Echoes of Dark and Light (11 page)

I added this to my mental storage file on army information, wondering how I would ever keep all of the ranks and insignias straight.

“Private Toby Dove,” Toby reported to First Sergeant Barlow.

The first sergeant checked off Toby’s name and then paused with a sly grin. “Hey, Dove, you feel up for a round of poker tonight? I’m feeling extra lucky this week.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Toby agreed with a grin. “But as for your lucky streak, prepare to kiss it goodbye.”

Barlow snorted in disagreement as he stepped over to me.

“Private Bobbi Rivers,” I said, stumbling over the unfamiliar title.

“Yes,” Barlow nodded, flipping to the end of his list. “Captain Truckey told me you’d joined the 27
^th
.” He checked off my name and then met my eyes with a wily gaze. “How are you at poker, Rivers? Any good?”

I glanced at a grinning Toby, then turned back to Barlow. “I’ve won a few hands. Why?”

“We’ve room for another tonight, if you’re interested,” he offered with raised brows.

I debated the offer, needing to keep to myself, yet also needing to find clues to my brother’s whereabouts. I quickly made up my mind. “Sure, I’ll play.”

“Great, see you tonight.”

I had to interact with people, had to ask questions, otherwise I might as well be searching for my brother with my eyes closed. I just had to be careful; nothing personal would get through my carefully guarded barriers. Besides, a game of poker would be fun.

Toby nudged my arm. “You coming?”

Once again, I hurried to catch up with Toby. “What’s next?”

“Breakfast, then sick call—”

“Sick call,” I interrupted. “What’s that?”

“Just what it sounds like. Anyone feeling cruddy reports to the hospital tent. We haven’t engaged in any battles recently, but there’s always someone with scurvy, a mild case of influenza or accidental sprains, strains, knife and bayonet wounds and the like.”

Soldiering seemed a dangerous occupation, even outside of battle. In my hurry, I tripped on a pile of firewood and almost dove headfirst into a campfire. Toby reached out a quick hand to grab my arm and pull me clear.

I decided not to write home about the bland and boring breakfast, just another aspect of military life that I had to get used to, and fast. Following breakfast came something that no matter how many hours required, I don’t think I could ever get used to doing. Not that it posed a difficult task; just the opposite, and my mind quickly numbed with boredom. Drills. Hours of drills. Marching drills in squad formation, marching drills in battalion formation, rifle loading drills, rifle cleaning drills, maneuvering drills, parade drills, injured soldier drills, attack drills, retreat drills, bayonet drills, defensive drills, offensive drills… In between drills, squads kept busy collecting firewood, digging latrine trenches, searching for fresh water sources, guard duty, camp clean up, and clearing ground for roads and more drill area. I used to think I had strong, toned muscles, but by the end of the day, every inch of my body ached with weariness, and my stomach growled for anything, even the unappetizing hardtack. I longed to collapse on my bedroll and sleep for a week. But I couldn’t. I had a date with a swarm of sweaty soldiers for a poker game, and my first chance to ask about Robert.

Toby and I arrived at First Sergeant Mike Barlow’s tent about eight p.m. The evening sky had invited a horde of dark clouds that held a promise of rain, and the damp, chilly air crept under my uniform jacket with a sneaky determination. A sawed off stump served as a table with five logs encircling it for seats. I gratefully collapsed onto the log nearest the fire to wait for the rest of the poker players to arrive. I sunk into an exhausted stupor, gazing unfocused at the warm flames dancing and undulating, while Toby and Mike chatted.

Before long, each of the five logs in the circle hosted an occupant, and Mike shuffled the dirty, dilapidated cards as he chewed on a cigar smelling distinctly of sweaty feet. I nodded to Kenny and Woody sitting opposite me, and waved a hello to Preacher who stood behind Toby. According to Preacher, God didn’t hold gambling in high regard, but that it didn’t hurt to observe. Well, I didn’t know about that, but I did know that one couldn’t exactly call what we did gambling, not when we used stones instead of money. In front of each of us sat a pile of river-rounded stones. Not that gambling with money didn’t occur in camp. But for one, most men’s pockets grew lean just before payday, plus, one of our group held the position of a noncommissioned officer, and didn’t want to damage any possibilities of moving up in ranks with a reputation of recklessness. Fine with me. My own pockets only held a few coins and I didn’t want to lose them to the randomness of a deck of cards.

Everyone anted up with one stone tossed in the center, and Mike dealt out five cards to each of us. I knew the importance of keeping a straight face in the game of poker, but I couldn’t help but grin when I saw my cards. Instead of the usual suits of diamonds, hearts, spades and clubs, the cards hosted flags, eagles, stars and shields. The face cards displayed different generals, the President and Mrs. Lincoln.

“Um,” Toby said, clearing his throat, “I’m assuming you’re not that transparent with your hand. So either you just got dealt a royal flush, or you’ve never seen cards like these before now.”

“Definitely yes on the second thing, and a none of your business on the first,” I retorted.

“Very patriotic, aren’t they?” Kenny commented. “Thanks to the ingenious talents of the Union Playing Card Company.”

“I like the General Burnside card,” Woody grinned, showing everyone his hand that included a King of Eagles with the likeness of General Burnside. “He’s our general.”

“The Army of the Ohio, right?” I asked, trying hard not to notice that he held out three kings for all to see.

“Woody!” Kenny forced Woody’s hand onto the stump table. “How often do I have to tell you to keep your cards to yourself!”

“I’m sorry, Kenny.” Woody drooped like a plucked flower.

Kenny sighed, rolling his eyes. “Woody, come on; I’m not mad at you. Honest!”

Toby lightly bumped his knee against Woody’s. “Relax, buddy. Kenny’s just worried about you. Now this here’s just a friendly hand of cards with worthless stones, but some folk might take advantage of your openness and try to steal your money. Understand?”

“Yeah, someone like my brother, Kevin,” muttered Kenny.

Mike pulled the smelly, soggy cigar from his lips to speak. “Hey guys, let’s get this game moving.”

A couple of hours later, my pile of stones remained about the same, though Woody now sat empty handed while Mike chuckled as he arranged his large cache by size and color. The sweet notes of a violin drifted over on a breeze and I closed my eyes to better hear the song. Robert used to sing that tune all the time. I cleared my throat.

“Fellas, I’ve got a question for you.”

“He speaks,” Mike exclaimed. “I think that’s the first thing you’ve said tonight.”

“Nope,” Woody said, shaking his head. “It’s the third thing he’s said.”

Preacher pulled another log up and took a seat. “It does appear as if our new recruit is a bit on the shy side.”

Me, shy? Hardly. It’s almost killing me to keep all these racing thoughts safe inside my head!
I forced a shrug and held back all but a few words. “I’ve never been accused of that before.”

“He claims,” Toby explained with a grin, “that he likes to keep to himself. I don’t know though; he seems to ask an awful lot of questions for a loner.”

“And now he’s got another for us,” Mike added, absently shuffling the cards.

This wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped.

Preacher interceded for me. “Let the man speak his mind, my friends.”

I flashed him a grateful look before quickly arranging my thoughts to keep from saying too much. “Anyone know a fellow by the name of Robert Rivers?”

Five faces stared back at me, four blank and one grinning.

Woody replied with dancing eyes. “You can’t fool me, Bobbi! Of course we know him, ‘cause he’s you! Everyone knows that Bobbi is a nickname for Robert. We both have nicknames, you and me.” Pride radiated at his ability to solve my riddle.

I hated to knock over his blocks, so I smiled gently and tiptoed around him. “I can’t put one over on you, Woody, can I? Yes, Bobbi is a nickname of Robert. Though in this particular case, I’m looking for another person named Robert Rivers. He was part of the Sharpshooters, Company 17.”

I watched in aching anticipation as each man ran the name over in their memories.

“Nope,” Kenny said, shaking his head. “The name’s not familiar.”

“That’s not saying much though,” Mike added, “as the Sharpshooters tend to stick to themselves, if you know what I mean.”

No, I don’t know what he means.
I opened my mouth to ask him, but Toby interrupted.

“Bobbi, is this Robert guy related to you?”

I nodded. “He’s my brother. He turned up missing at the Battle of Gettysburg in July.”

“Oh, Gettysburg,” Kenny murmured. “Bad situation, that one. A lot of men killed—” He broke off when he caught my eye, and quickly added, “But I heard a lot of fellas got taken captive, and of course, there’s the deserters—”

“My brother would never desert!” I threw back, my voice cracking with anger.

Kenny raised his hands in surrender. “Take it easy, Bobbi. Fine, your brother wouldn’t desert. You don’t need to attack me; we’re on the same side, remember?”

I pulled my eyes off Kenny. He was right, of course. He wasn’t responsible for Robert’s disappearance.

“Wait just a minute,” Woody interrupted, his brow creased in confusion. “Since Bobbi is a nickname for Robert, that means you and your brother have the same name! Are you trying to fool me?”

I sympathized with his confusion, and quickly reassured him. “Woody, I’d never try to trick you. Yes, believe it or not, my older brother and I share the same name. Plus, we have a little brother at home named Robert, too. Blame our conceited pa who demanded that every one of his offspring carry on his own name.”

“But doesn’t that get confusing?” Woody asked. “Who do you know who’s being yelled at?”

I shrugged. “Usually, I’m the culprit being yelled at, but to make it easier, we go by Robert, Bobbi and Robby.”

“Ahh!” Understanding cleared Woody’s eyes. “I get it.”

“So, none of you ever met him, but maybe you remember seeing him. He’s bigger than me, but he’s got the same red hair and blue eyes. He’s the best shot you’d have ever seen; he never misses a target…” My voice trailed off as one by one they shook their heads. I didn’t really expect to find Robert right away, but I couldn’t stop the lump of disappointment settling in my stomach.

“Anybody up for another game?” Mike offered, reshuffling the cards.

“I am,” Woody eagerly accepted.

Preacher pointed at the empty spot where Woody’s stones had sat. “You’re out of betting stones, my friend.”

Woody grimaced, then said, “Kenny, loan me a few of yours.”

Their words floated around my head, none of them finding their way into my ears. To hide my disappointment, I leaned over to retie my boots.

“Bobbi.”

Toby’s voice startled me and I turned to find him at eye level, bent over with his elbows propped on his knees.

“I’m sorry we don’t know anything about your brother.”

His kind words disrupted my thought process, I found myself staring at him, mere inches away, his breath warm on my face. I quickly sat up and fiddled with my cap to hide my uneasiness.

He shrugged, offhandedly. “If you want, I could help you look for him.”

His words confused me. My mental instincts warned me to keep as big a distance as possible, while my emotional intuition yearned to know more, to perhaps even become friends. That confusion rammed into the exhaustion from the long day of drills to cause my rebuke to come out more sharp than I’d intended. “Why should you care?”
He jerked back slightly as if he’d suddenly caught a whiff of an offensive odor.

“I guess I shouldn’t,” he said slowly before sitting back with an air of bruised feelings.

I stared at him, surprised that my harsh words had caused such a reaction. He refused to meet my eyes, instead turning his attentions back to the card game with his arms crossed over his chest. An urge stronger than ever welled up inside of me to get to know him, to count this Toby guy as a friend. But right then I had no free stone to gamble on a whim of trust that could possibly destroy my entire quest; my identity and my feelings weren’t the only things at stake.

With determination and resolve to continue solo, I reached down to gather my hand of cards. Still, I couldn’t fight off a feeling of regret as I glanced over at Toby’s masked face.

Just as I displayed my winning hand of a straight, ace high, the guys jumped to their feet in salute. In my befuddled mind, I wondered if this were some form of congratulations to a good poker hand when Toby kicked my ankle and nodded to something behind me. Slightly annoyed since his kick had actually hurt, I glanced around and gulped in surprise before I too leapt to my feet and threw a hand up to my brow in salute.

Captain Truckey saluted in return. His uniform appeared just as neat and pressed as yesterday, his air just as calm and confident. “How’s the game, men?”

First Sergeant Mike Barlow stepped forward. “The card game is proving to be quite entertaining, sir, thank you for asking. And you may be pleased to see that we are playing a nice friendly game with stones only. No gambling for us.”

I raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Mike, wondering if his eagerness at pleasing the captain was as obvious to everyone else. I caught Kenny rolling his eyes, and Captain Truckey’s lip twitched slightly as if holding back a grimace of irritation before speaking.

“Fine, fine. I just wanted to inform everyone that we’re moving out in the morning, so you might want to turn in soon to catch some rest.”

“Sir, I’d like to volunteer my services to pass on your message,” Mike offered. “I’m sure an important officer like yourself has more important jobs to do.”

“I appreciate the offer,” the captain quickly returned, “but I’m enjoying my stroll in this bit of crisp autumn night air.” He turned to me. “Private Rivers?”