Echoes of Dark and Light (13 page)

“Now, my father’s favorite subject to have the tutor pound into my reluctant brain was history, or more specifically, the Revolutionary War. How proud my father felt of his grandfather, fighting the Redcoats for America’s freedom. I admit that even I eventually grew weary of hearing the same war stories over and over, but Father did manage to embed a strong patriotic base deep in my heart.” Toby paused in remembrance and gave a short bark of laughter. “I just remembered one of our favorite games! Sam and I’d take turns pretending to be the first president and vice president of the United States. Father volunteered to be my campaign manager, swearing we’d sweep the board with my vote tally.” The smile slowly faded. “I also remember that he pretty much ignored Sam.

“Anyway, so Sam and I grew up together, closer than brothers, but more different than either one of us could comprehend. Then, in 1859, John Brown conducted his raid and turned my father’s world upside down. He suddenly took notice of Sam. Immediately, Father put an end to all the time we spent together, moved Sam out to the fields with the cattle, and doubled the slaves’ supervision, like he suddenly mistrusted these people whom he’d worked beside for over twenty years. Father’s dinner topics slid over from my great-grandfather’s heroic bravery for our indisputably grand country, to how the Yanks had gradually grown as bullying as the British had once been. My brothers followed right along behind Father’s ideals, but I had more trouble switching my loyalties. When I questioned him, I got a four-hour lecture on family allegiance, southern pride and knowing where my roots lie, and then received a punishment of cleaning out the chamber pots for my disrespectful sass. Sometime later, I managed to sneak out to the slave quarters to talk to Sam. Expecting him to be just as confused and angry at the upheaval of our world as me, I was surprised to find him grim but calm with acceptance. Turns out, Sam had a little more realistic view of our friendship, thanks to his folks.

“Then Father caught us talking and he exploded. He chained Sam to a post and pelted him with twenty cutting lashes of the whip. And he forced me to watch. Told me it was high time I learned a slave’s place in the world. The last time I saw Sam, his folks had carried his shredded body back into their cabin. I left that night. After making sure Sam would survive, I walked out on the part of my life that felt determined to make no sense to me at all.

“Father and Jonathon caught up with me by dawn, demanding that I return, apologize for worrying Mother, and then stand beside my family in southern pride. I told him I could not stand beside people who could carry so much ignorance and hatred in their hearts. Father used a cold, calculating voice to inform me that I could no longer consider myself a part of the family.

“I joined the Union army to fight for Sam’s right for freedom, and for the continuing unity of a magnificent country, a pride my own estranged father installed in me as a child.”

Toby’s voice trailed off into the commotion of an army on the move. He refused to meet my eyes, and I didn’t push. I got the feeling that the retelling of his tale had hit him a little harder than he’d expected. Now was not the time to carry out my side of the arrangement; time enough tomorrow to share my own horrid beginnings. Toby took a long swallow from his canteen and then offered it to me. I gratefully accepted both the offer of water and the offer of friendship.

By the time we marched into Hough’s Ferry on November 14, the entire army dragged with fatigue. Our supplies ran dangerously low, and no one had filled his stomach in days. The officers had arranged for fresh supply wagons to meet us and called a halt for a much needed lay over to rest and recoup. If that meant quieting the gnawing hunger in my belly, and putting up my blistered and swollen feet, they’d get no complaint from me. As soon as Toby and I set up our tent, I collapsed to the ground with groans and moans.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Toby kindly warned me, “and definitely don’t take off your boots.”

Without opening my eyes, I replied, “I doubt very seriously if it’s possible for me to ever be comfortable again.”

He chuckled sympathetically as he shook out his bedroll. “Ah, it’s just because you’re green. Give us some time and you’ll get used to soldier life.”

After a moment, I painfully sat up and started unlacing my boots.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Annoyed, I rolled my eyes. “And why is that?”

“Because,” he explained, “you’ll never get them back on, and the day isn’t finished yet.”

I stifled another moan.

“Hopefully we’ll luck out and avoid guard duty tonight, but even so, we need to head over to the supply trains for some grub.”

“Food?” I looked up hopefully, and at his nod, I quickly retied my boots and climbed stiffly to my feet. “Let’s go!”

After an impatient wait, the 27
^th
infantry’s turn came and we gathered in line for supplies. But then Captain Truckey arrived with some more good news.

“Men, I’m pleased to announce that our friends and neighbors back home are thinking of us. On today’s supply wagons we found the ultimate care package addressed to ‘the 27
^th
Infantry of Michigan Volunteers with love from the village of Marquette and surrounding villages,’” he quoted as he read the card. “Inside are dry socks, new underdrawers, toothbrushes, canned fruits, razors, coffee, baked goods, soaps, checker boards, decks of cards, and a few books. Looks like Christmas has come early for the 27
^th
.”

Robust cheers burst from the weary troops, grins replacing the weary frowns. Kenny playfully slugged Woody’s arm while Toby threw an arm around my shoulders. I instantly tensed up, but he didn’t seem to notice, giving my back a friendly pounding before turning away to talk excitedly to Preacher. As everyone crowded around the care packages, I hung back, my mind drifting to home. Bittersweet memories flooded my heart.

“Hey, you coming?” Toby broke through my thoughts.

“Hmm? Uh, sure.”

“My favorite is this nut fudge,” Kenny spoke through a full mouth as we sat around our evening campfire.

Preacher bowed his head. “I thank God for this new Bible. My old one had gotten wet and moldy.”

“Shouldn’t you thank Marquette,” asked a confused Woody. “They’re the ones who sent us this stuff.”

“Yes,” Preacher patiently explained, “but it was through Marquette that God has answered our prayers.”

“Ahh,” Woody nodded, and then attacked a pasty, an Upper Peninsula specialty combining potatoes, rutabaga, meat, and gravy in a flaky pocket crust.

“What’s your favorite?” Toby asked me, passing around a crock of canned apples.

“Hmm,” I mumbled while I finished chewing. “I think my favorite is this pair of dry socks.” I raised a colorfully knitted sock for emphasis. “And second favorite is having a full belly.” In fact, my belly had surpassed full, bordering on a stomachache. Marquette had been so generous that we’d decided to share with the other troops; most of the food wouldn’t keep much longer, like the pasties, or would be too heavy to carry in our packs, like the crocks of canned apples.

“Hey, lowlife! Got any cookies left?”

I glanced up to find Kenny’s twin standing over him. Even though I’d seen him quite often in the past few days, I still couldn’t get over how much alike Kenny and Kevin appeared, almost like one looking in a mirror. Well, except for Kevin’s crooked nose, that and the perpetual sneer that seemed to greet me every time I met Kevin’s eye.

“Kevin,” Kenny acknowledged reluctantly. “And no, the cookies are gone.”

“Well, we’ll just have to take the pasties then.” Jimmy’s now familiar grunting-growl of a voice grated my ears. He rudely shoved me to one side, reaching into our circle for the plate of pasties.

“We were done anyhow,” rebuked Woody. Then under his breath he added, “Big monster!” as Jimmy’s group moved away into the darkness.

I watched Jimmy’s broad, hunched shoulders as he walked away, and swallowed the bad taste that had formed in my mouth. I hated to admit it, but Jimmy scared me. Something in his eyes, or maybe the lack of something, gave me the feeling of a soulless core. I shuddered.

Toby noticed and followed my gaze. He gave me a reassuring bump with his shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you; bullies are ninety percent hot air and attitude.”

I tried to grin. “That leaves ten percent mean muscle, and he’s one heck of a big guy.”

Toby laughed. “There’s safety in numbers so just stick close.”

I intended to, but I still had a bad feeling about him.

“Hey, look!” Woody jumped to his feet. “Captain Truckey!”

We all climbed to attention as the Captain approached.

“Everybody enjoying the care package?” he asked after returning our salute.

“Yes, sir!” we returned as one voice.

“I wanted to let everyone know that we’ve received new orders about Lieutenant General Longstreet. We’re to change direction and head back to Knoxville. Longstreet is marching north to attempt to cut us off from the city. We’ll be leaving at first light, at what appears will be a race for Knoxville. Good evening, men.” He moved on to the next campfire.

“Didn’t we just come from the direction of Knoxville?” I asked.

Toby nodded. “And now we back track.”

“Why didn’t someone think of the whole Knoxville idea ten days ago?” I grumbled.

Kenny shrugged as he gathered his jacket and cap. “We do not question the generals; we just follow their orders.”

Preacher’s knees popped as he stooped to retrieve his pack. “Just as with our Lord, only in a non holy way.”

November 16
^th
dawned dreary and soggy, and we had all risen in plenty of time to witness the start of the day. The officers’ orders had us at a forced march, meaning very limited stops and marching hard. We had to get to Knoxville before Longstreet did in order to gain the safety of the city. This march differed from the one south in that talking amongst the troops had been prohibited, not that I had any breath to spare after being kept at a trot for hours on end. But they couldn’t keep me from looking around at the familiar territory. I found all of the scars left behind from our first trek down this road, the wheel ruts and tree stumps, the ugly litter and abandoned castoffs, the horrid odors from the stewing and fly-ridden latrines mind-boggling and somewhat scary. I wondered how much time would have to pass for the land to heal from the wounds man had left behind.