Beneath the Starry Flag

By Jeannine Wilkins

Historians estimate some four hundred women disguised themselves as soldiers and fought during the American Civil War. Eighteen-year-old Charlotte Menefee joins the Union Army to be with her brother. At the battle of Gettysburg, Confederates threaten to break the Union line, and Charlotte must prove herself as brave a soldier as any man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524531614

Jeannine Wilkins

Jeannine Wilkins was twice a finalist for the Rupert Hughes award at the Maui Writer’s Conference and won first place for Beneath the Starry Flag at the Southwest Writer’s Conference. She received the Shubert Fellowship and the Feldman Award for playwriting at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill, where she received her master’s degree and a second Shubert Fellowship at Ohio State University, where she earned her doctorate. She worked as a marketing and public relations professional while writing Beneath the Starry Flag.

Book preview

Minnesota

Chapter One

Charlotte Menefee lay on her stomach, her eye pressed against a crack in the floor of the sleeping loft. She could see only a narrow part of the room below; her mother’s head and shoulders appearing and disappearing as she rocked back and forth, the chair creaking and the bone knitting needles flashing in the light from the lantern at her mother’s elbow. Charlotte knew from the speed with which the yarn flew and the needles clicked that her mother was angry, and that meant her father was puffing his pipe vigorously to create a screen of smoke behind which he could hide. All Charlotte could see of her father was his lower legs crossed at the ankles, his boots resting on a wooden box that served as his footstool.

She’s eighteen, Henry, Charlotte’s mother said. She is not a child. She’s a young woman and it’s time she began to act like one.

Let her be, Hannah, her father answered. There’s plenty of time.

The rocking stopped and the knitting dropped into her mother’s lap. She cannot spend her life working in the fields. No man in his right mind is going to want a wife who looks and acts like a hired hand.

Charlotte closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the rough wood. It was not the first time she had heard this conversation. Off and on throughout the summer her mother had argued for a change in Charlotte’s circumstances and each time her father had managed to delay the inevitable just a little longer. But Charlotte knew he would not be able to protect her forever.

Dust filled her nose and threatened a sneeze. She pinched her nostrils and held her breath. It would not do to be caught eavesdropping. When the threat had passed, she peeked through the crack again.

I’ll go back to work soon, her father was saying and Charlotte could hear the shame in his voice. She prayed her mother would let it go, would not press him. He felt guilty enough without being reminded of his responsibilities.

But her mother persisted. When, Henry? she asked. It has been nearly a year. Surely you can do more.

The boots disappeared and Charlotte could hear the scrape of the chair as her father rose and walked to the hearth. She could see him clearly now as he leaned down to knock the ash from his pipe. He did not look at his wife but gazed into the empty fireplace and rubbed the stump where his right arm had been. He had been waylaid the previous fall by two Sioux braves who meant to steal the deer he was dressing. He lost the deer as well as his arm. One of the braves ran a lance through it and the wound festered. By the time a doctor could be fetched from New Ulm, gangrene had set in and the arm had to be removed.

Henry spent the winter in the doorway between life and death. When spring came and the fields demanded attention, his body had healed, but something intangible and undefined in his spirit was gone. He could not take responsibility for the endless cycle of chores that were essential if the farm was to maintain its tenuous hold against the wilderness. Nothing moved him from the front porch where he spent his days staring with dull eyes at the prairie and sky. Even when Charlotte went into the fields in his place, he could not rouse himself to prevent it. He watched her leave the cabin each morning, and he was there when she returned at dusk.

Charlotte should be thinking about a husband and babies not cutting trees and plowing fields. The needles resumed their clickety-click.

It isn’t because of Papa, Charlotte wanted to call down to her mother. How could she explain that she wanted to work in the fields, loved the freedom of being outside doing chores alongside her brother, James. At the end of the day she felt a sense of accomplishment she had never known when she worked in the house. She didn’t care if it wasn’t proper work for a woman; she was good at it.

And who would you have her marry, Hannah? Henry asked softly as he went back to his chair. Paul Müller?

Paul is a good man. He has a sizeable farm and he works hard.

But, Hannah, Henry said softly. Paul Müller?

Charlotte rolled onto her back and stared at the rafters over her head. Paul Müller! Surely her mother could not want her to marry Paul Müller. He was fat and ugly with dirty whiskers on his chin and hair in his ears. His English was so poor he could barely make himself understood. How could she marry someone she couldn’t even talk to, much less love.

But she knew why her mother had picked Paul Müller. He was the only man who had shown the least interest in Charlotte and even then it wasn’t Charlotte he wanted so much as someone to care for his motherless children. She gazed at the dancing shadows cast on the rafters by the lantern below and tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter if none of the handsome young men liked her. She wanted more from life than to be a farmer’s wife and tend to a passel of kids. She wanted to do something special and grand although she had no idea what it might be.

It was hot in the loft and she crawled to the little window cut into the eave. The air outside was humid and still. She drew up the hem of her nightgown and fanned her face. The moon was nearly full and below her, the fields stretched away from the house in neat, even rows -- rows that she had plowed and planted. Beyond her fields were the farms of other settlers in the new state of Minnesota. And still further west stretched the vast prairie of the Dakota Territory.

All summer long Charlotte had felt a heaviness on her heart. She knew her mother loved her, but she also knew that she was a disappointment. She was a big, awkward girl with unruly red hair, strong shoulders and long legs like her father. Her sisters, Isabel and Fanny, took after their mother who was small boned and fair. They could never have shouldered the hard work that Charlotte willingly undertook. She had gone into the fields out of necessity, but she came to love the daily chores. She could hitch the horses to the plow and drive a furrow as straight as any man. She loved the scent of the animals sweating in the heat and the pungent aroma of the earth as it turned under her plow. She could hunt and fish as well as James, and more often than not it was her efforts that provided their dinner. She took pride in these accomplishments at the same time she despaired of ever being the daughter her mother wanted. She had tried to learn to cook and sew, but her stitches were too big and her biscuits leaden. The only things she was good at were the very ones that her mother disparaged.

Charlotte looked over at her brother and sisters sleeping peacefully on their straw pallets. And why shouldn’t they sleep peacefully, she thought? Their lives are settled. Isabel would marry Walter Talley when the war was over and James was determined to go for a soldier as soon as he was old enough. Fanny, with her golden curls and china blue eyes, would most likely grow up to be a grand lady in St. Paul society.

Charlotte fought back tears, feeling very sorry for herself. It wasn’t fair. She would be stuck with Paul Müller and his rag-tag children while James went off and had all kinds of adventures. She looked at her little brother who lay on his side, his hand under his cheek. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. He looked so young in the soft light, hardly more than a child. She smiled to think what a bluster he would put up if she said as much to his face. He considered himself quite the man now that his voice had stopped cracking and he had grown as tall as she.

A deep longing washed over Charlotte. She did not want James to grow up, did not want to grow up herself. She would be content to stay forever just as they were, tramping the fields and hunting in the forest together. She loved her sisters dearly, but it was to James that she told her thoughts and longings. He might tease and torment her, but she could not imagine life without him, and she breathed a prayer that the war would end before he was old enough to enlist.

The lamp went out in the room below, and she felt her way to her pallet. Tomorrow she and James would go into town to sell the firewood they had cut today. She would tie her braids with ribbons and wear a skirt instead of her trousers and maybe her mother would forget about Paul Müller.

Chapter Two

The sun was already well above the horizon when Charlotte and James set out the next day for New Ulm. Their plan was to reach town by late morning, sell the wood, buy supplies, and head back in time to be home before nightfall. It meant they could not dawdle.

Charlotte checked under the wagon seat to be certain the rifles were there. It was unlikely the guns would be needed unless a rabbit or pheasant wandered across their path and offered the opportunity for a good dinner. The Indians in the area had been resettled along the Minnesota River and they had given little trouble in the last few months, but Charlotte felt more comfortable with the rifles safely stowed. She added a bundle of food, climbed up on the wagon seat, and picked up the reins.

Come on, James! she hollered. If we don’t get going we’ll have to stay over. She did not look forward to that prospect since they would have to spend the night at the home of Reverend Schwandt. It meant an evening of Bible reading and prayer, not Charlotte’s favorite activities.

I’m coming, James hollered as he raced out of the cabin. Hold your horses.

I am holding them, she answered. What took you so long?

I was looking to see if I needed to shave.

What! Charlotte turned and stared at James as he climbed up beside her. Your face is as smooth as a baby’s behind, she told him bluntly.

I know, I know, he grumbled. I was just hoping I might have grown a whisker or two to make me look older.

Well, you don’t look old enough to be a soldier if that’s what you’re thinking.

Charlotte, don’t forget my ribbons, Fanny called from the porch. Pink ones!

And my needles, Isabel added.

Get a good price for that wood, her father told them as Charlotte lashed the reins down on the horses’ backs and they rumbling toward the road.

Charlotte, your skirt, Hannah called after her, but it was too late.

Charlotte had the best of intentions when she woke that morning. She had dressed in her usual homespun trousers and shirt, her braids pinned up under her old slouch hat. She had carefully placed her skirt and hair ribbons on the bench outside the cabin door where she would be sure to see them once the horses were hitched and the wagon loaded. Good intentions were not enough, however, and the skirt and ribbons remained behind.

As usual Charlotte and James’s conversation turned to the War Between the States. Minnesota had been a state for only a few years when the war began, but it was the first to respond to President Lincoln’s call for volunteers. Now the President was asking for three hundred thousand more recruits.

The army needs good men, James told Charlotte as they trundled down the road. I reckon they’ll take me. He sounded to Charlotte as if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. I aim to join the cavalry and get me a horse with a saddle instead of an old nag like these. One of the horses gave a snort and tossed his head.

I guess that’s Ned’s opinion of your ideas, Charlotte said with a laugh. She didn’t pay much attention to James’s rambling. She had heard it all before. One day he was determined to become a cannoneer in the artillery, and the next day he was going to be a sharpshooter. Then he was going to join the engineers and built forts and pontoon bridges. There was little chance he would ever see any kind of action before the war was over, but it didn’t hurt to let him pretend.

It was late morning by the time they reached New Ulm. The town had been built near the junction of the Cottonwood and Minnesota Rivers, and behind it rose a high bluff that stretched to the great prairie in the west. Most of the trees for several miles around had been cut in order to provide building material for houses and stores, denuding the countryside but creating a ready market for firewood.

Charlotte slowed the wagon as they came down Center Street. Something was clearly going on for there were more people on the street than usual. A crowd had collected in front of the Dacotah House Hotel.

Let’s go see what’s happening, James said jumping out of the wagon before it had come to a full stop.

Only after we get what we came for, Charlotte insisted. She halted the team in front of the Heilborn’s general store and called after James. You talk to Mr. Heilborn about the wood while I get the supplies, and don’t go wandering off.

She handed her list of staples to the clerk at the front counter then headed for the rear of the store where most of the women’s goods were displayed. Mrs. Heilborn was behind the counter and gave Charlotte’s trousers and shirt a hard stare.

When you going to start dressing like a lady? Mrs. Heilborn asked, not unkindly. She knew all too well the demands on Charlotte and felt sorry for the girl.

When I don’t have to work like a horse, I reckon, Charlotte said pleasantly, but the remark stung. I need a packet of needles for Isabel, she told Mrs. Heilborn.

While Charlotte waited, she glanced around the store and an object on a far counter caught her eye. She was drawn to it like a bee to honeysuckle. It was the most beautiful bonnet Charlotte had ever seen, made of yellow straw with a wide, blue satin ribbon around the crown and tiny silk flowers along the brim. There were ribbons on either side to be tied under the chin and a blue satin ruffle to protect the back of the neck. Charlotte reached out one finger and touched the silk flowers.

Is pretty, ya? Mrs. Heilborn said in her old-world accent. It just come in this week. You try it on. You see what a pretty girl you can be.

Charlotte shook her head. It was ridiculous. No one could do a lick of work in such a hat, and yet… she looked questioningly at Mrs. Heilborn.

Go on, you try on.

Charlotte took off her old slouch hat and dropped it on the counter. She lifted the bonnet very gingerly and put it on her head. Mrs. Heilborn brought over a large hand mirror and held it so Charlotte could see herself. The touch of the ribbon across her cheek and the sweet smell of the straw took Charlotte’s breath away. She couldn’t take her eyes off the image of herself in the glass. The same hazel eyes and freckled face were there but there was something new as well, a softness that Charlotte had never before seen in herself. She turned this way and that, smiling at this new image.

Well, aren’t you the fine lady, James said from behind her.

Charlotte snatched the bonnet off her head and put it back on the counter, her cheeks blazing. I was just seeing what it looked like so I could tell Fanny, she lied. Fanny’s the one who likes fancy things. I wouldn’t be caught dead in something so silly. She pulled on her old slouch hat as if to illustrate.

You don’t tease your sister, Mrs. Heilborn said, shaking her finger at James. Then she looked sadly at Charlotte. I get you those needles.

And some of this, Charlotte said holding up a handful of pink ribbon.

Hurry up, James said, his impatience making him shift from foot to foot as if he were already marching in line. There’s a recruiter over at the hotel and I want to hear what he’s got to say.

James, don’t go getting any ideas in your head, Charlotte warned him.

It won’t hurt to listen, he argued.

Charlotte paid Mrs. Heilborn for her purchases and trotted after James who was half way across the street by the time she caught up with him.

Did you settle up with Mr. Heilborn? she asked.

He’s figuring it up, James assured her. Come on!

Charlotte ran to keep up with him. He jumped on the porch of the hotel and elbowed his way into the crowd of young men. They were gathered around a soldier in a blue uniform with shiny brass buttons and a rakish cap. He was talking and gesturing broadly. He looked very handsome and seemed quite sure of himself as well as his cause. The listeners were wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he told his story.

The Rebs come runnin’ across the field screaming their uncivilized yell, but nary a one of our men flinched. ‘Hold your fire, men,’ their captain yelled. ‘Don’t shoot too soon. Wait for ’em to come up and then fire low.’ He told them that so they wouldn’t waste their shot. Well, they held their ground until the Rebs was within spittin’ distance and then they let loose like the devil hisself. Cut those Rebs down like they was wheat before the scythe. The rest of those Johnnies, them that was left standin’, turned and hightailed it back across the ridge without so much as a backward glance. The soldier paused to let the tale have its effect. The crowd did not disappoint him; they released their breath as one body. Charlotte was as spellbound as any of the listeners who began to clamor questions at the recruiter.

How long we got to sign up for?

Three years, but it’s goin’ to be over long before that. The whole Reb army will be on the run before snow flies.

When will we get into the fight?

You got to spend time at Fort Snelling learning how to soldier and drill, then they’ll send you to join up with the regular army. You’ll be in it soon enough.

How much do we get paid?

Thirteen dollars a month and a hundred dollar bonus just for volunteerin’.

A hundred dollars! James whispered.

A hundred dollars, Charlotte echoed. It was more money than she could imagine.

Chapter Three

You and your brother interested in signin’ up? the recruiter asked James.

James looked puzzled for a moment, then he guffawed. She ain’t my brother, he said while Charlotte turned crimson. She could feel all eyes turn toward her and she wanted to melt into the ground.

The recruiter took a closer look and scratched his head. Well, you sure look like soldier material to me, he told her.

Charlotte was furious that he had made her the butt of his joke. She balled up her fists and would have lit into him, but James held her back.

I didn’t mean to insult you, little lady, the recruiter apologized with a grin. I was just funnin’ you.

The fellows on the porch were having a good laugh at her expense when Henry Behnke came out of the hotel. The young men forgot about Charlotte, much to her relief, and turned their attention to Henry. He was a local fellow who was heading up a recruiting party making the rounds of nearby farms and James saw a chance to plead his case. Charlotte tagged along behind.

Why James, you’re just a boy, Henry said when he heard James’s idea. What would people think if the Union army was reduced to enlisting sixteen-year-olds? Besides, your family needs you on the farm.

Papa’s got Charlotte to help him, and I’m big as any eighteen year old and a better shot than most, he said, repeating his well-rehearsed argument.

It fell on deaf ears. Henry only chuckled and patted the boy’s shoulder. Charlotte’s a big help, I know, but she’s only a girl, James. Your Pa needs you, and you know I can’t take you till you’re of age. Now you get your supplies and get on home or your folks will be wondering where you are.

I would be a good soldier, Henry.

The man laughed and waved as he set off across the street. James slapped his hat against his leg in frustration. It just isn’t fair to expect a fellow to wait two whole years, he grumbled. Why, by the time I’m old enough to join up, the war will be over, and I won’t even get a chance to fight.

He stalked across the street to the wagon with Charlotte in tow. She was eager to start for home and get away from the disapproving eyes of the townsfolk.

The supplies were loaded, and Mrs. Heilborn came out to bid Charlotte and James goodbye. Tell your mama I say hello to her. I hope she be able to come next time. She gave Charlotte a soulful look and pushed a few stray hairs into place behind the girl’s ear.

Thank you, Mrs. Heilborn. I’ll tell her, Charlotte said as she climbed up on the wagon and picked up the reins.

You let James drive the team, Mrs. Heilborn said, patting Charlotte’s arm. Just till you out of town.

Charlotte flushed. The gentle reprimand stung her pride, but she relinquished the reins to James who climbed up beside her. He slapped the horses on their backs and the wagon pulled away. Charlotte turned and waved, then she settled down for the long trip home.

She was dozing in the warm sunshine, her chin bobbing against her chest, when James poked her in the ribs and she looked up. A lone rider raced toward them kicking up a cloud of dust as he came. Whoever it was, he was in an awful hurry and excited to boot. Long before they could make out his words, they could hear him yelling.

What’s he saying? James asked.

Charlotte shook her head. Something about the recruiters, I think.

Then the words reached them, Indians… Indians on the warpath… shot the recruiters… coming this way.

Charlotte and James looked at each other, and James lashed the reins down on the backs of the startled horses. They lunged forward, and the wagon began to close the distance to the rider who pulled up beside them.

It was Hans Struve, his eyes about to pop out of his head. The Santee Sioux attacked some farmers, and when the recruiters stopped to help, the Indians shot them. The farmers say the Sioux are on the warpath all up and down the valley. I got to get back to New Ulm and get help. And with that he kicked his horse in the sides and charged on down the road, leaving Charlotte and James in a cloud of dust.

We have to get home, Charlotte said. She grabbed the reins from James and slapped the horses across their backs. The team stumbled, then gained traction and the wagon rumbled forward. Two miles further along they met the recruiters heading back to New Ulm. Henry Behnke flagged them down.

You can’t go back there! He shouted once they were within hearing distance. The Sioux are rampaging all across the valley.

Charlotte looked at the wagons that held the two wounded recruiters and men, women, and children from nearby farms. The men’s faces were set with fear. The women were pale and drawn and the children unnaturally quiet, hiding their faces in their mother’s skirts.

We have to help our folks, James told Henry. Charlotte hardly paused before whipping the horses forward once again.

They passed other refugees fleeing the terror, but Charlotte did not stop to hear their warnings. Eventually the wagon came to the rutted path that led to the Menefee home just over a small rise. As they neared the crest, Charlotte could see a dark smudge against the sky. It spread ominously upward from behind a stand of trees then drifted to the east.

James, look! She pointed at the sky.

It’s smoke.

Charlotte felt a stab of fear. Oh dear God!

She urged the horses forward, and James clung to the seat as they bounced over the ruts. As the wagon crested the hill Charlotte could see the barn engulfed in flames and fire licking at the roof of the cabin. Indians on horseback circled the yard and gave a whoop as they caught sight of the wagon. The sound raised the hair on the back of Charlotte’s neck.

James did not wait for the horses to stop before he grabbed his rifle and dropped to the ground. He fired, but his shot went wide of its mark. The Indians turned, raised their rifles over their heads, and whooped again in defiance.

Charlotte pulled her rifle from beneath the seat and dropped beside James. She did not think about what she was doing, she simply steadied her shoulder against the wagon wheel, cocked her rifle, and fired. One of the Indians slumped forward, then turned and raced toward a line of trees. Two others rode out from behind the burning cabin and followed him. Charlotte caught sight of golden curls and a blue dress just before they disappeared into the forest.

Fanny! Charlotte screamed and threw her rifle aside, running toward the retreating figures. A high-pitched cry carried back on the air. Charlotte stumbled and fell to her knees just as James caught up with her.

Fanny! They have Fanny! she cried.

I know, I know, James said hoarsely. But it’s too late. We’ve got to find the others.

Together they turned toward the cabin. Fire was pouring from the windows and the heat drove them back.

Where are they? Charlotte asked desperately.

James dropped her arm and ran toward a figure lying in the garden between the rows of beans. Their father was face down, his hand entwined in the green vines. Charlotte fell to her knees beside James and they gently turned him over. He had been shot and scalped, the top of his head slick with blood that poured down his face and soaked his shirt. Charlotte took his hand between her own; it was still warm. She began to shake, her teeth chattering so hard she had to clamp her jaw shut to keep from biting her tongue. James picked up his father’s hat and put it over the bloody wound.

Help me carry him, James said, and together they carried their father back to the wagon. The horses tossed their heads and shied away from the smell of blood and death. James grabbed the reins and tied them to a tree.

They found Hannah and Isabel in the bushes where they had crawled to die. They too had been shot and scalped, their faces and bodies covered in blood. James took one look, dropped to his knees, and threw up in the grass.

Charlotte knelt beside her mother. Hannah’s eyes were open and she seemed to be looking at the sky through a veil of blood. She was lying across Isabel’s body as if to protect her child from the terrible violence. Charlotte heard a low, keening sound and thought for a moment that her mother still lived. Then she realized the sound was coming from her own throat. She rocked back and forth tears pouring down her cheeks. James moved beside her, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe the blood from his mother’s face. Charlotte gently moved his hands away, lifted Hannah’s apron, and covered her face.

Together, Charlotte and James carried the bodies to the wagon, then they began the long slow ride back to New Ulm. Later Charlotte would remember little of the events of that day, only a terrible, vague fear like that following a half-remembered nightmare.

Chapter Four

The town of New Ulm was in turmoil by the time James and Charlotte reached it. Dozens of homesteads across the outlying area had been burned to the ground and the terrified families had fled to town with stories of murder and torture. Charlotte and James found their way to Reverand Schwandt’s home. The minister and his wife took them in and arranged for Henry, Hannah and Isabel to be buried in a mass grave along with others who had been killed. Helga Schwandt washed the blood from Charlotte’s face and hands, but she could not persuade the stricken girl to change her clothes. Charlotte clutched her arms to her chest and shook her head. The minister’s wife did not press the matter.

As dusk settled, Henry Behnke and the men from the surrounding area began to plan the town’s defense. Everyone believed that the Sioux would attack the town within hours. They named Jacob Nix, one of the few men with military experience, as their leader. James went to join the men, and Charlotte tagged along, unwilling to let him out of her sight. Her trousers and hat provided an effective disguise that allowed her to mingle unnoticed with the men. She carried her rifle, her only worldly possession, clutched in her arms.

She listened half-heartedly to the talk. It was clear to everyone that the handful of men available could not hold out long if the entire Sioux nation was on the warpath.

The only hope we have is to send for reinforcements, Jacob told the others.

Where’s the damned army when we need them? a man in a shopkeeper’s apron asked.

It’s the government’s fault, said another. They should have moved the Sioux clear out of the territory, into Canada or somewhere.

It’s too late to do anything about that now, Jacob said. We need help, tonight… tomorrow… as soon as we can get it.

Charlotte turned away and headed for the Schwandt’s house. She found a spot on the porch and sat with her head against the railing. She was as tired as she could ever remember being, and yet she fought against sleep, afraid of the nightmares that might come if she dozed off. But when sleep finally came, it was deep and dreamless. She woke the next morning under one of Helga Schwandt’s patchwork quilts, James asleep beside her.

As dawn streaked the eastern sky men began to fill the streets. Barricades had been thrown up during the night, and Charlotte wandered out to look at them. Barrels and logs made a ragged wall across one end of Center Street. A huge fire burned nearby, and Charlotte stood beside it even though the day already promised to be hot and humid.

She saw Helga come from her house, a covered basket in her hands. Charlotte could not remember when she had last eaten and she hurried toward the minister’s wife.

You best eat something, Helga told Charlotte as she uncovered the basket of fresh cinnamon buns. It may be a while before there is more.

James stirred himself as Helga handed one of the warm buns to Charlotte and another to James. With a deep sigh, she put the basket to one side and sat on the steps beside Charlotte. She covered her face with her apron and spoke in little more than a whisper. Walter Talley was killed defending his farm yesterday, she said. And Paul Müller will most certainly die of his wounds. The cinnamon roll stuck in Charlotte’s throat.

Poor ole Walter, he and Isabel both gone, James said. He put his food aside and walked out into the yard. Charlotte started to follow but Helga Schwandt put a hand on her arm.

Charlotte, she said, her eyes tired and dull. May I speak to you? Please.

Charlotte was afraid Helga was going to lecture her on her lack of compassion for Paul Müller, but the minister’s wife had other matters on her mind. She smoothed her skirt, then her hair, then her skirt again before she spoke. You like the cinnamon roll? she asked absent-mindedly.

Charlotte picked at the roll and nodded.

Charlotte, Helga said and sighed deeply. There has been some talk about you wearing trousers and being with the men yesterday. Mrs. Speck, she say you should maybe put on a dress and stay here with the women and children. Helga scraped at a bit of bread dough off her skirt and would not look at Charlotte.

And which does Mrs. Speck consider me, a woman or a child? Charlotte asked. She pulled the cinnamon roll into little pieces but left them uneaten.

Oh, dear, Helga said. She began to twist her skirt into a knot. You’re a good girl, she went on. I hear your papa tell Peter he not be able to keep the farm without your help. We know why you work, but Mrs. Speck, she doesn’t understand. She wants you to be a nice young lady.

Mrs. Speck is a busybody, Charlotte said. And I don’t care what she thinks. But the tears spilled down her cheeks and she buried her face in her hands. I miss Mama and Papa so much, she said between sobs.

Helga put an arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. I know, she crooned. I know.

Do you think my mother was ashamed of me? Charlotte asked, her face still hidden in her hands.

Helga drew back in horror. "Gott in Hummel! she said. Then she pulled Charlotte’s hands away and took hold of her chin, shaking it gently. You must never believe that. Your mama loved you. She knew why you worked so hard. She just wanted you to be happy."

But look at me, Charlotte said, thrusting her hands toward Helga. I’m not like Isabel and Fanny. They’re… they were so… so delicate… like Mama. Isabel could have gotten both her feet in just one of my boots. Charlotte looked down at her big, rough workboots and the tears flowed again.

Helga smiled and held out her own shoe. It was as long as Charlotte’s even if not as wide. Then she pressed the palm of her hand against Charlotte’s and the two nearly matched. I big, too, she told Charlotte gently. I think no one ever want a big, ugly woman like me, but Peter Schwandt, he want me. She smiled shyly. "Gott make you big for a reason, Liebchen. Maybe you not understand now, but you will see one day. Gott has a plan for you. That is why he make you big and strong."

Helga Schwandt’s words were little comfort, but Charlotte wiped away her tears and stood up. Tell Mrs. Speck I’ll stay away from the men and barricades, but I’m not going to wear a dress!

Chapter Five

Charlotte found a place far enough away from the men to satisfy Mrs. Speck, but close enough to see James. He walked over to join her, his eyes alive with excitement.

This is the life for me, Char, he told her. If the army won’t take me, then I’m going to join the home militia and fight the Indians. The whole Sioux nation has taken up arms and Jacob Nix is going to need every man he can find. I aim to be one of them. For the first time his words did not sound like the fanciful ideas of a boy and Charlotte felt a growing fear that she might lose James as well.

But to the boy’s disappointment, the Indians showed no signs of attacking, and New Ulm was lulled into an uneasy listlessness. The general opinion was that the uprising was losing strength and it would not be long before they could return to their homes.

I don’t have much heart for going back to the farm. Do you? James asked as they sat on the porch that evening. They had spent the day trying to decide what to do now that the danger seemed passed.

Charlotte shook her head and looked up at the stars that had begun to dot the sky. No, but I don’t know what choice we have. We’re going to have to make our own way now.

I suppose you could go live with Aunt Beulah, James said.

Charlotte felt a band of fear tighten around her chest. Me, she said. What about you?

I’ll take you up to St. Croix and get you settled at the missionary school with Aunt Beulah, and then I’ll head out to join the militia if the army won’t have me.

Charlotte listened to the excitement in his voice, and her heart turned to stone. It was not just the fear of losing James but of facing an uncertain future alone. James would have a purpose and direction, but what would happen to her? What could she possibly do at the missionary school except teach a bunch of unruly children? She would end up an old maid just like Aunt Beulah!

But the next morning, all concern for her future was pushed aside by the appearance of a large band of Sioux on the prairie west of town. The Indians approached slowly, riding in a narrow column. As they drew near, they began to fan out and spur their horses to a gallop. Everyone panicked. Women and children who had ventured out into the sunshine ran screaming into the houses. Men who had been whiling away their time over card games and gossip, grabbed their rifles and headed for the abandoned barricades.

"My God, there must be four or five hundred of them, Jacob Nix shouted from his lookout on the balcony over the front door of the Dacotah House.

How far away are they? Henry Behnke asked.

Not more than two miles and moving fast, Jacob answered. He clamored down the stairs and out into the street where he and Henry held a hasty war council. The decision was made for Jacob to lead volunteers out onto the prairie to try and stop the attack before the Indians reached the town limits.

Charlotte watched as some sixty men prepared to march to the outskirts of the town, James among them. It was all she could do to keep from running after him and calling him back.

A great cloud of dust rose on the horizon. The pounding of the hooves of the Indian horses could be heard mixed with the wild yells of their riders. Charlotte felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Almost at the same moment, several of the men who had advanced onto the prairie had second thoughts