REUNION
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
July 2, 1863
There was an unnatural stillness in the town. Everywhere Wes looked there were soldiers quietly settling in for the night. He had dropped his prisoners at the makeshift pen on the edge of town and was now in search of his sister Annie’s house. He had never been to the Myers’ home; Annie had not been married until 1861, just before her husband, Jefferson Myers, went off to war. But Julia had told Wes where the home was, on West Middle Street, directly across from Jack Skelly’s family. It seemed safer to see Annie and Julia first. Ginnie would come later.
When he reached Annie’s house, he was disappointed to see no light inside and wondered whether his sisters had fled the fighting. He knocked quietly, trying to remain inconspicuous. There was no response. He knocked again, louder this time. Finally, he heard movement inside. A tiny, frightened voice called, “Who is it?” The door opened a crack and a faint light spilled out onto the street, illuminating Wes’ face.
He recognized Julia, and smiled in relief. She stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. Then, in a flash, recognition spread across her face and she broke into a bright smile. Swinging the door wide she exclaimed, “Wes! I can’t believe it’s you.” Wes stepped through the doorway as his sister called back into the house, “Annie, it’s Wes.” Then Annie was there, too, and it was as though all the loneliness and horror of the past year had been erased in a moment.
They each hugged him, and then Julia hugged him a second time, staring into his face as though to convince herself that it was really him, and that he was well. They seemed awed by his presence, excited but stunned, not quite certain how to act.
“I thought it was the rebels...” Annie began, then stopped herself, embarrassed.
Julia, in an effort to cover the blunder, said, “No, she means we’ve been afraid that some dirty rebel would break in and....” That also sounded wrong, and she fell silent in confusion.
Wes, amused by their discomfort, looked apologetically down at his filthy uniform. “Well,” he said, in his best southern drawl, “I’m afraid that this dirty rebel has broken into your house.” That relieved the tension and, amid appreciative laughter, they moved into the parlor and sat down.
“How did you get here?” Annie asked. “Did you run away?”
“No,” he said, chuckling. “Believe it or not, my regiment came here with the rest of the army. I got a pass just so I could visit you. A general gave it to me. Personally. He gave it to me because I fought so well today. I captured a Yankee officer and his sergeant, single-handed.” Annie’s face dropped slightly, her brow furrowed. Wes noticed this and stopped talking. There was an awkward pause as they each tried to find some neutral subject about which to talk.
Julia laughed and said, “Well, we were worried when the rebels captured the town, but I guess it wasn’t all bad. It meant you were able to get here.”
Annie stood suddenly. “But look at you,” she said. “You must be starving.”
He nodded, pulling his hat off and slumping on a couch. “I’m exhausted, and I can’t even remember when I had anything to eat.” Annie ran to the kitchen for tea while Julia continued pummeling Wes with questions, not allowing time for him to answer. He sat listening to her, a contented smile on his face.
Annie called from the kitchen, “Don’t say anything important,” then returned shortly, bringing him a steaming cup of tea and the promise of food. She settled herself across from him, folded her hands in her lap, and prepared to listen. Wes sipped his tea, basking in a sense of family warmth that he had missed for so long.
He answered their endless stream of questions. When did he get out of the prison camp? How was his health? What were the rebels like? What would they do to the civilians? Who was winning the battle? When would they be gone? And so on until he grew drowsy from the warmth of the house and his own weariness.
“Let’s go in the kitchen and get you some food,” Annie said after a while.
He ate greedily, realizing how much he missed the comfort and routine of a regular home. The smells of the kitchen triggered powerful memories which transported him to his childhood home. He could hear his mother rattling around in the kitchen, humming, while his father worked in the attached shed, yelling about something. He saw the big Sunday afternoon gathering around the table as though it were yesterday, complete with aunts, cousins and guests. His sisters ran through his reverie in their childish forms, innocent and fresh, back before.... The mood was broken as Annie pushed another plate of food in front of him.
The first thrill of seeing each other was passing. Painful questions began to invade the pleasantries. No matter how they tried to avoid it, he was the enemy, and they were taking chances by having him there. The neighbors might see and spread the word. Julia would always give him unquestioned acceptance, but Annie could never quite forgive what Wes had done. Now, with her husband and Wes on opposite sides in the war, she was even less sympathetic. He began to fear that she would make the situation awkward.
To divert the direction of their talk, he cleared his throat and asked the question that had been foremost in his mind since he arrived. “Is Ginnie still in town?” The women glanced at each other.
Julia nodded, her words almost a whisper. “Yes, she’s here. But you can’t be thinking about seeing her again, can you?” The question was accompanied by a pleading look. “She’s getting married, Wes. To Jack Skelly. You know that.”
Shaking his head he said, “Skelly’s probably dead.” The girls reacted in honest horror. “I saw him a few days back,” he continued, “when our company passed through Winchester. We captured most of his brigade. He had a bad wound and they left him behind. I found him and took him to a hospital. But I don’t think he’s coming home. If he lives, he’ll be a prisoner.” He shook his head again. “But the doc said it didn’t look good.”
Annie stood, moving to the mantle, her face turned away. Wes could see her shoulders shaking slightly and his heart went out to her. She turned from the fire, her eyes brimming with tears. “Wes, do you know if Will was there when you captured Jack and the others?”
“He wasn’t captured,” Wes said emphatically, pleased that he could give her this assurance. “I checked with Jack and some of the other Yankees there. They all said that he got away. He could be here for all I know.”
Annie shook her head vehemently. Will was the oldest, and he and Annie had always shared a particular fondness for each other. “No. If he was here, he would have let us know. Why hasn’t he come home? He could be lying dead in some field for all we know.”
Wes nodded sympathetically, but he was impatient with her ignorance of the army. “There’s no way he could get here right now,” he explained carefully, trying to measure his words. “He’d have to pass through half the Confederate army. If he tried it, he’d get himself captured and end up in one of those prison camps. And, trust me, he’d be better off dead.” Wes tried to hide his revulsion as a swarm of memories welled up in his mind.
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Annie snapped indignantly. “No,” she insisted, “he’d find a way to get here.”
“Annie,” Wes said, his exasperation returning in spite of himself, “Will could be here in town right now. There are thousands of Federals here. But he just can’t get here, to the house. He’ll be able to come when the battle’s over.” He should have let it go at that, he knew, but he added, “Unless we win.”
They looked at him in dismay. “Oh, do you suppose you will?” Julia asked, obviously unhappy at the possibility.
Her reaction made Wes feel defensive. “What do you want me to say?” he asked hotly. “That I hope we lose?” He scowled at them for a second, at an impasse. He knew that if he said anything else, he would only make things worse. Finally, backing down, he said with a sigh, “Only God knows what’s gonna happen.”
He reached a hand out to Julia, touching her gently. “I’m sorry Jules. About all this. I never thought....” He trailed off unsure of what he wanted to say. Finally, he said simply, “I’ve missed you.” They looked at each other in a silence more eloquent than words. A tear formed in the corner of Julia’s eye and slowly trickled down her cheek. Wes watched it with a kind of sad resignation.
Trying to change the subject he said, “Ben asks after you every time I see him. In fact, he’s the reason I got to come here tonight. He’s working on General Walker’s staff now.”
Julia smiled faintly, wiping the tear away. Her cheeks flushed a bit at the thought of Ben, remembering how it felt to dance with him so long ago. “Ben’s here? In town?” she asked, incredulous. Wes nodded, but he saw her eyes cloud over again. “Are you sure Will was there, in the battle with you?” she asked hesitantly.
He sighed and said carefully, “I think I saw him.”
Annie turned around abruptly. “You saw him?” She almost shouted the question.
“I said I think I saw him. Things get pretty confused during a battle.”
Julia caught her breath and looked at him obliquely. “You could have killed each other.” It was a statement, not an accusation. She was confirming a terrible truth that had been haunting her.
“Julia, people are killing each other all the time. There are people dying right now, here in town. And there’s nothing you or I can do to change that. I can’t stop this war.” He shook his head slowly, adding, “I only wish I could.”
Her eyes filled again, glittering with pain as she thought of the awful things that were happening all around them. She had one final question, and she had to ask it or it would continue to haunt her. Haltingly, she spoke the words. “If you knew it was him....if he was standing there, right there in front of you, and you knew it was him, would you have pulled the trigger?”
Wes thought again of that moment in Winchester, that terrible instant when he realized that it was his own brother in his gun sight. He was thankful now that he had not pulled the trigger that day, thankful not for himself, not even for Will, but for Julia. He could not have survived her grief. He could never confess to her what nearly had happened, so he said in a soothing tone, “What a question! No, of course not, Jule. He’s my brother.”
These last thoughts had a numbing effect on the conversation. After an uncomfortable silence, Wes returned to an earlier question. “You say Ginnie’s still in town?”
“Yes,” Julia said, then asked with deep concern, “Do you really think Jack might die?”
Wes thought about the question. He had known Jack all his life, but the fact that he was probably dying someplace right now produced no emotion in him. Jack had been two months away from marrying Ginnie, and now Jack was dying and Wes was here, alive.
“That’s what the doctor said,” he told her flatly. Then, pressing her, he asked, “Where is she? At her place?”
“I was with her today,” Julia said quietly. “We were working together at the Courthouse. They’re using it as a hospital, and we were tending some of the Union soldiers.” She paused, but Wes urged her on.
“You saw her today?” he asked excitedly. “How is she?”
“Fine. She’s staying with her sister down by the Inn. Georgia just had a baby and the family moved in with her for a while, to help. And to be safer.”
The news relieved Wes’ mind: the thought of Ginnie caught in the middle of the battle had been worrying him. “I’m glad,” he said. “It’s hard to believe that the war’s come to my hometown. After all the places where I’ve fought, I never thought I’d end up in Gettysburg. These past days, I’ve been worried about you all. And...Ginnie.”
Annie came over to pile more food on his plate and Wes continued gobbling his first hot meal in weeks, wondering if he would ever feel full again. Julia asked, “Are you going to try to see her?”
Wes paused between bites. “Yes, tonight, after I leave here. I have a message from Jack that I promised I’d deliver.”
Annie and Julia exchanged a glance: this added a whole new element to the story. They looked back to Wes, who continued eating, ignoring their curiosity. Finally, Julia could stand it no longer and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Oh, do tell, please.”
“I can’t. It’s a private message. You’ll find out soon enough what it’s all about.” Smiling, he added, “Everybody’ll find out.”
“You mean,” Julia pressed, suddenly very serious, “about Jack...maybe dying?”
“That. And...other things,” he said, wishing that he had kept his mouth shut.
Peevishly, Julia muttered, “Oh, I wish you’d tell.”
“But how will you get there tonight?” Annie put in, sounding worried. “That part of town is in Federal hands.”
“The General told me we have the whole town. I can go anywhere I please. But I have to go soon. I’ve got to be back before morning roll call or they’ll list me as a deserter. Her house is only a couple of blocks from here.”
“No,” Julia broke in. “Don’t you remember. She’s at her sister’s place across from the Wagon Hotel.”
That reminder jolted Wes for a moment, and he whispered, “Damn! You mean she doesn’t go home at night?”
“No, she’s living there for a while. Oh, Wes,” Julia beseeched him, “you’ll be careful, won’t you? I don’t want you to get captured again.”
Wes pushed his empty plate away and stood, reaching for his hat. “Of course I will. I wasn’t fond of being a guest of the Yankees. But I have to find her tonight. We might move out tomorrow and this may be the only chance I get.”
“Do you really think the battle might end tomorrow?” Annie asked hopefully.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It has to be over soon. We can’t go on like this much longer.” He wanted to say that the Yankees were about to collapse, but decided against it.
“Please don’t go so soon,” Julia whispered. Her sad eyes pulled at his heart, but he took a deep breath and moved toward the door.
“I have to. I’ll come back if I can.”
Annie hugged him, “Please do. And be careful in town. There are some people here who wouldn’t mind seeing you dead.”
Julia wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and squeezed until he could barely breath. He pulled away finally and saw that her eyes were filled with tears again, tears of love for him. That sight touched him more deeply than anything else had the whole evening. Feeling his own eyes begin to moisten, he kissed her cheek gently and smiled. “I’ll come back, Jule. I promise. Tomorrow, after the battle.” She smiled weakly and Wes went out the door quickly before she could see his trembling lip.
Looking back, he could see Julia’s form in the lighted crack of the door. Then the door closed and the light was extinguished, leaving him alone in the darkness. He moved again through the town, down Baltimore Street and toward Ginnie. A guard stopped him, telling him that he could go no further that night since the Federal line ran between them and the house where Ginnie was staying.
He stood for a long time, his fists clenched, looking down the street at the house in which she was probably asleep by now, unaware of his presence. He had waited so long to see her and at this moment he was so close to his goal. Why would God mock him by throwing this agonizing frustration in his path? He patted the note in his pocket again, reassuring himself that he had finally gained a weapon with which to win his long battle for Ginnie. He turned and started to walk back to camp.
The guard laughed, his cackle stinging Wes. “She’ll still be there tomorrow. Unless the Yankees get to her first.” Wes almost responded angrily, then stopped himself. Like it or not, the old man was right. He was just going to have to wait one more day.
* * * * * * * *
Gettysburg, July 3, 1863
Several hours later, as the mantel clock struck 4:00 a.m., Ginnie was awakened by another nightmare. She lay in bed, trembling, listening nervously for the threatening sounds of battle to resume. She had slept fitfully. The heat had been suffocating all night, intensified by their fear of opening the windows; the hideous moans of suffering men, hiding in sheltered places around the house, had echoed constantly through the house; Georgia’s baby had been fussy because of the heat, and Ginnie had been up several times to quiet him. Each time it had taken longer to fall back to sleep. The horror of the past two days infected her dreams, producing nightmares which made sleeping almost as frightening as wakefulness.
Finally, she gave up and got out of bed. She checked the boys, sheltered on their trundle between the big bed and the back wall, then peered over her mother’s prone form at the baby, snuggled against Georgia. Her mother whispered in the darkness, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, leaning toward her. “We need more wood for the fire. I’m going to get it before it gets light. It’ll be safer in the dark.” Mary started to sit up, but Ginnie gently held her by the shoulder. “You stay there. I’ll get Sam to help me.” Then she added, “I’ll be careful.”
Already dressed, she fished the chamber pot from beneath the bed, afraid to use the outhouse in the backyard: last night, she had found a Federal sharpshooter sleeping in it. She carried the pot into the kitchen for privacy, replaced the cover and slid it back under the bed. She had pulled on her shoes and started to move toward Sam’s bed when she paused for a moment. Turning around, she returned to her own bed and dropped to her knees. Looking out the window toward town, toward where the rebels were hiding, she folded her hands and lifted her eyes to the stars. “Oh, Father in heaven,” she pleaded silently, “please be with us today. Protect the baby and all of us, and keep us safe from harm. Help this terrible time to be over. Soon.”
She shook Sam gently, and with a sleepy moan he got out of bed and followed her. Opening the kitchen door, she peered out cautiously. She was startled by how quiet it was: no voices for the moment, no movement. Aware that she was facing the enemy, hidden behind dozens of windows up Baltimore Street, she wondered if they could see her. To her right, she thought she could see the first streaks of light touching the horizon. She whispered to Sam, “Come on! And be quiet,” and stepped out into the yard. They went on tiptoe, fearful that any sound might attract the attention of those hidden marksmen.
As she reached the woodpile, the sudden blast of a nearby cannon made her scream in terror. She grabbed for Sam and pressed him against the brick wall of the house. A second distant explosion shook the air almost immediately, and Ginnie realized that a cannonade had started over to the east, toward Culp’s Hill. Steeling herself and trying to calm Sam, she reasoned that the noise of the bombardment might distract the soldiers nearby and mask the sound of their work. Stumbling in their haste, they each carried an armload of wood to the kitchen where their mother now stood anxiously holding the door for them.
Ginnie told Sam to take the bucket around to the well on the other side of the house to get the morning’s water supply. She could hear the windlass squeaking in the dark as twice more she filled her arms with wood. As she started back with the last load, Sam struggled past her, staggering under the weight of the bucket.
Suddenly a voice from the dark said, “Miss!” The appearance of a man by the kitchen door startled her so violently that she dropped her armload with a cry of fright. The wood clattered noisily onto the walk.
“What?” she choked, barely able to speak. Her mind raced: Was he federal or rebel? “Who are you?”
“I’m with Doubleday.” Ginnie relaxed a bit; he was a Federal soldier. He said, “I was here yesterday and you gave me some bread.” Though he was trying to speak quietly, the cannons booming off to the east made that impossible. He raised his voice just as the cannons paused for a moment so that he was shouting in the sudden quiet. “Do you have any more?”
“You have to get away from here,” she said urgently. “It’s not safe. I don’t have any bread now. I’m going to bake some, and some biscuits as soon as I can. Come back in a couple of hours and I’ll give you some.” She stared at his silhouette in the dark, and suddenly he was gone. She hurried into the kitchen after Sam, who dropped his heavy bucket under the kitchen table and went back to bed.
The baby was crying again, and Mary went to get him. Ginnie closed the parlor door, so as not to disturb Georgia and the baby, though that was unlikely: the cannonade off to the east, around Culp’s Hill, continued for about an hour, jarring the house with its heavy concussions. She lit a single candle in the kitchen, and for the next hour prepared more bread dough, using the sponge they had mixed the night before. By 6:00 the cannons had finally grown silent; it was half-light outside and, since she wouldn’t be getting the boys up for breakfast for another hour, she decided to lie down again while the dough rose.
She had just returned to the kitchen at about 7:00, closing the door between the rooms again, when the sound of musket fire erupted toward town. As she turned involuntarily to look north toward the sound, an explosion followed by shattering glass blasted through the parlor, instantly accompanied by frightened screams. She tore open the door, terrified by what she might find. Her mother was on her hands and knees on the bed, straddling Georgia and the baby. Isaac’s enormous eyes peered over the edge of the bed, looking at the broken north window in disbelief.
“Harry! Where’s Harry?” Ginnie screamed. Her mother looked around in a panic until a tiny voice from under the bed said tearfully, “I’m here.” Ginnie dropped to her knees, searching under the bed where the shivering eight-year-old was huddled in a ball, his eyes clamped tightly shut. “Good, stay there!” she ordered him, her voice loud with anxiety. At that moment, the sound of gunfire increased, and they could hear the repeated smack of bullets against the bricks on the north side of the house.
“Get off the bed!” Ginnie yelled at all of them as she crouched on the floor. Her mother crawled awkwardly off the side of the bed toward Ginnie, while Georgia rolled off the other side onto the trundle, practically crushing Isaac as she landed. “The baby, get the baby!” Ginnie shouted, but Georgia was already reaching for him, pulling him down behind the fragile fortress of the bed’s mattress and frame. Ginnie moved to make room for her mother on the floor, and suddenly cried out in pain. She realized only then that the floor was littered with glass. Her forearm was cut in two places, and blood was running down the sleeve of her dress.
Her mother saw what had happened, and pointed in shock at the lounge under the north window. “Look at your bed, Ginnie! It’s covered with glass. If you had been in it...” but she was unable to finish. The firing, which had continued during all of this, suddenly increased in volume, and a moment later another loud crash filled the room, making them all duck in terror.
Mary lifted her head to check whether anyone was hurt and then said, in an awed whisper, “Gracious God, look at that!” When Ginnie and Georgia followed her gaze, they saw a spent minie ball lying on the pillow at the foot of the bed where only moments ago the baby had lain by Georgia’s head. They stared at it for a moment, as if in a trance, and then Mary reached up and touched it. “It’s still warm,” she said in wonder. Then her eye caught Georgia’s across the mattress, and she burst into tears.
Ginnie tried to soothe her. “Mother, God spared both Georgia and me this morning. We’re in his hands. Don’t worry. We’re going to get through this.” When the firing quieted down, the two women cleaned up the broken glass, hung a blanket over the shattered window, and tried to make the room as comfortable as possible.
By 7:30 it was full daylight. The rifle fire had diminished enough that Mary felt she could safely move her little family into the kitchen. There, behind the strong side door, away from the windows, they felt more secure. Georgia joined them in the kitchen for the first time. They gathered around the table and ate a meager breakfast of bread, butter, applesauce and coffee. Harry was still shaking, his eyes filled with a bright liquid terror. “Are they gonna shoot us again?” he asked repeatedly, brushing off their assurances to the contrary. “Can’t we go somewhere, so they can’t shoot us anymore?”
The same question had tortured both Ginnie and her mother, although neither had put it into words. Georgia was having trouble walking; they couldn’t carry her, and anyway, where would they take her? It wasn’t safe to go outside; the rebels were shooting at anything that moved. They would be safer in the basement, but the only entrance was outside, and getting there would expose them to sharpshooters. There was another basement on the opposite side of the house, but there was no way to get to it from inside. It was probably no safer upstairs, and in any event they wanted to be near the doors in case the house caught fire. They knew all this without discussion; putting it into words would merely acknowledge their helplessness.
So Ginnie simply said, “No, Harry, we’re as safe here as we would be any place.” He was not convinced. Neither was she, but at the moment she couldn’t think what else to do.
When they were finished with breakfast, Mary ordered them all back on their beds in the parlor for safety.
“Read us something, Gin,” Georgia suggested weakly.
Ginnie pulled her Bible from under the bed. Lying on her back, consciously staying away from the blanket-draped window over her bed, she opened the Bible to the place where she had stopped reading the day before.
“Psalm 27,” she read aloud. “When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though a host should encamp against me....”
She raised her head to look at Mary and Georgia on the bed, an amazed smile on her face.
“Though a host should encamp against me, My heart shall not fear: Though war should rise against me, In this will I be confident.
“Now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me....Deliver me not over unto the will of mine enemies. I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: Wait, I say, on the Lord.”
“Amen,” Mary whispered quietly. Ginnie smiled, suddenly feeling safe, confident that God was watching over them. They huddled together for a while, listening to the chaos around them, a quiet island in the midst of a human storm.