“I love Danny like a brother, but we don’t see eye to eye about everything. The Southern states wanted to leave the United States and form a separate country. You’ve heard about Abraham Lincoln?”
Lucie nodded.
“Lincoln was president and he didn’t want the United States to fall apart,” I said. “He fought a war to save it and eventually to free the slaves.”
I’d lost Jason halfway through the conversation. He’d wandered off to the living room and was trying to teach Hermione a new trick—walking on her hind legs to get a treat. She was a big dog, and this was unlikely to work no matter how sweet the treat.
I cut the lemons in half, and Lucie squeezed them into the pitcher. We added sugar and ice water and stirred like crazy. Lucie tasted it and agreed it was sweet enough. We put together a tray with glasses of lemonade and some homemade ginger cookies.
I poked my head into the family room where Mason was watching TV.
“Twilight double header,” he said when he saw me. “Just started. The Braves hit a home run.” He glanced at the kids. “I can find a movie if you’d rather.”
“No need,” I said.
Jason scrambled up on the couch. He was never one to miss a baseball game or time with Mason. I left them with the cookies and lemonade.
Lucie and I sat on the porch swing outside. Hermione flopped at our feet. Majestic, my orange cat who lived up to her name, settled on Lucie’s lap.
Lucie stroked his head, and neither of us spoke. I was grateful for the time to think.
Phil Brockton shows up expecting me to drop everything to watch him play soldier. Just like old times. When I could be of use to him he wanted me around. He even let me think he loved me. But, no matter what he’d felt, I had loved him. I thought he was like my father—smart, funny, and compassionate.
I sighed, and Lucie looked at me.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “I guess I’m bothered that Dr. Brockton showed up.”
“Did you love him, Aunt Di?’
“Whatever made you ask that, honey?”
“You have that look you give Uncle Mason sometimes.”
“Good grief, Lucie. Do you spend every minute studying my face?”
Lucie blushed. “It’s not hard, Aunt Di. Even Uncle Mason says he can tell what you’re thinking before you say a word.” Lucie sat quietly for a moment. She started picking at the wooden planks in the porch swing.
“What is it, Lucie?”
“It’s just…if you loved him once, maybe you still love him. Uncle Mason wouldn’t like that, and I wouldn’t either.”
“Not to worry, Lucie. I’m no longer in love with Dr. Brockton.”
I hoped that was true.
“And you are in love with Uncle Mason?” she asked with the tiniest grin.
“Say, I think you have a wobbly tooth in that mouth of yours. Let me check.”
I poked around in her mouth and tickled her until she was giggling so hard she nearly fell off the swing onto Hermione. Majestic had jumped ship at the first sign of a disturbance, and Hermione had the good sense to move away.
Mason must have seen us through the bay window in the family room because he and Jason came outside a moment later.
“I can’t leave you guys alone for a minute,” Mason said as he closed the screen door. “I expected more of you, Hermione.”
She trotted up to Mason in hopes of a good rub, which she got.
Lurleen and Danny arrived moments later, and we made plans for an ad hoc dinner. Danny and Mason would grill steaks. I would handle the salads, and Lurleen would watch the kids. She was always my backup. When her aunt died and left her a fortune, she’d quit her job at Sandler’s Sodas and spent almost as much time with the kids as I did.
Over dinner I told Lurleen and Danny the story of Phil’s abrupt arrival and his request that I watch a Civil War reenactment on Saturday.
“Boy,” Danny said, “would I love to see that!”
Danny looked like a kid at that moment, all six feet four inches of him.
“You could come along if you don’t have work to do,” I said.
Danny was a former cop and now private investigator who set his own hours. “I’m free tomorrow.”
I turned to Lurleen. “It’ll be a longer day for you. I probably won’t get home until after five.”
“I don’t mind,” Lurleen said. “No offense, Danny, but the idea of watching grown men play war doesn’t really interest me.”
“It’s not playing war, Lurleen, it’s creating living history,” Danny said.
“Ah, mon Dieu,” Lurleen said. She returned to her unique version of French when she got frustrated.
“I’ll try to leave the clinic around noon and get to Resaca about one,” I said, “but you can probably go earlier if you want, Danny.”
Mason had been silent throughout the meal. I looked over at him.
“Would you like to come?”
“Can’t. I have to work tomorrow.”
His response was curt, and I didn’t have any inclination to draw him out.
Danny and I made plans to meet on the battlefield.
Mason barely said two words to me when he left at the end of the evening. Worse than that he didn’t kiss me good night. Could he really be jealous of a relationship that had ended seven years ago? Or did he know me well enough to recognize my ambivalence.
* * * *
My supervisor Vic had no problem with my leaving the clinic early. I arrived at Resaca shortly after one. It was hard to imagine a bloody fight in such a pastoral setting with rolling hills dotted with pine trees. I’d never seen a reenactment, and the idea intrigued me now. In med school it was the last thing I had time for.
Perhaps having a boy of my own made me realize something new about the excitement of guns and battles. I suppose, to be honest, the idea of seeing Phil once more in uniform also intrigued me. Phil was a handsome man, and I didn’t mind seeing a handsome man in uniform. I tried hard to convince myself that was the extent of my interest in him.
When I arrived, tents lined the hillsides, and men sat outside them dressed in blue or gray. I walked over to a row of larger tents where women and men were selling goods. I asked inside one of them where the battle would take place and they directed me to the top of a hill.
“You can see everything from there,” the man told me. I walked past an EMS Gordon County ambulance—I guess they were prepared for anything that might happen—to a tent at the top of the hill selling bottled water. It was a humid day with no breeze, so I bought some and stared over the field.
To my left were a set of at least four cannons. Across the field I could see members of the cavalry running their horses along a line as they poked with their bayonets at balloons on posts. The horses were beautiful. Clusters of men stood near the edges of the field. I’d never be able to spot Phil.
One tent with two women inside was nestled near the bottom of the hill. I asked where I might find the Confederate organizers of the event.
One woman dressed in a period costume greeted me warmly. “We’re with the Army of Tennessee, dear. We know the men. Who is it you might be looking for?”
“Phil Brockton,” I said.
“Colonel Brockton? He’s a fine man. My William is under his command. They’re over yonder near those trees.”
She never broke out of her role and pointed to a clump of pine trees fifty yards away.
I spotted Phil about the same time he noticed me. He motioned me to stay back and I watched as he sketched something in the dirt to a dozen men dressed in gray uniforms. Then he strode over to meet me.
“I’m glad you came, Ditie. Pretty impressive, isn’t it. Wait ’til the action starts.”
He was in charge of maintaining the cannons on the Confederate side. He gave me a history of the battle as we wa
lked to the cluster of cannons not far from us.
“General Sherman’s men and our Rebs under General Johnston fought on this field in May 1864. Sherman wanted to hold the railroad and telegraph lines south of Dalton, and he did. We didn’t win this one,” he said, “but they lost more men than we did.”
As if on command, a train rattled past at the edge of the battlefield.
Up a small hill, three cannons were positioned behind bunkers. A fourth stood separate from the others. Phil inspected each one, shining a flashlight into the bore. “We use 12-pounder smooth bore Napoleons if we can get our hands on them. Most are reproductions.” He stood beside the one that was separated from the rest. It was a shiny bronze, not the dull green color of the other three. “This one’s special. It’s the one I’ll be using today.”
Danny ran up before Phil finished speaking. “Gosh, I’ve never seen one of these up close.” He ran his hand along the glistening five foot cannon. “This is a beaut.”
Phil nodded.
“They used solid shot in these?’ Danny asked.
“Or canister in close quarters,” Phil said.
Danny turned to me. “The canister casings were filled with steel balls, sawdust, anything they wanted to put in there, Ditie. They could do a lot of damage over a wide area.”
I nodded and tried to look interested, but I was ready for the battle to start. “I think I’ll join the spectators. You two carry on without me.”
Ryan and Harper Hudson caught up with me before I reached the people settling onto blankets and portable chairs they’d brought for the event.
“We heard you were back in town,” Harper said, “but we never knew if you’d taken off again. I didn’t expect to see you at a reenactment—I thought you hated them in med school!”
“They demanded more time than I had available. I came to see what Phil has always been so passionate about.”
“Can we take that to mean you and Phil are getting back together now that he’s divorcing his wife?” she asked.
“I didn’t know he was in the middle of a divorce, but our relationship is ancient history. I’m here because Phil invited me.”
“We’re here,” Harper said, “because we just love this kind of thing, don’t we, hon?”
Ryan shrugged and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Nice to see you, Ditie.”
“I have to be a Federal today,” Harper said.
“A Yankee?” I asked.
Harper nodded. “Too many Confederate reenactors showed up. I don’t mind. At least I’ll be on the winning side of this one.”
Phil saw us and ran over. “Hi Harper. I don’t think they need you today. Sorry. It looks like a flood of Federals showed up at the last minute. You could help us out on artillery—we’re a man or two short.”
“No thanks. I’ll just see my man in action.” She motioned to Ryan but winked at Phil.
I watched them as they walked away across the broad expanse of green. Ryan and Harper made a handsome couple, both tall and fit. Harper was blond. Ryan’s hair was brown. They looked like Ken and Barbie in uniform. They had a dermatology practice in Buckhead, but I’d never bothered to look them up when I came back to Atlanta. They’d always been more Phil’s friends than mine.
Danny waited for me near the edge of the battlefield. We joined the dozens of spectators, families mostly, getting settled for the battle. A few of the women were dressed in period costumes including a two-year-old daughter. I got a picture of that.
“This is great,” Danny said. “Phil told me I could participate the next time he’s in town. Man, I’d love that.”
We sat on a hillside under a large oak tree that provided shade and waited for the action to begin. We could see Phil gathering his men. Someone stepped out of line and offered a prayer. Then Phil got everyone situated. Several men wandered off with guns at the ready.
Clusters of Confederate soldiers and Federal forces were hidden among the trees at various points on the field.
Six people including Phil stood near the one cannon we could see clearly. Large carts stood fifteen feet behind each cannon with more men standing around them.
“Those are the limbers,” Danny said following my gaze. “They carry the ammunition. Normally there are nine men to a gun, including the man in charge—the gunner. That’s probably your ex, right?”
“Probably. Phil said they were short a man or two. Can I borrow your binoculars, Danny? I forgot mine.”
Danny lifted them from around his neck and handed them to me. I made a survey of the people near the cannon. I thought I saw Sally Cutter, but I couldn’t be sure. Andy was recognizable with his hat off and his red hair flying in the breeze. He was laughing with someone standing next to the cannon, Frank Peterson perhaps.
Wait a second! I saw someone else I recognized talking to Phil.
“That is Carl Thompson! I swear it is!”
“Should that mean something to me?” Danny asked. “Is he famous?”
“Phil and Carl hated each other in med school. Carl hated everything about the South. They traded barbs throughout first year and stopped talking after second year. I wonder what brought about this great reunion.”
Some signal seemed to start the battle. Drummers could be heard as clusters of men marched onto the field. Bugles blared and shots were fired. I watched as Phil’s crew stepped up in a ritualized dance. One man stuck a long stick into the bore of the canon.
“A sponge,” Danny explained, “to make sure there are no leftover sparks from a previous shot.”
Next someone put something in the tip of the bore. Another tamped it down.
“Black powder,” said Danny. “And now, see that rope Phil is holding—that’s the lanyard. It’s attached to a wire that’s fed into the powder through what’s called a vent. When it’s pulled out friction makes the powder ignite and the canon fire.”
“Thanks for the artillery lesson, Danny.”
He looked at me as if I were making fun of him.
“No, I mean it. I can understand what’s happening now. Everyone has his role.”
Danny nodded.
Then we heard the boom, boom, boom of three cannons firing in succession. The sound was louder than I expected. It vibrated beneath our feet. I saw one little girl covering her ears and thought I should join her. Smoke filled the area around the cannons. When it cleared it was obvious Phil’s crew had not yet fired.
It looked as if Carl and Phil were having a discussion while everyone else stood around waiting for something to happen. After a minute Phil handed the lanyard to Carl, who was standing alone on the left side of the cannon. Phil stood to the rear of the gun and signaled to Carl. Then he turned his back.
I watched as Carl pulled the lanyard and the gun banged.
Boom! Was it louder than the other cannons?
Then I heard the shouts and screams!
“What the hell?” Danny yelled. He grabbed the binoculars out of my hands. “That wasn’t supposed to happen!”
When the smoke cleared, I could see something was terribly wrong.
Several of the people around the canon had been knocked off their feet and the canon itself was split.
Phil stood, looking dazed.
Carl had been on the other side and I couldn’t tell what happened to him. I could see that everyone was staring in that direction.
I asked Danny to let me look, and he handed me the binoculars as he ran onto the field.
I watched as Harper came running up the hill. She helped Ryan to his feet. I saw Sally and Andy look to the other side of the canon. Even from where we stood I could hear Sally’s scream. Frank stood silently several feet from the shattered cannon. Phil had gone to where Carl lay and returned shaking his head.
I ran toward the disaster. Two members of the Gordon County EMS raced past me. Danny motioned me back an
d pulled out his cell phone. I assumed he was calling 911. I didn’t see Carl. I didn’t have to. The two med techs knelt beside his body and then stood up and backed away.
“We need the police out here, now,” I heard Danny shout into the phone. “We have one man dead. I’ll cordon off the area.”
Chapter Two
Danny tamped down the grass with his foot and marked off an area thirty feet square surrounding the shattered cannon and the body. The Gordon County EMS techs spoke briefly to Danny and then remained standing on the other side of the gun near where Carl lay.
Danny motioned my six classmates to stand in one corner and ordered them not to speak to one another. Me, he called over to where he was standing.
“Make sure none of them is injured,” he said.
I started to walk away and Danny waved me back. “No interrogating them, Ditie. Leave that to the police.”
Phil started talking to me as soon as I approached him.
“I don’t know what happened. One minute I’m talking to Carl and the next minute we’re all knocked off our feet.”
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
Phil did a quick inventory of his body and shook his head no. “Most of the blast was to the front of me.”
One by one, I spoke with people I hadn’t seen in years.
Ryan and Harper assured me they were okay.
“Of course I wasn’t anywhere near the explosion,” Harper said, “but Ryan was.”
“I’m all right,” Ryan said. “More shaken by what happened to Carl than anything else.”
“You weren’t knocked unconscious?” I asked.
“No, just lost my footing,” he said.
“You’ve checked him all over, Harper?”
“Of course.”
Frank Peterson and Andy Morrison were standing together. They looked battered. Frank’s uniform was covered in grass stains and dirt. Andy always looked as if he’d been through a war, but I could see a cut above his eye.
They were silent as I approached. Frank stood tall in his makeshift uniform, his black hair trim and his bearing suitable to a military man. Andy slouched as he’d done in med school, always looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed to make it to class. His hair was in disarray, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the blast or the way he always wore it.
Into the Frying Pan Page 2
