Measure of Devotion, page 23
As Coop and her company ran to the aid of the New York battery, she could tell Tim was complaining about something, but discerning curses from panicked cries or shouted commands had become nearly impossible in the din. She glanced at him as they ran, saw he was keeping up, and decided he hadn’t been hit.
Booming echoes pounded in her ears, and when Union forces began returning fire, the ungodly volume increased. With a flash of worry, Coop noted the throbbing in her head. She knew that adding the heavy pulses of their own cannon to the already merciless noise surely would test her stamina. Blast waves fluttered her frock and pants, and she had to reset her feet.
The hundreds of cannon created an apocryphal scene, hell rising from the ground and smashing everything and everyone down into it. As a storm of sulfur smoke darkened the sky, Coop watched an ocean of golden crops ripple beneath the percussion. Shells and shot of all types crisscrossed overhead, some she could trace to their targets, and oddly she hoped no birds dared interfere. Ironically, she then spotted a small flock leave the copse of trees and struggle in the turbulence. The earth vibrated.
With Tim and several others, Coop held the crippled cannon by its stock while gunners frantically replaced each wheel. To her side by only ten yards, solid shot plunged into the ground and the sickening tremor reached her feet. Occupied as she was, she could only stare at the hole and try not to let the near miss rattle her. Not the safest place to be, she pondered as the gunner hurried his work. She heard Tim comment and, over the load they bore, she queried him with her eyes. He looked at the hole and then up to the heavens.
Finally, everyone wheeled the cannon into firing position, and, with her rifle slung across her back, Coop ran to the limber and scooped up ammunition. Heading back, she staggered when a shell blew apart what had been her sun shelter. Pushing on, she heard the dreaded whistle overhead and dove beneath a wagon just as it shattered around her. She crawled out from beneath the mess, ears ringing, and managed to deliver her goods. Seconds later, the New York cannon joined the action.
Minutes passed like hours, until Tim grabbed her by the shoulders. “Can you hear me yet?” he yelled into her face.
“I can. It’s coming back,” Coop said, jiggling a finger into each ear. “At least our guns have stopped. We’re playing coy, if you ask me, holding munitions in reserve.”
“Good old Henry Hunt’s not the most generous general. He’s holding back, all right. The rebs will shut down if they think they’ve pounded us to dust.”
Coop looked around at the bodies and heaps of debris, remnants of wagons, guns, animals, and supplies. She picked up a lost pistol, glad to see it was loaded, and tucked it into her belt. They stepped aside as an ambulance wagon hurried to the rear.
“Glad they can’t see what great shape we’re in.”
They dashed to a safer spot at the heightening sound of a shell and took a moment to catch their breath. Oblivious to the random waning fire, a cluster of mounted officers approached, assessing the battle line.
“Here comes something you don’t see often,” Tim said. “Staff meeting on horseback.” He slapped his dusty cap against his thigh and reset it properly.
“Brigade commander has division commander’s ear, I see.” Coop swiped dirt and splinters off her arms and legs. “I’d guess Hall’s taking Gibbon for a tour, but…with assistance from Devereaux, Macy, and Mallon?”
“At least we’re represented. Devereaux will get in a good word for us, even if Macy starts bragging about Harvard again. But Mallon?” He shrugged. “Well, he’s New York Irish, so I guess he’s okay.”
“But I wonder what it means for our illustrious 3rd Brigade,” Coop whispered as the officers neared.
Accompanied by a divisional color-bearer and the general’s adjutant, the little parade slowed through Coop’s area, and she and Tim stood at attention and saluted. The officers returned the salute in unison, and Coop thought they looked quite sharp doing so.
“Bravery under fire, gentlemen,” General Gibbon told them, and turned in the saddle to address everyone. “Police this area on the double and collect yourselves. Stay sharp now.”
Devereux acknowledged them with a nod as the parade shifted west, toward the front line and the 20th Massachusetts, and then back north, paralleling the stone wall. Coop, Tim, and all soldiers along the route watched until the parade disbanded at the copse of trees.
Joining others collecting abandoned rifles and gear, Coop said, “Maybe Gibbon’s going to change Hall’s alignment on the wall.” She leaned five guns into each other and moved on to arrange another stand. “Think they’ll move us up from reserve?”
“We’d miss all this fun back here,” Tim said as they stood their collections into one stand. “Did you know Jeff Davis appointed Gibbon to West Point?”
A shell exploded just past their position and knocked Cooper off her feet. She slammed into Tim’s chest, and both crashed to the ground.
Flat on her back, she clawed for air, tried to focus, to concentrate on regaining her composure. Easy. Steady. Breathe. Finally, her lungs relaxed and Coop threw herself onto all fours and sucked in the foul air. “Damn. I hate those.” Dizziness threatened and she swayed. The ringing in her ears returned. “Too close. You okay?”
Tim sat up and shook dirt from his beard. “Enough to know we were lucky.”
“Let’s try to stay that way,” she answered and rose tentatively to her full height.
Tim mumbled as he stood. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. It’s true about Gibbon and Davis, really.”
Coop cocked an eyebrow. “Is that all you care about?”
“I think it’s a pretty curious thing. Having our division commander beholden to the president of those Confederate states is worth some thought.”
“Not for one second is John Gibbon beholding to Jeff Davis.” She shook her head. “You’ve been in the sun too long.”
Tim followed her to the pile of rubble that used to be their shelter. “You’re wobbling. Sit down a minute.”
Coop slid out of her knapsack, crouched, and closed her eyes. She had to put fingertips to the ground to prevent toppling over. “It’ll pass soon.”
Tim, meanwhile, rummaged through their debris. “He could be tempted, you know.”
“Who?”
“Gibbon.”
“Will you quit this?” She retrieved her tin cup from the pile and tied it to her knapsack.
“No. Really, he could be tempted. Did you know he has three reb brothers?”
Coop pondered that as she shrugged into her pack.
“Tim, my good friend.” She sighed, turning to face him. “I have one, too.”
He shrank back, eyes wide. “What?”
“Remember, long ago, I told you about the brother—”
“Oh, I do. The one who left. You met—He’s a reb?”
Astonishment on his wooly face almost made Coop laugh. “We met at the Bauer house.”
“No!”
“He’s a corporal, 22nd Virginia, and a die-hard.” She shook her head at the ground. “Trust me. Having a reb brother hasn’t changed my mind any.”
That stopped Tim’s gossip and Coop was glad. She’d managed to relegate Billy to the back of her mind and now she had to do it again. It wasn’t easy. Her brother was out there, through all that smoke along that ridge. Rebel guns now had fallen silent, but he was out there with his own gun, waiting, and she was in no hurry to reconnect. Ever.
Swinging her canteen off her hip, she considered the possibility of pouring it over her head. How glorious, she mused as she popped the cork. She gazed over the canteen as she drank and watched the smoke on the plain drift away. Activity swarmed around the Bauer farm like bees at the hive.
How bad is it inside, Sophie? Please still be safe downstairs.
Sunshine flooded the landscape, and immediately sweat slithered down her back. She closed her eyes and drank more, letting the water and the memory of Sophie’s kiss refresh her. But when she reopened her eyes, every muscle in her body froze.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Albany,” Greta answered.
Karl shook his head. “It’s New York City.”
“No, Albany.” Greta turned to Sophie for confirmation and munched on her lunch, the last of their bread with apple butter.
“Greta’s right, Karl. Papa, your turn. The capital of Rhode Island?”
He rubbed his bristly chin and exaggerated his thought process. “I…think it’s…Philadelphia.”
Karl rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”
“Raleigh?”
Karl had to think about it.
“I know!” Greta slid to the edge of her bench.
Sophie grinned at them, pleased they’d found another game to occupy their midday hours. Constant footsteps in the main kitchen above said tending to the wounded carried on without her, but now that quiet apparently had arrived outside, she fully expected the call for assistance to come from Dr. Taylor.
“It’s Concord,” Karl blurted out.
“That’s in Massachusetts with Lexington,” Greta said, and turned to Karl as he helped himself to more butter on his bread. “Remember the minutemen?”
Sophie held up a finger. “But it’s also the capital of New Hampshire.”
“Oh.”
Papa leaned forward. “How about Providence?”
“Ah-ha!” Sophie grinned. “Papa knows.”
A distant cannon blast brought Greta up short. “They’re not going to start again, are they?”
“Hard to say, honey.” Sophie sent a look to Papa. “Whose was it, theirs or ours?”
“Too far away to tell, but it sounded like it came from down around Sherfy’s.”
A second cannon fired, and all heads turned toward the south wall.
Karl looked confused. “But they already fought down there yesterday, Papa.”
“Well, they fought to the north on Cemetery Hill yesterday, too, and didn’t we hear them fighting there again this morning?” Karl nodded. “Not all battles are won in a day, son.”
Another cannon boomed, then two more almost simultaneously. Then several practically at once, and then even more until they continued nonstop. The noise grew deafening and the ground practically rolled beneath their feet.
“Confederate guns,” Papa said with volume, as artillery fired faster and faster.
Greta covered her ears. The trap door at the top of the steps rattled.
Sophie set her shoulder to Papa’s and hoped he’d hear her whisper. “They’re shooting all around us, aren’t they?”
He nodded toward his shoes. “And over us.” He met her eyes. “Sounds like they’re using everything they’ve got.”
Moving to sit halfway up the steps, Karl raised his voice to be heard. “I wish we could go out and watch.” He beamed expectantly at Sophie.
She frowned and waved him back. Disappointed, he stood, and a deafening bang just outside sent him tumbling to the floor. They all jumped and Greta shrieked, as dust floated from the ceiling.
Sophie brushed dirt off Karl’s back and lifted his chin. He looked more than a bit shaken. “I best check for broken bones, huh?” She squeezed her way up one arm and down the other, then squeezed his knee. He grinned and twisted away.
“I’m okay.” He hurried back to his box seat. Cringing beneath the incessant noise, Greta gathered her blanket and sat close to Papa.
“I’m sure that explosion was an accident,” he said in his most soothing voice. “Doesn’t serve anyone to strike at an innocent farmhouse.”
Suddenly, the trap door opened, and sunlight flooded the room, overpowering their candlelight.
“Miss Sophie?” a man yelled. “We sure could use a hand, please?”
Standing in the middle of the room, Sophie looked down at Papa.
He shifted his wary eyes to the steps and shouted back. “Amidst all this racket?”
Sophie glanced at each of them, not keen on leaving her family or their sanctuary, certainly not with all hell breaking loose outside.
The man yelled again. “Doc says you make fast work of things, Miss Sophie. He said for me to ask ’cause we got a houseful in need, ma’am.”
I’m sure you do. My house full.
She took a heavy breath. “No doubt I could be of assistance,” she said, looking from Greta to Karl to Papa. “And you did make a good point about that accidental shot. I’m sure none of them intends to injure us.” Their blank stares had Sophie wondering if she was trying to convince them or herself. “I-I’ll try not to be long, okay?”
She kissed each of them on the cheek and whispered to Papa. “I’ll get a look at the condition of the house, at least.” She hurried up to the Union steward holding the door.
“We’re grateful, ma’am,” he said, and shut the door after her. “Doc’s this way.”
She surveyed the kitchen before following him to the parlor, dismayed to see some dozen soldiers of both armies covering the floor. Only an open rim some two feet deep surrounded the stove, and she figured no one wanted to be any closer in this confounded heat. Her two large pots boiled on the surface, steam thickening the humidity.
The parlor had taken on a terrible air in her absence and she rubbed her nose. Wounded were everywhere, propped against walls, prone on the floor, pressed together to such a degree that stepping between them looked dangerous. In the near corner, Dr. Taylor left the amputee on the bloodied table for his assistant to finish and maneuvered to where she stood.
Another serious bang in the yard made everyone flinch. Broken glass shook loose from a nearby window and he slid it aside with his foot. How he carried on mystified her. He probably hadn’t slept in days.
“Ah, Miss Sophie.” He leaned to her ear. “Reb gunners need better teachers.” He tried to grin, but his expression soured. “We’re trying to move these boys along, to get those waiting outside in here, but we’re just too shorthanded.” He dipped his hands into a basin of bloody water, rubbed them together, and dried them on a disgusting towel. From my kitchen. “I suppose,” he continued, “if those shots don’t stop falling out there, we won’t have many fellows left to worry about, but we have to stay positive. Don’t we?”
Optimistic? The image of helpless soldiers being splattered all over the yard turned her stomach.
He assembled bandages and equipment onto a tray. “You don’t know how much I appreciate your help.” Handing it to her, he scanned the room.
“I’ll do what I can, you know that, but my family needs me as well.” He didn’t react and she hoped she’d spoken loudly enough.
The noise had intensified, and those “accidental” bangs shook the house more frequently now, so frequently that she began to doubt artillerists’ intentions. Then again, it was more likely that Union cannon were firing back. They can make mistakes, too.
“Hm?” He glanced at her. “Oh, yes, of course.” He looked back at the room. “There he is.” He pointed toward the fireplace. “Nurse Mather. He’ll get you started.”
Sophie stepped away, respecting his mournful imperative. She searched the fireplace area, a sea of tattered blood-stained gray and brown uniforms. A rebel crouching over a comrade stood and beckoned to her.
“Right here, ma’am.” He flashed a quick, nearly toothless smile and feigned a salute. “Cpl. Hanlon Mather, ma’am, 7th Louisiana. You must be Miss Sophie. I’m mighty pleased to meet you.”
“How do you do, Corporal.” Sophie couldn’t tell if the smell assaulting her nose originated in the room as a whole or with all these ragged rebels. There was little doubt this one hadn’t bathed in too long. She wondered how he came to his role as a nurse. Another explosion rocked the house and she ducked instinctively.
“Sorry about the noise, ma’am. Yanks gotta be more careful.” He turned in place and indicated the assortment of wounded at his feet. “These boys should come around soon, I reckon, but a few are bleedin’ pretty bad. If you could see to their needs, I’d be obliged.”
“I’ll do what I can.” She stooped where she stood and checked the nearest soldier. With a “Thank you, ma’am,” Nurse Mather edged around her and moved on.
Her patient groaned in his stupor. Blood trickled steadily from a savage wound in his thigh and pooled on the floor. She knew it soaked through the meager layer of hay beneath him, and fleetingly, she considered the fate of her precious rug. She set about cleaning the wound, flinching again as another explosion occurred too close to the house.
Then another came, deafening when it burst directly overhead. Shrapnel peppered the roof as if a hundred carpenters were hammering. Screams came from the keeping room and she remembered the earlier destruction that had opened a hole to the sky.
Coop, are you safe? Are you watching all this?
She bent lower, praying the parlor ceiling stayed where it was, and concentrated. The noise in the bedroom above her, her bedroom, gave her something new to fret over. Who knew what was happening in the room she adored? The possibilities made her cringe.
You may not recognize this place anymore, Coop. Whole sections are crumbling. A glimpse of your smile, the touch of your hand surely would help right now.
She pondered that truth as she worked, taken by desire that seemed to heighten every hour since Coop’s secret upended her world. Sleep had been so sketchy last night. Exhaustion had barely prevailed over her excited heart’s constant play, and those vivid imaginings crept to mind again. We danced among friends at a town fair, she told herself, you dusted me with flour as you kneaded that dough, and we kissed by the candlelight of the Christmas tree.
But where? We were alone in our harmony, with no sign of where. Does fate point me to your farm? Perhaps here or, someplace new we might find together? The adventurous concept of starting a life with Coop in an entirely different place made her pulse quicken. But you have gone to such lengths to live the life you choose in your own home, and I respect that too much to expect you would consider living elsewhere.
