Echoes of Dark and Light

by Chris Shanley-Dillman

  Start Reading

  About the Author

  Copyright & Publisher

  More Books from Curiosity Quills Press

  Full Table of Contents

  For my three favorite people: my mom, my dad, and my husband, David.

  The predawn darkness surrounded the us, creeping into every crevice, until I almost felt smothered. I forced soiled air into my lungs, heavy with the odors of unwashed soldiers, gunpowder and decay, and tried to silently repositioned my cramping muscles. Anxiety ate at my nerves as the minutes dragged far beyond the scheduled strike time; something had gone wrong. Disembodied voices, scratchy with fatigue and trepidation, began murmuring through the shadows around me.

  “It should have blown by now.”

  “The fuse is a dud.”

  “Someone should check it out.”

  “No, give it more time.”

  “I knew this wouldn’t work.”

  “Look, Lieutenant Colonel Pleasants is sending in two guys to check out the problem!”

  Within a few moments, the two soldiers scurried back out of the mine as fast as they could run. They’d relit the burned-out fuse. A moment passed with held breath…silence…

  Then the sleeping ridgeline exploded in a blinding, deafening roar.

  Rocks, dust, debris, soldiers blasted into the night sky.

  Complete confusion.

  Soldiers scattering. Soldiers buried. Soldiers burning. Soldiers dead. Alive.

  Forces trapped in trenches with no ladders.

  Mass congestion in the sixty by thirty foot crater.

  Rebels firing cannons and rifles into the sea of blue uniforms.

  Shouting, screaming, silent cries.

  My body reacted automatically while my brain froze in horror. We charged into the crater, rifles raised and loaded.

  “Bobbi!”

  The faint call of my name whispered through the pine trees, and I turned around in a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. I’d purposely left home before daybreak in hopes of avoiding nosy neighbors. I’d thoroughly thought out every detail and possible consequence that might result from my actions, and no matter what happened, I would follow through and succeed. My plan was relatively simple: sneak aboard the first train leaving Marquette, Michigan, head south until I encountered the action exploding between the North and the South, join up with one of the Union armies, and then find my older brother, Robert … all while convincing the world that I was a boy.

  I expected to find Robert and get us both back home to the Upper Peninsula by next spring at the latest, and I didn’t want to waste a moment getting started. I didn’t have time to chat with folks asking after Gran and my younger brother, or listen to those offering condolences for poor dead Robert, the war hero. Especially since I knew with all of my heart and soul that Robert still lived and breathed, somewhere. Not that I had any evidence to back that up. In fact, all I did have was the letter stating that Robert Rivers of the Union Sharpshooters, Company 17, had been reported missing in action from the Battle of Gettysburg and presumed dead. Okay, so he might be missing, but no way was he dead. Robert and I had a special connection; we could almost read each other’s thoughts, could feel what the other felt. I would know if his heart had stopped beating. So I intended to find him and bring him home. If most folks knew my plan, they would just shake their heads in pity at the poor little girl so lost without her big brother. That’s why most folk didn’t know, just Gran, my little brother, and my good friend Emma. And on the off chance that my gut had misled me for the first time in my seventeen years and Robert really did lay dead somewhere… well, I had to know the truth, and if possible, I would bring his body home.

  As I waited, peering into the pre-dawn shadows for who had called my name, I pulled my coat closed against the chilly, end of September wind gusts. Heavy frost blanketed Gran’s front yard, along with all other uncovered surfaces surrounding Marquette, causing my footsteps to crunch loudly in the sleeping village. Winter would settle in soon, bringing gusting winds, bitter below zero temperatures, foot after foot of falling snow, and the slow steady freezing over of the massive Lake Superior. It seemed an unlikely event, the freezing of such a large and alive body of water, and Lake Superior herself seemed to protest the very idea, crashing with energetic force against the shoreline two hundred yards to the north of where I stood.

  A heavily cloaked figure emerged from the dark forest, sitting astride a trotting black horse. The clip clop of the horse’s hooves against the frozen ground echoed in the empty roadway, and almost seemed to continue in a ghost-like echo as she pulled to a halt in front of me. Her hooded face, reddened from the cold, eased into a big smile.

  “Emma! What are you doing here?”

  Taking hold of the wiry black mane, Emma swung her skirted leg over the bare back of the horse and slid to the ground. Her small frame disappeared behind the horse, but she quickly reappeared, holding the reins loosely in her hand. She paused to catch her breath, her exhales mixing with those of the horse, visible clouds of condensation in the frosty air.

  “I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,” Emma said, grinning up at me.

  Shaking my head, I couldn’t help but smile in return. “You didn’t have to.”

  “Yes, I did. Bobbi, you are my dearest friend in the whole world, and are about to embark on an almost impossible mission—”

  “Impossible?” A spark of anger bristled the hairs on the back of my neck.

  “I said, almost impossible,” she quickly injected. “If anyone can actually pull off this ingenious scheme, it’s you.”

  The anger slipped away with my heavy sigh; I couldn’t stay mad at her. Still, I maintained the scowl on my face just to tease her. “What do you mean by scheme? I prefer to think of this as a well thought out plan.”

  “You are going to travel hundreds of miles, deep into the depths of a deadly war, all the while lying to everyone you meet, including deceiving the entire Union Army. That sounds like a scheme to me. I seriously don’t know how you’re going to do it, convincing everyone that you’re a boy.” She tucked her soft black hair behind her ear, her eyes dark with worry. “If you get caught, you’ll be in a heap of trouble.”

  I shrugged and continued walking. “That part of the plan isn’t going to be the problem. I’ve practically been a boy in every way except the actual parts for years. As long as nobody catches me with my pants down, my secret is safe.”

  Emma smiled absently at my attempted humor as she dragged her feet over the frozen ruts. The reins trailed loosely in her fingertips, the horse following closely behind her. I had only met her last May, and in the short time I’d known her, I’d come to realize what a good friend I’d found in Emma Truckey, and how lucky I was to know the entire Truckey family. Well, except Emma’s pa, whom I hadn’t met yet. He captained an infantry for the Union Army. As a general rule, I rarely let people into my heart; I just didn’t trust them. But despite my best intentions in keeping Emma at arm’s length, she had wiggled under my defenses and quickly became my dearest friend.

  “Bobbi, I’m worried sick about you. Okay, sure, you probably will pull it off, pretending to be a boy. Though there is a lot more to being a boy than shooting a gun and wearing trousers. But you’ll deal with that as you work through your plan; your lanky height and lack of curves are a definite help, though I hope nobody looks too closely at your thickly-lashed blue eyes. But what I’m really worried about is where you’re heading. Goodness, Bobbi, you’re going to war! People will be shooting at you, trying to kill you…”

  All humor drained from my body as I took in her words. Emma had a good point. War meant death. Our country’s war had already taken thousands of l
ives since starting in 1861, not even counting the lives of the Negroes caught up involuntarily in the unforgivable act of slavery. Now, in September of 1863, the end of the war continued to evade everyone’s eyes. My plan would put me right in the middle of the action, right in the middle of battle.

  “Bobbi?”

  Emma’s quiet voice dragged me back to my friend. “Yeah?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I turned toward her, giving her my full attention. “I have to find my brother, alive or dead. Preferably the former.”

  “I understand, I really do. But isn’t there some other way? A less dangerous alternative?”

  I sighed and switched my gaze over her shoulder. The autumn sun had made a valiant attempt to greet the day, with bright rays reaching through the dense tree branches, setting the vibrant golds and reds into a brilliant glow. Then I looked toward Marquette village where the rays glinted off the store front windows and painted shadows on the ground. I’d lived here for eight years, ever since my brothers and I had escaped from our pa and stumbled into our grandmother’s life. I had been nine years old then, a life time ago. My heart would miss this place.

  “Emma, I’ve thought very hard about this. Yes, I could come up with a different plan, but I really believe that this is the best way to go. The letter said ‘missing in action and presumed dead’. Well, I know from the depths of my heart that the last part isn’t true. Robert is alive, I know he is!”

  “And I believe you!”

  “So that leaves me with the first part of the letter. Robert is missing in action, so where better to look for him than in the middle of the action? Maybe I’ll find soldiers who have seen him or heard from him.”

  “Yes,” she interrupted again, “but you could travel down there as yourself, a seventeen-year-old woman, and comb through the hospitals and check the hotels and talk to people that way.”

  “Travel as girl? With all of the renegade ex-soldiers running around? That sounds more dangerous than sneaking up behind a grumpy mama bear.”

  “Then search for Robert disguised as a boy—”

  “And get arrested for desertion? Almost all the boys our age have either volunteered, been drafted, got wounded or gone to their grave. I’d stand out like a lone piece of pie in the middle of a fruit stand! Me being stuck in some prison won’t do Robert any good.” My obvious frustration and harsh tone cast a glimmer of hurt in Emma’s eyes. I grabbed a deep breath of air and forcibly swallowed my sparking temper. I knew Emma just worried for me, and I really appreciated her concern. But I’d made up my mind, and I knew what I had to do. This arguing just wasted time. I sighed. “Emma, look—”

  She held up a hand to stop me. “I know, Bobbi. I just can’t help but worry about you.”

  The anger growing in my gut fizzled out with her gentle voice. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry; just promise me you’ll be careful!”

  “No worries.” I grinned wryly as I pulled back the edge of my coat, revealing the handle of a .36 Colt Navy Revolver.

  “Goodness, Bobbi! Where did you get that?” she gasped, eyes wide with shock.

  “Gran.” I pulled the six-shot revolver from the waistband of my britches and held it out for Emma to examine.

  She looked closely, but refused to touch the weapon. “Your grandmother has a gun? Somehow, I didn’t expect that.”

  “Yeah, the fact came as a shocker to me, too. How long can you live with someone and not know she keeps a Colt in her top dresser drawer? She handed it to me this morning with strict instructions to bring it back without a scratch, after I’ve found Robert. I think that’s her way of saying come home safe.”

  “Now that sounds more like your grandmother.”

  I nodded, carefully replacing the revolver and pulling my jacket closed. We stood there in awkward silence for a moment or two, neither of us quite sure how to say goodbye. The black mare snorted and stamped her foot in impatience, and a door slammed closed somewhere in the village behind us. We both turned to look and witnessed a heavyset man leaving the harbor office, heading towards the dock where various boats waited impatiently, tugging at their lines and rocking wildly in Superior’s waves. Marquette had begun waking up and embracing the day.

  “Um, I should probably get going. I want to catch the early train, and I still need to stop in at Mr. Wilson’s store and get some ammunition for the gun.”

  Emma nodded, looking down at her hands. When she finally met my eyes, hers had filled with tears. She dropped the reins and threw her arms around me with such force that she knocked the cap off my head and I stumbled back a few steps. I fought my own tears as we hugged, then I reluctantly released my hold on her. Emma sniffed loudly and wiped her damp cheeks as she reached for the dropped reins. I squatted down to retrieved my cap, stuffing it in my back pocket.

  “So,” she gave me a watery grin, “will you take pity on a girl with short stature and give me a boost?”

  “It’s the least I can do.” I laced my fingers together and bent down for Emma to get a foot up. She swung her right leg over the horse’s furry back, and then reached down to straighten her skirts. As she sat up and her eyes passed over me, she did a double take and a big grin spread over her face.

  “Did you know when the sun hits your red hair, it looks like a haystack on fire?”

  Self-consciously, I ran a hand through my new shaggy hair that ever since Gran had cut short had a tendency to stick up in all directions.

  “I do miss your long hair, Bobbi. Promise me that when you get back, you’ll grow it out again.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But I have to admit that short tends to be much easier. And, as for the haystack look,” I pulled the cap out of my pocket and fit it on my unruly hair, “that’s where hats come in handy.”

  We looked at each other for a few moments and when I noticed her eyes filling with tears again, I knew time had passed for me to go. In another moment, Emma would have me bawling, too. “I’d better go.” I turned to walk away from my best friend.

  “Wait, one more thing.”

  Somewhat impatiently, I turned back to see what she wanted. Saying goodbye had been hard enough; this prolonging of our farewells just made it more agonizing.

  Emma had dug into the saddlebag resting over the horse’s withers. She pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and an envelope, leaning down to place them in my hands.

  “What’s this?” I asked, curious, despite my anxiousness to leave.

  “An apple pie and a letter.”

  “A letter?” I asked, confused.

  “It’s for you,” she said shyly. “You told me we could exchange correspondence. I thought I’d start now.

  “Oh, Emma.” A warmth glowed in my chest.

  “Only, you can’t read it now,” she quickly added. “You have to wait until tonight, or tomorrow night.”

  “How come?”

  “I want you to have a big hug from home when you start getting homesick.”

  “I’m not gonna—”

  “You can’t fool me, Bobbi Rivers. You may be big and strong and tough, but I know deep down you have a soft heart, and that you’re going to miss us dreadfully.”

  I couldn’t honestly deny her statement, so I didn’t say anything. I just avoided her eyes and knelt down to safely stowed both the letter and the pie in my pack.

  “Bobbi, you come home safe and sound. That’s an order,” she spoke with all seriousness.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I matched her tone. “And don’t worry. I’ll be back home to greet the Canada geese returning in the spring.” I motioned above at the noisy geese flying overhead.

  “Can I hold you to that?” Emma sighed, but then smiled. “Goodbye, my friend.”

  I held up a hand in farewell, and then watched as she reined the horse around and walked back down the road, disappearing into the forest. I heaved a sigh myself, re-shouldered my pack, and turned toward Mr. Wilson’s general store.

  The bell above the door
jangled loudly in the quiet store. I glanced around at the shelves of toys and tools, bags of dried beans, bolts of cloth, crates of potatoes, barrels of cider, boxes of nails, and dried herbs bundled for teas and spices wafting out crisp scents to tickle my nose, without spotting Mr. Wilson.

  “Hello!” I called. “Anybody here?”

  A loud thump coming from the front counter area grabbed my attention. Curious, I went to investigate.

  “Hello? Mr. Wilson?”

  A dark head bobbed into view from behind the counter, a startled expression crossing his face as he caught sight of me.

  “Flippin’ flapjacks, you startled me! Well, um, good morning, young man. What can I do for you?” He straightened up from his kneeling position and gave me his full attention.

  “Where’s Mr. Wilson?” I’d never seen this man before, and I knew Mr. Wilson didn’t have any employees.

  “What? You’ll have to speak up. I don’t hear so good these days.” He leaned in across the counter, and in turning his head slightly to the side, revealed a nasty looking scar cut across his scruffy cheek.

  “I said, where’s Mr. Wilson?” I repeated, raising my voice a notch.

  “Oh, Mr. Wilson is, uh, unavailable. Is there something I can get for you?”

  The uneasy feeling in my stomach clenched tighter. “Thanks,” I said slowly, “but this is kinda important. I really need to see him.”

  “Sorry kid, you’re out of luck. Now either tell me what you want, or come back later. I’m a busy guy and I don’t have time for your dithering.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I searched his face for some answers. Suspicion swelled in my chest. Almost instinctively, I reached for the Colt revolver and pointed it at the stranger’s chest.

  “What the—”

  “Okay mister, what’d ya do with Mr. Wilson?”

  “Are you crazy, kid?” the man yelped. “Put that away before you hurt yourself, or worse, me!”

  “First of all, you of all people have no authority over me; add in the fact that I’m the one holding the gun and you’re kinda screwed. Second of all, there is a distinct possibility that I could indeed be crazy but that’s beside the point; I’m just a little protective when someone threatens a friend of mine. Third, I can assure you, I am a perfect shot; I never miss. So I ask you one last time, where is Mr. Wilson? Now!”