“Yes, it is. And I pray she’s all right—and that we’ll find her soon,” Meg said. “So I’m trying to follow some of our past footsteps, and then, tomorrow night, we’re moving on to help with security for Congressman Walker.”
“He’s bringing in a crowd that’s even bigger than the customary summer hordes!” Peter said. “Oh, my God! After the news from Washington today, the phone didn’t stop ringing. People can’t wait to hear him speak. In fact, it’s pretty splendid that you happened to come here for tonight. I’m sold out after this until the middle of fall. But tonight, it’s just us and Mr. and Mrs. Avery—fellow reenactors, except the old buzzard plays a lieutenant in Pickett’s division. His ancestor was in on Pickett’s Charge...and survived. Go figure. I’m really glad that tonight worked out. I’d have hated to turn you away, Meg. And you, too, Mr. Bosworth,” he added politely. “But...security. Are you still a cop, Meg?”
She shook her head. “I’m with the FBI now, Peter. So is Matt.”
“Ah, I’m sorry!” Peter said. “So you’re Agent Bosworth or...”
“Matt is fine,” Matt assured him. “And we’re thrilled to be here.”
“You have the two ground-floor connecting rooms. You know them, Meg. It’s where we always put you and Lara.”
“Great,” Meg said, smiling.
“Would you mind suggesting a place for dinner where Killer would be welcome?” Matt asked.
“I think you should go to the Dobbin House Tavern.” Charlene turned to Meg. “You and Lara took me once, remember? Meanwhile, I’ll be happy to keep this little scamp with me. He is adorable—no matter what you say!” she told Matt.
“Up to you,” Matt murmured to Meg. “It’s still your search.”
“That’s lovely, then,” Meg said. “Thank you.”
The Dobbin House Tavern was beautiful and far older than the great deciding battle in American history that most people came to Gettysburg to relive or understand. The Reverend Alexander Dobbin had come to the area to start his new life during the Revolutionary era, and built his house to stand the test of time. The tavern offered all modes of dining, from elegant to casual. Matt said he’d never been before and he listened to the waitress when she explained just how old the house was and how wonderful it was to work there.
“Nice,” he told Meg when they’d placed their order. “So you came here a lot?”
She nodded. “We both loved it—and my parents love the place, too. It was a stop on the Underground Railroad, you know. There’s a crawl space where runaway slaves could hide. This area had a lot of nonviolent protesters before the war. There’s a rich Quaker heritage, part of William Penn’s legacy. There are so many layers of history here, although of course Gettysburg is most commonly associated with the Civil War and that pivotal battle.”
“I haven’t been here recently, but I have seen reenactments,” he said.
“My parents would approve. They think everyone should come to Gettysburg and see a battle reenactment—although now, of course, we see men fighting and dying on battlefields in our news coverage. But it’s still astounding to see guns pointing right at the men—and to watch them walk into the fire, anyway. That, combined with Lincoln’s speech...well, it reminds us all what it means to be an American and how we need to preserve that dream so many of our forefathers believed in. And fought for.”
“I understand their feelings,” Matt said. “There really is something hallowed about these fields, about knowing what happened there in July 1863—on the very ground where you’re standing.”
“When we leave here, can we drive around the parts of the battlefield that are open at night?” Meg asked.
“You lead, I follow,” Matt said.
“Somehow, I doubt that’s the way you usually feel,” she told him drily.
“Hey, I’m an excellent team player.” He rested his fingers on hers. “Don’t you agree?” There was mischief in his eyes, and she found herself wondering if it was right that he could make her smile and laugh—and more—when everything in their world seemed to be at such a critical point. And yet, for a moment, she was tempted to suggest they head back to their beautiful old bed-and-breakfast and start their search in the morning.
But she also felt an urge to go out that night. To—as Matt had said—see what this place had to say to them. Gates at the national park were closed after dusk, but it was still possible to stand by the fences surrounding many of the sites.
Some of the bloodiest sites.
In the end, they went down West Confederate Avenue. Meg asked Matt to stop, and they both got out of the car. The moon was just beginning to wane; it hadn’t been a foggy night, but mist seemed to spread across the field beyond the picket fence.