Wiping the blood from his face, he shouted, “I’ll kill you, Rosie!”
“Then just fly right at it!” Rosie growled. His face was set.
Drake managed to slip under his next punch and catch Rosie with a hard right to the neck. It slowed Rosie down not one bit. The lean soldier waded forward, and suddenly, for Drake, the air was full of fist. He gave as many blows as he got, he thought, but there was something invincible about Rosie. Blows struck him in the face, on the chest, in the stomach, and then he realized that he was lying flat on his back.
“Get up, Drake.”
Rosie stood over him, looking down at his skinned knuckles. “Any time you’re ready to go apologize to Charlie, I’m willin’ to stop.”
Drake struggled to his feet. His face ached, and his ribs, yet he knew that he would never give up. He threw himself at Rosie again. The soldiers had made a ring about them, and repeatedly Rosie knocked Drake back into one of them, who would then shove him forward.
For Drake, time seemed to stand still. Finally he was on the ground and discovered that he could not get up. “My—legs won’t work,” he panted. “My blasted legs won’t work. Wait a minute, and I’ll fight you, Rosie …”
Rosie looked down at him. “You and me been friends for a long time, but I don’t need a friend like you, Drake. Any man that would treat a woman like you treated Charlie, no amount of beatin’s gonna help. Because your meanness,” he said evenly, “ain’t on the outside. It’s on the inside! I always knew somethin’ was wrong with you, and now I know that’s it. Don’t ever come at me to speak again, because I’m through with you!”
As Rosie turned around and walked off, rather unsteadily, Drake struggled to a sitting position, then to his feet. His eyes were swelling. One was closed completely. His uniform was torn, his fists were scraped, he could taste blood, and he hurt all over.
But what hurt worst of all was seeing Rosie disappear. Drake looked around and saw no friendship on the faces of his fellow soldiers. They all turned then and walked away from him, leaving him standing alone.
Drake staggered to the pump and washed his face. He looked down at his ripped, dirty uniform and then reeled away from the parade ground. He took the road that led to the woods just outside Atlanta. Every step jolted his bruised body, and all he could think was, I got to get away. I can’t stand this anymore!
11
A New Man
Royal met Rosie heading toward his tent, and one look at his bloodied face told the story. “Did you have it out with Drake?”
“Yes, I did, but I don’t feel good about it.” Rosie stood looking at the ground. “He’s been my best friend for a long time, Royal.”
“I know. It’s hard to fight with a friend.”
“I reckon it is.”
“Where is he now?”
“Headed out somewhere. You better go catch him, Royal. He might desert, and the general would have him shot sure.”
“I think you’re right. Why don’t you clean yourself up? I’m sorry this had to happen.”
Royal broke into a run. Ahead he saw Drake, walking blindly along the line of tents and apparently headed for the woods.
“Drake!” he called out. “Wait a minute!” He caught up with the private and put himself directly in front of him. “Where are you going?”
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a lot of difference if you get posted as a deserter!” Royal said. “You know what the general would do to you then.”
“He’d have to catch me first!”
“That wouldn’t be too hard to do. Look, we all make mistakes from time to time. We all have to learn how to say we’re sorry.”
“Is that what you want me to do? Come crawlin’ back and say I’m sorry?”
“Not to me. To Charlie.”
Drake hesitated, as though considering doing exactly what Royal was suggesting. But then he shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll write her a letter sometime.”
“Drake, I’m going tell you something else.” Royal waited until Drake’s eyes were fixed on him. “I’ve asked Lori to marry me, and she said that she would. I wanted you to hear it from me, not from somebody else.”
At first Royal thought Drake would throw himself at him, and he stiffened, waiting for the charge.
But the fire in Drake’s eyes died, and he took a deep breath. “Well, that makes you happy, doesn’t it? You beat me out.”
“No, beating you doesn’t make me happy. I know what it’s like to lose something you love. One of us had to get hurt, but I’m not happy about it.”
After a moment Drake said, “All right, you’ve won. You don’t have to stand around crowin’ about it.” He started off again toward the woods.
“Drake, wait a minute—”
“Leave me alone, Royal! Just leave me alone!”
Royal stood uncertainly, watching him go. He could not lay hold on the soldier and bring him back forcefully, and yet he was afraid that Drake would indeed desert. Slowly he turned back to camp, thinking, If he doesn’t come back soon, I’ll send the squad out looking for him.
Then Royal thought about the look on Drake’s face when he had told him about his engagement to Lori. Aloud he said, “I guess I’d be just as bad if I’d been the one who lost her.”
“We can’t find him anywhere, sarge.”
Royal looked up from where he was working on papers for the lieutenant to see Jay and Walter. It was morning. Drake had not returned, and Royal had sent the entire squad into the woods looking for him.
Walter said, “He didn’t leave no sign that I could see. I don’t know where he’s gotten to.” He bit his lip then. “I guess we were pretty hard on him.”
“He treated that girl pretty bad,” Jay said. “But I wouldn’t want to see him desert. Not but one end to that.”
Walter looked cautiously towards town. “Maybe he cut back and went into town somewhere. Maybe he’s gone over to see Lori again.”
The thought came to Royal that perhaps Jay was right. “That may be,” he said. “I’ll go check there, and the rest of you keep on looking. We’ve got to find him!”
At the time the squad was out searching desperately for him, Drake Bedford was lying flat on his back under a tree. He had wandered through the woods last night, finally coming across a small tavern where he bought several drinks of whiskey. The alcohol, raw and rank, had hit him hard, for he had eaten nothing. Then he’d gone back into the woods in another direction from camp, not knowing where he was. He went to sleep and had awakened this morning with the sun beating down on his face.
His head ached, his face was stiff and sore, and he knew that both eyes were a beautiful shade of purple. He lay still for a long time, and when he did move, his head felt as if a spike had been driven through it. Grunting with pain, he sat up and rested his back against the tree.
Overhead a pair of birds sang merrily, and Drake looked up and scowled. “Why do you have to be so blasted happy when I’m so miserable?” He had no strength to stand up and had never felt worse in his life. Carefully he wiggled his teeth, for he was certain that Rosie’s mighty blows had knocked some of them loose. All seemed to be intact, however, and he dropped his hands to the ground and closed his eyes. Shame ran through him as he realized how he had behaved.
He began to review what had happened. “It seems like nothin’ right has happened ever since I got in the army,” he muttered. “Now I’ve lost Lori, made all the fellas in the squad hate me, my best friend has beat me up …” He tried to think of happier times.
And a strange thing took place. Drake had gone with Rosie once or twice to the revival meetings held for the soldiers. Now, out of nowhere, the words of one of the chaplains came to him almost as clearly as if spoken aloud. “It is appointed unto man once to die, but after this the judgment. “
The sentence kept coming back to him again and again. And then he began to grow afraid. This was unusual, for Drake was a courageous man, even in battle. But no
w, somehow, a greater fear than he had ever known came over him. It was the fear of death.
Looking around, he felt foolish. The grass was green under him, the sky was blue, the trees stretched their branches upward, the birds were singing. There was no danger here. And yet Drake suddenly thought, What if I should die in the next battle and had to face God? He knew the answer to that. He had heard enough preaching to know what happened to those who went out to meet God unprepared.
He saw that his hands were trembling. “I didn’t know anything could make me do that,” he said aloud. “What’s wrong with me?”
Another Scripture came to mind. Again, he could almost hear the chaplain say it. “Except ye repent, ye will all likewise perish.” And then immediately another: “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. “
Drake had never been one for introspection. He had never thought much about eternity, or God, or judgment, but he thought about them now. And the longer he sat under the tree, the worse it got. In desperation, he struggled to his feet and began to walk, hoping the mood would pass.
It did not pass, though. As he moved on, he found that his fear grew. Finally he looked up and said, “God, what’s happening?”
The heavens were still blue and peaceful, but there was no peace in Drake. At last he lay down in the shade of a towering oak. It was quiet in the glade—no one else was there—yet somehow Drake knew that Someone was there. Looking to the sky again, he said, “God, what is it? What’s happening to me?” Then he began to weep, something he had not done since he was a small boy.
“Drake, you’re back!”
Royal leaped up from his cot and ran to grasp Drake’s arm. “Thank God you’ve come back. I was afraid you were going to be posted as a deserter. Where in the world have you been?”
Drake was pale, and there was an odd look about him. “Hello, Royal,” he said in a voice that was almost a whisper.
Royal said quickly, “Here, sit down. You look white as a sheet.” He pushed Drake onto the cot, glad that Ira Pickens, his tent mate, was not there. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m all right.”
“I thought maybe you got hurt worse than we knew in the fight—and went out and fell down unconscious somewhere,” Royal said. “The whole squad’s been lookin’ all over creation for you. We’ve covered for you, though. Nobody else knows you’ve been gone.”
“Thanks, Royal. It was good of you—and all the other fellas too.”
Royal sat down across from him. “So where have you been?” He studied the soldier’s beaten features and noted that the eyes were clear although the bruises were violently colorful. “We’ve all been worried about you. We can’t let the Devil have one of our own.”
It was a saying that the soldiers often used.
Drake clasped his hands, then put them against his lips. He seemed to be thinking deeply. Then he said, “I guess the Devil almost got me. But he didn’t.”
“What does that mean?” Royal asked in bewilderment.
“It means I got out there all by myself in the woods, and something happened to me, Royal.” Drake’s voice was subdued. He tried to smile. “Ow, it hurts to smile! My lips are all cut.”
“What have you got to smile about?”
“You’d think not much. I lost my girl, lost my best friend, got beat to pieces—but something happened to me out in those woods, Royal, and I know you’ll be glad to hear it even though we haven’t been friends.”
Suddenly Royal thought he knew exactly what he was talking about. “Drake,” he breathed. Leaning forward, he grabbed Drake’s arms. “What happened out there?”
“I don’t know exactly what to call it. I never felt so guilty in my whole life,” he said. “And I couldn’t run away from it either. And the longer it went on, the worse it got …”
“What happened then?”
“Well, I’ve heard enough sermons to know that Jesus is the only way to get saved. So I didn’t know any better than just to call on Him—and I did, Royal. I was so miserable I was ready to blow my brains out. But then I called on God to forgive me for Jesus’ sake, and I asked Him to do something with me. Well—” he tried another smile “—He said He would, and I believe He did.”
“I’m glad. Real glad.”
“Yeah, I knew you would be. You always tried to get me to find God, and I wouldn’t do it. I was runnin’ as hard as I could, but He caught up with me out in those woods.”
“It’s the best thing that could’ve happened to you, Drake. I think you were just one of those fellas that have to hit bottom before they call on God.”
Drake was sober-faced. “I reckon that’s right, Royal—and I sure hit bottom this time—but when I called on God, He was right there!”
12
Disaster for Leah
Jeff’s sergeant sent him back from the lines at Petersburg to try to round up some food. The Southern troops were scraping the bottom of the barrel. Glad to be out of the monotony of the trenches, he hitched a scrawny, elderly horse to a light wagon and drove through the countryside. He managed to buy some vegetables and even a whole smoked ham, along with other various items.
As an afterthought, as he headed back down the road toward camp, Jeff stopped at a tall, white house marked by columns in front. This was Cecil Taylor’s home. He knew Cecil’s parents were highly sympathetic to the Confederacy. He drove around to the back, mounted the steps, and knocked.
It was not a slave but Cecil himself who opened the door. “Hey, Jeff. What are you doing here?”
Jeff blinked with surprise. “Why, hello, lieutenant,” he said, remembering Cecil’s officer status. “My sergeant sent me around the countryside to see if I could scare up some food. I thought maybe you might have a ham or something stored in the smokehouse that the fellas could have.”
Cecil frowned. “Willikers, Jeff, I think we’re running pretty low. But come along back. Surely we can find something.”
“Don’t mean to put you out, lieutenant.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Jeff—I’m Cecil. I feel like a phony anyhow, wearing this uniform.” He strolled rapidly toward the smokehouse, and as Jeff followed he continued. “You’ve been in almost every battle since Bull Run, and I’ve never even heard a shot fired. I’m just a joke is all I am.”
“Don’t say that, Cecil,” Jeff said quickly. “We all do what we’re told to do. Evidently your officers think you’re worth more here in Richmond, and someone has to do this part of the job.”
Cecil shook his head but said no more until they got to the smokehouse. There he quickly pulled down several slabs of smoked meat. “Here. Take these back to your squad.”
“I’ll pay you for that, Cecil. All I’ve got is Confederate money, though.”
“Oh, never mind. That stuff’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. Matter of fact, I heard they were even running out of paper to print the money on. Next thing, they’ll be printing it on cornshucks.”
Back at the wagon, Jeff pulled up the canvas and stored the meat safely. Turning back to Cecil, he smiled. “Sure do appreciate this a lot. And the fellas, they’ll just be plumb glad to see it.”
The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Don’t mention it, Jeff.” He paused, then said, “I been wanting to talk to you—about Leah.”
Instantly Jeff tensed. He had always liked Cecil, had gotten along with him. He still liked him. He looked down at the young lieutenant, who was his age but two inches shorter than he was and very light in frame. He said, “Well, all right, go ahead, Cecil.”
Cecil seemed terribly ill at ease. He scratched his head and stared off into the sky where a flight of blackbirds was making its noisy way toward a cornfield. Then he faced Jeff and nervously ran his hand through his chestnut hair. Finally he blurted out, “You know I’ve always liked Leah, but I thought the two of you were—you were real good friends always.”
“That’s right. We grew up together.”
“That’s what I me
an. But of course, things are a little bit different now. We’re all grown up. It’s not like it was when you were kids.”
“Yep. She reminds me of that all the time. Talks about how hard it is to grow up, and I think she’s right. Not just for girls, but for boys too.”
Cecil grinned and seemed much relieved. “I’m glad to hear you say that. But really, what I wanted to ask you—Jeff, do you mind my calling on Leah?”
Instantly Jeff understood what Cecil was saying. He also knew that Leah had no deep feelings for this boy, but it was not his place to say so. He shifted his feet in the dust and chewed his lip. “Well … like you say, Cecil, Leah and I are real good friends …”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean, do you mind my calling on her? I’m pretty serious about her, you know.”
“I see you are, Cecil—” Jeff sought desperately to find an answer for the lieutenant but could think of nothing wise to say. “As far as I’m concerned, you can call on her.”
Relief washed across Cecil Taylor’s face. He took Jeff’s hand and pumped it. “I’m sure glad to hear you say that! I wouldn’t want to cut in between you and Leah, but if that’s the way you feel about it. Well—I feel a whole lot better!”
Jeff felt slightly foolish. He knew that Cecil cared much more for Leah than she knew—and he knew Leah cared much less for Cecil than he knew. Finally he said, “I’ve got to get back to Petersburg. I wish you good luck.”
“Thanks, Jeff. That’s like you. I really do think a lot of Leah.”
“I thought you liked Lucy,” Jeff said suddenly. “You two always seemed to be real close.”
“Aw, you know how Lucy is. She’s so pretty, and every young officer in the county is humming around her. She’d never pay any serious attention to me. Besides, we grew up together, and you know how that is. A boy and a girl grow up together, and they hardly ever get serious, do they?”
“Well … hardly ever,” Jeff agreed. He climbed into the wagon, waved to Cecil, and said, “I’ll give that bacon to the boys with all your love.”
“All right, Jeff, and thanks.”
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