My foot stepped on something soft. I bent down slowly, cautiously reaching to see with my fingertips. A soldier, indistinguishable as to Rebel or Union, but life definitely gone. I scanned the area as the mist swirled temporarily, but I saw nothing left of value, except maybe to the mother waiting back home to bury her son.
Before I could continue, a vise clamped tightly around my ankle. I bit down on my lip to muffle my gasp, pointing my Colt into the swirling sea of the misty, unseen nightmare.
“Help me,” a weak voice drifted up through the fog.
I quickly dropped to my knees, keeping my Colt close just in case. The wounded Rebel curled up defensively on his side, tattered and mismatched uniform soaked in blood. His white face contorted in pain, gasped for relief.
Unfortunately, I’d seen enough battlefield wounds to know he wouldn’t live. But I couldn’t just walk away from him. I gently pride his fingers from my ankle.
“Soldier, my name is Bobbi. Just try to relax and keep breathing.” I didn’t lie to him with a useless “you’ll be okay.” Even a Rebel deserved better than that.
“Please—”
“Try not to talk,” I suggested, starting to feel useless and wishing Cora stood next to me. I stowed my Colt in my waistband and pulled off my coat. Draping it over his thin, bloody body seemed like such an ineffective thing to do. Maybe I should run back to camp and get help. I started to climb to my feet.
“Listen, I’m going for help. You stay here—”
“No, don’t…don’t go.” The efforts to form words seemed exhausting.
I relented, easing back down to the cold, damp ground. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. No one would follow me back out here for a dying Reb. No one except maybe Cora and Toby, and Cora had her hands full at the hospital tent. As for Toby, I hadn’t talked to him, or even met his eyes in forever.
“Please…”
I leaned in closer to hear his faint words.
“Please…a favor…”
My heart jumped as the possibility to do something, anything, instead of squatting there helplessly while he died. “What can I do for you? Water? Do you want some water?”
His tongue slid out to lick his chapped lips. “No time. I…I’m busted up something awful inside.” He paused to catch his failing breath.
I waited impatiently, knowing the seconds slipped away too fast.
“Please bury me…”
Confused, I waited for more.
“Bury me before anyone finds out.”
I didn’t contradict him. He knew. I knew and he knew he didn’t have much time left.
“Um, I’m sure your army will take care of that, or um, ship you home to your family—”
“No!”
Startled, I jerked back, alarmed at his fervor.
“No,” he repeated, quieter that time. “No one must find out; they’d be so ashamed.”
I leaned in closer, brushing the matted hair out of his eyes. His big brown eyes with thick, dark lashes, his high cheekbones and delicately snubbed nose…
No, her delicately snubbed nose!
“You’re a girl!” I whispered.
She winced as if my words shot through her gut like the musket balls that already had, but she didn’t deny it.
“My mama would be so ashamed…” A single tear fell from her eye, tracking down her filthy cheek.
“But, maybe your family would want to know.”
“If mama found out…never forgive…disowned.”
“But she should be proud! Her daughter standing alongside her fellow countrymen, brave and true, for something she believes in so strongly as to risk life and limb!”
The soldier slowly shook her head, grimacing, closing her eyes at the pain. “You…you’ve never met the woman.”
I stared down at her, as she gasped for a ragged breath. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She so easily could be me. I sucked in a lungful of air, as if her difficulty breathing had become contagious.
“I will bury you and keep your secret, if that is your wish.”
A minute trace of tension eased from her face.
“But, in return, you must do something for me.”
With effort, she opened her eyes and turned to meet mine.
“Be proud of yourself.”
A small smile eased her cracked, dried lips. “I am.” The air whispered out of her body, and was gone.
I did as I promised, finding a peaceful, secluded spot back in the forest beneath a sugar maple tree. As I dug a hole, using my bayonet and bare hands, I wondered how many more women fought alongside the men in this bloody war. A handful? A hundred? Did they feel shame or pride? They deserved the hailings of heroes. But did that include me? My feelings of failure slowly leaked out of my heart with each handful of dirt flung to the side. I, too, stood shoulder to shoulder and face to face with some of the bravest Americans I’d ever met. Marching straight into a volley of musket fire and cannon balls, carrying our flags high, never flinching, never failing in our beliefs and our spirit.
As I carefully rolled the dead female soldier into her grave, I realized that the only way I’d be a failure is if I gave up without giving my all. And I hadn’t yet done that.
Muscles aching with effort, yet heart feeling a bit lighter than it had in months, I stood back surveying the mounded dirt. The rising sun began to burn away the thick mist, assisted by a chilly breeze blowing through the trees. It hinted at the winter to come, dislodging a handful of scarlet leaves that drifted and danced down to gently settle on top of the fresh grave. I felt I needed to do more, but I didn’t even know her name. I dug around in the underbrush, finding a couple of suitable chunks of wood. Using my last good boot lace, I lashed the two limbs together forming a cross. Then I pulled out my knife and carefully began to carve. I stuck the cross into the fresh dirt, whispered goodbye and started back to camp.
The cross read ‘A Brave Soldier.’
“Hey, Rivers!”
I looked up at the sound of my name. A group if off duty soldiers stood off to the side in an abandoned field.
“Come join us,” he yelled. “We need another body!”
Poor choice of words, I thought as I ambled over to them. I recognized most of the fellows, but didn’t know all of their names.
“Hey, Buford.” I nodded to the others. “What’s going on?”
“You ever play baseball?” Buford asked. “We’re getting a game on and need another person.”
“Yeah, I’ve played before with my brothers, though I’m not real sure on all the rules.”
“Not a problem,” Buford said, grinning. He held up a pamphlet titled “Rules and Regulations of the Knickerbocker Base Ball Club, 1845.”
I shrugged. “Why not.” With the heavy load I’d been hauling around since the Crater easing away, I felt an unfamiliar spark of energy glowing in my gut. A game could be fun.
“Great! You’ll be on Toby’s team,” he said, pointing.
I followed his finger to find Toby approaching the group carrying a long heavy stick and a ball-like object.
Oh, Toby.
I heaved a great sigh, and then with resignation, followed half of the fellows out into the middle of the field where Toby stood. I guessed I couldn’t avoid him forever. He deserved better than that. As I arrived with the others at the pitcher’s spot, I reluctantly met his eyes. He paused, his gaze boring into my soul, and then he gave a slow nod and turned to the rest of the team to assign positions. He didn’t say a word to me except, “Rivers, second base.” I guessed our inevitable confrontation would take place post game time.
Toby took the pitcher’s mound— a flat field rock with relatives at the four bases— and began throwing the ball around the field for warm up practice. Catching the ball at second base left a sting on my bare hands, and I gave it a quick examination before hurling the ball in to home. It appeared to be a fist-sized rock wrapped in rags; my brothers and I had used something similar.
Even t
hough most of the players had little or no experience with baseball, we’d had far too much experience aiming our rifles and digging trenches, enabling us to throw the ball with speed and accuracy…most of the time. After ten minutes or so of warm up, Buford, our unofficial game official with rule book clutched tight, called the game to start. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to throw the ball to Toby. He hadn’t thrown to me either.
“First batter!” Buford yelled, a bit louder than necessary. The Rebels probably heard the announcement.
“Buford,” Toby remarked, “I don’t think the Rebs need a play by play commentary. Keep your voice down a bit or the new general will think we have nothing better to do and come out here assigning latrine digging duty.” He glanced back at me with a wink and a grin.
I couldn’t help but smile back at his dear familiar face. Oh, how I had missed him! I supposed that meant he didn’t hate me for lying and deceiving him. Although, according to him, I hadn’t deceived him; he’d known. Curiosity picked at my brain and I wondered when he’d found out, and how. And why hadn’t he told Captain Truckey? And why hadn’t he told me he’d known? Had he told anyone? Had Toby missed me as well? And—
A loud crack grabbed my attention as the ball flew overhead into the outfield.
And I’d better pay better attention, or I’ll get a scolding from Robert when I find him. A warm glow ignited in my guts at my grasp. I hadn’t given up; I hadn’t failed!
The game progressed quickly, with excitement, humor and a bit of confusion on the rules. Buford protested when Toby threw the ball at the runner heading for home (“You cannot do that, Dove!”). And when it looked like the batter rounding first would make it to second before the outfielders could lob it to me, I turned and met the runner halfway, tackling him into the dirt and weeds. That earned me a cheer from my team and a five minute lecture from Buford on the do’s and don’ts in the great game of baseball.
It wasn’t until he arrived at bat that I noticed Kevin among the players. I hadn’t seen much of him or Jimmy’s gang since Preacher had run off back in June. I felt a reminding prick of sadness at seeing Kevin again; he looked so much like Kenny. I also felt my guard go up instinctively, though I doubted Kevin would try anything harsh without Jimmy for backup. He slammed a pop up into the outfield which a fellow named Patrick caught, ending the first half without me coming face to face with the spitting image of my dead friend. But I knew it would happen eventually.
By the bottom of the ninth, our team trailed by one run. The first fellow up to bat struck out and the second got tagged at first base.
I approached home plate with the bat singing and my muscles buzzing. I could vaguely hear the encouraging cheers from my team, but my attention focused directly on the ball that the pitcher tossed from hand to hand. I took my stance, bat held high over my shoulder. The first pitch flew in too high. Ball one.
“Good eye, Bobbi!” Toby’s familiar voice stood out among the hum.
The next pitch sailed straight in toward home plate. I grabbed a deep breath, gripped the bat firmly, and swung with every muscle. The bat splintered with a loud crack, spiraling the ball over the heads of the outfielders. I plowed down the base line, rounding first, pounding second and sliding head first into third base. Safe! I climbed to my feet, brushing off the dirt, trying to catch my breath. The grin on my face froze and then quickly faded as I identified the third base man.
Kevin and I stared at each other before I forced a nod. He reluctantly returned one, and then we stood in awkward silence while Buford called time out and went in search of a new bat. All around us, players shuffled a bit, chatting and reviewing plays. Kevin and I seemed isolated and alone, uncomfortable on our third base.
Finally, Kevin cleared his throat and turned to me, but avoided my eyes.
“Um, I, um never got the chance to uh, thank you for finding my brother on the battlefield.”
Surprise caught my tongue, but I eventually stuttered out a mumbled “You’re welcome.”
Before the silence grew overpowering once again, he continued. “My ma and pa really appreciated being able to take his body home and bury him in the family cemetery. They wanted me to thank you…so, there, I did.”
I managed to catch his eye and noticed a bit of moisture in the corner. “Kenny was a good friend. I’ll never forget him.”
Kevin nodded, scratching awkwardly at his greasy hair.
Buford saved us from further goo and potential tears by hollering “Play ball!” and tossing a new bat to Toby. Gratefully, I turned to face home plate, one foot planted securely on third.
Toby took a steady stance, feet planted firmly, eyes glued to the ball. He whacked the first pitch high over our heads.
Just as I took off for home, Kevin slipped his foot in front of my ankle, tripping me into the weeds. Shocked, I spit out the mouthful of dirt and glared at him over my shoulder.
He grinned and shrugged. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”
I guess our moment of bonding had crashed to an end. I swept the back of his knees with my leg, knocking him down next to me. Sputtering threats, he started to rise, but Toby barreled around third, stepped on Kevin’s back, knocking him to the ground again. He extended a hand to me, hauling me to my feet.
“Come on,” he encouraged, “we have to hit home in the correct order or we’ll get another lecture from Buford.”
“We definitely don’t want that,” I tossed over my shoulder as I ran for home.
As soon as the cheering faded and the players dispersed, returning to soldier life, Toby zeroed in on me.
“We need to talk.”
I reckoned he had a point; I’d put it off long enough. Without a word, I followed him into the nearby hills, farther away from the constantly noisy, smelly and congested front lines. We’d have to walk for days to completely free ourselves of the sensory assault…and live many lifetimes to escape the emotional scars.
Toby motioned to the shade of a nearby willow, her long sweeping branches waving gently in the breeze.
I shook my head. “Let’s walk.” I knew it’d be easier without having to constantly look him in the eye.
We wandered in silence, drinking in all of the non war-tainted details, goldfinches picking seeds from the peacock-blue chicory flowers growing along the roadside, squirrels scurrying about hauling mouthfuls of acorns for their winter stock pile, fresh autumn leaf–scented breezes free of gunpowder smoke, latrine stench and death.
Ten minutes passed, fifteen, the air between us aching with discomfort. However, I had no idea what to say. But Toby didn’t seem to be spouting off any long, inspirational speeches either. Finally, I couldn’t stand our silence any longer.
“So, you know the truth…”
Nothing.
“And I know you know…”
Nothing.
“So, now what? You wanted to talk, so talk!”
Toby’s face eased into a half smile as he turned to look at me. “I’ve really missed you, Bobbi.”
I felt a blushing heat spread up on the back of my neck. I quickly changed the subject, back to a slightly easier topic. “You never told anyone my secret.”
“Of course not,” he answered with an annoyed undertone. “I don’t rat out my friends. Besides, you weren’t hurting anyone, so I figured it didn’t concern anybody else.” He paused, a half grin cracking his lips. “I take it Cora knows.”
I nodded. “She guessed right off.”
After a long moment of silence, I repeated “So, now what?”
Toby shrugged. “We keep doing what we do, fighting this war, looking for your brother, keeping each other alive.”
Silence drifted back over us as his words resurfaced the guilt I felt for giving up on Robert, for doubting myself. I felt I needed to confess my weakness to Toby. I wanted him to know the whole truth.
“Um, Toby?”
“Hmm?”
“I felt pretty bad after The Crater, well, most everybody did. But I had a bit of troubl
e climbing back out of that dark hole, started doubting myself. I, uh, gave up on my goals, on finding Robert, on myself, for a while there.” Shame burned my ears.
Toby nodded. “I kind of figured something like that. Understandable under the circumstances. I don’t think anybody felt right after Crater.”
He didn’t get it, and for some reason I had to make him understand. “But I fell apart, lost faith in myself! I never do that, not since Pa—”
Toby put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Calm down, Bobbi. You are only human, you know. Everything you described sounds normal. And you didn’t fail yourself; think of it more as a healing hiatus of sorts.”
I stared at him. “A healing hiatus?”
“Yeah, like lying in bed to recover from the flu. You’re not invincible, Bobbi, you’re not made of stone. It’s okay to be vulnerable once in awhile, even the mighty Bobbi Rivers.”
I glared at him for teasing me, but mostly just for show and he knew it. He just grinned that lopsided care-free smile I’d missed so much, and then he dropped down and plucked a wild daisy from the roadside. Standing, he presented the flower to me with an elaborate bow.
I eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that for?”
He sighed, grabbed my hand and forced the flower into my fingers. “If you don’t know by now, I’m certainly not going to tell you.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, by the way, I found word about Robert.”
Excitement burbled up in my gut, but I cautiously held it in check; I’d been disappointed too many times already. “What did you say?” I whispered.
“I said, I found someone who spotted Robert. I wanted to tell you, but as you refused to speak to me, I couldn’t. Those knife-like glares you shot at me work very well.”
“Tell me now!”
“I had a bit of time on my hands, with you giving me the cold shoulder and all, so I continued our search.”
He looked for Robert even when I’d given up?
“About a week ago, a scruffy old sutler came through camp selling secondhand boots and overcoats. I suspected he’d been pilfering the objects off the battlefield, but I didn’t bother asking. I did ask if he’d seen or heard word about a sharpshooter by the name of Robert Rivers. His eyes widened just a bit in surprise, but then a shadow rolled in and he ducked his head, shaking it rather vigorously. I thought his reaction a bit strange, but I shrugged it off and moved down the line. A few moments later, I heard the old goat calling after me, ‘Hey, hey you southern blue coat!’” Toby paused and chuckled. “My southern drawl is going to get me hanged as a spy one of these days. Anyway, I stopped and he wobbled after me, a cane in one hand and dragging a bum leg behind him. After he caught his breath, he asked me ‘This Robert fellow, he a tall bloke with rusty red hair, comes from Michigan?’”
Echoes of Dark and Light Page 26
