The Last Full Measure (16 page)

David stood there, straight and tall and firm. "No sir," he said quietly. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Well, why in hell not, boy?"

"Why, you see, sir," David said softly, "it would be against the law. The provost marshal gave orders that no bodies are to be exhumed. By anybody. Not even family members who come from afar. No sir, I'm sorry. I can't do it. And I can't allow you to do it, either."

T
HE MAN JUST
stared at David for a moment as if my brother was speaking a foreign language. Then, when Mr. Sensebaugh spoke again, he spoke as if he were addressing a five-year-old child.

"Now, look here, son, let me say it again. All's I came for is my brother's body. It'd take just a minute to dig it up. Dig it up, son. Not exhume it. I'm not one for fancy language. Up in Connecticut we don't use fancy language. You just buried him. When? How long ago now?"

"Within the last couple hours," David said.

The man nodded gravely. "Couple hours," he repeated. "So now we just push the dirt away. It isn't even settled yet. And we take him out. A simple matter. No need to attach a legal term to it. Or cite any provost marshal's order. Just let me have him and I'll be on my way."

"Can't do it," David said again.

"For God's
sake
, son, the provost marshal doesn't even know my brother's been buried!"

"My name's David. David Stryker. And
I
know he's been buried."

Mr. Sensebaugh was quickly getting aggravated. He took a deep breath, reached into an inside coat pocket, and drew out some paper money. "Good Yankee dollars." He held them out to David. "It's been my experience in life that almost everybody can be bought off. Now come on. You people in Gettysburg have taken a beating, I hear. Suffered a lot of damages. This ought to help some." He held out the money.

David stood rigid. "I can't be bought," he said quietly.

Sensebaugh frowned. "You're a damned fool," he said.

David just shrugged.

"Now I'm through fooling around, Stryker. Enough's enough. It's getting late. I've come a long way and I'm tired. My ma's waiting. She's all torn apart. I can't let her down. Now if you don't want to dig him up, step aside, give me the shovel, and I will. Or you'll suffer the consequences."

With that, he shifted the rifle in his arm.

Still, David did not move. "You'd best get on your way, Mr. Sensebaugh. I've made up my mind about this."

"And so have I," Sensebaugh said. He drew up his rifle, aiming it at David. "I'm not wasting any more time."

But I knew my brother David. He had made up his mind, too. It was like before, like the decision he'd made when he'd ripped up the note Mr. Cameron's son had left for his father in our basement. I knew that note was just as important a decision to him as the digging up of this body here and now.

And the decision just as crucial. And instant. No wavering. Just black and white, right and wrong. And no gun would put him off.

I heard the click of Mr. Sensebaugh's rifle and I screamed, "David, no, give him what he wants."

"See? Your little sister has more brains. Give me what I want."

David waved me back. "Be quiet, Tacy. And stay away." He turned and gave me a small smile. Behind him in the west, the sun was setting, and he was backlit against it. I could see in just half a second a sort of peace in his eyes, a sense that he knew at long last, what he was about. "It's all right, Tacy, it's all right," he said.

"One last chance," Sensebaugh was saying at the same time.

Then David's "No, I said. I can't. I won't."

And then the shot. So loud in the quiet woods, echoing over the dead, the last shot of the war on Culp's Hill, the shot that welcomed my brother David to their ranks, where he had always wanted to be with them, alive, and hadn't been allowed to. But was allowed now. Because he had come to them late, but he was here now, doing his part and darned if he wasn't going to do that part to the last of his ability. Darned if he wasn't going to give, as they had, to his last full measure.

I screamed. Mr. Sensebaugh's horse neighed wildly and reared, turned, and started to run. And he after it.

I ran to David, who had collapsed on the ground.

The sun disappeared behind the mountains, leaving only a winking glow and some red. But its red was as nothing to the red of David's blood.

H
E WAS LYING
still when I got to him, his eyes looking up at me, and he was bleeding from his chest. All kinds of thoughts whirled around in my head.

Has he been shot in the heart? If so he'll die instantly
.

Maybe not, there is blood all over his shirt. He could be shot elsewhere
.

What can I do? Stanch the blood. Or try to. I know that much. I'm a doctor's daughter, after all. But with what? And then what? Suppose I can't stop the flow? And how can I get him out of here? There is no one about
.

All this went through my mind in the half a second before I knelt down beside him.

And then I did not what I knew as a doctor's daughter, but what I knew as the reader of romance novels. I lifted up my skirt and tore at my petticoat. I ripped it savagely, tearing it until I had a sufficient amount of cloth to apply to David's wound and absorb the blood. I held it there firmly.

"Good girl," David said weakly.

"I'm wearing more than one petticoat," I told him. "Do you hurt a lot?"

"I'll be all right," he lied, "but I could use some water."

"Well, you hold your hands over the cloth for a minute and I'll fetch the water."

He did so and I got the canteens, two of them, and lifted his head and held one to his lips.

"I wish someone was about," I said.

"Someone will come soon," he assured me.

He sounded like Mama now, calm and hopeful. It worried me. And it was dusk, which worried me more. "Do we have a lantern?" I asked.

"I brought one, yes."

"God, David, you're wonderful."

"Don't flatter me. It'll make me believe you think I'm dying."

"You're
not
dying, David. I won't let you die."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Just you shut up about it, is all."

"You going to mouth me now? Is that what you're going to do?"

Tears came to my eyes. "Yes. You can't do anything about it, so I'm going to mouth you."

I saw tears come into his eyes, but all he said was "It'll be coming on to dark soon, won't it?"

"I suppose."

"Go over there and get the lantern. And some matches out of my haversack. Go on. Can't sit around here in the dark."

I fetched the lantern and lighted it. The glow of it was comforting. David was still bleeding and growing weaker. Sometimes he closed his eyes for a few moments, "just to rest," he told me.

I was growing more frightened, and then I saw the moon rising and the first star in the heavens.

"What will happen," he said quietly, without opening his eyes, "is that Ma will be frantic with worry by now. And if Pa is sleeping, she'll wake him, if she hasn't already. He'll send someone up here to look for us. When they come, don't forget to tell them we have horses down there. Pa knows just where we are, Tacy. You don't have to be frightened. They'll find you."

I stared hard down at him. "Me? What are you talking about?"

He took my hand. His own hand was cold. "I'll be gone soon, Tacy—you might as well accept that. I haven't long now."

"David."

"Hush, please." His voice was weaker now. "I've things to say. A person knows when he is dying. Now listen to me, please. What I did with that man who shot me I'm not sorry for. I did the right thing. You tell the authorities all about him, hear?"

"Yes, David."

"What I am sorry for is the way I've treated you."

He started to cough. Half coughing and half choking. I lifted his head. Some blood was coming out of his mouth. I grabbed a piece of my petticoat that I'd set aside and wiped the blood away. I gave him some water.

"Don't talk, David."

"No mouth," he said, and went on. "I've been mean to you, Tacy."

"It's all right."

"Isn't!" The word was forceful. "Not right! I'm sorry! Wanted you to know!"

He fell silent, breathing heavily.

Then he spoke again. "I love you, Tacy. Always did. You're my—" More coughing, more blood from his mouth.

Again I wiped it away.

"Baby sister."

"I know, David."

"Means a lot to me. Always did. Just couldn't seem to"—more coughing—"keep you in line when Pa left. You forgive me?"

"Yes, David." I leaned down and kissed the side of his face. It was feverish.

He nodded his head and gestured with it to the west. "Light over there," he said. "Somebody coming. See? Told you."

I looked. There was no light. "I see, David." I said. There were tears in my voice now.

"You tell, you tell Josie that I love her, you hear?"

"I'll tell her," I promised.

"You tell Ma the same. But tell Josie I love her."

"Yes, David." Tears were coming down my face now and I did not try to stop them. I did not wipe them away.

"Be careful lighting that lantern again when it goes out."

I nodded my head. I could not manage, anymore, to answer.

He lay back. I released my hand from behind his neck. He breathed with difficulty for a minute or two while he grasped my hand and smiled at me.

He said, softly, "You be good. No mouth."

And stopped breathing. Then, he was gone.

I felt him go. A wind came up of a sudden from nowhere, where there had been no hint of a wind before. It blew through the wounded trees around me and they lifted their leaves as if in respect. It whirled around for about five minutes, like a serious storm was coming, but there were no clouds in the sky.

I knew it was lifting David's spirit to heaven. I felt him going.

I sat there while the currents of air did what they must do, while they vibrated in circles, making me giddy, then quieted down and let the night close in.

The lantern had gone out and I felt around for the matches, found them, and, as my brother had told me, was careful lighting the lantern again.
How had he known the lantern would go out?

I will not pretend that I was not afraid for the next hour or so, alone there by the graves of those we had buried, with the other dead lying all around me on Culp's Hill, and my brother David, dead right next to me. Oh, how I wished I had asked to bring Cassie along! Would someone never come?

I drew my knees up under my skirt and rested my head on them, drew my arms around my head, and shivered. I waited. I don't know how long. It was not cold, except in my heart.

And inside me my emotions were warring for dominance, both terror and sorrow.

I do not know which won that night. By the time I saw the lantern light come up the hill in the distance and the two riders on horseback, I think that it was a draw. But I no longer cared.

T
WO MEN
approached on horseback, and at first I was scared. Then I saw they were Brandon and Joel, both in uniform.

"Tacy!"

They were near on top of me before I knew it, scrambling down from their mounts.

I struggled to get to my feet, then realized I had David's head in my lap. When had I taken his head in my lap? I raised my arms to them.

Brandon stood over me, Joel just behind him. Both their faces showed horror, no less.

"My God," Brandon said. He knelt on one knee and put his hand on the side of my face. "You all right, honey?"

I could not speak, but my tears, quiet tears, started down my face again.

"How long has he been dead?" Joel asked. He came to kneel on the other side of me and set the lantern down beside him. Gently, he took David's head from my lap and set it on the ground.

I looked at his dear face and spoke, "I don't know how long it's been. Since dark came."

Joel was going to be a doctor, like Pa. He'd just started medical school when the war came. Now he opened David's shirt in the lantern light and looked at him. "Shot right near the heart," he said.

He took his gloves off, put his arms around me, and hugged me strong. Then he drew back, looked me in the face, taking my measure. He felt my forehead. "Your eyes are all swollen from crying," he said. "Otherwise you look all right. Likely all you need is a powder. We'll let Pa decide. Are you all right? Hurt anywhere?"

I said I was all right.

"You tell us what all happened here later, sweetheart," he said. "We have to get you home now. Right, Brandon?"

"Right," Brandon said. "You take David. I'll bring Tacy."

With few words but lots of understanding, they worked together. You could tell they were accustomed to working together. Brandon fetched his blanket roll and Joel's and tossed them to his brother, who wrapped David in them expertly. Then Joel carried him on his shoulder over to his horse, where he secured him.

It was as if he'd done this all before.

Brandon picked up the haversacks and put the canteens in them, and I put in Pa's
Physicians Handbook
.

"Anything else?" Brandon asked.

"The shovel and the lantern," I said.

"Leave them. We can come back."

"Our horses."

He looked around. "Where?"

I told him. "We can't leave them. Please."

He agreed. Then he lifted me in his arms and put me on his horse so I'd be behind him on the way down the hill. He instructed me to hold on tight. We found our horses where we'd left them and the same guard still there.

The guard looked at Brandon and then at the body of David thrown over Joel's horse. "I heard a shot," he said. "I saw the man ride away like all hell was after him." He shook his head. Then, out of his pocket he drew the two-dollar bill that David had given him.

He gave it to Brandon. "Give it to the little girl," he said. He gestured at David's body. "He gave it to me. Don't want it. Anybody needs me to testify I will. Saw his face, the one who did the shooting, when he came in here and when he went tearing out, I did. Know what he looks like."