Sunrise at Seminary Ridge: Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction Volume Ii

Copyright © 2014 by James A. Wynne.

Credit for the Cover Artworks and the battlefield map (page 7): Jason Wynne

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014903527

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4931-7564-2

             Softcover    978-1-4931-7563-5

             eBook          978-1-4931-7565-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/10/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

Orders@Xlibris.com

551998

CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter 1:   June 28, 1863

Chapter 2:   The Same Day

Chapter 3:   The Same Day

Chapter 4:   The Day Continues

Chapter 5:   At the Same Time…

Chapter 6:   June 29, 1863

Chapter 7:   June 29, Continued

Chapter 8:   June 30, 1863

Chapter 9:   July 1, 1863

Chapter 10:   General Lee

Chapter 11:   Pushing Back the Army

Chapter 12:   The End of the Day

Chapter 13:   The First Night

Chapter 14:   A Chance Encounter

Chapter 15:   The Morning of July 2

Chapter 16:   Redefining the Orders of the Day

Chapter 17:   The Second Day Continues

Chapter 18:   The Evening of July 2

Chapter 19:   The Early Morning

Chapter 20:   The Beginning of the End

Chapter 21:   Bread for the Soldiers

Chapter 22:   A Fateful Choice

Chapter 23:   The Aftermath of the Battle

Chapter 24:   Sad Revelations

Chapter 25:   Burying the Dead

Chapter 26:   Planning for the Future

Chapter 27:   More Losses

Chapter 28:   A New Beginning

Chapter 29:   Sunrise at Seminary Ridge

Chapter 30:   A Big Surprise

Chapter 31:   In the Amish Tradition

Chapter 32:   Rebuilding the Homestead

Chapter 33:   Sickles’s Notebook

Chapter 34:   Moving-Up Day

Chapter 35:   The Journey Begins

Chapter 36:   Dinner at the Zook House

Chapter 37:   Moving Out

Chapter 38:   Leaving

Chapter 39:   New Acquaintances

Chapter 40:   The War Department

Chapter 41:   Tests and More Tests

Chapter 42:   The College of New Jersey

Chapter 43:   The Search Continues

Chapter 44:   Schooling Begins

Chapter 45:   An Unhappy Ending

Chapter 46:   Later

Chapter 47:   Another Sunrise

Chapter 48:   Four Score and Seven Years Ago…

Chapter 49:   Years Later

Epilogue

DEDICATION

There are quite a few people who need to share in the dedication of this, the second book in an ongoing series.

First and foremost, to my continuing inspiration that comes from my wife of almost forty years, Marlene—especially for her patience during the time spent putting word to paper.

Second, to my parents, James and Jeanette, who, through their ardent love for this country of ours, took their children to many a historic site and location—even, on one family trip, which is almost all but faded from my memory, to the small Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg. But their inspiration to take their children on these little day trips would have a lasting effect, as much of what I experienced began part of the family trips I would take my own family on years later.

And one of those later trips would bring my wife and I and my youngest son, Justin, back to that same small Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg. I was more than impressed the way my son soaked up the details of the bloody battle that had been fought there, and there was a time not long after the trip that the names of Joshua Chamberlain and Little Round Top were almost a daily part of dinner conversation. So in large part, this writing is dedicated to him.

And finally, as some of the characters in the story are three adolescent young men and one young lady, I wish to acknowledge that I have based these characters on four of my high school students, especially in the way that I have observed they interact with each other. So… to A. P., B. T., and especially to A. D. and M. D., thank you. You truly helped me bring the characters to life.

The history of our country is not something to learn and then store in our short-term memory; it lives and breathes, just as we do. It is the story of the aspirations and the inspirations of many groups of peoples, all very different in their customs and beliefs, and yet all coming together or, in the case of the Civil War, finding a common disagreement.

To study our past is to learn our future.

CHAPTER 1

June 28, 1863

Jacob slowly opened his eyes. Even though it was still dark outside, he could tell by the crowing of Ol’ Jehosophat, the rooster, that it was time to get out of bed. The moonlight was still shining brightly through his bedroom window, making it easier for him to find his things—his trousers, shirt, stockings, hat, and a pair of black boots. He pulled his nightshirt off quickly, but unlike those mornings in the middle of winter, his room was already warm, almost uncomfortable. He walked to his dressing table and reached down, picking up two handfuls of water from the basin, and then splashed his face in the same motion. In any other household, this washing protocol might have been accomplished while standing in front of a mirror, but in this home, a mirror was considered an instrument of man’s vanity. In one efficient sweep of his hands, he had washed his face and finished the process of waking up.

Jacob was careful to wash the sleep out of his eyes. He took a hairbrush and pulled it through his long, blond hair and then smoothed the long locks behind his ears. His bangs fell almost in front of his eyes. Jacob let out a great yawn. It felt good to get it out of his system, but it was also something that he would not wish to do in front of his father. The boy was naturally intelligent and inquisitive. He often longed for a life away from farm life but was pragmatic enough to know his place in the vast scheme of things. He was, after all, a young man who had just passed his eighteenth birthday.

The boy turned quickly to his rear, looking back toward the two beds that occupied the sparsely furnished room. His brother, Abraham, was not in his bed, which Jacob took as a very bad sign. This could only mean one thing: Jacob had slept past his normal rising hour. He was late for the morning chores.

Jacob dressed quickly and then walked downstairs. His mother, Sarah, was preparing his breakfast as he walked into the kitchen. His father, Ishmael, was already sitting at the kitchen table, eating his meal. His younger brother, Abraham, had yet to come to the table, which meant that he was probably still attending to his chores in the barn.

As was typical of the houses occupied by the people of Jacob’s sect, the house was painted white, with accents of black. There were none of the designs that had found their way onto the homes of those who had emigrated from Germany—the so-called Pennsylvania Dutch. Most typically, these designs were incorporated in the geometrically balanced Hex Sign, a form of good luck charm that was placed on barns, outbuildings, and even houses and meant to ward off evil spirits and encourage blessed spirits to enter the abode. The other design featured was called the distelfink, an artistic representation of the goldfinch. The Zook family, and the tradition from which they had come, had strict rules against such artwork. Their lives were to be kept plain. Having such artistic luxuries would be considered fancy and therefore against the rules or, as they called it, the Ordnung.

Morgen, Muti, Jacob said to his mother, gently kissing her on the cheek. Then addressing his father, Jacob added, Guten Morgen, Papa.

His father glowered at him but then observed, Du bist spät, Jacob!

I am sorry, the contrite boy replied.

Do you expect me to do all of my work, as well as yours?

No, sir, Jacob answered, sitting in a chair across from his father.

The sun is rising, and we still have cows to milk. I warned you that this might happen if you stayed out too late with those English friends of yours.

Yes, Papa. The fact of the matter was that Jacob had no English friends, as his father called them; he had very few friends at all in the town. He had spent the previous evening walking around the small town in which they lived alone—if for no other reason than to escape the boredom he felt as of late in his own house. As much as he disliked fabricating the story to his parents, he had a feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach that there was something more, something wonderful, to be discovered outside of his family unit. He felt that it was coming time to stretch his wings a bit—if only he could… if only they would allow it.

Jacob’s mother bent over his shoulder, placing a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Here, Jacob, eat! Quickly! Do not keep your father waiting!

Thank you, Muti! Jacob answered, quickly lifting the first spoonful to his mouth.

We have a great deal of work scheduled for us this day, Jacob, his father continued as if his wife was not even present in the room. We have some repairs to make on the cupola, and we have some varnishing to do on some of the desks.

Yes, sir, obediently replied his son.

Your mother will be spending some of her morning in the garden, then you will bring some of the harvest to the market in town—but that will not be until late in the afternoon. You may take Abraham with you.

Papa? questioned Jacob. Why must I take Abraham with me?

And why not? Your brother wishes to go into town almost as much as you do!

But… but… Jacob stammered, looking for a good reason to leave his fourteen-year-old brother back at the house.

Don’t begin this argument, Jacob! Just do as I say!

Yes, Papa!

Ishmael Zook hated being called Papa, or any other term of affection that was so commonly utilized by the English community in which they lived. And Jacob was well aware of his father’s dislike for the term; in fact, he often used the word just to irk his father, so much so that it had even become second nature to him.

The Zook family had moved to this town in Southern Pennsylvania a few years back because there had been a great deal of dissention among the members of their community. They had owned a large family farm in the small town of Paradise. The land they had owned had been passed down from male heir to male heir within the Zook family for many generations. As the oldest of the Zook brothers, Ishmael was now head of the family, assuming that position after the death of his father, Isaac Zook.

Isaac Zook had been a taskmaster, and the Zook boys labored to make the farm profitable—which they succeeded in doing. Ishmael married Anna Miller in 1844, and they built a large and comfortable home on the family property. Anna caught diphtheria in the same year while she carried her first child. She died in the early spring, taking her unborn child with her. Ishmael was inconsolable, especially in the words spoken within the faith meant to comfort him. He found his own faith to be unwavering and harsh. Ishmael found consolation in the arms of a young woman who he had met at the market in Bird-in-Hand. Her name was Sarah, Sarah Loder.

Sarah was not of his sect. She was a Mennonite.

Isaac Zook expressed his opposition of any possible union between his son and this other woman. Ishmael threatened to leave the Paradise community, if only to be with the woman he had fallen in love with. Relenting, Isaac gave his blessing to the marriage, which took place in the spring of 1846. The newlyweds once again occupied the large home that had been originally built as a home for the Zook/Miller union. The community was outraged. The elders of the congregation threatened to shun Ishmael for marrying outside of the faith, but Isaac had used his influence to quiet these threats.

Sarah gave birth to her firstborn, a boy, who Ishmael proudly named Jacob. Even this provided the community with a source of tongue-in-cheek humor. In a society that seemed to prefer the use of Old Testament biblical first names, Isaac had named his first son, Ishmael, after the half brother of the Isaac in the book of Genesis. According to the biblical story, before Abraham’s wife, Sarai, could bear a child of her own, Abraham had a son with his wife’s slave girl, Hagar. When, in great old age, Sarai gave birth to Isaac, she begged her husband to send Hagar and her son away, which he did. On the other hand, Jacob was the second son of Isaac, but he was raised filled with guile and deceit, and it was he who attempted to rob his older brother, Esau, out of his rightful inheritance by confusing his aging father.

Oh yes, the community had a very good time laughing at the ambiguity of these names.

Isaac did whatever he could to insulate his son from the hatred of their neighbors. Sarah gave birth to a second son, Abraham, a few years later. The addition of another name from the Genesis story only further added to the problem.

And then, suddenly, in the winter of 1855, Isaac Zook died. With the family patriarch now gone, the community felt free to openly criticize the Zook family, so much so that, in the summer of 1857, Ishmael packed up whatever he could fit into a wagon and left the Lancaster area, moving more toward the urban center—Harrisburg. Even still, the Zooks felt out of place in the city climate. They still were clinging to many of the styles and customs of their ancestors. Their life had become intolerable. They had nowhere to go.

Being able to speak English and German fluently, as well as the dialect of German that was most commonly spoken back in Paradise, allowed the family to blend fairly well into a German Lutheran congregation in Harrisburg. Using his connections with the Lutheran seminary, just a few miles away, the pastor was able to secure a job for Ishmael as custodian at the school. The job was often overwhelming for Ishmael, but as his firstborn son, Jacob, grew in stature, it became a little easier. Moreover, the people were kind to them.

They had been assimilated.

Jacob Zook carried an armful of planking up the winding stairs that led to the cupola. The cupola was just about the tallest structure that sat on top of one of the highest elevations in the area—Seminary Ridge. The ridge took its name from the Lutheran seminary, which had found a home on that tract of land. Founded in 1826 by Reverend Samuel Simon Schmucker, it became the first seminary to teach the principles of Lutheranism in the fledging country. The Schmucker family was in favor of the abolition of the institution of slavery, and the seminary building was used as a stop in the underground railroad.

This philosophy suited Ishmael Zook, who was under the opinion that a man was born to do his own work and to tend his own crops. Ishmael felt that, as he would not wish to be a slave, he would not have any desire to be a master of slaves.

This ideology was always being tested, however, as they lived precariously close to the border with the State of Maryland, which was considered a hotbed of controversy these days, being a so-called border state. There were many slaves kept in Maryland, but there were also a number of free men as well. Jacob wasn’t really sure if the issue of slavery was the main cause of the war that was now being fought, but it seemed like many in the country seemed to think that this was a good reason to fight.

By ten o’clock in the morning, the repairs were finished on the cupola. The floorboards had been rotting away, so Ishmael had expertly replaced the failing timbers. Father and son climbed back down to the ground level of the seminary building to spend the next few hours varnishing some of the classroom desks. Classes were not in session for the summer, so this was the obvious time to accomplish all of these necessary tasks.

Jacob hoped to enlist his father into an academic debate about the war. Have you heard the latest news from Chancellorsville, Papa?

Other than the tremendous loss and waste of human life, it does not really concern me, Jacob.

Jacob expected such an answer. He knew that his people had managed to stay clear of all forms of governmental entrapments, including military service, for many, many years. He was also well aware that his father intended to stay this course during this war to insure that he and his brother would stay clear of service—even if it was to battle the evils of slavery.

But still he felt the need to needle his father. I heard that thousands of men were killed in that battle, Papa.

I heard that, too.

And… ?

And what, Jacob? Do you think this will change my opinion of this war? That is what war does, Jacob—it kills the young men of the country… and for what?

Jacob had heard these words before. Still, Papa… there must always be other young men to replace the ones that fall. And with that statement, he had just stepped over a line.

His father put his brush down. Replace? How? With you, perhaps?

Papa! There are boys out there… on those battlefields… who are younger than I am.

And they are dying, Jacob. Do you think I wish to hear that you have been killed in such a way?

No, of course not! But I do wish to do my part!

You are doing your part, Jacob. You are helping me varnish the desks for the upcoming semester. Why are you in such a rush to die?

Because it is my duty… sir.

Your duty? A man may have to defend his own home against attack, but he must never pick up a weapon to strike down another, simply because another man has ordered him to do it.

Jacob twisted his father’s words. So… then… you would be in favor of defending our home, were it attacked by the rebel forces?

Don’t put words in my mouth, Jacob.

I am sorry, Papa… I was just wondering if there were any exceptions to your rules.

Enough of this talk. We should get back to work. You are much too clever with your tongue, Jacob—too clever for your own good. You should finish up that desk and then get back to the house to help your mother. She will need help loading the wagon with the produce for the market.

Yes, Papa.

The father and son finished their work in silence, but Jacob quietly looked forward to his adventure in the sleepy little town. He had several very good friends there, and he hoped to run into a least one or two of them at the market. It really wasn’t much of a town to speak of, just a few hundred residents, most of whom lived in wood-framed houses alongside the Emmittsburg Pike. What he most appreciated was the fact that the town didn’t have a foolish name, not like his former place of residence, Paradise, or like some of the other towns in the area, Bird-in-Hand, Intercourse-Ephrata. This one had a very simple, very American name…

It was called Gettysburg.

CHAPTER 2

The Same Day

Once again, the commanding general of the Army of the Potomac had been sacked. First, it had been General George McClellan, whose inaction and reticence to face the enemy had frustrated President Lincoln for the first half of the war. Lincoln then replaced McClellan with Ambrose Burnside, who then proceeded to lead the army to a disastrous defeat at Fredricksburg. Lincoln then handed the reigns over to Joseph Hooker, a hard-drinking, hard-fighting general—but even Fightin’ Joe had his problems, and these were dealt to him in spades at the Battle of Chancellorsville. Lincoln dearly wanted a general who could win against Robert E. Lee. The president next turned to General George G. Meade to see if he was capable of leading the Northern Army. This latest shift in leadership came only days after the Union defeat at Chancellorsville.

The Army of the Potomac now was shadowing the Army of Northern Virginia. Lee, ever a pragmatist, hoped to make the war even more unpopular in the North by attempting, for the second time in the war, an invasion of Northern territories. At the same time, he was also hoping to gain an even greater advantage over his enemy, and considering the intelligence he was receiving concerning the Union strategy, his intuition told him that this would be an excellent time for such a bold move. His first objective was the Pennsylvania city of Harrisburg, but if the Union Army could not stop him there, he could easily mount a march eastward and attempt to capture Washington, thereby forcing the government to negotiate a treaty.

Lee was correct, certainly in one assumption: the Union Army was in total disarray. Following his appointment to lead the Union forces, Meade called together his corps commanders, anxious to assert his new position, as well as to point the finger at the defeats of the past.

Many of his senior officers had seen action in battle before this. Many had been veterans of the Mexican War, having fought under either Zachary Taylor or Winfield Scott. Many of the same officers not only knew of the reputations and abilities of their Confederate counterparts—in many cases they were good friends, or even related to them by blood or by marriage.

But some of the senior staff members were a younger, brasher type. Many had attended West Point, but others were simply, as the saying goes, officers and gentlemen. In a day when only the privileged few attended colleges and universities, or even could read or write, military training and experience was considered important, but it was left to gentlemen to lead the troops—and to act as a role model for their behavior.

Then there were the political appointees.

A person well situated within a political machine could easily sue for a commission in the army—either army. As General Meade gathered his war council together, he noted the presence of one such man, a man who had received his commission as a result of his position within the ultimate political machine in the State of New York—Tammany Hall.

General Daniel Edgar Sickles was not a career soldier nor did he attend West Point. He had received his first commission to lead a regiment, the rank of colonel, as a direct result of his association with the infamous New York City political organization. He received the promotion to brigadier general—from President Lincoln himself—for his work, through the same machine, in recruiting soldiers for the war effort.

General Sickles talked tough and acted tougher. He quickly rose from brigade commander to division commander to commander of an entire corps, the III Corps.

Sickles had been a close friend of his former commanding general, Joe Hooker. They were drinking and womanizing friends in arms. Under Hooker’s command, Sickles misread the troop movements of Confederate General Thomas Stonewall Jackson during the Battle of Chancellorsville, mistaking the rebel-flanking maneuver as a retreat. Sickles’s lack of experience on the field of battle directly led to a final blunder, which allowed the Union IX Corps, under General Oliver Howard, to be decimated by Jackson’s division. It cost the Union the battle—and his friend, General Hooker, his job as commander.

George Meade was not Joe Hooker, and he was not about to let this political appointee fail again. General Meade immediately commandeered Prospect Hall in Frederick, Maryland, to call his corps commanders in for a meeting. Hooker already had the Army of the Potomac following Lee’s advance into the Northern states, and Meade, if he was to lead with efficiency, needed to quickly gain important information from his commanders. Meade had not been Lincoln’s first choice to replace Hooker; in fact, there were four other generals who outranked him at the time, including General John Reynolds. Lincoln had asked Reynolds to replace Hooker first, but the general had refused the appointment. Lincoln then turned to Meade, who had disagreed with Hooker’s tactics at Chancellorsville.

Fearing that Lee was about to attack Harrisburg and knowing that his army needed to be placed between Lee and the Capitol, Meade probed his generals to gain the upper hand. The Army of the Potomac currently consisted of the following corps and commanders:

I Corps—under the command of Major General John Reynolds

II Corps—under the command of Major General Winfield Scott Hancock

III Corps—under the command of Major General Daniel E. Sickles

V Corps—under the command of Major General George Sykes

VI Corps—under the command of Major General John Sedgewick

XI Corps—under the command of Major General Oliver Howard

XII Corps—under the command of Major General Henry Slocum

The Cavalry Corps—under the command of Major General Alfred Pleasonton

Also in attendance at the meeting were members of Meade’s general staff, including the chief of staff, Major General Daniel Butterfield, and the chief of engineers, Brigadier General Gouverneur Warren.

There was a mixture of animosity and relief in the room. Several of these senior officers had publically denounced the actions of General Hooker, most especially Generals Slocum and Howard—although they could also find an easy ally in General Pleasonton, whose nature was that of a self-promoter and complainer. On the other hand, several of the generals harbored a bit of resentment toward Meade, having witnessed his meteoric rise to the head of the army, some being passed over for the position. Meade was well aware that he was conducting a war council in a room filled with superegos.

Meade was first to address the assemblage. Gentlemen, the president is aware of General Lee’s movements North. It is his fear that the Army of Northern Virginia will continue to move northward through Maryland and into Pennsylvania, thus beginning a second invasion of the Northern states.

It would be my opinion, George, observed Reynolds, that Lee’s ultimate goal is the capture of the Capitol.

Perhaps Baltimore too, added Sykes. That would add to his momentum a great deal. That city has given Lincoln a hard time ever since he took office.

Yes, I agree, answered Meade, but at this present time we do not know the whereabouts of Lee’s army. We do know that he has split his army into several large columns, but they seem to be wandering about in Western Maryland. Our intelligence tells us that his army is in desperate need of certain items. His army is almost barefoot, so I would think he will take advantage of his invasion to reequip his divisions.

Granted, said Hancock, but we all know General Lee. He doesn’t move his army without a solid plan in place…

And he seems to always find the high ground, added Howard. Just once… just once… I would like to face Lee on the high ground. Howard turned his attention to General Warren, the chief of engineers, when he said this.

Warren returned Howard’s statement with an icy stare. General, I may only build defenses with what I am given by the commander in the field at the time.

Gentlemen, interrupted Meade, there is no need to debate this point. General Burnside was an expert engineer… perhaps a better engineer than a field general… and this fact did not prevent the overwhelming defeat at Fredericksburg. Lee has outmaneuvered this army time and time again. If he manages to do so this time, I fear that he will move on the Capitol. Those of us who know Lee well know that he is no seeker of glory for himself. He seeks the end of the war.

Were he only fighting on our side, added General Sedgewick. Sedgewick, perhaps the most senior of the officers present, at least in years, was a close, personal friend of Robert E. Lee. Lee’s decision to resign his commission in the United States Army rather than take the role that Abraham Lincoln had offered him—the overall command of the Army of the Potomac—had been based upon his reluctance to take up arms against his home state of Virginia.

Many of the officers present nodded agreement at Sedgewick’s remark, but that did nothing to change the tone of the meeting. Lee has expertly made use of Jeb Stuart’s cavalry corps, observed General Pleasonton. Those Southerners have wonderful horses! If I had horses half a good as theirs, we would not be whipped at their hands over and over.

Meade quickly answered his brash new corps commander. General Pleasonton, I am happy to see that you recognize this obvious strength in General Lee’s command. Your first duty as corps commander of the cavalry is to track down General Stuart. You are to engage the general and his troops whenever and wherever possible, thus preventing him from providing Lee with valuable information—especially of the whereabouts of this army.

Pleasonton smiled at Meade and nodded.

Furthermore, Meade continued, you are not to engage or attack the main body of the infantry. Make sure that you tell your brigade commanders of my wishes. You are to keep Stuart occupied so that he cannot become Lee’s eyes and ears.

This is a good plan, George, added Reynolds. Stuart has been giving Lee some very valuable information for many a battle. If we separate Stuart from Lee, he will be wandering around blind.

I have taken steps to assist in this process, General Meade, the overly confident Pleasonton added. I have just replaced or promoted several new brigade commanders within my corps. I think that they will bring a great deal more aggressive behavior to our cavalry.

Please see that this is so, General, answered Meade. Meade was also knowledgeable of Pleasonton’s own political leanings. He knew that he was connected within Washington circles and that he had powerful relatives who were eagerly watching the young officer’s career. But Meade wanted to control Pleasonton and his actions. He recognized that, unlike the attributes given to Robert E. Lee, Pleasonton was in the war for personal glory.

General Sickles, who had become more and more agitated with the proceedings of the meeting, now spoke up. General Meade, are you saying that the purpose of this army is not to engage the enemy?

Meade had been expecting a confrontation with Sickles, especially because of the general’s friendship with Hooker. Meade also knew that he had several very strong supporters of his own within the room, including Sedgewick, Hancock, and Reynolds. He returned the barb issued by Sickles. Daniel, I am not saying that we will not engage the enemy, but I am stating unequivocally that we must engage the enemy on terms of our choosing. Perhaps you are, as a less experienced field officer, less prudent about making these decisions, but there are still those in this room who are certainly able to do so, and without endangering the precious lives that make up our army.

Sickles bristled at Meade’s reply. It had been a two-pronged attack—first on his own ability as a general and, second, on that of his friend Joe Hooker. You insult me, George! he replied, his face red with indignation. Everyone in this room knows that you rose from brigade commander to corps commander without much proof of combat experience. You are, like Burnside, an engineer, are you not? Other more senior officers were passed over by Lincoln before you were given this command.

Meade looked indifferently at Sickles, allowing him to hang himself with his own words, if need be. The other members of the staff merely looked down, uncomfortably avoiding being drawn into this inevitable battle of wits.

Sickles turned to General Reynolds. John, you should have been the logical man to replace Joe. Didn’t Lincoln offer it to you?

Reynolds looked up at Sickles. He did… and I turned him down. The other officers in the room seemed startled by this revelation, with the exception of General Meade but including Daniel Sickles. You seem surprised, Dan! Didn’t you get that information from your friend Stanton? Reynolds was referring to the secretary of war, Edwin Stanton, who was also connected to Sickles under most peculiar circumstances. I was first approached by the president after I had contacted him, complaining of the way that Hooker had run the army. Reynolds watched Sickles’s face drop as he revealed, for the first time to all present, that he, too, had voiced his displeasure at Hooker’s command. Lincoln’s response was to offer me the job, but I also had my own codicil in mind. I told him that I would assume command, providing he gave me a free hand to run the war—that he and Stanton and even General Halleck should allow me complete control over this army without interference from someone sitting behind a desk in Washington.

Sickles bristled at this statement again, for if that was the case, why hadn’t his old friend, Stanton, persuaded Lincoln to offer the position to him?

I suggested that George would make a fine commander, mainly because I know he is capable of riding this team of hotheads and blending them into a fine, unified body. In order to do this, Dan, we must all follow his orders… without exception. Reynolds was referring to the incident at Chancellorsville, in which Sickles had not followed Hooker’s command but rather tried to strike out on his own. The result was that his III Corps actually placed Howard’s corps in a vulnerable position, which allowed Confederate General Thomas Stonewall Jackson to capitalize on the mistake.

Sickles now chose to keep his mouth shut, realizing that his allies in the room were very few.

Meade cleared his throat, wishing to put himself back in control of the meeting. And on that note, gentlemen, I must also mention to you that Thomas Jackson also fell in that battle.

What? asked General Slocum, the youngest general in the room. He was only thirty-six years old.

We have ascertained only today that General Jackson was shot by his own men, a victim of cross fire. He died yesterday from his wounds. Several of the generals looked truly saddened by the news, for even though Jackson was the enemy, as well as a fearsome opponent, he had also been one of their friends.

I do not wish to seem insensitive, mentioned General Howard, whose corps had been most hurt by the fallen leader, but Jackson’s loss may also turn to our advantage. There will be a new division commander.

I agree with you, Oliver, answered Meade, which is why we must act quickly… but with caution. Our best plan would allow us to trap Lee’s army in the North, where we can cut his supply lines and force him to surrender. That action would go a long way to help us end this damned war.

CHAPTER 3

The Same Day

By eleven o’clock in the morning of June 28, Rebecca Tilden had already finished her morning chores. The Tilden home was located on the uppermost end of the Emmitsburg Pike. At a little more than seventeen years old, Rebecca was already an accomplished seamstress, having learned the craft from her mother, Mary Elizabeth. Living within the closely knit buildings of the little town, instead of on the outskirts as part of the agrarian community, had afforded some residents the opportunity to augment the family income with small bits of commissioned work—and Mary Elizabeth and Rebecca were among the most sought-after creators of fine ladies’ dresses in the area. Without a doubt, most of their work was a result of the female population of the town proper, as most of the women living on the adjacent farms were still quite handy with a needle and thread.

Rebecca gathered up her sewing basket, bade good-bye to her mother, and set off for her morning appointment—a little home just around the corner, on Baltimore Street. It was there that she planned to meet up with her good friend and fellow seamstress, Virginia Wade, as the two were working on a series of ladies’ dresses, with the thought of opening a dress shop somewhere in the town. Virginia, or Ginnie, as she liked to be called, was twenty years old—making her several years older than Rebecca but had been a good friend to the girl for many years, having grown up in close proximity.

Ginnie was now living at the McClellan house, the home of her sister, Georgia McClellan, who was expecting the birth of her first child at any time. This temporary move proved even more convenient for the two friends, as it had brought Ginnie even closer to Rebecca’s front door. Ginnie was engaged to be married to a soldier fighting in the Union Army, Corporal Jack Skelly, but she was unaware of his whereabouts on that late day in June. Rather than allow her friend to design and create her dress for her wedding, Rebecca had offered to do this for her—with Ginnie’s careful and meticulous eye lending some experienced advice every once in a while.

Rebecca walked with a quick and deliberate step. She was anxious to get to work on Ginnie’s gown, almost as if it was her own. She approached the small side door of the McClellan house and rapped twice on the frame.

Come in, answered a female voice from within. Rebecca lifted the latch and pushed the door inward. Ginnie and Georgia were both working in the kitchen, which was just inside the doorway. Rebecca had not seen Georgia for the last few visits and was immediately taken back by how much larger and rounder she appeared. Rebecca let out an audible gasp at the sight. Now don’t you even say it, Becky Tilden, Georgia admonished, seeing the expression on the young girl’s face. This is how we all look when the time for our deliverance draws near. Someday… you will look this way as well.

I apologize, Georgia, Rebecca replied. I meant no harm. It’s just that I haven’t seen you for more than a month…

I am just joking with you, Becky, Georgia answered with a smile. I know I must look a sight!

Rebecca turned to the right and greeted her partner. Hello, Ginnie.

Hello, Becky, Ginnie answered. Georgia is just about ready to burst. The baby should come any day now.

You must be very excited, Georgia, Rebecca said, once again returning her attention to the older sister.

Excited, she answered, and terrified. That’s why I invited Ginnie to come stay here with me. We have a midwife for the delivery, but I want a familiar face with me as well.

Rebecca nodded but secretly knew that she would not wish to be in Georgia’s position. The entire notion of giving birth frightened her, almost to the point that she did not ever want to be in that situation. She moved to the small table that sat adjacent to the kitchen and began to unpack her sewing tools. Ginnie, too, was now moving away from the kitchen in order to fetch the dress that the two had been working on. But Rebecca’s mind was still on the impending birth. Georgia, pardon me for asking a question like this… all things considered… but aren’t you a bit concerned about bringing a new life into this world, especially with this war going on?

Concerned? Georgia asked. What is there to be concerned about, dear, other than the birth itself?

I was just thinking, Rebecca answered, gauging her words, that it must be even more frightening to be bringing a new life into the world, when there is so much hostility around us.

Life goes on, Rebecca, Georgia patiently answered. Besides, the war is being fought in the South. It is miles and miles from here, so there’s nothing more to worry about.

I suppose you’re right, answered Rebecca.

Let’s not talk about the war, interrupted Ginnie. Instead, let’s talk about the celebration of our independence… and the ball. It’s only a few days away, you know.

Not really a great year to celebrate, answered Georgia. The country is so divided, and our army has been badly beaten over and over.

But still, persevered Ginnie, we need a little distraction from these problems, don’t we?

And how are you so distracted, Ginnie? her sister asked. What with Jack away fightin’ for Lincoln, who are you going to dance with… even if you go?

I would not dance with anyone, Georgia, Ginnie replied, I would just go to listen to the music.

Nonsense! exclaimed Georgia. And what about you, Miss Becky?

Me? an astonished Rebecca asked. Why would I consider going to the silly ball? I don’t have a suitor. Besides, I am only seventeen years old!

Just! interjected Ginnie.

Just seventeen, agreed Rebecca. I have yet to find one of these Gettysburg rabble to be to my liking. I am holding out for a real gentleman.

That’s the spirit, Becky, assured Georgia, but let us hope that the cream of the crop are not mown down in this futile war before you get your chance to pick one.

Rebecca and Ginnie worked on the wedding gown for two hours, all the while cheerfully gossiping about some of the other young ladies of the town, not to mention the upcoming Fourth of July gala. It was almost two thirty in the afternoon when Rebecca suddenly put her sewing down.

Lord, I almost forgot! Mother wanted me to go to the market for some turnips!

You’ve got time, Becky, Ginnie answered. The market is still open for hours.

Yes, Rebecca replied, the market is open, but Mother needs time to clean them, peel them, and cook them for our dinner tonight. I can’t simply show up at five o’clock with a handful of raw turnips now, can I? She started to put her shears back into her basket.

I suppose not, answered Ginnie. Can you come over again tomorrow?

I think so. Yes, that is for sure.

Rebecca stood up, ready to head for the door. Ginnie also stood but gave her younger friend a hug. Thank you for coming today, Becky. We are making some real progress here.

You’re welcome, Ginnie. I will see you tomorrow.

Rebecca Tilden left the McClellan house and turned right on Baltimore Street, walking along the rough path until it again intersected with the Emmitsburg Pike. She still had several streets to cross before arriving at the market, so she hastened her steps.

Her parents, John and Mary Elizabeth Baker Tilden, had moved to their present home on the Pike just after Rebecca was born, on July 15, 1846. It had been a difficult birth, and the doctor had cautioned Mary Elizabeth about having any future children, but they loved Rebecca—or Becky, as she was affectionately known—unconditionally, as good parents should love their own. Becky was devoted to her mother and had been a big help to her around the house, even from the time she was just a young girl.

Rebecca did have one secret longing, however. She most desperately wanted to see a big city, such as Philadelphia or New York. She had seen Harrisburg but had left that city feeling somewhat let down by the experience. She had heard so much more about the big, new cities of the country, and Harrisburg—well, that was just not what she had heard. She also longed for a proper education, even though she understood that as a female this was not likely to happen; only young men were permitted to attend a college or university.

Rebecca Tilden had reached the market. The area in front of the store was filled with crates, barrels, and other containers for holding the fresh farm produce. She quickly moved around the crates, looking for the object of her search—the turnips. The market was still very busy, even for this late in the day. Most of the produce arrived in the early morning, but some were delivered in the early afternoon, as it was often harvested during the midmorning hours.

Rebecca could see the crate holding the turnips just to the right of the storefront. A young man—or was it a boy?—was still in the process of delivering a fresh supply to the stand. Rebecca felt this was a good sign. Even if she was a little late in bringing the bulbous vegetable home to her mother, she could at least claim that the turnips were the very freshest to be had that day. She noticed that the farmer, or his son, was still in the process of removing the long, thin taproot from the bottom of the turnip bulb. The young man was using a small, sharp knife to accomplish this, cutting off the root and then carefully laying each individual turnip on the crate.

Rebecca reached over the crate to examine the turnip that had just been placed there. As she reached over the stand, the young man started to place the next turnip on the crate. As she reached in to lift the turnip, she inadvertently grabbed the top of his hand. In that brief moment, she thought that she was lifting a turnip, not a human hand—but then the reality of the situation became apparent. Not letting go of the hand, which was covered with grime from cleaning and paring the turnips, she looked up the arm, her eyes climbing further up until she looked into the stranger’s face.

He had a very surprised look on his face too.

Oh! Rebecca emoted.

I am sorry, said the young man. I could have cut you with my knife.

I am sorry too, Rebecca answered. I mistook your hand for a turnip.

An easy thing to do, I’m afraid, he answered. Both the turnips and my hand are covered in dirt. And then he gave a short, dry laugh.

Rebecca looked a little more carefully at the young man. He seemed to be just a boy, perhaps the same age as she—maybe just a bit older… perhaps. But she did not recognize him, and that was odd, because she knew most of the people in the small town of Gettysburg.

She decided to be bold. Are you from around here?

Oh yes, he answered. I live over by the seminary.

By the seminary? she asked. Are you a seminarian?

Me? The young man gave the same dry laugh again. I just live there.

You live at the seminary, and yet you are not a seminarian. Are you a minister?

The boy laughed at this… twice. I’m only eighteen years old! Then the boy realized that he might have just insulted the attractive young lady and added, No, nothing as grand as that. My father is the caretaker of the property, and my mother raises the vegetables in the garden. We sell whatever extra we have at the market.

And you have lived in Gettysburg for a long time?

No, he answered, shaking his head, only about two years.

I’m sorry, she said, finally letting go of the boy’s hand, I have been prying into your personal life. It’s just that… well, I thought that I knew just about everybody in this town… and now I have just met someone new to me.

Don’t apologize! Please! the young man said, straightening up. It is I who has forgotten his manners. I am Jacob… Jacob Zook, son of Ishmael and Sarah Zook. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Rebecca once again reached forward and took the young man’s hand, this time to shake it warmly. And my name is Rebecca Tilden. I live just down the way, right on Steinwehr. I am very pleased to meet you, Jacob. Rebecca then let go of his hand. And we are just about the same age, you and I. And then Rebecca blushed, realizing that a young woman’s age is always meant to be a matter of great privacy.

So… um… you like turnips, I suppose, Jacob asked.

Actually… no… I don’t, really… but my father loves them. But then she added, I’m sorry.

Don’t be sorry, Rebecca, he replied, smiling a broad grin. I don’t really like them either. I much prefer potatoes. At that moment, Jacob felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking to the side quickly, he discovered that his brother, Abraham, had finished putting his share of the produce out at the market.

Are you not ready yet, Jakob? the boy inquired, somewhat annoyed.

In a moment, Abraham, Jacob stalled. Can you not see that I am busy with this young lady?

Is this one of your ‘English’ friends, Jakob? the younger boy asked, his voice rising with anticipation and curiosity.

Abraham, this is Rebecca Tilden, replied Jacob, and no, I have just had the pleasure of meeting her for the first time just a few minutes ago… just in case you are preparing to make this known to Fati.

Abraham leaned forward and cast a jaundiced eye in the direction of Becky, ever suspicious that his older brother might be attempting to pull the wool over his eyes. It is a pleasure, Fraűlein, he said, greeting her with his best manners. Jakob, I am getting hungry. Are you almost ready to go?

You go ahead to the buggy, Abraham. I will be there shortly. Abraham gave Rebecca another suspicious glance and then walked away, heading toward the wagon.

Younger brothers can be awful sometimes, can’t they? mentioned Rebecca with a slight laugh in her voice. I have a younger brother too.

CHAPTER 4

The Day Continues

Rebecca hurried home, having purchased a great many of the turnips that had been placed in the crate by Jacob Zook. She entered her house through the door by the kitchen, placing the canvas bag containing the vegetables on the work table. Her mother, Mary Elizabeth, was already in the process of preparing the evening meal.

It’s about time you arrived home, Becky, she said without looking up from the pie crust she was rolling out. I was beginning to worry.

I’m sorry, Mama. I really didn’t mean to spend so much time with Ginnie. I lost track of time.

Did they have a good supply of turnips at the market, dear?

More than enough, I would say.

Mary Elizabeth turned to face her daughter, her eyes immediately falling to the work table. Rebecca! There are enough turnips there to last us a month!

I know, Mama… I must have lost my mind… but well, we can put the excess in the root cellar, can’t we?

Well, yes… but I don’t know whatever possessed you to buy so many, her mother complained. I do hope they were at a fair price.

A very fair price, Mama, Rebecca replied, and then smiling at her mother, she left the kitchen and headed for her bedroom. Rebecca closed her bedroom door behind her, removing her bonnet in the same action. She found the basin on her dressing table and splashed some water on her face. Gracious! she mumbled to herself, feeling the warmth that was radiating from her cheeks. She couldn’t imagine why she felt so flushed. She understood that it was almost ninety degrees in the sun and that she had walked home at a quicker pace than usual—but this? This was something very different.

Rebecca sat down on the side of her bed. She started to think about that young man again… Jacob Zook. Just the mere thought of him made her tremble, and she felt a twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach. She wondered why that was and what could be done to make it stop.

But she couldn’t get the young man’s face out of her mind. Even now, she was trying to recreate