Echoes of Dark and Light (29 page)

My lungs burned as I sucked in the smoky, powder-infected air, and my eardrums numbed to the explosions of weapons and war cry. Then a musket ball shot past, prickling the hairs on my neck. It found a target, the fellow running on my heels. With an agonizing cry, he stumbled to the ground. The men behind tried to avoid him, but a few couldn’t help stepping on the fallen soldier. I felt a spurt of relief that I didn’t know him. Guilt quickly followed, guilt at finding solace in someone else getting shot, not me or my friends. But I shoved the guilt aside; no room existed for guilt in the midst of battle. I could allow myself to feel later.

We chased the Rebel troops for almost a mile down the road towards the Spotsylvania Courthouse. The Ny River came into view as the sun cleared the treetops, casting a rainbow of sparking light across the water ripples. The Rebels squeezed out a few more shots before crowding the pontoon bridge to cross the river. We spread out along the bank to force the enemy farther back, and we soon took control of the bridge.

By noon, the Rebels retreated, leaving behind over fifty wounded prisoners.

“Privates Rivers and Dove!” Captain Truckey waved us over to him.

I glanced at Toby to gage his reaction at finding me there.
Had he noticed my presence? Did he care? Would he even acknowledge me?

He did not. He didn’t even glance in my direction or seemed surprised to find me there. It was almost as if I didn’t exist. I bit down hard on my lip to stop its sudden and unexplainable trembling, until the pain and the taste of blood nudged me back in control. I fell in behind Toby and approached Captain Truckey.

“Good job, soldiers, excellent charge. General Wilcox wants us to cross the Ny and follow the retreating Rebels while a portion stays behind to guard the bridge. You two are to stay here and guard the prisoners. Think you can handle that with one arm, Rivers?”

I nodded and held up my Colt. “Not a problem, sir.”

“Good. You will be relieved later when the prisoners are transported to the nearest prison. Meet back up with us then.”

We saluted as the captain guided his horse onto the bridge, and then took position to follow our orders. I glanced again at Toby, and found his face fixed in a stony silence, refusing to meet my eyes. I swallowed the sharp retort poised on my tongue, impatient to lash out at his stubborn and new-found hatred of me. I knew starting an argument wouldn’t help. And if I did, and if he still refused to respond, I wouldn’t put it past my temper to throw down my gun and tackle the stubborn fool with my fists. Instead I forced my attention on the prisoners.

They made a sorry looking bunch, skinny, dirty and desolate. About half wore what looked to be tattered Rebel uniforms, while some donned civilian garb and others even had on a mismatch of Union uniform castoffs. All of them looked sick and worn out, except for their eyes. Each and every one of them had a spark in his eyes that boasted pride and shouted unending strength. They also looked hot and thirsty, standing in the midday sun.

I glanced around, my eyes zeroing in on the house nearby. An expertly carved wooden sign over the door announced it as the Gayle House, but the large shade trees in the yard interested me more.

“Rebs, move over to the shade,” I instructed with my gun. I purposely avoided a discussion with Toby over the decision in fear he would continue to ignore even a direct question. Besides, the look of relief in the prisoners’ eyes, even a slight one, convinced me that I’d done right.

The group of ragtag prisoners moved slowly, the more fit of them assisting the wounded and ill. They settled beneath the giant sweeping branches of an oak, with the breeze carrying the sweet scent of a nearby blooming lilac. I suggested to one fellow that he could fill up a few canteens at the well pump behind the house. While he did that, a couple of others pulled out scraps of paper and began writing letters home. Most of them just closed their eyes, too exhausted to fight sleep any longer.

Toby still hadn’t said a word, or even spared me a glance. He stared straight ahead at the prisoners, his rifle clutched in a grip so tight that the tips of his fingers turned white. The silence stretched painfully, quickly toying with my nerves. It didn’t take long for my patience to dry up and become as explosive as gunpowder.

“Damn it, just talk to me already!”

At first, I thought my outburst had produced nothing but even more frustrations for myself. But then, though he still refused to look at me, Toby finally opened his mouth and spoke.

“What’s to say? What’s done is done. My brother is dead and you killed him.”

“But he left me with little choice! He had a gun aimed at your heart, just about to squeeze the trigger!”

“You don’t know that; you didn’t know him. Randy would never have hurt me.”

“You’re fooling yourself if you believe that. I’ve seen what hate looks like; I’ve stared straight into the eyes of hate and I’ve seen what it can do.”

“He was my brother; he wouldn’t have—”

“Hate doesn’t discriminate due to shared blood. I know that better than anybody. My pa—” I broke off, unable to share that part of my life. I took a step closer to him. “Believe me, Randy would have killed you. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

Toby didn’t reply, didn’t even blink. He just kept his eyes pinned on the weary prisoners.

I took another step closer, softening my voice. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I aimed to wound him, to interrupt his mind set on destroying you. But my aim proved off for once. Toby, I am so incredibly sorry.”

Toby kept silent, staring straight ahead.

In desperation and despair, I blurted out, “You know, it just as easily could have been you who shot Randy! If you hadn’t seen his face, hadn’t recognized him, it could have been you aiming at a faceless Reb!”

Toby slowly turned to look at me, his eyes blazing with anger and hopelessness. “But it wasn’t me, was it?” He turned to walk away, throwing a last dagger over his shoulder. “And for your information, no Rebel is faceless!”

His barb pierced my heart with its honesty, and I watched him move away to take up a guard position on the other side of the prisoners. I didn’t know what to say or even think.
What had happened to me over the past months to make me forget that this war didn’t just cut down strangers, but cut down my fellow Americans?
Maybe this “forgetting” helped me cope, helped me to do my job, to get through the battle and still be able to sleep at night. I blinked back the tears that flooded my eyes as I watched Toby across the prisoners’ circle. My new friend seemed determined to hate me, and could I really blame him? I reached up to wipe away a tear that escaped.

“Dang blast it!” I kicked at a rock, sending it clanging against the iron water pump.

We plowed through the rest of May with battles on the North Anna River and the Totopotomoy Creek, fighting for almost twenty hours straight on May 12th and 13
^th
. In all that time, Toby never said a word to me. Woody, Preacher and Kenny all tried talking to him, but he seemed to have cut himself off from everyone. Despite his sullenness and determination to keep his distance, I never once stopped watching his back. Maybe in time, he would accept what had happened and we’d be friends again…or maybe not.

On the last day of May, Captain Truckey ordered me to accompany a troop of wounded back to the hospital tent, with secondary instructions to get my shoulder checked when we got there. I tried to assure him my shoulder had healed just fine, but he insisted. Since I’d last been there, the medical unit had moved to catch up with the troops, and it didn’t take long to find them. Strange thing, the entire trip back I had a feeling of being watched, though I never sensed hostility. Still, it felt a relief to reach camp as exhaustion dragged at my bones. By the time I delivered the injured to an orderly, I felt more than ready to settle in my bed roll and snatch a bit of sleep. But before I made it through the bustle of the hospital grounds, I over heard a horrible rumor.

“Did you hear? Doctor Davis caught a stray musket ball! He’s dead!”

Oh, no! Cora!

I forgot about sleep and quickly sought out Cora. I didn’t bother scanning the hospital tents; for one, I’d just been there and hadn’t seen her, and two, if the rumor even had the slightest bit of truth, I knew the horror-stricken Cora would be in the tent she and her pa shared.

I didn’t bother knocking, and pushed aside the tent flap. “Cora?”

Immediately, I knew the worst had happened. Cora sat in the high-backed chair in front of the desk, her tear-drowned eyes staring into the corner. I softly approached, kneeling beside her. When I gently laid a hand on her shoulder, she jumped both out of her skin and out of her reverie, clutching at her heart as if to slow its pounding.

“Bobbi!”

“I didn’t mean to startle you—”

“You heard?”

I nodded. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” And I meant it, too. Just because my own pa refused to love me, didn’t mean it was an impossibility for others. From what I’d seen, Cora and her father didn’t have an affectionate relationship, but they did have a mutual respect and a certain closeness resulting from working side by side through a bloody war.

Cora blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged hanky. “I still can’t believe it happened, and here, in the medical area, a mile from the actual fighting.”

“What happened, Cora?”

She took a deep breath, held on to it for a second, and then ruefully let go. “A few soldiers stood off to the side after their minor wounds had been bandaged. One decided to try out that new Henry Repeating Rifle that an officer had with him.” Cora shrugged. “The soldier got confused and Doctor Davis paid the price.”

A mistake, her pa’s life wasted from a stupid mistake!
I sucked in a lung full of air to control my anger. I had no affection for the austere doctor, but I did feel Cora’s pain. When I thought I could speak without spitting sparks, I turned back to my friend. “Did you see it?” I didn’t mean to be gory; sometimes seeing the tragedy made it that much harder to push it out of your mind.

She nodded. “I tired to help him, Bobbi. I really did. But even all of the training he gave me couldn’t save him. The bullet pierced his heart.” Tears welled up and over flowed, tracking down her flushed cheeks. “A stupid stray bullet finding the ideal target!”

As she laid her head on my shoulder, I patted her back, just trying to provide a pillar for her to lean against; I felt helpless to do anything else. Later, I would help her make arrangements for the body, I would stand with her at the funeral, and when she felt ready, I would listen to her talk about her pa. But right then, I just stood there, holding her hand and easing her hurting heart.

After a few moments, she sniffed and then looked up at me. The sadness in her eyes mirrored a similar expression that most of the country wore those days, but it still tore at my heart.

“I don’t know how much more death and destruction I can take,” she admitted. “I keep patching up the boys, pulling out musket balls and sewing up gashes, and then they get sent right back out into the storm. The next time they might not be so lucky. Why are we doing this, Bobbi? It’s been so bloody long, I don’t even remember the reasons. Nothing makes sense anymore. At least you know why you’re here.”