“Glad you could make it, Sergeant,” Mr., err, Captain Peet said to Jason, who returned his comment with a nod. “I think we have mostly all veterans here today, so everyone should know their manual of arms, right?” A few “Yes, Sirs” rose from the group of men. “Good. As always, we will bring up the last part of the parade. When we get around the grandstand and they announce the company to the crowd, I will order ‘Present, Arms.’ Bring up your rifles in front of you, left hand under the trigger guard, and right hand between the second and third bands of your long arms. Does everyone know how to do this?” Again, a few nods and mumbles came from the group. Mr. Peet took that as a good sign and nodded down to Jason at the end of the line. “Sergeant, will you take us out, please?”
“First column, by fours, forward march,” he yelled from the end of the line. Like a game of Tetris, the pieces broke apart and shifted as they made their way into a line, moving forward to the clomp, clomp of their boots and shoes. Mr. Peet walked down the side of the column as they passed.
“Lizzy, Hope, if y’all want to fall in behind us, you are more than welcome to. I think Daniel’s wife and kids are marching. You can join them,” he said as he passed. Lizzy gave a thumbs up gesture and waited for the rows of fours to pass by. As they did, she and I scooted in behind them, joining the few wives and children that were going to make the journey.
“Oh, that’s a lovely dress,” announced a lady that stood next to me.
“Thank you,” I said and smiled.
“I would have worn my hoop, but I wasn’t sure about the weather. This camp dress is a little easier to hide my sweats.” She lifted the dress, revealing tennis shoes and sweat pants hidden underneath. I really didn’t know what to say, but just nodded in a confused manner. “Sorry, I’m Robin, Daniel’s wife. And back behind me are our kids, Archer and little Julie.”
I looked to see a stout young boy, probably eight to ten years old and dressed in black woolen pants and a gray coat, holding on to the reigns of a small wagon that were attached to a large German Shepard. In the wagon was his younger sister, maybe four or five, covered in a dark blue blanket and wearing a bonnet. She smiled up at me as the half-dog, half-horse gave a slight tug forward, anxious to pull the cart.
“And that is Romo. Not as cute as the football player, but just as lovable.” Robin bent down and gave him a good scratch under the collar that Archer was holding him by. Robin was probably in her mid-thirties, with blonde hair, which was also wrapped in the cotton netting like both I and Lizzy were wearing. Her dress was a tan color, like that of the men’s coats, with a muslin top.
“I’m Hope, Lizzy’s friend.”
Robin nodded and stood up to shake my hand. “Nice to have you out. Is this your first time?”
“First time?” I questioned. First time for what? Being in a parade? Yes. Being a southern belle? Yes. It was a lot of firsts for me.
“Is this your first time participating in the hobby?”
“Hobby?”
“It is,” Lizzy popped in, saving me. “She has never done this before.” She gave me a wide-eyed expression as if to question whether or not I was feeling okay. Was I supposed to know this was a hobby? It was not one I had known much about besides the movie Sweet Home Alabama, but I grew up in the North where we had gotten over the war pretty much as soon as we won it. These people were trying to relive an experience that destroyed the country for four horrible years, and they called it a hobby.
The column of men began moving forward again and we slowly kept pace behind them. Turning out of the parking lot, we finally made our way onto a main road leading into the downtown area of Ft. Worth. The movement of the parade continued to shift forward. I lifted the front of my dress with one hand to make sure I didn’t step on the bottom hoops and fall flat on my face, holding the wrap with the other. For being so much material, I continued to feel that my top half was too exposed and my bottom half was going to cause the whole parade to come to an abrupt halt when I fell head over heels with my pantalooned behind up in the air. Being an 1860s beauty seemed to take a laborious effort.
We rounded a few corners and with each one, Mr. Peet gave the order “Right, Turn,” gesturing his sword ahead of him. The crowd smiled, cheered, and waved at us, and once again I got the strange sensation that I was a minor celebrity, like the people actually enjoyed seeing me dressed up like a southern belle from one-hundred-fifty years ago. They especially enjoyed Romo, Archer and Julie, whose little cart was entertaining to both young and old alike. But then, who wouldn’t like a dog-pulled wagon and kids as cute as they were? Even at the distance we were from the front of the soldier’s line, I could hear the clear voice of Jason giving commands to the rest of the unit of men. Every order would have them shift their weapons from one side to the other, or held in the same arm, but just carried in a different fashion. I guessed it was for the men to move the weight of the gun around so that they wouldn’t tire out so quickly, but I really wasn’t sure.
As we walked, the winter chill began having a much smaller effect on me. In fact, I began to get hot under all the fabric. Even the uncovered skin was warm underneath the stole. Slowly, I shimmied out of the wrap and began to carry it in my hands.
Do you want me to take that?” asked Robin. “I’ll put it in the wagon with Julie.” I looked over at Lizzy and she gave me a nod, removing her own shawl as well, we both placed them on Julie’s feet and continued marching. This way I was able to pick the front of the dress up with both hands, feeling more secure that I was going to stay in the upright position.
The troops rounded another corner and I could see that the crowd was getting thicker. This must have been the main part of the parade. Up ahead to the left side, a row of bleachers sat with a few distinguished looking men and women sitting in a box seat. An announcer came on the microphone and the setup speakers roared to life, “And here we have one of our favorites, the 10th Texas Infantry reenacting organization based right here in the DFW area.”
The crowd applauded and cheered the men as though they were real soldiers home from some foreign war. A television cameraman came down the side of them and filmed their passing. Cameraman? Oh Jeez! He wouldn’t! Yes, before I had time to react the camera had found its way upon me. This was so embarrassing. No wonder none of Mr. Peet’s students ever took him up on this extra credit assignment. Was I going to be on the evening news or was this being broadcast live?
Even the announcer got in on the act. “And following the rebel soldiers, we have a group of beautiful southern belles, straight from Gone with the Wind.” The warmth I was feeling before was replaced by sheer mortification. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. Lizzy didn’t seem to mind, though, smiling and waving as the cameraman found her and was luckily not on me anymore.
After the paparazzi were through with us, the parade route rejoined the road we had marched in on and we headed back to the large parking lot. It was over and I was exhausted. Reaching the car, Mr. Peet slid open the back trunk area and pulled out a cooler. “Thirsty?” he asked. Without an answer I swiped an ice cold water from his hands and began to drink, much to his amusement. “Slow down there, O’Hara. You don’t want to give yourself a stomach ache.” Another Gone with the Wind reference. Couldn’t they come up with a more recent book about the Civil War? It probably was the most popular Civil War fiction, but still. Did I remind everyone of a spoiled little girl being so mean to the hearts of men around me? Anyway, I knew I wasn’t as pretty as Vivien Leigh, so why was everyone comparing me to her? I squinted my eyes at him so that he would know my contempt of his southern belle judgment. He didn’t seem to mind, though, passing out bottles of water to Lizzy and all the men who wanted one. The group comingled around his parked car as men slowly removed their equipment and prepared for the drive home.
“Alright men. Do y’all want to go and eat downtown somewhere or in the stockyards? We can have a real quick business meeting and elections if you want to.”
“Let�
��s go downtown this year,” suggested one man in the back.
“Is that fine with everyone? Okay, how ‘bout Huskies?” Again, everyone nodded his or her approval. “Alright, let’s head that way. Whoever gets there first, tell them we need an area for about twenty or so.” Before Mr. Peet lowered the hatch on the back of his SUV, Jason walked up and handed him his rifle.
“Thanks for letting me use it again,” he said.
“Not a problem—any time,” answered Mr. Peet.
Jason turned and looked at me for a moment and I returned his stare. There was a deepness in his eyes that was irresistible, like two pools of reflective ocean water that you could never reach the bottom of, concealing something far within, his eyelashes long and alluring, protective and shielding at the same time.
“Is it all right if we take you out for lunch or do you need to get back?”
Mr. Peet’s words startled me and Jason turned away. “Oh, I’m okay with going to lunch with you.” I hope the Sergeant is going, too.
“Alright, y’all hop in and we’ll get going.”
“Don’t I need to change first?” I looked at Lizzy and she shrugged.
“There’s not any need to, unless you just want to get out of those things.”
Although I really wanted to, I didn’t complain and instead nodded that it was okay. We began to load the vehicle and I placed the shawl back over my shoulders when I turned to see Jason whipping off his felt hat and stuffing it into a side compartment upon his bike. He creaked his neck from side to side as he toyed with his helmet, his short brown hair dancing as he did so. He placed the helmet over his head and threw his right leg over the motorbike. Sitting, he patted the leg as if he was trying to make sure it was still there. Starting the engine, he pulled backward and sliced through the parking lot, leaving the snarl of his engine in his wake.
I grabbed the handle inside the SUV and scooted my rear into the seat. Pulling my legs around, I found myself being absorbed into the hoop skirt. I looked over at Lizzy as if to ask for any pointers that she might have, but I could see that she was doing her best to control her laughter at my expense.
“It’s not funny,” I said, but couldn’t help smiling.
“Uh, from this vantage point, it is most definitely funny.”
I rolled my eyes at her and continued waging war with the hoop, winning enough so that I could shut the door beside me. No wonder women didn’t go out much back then. It would have taken a large shoehorn to get them through any door. They were probably better off pregnant and in the kitchen.
Mr. Peet maneuvered his place in line of the traffic heading out of the parking lot, cursing under his breath about the disorder and confusion. Lizzy scolded him, saying that he had to behave himself in front of his students. “Sorry, Hope. I’m going to TAM, but it’s not doing me any good.”
I looked at Lizzy.
“Teacher Anger Management,” she answered. “I really wish you would go to comedian school, Dad, so you could come up with some better jokes.”
“Yeah. Your mother used to tell me the same thing, Elizabeth.”
Even after the few weeks of knowing both of them, I had never heard anything about Mr. Peet’s wife until now. I didn’t know whether I should take the opening and ask about her or just leave it alone. Reasoning on the side of caution, I chose to remain quiet and gazed out the window until we made it to our destination. Besides, the two mile hike was starting to do a number on my legs. Even with all the exercise I got running from the Secundas during P.E., my calves were beginning to ache.
Finding a parking place close to restaurant, we unloaded to the sidewalk. The hoop came back to its original form as we strolled towards the building, Mr. Peet escorted his daughter whose arm was through his, with me bringing up the rear. A pleasant smile passed between them and for a moment, I felt like a third wheel, like I was encroaching on a time that was better spent between a father and daughter. However, as Mr. Peet opened the door for her, he grinned back at me. “After you,” he said with a nod.
It was a wonder that the place was able to sit our large cluster of Civil War time travelers after only a twenty-minute wait, but they had a large side room that had just cleared out and was being cleaned as we waited, seating us away from the normal people. Things were very busy because of the parade weekend, and the throng of people made it practically impossible for me to move through the aisles without brushing my large hoop skirt up against a few people’s backs. Why didn’t Lizzy let me change before we came here? I felt so odd and cumbersome. Even the hostess gave me a bewildered look of confusion and shot a couple of rushed glances at Jason as he made his way around her. Lizzy helped me scoot around the table and plopped me down in the chair. I looked up to see him standing next to me.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked with his hand already on the back of the free chair.
“N...no, it isn’t,” I stammered.
“May I?”
“Yes.” Please.
He gave a slight smile and pulled the chair back, sitting down next to me. As he did, a slight grimace surfaced on his face and again he rubbed his right leg for a few moments before pulling the chair towards the table.
“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned. Seeing his limp earlier and his pained expression bothered me. His gaze flitted up from his leg and met mine, his contortion soothed into a controlled smile once again.
“Yeah. Just caught a Minié-ball at Shiloh.”
“Oh.” Oh? Was that a Civil War joke or something? “I guess I was asking because my legs were hurting a little after the parade. I thought maybe you had pulled something.”
“Nope,” he said more solidly this time, not looking at me anymore, but gazing off across the room as though he had something else on his mind. Jeez, did I already say something wrong? Is that all I do down here in Texas, go around angering people with only Mr. Peet and Lizzy able to put up with me for long periods of time? I didn’t know how to continue the conversation, if that’s what you wanted to call it, so I turned to Lizzy who was playing with Julie on the opposite side of her. In front of me sat a white-bearded middle-aged man, probably no older than fifty, and his son that was probably close to my age. He must have felt me looking at him because he immediately introduced himself.
“Hello,” he said, reaching his hand across the table, “I’m Mike, and this is my son, Hunter.”
“Hello, I’m Hope, Lizzy’s friend.” I expected that by hearing her name, Lizzy would jump into the conversation with these people, but she continued to play jokes with Julie and turned away. I was on my own.
“Is this your first time out to something like this?” It must have been my slight Northern accent or the possibility that I looked so uncomfortable being surrounded by so many strange Johnny Rebs that they knew immediately I was new to all of whatever this was. I nodded to him. “Well, we all started somewhere,” he continued. “I’ve been in the hobby for five years now with Hunter, kind of a way to get out of the house on the weekends. You should really try and make an actual event. They are much more exciting than just a parade.”
“Don’t push her too fast,” said Mr. Peet, seated a few people down from him, “I’m just proud she hasn’t run for the hills already.” He gave me a wink and continued with his conversation with those around him. Again, I felt like I’d infringed on some meeting of a private organization, like I had fallen through the ceiling during a Masonic Lodge ritual. For the most part, they seemed like average folks, but did average folks really dress up and recreate a war that was one-hundred-fifty years ago for fun? And all these people knew each other. I was the odd person here, waiting to go home and sit the rest of my weekend in the house with Mags. Oh, that would be fun, like watching paint dry. But the closest I was coming to having a conversation with anyone was when I gave a small laugh at Lizzy and Julie fooling around and when the pair of waitresses took our drink and food orders. But I didn’t seem like the only one that was a recluse. Jason sat next to me and didn’t say anythi
ng, either. Was he the strong quiet type? I could tell that he was listening to people, taking in their exchanges, but seldom had something to say of his own. We sat there, practically shoulder to shoulder; I was muted from my unfamiliarity of those surrounding me, but why was he so quiet?
The food took a while, but the ensemble didn’t seem to mind. It was if they were catching up with each other, finding out what each other did over the Christmas holidays, how work or school was going, how the economy was hurting them or not. These were good friends and I was the fly on the wall. At least the food was good. I ordered a burger and fries, nothing too fancy or pricey and something that their menu said was one of their specialties. It was hard to go wrong with that at any food establishment.
“So, Hope, are you in Lizzy’s class at school?” asked Robin who sat on the other side of Hunter, their little family taking over the end of the table
“I’m in the eleventh grade,” I answered.
“Oh, neat, Hunter here is in the eleventh grade as well,” said Mike, with Hunter nodding like he was agreeing with what his dad had to say. “And do you have Captain Peet as a teacher?”
“Yes, he’s my dual credit teacher,” I said a matter-of-factly, seeing him twist his head in my direction.
“Oh, that’s neat. Is he giving you a grade for being out here, then?”
“Extra credit, I do believe.”
“My ears must be ringing, or are y’all talking about me down there?” Mr. Peet chimed in.
“It’s nothing too bad, Robert,” chided Robin, looking over a few heads in his direction.
“Hope, whatever they tell you, it’s not true!”
I smiled and continued with my burger; taking another bite and sticking myself back on the wall again. All in all though, these people seemed to be nice—strange, but nice. All except Jason. His mood was either deep into contemplation or he was working hard to control his ire. Either way, the warm-hearted spirits seemed to sink around him. He looked like he was in a funk and there was nothing that could bring him out of it.
Finding Hope in Texas Page 9
