Chapter 29

Reading aloud from Shakespeare’s Sonnets with Private Johnson, Tillie glanced at Tommy, the ginger-haired boy, who lay on his cot, across the aisle, whittling. Sam often whittled when he needed to sort things out within himself. Her voice drifted away as an idea began to take shape.

“You know what, Miss Tillie.” Johnson pushed the book down to her lap, bringing her back to reality. “I’m kinda tired. I think I want to rest a bit, and after, write a letter to my sweetheart. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not.” She took some paper out of her basket, along with a pen and some ink. “I’ll leave you now.” She rose and crossed to the ginger-haired boy. He chipped away with vicious hacks. “I can bring you more wood, if you want some. My father’s apprentice whittles a lot. Sometimes, he even makes something worth looking at.” She chuckled.

The boy turned the stick in his hands and returned to gouging out chunks and letting the chips fly.

She sighed and walked away.

* * * *

As soon as the sun edged toward the peaks of Big Roundtop and the clouds began to turn purple, Tillie started for home. Mother made her promise to be home before dark, but she stayed a bit longer to finish some things before going home. Now she walked fast. A chill November breeze touched her skin. Her cheeks tingled, and her breath puffed out in white billows. Would Mr. Garlach give her some spare pieces of dressed wood? Perhaps if she asked in a circumspect way, he may be willing.

She approached the outskirts of town, and as she passed Racehorse Alley, something hard hit her right arm. She spun around in the gathering darkness trying to identify the culprit.

“Traitor!” a man shouted, but she didn’t recognize the voice.

Her scalp prickled as feet pounded down the alley. She picked up the rock. People disapproved of what she did, she knew, but she never thought her neighbors would turn vicious. She was one of them. She stared down the lane. The darkening passage and looming buildings menaced her now, as though hiding monsters. She dropped the stone, grabbed her skirts, and ran home.

As she entered the house, her stomach growled at the smell of dinner. She took off her cloak and bonnet and hung them up. Holding out the cuff of her sleeve, she examined it for tears. She didn’t find any, only a dirt mark where the rock hit her.

Father stepped into the hallway. “You’re home. Good. I’m getting ready to read. Hurry and wash up.”

“Yes, Father.” She breezed into the kitchen and poured water into the washbasin. After a quick cleansing, she dropped into her seat with a sigh, relieved to be home, safe and secure, around people who loved her.

Father opened the Bible to the Book of Matthew.

She listened, and when he finished, she passed food around the table, eating her meal in silence and partially listening to the general conversation.

“Are you well, dear?” Mother placed her palm on Tillie’s forehead.

“I’m fine. I’m tired.” Tillie smiled, then turned her eyes to her plate and continued to eat.

“Well, go to bed early. You spend far too much time at Camp Letterman, if you ask me.”

“I like what I do.” She forked another bite of food and chewed.

Father tapped her arm. “Join your mother and me in the parlor after supper.”

His expression said they wanted to discuss something important. Her heart skipped a beat. Did she do something wrong? “Of course, Father.” She saw no point in pursuing the subject at the table. He wouldn’t speak in front of the others.

After helping Maggie clean the dishes, Tillie sat on the parlor sofa. She folded her hands in her lap and waited for her parents, sitting together on the settee, to begin.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” Mother asked.

“Why do you think something is wrong?” She studied first one parent, then the other. Did someone tell them of the harassment?

“My love.” Mother tilted her head and gave her a gentle smile. “You are my child, and I love you. Do you think I can’t tell when something troubles you? Is that boy still giving you a hard time?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t worry about him. Mostly he ignores me. I think I found a way to get through to him. Father, do you think Mr. Garlach would give me a piece of surplus dressed wood? Something he can whittle. After my confrontation with the boy, whose name is Tommy, the others started to open up.” She rearranged her skirts, trying to put her thoughts in order. “I ate lunch with a chaplain today. I’m having a little trouble with people in town who seem to think I’ve forgotten who I am and what those Southern boys are.”

Her parents exchanged a knowing glance.

Tillie noticed but went on. “We spoke for some time about reconciliation and finding out if there are brothers in Christ among those Confederates.” She sighed and beat back a wave of sadness. “I feel a little like this past summer. People say things that make sense at the time, but then I’m not sure what we talked about or if I heard right.”

“Heard what right?” Father’s brow creased. He sat forward.

“Well, Chaplain Combs and I spoke of Second Corinthians. Tonight, you read blessed are the merciful and blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called children of God. I know my heart is not pure at all, and I’m wondering if I’m doing this for God’s glory or my own.” She uttered a heavy, worried sigh. After a few moments of fiddling with a pleat in her skirt, she glanced at her parents.

“Why do you worry about whose glory you do this for?” Mother tilted her head.

“Because.” Tillie shrugged and kept her eyes on her lap. “Because people at the camp hate me for what I’m doing. Someone threw a rock and hit me in the arm as I walked home tonight.” She wiped a tear away, hating to tell them of the incident. “I don’t like it when people dislike me. My first instinct is to behave contrary to them.”

“Who threw a rock at you?” Father demanded, but Mother placed a calming hand over his arm.

“She’s obviously unharmed, James, and we can get to that later.”

Tillie smiled. “Mother’s right. It doesn’t matter who threw the rock, and I didn’t see them anyway. It came flying out of Racehorse Alley and hit me on the arm.”

Father drew a deep breath and let it out. “I’m glad you’re telling us this. It’s the reason we wanted to talk to you.” He clasped Mother’s hand. “You speak true when you say they don’t like what you’re doing. I’ve been told outright people think you’re providing aid and comfort to the enemy. The Lord tells us to pray for our enemies. But I did read tonight that He also wants us to be reconciled to our enemies and to be peacemakers. Some people are not ready yet. In the meantime, you’ll need to fill yourself with an enormous amount of grace.” He rose and went to her. Kneeling down, he placed his hands on her knees. “I’m proud of you, Tillie. You are working out your faith well. Tomorrow, I shall walk you to Camp Letterman, and I’ll pick you up at four o’clock. Perhaps if people realize your mother and I sanction your actions, they’ll reconsider before throwing anything else at you. I’ll go to Mr. Garlach and ask for some wood.”

“All right. Thank you, Father.” She slipped her arms around his neck. “Oh, by the way.” She pulled back to see into his face. “Can we stop at Mr. Buehler’s first thing? The boys want me to post letters for them.”

Father pushed her away and stared hard at her, his mouth agape.

She fidgeted. “Is something wrong?”

“You can’t mail letters to the South. That’s treason. They won’t be delivered.”

“I’m not committing treason. I know what’s in the letters. I helped write most of them. I’m not sending military secrets. Just notes to their families telling them they’re all right.”

He rose to his feet. “The contents aren’t important. Sending letters south is considered a treasonous act.” He glared at her. “I’m not going to let you send them. It’s too dangerous. I forbid it.” He held out his hand. “Give them to me.”

Tillie’s face fell. She considered arguing with him, but changed her mind. Treason was a frightening word. She went into the hallway, returning with a small packet, which she gave to him.

Mother rose and put her hands on Tillie’s shoulders. “We worry about you, Tillie. Father and I don’t disapprove of what you’re doing for the Confederate boys, but people in town do. We only ask—be discreet.”

“I will be discreet. I am being discreet. This is silly and narrow-minded. They’re not the hated ‘Rebs’ we talked about all summer. They’re poor boys who are hurt and far away from home. Wouldn’t you want some woman to care for James or William the same way? Wouldn’t any mother here?”

“Tillie, it’s not so simple. Of course, I’d want someone to care for your brothers if necessary, but we’re not discussing them. We’re talking about your safety and standing in this town. You have a future to consider.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, you heard me right. Soon, those boys will be sent off to whatever prison camp they’re assigned to, gone for good. You, on the other hand, will be here for a long time to come. Care for them. Lord knows they need some kindness. Perhaps, after the war, your actions will go a long way toward mending fences, but don’t burn your bridges in the process.”

Tillie studied her parents. “Do you feel the same way, Father?”

“I do.” He put the packet of letters into his breast pocket. “It may sound selfish and self-serving, but Mother’s right. Your future is here. Theirs is not. You must think long term. You don’t want to damage your standing.”

She stared at Mother, who met her eyes with a steady gaze.

Tillie nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, and I will try to adjust my behavior accordingly.” She exhaled. “If you don’t mind, I’m exhausted. I’d like to go to bed now.” She gave her parents a hug and kiss and trudged upstairs.

* * * *

Rising early the next morning, Tillie dressed and ate a quick breakfast. She stepped into the hallway and donned her cloak and bonnet. As she buttoned up, Father joined her at the front door, pulling on his coat and hat.

They walked toward the center of town. Their conversation the night before left her disgruntled. She’d lain awake a good portion of the night. She didn’t know how to broach the subject or how to interpret his silence. By the time they reached the Diamond, she couldn’t take it any longer. “Are you keeping something from me? You don’t want me doing this work?” She turned puppy-dog eyes to her father. Would they stop her or would they trust her?

He checked each road entering the Diamond, waiting for an opportunity to cross. When the intersection cleared enough, he grasped her elbow, and they trotted across. Upon reaching the other side, he released her and walked with his head down, hands in his pockets. He gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m only trying to protect you. That’s all your mother and I are trying to do. That’s my job.”

“Protect me from what? Angry people?” She snorted. “There are some things you can protect me from and some you can’t.”

Father bobbed his head and raised one eyebrow in open acknowledgment.

“You and Mother talked last night about mending fences without burning bridges. Do you disapprove of my helping the boys?”

“No, we don’t.” He raised his face and stared down the street, as though reluctant to meet her gaze. “You’re right—they’re not soldiers anymore, just wounded men who need some Christian charity. Some people can’t get past the fact those boys fought against this country and wrought so much havoc here. I can’t blame them for reacting the way they do. Still, word is, Camp Letterman is to be disbanded soon, so I don’t see the harm in helping.”

Tillie gaped at him. “You ‘don’t see the harm in helping,’” she repeated, unable to keep the sarcasm at bay.

“Listen.” He held up a hand to forestall her words. “Your mother and I understand you believe the Lord led you to take this stand. We can’t gainsay you. This is between you and Him. We can’t make this journey with you. That’s not to say we’re not concerned with how others will treat you, but you must see we haven’t stopped you from going either.”

“Why not? If you’re so upset about the way I’m treated?”

“Because your situation puts me in mind of a similar one for me about two years ago. Do you recall right after William left for the Army, and I needed someone to work in the butcher shop?”

Tillie nodded. “You and Mother talked about a number of boys to apprentice.”

“Yes, we did, and in the end, we chose a young man who never even applied for the job.”

“Sam.”

“Yes, Sam. We picked him because we believed, with his father in prison and his poor mother overwhelmed by her circumstances, we needed to get him out of that havoc and into a Christian home. I took a lot of guff from people who thought me mad. Everyone said he would murder us in our sleep or rob me blind. Mr. Garlach, in particular, warned me time and again, trash is trash and I should leave it alone.”

“Mr. Garlach said such a thing about Sam? I’m surprised. He treats him so well.”

“He does now, but in the beginning he disliked and mistrusted him, as did many in this town. The sins of the father visited on the son, I suppose. We can’t deny his father is a disagreeable black spot on our town’s character. My point is, we did what we knew in our hearts was right. Right for us and right for Sam. We were led to choose him, and while we didn’t get half as much heartache as you, we can and do understand your position.”

Approaching the front gate of Camp Letterman, Father let out a low whistle.

Tillie laughed. “This is nothing compared to August. You should’ve seen it then. It’s about a quarter the size now.” She took his hand. “Thank you, Father, for telling me about Sam.” Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek before walking away, chirruping a good morning to the guard, who smiled and returned the greeting.

* * * *

Tillie entered the tent and went straight to Tommy’s cot. He rolled over, presenting his back to her. She ignored the rebuff. “I brought something for you, Tommy.” She put her basket on his blanket and reached into the bottom. Out came a beautiful piece of maple. Laid in her hand the block fit the length of her palm to her fingertips. The wood, sanded smooth and soft so the user wouldn’t pick up splinters.

He refused to acknowledge her.

Tillie used the wood to nudge him in the back, hoping to provoke him.

“Go away.” He waved his arm in her direction, a feeble gesture of dismissal. “Leave me alone.”

“I’ll not.” She pushed him again. “You whittled the other day. I talked to my father, and he went to my neighbor, who gave me this piece of wood.” She laid the block on his hip, on top of his blanket. “This is my way of saying I’m going to make your life miserable until you decide to stop feeling sorry for yourself. If that doesn’t work, I’ll read Bible verses to you all day about the sin of self-absorption.”

The other boys laughed.

“Give him Hades, Miss Tillie,” Private Jones heckled.

“Give up the fight, boy,” Sergeant Davis hollered over. “She’s got you in her sights. You don’t want to be in the way when her cannons go off, do you?”

From where she stood, she saw Tommy’s face turn a deep scarlet. “Let him alone, boys. I think he gets the general idea.” She held her hands out, pleading for silence. “Let him be.”

Tillie left his cot and set about building a warming fire in the stove. She ignored Tommy for the rest of the morning.

* * * *

The orderly brought their noontime meal, so Tillie went to the dining hall. For the hundredth time, she wondered she if did the right thing, baiting Tommy. But kind and gentle sympathy didn’t seem to work, and she couldn’t think of another way. She started praying, an unformed prayer, unsure what she wanted to ask. With the boy bound for prison camp, she knew enough to understand he had a slim chance of surviving, even under the best of conditions. As she walked and prayed, a sense of peace filled her soul. The same as she’d had in Beckie’s bedroom after returning from the battlefield.

Near the dining hall, Nellie emerged from a tent, almost colliding with Tillie. “Nellie!” Tillie’s hands shot out in a reflex to stop the collision.

With a startled “oh,” Nellie jumped back, as though to avoid touching Tillie. “I do beg your pardon.” Her tone formal and stiff.

“That’s all right.” Tillie shrugged. “I hope you weren’t hurt.”

Nellie didn’t answer and, without another word, strode away, quickening her step to put distance between them.

Tillie’s heart pounded, and hot tears scorched her eyes.

Nellie glanced back and walked faster. She too, headed for the dining hall.

Tillie walked slow enough to ensure she did not catch up with the older woman. Why didn’t people try to understand? Why did they judge? “Judge not, lest ye be judged,” she snarled under her breath, then closed her eyes, took a deep breath and repented.

Be still. The words echoed in her mind.

After her meal, she returned to the tent determined not to let her neighbors’ actions affect her attitude with the boys. But, when Tommy shoved something under his blanket before turning his back to her, something in her snapped. She marched up to the foot of his cot and dropped her hands on her hips the way Mother did when annoyed. “You know, when I first saw you that day after church, I honestly felt sorry for you. You looked so hungry and a bit silly in your outfit several sizes too big, but mostly, you were hungry. I wanted to invite you in for lunch, that’s how much pity I had for you. But you’re nothing but a selfish, spineless whiner. I should have saved my pity for someone far more worth the energy.” By the time she finished, her voice shook from the emotions surging through her.

He met her diatribe in complete silence, though his blue eyes rounded big as saucers.

Tillie stared hard at him, willing him to say something, anything, but he didn’t.

“Oh, fine. Be that way, you spoiled, selfish, rotten…little boy!” She waved an angry hand and stormed out of the tent. For the first time since she started working, she went home early. She didn’t even care if they had wood for the night.

* * * *

Tillie returned the following morning and stood inside the entrance of the convalescent tent. Her eyes traveled over the boys huddled beneath their blankets and stopped at Tommy. She approached his cot with a slow, contrite step. “I wish to apologize to all of you, but especially you, Tommy, for my behavior yesterday. My outburst happened because of something else, not you. I unleashed my frustrations on you, which was wrong. Will you forgive me?”

“Miss Tillie.” Private Johnson sat up and smiled at her. “We may spend almost all of our time in this tent, but we’re not ignorant to what goes on around here. We see how your people treat you for taking care of us. We see it in the way we don’t get wood at night, in the way you fight for us to get even small luxuries. They talk about you when you’re not here. Yes, they talk about you, and no, it’s not worth repeating the things they say. They’re the ones without Christian charity. There is one thing we’ve been wondering though.”

Tillie’s throat tightened, and she blinked back tears. “What’s that?”

He grinned and glanced around at his comrades, including them in his joke. They snickered.

“What took you so long?” All the men burst out laughing, except Tommy.

It took a minute for Tillie to realize they laughed in sympathy and understanding. She joined in, sniffing back tears.

A blue-clad soldier came in, carrying wood, and Tillie gave him a little dig. “I’m sorry.” She grew serious. “I don’t understand why you never get wood at night. I ask every night to make sure you get some, and they always assure me you will.”

“Well then, you’re naïve if you think they’re gonna give us wood.” Private Wilson put his hands behind his head.

The Yankee soldier opened his arms, dumped the wood, stormed out.

“Thank you, ever so much,” Tillie called as he snapped back the tent flap and left.

They laughed at his retreating footsteps.

“She’s stupid,” Tommy blurted out. “You’re a dumb, know-it-all, stupid woman.”

The laughter abruptly ceased.

Tillie stared at him. “He speaks!”

“Tommy, leave her alone.” Private Bacon lowered the book Tillie gave him the day before. He scowled at Tommy from his cot next to the ginger-haired boy. “She’s been nothing but kind and generous, and that’s rare around here. We can all go to prison camp and take with us the memory of her kindness.”

Tommy turned his face away and muttered under his breath.

“Besides,” Bacon continued, returning to his book, “she’s right, and I, for one, am sick and tired of your attitude.”

Again, the men laughed.

Tillie used the diversion to kneel and arrange the kindling. After she lit a match, the flames gathered strength while she organized her thoughts. She put wood on the flames and shut the stove door, holding her hands out to feel the heat radiate.

Satisfied, she rose and stalked to Tommy’s cot. “I thought about you all night last night. I want to tell you a story. On the Yankee side, I cared for a man who lost both his hands. A farmer in civilian life. Imagine trying to farm without hands.” If she thought Tommy would respond, she was in for disappointment.

He kept his eyes averted and pulled his blanket over his head.

“Tommy, look at me. Your life isn’t over. Do you want me to tell you about the boy without his hands?”

“No.” Tommy’s muffled voice came from under the cover. “Leave me be.”

“I won’t leave you be. I don’t believe in allowing people to wallow in self-pity. It’s sinful. The boy who lost his hands had more reason than you to despair, but he doesn’t. He’s decided he`ll go home and open a dry goods store. He said there would be things he can do and things he can’t, but those he can’t, he’d find people who can. He’s not going to let his circumstance stop him. I can’t imagine why you would let the loss of one foot stop you. Get up out of the wallow. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re going to go to prison camp soon. You’ll need every ounce of fight left in you to survive.” She glared at him, breathing hard. “My point is you can find something else to do with your life, but only if you’re willing to survive and go home.”

“I don’t need you telling me what I can and can’t do. Why don’t you go away?”

Tillie shook her head and walked away. She sat next to Private Wilson, smoothed his blankets, and helped him to sit up.

He patted her hand. “You did fine, Miss Tillie. He needed to hear it. We been saying the same thing, but he needed to hear it all the same.”

“I hope so.”

* * * *

Two days later, Tillie arrived at Camp Letterman to discover the entire Confederate side empty. Soldiers worked, striking the last few tents.

She ran back to the gate. “Guard!”

“Yes, miss?”

“What happened to the boys? My boys? Where are they?”

“Well, miss, the prison transport train came for them last night. We loaded them up and sent them to a brand-new prison camp in Illinois called Rock Island.” He put his fingers to his hat brim. “Please excuse me now, miss.” He walked away.

Her heart sank, and she bit back bitter tears. Why didn’t they tell her? Give her a chance to say goodbye? She stared at the dead earth where sixteen men lived for a short time. She would never lay eyes on them again. “Why didn’t you let me say goodbye?” She screamed at the place where the tent once stood. People milling around stopped and stared at the crazy girl screaming by the gate. Then they went back to business.

* * * *

She walked to the dining hall, not expecting anyone to join her at mealtimes anymore. Today she didn’t care. She wanted to be alone.

Dr. Janes, the camp administrator, entered the dining hall and stood on a chair. The hall grew quiet.

“Ladies and gentleman.” He put out his hands in an unnecessary gesture for silence. “Ladies and gentleman, I wish to make an announcement.” He made a show of sliding on spectacles and withdrawing a piece of paper from his coat pocket. He unfolded the sheet and held it at arm’s length. “By order of President Lincoln, General Halleck, and Dr. Letterman this camp is to be disbanded by the close of business on or before the twenty-second of November, in the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and sixty three.” He lifted his eyes from the paper and glanced around the hall. “Thank you.” He stepped off the chair and left.

Silence greeted his announcement. After he disappeared, the general buzz of conversation picked up again. One week from tomorrow. Today would be her last day. She saw no point in coming back. These boys didn’t need her. She returned to her meal. One good thing about people refusing to speak to her: it left her with plenty of time for prayer and meditation.

“Miss Tillie, may I join you?” The chaplain smiled down at her. He held his hands behind his back.

“Chaplain Combs. Your company is most welcome.”

Reverend Combs sat across from her and set down a wooden horse, carved in the act of running, tail and mane caught by the wind and flowing behind the animal. She bore strong legs with muscle definition carved into the thighs, the hooves chiseled to precision. The horse’s arched neck displayed fierce pride, yet the eyes showed a calm, gentle demeanor.

For the first time in months, Tillie thought of Lady, and her heart lurched. Her hand shook as she picked up the carving. “Where did you get this? It’s lovely.” She ran her finger down the length of the horse’s side. She could almost feel the muscles flex with movement. She touched the muzzle and imagined the soft snout. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, she’s so beautiful.”

“The boy, Tommy, asked me to give this to you. No explanation, just ‘See Miss Tillie gets this and tell her I’m sorry.’”

Tillie clutched the carving to her breast, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I take it you found a brother or two in that tent.”

“It seems I did.”