Chapter 21

Rain hammered the roof and slashed at the windowpanes while thunder rolled overhead. Tillie stretched and smiled, recalling those days before the battle when she pretended the peals sounded like cannon fire. What a ninny. A blinding flash of lightning, followed seconds later by a crack and boom rattled the windows. “They sound nothing like each other.”

“Hmm.” Beckie rolled over and grabbed for the blanket.

Tillie threw the covers aside and slipped out of bed. She sat on the edge of the bed and stretched again, digging her toes into the braided rug. She’d gone to bed only a few hours ago, but awoke refreshed and wide-awake. Besides, she didn’t want to miss breakfast again.

Beckie shifted. Tillie watched her sleep and scowled, seeing she donned a clean nightgown the night before.

Dirty and uncomfortable, she reached up and used her fingers to try to detangle the knots in her hair. She winced when her fingers found a thick knot. She must look a fright with that rat’s nest, but she couldn’t help it. As she lowered her arm, she caught a whiff of her body odor. She jerked her face away and grimaced.

She feared picking up the lice crawling on the men. Thinking of the jumping vermin, she shuddered and scratched her head.

Thunder rumbled again. Would there be more fighting? Despite the thunderstorm, something was different today. She couldn’t shake the feeling yesterday’s ferocity brought a climax.

Tillie approached the washbasin and sluiced her face. She grabbed her shoes and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

Mr. and Mrs. Weikert, Dan, and Mrs. Schriver sat at the table, sipping coffee. Tillie stepped over and around convalescing men. She lifted her skirts to avoid hitting any of them in the face and picked her way across the room. Beyond the basement window, Confederates lay in the barnyard under the drenching rain, trying in vain to shield themselves from the downpour. Her heart went out to them.

The greeting Tillie meant to give died on her lips. A pensive air permeated the room, as if everyone sensed a change and didn’t trust it. Pouring herself some coffee, she found a seat. As she lifted her cup, her gaze met Mrs. Schriver’s sad eyes.

Her neighbor stared hard at her. Tillie’s smile disappeared. Now what? She squirmed under the scrutiny. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Schriver?” A clear challenge rang in her voice.

Her neighbor gave her a sad glance. “I was thinking you should be home, safe, but instead, I dragged you here. When your parents find out what you’ve been through, I’m certain they’re going to be quite angry with me.”

Tillie flopped back in her chair as she released her breath. “No, they won’t.” She shook her head with a rueful chuckle as she waved her cup around. “How could you know this was going to happen?” She sipped her coffee. “I’m safe and alive, and Mother would say ‘all’s well that ends well.’”

Mrs. Schriver burst into tears. Mrs. Weikert leaned close and slipped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Mrs. Schriver covered her face and crumpled in her mother’s arms.

Tillie turned away, wrinkling her nose and making a face. “What is that smell?” She glanced around as if trying to spot the source. “It stinks like dead skunk in the rain, only a hundred times worse.”

“I’m not surprised.” A soldier lying nearby lifted his hand and waved it in front of his face. “What you smell is rotting flesh—animal and human.”

Tillie’s mouth dropped open, and she gaped at him. “How come I didn’t notice it before?”

“Because the odor of gunpowder covered it, but it’s been present since day one. Most of those men have been outside in the hot sun all this time. Wet weather always intensifies the stink. I found that in other battles.”

Tillie didn’t know what to say. Instead, she sipped her coffee and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. So much happened in the past three days. Events blurred and jumbled together in her mind.

“Do you hear that?” Dan turned toward the door.

Mr. Weikert opened the kitchen door. Through the hiss of the rain, cheering atop Little Roundtop traveled like a wave rolling toward Cemetery Ridge and on to Culp’s Hill on their right.

“What does it mean?” Sadie wailed, blue eyes big and round. “Oh, what does it mean?” Sadie threw her hands over her ears and looked around for an opening between the adults to scoot back under the table.

Mrs. Schriver held her arms out, and the child ran to her.

“No need to fret, child,” one man said. “Them’s our boys. It’s over.” A smile lit his face. “The fighting’s over.” He reached over and shook the shoulder of the man lying next to him. His grin faded as he gazed into the soldier’s lifeless eyes. He clenched the dead man’s collar, and then let go and lay back down. He covered his face with his hands. His words muffled behind his hands, “Praise God.”

Dan raised his coffee cup in a toast. “Happy Fourth of July, everyone.”

Those at the table lifted their cups. The men followed suit with empty hands as though holding a cup. “Happy Fourth of July,” they chimed in unison.

“May the heart of this fair Nation be forever inclined unto wisdom, so we may never fall into the folly of another war.” Another man, lying near the stairs, wiped tears from his face.

“Hear, hear,” echoed a chorus.

The doctors arrived for another day of gruesome work. It broke the spell, and Tillie and the others put away their breakfast dishes and set about spending their Fourth of July nursing and tending the hundreds of men in the house, on the grounds, and in the barn.

****

The early morning storm moved on, Mother Nature having done her best to wash the earth clean. Throughout the day, the sky remained gray and overcast, heavy with the promise of more thunderstorms. Tillie performed her duties, oblivious to the weather. Late in the afternoon, the light dimmed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a finger of lightning streak through the clouds, followed by a resounding crack of thunder that made her jump.

“God is angry with the carnage.” The soldier she nursed lay on the floor waiting his turn at the surgeon’s table. His comment seemed directed at no one in particular.

Tillie smiled but didn’t respond. She wound a bandage around his mangled leg with mechanical motions.

Two orderlies came in and dropped another man on the floor near the dining room door. A line of men waited from the table out the door and into the hallway. Tillie finished wrapping and bandaging. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, stifling a yawn. She patted her patient on the chest and moved on to the next. Before bending to her task, she rolled her head from one shoulder to the other to relieve the ache in her neck and shoulders.

Doc Billings came to stand beside her. He unwrapped the bandage and, using his fingers, pulled open the wound to inspect the bone. He sighed. “I have to take off the leg.”

“No! No!” The soldier shrieked and grabbed hold of the doctor’s arm. “Please, God, don’t take off my leg. How will I work my farm when I go home?”

Doctor Billings put his hands on the man’s arms. “Now calm down.” He eased the man down and talked to him until he quieted. “I must. The bone is shattered, and there is nothing I can do to save your leg.” He held the soldier’s eye until the man settled. When he accepted his fate, he nodded and lay back.

Doctor Billings spoke to Tillie, but his eyes slid beyond her to the door. He straightened. “You there, little girl.”

Tillie turned as Mollie shrank away from the door.

With a bloody hand, Doc Billings gestured her forward. Blood dripped off his fingers. “Come here, young lady.” His voice softened. “Come and give this man a drink of water so I can take off his leg.”

Tillie grabbed the scissors and cut his trousers.

Mollie inched forward. She picked up a cup next to a water bucket and dipped it in, then came close and held it, too frightened to move. Panting from severe pain, the soldier gave her a thankful smile and took the mug. After he drank, he handed it back. She took it and, crying, ran from the room.

* * * *

As the day wore on, the rains passed over Gettysburg. The gray skies remained. But by early evening, the sun managed to find a chink in the clouds, and slim rays of sunlight filtered down, warming the wet earth. Steam rose from the ground, lending a spectral aspect as thin wisps formed around lifeless men. Tillie imagined the grim reaper walking through the field, rejoicing over his fine harvest.

Despite the number of men treated, and those they didn’t get to in time, the queue of waiting men never ended. Tillie began to think a procession of men stretched from Gettysburg to Baltimore waiting for help.

Finally, the time came for the family, doctors, and nurses to sit down to supper. The Weikerts used up their supplies feeding the soldiers since the fighting started three days before. In return, the army provided small fare, but they accepted the food with some grace. Her mouth watered when she remembered their meal from their first day. A rueful smile crossed her face. If they knew, they might have been more sparing. As she sipped her coffee, she glanced at the doctor. Dark shadows circled his eyes. He gave a prodigious yawn and rubbed a weary hand over his face and hair. Tillie’s heart went out to him. He hadn’t rested in days.

“You look exhausted, Dr. Billings.” She touched his arm. “Won’t you take even an hour to rest?”

He looked through her as though she were transparent. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “These poor men don’t get a rest, so I don’t either.” He took a bite of his bread. He eyed her as he chewed. “You’ve been a great help to me these past two days.”

“Thank you.” She straightened her shoulders and sat tall, grateful for his praise. Hearing she mattered made her heart skip a beat.

After the meal ended, she helped clean up, and then stepped outside to use the outhouse. As she walked back across the yard, the stench of putrefaction and death assaulted her senses. Not only could she smell it, but the odor lingered on her tongue. She clamped her teeth together and tried to seal her nostrils closed, but she couldn’t suppress a gag. With considerable effort, she fought the desire to leave her meal in the yard. She took shallow breaths while reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief, which she pressed hard to her nose and mouth. She stopped to take in the damage done on Little Roundtop. It was difficult to comprehend that the day before yesterday, a vicious fight occurred there. Trees, in full, green splendor the week before, now stood, stripped of their leaves. Branches reached out from the trunks as if in supplication. Some once large healthy trees now so riddled with bullets they toppled over. Others appeared chopped down on purpose. One word kept reverberating through Tillie’s mind—shameful.

A movement caught her eye, and she shifted her gaze to the field below the summit of the hill. She recalled their flight to Two Taverns and the devastation that greeted them when they returned. The soldiers told her they called yesterday’s fight Pickett’s Charge, for the Confederate general who led the attack. Now, several men moved about the battlefield. Occasionally they knelt down, lifted men, and carried them away. At other times, they knelt, rose, and moved on. Must be looking for more wounded. No doubt, they’d be arriving here soon. Lord knows where they’d put them.

She sighed, and her body drooped. Since they were the closest hospital, they had to come here. She remembered what Dr. Billings said about her being a help. She peered at her hands, caked with grime. Dirt and dried blood packed thick underneath her fingernails. Her skin, chapped and raw from so much water, nevertheless was stained rust brown. She wiped her palms down her apron, to find it also covered in grime. She caught a whiff of herself. A sudden urge to cry overcame her. She wanted to go home and get a hot bath, a change of clothes, and wash and brush her hair. She didn’t want to be around all this ruin anymore. Tillie drew in a deep ragged breath. She wanted her mother.

Standing in the yard, surrounded by wounded and dead men, she covered her face with her hands and released huge sobs. Tillie allowed herself a few moments of despair before regaining control. She sucked in huge gulps of air and pushed her sobs down, not wanting these men to witness her distress when they bore their suffering with so much bravery. Someone tapped her shoulder.

Tillie swiped at her face, blinked, and turned. A man smiled down at her. She sniffed and stared back at him. She was supposed to recognize him, but her brain didn’t make a connection.

His expression changed from happiness to embarrassment as he realized she didn’t recall who he was. He removed his cap and nodded a greeting. “Do you not remember me?” His eyebrows raised as he asked the hopeful question. “Do you not recollect the man who got you on a wagon on the first day?”

Tillie gasped, thrilled that a man stood in front of her, unhurt and standing on his own two feet. Renewed tears filled her eyes. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and give him a great big kiss. She restrained herself. What would he think of her?

“Why are you crying?”

“Corporal Townsend! Forgive me please.” She wiped her eyes and nose with her handkerchief. “I’m just so glad to see you well. You escaped the battle unharmed.”

The corporal’s smile faded a bit. “Yes, well that’s not hard to do when you’re attached to a general’s staff.” His eyes surveyed the wounded men lying close by, unease in his gaze.

“Please allow me to thank you once again for getting me here,” she said. “I do appreciate the service you provided.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” he brushed off her comment. They stared at each other. Corporal Townsend shifted his feet. He glanced about at the battered men again, and a strange expression crossed his face.

“I’m with General Sykes’s staff.” A derisive note edged his words. “He and my father are great friends, and it is as a favor to him I’m so situated. If I had my way, I would be among these men doing more noble work than running messages back and forth.”

“But, corporal, consider.” Tillie smiled. “Had you been with the men, I would not now be where I am.”

Townsend looked at her, surprised, and then he laughed. “You have me there.”

“How did you know where to find us?”

“The woman with you said you were trying to get to a farm a mile or so down the road. This is a mile or so down the road. I thought if this weren’t the right place, I’d just continue until I found you. Tell me, how are the little girls? Are they well? I thought about those darling children all week.”

“Oh, yes, they’re fine. They’re all inside if you would like to come in.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay long. I must say, I was pleasantly surprised when I turned in and saw you standing and staring at Little Roundtop. What were you looking at?”

Tillie pointed toward the field and the men still moving around and picking up soldiers. “See those men?” She swung her arm to indicate the men walking through the battle zone. “I was thinking that soon those men will arrive here and we’ll need to help them. I must confess there’s no place left to put them.”

“Well, you needn’t worry. Those men are gathering in the dead.”

Tillie foundered for something to say. Her heart gave a painful lurch.

“Why aren’t they picking up all the bodies?” Her brow furrowed. “I see them sometimes kneel down and then move on.”

Corporal Townsend shrugged in a nonchalant fashion. “They’re Rebs.”

Tillie stared at him before turning toward the field.

“Well.” He dismissed the activity on the hill. “As I said, I can’t stay. I asked General Sykes for a few minutes to come here and find out what became of you. I’m glad you came through the fight unharmed as well.” He waved and took his leave.

“Oh.” He turned back, as if remembering something important. “I brought a gift for you.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and removed an object. He offered her a token of a silver button still attached to a scrap of gray cloth.

“I cut this from a Confederate coat,” he told her. “I wanted to give you something to remember me by.”

She held out her hand, and he laid the scrap in her palm. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I shall treasure it always.” She closed her hand over the prize before putting it in her pocket. She kissed Corporal Townsend on the cheek. He blushed, stammered some words, and took his leave.

Tillie watched him walk away, her spirits lifted by his visit. She went back into the house to tell Mrs. Schriver he remembered them.

* * * *

The sun sank behind the Roundtops before Tillie, the doctors, and orderlies entered the basement kitchen for dinner. The captain who ministered to General Weed sat at the table, a cup of coffee in his hand. He stood and bowed to her.

“I must apologize to you, Miss Pierce.” He removed his hat and bobbed his head. “I’m a day late in returning from my task of securing your message to your parents. The circumstances of yesterday’s battle prevented me from getting here any sooner.”

Tillie took his hands. “That’s all right, captain. I understand the delay. Besides,” she shrugged in a quick, conciliatory gesture. “You wouldn’t have found us here. We decided to skedaddle ourselves. We ran to Two Taverns for safety’s sake.” She crossed the kitchen and used the washbasin to clean her hands and splash water on her face. She grabbed a towel to dry her face and moved to the table.

“Did you find my home?” She took a plate of food from Mrs. Weikert and sat herself down across from the captain.

“I did.”

“Well, how many linden trees are outside my home?” She smiled, wanting reassurance he’d gone to the right house.

“Never mind that.” He waved away her question. “I don’t care how many trees are in front of your house. To prove it, I’ll tell you, your mother told me about how the Rebs stole your horse. She also told me to inform you that Jenny Wade was killed while baking bread at her sister’s house. She said you would want to know.”

Everyone fell silent. The women exchanged glances, realizing their good fortune. Sam’s words came back to her. She’s a traitor, and I hope she gets what she deserves. No, no one deserved that, not even Ginny. With how much Tillie disliked Ginny, she knew Mother imparted the information as a reminder of Christ’s edict to love your neighbor as yourself and to pray for your enemy, because at any time the Lord might call you to account for your deeds.

“Ginny,” Tillie said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Her name wasn’t Jenny. It was Ginny. Virginia.” She lowered her eyes to her plate. “Ginny Wade, and yes, Mother would want me to know that.”

“Your parents were relieved to hear you are safe and unharmed. Your sister, Maggie, sends her love.”

Tillie’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of her family. Her heart lightened knowing they weathered the conflict and now knew she survived as well. She didn’t realize the weight of the fear she lived under until now.

“Thank you,” she said. “I can’t tell you how relieved you made me.”

The captain placed a hand over hers. Then he kissed her hand. “I’m glad I could help you in return. Now, I must get back to my unit. It’s been my great pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss Pierce.” He rose and headed for the door.

“Take care of yourself, captain.”

He nodded and reached for the doorknob.

“Oh, captain?”

He turned at her voice.

“Thank you for the Bible. It’s been of huge comfort to me.”

He saluted and took his leave. After he disappeared, she realized she never asked his name.

* * * *

The clock chimed one o’clock in the morning when she dropped into an exhausted slumber. She no sooner closed her eyes, than someone shook her awake. Her body did not want to rouse enough to acknowledge the person depriving her of rest. Opening her eyes, she discovered Doc Billings standing over her holding a candle and whispering to her to get up.

“What’s the matter?”

“I need you, Miss Tillie. You need to get up.” He shook her again.

“What time is it?” She sat up, her brain still fuzzy.

“Somewhere around two in the morning.”

“Do you never sleep?”

“I am sorry to rouse you so soon after sending you to bed. But I have a patient who’s taken a turn, and he’s asking for you. Please come.”

Tillie flung back the covers and jumped, fully dressed, out of bed. She groped around for her shoes but couldn’t find them. Instead, she went in her stocking feet toward the door.

Doc Billings followed. “Wait,” he whispered. He grabbed Beckie’s petticoat lying on the bed. “I need bandages. Do you think she’ll mind?”

Tillie suspected she would a great deal, but didn’t say so. She shrugged. “I’ll tell her in the morning,” she assured him.

They entered the dining room together. A private lay on the operating table. She remembered assisting Dr. Billings while he amputated the boy’s right arm earlier in the day. She shook her head. No, not today, yesterday.

She approached, smelling the sweet, cloying odor of decay. One reason for removing a damaged limb was to prevent infection, though it often happened despite their best efforts.

“Miss Tillie.” The boy’s voice rasped her name. He extended his left hand to her. “I knew you’d come. I asked them to get you.”

Tillie took his hot hand in one of hers and placed her other on his brow. In the candlelight, his eyes were glassy.

“How are you feeling, David?”

“Oh, I’m much better now you’re here.”

“I’m glad.” She forced a smile and turned away, fussing with his bandages to hide her emotions. He was dying, and she didn’t want him to see she knew.

“What can I do to help?” she asked to gain control of herself and the situation.

“You can start by tearing that up.” Dr. Billings indicated the petticoat. “We’ll need plenty of clean wraps for him.”

Tillie squeezed David’s hand before picking up the garment. After they cleaned him and changed his bandages, David drifted to sleep. Tillie went back to the bedroom for the Bible lying on the end table. She returned to the dining room and sat next to his pallet.

“Where did you go?” His voice was groggy.

“To get this.” She indicated the book.

“I like Hebrews.” He closed his eyes.

Tillie opened the book and read.

“Read that again?”

“Which?”

“Chapter two. Start at verse ten and go to the end,” David said. “It’s my favorite.”

She cleared her throat and began. “‘For it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory, to make the captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings.’” She glanced at him and saw his smile as though drinking in the words.

“‘For both he that sanctifieth and they who are sanctified are all of one: for which cause he is not ashamed to call them brethren, saying I will declare thy name unto my brethren, in the midst of the church will I sing praise unto thee. And again, I will put my trust in him. And again, Behold I and the children which God hath given me, forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same; that through death he might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil.’” Tillie looked up to find him sleeping. She closed the book and placed it next to her. She laid her palm over his forehead again. Heat radiated off him.

She got up and, grabbing the bucket, slipped out of the room. She returned moments later and dipped a piece of the torn petticoat into the water. She wiped his face and hand, then opened his shirt and ran the cool cloth over his neck and chest, wishing she could do more. More than once her tears dropped on him, and she wiped them away.

As she worked over him, the words she read came back to her. A merciful and faithful high priest in things pertaining to God. Make reconciliation for the sins of the people. That through death he might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil.

Tillie ministered to the boy whose life drifted away. He would be in Paradise soon. She understood that he did not fear death because, for him, death had been defeated. She recalled the sermon Reverend Bergstrasser gave the Sunday before the battle. Matthew 10 in which he said, though the enemy could destroy our bodies, he could not destroy our souls if we were one with Christ.

Tillie drew in a deep breath and pulled herself under control. No longer would she mourn for David, for he would be going to a place denied to her until two days ago. She would see him again in Paradise. She would recognize him, and he her. Her heart burst for joy.

During the night, she held his hand or wiped his brow with a cool cloth as he veered between wakefulness and sleep, delirium and lucidity. Just as the sun broke free of the heights to pour its rays through the window and across the sleeping boy, the young soldier opened his eyes. Tillie changed his bandages and smiled down at him. “Good morning.” She lay her cool palm on his hot forehead.

“Maureen.” His unfocused eyes met Tillie’s concerned ones. “Tell Mama I don’t feel good.” The light left his eyes, and the breath left his body.

Sobs rose in her throat. She cried for all the men who died despite their best efforts. She cried because she would never get the opportunity to know them beyond the few minutes or hours given to her.

She hid her face in the crook of her elbow while his blood dripped from her fingers. Regaining her composure, she leaned over and kissed his brow. Her tears fell onto his face. She would never get used to seeing a man die.