Echoes of Dark and Light (39 page)

Even though most of the players had little or no experience with baseball, we’d had far too much experience aiming our rifles and digging trenches, enabling us to throw the ball with speed and accuracy…most of the time. After ten minutes or so of warm up, Buford, our unofficial game official with rule book clutched tight, called the game to start. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to throw the ball to Toby. He hadn’t thrown to me either.

“First batter!” Buford yelled, a bit louder than necessary. The Rebels probably heard the announcement.

“Buford,” Toby remarked, “I don’t think the Rebs need a play by play commentary. Keep your voice down a bit or the new general will think we have nothing better to do and come out here assigning latrine digging duty.” He glanced back at me with a wink and a grin.

I couldn’t help but smile back at his dear familiar face.
Oh, how I had missed him!
I supposed that meant he didn’t hate me for lying and deceiving him. Although, according to him, I hadn’t deceived him; he’d known. Curiosity picked at my brain and I wondered when he’d found out, and how. And why hadn’t he told Captain Truckey? And why hadn’t he told me he’d known? Had he told anyone? Had Toby missed me as well? And—

A loud crack grabbed my attention as the ball flew overhead into the outfield.

And I’d better pay better attention, or I’ll get a scolding from Robert when I find him.
A warm glow ignited in my guts at my grasp. I hadn’t given up; I hadn’t failed!

The game progressed quickly, with excitement, humor and a bit of confusion on the rules. Buford protested when Toby threw the ball
at
the runner heading for home (“You cannot do that, Dove!”). And when it looked like the batter rounding first would make it to second before the outfielders could lob it to me, I turned and met the runner halfway, tackling him into the dirt and weeds. That earned me a cheer from my team and a five minute lecture from Buford on the do’s and don’ts in the great game of baseball.

It wasn’t until he arrived at bat that I noticed Kevin among the players. I hadn’t seen much of him or Jimmy’s gang since Preacher had run off back in June. I felt a reminding prick of sadness at seeing Kevin again; he looked so much like Kenny. I also felt my guard go up instinctively, though I doubted Kevin would try anything harsh without Jimmy for backup. He slammed a pop up into the outfield which a fellow named Patrick caught, ending the first half without me coming face to face with the spitting image of my dead friend. But I knew it would happen eventually.

By the bottom of the ninth, our team trailed by one run. The first fellow up to bat struck out and the second got tagged at first base.

I approached home plate with the bat singing and my muscles buzzing. I could vaguely hear the encouraging cheers from my team, but my attention focused directly on the ball that the pitcher tossed from hand to hand. I took my stance, bat held high over my shoulder. The first pitch flew in too high. Ball one.

“Good eye, Bobbi!” Toby’s familiar voice stood out among the hum.

The next pitch sailed straight in toward home plate. I grabbed a deep breath, gripped the bat firmly, and swung with every muscle. The bat splintered with a loud crack, spiraling the ball over the heads of the outfielders. I plowed down the base line, rounding first, pounding second and sliding head first into third base. Safe! I climbed to my feet, brushing off the dirt, trying to catch my breath. The grin on my face froze and then quickly faded as I identified the third base man.

Kevin and I stared at each other before I forced a nod. He reluctantly returned one, and then we stood in awkward silence while Buford called time out and went in search of a new bat. All around us, players shuffled a bit, chatting and reviewing plays. Kevin and I seemed isolated and alone, uncomfortable on our third base.

Finally, Kevin cleared his throat and turned to me, but avoided my eyes.

“Um, I, um never got the chance to uh, thank you for finding my brother on the battlefield.”

Surprise caught my tongue, but I eventually stuttered out a mumbled “You’re welcome.”

Before the silence grew overpowering once again, he continued. “My ma and pa really appreciated being able to take his body home and bury him in the family cemetery. They wanted me to thank you…so, there, I did.”

I managed to catch his eye and noticed a bit of moisture in the corner. “Kenny was a good friend. I’ll never forget him.”

Kevin nodded, scratching awkwardly at his greasy hair.

Buford saved us from further goo and potential tears by hollering “Play ball!” and tossing a new bat to Toby. Gratefully, I turned to face home plate, one foot planted securely on third.

Toby took a steady stance, feet planted firmly, eyes glued to the ball. He whacked the first pitch high over our heads.

Just as I took off for home, Kevin slipped his foot in front of my ankle, tripping me into the weeds. Shocked, I spit out the mouthful of dirt and glared at him over my shoulder.

He grinned and shrugged. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

I guess our moment of bonding had crashed to an end. I swept the back of his knees with my leg, knocking him down next to me. Sputtering threats, he started to rise, but Toby barreled around third, stepped on Kevin’s back, knocking him to the ground again. He extended a hand to me, hauling me to my feet.

“Come on,” he encouraged, “we have to hit home in the correct order or we’ll get another lecture from Buford.”

“We definitely don’t want that,” I tossed over my shoulder as I ran for home.

As soon as the cheering faded and the players dispersed, returning to soldier life, Toby zeroed in on me.

“We need to talk.”

I reckoned he had a point; I’d put it off long enough. Without a word, I followed him into the nearby hills, farther away from the constantly noisy, smelly and congested front lines. We’d have to walk for days to completely free ourselves of the sensory assault…and live many lifetimes to escape the emotional scars.

Toby motioned to the shade of a nearby willow, her long sweeping branches waving gently in the breeze.

I shook my head. “Let’s walk.” I knew it’d be easier without having to constantly look him in the eye.

We wandered in silence, drinking in all of the non war-tainted details, goldfinches picking seeds from the peacock-blue chicory flowers growing along the roadside, squirrels scurrying about hauling mouthfuls of acorns for their winter stock pile, fresh autumn leaf–scented breezes free of gunpowder smoke, latrine stench and death.

Ten minutes passed, fifteen, the air between us aching with discomfort. However, I had no idea what to say. But Toby didn’t seem to be spouting off any long, inspirational speeches either. Finally, I couldn’t stand our silence any longer.

“So, you know the truth…”

Nothing.

“And I know you know…”

Nothing.

“So, now what? You wanted to talk, so talk!”

Toby’s face eased into a half smile as he turned to look at me. “I’ve really missed you, Bobbi.”

I felt a blushing heat spread up on the back of my neck. I quickly changed the subject, back to a slightly easier topic. “You never told anyone my secret.”

“Of course not,” he answered with an annoyed undertone. “I don’t rat out my friends. Besides, you weren’t hurting anyone, so I figured it didn’t concern anybody else.” He paused, a half grin cracking his lips. “I take it Cora knows.”

I nodded. “She guessed right off.”

After a long moment of silence, I repeated “So, now what?”

Toby shrugged. “We keep doing what we do, fighting this war, looking for your brother, keeping each other alive.”

Silence drifted back over us as his words resurfaced the guilt I felt for giving up on Robert, for doubting myself. I felt I needed to confess my weakness to Toby. I wanted him to know the whole truth.

“Um, Toby?”

“Hmm?”

“I felt pretty bad after The Crater, well, most everybody did. But I had a bit of trouble climbing back out of that dark hole, started doubting myself. I, uh, gave up on my goals, on finding Robert, on myself, for a while there.” Shame burned my ears.

Toby nodded. “I kind of figured something like that. Understandable under the circumstances. I don’t think anybody felt right after Crater.”

He didn’t get it, and for some reason I had to make him understand. “But I fell apart, lost faith in myself! I never do that, not since Pa—”

Toby put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Calm down, Bobbi. You are only human, you know. Everything you described sounds normal. And you didn’t fail yourself; think of it more as a healing hiatus of sorts.”

I stared at him. “A healing hiatus?”

“Yeah, like lying in bed to recover from the flu. You’re not invincible, Bobbi, you’re not made of stone. It’s okay to be vulnerable once in awhile, even the mighty Bobbi Rivers.”

I glared at him for teasing me, but mostly just for show and he knew it. He just grinned that lopsided care-free smile I’d missed so much, and then he dropped down and plucked a wild daisy from the roadside. Standing, he presented the flower to me with an elaborate bow.

I eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that for?”

He sighed, grabbed my hand and forced the flower into my fingers. “If you don’t know by now, I’m certainly not going to tell you.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, by the way, I found word about Robert.”

Excitement burbled up in my gut, but I cautiously held it in check; I’d been disappointed too many times already. “What did you say?” I whispered.

“I said, I found someone who spotted Robert. I wanted to tell you, but as you refused to speak to me, I couldn’t. Those knife-like glares you shot at me work very well.”

“Tell me now!”

“I had a bit of time on my hands, with you giving me the cold shoulder and all, so I continued our search.”

He looked for Robert even when I’d given up?

“About a week ago, a scruffy old sutler came through camp selling secondhand boots and overcoats. I suspected he’d been pilfering the objects off the battlefield, but I didn’t bother asking. I did ask if he’d seen or heard word about a sharpshooter by the name of Robert Rivers. His eyes widened just a bit in surprise, but then a shadow rolled in and he ducked his head, shaking it rather vigorously. I thought his reaction a bit strange, but I shrugged it off and moved down the line. A few moments later, I heard the old goat calling after me, ‘Hey, hey you southern blue coat!’” Toby paused and chuckled. “My southern drawl is going to get me hanged as a spy one of these days. Anyway, I stopped and he wobbled after me, a cane in one hand and dragging a bum leg behind him. After he caught his breath, he asked me ‘This Robert fellow, he a tall bloke with rusty red hair, comes from Michigan?’”

I sucked in a lungful of air and held it, not daring to let it go, of the life-sustaining air or the spark of hope.

“So I nodded cautiously, not wanting to get my hopes up, right? So this old fart goes on to tell me his story. Seems a few days after Gettysburg, our salesman set out to make his rounds, and he passed a wagon filled with soldiers on the road. The fellow on the tailgate called out to the sutler and then fumbled with pulling off his boot. The soldier pulled a few crumpled dollars out of his sock and handed them over to the sutler along with a message. The soldier said his name was Robert Rivers, and he wanted to get word to his family in Michigan that he was alive.”

I waited for more, but Toby just stood there grinning.

“And?” I finally burst.

Toby’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Didn’t you hear what I said? A few days
after
Gettysburg. That means Robert didn’t die in the battle from which he is Missing In Action!”

I snorted. “I already know that. So tell me more, what else did the old goat say?”

Toby sighed, rolling his eyes. “But this is proof that he survived Gettysburg…”

“And? What else?” I refused to admit to him or myself that this bit of evidence proved priceless.

“Anyway,” Toby continued, “the old goat took the money, never intending to go to the trouble of relaying the message. However, he couldn’t get the soldier out of his head, and over the months, it began eating at his conscious. With all of the death he’d been witnessing and with him getting on in years, he figured he’d do good to wipe clean at least one sin off of his slate. So that’s why he came back looking for me.”

I closed my eyes, holding onto the buzzing elation the news had brought, not wanting it to drift away into the sucking despair the war usually demanded. I finally opened my eyes, ready for the next step. “Did he say anything more? Where was Robert heading? Had he been injured?”

“I’m afraid that’s about all he knew. He didn’t pay any attention to where the wagon headed or its purpose, nothing. He did say Robert looked more alive than dead, and had a clear head on him. I think, considering the source, that is positive news.”

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb every detail, figuring out what to do next. Then I felt Toby’s eyes on me, bringing me back to the present.

“Thank you, Toby. This means a lot to me.” I referred to more than just the good news; him not giving up on me and my quest, when the entire rest of the world had…