by Tinnean
“Yes?” Still smiling, Sharps turned toward the voice. “Yes, sir.” He snapped to attention as a colonel, the general’s aide-de-camp, approached him.
“The general requests your presence at company headquarters.”
Sharps recognized an order when he heard one, and he followed the aide-de-camp to the house the general had requisitioned.
The colonel opened the door, nodded for Sharps to enter, then followed him and went to stand at the general’s right hand.
The general was busy writing something in a journal, and Sharps stood at attention and waited until he finished and glanced up at him. Then he saluted.
“Thank you for coming, Corporal,” the general said, giving an offhand salute in response.
Of course Sharps would. He continued to stand at attention.
“At ease. I understand you’ve mustered out of the 14th Brooklyn.”
“Yes, sir. Captain Marriott is going to request I be moved over to the 5th New York Veterans.”
“Hmm.” The general stroked his mustache. “I have a job for you. You can refuse it if you so choose, and since I and Colonel Sebring will be the only ones aware of this, no one will think poorly of you.”
But the general would, Sharps was certain of it.
“I’m your man, General. What do you want me to do, sir?”
“I need a young man such as yourself to infiltrate behind enemy lines and see what you can learn.”
“Sir?”
“Colonel Sebring has detected a slight accent when you speak.”
“Yes, sir. My pa’s family is from Texas, although they originally came from Georgia.” Sharps had never thought he had an accent, but if he did, he must have picked it up from Pa.
“Cultivate that accent so you can pass for a Confederate. I need to know the number of men fighting and how healthy they are, supplies, equipment, how the civilian population is coping.”
Sharps nodded. “If I can help end the war quicker, then I’m happy to do my part, sir.”
“Good man. When this war is finally over, you’ll receive a commendation from President Lincoln.” He shook Sharps’s hand. “Colonel Sebring, would you mind filling in Sergeant Browne?”
“General? I’m a corporal.”
“You were. Now you’re a sergeant. I’m giving you a field promotion.”
Sharps was flummoxed and for a moment unable to say anything. A sergeant. Given his age and the fact he was just a drummer boy, he’d never thought to achieve a rank higher than corporal. He swallowed. “Th-thank you, sir. I’ll do my best for you, I promise.”
“I’m sure you will. You’ve got family back home?”
“Yes, sir. My pa.”
The general nodded. “I want you to write him a letter and tell him Colonel Sebring has offered you a job on his farm. We don’t want him worrying about you.”
“No, sir.”
“Colonel, you’ll see to it?”
“Of course, General.”
“All right, then. Godspeed, young Sharps.”
Sharps saluted and followed the colonel to another room.
“Sit at that desk and write your letter. You can write, can’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Sharps wasn’t insulted. Lots of men couldn’t write. “Excuse me, sir. Captain Marriott also has his marching orders. He thinks I’m going with him. May I say goodbye to him?”
The colonel gave him a thoughtful look. “Very well. Finish your letter first. And remember, this assignment is secret.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t say a word about it.” That meant he’d have to lie to the captain. But the general had as good as ordered him to. He scribbled a hasty note to Pa, sealed it in the envelope the colonel handed him, and wrote Pa’s name and direction on it. “I’ll be right back.”
“See that you are.” Colonel Sebring took the letter. “I’ll send this out immediately.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sharps saluted and hurried to the campground where the captain was saddling his mount. “Captain Marriott?”
“There you are, Sharps. I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
“I…uh…” He worried his lower lip. “I have. I’ve come to say goodbye.”
“Good-? I thought—”
“Oh, yes, but—” Sharps felt his cheeks heat. He hated lying to the captain.
“Ah. You have changed your mind and are taking advantage of this opportunity to go home, are you? Well, you did enlist in ‘61, and we’ve seen some brutal fighting. I can’t say I blame you for having had enough. War is hell,” he said softly. “I’m sorry we won’t be together, but I’m glad you’ll be safely away from this fighting.” The captain sounded relieved, which made Sharps feel better. “The war will be ending, and the Rebs will fight all the harder.”
“Yes, sir,” he murmured distractedly. He wished he could tell the captain the truth. He didn’t want the cap thinking he was a quitter. “Thank you, Captain. For the derringer.” He leaned close enough to whisper, “For keeping those men away from me that time.” He took the derringer out of his pocket and offered it to its rightful owner.
“No, Sharps, you keep it.” He closed his fingers on Sharps’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
“Thank you, sir.” He smiled up at him, enjoying that touch.
“You’re welcome. I hope to see you again.”
“Me, too. I’ll…I’ll be in Brooklyn, if you ever want to look me up after the war, Steve.” For the first time, Sharps used the captain’s given name. “Please…please stay alive.”
The captain smiled at him and ran the backs of his fingers over Sharps’s cheek. “I promise.”
Sharps liked the feel of those fingers, and for a second he leaned into the captain’s touch and wanted to stay with him.
But he couldn’t. He had promised the general.
Sharps had turned fourteen the month before, and he couldn’t…wouldn’t…weep. He stepped back, snapped to attention, and saluted. He did a sharp about face and walked away, feeling as if he were leaving a huge part of his heart with the captain.
He put his belongings in his haversack and his kitbag, gave his drum to a new drummer boy, and hurried back to headquarters.
Chapter 5
Thanks to Sharps’s lack of height and boyish face—which it seemed both the general and Colonel Sebring had counted on—and the lazy drawl that returned with a little work, no one paid him much heed, and he was able to get the job done. He even managed to help some men escape from a small prison camp in the dead of winter. Colonel Sebring passed that deed on to the general, and he’d been praised for it. He couldn’t stick around though. There was more work to be done, and he had to do it.
At least up until April of the following year, he did it. Although by then the war had ended, Colonel Sebring still had work for Sharps to do, and he did it willingly.
By sheer chance Sharps learned of the plot to assassinate the president, and he searched desperately for someone to give that information to. The colonel was on leave, however, visiting his farm in Maryland and the wife who had just given birth to a healthy baby boy. The general wasn’t in the capital, and no one was available who would believe Sharps—that accent and that damned baby face.
He determined to go to Ford’s Theater and deal with the situation himself, but by the time he got there, it was too late. The president had been shot, and by later that morning, he would be dead.
“It wasn’t your fault, Sharps,” Colonel Sebring assured him when he returned to the capital and found Sharps in a rundown boarding house, spending his time getting drunk. “If those idiots had just listened to you—”
“It’s this damned face of mine. They thought I was just a fool kid and wouldn’t believe me.” Sharps peered blearily at the colonel. Was he observing Sharps thoughtfully, or was it in disgust? Dammit, Sharps wished he wasn’t so hungover. He remembered Captain Marriott’s warning after he’d shot the Rebel colonel and regretted he hadn’t taken the words to heart, although considerin
g this situation…“At least it wasn’t on my birthday.” Although it was near enough.
“Look, I have other jobs for you. They’ll pay well, I promise.”
Sharps shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere better to go.” He’d used all his cash money on rye whiskey, and since he had no idea where Captain Marriott was, he reckoned he might as well help out the colonel. Anyway, with so many men returning home from the War, jobs would be scarce. “I’ll take it, Colonel.”
“Good. Take a bath, write your father—tell him you’re well and you’re staying on in the job I’ve given you but nothing more.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve got no paper.”
The colonel tugged on his lower lip, then nodded. “I’ll see you have some. Do you expect him to write to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will he grow worried when he doesn’t hear back from you?”
“No, sir. I’m not much of a letter writer, and Pa knows that.”
“Still, he might grow concerned. Have him send any letters to Shadow Brook.”
Sharps nodded. He knew that was the colonel’s farm.
“All right, then. After you’ve bathed, come meet me at the Sticks and Stones.” He raised an eyebrow.
“I know where it is, sir.” It was the tavern where Sharps had gotten his whiskey. He held his breath and waited for the colonel to say he’d assumed as much.
Colonel Sebring didn’t—of course he didn’t. He was a gentleman. What he did say was, “I’ll have paper for you there. Once you’ve written to your father, you’ll eat, and I’ll explain what we’ll be doing.”
* * * *
What we’ll be doing…
By the spring of 1868 three years later, Sharps had had enough of what they were doing—enough of bloodshed, of cruelty, of deceit. He gave his final report to Colonel Sebring and collected his pay, along with a pouch containing a bonus that would tide him over until he decided what he wanted to do.
“I want to go home, sir,” he said as he tucked the pouch in the bottom of one of the custom-made saddlebags the colonel had given the men who worked for him and which Sharps had swapped out his kitbag for. He’d sent home the commendation the general had promised him years before, although it had been signed by President Johnson and not President Lincoln.
“I understand, Sharps. I’m sorry to see you go, but I won’t try to talk you out of it.”
“Thank you, sir. I-I hope you’re not disappointed in me.”
“Never.” The colonel hesitated for a moment, then continued, “You did excellent work. If you ever find yourself in a jam, I’d suggest falling back on your face.”
Sharps touched his cheek, confused, and the colonel gave him a rueful smile.
“No one would look at that face of yours and see you as anything but an inexperienced boy. Now,” he said more briskly. “If you ever need anything, feel free to get in touch with me. You know my direction—Shadow Brook Farm, Maryland.” The colonel rested his palm on Sharps’s shoulder for a moment, then pulled him into a hug before he stepped away. “Good luck and Godspeed.”
The action startled Sharps. The colonel had never been the demonstrative sort.
“Good luck to you, too, Colonel.”
Colonel Sebring gave a curt nod and strode out, leaving Sharps to pack his clothes into the saddlebags. Whatever remained went into his haversack.
Sharps sent word to Pa, letting him know he would be on his way, and then he caught a train heading north.
He was going home to Brooklyn.
* * * *
Sharps climbed out of the hack, took his saddlebags and haversack, and paid the driver. The man tipped his hat and snapped the reins. As his horse trotted down the road, the driver whistled one of the songs Sharps used to play on his harmonica for the men just before they turned in for the night.
“Zach? Oh my God, Zach!”
Sharps looked behind him to see who his pa was hailing, then laughed sheepishly. It had been a long time since anyone had called him by his Christian name. Even he thought of himself as Sharps. “Hello, Pa.”
“You’re home.”
He dropped his haversack and saddlebags, but before he could do more than take a step toward Pa, Pa swooped down on him, moving quickly for a man with a wooden leg. He caught Sharps in a tight embrace and pounded his back. Although he was a short man, he was still taller than Sharps
“I’ve missed you, son. How have you been? Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry, Pa. As I told you in a letter, I got a position with a former officer. I did some odd jobs for him.” Sharps sagged in Pa’s hold. Not only had it been a long four years—even longer than the three that had gone before them—but it had been a long trip home, and he was worn out.
“Face it, Zachary. You’re not the most diligent letter writer. I thought sure once the war was over you’d return home, but when you didn’t, I was afraid you’d inherited my wanderlust, and I wouldn’t see you again.”
“I wrote you—”
“Twice.”
“I’m sorry, Pa.”
Pa shook his head and smiled. “I know my son. I’m just happy you’re home now. Here. Give me your saddlebags.” Pa took them and slung them over his shoulder. “Captain Marriott came by to see you. He was surprised you weren’t here.”
Sharps felt his stomach lurch. The cap had actually stopped by? “I’m sorry I missed him. When was this?”
“Shortly after the war ended. He brought something for you. Come around out back.”
Sharps caught up his haversack and followed Pa. “Did the cap say where he was being stationed?”
“He’s no longer in the army. He resigned his commission.”
“Oh.” He reckoned the cap was as tired of war as he was. “What will he do?”
“He said something about leading wagon trains west from Missouri—out of St. Joe and Independence. There’s been a wave heading west.”
“Will he be back?”
“As to that, I’m afraid he won’t be.” Pa looked sad. “With all the men returning from the war, there weren’t many jobs available in the city.” He looked even sadder. “Even now, I don’t know if you’ll be able to find anything local. I’d wanted more for you than to be a gunsmith, but that might be what you’ll have to settle for.”
“I don’t see that as settling, Pa. You’re a skilled gunsmith, and if I can be half as good as you, I’ll do all right.” In addition, he’d learned a lot under Colonel Sebring. If a job in the city didn’t work out for him, Sharps would visit with Pa a while, and then he’d head west and see about finding his captain.
Pa clapped him on the back, and then led him past the shed to a fenced-in area at the rear of the property.
“What…?” Standing under a chestnut tree was a beautiful buckskin mare.
“She’s called Salida. The captain told me her entire name is Otra Salida del Sol—it means another sunrise. He wanted you to have her.”
“He did?” Sharps felt a burning behind his eyes.
“Yes. He’s a good man.”
“He is. I’ll tell you what he did for me at supper.”
“That sounds worrying.”
“It was at the time. Thanks for keeping her for me, Pa.”
“You’re welcome, son. I’m not much for riding anymore, but I’ve had one of the neighbor boys exercise her. Her saddle is in the shed.”
Sharps let himself into the paddock, closed the gate behind him, and approached the mare. Her ears were forward, indicating her curiosity, and her eyes were calm and accepting.
“Oh, you are beautiful.” Sharps ran a hand over her neck, shoulder, and side. “If only I had something to give you, my pretty.”
“I’ll fetch something.”
Before Sharps could tell him that wasn’t necessary, Pa had gone to the house, and Sharps smiled after him. Even with a wooden leg, Pa did move fast.
He returned in a matter of minutes. “Carrots and sugar, son. She does have a taste for them.”
“Thanks, Pa. Y’know, I wish I had something to give the captain in return.”
“As a matter of fact, I had a feeling you’d say something like that if you ever came home.”
“Pa—”
“I won’t tease you about it.” He looked thoughtful. “I’ve done a lot of traveling, son, and I know the ways of the world. I could tell there was something you weren’t telling me in the two letters you managed to write, and it was obvious to me you felt it was important.”
“Thank you, Pa.” He wondered if he would ever tell Pa about what he’d done for Colonel Sebring.
Pa smiled and shook his head. “Now. I’ve been working on something for Captain Marriott. I’m almost finished with it. When you’re done making friends with this lovely lady, come in the house and I’ll show you. And I’ll feed you,” he called over his shoulder as he hobbled back to the house.
“All right.” But Sharps found his attention drawn to the mare.
Whoever the captain had gotten Salida from had treated her well, because it didn’t take long to win her over, just the carrots and the sugar cube and finding the spot under her chin that made her close her eyes in bliss.
He didn’t want to take the time to get the saddle. Instead, he put his weight on her back, and when it became obvious she was willing to accept it, he swung onto her and rode her bareback around the pasture. She had a sweet gait, and Sharps was more determined than ever to find Captain Marriott. A man who gave a gift like this…It had to mean something more than friendship, but even if that was all it was, Sharps intended to thank him, and possibly become partners with him. They could travel the country together. Sharps would make a good scout to the cap’s wagon master, or even segundo to his ranch foreman.
Finally, he slid off the mare’s back and patted her neck. He hadn’t ridden her hard enough to work up a sweat, so he just left her in the paddock and headed for the house. Not only was he hungry, but he was interested in seeing what Pa had made for the captain.
As it turned out, the banjo was the most amazing thing Sharps had ever seen.
“I remember you saying in one of your letters back during the war how the two of you would play for the men at night.”
