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Their Little Girl
I could not make out what my dad was saying; all I could hear was the stifled murmurs of his soothing voice. I fixed my eyes on the rough surface of his new blue, single-breasted frock coat[1], trying hard not to meet his eyes. Everything felt like a blur; my freckled face was covered with tears and snot, and every other child’s sorrow mixed with mine. The mourns of the draftees’ families were loud enough to fill up the largest railroad station of Westchester. My dread intensified as the deafening whistle of the train rang my head, signaling his departure.
“Sara… Sara, please look at me. This is it. I am going to be leaving in ten minutes,” he said.
Only then did my eyes meet with his. It was as if I could see tears forming behind his deep blue eyes, but no one could do anything. How could anyone be capable of making peace if people with power praised violence?
Behind me, I heard a sheer shriek of a toddler as he got ripped off of his father’s neck. I crouched down on the floor, screaming, with great hatred towards the war that was now going to take my father’s life on top of every misery that it has drawn upon us, the innocent citizens of America. My immense feelings shifted to President Lincoln, who had promised to keep this country safe from being torn apart but instead was ripping apart the husbands and fathers from their families, forcing them to serve on the battlefield. Meanwhile, all we could do is pray and count the pennies we earned from our homemade soaps[2], which will never buy enough to fill up our stomachs.
“Sara, we don’t have much time left. Your dad will be leaving soon,” said my mom.
She tugged on my arms and lifted me to my feet with sympathy. Then she hugged my father and me together. In the middle, I felt safer and calmer under the sturdy, protective arms. However, along with comfort, I felt hopeless as a 16-year-old little girl and having no control over my own life.
“All I can think about now is your turnip soup[3], Joan. All I would eat out there would be hardtack with mold[4] on it, won’t it be?” he said, chuckling weakly.
I clutched on tightly to the last bit of dried apples that were left at home, which I prepared for him. But what is the point? I would never even know if he ever found solace in my last, shabby gift.
Oh, how I wished that this could all be a silly dream. Until yesterday, everything was bearable, and I didn’t even have a clue that this tragic fate was awaiting my family. Now I saw that I was ignorantly grasping onto thin hope that somehow the misery of all the neighbors in our town simply would not happen to us.
Groomed men in blue uniforms and forage caps[5] started to board the train, and all mothers were wiping off tears, waving white handkerchiefs and holding onto their shrieking children at the same time. My mom did the same, except that she was not crying. She dropped her handkerchief, and through the haze, I saw her taking on responsibilities as the new leader of the house on her small but sturdy shoulders. I could no longer cry after looking at her. I could not afford to make her life harder than now by adding on as one of her responsibilities. She brushed away the sticky brown hair from my face, and I was hit with guilt as I saw her weak, halfhearted smile.
“I’ve gotta run now. My dear, I believe in you. Everything will be fine. I will come back in only a few weeks,” dad said to me.
I knew for sure that everything would not be the same without him and also that he was not going to come back for a long time, if not forever. But everyone else in this railroad was suffering like us. Grieving about the losses would do nothing about the situation, if not worsen it.
“Wait! This is for you.” I handed him the dried apples that I packed yesterday.
This time, I saw tears forming in his eyes. He could only manage to give me another hug and ran towards the train.
We waved until the train faded from our sight, and I realized that the only thing I could do to, by any chance, see him again in my lifetime was to help our family overcome the absence of him. Besides, my mom could not afford to take time to raise me like a normal child anymore; the war had ruined all of my childhood.
I picked up her handkerchief from the brick floor, and I tucked it back in the pocket of her beautiful crimson dress. I held her hand and tried to shake my worrisome doubts.
“Mom, what was it? The potatoes?” I shouted without turning my head around while precariously climbing down the creaky stairs in the root cellar.
“Yes, honey. Are there any left?” I heard my mom shout at me back from the outside.
Ignoring the musty smell of the mold in the ceiling, I checked the rotting wooden crates only to find them empty. Hence, I kneeled down with a soft grunt on the off-chance that some had fallen off. To my delight, I found one rolling in the corner, and I gleamed in relief. Before I left, I skimmed the dusty shelves, through our petty collection of pickled jars. Most of them were already emptied out, unsurprisingly. But I did get disappointed when I spotted that the jar of pickled limes[6] was running very low.
“Mom, can I buy a new jar of limes tomorrow at the market place in the town square?” I asked while walking back home with her.
“No, sweetie. I am sorry, but you know that we cannot spend money on everything we want. Last time when I went there it cost 7 pennies,” she said.
“Since when was I ever allowed to spend money on a single thing I want?” I quietly responded with sarcasm, trying to hide my fury.
We walked the rest of our way home in silence. The relationship between my mom and me has been getting worse since dad left us about two months ago in mid-March. We always ran out of conversations after a while as we did today, even during dinner, usually after I said something that I immediately regretted. I knew that I was doing the best I could to assist my mother, but I have lost the meaning for my life since he left. Food was short back then too, but I felt cheery whenever he sat on the edge of my bed and read me bibles to sleep in his soft, wavey voice. I always felt fulfilled, even when our family felt the pinch when the Civil War started, and as my dad, a carpenter[7], consequently ran out of clients. Now, with my dad gone, all that my mom and I can do is make the most out of our humble garden. But the vegetables and berries that we seldom harvested were scarcely enough to fill up our own stomachs. Thus, a few pennies from selling a handful of berries was never enough to buy all of our daily necessities.
“Lunch is ready,” she said.
Her voice snapped me out of my endless train of distress. I headed to the table and suppressed the sudden rush of rage and self-centered sorrow I felt as I stared at my cold mashed potatoes.
“Thank you, mom. I will help you cook tomorrow,” I said.
Without thinking, I added, ”Although I doubt if there is any help needed when you are only making mashed potatoes.”
I glanced at my mom with a pang of guilt. I felt sorry as I saw a grim expression drawn upon her beautiful freckled face and her hazelnut brown eyes. But my guilt momentarily turned into self-pity and hatred towards all others, especially her. I didn’t do anything during my lifetime to deserve this mistreatment from my house. I knew that my anger was aiming towards the wrong person, but how can anyone remain selfless and forgiving if they ate nothing but potatoes in different forms for three days straight?
“I am not hungry anymore. You can have mine if you want,” I said as I swiftly stomped out the house, failing to keep up a blank face, before she could say anything back.
I walked around aimlessly around the lush hills, sniffling, for who knows how long. I settled down on a fresh patch of grass and cried and screamed until I could no more. Only if dad was here with us… I hated myself for realizing that he was the glue that held us together only after he left. But on the second thought, it was not like I could have stopped him from leaving even if I knew that our family wouldn’t be the same as it was. All of this was pointless. I lay down and stared at the clouds slowly drifting to the right. The delighted chirps and sweet tweets of blackbirds and robins, the calming warmth of the sun and the tickles from the soft baby grasses seemed to console me. It was faint, but at that moment, I was reminded of what it felt like to be embraced by my dear dad.
“Sara! There you are!” Amy squealed breathlessly as she bent down and laughed, her long, straight blonde hair tickling my nose. She looked rosy, healthy and young as always.
“I ran all around the place to find you after your mom told me that you weren’t at your house!” she said as she raised me up to sit.
Amy and I have been best friends since we were very young. Her mother and mine have been best friends since they were kindergarten too. They lived in the same neighborhood until her mother married Mr. Vanderfield, a successful attorney who made wise investment choices in iron and made himself even more prosperous. Now Amy’s family lives in upper Manhattan and she goes to academies[8] while I am stuck with a passed down English cottage with a humble front porch[9]. Unlike her, my school led by the church[10] nearby has shut down, since our secluded neighborhood was short of profits from crops[11]. Even the families living in row houses[12] and free-standing frame houses[13] that had their farms mechanized[14] tightened their belts. I used to daydream about what it would be like if I ever changed places with her for a day.
“Oh… What’s wrong? Have you been crying?” she said with huge, worrisome emerald colored eyes.
“It is nothing. It’s just that my mom won’t even let me buy pickled limes. You know how much I adore them, right?” I said, whiningly, swallowing back the surge of tears.
“Of course! You know what, I will bring it next time I come to your house!” she suggested merrily.
“You are the best, Amy!” I giggled.
“Oh! Look at me. I almost forgot why I came here! A while ago, Dorothy, you know– our babysitter, said that she couldn’t work anymore. We are looking for a new person, and I suggested my mom for you to replace her in the meantime so we can see each other more often! I had to beg my dad for almost over a week now! He said he was unsure about a girl taking the job, but I said that you were smart, mature and responsible. You only have to look after James and Joey. So, will you take the job? Please?” she asked pleadingly with glee.
“I love those cute little twins! What are they now… Five? Umm… Okay, I can take care of them. I have lots of time to kill anyway,” I replied. If I took the job, I would get to know what it feels like to live in a grand six-room, two-story brick house. Also, won’t the pay I receive would alleviate my relationship with mom and support our family?
“Yes!” Amy yelped.
We scurried back home to ask for our parents’ consent. I felt relieved as they both said yes eventually even though they praised a bunch of sermons about being kind and respectful, safety procedures, commitment to the job, but most importantly, minding my manners. From what I was told by Mrs. Vanderfield, who was Amy’s mother and officially my employer from now on, Mr. Vanderfield heeded etiquette as quite a serious matter. If I didn’t want to let him down, I would have to be aware of every single step I take inside of Amy’s gorgeous mansion. After Amy and Mrs. Vanderfield left, my heart was pounding from the excitement and concerns for being a babysitter starting tomorrow. Oh, but what could possibly go wrong?
I looked up at the grand Federal-style mansion[15] in front of me. The bricks reflected the warm sunlight, giving the house a ravishing glow and making golden rosettes on its pilasters[16] appear more majestic than ever. I placed my hand under my beloved lacy white bonnet[17] and blocked out the sunlight from my eyes. By each step I took to the door, my heart was filled with dreamy excitement and expectations more and more. I knocked on the door, and Amy greeted me with her signature smile.
“I was waiting for you all morning! Come on in! Papa is waiting for you,” she said as she handed my coat and my month’s worth of luggage to one of the housemaids.
I followed Amy’s lead and took a short, determined breath as she opened the door to the study. I had never seen this place before because I was only allowed to stay in Amy’s room when I visited for a sleepover, until now. The stained glass window patterned with white squares softly shined rows and rows of books. I have never seen this many books in one place! I gazed at the room until I caught Mr. Vanderfield, a thin old man with an angular face, sharp eyebrows and icy blue eyes, skimming me. He seemed not to get any older or younger than he was years before. I had only seen a glimpse of him before, but I believed he always looked wise and stern, like a night owl.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Vanderfield. I am Sara, and I came to take care of James and Joey,” I said nervously as I focused my sight on his green knitted vest.
I glanced at his face and sighed with relief as I saw a thin line of a smile over his wrinkly face.
“Welcome, Miss Hendricks. Please sit down,” he said.
I was delighted and boasted with a new kind of pride that I have never felt before. To be treated like a lady by such a gentleman!
“So… I want to talk to you about how I want to take care of the twins. As you may already know, they are extremely vigorous. I know I cannot expect you to be perfect on your first day, but all I want is for you to keep them safe all the time. You and the twins will be eating breakfast, lunch and dinner with us…” He went on and listed all the things that I had to know, and I nodded at every end of his sentence.
After the meeting was over, I went to the living room and spotted Mrs. Vanderfield with the twins.
“Hello, Sara! I was waiting for you. They have been bugging me for over an hour for a walk to the park! I need to head next door with Amy right now, so could you take them for me? Thank you!” she said as she started walking to the library even before I could respond.
“Well, let’s go, children,” I said as I saw them already pushing on the front door like puppies.
I held each of their cuffs and pushed the door with my back. Both of them wailed as they struggled to let go of my hands and run towards the park. I tightly grasped them and walked to the water reservoir[18].
“Only play where I can see you, okay?” I said with a firm voice.
The twins nodded with their widened emerald colored eyes and ran off after a few seconds. I sat down on the bench and contemplated how hard it would be to watch out for them every day if I was already stressed out just walking them to the park. I lightly slapped on both of my cheeks and pleasingly watched them play tag by themselves. By the time they quitted playing until they were satisfied and hungry, the sun was setting down, dying the sky with glimmering pale pink.
“Sara! I want peppermint sticks!” Joey shouted.
“No! Me first!” James shouted back, shoving Joey.
“Children, but your dad said no candies before dinner,” I responded.
Suddenly, Joey burst out a cry, and I consoled her down by promising her the treat, giving in.
“There will be no peppermint for you, James! If you want one, be a good boy and apologize to Joey,” I claimed, expecting James to do as he was told. However, James kept up his sour face the entire time to the candy store.
“Here, one peppermint stick, please,” I said, handing the money.
I was still uncertain whether I should give some to James or not. But it would be too cruel for him if I don’t, right? I don’t want to mess up my opportunity by buying his hatred, and it is not my part to punish and educate them; what would Mr. Vanderfield think of me if he catches me yelling at his sweet children?
“James, I want you to give half of the stick to your sister, and say sorry to her. All right?” I said, meeting his eyes as I handed him the sweet.
That was when he turned around and bolted out the door in a second. I stood there, stunned, raged and feeling betrayed with an empty hand. I quickly made sense out of myself and searched for Joey, only to find her not by my side, but on the road, chasing down James, who was trying to open the wrapper at the same time. I quickly ran after them, hollering to stop and that it is dangerous to run in the road. My feet kept getting tangled on my favorite light blue dress that cost $50[19], a fortune for my family, and my heart broke as I saw the edges get ripped off. They never seemed to stop, and I took a moment to catch my breath before I went after them again. Then I saw a streetcar[20] soaring by my side. My heart rang with dread, fear and alertness, and I ran the heart out of myself, which was not even close to being effective. Now I could see the twins from far away and the streetcar, which was getting closer every second. I prayed to the lord as I forced myself to ignore the pain in my lungs. Then I heard a loud screeching noise. When I arrived, the car was letting out small puffs of white smoke and was stopped to a halt, leaving a single foot between it and the twins. All the twins could manage was letting out small hiccups, and trails of tears rolled down their faces. I quickly squeezed through the crowd and hugged them tightly in the middle of the commotion, thanking Jesus for sparing their lives.
“What is this? What happened!” Amy screamed.
I saw the rest of the Vanderfield family push through the thick crowd which quickly formed around. The twins quickly smuggled out of my arms and hugged Amy. Mrs. Vanderfield looked shocked and terrified, and Mr. Vanderfield looked right into my eyes.
“Let’s all go home while my husband takes care of this terrible accident,” Mrs. Vanderfield said, putting her arms around Amy’s shoulders.
I looked at Mr. Vanderfield apologizing to the driver with a proper bow, but I left the scene, feeling terribly embarrassed and terrified of losing everything. When we came back, dinner was ready. Everyone was speechless, but they prepared for dinner swiftly, which I did the same with everyone else. It was as if they were avoiding the topic as long as they could. I hate to admit, but I was indeed thankful for their muteness. Even the wild twins sat at the table and stared at the food in their best attitude and waited for Mr. Vanderfield. It seemed like forever, but I was even willing for more.
Finally, he sat down at the table and said, “First things first, let’s eat before we talk about what happened.”
Slowly, as time passed by, the family seemed to revive and find its original positions. I was the only one to knife the small slab of salted meat[21] as many times as I can. In a single day, I was suddenly turned into an intruder. Oh, actually, I think I was the intruder to this world since I was born. It is all my fault to be miserable my whole life and knowing nothing about Amy’s world, right?
My head was fogged with selfish, negative thoughts by the time dinner was over.
“So… Got anything to say?” Mr. Vanderfield asked.
I could feel all the eyes staring at me. My breath seemed to stop. I felt like a prisoner giving last speeches before being executed. Why is he giving me the spotlight? Does he want me to suffer? It was not even my fault why things got to this point anyway!
“I am sorry for what happened, but this all happened because James was selfish with a stupid peppermint stick! I tried my best to chase after them, but it was out of my hands. Please, understand,” I got nervous as Mr. Vanderfield gave me a stern look, the exact opposite of the smile he gave me this morning.
“I am afraid you are missing the point, Sara. Since you cannot see what is wrong here, I think it is the best for both of us if you went back home tomorrow morning,” he said.
“I can’t, Mr. Vanderfield. My family is relying on my pay right now. You just can’t fire me like that! I already said that I couldn’t do anything about this! I am only 16, after all,” I said, trying to grasp on the hope in my life that was diminishing so quickly.
“Thank you, Sara,” he said as he stood up and walked away from the dining room.
“No. Please don’t go…” I said in a smaller voice, which was now all pointless.
My room looked shabbier than ever. Every furniture was all homemade by my father, but after living a day at Amy’s house, my room looked nothing better than their warehouse. I laid down on my bed and pressed down on my face with a pillow. I have been spending all of my time in my room staring at the ceiling for two weeks since I was kicked out of Amy’s house. Everything has gone worse than what it used to be after dad got drafted; my mom and I don’t talk anymore, and I cannot stand eating dinner with her face-to-face. I can feel from her cold blue stare that she is blaming me for all the misfortune that has rushed upon us, even though whom she should really blame is Mr. Vanderfield. Before the incident, Amy and Mrs. Vanderfield used to visit us at least once a week. Now, they are not even bothering to send us a letter to keep in touch with us. Even though my mom tried to hide it from me, I knew that Mrs. Vanderfield used to help our situation with money. Once in a while, after she visited us, my mom boiled a meat stew that I knew we couldn’t afford with our occasional earnings from small baskets of berries. Consequently, all the hopes and occasional happiness dried out from our family.
I looked out the window and realized that the sun had already set. I tiptoed down to the kitchen, weakly illuminated by the candlelight, and picked up my portion of mashed potatoes from the wooden table, which my mom had cooked me for dinner. As I was tiptoeing back to my room, I accidentally stepped on the wooden panel, which made a heavy creak. I was certain that my mom heard me from the bedroom and became anxious to confront her, but I was relieved to see no one staring at me from the bedroom door. As I was finishing the potatoes at my room, I was startled by a fierce knock at the door.
As I ran to the door, I saw my mom asking, “Who’s there?”
“Is this Thomas’s house? I am in the same regiment as Thomas. He got shot in his leg by a Gatling gun[22], and he is frail,” said the stranger.
My mom opened the door without hesitation. She backed up from the door with shock. I was able to get a full view of dad after she fell down to the floor. I could only draw a blank when I finally saw him after a month. He could only manage to let out heavy breaths and was leaning his entire body on his comrade. His body has become even bonier than mine. His tanned skin has lost its golden, lively color, and his purple lips were quivering. To make matters worse, his right leg was missing from his body.
“I am sorry for this news, but he had to undergo an amputation surgery[23]…” I could not hear the rest of what he said. I blinked my eyes as if it would change anything, but everything stayed the same. I heard a ringing in my ears, and I gagged as I looked at my dad’s leg once more. With the help of the soldier, my mom carried dad to the bedroom. I followed them and was able to see him more clearly. I held onto his hands and prayed for his life. As I gave him moral support, my mom brought a pail filled with cold water and a clean cloth. She cleaned his body with the water, and I broke out a cry, horrified, as everything suddenly became real to me.
“Go to your room. Now,” mom said to me.
I obeyed her without protest and sat down on my bed. This was absolutely not what I thought our family reunion would be like. Even though I said to myself that there would be no hope of getting dad back from war, I still believed that someday, he would be back, and everything would turn back to normal. I thought that the relationship with my mom would become better if we had better food and eased living conditions as dad came back and started working again. I hated myself for thinking the Civil War as some kind of joke, for not seeing what was in front of our family. What have I done? Our family was suffering, but all I did was think only for myself and ruin the last hope of money source by blaming a kid for my own mistake. My dad would have no chance of survival if he only had a limited diet like that stupid mashed potatoes. He, one of the only people who sacrificed his life for me, is in grave danger and I extinguished the only light of hope I had in paying back his infinite love. Would it change anything if I went back to Mr. Vanderfield and begged for help? I knew that the chances were low, but I had no other choice but to give up my childish pride and grasp that one last chance of saving my father. I spent the rest of the night plotting my actions and calming myself down by saying crying won’t help anything to myself over and over again.
I failed at sleeping the whole night, and I decided to put my thoughts into action at dawn. Since I had no money to afford streetcars or horsecars[24], I had to walk for an hour to get to Amy’s house. Before anyone woke up, I slipped out of my room and started on my journey.
Luckily, I was familiar with the ways because I visited Amy’s mansion so often since I was young. In Manhattan, every block was busy and crowded even at dawn. If I was here on a typical day, I would have been feeling lively, but today, the noises only added on to my dreads.
I finally arrived at the front porch, and I knocked on the door with determination, ignoring the clouds of worries, anxiousness and dread. The maid opened the door and was startled to see me standing at the door. She was unsure of what to do, and before anyone could say anything, I went straight to the study where I assumed Mr. Vanderfield would be right now.
Without thinking, I opened the door, closed my eyes tight, and yelped, “I am sorry, Mr. Vanderfield!”
I peeked at Mr. Vanderfield and relaxed as I saw him calmly look at me.
“Would you like to sit down, Miss Hendricks?” he asked.
I sat down on the very same Vienna Chair[25], which I sat on the first time I met Mr. Vanderfield. I took a deep breath.
“I am sorry for disobeying your rules and not looking over the twins properly. Even though it was my fault that happened two weeks ago, I was so desperate for the job that I blamed it on James. I see now that my actions were very immature,” I said, sincerely.
“My dad is currently in a grave situation. His illness made me realize that I can no longer hide behind my insecurities and face the consequences of the mistakes that I have committed to your family,” I added on.
He gave me the warm, calming smile which he had shown me the first time we met.
“I felt sorry for you after sending you home like that before. After all, you are indeed a person, and all people make mistakes,” he said.
After seconds of silence, he said, “I would like you to work here again,” with a smile.
We looked at each other for a while with forgiveness and warmth.
The bright blue sky greeted me outside the mansion, the sun clearing the murky colors of the dawn. I stood in the middle of the streets, letting tears roll down my cheeks. Soon, the tears were pouring down my face, and I crouched down to my knees, unable to control my shaking shoulders. I felt my face quickly become a mess. But it didn’t matter, for I was crying with relief and hope rather than dread. After a short while, I wiped down the tears and snot from my face and started skipping my way home.
I saw my mom biting off her fingernails and anxiously pacing in front of our cottage.
“Mom, why are you out here? What about dad?” I shouted from the hill.
Her head jerked up to my direction, and as I saw her face unravel into a sweet, consoled smile, I ran into her arms. I soon saw my dad limping down the stairs with his handmade crutches over the shoulder of my mom, and was thankful to realize again that the war hadn’t taken away everything from me. Still snuggling in my mom’s arms, I smiled at my dad standing at the door, which he shined back at me.
“I am sorry, mom… for everything,” I said.
“No worries,” she answered.
“We can’t let dad keep standing there forever,” I said with soft giggles. Then I helped him back to his room and brought a pail of warm water and a cloth to massage his leg.
“Thank you, Sara,” he said.
“No worries,” I answered.
[1] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999. Page 66.
[2] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999. Page 57.
[3] Terrell, Ellen. November 26, 2013. “Civil War: Thanksgiving Foods.” Library of Congress, https://blogs.loc.gov/inside_adams/2013/11/civil-war-thanksgiving-foods/
[4] “Hardtack in the Civil War.” nps.gov, https://www.nps.gov/mana/learn/kidsyouth/upload/Hardtack-Do-Now-and-Recipe.pdf
[5] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999. Page 198.
[6] Shealy, Daniel. “Little Women: An Annotated Edition.” Project Muse, https://muse.jhu.edu/article/546305/pdf
[7] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999.
[8] “Education during the 1860s.” American Battlefield Trust, https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/education-during-1860s
[9] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999.
[10] “Education during the 1860s.” American Battlefield Trust, https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/education-during-1860s
[11] “Education during the 1860s.” American Battlefield Trust, https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/education-during-1860s
[12] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999. Page 68.
[13] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999. Page 68.
[14] Arrington, Benjamin T. “Industry and Economy during the Civil War.” National Park Service, https://www.nps.gov/articles/industry-and-economy-during-the-civil-war.htm
[15] “The Federal Style.” College of the Holy Cross, https://college.holycross.edu/faculty/wziobro/ClassicalAmerica/federalistintrohp.html
[16] “Federal Style, 1780-1820 Coleman-Hollister House.” Memorial Hall Museum Online, http://memorialhall.mass.edu/activities/architecture/coleman.html
[17] Franklin, Harper. “1860-1869.” Fashion History Timeline,
[18] “DEP Activates Historic Fountain In Central Park Reservoir To Commemorate 150th Anniversary Of Central Park.” NYC Environmental Protection, https://www1.nyc.gov/html/dep/html/press_releases/03-39apr.shtml
[19] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999. Page 57.
[20] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999. Page 66.
[21] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999.
[22] “Advertisement for Gatling Gun and Battery: a look at the public endorsement of the Gatling Gun.” The History Engine, https://historyengine.richmond.edu/episodes/view/6126
[23] “Civil War Battlefield Surgery.” Ehistory, https://ehistory.osu.edu/exhibitions/cwsurgeon/cwsurgeon/amputations
[24] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999. Page 67.
[25] Varhola, Michael J. Everyday Life During the Civil War. Writer’s Digest Books, 1999.
