Last Ghost at Gettysburg Read Online Free PDF Page A

pulled up outside a two-story brick
house with stone steps leading to a first floor entrance.
Surrounded by an ornate wrought iron fence, it was the very essence
of pre-Civil War architecture. Warm light emanated from the first
floor dining rooms, and conversation mixed with occasional laughter
wafted into the front yard. “T.J.,” said Mike, “we’ve reached our
destination: Charney House, circa 1810, and pretty much intact.
Tell the hostess who you are and she’ll direct you to where LouAnne
is in the garret.”
    “The garret?”
    “Oh yeah, forgot to tell you. The dining room
and kitchen are on the first floor, the second floor has four
rooms, so it’s like an inn. Then, on the third floor you’ll find
LouAnne doing her thing. See, during the battle it was occupied
for a time by Confederate sharpshooters. You can see bullet holes
all over the outer walls, and the garret, uh, attic, was a good
spot to hide out and pick off Yankees in the surrounding area. Tell
LouAnne to call if you guys want a ride home.”
    As T.J. mounted the steps with slight
trepidation, he tried to imagine himself a young man in 1863
calling upon a chum or a young lady perhaps. As Mike predicted, the
hostess, a plump college-age girl in full period garb, amiably
directed him to the stairs.
    “You should get there just in time for the
eight o’clock performance,” she said with a wink.
    Indeed, when T.J. reached the garret most of
the dozen or so straight-backed wooden chairs were taken. He eased
into one of the rear seats as the speaker, who was looking out the
window behind her, turned to face the audience, causing T.J. to do
a double-take.
    It wasn’t LouAnne...or was it? Through the
filmy candlelight he saw not his mousy, painfully skinny cousin,
but a beautiful young girl with long, honey-blonde hair pulled back
and fastened with a blue bow that matched her bulky, high-collared
dress. Even so, there were the unmistakable outlines of an
athletic, yet feminine figure. And her face...gone were the
Coke-bottle glasses he remembered, replaced by piercing green eyes
and skin of a tawny brown hue that reflected an outdoors
healthiness. She was breathtaking, and all T.J. could think of was
Katie Vickers, the prettiest girl in the eighth grade at
Bridgefield Middle School, whom he’d pined after, but who would
barely acknowledge his existence though other girls thought him
“cute.” In fact, his late mom had playfully called him “my little
Beatle Paul,” for his resemblance to a young Paul McCartney.
    LouAnne blew Katie Vickers away. No
contest.
    Suddenly snapping out of his reverie, T.J.
realized he’d missed the beginning of LouAnne’s presentation. He
tuned in, his attention riveted to the stunning girl who held her
small audience, especially the males, in a trance.
    “I was only thirteen when the War Between the
States came to Gettysburg,” she said. “My family had lived in the
area for generations, and my father was a local boot maker. Sadly,
I had lost three siblings to disease...one was just a baby. But my
older brother had survived, a strapping young man who was among the
first to enlist in the 72 nd Pennsylvania Infantry. I had
not seen him in two years, and of course Mama feared the worst. But
we persevered, and I helped out around the house as much as I
could. We all hoped the war would end, and had no idea it could
spread this far north.
    “But then we heard rumors. General Lee’s
forces were on the march towards Washington...then they were in
Maryland. The word was that they were deathly in need of shoes, and
were looking for a factory or warehouse to outfit their horribly
equipped men.” She paused for effect, glancing out the window
before locking onto the audience again.
    “Oh, why did they have to come here, to our
sleepy little town? Was it because we stand at a crossroads? Was
it because of our abundant farms whose grain and livestock would
fill their stomachs? Or were we just chosen by God to bear