Echoes of Dark and Light (30 page)

I took another deep breath and blew it out slowly. “It’s not quite that simple. True, finding my brother is my main focus, but other factors have come into play. This country has allowed herself to fall into a real mess. I’m trying my best to help put her back together, back into the country that I love. And then there’s the people here that I’ve come to love— I mean, care about. You and the guys and Captain Truckey. I’m also here to help watch your backs and keep you all alive and kicking. And that’s why you’re here, Cora, to patch up the fellows and keep them kicking. Of course, if you feel it’s time to move on, then you have to follow your instincts. But remember, you just took a seriously low blow and it will take time to heal. Maybe you can use that time to think about what you want and need; don’t make any rash decisions. And in the meantime, remember that we need you, need your expertise, your healing hands…heck, just in morale boosting alone, you’re priceless! One smile from pretty Nurse Davis lifts every soldier’s spirit!”

A small smile escaped Cora’s misery, fleeting but real. She sat up and dabbed again at her red eyes, a hint of her strength reappearing.

“You’re right. I’m needed here, for now at least. I’ll try to stay and keep boosting morale, as you so delicately put it. Though, I don’t know what the future will hold.”

“None of us do, Cora. None of us do.”

I opted to stay the night near Cora, bunked down outside in a nearby grove of trees. If anyone noticed me, I’m sure my actions would raise a few eyebrows. But most would probably chalk it up to puppy love, and I wasn’t about to set them straight. I heard Cora crying in the darkness, but didn’t dare sneak inside to comfort her; too many witnesses moving about the hospital grounds, and if someone caught me sneaking into her tent, her reputation would be ruined. And now, with her pa dead and the protection that he’d provided gone, Cora didn’t need the burden of misplaced rumors, whispered speculations and unwanted advances. I wished I could stay in camp to keep a closer eye on her, but for one, I had direct orders to return to the field, and two, I knew Cora could take care of herself. Plus, she wouldn’t be completely alone; the rest of the medical staff surrounded her day and night.

I quietly slipped a note to Cora under her tent flap before setting out early the next morning. I didn’t take time to brew coffee or make a hot breakfast, instead nibbling on some weevil-infested hard tack as I made my way back to the 27
^th
. I couldn’t help grinning, remembering when I used to take the painstaking time to pick through and remove the wiggling little buggers. Now, I just chewed them up along with the hard tack. Added flavor, as Toby always said. And the hard tack could use as much added flavor as it could get. But then the thought of Toby put a painful clench in my stomach, and I quickly stashed away the remaining food. I increased my pace, eager to get back where I belonged.

With a start, I realized I’d forgotten to have my shoulder checked out while in camp. I gingerly tested it myself, checking out the range of motion and stiffness.
Seems good enough to me
. Almost a month had passed since the dislocation, and I’d dumped the sling weeks ago. My self evaluation would have to do. I hoped Captain Truckey didn’t ask me directly if a doctor had examined me; what he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.

As I trudged back to the frontlines, I once again had the feeling of being watched. Some instinctive sixth sense twinged with alarm, but none of the original five senses picked up anything of concern. I stopped, ducking behind a tree to take a better account of my surroundings. Only a bright red cardinal revealed his presence, flickered though the branches and cocking his head curiously at me. I debated staying hidden to figure out just what had put the hairs on the back of my neck on end. A glance at the dawning sun reminded me of the passing time and I opted to move forward. Still, whatever pricked at my subconscious still didn’t feel like a threat. Maybe my guardian angel hovered nearby. Just in case, I kept every inch of my mind and body on triple alert as I quickly and quietly made my way back to the troops.

When I’d last left them, both sides of the armies had been converging at the Cold Harbor Crossroads, and talk of the next huge attack spread down the lines. Cold Harbor itself was an old white-framed tavern positioned about ten miles from the city of Richmond. The Union army had stretched itself out along a seven-mile track with the Rebels digging in across the way. The terrain consisted of varying ridges covered in thick forests, and crisscrossed with muddy swamps and meandering streams. Here and there, a small farmstead had dug out an existence, harvesting tobacco and corn. For added fun, nasty little buggers like chiggers and ticks kept my skin itching and crawling, while my eyes scanned for hidden venomous cottonmouth snakes, and the just as deadly Rebel soldiers.

The dry roadway offered up choking clouds of dust with every step, and I imagined the horrors of trying to breathe in the storm a marching army would create. Now and then I passed the bloated corpse of a brave horse or mule who had fallen in their harnesses, and left to die from the choking thirst and exhaustion. This war seemed to reach out and inflict death on every creature, not just the ones responsible for creating it.

Up ahead, I noticed another farm clearing with a tobacco drying shed near the road. Logs stacked with plenty of air gaps framed the structure, topped with a solid roof. The harvested tobacco plants hung from poles inside to dry in the summer heat. Before the war, the nearby city of Petersburg housed a big tobacco industry with quite a few factories. But they received a big blow from the blockaders and had closed. Movement near the shed caught my eye and I quickly ducked behind a tree, Colt aimed at the tobacco shed. As I watched, a scruffy, haunted-looking man crept to the door, scanning the area for witnesses. His clothes hung in tatters, and may have once been a Rebel uniform. The man quickly slunk back into the forest, his skinny arms loaded down with stolen tobacco left over from last year’s crop. I carefully moved back to the road, leaving the derelict be. He seemed to have enough troubles without me turning on him. I’d let the farmer deal with him; I had to get back to the 27
^th

The hot sun glared down on me as I finally reached Cold Harbor. I skirted the edges of the army until I reached the mile where the 9
^th
Corps lined up for battle. I quickly settled into the entrenchments with the guys and caught up on the action that I’d missed. I painfully avoided asking about the absent Toby.

“Nothin’!” Kenny complained. “We’ve been stuck here for hours. The attack has been postponed at least twice now.”

“How come?” I asked, my heart lurching as I caught sight of Toby stepping out of cover from the nearby trees. He took a seat, perching nearby on a tree stump and began cleaning his rifle with undivided attention to avoid looking in our direction. But then, as if he felt my eyes, he looked up and for a long moment, we stared at each other.
Did I see regret and longing mixed in with the sadness?
Toby turned back to his rifle without a word.
Probably not.

“Because someone gave the wrong directions to Hancock’s troops and they ended up miles from here,” Preacher explained.

“Yeah,” Woody chimed in, “and then the poor fellows had to march even farther to reach here, and now they’re plum wore out.”

“General Grant pushed the attack back to tomorrow morning, before sun up,” Kenny said, spitting out a long stalk of grass he’d been chewing.

I adjusted my mental calendar. “Tomorrow’s June 3
^rd
, right?”

Kenny nodded. “We’re wasting time. We could have attacked hours or even days ago. It’s like we’re just giving the Rebs time to prepare. We might as well be over there helping them dig in!”

I popped a squat to ease my back. “At least our guys are out scouting the terrain, getting to know the battlefield, right?”

Kenny shook his head in disgust. “Are you kidding? The big guys won’t give the order; we’re just supposed to sit here and rest. Like a body can rest with a battle on the way.”

I scratched my head and then readjusted my cap. “Okay, so General Grant got all of us here, strung out for seven miles. What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Kenny blew up. “There is no plan! Only that come tomorrow morning we charge the Rebs.”

Kenny’s grim face told me he wasn’t joking. I rubbed my tired, grit-filled eyes and sighed.

Before dawn on June 3
^rd
, the air heavy with a thick fog and clinging mist, our troops lined up for attack. I hadn’t slept more than a few minutes; no one had. Sleep didn’t come easy on a night that could be one’s last. I spent a lot of hours thinking of Robert, wondering if he’d felt scared before battles, if his stomach clenched in a knot or his hands felt cold and sweaty at the same time. Part of me couldn’t imagine my big brother suffering anxiety of any kind; he’d always been so brave and fearless. But another part of me, the one beginning to accept Robert as a mere human as apposed to some sort of indestructible hero, knew he’d been afraid, too.

At 4:30 a.m., the signal fired the start of our advance. Usually depending on my senses, I felt a bit unstable and lost with the mist clinging to my eyelashes, the darkness surrounding and enfolding me, the stomping, swearing and shooting of an army on attack filling my ears and blocking any other sounds. I kept Woody in sight on my left and then found a bit of reassurance at discovering Toby on my right. Flashes of gunfire momentarily blinded me even more, until I learned to pin my eyes on the ground. It didn’t take long to notice the error of failing to scout the area ahead of time. Between the Rebels and us brewed a field of swamps, streams and patches of almost impenetrable vegetation. Our line of attack quickly became broken and staggered as we plowed through the obstacles, breaking our huge army into isolated islands. The entrenched Rebels wasted no time and blasted sweeping rounds of gunfire, taking out hundreds, thousands of our troops. I couldn’t comprehend the sheer numbers of men falling all around me. My legs burned to run for safety, but my orders, and my friends, kept me advancing. Stumbling over the broken bodies, I fired round after round, with no way of knowing if I hit any targets. The nightmare quickly grew worse, and within a half hour the captain ordered us to take cover and hold our position. I dove behind a huge fallen log with Toby and Woody, keeping as much of our bodies hidden while aiming our rifles over the moss-covered bark of our shield.

As the sun tried to penetrate the thick fog and black gunpowder smoke, I noticed a few men trying to retreat. But Rebel sharpshooters picked them out of the soup, adding to the dead and dying on the field. Their cries raked at my ears, even over the gunfire and cannon blasts. The disaster never once improved in our favor, and finally, at 12:30, General Grant ordered our retreat.

I couldn’t help stepping on the fallen troops as we desperately returned to our original entrenchments. Shocked and horrified, I surveyed the field felled with thousands of our men. Gasping for air, I quickly inspected Toby for blood and extra holes. Except for the echo of nightmares reflected in his eyes, he seemed okay. I checked Woody and found him clutching a bloody arm.

“Woody! Are you okay?”

He offered a wobbly smile. “A musket ball grazed me. It’s just a scratch, honest.”

I pushed his cradling hand aside to inspect the damage and found a three-inch gash along his forearm. Blood seeped steadily from the wound, but didn’t appear too bad. “You get over to medical and get that bandaged up, okay?”

“I’ll take him.” A wide-eyed, soot-covered Preacher appeared at our side. He gently took the pale-faced Woody by the elbow and led him out of the confusion.

Suddenly, with an icy hand gripping my heart, I realized I hadn’t accounted for someone. “Where’s Kenny?”