Two Girls of Gettysburg by Lisa Klein Read Free Book Online Page A

John Wilcox out of her mind.
“What will I do if you get tired of my friendship and decide that Annie Baumann is your new best friend?” I blurted out.
“Oh, Lizzie! That will never happen! You are my dearest cousin and my best friend, always.”
For the moment, I was more pleased than if she had handed me an expensive birthday present.
“And that’s why I know you’ll do me this favor.” She took my hand imploringly. “It’s about the flag. My friends have given up. They say their fingers are too sore or they have too much studying. Even Annie Baumann has lost interest. I’m afraid it won’t be finished in time for Christmas. Won’t you please help me?”
At the mention of the flag, my irritation flared up again.
“But why, if you are so proud to be from Virginia, are you making a Union flag?”
“The Stars and Stripes is the only flag I know, and until a few months ago, it was my flag as well as yours,” said Rosanna, lifting her chin.
“But where do you stand on the war?” I asked.
“Why? Does it matter to our friendship?” Rosanna’s tone was challenging.
“No … but … I think it must be hard for you … being from the South … and living in Gettysburg,” I said haltingly. But it did matter. I wanted Rosanna on my side in all things.
“Lizzie, I’ve been up here long enough that I feel loyal to our boys in uniform. I care about Henry and Luke and Uncle Albert. I don’t know any Confederate soldiers.” Rosanna shrugged.
I would have to be satisfied with that. Rosanna had her reasons, even if they didn’t make much sense to me.
So three weeks before Christmas, Rosanna and I sewed up the final seams of her flag, with Ginnie’s help. We pieced together stripes of red and white and a field of blue with thirty-four stars into a flag that represented a country that no longer existed. It was split into North and South and torn from east to west as well, for there was now fighting as far away as Kentucky and Oklahoma. We didn’t talk about the war, but worked in silence, our fingers busy with the futile task of stitching together something that could possibly never be made whole again.

Lizzie
Chapter 8
As the December days grew shorter and colder, we hoped that Papa and Luke would be furloughed and come home for Christmas. But Papa’s letter dashed that hope. Smallpox was keeping the company quarantined, and only a few lucky officers would be allowed to go home. Mama tucked the letter in her apron and tried to hide her disappointment. But that night I was awakened by the sound of crying in the kitchen. I crept down the stairs, as I had the morning Papa left for war, to see Mama sitting at the table. A lamp flickered beside her and she clutched Papa’s letter in her hand. Her shoulders shook with sobs and her back curved until her forehead rested on the table.
“Albert! Oh, Albert!” she cried over and over again. The anguish in her voice made my stomach clench. “I can’t do it without you. Oh, I miss you so much!” she wailed, more softly.
I felt my own tears coming, thinking of how powerfully Mama must love Papa. A sudden fear seized me that she would get sick from worry and too much work. So I started taking piles of her relief work to the shop, and between customers I scraped lint off of old rags. In the butcher shop, my books gathered dust. I worked on the accounts until they balanced so Mama would not have to stay up so late. I knitted a muffler with a red fringe for Papa, hoping he wouldn’tmind the uneven edges and dropped stitches. Then I began a scarf for Luke, while Mama knitted up four pairs of socks. We packed these with two wool blankets, a ham, some pickles, and my birthday photograph, hoping that the package would reach their camp in time for Christmas.
It promised to be a lonely holiday, despite the caroling and the cheerful greetings exchanged in the streets. Mama and Ben and I decorated a small evergreen tree with strands of dried berries, candles, pinecones, and foil