Reincarnation (18 page)

"I did. He said he wished he had some. He's amputating

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legs with only whiskey to give guys for the pain. When he hears Blunt gave some of the

whiskey out tonight, he's gonna have a fit."

She nodded somberly, having witnessed field hospital conditions and knowing the

atrocities.

"You're a runaway slave, aren't you?" John said.

"Yeah, I ran away," she heard herself say, as though the words were coming from someone

else's mouth. The Fugitive Slave Act had been repealed last year and slaves no longer had to

be returned to their owners, but admitting to being a runaway still made her nervous.

"I had a feeling," he replied. "You didn't seem too at ease talking to me back there by the river. How'd you do it?"

She chuckled bitterly. "You're going to hate this. I was working in the house and I set the

drapes on fire. While everyone was busy stomping on the fire, I slipped out the back door. It

was so simple, I could hardly believe it."

"You were lucky," he commented.

"Lucky, and I had help. I made it to the Ohio River by night. A former slave now living free in Ohio rowed out and brought me over."

"Have you seen a lot of fighting?" the man asked.

She shook her head. "Up to now, we've been used as escort troops, mostly. We were

attacked by Texas troops with some Seminole while escorting a supply train here to the fort.

We sent them running, so I guess the general felt

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okay about calling us in today. This was our first real official fight."

Although the night was cool, the other soldier was sweating profusely. "How did it feel out

there today?" he asked, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

She reflected on this a moment before answering. To fight full out -- what a release! To no

longer bite down on murderous rage as she'd done in her role as slave. She'd felt wildly free

during the fight at the train and again today. And yet, as she'd watched the other side

retreat off the battlefield, something in her had shifted. She was aware of it though she

couldn't quite name the feeling. "I felt sorry for them," she said at last.

The soldier let out a harsh laugh. "Don't. It will cripple you. You'll be no good to anybody. I used to be full of empathy but this war has knocked it out of me. And you know what? It

feels good not to care."

"You don't care for anyone?" she questioned.

It was his turn to reflect. "No. I don't think so ... my brother, maybe, but who knows

where he is right now. How about you?"

"My mother was sold downriver before I made a run for it. If we win this war, or even if we

don't, I'm going to try to find her. Other than her, I have no one."

"I have a wife, but to tell the truth, I don't miss her. In fact, it's been a relief to be without her these days. If

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there's one good thing that's come to me from this war, that's it."

Since she'd taken on this male disguise, it had been interesting to talk to men without the

barrier between men and women standing in the way -- the polite or not so polite flirtation,

the unspoken implication that there was so much out there in the world that was beyond

her understanding. All that was swept aside when she began dressing as a man.

It astounded her how easily she took to life as a man; she felt entirely comfortable in the

male role at most times. Although her former slave life had been harsh, as a house slave

she'd been spared the rigors of the fields and cast into the feminine role of cook's helper. It

had been hard work but she accomplished it all within the guidelines of polite female

comportment. She would have thought these things were ingrained in her, yet she had

thrown them all off with ease. She'd even learned to spit freely without feeling self-

conscious, even discovering that she was quite good at it.

This ability to assume a male role was, in a way, akin to her mysterious skill with a bow and

arrow.

Where had that come from?

Of course, she had watched the Cherokee warriors closely, fascinated by their prowess with

the bow. It was strange that the ability had found its way into her body, for that was how it

had felt, like a skill that bypassed her brain and came straight from her spine, arms, and

hands. It had saved her life out there on the field.

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The sound of the singing Kansas First drifted on the air. Their song was now "Amazing

Grace."

"I love this song," Lou said.

"I do, too. It was written by a former British slaver who gave up slaving after a near

shipwreck. I learned it in the orphanage." He lifted his sweat-moist face as a faraway look

filled his eyes. He sang along with the distant voices of the Kansas First.

His voice was full, rich, and deep. While he sang, his sweating cleared, his hands stopped

trembling. An otherworldly light radiated from his face. Lou sat, transfixed, gooseflesh rising

on her arms at the sound of his singing. He seemed transported, as was she, into some

other realm.

When the song ended, he smiled fleetingly, a little embarrassed at having given himself over

to the rapture of the music. "It's a good song," he muttered.

"It is," she agreed. "You sing it well."

With a quick nod, he brushed off the compliment. "What will you do after the war?" John

asked.

"After I find my mother and get her to safety, I'd like to write a book, tell a story about

everything I've seen," she admitted, then laughed at her own lofty aspiration. "First thing I'll have to do is learn to write, of course. What are your intentions? You should sing on the

stage."

"In the city, I sneaked into the opera once and watched from the sides. I liked it but it's not for a poor man like me. I was thinking of starting my own pottery shop, like the

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one I used to work for in New York City. People are always going to need cups, bowls, and

plates, and I love to work the pottery wheel."

"Don't you need to put fire on it?" Lou asked.

"Yep. But I'm determined to get over this fear of fire. I feel it is the one thing I must do

before I die. And I probably should try to kick this addiction to the laudanum."

"Addiction?" Lou asked. She didn't know the word.

"I'm so dependent on the stuff. I can't live without it." He had begun sweating again. He nodded toward his badly quivering hands. "How can I fire my musket when I'm like this?"

Lou nodded. "We have to get you some of that laudanum. I think that there was some on

the supply train we escorted in." She nodded for him to follow her. She knew exactly

where the crates had been stacked.

Alone in his tent, John snapped open one of the glass phials of laudanum Lou had found for

him. What an odd guy Lou was, so delicate and yet so gutsy. Together, under the cover of

darkness, they'd cracked open a crate of the drug and loaded themselves with as many

glass phials as they could carry.

As they were getting away, Lou had buckled over and clutched his side. When John asked

what was wrong, he'd insisted it was nothing. He hoped the kid was all right. It was strange

how he felt so at ease with him, so comfortable,

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especially considering how different they were. It was as though Lou was some long-lost

brother John had been reunited with, instead of a stranger whose former life he couldn't

even begin to imagine.

He sure owed Lou a lot for finding this laudanum.

With badly shaking hands, John brought the greenish brown liquid to his lips. The bitter

taste suffused him with warm relief. Lying flat on his bedroll, he waited for the familiar

relaxing sensation to wash over him. This phial held more than he usually took, but he'd

been so long without it that he didn't care and finished the entire thing.

He had never before taken so much that it brought on hallucinations, and so he was

unprepared for what happened next.

His body lifted out of his tent, serenely happy to be floating above the earth in the night

sky. One star was brighter than the others and kept growing increasingly brighter. As it

came closer, a giant bird flew out of the brightness. It held Lou in its talons, his legs

dangling, and his face joyful.

An explosion of yellow light obliterated everything and suddenly he was traveling at full

speed through desert sands. He was singing "Amazing Grace" beside a crystal blue pool

abundant with floating lotus flowers. Lou walked next to the pool wearing his Union

uniform. He was captive of a Confederate soldier. John's wife Jane was there, pouring beer

from a jug for members of the audience.

His eyes fixed on Lou. He waited for Lou to tell him

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something but Lou didn't seem able to talk. John continued to sing and his voice

became much higher than he recognized.

He saw himself in the pool's reflection. He had become a woman with thick black hair.

How had he disappeared like this ?

He found himself again, sitting on a small boat in a murky river surrounded with fog. An old

man stood at the bow. Looking over the side of the boat, he saw a pair of green gemstone

earrings, hooked one to the other. Without stopping to think, he went over the side to get

them.

In the water, his long, tangled hair floated out around him. Lou was swimming toward him.

He was in his uniform but his jaw jutted forward, his brow sloped. He was Lou but different.

They were both swimming toward the green earrings.

The earrings swirled.

A turquoise Eye of Horus formed around the green gems. The Eye of Horus spun so fast it

became a glistening green orb.

Lou wrapped his hand around it. John grasped just as tight. Both clutching the stone,

struggling for it, they shot out of the water straight up into the starry night....

John's eyes snapped open and he shook, his teeth chattering. Someone had hurled a bucket

of ice water at him. He lay on a cot in a tent with the sides tied up. He was strapped to the

cot with rope.

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"Wake up, soldier!" the tall, lanky field doctor barked, untying the rope. He was the same doctor John had asked for laudanum days earlier, the one with the eye patch over one eye.

"I don't know where you got all that laudanum but we need this cot for soldiers with real

injuries."

John's mouth was like a wool blanket. All his muscles ached.

"You raved for a full day before we could get hold of you," the doctor reported. "You've been here for two more. That's as much as we can spare for a drug addict. By the way, don't

go looking for that laudanum. You're on your way to being free of it now; you don't want to

go back. Besides, we confiscated what we found in your tent."

"Water, please," John murmured.

The doctor poured some water from a pitcher into a cup and handed it to him. Anguished

cries of injured soldiers could be heard from the other tents. "In fact," the doctor went on,

"we couldn't give you more even if we wanted to. We've used up the small supply they sent

us, just in the last three days alone."

A terrible moan came from the next tent over. "I wish I had some for that poor soul," the doctor remarked. "Ruptured appendix."

John staggered to the back of the tent and looked over. "Lou," he gasped softly.

"You know him?" the doctor asked. "Or should I say, her?"

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John whirled sharply toward the doctor.
"Her?"

The doctor nodded. "Young women disguised as soldiers: It's not the first time I've seen it in this war -- young women following a sweetheart, looking for adventure, wanting to serve

the cause. If you can lend her some comfort, go ahead, 'cause she's not going to make it."

"Hey," Lou said softly when he came into her tent. "You okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm all right," he replied, sitting at the side of her bed. "How do you feel?"

"Like death. The pain in my gut is awful."

He nodded. "Can I get you anything?"

"You could promise me something. It's a lot to ask but I don't have anyone else."

"What?"

"My mother's name is Eva Jones. She's in Mississippi somewhere. The North is going to win

this war. Afterward, would you try to find her and see that she's all right? Help her if she

needs help."

"I promise," he replied.

Pain made her press her lips together hard. "Don't have any of that laudanum, do you?"

As though suddenly remembering something, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled

out a nearly empty phial. At the bottom was a tiny puddle, mere drops, of the drug.

He held it up. A crack of sunlight shafting down from

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a tear in the tent roof caught the edge of the glass phial. It threw a prism of green and

yellow against the tent wall.

Eyeing it hungrily for a moment, he wrapped his hand around it, killing the prism.

"That green light was pretty. Put it back," she requested.

"I'll give it to you for the pain," he offered.

"Not yet," she said. "I want to look at it while you tell me a story." She had discovered that staring at the green prism distracted her from the pain, eased her mind somehow.

"What kind of story would you like?"

"Anything at all that I can listen to while I look at this green light, just to keep my mind off the pain."

"I can't think of a story."

"Tell me a story about two friends who just met but feel like they've known each other for a

long time."

"All right. I'll make it up as I go along." He held the phial up to the sunlight, and the greenish yellow prism once again appeared on the tent wall. He peered into it as if,