“Well thank God.” His words stopped her. “Ihoped someone would pity these boys. It’s all hustle and bustleover there, and a graveyard over here.” He took her by the arm anddragged her three tents down. “Come with me.”
“There are some boys in here. Once they getused to you, they’ll be friendly enough. At least, I hope so.”
“Are they unfriendly?” She never consideredthey might be hostile.
“Well of course, they’re not friendly. Theythink of us as the enemy. These men are in need of companionshipbeyond what I and my limited staff can do for them, but I thinkyou’ll win them over.” He gestured to her. “I’ve seen you aroundhere. You have a way about you I think these men will respond to.At first, they’ll refuse to be friendly, but in the end, they’ll begrateful for a pretty girl giving them attention.” He walked away,leaving her standing like an idiot in front of the tent.
“Well, Matilda Jane Pierce, you made yourbed.” She peered over her shoulder, hoping no one heard her talkingto herself, squared her shoulders, and went inside.
She stood at the entrance, feet stuck to theground. She couldn’t move another inch if someone pushed her. Theflap fell down and brushed her skirts. She glanced at it, and thenfaced the men. She said nothing, letting her eyes adjust to the diminterior.
Several men sat up in their cots bracingthemselves on elbows. Others raised their heads and stared backwith sullen glares. Some flopped down and turned their backs onher.
This wasn’t going to be easy. She forcedherself to move further inside.
“Good morning.” She gazed at the men in theircots. “My name is Tillie. I live in Gettysburg.” What a stupidthing to say. She chuckled. “Of course I live in Gettysburg. Whereelse would I live? I came in to say hello. If you gentlemen needanything, I’d like to help.” She studied each of the men.
They lay on army cots, each man with a heavywoolen blanket, yet they shivered in the cold morning air. Thewoodstove at the far end of the tent gave off no heat because noone had bothered to light it. As on the Union side, many of thesemen were missing arms or legs. Some were in the delirium of fadinglife, others fought for their recovery. Without thinking about it,Tillie moved toward the woodstove. “I didn’t come prepared today,but I can bring some fruit with me tomorrow or some other foods ifyou wish. I can read aloud or write letters for you.”
No one responded, but she refused to give upso easily.
“What’s your name?” she asked soldier aftersoldier, none of whom answered. Most turned their backs as sheapproached. One boy, not much older than her and missing his leftfoot, glared. Something about his ginger hair and blue eyes seemedfamiliar, but Tillie couldn’t place him.
“What’s your name?”
He didn’t answer. Tillie wondered if here, atleast, would be a start. She pursed her lips, bowing her head, asif accepting defeat. She reached the woodstove and put her hand onit. As she suspected, it was cold.
“Well.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Ican’t do anything for you today. My decision to come over herespontaneous, to say the least. Tomorrow I shall bring a book ofpoetry if you like. Oh! How about a copy of Mr. Thoreau’s newestwork and some home-cooked food? Also, I’ll bring a pencil and somepaper in case you want to compose letters. I’ll post them for youlater.”
She didn’t receive a response and didn’texpect one. Feeling like a fool, she left to find the doctor.
“I have to go back now. It’s almost dark, andI must get home. I’ll come back tomorrow. Can you tell me what kindof food I can bring the boys?”
The doctor gave her a hard, penetratingstare. “If you do, I’ll let you know.”
“What does that mean? Of course, I will. Isaid I would.”
“The same as many others. If you decide toreturn, I’ll tell you what you may fix for their recuperation. Ifnot, well, no harm done.” He clicked his heels, pivoted, andmarched away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called. Hedisappeared into another tent, and with a tread as heavy as herheart, she walked away.
* * * *
Tillie worked in the kitchen after supper,preparing a basket of bread, cheese, and some apples for theColvills to take on their trip back to Minnesota. Maggie and Mothercried over his departure.
“Tillie?” Walt stood inside the sitting roomdoor, holding a pistol and bayonet in his hands. Ever sinceFather’s refusal, he took pains not to be alone with her.
Lost in her musings, she jumped at the soundof his voice. Her face and ears warmed. She shoved her thoughtsinto a far corner of her mind. “Hello, Walt. I’m preparing a basketfor Colonel and Miss Eliza. Can I pack something for you andMilt?”
“No thank you. I wanted to come in and saygoodbye.” He took another step closer. “I’d like to give yousomething, if you think your father won’t object. A token toremember me by.”
“I don’t think Father would object.” Shewasn’t sure that was true.
Walt extended his arms, offering the gun andbayonet. “I want you to take these. I’m mustering out, so there’sno reason for me to keep them. If anyone comes to take the pistolfrom you, tell them I bought it with my own money.” He turned thegun over and showed her his initials, W.S.R. PVT carved into thehandle. “See? That’s proof she belongs to me.” He placed the weaponin her hand. “Don’t worry. It’s not loaded.” He laughed. He laidthe bayonet across his palms as an offering. “I want you to keepthis as well.”
“Walt,” she breathed. “These are lovely. Areyou sure you want to part with them?” The beautiful workmanship ofthe steel glinted as it rested across his palms.
“I want you to keep them.” He steppedforward. “As a token of my esteem and
