Measure of Devotion, page 5
Coop returned to staring north. Dusk seemed in too much of a hurry these days, chasing away the twilight, and definitely didn’t enhance her view.
Surely would have made Thanksgiving special. Tomorrow, then.
At dawn, puffing life into the little cookfire, Coop still groused about lost time. If only those hours on picket and the restless sleep that followed had passed as fast as darkness descended nowadays. She wouldn’t seem so far away.
As usual, Captain Weymouth consumed most of their morning with drilling, the endless maneuvers and skill tests, while Coop counted the minutes until she would be free to hike across camp. At least we don’t appear to be going anywhere yet. Still.
The pontoons needed to bridge the river had finally arrived but, in Coop’s opinion, and that of her comrades, ol’ Burns was sitting on his hands, putting their well-being in serious jeopardy by stalling. Rebs continued to cajole from across the river, and she thought they sounded increasingly impatient for action. Burns needs drilling on proper tactics.
❖
Just after midday, Coop entered the tidy acreage of volunteer wagons, a grand representation of social, religious, civic, and humanitarian groups from as far away as Kansas and Vermont. Coop was impressed to see everyone gathering Thanksgiving leftovers, compiling mass quantities of goods for the army. Baking or frying went on feverishly at the clusters of wagons, and Coop graciously accepted every delectable handout as she strolled by, searching.
Women strode purposefully from one chore to the next, quite the pleasant sight, considering what she routinely saw. Coop recalled these varying fashions all too clearly, the cinched waistlines, long sleeves, the lighter, softer colors distinguishing young single ladies from the “married women.” Although such uncomfortable memories made her shudder, this world of women felt empowering, relaxing.
Everywhere, women bustled about, calling instructions, laughing, some singing as they tended the fires, rolled lint for wounds, knitted and mended, swept and scrubbed, washed and hung clothes and blankets. Quite a busy place, Coop mused, and knew it would disperse among the brigade hospitals once hostilities began. But, at least for now, they appeared to toil with a happy excitement, and Coop enjoyed returning the greetings and smiles, and tipping her cap.
Ahead, a little wooden sign dangling from the crown of a wagon caught her eye. The burnt-in lettering read, “Gettysburg,” and Coop stopped short on the spongy field. Sophie stirred a large iron cauldron hanging above the flames.
Just the sight of her raised heat beneath Coop’s collar. The pale green dress hugged her shoulders and back, outlined her waist, flared at her hips as she bent and sampled her concoction. A matching bonnet covered her hair, appropriate in this chilly weather, Coop knew, but she would have preferred to see sunshine glinting in Sophie’s hair. Wisps of it now drifted from beneath the headpiece and teased Sophie’s cheeks.
Coop walked on, wondering if she dared embrace her. Probably should avoid that.
Sophie turned, and the brilliant smile seized Coop’s breath. She snatched her cap off her head.
“Coop! You did get my note!” Sophie offered her hand and Coop squeezed it, worried her voice would crack. Sophie stepped closer, scanned her face, that smile pressing joy into Coop’s veins with every thump of her pulse. “I’m happy to see you,” Sophie said, leading her to a seat. “Please come and sit. Are you a tad thinner than when last we met? Let me get you some cider.” Coop was grateful Sophie hadn’t waited for her to speak.
She watched her hustle to a nearby table and pour from a heavy crock.
“We made this batch before breakfast,” Sophie explained as she returned with the cup. “Tell me what you think. Be honest, now.” Coop took a tentative sip, then gulped down the rest. Sophie clapped her hands. “That’s all the answer we need.”
“Is it good?” Laura asked, passing with a basket of potatoes. She looked from Coop to Sophie. “I think he likes it.”
“I do, yes. It’s delicious. I can’t remember the last time I had cider. Thank you.” Laura moved on and Coop searched Sophie’s eyes, possibly for too long. “Sophie, I’m glad—surprised—you’re here. I-I’m happy to see you too.”
“Your letter caught up to me just the other night and there really was no time to contact you until yesterday morning.”
“Quartermaster was slow sending it down to me, I apologize. If I had known you were with the army, I-I would have…I don’t know, but I would have greeted you upon arrival.”
“Oh, that’s very sweet, but the weather was horrendous. You would have had to swim here, so I’m glad you didn’t.” She pressed her palm to Coop’s sleeve and the pressure tingled into her shoulder. “You’ve been well? How was your Thanksgiving?”
Coop didn’t care about health or holidays. She wanted to taste her lips, feel Sophie kiss her in return, to be in each other’s arms. Stop it!
“I-I’ve been well, thank you, and Thanksgiving was good, considering. I’m sure the food didn’t come close to what you had here, but for us it was special. And there was silliness and music, and no thoughts of our mission.”
“I’ll be honest. I had hopes of you joining us, with your friend Tim.”
“Thank you for thinking of us. Your Thanksgiving was good?”
“Being away from family had us all a bit blue, but I must say yes, it was enjoyable. The Ohio ladies next door,” she nodded toward the adjacent group of wagons, “they shared roasted turkeys and several organizations contributed to make quite the feast.”
“We still have plenty of cornbread,” Mrs. Schmidt injected and stopped at Coop’s side. “Lovely to see you again, Private. Sophie, don’t forget to send him off with enough to share.”
“I’ll make sure he has plenty,” Sophie answered, watching her depart. “So thoughtful,” she added, and cast a grin toward the ground.
Coop agreed the woman was considerate but seemed nosy. She stood and offered Sophie her elbow. “Can they spare you for a time?” Sophie accepted and Coop tried not to stand too tall as they strolled away.
“Mrs. Schmidt is the motherly sort,” Sophie said quietly, and waved to friends as they passed. “Occasionally, an overbearing mother.”
“How are you, Sophie? You seem to never stop working. Do you get frequent letters from home to keep your spirit up?”
Sophie didn’t speak for some time and Coop watched her keenly, wished she could read her mind. You miss your family. I know you do. Sophie looked at the road as they walked and finally lifted her eyes to Coop’s. Neither of them turned away for several steps. Whatever you are thinking appears serious. And now, I’m thinking serious thoughts. Are you seeing something in me you shouldn’t? Something unexpected? Unwanted?
“You’re a very special man, Coop Samson. I feel I would have liked your family.”
Coop took a breath, felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “They would have liked you as well.”
“Tell me about your twin sister, would you?”
“Er…My sister? Well…” Coop’s conscience gnarled within her. “Let’s see. Um…Catherine. She loved being outdoors and often tangled about that with Mother. She learned her mending and such just fine but, well, looking so much alike, we instigated some serious mischief over the years.”
“She preferred doing what you did?”
“Indeed.” Coop leaned closer. “Outshone me too often.” She enjoyed this liberated feeling, speaking truth, especially to Sophie, and bringing that little smile to her face gave Coop a thrill.
“So, she enjoyed farming, tending the animals?”
“And riding and hunting. Both Father and Mother reprimanded her constantly, but she was determined. You might even say, rebellious.”
With a little grin, Sophie asked, “That trait runs in a twin’s blood?”
“I suppose you’re correct. We had significant influence upon each other, sharing adventures, but she always paid the price.”
“Quite the independent one, your sister. I wish I could have met her. I think we would have been fast friends.”
Coop smiled. Imagine if we had known each other growing up.
“I can still hear Mother warning Catherine, ‘Spinsterhood and misery await the woman who doddles in such pastimes.’”
“Forgive me,” Sophie said, stopping their walk, “but I do not share your mother’s sentiment. Do you?”
If I kissed you right here and now, would you faint? I might.
“No, dear Sophie. I do not agree with Mother. A woman must be free to achieve anything to which she sets her mind. I witnessed this in Catherine. You demonstrate that determination to succeed every day, in all the ways you care for your family.” She waved her arm broadly. “In all you give to our cause.”
“Thank you for that.” Sophie clutched Coop’s arm to her side and began leading them back. “Credit to your Massachusetts roots, possibly, but I am heartened by such free thinking, particularly coming from you. Women deserve equal opportunity to live the lives they wish. Not marrying at my age, I know I must frustrate Papa sometimes, as your sister frustrated your mother, but marriage is a choice for me to make, not a requisite for enlistment.”
I could not agree more.
Sophie blew out a breath. “Forgive me for rambling so. I had simply sought insight into your family, your twin. The opportunity to speak my…Well, I should not have run off, speak—”
“Of course, you should.” Coop tugged her arm closer. “That’s what our chats are all about. Time well spent, learning to know you, Miss Bauer.”
Sophie glanced at Coop and shook her head. “You do impress me, Private Samson.”
Back in the bustle of activity, Coop watched her cut a huge block of cornbread and wrap it in paper, then produce a small crock from a crate by the wagon. “This has a sturdy ring you can attach to your belt,” she said, “instead of lugging it all the way back. And please don’t eat all this cornbread and leave nothing for Tim.”
Grinning, Coop tied the crock at her hip. “Could I stop by another time?”
Too soon wouldn’t be smart, but…tomorrow?
“Please do. Any time.”
Coop willed her nerves to settle. Standing like this before Sophie, the impulse to caress her face pounded dangerously strong. Sophie’s eyes, glittering as she smiled, had some undeniable, magnetic pull.
Coop swallowed hard, and whispered, “I miss your company already.” Did I say that out loud? Sophie’s blush told her she had.
“Come back soon, won’t you?”
Coop took a step forward, thankful when Sophie did the same. They reached for each other and the hug was friendly, brief, but long enough for Coop to know she was in trouble.
Chapter Six
Assembly sounded at dawn, actually later than Coop or anyone else expected, because dead of night would have been considerably better than daylight for what the 19th was about to undertake. In an instant, the six-week respite became frenzied activity, packing gear and striking camp. But, thanks to the army’s continued delay after Thanksgiving, Coop countered her anxiety with memories of subsequent meetings with Sophie. Remembering those hours in her company would keep her sane.
The Rappahannock awaited, and she cursed whichever officer had lost his sensibilities and volunteered the 19th to lead this crossing at daybreak.
“What,” Tim posed as they hurried into formation, “you expected to decorate for Christmas?”
“You’re the one who built us that oven. Hate leaving—”
“Was good, wasn’t it?” He grinned but his shoulders sagged. “At least we had hot meals off it.”
“And warmed our bones. Good job you did. I’ll miss it.”
Gear crisscrossing their overcoats, they lined up with the rest of the 19th and the 7th Michigan. The 20th Massachusetts was summoned to bring up the rear, which put hundreds of men at the edge of the road in one ridiculous bottleneck. Coop figured that, even in this poor light, the enemy couldn’t possibly miss hitting such a plentiful target. She sighed hard, tried to force that from her mind.
“You have all your letters from home?”
“I do. Tucked away snug.”
Coop could feel her most treasured possession between her shirts, almost at her belt buckle. A thin leather flap enclosed the small, matted tintype of her parents flanked by Cooper and herself. Other necessities were either stuffed into her knapsack or tied on top of it, rolled up in her bedding.
“Keep ’em dry,” she said as they stared at the underbrush, knowing the black swells of the river passed by just out of sight.
“We best keep us dry.”
Coop took a breath to steady her rising heartbeat. If only we’d crossed weeks ago when we arrived, we wouldn’t be facing rebs now, wouldn’t need to take the town from them. Everyone groused under his breath about Burnside.
Now, standing with her rifle resting on her shoulder, she mourned last night’s failed effort to bridge the river. So many engineers had been picked off as they aligned the pontoons, she didn’t blame them for refusing to continue, but now Burnside planned to throw the 19th and others right through rebel fire to clear the way. Her chest tightened at the prospect of a point-blank challenge.
“Y’know,” Tim thought aloud, “if we’d drawn daylight picket duty a while back, me and you could have taken out those Mississippi boys over there.”
Coop knew the keen-eyed Southerners in their floppy hats were a cocky sort, eager for more target practice.
Coop tilted her head toward Tim and kept her voice hushed. “Pushing a sandbox across the Rappahannock with them waiting up there doesn’t thrill me.”
“Fish in a barrel.”
“Yankees on a raft.”
“They say it’s only four hundred feet, this narrow point.”
“Just keep your head down.”
Suddenly, two cannon batteries behind them erupted with covering fire, ten guns shaking the ground and belching smoke past them, through the woods, and onto the river. With orders to keep low, she rushed forward with her unit, through the brush, down the banking, and into the boat.
Packed in, kneeling and squatting, they shoved off and caught glimpses of the artillery’s devastation on their objective. Exploding case shot sprayed cast iron marbles everywhere, kicked up dirt, shredded foliage, and splintered log breastworks. Rebel shooting paused, then came at a frenetic rate. Minié balls whizzed by, zipped into the water, snapped into the sides of the boats, and Coop, like her comrades, folded herself as far down onto her thighs as she could, rifle at her side.
Union cannon responded in full. Dozens of guns fired over their heads onto the banking and into the town itself. The bombardment set homes, barns, and shops ablaze, visible through the woods ahead, and the incessant pounding echoed off the river. But enemy fire continued from the banking, causing Coop to wonder where the rebs would retreat to, if the town was being demolished behind them. She banished the thought to concentrate on her own survival.
Crouched nearby, Pvt. Henry “Spud” Russet strained to drive their boat forward with a push pole off the river bottom. He was a Boston luthier, a devoted father of three, and she’d often marveled at his strength, and now willed him to heave harder, faster. His counterpart on the opposite side suddenly took a bullet in the eye and collapsed into the river. There was no time to reach for his body, nor was it safe. Someone grabbed his push pole and took his place.
Abruptly, Tim toppled against her hip and Coop spun to help.
“Just nicked me,” he said, his voice clipped. Readjusting the bedroll over his shoulder, he grumbled, “Another hole in my blanket.”
“’Cause you’re just too damn tall.”
Then Spud screamed and fell, both hands to his throat. Flattening Coop atop the soldier behind her, he writhed pitifully across her lower body, his warm blood soaking her leg. In seconds, his motion ceased and Tim and others freed her by sliding his body onto the boat’s wooden deck.
“Damn them!” she cried, returning to her position. “And we can’t even get off a shot.”
Tim pointed to the sky. “Cover fire has stopped.” He spared a quick peek over the soldiers ahead of him to the shoreline. “Less than fifty yards.”
Lt. John Adams yelled at everyone. “Keep down!”
A minié ball sliced through Coop’s cap and as it flipped off, she heard the man behind her gasp. He collapsed at her heels.
Coop’s boat slipped into shallow water and Adams brazenly stood and slashed the air with his saber. “Bayonets!” He drew his pistol and set a boot on the forward rail. “Look at ’em run! Under a black flag, by companies now, have at ’em!”
Coop clicked her bayonet into place. Although relieved to scramble up this embankment free of enemy fire, she wasn’t a fan of “black flag” rules. Men always interpreted it as freedom to plunder, and though she harbored a fiery anger toward these rebs, she knew her comrades would hold nothing back. Having watched helplessly as friends were killed for four hundred yards, her Yankee brethren would take vengeful advantage of such leeway.
Within five minutes, Coop had her first look at the popular market town of Fredericksburg, half of which lay in ruin. But the emptiness, the eerie quiet filled her with a trepidation she knew they all shared. The rebels had fled somewhere.
As they crept through the streets, Coop maintained a steady eye on the blank windows, rooftops, building corners, sensing an ambush at every step. And then gunfire came from all directions. Blue uniforms jerked violently, crumbled, spun down into the dust. She dove for cover.
For over an hour, fighting raged throughout the town. Union troops split into small groups, and Coop and Tim accompanied Adams as he led the sweep through the settlement, darting from building to building, kicking in doors, racing to every room in search of enemy shooters. She wished army training had included this “hide-and-seek” strategy, considering death could be waiting behind any door. But she preferred this challenge, relying on her physical abilities, to what she had endured thus far. Always seemed to her that those in-line battles, being a sitting duck striding toward blazing guns, simply surrendered her life to fate.
