Chapter 4

 

Tillie tucked one foot up on a chair rung as Maggie wandered from sitting room to kitchen and back again, wringing her hands and worrying aloud. Her laments grated on Tillie’s nerves, but she clenched her teeth and, with effort, remained quiet.

“Where is the train?” Maggie implored. “Why don’t they come? Where are they?” She drifted around the kitchen, tears shining in her eyes.

Mother rolled out a piecrust. She pursed her lips but said nothing.

“What if something happened?” Maggie marched up to her. “I know something terrible happened.”

Mother stopped and swiped her hands down her apron. “Maggie, this does no good. You’ll worry yourself into anemia.”

Tillie sat at the kitchen table, one elbow on the edge, her chin resting in her palm, fingers curled against her cheek. Her open algebra text lay unstudied in front of her. “Trains are always late. Why is everyone behaving like silly ninnies because a train is late? It doesn’t mean something is wrong.”

Maggie turned a hurt expression and tear-filled eyes her way.

“I’m sorry.” Tillie held out a hand. “Perhaps they were delayed for some reason.” The words rang false, even to her, but she persisted. “Isn’t that right, Father?” she said when he poked his head into the room.

“Isn’t what right, dear?” He carried a towel with him, drying his hands.

“Trains are never on time. Why, Uncle Robert said the same thing last Christmas, remember? He understands such matters. He runs the station.”

“Why don’t I go to the Telegraph Office?” Father crumpled the cloth. “Hugh Buehler often gets news faster than the newspapers do. To be honest, I can’t stand the anxiety either. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He kissed Mother’s cheek, grabbed his hat, and left.

“Oh, Maggie.” Tillie faced her sister. “Remember the colored family from the other day?” Standing, she bent over at the waist, her hands at her right shoulder as if weighed down by a gigantic pack. She did a grotesque half step to the door and back. “Y’all don’t want them slave kotchers to git ya, does ya?” She aped the mother’s words, laughing.

Mother cut her short. “Tillie, how terrible! Have Father and I taught you nothing? The Coloreds in this community should be pitied and helped, not mocked.”

“Really, Tillie, you can be crass sometimes.” Maggie put on her superior older sister voice.

“I can be crass?” She straightened and scowled. “As I recall, you and George laughed as much as I did.” She grabbed her chair and yanked it back, plopping down hard and crossing her arms over her bosom.

Opening her mouth as if to deny Tillie’s accusation, Maggie glanced at Mother, then stuck her nose in the air. “Well, what if I did? I’m not amused anymore.” She reddened as Mother glared at them.

“Enough, girls.” Mother dropped the pastry roller and stepped away from the worktable. “You both know how your father and I feel about slavery, don’t you?”

“Of course.” They spoke in unison.

“Had I known that family went into hiding, I would have taken them in and kept them here until the danger passed.” Mother’s face flushed, and her brown eyes snapped. “We’ve done much for the cause of abolition, and prayed a long time for their freedom. Even so, I’m sure the Rebs don’t care a fig about emancipation.” Her eyes bore into Tillie. “If they catch the Negroes, they will sell them into slavery. Do you comprehend? Do you want that to happen?”

“No.” Tillie dropped her gaze to the table. Her ears burned. Why did she always say and do the wrong thing at the wrong time? She jumped up, excused herself, and fled upstairs.

She lay across her bed staring at the ceiling. Mother’s words hammered at her, and she strained to cast herself in the position of the colored folks. She imagined standing on a platform bound at the hands while men shouted out bids for her. She studied the creamy white complexion of her hand and arm. There, but for the grace of God, go I. The significance of those words exploded in her brain. Had she been born with dark skin…She didn’t dare finish the thought. To be sold away from Father and Mother, Maggie and even Sam, and never see them again. Concern over her brothers didn’t come close. The idea of such a loss made her want to cry.

Her thoughts drifted back to a hot August night when she was eight years old. Unable to sleep, she wandered out to the upstairs breezeway for fresh air. A full moon illuminated the back yard. A colored man slipped into Father’s butcher shop and closed the door behind him. Mother went out with a blanket and some food. A short time later, she returned to the house empty-handed. At breakfast, Tillie asked about him, but Father rebuked her and told her never to speak of him. She never did and, since she never saw him again, forgot the incident. Until now.

Sadness overwhelmed her. Tears streamed from her eyes and into her hair. She cried for the family in hiding, and for James and William.

At a soft knock on the door, she rose to her elbows.

“May I come in?” Mother entered without waiting for assent.

Tillie sat up, using the hem of her skirt to wipe her eyes and nose.

“Tilliiieeee! For heaven’s sake.” Mother took a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “Use this.”

Laughing through her tears, Tillie buried her face in the cloth.

“What’s gotten into you, my dear?” Mother perched on the bed and caressed Tillie’s head. “You aren’t the same Matilda who lived here a few short months ago.”

“I don’t know, Mother. I don’t feel like her either. I can’t say or do the right thing anymore. I’m like a stranger even to me. Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I don’t recognize myself. It’s scary.” She sniffled and hiccupped.

Mother pulled her into her arms and kissed the top of Tillie’s brown head. “My baby’s growing up.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you with my story. I thought you’d be amused. I wanted to lighten the moment and get Maggie’s mind off George. Instead, I walked straight into my own folly.”

Mother squeezed her. “Believe me, Tillie, I understand. You’ve hit a stage in life we all go through, where you feel as though nothing ever changes. But, before you know it, the entire world has gone awry and you can’t keep up.”

Fresh tears welled, and she covered her face with the handkerchief, pressing it hard into her eyes. “Does it ever go away?” The kerchief muffled her voice.

“Yes, and sooner than I would like, that’s for certain.” Mother gave Tillie one more squeeze, and then released her. “I’ll ask Maggie to do your chores this afternoon. Why don’t you stay up here for a while? Perhaps you can write to James and William, or read a book.”

“Thank you, Mother. I’d like that.”

* * * *

Tillie returned below stairs at the usual suppertime, not daring to remain upstairs when Father came home. He might think Mother punished her for something.

Mother delayed the meal until six o’clock. “Girls, come in and set the table.”

“Should I set Father’s place?”

“Yes, dear. If Father gets hungry, he’ll find his way home.”

“He always does,” Tillie sang out.

Mother laughed.

They finished cleaning up supper when Father entered through the back door, red-faced and out of breath. “I’m sorry, Margaret. I didn’t intend to be gone so long, but we had much to talk about.” After pouring water into a basin, he washed his face and hands.

“What news, James?” Mother spun from the sink, hands sudsy and dripping water on the floor. “Not the boys?”

“No.” He went to her and squeezed her arms. “Not our two boys. Calm your fears, my dear. I bring news of the train.” Father’s eyes shot to Maggie. His brow puckered, and a frown drew his mouth down, making his jowls hang low.

Tillie and Maggie exchanged glances.

“Speak out, James.” Mother wiped her hands on her apron.

He let her arms go and walked to his seat. His head hung low, and he did not make eye contact.

Mother brought a dish of food and placed it in front of him. “They have a right to know what’s happening. They’re old enough to understand.”

“Yes, Father.” Maggie took a firm grip on the back of her chair with both hands, turning her knuckles white. “George is on that train. I’m entitled to hear what happened.”

“I as well, Father.” Tillie’s voice shook, and she wrung the dishtowel.

“Very well.” He placed his arms flat on the table. Then he clasped his hands, twisting his wedding ring around. He harrumphed. “Well, first, the train didn’t come because it derailed between New Oxford and Gettysburg. They hit a cow.”

For a split second, complete silence filled the room. Then Tillie burst out laughing. “Imagine.” She snorted, almost unable to speak between peals of laughter. “Frightened of the Rebs because of a cow.” She gave in to hysterics, releasing her anxiety. She wrapped her arms around her abdomen and collapsed, guffawing at full volume.

Maggie pounded her fist, cheeks scarlet. “It isn’t funny, Tillie.” She gave her a withering glare. “George is on that train, and those boys might have been badly hurt.”

With some effort, Tillie calmed herself. She waved her cloth in front of her face, needing fresh air. She drew in a breath and chuckled a few more times before pushing the cloth against her lips to staunch the flow. Holding her breath, she exhaled in small measurements until calm and collected.

Father smiled, though no hint of humor shone in his eyes. “I can see your point of it, though. I must say, when I first learned of it, I had a mental image of a cow standing astraddle the railroad tracks, chewing her cud and daring the locomotive to do its worst.” Father’s gaze darted to Maggie again.

This time, Tillie snorted as a fresh surge overtook her. The laughter rushed again, but she glanced at her sister, who glared back, lips flat and jaw clenched.

Tillie pressed the towel to her face and coughed to bring her amusement under control. She fell silent, though occasional spasms still shook her body.

Father’s smile disappeared. His eyes held Maggie’s for a long time. He sighed. “George wasn’t there, and luckily, no one got hurt. However, they won’t be here until tomorrow morning.”

“Why not?” Maggie’s eyes widened, and fear reshaped her face. Her brows puckered.

Father kept his head down and spoke to the table. “The word is the Rebs are about ten miles north and west of here. It seems they clashed with our boys around Cashtown. More are near Carlisle. The general consensus is they’re trying to swing around in an arc and get to Harrisburg.”

“How interesting, but what has it to do with George?”

Father closed his eyes as though in a moment of silent prayer. He cradled Maggie’s hands in his and dropped his gaze to their clasped fingers. “My dear, I am so sorry to tell you this.” He cleared his throat. “George was killed.”

Tillie gasped.

“No!” Mother’s hands flew over her mouth as though to stifle her cry of shock.

Maggie yanked free of his grasp. “You said he wasn’t…on the train.” Her voice choked as she squeezed out the last few words.

Father let her go. “He and two other men rode to Carlisle to join the regiment. They were a mile outside of that town when they ran into Confederate soldiers—skirmishers. George and his companions—Billy Lightner, and I don’t know the name of the other man—weren’t armed. They made a dash for it. Billy and the other man escaped unharmed, but George…” Father wiped tears from his eyes. “He lay beside a snake rail fence. They think his mount refused the jump, which allowed the Rebs to catch up and…” Father pinched his nostrils, drew a deep breath, and resumed. “They shot him in the back of the head. Locals found his body earlier today.”

“How can that be?” Maggie’s voice quavered. “He promised to return at Christmas. He said he would write to me every day. I gave him a hair ribbon as a token. He can’t be dead. He can’t be!” Her head swiveled between Mother and Father, desperation pleading in her eyes. “He can’t be!”

Mother went to Maggie and put her arms around her. Murmuring words only Maggie could hear, she guided her out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Father pinched his nose again and knuckled an eye.

Silent, Tillie bit her lip against the grief and guilt threatening to overwhelm her. She peered at Father through watery eyes. “I’m sorry I laughed.”

He didn’t respond. He pushed his plate away untouched and covered her hand with his own warm one. He squeezed her knuckles hard, but she didn’t mind.

Mother reappeared, wiping her eyes with a corner of her apron. She sat and dropped her forehead in her hands.

“Will Maggie be all right?” Tillie’s voice clogged.

Mother flung herself out of her chair and ran from the room. She pounded up the stairs, sobbing. Their bedroom door slammed.

Father rose to his feet. He trudged up the steps after her.

Tillie picked up his dish and finished cleaning the supper dishes.