Prologue

July 4, 1893

Selinsgrove, PA

 

Tillie Alleman sat back in her new Adirondack chair, chewing the last of her watermelon slice and watching her family enjoy their picnic.

Her husband, Horace, strolled through the garden, talking with their son, Harry, a serious nineteen-year-old, starting his second year of college in September. Harry’s interest in law pleased his father. From the tilt of their heads and low murmur of their voices, surely, they discussed appropriate college classes, law schools, and which type of law to pursue as they ambled through the gardens.

Seventeen-year-old Mary and thirteen-year-old Anna sat on the picnic blanket nearby, a Godey’s Ladies Book between them.

“I can’t wait until I can wear long skirts.” Annie fingered her sister’s flowered lawn dress. “Ma says when I turn fifteen I may.”

Mary leaned in close. “She made me wait until fifteen as well.” She glanced back at their mother. “How old were you, Ma, when you started wearing long skirts?”

Tillie rose and joined them on the picnic blanket. “I was fifteen as well.”

Annie’s face fell.

Tillie placed a gentle hand on Annie’s knee. “It’s an appropriate age for girls to start with long skirts.”

Mary leaned into Annie and wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry to be a lady, Annie. Then it becomes inappropriate to run, skip, or jump.”

Tillie arched a brow. “Mary.” She leaned forward. “I do hope you behave like a proper young lady at the academy.”

“Of course, Mother.” Mary sang. She sat back and lowered her eyes to the blanket for a moment. She looked at Tillie. “I have excellent grades and no demerits for improper dress or deportment. But, sometimes, I would love to jump into a mud puddle or run down the street, just because it feels good to do so.”

Tillie opened her mouth to berate Mary for such an admission, but Horace and Harry joined them.

Harry dropped his lanky frame down across from Annie, causing the Godey’s Ladies Book to slip off her lap.

“Harry!” Annie grabbed at it.

“What are you looking at, Mouse?” He tried to grab the magazine, but Mary and Tillie reached in to stop him.

“Harry, leave her be.” Tillie swatted his arm. “And don’t call her mouse.”

“She is a mouse.” He shrugged, ignoring her admonition, and then dropped onto his back and looked up at the sky beginning to change to early evening light. “So what did you all do for fun on the Fourth of July, when you were young?” He glanced at his parents, and then resumed staring at the sky.

“Who said we had fun on the Fourth of July?” Tillie teased.

Horace chuckled and Mary laughed. Harry grunted.

“Ma, would you tell us the story?” Annie closed the magazine and laid it on the blanket between her and Mary. “I just love hearing the story. Would you tell it, please?”

“Oh.” Tillie wrapped her arm around Annie’s shoulder. She pressed her cheek to the top of her daughter’s head. “You’ve heard that story a thousand times.”

Harry shifted and leaned on an elbow. “We don’t care. We love the story. Please tell it.”

“Yes, Ma, please,” Mary joined in. She readjusted her skirts and pulled her knees up, making herself more comfortable.

Horace chuckled, pulled his pipe out of his shirt pocket, and clenched it between his teeth. He reached into his trouser pocket and removed a pouch of tobacco. “I don’t believe you have much choice, my dear.” He tamped tobacco into the bowl and lit it with great big puffs.

The scent of applewood pipe smoke curled around them and wafted away on the evening breeze. The smell of her family. Just as the metallic scent of animal blood and lemon verbena were the smells of her childhood.

“Oh, dear.” An amused grin tugged at her lips. “How can I refuse these faces?” She glanced at the remains of their picnic feast. “We should clean up first, and then,” she looked at Annie, “I suppose I can tell the story.”

Horace blew pipe smoke into the air. “We can clean up after.” He grinned and bit into his pipe stem.

Tillie shot him a look of love and amusement. He loved the story as much as their children did. “Very well.” She pushed off with one arm and raised her hip off the ground. With her free hand, she pulled her skirts out in front of her, so they wouldn’t bunch and tighten about her legs. Then, when she was comfortable, she peered off to the west. The sun was gone now, but the heat lingered, and in the half-light of the remaining day, she gathered her thoughts. “I can’t believe thirty years have come and gone since,” she began. “I was just a girl when the Confederate soldiers marched into Gettysburg and changed my life forever.”