Point of Destiny
by
Janice Sagraves

This is for Colleen whose able assistance is greatly appreciated and got me through another one. Thanks. As with all the stories in this series, this is independent of all the others I have written and do not coincide, it is simply a ‘what if’.

June 30th 1863

“Destiny grants us our wishes, but in its own way, in order to give us something beyond our wishes.” -- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (German playwright, Poet, Novelist and Dramatist 1749 – 1832)

ONE

As Joe Cartwright – the handle of his valise clutched in his right fist – stepped onto the platform he took out his pocket watch and checked the time. It was just after eleven o’clock in the morning by no more than ten minutes. They had made good time, and he hopefully would get done what he needed to before dinner. He looked up into the mist of rain and blinked against it then pulled his hat down in front and went inside the brick depot.

It had been a long, tiring trip from the Nevada Territory all the way to Pennsylvania – beginning by stage coach and ending on the train – and he was dog tired. He just wanted to find the Muncie Inn and the man he had come to meet, complete the transaction, have something to eat and drink then find a soft bed and quite literally fall into it.

“Excuse me,” he said, as he approached a passing porter.

“Yes, sir,” the slim young black man said as he turned to him.

“Could you tell me how to get to the Muncie Inn? This is my first time here.”

“I sure can, sir, but it’d probably be best if you just got someone to drive you, what with all the soldiers coming through.”

“Soldiers?”

“Yes, sir. It’s working alive with ‘em. They started coming in not long before the train pulled in, and it’s busy as a bee hive. I ain’t ever seen so many blue uniforms before, and to tell you the truth, it’s a good feeling having ‘em around.”

“I’m sure it is, now if you’ll just tell me where I can find a driver to take me where I need to go.”

“Well there’s old Hank Jefferies. He owns the only Clarence in town, and he hangs around here waiting for folks to hire ‘im.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do. I really do need to get where I’m going.”

“Yes, sir. If you’ll come with me.”

Joe followed after him and they found a silver-haired man dozing on a bench in the protection of an overhang just outside.

“Hank,” the porter said, as he jostled the man. “Hank.”

The man roused and peered up at them through bushy eyebrows. “What is it, Tedrow?”

“I got you a fare. He just come in on the train, new to town he is, and he needs someone to take him to the Muncie’s inn.”

This caught the older man’s attention, and he sat up straight, adjusting his battered hat on his head. “That’ll do just fine. But it ain’t gonna be so easy gettin’ through all those soldiers,” he grumbled, as he stood and smoothed out his rumpled jacket. “I like having ‘em here, but it makes it harder on business. Is that the only piece o’ baggage you got, boy?”

“That’s it. Now could we go?” Joe said with a touch of impatience. “It’s been a long trip, and I’m beat.”

“Where you come from?”

“Nevada.”

“That’s clean outside the states,” the old man said and the gray light caught in his slate eyes. “You have come a long way. All right, son. You just come with me.”

Joe thanked the porter for his help and went with Jeffries to a disreputable looking double brougham hitched to a spavined horse that belonged in a pasture taking it easy.

“I’ll have you there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” the old man chuckled.

“Just get me there in one piece is all I ask,” Joe said with a hint of mischief to his emerald eyes.

The old man chuckled again and climbed up onto the driver’s seat as Joe got inside and closed the door. His clothes were covered in a layer of fine droplets and a single dark brown curl clung to his forehead. The boxlike coach gave a lurch accompanied by the clop of the horse’s hooves, and they began to move.

Placing the valise on the floor by his feet, Joe stretched the entire length of his body and felt some of the knots ease. He had been cooped up in one sort of conveyance or another since leaving Virginia City and he would be glad to reach his final destination. The train hadn’t been so bad since he had been able to walk around. He had given his berth to an expectant young couple unable to afford one and had been relegated to sleeping sitting up. But the gratitude in the pair’s faces had made that of little consequence.

With a deep inhalation, he leaned back into the matted down seat and pulled his hat over his face and crossed his arms over his chest. There wouldn’t be time for a nap, but he could rest a little until they arrived at the inn.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The brougham pulled to a stop in a wide alley not far from his destination. Because the street was so choked with the advancing army, that was as far as he could go.

“Sorry I couldn’t get you any closer, boy,” Jeffries said, as Joe got out.

“That’s all right. The extra walking isn’t gonna hurt me.” Digging around in the pocket of his jacket, Joe came out with some money. “Here you go. And a dollar extra for getting me here in one piece like I asked.”

“I told you I would,” the man said with a broad snaggletooth grin.

Joe thanked him again then the man managed to turn around and head back out. As he came out onto the walkway he couldn’t miss the general commotion around him as a column of mounted and dirty federal troopers rode past, the hooves to their obviously worn out horses clopping against the hard street. People were cheering and applauding; girls were throwing flowers and singing while some of the boys were trying to put off fireworks. Fleetingly, Joe couldn’t help wondering where his brother was and if the citizenry welcomed him as warmly.

The Muncie Inn, a two-story, whitewashed clapboard building set just back from the street with green painted double front doors and storm shutters in the same shade. A wooden sign bearing what appeared to be a family crest creaked in a slight breeze. It was a friendly looking building, and if the inside was as home-like he wouldn’t mind his stay at all.

“Good morning,” said a bright, cheerful young voice.

Joe looked around into the oval face of a slender teenaged girl – probably no more than fifteen – standing beneath an umbrella. “Good morning,” he said with a warming smile.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” she said, as she watched the passing soldiers with glittering amber eyes.

“Yes, they are,” he said, as he glanced behind him. “Have you been standing out here long?”

“Almost since they started coming in around eleven o’clock. Are you here for a room?”

“Yes, I am. Do you work here?”

“This inn has been in my father’s family for four generations and now he and my mother run it. I help, along with my grandfather.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Would you like for me to introduce you to my father?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

She glanced from him back to the soldiers with a trace of uncertainty. “All right,” she said and turned to the door.

They stepped into the fair-sized entryway that opened into a dining room off to the left; a doorway that led to what he suspected was the kitchen to his right. A few people – not as many as he would have expected for this time of day – were gathered at tables and their voices carried and melded with those from the kitchen. A wide staircase with polished banisters led to the second floor. Cooking aromas filled the air and reminded him just how hungry he was.

“I’ll go get my father,” she said, as she shook out the wet umbrella and hung it over her arm. “I won’t be a minute.” Then she started off toward the back.

While he stood there, Joe shook some of the mist from his green jacket. He had been through Pennsylvania before on his way to New York City but never stopped except to change trains. Pa had put his trust in his youngest son, and Joe wasn’t about to let him down. Since Adam had been away more and more responsibility had fallen on him, and for the first time he didn’t feel like the youngest.

“My daughter says you need a room.”

As Joe turned a stocky auburn haired man approached him, the girl coming along behind him. “I certainly do. I’ve been traveling for days all the way from the territories, and I need some hot food and a soft bed.”

“Well we can supply you with both. I’m Kent Muncie,” he said, as he extended a thick hand to Joe, “and this is my daughter, Pricilla.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pricilla,” Joe said, as he tipped his hat. He couldn’t miss the slight flushing of the girl’s cheeks, but he didn’t let on. “I’m Joe Cartwright,” and he shook the man’s hand. “I’ve come to meet with somebody, and he said to meet here, a Hosea Sylvester.”

“Hosea is staying with his mother while he’s home. Something about a financial problem, but he didn’t go into detail. He seemed very anxious about your arrival and said to let him know when you get here. He’ll be relieved to know you’ve made it.”

“Well, I can see him later; right now I just want to get settled. And would you be so kind as to tell me how to get to your telegraph office?”

“I can show him, Daddy.”

“I think that’ll be better all around,” the man said, as he rested a hand on his daughter’s arm. “But first you can get registered, and I’ll show you to your room.”

“It’s been very nice meeting you, Miss Muncie,” Joe said with his brightest smile. “I look forward to our getting to know each other better, now if you’ll excuse me.” He tipped his hat again.

“And you, young lady, I want to go help your mother in the kitchen.”

“But Daddy this is the first of our soldiers that have been here in a while, and I’d like to watch them a little longer.”

“I have the feeling that they won’t be leaving so soon.” He turned his attention back to Joe. “We were occupied by Rebel soldiers for a few days after they chased off our new militia.” He added a derisive snort. “They burned some railroad cars and a bridge and destroyed some of the rails. It’s lucky you got in here at all.”

Joe’s eyes blackened. “What about the telegraph lines?”

“Those were not neglected either, but they’ve since been repaired. They didn’t leave with much, and what they did take they paid for with worthless paper. Scrip, I think it’s called.”

“And when our soldiers catch up to them they’ll make them pay.”

“Yes, they will.” Kent gently took hold of her shoulder. “Now you do as I say, young lady, while I take care of our guest.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said dejectedly.

Pricilla watched as the handsome young stranger went off toward the admission desk with her father. They were deep in conversation, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. So far it had been an eventful day, first with the advent of the soldiers and now this man of the west. Gooseflesh ran over her arms and a chill tingled along her spine, and she held herself against it.

“Priscilla.”

“Coming, Mother.” Then, with a final look back at the front doors, she thumped the umbrella into a stand and stubbed off for the kitchen.

TWO

Joe came out of the telegraph office with Pricilla Muncie, and folded up a slip of paper and stuck it into his shirt pocket. Troopers were still streaming past, and he wondered how long this would go on. As they stood on the top step he looked about him at the quaint Pennsylvania town. An artillery battery clattered by, followed by a bulky munitions wagon to further disrupt the serenity. The rain continued to fall but hadn’t gotten any heavier. “Now that I got that done it’s time to get something to eat,” he said, as they started back toward the direction of the inn. “I really appreciate you showing me the way, Miss Muncie.”

“It was no trouble,” she said, holding the umbrella over them both, her focus more on the soldiers, “and I wouldn’t mind if you called me Pricilla.”

“All right, Pricilla, and you can call me Joe if you’d like.”

“I would very much. So you live with your father and brother?” she asked, as she finally looked at him. “Is it all right if I ask where?”

“The Nevada Territory not so far from the town of Virginia City on our ranch, and I have two brothers, though one isn’t home right now.”

“Where is he?” she asked, as her head tilted demurely.

“We’re not sure just exactly. Last we heard he was in Virginia. He’s in the Army, the cavalry, and we don’t get as many letters as we’d like.”

“The cavalry,” she gushed, her complete attention instantly on him. “Oh, you must be so proud of him. Is he an older brother? What’s his name? When did he go in?”

Joe couldn’t help his amusement at her over eager enthusiasm. “Yes, we’re very proud of him; though we’d rather selfishly have him at home, especially Pa. His name’s Adam and he’s the oldest of us three. He went to New York to enlist last August. Now, does that answer all your questions?”

She ducked her head abashedly. “I didn’t mean to be so nosey, but I think there’s just nothing like a man in uniform. It was so exciting when all these soldiers first started coming into town. I wish I could just stay out here until they’re gone.”

As a gentleman, he took her arm and they crossed the street at a corner.

“We used to have cavalrymen stationed here and it was wonderful. But they weren’t here long before they had to leave. They were from New York, the 10th New York.”

Joe suddenly stopped and gripped her arms, startling the girl and causing her to drop the umbrella. “The tenth? When did they leave?”

“Last… Last spring…. March.”

His face crumpled as the possible link with his brother did too. Then he realized where he had his hands, and he released her and picked up the umbrella and handed back to her. “I’m sorry, Miss Muncie, I didn’t mean to be so forward…, but my brother is in the tenth and to hear that he may’ve been here and somebody…” He discreetly took her elbow and they started on again.

“I understand,” she said gently. “We know some of the families who have sons and brothers and husbands serving.” She sighed, and her mood darkened. “Some who’ve even…” Her head lowered.

His comforting eyes turned to her. “So do we.”

The rest of the walk was quiet and sullen until they reached the inn.

“Well, Mr. Cartwright, did you get everything taken care of?” Lazaria Muncie asked as they entered.

“Thanks in no small part to your daughter,” he said, and gave the girl’s hand a pat. “Now I’m ready to eat. I’m hungry as a she wolf.”

Pricilla giggled and coyly covered her mouth as her mother’s chestnut eyes rebuked her.

“Hosea Sylvester came in just a few minutes ago and said to tell you when you got back that he would be waiting at a table for you.”

This piqued Joe’s interest, and he looked toward the dining room.

“I’ll take you to him while Pricilla gets you a bowl of hot lamb stew. That’s what he is having, unless you would prefer something else.”

“The stew’ll be fine.”

“You’ll pretty much have the room to yourselves. Since the war came down on us, many of our guests have hastily fled, along with some of the townspeople as well. I entertained the thought of going, but I didn’t mention it to my husband. He wouldn’t think of leaving the inn, and this is, after all, our home. And I don’t care for the idea of being driven from it.”

They passed through the arched doorway into the dining room while the girl headed off for the kitchen. As she had said it was pretty empty with no more than two or three tables taken.

Mrs. Muncie introduced Joe to a round-faced, balding man sitting at a back table then left them to their business. He couldn’t miss the anxious agitation that the man endeavored unsuccessfully to keep hidden.

“I’m glad you finally made it, Mr. Cartwright,” Hosea Sylvester said and took a nervous sip of his water. “At the last minute I had to change our meeting place from Philadelphia to here, a family matter, and I didn’t know if my wire would reach you before you left. And it’s a good thing I sent it before those infernal Rebels cut the lines.”

“Mrs. Muncie told me about the trouble.” They shook hands, and Joe took his seat.

“So, how’s your father doing? I know how painful and troublesome a broken leg can be.”

“Unhappy at being laid up with so much to do, and not being able to meet with you. But my brother and our cook are watching after him, and he complains about all the fuss,” Joe said with a secretive smirk.

“Sounds like my mother. She was never up for much coddling either. Now,” and he spread his napkin in his lap, “how about we get down to business? I don’t like doing that over my food, but the Army needs the beef, and I want to get myself and Mother out of here as soon as possible.”

“And I want to get home to the Ponderosa.”

Just then Lazaria Muncie appeared with two piping hot bowls on a tray with two tankards and fresh bread. “I took the liberty of bringing stout with your meals,” she said, as she began placing things on the table. “And after you’re finished, we have apple pie and my daughter made a spice cake this morning.”

“I won’t be having dessert,” Mr. Sylvester said with a quick jerk of his head

“I most definitely will,” Joe said with a warm smile.

“Just let me know when you’re ready,” she said, then left with the tray.

The hot food worked its magic on Joe and made him feel more alive and maybe took the edge off his fatigue. “All right, I’ll let you start first,” he said, and a bite went into his mouth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Much to Mr. Sylvester’s glee, the transaction had been successfully worked out, and hadn’t taken as much time as had been initially thought. Any papers that needed signing would be taken care of after dinner. Sylvester – in a hurry to leave – had just come to his feet when a spate of distant gunfire caused the loss of interest in food to the few patrons. Forks and knives clinked against plates and bowls and glasses were thumped down against tables. A clamor of voices arose and chairs scooted against the floor.

“Was that gunfire?” Sylvester asked, wide-eyed.

“You bet it was,” Joe said, as he threw his napkin down and stood.

Joe was practically carried from the dining room by the small stampede as everyone made for the front doors all at once. When they got outside where the shots crackled more clearly most of them rushed off in panic, and the street was clearing.

“Miss Muncie, you shouldn’t be out here,” Joe said, as he stepped next to Pricilla.

“It’s the rebels again,” she said, her face glowing with excitement. “Who else would they be shooting at? I guess they weren’t gone, after all.”

“Well you don’t need to be out here in any case.” Joe had seen too many times what grief a stray bullet could cause, and he didn’t want this girl to possibly become a victim to one. “Now let’s go back inside,” he said as he took her arm.

“Pricilla Faith Muncie, you get inside right now,” her father said as he came out behind them. “I won’t have my daughter getting shot.”

“But Daddy.”

“Now, Miss.”

“Yes, Daddy.” With a glance toward where the firing was coming from she did as ordered.

Kent Muncie stepped next to Joe and they both watched off into the distance.

“This is the closest the war has ever gotten to us,” Kent said.

“Well, it’s here now, and I don’t think standing out here is such a good idea,” the emerald eyes came around, “do you?”

“No, I don’t, and if it gets any closer we’ll head for the cellar.”

As they continued to stand there frightened people continued fleeing to places of safety or out of town altogether. Joe’s thoughts went once again to his brother and the blue line standing between him and the people of Gettysburg, and those who had brought the war into the north.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The evening had become deceptively quiet and calm after the excitement of earlier in the day. Since his reason for being there had gone so quickly Joe figured on leaving in the morning after breakfast and, therefore, saw no need to unpack. He finished buttoning up the front of his night shirt then blew out the lamp and climbed into bed.

“Oh, boy, this feels good,” he said, as he let himself sink into the soft mattress and plump feather pillow. Languidly, he stretched his arms and legs then wiggled his fingers and toes and let his fatigue fall away. This was the most comfortable he had been since leaving home. With a yawn, he ruffled his curly dark brown hair into disarray then turned on his side facing away from the window. “Good night, Pa. Good night, Hoss. Good night, Hop Sing…. Good night, Adam.”

Slowly, his lids drifted down and his breathing gradually became heavier as well earned sleep moved in.

July 1st 1863

THREE

It was shortly after five o’clock in the a.m. when Joe came downstairs, dressed and ready to fill his vacant stomach with some good home cooking. His eagerness to get started on his journey home had a tight grip on him, and he wanted to get things going in that direction.

As he left the last step he saw that young Pricilla and a stocky older man were preparing to go out into the early morning light. Joe figured he knew who the man was since he looked so much like her father. “Good morning,” he said briskly. “You’re headed out early.”

“Some of the people are going out to see the soldiers, and I more or less got cornered into taking Pricilla. I’m Harmon Muncie, her grandfather.”

“Joe Cartwright,” Joe said, as he came forward and shook the man’s hand.

“My granddaughter has told me all bout you,” he said, as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Would you like to come with us?” Pricilla asked, as she tied her bonnet string under her chin. “It’ll be so exciting. I can hardly wait.”

Joe couldn’t miss the ardent anticipation alive and growing in the girl. “No, thank you, and after all that’s been going on are you sure that you should. It could be dangerous.”

“Oh, we’ll be fine. The soldiers will be there to protect us,” she said breathlessly and jerked one of the doors open. “Come on, Grandfather.”

She dashed out and Harmon Muncie gave Joe a raised eyebrow then settled his hat over his graying dark red hair. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Cartwright, but I think we will be safe enough.” Then, with a nod, he went out after his granddaughter.

Joe wasn’t so sure about this, but what could he do. Then the side of his mouth turned as he remembered tugging his oldest brother into such things when he was a boy.

“Are you ready for something to eat?” Mrs. Muncie asked, her voice pulling him out of his reverie.

“I certainly am. It’s gonna havta last me ‘til I get home.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll feed you along the way, that is, if the train runs at all.”

“Do you really think there’s the chance that it won’t?”

“I couldn’t say. Things are so hectic and uncertain right now, I don’t think anyone can be sure of anything.” She shook her head, but then her face brightened. “Now why don’t you go seat yourself, and I’ll bring your breakfast right along?”

With agreement he watched her as she went back into the kitchen. It was nice here with the warmth of family, and if he had to be stranded away from his, this was the place to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In spite of the humidity that thickened the air and tension that lingered from yesterday quite a few adults and young people had gone out to visit. The men in blue greeted them cordially and chatted and answered questions. It was if they were all old friends who had been reunited after a long separation.

As they came to where the soldiers were bivouacked, Pricilla’s heart thumped with the kind of excitement that she could never recall experiencing. Her legs wanted to run away with her, and she didn’t want to stop them.

“Slow down, girl,” Harmon Muncie admonished.

“But we’re here, we’re finally here,” she said, as she took his hand and began pulling him along.

“And there’s no need to hurry anymore. Now slow down.”

She knew he was right, but she wouldn’t contain her exhilaration even if he asked.

Young Leander Warren and some of the other boys were given the honor of taking the horses of Gamble’s main body to a nearby stream to be watered. It was a privilege that the youngsters didn’t take lightly and they were determined to show how well they could do it.

“I wish I was a boy,” Pricilla said with disappointment as she watched them leading the mounts.

“That would be a pity.”

She looked around into the face of a handsome cavalry officer and gulped.

“You’re way too pretty to wish that.” He doffed his dark blue slouch hat, exposing his sandy blond hair, and smiled then walked on.

“He said I’m pretty,” she said, as she dreamily watched him walk away.

“He’s a very astute young man,” Harmon said, as he put an arm around his granddaughter’s shoulders. “You are pretty.”

Another group of youngsters were gathered in front of the brigade commander’s tent talking to one of his aides when the shooting commenced. As the men scrambled for their horses, Colonel Thomas Devin, in the process of buckling on his scabbard and holster, suddenly shot out past the flap. Looking off westward, he stood motionless as if trying to pinpoint where it was coming from, an expression of uncertainty betraying itself in his face.

Men were running and townsfolk were beginning to decide they had better leave while others seemed not to know where to turn.

Pricilla’s grandfather had grasped her arm just as the same blond officer ran up to them, his carbine gripped in his right hand.

“You’d better get yourselves out of here!”

“We’re just on our way, Captain.”

“Be careful!” she shouted to him and watched as he melded into the melee of humanity as her grandfather dragged her away.

Back in town the same fear that had seized its inhabitants the day before once again held them in its hard clasp. Those that were outside headed for safety as the shots ripped the morning quiet. But not everyone fled from the sounds of battle as Kent Muncie ran out onto the walk. His father and only child were out there, and he fully intended to find them. They would not become casualties of war, not if he had anything to do with it.

“I’ll come with you.”

He looked around into the face of Joe Cartwright. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have a brother caught up in this somewhere,” he said as he squeezed the man’s shoulder, “and I’ve watched my father since he’s been gone. Now let’s go.”

The light glinted in the man’s eyes. “All right,” he said enthusiastically and gave him a slap against the arm as they ran off across the street.

They ran on as the sharp crackle of gunfire continued and people rushed past them in headlong escape from what snapped at them. Each face that came toward them didn’t miss their scrutiny. Kent called for those they sought and when he tried asking those taking flight they wouldn’t even stop to answer him. “There!” He looked over at Joe then followed his pointing finger.

“Pricilla! Dad!”

Harmon and Pricilla came into full view as they fully emerged from the frantic mob. Kent threw his arms around her and held her to his chest. “Are you two all right?”

“I suggest we don’t linger here,” Harmon said through pants. “I heard a courier telling the colonel that some rebels were seen from an outpost near the Chambersburg Pike about two miles off. They’re coming, son! They’re coming!”

“Then the sooner we get back to the inn the better,” Kent said as he grasped his daughter’s arm. “I don’t think any of us are looking to get shot.”

Joe came around on the other side of the elder Muncie and the four of them joined the fleeing mob. War had definitely come, and they weren’t eager to see it up close.

FOUR

General John Buford looked through his field glasses at the approaching enemy troops. No one had to tell him that before long he would be engaged. And no one had to tell him what would happen if he couldn’t hold until reinforcements arrived.

*******
Again a lull had fallen over the Pennsylvania countryside and the picturesque town of Gettysburg, but this time the people weren’t going to be fooled into complacency. They had been the day before and, as the saying goes, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

The usual folks that came by the inn for some of the best food in town were nonexistent. Even with the relative calm, everyone at the inn stayed on edge and eyes and ears were ever on the alert.

Joe came to the bottom step, his valise in his hand, and stopped as his eyes rose to the clock on the wall by the right front door. In two minutes it would be eight o’clock, and he was catching the eight-thirty train back home. At least, he hoped he would be.

“Are you leaving us, Mr. Cartwright?” Lazaria Muncie asked as she stepped from the kitchen holding a small box tied with twine.

“That’s my plan,” he said, as he stepped to the floor.

“I hope you can after all the trouble there’s been.” The kindliness in her smile touched her eyes. “I want to thank you for going with my husband this morning and keeping a watch on our daughter. After she was born I found I couldn’t have any more, and she’s all we have.”

“I was glad to do it. She’s a wonderful girl.”

“We think so.”

His eyes lit on the box in her hands. “I hope that’s what I think it is.”

“It’s for on the train. It’s only a couple pieces of pie and some roast beef sandwiches, but I thought you would enjoy them.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

She started to hand the box to him when distant gunfire invaded the inn, and she dropped it as she spun around in its direction. “Not again.”

“That’s it,” Kent said gruffly as he came to stand next to his wife. “Zary, you and Pricilla lead what few guests have stayed down to the cellar, and find Dad.” He looked back around toward the sound of the gunfire and cursed under his breath.

“All right,” she said and steered their daughter toward the second floor stairs.

“Well it looks like I’m not going anywhere,” Joe said as he let his valise drop. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Kent shook his head. “Yesterday morning Dad and I took some jugs of water and bedding down there just in case. I only need to get Zary’s basket from the kitchen, and we’re all set.”

Joe retrieved the box from floor where Mrs. Muncie had dropped it. “And this’ll come in handy, too.” He couldn’t miss the man’s puzzlement. “It was for the train.”

“Fine. Everything helps. Now let’s go before a stray shot finds us.”

With a nod from Joe they started for the kitchen. They had no time to squander and time was of the essence.

*******

Buford’s men fought dismounted, every fourth one holding the horses, hopefully out of the line of fire. They were buying time, and every one of them, including the General, knew what the price would likely be for failure. They were, this time, on northern soil and, as some saw it, this transgression would not and should not go unpunished.

They were hunkered down behind a rail fence, the general sitting his horse like a stone behind them. Carbines spoke and the foe kept coming, but not one man left his position. They had to hold out, and retreat, which at this point was tantamount to desertion, was not an option.

*******

The cellar beneath the Muncie Inn was dry and made a safe haven from what raged above. Oil lamps and candles chased away the dimness and kept it from being so cave-like. And fresh air circulated from the small, open windows so that it wouldn’t be so stifling. Baskets of vegetables and apples and barrels of flour filled corners and a rack of wines and casks of ale and stout sat off to themselves. The stones that lined the walls had been fit so close together that in most places a knife’s blade wouldn’t slide between them. The old building had stood since the first Muncie’s built it in 1751 and it had faced many things – including a fire in 1789 – but this was its first battle.

The four guests who hadn’t left plus Hosea Sylvester and his mother – whom he had brought there for safety – sat away from the family. Little in the way of conversation and only the din from outside made anything in the way of sound. The whispering of the breathing of those held in the grip of fear and uncertainty was so faint as to go unnoticed.

“Daddy,” Pricilla said, finally breaking the silence. “Are we going to have to stay down here all night?”

“I don’t know,” he said, as he glanced up at the ceiling. “It sounds pretty fierce up there. But we’ll be safe down here even if the fighting does come into town. We have plenty to eat and drink and each other for company and support. We’ll be all right, so don’t you worry.”

“I’m not worried,” she said, and concern etched itself in the lines of her delicate face. “At least, about us I’m not.”

“Pricilla,” Joe started robustly, “have you ever thought about going out west?”

“No. I’ve thought about leaving Gettysburg a few times, but I don’t think I could.”

“When you get older you’ll probably think differently.” He glanced at her parents and his intentions told in his eyes. “It’s a wonderful place to grow up. There’re trees there hundreds of years old that seem to punch holes in the sky. And lakes bigger than this town and blue like you wouldn’t believe. I live in the Sierra Nevada Mountains with my family and there’s nothing like it.” Joe could see that the girl was interested and not the only one. “Winter usually starts about October, sometimes earlier, sometimes later,” he went on, “and lasts until March or April, sometimes May. And the snow can get so deep and drift to bury a whole house.”

“Do you miss it?” Pricilla asked innocently.

Joe felt a pang run through his chest. “Yes, I do. But not as much as I do my father and brothers,” he snickered, “and Hop Sing.”

“Who’s Hop Sing?” the girl asked, totally enthralled.

“He’s our cook, and he’s been with us since I was two. He’s like a second father, and he keeps us all in line. I think you’d like him, but he does take a little getting used to.”

“Would you tell me some more about your brother, the one that’s in the cavalry?” she asked as she leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her. “What’s he like? Is he handsome, too?”

Joe hoped his blushing didn’t show.

“Pricilla,” her mother chided, “it’s not polite to be so forward.”

“I don’t mind, Mrs. Muncie.” The corners of his mouth crooked. “It’ll be good to talk about him.”

“Then by all means tell us,” Kent Muncie said as his arm tightened around his wife. “We’d very much like to hear.”

“Well, Adam’s different; he’s not like the rest of us, though he is more like Pa than anybody. He likes to read, especially poetry, and play the guitar and sing. He went to college in Boston for four years and studied architecture and engineering. In fact, he designed the house we live in.”

“But you still haven’t told me what he looks like,” Pricilla said, as her head tilted inquisitively.

“Well, he’s taller, darker and bigger than I am with brown eyes and black hair.” He snorted. “And he has a way about him that can be irritating at times.”

“I think all brothers and sisters irritate each other sometimes,” Mrs. Muncie said. “I think it’s just part of what they do.”

“I guess you’re right.” Joe riffled his fingers in his hair and felt the pang return. “But I still miss him.” He stared at his feet, his thoughts trying to reach out to his brother, and then he felt a squeeze on his hand and looked up into Lazaria Muncie’s understanding face. “I’m all right.”

“I know you are,” she said and smiled.

But the ferocity of battle seemed to suddenly grow and killed any further words as eyes returned to the ceiling. It sounded as if the combatants outside would come into town and bring their warring with them.

*******
Six feet tall and straight as a lance, General John Reynolds cut a dashing figure aboard his big black charger, Fancy by name. His hair and neat beard were the same color as the animal, and his dark, alert eyes missed nothing. He had to find General Buford; he had to know how things were stacking up, and he needed to know where he would be the most effective. He had a battle to fight and win, and he needed all the information he could get. And like the Rebels, time was an enemy.

FIVE

The onslaught of the Confederates was relentless and, with ammunition running low for Buford’s men, the line was beginning to collapse. The Federals, however, hung on tenaciously and held as best they could. But soon Devin’s men found themselves in an indefensible situation and began moving toward the rear. Skirmishing, which had been going on for several hours, turned into a full blown clash and all purgatory broke loose. Richard Ewell’s corps came down the road like a gray tidal wave and, distracted, Devin’s men couldn’t stop Henry Heth as he dodged Gamble’s upper flank.

*******

Lazaria stood at the foot of the board stairs looking up to the closed door, her arms wrapped protectively around her. “I almost wish I could see what’s happening,” she said, as her husband came up behind her. “I worry so about our friends and the people we know who stayed. I hope they’re all safe in their cellars like we are.”

“I’m sure they are. Now come back and sit down. This won’t help a thing.”

She agreed and allowed him to lead her back to the bench where they had been sitting.

“Is this your first taste of the war, son?”

Joe looked around into the wise face of Harmon Muncie, who sat next to him on a crate. “This part of it,” he said with a nod. “But since Adam left I’ve sometimes felt like I’ve been right in the middle of it even before this, and I know I can say the same thing for the rest of my family.”

“I know what you mean. I have two sons in the army. Davis, the oldest, is in Washington helping to guard the capitol, and Squire is fighting in the west. The last letter we got from him said he was in Tennessee. Kent wanted to go, but his brothers talked him out of it. They felt he, being the first-born, should stay here and look after the family, meaning me. Not that I need looking after.” He snickered, but without any humor to it.

“I know how hard it is on you. Every time a letter comes from Adam my father goes off by himself to read it then that night after supper he reads it to us. It’s so easy to see how his eyes light up with my brother’s words.”

“Then what does he do with the letters?”

“He keeps ‘em in a jeweled box that belonged to my mother.”

“My mother, not our mother?”

“Pa was married three times. We’re all half brothers. Pa’s known a lot of tragedy, and I’m just afraid he’s gonna know more before this is over.”

“There’s always that possibility, but we have to try to look on the positive side. We have to believe that those we love will be returned safely to us, and if, Heaven forbid, that black moment comes we’ll meet it head on. We can’t let something like that defeat us, your brother and my sons wouldn’t want us to, and others are going to need us…, like your father.” He reached out and firmly gripped Joe’s shoulder. “I pride myself on being a good judge of character…. If your brothers were cast from the same mould you were your father has plenty to be proud of.”

“Thank you, Mr. Muncie, and I can say the same to you.” Joe’s eyes flitted to Kent sitting with his wife and daughter.

“And I thank you in return. Now how would you like to have a glass of Port?” His voice went up. “How would everyone like to have a glass of Port? I think we could all use at least one.” He came to his feet and pointed a finger at his granddaughter with a wicked grin. “But I’m afraid that doesn’t include you, young lady. You can have milk.”

Joe knew what the old gent was up to, and he admired him for it. If he had to get caught up in something like this he couldn’t think of better people to share it with than the Muncies. “And I’ll help,” he said as he got up and went off after him.

*******

The worn out troopers of Gamble’s brigade, bloodied and beat but not beaten, cheered the approaching foot soldiers as they retired. They had hung on ferociously against the ever advancing and equally determined Confederates and now they turned it over to someone else. Defiant to the end, they shouted and shook their fists at the enemy as they left the field.

As they passed, the foot soldiers caught boasts of having the enemy backed into a corner and to let them have it, but the infantrymen didn’t answer. They knew only too well that nothing was assured and their adversary was far from defeated. Also, so impressed by these staunch fighters on horseback, they didn’t make the usual jokes about the scarcity of dead cavalrymen.

*******

While the adults sat quietly talking, Pricilla had grown restless. So much was going on as the battle continued to rage, and she couldn’t see it. Her eyes darted to the door as her pacing ceased for the moment. It wasn’t that she liked war, but so many men were involved, and she felt that she should be able to do something. And then of course, there was her insatiable curiosity and childlike wonder.

A hand on her back gave her a start, and she spun with a gasp to find herself looking into kind emerald green eyes. Joe Cartwright was indeed a handsome man, a fact that wasn’t lost on a teenaged girl.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said, taking his hand away. “Are you thinking about those men outside?”

“I wish I could do something to help. I know they’re going to need someone to nurse the wounded.”

“You really do care, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do.” She jerked her head back, throwing her haughty chin out. “Our soldiers are fighting to protect our country from these invaders.”

“Well, one could say that the South is fighting for the same things.”

“They started this by firing on Fort Sumter. Your own brother’s fighting for this, or do you think he’s wrong?”

“I didn’t say anybody’s wrong, but there are always two sides to any fight. It’s just that it sometimes helps to try to see both.”

With a deep breath, her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, but to think of what’s going on out there and to be helpless down here… I feel like such a coward.”

“You’re not a coward. But it won’t help them for you to get shot, and it would tear those who love you to pieces.” His soft brows knit into a frown. “There’ll be plenty enough to do later.” He put a finger under her chin and raised her head so that he could look into her eyes. “Now how about some more milk and something to eat? I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

“I guess I am a little,” she said then she reached out to him.

Taking her hand, they rejoined the others. For now he had taken her mind away from the fighting, and he secretly longed for someone to do the same for him. He couldn’t help imagining his brother being caught up in this and it unsettled him mightily. He couldn’t get past the notion that he felt his brother was nearby. Nothing had happened to point to it, but he couldn’t help what he felt. He squeezed the girl’s hand and wished he was back with Pa and Hoss.

*******

General Reynolds urged his men into battle from atop Fancy, seemingly heedless of the bullets zipping through the air like angry hornets. The deafening boom of cannon fire tried to drown him out as he shouted to his men, but he simply raised his voice.

Sergeant Vail saw him topple from the saddle and dismounted and ran to him. He gently turned his injured General over and at first only assumed that he had merely been stunned. There wasn’t time to ponder it though – he couldn’t let General Reynolds fall into the hands of the enemy.

As the eighteen-year-old sergeant began dragging the general back to relative safety, the Confederates shouted for him to drop his burden, and it incensed his blood. He would die where he stood before he would do that. Continuing to struggle, he noticed the blood, but still he wouldn’t stop. When he finally put the general down he did so with great gentleness.

The general managed to look up into the grave faces of his staff gathered around him. His mouth curved into the endearing smile they all knew and saw so infrequently then his eyes closed and a final breath left him.

The time was just after ten-thirty in the morning, and John Fulton Reynolds was dead. His participation in the battle for Gettysburg was at an end.

SIX

The men of Colonel Devin’s brigade got out of the way of the incoming shells. They had no way of knowing that they were being fired on by one of their own batteries that had mistaken them for the enemy. But it would make no difference if they did know. If one hit you it didn’t matter whose fire it was, you were just as maimed or just as dead.

*******

Joe took out his watch to check the time. It was only after one o’clock though it felt like they had been down there for an eternity. Though he wasn’t claustrophobic, the thick stone walls wanted to close in around him and suffocate him. He would rather be outside helping to hold the town. Like all his family, he had never been one to run from a fight, but this was different. The thought of Pa getting a letter telling him that his youngest son had been killed was enough to keep him in the safety of the cellar.

“You’d rather be up there, wouldn’t you?” Kent asked at his elbow.

“I’m like your daughter,” Joe said, as he looked around at him. “I feel helpless down here.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you wonder what it’s gonna be like when we finally come out of here?”

“Sure I do, we all do, but there’s not a whole lot we can do about that…. And when we finally do we’ll face it and do what we have to.”

“Pa’s always told us that running away from your problems never solves them.”

“Your father sounds like a very smart man.”

“We think so.” Joe directed his attention back toward the pandemonium coming from upstairs. “I’m glad he and Hoss aren’t in this. Adam’s bad enough.”

“Hoss, is that your other brother?”

“Yeah,” Joe said with a fond smile, “he’s the one in the middle.”

“Hoss. That’s an odd name.”

“Not really if you’d ever seen ‘im.”

“A big fella, huh?”

“You might say that,” Joe said with raised eyebrows. “His real name’s Erik and his middle name is Haas, but as he grew up it just kinda became Hoss…. Your father tells me that you have two brothers in the Army.”

“That’s right. I’m not so worried about Davis, being in Washington City, but Squire’s right in the thick of it.” He shook his head and ruffled his thick auburn hair. “I shouldn’t have let them talk me out of joining up, too. I can’t help but feel guilty about being safe at home.”

Joe giggled nervously. “You call this safe?”

Kent snickered. “I guess you’re right about that.” He sighed heavily. “But it isn’t always like this. It’s usually pretty tame, one might even say a little dull, but we like it that way…. I guess deep inside we always knew that the war could come down on us, but even at that you never think it will until you find it on your doorstep. It came close once before when they entered Maryland, but we dodged it that time.” He tittered. “But not so this time…. I imagine living out west you’re used to this sort of thing.”

“If you mean getting shot at, you never get used to it. You always know that one is all it takes to separate you from those you love. When I was sixteen, a drunken hand accidentally shot me. It wasn’t as bad as everybody thought at first, but when you’re that age molehills become mountains pretty easily.” He huffed at the recollection. “And watching my family didn’t help. Pa was a pure case and my brothers weren’t much better. It makes you realize how much somebody really loves you and what it’d be like for them if you don’t make it…. It also scares me what we’re gonna do with Pa if we lose Adam.”

Kent squeezed his shoulder and only nodded, for one of the few times in his life words failed him. How did you tell someone that you just got over the loss of a beloved brother? He looked around to his own father and wondered the same things in his private thoughts.

*******

The time continued to trickle on as a rivulet down a drain pipe after a storm. While the older people stayed more subdued the younger folk were more restless, though Joe, after long exposure to his father and oldest brother, wasn’t so bad. The sounds above wavered in their intensity as they would draw closer to town and recede then do the whole thing over again. Then the relative solitude of the cellar was broken by a rich voice in song.

“Oh, we’ll rally ‘round the flag, boys,
We’ll rally once again, shouting the battle cry of freedom.
We’ll rally from the hillside, we’ll gather from the plain,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.”

Joe watched Harmon Muncie as he sang and – in spite of his usual southern leanings – found himself compelled to join in.

“The Union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah!
Down with the traitor, up with the star.
While we rally ‘round the flag, boys, rally once again,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.”

Soon voices – male and female alike – rose to the ceiling and vied with the chaos of battle and threatened to drive it out. The human spirit could be challenged, but it couldn’t be stifled.

*******

At around two-thirty, what some had seen as a possibility, happened as the Union line broke, in spite of the best efforts to hold it. Foot soldiers and remounted cavalry had no option but to retreat back through town in an effort to make it to higher ground.

*******

“Pricilla…. Pricilla!”

Kent turned from where he stood with Joe and saw the horror in his wife’s face, and he rushed to her. “Lazaria, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Pricilla. I had forgotten all about her and when I remembered I hadn’t seen her… I’ve looked everywhere. She simply isn’t here.” She clutched his arm, and her fingers dig in. “I can’t find her.”

It took less than a second to register in his brain where his daughter was, and his head shot around, his eyes going straight up the stairs to the door. Sure enough it was open a minute crack.

Lazaria’s eyes followed her husband’s gaze, and her hands went to her mouth. “Oh, Kent, our baby!”

“It’s all right, I’ll get her,” he said and reassuringly touched her cheek. “I’ll get her.” Then he started for the stairs, but as his foot went onto the first step he saw that he wasn’t alone. “You don’t need to do this, Mr. Cartwright.”

“We’re wasting time,” Joe said, as his mouth spread.

Kent gave him a slap on the arm as a determined gleam entered his amber eyes, and they started up together. They came out at the back of the lifeless kitchen, the faint trace of cooking smells still lingering in the hot, heavy air, and raced out into the entryway.

“Pricilla Faith Muncie, come away from there!”

Pricilla whirled from where she had been looking out one of the front windows, her face gaunt and white.
“They’re shooting ‘em, Daddy! They’re shooting ‘em!”

Joe and Kent dashed forward and came to stand behind her, and they all looked out. Soldiers in blue, some mounted and most afoot, were racing pell-mell through the street, some stopping only long enough to get a shot off at the pursuing enemy. Several lay on the hard surface, and another fell.

“We can’t stay here,” Kent said and seized his daughter’s arm and started pulling her away.

They were just about into the kitchen when the door burst open and a blond officer – blood covering the side of his face and saturating the left sleeve of his coat – staggered in.

“My horse,” he rasped breathlessly. “Shot. They’re right behind me! Run!”

Joe and Kent ran forward and got on either side of him and firmly took his arms.

“We’ll take him down to the cellar,” Kent said, and they started back toward the kitchen.

Suddenly, a Rebel soldier, nothing more than a boy really, shot in through the open doorway and aimed his musket at the wounded man. “Turn the Yankee loose,” he snarled.

“You can’t have him, you traitor!” Pricilla shouted as she put herself defiantly between the three men and this intruder. “You’ll have to shoot me to get him!”

“Pricilla!”

“I’m a Yankee, too! Are you brave enough to shoot me?” she continued tauntingly. “A man wouldn’t!”

An odd look crossed the boy’s face, and he lowered the weapon then ran back outside. Pricilla slammed the door and slid the bolt into place.

“Can we go now?” Joe asked, as he gave her a pleading look.

She ran back to them, and the four of them finally made it into the kitchen.

SEVEN

The wounded officer sat on the bench at the back while Pricilla ministered to his injured arm with the touch of an angel. The blood had been washed from his face and his head bandaged with a strip of torn petticoat. His dark, lucid eyes stayed on her the whole time as her deft fingers worked over the through-and-through hole just above his elbow.

“You’re the pretty girl I spoke to this morning, aren’t you?”

Her cheeks blushed pink, and she stayed to her work and kept her eyes down. “I was there.”

He gently raised her face to him and smiled. “Of course you are. I remember the dress and dark red hair under a green bonnet. Captain Elwyn Hughes of the 6th New York Cavalry. What’s your name?”

“It’s Pricilla,” her mother said, as she parted her way through those gathered around him. She sat down on the other side of the bench and handed him a cup. “Drink this. It’s apple cider. It’ll make you feel better and put some fluid in you.”

He took it and slowly sipped. “That tastes good,” he said and smacked his lips. “Thank you.”

All at once questions began firing at him from the anxious faces before him.

“Everyone just take it easy,” Kent said and held his hands up then turned back to the young officer. “What’s it like out there, Captain? We saw a part of it.”

“Madness, sheer madness,” Captain Hughes said, his eyes set on Kent. “We were holding only by the skin of our teeth and then the line broke, and they came at us in a yelling gray horde. We knew if we stayed there we’d be slaughtered to a man. And to make matters worse, civilians and their animals got caught up in it. I saw someone’s milk cow get shot.”

“Where were you headed?” Joe asked.

“To higher ground just below the town.” He tittered ironically. “But as you can see I quite didn’t make it.” Then his gaze turned back to the girl, and the sides of his mouth turned. “But I can’t think of a better place to wind up in, and with such a brave young lady.”

Lazaria nudged his arm, urging him to finish his cider. His eyes lingered on the comely teenager then were forced to drag away.

“Do you know what Federal cavalry units are here?” Joe asked as hope flared in the emerald depths of his eyes.

Elwyn peered at him curiously over the rim of his cup.

“His older brother’s in the 10th New York,” Kent said, as he rested a reassuring hand on Joe’s back.

“The tenth isn’t here. They’re out chasing Jeb Stuart. But if that wily fox comes here, so will they.”

Joe felt an icy zing run through him and trace down into his fingers and toes. The possibility, however remote, that his brother could come there sped up his heart and raised the hair on the back of his neck. He knew not to build up his hopes, but he couldn’t curtail them completely and didn’t want to.

“Or they may be forced to break away and reinforce us here whether he comes or not,” Elwyn went on. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Do you think they’ll occupy the town again?” Hosea Sylvester asked.

“I didn’t see that there was anything to keep them from it,” Elwyn answered with the pragmatism of a seasoned soldier. “They’ve got us on the run, and unless things change drastically and pretty fast…, Gettysburg will probably be in Confederate hands before nightfall…, if it isn’t already.”

This came as a bolt of lightening from a stormy sky and earnest looks were exchanged. Except for the muffled sounds of reigning chaos outside the cellar went quiet and still as a mausoleum. The thought of the town being under enemy control for a second time was chilling to say the least. And with Rebels all around them, how long would their safe haven remain that way?

*******

Through his field glasses, General Winfield Scott Hancock watched from Cemetery Ridge as the survivors fled Gettysburg. He had been sent for by the commanding General of the Army to fill the void left by the loss of Reynolds, and he intended to do his best in this capacity. He would be filling large boots, this he knew, but it was up to him now, and he would give it all he had.

*******

The day drug like a cold snake for the beleaguered occupants of the cellar as the sounds of battle continued to assail them. Most had returned to where they had been sitting but Captain Hughes had become restive and continually hovered near the stairs, holding his injured arm and his gaze directed up.

“You wish you were out there, don’t you?”

“I should be out there,” he said, as his fingers tightened in the blood encrusted sleeve of his jacket. “I wasn’t running out on them, but at the time it seemed like a good idea.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself of that?”

Elwyn’s head snapped around, and he looked at Joe Cartwright. Slowly, a wry smile spread. “Me, I guess. I’ve never done a cowardly thing in my life, at least, not that I’ve been aware of.” He took a deep breath and puffed it out. “But this feels cowardly, cowering down here like a frightened rabbit in its burrow.”

“I don’t feel like I’m cowering. I’ve got family at home and it wouldn’t help them to run out and get myself killed, especially when I know I don’t have to.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t like to be out there doing something about this?” He looked around at the huddled civilians. “Doing something for them?” Then he looked around, and his keen eyes set on Joe. “Or maybe you’re more of the Southern persuasion?”

“My mother was, and I had leanings, but after seeing this and with Adam fighting for the Union… I saw nothing wrong with people wanting to live their own lives, but when it brings about something like this… It just isn’t worth it.”

The sternness left the captain’s face, and he squeezed Joe’s shoulder, and then his expression became not so dark. “Could I ask you something?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Your brother wouldn’t happen to be a tall, black-haired man with the sharpest brown eyes one ever saw, would he?”

“You know ‘im?” Joe said, as he nearly leapt from the floor.

“If his name is Adam Stoddard Cartwright, we met once, and I can’t say I know him all that well, but he did make an impression on me.”

“He has a way of doing that.” Joe’s mouth crooked into a wry grin.

“In the way of general conversation he did mention that he has a kid brother named Joe.”

“How was he?”

“Beating the socks off a couple fellas in a poker game. I’ve since been warned against doing that.”

Joe shook his head and snorted. “You’re not the first one, and I had to learn it the hard way. He can be holding a royal flush or an ace-high straight, but his face or mood won’t give it away. And when it comes to bluffing, he’s the best I’ve ever seen. You were smart to stay out of that game. He doesn’t play much, but when he does somebody always gets skinned.” Some of the light vanished from his face. “I do miss him.”

The captain’s attention drifted back toward the upstairs, and his expression sagged. “I miss my family, too,” he said dully.

Joe knew that he wasn’t only talking about his loved ones back home. He could see that the man wanted to be out there with his comrades even though it could get him killed. Maybe if he hadn’t been raised in the wilds of Nevada by the two strongest and straight men he had ever known maybe he wouldn’t understand, but that wasn’t the case. He gripped the captain’s shoulder and they looked up together.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” one of the women asked.

Watches came out and were opened then a chorus of masculine voices said five o’clock.

*******

That night at roughly eleven-thirty, General George Gordon Meade, the newest in a long line of commanding generals of the Army of the Potomac, arrived at Cemetery Hill in the pale light of a full moon. And though he and his staff were exhausted from many hours of hard riding, he began strategically placing his corps where he felt they would be the most effective.

The quiet of the night, the rage of battle having ceased for the day, gave him the chance to reflect in the brief moments when he found himself alone. He hadn’t asked for this. It had been offered to John Reynolds, and his heart twisted at the thought of his good friend now lying dead. But John had turned it down, and he couldn’t help wonder if the suggestion had been made that he should be the one. He hadn’t really wanted it, but he was the man at the reins now with a job to do, and do it he would.

July 2nd 1863

EIGHT

The men of the 2nd Cavalry Division, Army of the Potomac, couldn’t imagine hell being any hotter. They had endured three weeks of hard marching over dry, dusty roads. Decent rest and rations, or the simple ability to bathe or just wash your hands and face or change clothes were luxuries they had not been afforded. Men and horses alike were exhausted beyond endurance and some of the animals had dropped dead along the way, finding some of the troopers without mounts and carrying their gear on their own backs.

Now they found themselves on the road from Hanover Junction – where they had stopped briefly the previous day and chased off the last vestiges of the 35th Virginia Battalion – and were now coming into Gettysburg. Today was as insidiously hot and arid as yesterday, maybe even more, and only served to exacerbate their already sorrowful condition. They had been able to hear the sounds of battle long before they reached their destination. That they would get bloodied once again not a man among them doubted, it just couldn’t be avoided, it was only a matter of when.

Captain Adam Cartwright – having received the brevetted rank for his action at Brandy Station – sat in his saddle as straight as his worn out body would allow. A long, shiny black rooster’s feather had been stuck in cord around the crown of his dark blue slouch hat and trailed in the breeze. When they had been in Hanover, while General Gregg gathered intelligence from the locals, he and the others had drowsed while still on the backs of their horses. It was amazing where you could nod off when you got that tired and didn’t know when your next chance might come. But by three o’clock in the a.m. they had been roused and were once again on the move and headed toward Adams County.

He looked back at Captain Kensington Lane – also brevetted for the same battle – riding behind him with his own men. He and Kensey had been friends almost from the beginning of his tenure with the 10th. Through the inferno of battle a friendship had been forged that bound them together, and they were more like brothers.

Kensey rubbed at a kink low in his back and tried straightening it but it didn’t want to cooperate. In twenty seven years he didn’t think he had ever been this dead beat. Every inch of him ached, and he had discovered muscles that he had forgotten he had. He swiped at a sandy red wisp that had fallen loose beneath the bill of his kepi. While Adam had taken to wearing the slouch he still preferred the compactness of this one. Shifting tiredly, he became aware of intense dark hazel eyes focused on him. Being the eldest if six children, all girls with one big exception, he hadn’t known what it felt like to have an older brother until he joined the cavalry and met Adam.

Recently promoted for valor, First Lieutenant Granville Alexander Midgewell III, Midge to those closest to him, rode two men back from them. He formed the third part of this triad of friendship. To the others in the brigade they had become known as the Three Musketeers, a moniker they wore proudly. Usually portly, months of hard fighting and often meager and less than palatable food had slimmed Midge down. But it was one of the few things he didn’t quibble about since it made mounting and sitting a horse easier, and made him more like his slender friends. He swatted at a biting insect on the side of his neck and wished they would just hurry and get where they were going.

Second Lieutenant Darien Church, not quite twenty-one, had come by his rank the same way Midge had, through his father’s influence and money. Unlike Midge, however, he liked it in the cavalry. He had only been with them less than a month – coming on the heels of Brandy Station – but he had seen enough to knock any notion of glamour and glory out of his head. Too bushed to smile, the light caught in his shadowy blue eyes as he watched his three friends riding ahead of him. They had welcomed him and taken to him right now and seen him through his first weeks and his first taste of combat. The side of his mouth managed to quirk as he thought of their nickname for him.

The troopers maintained a brisk pace as they drew closer to the echo of battle. Judging by the position of the sun, many surmised that it was around 10:00 that harried morning. They were passing through a patch of woods when the column was halted among the trees.

“So this is Geiselman’s Woods,” one of the troopers remarked in an offhanded way.

“According to Dr. Tate it is,” another answered.

“I don’t care where it is,” Midge added, “it’s a place to stop and rest.”

“I can get behind that,” Adam said lowly to himself. He adjusted his weight and rested his arms on the pommel.

“I thought a McClellan saddle was supposed to be easier on a man’s backside,” the first man quipped.

“So I’ve heard, but you couldn’t prove it by me,” one said from farther back.

One of the commanding officer’s aides rode along the line of men at a good clip, reining in from time to time and speaking to other officers. Then he came to a stop next to Adam.

“Captain Cartwright, we’ll be stopping here while General Gregg rides on ahead to General Meade’s headquarters for further orders. Colonel Gregg will be in charge.”

Adam’s lone eyebrow rose.

“Yes, Colonel McIntosh is sick again, but Dr. Tate is seeing to him, and hopefully he’ll be back before long. Now you are to keep your men mounted until further notice.”

“Yes, sir,” he answered then the man rode on to continue spreading the word.

Adam stifled a grunt. He had been hoping to get down for a few minutes, but it looked like that wouldn’t be the case, at least, not yet. He turned at the waist and directed his attention to his men. “We’ll be staying here for a bit and are to remain mounted until further notice.”

There were some groans and the jingle of accoutrements as men shifted in their saddles.

Adam directed his eyes toward the sounds of battle, and his dense black brows knit. “But I doubt too long,” he said under his breath.

*******

An hour later Colonel John McIntosh returned to retake command. The doctor’s efforts had been successful, and he felt well enough to take over and lead the men forward.

From where they had been the troopers were led to a spot three and a half miles east of the town where another road crossed with the one they had been on. Here they the two brigades bivouacked separately, and the men were thankful to finally be able to get out of the saddle. After so long on the back of a horse a man’s body stiffened, and he felt as if he had become a part of the animal.

*******

While most of the troopers rested up some of Colonel Gregg’s men – Kensey included – were detailed to head off across the fields as relief. Afoot in their heavy woolen uniforms beneath the blistering sun made it no picnic for the already exhausted men. Carbines were gripped in fists, and eyes were ever on the alert. With the cacophony of battle ringing around them staying on guard wasn’t difficult.

Over a mile from the crossroads they came across two regiments of the XI Corps. With few words exchanged the foot soldiers then moved off to rejoin the main body, and a goodly portion of the 10th New York Cavalry took over for them. The time was three o’clock.

Though not too steep, Brinkerhoff’s Ridge was fairly high and stony, but the heat did nothing to help the going. Rail fences also impeded progress, but they made it anyway. They could take a breather now and hopefully rest a little. As they did this a section of artillery rumbled up Hanover Road, unlimbering near a farm house. Backup had arrived.

NINE

Dear Pa, Joe, Hoss and Hop Sing,

How is everything there? It has been another long, hot morning here. The dust on the roads has been choking and the heat stifling, and a man gets so tired of constantly being on the move. There hasn’t even been the chance for the luxuries of life that most people take for granted. Eating is haphazard at best and the food is usually unpalatable. What I wouldn’t give for a bowl of Hop Sing’s Egg Drop Soup. Maybe he would like to come out here and cook for us. Where I’m at now is better with lush green grass and crystal blue sky, but I can still hear the thunder of artillery in the distance. The people are nice and so glad to have us here, unlike in Virginia where they hurl vile words and rocks at us.

This is the second day of fighting near this picturesque Pennsylvania town, and my first chance to write in some while. We have yet to be engaged here, but I know that we cannot escape it. It is only a matter of time before…

“Writing home?” Midge said, as he sat cross legged on the ground next to his friend.

“I thought while I had a few minutes I’d see if I could jot down a few words. I can always finish it later if I don’t get to now.”

A look passed between them that said they both knew the chance stood that it might never be completed but quickly dissipated.

“I don’t think my father cares if I do or not unless it’s to tell of the glorious exploits of his beloved cavalry. Then he can go to the club and brag about it.”

“I think maybe you sell your father short,” Adam said, as he folded the paper and stuck it in his jacket pocket along with the stub of a pencil.

“You don’t know him like I do. It was his idea to join the cavalry. Left up to me I would’ve gone into the artillery.”

Adam knew all this; he had heard it many times before, but he let Midge alone.

“It’s always been that way,” Midge went on. “What he can’t do himself he accomplishes through me, and if I don’t do it the way he would have he tells me about it. If mother hadn’t died when I was a baby maybe I would’ve had brothers, and he could’ve spread it around.”

Adam watched Midge’s pensive expression drift toward somberness and decided to change the subject.

“So, did you finally fill yourself up?”

“No,” Midge said dismally, “hardtack only goes so far, but at least I’m not as empty as I was. I would’ve sworn I heard that first bite rattle around inside me.”

Adam chortled and picked up his hat and began running the silky feather between his fingers.

Before they said anything else, Darien scurried up to them carrying something close to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. Adam and Midge exchanged looks of quizzical amusement and budding smiles were covered with hands.

“What’ve you got there?” Adam asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Biscuits. One of the farmers brought a whole basket full of fresh biscuits his wife baked for us. He said she’d been working on ‘em since before light, and he was glad we showed up when we did, and he didn’t havta go so far to deliver ‘em.” He began doling them out. “I could only get one for each of us,” he lamented, “and was lucky to get those.”

“Oh, boy,” Midge said as he held his close to his face and sniffed it, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Wait’ll Kensey finds out what he missed.” He snickered. “He’ll be fist fighting mad.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t,” Darien said, as his face scrunched.

Midge just grinned puckishly and winked.

“I haven’t had a homemade biscuit since I left home,” Adam said, as he stared wistfully at it. “Now if I only had some butter and honey to go on it.”

Midge shot him a cutting look as if to say ‘shut up’.

“Well, sit down boy, and let’s eat before they get stale,” Adam said, as he patted the ground.

“Or someone takes them at gunpoint,” Midge added.

Darien plopped down in front of his friends – his legs bent up before him – and waited for them to start. Adam was the first as he tore the temptingly crusty piece of bread in two with hardly any crumbs. He inhaled its enticing aroma then hesitantly, as if afraid of breaking the spell, bit into it, and all he did was groan. Midge and Darien needed no further invitation as they waded in on theirs.

They had to fight the temptation to wolf, but each one of them knew that once the golden gems were gone that that was it so they savored every tender morsel. When they finally finished Darien traipsed off in search of something to drink

“The boy has the right idea,” Adam said, as he stretched his arms out in front of him. “What I couldn’t do to a tall glass of fresh buttermilk.”

Midge shot him another withering look. “Why do you keep doing that? Whenever I do Kensey tells me his father always says shovel manure into one hand, wish in the other and see which one fills up first.”

Adam snickered. “I guess I do kinda do that a lot, but then I think we all do at one time or another.”

“Yeah,” Midge said dolefully. “I suppose it’s only natural, being so far from home and never knowing when death’ll come for us.”

A long pause slipped into their conversation and they simply enjoyed each other’s company. This respite from endless marching and fighting and slaughter they wouldn’t squander for they had come all too infrequently in recent weeks. Adam looked over at Midge as the boy watched the clouds drifting overhead and thought of Joe. How he would love to see his little brother. What he would tell him, and what he wouldn’t.

Movement at the corner of his eye made him look around. Sergeant Myer was coming toward them and he knew the respite was over.

*******

Brinkerhoff’s Ridge had become a hotbed of activity as the troopers of the 10th New York traded shots with Confederate infantry hidden in some trees perhaps a mile away. A minie ball whizzed past Kensey’s head – lodging itself in a tree – as he threw himself down behind a large rock shouting orders and returned fire. He and his fellow skirmishers were busy returning as much lead as they were dodging.

From the corner of his eye, Kensey saw Ned Flock go down. He thought about trying to get to him but one clear look told him that the effort would be for naught. He could maybe only wind up the same way so he stayed put and squeezed off a couple rounds in rapid succession.

Kensey’s thoughts fleetingly darted to his family and wondered if he would ever see them again in this lifetime. As quickly, though, he pushed it away and focused on the task before him. Errant ruminations could – in the wrong place and at the wrong time – cloud a man’s judgment and get him killed. His finger tightened on the trigger again, and he wished he was safely home in Elmira.

*******

Six o’clock that evening saw the light and heat diminishing, and the Rebels ensconced in the woods were reinforced, judging by the increased fire assailing the ridge. General Gregg ordered his cousin Colonel J. Irvin Gregg to send men to clear out this hornet’s nest. Fifty men of the 10th New York – among them Adam and Darien – were sent on foot across this no-man’s-land and told to concentrate on the greatest source of enemy fire.

The men who had remained behind and some civilians watched as the dismounted troopers made their way over the summer brown grass. Suddenly, Confederate infantry emerged from the trees, rifles at the ready. Just then a man on horseback appeared over a rise and spurred his already frantic mount toward the Union line. It didn’t take long to see that it was Dr. Tate and a contingent of Rebel horsemen was hot after him. As he surged closer to his own comrades two well placed artillery shells from a Union battery altered the thinking of his pursuers, and they wheeled and headed for the protective cover of the ridge.

The next thing to catch everyone’s attention was an old woman – one of the civilians that had been watching the goings on – running for dear life and screaming like a banshee. Her walking cane had been discarded as it was no longer necessary and would have only gotten in her way. No one had noticed that the shells had streaked not more than six feet over her head, though she certainly did.

After those brief diversions, all manner of chaos seemed to break loose pretty much all at once. Men took to their horses, the calls of bugles filled the air and the dismounted troopers continued to advance. Bullets picked up their momentum and whizzed about like incensed bees and cannon shells continually burst, saturating the sweet evening air with acrid smoke.

Adam stopped long enough to raise his carbine and squeeze the trigger and an enemy foot soldier immediately dropped as the others melded back into the trees. He looked back and was heartened to see the others close behind him. His attention rapidly turned back before him just as a slug plowed into the ground in front of him, and his heart momentarily skipped.

Darien was scared spitless, but he continued his fire, not even knowing if he hit anyone. This wasn’t the first time he had been thrust into battle, and he knew what to do. Still, that didn’t stop him from being frightened, and he doubted he was the only one.

Kensey and his fellows poured lead – now covering fire – into the trees the Rebels had retreated back in to. Now and then a trooper below would drop, but he didn’t have time to think about it. The thought that these were his comrades glanced off his brain but quickly disappeared.

Blue horsemen rode hell-bent around them, carbines barking as leaves were shot from their branches to sift to the ground. The 3rd Pennsylvania drove into a stand of trees known as Cress’ Woods as two more squadrons advanced dismounted. The sun glared down on the melee as it edged closer toward the horizon as if watching the insanity.

The fact that the Rebels were coming perilously close to overtaking one the stone wall didn’t go unnoticed. The Federals barely got soldiers there in time to take up positions behind the edifice. Sharps rifles opened up on the men in gray and they were forced back, where they regrouped then came on again. More carbine fire, however, drove them back once more, but they were not to be daunted. Now reinforced, the Rebels made one assault after another only to be continually driven back. Still they wouldn’t give it up, and their numbers steadily dwindled.

Night finally fell, obscuring the casualties in its dark cloak, and allowing the Confederates to come around and drive the troopers from their cover. This time, however, it was the Federals who had been reinforced, and the advantage belonged to them.

Fighting became fiercer and nearly sightless in the darkness, if brief. But the effort only drove home the futility for the men in gray. The fighting degenerated into sporadic long distance skirmishing, forcing the Confederates to concede. Then before returning to the safe haven of the trees the Rebels gathered their wounded and faded into the darkness.

Crouching low, Adam worked his way along the line of men, giving encouragement as he went. It appeared as if the Rebs had once more been driven back, but that wouldn’t stop them from firing at an enticing target.

“It looks like we’ve pushed ‘em back, at least for now,” Adam said softly as he hunkered down next to a dark silhouette. “We’ll just have to wait and see if it’s for good. You’ve done really well today, buddy.” He placed his hand against the back of the woolen jacket and felt something warm and wet and didn’t need to see to know what it was. He grasped the shoulder of the form and turned him back. “Darien!”

*******

Disaster had only narrowly been averted and had left Meade in a dour mood. After savage fighting and by the grace of the Almighty his army had held the field but only by its fingernails. By midnight, everything was in place, but he couldn’t be sure things wouldn’t fall apart tomorrow to finish them off, and it gnawed at him like a canker.

He stood before the fireplace – hands clasped behind his back – and stared down into the flickering flames in the hearth. They cast a warm glow over his craggy features and glittered in his brooding eyes but they gave no solace.

Behind him the door of the small weathered house opened, and his ranking subordinates began coming in, but he stood still as stone. He had called a council of war to discuss strategies and whether they should stay on for another day of fighting or fall back to stronger positions in Maryland.

The door closed and with a heavy breath he turned around. “Gentlemen,” he said steadily then stepped away from the fireplace.

July 3rd 1863

ELEVEN

The rising of a crimson sun portended more stifling heat and maybe some could see it as an omen of more bloody fighting. But at 6:00 a.m., the air still bore traces of the nightly chill as General J.E.B. Stuart led his four cavalry brigades along the York Pike. The sound of the horse’s hooves over the macadamized surface of the road signaled their coming, much to their displeasure. As the earlier portent had foretold, the clash of cannon and small arms circulated around them as the beginning of the day’s fighting started and the air heated up.

*******

Adam, Kensey and Midge had been silent most of the morning and food had pretty much been taken by rote. Looks in passing as they busied themselves spoke more eloquently than words, anything they could have said would have felt trite.

Adam swung the saddle up onto the sleek chestnut’s back, his eyes never straying from the animal.

“I wonder how Darien is this morning.” Midge said, as he fastened his cinch.

“I don’t know,” Kensey said, as he buckled the martingale into place, “hurt as bad as he is.” The air whistled through his teeth. “That bullet went clean through him.”

Adam froze, his fingers knotting against the saddle. He had been there – he had been the one to find him like that, he was the one who put his hand in all that blood, and he didn’t need anyone to tell him the boy was badly hurt. His eyes closed in an effort to shut out the image of that pale face but the effort only heightened it.

“Darien’s a good kid,” Kensey went on as he shook his head. “I’m sure gonna miss that enthusiasm of his. Maybe…”

“All right, let’s finish up,” Adam interrupted, “There’s still plenty ahead of us.”

The task continued in the pervading silence from earlier. The serious wounding of Darien Church had shattered their small clique and brought home to them more than ever the fragility of man and how little it took to snuff out a life. But there wasn’t time for dwelling on it as they were still faced with the challenge of holding back the enemy. Darien had paid a high price to hold, and, even though the wages would go much higher before this ended, they knew they couldn’t just throw in the towel. Darien and too many others had given blood to get this far and it was too precious to waste.

*******

For the people at the inn returning to the cellar, after a peaceful, if uneasy, night in their rooms had become a matter of conscience or cowardice or both; however one wanted to look at it. Remaining upstairs could be looked at in the same terms with foolhardiness being thrown in as the second option, but to Joe Cartwright, the Muncie family, Captain Hughes and the two who helped out in the kitchen it was nothing less than duty. The old building had become a makeshift hospital and the front entryway and dining room were filled with wounded and dying, both blue and gray.

The men lying in the floor or propped against walls were from the previous day and fresh casualties hadn’t started coming in yet, though everyone there knew it wouldn’t be long before they did. The pitiful moans filled the empty spaces and wrapped around the furniture and everyone there.

Pricilla knelt down, a blue china cup in her slim hand, next to a young Rebel who had been shot in the chest. He was of the enemy, but she couldn’t see him that way, not now. Now all she could see was another human being, grievously wounded, far from home and those he loved and who loved him in return, and in her care. She lightly pushed back the buff colored hair of this boy, for he had to be all of seventeen. His weary gaze lit on her face, and she smiled as she brushed her fingertips against his pale cheek. “I brought you some cool water.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a soft southern accent.

Gently, she lifted his head and put the cup to his pallid lips, but he just looked at her.

“You have the hands… of an angel, ma’am.”

“Drink,” was all she could say.

He managed only a couple small swallows then the water ran from the corners of his mouth to wet the floor as his eyes set.

“Soldier,” she said with a trembling voice. “Soldier.” But she knew it was useless, and she felt the tears burning like the most corrosive acid as a knot clogged her throat. With the greatest tenderness, she lowered his head and pulled her hand away.

From next to her a man’s hand appeared and lightly closed the unseeing eyes.

“He was just a boy not much older than me,” she said, as she looked around at Joe Cartwright kneeling beside her.

“A lot of them are,” he said and put his arm around her shoulders, “on both sides.”

With a whimper, she dropped the cup, and it broke, water spreading over the floor and wetting the hem of her dress, and covered her face with her hands. “Such a waste. I didn’t realize that it’s such a waste.”

He held her close, but she didn’t cry.

“I’m all right,” she said as she pulled back from him. “There’s too much to be done for me to act like a child.” She thanked him for his kindness then gracefully stood, forgetting the broken cup, and went back about aiding these torn men.

“I should be out there,” came from behind Joe as he got to his feet. Captain Elwyn Hughes’ eyes were set toward the sounds of battle, and the hand of his good arm clenched into a fist and his other in a sling. “I should’ve tried making it to my own lines that first night like I wanted to. I shouldn’t have let that girl and her mother talk me out of it.”

“And got shot or captured? What good would that’ve done? And what could you do with your arm like that? After yesterday we needed all the help we could get and there’s a lot more you can do here. You’re valuable right where you are, Captain.”

Elwyn looked at him and a slight smile tipped his mouth. “Don’t try to convince a soldier of that. My duty is to do or die, and tonight I will try and get killed in the doing if need be.”

“That sounds like Adam.”

“And that I take as a compliment.” Elwyn gave him a friendly thump against the arm then his sight dropped to the body of the youth Pricilla had been tending, and the smile faded. “I’ll get a blanket to cover the poor lad.”

Joe watched him walk away then turned his attention toward the battle’s fury and wondered if Adam was out there somewhere in all this. And if he was all Joe could do was pray for his safety.

*******

The troopers of General Stuart’s brigades rode in somber quiet behind their leader with none of the usual camaraderie. There was no joking, singing, or laughing at bad or ribald jokes, only grim, silent, dust shrouded men that had seen way too much death.

The North had born none of the savagery or depredations that their beloved South had…, until now. And these Southern soldier’s hearts beat with the fervent hope that these Northerners would find it so repellent that they would sue for peace. If that happened, their own President Davis would take full advantage of it and they would become their own nation to do as they so pleased. If not, they would simply ride roughshod over the Yankee Army as they had in the past, only this time to destroy it.

General J.E.B. Stuart cut a dashing figure in plumed hat rakishly worn, cavalier’s boots and full red-tipped beard that shone like new copper in the sun. Once he had overheard one of his troopers quip, “Fine feathers make fine birds, and our general is sure a fine one,” and it made him smile now in recollection. But he knew that all his boys would follow where he led, of that he had the greatest confidence and pride.

The long line of gray continued on toward the sounds of battle and soon the fight would be joined. But not a man among them would desert their general, the pride of them all.

TWELVE

General Stuart sat astride his mount looking out across the many acres of farmland, his staff gathered on either side of him. From this high ground, he could see for a great unobstructed distance well beyond the boundaries of the town.

“What beautiful country this is. It reminds me of Virginia.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sky was so blue and clear that it hurt a man’s eyes. Then the General’s gaze lowered to the smoke from the many cannon that marred the beauty, their roar muffled by distance and rumbling more like far-away thunder.

“Yes, indeed,” he said to himself. “Good ground.”

*******

The sounds of battle seemed to follow those in the inn wherever they went like an inescapable fog that hung around them. The women moved about like wan specters tending to those in such dire need of their succor, and the men helped the best they could.

Joe had gone into the kitchen to fill a pitcher with water from the pump when Lazaria Muncie came in and obviously didn’t see him. She stood back by the big cast iron stove so that she would be out of sight of those in the entryway. Her haggard, lined face gave away her fatigue and the slump of her shoulders betrayed her feelings.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Muncie?” he asked, as he approached her after he had finished.

Her head came up with a jerk, and the startled expression quickly softened into a weary smile. “I’m just tired, and I don’t want those men to see me this way. I’ll be all right.”

“Maybe you should sit down for a little bit.”

“I’m all right, and they need me.”

“They don’t need for you to drop from exhaustion. You wouldn’t be any good to them then.”

“I’m honestly all right. I just need a few minutes to compose myself.”

His sympathetic eyes roved over her face, and he could see that it was more than simply being worn out. “Wantta talk about the rest of it?”

“There’s nothing else to…”

His head cocked to one side, and his soft eyebrows lowered into a skeptical frown.

An onerous breath ran through the room, and her eyes squeezed together then gradually opened, and she looked at him. “This terrible war touches us every day when word comes that a loved on has been lost or hurt, but the actual fighting has never… That’s a living horror.” She glanced through the doorway into the entry filled with the wounded. “Their families, how much they…” Her teeth clamped on her bottom lip. “I lost my younger brother, my only brother, at Second Manassas…. We all took it very hard…, but my parents… They still haven’t recovered, and I doubt they ever will. Before he left, he had his picture taken, bought the nicest frame he could afford, and gave it to them. It’s sitting on the mantle in their front parlor… still draped in black crape.” She reached out and firmly took his arm. “When you get the chance, Joe, you go home, and you stay close to your father. If, Heaven forbid, the worst should come, he’ll need you like he never has before. Promise me.”

A warm smile tipped his mouth, and he touched the back of her hand. “I promise.”

“Now I need to get back,” she said, as she took the filled pitcher from him. “We’ll get through this. Giving in to it isn’t an option.” She touched his cheek then left him alone.

He watched her go then turned away. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought of losing Adam in his weaker moments, but now, with the sounds of gunfire, coupled with the din of cannon and the moans of the wounded and dying, he found it closer than it had ever been, and this time he couldn’t fight it off.

Dropping his head, he closed his eyes and put his hand over his face. “Please watch after him,” he said under his breath. “Please watch after them all.”

*******

At eight that morning Brigadier General H. Judson Kilpatrick’s Third Division moved in to bolster the foot soldiers holding the line and plug up the gap left when Buford and his men were forced to retire from the field.

Kilpatrick was not what anyone would call a liked man, especially by those unfortunate to be under his command. Kill-cavalry they and others called him for his recklessness with their lives, but he didn’t let it stand in the way of what he wanted. He wasn’t there to win a popularity contest; he was there to win a war, and, more to his liking, glory. And he would accomplish both with any and all means at his disposal.

*******

The barn of a local farmer had been taken over as a field hospital and the stench that radiated from it outdid anything the animals could ever do. The black-haired captain stopped several feet away. His nose wrinkled and lips curled at the horrid smell of sun baked blood and death. Moans and wails greeted him that sounded like tortured souls. Off to the side a stray dog skulked about a pile of amputated arms and legs and feet until an orderly threw a rock and chased it away. Men waiting to be treated and those less severely wounded lay or sat about in the shade, and to the other side, covered with blankets, were the ones who didn’t make it.

Adam didn’t want to go in there, but he knew he had to. Others might say he had a choice, but he knew deep in his heart that he didn’t. How he wished Kensey and Midge where here to go with him, to shore him up, and he do the same for them.

“I can’t let him down.” The corners of his finely sculpted mouth turned, but didn’t reach his somber eyes. “Dumas wouldn’t have written it that way.”

With a heavy intake of breath that he immediately regretted, he stiffened his spine and once more started forward.

What he found as he went inside was worse than anything Dante could have ever written. Men lay about on straw since there were no beds for them. Tables for operating were nothing more than boards placed over saw horses. A gut wrenching scream pierced him as the saw cut into a man’s leg and two orderlies held him down. His eyes pinched together, and he cursed the fact that the supply of chloroform never seemed to reach demand.

He removed his hat out of respect in this place of so much suffering, and gulped the wad in his throat. “I’m all right,” he said to himself. His eyes began searching, and it didn’t take long to find the one he sought.

Darien lay on his bed of straw, a blanket pulled up around his bandaged chest and his eyelids were lowered. A wraith could not have been any paler and the specter of death seemed to hover over him like a dark cloud. His arms were straight down at his sides, and he didn’t move but to breathe, and that was shallow and labored.

As he stood there, as if afraid to move any closer, a slim man with receding brown hair and full beard wearing a blood spattered apron, approached him. “Can I help you with something, Captain?”

“I’ve come… to see him,” Adam said and nodded to the boy.

The man’s lips spread tiredly across his face. “Then you must be Adam, Kensey or Midge. When he’s awake, the only one he talks about more is his mother.”

“How is he?” Adam asked, hardly above a whisper.

The doctor’s face went gray, and he slowly shook his head.

Adam wished the floor would open beneath his feet and the ground would swallow him.

“Is it all right if I…” Adam started.

“It can’t hurt anything now. By all rights he should be gone, but I think he’s only stayed this long to see his friends one more time. Go ahead.”

Tucking his hat into his belt, Adam stepped forward and knelt next to the young man. “Darien…. Darien, it’s Adam. Do you hear me, boy?”

As he waited, Darien’s eyelids fluttered then raised. “Adam…, you came.”

“Of course, I came. I couldn’t do any less for a friend.”

The weak eyes began searching. “Where are…?”

“They wanted to come, but they had duties they had to attend to, and I can’t stay long.” He snickered, but it held no mirth. “You know how the Army is.”

“Yeah…, I sure do.” With the greatest effort, Darien’s hand raised, and Adam grasped it with both of his. “Adam.”

“What is it, buddy?”

“Would you…? Would you do something… for me?”

“Anything I can, you know that.”

“Would you… write to my parents?”

“You know I will,” Adam said, as his grip tightened on the cool hand. “And when you get back you can do it, but don’t stay away too long. We… We need our fourth Musketeer.”

“No…. No…. I know that….”

Adam gulped a ragged breath. “What would you like for me to tell them?”

“That I didn’t… shame them.”

“You could never do that. You fought bravely, and we were proud to stand with you.”

“Tell them that…. And say that I’m not afraid…. I’ll be with some… good men when they come…. And tell them… I love them… and miss them. Will you do that?”

“Just as I said,” Adam said and blinked hard.

“And maybe…, when this is over…, you and the others can go…, see…”

Darien’s eyes closed, and his upheld arm went limp, and a long breath left him as Adam continued holding his hand. The doctor knelt and placed an ear over the boy’s heart and listened for several seconds and checked for respiration then sat back, his face conveying what Adam already knew.

Reluctantly, Adam put the valued hand down and the doctor pulled the blanket over the boy’s head. Adam stood there for less than a second then went back out into the cleansing sunshine.

His gaze roved up to the crystal blue sky and one side of his mouth crooked. “Good-bye, D’Artagnan.” Then he eased his hat on over his heavy hair, tugging the brim down in front, and walked away, the long, glossy black feather floating in the slight breeze.

THIRTEEN

The rage of battle continued as Joe went down to the cellar to get some more wine and hard cider for the wounded. The alcoholic effect seemed to deaden some of the pain and alleviate the suffering enough until they could rest easier and to take the edge off of dying.

As he came down the steps holding a large woven basket, the guests that had remained in the safety of the stone walls looked up, and he couldn’t miss the stark fear in their eyes. He wondered if any of them felt shame for hiding down here while a fifteen-year-old girl put her life in jeopardy to tend those who needed it. Had he not been raised as he had or been a Cartwright maybe he too would cower in a corner like a frightened animal. But that was not in the makeup of Ben and Marie’s only child.

He gave them a fleeting smile then went on to retrieve what he had come for. Against the back wall sat a high shelf with many jugs of the cider and across from it the one that held the bottles of wine. Together they formed a kind of niche away from the furor and turmoil they found themselves amidst upstairs. He sat the basket on a table in the corner and began gingerly filling it.

As he worked, he became aware that he wasn’t alone. Hosea Sylvester’s mother – a frail-looking, white-haired lady wearing a net cap – stood at the end of the wine rack, her keen indigo eyes watching Joe’s every move. Her cane tapped the floor as she came to him. “I would much rather be up there helping than hiding like a frightened child,” she said in a thin voice that bore a slight trace of the South. “But my son wants me down here with him. He says it’s for my protection, but the truth is that he’s scared white.”

“I can’t say I blame him,” Joe said, as he put in another bottle.

“I don’t either, not really. But when I was a girl back in Louisiana we found the war with the British on our doorsteps. I’m talking about the 1812 war, son. I didn’t hide then, and I don’t like hiding now.” She moved around so she could look into his face. “If Hosea wasn’t with me I wouldn’t be, and that’s a fact.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be, but he’s only doing it because he loves you and wants you safe.”

“I suppose so, but I still don’t like it. Then I guess we always havta to do things we don’t like.”

“That’s the truth,” Joe said, as he finished and turned to go. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I wish I could stay and talk some more, but I havta get this to those wounded men.”

“Like we did. While some things change, others stay the same. I have lived in this part of the country since I came here with my husband in 1818. I have raised five children and buried three and my husband here, and I’ll fight to protect it if I must. And if those damnable Rebels want to shoot this wizened old head then let ‘em.” Her eyes gleamed, and she touched his cheek with a withered hand. “Some things are worth fighting for while others aren’t. Don’t get confused about which is which.” A smile turned her wrinkled lips then she left and went back to the others.

Pa had always told them that with age came wisdom if the person receiving it was willing to let it in, and this lady had definitely welcomed it. Her simple words had imparted something that Joe hadn’t really given thought to. “Some things are worth fighting for while others aren’t. Don’t get confused about which is which,” played over again in his head. Is that what he had done? Had he been confused about the two causes while his oldest brother had seen so clearly?

With a huff he cleared his head then went back out with his load, giving the elderly woman a parting smile as he went.

*******

Brigadier General George Armstrong Custer was flashy to say the least. A uniform of black velvet – which he had designed himself – accentuated his slim physique. Gold braid embellished the sleeve cuffs, and a single white star signifying his rank, adorned either side of the collar, and he wore a bright red cravat around his throat. A black hat sat jauntily atop his head, and his long flowing yellow mane hung about his shoulders. His keen eyes drank it all in as he watched his men from horseback as they climbed into the saddle. They needed to make room for their relief and be ready for what lay ahead.

*******

The 10th New York, 1st Maine and District of Colombia cavalry moved in and positioned themselves below some woods where they would support a battery of cannon. The day had continued to heat up and they knew that at any time battle would heat it up even more.

Adam, Kensey and Midge gave orders to their men then formed up with them, and now the waiting began. The sounds of shooting circulated around them like an ill wind to remind them that they weren’t out of the woods yet. Adam glanced over at the copse of trees and he couldn’t help but grin at the analogy. Leaning forward in the saddle he patted his horse on the neck then looked down the line until his eyes found Kensey and Midge. It felt so good to know that they were there when his brothers couldn’t be, and it made him feel less alone, especially after what had happened to Darien.

His heart ached at the thought of the boy, and he could still feel the cool touch against his hand. It would be there for as long as he lived and as long as he remembered the fourth Musketeer. How proud Darien had been when his nickname had been bestowed upon him by some of the other troopers. The boy had blossomed, not only as a cavalryman but as a man, under the tutelage of his new friends.

The image of Darien Church – apparently his first time in the saddle – on the back of a green mount fostered a laugh deep inside where no one else could hear it. He, Kensey and Midge, who had become an excellent horseman under the same nurturing, watched him and the new recruits, laughing so hard it hurt, though Adam had been a bit more reserved in his amusement.

He would always recall the look on the young man’s face as he stomped up to them, his expression hard as flint, and his eyes glittering like wet diamonds. His hands had balled at his sides, and he had said nothing before trouncing off. From that moment, they had taken to him, and he had quickly become a part of their small clique as they worked with him.

Of an evening and off hours through the day or when grooming and tending to their horses, they had talked about home and family and favorite things. They had learned much about Darien and his parents, his three sisters, a brother who had died as an infant, and his home in upstate New York. He had often told them that after the war he would like for them to come meet his family, and Adam knew that he would go, if the fates permitted.

Adam pushed away his musings and concentrated on the moment and what would engulf them all probably before much longer. There wasn’t time for grieving, not now, that would come later in the quiet time after the fighting had waned. If any of them survived.

Once more he looked down the line to Kensey and Midge, and this time they looked back, and the warmth of friendship reached out and touched him. His gaze returned to that before him, and he thought of his family back in Nevada. Oh, how he wished he could be with them right now.

*******

The day dragged wearily on past noon – the sun moving lethargically across the heavens – as did the people inside the inn. The wounded were quiet for the moment as the growing clamor seemed to envelope them as it shook windows and the floor vibrated beneath them. Even their helpers stopped to turn their attention toward the boom that had commenced. The civilians and many of the soldiers had never heard anything like it.

Joe stood transfixed near the kitchen, a strip of bandage clenched in his hands. He had heard the explosions that the miners had set off in the bowels of the Earth and had even used dynamite to clear rock slides and drainage ditches and other things on the Ponderosa, but he had never heard anything like this. It was as if the whole world was caving in on them.

Then he became aware of a gentle hand taking his arm, and he looked around into understanding dark blue eyes. Mrs. Sylvester had come up from the cellar. He didn’t know what she could do, but he knew she would try, and he knew better than trying to stop her. He patted the back of her hand and it felt good having her close.

*******

The people of Philadelphia, eyes and ears focused in the general direction of Gettysburg, one hundred and forty miles away, stopped on the street or hung out of windows as the thunder surrounded them and made the ground tremble with its fury. The sky was clear without a sign of rain and the air hot and humid. This thunder was manmade and filled each heart with awe and horror at what they were witnessing. Some of the veterans of past armies that knew about such things had spoken up and said that they were hearing a cannon barrage and an immense one. There was no doubt that the war had come to the North as it hadn’t up to this point, and they could only wonder if it would reach them here in the city of brotherly love.

*******

The Confederate artillery, one hundred and fifty cannon strong, spat out their deadly projectiles, and the air hung thick with choking white smoke. The continuous roar rose to the sky in a deafening wave, and the very trees shuddered into their roots. A lanyard would be pulled and another deadly blast would burst from the maw of an iron beast to leave its mark on whatever or whoever it struck.

The hammering of the Federal lines had begun, and Generals Pickett, Heth, Pender, and Anderson and the 12,500 infantry under them waited. Waited for their march into history and glory when they would hopefully break through, and the day would be theirs.

*******

Leaves showered down around the troopers of the 10th New York as another thunderous boom rent the sultry air. Horses strained at their bits and tossed their heads with wide frantic eyes, but they were held in place by the dismounted men. Pats and soft voices were intended to calm but amid this conflagration it lasted only until the next blast.

Adam’s rich baritone spoke soothingly into the big chestnut’s ear. He understood the animal’s fear for it coursed with his blood through his own veins. Another shell screamed overhead and tore into the woods, and the horse tried pulling away again, but he comforted as best he could. He wished he could climb into the saddle and ride off with the others with him. Running from a fight, however, was not something that Adam Cartwright did well, and he would stand and die here, if it came to that, rather than skedaddle with his tail between his legs like a frightened cur.

FOURTEEN

The heavy barrage had stopped, but Stuart and Gregg were far from finished with each other. Cannon started firing again, though not on such a grand scale and uprooted some Federals and gray infantry was sent against them.

This time the shelling proved to be lethally accurate. Much of it hit indiscriminately among Custer’s ranks, making casualties of men and animals, and he immediately had them move beyond the range of the big guns.

*******

The passage of time had slowed to the trickle of cold molasses as the men of the 10th New York continued to wait. The rumble of cannon and sporadic rifle and musket fire still laced the humid air and did nothing to calm frayed nerves.

Adam looked down the line to his left, but as he looked to his right he saw Sergeant Myer riding in his general direction. He turned in his saddle as the sergeant reined in behind the chestnut.

“Captain Cartwright!”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

“General Gregg wishes to see you!”

“Now? Did anybody tell you why?”

“I wasn’t confided in! I was only told that he wanted to see you right away!”

“What about my men?”

“You are not to worry about them! Captain Quayle will take over in your absence!”

Adam’s eye’s narrowed. This couldn’t have come at a worse time, but when a general officer said to jump, he only had to know how high. “All right, Sergeant, let’s go!”

As they rode along behind the line of troopers his replacement came into sight coming toward them. As they passed the look he received was nothing less than sneering. Adam didn’t like Staunton Quayle. He was arrogant, conceited and not above usurping another’s authority to achieve notoriety. They hadn’t gotten on since day one and this was just one more pin prick. The idea of his men being under this man’s control didn’t set well, but there was nothing he could do about it. But if through his glory seeking he caused anything to go wrong – senator’s son or not – Adam would exact payment, and his captain’s bars would be the currency.

*******

Joe Cartwright was exhausted, and he had hardly stopped, even to eat. He had been going since before dawn and had gotten probably no more than an hour’s sleep through the restless night. The fighting had long since moved out of the town but the threat remained.

Without being noticed, he went through the kitchen and out the back door with a pan of bloody water. As he stepped outside the heat assailed him like an invisible enemy, but he was too tired to care. Compared to what was going on inside, a little hot weather meant nothing. And this wasn’t any worse than it could get back home.

With a hard jerk, he flung the pan’s reddened contents onto the ground and it soaked into the dirt. He then tried rolling some of the stiffness from his neck and shoulders. It felt good and relieved some of the tension in his aching muscles, but it couldn’t erase the suffering imprinted on his mind. Growing up where he had, he had seen things that had woven their way into his dreams, but never anything that equaled this.

As he stood there his head drooped and his eyes closed. His arms fell to his sides, and he let the sounds of battle be blotted out as his mind turned to thoughts of the past. Images of his family flooded his mind’s eye, and his yearning to be back on the Ponderosa with them grew in intensity. But there would be an empty place, a hole left by an absence. He could see Pa and Hoss and Hop Sing but not Adam. When he tried he only saw a dark figure and couldn’t make out the face.

“Hey, brother,” came as a familiar baritone.

The pan slipped from his fingers to clatter against the ground, and his head jerked up, and his eyes flew open. “Adam,” he said hoarsely, but no one answered. He looked about in desperation only to find that he was still completely alone.

The light then dawned inside his head, and he sensed that this brother couldn’t be far away.

*******

Adam felt like little more than a combination wet-nurse and spy. He had better and more important things to do than get involved in an intrigue, but when the commanding general wanted something you complied. He had found himself standing in front of George Gordon Meade himself and it had only added to his disquiet. At first he thought he had done something wrong until the man began laying out what he wanted. As he listened he had felt the hackles rising along his spine. He had heard rumors that Meade didn’t care for Pleasonton or Custer – a personal favorite of the former – and this had confirmed it.

“And if he makes any mistakes I want to know about it,” Meade had said.

“Yes, sir, you will. But what do I tell him I’m doing there?”

“Use your imagination, Captain. I have it on good authority that you don’t lack for that.”

He grimaced as he and Sergeant Myer drew closer to the boy general’s position, and felt the heat building under his collar. Many times he had damned what others called his integrity, and this was one of them. His reputation as an excellent and fair-minded officer, not to mention being a tight lipped clam, had preceded him. He cursed under his breath and thought of Staunton Quayle in command of his men. His gaze shot to Myer, but he knew that the sergeant wouldn’t say anything.

He had never actually met George Armstrong Custer though he had seen him at a distance at Brandy Station, but he had heard much, and most of it he didn’t like. An energetic, go-getter he had no problem with, that got things done. But a glory hound that played fast and loose with other’s lives he did, that got men killed, maybe even the general himself some day.

As they cleared the trees the Michigan troopers came into view, and as they got closer he saw him just as he remembered him. To Adam he looked more like he belonged in a circus rather than a fighting army. But who was he to judge?

Now the pretense began. “General Custer, sir, I’m Captain Adam Cartwright, 10th New York,” Adam said, as he reined in by the general’s horse, and his arm rose in salute.

Custer returned the gesture. “Yes, Captain, I know of the 10th. Good fighters.”

“Yes, they are. Sir, I was sent to make sure that you’re in position, and to see if you need anything.”

“We’re all set, but I can always use another good man.”

Here it came, just as Meade had said it would. Adam too had heard of the young general’s penchant for gathering up men from other units before battle

“I hope you wouldn’t be averse in joining us,” Custer went on, the sunlight catching in his rakish eyes. “The sergeant can relay the message back.”

“Then I would be honored,” Adam said though he would rather be with his own men.

“Fine,” Custer said and returned another salute.

After a few instructions, the non-com rode off, and Adam melded into the ranks. As he sat there a sudden cold streak ran through him and made him shiver even with the intense July sun beating down on him. Undoing the top button of his jacket, he checked to make sure that the silver identity disc was still securely pinned inside. He, Kensey and Midge had each bought one from a roadside vendor nearly ten months ago. It had his name and unit engraved on it in case he needed to be identified. This day he felt it could fulfill its purpose, and the thought of his father not knowing what had happened to him gnawed at him like a dog on a bone. He reached up and ran his fingers along the sleek black feather stuck in his hat and tried not to think of his own mortality.

FIFTEEN

The fighting surged back and forth for what felt like centuries. Then, finally having had enough, Custer took charge of the artillery. He directed that it silence the Rebel cannon that were harassing them. The Federal fire proved to be accurate and lethal and did exactly what it had intended to. The enemy drew back, and the 5th Michigan advanced but was soon stopped cold and forced back, leaving dead and wounded scattered over the field.

Now it was time for Stuart’s Invincibles, and the 1st Virginia Regiment of Fitzhugh Lee’s brigade. They came on hard and tore into the center of the Federal line wreaking havoc. By this time, however, the Seventh Michigan had come up.

Things were developing fast, maybe too fast. Custer galloped to where General Gregg watched the frenzied proceedings and asked for instructions.

“Take the 7th Michigan and move up. Then charge and sweep their right flank,” Gregg said with a quick glance to the young general.

“Yes, sir, I surely will,” Custer said, wheeled his mount and bounded off.

As he rode along his line his eyes found Captain Cartwright. Something about this black-haired, flashing eyed officer gave him a sense that all would go well, and he couldn’t explain to himself why.

“Stay close to me, Captain,” Custer said with a broad grin that even a burst of shell couldn’t erase. “I feel like you’ll bring me luck.”

Adam was uncomfortable with the amount of attention Custer was giving him. As he saw it he was no better than any other man there. “As you wish, sir.”

Now it was the 7th’s turn to wreak havoc. As orders were given, the troopers drew sabers and leaned forward in their saddles.

Riding before the formation, Custer’s blade came out and was raised aloft to pierce the air. “Come on, you Wolverines!” he shouted as his horse wheeled to face the enemy.

Adam didn’t feel much like a Wolverine, but he gave his mount his spurs and bounded forward with the others.

Riding hell-bent, their ranks assailed by shot and shell, the tight formation of blue troopers managed to make it to where the Confederates held. There they were confronted by the entire brigade of Colonel John Chambliss, adeptly aided by the 1st Virginia Cavalry. Now Invincibles clashed with Wolverines and one grimly determined Nevada cowboy in fierce head-to-head, savage fighting. The ring of steel against steel joined the clamor of battle as men shouted, fought and many died.

But then a lull came and both sides took full advantage. Now Custer returned to where General Gregg was for a better look at the battleground he had just left. As they watched, the Rebel cavalry withdrew to the woods from which they had ventured. A smoky haze hung over the much fought for ground, making it difficult to see. Custer dismounted, took out his field glasses and scrutinized what lay before him, and his breath quickened. He could see that on what he knew as Cress Ridge, horsemen in Confederate gray formed into an opposing force and began moving forward, gathering strength and momentum as they came on.

Word came down that the remnants of the battered 5th and 7th Michigan were to pull back from this steadily approaching juggernaut, and Adam hadn’t been so delighted in a while. Jerking the reins, he brought the chestnut around and followed after what remained of these two gallant regiments.

Once back to what one might call comparative safety, Adam got a good look at what he had just left. A lump swelled in his throat, and he fought hard to swallow it down before it strangled him. Beneath the dissipating smoke he could see the bodies of men and horses, and he thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t become one. He gave his horse a healthy pat on the neck and waited for what would come next. This wasn’t finished by a good long shot, and he knew only too well that they could both be dead before it was.

Then, without warning, artillery fire began tearing great swaths in the approaching gray wave. Yet on they came like a snail making their way across the meadow and inching closer to their objective.

Adam had never been one to shy away from admitting when he was afraid, and right now if anyone had asked he would have told them that he was so frightened he couldn’t see straight. And while fear was a normal reaction to danger, how it was handled depended on the person caught in its grip. More than once he had been told that he didn’t know the meaning of the word because of his coolness in the face of it, but those who really knew him knew better. Blood not ice water ran through his veins even though one would never know it to look at him.

The constant booming continued to envelope everyone and everything for miles as the Federal cannon held to its merciless fire against the relentless enemy. But even in the midst of this the Rebels kept driving forward and coming ever closer to their goal and the time had come for desperation to be acted upon.

The time had come for the 1st Michigan to be thrown into the brawl with Custer at its head. Vastly outnumbered and charging uphill into the onslaught of the foe, this would be the stuff that spawned legends. And Adam Cartwright found himself right in the middle of it. But it didn’t take long to see just how much their adversary dwarfed them and the front hesitated. Now the young general’s rallying cry once more filled the stagnant air. “Come on, you Wolverines!”

Yet again Wolverines and Invicibles met, but this time with far more violent results as they collided like two runaway locomotives. Horses tumbled end-over-end and many a hapless rider was crushed beneath his falling mount.

*******

The white porcelain pitcher shattered against the floor, its contents spreading into a pool across the planks. Chill bumps rose along Joe’s arms and his cheeks were numb. He stared absently at where the water had splashed onto his boots and run down to form small puddles.

“Mr. Cartwright,” said a soft voice and a gentle hand touched his arm.

Slowly he looked up to see Lazaria Muncie and Mrs. Sylvester.

“Are you all right?” Lazaria asked.

At first he didn’t think he could speak. “I’m… I’m okay. I think I’m just tired.” A weary smile curved his mouth. “Like everybody else.”

“Maybe you should go sit down for a little bit,” Mrs. Sylvester said, her eyes tracing his features, now lined with fatigue.

“No, really, I’m all right.”

“I’m afraid I must insist. You’ve done twice the work as the rest of us.” Lazaria took his hand and firmly squeezed his fingers. “Now you go into the kitchen and sit on the stool in the corner.”

He didn’t even try objecting and went on with dragging steps.

The kitchen was deserted for the moment, and he was glad for the solitude, though he could still hear the moans of the men in the outer entry. He plopped down on the worn stool and leaned back against the wall, setting his eyes on the ceiling. Then, after about a second, he began to shake all over, minutely at first but it quickly grew in intensity.

Never in his life had he felt such a thing, and he would be just as happy if he never did again. It was as if someone had struck a fierce blow inside his head, addling his senses for one brief, terrifying instant. A heavy breath expanded his lungs as he tried sorting out what had just happened to him. As he tried recalling if he had seen or heard anything, one thing did return. A smell. For less time than a blink would take, he had smelled acrid, burning smoke.

With a groan he leaned forward against his legs and buried his face in his hands. Now the conviction that his oldest brother was close by and in deadly danger was stronger than ever.

Lazaria stood silently in the doorway and watched the young man’s torture, and understood what he knew. After all, her brother had been in the Army, too.

*******

Many a trained eye that looked upon a battle could discern poetry and symmetry that civilians missed if not actual beauty, but this had degraded into a disorganized brawl. Sabers flashed and added their voice to the crack of gunfire as they met one another. Man and animal fell and littered the ground to be fought over like table scraps by hungry dogs as the fight surged back-and-forth.

Adam swung his saber at the black-bearded Rebel before him but it was adroitly deflected.

“Give it up, Yankee!” the officer snarled as he gave a deadly slash.

Adam’s answer came as he ducked and thrust his blade into the man’s chest and twisted it. Stunned surprise adorned the Confederate’s broad face rather than pain. His arm went flaccid and his sword fell from his hand. As he tumbled from the saddle Adam spun his horse.

His mount lurched and Custer once again found himself unhorsed. This made five times today, but who was counting? As he turned – pistol in one hand and saber in the other – his blood chilled. He made a juicy target that no self-respecting Rebel could resist. And one had found him. Custer raised his sidearm, but as he did his foe slumped forward against his horse’s neck then dropped.

Sergeant Norvill Churchill galloped to the General, presenting the rump of his mount. His arm extended and Custer grasped it. He swung up behind the sergeant and held on.

Adam’s breathing shuddered. Custer’s escape wasn’t complete. Giving the chestnut his spurs, they shot forward.

As the sergeant’s horse swerved, Custer saw Captain Cartwright. His good luck charm rode straight into the Rebel lieutenant that had given pursuit. Both horses tottered but managed to keep their feet. The Confederate, however, struck the ground with a hard thud. But before Custer could see what happened, the throng closed in behind them, and he lost sight of the two combatants.

With one swoop, Adam sliced off his opponent’s hand, pistol and all. The man screamed more in anger than agony and grabbed the bloody stump. Adam didn’t have time to think of anything but to get out of there.

Now the fighting grew in savage ferocity, and the Rebel’s were beginning to give way to the Federal assault. Their Southern pride refused to give in, but the tenacity of their enemy forced it on them. Their defeat went down hard, but in the end they were pushed aside. The day – indeed the battle – belonged to the Federals, and any hope of ending the war here died with the last rays of the sun. There would be more fighting. There would be more killing. And no one knew where or when it would end.

*******

Night had finally taken hold and brought with it relief from the day’s blistering heat and blessed quiet. The fighting had stopped, at least for now, but there was always tomorrow.

Joe stood on the walk in front of the inn, bathed in the warm amber light coming from one of the front windows. He had been inside most of the day helping with the wounded, and he needed this time to himself. A soft breeze caressed his skin and ruffled his thick hair. He inhaled deeply and the faint aura of cannon smoke burnt the inside of his nose. This had been a day like none he had ever experienced and it had left him drained.

Clamping his eyes shut, he raised his head then looked into the blackening sky. For the first time in a good long while he felt some measure of peace. “Where are you, older brother?” he asked softly. “Are you here?”

With another deep breath, he shook his head then turned and went inside. There was still plenty for him to do.

July 4th 1863

SIXTEEN

The country’s birthday had come and with it sheets of rain. It fell as if trying desperately to wash away the carnage, destruction and death of the last three days. Thunder crashed like revisited cannon, coming on the heels of lightning that striped the gray overcast.

The Army of the Potomac was on the move again and headed away from Gettysburg. The enemy had fled and they were finally off in pursuit. Hooves clattered and human feet trod through the streets and caissons, ammunition wagons, and ambulances added their rumbling.

Joe was just returning from the telegraph office as weary horses passed, their riders slumping in their saddles. But he didn’t have time to notice. He had just sent a wire to Pa and Hoss to let them know he was all right and would be coming home when he could get away. Homesick as he was, he had decided to stay and help the Muncies out. They had welcomed him into their family and treated him as one of their own. Anything he could do to help would be a small price to pay.

He came to the inn and dashed inside. Most of the wounded and all of the dead had been taken away, leaving the dining room and front entry pretty much empty. Blood still stained the floor in places as mute evidence as to their presence. Captain Hughes, who had not been able to get away earlier as he had planned, had gone with them to rejoin his unit.

“Whew,” he said as he closed the sodden umbrella and shook himself, “it’s coming down in a solid wall out there.”

“It’s Mother Nature’s way of trying to clean up our mess,” Kent Muncie said, as he came from the kitchen with a bucket and mop, “which is what I need to do. Did you get your wire sent?”

“I did,” Joe said, as he pushed the door shut. “I explained to Pa why I won’t be leaving here for a few days. I know he’ll understand.”

“I wouldn’t if you were my son,” Lazaria said, as she came out behind her husband with a tray filled with bowls of steaming broth. “You promised me you would go home when you could. We’ll be all right.”

“But I don’t feel I can just yet,” Joe said and shook his head as he chunked the umbrella into the stand. “You didn’t havta open your family to me but you did, and I want to give back.”

“You’ve done that. Now go home,” Lazaria said a bit sternly.

“Nope,” he said and shucked out of his jacket and hung it with his hat on the coat rack, “my mind’s made up, and if you knew the whole Cartwright family, you’d know that you’ve already lost.”

With a huff Lazaria bustled off into the dining room with the soup.

“I tell you what,” Joe said, as he turned back around, “why don’t you let me do that?”

“I can manage.”

“I know you can, but after what’s gone on in the past three days I’m sure there are plenty of other things that need attention, too. And right now I don’t have anything to do.”

Kent’s brow furrowed. “Now that you mention it, there are some things in the cellar that need tending.”

“Then you go right ahead.” He took the bucket and mop. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

Kent thanked him then started back through the kitchen.

Joe went over by the admittance desk and sat the bucket down. He put the mop into it then brought it out but froze and water dripped. A large patch of dried blood covered the floor near his feet, and he couldn’t help but think of the young Rebel that had died there. Abruptly he slammed the mop down and began swabbing it away.

He heard the door open and close and footfalls behind him but gave it no mind as he kept to his chore.

“Can a man get a room?”

Joe stood straight and rigid and the mop’s handle thumped the floor. A cold chill embraced him, and he could hardly breathe. He didn’t dare let himself believe that he recognized that voice. Swallowing hard, he began to slowly turn, his heart racing faster and faster. Then he stopped and his breath staggered.

“Well if you aren’t gonna say it I will. Hello, brother.”

It still hadn’t fully registered that this could actually be happening. He took a few tentative steps closer and reached out a shaking hand to touch the scar on his brother’s cheek.

“I’ll explain about that some time.”

Joe began to tremble, and he didn’t even want to try to control it. “Adam,” he said timidly.

“In the flesh.”

Joe just looked at him, and the tears began stinging his eyes. Without another word he threw his arms around his brother and held on for dear life. I knew you were here, he thought, I could feel it.

Adam felt some of his anguish and fatigue drain away as his arms squeezed around his little brother. He hadn’t seen any of his family in nearly a year and this couldn’t have come at a better time. His eyes closed and the picture of Darien Church formed, and his hold tightened on Joe.

After a whole minute Joe finally released him and stepped back, his emerald eyes tracing over the miracle standing before him. No one had to tell him how tired his brother was. He was soaked and his shoulders drooped and new lines had been added to his face along with the scar. He could almost see all that Adam had been through in the dark hazel. It had replaced some of the old fire and it twisted Joe’s gut. His gaze rose to the long black feather hanging limp from the slouch hat and a slight grin formed. “So that’s what Hoss did with it.”

“It came in a five page letter.” Adam snickered. “Not a real big talker, but he sure can put pen to paper. You should read one some time.” A far off look entered Adam’s eyes. “He described a storm, and I felt like I was back on the Ponderosa.”

Then Joe’s voice broke the spell. “How long can you stay?”

“I can’t, but when I saw you come out of the telegraph office I knew I had to see you if only for a moment.” Then a light went on behind his eyes. “How’s… How’s Pa?”

“He’s all right. Buck fell with him a couple weeks back, and he broke his leg.” Joe frowned in puzzlement. “Didn’t you get my letter?”

“We’ve been on the move so I’m not surprised it hasn’t caught up to me yet. Are you sure he’s all right?”

“Doc Martin gave him a clean bill of health.” Joe snorted. “Now all we havta do is keep him still long enough so the bones can knit. But when I tell him I saw you that should perk him right up.” Some of Joe’s brightness faded. “I only wish I could tell him more.”

“So do I. Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What’re you doing this far from home? I’m surprised Pa’d let you get this far away from him.”

“A deal had to be worked out with the Army to buy some beef. He was gonna come but after the accident it fell to me what with you being gone. It was supposed to be in Philadelphia, but at the last minute a family crisis of the man I was to meet changed that.”

The door opened and a reddish-blond officer appeared. “Adam, let’s go. It’ll take us forever to catch up in all this rain.”

Adam glanced back at him. “All right, Kensey, I’m coming.”

“Can’t we have just a few more minutes? There’s so much to talk about, and I’d like for you to meet the people who run the inn. They’re really fine people and have treated me great, and I’d like to introduce them to my big brother.”

“I wish I could Joe, but the Army waits for no man. Now you take care of yourself, little brother, and you take care of the family…. When this is all over, and I get back home we’ll talk to your heart’s content.”

“Adam.”

“All right, Kensey.” Adam reached out and tousled his brother’s unruly curls and grinned then turned and went out with the officer.

As the door closed Joe suddenly felt so alone. He wanted to run out into the downpour and watch Adam ride away, but he just couldn’t make himself do it.

“Who was that handsome officer? Do you know him?”

“Yes, very well.” Joe stood lifeless for several seconds – his eyes riveted to the door – then looked around at Priscilla Muncie. “That was my brother Adam.”

“And you’re very proud of him.”

“Yes, we are,” he said just above a whisper, as he looked back at the door. “We are.”

July 5th 1863

Joe took out his watch and opened it. It had been roughly an hour since the train had pulled out of the station and left the town of Gettysburg behind. This trip had turned into more than even his wildest dreams could have conjured up. And a wish that he had never thought could come true had been granted, short though it had been. It was amazing how fate worked.

With a heavy breath, he snapped the watch closed and returned it to its own pocket. He settled back in his seat and looked out the window at the lush Pennsylvania scenery rushing by in a streak of colors. He hadn’t stayed until the sixth as he had originally planned because seeing his brother had made him more homesick than ever. And his longing for the serenity of the Ponderosa had become overpowering.

He could hardly wait to see the looks on Pa and Hoss’ faces when he told them who he had seen, and he could just hear Hop Sing’s shrill squeal of delight. The thought turned the corners of his mouth, but it quickly disappeared. He had no idea how long this terrible war would drag on – no one did – and keep his brother separated from those who loved him most as it would many men on both sides. The thought that maybe Adam would never come home again stayed ever present in his mind though he kept it locked, for the most part, in a dark place. Still the knew only too well that it could happen as did Pa and Hoss.

But for know he just wanted to think about getting back home and how it would be with Adam back. He pulled his hat down over his face and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t sleepy and didn’t want to go to sleep, but if others thought he was they would leave him alone. Right now he only wanted to think and remember and look forward to the day when the family would be whole again.

THE END

AUTHOR’S NOTES – A Clarence, also known as a double brougham, is a boxlike, four-passenger coach usually drawn by one or two horses.

Sergeant Vail, Sergeant Churchill and young Leander Warren and his friends are real and really did what is described is this story. The episodes with Dr. Tate and the elderly woman also happened.

Gamble, Buford, Ewell, Reynolds, Heth, Devin, Meade, both Greggs, McIntosh, Pickett, Pender, Stuart, Anderson, Kilpatrick, Chambliss and F. Lee were not figments of my imagination.

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