Free Widow of Gettysburg by Jocelyn Green Page A

barrel. “Wait!” she called again as she tripped toward the stairs.
    By the time she opened the door, Aunt Hester was laughing. Bella kissed her and pulled her inside, and laughed with her, releasing a dozen emotions locked inside for too long.
    “You fine, baby, you fine.” Aunt Hester was saying. “See? Them Rebs done come to town, but the Lord watched out for you and me. Just like the Good Book says. We fine, ain’t we now?”
    Bella rolled her neck and rubbed her aching shoulders. “Are you sure they’re gone?”
    “Sure as sugar, baby. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know for sure. The little McCreary boy, Albertus, done told me so hisself, and he been tracking those soldiers for days.” She let out a throaty laugh, her hands holding her jiggling belly. “Now I best get on back to my work now. Just wanted to check on you, make sure you was fine. And you is. Just like I said you would be.” Aunt Hester winked at Bella and let herself out the door.
Thank goodness for Aunt Hester.
    With her stomach growling, Bella pulled out yesterday’s bread, sat at the kitchen table, and ate. So much, in fact, she wondered if she rivaled Liberty’s visitor from yesterday morning—the traveler.
    Another knock at the door sounded. Though Aunt Hester had just reassured her that all was well in town, Bella couldn’t help but stiffen.
    “Mrs. Jamison?” Another knock. “It’s Henry Stahle of the
Gettysburg Compiler,
” he called through the wooden door. “I need to speak with you.”
    Caution slowing her movements, Bella opened the door.
    “I have news of your husband.” His puffy white face was grim.
    Bella’s hands flew to her cheeks. “He isn’t—he’s not—” Her knees began to weaken. This was too much, this couldn’t be happening, not—
    “Dead?” He huffed. “I think not.”
    A second wave of relief flooded her before she regained her manners. “Please.” She held the door open and stepped aside. “Do come in.”
    He cleared his throat. “I think not. I just wanted to give you something that came across my desk at the paper.” He thrust a dispatch toward her, holding the very end of it to be sure their hands wouldn’t touch in the transfer. “You can read, can’t you?”
    He appeared relieved when she assured him she could. The top of the paper read: “THE WAR IN GEORGIA: THE DESTRUCTION OF DARIEN.” From the
Savannah News.
    Her blood ran cold.
    “Your husband is with the 54th Massachusetts, correct? Under Col. Robert Gould Shaw?”
    Her power of speech now gone, she nodded.
    Stahle huffed again, swelling his throat up like a bullfrog. “Apparently he’s been involved in destroying a civilian town in Georgia. Now that’s pretty big news, wouldn’t you say? Black troops ravaging a white town in the South? I would ask you for a comment and run a story about it in the
Compiler
, but as you know, we have even bigger news in the making right here in Gettysburg. I’m giving this to you as a courtesy, Mrs. Jamison. If we see any more of Lee’s army around these parts—or should I say, if they see you—how do you think they’ll behave if they find out your husband just torched one of their innocent Southern towns? Does the word ‘reprisal’ mean anything to you?”
    She could not have responded even if she’d wanted to. Her mouth was as dry as if it had been filled with sand.
    Mr. Stahle pressed a handkerchief to his damp forehead. “Confederate troops just burned down Congressman Thaddeus Stevens’s iron mill in Caledonia for his views on emancipation. Don’t think for a moment they will hesitate to set your neighborhood ablaze if they learn what Abraham has done. Frankly, I love a good story, but I’d rather not see my town set on fire.”
    He turned and walked away.
    Stunned, Bella latched the door and leaned against it, while the headline shouted at her: “THE DESTRUCTION OF DARIEN.” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
    Darien, Georgia. Just the name of the town was