“Oh dear.” The soldier wept as they carriedhim by. Blood dribbled out the side of his mouth as he spoke. “Ididn’t read my Bible today. What will my poor wife and childrensay?”
Everyone followed the soldiers into the houseas they took the wounded man upstairs and placed him on the bed.Tillie wandered along behind the men and stopped at the bedroomdoor. One of them patted the man’s shoulder before leaving him tothe family’s ministrations.
Mrs. Weikert pushed past her, tearing up alinen sheet. She cleaned his wounds and bound his face. Whenfinished, the woman sat by the bed. Every so often, she touched hishand in a reassuring way.
The man drifted off to sleep. Tillie wentback outside to watch the soldiers tramp by the house. As theypassed, she studied individual men. How many would remain when thefight ended? Who would return home after the war? She scowled andtried to find ways to brighten her spirits. Perhaps cheering themen on, as she did in town, might revive her.
Tillie waved, but they didn’t wave back. Theyoffered none of the jubilation of this morning. The fight had beenjoined, and these men, aware what they headed into, kept theirpeace. Most stared at the ground, rifles slung over one shoulder.Others focused their gazes straight ahead or on the back of the manin front of them. They marched, silent and tense, and moved withexhausted automation.
She dropped her arm. The sun beat down onher. If she was hot, the boys must be in a bad way.
As if to confirm her suspicions, four menbroke ranks and headed for the spring on the north side of thehouse. They dunked their heads and sluiced their faces in the coolwater. Others dipped in kerchiefs and wrapped them around theirforeheads or necks. They slaked their thirst before stepping backin formation.
She ran to the barn, grabbed a bucket hangingon a peg, and went to the house. “Do you have an old cup I canuse?”
Beckie retrieved one from a cupboard and heldit out.
At the spring, Tillie filled her bucket andcarried the water back to the road, careful not to spill any. Sheset it down, dipped, and extended her hand. A soldier snatched thecup, draining the water.
“Hey,” another called out. “Don’t be greedy.Pass that cup right quick!”
The man who drank handed it back to her.Tillie refilled the cup. This time, the man passed it down theline. The last to drink threw it back to her, and it landed in thedirt at her feet. She wiped the rim, leaving a muddy streak on thefront of her skirt matching the ring of mud at her hem.
The water seemed to ease their spirits. Evenif they didn’t get any, the fact she offered some helped themrelax, and they began to tease and joke with her.
She dipped her cup in the bucket and scrapedthe bottom.
“Well that figures, no more water,” one manbemoaned. His grin gave away his true feelings. Others groaned inmock dismay.
Were they angry? Tillie backed up a step. “Bepatient, boys. I’ll go get more.” She ran back to the spring.
When she returned, the men who teased herwere gone, but two men stepped out of line, dunked their kerchiefsinto the bucket, squeezed out the excess water, and mopped theirred, sweating faces. They soaked their cloths again and tied themaround their necks.
“Would you like a drink?”
They nodded their thanks. They each drankdeep, then the second man refilled the cup, walked over to a boypropped up between two other men, and held the water to his lips.Among the three of them, they got the semiconscious boy to swallowsome.
The soldier came back and handed the cup toTillie. “Many thanks for your kind service, miss.” He tipped thebill of his cap and stepped back in line.
The sun continued to beat on her head. Shepaid it no heed, nor did she imbibe. The men needed the water morethan she did.
At last, Big Roundtop cast its long shadow onher and the men marching by. The last of the men marched away.Tillie’s head ached, and her stomach churned with queasy nausea.She tramped back to the barn and hung the bucket on its peg. Aprodigious yawn escaped her as she walked across the yard. Shewrinkled her nose, the effects of sunburn stinging her face. Herfingers explored her face where the sun burned her the most.
She released another deep yawn and stiffened.Did someone shout to her? She froze, listening hard. A voiceshouted from beyond the barn. Tillie walked in the direction andencountered a young man coming toward her, his right hand cradledin his left. Behind him, several more soldiers arrived, some undertheir own power, others helped by comrades.
The soldier who hailed her lifted hisuninjured hand and waved, grasped his right hand again holding theappendage close to his body. Picking up his pace, he trotted towardher. The sun slanted lower behind Big Roundtop, casting themountain in black shadow.
She drew a deep breath. “I’m afraid there’sno more water.” She held her hands out. “The pump and the well bothran dry. I’m sorry.”
“Well.” He frowned. “I’m sorry also, but I’mnot here for a drink of water. Our commanding officer sent us. Hesaid this is to be the Fifth Corps field hospital.”
“Oh, I see.” She fingered her hair and playedwith the strands that fell out of her braid. He was handsome. Shebit her lip and pointed to his hand. “Uh, does it hurt much? Itlooks dreadful.”
“Oh, this is nothing, a minor wound. You’llsee much worse than this, I wager.”
She drew back. “Oh, I hope not!” An image ofthe wounded she rode in with rose up before her, and sheshuddered.
Ambulances arrived. Horses neighed. The backflap of the wagons banged open, and the cries of the men emanatedfrom within. The drivers jumped down from their seats, shoutingorders.
“Was it bad?” She regarded the soldier asfear and sadness clenched her chest.
“It was bad.” His voice sounded hard. “Thefighting started around a place called McPherson’s Ridge early thismorning. We almost had them on the run, but they got upreinforcements and pushed us back through
