“Yes, Father.” Her face flamed. She wanted togo back inside and pretend this conversation never happened.
He seemed to read her thoughts and tightenedhis arms around her. “Being born in faith, Tillie, is a lot likebeing born in life. We don’t come into the world knowing everythingwe need to live. Someone has to teach us. That’s why we send you toschool and impart our morals and values. In the same way, the Lordwill lead you to lessons of faith to help you to grow as abeliever.”
An unexpected wave of emotion washed overher, filling her eyes. “Thank you, Father.” She wrapped her armsaround his neck and hugged him tight. She kissed his cheek. “I loveyou.”
Father patted her back and cleared histhroat.
She got up off his lap and started for thedoor.
“There is one more thing I want to discusswith you, Tillie.”
“Yes, Father?” Something in his expressionsent her guard up.
He rose and pulled on his waistcoat. “PrivateReed approached me earlier this week asking if he could take youout walking in the evenings. I don’t like this flirtation with Mr.Reed. It must stop. I told him no.”
“It’s not a flirtation, Father. We’re justfriends.”
“You may pretend it’s a friendship, younglady. But I have eyes in my head, and so does your mother. He’s asoldier. A soldier who will leave us when the colonel is wellenough to depart. I want it to stop, Matilda. Do you understandme?”
When he called her Matilda, Tillie knewbetter than to argue. Still several responses came to mind, and shehoped the darkening room hid her flaming cheeks and balled fists.She clamped her lips between her teeth and, through dint of will,remained silent.
Father dropped his hand on her shoulder. Hisdeep brown eyes bore into hers. “Do you understand me?”
She looked down, cowed. “Yes, Father. Iunderstand.”
“Good.” He stroked her cheek. “It’s for thebest.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“You may.”
“Is this because of George?” She recalled herconversation with Maggie. Did she have something to do withFather’s denial?
Father cupped her chin. “I would be a liar ifI said no, but it’s not the only reason. I don’t wish to be harshon you. I love you and want the best for you. You’re only fifteenyears old. In another year or two, if this war is over—pleaseGod—and if a young man comes along more suited to you, I’d be happyto welcome him into my home. But not yet, my dear. Not yet.”
“Yes, Father.” To show she didn’t mean anydisrespect, she gave him a hug and turned back toward the house,sorry she came out to talk to him.
****
Over the next few weeks, Tillie found Mrs.Greenly remained true to her word and did her best not to burdenthe family. She arose each morning before dawn, dressed, and setout for Camp Letterman before the sun broke the peaks of thesurrounding hillsides. To lighten her burden on the family, shetook her meals at the camp and did not return until late atnight.
One night, Tillie waited up. She wanted totalk to her about starting work at the camp. Ever since herconversation with Father, Walt remained above stairs caring forColonel Colvill. He came down for his meals, never met Tillie’s eyeanymore, and when finished eating, went back upstairs.
She struggled to eat at each meal. Heartbreakover Father’s refusal killed her appetite. Her mind screamed forWalt to look at her, just once, so he would know she wasn’t atfault, but he didn’t. As the days passed, she wanted to escapeWalt’s presence. Even though he remained upstairs, she felt hispresence in every fiber of her being. Working at the hospital mightbe the perfect solution.
As the hallway clock chimed ten, Mrs. Greenlyentered the house and closed the door with a quiet snick. Tilliestepped into the hallway and whispered a good evening.
“My goodness, Tillie. What are you doing upso late?”
“I wanted to speak with you.”
“Dear me, what could be so important that youshould wait up until all hours of the night to speak with me?” Mrs.Greenly smiled. “Should we go into the sitting room to talk or isthis more of a parlor type conversation?”
“Oh, no, we can go into the sitting room.”Tillie led her into the room. “I’ve made some tea.”
“Then let’s have some tea and conversation.”Mrs. Greenly took off her wrap, hung it up, and entered the sittingroom. She poured tea for herself and Tillie, and sat in Mother’srocker.
Tillie settled herself in Maggie’s chair. Notsure how to begin, she shared her experiences at the Weikerts’, andthe days following.
Mrs. Greenly listened and sipped her tea.
When Tillie finished her tale, she waited forMrs. Greenly’s response.
“My husband died in '59.” Mrs. Greenlytwisted her teacup in her hands.
Tillie’s brow creased. She raised her cup toher lips, trying to figure out the turn in the conversation. Shetook another swallow and waited, a polite smile curving herlips.
Mrs. Greenly gave her a weak smile. “What youdid at the farm was God’s work.” She ran a finger around the rim ofher cup, and then put it down. She sat back and folded her hands inher lap. “My oldest son, Isaac, was killed at Fredericksburg. Mymiddle son, Matthew, at Malvern Hill. He didn’t die right away. Helay in a hospital for about three weeks before he succumbed. Ididn’t go down to help care for him, of course, Malvern Hill beingin Virginia.” Mrs. Greenly’s eyes, fixed on a spot in the hallway,became distant, as though she saw her son, dying alone. Her voicegrew faint. “I should have. I should have gone to him somehow, someway.” She shifted her gaze
