Tillie found nothing funny in their remarks,but she kept her opinion to herself and offered water. Some menthanked her. Most did not. They threw the cups in her directionwhen through.
When the wagons departed, they left sixhundred coffins stacked by the barn door. Did they think they wouldneed so many?
The men gave her little time to think aboutthe coffins as they asked for water. Tillie made another run to thewell, wishing for a second bucket. When she came back, a soldierlay in the road, worn out from his march. Two of his friends triedto drag him to his feet. He got to his hands and knees, but nofurther. His shoulders collapsed. He hung his head like a beatendog. His companions took him by the elbow to lift him to his feet,but he resisted.
“C’mon, buddy.” One of his friends leaneddown and grasped his elbow again. “Get up before the major findsyou.”
“He’s coming now.” The second companionglanced past the boy to a man riding a lathered horse toward them.“You need to get up.”
“I can’t,” the boy wailed.
Tillie filled a cup and started toward him.The major rode up and reined his horse in front of her.
She stopped short. Water sloshed down herarm. Tillie glowered up at him, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Shestepped around the back of the horse.
The two soldiers straightened andsaluted.
The major ignored them. He glared at the boyfrom his horse. “Get up, soldier.”
The boy dropped to a prone position on theground and rolled onto his back. He stared up at the officer with ablank face.
“I said get up, blast you!” The major snarledat the boy as he dismounted. He removed his sword from its scabbardand in two quick strides stood over him.
He wouldn’t stab the boy, would he? The cupdropped from her hand as she clasped her throat, as though tostrangle any sound.
Using the flat part of the blade, the officerstruck the boy’s prostrate body.
“I said get up.” The sword winked in thesunlight as he swung the blade down again, slapping the poor boy onhis arms, which he threw over his head, to protect himself.
“On your feet, lazy scum!” The officerbrought the flat of the sword down again.
Tillie flinched from the thwack against theboy’s torso.
The major hit him again. The blade whistledthrough the air and thwacked against the boy. Whistle, thwack.Whistle, thwack.
She lost count at a dozen. The boy’s whimperstoo much to bear. “Stop hitting him, and maybe he’ll get up!” Thestrangled cry coming from her lips shocked her. She drew in aragged breath, but held her ground and glared at the major. Didn’the realize the boy couldn’t go on? No one could rise under such anassault.
The major turned and, for the first time,appeared aware of her presence. His breath came in short, hardpuffs. His cold blue eyes traveled up and down her frame, and hisnostrils flared. He turned back to the boy and gave him one moreblow before sheathing his sword. “Laziness.” He spat on the groundbeside the prostrate soldier, before mounting his horse and ridingaway.
Tillie stared after him, mouth agape and eyeswide. She shook from fright and anger.
Several men fell out. One of the boy’scompanions hefted him into his arms.
“Take him to the house.” Tillie lifted wideeyes to them, her voice barely above a whisper.
The soldier nodded once and headed to thehouse. The second placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiledinto her horrified expression. “Don’t fret.” He squeezed her arm.“We’ll mark that officer for this.” He followed his companion tothe house.
Mute with emotions she couldn’t name, shewatched him walk away. With halting movements, she bent and pickedup the cup, running her fingers over the rim and brushing away thedirt. She wanted to cry for the boy and scream in rage at theofficer. Instead, she sniffed back tears.
A hand reached out and took the cup. Sheraised her tear-streaked face to a man who dipped the cup into thebucket and savored a long, slow drink.
“What did he mean by marking him out?” Shelowered her gaze, unable to look him in the eye.
The soldier drank some more and dropped thecup in the bucket. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.“Best you don’t ask.” He put his fingers to the brim of his cap andwalked on.
Her mouth hung agape. She could not acceptthat men from the same army would kill each other for slights, realor imagined. Weren’t they all on the same side? How many men killedeach other in this way?
She trudged back to the well, confused andfrightened. As she drew more water, the two men left the house andrejoined their comrades. She prayed they wouldn’t find theofficer.
Tillie carried the bucket back to the side ofthe road.
Three men on horseback rode up and stopped infront of her. A man with a round face and blue eyes, heavy withrings of fatigue, gazed down at her. A graying beard covered thelower half of his face. He removed his hat, revealing his baldinghead. Despite the dusty road, his immaculate uniform showed no signhe’d spent the night riding to Gettysburg.
“Miss, may I have a drink of water?” Heextended his hand.
“Of course.” She offered a brimming cup.“Please forgive my tin cup. It’s a bit dirty.”
“Certainly, that’s all right.”
The general drank. “Thank you kindly.”
Tillie took the cup. She wanted to ask aboutthe major, but didn’t dare. “Would you like some more?”
“No, thank you.”
Tillie asked the other two men if they wantedany water. They declined.
“Well, gentleman.” The general shifted in hissaddle. “We must be going.” He nodded his thanks to Tillie, turnedhis horse, and headed toward Cemetery Ridge. The men marching upthe road cheered.
Someone shouted, “Three cheers for GeneralMeade.” The men huzzahed and lifted their caps, waving them abovetheir heads.
Turning back to the men, he saluted thembefore riding toward town, his two aides-de-camp right behindhim.
“Excuse me.” Tillie reached out a hand togain the attention of a passing soldier. “Who did you say that manis?”
“General Meade.”
* * * *
An hour passed while Tillie continued herwater ministry. When the sun bore down overhead, she calculated thetime
