Measure of Devotion, page 14
“But, Papa, for how long? What if—”
“Greta, we have no way of knowing.”
“Well,” Karl said, and swung a leg over the railing, “just wait till our army marches right into town and captures all them rebs. That’s what I’m wishing.”
Greta said, “Me, too.”
“Me, three,” Sophie added.
Papa began the methodical process of packing his pipe for a smoke. “In his last letter, where did Coop say he was?”
“North of Aldie, but that was almost a week ago.”
He put his tobacco pouch away and chose a stick match. “Hm.”
“What are you thinking, Papa?” Karl asked, searching Papa’s face. “You look to be calculating.”
Papa’s lips curled around his pipe. “You’re right, my boy. Our United States Army can march a good twenty-five, maybe thirty miles in a day. At least, that’s what it claims. So, could be it’s closing in on Frederick City or thereabouts. Just a guess.”
“Could they come tomorrow?”
“I doubt it, unless they’re closer right now than we think.” He drew on the flame and puffed out smoke. “Couple days. Maybe.”
“Those rebels better leave soon,” Greta said.
“If they know what’s good for them, they will,” Karl said. “Yankees will give ’em what for.” He glanced at Sophie. “I bet Cooper will take out more than his share of them.”
Sophie grinned. “He’ll do his duty. Yes, I’m sure he will try.”
“I wonder if we will have a chance to meet him,” Greta said. Sophie thought it was the first time Greta had smiled all day. “He will come here, won’t he?”
“I’m fairly sure, yes, but who knows what will happen when our army gets here or how long it will stay? I’m sure he’ll visit us if he can.”
“What’s it like in Massachusetts? Has he told you?”
And, as usual, Karl showed interest in Coop as well. He brought his leg back over the rail to lean on his knees. “Does he have a boat?”
Thankfully, their minds are off the Confederacy, at least for the moment.
“That, I don’t know for sure. I don’t recall him ever saying so, though. He’s a farmer.”
“How come he’s not married?” Karl persisted. “Did his wife die?”
“No. He just hasn’t cared to marry.”
“Not yet,” Papa chipped in. “Probably looking for just the right gal.” He puffed again and winked at Greta, who immediately turned to Sophie.
“Stop.” Sophie raised a palm to silence whatever was about to spring from Greta’s conniving mind. “Stop that thinking. I’ve told you all, Coop and I are just good friends. That’s all, so—”
“I think ‘Coop’ sounds funny,” Karl said. “Reminds me of chickens.”
Greta smirked at Sophie. “You think he’s handsome. You told me so when you came home in January.”
“Well, he is. He’s tall and has dark hair and very brown eyes.”
“How long is he in for, has he said?” Now, Papa joined the interrogation. “Is he a one-year man?”
“Three.”
“Three?” Papa straightened in the rocker. “You don’t say. Hm.”
“He enlisted shortly after Lincoln first put out the call.”
“Well now.” Papa stared off toward the dark fields, puffed twice, and looked back at her. “You know, that’s highly commendable. A right honorable fellow, this Cooper, your friend. I need to shake his hand.”
Sophie sipped her coffee and enjoyed the tranquility of everyone in deep thought about something other than rebel invasion. Her family’s sweet attachment to Coop seemed to grow by the day, much like her own, although the family knew nothing of her confusion.
A serious, lasting relationship with a man? It still escapes me as much as it has for years, still rattles uncomfortably inside. Except when it comes to you, Coop Samson. How baffling. Dare I believe you have opened my heart wider than I thought possible and raised its voice?
Quiet settled in around them and across the fields, occasionally spoiled by gunshots in town. She gave thanks that at least this area south of town seemed at ease and hoped tomorrow brought more of the same. The days couldn’t pass fast enough.
Chapter Fifteen
If there was any consolation for the endless routine of marching and skirmishing, Coop found it in the army’s proximity to Sophie in Gettysburg. She wrote that much in yesterday’s letter and planned to finish her composition today. However, now camped just a day’s march away in Taneytown, she pondered the necessity of writing at all.
“We could be there before the mail delivers my letter.”
“You heard the talk last night,” Tim said, poking and making a mess of their little cookfire. “Hate to say it because I know what you’re hoping, but chances are we’re headed elsewhere—if anywhere at all. Headquarters are set up here. Finish your letter and mail it.” He added a scrap of wood to heat their coffee to a boil. “Can’t say as I mind sitting around, though. Can you? Really?”
Coop saw opportunity for time with Sophie slipping away. Ever since Hooker resigned and Gen. George Meade took over two days ago, II Corps seemed to have no strategic purpose other than “sitting in reserve” here in Maryland, awaiting orders, and Coop grew impatient.
“Of course, I don’t mind resting. Who would? Except that we should be doing something.” She unwrapped two sizeable chunks of stringy beef and pierced them with sticks. She handed one to Tim, and together they roasted their late breakfast over the fire. “Sometimes I wish I joined the cavalry. They’re always on the move.”
“Chicken thieves, all of them,” Tim said with a snort. “I cannot see you serving under the likes of Kilpatrick. You would have shot him long ago.”
Coop conceded that point. General Kilpatrick had had his share of bad luck; his poor tactical skills preceded him. “Now, Buford. I’d like to serve under him, tough nut that he is.” She assessed her meat and extended it back over the flames. “They say he’s up in Gettysburg right now.”
“Bah. I know what you’re itching for, Samson. You just want to see a certain pretty farmer’s daughter.”
“True. I do.”
Tim eyed her sideways. “You really up for answering your heart? Could be some time before we squash all these reb vermin. You’ll bust open if we go another year doing this.”
“I made it these six months since I’ve seen her, haven’t I?” Coop checked her meat again, this time satisfied it was cooked through. She sat back and blew on it before tugging off a bite. “Besides, it’s not like we would ever get married.”
Tim scowled at her, his wooly mustache drooping over his lower lip. “Why not? She wouldn’t wait for you?”
“Well, she’s mighty independent. So am I.”
“Don’t you want her for your bride? Bring her back home and make yourselves some dandy looking young’uns? What’s wrong with that?”
“That would be her choice, to go anywhere with anyone, especially having a young sister and brother to look after. You’re getting too far ahead in your thinking.”
“I’m not the one getting too far ahead of himself.”
Coop looked out along the row of tents. “Eat while you can. Sarge is coming. I’m guessing our midday rest is about to end.”
The bugle call and orders for heavy marching came loud and clear, unexpected and urgent. Coop jerked to her feet, shoved the rest of her beef into her mouth, and splashed some coffee into their cups.
Tim plucked off his meat and threw his stick aside. “I’ll go get us stocked up. Do the fire last and save my coffee.” He took off to acquire their rations of food and ammunition.
Coop dove into the tent and began rolling blankets and stuffing personal items into their knapsacks. Heavy marching meant everything must go, so she knew they wouldn’t be back. And, apparently, had to get wherever they were going in a hurry.
Rapid deployment for an entire corps always consumed the better part of a day, like trying to push a railroad train into motion by hand, but on this, July’s first day, Coop found herself back on the march in less than three hours. She had jammed some hardtack into her trouser pocket to munch along the route but soon realized their pace wouldn’t allow it.
The push northward was a frenetic march for II Corps, and Coop began wiping away the dripping sweat after less than five minutes. Sergeants and lieutenants hustled alongside the column, barking about speed and closing ranks. Separation between companies and then regiments disappeared, and Coop thought the 19th looked far larger this way than regularly arranged.
They closed in on the wagons ahead, those of the 20th, and directly into their dust, which settled upon everyone and everything.
Coop pinched at her eyes. Grit coated her wet face, weighed down her eyelids, and worked its way into her mouth. She ground it between her teeth, then took a sip from her canteen and spit between the men ahead.
“Wish we had more coffee,” Tim said.
“Too hot for coffee.” She slapped her cap against her thigh to remove the dust. “Damn. We’re looking like rebs.”
Coop started to notice discarded knapsacks and other gear along the road as troops lightened their loads, and she shook her head. They’ll regret that later. She refused to relinquish any of hers, no matter the weight or the sweat it sent trickling down to her backside.
All along the line, troops coughed, sneezed, spit, and succumbed to the heat and lack of clean air. Men stepped out more frequently by the third hour, some dropped to their knees, others fell at the roadside.
“You see Tinderman?” Coop asked, unbuttoning her frock beneath the crossed straps of her haversack and canteen. “That was Tinderman back there, laid out.” She peered up at the cloudless sky.
Tim looked up as well. “If this march doesn’t kill us, the heat will.”
When the order to rest finally came thirty minutes later, Coop didn’t bother to catch the scene of thousands of men hitting the dirt at once. She crawled beneath a tree and scrambled for her canteen.
Tim hailed Lieutenant Adams as he strode along the line. “Lieutenant! Are we there yet?”
Adams took a step closer and frowned down at them. “Guess I’ll put it to you the way it was put to me: When we get there, you’ll know it.”
“Gettysburg?” Coop tried.
“Before sunset, per General Gibbon.”
“Gibbon?” Tim asked. “Where’s General Hancock?”
“Meade sent him on ahead and turned Second Corps over to Gibbon. General Hancock’s got command of the field now.”
Someone behind Coop asked, “Big doings in Gettysburg, Lieutenant?”
Adams wiped his face with a handkerchief. “You could say. General Buford sent for help and now two corps are into it up there, First and Eleventh. By the sounds of things, they might have met the whole damn rebel army. We lost General Reynolds early this morning.”
Coop and the men around her groaned at the news, especially at the loss of Reynolds, the hardened, respected commander of I Corps. Obviously, this didn’t bode well, and she understood the imperative to arrive on the battlefield. No one complained when they resumed their hard march.
Just past the supper hour, filthy and exhausted, Coop and the rest of the 19th gladly made temporary camp still several miles south of Gettysburg, in the shadow of a hill called Big Round Top. Gunshots and cannon fire could be heard from somewhere far ahead. An overheated courier stopped at Coop’s offer of a canteen and shared dire news: rebs were chasing Yanks back through town to hills at the northern end of the Union line.
Learning the 19th had arrived at its southern end, and that high ground named Cemetery Ridge connected the two, Coop reclined onto a patch of tall grass. At least there’s no action here. I hope to never move again.
“The following pickets fall in!”
Soldiers rose on elbows, most too worn to complain, some barely lifting their heads to watch as names were called for the night picket detail. Coop sat up and every muscle protested when she heard her name. She grabbed her Springfield, lumbered back to her aching feet, and heard Tim’s name in the background. Having him alongside would probably be the best thing about this night. It looked to be a long one.
Their assigned territory for picket duty lay farther north, more than a mile closer to the fighting, beyond Big Round Top and the next hill, Little Round Top, and near the center of the long Union line. Once there, they marched due west until positioned a half mile deep onto an enormous plain of farms, fields, and pastures. Considering pickets were being posted out here, Coop figured the rest of the 19th ultimately would be positioned along the line directly behind them, and she took comfort in knowing that support would not be too far away.
She stifled a growl at the Southern forces facing her. From their own high ground—that Tim somehow knew to be Seminary Ridge, the long rebel line enjoyed an unobstructed view of this open terrain, which offered the pickets virtually no cover in any direction.
Only parallel fencing lining the road cut through these fields, and Coop assessed the meager strategic value of the post-and-plank fence on her side and the post-and-rail on the other. Although she didn’t appreciate being so exposed, she knew the fencing at least was something: The plank version closer to her provided a measure of concealment, and the west-side fence provided an obstacle five rails high, certain to slow any enemy advance.
Prone on the ground in the tall wheat, Coop and others in the detail listened to distant firing to the north and took in their surroundings, lucky to do so before darkness fell. She whispered to Tim, who lay several yards away, that it appeared they had been assigned the dead-center of neutral ground.
Only a scattering of farmhouses dotted this mile-deep swath of land, unfortunately located—with Coop and the rest of the 19th pickets—squarely between rebel and Yankee lines. In fact, her current position had her only a few hundred yards from one such house and she sympathized with the innocents caught inside. Like all the others, the homestead no doubt sheltered a family behind those shuttered windows and closed doors. A reluctant bystander, helpless in its predicament.
Tim uttered a soft hiss, caught Coop’s attention, and nodded toward an oncoming wagon. Coop lay still, her Springfield loaded and capped, and watched an elderly couple hurry its weary horse along the road. Tim shook his head at the sight and Coop agreed, civilians best stay off this road.
She rubbed dust from her eyes, did her best to swipe at her face with the less-dusty underside of her sleeve. She wondered if those travelers even noticed the row of dirt-covered soldiers lying in the field. With hours of high heat having baked the dust onto her uniform, she blended rather well into the wheat that flourished around her. Now, with the sun setting, her sweat-soaked wool grew damp and cool. A chill might set in after dark, she mused, and allowed herself the fantasy of a soft blanket under the stars.
Which spun her thoughts to Sophie.
Do you use my blanket still? Do you live around here? In which direction is your farm from town? Are you near that battle to the north? Have you and your family left for safer lodging?
The idea that Sophie could have left town, as so many townspeople did when an army arrived, threatened to bring on a headache. Cooper shuddered to think she’d finally reached Gettysburg only to discover Sophie may be gone. Totally unacceptable.
Exhaustion preyed upon her faculties, made every thought a chore. Peering dutifully into the trees along Seminary Ridge a half mile away, she took note of rebel riders passing to and fro, wagons and artillery rolling into position, dozens of Negros in white shirts carrying supplies, wisps of smoke rising from the hundreds of cookfires. Won’t be long now before reb pickets come out to play. She couldn’t afford to let exhaustion steal her focus.
She dropped her face into the turf and took a breath. Hours on this picket shift could be difficult. She had to stay sharp.
❖
“I’d never seen anything so glorious as I did this morning,” Sophie said, refilling Papa’s coffee cup. “Did you see when they unfurled those colors passing by right outside?”
Papa sipped and nodded. “What a grand sight. We went to the roadside, didn’t we, Karl?”
“We surely did! Cheered them right along. A soldier saluted me, said he was from Michigan’s Iron Brigade.”
“When we heard the band start up, we went out, too,” Greta said with a glance at Sophie. “The Iron Brigade wears funny tall black hats.”
“I was so relieved to see them all. They said they were First Corps,” Papa added. “Have to say, though, I didn’t appreciate them hacking through that fence of ours or flattening half our corn. It was knee-high. Such a shame.”
“They were in a heap of a hurry, short-cutted over Seminary out toward McPhearson’s,” Karl told Sophie.
“Unfortunately,” Papa added, “those boys had a hard time of it. Judging by the sound of things, the rebels pushed them right back to this side of town.”
“Lots of folks left town today, headed south,” Karl said, and folded his arms on the table. “Their wagons were loaded heavy. Some even led their stock down the road.”
“I’m sure rebels have taken the town,” Papa said. “All the noise these past hours has been from Cemetery Hill. That’s very close by.” He sighed and stared into his cup. “Sorry to say, I think our crops, our stock are in jeopardy, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.” He looked at Greta. “They won’t hurt us, child. They just want supplies.”
Sophie said, “It just happened so fast, being surrounded like this. I…I never thought…”
Papa’s shoulders appeared to slouch in despair. “I had hoped that raiding party you saw come in the other day would be the end of it, but now there’s one big mess brewing out here.”
“They’re all lined up on both sides, Papa,” Karl said. “I watched the ridges fill up.”
“So many of them.” Greta sat down with a piece of bread and buttered it slowly, lost in thought. “Their fires stretch as far as you can see.”
“I am mad about their thievery,” Papa said, and his free hand curled into a fist. “Not even dark an hour and we lost a cow and several chickens. Those rebs… My guess is the horse will be gone before sunup, if it hasn’t been taken already. Rebels better show some mercy.”
