Chamberlain
My good humor follows me around all day, like Grandpa followed Fred. I catch myself humming The Bonnie Blue Flag while I set the table for supper. I can’t wait to tell Chance he was wrong about Grandpa.
But when Chance comes through the door, his face is longer than a winter’s night, and Mr. Redmond looks downright anguished.
Mr. Redmond collapses onto a chair. “He’s not coming.”
“Chamberlain’s doctors won’t let him make the trip,” Chance explains. “They say he’s not strong enough.”
“You’re sure it’s not just a rumor?” Florence asks.
Chance nods. “A man named Bell, who fought with Grandfather, got a telegram from Maine that confirmed it.”
“He’s not coming,” Mr. Redmond says with a cough. His cough gathers steam until it fills the room like a thunderstorm.
Florence brings him a glass of water.
Supper is somber. Florence tries to talk on cheery topics, but her words hang in the air until the cheer falls off them.
Chance’s whole family goes to bed early with no gathering on the porch. I sit at the dining room table and write a letter to Mama about the Camp filled with veterans. I hear Mrs. Grome fussing in the kitchen. She peeks her head through the swinging door, but doesn’t say anything.
Mr. Redmond’s cough travels all the way downstairs as I finish the letter to Mama and begin another letter.
I’m sorry Mr. Redmond takes Chamberlain’s absence so hard. But General Chamberlain is sick, not dead. He’s an old man, who’s survived the war by fifty years. Your General Jackson didn’t make it as far as Gettysburg the first time.
Is it wrong for me to feel a lightheartedness when those around me are burdened?
Virginia Lee Kent
One day before the Reunion, Chance and I stand on the platform as another train of tents, cots, and other equipment is unloaded.
“I wanted Grandfather to come along,” Chance says.
I nod. “He’s taking Chamberlain’s illness hard.”
His eyes catch hold of mine. “But I’m glad to have time alone with you. I need to apologize for what I said about your grandfather. I didn’t mean to upset you, and I’m sorry.”
“If sorries are being said, I need to add my own. I shouldn’t have slammed the door in your face or stormed off like I did. Mama would never let me get away with that.”
“I don’t think your mother would approve of how I talked.”
“Never you mind what Mama would think. I like the way you speak right up. At home, I can’t do that. Mama’s life has seen sadness and loss time and again. We try to watch our words around her, so’s not to add worry to sorrow. And there’s no cause to fret over what you said about Grandpa.” I tell him how Westy remembered Grandpa after all. I don’t crow as I thought I would. Chance looks so contrite, I no longer yearn to.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad.”
I squeeze his hand back.
“It’s going to be a hot afternoon,” he says. “Why don’t we take a walk while it’s still comfortable.”
“Could we go to the cemetery?”
We are jostled in the crowd as we walk through town. Chance clasps my hand, and I try to ignore the crush of people.
This isn’t the Gettysburg I imagined. I try to picture the streets as they were fifty years ago—with soldiers and cannons. With Grandpa and Uncle Fred.
