitewashed fronts and dirt lanes looked much like a rearranged version of Gettysburg. But here and there he caught sight of majestic elms and willows hiding pillared buildings. On the road he glimpsed a lady in billowing pink stepping from a jet black carriage, her parasol in hand. But what affected him most was the strangeness of the faces on the platform. He scanned the crowd of thirty or more who stood staring up at him; not one of them was familiar. A new beginning!
After dropping Salome and Bertie at the house where they were letting several rooms, Wes and Will made their way to the boarding house to inquire about space for Wes. As they walked through the town, Wes eyed the surroundings curiously. It was not what he expected. While there were traces of grandeur in several of the buildings, there were no lofty mansions set along tree-lined ways. He didn’t see any rich men and women in their finery waited on by attentive slaves. The people were strangers, but in many ways they were identical to those he had left behind in Gettysburg.
The woman at the boarding house sized Wes up, her wrinkled lips tightly pinched before she agreed to board him for $2 a week. After an awkward pause, Wes realized that he was to pay the first week in advance and hurriedly looked at Will who, with a sigh, handed over the money.
They went next to the new shop to see Mr. Hoffman. The building which housed the carriage works sat back from the main road to the south of town. It was easily twice the size of the building in Gettysburg and Wes gazed at it in amazement as they headed around back toward the office. Will rapped on the door, then stepped through without waiting for a reply. Wes followed, hat in hand. Despite the larger building, the office was a cramped room with papers and books strewn on every surface. There was a musty smell about the place, a mixture of damp parchment, fresh ink and the unwashed smell of Mr. Craflion, the office manager. Craflion, half hidden behind an enormous roll top desk, brusquely rose to greet them, informing them that Mr. Hoffman was away on business. Wes studied the man carefully, deciding that his primary trait was the ability to look annoyed no matter what the circumstance. Craflion stared over his pince-nez with a raised eyebrow, apparently wondering why Will and Wes had not fled upon hearing of Hoffman’s absence.
Will said, “My brother has come from Gettysburg for the upholsterer’s job.” Craflion’s face descended into an even deeper level of annoyance as he let his gaze shift to Wes. Wes was certain that the position had been filled, that he would be left without a job in a strange town, worse off than he had been in Gettysburg.
Finally, Craflion dropped his eyes and returned to his books. “See that he’s here first thing in the morning. Mr. Hoffman will make a decision when he returns.”
Will nodded slightly and turned, heading out the door without a further word. Wes, flustered by the abruptness of his brother’s departure, nodded nervously at the office manager who took no notice of him.
Outside, he caught up with his brother. “Hey! Wait a second. What did all that mean?”
“You just got your job back,” Will said without breaking stride.
“But doesn’t Mr. Hoffman have to.…”
Will cut him off. “Hoffman’ll take you back. That old walrus in the office likes to give everybody a hard time. But the position is still open which means he’ll take you in a second. He won’t have to train you.”
Wes followed as Will ducked into a dark hallway, then stepped out onto the factory floor. The shop was huge in comparison to the one in Gettysburg. The old equipment was laid out differently but it was a comfort to see familiar machines. Ed Skelly and Billy Holtzworth saw the two of them enter and called a greeting.
“Hey, look who’s back,” Ed shouted cheerfully.
Holtzworth jumped off the carriage on which he was working and wiped his hands on his pants. “And look who he brung with him.”
Until that moment, Wes had enjoyed the obscurity of the new town, but seeing familiar faces brought a sudden sense of warmth. He shook hands eagerly with men who would have ignored him back in Gettysburg. A couple of months ago he could not have called them friends, but now they felt like lost comrades. The others asked about news from Gettysburg, offering condolences for the loss of their mother. Wes looked around the factory and caught the eye of several of the other workers. Some appeared friendly but others were suspicious, as if he was intruding.
Ed slapped him on the shoulder. “Let me show you around.” The tour took no longer than five minutes and Wes met most of the new workers, forgetting their names as soon as he heard them. One man, however, did not bother to come greet him. He sat in the backseat of one of the carriages reading a newspaper. Ed stood below him for a moment. “Frank. Hey, Parsons! Come meet a friend of mine.” The man ignored Ed and continued to read.
A sandy-haired man with a boyish face appeared from behind one of the company wagons and walked up to Ed and Wes. Smiling, he said, “Just ignore old Frank. He likes people to think he can read, but he’s just looking at the pictures. My name’s Ben Pendleton.” He stretched out his hand and shook Wes’ firmly. “Welcome to the party.”
From his perch in the carriage, Parsons looked over his paper at Ben with a frown. Wes caught the man’s eye for a second and the look of animosity. He waved uneasily, then turned back to Ben.
Glancing at Parsons out of the corner of his eye, Ben said with a grin, “Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to the better element in town. I’ve been after your brother ever since he came down here to join us at the Guards. You need to meet some people, and maybe now that you’re here, he’ll come along too. We’re meeting over to Bridger’s Tavern tonight. After you get settled, come over and have a beer with us.”
There was a warmth about Ben that made Wes like him instantly. Looking across the shop, Ben indicated some of the others. “Hell, you can drag all the rest of your Pennsylvania buddies with you. I’ve been trying to get them to join us, but I guess they’re afraid us Virginians’ll drink them under the table.”
Ed chuckled. “You never out and out challenged us like that before. Now I can’t turn you down.”
“What are the Guards?” Wes asked, trying not to look in the direction of Parsons who had laid his paper aside and was openly glaring at the group below.
“Hamtramck’s Guards. Colonel Hamtramck was in the war in Mexico. He thought the local boys could use something to keep ‘em out of trouble, and I guess he was just plum bored with farming. So he organized the group, and now a bunch of us dress up and march around and keep fit and defend the honor of Virginia and Virginia’s women. But most of the time we hang out at Bridger’s and drink and tell lies about battles we never fought.”
Ed turned to Wes with a grin. “You should see ‘em out there in that field marching around like a flock of sheep. And Ben here won’t be satisfied until he turns all of us into sheep. Ha!” Ben ignored the remark and turned back to Wes.
“So, what do you say?”
“Sure,” Wes said, eager for the acceptance that seemed to be offered so easily.
“Good,” said Ben. “I’ll come over with Ed here after work and pick you up.”
Wes nodded and started to walk away. He glanced up at Parsons who suddenly opened the carriage door and jumped down in front of him. Startled, Wes had to look up to meet his eyes. He noticed the crooked, yellow teeth and the faint smell of whisky on his breath. There was a ring of sweat on his collar, and three days growth of stubble on his tanned face. Wes recognized in him every bully he had ever faced, and he felt the old familiar weakness creep into his knees.
Then Ben was between them, moving Wes off toward the door with Ed and Will following. “Just forget him, Wes. He tries to scare everybody like that.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Wes mumbled, trying to keep his voice from quaking.
Ben, Ed and Billy arrived after Wes had eaten dinner and the foursome headed off to the other side of town. A moment after they emerged from the boarding house, they heard derisive laughter from the porch of a saloon across the way. Wes recognized Parsons, standing with three other toughs, puffing a cigar.
“Hey, Ben,” Parsons called sarcastically. “You takin’ up shepherding?” The others laughed and began bleating, louder and louder, trying to outdo each other.
“The shepherd of Shepherdstown,” someone said mockingly, and the whole flock in front of the tavern roared in amusement.
Ben merely smiled and said loud enough so that all the locals could hear, “Looks like the garbage collector missed some this evening.” The bleating and the laughter stopped abruptly. There was an icy silence as the tavern toughs eased onto their feet.
Parsons stepped off the porch and came face to face with Ben. Ben didn’t back away, didn’t flinch, and the smile never left his face, even though Parsons towered over him. To Wes, he looked like a giant, but Ben kept smiling. “Don’t you want to take that back, Pendleton?”
Ben’s smile widened. “Now, why would I want to take back the truth, you buck-toothed, pea-brained piece of dung?”
Parsons’ face went into contortions as his mind struggled to cope with the sheer magnitude of the insult. Finally, his rage congealed into a bellow and he raised his fists to swing them down on Ben’s head and shoulders. Ben stood his ground while Wes and the others unconsciously took a step backward. Parsons brought his hands crashing down, but at the last second, Ben stepped aside and Parsons lost his balance as his hands swished through empty air. Ben’s fists flew faster than Wes could see. Falling to his knees in pain, Parsons clutched his stomach.
An odd silence settled over the observers as they stared at each other, uncertain what to do next. Then, as though someone had given a signal, they all jumped at the same instant and came together with a crash, swinging, cursing, yelling.
Up against a slightly larger boy who swung wildly, Wes did not have to duck, realizing that in a fight his shortness was an advantage. He had been in his share of brawls, with his brother and with schoolmates, but he had always known the person he was punching. Now, he was fighting a total stranger in a strange town. He had usually been beaten, pinned by Will or knocked senseless by one of the others. Because he was small, he assumed he would always get beaten, and so he usually pleaded for the fight to end.
But not today. Some inner force, fired by rage, broke loose at that instant. As his opponent swung again, missing him a second time, Wes rocked back and timed his punch so that the boy stepped into it, with the weight of both their bodies behind the blow. He had aimed for the kid’s jaw but missed and hit him in the nose. The boy backed off, unsteady, stunned. A warm gush of bright red blood exploded down his face, covering his shirt. He grabbed frantically at his wounded nose, hopping around and yelling as though he’d been shot.
Wes grinned, feeling the surge of adrenaline in his blood. A moment later, he received a heavy blow to his back and stumbled forward onto his hands and knees. He got to his feet, turning to face his new attacker, when he saw that Parsons had his arms wrapped around Ben’s head. They had bumped him in their struggle and now Parsons’ back was directly in front of Wes. Without conscious thought, Wes launched himself into the air, feet first and connected squarely with Parsons’ lower back. Ben fell free as Parsons again dropped to his knees. Wes rolled to his feet quickly, catching Ben’s eye as he did. Ben’s face was red and his sandy hair disheveled, but the smile was still firmly in place.
Ben focused again on Parsons and was about to finish him with a blow to the face when a gunshot made them all jump. They looked toward the sound and there in the center of the street was an older man holding a huge pistol skyward.
“All right now,” he said in a quiet voice. “What seems to be the problem? What’s got you boys so riled up?”
Ben turned to the man. “Well, Sheriff, Frank and his thugs saw fit to offer my new friend here their kind of welcome, and things got a little too friendly.”
“I guess they did, at that.” The sheriff walked through the group and helped Parsons to his feet. “Frank, my boy, you look even worse than the last time. You don’t learn very fast, do you? Run along home, now. The next time you start a scuffle like this, I’ll let you think it over in the cooler.”
Parsons and his friends moved off down the street. Wes glanced at the boy whose nose he had broken. He was just a kid, looking scared and foolish, and Wes felt bad for hurting him. Then he caught Parsons’ eye again, and saw a look of black hatred. But Wes was no longer intimidated. He had stood up to him and won. Elation was just beginning to hit him when the sheriff put a hand on Wes’ shoulder.
“Now, you boys are new here. I know you didn’t start this, but it takes two to make a fight. I hope this isn’t going to become a habit because I don’t like fighting in my town.” Then he turned to Ben.
“Ben, you should know better. I’m disappointed in you, and your father will be hearing about this. But the rest of you – well, consider this your one and only warning.” With that, he released Wes and was off down the street.
Wes and the others crowded together, watching him go. As he passed out of sight around the corner, they burst into excited chatter and headed the other way. They compared stories and sized up each other’s bruises. Ed had caught a punch under the eye from one of the bigger fellows, but had knocked him down in return. Ed and Billy jabbered on, talking over each other. But Wes was quiet, filled with an inner joy that he was not ready to put into words. Ben noticed this and fell in alongside him.
“You’re one hell of a fighter, Wes,” Ben exclaimed. “When I saw you come flying through the air like that, I thought the cavalry had arrived.” Wes smiled happily at the compliment.
Bridger’s was a tavern at the east side of town. When the group arrived, they found the large room packed with men in odd, dark gray uniforms. Ben loudly announced their arrival and a path opened through which Wes and the others moved. Grabbing a beer and climbing onto one of the tables, Ben yelled for the group’s attention, then proceeded to introduce the newcomers and retell the story of their battle in detail. The group was appreciative and jovial, and Wes found himself slapped on the back by numerous strangers and toasted with raised beer mugs when Ben finished the story.
Ben elbowed his way to Wes’ side. “Well,” he said, “these are the boys. What do you think?”
“I think you tell a good tale,” Wes yelled over the roar of laughing voices.
Ben took a swig, then looked at Wes. “You should join us. It’s a hoot. And the women love it. You know, if you’re in a uniform, they’ll do anything for you.” He gave him a laugh and a wink, emptying his mug in one long swig.
Wes looked at his newfound friend in wonder. It was hard to believe that only a few hours earlier he had been in Gettysburg saying goodbye to Ginnie. He wished she could see him now, surrounded by a whole group of new friends. Things were starting off just as he had hoped they would. His grand plan was in operation. And the first step had been getting away from Gettysburg.
Ben peered back at him. “What do you say, Wes? Are you with us? Do you want to join the Guards?”
“You bet,” said Wes without hesitation. “Count me in.”