Tillie set her feet on the stoop, as a properyoung lady ought.
Waning sunlight bathed the brick houses’rooftops across the street. A gentle breeze rustled the threelinden trees in front of the house, and the evening skydeepened.
On Tillie’s left, Mr. Codori’s wagon appearedon Breckenridge Street.
Her eyes widened as he attempted to force hisway into the traffic on Baltimore Street, causing a jam. His horsesreared and whinnied. Mr. Codori stood and shouted at the man withwhom he almost collided. The man shook his fist. A crowd gathered.When she was sure no one saw her, she hoisted herself up on therailing again, straining to see over the tangle to discover whenthe men might begin their evening spectacle.
Father said the Rebs would never get this farnorth, so why the codgers tramped the streets in the town’s defensewent beyond her comprehension.
The traffic jam sorted itself out, and thecrowd dispersed. An uneven stomp caught her attention. Hoistingherself up again, she peered north, toward the Diamond where thetops of pickaxes and pitchforks stabbed the sky as the men marchedinto a slope in the road. They bobbed into view again when theytopped the rise near Middle Street. Tillie dropped to her feet andbraced her elbows on the railing. She snorted, rolling her eyes atthe gray-haired lawyers, doctors, farmers, and businessmenshuffling down Baltimore Street, in defense of the town. The frontdoor opened, and Father emerged. She straightened up as he put hisarm around her in a gentle squeeze.
She wrinkled her nose, suppressing a gag atthe metallic scent of animal blood still clinging to him. “Finishedfor the day?”
“Yes.” He kissed the top of her head,releasing her. “Mr. Codori was my last customer.”
Thank goodness. She stepped to the side,turned her face away, and forced a cough. She covered her mouth,using the gesture to squeeze her nostrils together, then droppedher hand and glanced at him through her lashes. He faced the streetas the men marched by. Should she tell him about Mr. Codori? No.Father didn’t like tattletales. She slipped her arm through his andput on a bright smile. Together they viewed the parade.
Father smiled, waving off the greetings andentreaties to join them.
The old men playing soldier reminded Tillieof her brothers, James, and William, one in the Army of thePotomac, the other in the Army of the Cumberland. Gone to the armymore than a year ago, she wrote to them without fail every week,and initially she got regular letters back each month. She receivedher last letter from James in March and William in April. Theirrecent silence scared her. Her heart lurched even now. She prayedfor them nightly, although she didn’t think her prayers carriedmuch weight. “What do you think James and William are doing rightnow?”
“I’m sure they’re safe, my dear. No doubtthey’re too busy to write, is all.”
“It’s just…they haven’t written in so long.”She winced. Even to her ears, she sounded childish.
“If Mr. Buehler had any news, he’d tell usstraight away. There’s nothing to fear. The boys are in God’shands.”
She didn’t dare say his words offered littlecomfort. Having them home to touch, to talk to—that would becomforting.
Instead, she focused on the sorry lookinggroup marching in the street. They acted nothing like the men ofthe Union Army, just old men playing soldier with pitchforks,pickaxes, shovels, and the occasional rusty Revolutionary Warmusket. How did they think Rebel soldiers would find them daunting?She didn’t.
“They’d be taken prisoner.” She pointed herchin at the men.
Mr. Kendlehart, the Borough CouncilPresident, couldn’t march and handle his ancient gun. His browfurrowed. He fumbled at the mechanisms, causing the men around himto duck while the barrel of the weapon swung to and fro. He stoppedmidstride, and Mr. Fahenstock crashed into him.
Tillie burst out laughing. “There they go,the great knights of Gettysburg!”
“Don’t mock, Tillie.” Father frowned.“They’re your elders. Be respectful.”
“Yes, Father.” Warmth crept up her face, but…“Still, don’t you think they’re being silly? The war is inVirginia. Not here.”
He gave a slight shrug and kept his eyes onthe men filing past. “No. I don’t think so.” The men disappearedover the brow of Cemetery Ridge. He turned and opened the door.
“Then why aren’t you in the Home Guard?”
He held the door for a second, then withcareful deliberation, pulled it closed and faced her. “Because.While I don’t think they’re being silly, I do think they’reoverreacting. The Rebs won’t maneuver their entire army over theMason-Dixon Line.”
“So why do they think we need a Home Guard?What possible good can they do?” Tillie studied Father.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Itdoesn’t do any good. But they believe they’re contributing to oursecurity. That’s why I don’t ridicule them.” He pointed to her.“And neither shall you.”
She lowered her head in acquiescence. Whywould they want to take a small, even ridiculous, part in the warto feel important? As businessmen and members of the Borough TownCouncil, they loomed large to her. Why should they need to proveanything? She raised her eyes to Father. “Can I ask anotherquestion?”
“May I ask another question.” A sly smilecurved his lips.
“May I ask another question?”
“You just did.” He crossed his arms and gaveher a teasing glance.
“What?”
“You may.”
“Oh.” Tillie giggled and relaxed as hechuckled.
“The other day I read in the newspaper thatfolks in Waynesboro saw Confederate infantry and cavalry all overthe place. Almost four thousand troops. Would the Rebs need so manymen to raid a few farms?”
“Don’t fret, child. Perhaps they’restragglers, like last year. The newspapers exaggerate to sell theirpapers. That’s how they stay in business.” He patted her shoulder.“Now come. Your mother says supper is ready.”
Tillie walked through the sitting room to thekitchen. To the right a long table stood with six chairs around it,one at each end for Father and Mother, and two on each side. Whenthe boys were home, they sat on one side, and the girls on theother. Maggie had the table almost set. Along the back wall, in thecenter, the door to the
