The Girls of Gettysburg by Bobbi Miller Page B

a voice rang out, the purest voice I ever heard.”
    And then the burly Gideon sang, his voice rising in an unexpected tenor. A moment later, Jasper joined in perfect harmony, his voice that of an angel.
    We’re tenting tonight on the old campground
.
    Give us a song to cheer
    Our weary hearts, a song of home
,
    And friends we love so dear
. . . .
    When the song was over, Gideon hit his pipe on a rock to clean its bowl. “That voice shot us all down that night, brought us all to tears. That voice raised us above the war, made us men again. I tell you, it was a brutal and bloody battle, ripping our very hearts out.”
    As Annie looked around, she saw as many casualties here, their faces shadowed in the moonlight.
    â€œBoy”—Dylan broke the silence, turning to Jasper—“once your voice changes, you’ll sound full-growed.”
    â€œJiggers,” Jasper said then. “Your voice changed, and you still sound like a pig’s fart.”
    The men of the Ninth crowed with laughter. Even Annie had to laugh. Dylan gave a nod to Gideon, who smiled and winked at his boy.
    â€œWhat are you going to do after the war, sergeant?” Jasper said then.
    â€œI suppose I’ll pick up the plow again.”
    Dylan whistled. “I hope not, Pop. Picking up the plow is one thing. Making it work is another.”
    Gideon chuckled. “Naw, I suppose I won’t. Your ma could, though. She could make anything work.” He smiled at his son, and tousled his hair. He turned to Annie. “And you, James Anachie Gordon, what plans do you carry with you?”
    â€œI want to go out west,” Annie said. “They say, out west all things are possible.”
    Jasper smiled large as his feet. “Hear tell there’s so much land out west, they don’t know what to do with it all. River water so sweet, bees drink it. The land so rich, wheat and corn grow six feet overnight. Jiggers! A garden of Eden, hear tell.”
    â€œSeems the only place possible for a big foot like you!” Annie said flatly. The soldiers hooted in merriment, including Jasper himself.
    â€œWhy not home, strawfoot?” Dylan asked.
    Annie shrugged. “I’ve no home left to return to. The Yanks burnedmost of the farm. The war took my brothers. My pap died, and my mama left to live with her sister. And I didn’t leave on good terms with my mama. Don’t know if she’ll want me back.”
    Gideon leaned back. “Whatever was done then, can’t see that it matters now. I know it wouldn’t matter to me so long as everyone got home.”
    Dylan gave a nod, and looked at his pop.
    â€œWe’ll go out west, you and me, James!” Jasper hooted. “Besides, I hear tell those western ladies are filled with sass and gumption. What say you, James, the two of us out west!”
    â€œWell”—Annie gave a slow nod—“I’m quite fond of gumption.”
    Then someone began a tune on his harmonica, a rowdy tune that spurred another to join in with a foot-stomping fiddle.
    And as the men sang, Gideon leaned in close to Annie.
    â€œNeed to ask you a favor, son,” he said, his voice low and solemn as a grave. “I’ve been long gone from home. I was never a good farmer, but I was good enough for my wife and my sons. Not been a man of church, leastways not to my wife’s thinking. But I always tried to do right by them. I need you to do me a favor, James Anachie Gordon. I need you to write me a letter, just in case. They should have some words to remember me by.”
    Annie understood: they were going into battle soon, and it was going to be a fierce one.
    Annie nodded.
    â€œThank you mightily, son,” Gideon said. “I’ll get the paper and whatever else you need. I am not without my resources.” He pouched his pipe.
    That night, as she rolled onto her blanket under a sky heavy with stars, she saw that the Whitworth lay by