I Shall Be Near to You (10 page)

‘Private Blalock!’ he bellows after he has sent us out ahead of where Company G waits in reserve. Only one man in front of us is standing.

‘Have you forgotten yourself?’ Captain yells. ‘Are you offering yourself as a sacrificial lamb for Company H? Why have you not taken cover? Why are you STILL standing?’

The words ain’t even out of Captain’s mouth and Blalock is down on the ground, but Captain keeps yelling. Jeremiah bumps my elbow.

‘You’ve got to stop that.’

‘Stop what?’

He points to my hand on my hip. I screw my nose up and stick my tongue out at him, but he just shakes his head real small at me. I see I’ve got to mind what I do without thinking and be like Jimmy standing with his legs spread out, or Henry scratching under his hat and then at places no lady would, or Sully spitting off to one side every time I look over at him.

‘And you can’t run like that,’ Jeremiah scowls while Captain stands over Blalock, yelling something about incompetence, and I guess Captain ain’t the only one I’ve got to worry about watching to see I get things right.

‘Like what?’

‘Bigger steps,’ he says.

When Captain is finally done making an example out of Blalock, he orders us back into line of battle. A man who is older than my Papa and all string and sinew, who I remember being called Thomas Stakely, claps my shoulder as I’m falling back. I jump in my skin.

‘You’re a quick study,’ he says, and I smile to hear it.

That smile don’t last long, though, because then he says, ‘Bet your family is real proud.’

I
NEVER HAD
so much of nothing to do before in my whole life. No cows needing milking. No chickens needing scraps. No troughs to fill. No garden hungry for manure or fences for mending or laundry for scrubbing. There is just mustering for drill, or roll, or inspections, all of which mean getting up before the sun even though it seems to me there ain’t a thing to be done in our Company that needs such early rising.

The next morning, I’ve already taken care of my necessaries and found
five things to do before most of the boys are even stirring. Being first up, I start a fire, getting water from the jug at the end of our row, and putting it on for the coffee Sergeant rations out to us. Jeremiah must smell the idea of coffee ’cause no sooner do I get that water on, he crawls out of the tent, carrying a sack of cornmeal and sowbelly from his pack. He tosses the provisions at me like I am nothing but a farm dog waiting for a bone and disappears into the trees without even a kind word.

He just ain’t used to the idea of me being a soldier yet. Or else he is sore he can’t boss me around like maybe he thought. I buck up and with the few things I’ve got I figure on making biscuits. I ain’t got milk or butter, but water and sowbelly grease might do and anybody who sees fit to complain don’t have to eat none.

When Jeremiah gets back, I pretend he ain’t been rude. I give him sowbelly in a tin cup, a biscuit, and tell him, ‘I don’t aim to cook for everyone. It ain’t smart.’

‘How ain’t it smart?’ he says, wiping grease from his tin cup with his biscuit.

‘I can think of one reason bigger than a hog before slaughter. Ain’t you been telling me things I can’t do all the time?’

‘When it comes to cooking there ain’t a soul better equipped,’ he says. ‘You’re the only one with any kind of experience. Except maybe for Mrs. Chalmers.’

‘That’s what I’m saying,’ I say, my spoon clattering. ‘Won’t someone think something?’

‘Lots of soldiers cooking over fires from what I see,’ Jeremiah shrugs. ‘Might as well use the one skill you got while you can.’

The only thing that keeps me from snatching that tin cup away from Jeremiah is Towhead Boy from Sully’s new tent coming to stand by me, his narrow shoulders even with mine. That boy is careful around the rest of us. I ain’t sure I like him pairing up with Sully who can’t keep his mouth shut, especially if he’s mad, but there’s no choice in it.

While I’m turning the sowbelly over in its pan, I raise my brows at Jeremiah but he don’t pay me any mind.

‘Smells good,’ the boy says.

‘Mmm-hmmm,’ is all I’ve got for him.

‘I have some sowbelly needs fixing,’ he says, holding out a dark-stained haversack.

‘Sowbelly ain’t tricky,’ I tell him because it’s more than I want, all this cooking. ‘You can use the fire and pan if you want.’

‘I’d be pleased to share it,’ he says, still holding that greasy bag out to me.

I can’t help thinking of my Mama then, all the times she forced me into the kitchen, setting me to work scooping flesh out of roasted pumpkins or rolling out pie crust or chopping tomatoes for canning or shelling dried beans for Winter. Maybe she would smile to see me working over a fire, at how her teaching finally took some.

‘You ain’t here with any people of your own?’ I ask.

‘No,’ he says quiet. ‘I came alone.’

‘Put it in there with the rest.’

He does as he is told. Jeremiah watches, but I pretend not to see him.

‘Good. Now just push it around a bit so it don’t stick to the pan. That’s all there is to it.’

‘Thank you. You’re kind to show me,’ he says so nice I feel bad for not being more friendly. ‘My name’s Will.’

‘Ross. You want a biscuit? They ain’t very good, but it’s something to fill your belly.’

‘Things taste better when you share them,’ he smiles.

‘Well, in that case,’ Jeremiah calls real loud from where he is sitting in a small patch of sun, ‘maybe if you can get Sully to stop sulking and come on over, between the two of you, our food will get to tasting like home-cooked!’

It gets my dander up, to hear him judge my cooking and all the other boys laugh. All the boys except Will.

‘You want to come try? You think you can do better?’ I ask, fighting to keep my hand from going to my hip as I stare over at Jeremiah.

‘No, Ma’am!’ Jeremiah says with a smirk I want to slap off his face. ‘But
I think maybe we could improve our chances of getting a decent meal, if what he says is true.’

Sully swaggers into our camp from where he’s been sitting across the way at Will’s tent, saying, ‘I ain’t been sulking. I was only making room—I can see when I ain’t wanted.’

As he passes me, he shoves my shoulder. ‘Looks like you’re doing the sulking now,’ he says.

And that is how Will and Sully along with him come to be at our fire most mornings.

CHAPTER
10

UTICA, NEW YORK: MARCH 1862

‘Soldiers!’ Captain calls from the front of the parade ground where a wagon has been parked since first thing this morning. He stands prouder than ever. ‘Today is the day many of you have been waiting for!’

Every head snaps forward, but eyes keep wandering to the wagon on Captain’s right, filled with wooden crates. Sergeant Ames and Sergeant Fitzpatrick from Company G clamber up into the bed and work with crowbars at prying off those lids.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ Sully asks Jeremiah, only he don’t give anybody a chance to answer. ‘I bet he’s got our orders!’

‘It is my privilege to issue each of you a Springfield Model 1861 Rifled Musket,’ Captain says, and Sully whoops, ‘Hot damn!’

A smile flickers across Captain’s face, but he goes back to being stony and serious when he says, ‘These weapons are entrusted to you by the United States Army. This weapon is your life. It is your safety. It is the life and safety of our great nation. You must take proper care with it.’

Jeremiah watches me, but I don’t do a thing but stare straight ahead. I ain’t forgiven him for calling me
Ma’am
in front of all the boys, even though he hasn’t said a word about me going home. He ain’t been the least bit tender or easy with me. I’m not easy either, especially not thinking about that gun, thinking about what I might have to do with it, but I can’t let that show. Most of these boys can’t hardly wait to get their hands on that rifle and so I’ve got to be pleased too. I step in line behind Jeremiah and the rest of them making their way toward that wagon.

‘Now here is something might help us win some fights,’ Thomas Stakely says from the front of the line. ‘Get me home to my girls sooner.’

‘I’d like to meet your girls,’ Hiram says, and it is a wonder how he makes everything that comes out of his mouth sound foul.

Thomas turns on him, the sinews in his neck standing out even more than usual, and Leatherskin John Morgan steps closer behind him.

‘You ain’t to talk about my girls,’ Thomas says.

Hiram puts his hands up and backs away, ‘Oh, I see. You think they won’t do for a rowdy like me, eh?’

Thomas says, ‘Something like that.’

‘Well, most times I can make any girl serve the purpose just fine,’ Hiram says, thrusting his hips.

Thomas don’t look away from Hiram, but John puts his hand on his arm, nodding at the officers. ‘He’s only blowing off some steam.’

‘I’m looking to blow more than steam!’ Hiram shouts. ‘But I ain’t got to fight you old men for permission to do it!’

‘Come time to use those guns up there, I think you’ll find these old men got more than enough fight,’ Thomas says, shrugging off John’s hand and taking a step closer to Hiram.

‘I can take anyone here and any Rebels that come at me. You name your day, old man, and we’ll see who walks away with one of your girls over his shoulder.’

‘Hiram, ain’t you wanting your Rebel-killing rifle? We’re all waiting on you!’ Jeremiah hollers, and he must be daft to do it.

‘Hell, yes, I want me a rifle! These old fellas got me distracted, talking
about pretty girls!’ And then Hiram turns away from Thomas like he ain’t done a thing.

Sully finally gets to the head of the line, and there’s never been a blind baby bird looking so hungry as Sully is for that rifle. When Sergeant Ames sets his rifle in Sully’s hands, he don’t notice the weight, how it makes them sink. He turns and lifts that gun over his head, saying, ‘Gonna get me some Rebs!’ forgetting to move until Jeremiah pushes him forward.

Sergeant Fitzpatrick holds out a cartridge box to me, and I take it, slinging it over my shoulder so the brass oval saying us is right across the middle of my chest and the leather pouch rests at my hip. Then I raise my arms to Sergeant Ames and he puts my rifle right into my hands. It is even more of a burden than I thought, heavier than Papa’s gun for sure, and I don’t know how I’ll ever keep the barrel up to aim while I’m running at our enemy. All of it is so much to carry.

‘Ain’t none of you worried how killing is a sin?’ Jimmy asks as we’re heading back to our row.

‘I told you to stop thinking so much about it,’ Henry says.

‘Ain’t you listened to a word Pastor Bowers said these past six months?’ Sully asks, and I can’t believe he ever sat still long enough to hear. ‘All that about protecting the Republic and establishing God’s kingdom on Earth?’

‘God has sent armies into battle many times to stop the wicked. This is a righteous war, not murder. There’s no sin in it.’ Will’s words make me think of Mama’s hand laying a cool cloth across my fevered forehead, wiping away some of the worry I didn’t even know I was carrying.

Henry slaps Jimmy on the back and says, ‘See? I told you it was nothing.’

As soon as we are lined back up, Jeremiah has his belt halfway off and is sliding his cap box onto it. The other boys all do the same, and so I unbuckle mine rough like a man and fumble at getting the leather through those loops.

‘I’ll race you,’ Sully says, holding up his belt.

Jimmy joins in, like he’s already done fretting over what it is we’re meant to do, but Jeremiah don’t. He is opening and closing his cartridge box, training himself.

I flip open the main flap of my cartridge box and two smaller ones to get to the wooden holder sitting neat with two rows of paper cartridges. I’ll never be able to do it fast enough to be any use on the field.

‘I win!’ Jimmy hollers. ‘I beat Sully!’

Sully looks like he can’t even believe it. ‘There’s a first time for everything. Bet you can’t do it again.’

Henry says, ‘Why do they put so many flaps a man’s got to open between him and his Secesh pills?’

‘Secesh pills?’ Jeremiah asks.

‘Yeah,’ Henry laughs. ‘You ain’t heard how we’re going to give those Secessionists their medicine?’

Henry keeps laughing, but Jeremiah don’t.

‘You getting cold feet now, Jeremiah?’ Henry asks. ‘Didn’t you hear Will?’

‘It ain’t that—’

‘Good, cause you’d have some explaining to do after marrying a girl like Rosetta! She’s meaner than any Secesh!’ Henry slaps his thigh and Jeremiah laughs. I grit my teeth and finger the edge of the cartridge box flap until I can’t even feel its coarse stitches.

When all of us have a rifle in our hands and our two Companies are back in rows, Captain looks us over. Then he waves his hand and Sergeant Ames and Sergeant Fitzpatrick step to the front and side, bringing their muskets with them. Ames stands holding the barrel of his rifle and resting its butt on the ground between his legs.

‘Company, Loading, Nine Times!’ Captain yells.

The ripple going through the rest of the soldiers tells me those words don’t mean a thing to any of them either. There is a long pause, until we see the only thing to do is move our rifles to look like how Sergeant Ames is holding his. I hold the cold barrel in my hands, that rifle so long it comes up past my shoulder.

Somebody kicks my heel. When I sneak a look over my shoulder, it is Henry.

‘Sure you can handle a big rifle like that?’ he says.

Before I can say something smart, Captain yells, ‘Load!’ and I snap
frontward to see Sergeant Ames moving his musket to his left hand and opening his cartridge box with his right. I can’t find the latch to my cartridge box and already Captain is yelling, ‘Handle Cartridge!’ and ‘Tear Cartridge!’ and Sergeant is putting the cartridges in his mouth and tearing the top off with his teeth. The
ptuh!
of boys spitting is all around me before the dry paper and bitter taste is in my mouth. I spit the paper out to the left side and Henry kicks the back of my heel again.

‘Charge Cartridge!’

‘Captain!’ Hiram yells, and a scowl settles on Captain’s face.