Tillie tried to picture the scene Georgepainted. She gazed about her. “I remember cannonading so loud wecouldn’t even talk to each other. Even shouting into one another’sear, you still couldn’t hear. We were terrified.” The simple wayshe explained didn’t do the situation justice, but she couldn’tconjure the words to describe the experience.
George strolled to a tree, and using ajackknife, pried loose a bullet lodged deep in the trunk of a oncemighty oak. He brought the mangled slug to Beckie, and removing hiscap, held it out to her. She smiled and put it in her pocket.
Wanting to be anywhere but here, Tilliewalked a few paces away and pretended to examine an oak, felled bybullets, while the couple exchanged an intimate moment.
They started back late in the afternoon. Onthe way, George picked out a few more spots where fighting had beenfierce. Mr. Sherfy’s peach orchard and the adjoining wheat fieldnow yielded a crop of dead bodies. He didn’t take them over, merelypointed them out as they walked home. Tillie remembered being onthe roof and asking why those men were so far forward. Now she saw,from a distance, the horrible result of their mistake.
As they walked into the yard, it was clearneither George nor Beckie wanted his visit to end. “Won’t you stayand eat supper with us, George?” Beckie tilted her head and ran herhand up and down his sleeve.
“Thank you, no.” George removed his cap andwiped his brow. He gave her a look of regret. “I promised Ma I’dtake supper with them. I must return to my unit by eight o’clockthis evening, so I won’t be back again. I’m not sure when I’ll getanother chance to come home.”
“I understand.” Beckie pouted, and thenflashed him a brilliant smile. A look of fury flashed in her eyes,but she covered it with a shrug and cast her gaze to the ground.When she looked back at him, her smile was sugary sweet. She heldher body rigid, and Tillie could tell she did not understand andwas miffed at his refusal.
“Thank you, George, for including me in yourtour. I had a good time.” Tillie extended her hand. “But if you’llexcuse me, I’ll go see if Doctor Billings needs me. We’ve been goneall afternoon.” On impulse, she leaned in and gave George a quickpeck on the cheek. She trotted inside, leaving them alone to saygoodbye. She enjoyed their walk, but she wanted to be alone,discomfited and anxious by the sights. Though she lived through thefighting, now two days past, she never imagined the scale on whichhuman beings imparted such violence upon one another, and stillcalled themselves human beings.
Instead of going in search of DoctorBillings, she headed to the bedroom and retrieved her now preciousBible. She clasped the book to her breast then sank to her kneesbeside the bed, needing to pray. The sight of so many men left outin the weather, to rot like so much refuse unsettled her. It wasone thing to observe from a distance, quite another to stare downinto the blackened, bloated face of a once vibrant man. She kneltby the side of the bed for a long time, trying to clear her mind,but she didn’t know what to pray for. The men in the field weredead. Their need for prayer ended. She offered up a grateful wordof thanks for James’s life, though ill, and asked the Lord to healhim.
She let go and cried. She cried for all thewounded men who still needed so much care. She cried for the deadmen still left on the field. She cried for those men who emergedphysically unscathed but bore unseen scars. Most of all, Tilliecried for herself, overwhelmed by her circumstance. As she weptinto the quilt, warmth overtook her, as if someone dropped ablanket over her shoulders. A soft voice spoke in her ear, “Bestill.”
Tillie jerked her head off the bed. Her gazeroamed around the room, and she raised the blankets and glancedunder the bed. Did someone sneak in to play tricks on her? Shewiped her tears and studied the room. She was alone. Tillie shookher head. She was being silly. Her emotions ran away with her. Thewords of the young captain came back to her, “Because God meant itfor good.” She rose to her feet and laid herself across the bed.Then she opened her Bible and began to read.
Chapter 23
A rumor sped through the Fifth Corps, about ahospital camp established on York Road, a mile outside of town.Ambulances dispatched across the battlefield, gathered up thewounded. So far, no one had collected the poor souls from theWeikerts’, much to Mr. Weikert’s consternation. As the battle fadedfurther into the past, Mr. Weikert wandered his lands and housebemoaning his fate to all. His anger often exploded withoutwarning. Even Mollie and Sadie tried to avoid him, not knowing whatwould set him off.
His wife and daughters paid no mind to hisbitter complaints as they continued to work. The more hecomplained, the less people listened. Even the men feigned sleep toescape him. The doctors took to calling him “The Mean Dutchman”,though never to his face.
Mrs. Weikert closed the cupboard door, butdidn’t bother locking it. “We’re out of flour and sugar.” She facedher husband. “Do you suppose the army might give us some?”
“How should I know? What am I? The flour andsugar man?”
Everyone gaped at his savage tone.
“Jacob, please don’t shout at me. I’m simplytrying to tell you our circumstances.” Mrs. Weikert grabbed herapron in her hands and squeezed the fabric in spasmodic motions.Emotion choked her voice.
He stomped to the kitchen door, flinging itwide. “You want circumstances, woman, I’ll give you circumstances!Look outside.” The door slammed against the wall and reboundedback. Mr. Weikert caught it in a white-knuckled grip. He flung hisother hand out toward his farmyard. “The pigs escaped the first daywhen the army tore down my fences
