Why Weep and Wait - a Civil War Tale

By Cathwren Hermon

Ten years ago, during research for a genealogy class I was teaching, I discovered a little-known fact about a few brave women during the American Civil War era and was so intrigued, I began pursuing it further. Because I have always enjoyed the slow reveal of a mystery, I began an historical fiction in a mystery format, with the working title Restless Hearts. I could certainly empathize with the restless part; I thrive on change and adventure.
A friend said she had the impression that this book would be a romance novel, so I renamed the book Why Weep and Wait? a quote from a letter written to a soldier by his wife. Since I took that title, the story just seemed to pour out of me, changing course often, as if someone else were writing it, because it needed to be told.
Why Weep and Wait? could be true. Its set against the credible and true-to-life background of the Civil War, and extensive research went into the creation of the characters, whom I know youll come to admire and love. Id like to see it as a motion picture someday; believe me, its that compelling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483693866

Cathwren Hermon

Traveling from her home sixty miles from Gettysburg, Cathwren Hermon has often walked the battlefields and felt the living presence of those who gave their last full measure of devotion there.

Book preview

Chapter 1

MY OLD PENNSYLVANIA HOME

"The blue and the gray,

The blue and the gray,

Let’s stop fighting right now,

And live another day.

"The gray and the blue,

The gray and the blue,

You don’t hate me,

And I don’t hate you."

"Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,

Cheer up comrades, they will come,

And beneath the starry flag,

We shall breathe the air again,

Of the free land in our own beloved home."

Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are…

Hey, stop, stop, stop, it’s not just the boys, you know! The petite girl with the big voice who had begun the singing game was insistent in her interruption of her neighbor boy’s change of direction with the music.

He was just as determined with his reply, What do you mean? It was boys, boys, boys, all boys!

She had not expected him to put up such an argument, Well, well, uh, well, the girls were nurses and helpers and cooks, and… and—

He was not to be dismissed, But the boys, just the boys, the boys were the soldiers, the important part, the soldiers, and we fought and we won…

Won what… what did you boys win? Now, she was really angry. All the soldiers on both sides were the same… all of them were boys!

He didn’t understand at first. Well, yes, all were boys… tramp, tramp, tramp, the BOYS are marching!

She was not to be outdone. Yeah, but they were all on the same side!

A swift reply. No, they weren’t… there were Rebel boys and Yankee boys… I know that much.

But don’t you see? she shouted, almost tearfully. They were all Americans. I even heard that some of them fought against their own brothers and cousins and uncles because some lived in the South and some in the North."

No, he clearly didn’t see. Well, that’s okay… that’s a soldier’s job to fight when and where he’s told, without asking questions. That’s why they were boys. We don’t ask a lot of silly questions about why; we just do what needs to be done, what we’re told. That’s why those soldiers were boys…

Ryan… Mae! Come to lunch! I have your favorites!"

I’m starving. I hope it’s chocolate cake!

Yeah, me, too! (On that point, both were in solid agreement.)

Tramp, tramp, tramp, the GIRLS are marching. Cheer up comrades they will come… Mae was right when she thought she had Ryan in a weak position. He was only thinking about cake.

The yellow-haired girl sang the new lyrics to the song just to taunt her neighbor from across the street. They had known each other since Mae was born and Ryan was only a toddler of two. Now, Ryan was more like a brother in all ways, even more so than Mae’s own brother Les. After all, Les was a ‘pre-teen’ and already interested in girls in a different way; whereas Ryan, at nine, still liked to pal around with a tomboyish seven-year-old. They always seemed to like to play at the same games and pretend and act out the same delightful dramas, even when they didn’t always agree on the politics.

There was one exception. Ryan did not like it when Mae showed a preference for the company of her baby doll over him. One time, Mae had dropped Sarah Lynn, her favorite doll, on the ground and loosened her movable arm. Mae had begun to cry that she needed a doctor or nurse for her baby, and Ryan had suggested that they just put Sarah Lynn out of her misery; except he didn’t call the doll Sarah Lynn. It was beneath him to ascribe human qualities to an old hunk of plastic and hair. I don’t think it mattered that the doll was a female; he just didn’t like the idea of dolls at all.

But after all was said and done, for all his insistence on being a Chauvinist, Ryan really did love and care for Mae in his own way. When the neighborhood bullies tried to keep her from playing stickball, he’d use his unusual height and wiry strength to back them down. And the two of them never tired of exploring the fringes of the battlegrounds surrounding their homes in Gettysburg in south central Pennsylvania, keenly aware of the significance of their hometown, and growing up, learning profound respect for its hallowed grounds.

They knew instinctively, although their neighborhood was not part of the designated National Park battlefields, that everything associated with that famous battle long ago was sacred and honored, as did most of the children and adults who lived in Gettysburg. And recently, they had even more reason to be proud citizens of their town when President Eisenhower (a war-decorated general in his second term) had bought a dilapidated farm just outside Gettysburg, and he and the first lady had turned the 189-acre spread into a stately and elegant estate.

When tourists roamed the streets during most of the year, even when there was snow on the ground (during the summer, there were so many of them, you couldn’t even walk down Steinwehr Avenue), the two inquisitive youngsters were proud to be able to answer questions about the Civil War and their own unique place in it by virtue of their citizenship in Gettysburg.

For example, so few tourists stopped to read about the general after whom Steinwehr Avenue was named, a Union General whose brigades under the Union Army of the Potomac, Eleventh Corps, Second Division were central to the defense of Gettysburg on the very first day of battle. Yes, they knew all about their home town, as did many in Gettysburg. One lady even asked Mae what Abe Lincoln had to do with Gettysburg, and Mae and Ryan shared a sort of family joke for months after that, and kept quoting from The Gettysburg Address as a way to take delight in their secret.

They thought that everyone should know about Lincoln’s famous speech and his leadership as president during the Civil War. After all, who didn’t know that Gettysburg was a turning point in the war? They also were proud of the fact that their town had the only monument in the world dedicated to a speech, for Lincoln’s famous address delivered there, and that his speech was so short that the cameraman didn’t even have time to set up his camera before Lincoln was finished. Yes, they shared a lot for a boy and girl who weren’t related, the kind of friendship that an outsider might have commented that it may have been incubated in another lifetime, long ago.

There was indeed chocolate cake for lunch, and not just chocolate cake, but that rich, moist chocolate pudding cake with creamy filling and crispy brownie crust on the edges. Ryan was in Heaven. As for Mae, she was more interested in the fluffer-nutter sandwiches and the crunchy peanut butter that stuck to the roof of her mouth and made her talk funny. There was an exploration and a game of hide and find planned for after lunch, so Ryan grabbed a corner hunk of cake; Mae swallowed the last glob of peanut butter without chewing; and they were bounding out the door.

Hide and find… hide and find! Ryan teased. He was always able to find Mae right away, mostly because she would typically hide in a space slightly too small for complete coverage, and he would see a few stray blonde hairs sticking up above the trash can or the wheelbarrow. Mae had to admit he was a handsome, well-built boy for his age, and he had such a good heart, even though he loved to kid. In fact, she had learned that it was in the immature little jokes that she took the most delight; she knew if he didn’t care at all, he’d simply ignore her, as he did his little sister, Nelle.

Nelle was sort of a pain, even to Mae. She had never completely recovered from the shift of her parents’ attention from her as a baby to the new baby, Nathan. Now, at five, Nelle was hung halfway between being old enough to go to school and being a whining, self-absorbed toddler. She just couldn’t seem to find her place.

Mae, on the other hand, had never been a baby or a whining toddler. Often, her mom would say of Mae, She’s seven going on thirty-one. From the time Mae alighted into the world, she had been consumed with exploration and curiosity, and these qualities had been the best of teachers. There was never any time to worry about how the world perceived her; she was always too busy deciding how she perceived the world. And no question was off-limits for Mae. She could be bluntly candid, but by the time she began school, she already knew a great deal more than other children her age, because of her expansive curiosity.

On this particular sunny summer day, when second grade was a memory and third a distant future hope, Mae Walters was determined to find the perfect hiding place, somewhere Ryan would never, ever look or even imagine looking. It was more than just a game to Mae; it was a battle of wits. Ryan might be strong and big for his age, but Mae knew she was more intelligent, craftier, and more motivated to stump her opponent.

As soon as Ryan began counting with his head buried in his arms against the centuries-old oak tree, Mae had her answer—the old barn. She immediately dismissed the danger of entering a building that no one had paid any close attention to in probably a half century. That was part of the plan; Ryan would never think she’d be brave enough as part of a simple game of hide and seek. And to make the plan even sweeter, Mae connived to conceal herself more craftily by finding the perfect nook inside the barn, as well.

Without hesitation, she pulled open the huge wooden plank door and gazed inside the half-lit building. There were huge cracks in the roof that let the sun in to fall on moldy hay, and the smell wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t stop Mae at all. It never even occurred to her that rats and other small animals make their homes in places like this. She was on a mission.

One thing was sure; she knew she didn’t dare trust the hay loft. Her dad had warned her about rotted wood and high places. So Mae scurried around, looking first in the recently-used horse and cattle stalls and dismissing them for obvious reasons. Then, she noticed an odd corner of the barn where an old wagon had been left to age. She knew that this special stall had been used since the barn was built to keep wagons, even though the current occupant was past its useful years. There was a canvas covering the bed of the wagon, that hung down almost to the ground, and Mae’s keen sense of observation immediately concluded that this cover would be more than ample to hide her under the wagon, even standing up.

The perfect place, she thought out loud. But did she have the courage to open the stall gate, climb under the wagon, and conceal herself behind the canvas? Suddenly, she heard Ryan’s voice, and it was close!

I’m coming to find you, like always, Mae. You know you can never hide from me. I always find you, because I’m the Super Finder! I’m stronger; I’m bigger; I’m better! No use even trying, Mae! It was clear that Ryan had no idea where she had gone, and at this point, he was not coming inside the barn. Maybe he was scared to, she thought. He was just trying to psych her out, she knew, to trick her into giving away her position, but she chuckled to herself, realizing that by continuing to taunt and yell at her, he was giving away his location every time he opened his mouth.

I should just keep moving around, and he’ll never find me, she thought. As long as he keeps talking, I’ll know exactly where he is, and I can just stay behind him. The idea pleased her, but not so much that she had forgotten about her best-ever hiding place.

Ryan was right outside the barn now, and still yelling at the top of his lungs. I know you aren’t in this old barn! It’s too creepy for girls! I’m going in here, if you’re interested! It doesn’t scare me; if you want me to take you in here, come on out of your hiding place, and we’ll go in together! Mae, do you hear me? I said I’m going into this old barn that no one has been in for hundreds of years. Don’t you want to see what’s inside, Mae? Oh, Mae, come on out; I give up. I can’t find you, and I want to go into the barn! Do you hear me, Mae? Come, go in the barn with me, please? Mae? Mae?

Mae smiled, as she realized Ryan had no intentions of entering the barn alone; he was asking her to go in with him. He was scared to go in by himself. That made her feel suddenly triumphant. Finally, she had not only found the absolute best hiding place ever, but she had braved this mission when Ryan couldn’t! It was no longer necessary to climb under the ancient wagon and hide behind the cover. She was already Ollie Ollie Oxen Free! But her curiosity got the better of her, and she carefully maneuvered under the wagon staying as upright as possible.

Outside, Ryan heard an ear-splitting screech from the barn, and in seconds, Mae’s ashen face was visible at the barn door, stark against the inside darkness of the structure, as she hurled herself into Ryan’s body and knocked him over. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God… she couldn’t stop repeating the frantic prayer, until she was all but out of breath completely.

When Ryan caught his breath from her collision, he pushed Mae out at arm’s length, still holding her trembling shoulders. Oh God, what? What, Mae? What were you doing in there? What is it?

Mae looked as though she’d faint, but Ryan held her erect. Bones, there are bones under the wagon in there… she could barely say the words.

What wagon? Where, Mae? In the barn? Why were you in there in the first place? You know that’s a dangerous place. Nobody’s been in there for hundreds of years.

Ryan’s remarks snapped Mae back a bit, and she corrected him. Ryan, it hasn’t been hundreds of years, just about 40 or 50 since it’s been used, and I know my grandfather put the wagon in there not too long ago. But I’m telling you; there are a bunch of bones under the wagon! I’m serious, Ryan, big bones, ugly bones. It’s very creepy.

Show me! Where?

No, Ryan, I’m not going back in there. We gotta tell my mom and dad. This is serious.

I want to see ’em first. Show me ’em. Please, Mae. I’m not afraid. Show me the bones.

Mae realized at this point that she might be mistaken; it had all happened so fast. She thought they were bones, but now that she was back out in the sunshine and calmed down, maybe she had only imagined in that momentary glimpse under the rotted wagon that there had been several large bones lying there almost completely covered in dirt, grass, and hay.

Okay, we can go look, but only if you go first.

Me go first? Are you crazy? Then Ryan thought better of his cowardice. After all, hadn’t Mae just entered the barn alone, walked around boldly, even climbed under a wagon, and lived to tell the bone story? Not to be outdone, he corrected himself, Okay, you stay behind me. I’ll go first, but you stay right behind me. He bucked up his courage, swallowed his rapidly-beating heart, and squeezed in through the slightly ajar door without pushing it open any farther.

This time, Mae was more aware of small, scurrying feet as the two children gingerly negotiated the hay-strewn floor. Ryan wasn’t quite so oblivious to the movement, and tended to take one step forward and two back, until Mae told him, It’s right over there in that far corner, the stall where we’ve always kept our wagons. Ryan stopped stark still a few times on the way, with Mae, braver by the minute, pushing him from behind. It’s right over there, Ryan, over there.

I know; I’m just making sure the floor is strong enough for both of us, he lied.

Well, I’m not waiting for you; I’m just going over there. At that moment, a floorboard under where they stood creaked, and Mae started to make a run for the door.

See what happens when you don’t listen to me? Ryan felt cocky.

Okay, okay, we’ll do this together, Mae conceded, but hurry up. Our parents might come, and we’ll be in big trouble.

Ryan was the first to get to the gate to the stall, and without hesitation, opened it as far as he could and looked tentatively under the buckboard. Then, shuffling his feet slightly, he bent over and walked carefully under the wagon tongue until his foot hit something solid. With his foot, he cleared away a small pile of straw and dirt, and sure enough… That’s so cool! Look at the bones, just look at ’em! Wow, I wonder if Ranger dug his way under this old barn and buried them here? We give him those big beef bones all the time. This must be his stash!

You think so, Ryan? By this time, Mae was beside him, also peering down at the partially uncovered space, which did indeed reveal several medium-sized bones, but now that she had a chance to scrutinize them, she knew these were not ordinary soup bones; in fact, they were too long and thin to be from any farm animal. These might be human bones, Ryan. There was a kind of eerie quality to her statement, as if she were luring him into some murder mystery.

Naw, no way. What would a guy be doing here under the wagon? Somebody would have found ’im by now.

No, they wouldn’t, Ryan. We’ve always used this stall for wagons and farm implements. No one would ever need to look in the middle of this stall.

Ryan was confused. People don’t hide under wagons, Mae, unless they’re like you, playing hide and seek. Besides, how would a guy have gotten into your barn without your parents finding him? Maybe they don’t use this stall much anymore, but your dad comes in here all the time. He would have known if a person was living in here or died in here. Ryan took a deep breath, as if finally understanding what Mae might have been implying.

No, I mean, maybe he was murdered and buried here, or something, Ryan.

No, that doesn’t happen here in Gettysburg; besides, it would have been in the papers or something. Naw, look, there’s a big bone like the kind Ranger plays with; you can buy these in the store. I’ve seen my mom do it plenty of times. With that, before Mae could stop him, Ryan reached under the wagon and picked up one of the bones, which was quite large, Mae estimated at least 15 or 16 inches. He ran out into the main part of the barn, and began wielding it over his head. Me heap strong cave man! You my wife. Do what I command.

Ryan, this isn’t a TV show! Put that back! We don’t know what this is. We’d better tell my mom.

Oh, just let me play with it a little bit longer, then we’ll tell her. This makes a great gun; see? Ryan tucked the larger end of the bone under his arm and began making shooting noises. He aimed his shotgun up at the rafters of the barn and counted One, two, three pigeons off the wall. Hey, Ranger would really love this bone; maybe I’ll give it to him after I’m done.

Mae began attempting to retrieve the bone from him, but Ryan was having too good a time to surrender his toy weapon. Suddenly, Mae froze. Ryan, Ryan, stop for a second; what’s that? This finally grabbed Ryan’s attention. Mae was pointing to the shank of the bone in his hands. That, right there. It was a perfectly round hole all the way through the bone. Ryan, that’s a bullet hole; it’s a bullet hole, Ryan!

Abruptly, Ryan dropped his plaything to the ground and stood motionless for several milliseconds. What does that mean, Mae? This thing was shot? It’s gotta be an animal or something!

Mae looked more closely at the bone on the floor of the barn. Well, whatever it was, somebody shot it.

Let’s get outta here! We’re in big trouble! Ryan was already halfway to the door.

Hold on, Mister. You took it out from under there; you put it back!

No way! Let’s just leave it here and get outta here. No one will ever know we came in here. Let’s go, NOW, Mae.

I’m not just leaving this like this. I’m telling Mom. This is something important, Ryan. We won’t get into trouble, not if we tell the truth. We need to tell our parents. At this point, Mae was back under the buckboard, re-examining the other bones. This time, she used an old, half-bald broom to sweep the dirt and straw away from several bones. Look, this isn’t just a pile of bones; they’re arranged, like someone laid them here a certain way. We gotta tell somebody.

What about the one I was playing with, the one with the bullet hole in it?

Well, maybe it’s not a bullet hole, but we gotta tell somebody. Cover it up with hay, so no one else will see it. Quick, help me.

Ryan was more than willing to follow Mae’s orders. At the moment, she seemed to know better what to do than he did. He just didn’t want to be punished.

Okay, we’re gonna go tell my mom; she’ll know what to do. Okay?

Ryan didn’t say much on the way to Mae’s house, which was about a hundred feet from the old barn. When the two children entered Mae’s mom’s kitchen, they suddenly wished they had never gone into the old barn in the first place. But they had, and they had to tell the story… they both realized this was much too important to worry about punishment.

Chapter 2

EVANGELINE

That’s Doctor Martin’s daughter. Pretty, little thing, isn’t she? She’ll be quite the looker when she gets a bit older. Two young men stood talking in front of Faneuil Hall, Boston, Massachusetts, as the well-appointed carriage passed, carrying an adorable, raven-haired beauty and her governess toward Tremont Street. The Martins were one of the most well-to-do families in the city, and Evy (as everyone affectionately called her) would make a fine debutante in New England society. Her blue ruffles accentuated the azure in her eyes, and her posture and everything about her bearing said she was older than her 11 years.

Yes, Evangeline was lovely and feminine in every way… every way except in her philosophies. She attended Boylston Normal Day School for Girls; she was an Episcopalian, and her parents were conservative in their politics, but Evy Martin was a strangely independent-minded child whose heart was unlike any other girl in the Boston of her day. She had even met Abraham Lincoln, when she was on a trip to Illinois to visit her mother’s family. He had failed to win the Senate seat he was running for, but even at her age, Evangeline loved the way he spoke so directly and to the point, how calm he was in the debates with Stephen Douglas, and most of all, how he spoke so firmly against the spread of Negro slavery, even though, truth be known, he would rather not have addressed it directly.

In fact, even though Evangeline was born and raised Episcopal, she longed to go to the Quaker Meetinghouse down on Copley Square just to see what it’s like. She knew the Quakers were noted for their safe houses prepared for runaway slaves, and though it was all kept hush-hush, Dr. Martin had shared some information about what Bostonians were calling the Underground Railroad, various strategic locations in Massachusetts where Negroes were sheltered until they could make their way north. It was rumored that the Railroad had hundreds of stops in a well-planned route from somewhere in Mississippi or Alabama all the way to Canada. What’s more, the highway was the brainchild of a woman, Harriet Tubman, who had been called the Moses of her race. How Evy longed to meet this remarkable female.

Dr. Martin had said many times that the southern obsession with slavery was not so much a matter of ethics as it was about business. He could understand how southern plantation owners could not run their businesses without the slaves. Perhaps they should just pay their slaves and make them workers; then they wouldn’t run the chance of losing them, if slaves were freed, he said frequently. But Evy had read books and pamphlets about the issues, and she knew southern plantation owners would never voluntarily offer to pay their slaves. In her mind, it was an ethical issue; colored folks were human beings, worthy to be treated with respect.

She had often heard strong women like Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony speak up against slavery, while working to gain rights for women. While slavery exists anywhere, there can be freedom nowhere, they had said to the women of the republic, who understood very well the moral struggle that convulsed the nation.

It occurred to Evy that most men (other than her father) didn’t care for strong women. It appeared to her that the genders were at odds with each other, because men always seemed to be in conflict with each other and with themselves, engaged in a battle with their pride, their self-importance, and all the other male fears that made duels and other dangerous arguments necessary to them. Perhaps they were envious that women didn’t need to fuss; instead she knew that many of her female friends mostly just tried to find common ground and ideas to share that made differences of opinion interesting, rather than contentious.

Boy, is she living in the lap of luxury, the young men were admiring the stockinged ankle of the little girl who carried a fine, porcelain-faced doll that wore a frock that perfectly matched her own. She’ll never have to worry about the finer things in life.

Oh, she’ll probably marry someone even richer than she is, and they’ll take frequent trips to Europe. That’s too rich for my blood, even if she were marriageable age.

Well, Henry, you better stop looking at the doctor’s daughter… Rebecca wouldn’t approve. You’re not married yet, but she’s already ordered the caterer for the feast, I’m sure.

Speaking of Rebecca, I’d better get back to my desk. Old man Harroh is going to skin me alive!

Chapter 3

TOMASINA

Don’ make no diff, Huey! Jus’ don’ make no diff. The youngster spat matter-of-factly on the muddy ground.

Shore it does, Tommy. You bet me, and now you owe me. Huey was adamant.

But ain’t got no coin today, Hue, none ’tall.

Well, then, you go on home and as’ yor ma…

She got less’n me; I’m the only one who works on the riverboats.

You? Work on the riverboats? Doin’ what? You ain’t no bigger’n a toadstool.

Yeah, but I got spunk, Hue. They needs lots o’stuff done on them big boats, and they’re willin’ to pay good for it. Shucks, just t’other day, I jus’ swep’ the deck, and the Cap’n give me a quarter! Where else could you earn two bits for an hour and half’s work?

Well, Tommy, I gotta say, you’re motivatin’ for shore. So, where’s all that money you’ve been makin’ then?

Shucks, Hue, them younguns cost a bundle. I ain’t got none lef’ over.

Just then, a glorious showboat came into sight, banners waving and flags flying in the breeze. It was a sunny day on the Mississippi, and the ladies and gents on board were decked out in their finest apparel. Everyone had just shared a sumptuous luncheon in the brass and crystal décor of the ship’s lush dining room and had come out on deck to wave to folks on shore.

Near a dock at Natchez, Mississippi, the ladies waved their hankies and blushed at two young men in straw hats, standing there barefoot in all their suntanned glory, well-muscled and smiling boldly. Handsome young men, and the ladies waved their hankies all the more. Yes, sir, they were young, attractive, rugged southern teenagers in the prime of their lives. The young men on the dock looked on stoically and didn’t wave back…