Epilogue

“Did you ever make it right with Beckie, Ma?” Annie leaned close in the growing darkness.

“No. Unfortunately, Beckie was never willing to meet me halfway, ever again.” A small, sad, half-smile curved her lips. “Beckie married her Mr. Kitzmiller after the war, and I understand they still live in Gettysburg.”

As always happened when Tillie told the story, she remembered with fondness and longing those she loved.

After his apprenticeship, Sam left town to begin his own business. Tillie never heard from him again. She tried searching for him to no avail.

James and William both survived the war. James stayed in Washington, D.C. and worked as a government clerk. He had a lovely family.

Poor William didn’t fare so well. He came home and took over the butcher shop after Father, but though William married a wonderful Gettysburg woman and seemed to be settling in raising his family, he never shook the demons of his war experience. He lived well, until three years ago when Father died. Without warning, he left everything—including his family. His wife discovered him in a rooming house in Philadelphia, and having given himself over to the ravages of drink, he sent her away. Tillie no longer knew if he was alive or not.

A deep hole of grief lingered in her heart still for her beloved sister, Maggie, who died in 1867, when an epidemic of tuberculosis swept through town. Tillie could never think of her without choking back tears.

Though Gettysburg worked hard to prevent disease, the tuberculosis epidemic claimed many lives, including Mollie and Sadie Schriver. Having contracted the disease, Mollie died in 1872, shortly after Tillie married Horace. Two years later, Sadie succumbed. Both women died at the age of twenty-two.

Mother went to her rest in 1881, and Father followed her eight years later. Now, all those she knew and loved in those days were gone forever.

A tap on her shoulder jolted Tillie.

Horace leaned in, studying her face in the growing dark. “Are you all right, my love?”

She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek. “I’m fine. I was just remembering.” Emotion choked her voice.

Horace drew her into an embrace and kissed the top of her head.

“I still can’t believe you met President Lincoln.” Harry spoke into the growing darkness. “What was he like?”

“I didn’t meet Mr. Lincoln. I just saw him. He tipped his hat to me, and I heard his speech. That’s all. Don’t exaggerate the situation.”

Harry chuckled and lay back down. “Yes, ma’am.” He exaggerated his response, but a note of humor lightened his voice, so Tillie chose not to take offense.

“You know…” She jerked a thumb toward her husband. “You would do well to ask your father some questions. He was a soldier.”

Horace chuckled around the pipe clenched in his teeth. “Oh, my dear, I was just a lowly private marching hither and yon. Your story is much more interesting, I assure you.” He removed his pipe and tapped the bowl against his palm. “We best get a move on.” He rose. “We want to get to the park before the fireworks start. We don’t want to miss that, do we?”

The children jumped up. Mary brushed grass and leaves off her skirts. Annie, in imitation of her adored sister, adjusted her skirts, while Harry jogged inside for his coat and hat. He reemerged with his father’s garments in his hand as well.

While Tillie and Horace strolled, the children disappeared into the park ahead of them. Crowds formed as people, laughing and talking, gathered for the fireworks show.

“I know when you think of those days, they always bring sadness. I’m sorry for that, but I think it important for the children to learn what this,” he swept his hand around the park to indicate the celebration, “is really all about.”

Tillie smiled. “I agree.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Speaking of my experiences does, sometimes, make me sad, especially when I think of the people I loved then.” She turned to him and laid her palms on his cheeks. “But I wouldn’t change my experiences for anything. Those days made me the woman, wife, and mother that I am.”

A whistling sounded to the left, and a small boom reverberated through the air. For a split second, she heard the cannon chasing her from the Weikert house. Colored lights lit their faces. Horace’s eyes glowed with the love that made her feel so safe and secure. She exhaled, and then gazed at the fireworks flashing and decorating the sky. They were supposed to represent those days when the nation was born, but they would always remind her of her girlhood when the nation, rent by growing pains, emerged like her—stronger, wiser, and full of faith and hope.

 

The End