“Tillie, would your father object if I askedyou to go walking with me in the evenings?”
Her mouth dropped open. “What? I mean—what?”Gentlemen asked Maggie to go walking. They didn’t ask her. Theychucked her under the chin and called her a sweet child. Her kneeswent weak, and she would have swooned if she weren’t sitting down.“I—well, I don’t know what Father will say.” Heat crept up her neckand infused her face. She kept her eyes fixed on the table.
When she put the teacup down, Walt claspedher hand. “Would you object if I asked him?”
Tillie clamped her lips together to hold backa wild urge to laugh. She needed a moment to regain her composure.“No. I wouldn’t object.” She squeezed his hand and beamed.
* * * *
Walking up Baltimore Street to Fahenstock’sStore, her basket dangling on her arm, Tillie started to raise herface to the warm sun, but sighted a dense, black smoke billowing inthe northwest sky. They scheduled today to burn the last of theanimal carcasses. She forgot, or she would have put off her errandsuntil tomorrow. The prevailing winds carried the plume away fromtown, but the knowledge of the activity threw a pall over thebeautiful late-summer weather. Tillie squared her shoulders andhurried about her business. As she bustled along, further remindersof July’s fighting rumbled past her in the form of a cart, drivenby Mr. Weaver. Piled high with corpses in various stages ofadvanced decomposition, the wagon rattled and jolted along theroad, making the corpses seem to dance a macabre sort of jig.
Tillie, long inured to the smell of death,found herself unprepared for the grotesque sight. She clamped acloth over her mouth, closed her eyes, and gagged, though nothingcame up.
The group of colored men, calling themselvesreapers, finished the job of gathering and interring those bodiesleft out in the open. Now, Mr. Weaver, Mr. Biesecker, and theircrew took on the more gruesome task of locating the graves of thosekilled in the heat of battle and disinterring them, to rebury themin the new Soldier’s Cemetery.
Gettysburg paid the men well to dig up,catalog, and prepare the bodies for burial. Any Confederatesoldiers they found they put into coffins and sent by train toRichmond.
Praying for a quick end to the cleanup madeTillie wonder how the new cemetery was coming along. A committeeformed in mid-August, and since some of the desired land includedFather’s orchard on Taneytown Road, he joined.
Mr. Wills, the chairman, wanted a big, fancy,dedication ceremony. He picked a day in late October, now only afew weeks away, but Father thought it foolish. Too much work stillneeded doing. A springtime ceremony would be wiser. But Mr. Wills,always a determined man, got his way.
She entered Fahenstock’s to complete hererrands.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fahenstock. Good morning,Mrs. Eyster.” Tillie greeted her teacher with warm affection. “I’vebeen meaning to stop by and visit. But we’ve been busy tendingwounded, and there doesn’t seem enough time in the day.”
“Not to worry, my dear. I’m in no fitcondition to entertain.” The teacher put her hand on Tillie’s arm.“Did you hear? A cannonball went right through my roof! Thankgoodness, I don’t sleep in that room. Still, I’ve never been sofrightened in my life.”
“I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”
“No. The Lord protected me on July thesecond. Since then, I’ve had a house full of wounded men, and myneighbors have been so kind. The men came over straightaway afterthe fighting and repaired my roof. Why, Mr. Hollinger built thecannonball into the wall next to the window while he made thenecessary repairs.” She shook her head, as if she couldn’t imaginewhy she would want such a reminder incorporated into her house.“I’m afraid school is closed for a long while if ever again.” Along doleful sigh escaped her. “They took my books off the shelvesand used them for pillows, and they became so saturated with blood,I had to throw out almost my entire collection of texts.” Tearssprang in the teacher’s eyes.
On impulse, Tillie embraced her. “I’m sosorry. Can I do something to help?”
Mrs. Eyster sniffed and offered a gratefulsmile. “What can you do?” She lifted her shoulders in a despairingshrug. “What can any of us do?” She touched Tillie’s cheek and bidMrs. Fahenstock a good day before leaving the store.
“That woman.” The storeowner huffed as shemoved around the counter to help Tillie. “She’ll tell the samestory to anyone willing to listen.”
Tillie’s eyes remained on the door. “I guessthat’s what happens when there’s no one you can share your troubleswith.” She turned a haughty glare on Mrs. Fahenstock as new respectbloomed in her heart for the lonely widow who was her teacher.
* * * *
Since returning from Fahenstock’s, Tilliecleaned the kitchen, swept the floors, and dusted the sitting roomand parlor. Now, with her chores complete, she didn’t know what todo. Mother and Maggie remained above stairs, Father and Sam in thebutcher shop. She didn’t want to read so she went up and checked onBarney. He slept. Tillie closed the door with a soft click and wentback downstairs.
She took a seat in Maggie’s rocker and pickedup her Bible, turning it over and studying the gold embossing. Asshe ran gentle fingers over the lettering, visions of General Weedand the captain filled her mind. She kicked herself for not askinghis name. Tillie closed her eyes and said a prayer for his safety,trusting the Lord knew him, even if she didn’t. She smiled as sheexamined her Bible, now dog-eared from use. She flipped the bookopen to her place marker and settled in to read, when someoneknocked on the front door. Tillie sighed, laid aside her Book, andanswered the summons.
A young woman stood on the doorstep. Worryand anxiety etched her face. In one hand, she held a valise. Herother hand clasped a white handkerchief, which she pressed over hernose and mouth.
“My name is Eliza Colvill.” The woman loweredthe cloth to introduce herself. “I understand my brother, William,is at this house.”
“He is. Please come inside.” Tillie swung thedoor open.
Their guest stepped into the hallway andwaved the kerchief
