Chapter 2
Somewhere at the back of the line, a drumbeat a constant tattoo as faceless, legless blue-clad soldiersmarched by in an endless loop.…
Tillie mumbled, rolled over, and opened hereyes. Rain slashed the windowpanes. A brilliant flash of lightningilluminated the room, and thunder rumbled.
She groaned, pulling the covers over herhead. Maybe the weather would clear before she left for school.
As if in warning, thunder cracked across thesky. She stretched and swung her feet to the floor. Wriggling hertoes into the braided rug, she yawned and stretched again. She puton her school dress of brown muslin, washed her face, and combedand braided her chestnut tresses, while pretending the thunder wasa Union Army cannon driving off the hated Rebels. Once dressed, sheheaded downstairs for breakfast. The aroma of bacon, fryingpotatoes, and coffee enveloped her. Tillie closed her eyes, inhaledin anticipation as her stomach growled. She entered the kitchen tofind Mother working at the stove. Maggie stood near the back doorchurning the morning butter.
“Good morning.” Moving to the shelf besidethe stove, Tillie pulled down dishes to set the table. She squeezedaround Mother cooking scrambled eggs.
Mother took a step to the side. “Goodmorning, Sunshine.” She poured the eggs into the skillet and gavethe potatoes a quick stir. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did. How about you?”
“Very well.”
Tillie set the plates down and returned forsilverware.
Mother stirred the eggs and slid the potatoesinto a bowl. Her eyes went to the ceiling when another boom ofthunder pealed across the sky. “Heavens, what a storm.” She pushedthe potatoes about in the pan and shoved it to the back of thestove. Then she transferred the eggs to a platter and passed it toTillie. “I need you and Maggie to do something for me today, if therain stops.”
“All right.” Tillie studied her.
“Go out to the garden and pick any vegetablesripe enough—peas, beans, anything. We’ll pickle and preservetomorrow.”
“There won’t be much. Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Mother wiped her fingers onher bib apron before putting her hands on the hips of her bluegingham dress. She nodded for emphasis. “I talked with Mrs.Broadhead yesterday. She told me Mr. Broadhead would rather pickhis vegetables green and burn the rest, than allow the Rebs to getso much as one bean.”
Tillie studied her mother, surprised by hertone. “You think the Rebels are coming? Father says they’renot.”
Mother stepped close and rested one hand onTillie’s shoulder. With the other, she cupped Tillie’s chin. Shetook a deep breath and let it out in a slow, measured exhale. “Yes,I do. Your father says no, and I pray he’s right. But I’m not socertain. With the dubious successes of our Army thus far…” She tookanother deep breath and huffed. “Well, as I said, I pray he’sright. Just in case, though, I want you to gather as much from thegarden as you can, for I’m in agreement with Mr. Broadhead.”
* * * *
Tillie dashed through the downpour to thebarn behind the butcher shop. The door creaked on its hinges, andshe breathed in the earthy, woody fragrance of hay mixed with thesharp tang of horse dung.
Lady thrust her nose over the stall door. Sheblew a greeting and tossed her head.
Tillie took hold of Lady’s muzzle, slidingher palm across her velvety nose, and kissed her. “Good morning, mydear. How are you this rainy day?” She presented two sugarcubes.
Lady pushed at her palm as she gobbled them.She blinked, which Tillie took for thank you. She imagined a smileon the horse’s face.
Tillie stroked her nose, reveling in hersoft, yet prickly snout. “Perhaps this afternoon we can ride toCulp’s Hill. Don’t worry, girl. I won’t overwork your bad leg.We’ll rest as much as you need.” Tillie kissed her again as thunderrumbled and rain drummed overhead. “I have to leave for school now,but this afternoon we’ll spend time together after I help Maggie inthe garden.” She gave Lady’s nose another stroke, blew the horse akiss, and then ran back to the house.
* * * *
Tillie eyed the low dark clouds and clutchedher cape close to her neck. She bent her head against theonslaught, pulling her hoops high off the ground to keep her dressdry.
“Child, put your skirts down. What would yourmother say? And where’s your umbrella?”
Mrs. Winebrenner, Mother’s Union ReliefLeague, and church friend, stood next to her. She held an umbrellahigh and wore the expression of someone about to launch into a firmscolding. Her eyes traveled up and down Tillie.
“Good morning, Mrs. Winebrenner. I didn’tthink walking two blocks would be such a problem. I didn’t mean todo this much damage. I still can’t walk in the rain without gettingmy skirts dirty.” Mother would hear about this, the oldbiddy-body.
Mrs. Winebrenner braced her hand on Tillie’sshoulder and leaned forward. “A cross we all must bear, my dear.”She spoke as though imparting the wisdom of the ages, pattedTillie’s shoulder, and walked away.
If that woman told Mother about showing herankles in public, then so be it. She needed to get to school.
Tillie gathered her skirts and ran. She got afew paces before her foot landed in an unseen puddle. Cold watersplashed her leg. Gritting her teeth, she lifted her foot andturned it from side to side. “Oh, Mother’s going to kill me.” Shebit her lip against the urge to cry, and easing her foot down,continued on her way, taking mincing steps and grimacing at thewater squishing between her toes.
At the intersection of Middle and WashingtonStreets, she stopped to remove and examine her Sunday shoes. Shewasn’t supposed to wear them for every day, and she’d be punishedif she ruined them. Tillie balanced on one foot and the toes of herother. She turned her shoe around and around, examining the damage,ignoring the traffic passing by. She gasped as cold, muddy waterhit her neck and ran under her collar, soaking through to herdress. Worse yet, her shoe
