“All of you?”
“Look at this! We’re gonna get us a bounty of two hundred and sixty dollars just for signing up,” said Josh. “Says a recruiting officer’s gonna be in town come Monday.”
“I’m goin’ with you.”
Harry shook his head slowly. “Aw, Billy, me and Leighton and Josh are gonna do the fighting. You need to stay here—take care of things for us.”
“Ain’t fair!”
“I ain’t much for fightin’,” Leighton said, placing his hands on his hips. “Thing is, my folks need this money. Believe you me, I’d rather pitch manure all day than go off to this here war.”
“Leastways you won’t smell as bad,” said Josh as he turned and punched Leighton playfully in his soft, round belly.
“You puny little bugger!” Grabbing Josh by his rope belt, Leighton swooped him off the floor and threatened to toss him onto the crates of salt codfish. Laughter exploded as Josh hollered for mercy, his arms and legs shadowboxing the air, each swing missing his big friend.
“Like as not, I’m goin’ too,” said Billy, crossing his arms and ignoring the tussle and merriment.
“Well, I ain’t real sure the army will let you muster, being how you—well, I mean, the learning and all,” Harry said gently. “Remember all the trouble you had at the schoolhouse, with Miss Dame …”
“I been rememberin’.” Billy’s black mood returned and fear pulsed through him as he thought of being separated from Harry. What would he do without his friend? The taunts, the name-calling, the loneliness; he didn’t want to face all that again on his own.
“Just wantin’ to be with you is all.”
“Your folks would be mighty worried.”
“I’m nineteen, same as you!”
Leighton lowered Josh to the floor and glanced at Billy. “Hey, you got any of that ginger candy on you?”
“Been waitin’ …”
“Let me see what you got for coins,” said Harry.
Reaching into his trouser pocket, Billy pulled out a fistful of pennies. Suddenly feeling unsure of himself, he dropped them into Harry’s palm. “Enough?”
“You betcha,” said Harry. “Did you use your fingers like I showed you?”
Billy nodded.
“Still ain’t ready to talk to that ol’ sourpuss, eh? All right then, I’ll get it for you this time.” Calling out to Mr. Blaisdell, Harry turned and walked to the front of the store.
Billy spun around and stared at Leighton as he ran his finger back and forth along the recruiting poster. As tall as Billy was, he felt small against his giant friend. “What’s it say?”
“Says here we gotta muster for three years—unless sooner discharged.”
“I ain’t understandin’.”
“Oh, if I was to be wounded or get real sick, then I get to come on home before the three years is up, in ’sixty-five.”
“Likely be home in a fortnight,” Josh said with a wink. “Ain’t no graycoat gonna miss your fat ol’ body.”
“Scratch your fleas!”
“Go jump in a cow flap!”
“You fellas still at it?” said Harry as he approached and tossed a small bag to Billy.
Seizing the bag in midair, Billy pulled out a flat, honey-colored candy, popped it in his mouth, and licked the sugary coating from his fingers.
“It’s for three years, you know, Harry,” said Billy.
“That’s right. And when I get back I’m gonna get me a nice little spread with all them free acres so’s me and Mary Rogers can settle down.”
“I can fire a musket,” said Billy, reaching into the bag without an upward glance.
“Aw, Billy,” Harry said. “War ain’t like firing your musket at a deer. Gonna be aiming at fellas just like us.” Suddenly his voice rose. “Hey, you finish all that haying this afternoon?”
“Well, not all, I reckon,” Billy said in a half-whisper. “Ain’t fair I didn’t get to go swimmin’.”
“Your pa’s gonna take a fit if you didn’t turn all the hay. You best go on now so you don’t get yourself in trouble.”
“All right then. But like as not, I’m musterin’, same as you.”
“We’ll go swimming again right soon, Billy Boy.” Leighton pushed his hand into the paper bag and pulled out a piece of candy.
Billy raised a worried eyebrow, peered into the bag, and smiled in relief at the candy still settled at the bottom. He quickly rolled up the bag and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. Harry was right, he figured—if he left now, maybe there was time enough to finish turning the hay. Then he thought about his friends staying in town, laughing and joshing about the war and all, and he hesitated, shifted the weight on his feet, and stared vacantly at the floor.
After an awkward silence, Harry leaned in close to Billy, ruffled his hair, and said quietly, “I ain’t got no right to stop you from joining up. Go on and talk to your pa. If he lets you muster, tell him Harry won’t let nothing happen to you.”
Soothed by those words, Billy darted a smile at his friends. Harry wouldn’t let him down after all. “And I’m gonna buy me a whole bag of ginger candy with all that money when I get back. Ma says I got me an awful sweet tooth.”
The sun lowered over the hills as Billy ran down Cranberry Meadow Road and started up the easy slope to the boulder to pick up the pitchfork. He circled the lichen-covered outcrop several times. The fork wasn’t there. There’d be a tanning for sure. Worried, he started out across the darkening field, suddenly stopping in his tracks. All the hay was turned. Had his pa been here? His heart pounded against his chest. In the gathering shadows of the pines edging the field he spotted a grayish silhouette tossing a forkful of dry grass. He squinted. Jamie? Jamie’s gone and done my chores? Billy raced down the hill, relief splitting a grin across his face.
“You turned the hay!”
Laughing, Billy scooped his ten-year-old brother up off the ground and lifted him onto his shoulders. He felt Jamie’s small hand slide down the front of his cotton shirt and reach into the pocket.
“I seen you run off,” Jamie said. “You got candy in here?” He opened the crumpled bag and pinched his nose. “This is nasty-tasting, Billy. Ain’t you ever gonna buy them licorice strings?” Leaning over, Jamie stuffed the bag back into the pocket.
“I like this ginger candy.” Billy eased Jamie back to the ground and watched as the sandy-haired child picked up the pitchfork and combed bits and pieces of grass from its muddied prongs. Small as Jamie was, Ma said he looked just like Billy. And Ma was always telling folks her boys’ eyes were blue as a robin’s egg. Billy took a deep breath and let it out slowly as it dawned on him that running off to war would mean leaving Jamie behind. He loved his little brother. Pa said Jamie was smart as a whip. For dang sure, folks had no cause to laugh at Jamie.
Billy and Jamie headed back across the pasture, the rocky landscape turning a dark purple in the dimming light. Maybe Ma would let them play a game of checkers before supper.
“You wantin’ to play checkers when we get home?” Billy asked.
“Reckon.”
“Can I use them black checkers this time?”
“You know them black ones is mine.”
“Ain’t never won a game is all. It’s them dang red checkers, I’m thinkin’.”
Jamie let out a laugh.
Chapter 2
The bells were pealing as Billy stood on the steps of the Congregational Church, waiting for his friends. He squinted in the sunlight and smiled when he spotted Jamie swinging wildly on the branch of a bending birch. Behind Billy, standing beside Pa, was Stuart Marston, stirring a group of men with talk of war.
Suddenly, from the bottom of the steps, Henry Kinsley grumbled and raised a pointed finger. “You may think yourself a ready speaker, Stuart, but this danged rebellion won’t get all my sons—not all five, by God! I can’t run the largest dairy farm in York County myself.”
Marston replied, “President Lincoln asked for three hundred thousand volu
nteers to help keep this country together. If the Federal army can’t meet its quota, this town’s obliged to give up her sons.” Marston placed his hands on his hips, shook his head, and stared at his cracked kip boots. “My Charlie’s signing up tomorrow. And he’s the only boy I got. No matter if it’s one or five, reckon we got to let our boys choose their own way.”
Billy liked Mr. Marston, but he didn’t much like Mr. Kinsley. Pa said Kinsley was a hard man to do business with, always wanting to trade one of his dairy calves for a load of Pa’s timber, even though Pa said calves didn’t pay the taxes. Mr. Kinsley and his boys would ride up the lane with their empty wood sled, and the boys would take out their axes and fell the tall pines while Mr. Kinsley strutted around the farmyard like a rooster. Billy winced as Mr. Kinsley shot a look at him, and then Kinsley turned to Pa.
“And what about you, John? We let them send our sons off to war?”
John Laird pressed his Bible against his chest, his bony fingers fidgeting with the worn leather. His thick, graying brown hair framed his angular face. “Reckon we got us a duty. Our grandfathers fought on this very soil to preserve our Constitution, and I ain’t about to walk over yonder, stand by Ephraim Laird’s grave, and tell him we ain’t fighting to keep it.”
“Suppose you call it our duty to free them slaves down south?” Kinsley muttered under his breath before spitting a wad of tobacco on the ground.
Billy saw Pa’s jaw tighten. Sure enough, Pa was minding his temper.
“No man’s got a right to own another, Henry. We’re all God’s children.”
“You talk mighty big,” Kinsley said angrily, “but folks know you ain’t sending your simpleton off to war.”
The insult was familiar to Billy; he knew it was directed at him. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks and even his ears prickled hot. Heads turned in his direction. His eyes downcast, he stared awkwardly at the whitewashed steps, wishing he could disappear into the cracked and splintered wood.
“You got no cause to talk like that, Henry.” The firmness in John Laird’s face crumbled. He turned and stomped up the steps. Billy hurried after him.
Billy slid into the family pew. Pa bowed his head in silent prayer. Billy angled his long legs out of the way as Ma joined them, offering her a faint smile. He warmed to her soft blue eyes. Her plaited hair reminded him of the color of honey, and Pa always said her cheeks were the pink of roses. Ma smoothed the folds of her plain linen dress, reached over and squeezed his hand, and closed her eyes. The church was filling with people. Jamie stumbled into the pew, all in a rush, his Sunday clothes soiled with dirt and grass. Billy started to laugh, but Pa looked up with a stern face.
With a deep sigh Billy settled back into the bench and glanced across the aisle, searching for his friends. Harry’s folks sat in their customary pew, but there was an empty space beside them. He wondered why Harry wasn’t in church. Restless, he squirmed and looked over his shoulder, studying the rows behind him. Mabel Tasker smiled at him and nodded her head. He smiled back, but noticed that her son was nowhere to be seen. Leighton always sat next to his ma; where could he be? A nudge from Billy’s own ma interrupted him. He turned around as Reverend Snow approached the pulpit and looked out at the congregation over his half-rim spectacles.
Billy was fond of the kindly old reverend with his round cheeks and tufts of wavy white hair. The reverend was a seafarer’s son, and had told Billy a frightening tale from his childhood. When he was just a boy, his pa had taken him on his first trip out of Portsmouth Harbor. Not two days out to sea, a gale blew their small sailing vessel off course. Trying to tighten the riggings against the rough swells, his pa had slipped on the deck and hurt his back. The reverend had been forced to take the helm, young as he was. It was another two days before another fishing ship spotted them and pulled their vessel into Gloucester. The reverend always told folks how he had received the Lord after that. Said he’d felt the hand of God steering the bow headfirst into those swollen waves.
The tapping of drumbeats shook Billy from his thoughts. Rat-a-tap-tap. He shook his head. Where was that coming from? Rat-a-tap-tap. There it was again, along with music from a fife.
The rhythmic sound grew louder. Rat-a-tap-tap. Billy spun his head to the back of the room. The church doors opened and the tramping of marching feet mingled with the fife and drum. Around him, the congregation turned in their pews, whispering, wondering.
A parade of men, older men like Pa—Rufus Emery the shoemaker, the wheelwright Josephus White, Clarence Hasty the blacksmith, and many of the farmers—marched in measured steps down the center aisle to a pew left empty in front of the pulpit. The cadence of fife and drum filled the church.
Suddenly a line of boys tramped down the aisle behind the older men. The congregation erupted with shouts of enthusiasm. Billy’s eyes widened in bewilderment as the young men filed by. Leighton. And Harry! Josh. And Charlie Marston—and Jeb Hall. And then he saw the Kinsley fellas and … and …
Billy’s pulse raced. Reverend Snow stepped down from the pulpit and warmly greeted the late arrivals, smiling and shaking their hands. Then, raising a robed arm to the drummer and fife player at the church door, the reverend returned to the pulpit. A hush fell over the room.
“In the words of Isaiah thirteen, verse four,” the reverend began in a resounding voice, “ ‘The noise of the multitude in the mountains, like as of a people; a tumultuous noise of the kingdoms of nations gathered together: the Lord of hosts mustereth the host of battle!’ ”
Billy stared in wonderment as arms rose from the front rows, fists clenched, beating the air. The congregation once again erupted in cheers.
Ma stretched her slender frame over Billy, and pinched Pa’s shirtsleeve. “This is the Sabbath!” she whispered.
“Reckon we need to get used to this,” Pa said.
“Pa,” Billy whispered. “I ain’t understandin’.”
“Me neither,” echoed Jamie.
Pa leaned close to Billy’s ear. “These fellas plan on signing with the recruiting officer tomorrow and going off to war.”
“Pa, they’re my friends; I’m wantin’—”
“Shhh … listen, son.”
Reverend Snow waved his hand to quiet the crowd, then continued solemnly. “My good friends, there are purposes under heaven that we are helpless to control. This is a time of God’s calling, when no man has a choice, however gentle and peace-loving he may be. ‘I have seen the travail, which God has given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.’ We have heard the call to war—a mighty call for our sons.”
The reverend glanced down at the men sitting in the front pews. “A time of war. Oh, Lord, give us the wisdom to understand all things that are done under heaven.”
Billy fidgeted, arched his back, fighting the urge to run over and sit beside Harry. Why hadn’t his friends asked him to join them? He struggled to listen, catching the end of the reverend’s words. “ ‘Therefore, my sons, take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil of the day, and having done all, to stand!’ Our brave and courageous fledgling soldiers, deliver unto us a time of peace.”
In the immediate silence that followed, Billy leaned forward, craned his neck, and saw the big grins on his friends’ faces. He tried to catch Harry’s eye, but the organist banged her fingers on the keys and in seconds the congregation was on its feet, singing “America.” Then Reverend Snow stepped down from the pulpit, embracing the boys, patting the shoulders of the older men.
Billy felt very alone. Yesterday Harry had tried to talk him out of mustering. Then Mr. Kinsley had talked hurtful in front of folks. Ain’t fair. I can fire a musket same as anyone. He should be sitting in the front row too. He listened, stone-faced, to the rest of the service.
In the soft glow of the lantern, the evening meal passed in near silence. Billy shuffled in his chair and glanced at his little brother pushing carrots around his plate.
“Ma’s gonna make you sit here all night if you
don’t eat them carrots, Jamie.”
“Don’t care. Besides, I seen you hide them turnips in your pocket.”
“Not by a darned sight!”
“Hush, the both of you,” snapped Ma. “I’m in no mood to listen to your fighting.”
“Pa?”
“What is it, son?”
“I can fire a musket same as Harry.”
Pa’s jaw tightened, his brow wrinkled. “I know dang well what you’re thinking. And you ain’t never fired your rifle at another fella before,” he said sharply.
Billy stared at the half-eaten food on his plate. Pa was right smart, figuring out what he was going to ask.
“You think you can fire at a fella when you can’t even shoot a bad colt?” Pa slammed his fork on the table.
“Weren’t no need of shootin’ the colt. I soothed her down good.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Billy. You ain’t soothing any Reb soldier down. They’re gonna be shooting at you. And you got to fire that ol’ muzzleloader, load another ball just as fast as you can spit, and fire again—right at them.”
“My friends—”
“War ain’t about being with friends, son.”
“Just wantin’ to be like Harry.”
“You goin’ to war, Billy?” asked Jamie. He pushed out his lower lip.
“Billy ain’t going anywhere but to do his evening chores,” interrupted Ma. “Go on, the both of you.”
“Jamie ain’t eatin’ his carrots, Ma.”
“Billeeee!”
“I’ll mind what your brother’s eating.”
It was a clear night, and without the cover of clouds the summer air was cool. Leaning over the rail fence, Billy scanned the sky in search of the North Star. For weeks Pa had been showing him how to find it. Said it was like a signpost, and that their farm sat right under it. Billy looked hard, but couldn’t find the star. It was hard, what with the stars all looking the same. He was getting a crick in his neck.
He unhitched the gate and ran to the middle of the pasture. Determined, he lay down on the ground on his back, his hands behind his head. It was easier to look up this way. Now, what had Pa told him to look for first? A cluster of stars that looked like a large ladle in a kettle of stew. Said it was called the Big Dipper. He thought he saw something. He sat up and leaned on his elbows. It does look like a ladle! And a plum big one! That’s it—the Big Dipper. His heart pounding, he traced his finger across the starry bowl.
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