Nineteen years to the day, Hattie Howell stands on the hallowed ground where her father died in the most famous battle of the Civil War: Gettysburg. Born five months after her father volunteered with his two brothers to fight in the Union Army, Hattie has been on a relentless quest to learn about the father she never knew.
Why did he leave his family? How did he die? Was his a “good death?” Where does his body lay? These questions haunt her. She wants answers, needs answers. But from where?
Hattie’s War is the story of a young girl's quest to find herself and her place in the world in an era when women had few options. More than anything, Hattie wants to be an artist like her late father. Plagued by debilitating depression, she fears being sent to an insane asylum. Yet, against all odds, she bucks convention, guided and supported by a most unlikely cast of characters.
In real life, Hattie is writer Peter Serko’s Great Great Grandmother, Harriett Howell Phelps. The richly illustrated book merges his family history with the fascinating yet often terrible reality of America’s most devastating war.
Nineteen years to the day, Hattie Howell stands on the hallowed ground where her father died in the most famous battle of the Civil War: Gettysburg. Born five months after her father volunteered with his two brothers to fight in the Union Army, Hattie has been on a relentless quest to learn about the father she never knew.
Why did he leave his family? How did he die? Was his a “good death?” Where does his body lay? These questions haunt her. She wants answers, needs answers. But from where?
Hattie’s War is the story of a young girl's quest to find herself and her place in the world in an era when women had few options. More than anything, Hattie wants to be an artist like her late father. Plagued by debilitating depression, she fears being sent to an insane asylum. Yet, against all odds, she bucks convention, guided and supported by a most unlikely cast of characters.
In real life, Hattie is writer Peter Serko’s Great Great Grandmother, Harriett Howell Phelps. The richly illustrated book merges his family history with the fascinating yet often terrible reality of America’s most devastating war.
It started by accident. Or maybe a better way of putting it—it began with an accident.
I was in the kitchen baking molasses cookies when the front door closed with a bang that shook the house. The kitchen window rattled, scaring the dickens out of our cat dozing on the windowsill. She jumped, and so did I.
“Harriett Alanson Howell!”
“Oh, no,” I gasped.
Everybody called me Hattie. My God-given name crossed my mother’s lips only on my birthday, or if I was in trouble.
It wasn’t my birthday.
She was mad, and I knew why—Arthur Phelps. He must’ve told his mother what happened at school yesterday, and she bent Momma’s ear trying to blame it on me.
“I’m in the kitchen, Momma!” Thinking fast, I figured under the circumstances it was best to meet her halfway. I damped down the wood cookstove, took a deep breath, and scooped up a cookie. “Coming, Momma!”
Bolting out of the kitchen, I startled our poor cat for a second time. She darted in front of me, kicking up the parlor rug. I tripped and tumbled headfirst into my mother. Fortunately, she caught me before I hit the floor. But as I tried to right myself, my shoe got caught on the ragged hem of my old work dress and I couldn’t stand up. Kicking my foot free, I mumbled, “Sorry, Momma. I was just coming to see what you wanted.”
“I’ll give you sorry. Didn’t I tell you hitting boys was not proper behavior for a young lady?” she scolded, wagging her finger. “You’re almost fourteen years old, and it’s about time you started acting your age.”
“Honest, I didn’t hit him. It was an accident. He snatched my slate, and when I pulled it back, it smacked him upside the head. Miss Clark saw the whole thing and didn’t get mad. That’s the God’s-honest truth.”
I glanced down at the broken cookie still in my hand. “Cookie, Momma?”
“Now, don’t you start. I’m serious. It’s not proper. I can’t have mothers coming to the house complaining about my daughter’s unladylike behavior. It’s embarrassing. And wipe that flour off your nose.”
I dabbed at my nose with my dress sleeve. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. I’ll apologize tomorrow at school. Honest, it wasn’t my fault.”
She took a bite of the cookie. “I believe you, dear. Now, see that it doesn’t happen again. You hear?”
“I promise. Cross my heart.”
It was all I could do to keep from giggling out loud. Biting my lip hard, I turned and scooted into the kitchen. Saved by a cookie!
Before Miss Clark rang the bell the following day, I walked up to Arthur. “Sorry you got hit on the head,” I said, trying my best not to stare at the welt over his eye. It was hard to miss.
“I’m sure sorry, Hattie. I hope you didn’t get in trouble because my momma came to your house. I begged her not to go, but she was pretty upset.”
“Apology accepted. Here, I made these for you,” I said, handing him a plate of cookies. As he reached for it, I pulled it back. “Arthur, don’t ever mess with my drawings again. Promise?”
“Sure thing. Don’t worry about that,” he said, taking a handful of cookies from the plate.
“Good. I hope you like them.”
I was relieved that my apology and the cookies had fixed things up between us. I was about to ask him how his head was doing when the bell rang.
“Thanks for the cookies,” he mumbled as he ran to his seat.
Well, it seemed that my eyes suddenly got a mind of their own, because they followed him as he crossed the room. Then my eyes must have told my heart to join in, because it fluttered something fierce against my dress. Arthur and I had known each other for a long time. He wasn’t much to look at, to be honest. Hair cut crooked, sticking straight up in the back. Gangly legs and arms that moved every which way when he walked. Something changed in me as I stood there with the empty cookie plate in my hands.
Little did I know, something had changed in him too.
Harriet “Hattie” Howell has never known her father; he left home to fight in the American Civil War before Hattie was born, and he was killed in the line of duty before he could return. The loss of her father weighs heavily on Hattie, especially as she learns more about the circumstances that led to her father’s ultimate demise. Melancholy sets in, preventing Hattie from experiencing the joy and happiness she used to take for granted. But thanks to a loving family, thoughtful letters, and her artistic ability, Hattie is able to navigate her own battles against both her sadness and society’s expectations for her as she endeavors to discover more about the man her father once was.
This intriguing story introduces readers to the American Civil War from the perspective of some of the people who were left behind. Members of the author’s own family form the foundation of the novel, and new life is breathed into them through their dialogue and interactions. Though fictional in nature, true historical events and characters are embedded within the narrative, making Hattie’s experience feel ever more real to a contemporary audience. The dialogue and setting are true to the time, utilizing colloquialisms and religious sentiments that were found in upstate New York in the late 1800s. Overall, the pacing is excellent, and the book is accessible to older middle grade readers thanks to its accessible writing style and ample white space.
Alongside the narrative, readers find frequent images both from Hattie’s own hand and from publications of the time. These visual aids anchor the story for readers who are less familiar with the American Civil War, and they make the events of that time even more palpable. Additionally, letters between Hattie and her uncles are incorporated throughout the story and provide context while breaking up the traditional narrative structure. Ample back matter gives readers a plethora of information to digest regarding Hattie’s story and the real events that led to its creation, which makes the book valuable both as a solitary read and as a tool for classroom teaching. Accessible and educational, this is a noteworthy historical fiction novel for middle grade readers.