Gallant Boys of Gettysburg (11 page)

“Don’t worry about that,” Jeff said quickly. “We’ll make it.”

Promising to be back soon, he left Tom to read one of the books that Ellie Poteet had brought out for him. It was a book of sermons, and rather heavy ones at that. He knew Tom did not find them very interesting.

When Jeff got downstairs, he looked out to the road and saw a troop of blue-clad cavalry go by. He had shed his uniform and was wearing a pair of faded overalls and a checked red and blue shirt, the gift of Claude Poteet. He looked like a farmer. But he was also aware that, the instant he opened his mouth, his Southern drawl would give him away.

He watched the cavalry disappear down the road, sending up huge clouds of dust, then went into the house. He found Ellie Poteet at the sink washing dishes. “Tom ate it all, Mrs. Poteet.”

“That’s good. Now I’m going to make a pie. What does thee favor, Jeff?”

“Oh, any kind of pie is good,” Jeff said. He sat down at the table and watched her, adding, “The worst piece of pie I ever ate was real good!”

Ellie Poteet giggled at him. Although forty-five, she seemed much younger. She had two grown daughters, both married, and she seemed rather lonesome at times. “It’s nice to have some hungry men to cook for. Claude doesn’t eat any more than a chicken.”

Jeff thought it was odd that she was so heavy and her husband was so lean. He thought of the nursery rhyme “Jack Sprat could eat no fat; his wife could eat no lean,” and a smile came to his lips.

Claude Poteet stamped his boots outside, then shoved the door open. “How is friend Tom?” he asked.

“Much better, Mr. Poteet. But I’m worried.”

“The Bible says, ‘Fret not!’“ The Quaker sat down and said, “Ahhh!” when Ellie set a glass of buttermilk in front of him. “‘Fret not’—that’s what it says. What is thee fretting about?”

“Well, we’re sort of trapped here,” Jeff said slowly. “Tom’s getting better all the time, but we can’t stay here …”

“Thee can stay as long as thee needs,” Ellie Poteet said firmly.

“But just yesterday we heard voices in the barn, and I looked down, and there were some men down there. They didn’t look up—but what if they had?”

“Those were just hired hands from Toliver’s place at the next farm. They came to get some harness I’d sold Toliver,” Mr. Poteet explained.

“But suppose they had seen us?” Jeff said. “Think what that would mean. We’d both be on our
way to prison camp—and you two would be in big trouble.”

They talked for some time, and in the end Claude Poteet rubbed his chin, which still had two days’ of stubble on it. “Well, now, I’m not worried about me or Ellie. The Lord will take care of us—but thee does need to get thy brother out of this country—somewhere in the South where he’ll be safe.”

“The road to Virginia won’t be easy,” Jeff said.

He knew enough military tactics to know that the Confederate Army had retreated but would be closely followed by the Union troops. Now the roads were probably thick with Union infantry, artillery, and cavalry.

“Tom and I both talk so Southern,” he said, “that if we started out, the first patrol that stopped us would have us dead to rights. It’d be a dead giveaway, Tom’s leg being gone.”

“Well, the Lord’s hand has been on thee this far,” Ellie said placidly. There was concern in her eyes, however. “But thee is right. Your brother needs to be in a safer place.”

“But I can’t think of a way to get him out of here.”

“Thee must pray. Maybe,” Claude Poteet said, “God will give thee another dream.”

“I don’t know,” Jeff said. “I know God doesn’t usually guide people that way. Besides, I have so many crazy dreams, I just don’t trust them.”

“Well, the three of us will pray,” Ellie said. Then she added softly, “Thy brother’s not happy.”

“No, he’s not,” Jeff agreed.

“It’s about losing his leg. He feels bad about that.”

“Well, I guess anybody would feel that way.” Jeff shrugged.

“I had a neighbor once who lost a leg. It’s been many years ago,” Claude Poteet said. “It seemed to take a lot away from him. He never got over it, really. Wouldn’t try. Just sat on the porch and rocked and grew mean-tempered.” He looked at Jeff. “I hope thy brother understands that his life isn’t over.”

Jeff had been worried about exactly the same thing. He said, “If I can get him out of here, get him back home, things will be better.”

“Well, one thing is true. He’s out of the war. Thee can’t march with one leg.”

Jeff thought about that. “As bad as the war is, I think Tom would rather have two legs and risk his life in battle than be out of it like he is.” The thought troubled him, and he got up abruptly. “I better go back and see how he is.”

As soon as the boy was gone, Ellie said, “It’s sad, isn’t it, husband?”

“Yes, it is, but God has done a great thing in saving young Tom’s life. He’s not through with that young man yet!”

F
our days went by, and every day it seemed the road alongside the Poteet farm grew more and more clogged with Union soldiers. Jeff kept out of sight as much as possible but peered out the barn door whenever he heard the sound of marching.

“I didn’t know there
were
so many Yankees,” he said, almost in despair, as he sat beside Tom late one afternoon.

Tom was sitting in a chair, his maimed leg out in front of him on a stool that Ellie Poteet had brought. He looked at it now, his face grim. “We’ll never make it back to Virginia, Jeff. If I were whole, I’d try it—but somebody would stop us, and there we’d be.”

“Well, they can’t stay here forever,” Jeff declared. “Sooner or later they’re all gonna go back to Virginia or somewhere. They can’t keep the whole Union army here in Gettysburg!”

“We might as well give it up, Jeff.” Tom’s dark eyes were glum and hopeless. “Look,” he said abruptly, “there’s no sense in both of us going to a prison camp. You can get away. Travel at night and stay away from the roads.”

“Let me ask you one thing, Tom.”

“What’s that?”

“Would you leave me if things were reversed—if I was the one who was hurt and you weren’t?”

Tom lifted his head, looked at Jeff’s face, and Jeff figured he knew he was trapped. His brother finally said, “I guess not. But it doesn’t make any sense.”

“The Lord’ll get us out of this.”

“You still waiting for a dream?”

Jeff had told Tom how he had come to think of the Poteets. He had told him also that he was waiting for some idea for a scheme to get them away from Gettysburg.

Jeff flushed and shook his head. “No, I’m not waiting for a dream,” he said, “but I keep trying to think of a way to disguise us so we can get through the lines.”

“You can put on a false beard, but you’re not going to disguise
that.”
Tom gestured at his wound. “A man with one leg—and that a fresh wound—everybody’s gonna know he got it in battle. They’re gonna know we’re not Federals too. You can forget disguises.”

“Well, I’m not giving up,” Jeff declared with determination. He got up, saying, “I’m going to milk the cows. I’ll bring you some fresh milk.”

“All right, Jeff.”

Jeff went down the stairs, peered out cautiously, and saw that the road was clear. He went to the cow barn and soon had milked two of the Poteets’ fat Holsteins. He carried the buckets of milk into the house and was straining it when Ellie came in.

“I’ll do that, Jeff.”

“No, let me do it. I need to do more work around here, not less.”

“Well, thy job is to take care of thy brother right now.”

Jeff tried to do all the work he could on the farm, but actually there was little to do right now. The planting was done, the crops were in the ground. Basically it was caring for the animals that took up Claude Poteet’s time.

“Hast thee thought of a way to get thy brother free?”

“No, ma’am, I haven’t, but I’m not giving up.”

Jeff finished the chores, then made his way back to the loft. He took a checkerboard with him this time, hoping to take Tom’s mind off his problems.

They played several games. Then Tom said, “I think I’ll take a nap, Jeff.”

“OK. I’ll do the same.”

Jeff had brought up a cot for himself, and he lay down on it. His brain was like a beehive as he explored every possible way of making an escape from Gettysburg. He thought of twenty schemes—all of them equally futile. Finally he gave up and prayed,
Well, Lord, I can’t get us out of this mess, but I know You can!
Then he dropped off to sleep.

A fly crawled across Jeff’s face, awakening him. He slapped at it, muttering, “Get away from me!” then sat up on the bed, rubbing his cheek. He saw that Tom was awake also, but his brother said nothing.

Jeff tried to think of some way to encourage Tom—and himself. He got up and walked to the single window and looked out. “It looks like rain,” he said. He was right, for ten minutes later fat drops began to fall. “Well,” he said, “that’ll settle the dust anyway.”

Rain continued to fall off and on and turned into a downpour by nightfall. Jeff went to the house for the supper that Ellie Poteet had cooked. She put the food on a tray and covered it with a piece of oilcloth to keep it dry, and he walked back through the rain wearing one of Claude Poteet’s old rubberized coats and a felt hat, pulled over his brow. Still, he was soaked by the time he got back to the barn.

Jeff pulled off the wet clothes and mounted the stairs, saying cheerfully, “Well, here we are. Looks like Miss Ellie’s done it again.”

Tom’s appetite was off, though he made an effort to appear cheerful. He ate sparingly, while Jeff wolfed down his portion. The supper consisted of beef and potatoes and green beans, and there was pumpkin pie for dessert. Afterward they drank the coffee that Ellie had put in a heavy pot.

Jeff leaned back and patted his stomach. “At least we’re eating good, Tom. Better than we’ve had in a spell.”

Tom nodded, saying absently, “Yes, Miss Ellie’s a fine cook.”

Jeff saw that Tom was despondent. “How about some more checkers?”

“All right.”

Jeff lit the lantern, and for a time they played, but Tom’s heart was not in it. He lost two games in a row, which was unusual, for he was a fine player.

Jeff said, “Well, I guess I’m getting better.”

“Guess so,” Tom admitted. “Don’t think I want to play any more, Jeff.”

“You want me to read you one of those sermons?”

“No! They’re the worst sermons I ever heard. So dull! I don’t think they’d be any better being read out loud either.”

The rain was falling now in a steady rhythmic pattern. The full meal had made Jeff sleepy, and he said, “Well, it’s early, but I’m sleepy. I think I’ll go to bed.”

“All right.”

“Anything I can do for you, Tom?”

“No, I’ll be all right. Go on to bed, Jeff.”

Jeff undressed and crawled between the sheets. It was cool in the barn after the hot day, and the rain pattered on the tin roof. It was a sleepy sound, and soon Jeff found himself dozing off. He never knew exactly when he went to sleep, but he slept hard and did not awaken until morning.

“Wake up, Jeff. You gonna sleep all day?”

Jeff came awake with a start. He sat up abruptly and rubbed his eyes. He looked about bewilderedly. “What time is it?”

“The rooster crowed an hour ago,” Tom said. He had pulled himself into a sitting position and was staring out the window. “The rain’s quit. At least for now.”

Jeff did not speak for a moment. Then he said quietly, “Tom?”

Tom must have heard the peculiar note in Jeff’s voice. He turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Jeff hesitated for one moment more, then shrugged his shoulders. “You know we talked about dreams?”

Tom blinked and laughed aloud. “Don’t tell me you’ve had another one?”

“I always dream a lot,” Jeff said defensively, “but this one—it made me think.”

“What’d you dream?”

“I dreamed about Sarah.”

Tom stared at him. His lips grew tighter. “What about her?”

“I just dreamed about her. That’s all.”

“What was she doing? What was it about, that dream?”

“It wasn’t much of a dream, I guess. I was just thinking last night about all the folks we knew growing up. I dreamed about you, and I dreamed about Ma and about Pa, of course. I dreamed about Leah.” He thought for a while. “I dreamed about Esther too. And then Sarah.”

“So Sarah was just one of those you dreamed about?”

Jeff looked down at the floor thoughtfully. Finally he raised his eyes. “She was the last one I dreamed about. Seems like it was just before I woke up. But you can’t tell with dreams. And she wasn’t doing anything. She didn’t say anything. She was just looking at me, and I was looking at her.”

“Funny kind of dream.”

“I guess so—but it gave me an idea. Now I know what to do.”

“What to do about what?” Tom asked.

“Why, I know what to do about getting us out of this place.” Jeff saw surprise spring into Tom’s eyes. “I’m going to Sarah. She can help us.”

“You can’t do that! You can’t get her involved with us.”

“Tom, you’re older than I am, and ordinarily I’d do anything you said, but right now we’re between the rock and the hard place. I don’t know if the Lord
sent that dream or not. I just don’t know why I didn’t think of Sarah before.”

“What do you think she can do?”

“I don’t know.” Jeff got up and began dressing. “But I know one thing—she’ll want to know about you.”

Tom looked down at his left leg and said, “That’s all over.”

Jeff was startled but did not argue. “I’m going to see her, Tom. I’ll sneak into town after it gets late. Tell me again where you took her—the house she was staying in with Miss Abigail.”

Sarah was startled by a knock at the door. It was almost nine o’clock and had been dark for some time.

“I wonder who that can be, Abigail?”

“I don’t know. It’s awful late for visitors.” Abigail was in bed, holding William in her arms. “Perhaps you’d better go see.”

Sarah walked out into the large room, holding a candle. She put her hand on the door, and then caution came over her. “Who is it?” she asked quietly.

A muffled voice replied, “It’s me, Jeff Majors.”