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  Praise for Widow of Gettysburg

  A triumphant tale of identity and forgiveness. Unforgettable characters, impeccable research, and an intricately woven plot, Jocelyn Green drew me in and didn’t let me go. Do not miss this story, Widow of Gettysburg!

  —SARAH SUNDIN, award-winning author of With Every Letter

  Superb fiction—stunning history! Plucked from the annals of our country’s most turbulent time, Widow of Gettysburg is a powerful love story that will not only haunt and inspire, but change you forever.

  —JULIE LESSMAN, award-winning author of The Daughters of Boston and Winds of Change series

  Widow of Gettysburg brings you the Battle of Gettysburg and its aftermath in ways you’ve never seen them—through the eyes of the unlikely Union women who, by nursing Confederates, found their true identity and the meaning of real love. Once again, Jocelyn Green weaves a tale of compelling characters whose personal stories are just as relevant today as they were in 1863—a delightful must-read.

  —JANE HAMPTON COOK, historian, national television commentator, and author of American Phoenix

  Widow of Gettysburg is a page-turning, impressively researched, and complex story of love, betrayal, hatred, and forgiveness that gracefully blends fact and fiction to deliver a lasting impression. Five stars out of five.

  —PETER LEAVELL, award-winning author of Gideon’s Call

  With equal amounts history, romance, and mystery, Jocelyn Green writes with heart-stopping detail. Gettysburg and its inhabitants spring to vivid life, sure to resound in readers’ imaginations long after the book is closed. Highly recommended!

  —LAURA FRANTZ, author of The Colonel’s Lady and Love’s Reckoning

  Jocelyn Green captures the reality of noncombatants caught up in war in a very affecting way. Green portrays how the horrors of battle changed their lives forever and made heroes of civilians. Painstakingly researched and affectingly written, Widow of Gettysburg will wrench your heart at the same time it reminds you that God is faithful to His people even in the most painful trials.

  —J. M. HOCHSTETLER, author of The American Patriot Series

  Jocelyn Green effortlessly places the reader on the battlefield in her new novel, Widow of Gettysburg. When survival is not enough, and the pain of starting over is raw, she gently reminds the reader that freedom—whether fought nation against nation, or within one’s own heart—is never free. Widow of Gettysburg will remain with me for a long time.

  —MARY NICHELSON, lead journalist for The Wordsmith Journal Magazine

  Jocelyn Green’s Widow of Gettysburg is a gripping depiction of individuals brought together by war. Ms. Green’s thorough research and poignantly written storyline delicately weave a compelling description of Liberty and Bella, who could have been enveloped and trampled by the ubiquitous prejudice and revulsion around them. Instead, these women’s unswerving faith and inner strength lead to enhancing their ties, and embracing their personal struggle for a new birth of freedom.

  —DENISE DOYLE, COO Seminary Ridge Museum, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

  Jocelyn Green delivers another brilliant, gritty, unforgettable tale. This cast of colorful, complex characters stole my heart from the start. I felt like I walked in the shoes of ordinary men and women doing extraordinary things in unbelievable times. I cheered as they experienced the courage, compassion and strength only God could give.

  —NORA ST. LAURENT, CEO of The Book Club Network (TBCN) and Book Fun Magazine

  Through the leading characters’ eyes you experience what the citizens, especially the women, of Gettysburg endured during those hot July days. Jocelyn Green’s detailed research and literary talent combine to transport the reader to another place and time … so real that you can feel the earth shake and taste the gunpowder as it lays heavy on the air. You will be pulled into a place and story that will not let you go until the very end—and leave you wanting more. Beware! Once you begin reading this book you will not be able to put it down.

  —MAVIS STARNER, Adams County Historical Society, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

  Jocelyn Green has skillfully painted a vivid word picture of the heart-wrenching life led by so many during the Civil War days. Widow of Gettysburg is a gripping tale of survival and triumph in the midst of tragedy and bloodshed—not just by the soldiers on the front lines but also by the women and children left behind. A fascinating read that you won’t want to miss!

  —KATHI MACIAS, award-winning author of forty books, including The Moses Quilt

  © 2013 by

  JOCELYN GREEN

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published in association with the literary agency of Credo Communications, LLC, Grand Rapids, Michigan, www.credocommunications.net.

  Edited by Pam Pugh

  Interior Design: Ragont Design

  Cover Design: Left Coast Design

  Cover Image: Brooke Blair, courtesy of Whitaker Auction House, Philadelphia, PA

  Author Photo: Paul Kestel of Catchlight Imaging

  Map of Gettysburg: Rob Green Design

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Green, Jocelyn.

  Widow of Gettysburg / Jocelyn Green.

  pages cm.—(Heroines Behind the Lines: Civil War; Book 2)

  Includes bibliographical references.

  ISBN 978-0-8024-0577-7

  1. United States—History—Civil War, 1861-1865—Women—Fiction. 2. Gettysburg, Battle of, Gettysburg, Pa., 1863—Fiction. 3. Christian fiction. 4. Historical fiction. I. Title.

  PS3607.R4329255W53 2013

  813’.6—dc23

  2012047668

  Though many of the events in this story are based on true incidents, characters are either fictional or depicted fictitiously.

  We hope you enjoy this book from River North Fiction by Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:

  River North Fiction

  Imprint of Moody Publishers

  820 N. LaSalle Blvd.

  Chicago, IL 60610

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  Printed in the United States of America

  For those who have suffered loss, and for those who have sacrificed without recognition. It may be dark now, but dawn is on the way.

  Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

  Psalm 30:5

  A Note on the Battle of Gettysburg

  Act One: The Gathering Storm

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Act Two: The Heavens Collide

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Act Three: In the Fog

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Act Four: The Smoke Clears

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Act Five: Beauty from Ashes

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address

  History behind the Story

  Selected Bibliography
/>   Discussion Guide

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Mention the word “Gettysburg” and most people will immediately think of the epic battle that took place in rural Pennsylvania July 1–3, 1863, or of the Gettysburg Address that President Abraham Lincoln delivered four months later. Scores of books have been written about the armies that fought, the military strategy, the details of the battles, and how it might have ended differently if other decisions had been made. In comparison, very few books have been written about Gettysburg itself. But before “Gettysburg” was a battle, it was a town full of ordinary people, people like you and me.

  Twenty-four hundred residents inhabited the borough of Gettysburg in 1863 when 163,000 men and 15,000 animals converged upon it for the three-day battle in July. Some fled to protect themselves and their property, while many—most of them women and children—were caught in the crossfire. Surviving the battle was only the beginning. While most history books follow the armies on their journeys away from Gettysburg when the battle receded, Widow of Gettysburg keeps the focus on the aftermath being played out in the town. When the armies withdrew, 21,000 wounded were left in their wake, with only 106 Union medical officers and far fewer Confederate doctors. Women and children were drafted into hospital service, whether they felt confident in their ability or not. Days after the battle’s end, thousands more invaded the already overtaxed town in the form of relief workers, sightseers, and those looking for their loved ones. The quiet life Gettysburg had known was gone.

  Women of Gettysburg did not ask for the distinction, but many became heroines behind the lines just the same. Widow of Gettysburg is the story of their resilience. In the words of Gettysburg housewife Sarah Broadhead, “We do not know until tried what we are capable of.”

  “WE WERE SO USED TO the cry, ‘the Rebels are coming,’ when they did not come, were not even in sight, that we paid little or no attention to the daily, even hourly reports, that came to our ears and we even laughed and joked among ourselves, little dreaming they were really so near.”

  —FANNIE BUEHLER, Gettysburg housewife

  “BUSINESS OF ALL KINDS was paralyzed, and the daily reports of the coming of the rebels kept us in a constant fever of excitement. On June 26, they came, spent the night and passed through toward Harrisburg, burning bridges and spreading consternation everywhere. Little we dreamed of the far greater horrors that were in store for us.”

  —ELIZABETH SALOME “SALLIE” MYERS, public school teacher in Gettysburg, age 21

  The Holloway Farm, Adams County, Pennsylvania

  Friday, June 26, 1863

  Shhhh. Someone’s coming.” Liberty Holloway cocked her head toward the window as the muffled rhythm of hoofbeats rose above the drumming rain. “Rebels?” The word sat, bitter, on her tongue as her fists sank deeper into the bread dough she’d been kneading. They had taken enough from her already, long before a single Confederate soldier had set foot in the North. Were they now here to raid her property as well?

  “Traveler, looks like.” Bella Jamison wiped her hands on her flour-dusted apron and peered between the curtains without parting them. “Wet and hungry, I’ll wager. You know Black Horse Tavern and Inn down the road are full up right now, and you just hung that sign out by the road last week.”

  Libbie exhaled, her pulse matching her fear. Though she was a grown woman of nineteen years, she had yet to tame her runaway imagination. But perhaps her hired help was right, and a traveler would be welcome, provided he could pay in greenbacks.

  “Then again, we just can’t know for sure.” Bella backed away from the window, her coffee-with-cream complexion darkening in the shadows. “Rebels don’t always have proper uniforms, you know. I only see one on the road, but there could be more coming.”

  Serves me right for not heeding Governor Curtin’s proclamation. Libbie pulled her hands from the sticky dough and went to the window herself. “If he doesn’t break into a gallop, we’ll have just enough time.”

  Before the words had left her mouth, Bella had already moved the worktable away from the bricked-in fireplace and slid out several loose bricks. The cast-iron stove and oven served for their baking and cooking, but the summer kitchen’s walk-in fireplace still had its purpose. Together, they hurriedly filled the space to keep their stores out of sight: jars of molasses, peach and strawberry preserves, applesauce, tomatoes, and sacks of potatoes, onions, flour, and oats.

  Drip. Drip. Drip. The leak in the corner marked time like a metronome as water dropped into a tin pie plate on the floor. Soon, all that was left was the freshly baked rye bread cooling on the sideboard, the abandoned lump of dough, and bunches of parsley and oregano hanging from the rafters to dry.

  After replacing the bricks and the table in front of it, Liberty stole another glance out the window. “We can still hide the horses. Make haste.” Resolve pierced through her anxiety as she hung her apron on a wooden peg and stepped out into the rain with Bella close on her heels.

  Hurrying into the barn, Libbie swished her skirts to scatter the clucking chickens in their path. The horses, Daisy and Romeo, twitched their tails as the women bridled them, then led them past the summer kitchen and into the great hall of the two-story stone farmhouse.

  “We’ll be fine here.” Bella stroked Romeo’s withers to calm him. “Remember, you are the lady of this house. Stand your ground.”

  “If it’s a Rebel—”

  “I can take care of myself. Go.”

  The hoofbeats grew louder outside. Liberty patted the thick, black braid that circled her head and hurried over to Major, the 140-pound Newfoundland sprawled on the rug inside the front door.

  “Wake up, boy. Time to look menacing,” she said as she buried her hand in the scruff of his massive neck. Not that he could hear anything. “Come on, Major.” She hooked a finger under his collar and tugged. Groaning, he lumbered to his feet, yawned, and turned his head slightly to wink at her with his one good eye.

  “Come, he’s almost here,” she whispered, and immediately regretted her choice of words. I could swear that dog can read lips! Major perked up and jumped at the door. “No, Major, not Levi.” She shook her head. “No Levi.”

  Liberty led Major out onto the porch and pointed to the splitting wooden floorboards beside her. “Sit.” He obeyed. Wild roses the color of lemonade hugged the porch from all sides, lifting their faces to catch their drink. Their heady fragrance infused the air as a man on a gaunt horse rode up the lane to Libbie’s dooryard in no particular hurry, as if it weren’t raining at all, as if the shelter of a covered porch didn’t stand right in front of him. Feeling a pull on her skirt, she glanced down to find Major sitting sideways on one of his haunches, leaning against her leg. So much for my canine protector.

  The stranger drew rein and dismounted his horse with graceful ease. A rain-soaked denim shirt and brown woolen trousers revealed a lean, muscular body, the kind that was used to work. A farmer perhaps? Carpenter? Or a soldier.

  “You don’t look like a Rebel.” The words escaped her without thought.

  So did Major. Before she could stop him, he ambled down the steps to the dooryard and slammed right into the man, stumbled back a little, then nuzzled his big furry black head under the man’s hand. Liberty sighed. Major’s sense of balance was lacking since he’d lost his eye.

  The man bent to scratch Major behind the ears and on the white patch on his chest. “I take that as a compliment, ma’am.” His accent was Northern, a blessed relief. Straightening again, he doffed his felt hat and bowed slightly before appraising her with moss green eyes. Rain darkened his hair to the color of polished oak and coursed down his stubbled cheeks. He took a step forward. “Miss Liberty?”

  “How did you—”

  “The sign by the road. Liberty Inn.” He rubbed his horse’s nose before glancing up at her again. “I’m guessing you might be Miss Liberty?”

  Liberty spun the thin gold band around her finger. “Yes.” She hoped he w
ould not also guess how very new this venture was. She had three rooms ready for guests on the first floor of the farmhouse, each complete with quilts stitched by her own hand, but not one had yet been used.

  “You’ve lost someone.” His voice was quiet, tentative, but for all the world, Liberty could not think why. Two years into the war, women in mourning were a common sight. She crossed her arms across the pleated waist of her faded black dress and wished she had at least worn her hoops under her skirt this morning. She never did while doing chores, they got in the way so much. But now, the way he looked at her, she felt practically naked without them. “You’ll forgive me if I ask you to kindly state your business, sir.” She caught Major’s eye and stabbed her finger at the porch floor again until the dog returned to her side.

  He cleared his throat and offered a smile. “I’m a long way from home, and I sure could use a little hospitality.”

  “Do you mean to say that you need a room?”

  “I have neither time nor money for a room, but my bread basket’s been empty for quite a spell.” He laid a hand on his stomach. “Could you spare anything for me to eat?”