The Not-So-Boring Letters of Private Nobody

by Matthew Landis

  Mr. Carrow stopped them at the door. “You all know that I love to exaggerate, but I’m being completely honest when I say that in eight years of teaching I’ve never seen something of such high quality—historically, dramatically, or cinematographically, if that’s even a word. You killed it.”

  Oliver reached out his fist to pound it, but Ella grabbed his hand.

  “Not with teachers,” she said. “But good instincts.”

  “And apparently I’m not the only person who thinks so.” Mr. Carrow gave Oliver a look. “We have a special guest who would like to meet you. Come here.”

  He led them to the back of the auditorium, where Mrs. Mason was standing with Tall Suit Guy. Oliver thought Tall Suit Guy’s suit looked even nicer up close. Tucked under his arm were two items: a giant, hulking leather-bound book, and a slim folder that read THE WELLER GROUP.

  “Ollie, this is Eugene Weller,” Mr. Carrow said. “CEO of the Weller Group, a financial institution that he runs with his brother and sister. He emailed me yesterday and I invited him to come see the presentation.”

  Oliver blinked at the man. “As in . . . Henry Weller? You’re related to him?”

  “I am,” Eugene answered. “And I believe you know my assistant, Ms. DeFrancesca.”

  “Yeah. I emailed her.”

  “You did.” Eugene had a really warm smile and kind eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond sooner. By the time I’d located the pertinent records it was Sunday, and I just thought I’d reach out to your teacher directly. I hope that was all right.”

  “Uh, sure.” Oliver eyed the two items. “Did you find something?”

  Eugene opened the folder and removed a clear protective sleeve with a parchment inside.

  “My sister is the family historian,” Eugene said. “When I shared your email with her she went right for the family estate papers, and she found a few things.”

  He turned the protective sleeve and letter toward Oliver.

  “You did most of the heavy lifting, so I thought you should get to read it to your teachers and group members.”

  Oliver’s heart pounded. The cursive was a little fainter than he was used to—probably from a hundred and fifty years of not being kept in the right conditions. Hal would have had something to say about that.

  “Uh.” His voice shook from excitement. Ella leaned in on one side and Kevin the other.

  Oliver read aloud.

  September 2, 1862

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  I, Henry Weller, being of sound mind and body, and having a deep and abiding conviction to defend this great Union from our Southern brethren bent on secession, but being also bound to the Peace Testimony sworn to before God and the Society of Friends, do hereby contract Raymond Stone as a voluntary substitute to fight in my stead.

  Furthermore, I, Henry Weller, hereby testify that I have compensated Raymond Stone for his substitution a fee in the amount of three hundred dollars, and swear that should Raymond Stone fall in battle, or succumb to any death or injury as a result of this substitution that renders him in any way incapable of returning to his previous station in life, that I, Henry Weller, shall provide a yearly recompense to William Stone, father of Raymond, for future services otherwise rendered in the family trade, stated here as farmer.

  Henry Weller Raymond Stone

  “Holy crap,” Oliver murmured. “Holy. Crap.” He looked up at Mr. Weller. “I was right: Henry Weller couldn’t fight because he was a Quaker—the Peace Testimony. But he wanted to fight, so he hired Stone in his place.”

  “. . . Which is why he enlisted in the 68th and not the 104th,” Ella said. Her eyes bulged.

  “Exactly!” Oliver bounced up and down on his feet, glowing.

  “The Peace Testimony is a cornerstone of the Quaker tradition,” Eugene said. “While many in the Society of Friends chose to fight anyway, it appears Henry did not. But in secret—likely out of fear that he would be disowned by the Friends who viewed substitution as equal or worse than actual fighting—he contracted this boy, Raymond Stone.”

  Oliver nodded. This must be how ball sports people felt when they won a championship or something. Then he looked at the giant leather thing.

  “Tell me those are bank records,” he said.

  Eugene opened the book to a red ribbon bookmark. The pages were stained but readable. He swiveled the item so the trio could see. “Once my sister discovered the contract in our family papers, I had a look at our oldest records back at the bank. One thing about bankers, Oliver—and Quakers, for that matter—is that we keep excellent records. I’ve bookmarked several entries of this loan ledger for you. See anyone familiar?”

  Oliver examined the first noted ledger line.

  March 4, 1848 | W. Stone | Loan: $100 | Term: 36 months | Interest: 4% | Purpose: Wheat crop

  “Stone’s dad was a bank customer.” Oliver scanned the others, eyes wide. “That’s how Henry met Raymond—because Raymond would go down to the city with his dad.”

  “It would seem so,” Eugene said. “While we may never know how exactly the conversation started, I think it is safe to say we know where.”

  “This is a YouTube moment if I ever was in one,” Kevin whispered.

  Oliver was completely buzzing from adrenaline. The pieces were all falling into place literally in front of him.

  Eugene held up the Weller Group folder to Oliver and tapped the company’s logo: a red diamond.

  “I had the opportunity to reread my great-grandfather’s will in the course of this little exploration. It contained two very specific commands: First, Henry stipulated that one-quarter of all the company’s future profits be donated to community building projects. That part made some sense to me: He’d amassed immense wealth during his life and wanted to give back. But Henry also instituted this red diamond as the bank’s logo, yet left no explanation as to why. I did some research myself and learned that Civil War units often used—”

  “Badges,” Oliver interrupted. “Unit markers. They sometimes sewed them on their uniforms or caps. You think . . .”

  He pulled out his phone and Google-image-searched “68th PA Volunteers unit badge.”

  “I’m lost,” Ella said.

  “Remember the clover on my drill uniform?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  He showed her his phone screen. “The 68th was a part of the First Division, Third Corps. This is Stone’s unit’s badge.”

  “A red diamond,” she said.

  “O. M. G.,” Kevin whispered.

  “I believe my great-grandfather made Stone’s unit badge the bank logo to honor him,” Eugene said. “A secret memorial to the soldier who died while Henry lived a long and prosperous life.”

  The buzzing reached a hum. It was the only sound Oliver heard for a while as he looked between all the pieces of the story fitted neatly into their spots. It was beautiful and complicated and totally complete.

  Project done.

  Mission accomplished.

  Mystery solved.

  But wait—no. Something was missing, just a small something. A tiny, empty spot near the center that had bothered him this whole time.

  “So did Stone enlist just for the money?” Oliver asked. “Was that his main reason?”

  Eugene’s smile faded. Reaching into the company folder, he pulled out another plastic sheet with a parchment inside.

  The mystery continued.

  “That,” Eugene said, “is actually the primary reason I came.” His voice was low and serious now, his mouth pulled tight. “The final document my sister found was a short letter Raymond’s father sent Henry Weller in 1866, three years after Raymond died.” He cleared his throat and read. “Dear Sir: I am in receipt of the recent and generous payment this past August. I gratefully request that all future payments cease; as such you may consider this letter can
celation of the contract made between you and my son, Raymond, on Sept. 2 ’62.”

  Eugene took a couple seconds, like he was having trouble reading it. Oliver wondered if something more was going on.

  “I can no longer accept compensation for Raymond’s death, for which I am responsible. Sincerely, William Stone.”

  And then it really went quiet. Outer space, black hole quiet.

  “It wasn’t for Raymond . . . it was for his dad. He needed the money to hire someone to work on the farm—to take his place.” Oliver saw the last, tiny piece settling into place. “And his dad must’ve felt guilty because he’d kind of sold Raymond into the army like a mercenary, and it got him killed. He couldn’t stand to keep getting the money because it reminded him of what he did.”

  Eugene nodded slowly. Oliver heard Ella sigh real heavy.

  Kevin finally broke the silence. “I would hate to ruin the mood with talk of grades and whatnot,” he said, looking at Mr. Carrow and Mrs. Mason. “But I would think uncovering a sixteen-decades-old secret would earn us a perfect score.”

  The teachers exchanged smirks.

  “Kevin,” Mrs. Mason said, “I think it is safe to say that you and I will not be spending so much time together anymore.”

  “Thank God—I mean, thank you, Mrs. Mason. Thank you.”

  Mr. Carrow turned to Oliver. “Couple days ago I asked if Stone helped you see the war differently. Got another answer?”

  Oliver cut a glance at Ella.

  “I used to think the war was a giant mountain with all these details. But now I think the mountains are actually the people who fought in it—like they’re the major features and I was down in the valley with all the battle information. Which I guess means the whole thing is even more gigantic than I thought.”

  Ella looked at him seriously. “Just think what else we could find.”

  Then she held out her fist.

  -EPILOGUE-

  Oliver stared at the sky as he lay on his back. It was pure blue except for a wispy cloud. He wondered how many soldiers at the Battle of Gettysburg had stared at this same sky right before they died. It was supposedly pretty sunny during the three days of epic carnage, so the answer was probably a lot. The temperature this week ended up historically inaccurate too, thanks to a cold front. All in all, it was a pretty nice day to die.

  He craned his neck to look up the wooded hill they’d just charged down. It had been pretty glorious, as far as fake battles go, what with the cannon and gunfire. The 104th Pennsylvania Volunteers and other companies had saved the Union Army from getting outflanked by charging down Little Round Top and sending the Confederate forces fleeing. But Oliver and most of his regiment had made the ultimate sacrifice. Now the only thing left to do was enjoy the view.

  Oliver’s phone buzzed. He fished it out of his wool trousers and read a text from Kevin.

  I think I saw you go down. R u by the big rock?

  Oliver looked around.

  No.

  Oh. Where??? Wave.

  I can’t wave. I’m supposed to be dead.

  OK OK. I’ll wave. We’re on the dirt road halfway up the hill.

  Oliver craned his neck to get a better view of the long line of people snaking up Little Round Top. Kevin was easy to spot in the neon-orange shirt his mom had made him pack so he wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. Not exactly historically accurate. He was also jumping up and down and waving. Oliver’s parents and Addie were standing behind him.

  I see you, Oliver typed.

  Cool. OK. When’s this thing over? We’re supposed to be there by six.

  It’s over when the battlefield guide—

  A man’s voice carried down the mountain via megaphone. “Attention reenactors and spectators of the Battle of Little Round Top: This concludes the engagement.” The countryside roared with applause. “At this time, stretcher bearers and nurses will attend to the wounded.”

  A horse-drawn ambulance trundled by. “You wounded?” asked the driver.

  “Dead,” Oliver said.

  “Oh. Okay.” He made a clicking noise with his mouth, and the wagon creaked on.

  Oliver heard footsteps and turned his head to see a battlefield nurse making straight for him. She wore a white smock over a faded blue, nineteenth-century dress that went down to her ankles, and her hair was pulled up into a bun on the top of her head.

  “You’re too late,” he said. “I’m already dead.”

  Ella knelt down and unpacked some bandages. “Where are you shot?”

  Oliver looked over himself. “Chest, I guess. They didn’t really tell us a specific spot. Just that we had to go down.”

  “Let me see what I can do.” She took out a Ziploc bag of Cheez-Its and two Capri Suns. “This is an age-old remedy. Plus, I’m hungry.”

  “Shocking.”

  She flicked him. They’d been doing a lot of that lately—flirting. Or Oliver guessed it was flirting.

  He looked at her. “Are we going out? I don’t have a good record of clarity on these things.”

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “We’re going out. Is that okay?”

  “Totally.”

  That was helpful, because with the sun flecking off her face and strands of her brown hair blowing in the breeze, Oliver really wanted to kiss her. Was it inappropriate to make out on a sacred battlefield?

  Who knew these things.

  His phone buzzed.

  Kevin.

  KISS HERRRRRRRRRR.

  “They had phones in the Civil War?” Ella said.

  “Yeah,” Oliver said, “but they were only given to the most elite soldiers.”

  She threw a Cheez-It at him. Then she plopped down beside him to stare at the blue sky. “This was fun. I’m glad I did this.”

  “Really? I was kinda worried you’d regret it once we got here. It’s not everybody’s thing.”

  “It probably helped that I stayed with your parents and Addie at the hotel instead of in a tent with you and Kevin,” Ella said. “And that I didn’t have to wear one of those giant hoop skirts. Or a corset. It was all really fun.”

  “Good.”

  “Did you make up your mind yet about reenlisting?”

  “I think I’m done. Maybe not forever, but for now. I’ve actually been thinking about volunteering at the historical society. Hal could use the help.”

  “You should try to get him to eat something other than M&M’s.”

  They watched some birds overhead for a while. Oliver’s heart did a double beat when Ella grabbed his hand. She was like an inch away from his face. Was this the moment?

  Oliver jumped as the siren blared.

  “That concludes the event,” the battlefield guide announced. “We would like to thank our reenactors for putting on such a great show.” Thundering applause. “I would like to remind everyone that while the battle is over, our living history tents are still open and excited to usher you into the past. How about another round of applause for our reenactors.”

  Oliver looked at Ella; she grinned awkwardly and darted her eyes to something else.

  Oliver’s phone buzzed.

  Kevin.

  Were you guys just making out?

  No.

  Oh. You should have been. I’m on my way down. Wave or something.

  Oliver waved and the bright orange blur bolted down the dirt road through the tall grass, jumping over several still-dead soldiers.

  “Could’ve used you in the battle,” Oliver said to a panting Kevin. “You gonna be able to keep up?”

  Kevin wheezed and gave a thumbs-up.

  “Then it’s time to do what we came here for,” Oliver said.

  They strolled along a creek bed before hitting a paved road packed with tourists and reenactors. Ella pointed at a field off to the right that rose toward town.


  “That’s Cemetery Ridge,” she said. “Right here is where Pickett’s Charge happened. Thousands of Confederates marched through this field at the center of the Union line. It was General Lee’s grand plan to break through and win the battle. Instead it was a bloodbath.”

  “You’re really embracing your new hobby,” Kevin said.

  “The cable was out at the hotel last night,” Ella said.

  Oliver grinned at her display of knowledge. “When the attack failed, Pickett straggled back with barely half of his men,” he said. “General Lee asked him how his division was, and Pickett supposedly said, ‘General Lee, I have no division.’”

  “Maybe he shouldn’t have marched through a mile of open field under heavy artillery fire and then attacked an enemy entrenched behind a fortified stone wall,” Kevin said. “But what do I know? I’m not a West Point graduate.”

  They veered off the road and then trudged up the gradual incline. “I think being here is important,” Ella said. “I think I get why people are so obsessed with the Civil War now, especially battles like this one. The scale of danger and death kind of demands respect.”

  They walked in silence for a while.

  “Down here,” Ella said, looking between her unfolded map and the road they’d just stumbled onto.

  They trailed down Emmetsburg Road and stopped in front of a marble obelisk rising about twelve feet into the air. Oliver thought it looked like a miniature version of the Washington Monument, except this one had a diamond indent in the center: It was the monument to the 68th Pennsylvania Volunteers.

  “Looks bigger than the website picture,” Kevin said.

  They walked around the pediment and read the lone inscription on the far side.

  “In memory of 188 of our comrades who fell on this field July 2nd and 3rd, 1863,” Ella read.

  Oliver stepped back to take in the monument and fields and wooded groves. “And in memory of all those who never got to see it,” he said. He took a red diamond patch that he’d bought at the gift shop yesterday out of his pocket and set it down below the inscription. “The other Private Stones.”

  They gave the monument a few more moments of silence before nodding at one another that it was time to go.