Measure of Devotion, page 9
“I’m sure. You’re lucky to have them.”
“Absolutely. I often consider the day one of us finally leaves the nest. Being the eldest, that probably will be me.”
“If they’re like you, they’ll carry on strong.”
Sophie chuckled. “Oh, I believe they will, but will I?”
“From what I’ve seen, there’s no doubt you’ll succeed in whatever you do. I bet your brother and sister are just like you.”
“Our German heritage comes with a strict upbringing, but we’re all rather independent and stubborn. Papa prefers that Karl learn by his side and that Greta master domestic chores, although I’ve managed to persuade him otherwise.” Sophie sat back, knowing her pride was showing. “Karl is only nine but bakes a biscuits-and-ham supper that would make Mama smile. And Greta, she’s a finagler, she is. Just twelve years old and she can haul our produce to town and wrangle prices as shrewdly as Papa.”
“And big sister Sophie holds everything together, doesn’t she?”
“Well, let’s just say I’ve tilled, cleaned, cooked, and hammered enough nails in my day. I’m a firm believer in being at least a little skilled in as many things as possible. Thankfully, Papa has seen the wisdom in that. And I’m pleased that Greta and Karl respect and lean on each other’s skills.”
“So admirable of you, Sophie. You foresee owning a farm yourself one day?”
“Oh, maybe. A small place, possibly, one I can handle into old age.”
“I must admit, I’m surprised to hear you speak of leaving, of…solitude.”
“Well, I expect one of my siblings will take over our homestead once Papa’s gone, and I can’t imagine staying, living the life I choose and intruding on Greta’s or Karl’s family.”
“I understand that,” he said. “I’d often pondered the same things, that is, until the accident. Our homestead is mine now, to work and live as I choose.” He doffed his cap and settled it back over his hair. “Daunting, sometimes.”
“I have no doubt you’ll do well, Coop.” Sophie flicked snow off his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “You just make sure you get back to it in one piece.”
“Doing my best. But even if I leave a leg here in Virginia, I’m going to make the homestead work.”
“Your family would be proud.”
“I try to do right by the Samson name. I left the homestead in the hands of a dear family friend my father met many years ago. He’s done well for himself and his family and has a little place above his very successful leather goods shop in town. He and his boys have helped us on the farm a lot over the years, so I think Father would have approved of leaving it in his care.”
“Sounds like he would. I imagine your enlistment was difficult for him.”
“Well…I know they were surprised—and worried.”
“To see an only son go off to war must be…”
Coop poked at the coals and added another log. He seemed lost in thought. “They’d already lost a son, you see.”
“An older brother passed?”
“His name was Sonny. Well, that’s what we all called him. Honestly, I don’t know of his well-being today. He set out to seek his fortune at seventeen, and only once did we hear from him again. I think I was maybe fourteen when he sent his only letter, a farewell of sorts. Sonny had started his life anew, was interested in the frontier, but offered nothing specific. And as the years passed, we became a family of four.”
“My gracious, Coop. You haven’t heard from him in…ten years?”
“Fourteen since I’ve seen him.”
“How sad that he left you all, the family that raised him. I’m sorry to hear this.”
“We were his typical pesky little brother and sister, and he meant the world to us, although we struggled mightily whenever he and Father fought. They had many violent clashes, about chores, politics, patriotism. Sonny made Mother cry all the time, which was why a part of us was glad when he left. Of course, we never thought he’d shun us, but as years passed, we knew he was gone forever.”
“Do you, today…Um, considering your parents and sister are gone, do you—”
“Do I wish to reconnect? No.” Coop shook his head firmly and jabbed at the coals. “He’d hardly be an acquaintance today. And one I can do without.”
Sophie patted his shoulder as she tried to muster a response. “I’ve no doubt you have developed far more solid acquaintances in the army—and are better for them.” She went to the wagon and returned with a small tin flask. “Here,” she offered, removing the cork and tipping it over Coop’s empty coffee cup. “For the holiday.”
“Well,” he said, grinning. “Thank you kindly. Can’t say as I ever expected the Ladies’ Aid Society to offer this kind of spirits to a soldier.”
“We know officers have their share of whiskey,” she whispered, leaning closer, “but we have our own brandy.” She poured some for herself and set the flask aside.
“Much appreciated.” Coop reached out to the scarf covering Sophie’s head and hesitated. “Allow me.” She wiped off the snow with light strokes of her hand. “Hopefully, we won’t get buried where we sit.”
“Not with such warmth from this wonderful fire you’ve built.”
She drew her gaze from the fire and caught him studying her hands. His had delivered a comforting touch that still simmered along her nerves, a pleasant sensation she didn’t know how to handle. She raised her cup and his eyes followed, glinting with firelight as they met hers.
“A toast?” he said, and an easy smile grew across his lips.
A most handsome man, Sophie mused, and gentle and polite, so remarkable as to lead her to question her heart as never before. She would miss him dearly, would worry about his safety. And more than any friend she had ever made, she would yearn to see him again.
What does this mean?
He held his cup against hers. “I remember the night you aptly named us kindred souls, Miss Sophie Bauer. Let’s toast to them.”
Sophie pressed her cup to his and let her smile convey her pleasure. “Indeed, Private Samson. To kindred souls. May we lend the full measure of devotion to our hopes and dreams.”
They sipped the brandy and Coop groaned with approval. “Warms the soul, it does. Thank you.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
Coop gestured around them and sighed. “So many wounded have been transported out, the hospital camp has shrunk. Your work must be less stressful.”
Sophie nodded, sensing the time had come to deliver her news. “The army now is capable of handling the hospital work. The surgeon-in-chief notified all aide groups two days ago.” She sipped more brandy. “Ours will leave for Gettysburg on Saturday.”
“This Saturday?” He waited for her nod, then turned back to the fire. “Oh.”
“Priscilla, our leader, she chose the date. She says we could reach home by the New Year.” Coop looked at her over his shoulder and Sophie sensed his skepticism. “I don’t think we’ll make it in time, either. Several groups will leave together, and the train could be thirty wagons long, so, considering the snow and all…”
“I think you’re right. I’m glad for you, though. All of you. You’ve worked so hard for us, endured so much, missed out on holidays with family.” He turned back to her and smiled. “Really, I’m happy for you. But I’ll miss you.”
Sophie felt her throat tighten. “Depending on the army’s needs, I could be back for another tour of duty.” She had only vaguely considered that option and questioned her motivation in speaking it aloud now. She poured another round of brandy for them. “But, Coop, most certainly, I’ll miss you, too. I…I promise to write.”
Coop sent her a sideways look. “I promise, too.”
Sophie tapped their cups together. “An accord between us then,” she said, and they drank. “The army is staying here for the winter, isn’t it? Have you heard anything?”
“Just rumor, as always. We might cross the river again. Depends on whether ol’ Burns gets his whiskers in a twitch.”
“Oh, Coop, I hope not. You’re all settled in now. Why—”
He shrugged. “I can write you when I learn anything.”
“Oh…Yes. Write. Good.”
A deep pause fell over their conversation, and Sophie felt it weighed as heavily on him as it did her. Sadness, a tinge of finality crept into her bones and she blinked several times to keep tears at bay. She watched as he finished his brandy in one gulp and stood, snow sprinkling off the back of his overcoat.
“I probably should sneak back now.” He pushed the embers around and stacked several logs on her fire. “That should provide you some warmth for a while.” He removed his cap, slapped the snow off it against his leg, and wiggled it back on. “Sophie,” he began, turning to face her, “tomorrow’s Christmas Day. May I call on you?”
Backlit by the fire, his expression couldn’t be read, but Sophie figured she was better off not knowing what it revealed.
“Of course you may. Friends should share Christmas Day whenever they can.” Impulse nearly drove her to hug him. Instead, she brushed the snow off his shoulders.
Coop caught her hand and edged closer, and she could smell the scent of snow and earth off his coat, the sweet smell of brandy on his frosty breath.
“I do not wish to overspeak,” he whispered, “but I think of you often and always with a smile, a rousing beat to my heart. I’d be most grateful to share even a few minutes with you tomorrow.”
Without a second thought, Sophie set a palm to his smooth cheek, his jawline firm and cold. “And my heart would pain me, Coop, if my Christmas passed without you.”
His shadow enveloped her when he bent forward, and, without reservation, Sophie lifted her face and welcomed his kiss. His chilled lips drew lightly on hers and hovered against them for a moment before kissing her once more.
She opened her eyes as he drew away and recognized a longing that rang deep into her soul. She squeezed his hand, wished he would kiss her again, felt the instinctive urge to kiss him. But Coop stepped back with a hint of that easy smile.
Sophie took a deep breath, as subtly as she could. Yes, she would miss this man terribly.
Chapter Ten
Coop and Tim devoured half the fruit cake Mary sent as they ran to answer roll call on Christmas morning. And lined up on the snowpack in forty-degree sunshine, they whooped with everyone else, elated when officers canceled the day’s drilling. Activity jumped into high gear, as Coop fried real bacon and the smells of cookfire breakfasts blanketed the encampment.
Enthusiastic socializing filled the morning hours, with troops crowded into groups, opening boxes from home, and sharing discoveries and spirits with friends. Tim presented Coop with two pairs of socks and summarily ordered her old ones deposited in the latrine sink an acre away.
Coop gifted him the blanket to replace the holey rag he insisted she mend every week. He hugged her hard and handed over a jar of pickled beets—adding that they had to share it.
Before long, loud crazy games broke out between companies, regiments, and entire brigades. After the 19th lost an abbreviated marathon to Battery B of the 1st Rhode Island artillery, Coop and Tim redeemed their regiment by outshooting the Harvard boys and then trouncing their 1st Brigade counterparts. Everywhere, raucous entertainments prevailed. Coop spent a light-hearted hour drinking sugared coffee and watching officers of the 72nd Pennsylvania catch a greased pig someone had found roaming the woods.
After all the lunch lines had filed through the cookeries, liquid spirits spread seriously throughout the camp and activities took a wild turn. Coop, Tim, and several others downed less than their share before heading out on foraging detail. No one disputed the necessity of firewood, but on this day, Coop and the others hoped to make short work of the chore.
She hacked a log in half and dragged it onto the pile, knowing she couldn’t ignore Mother Nature’s calling any longer. Deeper into the forest, she found a secluded spot to relieve herself, and, after repeated, keen scans into the brush, unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her trousers, and dropped her drawers.
The distant sounds of the work detail carried through the woods, but some raucous laughter sounded too close for comfort. She hurried to finish as the voices grew louder, drunken revelers, she thought, and her nerves tightened.
“You got my spot!” one yelled, obviously having seen her.
Hurry.
“Warm it up for us!” shouted a second man. “Let’s plant us one big patch of lily-white Union asses in these Virginny woods!”
Coop yanked up her drawers as they thrashed their way to her. “A man can’t find privacy in this entire godforsaken state!” she griped at them, tying her drawers as fast as her fingers could work.
Reaching into his trousers, the New Yorker eyed her private area. “Y’get everything collected in there, slick?” The nickname used by a few from the 42nd always unsettled her, reminded her that some fellows took note of her clean-shaven face and slim build.
His friend laughed over his shoulder as he squatted. “Maybe slick don’t have enough to pack.” The men laughed.
Buttoning her trousers, Coop sent the first man a knowing look. “You best watch yourself. Next thing you know, your friend will take an interest in your parts.”
He looked sharply at his comrade, eyes narrowed.
Coop adjusted her belt buckle and hustled back to her detail, her heart rate returning to normal.
Tim waved her to help him finish limbing a fallen tree and she joined in, eager to expend nervous energy. She hacked off branches and alternated with his cuts to chop the log into manageable lengths.
The wagon loaded, they led the horse back to camp and Coop worked her way through the crowd surrounding the “beauty pageant,” staged by several costumed, highly inebriated “ladies.” Although she initially found the frolicking comical, she soon soured on the production. No doubt they had looted the embellished hats and dresses from innocent Fredericksburg families, and the demeaning demonstrations, suggestive gestures, and exaggerated dancing and mocking, just became insulting.
“Ho, there, Samson. Merry Christmas.” The cheerful voice came from Henry, her absurdly smart young friend in the 20th Massachusetts. A high-bred Harvard-educated fellow, of course, he nevertheless displayed enough dignity to accept defeat each time she beat him at cards. At times, Coop wrestled with opinions espoused by this twenty-one-year-old with deep Democratic roots. Opposed to Lincoln’s politics, Henry did fervently believe in preservation of the Union, but professed that slavery should be allowed to wither away on its own, and Coop often engaged him in lively debate.
She offered a handshake. “Same to you, Captain Abbott. How’s that arm?”
“Eh, slow healing, but it will suffice.” He offered his tin cup. “Here, have some.”
“Much obliged.” Being friends with an officer cost her some ribbing from fellow enlisted men, even though she kept things as confidential as possible. Privately, they bypassed military protocol altogether. She sipped his refined, smooth bourbon, and handed back the cup.
He gestured to the pageant and the laughing crowd. “They’re outdoing themselves, this holiday. Maybe a bit too much fire water.”
“A lot gets through the mail at Christmas. Did your father send you that good stuff?”
“He did.” Henry dipped his head. “Any time you feel the urge, Coop, look me up. There’s plenty more.”
“Thanks. I prefer to go easy on the spirits, keep a clearer head.”
“Commendable. I usually rein in the temptation as well, but there’s an ample supply among our officers.”
Coop wasn’t surprised. Like Henry, many of the 20th’s soldiers claimed well-to-do Boston families who made sure their sons enjoyed comforts from home. Thankfully, Henry wasn’t one to flaunt his status and she liked that about him.
“We’re putting up an extra table tonight and you’re welcome to join us,” he said with a nudge of his elbow. “Come with a full pocket, because I intend to empty it this time.”
“Bah. I’d join your game with empty pockets to be filled,” she answered with a laugh. “But I’m visiting a friend tonight and will have to clean you out another time.”
Eyeing her sideways, Henry smoothed his thumb and forefinger over his slim mustache. “A stroll to the hospital camp as I’ve seen you take before? Visiting a lady friend, perhaps?”
“Nothing escapes you. She’s leaving with the Gettysburg volunteers on Saturday, I’m afraid.”
He straightened into his command posture. “Then, by all means, go.”
“I doubt I’ll see her again, so…”
“One never knows, Coop. The aid groups come and go for varying periods. You intend to correspond, at least?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. They are a special breed those ladies, full of heart, and if she has moved yours, do not fail to respond.” He clapped her shoulder.
❖
Laura showed Coop to a seat by the fire, then bid her adieu. The little camp at the Ladies’ Aid Society appeared deserted but especially tidy, and Coop sensed it was prepared for tomorrow’s departure. The thought weighed upon her spirit.
She jumped to her feet when Sophie emerged from the wagon, angelic in a crimson dress Coop had never seen before. An evergreen shawl provided the perfect backdrop to the glimmering hair that cascaded over her shoulders.
Coop caught her jaw dropping and cleared excitement from her throat. She absently ran her palms down the front of her frock, hoping the effort she had lent her uniform showed, that her buttons and buckles shone, and that she had mended her frock in decent fashion.
“You are a Christmas angel, Miss Sophie Bauer.”
“You flatter me, Private Samson.” Sophie reached for Coop’s hands, drew them to her bosom, and heat raced so fast to Coop’s head, she thought she would faint.
“Y-you deserve it and so much more. Sophie, you’re…” So many complimentary words came to mind, Coop couldn’t choose one. “You are lovely beyond words—and I’m beyond honored.”
