Rising from his place under the oak tree, Mr.Weikert walked to the road. He stared north. Several folks joinedhim, casting wary glances toward town.
She put the Bible back in her pocket.
“Come everyone,” Mr. Weikert called out asthe sun slanted toward the western horizon. “I think it’s time togo home.”
Tillie searched for the Quaker minister tosay goodbye, but couldn’t find him. She went inside the house tosay goodbye to her hosts, and asked them to tell the ministergoodbye and thank you. They assured her they would. The clockchimed six times.
They rode home in silence. Tillie imaginedthem out for a lovely ride in the countryside on a hot and muggyevening. The closer they got to the farm, the more evidence ofconfusion and ferocity prevailed. Fences scattered the ground,knapsacks, blankets, and many other articles discarded along theside of the road.
“What is that sound?” Mrs. Schriver cockedher ear toward a curious humming, perplexing them and adding totheir anxiety.
A mile from home what they at first took forbundles of blankets on the ground took on the shape of deadmen.
Beckie choked and gasped. She covered herface with her hands and refused to open her eyes.
Tillie stared at the devastation as theypassed by, her brain unwilling to comprehend.
Stopping at the house, Mr. Weikert had nochoice but to leave the carriage in the road. Wounded, dead, anddying filled the approach to his farm.
“Oh my.” Mrs. Weikert put her hand overheart. “Oh my,” she said again, shaking her head and sniffing backemotion.
The strange humming now morphed into groansand cries. The acrid odor of smoke and gunpowder stung their noses,adding to the stench of blood, flies, and death in the motionless,humid air. Swallowing hard to keep her gorge from rising, Tillielifted her apron and covered her nose and mouth. Her gaze driftedpast her immediate surroundings to the destruction beyond the houseand grounds. Wounded men of the blue and the gray lay like awrithing carpet in the farmyard and into the fields beyond. Whatdid they do to each other? When would all this end?
The family exited the carriage, compelled topick their steps as they approached the house, sometimes wedgingtheir feet in between men to avoid stepping on them.
Confederates outnumbered Union almost threeto one. She couldn’t muster animosity toward them as, with greatcare, she made her way to the basement door where the rest of thefamily waited for the orderlies to move hundreds of men around, tomake room for them.
“Well, baking bread will do these men nogood.” Mrs. Weikert placed her hands on her hips. “Come, girls.Let’s go in search of things we can turn into bandages.”
Mike, the orderly, was back at his post,stirring a pot of broth. He spotted Tillie and beckoned her. Sheapproached him while Mrs. Weikert, Mrs. Schriver, and Beckie wentupstairs. The orderly leaned close and whispered, “Go get thebucket and some more water. These boys are in a bad way.”
She nodded, left, and returned carrying abucket of water. She dipped a cloth and moved among the men, wipingtheir faces and hands, and giving them small sips from her tincup.
The women came back down carrying all thelinen and muslin they could find. They sat wherever and tore uptheir clothing, bedding, curtains, and rolled them intobandages.
Tillie moved around giving water to men wellenough to drink. As she put the cup to one man’s lips, he sippedand grinned up at her. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.“We did it,” he croaked.
Tillie’s lips barely twitched a smile as sheput the cup to his lips again, only half-listening.
He took another sip. “We did it.” Triumphgleamed in his eyes. “We beat the Rebs for sure today.”
She focused on him. “How do you know?”
He coughed, and blood splattered her. Shejerked back and faced away, swallowing hard. Then she arranged herfeatures into a calm expression, put a smile on her face, andturned back to him.
He drew in a breath and managed two words. “Iknow.” He lay back down.
“Congratulations.” She laid her palm over hisclammy brow. “I’m glad.”
Following the prostrate men up the stairs andinto the hall outside the dining room, she offered water and a coolcloth.
“You, girl.”
Tillie jolted at the sound of the surgeon’svoice, hoping he called another girl.
Doctor Billings stood behind the dining roomtable, visible from the bloody waist up. He held a bone saw in onehand and gestured at her with his other bloodstained hand. “Comehere.”
Tillie’s dream flashed before her eyes. Sheresisted an impulse to run. Instead, she put down her cup andentered the dining room trying not to stare at the man waiting forthe surgeon. She kept her gaze fixed on the doctor. “Yes, sir.”
“I need your help. Can you tie on abandage?”
She shook her head.
He motioned to an orderly, who showed herwith quick, practiced motions.
“Wait, do that again, but slower.”
He showed her again. “I need you to bandagethese men so I can assist Doctor Billings with the amputations. Canyou do that?”
“I can try.” Her hands shook as she took thecloths.
The medic jammed a cattle horn down over awounded man’s nose. As soon as he appeared unconscious, the surgeoncut large strips of skin and folded them back. He picked up his sawand gave it a swipe across his blood-soaked apron, before placingthe instrument about two inches below the skin flaps. He got downto the gruesome task of amputation.
As often happened, the soldier was stillconscious, and several strong men needed to hold him down while thedoctor cut fast, through bone and flesh.
The semiconscious solider screamed andfought, spraying blood and bone everywhere.
Tillie cowered with her hands over her ears,desperate to shut out the man’s screams. The limb thumped to thefloor.
She ran, but got no further than the hallwhere her vomit splashed several poor unfortunates.
She didn’t want to go back in, but thestrident call, “you, girl. Come back in here!” forced her intoobedience. Tillie put her apron over her face, choked back sobs,and returned.
The surgeon removed bullet and bonefragments. Then he folded the flaps of skin over the amputation andsewed them together. Another medic stood by with a cauterizingiron, which
