“Reverend Bergstrasser would say ourneighbors are our brothers and sisters in Christ, not theConfederates who happen to be in the area or the man who lives nextdoor.”
The chaplain nodded, looking thoughtful.“That would be true. But are you certain you don’t have neighbors,brothers in Christ, in those Confederate tents?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think you should go find out?” Hewinked at her, pulled out a pocket watch, and clicked the top.“Well I must run. I’m late.” He snapped the timepiece shut andslipped it back into his pocket. “I enjoyed our conversation andlook forward to seeing you around.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tillie picked up her fork.“Thank you for everything.”
Chapter 29
Reading aloud from Shakespeare’s Sonnets withPrivate Johnson, Tillie glanced at Tommy, the ginger-haired boy,who lay on his cot, across the aisle, whittling. Sam often whittledwhen he needed to sort things out within himself. Her voice driftedaway as an idea began to take shape.
“You know what, Miss Tillie.” Johnson pushedthe book down to her lap, bringing her back to reality. “I’m kindatired. I think I want to rest a bit, and after, write a letter tomy sweetheart. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not.” She took some paper out ofher basket, along with a pen and some ink. “I’ll leave you now.”She rose and crossed to the ginger-haired boy. He chipped away withvicious hacks. “I can bring you more wood, if you want some. Myfather’s apprentice whittles a lot. Sometimes, he even makessomething worth looking at.” She chuckled.
The boy turned the stick in his hands andreturned to gouging out chunks and letting the chips fly.
She sighed and walked away.
* * * *
As soon as the sun edged toward the peaks ofBig Roundtop and the clouds began to turn purple, Tillie startedfor home. Mother made her promise to be home before dark, but shestayed a bit longer to finish some things before going home. Nowshe walked fast. A chill November breeze touched her skin. Hercheeks tingled, and her breath puffed out in white billows. WouldMr. Garlach give her some spare pieces of dressed wood? Perhaps ifshe asked in a circumspect way, he may be willing.
She approached the outskirts of town, and asshe passed Racehorse Alley, something hard hit her right arm. Shespun around in the gathering darkness trying to identify theculprit.
“Traitor!” a man shouted, but she didn’trecognize the voice.
Her scalp prickled as feet pounded down thealley. She picked up the rock. People disapproved of what she did,she knew, but she never thought her neighbors would turn vicious.She was one of them. She stared down the lane. The darkeningpassage and looming buildings menaced her now, as though hidingmonsters. She dropped the stone, grabbed her skirts, and ranhome.
As she entered the house, her stomach growledat the smell of dinner. She took off her cloak and bonnet and hungthem up. Holding out the cuff of her sleeve, she examined it fortears. She didn’t find any, only a dirt mark where the rock hither.
Father stepped into the hallway. “You’rehome. Good. I’m getting ready to read. Hurry and wash up.”
“Yes, Father.” She breezed into the kitchenand poured water into the washbasin. After a quick cleansing, shedropped into her seat with a sigh, relieved to be home, safe andsecure, around people who loved her.
Father opened the Bible to the Book ofMatthew.
She listened, and when he finished, shepassed food around the table, eating her meal in silence andpartially listening to the general conversation.
“Are you well, dear?” Mother placed her palmon Tillie’s forehead.
“I’m fine. I’m tired.” Tillie smiled, thenturned her eyes to her plate and continued to eat.
“Well, go to bed early. You spend far toomuch time at Camp Letterman, if you ask me.”
“I like what I do.” She forked another biteof food and chewed.
Father tapped her arm. “Join your mother andme in the parlor after supper.”
His expression said they wanted to discusssomething important. Her heart skipped a beat. Did she do somethingwrong? “Of course, Father.” She saw no point in pursuing thesubject at the table. He wouldn’t speak in front of the others.
After helping Maggie clean the dishes, Tilliesat on the parlor sofa. She folded her hands in her lap and waitedfor her parents, sitting together on the settee, to begin.
“What’s wrong, my dear?” Mother asked.
“Why do you think something is wrong?” Shestudied first one parent, then the other. Did someone tell them ofthe harassment?
“My love.” Mother tilted her head and gaveher a gentle smile. “You are my child, and I love you. Do you thinkI can’t tell when something troubles you? Is that boy still givingyou a hard time?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t worry about him.Mostly he ignores me. I think I found a way to get through to him.Father, do you think Mr. Garlach would give me a piece of surplusdressed wood? Something he can whittle. After my confrontation withthe boy, whose name is Tommy, the others started to open up.” Sherearranged her skirts, trying to put her thoughts in order. “I atelunch with a chaplain today. I’m having a little trouble withpeople in town who seem to think I’ve forgotten who I am and whatthose Southern boys are.”
Her parents exchanged a knowing glance.
Tillie noticed but went on. “We spoke forsome time about reconciliation and finding out if there arebrothers in Christ among those Confederates.” She sighed and beatback a wave of sadness. “I feel a little like this past summer.People say things that make sense at the time, but then I’m notsure what we talked about or if I heard right.”
“Heard what right?” Father’s brow creased. Hesat forward.
“Well, Chaplain Combs and I spoke of SecondCorinthians. Tonight, you read blessed are the merciful and blessedare the peacemakers for they shall be called children of God. Iknow my heart is not pure at all, and I’m wondering if I’m doingthis for God’s glory or my own.” She uttered a heavy, worried sigh.After a few moments of fiddling with a pleat in her skirt, sheglanced at her parents.
“Why do you worry about whose glory you dothis for?” Mother tilted her head.
“Because.” Tillie shrugged and kept
