“I remember. I tried to do it differently when you pointed it out to me the day we waited to be taken to Fort Lincoln,” I admitted.
“How you didn’t need a shave,” he went on. “And how private you were. I wonder how I didn’t see it before now. How I allowed myself to be tricked. I was a fool.”
“It was very difficult for me to keep it from you,” I said.
“All this time we’ve shared the same tent.” I could see his expression grow troubled, as if it had dawned on him what implications it might have for others. “It was so wrong.”
“You didn’t know,” I consoled him.
His face changed. While we were talking it was a look of confusion, or trying to make sense of it, but then he suddenly became appalled. “No, but you…you did.”
Those simple words brought on a whole new torture for me. I knowingly slept in the same tent with him for these many months, and he was angry I tricked him so grievously. I couldn’t say I blamed him. If the shoe were on the other foot, I might have plenty to be mad about too. He felt used. He felt betrayed, which was all my doing.
Sam got up to leave. “Where are you going?” I asked desperately.
“I can’t stay here,” he said.
“Sam, you won’t tell on me will you?” I begged.
He stopped and gazed at me. My only thought for my own self-interests made him angry, I suppose. “No. I’m not going to tell on you. But I can’t say I won’t sometime in the future. I must think this out.” And then he left me alone.
My side ached, but I scarcely noticed it. My mind was in such turmoil I could do nothing but go over the events of the night again and again in my head. I shouldn’t have gone to that cherry orchard. I should never have let him open my jacket and shirt. I should’ve just run away when I’d thought of it several months ago. It was as if I could somehow turn back the clock and change the events if I only concentrated hard enough.
I was in misery. I lay down upon my straw pallet and waited for sleep to come. But sleep eluded me. In the darkness, my eyes were wide open and my mind would not stop working furiously to come to a solution for my problems. I would tell myself to not dwell on it, to banish it from my head, but it was an impossible task. I would have given anything if the sun would decide to come up several hours early, and give me an excuse to get up. I have come to believe there is nothing worse than knowing exhaustion when sleep will not come, and enduring the long night wondering if you will ever see the day again. Because on such nights it seems the darkness might continue on forever.
Chapter 4
I DON’T KNOW WHAT I EXPECTED, but I suppose I was hoping for the best. Over coffee and hardtack the next morning, with a group of us sitting before our tents, Sam was decidedly absent. I dipped my hardtack into my cup, waited for the worms to begin floating, and fished them out, tossing them into the fire before I drank. There was little dialogue between us all. With Big Frank gone, conversation was more subdued. He was always the one to make funny comments to get the crowd laughing. Without him it hardly seemed right to be cheerful at all.
My sober mood got me a few sideways glances. Or perhaps it was because Sam and I were not together. After all, we were a team up to now, inevitably in one another’s company. Seeing one without the other must have been an oddity. I didn’t see Sam again until drill time. He avoided me then too, choosing to stand next to Vern Stapleton whom I knew he didn’t care for, instead of me.
I tried to catch his attention, to speak to him when we were finished with drill, but he took off quickly, avoiding me all together. After his constant presence in my life since the beginning of our undertaking together, it was discouraging to be left alone. I felt abandoned and a gloom hung over me. He was everything to me, and I was nothing to him. Unrequited love is not nearly as romantic as they would have you believe in novels and plays. They could never adequately portray how painful it is to be rejected by the object of your affections. It is contemptible to think of the writer dipping quill in ink to then put it to paper in order to write otherwise.
I lingered in our little cabin, hoping he might turn up eventually and then I would be able to speak to him. But he never came. The day wore on, and I saw him here and there, but Sam didn’t acknowledge me in any way. I can’t say he was malicious about it. He just behaved as if I weren’t there. Only it was abundantly clear to me, and everyone else who knew us, he was giving me the cold shoulder. If it wasn’t obvious before, it certainly was now. He was doing all he could to stay away from me.
Several miserably long weeks wore on in the same manner. I felt the rejection sorely. It made time slow and nights drag on. I wondered where he was and what he was up to. I ruefully thought he was probably out having a good time with some of his other pals. Or maybe he was spreading the word, telling everyone about his cracked tent mate and what a laughingstock she was. If he told anyone about me, it was sure to spread like wildfire. I waited for Captain or Colonel to come collect me.
I was on edge, paranoid over every innocent remark, each insignificant exchange with the other men. But day after day, nothing happened. It got to the point I welcomed something, anything to happen. Then I would at least know where I stood. Why not just get it over with instead of suffering on in the same uncertainty?
“What’s this about?” Reed Haney asked me after drill one afternoon. I knew he was referring to Sam and me, wondering why we weren’t talking anymore.
“Just a falling out,” I replied. I didn’t know what more to say without giving myself away. He didn’t fish any deeper. He let it go, and I was glad.
Sam didn’t even return to our hut to sleep. I lay awake, listening, waiting night after night, but in vain. After loafing around for several agonizing weeks, I grew defiant. I came to the conclusion I should just face the situation head on. Instead of waiting for the axe to fall on me, I would take action first. If he wouldn’t come to me then I would go to him. I must know where I stood with him. I couldn’t bear the thought he might be so displeased with me that he wouldn’t ever speak to me again. The unknown would drive me crazy. I couldn’t leave things as they were for another second.
It was good and dark and all were asleep when I crept out of our little cabin in search of him. I wandered around camp without any idea where I might find him. The dying glow from the supper fires lit my way. There were plenty of vacant huts after the terrible fight in Fredericksburg. Perhaps he was holed up in one of them. I roamed aimlessly from hut to hut with no real plan, trying to surmise where he might be. But then it came to me. There was a spot he liked very much near the river, under a great oak, a place he liked to idle his time after drill or in the evening after supper.
I allowed my feet to guide me there, my boots quiet on the packed earth of the trail leading down to the river. As I drew near, sure enough I could make out Sam’s profile in the gloom of the night, just hardly visible, sitting below the tree. He stirred when he heard me approach, grabbing for his pistol; he was guarded until he saw it was me. He eased the pistol back to the ground next to him and stood to meet me.
“What do you want?” he grumbled.
“I wanted to talk,” I said softly, entreatingly.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“I can’t leave it this way,” I said, the desperation in my voice sounding pitiable. Couldn’t he see I was remorseful, and feeling terrible over what happened between the two of us? That I was suffering?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, apparently not willing to discuss things.
“Sam, I am sorry. I am.”
“I doubt that very much,” he said.
“You must understand. I can’t go back and change what I’ve done now, but if I could I would. I never intended to lie to you.”
“Why, the things I told you. Thinking all the while you were some boy I was befriending,” he declared. Again I felt a rush of guilt. “Some poor youngster with no father and mother in this world to look out for him. And you fooled me good
. You made a right pretty dolt of me.”
“Dim-witted as it sounds, I never thought of it that way.”
“How did you think of it?” he asked.
How could I explain it to him? How could I tell him the reason I did what I did? It was as much of a secret as my identity had been. No one knew, no one but me, that I was in love with Sam Barlow. It was something I couldn’t put into words and utter out loud. I remained still, hoping he would let his question go unanswered.
“Why did you do it?” he wanted to know. He wouldn’t look at me when he asked it. Right away I thought because I love you. But I continued to not say anything.
“I’m talking to you,” he said. His voice commanded attention, and now his eyes seemed to pierce through me. “I want to know why you did such a lunatic thing!”
“I…I don’t want to talk about it,” I stammered.
“Well, now you will. You came looking for me, remember? And I want to know why you done it.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it,” I insisted.
“You can either tell me why, or I will report you and you can tell Colonel Upton why,” he threatened. There was such loathing in his words, such hatred. I had never seen him like this. He was so angry. Usually he just laughed things off, made a joke to lighten the mood in a tough situation. But the disgust he was exhibiting now let me know he was serious with his threat.
“You wouldn’t!” I cried. “You wouldn’t report me!”
“Hell I wouldn’t. You either talk to me now or you can talk to them.”
“Sam, please leave me alone!” My mind was racing. Would he really report me? Would he really run and tell? He was mad enough and hurt enough that just maybe he would. I tried to walk away, seeing this was a bad idea. I should’ve just left him alone. He grabbed my elbow and swung me around to face him.
“I won’t. You humiliated me, and I want you to tell me why,” he insisted. His eyes were upon me, and they were filled with rage. He was glaring, resentful. I realized how betrayed he must have felt when he found out I’d deceived him from the very beginning. I couldn’t really blame him. If it was me, if I were in his shoes, I might very well feel the same.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I snapped. “You could never understand.”
“Whether I understand or not, I will know it. You tell me now, right now, or I will go immediately and speak with Colonel Upton. I’ll wake him up if I must. Bust into his tent and tell him what I’ve discovered. But I will not continue on in this lie unless you at least give me the reason why you would do such a thing.”
“No!”
“Tell me!” he persisted.
I remained silent. This seemed to infuriate him all the more. His lips formed into a menacing sneer, and he turned as if he might go, as if he might leave right now to tell on me. I pulled at the sleeve of his jacket, trying to stop him but he shook me off.
“Sam, please!” I begged, the panic making my voice quake.
“I am done with this,” he said firmly.
“Sam, you can’t!” I was jogging alongside of him, doing my best to dodge in front of him to get him to stop.
“Get out of my way!” he barked at me.
“Sam! I am begging you, please, you can’t turn me in! It will ruin me. It will completely ruin my reputation. And my father…” I couldn’t stand the thought of having to face him, of having him find out I’d lied to him for so long. What would he say? I was sure I didn’t know, but I did know it would disgrace him. After Caleb’s death, after my mother, and now this…I had no doubt it would hurt him deeply. He could not know. He could never know what I had done. I wouldn’t allow it.
“Maybe you should have considered it before you done what you done,” he said rather heartlessly. I’d never seen Sam like this. Not even when Big Frank got drunk and they fought. He forgave Big Frank right off and didn’t hold it against him. Why was I any different? Weren’t we friends? Hadn’t we gotten through some hard times together? Wasn’t that worth something?
I started to become hysterical. “You can’t!” I wailed. “You can’t!”
When he saw me in such distress, he hesitated for a moment. I imagine the gentleman in him felt responsible for my misery. But he would still not let up.
“You tell me why you did this. You tell me now.”
“Because…” I began.
“Because why?” He saw me stalling, and then he grew impatient and acted as if he might leave again.
I stood in front of him and put my hands on his chest, pushing against him with the weight of my body, leaning into him to keep him from going. It caused a searing pain to run through my side where I was not healed yet. It was all I could do to maintain my stance, but I was not about to let him go anywhere. I was not going to step aside and allow him to go to the colonel and tell on me.
“I cannot say,” I whispered.
“Why?” he pressed.
“I cannot say!” I cried out. He pushed my hands away.
“I’ve had enough.” He meant it too. I could see. He really meant to go and tell on me. Nothing I was saying was holding him back or convincing him otherwise. He was so angry with me he was ready and willing to go right now, in the middle of the night, and report me. He didn’t care what it would do to me. When I saw this I was fraught with nerves. Nothing I said was making a bit of difference to him.
“It was because of you, Sam!” I blurted out, the tears beginning to distort my vision. Once the words were out, there was no taking them back. I think it stunned us both equally. My revelation froze him where he was.
“What?” His face fell, and a look of pure confusion and surprise came over him.
“I came to follow you,” I confessed with a groan. I didn’t have the nerve to meet his eyes, nor did I think I could hold the tears back any longer if I did chance to look at him. I was so filled with humiliation I dared not let him see me any worse off than I already was.
“But I wish I never had now! I hate you!” I fumed. “I hate you!” I was so horrified by my admission I left him there and ran away.
Chapter 5
IT WAS MY TURN to avoid him now. It was my feeling that as angry as I was at Sam, it was not his fault I lied and misrepresented myself. I thought he shouldn’t have to suffer for it any more. I was also very ashamed of my confession to him. How could he have made me disclose something so personal, so embarrassing? So wherever he was, I was not. If we should chance to find ourselves at the same fire, or with the same company, I averted my eyes from his, found a suitable reason to beg off, and disappeared.
With our numbers so depleted there were few who I called friend, fewer still whom I gravitated toward. Our company was so small it took a great effort on my part to stay away from him. Now with such a diminished regiment, Colonel Upton saw to it new men were brought in to the 121st. It seemed they cared very little for propriety or dignity when they went about recruiting the new men. But I didn’t know the circumstances surrounding the replacements, only that they seemed to resent their new station very much.
They came as already seasoned soldiers from the 16th New York, with their haversacks and bedrolls and tents clearly worn and well used. They looked around, studying the camp and scouting out a place not already taken. There were plenty of empty cabins to choose from. So the men found one suited to them and took up living there. Most of them kept to themselves over supper and didn’t seem to feel a need to be sociable or form new friendships. I knew how they must feel, outsiders uncertain of where they might belong in this new place. We’d all experienced similar feelings before. With only four of us left to the squad they filled the empty spaces with six new men from the 16th. Mr. Haney, whom I had grown to rely upon heavily with no one else to call friend now, and I were conversing over supper when two of them made an attempt at approaching us.
“Could we share your fire?” the one with blond hair asked. I can’t say he was the dashing sort, but his looks were fine still. His face had a character, a
quality to it that made him attractive, even if he was no dandy.
“Of course you may. I am Reed Haney, and this young fellow is called Frank Stark,” he said. They took a seat with us, stretching out next to the fire.
“Felix Newburn,” the blond said, but he didn’t smile.
“Rowan Darby,” the short dark one said. “But everyone calls me Darby.”
“What a pleasant way you talk,” I said. It sounded almost like he would break out in singing. “Where are you from?”
“I was born across the sea in Ireland,” he told me with an amused grin. “But I call Ogdensburg, New York, home.”
“We come from New York as well,” Mr. Haney told them. “Richfield, New York.”
“Would you like some coffee,” I asked, trying to be amicable.
“I make it a habit never to say no to coffee,” Felix Newburn said. I poured them each a cup full and handed it to them.
“You’re a wee young thing to be fighting for ol’ Uncle Sam, ain’t ya now, boy?” Darby asked with what I took to be a good natured grin upon his face.
I shrugged. It seemed like I’d already gone through this same conversation more times than I cared to remember. What good did it do to explain it again? Thank heavens for Mr. Haney.
“He’s proved himself a man in the worst of a brawl,” he said with a chuckle.
“That so? You seen a bit of fightin’ then?” Darby asked. It was something a soldier did, swapping stories over what battles they’d seen. There was an acute interest to hear where others had been, to share where you had been too.
“Lost over two hundred up near Fredericksburg in May. Nearly nothing left to us,” Mr. Haney said, his tone growing somber. “We were part of Chancellorsville. Salem Church, you know.”
“Old Lee refused to be outflanked,” Darby said with a nod. He already knew our story. No need to fill him in.
The Discovered Page 2