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Authors: Lisa Klein
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have sewn them from scraps.
Waving a toy sword, Jack shouted, “I’m going to kill all the rebels. Then I’ll free the slaves.” With his lisp, “rebels” sounded like “webels.”
“No, I will!” cried Clara, fighting her brother for the sword.
Ginnie laughed and clapped her hands. I glanced at Rosanna, who stood frowning at Margaret.
“When did they turn into little abolitionists?” Rosanna said.
“Do not criticize my children,” said Margaret, her voice clipped.
Ginnie looked down, and I held my breath, embarrassed.
“Our parents still live in Richmond, in case you had forgotten.” Rosanna’s voice rose with emotion. “Don’t you care that the city might be attacked?”
“I do care,” replied Margaret. “But Mother and Father—and your John Wilcox—will have to take care of themselves. What do you expect me to do?”
“You can stop this!” burst out Rosanna, gesturing to the sea of blue cloth and the pile of finished pants. “It’s—it’s disloyal. You’re making money off of the South’s sufferings.”
“I have little sympathy with the Southern cause,” Margaret said, stressing the word in disdain. “Gettysburg is now my home, and sewing is my livelihood.”
Rosanna broke into tears and ran from the room. She whirled around in the hallway.
“And I don’t love John Wilcox anymore, I love Henry!” she cried, and stumbled up the stairs.
I slipped out of the unhappy house, sick at heart.
Lizzie
Chapter 10
Ten months after Papa left, I finally learned why business had been so poor. The realization was all the more painful because it involved Amos. He was the one who helped keep a secure roof over our heads. He was Ben’s friend who took him hunting and shared his pride at the first rabbit he brought home for stew. He was almost as capable as Papa himself when it came to butchering a sow or a steer. But to some people in Gettysburg, Amos was just a Negro, and that was too much.
It was May and the fruit trees were in full bloom. I was feeling thankful that we had made it through the winter without Mama becoming ill, when she came home red faced from a Ladies Aid Society meeting. She threw off her bonnet and collapsed on the sofa. I rushed to her, afraid that she had a fever, but I saw that she was hopping mad.
“Do you know what Frieda Baumann had the gall to say to me?”
I couldn’t guess. Mama didn’t particularly like Mrs. Baumann, but she had never had words with her before.
“I shouldn’t even repeat it, it was so uncharitable.”
“You brought it up, so now you have to tell me,” I said, knowing she was so heated she wouldn’t be able to keep silent.
“Well, Frieda and I were side by side packing bandages, and shesaid, loud enough for the others to hear, ‘I really think a mother ought to watch the sort of folk she allows around her family, especially if she has a daughter.’ And I replied, ‘Martin Weigel is a fine boy, and I trust him completely to work alongside my Lizzie.’”
“Did you have to say that?” I groaned. “Now people will think we fancy each other.” I didn’t fancy Martin, not at all.
Mama went on, imitating Mrs. Baumann’s haughty tone, “ ‘It’s not the boy I’m referring to, but that colored man who works in your shop.’”
“Amos?” I burst out. “Why, he is completely honest! And who does she think she is, giving you advice? Let her worry about her own silly daughter. I can take care of myself.”
“That’s what I told her, in so many words,” Mama said. “But a woman like that won’t change her narrow mind because of something I say.”
“What did the other women think?” I asked.
“Sarah Brodhead kept her head down, but Mrs. Stover had a definite opinion. ‘You’ve taken this Negro into your house, Mary? Do you really think that is suitable?’ “ Mama picked up a small cushion and fanned herself with it. “As if I need to be told by the ladies of this town what is fitting!”
I realized that Mrs. Stover no longer came
Waving a toy sword, Jack shouted, “I’m going to kill all the rebels. Then I’ll free the slaves.” With his lisp, “rebels” sounded like “webels.”
“No, I will!” cried Clara, fighting her brother for the sword.
Ginnie laughed and clapped her hands. I glanced at Rosanna, who stood frowning at Margaret.
“When did they turn into little abolitionists?” Rosanna said.
“Do not criticize my children,” said Margaret, her voice clipped.
Ginnie looked down, and I held my breath, embarrassed.
“Our parents still live in Richmond, in case you had forgotten.” Rosanna’s voice rose with emotion. “Don’t you care that the city might be attacked?”
“I do care,” replied Margaret. “But Mother and Father—and your John Wilcox—will have to take care of themselves. What do you expect me to do?”
“You can stop this!” burst out Rosanna, gesturing to the sea of blue cloth and the pile of finished pants. “It’s—it’s disloyal. You’re making money off of the South’s sufferings.”
“I have little sympathy with the Southern cause,” Margaret said, stressing the word in disdain. “Gettysburg is now my home, and sewing is my livelihood.”
Rosanna broke into tears and ran from the room. She whirled around in the hallway.
“And I don’t love John Wilcox anymore, I love Henry!” she cried, and stumbled up the stairs.
I slipped out of the unhappy house, sick at heart.
Lizzie
Chapter 10
Ten months after Papa left, I finally learned why business had been so poor. The realization was all the more painful because it involved Amos. He was the one who helped keep a secure roof over our heads. He was Ben’s friend who took him hunting and shared his pride at the first rabbit he brought home for stew. He was almost as capable as Papa himself when it came to butchering a sow or a steer. But to some people in Gettysburg, Amos was just a Negro, and that was too much.
It was May and the fruit trees were in full bloom. I was feeling thankful that we had made it through the winter without Mama becoming ill, when she came home red faced from a Ladies Aid Society meeting. She threw off her bonnet and collapsed on the sofa. I rushed to her, afraid that she had a fever, but I saw that she was hopping mad.
“Do you know what Frieda Baumann had the gall to say to me?”
I couldn’t guess. Mama didn’t particularly like Mrs. Baumann, but she had never had words with her before.
“I shouldn’t even repeat it, it was so uncharitable.”
“You brought it up, so now you have to tell me,” I said, knowing she was so heated she wouldn’t be able to keep silent.
“Well, Frieda and I were side by side packing bandages, and shesaid, loud enough for the others to hear, ‘I really think a mother ought to watch the sort of folk she allows around her family, especially if she has a daughter.’ And I replied, ‘Martin Weigel is a fine boy, and I trust him completely to work alongside my Lizzie.’”
“Did you have to say that?” I groaned. “Now people will think we fancy each other.” I didn’t fancy Martin, not at all.
Mama went on, imitating Mrs. Baumann’s haughty tone, “ ‘It’s not the boy I’m referring to, but that colored man who works in your shop.’”
“Amos?” I burst out. “Why, he is completely honest! And who does she think she is, giving you advice? Let her worry about her own silly daughter. I can take care of myself.”
“That’s what I told her, in so many words,” Mama said. “But a woman like that won’t change her narrow mind because of something I say.”
“What did the other women think?” I asked.
“Sarah Brodhead kept her head down, but Mrs. Stover had a definite opinion. ‘You’ve taken this Negro into your house, Mary? Do you really think that is suitable?’ “ Mama picked up a small cushion and fanned herself with it. “As if I need to be told by the ladies of this town what is fitting!”
I realized that Mrs. Stover no longer came
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