3. A Soggy Man on a Skinny, Brown Horse

1863 JULY 4, SATURDAY

3

The eve of the wedding dawned in a warm, putrid, suffocating mist … a mist that eventually turned to rain, attempting to wash away the gunpowder lingering in the air. Yet, the heat of the day made it feel like a boardinghouse laundry. Sleep evaded me once I hid the revolver, and I was left exhausted, emotionally and physically. Of course, I blamed the wedding festivities, and thankfully, Anna let me alone even as she shot me concerned glances.

We closed ourselves in the house, windows shut tight, keeping out the smoke, drizzle, and Rebel shouts polluting the air. Mother, a ball of nerves, remained in bed. Elizabeth paced the house like a trapped feline, uncharacteristically annoyed by her small cousins. Our houseguests maintained some preoccupation—Aunt Martha took a natural employment in leading the wedding preparations, and Pa led the men into town to see how it was faring under Rebel occupation. The hubbub in town, our weary houseguests, my concern for Union victory, and my imminent nuptials weighed heavily on me. Each quiet moment left unoccupied was assaulted by images of last night, Ethan's hands and his breath in the dark.

Hiding from Mother's sisters, Aunt Martha and Aunt Agatha, I secluded myself in a corner of the kitchen. The humming of our cook, Fanny, the knocking of the butter churn, and the sizzle of grease over the fire quieted my mind. I occupied my hands by wrapping ribbons around the bouquets and nosegays for tomorrow. With each wrap of the ribbon, my mind flashed back to Ethan. Ethan in the dark, his arms like a vice. Ethan in the dark, pushing me to the ground. Ethan laughing. I shook my head as if to shake the images from my mind and sought to focus on the floral arrangements.

The porch door slammed and Harold stormed in, dripping wet and beaming.

"They're gone! Every one of those damn Rebs left in the night! Cowards!" Harold exclaimed, grabbing Fanny and hefting the woman off her feet.

Fanny laughed. "You're soaked to the bone!"

"The battle's over, Fanny. The Rebs retreated with their scrawny tails between their legs."

I set the bouquet on the table and rushed to find Pa. Harold led Fanny in a jig across the kitchen, both of them laughing with glee.

"It's a glorious victory!" Pa announced from the parlor.

I could hear the ladies chatter in exaltation.

"Finally, we have a general worth fighting for!" Cousin Anthony exclaimed.

"Casualties will arrive soon," Uncle Eugene explained. "From what we heard in town, the injuries and death toll are mounting."

I halted outside the parlor, wondering if Robert was there. Anna stepped beside me, Elizabeth's hand in hers.

"God rest their souls," she whispered.

We exchanged concerned glances. My chest gripped my heart, as if to stanch the bleeding that was imminent. The battle in Gettysburg was over.

The shade of the veranda was cool as water dripped from the eaves. I wrapped the shawl tighter around me to ward off the ice water in my veins. As soon as the news arrived, Fanny packed up baskets of food, cloth, thread, and needles to be taken to the Penn Common infirmary. Mother's nerves were taut, and she insisted on staying home. I invited her to sit on the veranda with me, but she complained the weather aggravated her head.

With my lack of enthusiasm for wedding planning, I found myself avoiding Mother, and with that, I felt her drawing away from me, creating a wedge between us, a formality growing in its place. I could feel her displeasure coming off her in waves. Perhaps it was the behavior of all mothers before giving away their daughters? A way of guarding the heart? I was jealous now, as I heard her and Elizabeth talking inside the parlor. Elizabeth was reading one of Mother's favorite Psalms while she rested.

I shook my head, trying to release my envy, instead thinking of Robert's little sister, Katie. During my last visit, his pa and stepmother were too deep in their spirits to notice my arrival. When I found Katie down by the creek alone, I was angry. She was small for her four years, frail, and dirty. She twitched like a nervous doe when I approached her. I could not fail Robert now when he was off fighting for our country.

With the Montgomery gumption I'd earned from my mother, I stormed to the house, leaving Katie in the shade of a shrub, and pounded on the door. The woman, Susan, opened it with a dark scowl on her face, demanding I state my business. As soon as I said my name for the whole house to hear, Mr. Moore limped to the door.

"I know who you are," he said, sternness in his voice. "Robert wrote to me."

I was surprised. "He wrote to you? About me?"

"I don't agree with a word he said. Katie needs no charity from you! We take care of our own 'round here."

"Sir, your daughter was alone at the creek, unwashed and unfed. She is four, sir! No child her age should be left unattended. I promised Robert I would aid in looking out for her."

"Robert had no right to make you promise to look out for my daughter. She's my responsibility. Susan does her best by her, but her employer gives her long hours. My lame leg here can't keep up with the li'l wild thing. She loves the creek. And she always comes home when she's hungry."

I tried to persuade them to allow me to do more. Clothe her, give them money to help—anything—but in the end, they refused all and ordered me to leave them be. I had failed Robert. I had failed Katie.

What was I supposed to do? Would it even be appropriate to return? And what of Robert? Was his regiment in Gettysburg now? He had been silent for far too long, and I did not know if I would ever learn about his fate. After my wedding tomorrow, I might never hear from Robert again. I could feel the hope draining from me into the damp ground. Any strength I had left, shedding from my shoulders.

The afternoon was waning. The sky dimmed as if God was lowering a shade over a lamp. A soggy man on a skinny, brown horse trod down the road from the northwest. His head was bowed beneath his forage cap, shielding his face from the rain. He was soaked through. His blue, wool jacket, heavy and dark. Gold insignia glinted in the rain, and I knew at once he was a Union soldier. My heart leapt as I ran from the veranda, my shawl falling behind me, the rain soaking me as my feet fell on the drive in a rhythm that called Robert, Robert, Robert.

I wanted to call out to the man, but I could not see his face. The closer I came, I knew my heart had only hoped. I was wrong. This man was not Robert.

Hearing my feet on the drive, he looked up. I halted in my steps. His tanned face was haggard beneath whiskers. Dark circles framed his deep-brown eyes, bloodshot from fatigue and smoke. Despite the rain, he removed his hat in greeting, brown hair falling across his brow.

"I'm looking for Miss Ella Coburg," he said in a hoarse voice. A tired voice, used to yelling above the explosions.

"I'm she," I managed to speak.

The soldier cleared his throat again. "Sergeant Major John Mathis of the 118th Pennsylvania, Company K, Miss Coburg."

I gasped at the recognition of his name. All those months of silence from Robert, I had reread his few letters to the point I could recite the words. He was only mentioned briefly, but I knew.

I stood stock-still while the soldier dismounted his horse with natural ease. He approached and grasped my hand in a strong hello. My hand warmed at his touch. A brief tingle ran up my arm before he released me, plopping his hat back on his soaked hair.

"Apologies, miss, if this is an inconvenient time, but I must speak to you urgently. I've traveled all night from Gettysburg and must return before I'm missed. Is there a place we can sit out of the rain?"

The rain was forgotten while I stood there. Only then did I realize I was shivering as the rain soaked through my bodice.

I nodded my head, unable to speak, while fear gripped me. I gestured to the back porch. Sergeant Major Mathis took his horse by the reins and followed me. Passing the front of the house, I could see Mother's head above the settee through the window. She appeared to be asleep now, and there was no sign of Elizabeth.

Taking a seat at the top of the stairs on the covered porch, I offered a place beside me. I waited while he tied his horse to the railing, gathering my skirts around my legs, more for comfort than to give him room to sit.

Sergeant Major Mathis sat rigid and avoided my eyes. He looked bone tired and yet completely alert and ever-vigilant. I wondered then if this was what war looked like on our men.

Mathis licked his cracked lips and rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Robert was shot, Miss Coburg. His leg needed to be amputated."

I breathed a sigh of relief. The fear faded to annoyance and anger. I squared my shoulders. Robert had not so much as written how he was faring the last few months, leaving me to worry, and now he sends his friend to tell me he lost a leg. There are far worse things to worry about than a leg! He should be thanking his lucky stars he was alive! As quick as I was to anger, my shoulders sagged at his expression. He had more to tell, and my anger could not shield me from it.

"He also took a shot in the abdomen. There was a lot of blood, and the surgeon says his chance of survival is grim. I swore I would find you and deliver the news. He wrote a letter." The sergeant major reached into his breast pocket and brought out a damp, folded piece of paper.

With trembling hands, I opened the letter.

Ella,

Please forgive me for not writing. I lie here now, dying. I wish for you to know I have loved you since childhood and will love you in the grave. I selfishly prayed every day for our reunion, but I know it must never be so. I know it may be more than I can ask of you at this time, but please continue to look after Katie. I wish for her to have you as a Benefactor as her future is stark without me. This is the only paper I could forage and will not be able to write her. Please tell her what I have written here. I wish you many blessings in life.

Love,

Robert

He was dying, and I was not sure our love was strong enough to overcome the bleakness of my or Katie's future. The sergeant major looked at me, his tired eyes filled with grief and concern. My watery eyes went back to Robert's words. I, too, had selfishly prayed for our reunion. I had taken his silence for resignation these past few months and now knew he still loved me. I was heartbroken and desperate. Desperate to escape this rushing train. How could I marry Ethan tomorrow knowing Robert was dying … alone?

"How—how much longer, do you think …?" I could not say the words.

He shook his head. "I don't know."

I shoved the letter into my skirt pocket and stood up. "I'm coming with you."

"Pardon?" He rose, surprised by my sudden movement. "You can't come to Gettysburg. It's a war, miss."

"You don't know me, sir, but I have my mother's grit and my father's stubbornness, and I am coming with you. Stay here. I'll fetch food and some necessities. When was the last time you ate?" A sudden burst of energy coursed through my limbs, a plan and purpose fabricating in my mind.

Mathis stared at me, his mouth agape. Dusting the front of his coat, he shut his mouth, then said, "I reckon it was three days ago."

I gave him a nod and gestured for him to stay, rushing into the kitchen. Fanny and Anna started at my sudden presence. They both gawked at me, taking in my wet dress and my face.

"Whatever's the matter?" Anna worried.

"Fanny, a half-starved Union soldier is on our back steps. He needs food. You can either keep him on the steps or invite him into the dry kitchen, but he needs sustenance. When he is done eating, direct him to the barn."

Fanny, sensing the urgency, went right to the cupboard to take out a plate.

Anna followed me out of the kitchen to the hall, grasping my arm.

"What's happened?" she demanded, a sound of panic in her voice.

I hushed her. "Come with me."

Anna trailed me into Pa's study and closed the door behind us. I sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of stationery. Anna waited as I penned a note.

Pa,

I have known my duty to obey and marry Ethan Harris, but I cannot marry him. He is a cruel and heartless man, full of evil intent and ambition. He has threatened me on numerous occasions, and I feel as though he is set on ruining this family. If you love and respect my wishes, you will not have me marry Ethan. Our betrothal must dissolve, for in truth, there is another.

My love for this man has been honest and true. Robert Moore is an honorable man, fighting for the Cause. He is below our station, and Mother may argue he is not worthy of me, but I know that you, of all people, will recognize status as not being a mark of worth.

I must go and be by his side, God willing, in his last moments. With great regret, I leave without saying goodbye. I am sorry if I am a disappointment to you and Mother and our family. Please tell Ethan I cannot marry him. I expect he knows why.

Your loving daughter,

Ella

"Anna," I said while she stood guard at the door. "Please bring Pa to his office as soon as he returns home. I cannot risk anyone else coming across this note."

I paused, looking at the diamond-studded engagement ring Ethan insisted I wear. An extravagant piece I often hid in my skirts. I pulled it off and set it on top of the missive.

Anna followed me out of the study and past the parlor. Mother snored softly, sound asleep. In my bedroom, with no time to change into my riding habit or gather belongings, I told Anna about the sergeant major's news and the letter from Robert—and that I could not marry Ethan. She helped me out of my hoop skirt and shoes, trading it for a gingham skirt and sensible boots. I caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, but my emerald eyes were bright with purpose and determination.

I tied my straw bonnet under my chin, while Anna and I ducked beneath the rain to run to the barn. No one was in sight, not even Harold. My heart pounded in anticipation. Mathis, finishing a piece of bread, stood at the barn entrance, his horse by his side.

"Are you certain of this, miss?" he asked again as I approached him.

"Yes." I marched past him into the humidity of the barn, Anna quick on my heels.

Sumter whinnied.

"Good afternoon, girl," I said, reaching a hand over the stall. She nudged me in greeting. "Anna, can you help me saddle Sumter?"

"Sumter?" Mathis raised an eyebrow.

"She was purchased from Southern refugees at the start of the war, and my father joked she should be named after the fort that started it all."

As I put on the bridle, Anna, as short as she was, could not seem to get the saddle blanket over the horse's back.

"Please, allow me." Mathis took the blanket from Anna.

The sergeant major was quick to help. As he was putting on Sumter's saddle, I finished attaching the reins to the bridle. I hefted the saddlebag from where it hung on the wall and reached in to pull out the Colt revolver. The metal was cold and formidable in my hand. Glancing up, Anna and Mathis both looked at me with question and apprehension.

"A woman needs a way to protect herself," I explained.

Anna knew this far too well. Mathis just averted his gaze.

Arming myself, the revolver sagged in my pocket, feeling as heavy as Robert's letter against my leg. Anna took the saddlebag back and returned it to its hook. We did not want to slow ourselves down with unnecessary baggage.

"She's ready for you." Mathis patted Sumter on the rump.

Despite his obvious fatigue, his hands were strong and steady as he helped me mount.

"Be careful, Miss Ella," Anna begged, grasping my foot with her hand.

Mathis mounted his own horse.

"We won't stay on the main road," he informed. "The roads are teaming with troops and the retreating enemy. It'll be dangerous for a young woman, whether I accompany you or not. We'll travel the backroads. The route is longer but will be the safest."

"Then we must be on our way," I agreed. Anna squeezed my foot as a final embrace.

Mathis led the way out the barn and toward the driveway. I did not look back to see if Anna followed, but I could sense her presence nonetheless.

Rain plodded down around us. Clopping hooves hit the wet road. Horse breath left clouds in the mist. A weight lifted as soon as we reached the road. I knew this was what I was supposed to do.

"Ella!" Mother's voice pierced through the falling rain. I turned back to see her on the front porch. "Ella!" she called again, but this time, Anna was by her side, urging her to stay.

"We must keep going," I told Mathis, who also stopped to look back.

Mother pulled away from Anna, who ran after her into the rain.

"Mrs. Coburg! Ma'am!" Anna called.

"Ella Mae Coburg!" Mother scolded. "Where are you going in this weather? And without a riding habit?"

A scoff bubbled up my throat, but I kept it trapped.

"Is that all you worry about, a riding habit?" The laughter was left boiling in my gut. "For goodness' sake! Mother, men are dying, and you are worried about proper attire?"

"Don't you dare speak to me thus! Tell me what is happening? Where are you going?" Her eyes were glazed in her laudanum haze.

Anna caught up to her, but Mother shook her off.

"I'm going to Gettysburg. The man I love is dying, and I must go to him," I proclaimed, my temper still rising, no longer caring if Mother knew the truth.

"Gettysburg?" Realization dawned on her face.

"Come, ma'am," Anna soothed. Mother allowed her to take her arm. "I'll explain everything."

I turned Sumter away from her. Away from Woodhue. And followed Mathis onto the muddy road.

The rain subsided, but the humidity wrapped us in a suffocating embrace. We had ridden for hours now, but Mathis assured me we had traveled only a few miles and had several more to go. After we stepped off the roads and turned into the woods and valley, the land seemed to roll onward.

Grass rippled over the hills. The gusts were a relief from the thick air. The trees bent and whined with the wind. Birds chorused an evening song, singing their last farewell of the day. Rabbits scurried for cover at the sound of our approach. We rode on in silence, neither one of us knowing what to say.

As dusk approached, Mathis slowed his horse, trailing off into the woods, where several boulders stood among a copse of trees.

"We will need to camp here for the night," he said as we pulled off the trail. "The boulders will shield us, but we cannot risk a fire."

"No fire?" I was soaked through and shivered.

"Rebs are retreating, and Meade's troops will be going after them. There may be deserters too. There usually are after a large battle. I will not risk your safety."

I studied him then. He dismounted from his horse, tethering the reins to a tree. He took hold of my waist, hoisting me from the saddle and lowering me to the ground. I was curious about this man, older and harder looking than what I remembered of young men, including Robert, who set off to war. He reminded me of his horse, tired and damp, but with legs corded with muscles strengthened from marching. Mathis and his horse had seen battle and death. I couldn't help but wonder what war did to such creatures.

He unsaddled the horses and cleared a grassy area for us to rest near the boulders. We exchanged glances, yet neither one of us knew what to say. Each time our eyes met, I could feel heat rising from my neck, embarrassed he caught me admiring his face—his strong brow, his warm, brown eyes, his straight nose, and his wide mouth. I briefly wondered if I'd find a square jaw beneath his dark beard if I ran my fingers through it.

Mathis laid down the saddle blankets on the cleared patch of grass and gestured for me to sit. Night came quickly beneath a shade of thick clouds. I untied my hat and placed it beside me. Embracing my knees, I gathered my skirts around me, hoping to ward off chill and nerves.

"Are you cold?" he asked, sitting down across from me.

"No, I'm fine, thank you," I said, not wanting his concern. I pulled my coat tighter around me.

"Here," he said, taking up the other saddle blanket from the ground and handing it to me. He found a place for himself beside a boulder, grass and leaves matted down to form a natural bed. My cheeks burned at this handsome stranger's nearness.

"How did it happen?" I asked, not ready to rest. Dread coated me like oil, but I had to know. And I desperately needed to think of anything other than the consequences waiting for me at home.

Mathis fidgeted and then sighed as he leaned against the stone. He lifted his hat to scratch his forehead, his brown hair now wavy.

"Are you certain you want to know?" he finally asked.

"Please," I begged.

"We were given orders at a place called the Round Tops to carry wounded to the rear. We had been fighting all day, bullets raining down on us. There were heavy losses, and I chose a few of my best men, including Robert, to accompany me. I thought they would be safe there. We didn't know we would have to retreat …" I waited patiently for him to continue. He watched the horses graze while he gathered his thoughts.

"We had to leave them—all of the wounded. I did not realize until we recouped that Robert was not with the others." His Adam's apple bobbed. "It wasn't until late in the night

that we were able to return to the wounded. We were too late for so many of them, and there were wild hogs everywhere, scavenging. Thankfully, I heard Robert yell at one that rooted at him. Otherwise, I'm not sure I would have found him in time.

"I stabbed that pig through with my sword before we were able to pull him out. It wasn't until we'd finished bringing the survivors to the ambulances that I realized his injury. I had seen so many like it before … I knew he'd lose it. We just didn't know he had a bullet lodged in his side, either, until much later. They had already amputated by then. That's when he asked for me to bring you his message."

Mathis lowered his gaze, needing a moment before he could continue. We sat in silence. He looked back at me, his glossy eyes searching mine. I struggled to find the words. Words I could use to console him.

"I knew it was the least I could do, after bringing him with me. He was my friend and a fine soldier."

"You saved him. Thank you." I wanted to reach out to him, to clasp his hand. To comfort him.

"You should try to sleep. I'll wake you when it's time to leave."

Lying down on the scratchy horse blanket, I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep. Even with my eyes shut, I could feel the heaviness of his presence. Even when my mind painted images of Robert lying among the wounded, surrounded by hogs, I knew if I opened my eyes, I would still see him sitting there.