“Of course they do, dear.” Mrs. Greenlytucked her arm around Tillie’s shoulder. “But no matter what theydo, some still suffer, and some are on the edge of their eternalrest.” She turned a corner and entered the second tent on the leftside of the lane. Tillie followed and stood at the foot of the cotas Mrs. Greenly sat in the campstool and took the young boy’s hand.She kissed his hand then pressed his palm to her cheek. She laidher other hand on the boy’s forehead and stroked his hair, heraction filled with love and longing. “Joseph,” she sing-songed.“Mother’s here.”
Joseph groaned.
Hope shone in Mrs. Greenly’s bright blueeyes. “See? He knows I’m here. He’ll be well soon.”
Tillie couldn’t meet her gaze. She recognizeda dying man when she saw one, and estimated it would take a matterof days before he passed. She couldn’t bring herself to say so.Instead, she nodded and struggled to push down a wave of grief. Shecouldn’t bear for Mrs. Greenly to see her face so she made a pointof studying the other men. Tillie cleared her throat and smiled.“You promised to introduce me to these fine boys,” she choked.
Chapter 27
It didn’t take long for Tillie to establish arapport with the men, some of whom she nursed at the Weikerts’. Sheenjoyed spending time with them.
Camp policy required that the orderliessweep, empty the chamber pots, and change the linen daily. Many ofthem scoffed at what they considered not only women’s work, butalso a silly directive. However, it made a profound difference tothe convalescents’ health. Despite the efforts at cleanliness,though, the odor of twelve to sixteen men confined in a tentlingered. She didn’t need to ask about the evergreen boughs.
Mrs. Greenly spoke true. There were nursesand doctors aplenty, and no one asked for Tillie’s assistance insurgical procedures, which allowed her to develop a routine.
Each morning, she sat with Joseph and Mrs.Greenly. He lay unconscious on his cot while Tillie and his motherprayed. Afterward, Mrs. Greenly seemed content to sit by his sidetalking to him in quiet tones while stroking his forehead andsqueezing his hands.
Tillie visited the other men. “Good morning.”She sat next to a man in a cot three down from Joseph. “I’m Tillie.Can I do anything for you?” She smoothed his blankets to havesomething to do with her hands.
“You come in every morning and sit with thatpoor boy. I was kinda wondering when you would come and pray overme like you do him.” He sat up a little.
Tillie folded her hands in prayer. “We canpray now if you like. What’s your name?”
“Jones, Private Jones.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, private.” Shecocked her head and smiled. “I must call you something other thanPrivate. What’s your first name?” She took her Bible out of herapron pocket.
“Michael.”
“Hello, Michael.” Tillie offered her hand toshake. They talked a few minutes, becoming acquainted. “Shall wepray?”
“Please.” He settled himself and bowed hishead. They prayed for the next quarter hour. “Where are you from,Michael?”
“Hartford, Connecticut.”
“I’ve never been to Hartford. Is it a nicecity?”
“Nice enough, but not so pretty as the landhere.” He nudged her arm. “I hated the idea of fighting here. It’stoo pretty to tear up.”
Tillie beamed. “It is pretty here.” They satin silence for a few seconds. Tillie resisted the urge to readjusthis blankets again. “Um, how long have you been in the army?”
“I joined up in '61.” He shrugged. “My girlsaid she would be proud to marry a soldier.” He chuckled. “I heardshe married a businessman.”
Tillie shot up straight in her chair. “Shedidn’t!”
“Yeah, she did. My mother confirmed so in oneof her letters. You see, I’ve been wounded before, at Second BullRun, and apparently Melissa—that’s her name—thought I died, so shemarried someone else.”
Tillie stared at him, mouth ajar. “Forgive mefor saying so, but you don’t seem very broken hearted.”
He laughed. “Well, I’ll admit to a few baddays when I first found out, but then I thought her rather prudentto find a fella whose life wasn’t in danger all the time.”
Tillie laughed. “I like your attitude.”
* * * *
The camp administrator, Dr. Janes, ran CampLetterman in true military style. Guards refused admittance to thecivilian volunteers until seven thirty in the morning, after thepatients received their breakfast and had their bedding and clotheschanged.
After her morning prayer time with Joseph andMrs. Greenly, Tillie went to the cot, once occupied by PrivateJones, but now held Private Markham. She settled into her campchair. “Good morning, Private Markham. How are you feelingtoday?”
“Oh, I’m fine, Miss Tillie. I feel a chillthis morning. Is there frost on the ground?”
“Not yet. A heavy dew, but no frost. It isonly late September.”
“Perhaps the Good Lord is holding off thesevere weather until we’re all well enough to move. Who knows?”Private Markham pulled his shortened arms from under the blanketand rested his stumps on the top of the coverlet. He indicated theside table with his chin. “The mailman left a letter for me. Ithink it may be from my ma. Would you mind reading it for me?”
“Of course.” Tillie picked up the envelopeand removed the letter. She read in a low voice, conscious of thosearound them. She finished and put the letter back into its envelopeand set it on the table. “They’re just picking apples now? Wepicked our apples weeks ago.”
“In Vermont, where I’m from, you don’t pickapples until a hard frost. That’s when they’re best.”
“Doesn’t that ruin the fruit?”
“Certainly not!” He reacted with mockoutrage. “A hard frost does something to the apple. I can’t saywhy, but the skin snaps when you bite in and the apple is tart andtasty. Makes for the best cider too.” He sighed, and a dreamyexpression crossed his face. His expression changed as his browcreased, and a frown pulled at his lips. “I’ll never pick an appleagain.” He held up both arms, his right arm amputated at the wristand the left at the elbow, before dropping them at his sides.
“That won’t mean the end of your lifethough.” Tillie phrased her words with care remembering BarneyKline.
“No.” He looked her in the
